They were headed for a festival of speed but, as Peter Donaldson reports, their own race started early.
It began like so many road trips. Late. And it got later.
It was still silly o'clock am when we set off; Rod Price from Arrowtown and me from Dunedin. Our rendezvous point was Herbert, in North Otago. I was early, Rod was late.
It was Thursday and we were heading to the two-day Leadfoot Festival hillclimb, held annually on Kiwi motorsport legend Rod Millen's 1.6km-long driveway at Hahei, on the Coromandel Peninsula.
The day's goal was the 6.45pm ferry crossing from Picton. Even with the van laden with a brace of classic Yamaha race bikes, tyres, tools and sundry gear, we were confident of an easy drive north.
A wonderful warm South Island summer day opened up beneath a clean blue sky, offering the warm brown hues of freshly harvested baleage, sandy, sun-bleached fields, rich greens of irrigated pastures and shimmering distant mountains. Life on the road was good.
The schedule called for two stops, Rakaia to refuel bodies and van, and Christchurch to collect Mike Pero's race kit.
Lengthy delays for roadworks north of Timaru forced an about-turn and a detour on a side road, but Google Maps' times assured us we were still ahead of the game.
The Rakaia pitstop was swift and successful, but we were a little late leaving Christchurch, but not enough to cause too much of a worry.
It was the third unscheduled stop somewhere in the wilds of North Canterbury that left us putting our hopes and faith in Google's timings, and Rod ruefully admitting the van's speedo might be nearly as accurate as the police officer's claim.
Fortunately, we benefited from what appeared to be traffic-free Thursday in Marlborough for most of the remaining (legal) dash for the ferry. With 20 minutes to sailing time, we joined the queue.
The first 800km were ticked off. Just another 2400km to complete the round trip.
On board, a well-chilled Emerson's and tasty curry hit the spot. A calm crossing to Wellington and motel beds in Hutt Valley lay in prospect.
The electronic drone of another pre-dawn alarm prompted us into action and, suitably refreshed, we set off, joining up with State Highway 1.
We stopped at Viv's Kitchen, in Sansom, for breakfast. Viv is apparently famous for her cream horns; the blackboard proclaims she's sold more than 24,000 of them. We opted for a Big Breakfast.
Despite the dawn start, there was no time to waste today. We had to be at the remote Leadfoot Ranch to sign on by 3pm. Google was telling us the last hour was over twisty Coromandel roads. The forecast was for rain and we knew the road would be busy with other Leadfooters.
But Rod was on a roll. His motorcycling adventures have taken him all over New Zealand and Australia and solo long-distance driving is his forte. His best: Arrowtown to Auckland in 19 hours.
Me? I'm the world's best passenger. Just give me a seat and let me sleep. So as Rod ploughed on through the central North Island, I dozed.
We made a brief supermarket stop in Tokoroa for weekend supplies and I took the wheel for the final push deep into the lush greenery of the Coro. As predicted, the rain came, grey misty sheets of it, slowing traffic and obscuring any long-distance views. We were pleased not to be riding bikes this weekend.
We pulled into the ranch a few minutes before 3pm and gave thanks to Mr Google.
As expected, one of our riders, Todd Sutherland, from KiwiRider magazine, was there to greet us and help set up our pit area. As also expected, real estate baron Mike Pero was late.
The two-day Leadfoot Festival on Rod and Shelly Millen's 60ha property attracts an eclectic mix of classic cars and motorcycles and motorsport legends. Competitor entry is by invitation, though the event is open to the public.
Millen has loosely based the event on the famous Pikes Peak hillclimb in the United States and the wonderfully nostalgic Goodwood Festival of Speed in the United Kingdom.
Like Goodwood, the Millens encourage competitors and visitors to dress in the period of their race vehicle. As the event grows, increasingly more traditionally self-conscious Kiwis are taking the plunge and dressing for the weekend.
As much as the Leadfoot is about the people and vehicles, the setting itself is like a neatly staged film set. Recently mown gently rolling paddocks in the start, spectator and camping areas give way to a hilly forest, through which Millen's paved driveway snakes and climbs steeply. In the public areas, carefully placed classic cars from the Millen collection add to the visual appeal.
The hub of the event is a period petrol station, complete with classic fuel pumps and oil cans and a couple of weather-worn tow trucks. From there, the tarmac leads to four large open-sided marquees providing cover for the vehicles, yet allowing spectators easy access.
Millen's philosophy is about bringing motorsport back to the people, where competitors as much as the vehicles are on display. There's no hiding behind corporate doors here. In fact, Millen positively discourages corporate signage, except for his event sponsors, of course.
In return, Millen, has provided drivers and riders with an event, it seems, that treats competitors the way he would like to have been treated during his racing heyday; slick organisation, minimal officialdom and maximum self-responsibility.
Yes, there's a well-provisioned competitors' VIP marquee, but don't let Millen catch you in there too long.
With nearly 120 entries, competitors are split into four batches, with the prospect of six runs over the two days.
The forecast damp weather continued well into the weekend, so visitors were treated to some spectacular action, from raucous tyre-smoking drift cars, unbelievably quick rally cars, thundering classic open-wheelers and saloons, howling European supercars, and of course, our screaming two-stroke Yamahas.
No-one comes to the Leadfoot to apologise for getting emotional about mechanical form or function. It's a celebration of high speed art and aural pleasure.
Among this year's big-name drivers were Indycar champion Scott Dixon, who got to race (remarkably quickly, too) the world's oldest grand prix car, a 1905 Darracq, multi-Bathurst winner Greg Murphy and Top Gear USA presenter Tanner Foust.
And even the very best can still be impressed. We were walking to the spectator area on Sunday morning behind Murphy when Alistair McRae, driving on the absolute limit, wheelied past, just the rear wheels of his Subaru rally car on the tarmac. Murphy turned to us with a huge grin on his face. ‘‘Did you see that!'' he exclaimed. That's the Leadfoot. If you're a racer and get the call from Rod Millen, don't say no. If you're a motorsport fan, add it to your bucket list.
As for us, both Mike and Todd got through the weekend keeping both bikes upright. And if the nods and knowing smiles were an indication, there were many who enjoyed hearing the rasping sounds of two-stroke grand prix racers and sniffing the sweet smell of burnt castor-based oil.
And the return trip? Well, we can recommend visiting Te Papa after you've seen your ferry sailing out of Wellington's harbour without you.
