---

The tourist highlight of yesterday was a visit to Sheep World, a popular attraction just north of Warkworth where you can feed marble-sized pellets to adult sheep, and nurse their lambs (when they are there)

Yup, you're in New Zealand all right

with baby bottles. Sheep shearing and dog herding demonstrations are held throughout the day during the tourist season, but only once a day now. I missed today’s offering by 30 minutes. "It’s just not worth it to do them more often now," the man in charge told me.

I paid a dollar, however, for one paper cup filled with food pellets. A cute juvenile lamb seemed interested at first, but backed away after the adult butted it repeatedly. "You’re a bully," I said, which was the first time I had ever spoken to a sheep. The sheep, of course, didn’t pay anyattention.

The young fellow managed to nose his way in acouple of times, but was not interested in my offering.

A sizeable crafts co-op is on the premises with beautiful gift items including many wool products.

An archway sign at Sheepworld says "Welcome to New Zealand. You are now entering Sheep Country."This would be a good place to snap a souvenir photo.

Sheep World also has a Camperpark. But I didn't stay because I needed to move on.

Something I missed in Warkworth that all the tourist literature says should be seen was the Honey Centre and Honey Café, home to New Zealand’s largest live bee display. Visitors can enjoy free honey tasting and buy honey ice cream.

My little motorhome is splendid. They should sell these in the USA. It’s small — about 20 feet long — but comfortable. A queen size bed is over the cab just like my my Class C motorhome back home. You reach the bed with a ladder. The galley has a two-burner stove and small sink with hot and cold running water. There’s also a microwave oven, which can only be used when you are plugged into electricity.

The refrigerator is small, with a tiny freezer. It is

My buddy

cooled by 12-volt power when the coach is running, and 240-volt power when hooked up. So you cannot really stay anywhere without hookups for very long with your food getting spoiled.

The back third of the motorhome is a big dinette, which can seat six, or sleep two when it’s made into a queen-size bed. I am able to sprawl out on one seat for reading or napping by propping up a couple of pillows at one end. It’s as good as a comfy couch.

The bathroom is tiny, but has what’s needed, a toilet and shower.

The RV is equipped with just about everything you need — sheets and blankets, towels, pots and pans and silverware. The coffee pot is the plunger type. You put a few tablespoons of coffee in the glass pot, add very hot water, wait a few minutes and then push the plunger, sending it from the top to the bottom where it traps the grounds leaving the coffee ready to pour. For coffee, I opted for a brick of "New Guinea Gold" at the supermarket in Auckland, grown in "the high volcanic regions of Papua, New Guinea." It’s okay, but not great.

The fuel consumption of my RV seems incredible. In two days of serious driving, I have only used half a tank. Diesel fuel is much cheaper than gasoline, and it appears to me that with my favorable exchange rate, I will only be paying about $1.15 a gallon. Coupled with the great mileage, my fuel bill promises to be much lower than what it would be in the States for a similar road trip.

As I said earlier, the engine is six-speed and made by Mercedes. It won’t set any speed records, but it gets the job done.

Lunch yesterday was a Mrs. Mac’s Meat Pie at the roadside Skyliner Café, "Home of the legendary Bacon and Eggs."

But Mrs. Mac was nowhere in sight.

Mrs. Mac’s Meat Pies come in many varieties. I choose pepper steak.

But Mrs. Mac’s Meat Pies, it turned out, come sealed in plastic wrap and are imported from Australia. I had skidded to stop in front of the café after spotting a sign that said "Mrs. Mac’s Meat Pies." With my reporter’s notebook and camera in hand, I entered the eatery fully prepared to interview Mrs. Mac. "What makes your meat pies special?" I would ask, and Mrs. Mac would blush and say, "You think they’re special? What a nice thing to say, young man!"

But there was no Mrs. Mac, not here and probably not anywhere. I bet Mrs. Mac is like Betty Crocker — a famous person who isn’t a person at all!

As I always do on my American road trips, I stop at every visitor center and chamber of commerce I come upon to gather tourist literature. On this trip, after only about two full days in the country, I have several pounds’ worth.

When you envision a trip to New Zealand, you might think, "Oh, it’s only the size of Wyoming or Montana" (or whatever), and you think, "I ought to be able to see that easily in three weeks."

But then you arrive, and you start seriously studying road maps, and you read all the literature and you discover the thousands upon thousands of things there are to do, and you say to yourself (after gulping), "I think I’ll need three months, not three weeks!"
Right now, I am feeling overwhelmed. Unlike my travels in the American West, where I can say, "Oh, I’ll come back in a year or two," I know it won’t be as easy to return here, so far away.

When you rent your motorhome from Maui Rentals, if you ask for a cellular phone they will give you one for free. You only pay for calls, which cost about 75 cents minute to the USA. I’m not sure what domestic calls cost, but it would be less, and likely wouldn’t matter a bit if you needed to use the phone for an emergency. I have read that cell phone coverage is available about everywhere in New Zealand. So far, I don’t think my phone has ever been out of range of a strong signal.

I emailed the phone’s number to my wife. The thought of her punching in a few numbers on our home phone in Edmonds, Wash., and then my cell phone ringing half a world away — no matter where I am in the country — is mind boggling.

I took my first shower in the motorhome. It worked pretty great. Just like in my own motorhome, to conserve water, you take a "Navy shower," which means you get yourself wet, then turn off the water while you lather up what needs lathering, and then rinse off. While the water is off, of course, you freeze. This ensures speedy showers.
Before you take your shower, you push a button over the sink, which turns on the pint-sized water heater. Fifteen minutes later, the water is hot — plenty for at least a couple of Navy showers.

It is now 8:45 a.m., and I am going to shut down the computer, put away the tourist literature and hit the road to Whangarei and points beyond. It’s Saturday here, but back home it’s 1:45 p.m., yesterday. Pretty interesting concept, eh?

I’m in the tiny eastern coastal village of Tutukaka and I smell enchiladas. Or is it my imagination. Is it wishful thinking? I think it’s my imagination.

The day was busy. It shot by way too fast. I meet Americans from Seattle and Cape Cod. For lunch, I dined on fish bits (what kind of fish I do not know), and spent two hours in a cyber café sending out a weekly email newsletter to 3,000 folks in the Pacific Northwest.

And now I am in Tutukaka, known primarily for its splendid scuba diving 23 km offshore at the Poor Knights islands. It is also a popular destination for fishermen, who catch marlin, shark and yellowtail tuna.

My campsite is right on the shore of the sheltered harbor. I am hooked up to power and it cost me all of $6.

The sky is cloudy, so I will not see the Southern Cross tonight. Earlier, I sat outside on a picnic table and watched the light of day disappear. I peered into to the heavens, beyond the clouds, and gave thanks to God for my good fortune at being able to be here.

And then I realized that the heavens above are 180s degrees different from those at home, where I have given thanks a million times through the years. So, the big question is, in which direction will my message be received?

This reminds me of a scene in Sacramento, where I lived in the ‘80s. Around the corner from my home was a large church. Outside and in the back, was a giant satellite dish — probably 12 feet across. These were days before compact dishes debuted.

Every time I walked by that church and saw that satellite pointed toward the heavens, I would ask myself, "Now who are they talking with up there?"

After three days of roaming the North Island of New Zealand, I have yet to need to refuel my Mercedes-powered mini motorhome.

NEXT INSTALLMENT: A strange dog, clocks and an oil refinery