Rising fuel prices, carless days, and Kiwi ingenuity - Glenn Dwight

Carless days required vehicles to remain in their garages for one day a week. Photo / Michael Craig

With fuel prices rising like a Lotto jackpot on a long weekend, it’s fair to ask: How on Earth are we meant to keep the wheels turning?

Well, maybe we need to look back.

Not just to the good ol’ days when your corner dairy had a 20-cent mixture that weighed more than your schoolbag, but all the way back to the late 1970s.

Back then, things got so tight that the Government started dishing out stickers to tell you what day not to drive.

That’s right - carless days.

Where peak bureaucratic genius met peak Kiwi bloody-mindedness, and somehow … it kind of worked.

For those lucky enough to be born after the glory days of Spot On, carless days were New Zealand’s bold attempt to wrestle with the global oil crisis.

Fuel was scarce, and money was tighter than your mate Stan when it’s his round at the pub.

So, the rule was simple: every vehicle had to sit still one day a week.

You picked your day, stuck a sticker on the windscreen, and hoped no one dobbed you in.

Woe betide anyone caught joyriding on their no-go day without what the authorities called a “very good excuse”.

Imagine ending up in the clink for Reckless Wednesday Wandering in a ’74 Kingswood.

One minute you’re popping to the dairy, next thing you’re in a cell carving chess pieces out of rocks and laundering money for the prison warden. (I’ve seen Shawshank Redemption, I know how prison works.)

It was chaos.

Glorious, innovative, and unmistakably Kiwi chaos.

People turned into tactical masterminds overnight, plotting sticker days like wartime operations.

Sarah ruled out Wednesdays because it was bowls day, and she’d rather miss her own funeral than miss her triples match.

Dave couldn’t do Mondays because that’s when the TAB opened early, and someone had to put a tenner on No 3 in the third at Te Rapa before the odds shifted.

Choosing your carless day became a mix of strategy, local politics and good old-fashioned stubbornness.

Some clever types even hid a second car behind the shed like an automotive mistress, just in case an “emergency” trip to the shop became necessary.

Carless days didn’t last long - like Georgie Pie, Think Big projects or the hope that Gloss was going to make us the Hollywood of the South Pacific.

But they left their mark.

A slice of New Zealand history that’s as quirky as it is strangely inspiring.

And maybe there’s a lesson in there for us now.

Back then, we didn’t just shrug our shoulders and cope. We got creative.

The same ingenuity that gave us No 8 wire, the pav and the electric fence kicked in fast.

So maybe it’s time to get creative again.

If we can brew beer in an old chest freezer in the garage, maybe it’s time we looked into motoring moonshine - some sort of backyard distillery-fuel hybrid powered by homebrew and optimism.

Sure, it might void the warranty, but it’ll get you to the dairy and back.

Or maybe it’s time to take inspiration from KZ7, our fibreglass underdog that almost stole the America’s Cup, and bolt a mast to the tray of the ute.

Wind power to the rescue.

Picture a fleet of Hiluxes and Rangers tacking their way through rural New Zealand, trays creaking, kids acting as ballast, and the odd driver yelling “Tacking now!” as they swing wide past the school bus.

And if wind power’s not your thing, maybe it’s time for a collaboration between two icons of low-frills mobility: the Trekka and Hanna-Barbera.

For those unfamiliar, the Trekka was New Zealand’s one and only homegrown car, a boxy brute built in the late 1960s with all the finesse of a filing cabinet on wheels.

These days, most have floorpans so rusted out you can see daylight - and that’s not a problem, that’s potential.

Rip out what’s left, embrace the chaos, and go full Flintstones.

Feet through the floor, legs pumping, jandals flying: low-emission transport powered by Weet-Bix and pure Kiwi grit.

Maybe we slightly reimagine the electric car or ute.

The problem’s not the tech. It’s that old nemesis: range anxiety.

And that’s where we take a cue from the humble tram.

Or more specifically, the bit that connects it to the power source: the trolley pole.

In our case, it’s a repurposed fishing rod strapped to the window frame, ready to hook onto a roadside electric fence.

Instant power.

Just ease alongside a paddock, cast wide and feel the sizzle of sweet, sweet current.

Sure, it might fry the stereo and give the dog a fright, but who needs charging stations when you’ve got No 8 wire thinking and 8000 volts of pure rural ingenuity?

We might not control oil prices any more than we can control the weather, but we can control how we respond.

Times like these separate the innovators from the whingers.

And if there’s one thing Kiwis excel at, it’s turning adversity into opportunity.