The 300 Series TrailLite motorhome.
Forget cramped campervans and soggy tents, a high-spec motorhome gives you a hotel experience on wheels, writes Sarah Pollok.
“You know, thinking about it, this is the most expensive vehicle I’ve ever driven”, my husband muses as we zoom up State Highway 1 on Friday afternoon.
Despite skippering yachts and test driving race cars, I don’t doubt he’s right; starting at $306,000, this TrailLite 300 Series wins by a long shot.
It’s no surprise the New Zealand-made vehicle costs the same amount as a house in South Taranaki’s Patea.
Allow me to share a non-exhaustive list of features that make the TrailLite superior to my house: double-glazed windows with three shade types (mosquito, blackout, Roman blinds), two televisions with Sky and a soundbar, and bedside tables with built-in wireless charging. Lights with dimmers and a “mood lighting” setting, keyless entry and a Fusion Bluetooth stereo system. There is a smart fridge that seems more intelligent than most animals, a three-gas burner, an oven and grill, a built-in 4m canvas shade and soft-close kitchen drawers. Thanks to the wheels, you’ve also got an ever-changing view of Aotearoa’s most incredible views.
Despite the risk of sounding like a brochure, I list these things because you must understand that I went camping in a converted Nissan Serena over summer, and it was camping. The boot lid was our sunshade, the “coffee table” was a slab of wood on a metal pipe and everything was always slightly grimy, including myself. This is not that, not when the shower water pressure is better than mine back home. No, this is glamping in an ever-moving hotel room.
Unsurprisingly, it takes 45 minutes for Doug to give us a breathless version of the four-hour handover customers typically get when they collect their motorhome. While you can drive certain styles on a class 1 licence, there’s still much more to it than just twisting the key and driving.
A checklist sheet reminds us of everything to check when we depart, yet we fail to remember the cardinal rule of travel: never get too hungry, too tired and never, ever make important decisions when in both those states.
Alas, we find ourselves approaching Whangārei at 9pm after spontaneously deciding to pass the planned campsite and freedom camp around the Heads. Exhausted and starving, we park up at the spot marked on a campervan app and hop into the plush queen bed, only to realise the actual freedom camping spot is 150m over and already full. Cut past 20 minutes of bouncing along dark coastline roads in furious silence, and we’re settled in another spot between the coast road and the water.
Sleep is a touch fitful (no fault of the motorhome’s comfy bedding or internal heating), yet any stress is erased the next morning when I sleepily pull up the blind to reveal a peachy gold sunrise pouring out across Tamaterau Bay beside us.
Snuggling back into bed, we drink in the private million-dollar view, which we share only with the birds and boats sitting on the glassy water. Dipping out of bed only to procure coffee and breakfast, we laze about until 10am – something that feels impossible when in Auckland.
Packing up, we drive just five minutes before spotting a delightful, petite coffee caravan parked one bay over. Sage green on the outside and light pink within, we’re welcomed to Pa Boots Coffee with a big, warm grin from Harriet Daniells.
With nowhere to hurry to, we chat about the caravan (often parked on Whangārei Heads Rd) she runs with her husband, “Pa” (Bernard), and how it’s helped them cultivate friendships with locals. Two flat whites later, we mosey to a bench despite the chilly wind as a barefoot tradie strolls to the caravan for a kōrero with a side of coffee; an unhurried interaction that feels so deeply Whangārei.
Then, because my husband is, well, my husband, we head to Northland Golf club for a round of four holes (all I can manage) amongst the gangs of regulars who probably attended a Saturday session as religiously as a Sunday service. Nonetheless, I must admit it’s positively leisurely, strolling amongst the lush grounds without a single telephone pole or skyscraper in sight.
Lunch involves a supermarket trip and sandwiches assembled at a scenic picnic stop en route to Waipū Cove. Heeding the advice of TrailLite staff, I’ve downloaded the CamperMate and Rankers apps, which are indeed like miniature Bibles, with reviews, ratings and information on various camping spots around the country. Within five minutes, we’ve reviewed spots and booked Camp Waipū Cove for just $40.
Rolling on to spot 15, a minute’s walk from the beach, we have grand plans of returning to Waipū Pizza Barn, but are swiftly hit with the exhaustion one only feels once your body has truly relaxed. Sleepy and content, we amble along the beach, watching pods of surfers bob along on ideal beginner waves and search for the perfect “shell rings” in the sand. The last slivers of sun are spent reading books in camping chairs, turning lunch into a lazy dinner and spending an hour playing Bananagrams before flopping into bed for a movie.
We wake up to another juicy orange sunrise, and within seconds I’m on the near-empty beach, enjoying the quiet morning. A short walk from Cove Cafe, we stroll along the beach and find a group of people milling about outside, waiting for the leisurely 9am open time.
Grabbing a patio table, I’m pleased to discover Cove has the quintessential “coastal cafe” vibe, with flawless coffee, beach views, good music quietly playing and a cheerful young band of what must be Brits on their “gap yah” staffing the counter. With a 10am checkout, we’re soon back to the campsite to gather our things and hit the road, this time for a 200m trip back to the carpark beside Cove Cafe because at 18 degrees and cloudless, it’s criminal to do anything but park up at the beach. While most beach trips involve a big bag of belongings, we take nothing but our camping chairs and books and laze like lizards for four hours, taking turns to nip back to the “house” for an ice-cold drink or mini cheese board, enjoying the convenience of what feels like a beachfront bach.
Pink and sleepy from the sun, we eventually gather our things and hit the road to Waipū Pizza Barn for a long, lazy lunch.
Sun pours through the large windows and on to the long wooden tables full of locals and travellers. While the $31 kahawai salad and $37 lamb kofta pizza weren’t cheap, my goodness, they were delicious, made with super fresh, local ingredients packed with flavour.
“This feels like the most relaxed we’ve both been for the last, I don’t know, year,” my husband says as we dig in. I raise an eyebrow, thinking of the recent long weekends we’d spent in the Coromandel, yet his opinion had merit. We’d played silly card games and had meandering chats with strangers. Combed beaches searching for perfect shells and lazed in bed (in the afternoon!) simply because there was nothing to do other than enjoy where we were. We’d even golfed, a positively glacial activity I don’t have the patience for when operating at city pace.
While I’d assumed a motorhome trip would be all about zipping from place to place and covering as much ground as possible, it encouraged the opposite; slowing all the way down to enjoy the simplest of pleasures that were there all along.
For more information, visit traillite.co.nz.
The writer trialled a TrailLite courtesy of the company.
Skip the cold and enjoy the sunshine across the ditch.