Exiting a Mini can be a complicated, undignified affair.
Rather than alighting gracefully, you pour out like a human puddle.
I discover this en route to Lake Waikaremoana, at a Wairoa service station, while filling up Tweety, a 1976 Leyland Mini.
There’s something romantic and rather exciting about a road trip, piloting the car you learned to drive in.
But 20 years after whizzing around an abandoned aerodrome in the UK, crunching gears and destroying clutches, the reality is proving somewhat different.