In his second story from the Electric Highway, Don sets out for the first part of his journey – and gets a small taste of how different it feels to explore by EV.

I’ve owned and loved a few cars in my time: a Vauxhall Victor from the 1970s, an ‘89 Holden Commodore, a Corolla with performance-enhancing racing stripes. Even my current daily driver, a late-90s station wagon unsuitable for much more than a cross-town trip to Pak’nSave, isn’t without its charms.

But pulling onto the northwestern motorway in the BMW iX, I might as well have been driving a spaceship. Fully electric, with an incredibly long flatscreen telly in place of a dashboard, Swarovski crystal detailing around the cabin and everything from massage seats to a selfie camera operable via the touchscreen controls, to say that this was luxury like I’d never experienced would be understating it – I genuinely didn’t know that cars could do that stuff.

But how would it work in practice? I had a lot of distance to cover – there’s almost 1,500km of road between BMW’s offices in Auckland and the shores of Lake Wānaka – it was almost Christmas Eve and, now that I was paying attention, it seemed as though every second car on the road was electric. Would charging infrastructure be available? Would I find myself stranded outside – God forbid – Bulls, begging farmers for access to their powerpoints? Where were the chargers, and how long would it take?

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This story from the Electric Highway is brought to you by BMW i, pioneering the new era of electric vehicles. Keep an eye out for new chapters in Don’s journey each week, and to learn more about the style, power and sustainability of the all-electric BMW i model range, visit bmw.co.nz.

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The first leg, driving along the big wide expressway that these days connects Tāmaki with the Waikato, I felt a sort of ambient terror – kind of like the feeling of standing just a little too close to an expensive vase. My own clumsiness aside, I really needn’t have worried; between the extremely smooth ride and features like adaptive cruise and lane control, assisted by the iX’s numerous exterior cameras and ultrasonic sensors, driving the motorway in one of these big, quiet cars can feel near autonomous. 

In Hamilton I charged at Wel Networks’ office near The Base, total cost: free. I’d given the iX a successful test run, but, as I’d soon find out, it wasn’t until I reached the real open road that it truly started to shine. This will be old hat to owners of electric vehicles, but as someone who has never owned a car produced in the 21st century it came as something of a shock. The speed-limiter function seemed superfluous at first, but overtaking several truck-and-trailers on the Desert Road, it became entirely necessary. Without the engine lag of an internal combustion engine, torque goes straight to the wheels – 0-100km/h in six seconds, and presumably 0-150 in barely more than that.

By Waiouru, it was time to charge again. The iX’s voice-activated navigation system is loaded with the locations of chargers around New Zealand but for anyone trying to find the chargers themselves, they’re by the giant military tanks. I’ve driven past the National Army Museum several times a year, always considered having a look but never gone inside. I’m glad I did. 

The museum chronicles New Zealand’s military history from the Musket Wars to WWII and beyond. It’s home to famous relics like Charles Upham’s two Victoria’s Cross medals, and more obscure items like the Mitchell Gun, a weird, quite ugly and utilitarian submachine gun prototype built in a grandad’s shed. After a few very cool pictures in the dress-up room, the car was charged and it was time to head south, refreshed and strangely inspired. Against all good advice I have generally driven as far as possible, stopping only for fuel, but the necessity of charging forced a break and the location of the chargers encouraged me to slow down and take in attractions like a tourist, seeing the country with (relatively) fresh eyes.

Not every charging session went quite so smoothly. In Rakaia, far to the south of Waiouru, I encountered the apparently increasing phenomenon of Bad Charging Etiquette. When an EV is charging the user can monitor the session via an app, meaning it’s not necessary to stay with the vehicle. When the session ends there is a push notification detailing the time and expense of the charge. And so as I perused the jukebox in the South Rakaia Hotel (the scratchie-dispenser was out of order), I was surprised to see my session had ended. But how? The battery wasn’t charged and nor had I pressed stop. I left the hotel and headed across the park and there she was in the distance: a charger thief, trying to juice a few percentage points for the drive home. There are accounts online of this behaviour leading to death threats but the fracas was settled with a firmly worded suggestion I leave a note with the car next time. I never did, but I appreciate the thought.

But in the absolute majority of cases, I’ve learned that the New Zealand EV community is surprisingly passionate and considerate. Seldom before have I been approached at the petrol station to talk about mileage, charging capacity and “road noise”, but at the charger in Tekapo I had the first of many, many such conversations: “How does she drive?” “What sort of range are you getting?” “What are you, a dirty rat man, doing in a luxury vehicle?”. Before long I had answers to all of those questions, namely: “extremely well, 400km (in my iX xDrive40 at least – the xDrive 50 model can reach up to 630km on a fully charge), and because I got into crypto at the right time”.

For the most part, the charging infrastructure in New Zealand is incredible. But between Franz Josef and Wānaka, for the moment there is a barren wasteland. For several hundred kilometres the roads are empty, hugging the shores of Lake Hawea up over the Haast Pass and along the wild West Coast. Fortunately, unlike an internal combustion engine, an EV can extend its range through regenerative braking, harnessing the kinetic energy created through the braking process to charge the battery. Over the almost 300km I recuperated another 35km of range, around 10% of the real-world range I experienced in the iX. 

And so I arrived at dusk, as the mist and rain settled over the deserted township. Even with lockdowns lifted, the tourists were gone, the hostels empty and the roads quiet. The West Coast has always had a haunted feel at night, with the ghosts of primary industry and colonialism, but in the time of Covid even the mountains seemed brooding. But the locals still remain, and so I decided to hear their stories.