Greg Frittelli celebrates his birthday each year with a bunch of fellow motorcycle enthusiasts (tired old bikers), usually somewhere obscure, with the mix of too much alcohol, bad food and outrageous lies to mark the occasion. This years trip around Northland was to be no different, 12 old souls, 1 BMW, 1Victory, 1 manificent new Moto Guzzi, 2 Kawasakis and 7 Harleys. The anticipation started to build months ago as Greg sent out prized invitations (and it is by invitation only), calling for ideas, and as the days counted down. Coffee at Mike C's, made by ever patient and long suffering Jacquie while admiring Mad Mikes magnificent Aston Martin, resplendent in carpeted garage, being foresaken and left behind in favour of his Harley. The team assembled and off we went, ready to fang it, old boys blowing out the cobwebs. Anton and his Moto Guzzi drew the attention of a mufti cop and was very pleased to only be booked for 124kms... The group arrived at our first coffee stop in dribs and drabs, mainly because they'd stopped to pick up the pieces of Mike C's phone.... Dargaville for gas and to struggle into wet weather gear - ominious black rain clouds threatening, but as usual, the effort of putting gear on usually rendered it useful for only a short time, but enough to ensure the road through the Kauri forest was wet and greasy. A late lunch of fish and chips at Opononi, then on to the ferry at Rawene for the final blast to Ahipara at the foot of 90 Mile Beach, and our stop for the night. It had been a full on day, good mates back on the road and riding hard and fast, now ready to celebrate Gregs birthday and our safe arrival in the big and rustic common room of the Ahipara Motor Camp There was a menu for the local takeaway on the noticeboard - all good, now to find a way to get it delivered. No problem, Canadian vet and backpacker Caroline was pressed in to service - if we bought her dinner, she'd go. It was just as well as the heavens had opened and we were far too many vodka's into enjoying ourselves to be riding bikes again. Caroline was good to her word, there and back in her Jucy rental Suzuki Swift, before joining us for dinner and too many drinks. She was traveling around for a few days before starting a job as a Bovine vet in Geraldine. One by one our numbers thinned out, (noteably Mike C, normally hard core and die hard party boy gone by 9), occasionaly being boosted by other campers wanting to join in. One, an obnoxious and bolshie cyclist was unpleasant but soon got the message, with our regular hard core remaining in conversation with the young owner of the camp until way too late... The morning arrived too soon, with Mike bashing on the door to our cabin, fat too early. Comments are closed.
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Don MalcolmA perfect day involves being on my Harley with a long ride ahead.
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