Being a long weekend, no organised ride was advertised, but Head Road Captain (and all round nice guy) Crads mentioned he'd be at the Dealership on Saturday. Such ishis pulling power, 35 bikes turned up to join him for a mystery ride. He'd planned a blast deep into the hinterland of Franklin and the darklands between Tuakau and almost Raglan. Traffic was not too bad, but the heat was considerable, neither Harleys nor riders coping with a lack of cool air (which means travelling at speed) - Crads took this on board and did his bit..... Off the motorway at Drury, then to Pokeno via the Old Gt South Road (and the first indication that Crads had a plan involving speed). The rich Bombay soil, the smell of spring onions, and the ever present green and yellow tractors, monsters that occasionaly appeared from no where reminded us where we were. Across the iconic Tuakau bridge (having already lost Butch, tail end charlie and chaperone to one of the clubs slower riders) headed for Waingaro to regroup. The roads showed signs of too much sun in places, especially corners, with large patches of slippery wet tar providing anyone who took them for granted a bit of a thrill, similar to ice. Great country roads, fast and uncluttered, except an extremely ugly wee dog who had taken himself for a walk, with any traffic graciously allowing us passage, quite a sight. The historic Rangiriri Pub was our destination, iconic and welcoming, cold beers and big bowls of chips in great demand. Many of us get caught up in the stuff of life that in the scheme of things often doesn't actually add much value - cars, houses, materialistic things, things that are quite important to many of us (and very important to me).
. Bob was a guy who saw right past all this and lived a life focusing on the things that were really important to him. His dear wife and soul mate of 35 years, Colleen, mother of the two children (now both parents), and more recently, grand children. He was justifiably proud of his business earning a reputation as a craftsman car painter, never one to compromise, but even more proud of his prowess as a snapper fisherman, a family man, and an all round "good Kiwi bloke". Always fit, lean and healthy, enormously pleased to fed the family from his own garden, his sudden illness came as an enormous shock to everyone - if there was a profile, he certainly didn't fit within it - 16 days later, he was gone Perhaps the endearing memories many of the. huge number of people who turned out to pay their respects were of a man who always (always) took the time to speak to people, (often at length), who took a genuine interest in what they were doing and what was happening, a man who we can look to as a role model - certainly a reminder to me that how we are seen and judged by others who matter is based on our character and personality, not our material possessions. It must be a great time to be selling jetskis - particularly now a new breed of fisherman has taken to this solitary escape, no room for mum or restless kids. Early arrivals at the boat ramp found they were not early enough, the pre dawn queue indicating a frustrating wait, eating into bite time. A groundsman was in full flight at 5:30am on the greens at the Howick Golf Course at Musick Point, getting in early, watched by bunnies disrespectful of course etiquette, and those early risers hoping to be first off the tee still an hour away. I can feel a day on the boat is in order - time to rowse my crew. We all knew the Hog Ride was going to be a scorcher, but even the most optimistic were well off the mark. Some spurned prudence for comfort, T shirts anf half helmets, others, more saftey conscious stuck with layers of leather - I was somewhere in between. 35 bikes, plus a very unusual side car combination followed Butch out of the Dealership, headed to the Riverhead Tavern via the NW motorway. As usual, traffic was terrible to start with, although we didmake good progress, all bar the sidecar, who was a bit wide to follow us between lines of cars. A quick regroup at Z Westgate, then Helensville bound, enjoying a reasonably quick trip with not too many obstacles in our path. Windy country roads took us back to The ever popular Riverhead (my second trip in less than a week), for a desperate and well earned beer (two actually). This is what we live for! A combination of too much Pinot, a fabulous pizza at La Padella, and a run of magnificent weather saw us put together a last minute impromtu crew for an early morning fishing trip. Dave, and newcomers Jason and Phil arrived just in time for 6:30 departure, and we joined the long line of boats, big and small, all heading out with fishing in mind. A couple of false starts - lots of small fish but all just shy of the elusive 30cm. Not to worry, corn fritters as an entre, with a big breakfast to follow as the sun really started to blaze. Just as it was time to come home the fish starter to bite - quite the quandry! Both Puss and I were woken 5 minutes earlier than normal ("normal" being 4.30am) by a fire alarm sounding in the Compass Building at HMB Marina. We watched the activity from the corporate box (the deck at home), the security guard slightly confused after a very quiet night unsure what to do when pressed into action. It was apparent that he could not locate keys to open the building, and was busy trying to rouse people higher up the food chain for instructions. The arrival of the fire brigade 10 minutes later was reassuring - they quietly went about their business, although still unable to access the building, but a lack of flames and smoke indicated a false alarm so no need to break down the doors - eventually things sorted themselves out, and peace returned to the neighbourhood. Not being much into extended drama, Puss had finished his breakfast and gone back to bed, and I'd sorted out my morning podcast, out the door by 4.50, heading for Musick Point via Eastern Beach, My car was booked in for it's second service, having racked up just 10,000kms in 2 years (I know it is due for a service when the window washer needs refilling). I was thankful that Auckland traffic is still in the shoulder of holiday mode, only needing 40 minutes to get to Grafton from Half Moon Bay - I don't envy the poor buggers who have to commute during "normal" high traffic periods where an hour plus is nothing special. I've been to Singapore quite a few times over the years and love the pragmatic way they deal with congestion - they allow "X" number of cars on the road, and you pay for the privilege - if you can't afford the enormous cost, you use public transport.... obviously not something that would appeal to the feel good brigade, but it works for them. Work and rostering schedules meant that son Wade, mate Mickey and yours truly had a few hours to spare in the middle of the day we could dedicate to our Harleys - we headed northwards, intending to end up at the Riverhead Tavern for lunch. Just before the Silverdale turn off we could see traffic stopped on the motorway - a Bull Mastiff dog (quite obviously a "boy' dog..) the size of a calf, with a head like a nail box and probably 50plus kilos had taken himself for a walk, seemingly not phased by the traffic and the fuss he was causing - a concerned couple had persuaded him to remove himself to the grassy berm and the world returned to normal, He appeared to be in good humour, but probably ready to go home. So, apart from a moment of drama, our ride was comfortably uneventful, not too much traffic out in the countryside, a very warm and overcast day, and a cold drink and a meat and cheese platter to welcome us at the Riverhead. Excerpt From "No Minister blog " http://nominister.blogspot.co.nz/ I asked my friend's little daughter what she wanted to be when she grows up. She said she wanted to be Prime Minister some day. Both her parents, Labour supporters, were standing there, so I asked her, "If you were Prime Minister what would be the first thing you would do?" She replied, "I'd give food and houses to all those poor people on benefits." Her parents beamed, and said, "Welcome to the Labour Party!" "What a wonderful idea!" I told her, and continued, "But you don't have to wait until you're Prime Minister to do that. You can come over to my place, mow the lawn, pull some weeds, sweep my deck and I'll pay you $20 an hour. Then I'll take you over to that homeless chap who hangs out in front of the local shop begging. You can give him the money to buy food." She thought that over for a few seconds, then she looked me straight in the eye and asked, "Why doesn't the homeless man come over and do the work himself and you can just pay him the $20 an hour?" I smiled and said, "Welcome to the National Party." That was over two years ago and the silence is deafening. This post may only be of interest to my Harley friends.
Most people who know me are quite aware of my lack of any mechanical ability and aptitude (in contrast to my dear old dad, a mechanical genius). Whereas the vagaries' of technology and mechanics are logical and simple to some, it is like algebra to me. My last couple of Street Glides have the "Boom Box" navigation, communication and entertainment system which in fairness which initially even confused staff at the Harley dealership. I was fortunate to stumble across a site on the internet that even I could follow. Ryan Urlacher, the Red Neck Biker at www.lawabidingbiker.com changed by world. Since being involved, I've followed Ryan's tutorials and completed tasks that previously I'd never have even considered, most recently, changing my headlight (which necessitated removing the fairing). likewise, I saw Ryan's unbiased review of helmets, and have subsequently updated mine (and Linda's) with the best on the market, the Schuberth C3 Pro (bought from Cycletreads in Auckland - 'kevin@cycletreads.co.nz' Harley people should check out the site, watch some of the tutorial videos, then sign up to become a Patron. It occurred to me as I wandered around the still dark streets this morning under a brilliant clear sky, hundreds of stars visible in contrast to the wild and woolly night that preceded it, that history has a way of repeating itself. Like many Kiwis, I have forsaken any mainstream religion and judge a person's "goodness" by their actions, rather than outwards displays of piety - to me, a "good Christian" is a person who acts with love and consideration towards their fellow "man", rather than through a "label" or attendance at church, and who may not be a Christian at all. I'd read earlier in the week that tens of thousands of Europeans (mainly French, Germans, Scandinavians), are looking to flee from their homeland, mainly because they fear for the future of their children. They'd love to come to safer countries (and where safer than New Zealand?), away from the issues and dangers foisted upon them by liberal politicians. Unfortunately for them, their quest to flee to a "new" country is proving to be considerably more difficult that those militants who just rock up to their border and expect to be homed, fed and cared for. Back to history repeating itself - the commentator made reference to the plight of the Jews under the Nazi regime, and wondered why the Politicians in Europe hadn't been mindful or respectful of the Jews resident in their respective countries before welcoming hundreds of thousands of fighting aged men who have openly declared their hatred and determination to exterminate all Jews. Intriguing, and again, no wonder as to why so many Jews are planning their escape to Israel. The idealistic dream of "refugees" fitting in and living in harmony with the people of their respective host nation has already proven to be naïve (Pollyannaish in the extreme), and one wonders what the long term effects will be - I would be reluctant to see my future grand children brought up in an environment of hate and constant threat by those determined to make their mark through terror and destruction. Unfortunately this Genie cannot (or will not) be put back in its bottle. As an aside, I note that Kuwait Airways have fallen foul of US law by refusing to carry Jews on their daily New York - London flights. Rather than change this policy, Kuwait Airways has withdrawn the service - remarkable. So, as I wander and ponder in the predawn, I remain ever thankful that we have yet to experience first hand the effects of this hatred and lack of tolerance shown by the ungrateful towards the infidel. s Our pre Christmas ride around the Coromandel Peninsula had fallen victim of inclement weather and postponed - at short notice it was resurrected for this week, and invitations sent out to other good bastards who may wish to join us. The ever keen Mickey was bitterly disappointed to miss out - an appointment with the dentist, and a new chopper being screwed in. Jeff, Wade (my younger son on first overnight road trip, and first big ride on his new Harley), and I met at The Roadhaus Café, BP South to refuel both machine and rider before heading to Thames, first stop The Warehouse. We'd arranged to meet a contingent of regular riding buddies (and the requisite Good Bastards") from Pauanui keen to join us for the day, Mike C and Greg on their Harleys, Richard on his Honda "Nearly Harley". I was very pleased to have swapped by normal leather jacket for a much lighter (but still armoured) summer jacket I've used in the Nevada desert - phew, it was hot! Off we went, enjoying the very windy and not too congested coastal road, ever mindful that the next corner could come with a truck or errant camper van over the white line, reducing options (if there was the luxury of an option) to either head on, or of the edge onto rocks... The slower traffic was quickly passed, usually after obligingly pulling over, the single exception being a feral local, a lank haired and bitter woman who gave the impression of being resentful of Jafas on their Harleys, and did everything short of running us off the road to impede us - bad karma to her . We stopped just before Te Kouma to take in the view and obligatory photos, and to chat to agroup of Swiss motorcyclists here for a couple of weeks, decked out in new gear, resplendent on hired BMW GS adventure bikes. Back on the bikes for the short run down into Coromandel town for coffee and cool drinks, intrigued by the Toyota Landcruiser parked across the road, loaded with hives (obviously laden with bees), while the 3 bee keepers wandered off, all dressed up in their bee keeping gear (no head gear). They eventually returned and drove away, followed by a cloud of bees - the Land Cruiser did a u turn at the end of town, and so did the bees before heading off to places unknown - we were intrigued as to if the "chasers" would keep up, or if they'd become victims of the move. We'd been talking up the legendary pizzas at Luke's Kitchen 20kms of magnificent windy road across the guts of the peninsula at Kuaotunu - cold beer, pizzas, magnificent beach - very difficult to leave. Lukes is a hidden gem (and long may it remain so - wouldn't want too many jafa's cluttering up the place). The contingent from Pauanui left us at Whitianga, Motel 6 on Albert being our over night stop - very humble digs, but clean and fit for purpose. a quick and refreshing shower, shorts, T shirt and jandals, then off to find a pub for dinner - beer, burgers and pinot noir being perfect fare after a day on the road. A light drizzle meant wet weather gear was order of the day, drizzle turning into much heavier rain as we progressed towards Tairua. The tight corners we'd previously enjoyed at pace were instead taken with a great degree of caution and prudence, the shiny tar patches like ice after a few days of brilliant sunshine. As the rain stopped, so did we, at Bugger Café in Pipiroa, for breakfast - our last stop before heading home, our brief sojourn safely complete. A photo sent to his Mum caused a stir - son Wade had flogged her new Schuberth helmet... |
Don MalcolmA perfect day involves being on my Harley with a long ride ahead.
|