There are few things quite as magical as watching swallows in flight, more than a match for the most elusive midge or sandfly. Alas, these two were more interested in a ride on Templar - probably resting between forays in the early dawn. The cranking on big Cummins diesels caused no fright, neither did the movement of the boat - at least until we were about to leave the Marina. I spent a couple of hours anchored away from the crowds, reading and pottering before heading home to mow the lawns. A busy week just passed with Wednesday spent in New Plymouth - very pretty town in the sunshine (but not so nice mid-winter in howling westeries). My rental Corolla racked up less than 50kms during the course of the day, but i felt quite out of place with the 560 American cars entered for the annual "Americana" festival - very impressive but a series of mobile traffic jams for those rushing around trying to cram too many appointments into a day. I called in to see good friends Paul & Lynne - they deal with Pauls severly debilitating and ever worsening illness every day, stoically and in the knowledge that worse is to come before final release. Very humbling and a reminder that everyday is a gift. Paul lives vicariously through my Harley adventures, having always been far to sensible and responsible to risk riding motorcycles. Onwards - Mad Mike C has Don Mcglashin followed by the Feelers performing at his property in rural Pareremoremo late this afternoon -should be a blast. Most people who live in Auckland know about the beauty of our West Coast beaches - most have been to Piha or Murawhai, but few have been to Bethells. Paihia Pete made the trek down from Mangawhai to lead the ride, inexplicably encountering heavy traffic around Warkworth - crazy. The car park at Auckland Harley on a sunny day must be one of the hottest places in town - a great place to leave, preferably with a bunch of Harley buddies heading out on the road. As usual, the motorway was jammed up, but we weaved our 16 bikes through the slow moving traffic soon reaching the open road where we could start to enjoy the scenery and the ride. Bethells certainly is a beautiful spot, worthy of more than a brief stop for a cold drink from the cafe (semi permanent caravan) tucked into the dunes, a walk along the creek to the beach and obligitory photos. Back on the bikes and a short hop across to the Riverhead Pub to finish the ride with a cooling ale. Thanks Pete! Mayoral candidate Phil Goff has announced his plan to pay for what started as Len's Train set . Typical of politicians everywhere he has the expectation that those who will never use the service (and in this case, the users of Auckland's motorways), should pay for it... I'm not sure that the vast majority of long suffering ratepayers and motorists, most of whom don't live within miles of this white elephant will like that idea cartoon courtesy of the ever talented Tom Scott. Sabrina is still in at Auckland Harley, ignominiously waiting for gearbox parts from Australia - quite the dilemma for someone needing a regular Harley fix. Having missed out on Saturday's ride, and knowing that I'd also miss the big Sunday (another circumnavigation around the Coromandel with Hog visitors from the US), I was suffering withdrawls. What to do? I decided to crank up the mighty Templar well before dawn, and kid myself that I could catch a fish. Other than nav lights, I crept down river in darkness, looking out for nocturnal fishermen on kayaks, choosing to take the long route around Browns Island in deference to the lack of water off Musick Point. in the darkness there is always the worry that a speeding jet ski will come into my cockpit at speed - that would certainly spoil the day. As the sun rose a massive super yacht glided past Motuhie, looking to take up station in time for breakfast - I took the attached (poor quality) photo on my way home, having again proven that I should stop buying bait. Later in the afternoon I heard one of the locals go past, a frequent visitor to the boat ramp not far from my home, and one who is ever pleased to tell everyone just how much fun he is having on the back of his Dad's wee truck.
The feral Cantabrian now infamous for throwing her least favourite sex toy at Stephen Joyce is facing disciplinary action by her employer, and in my view, quite rightly.
I remain eternally grateful that her mug shot has been plastered across the media - it will be interesting to hear if her notoriety impacts on her present job, and any job prospects she may hope for in the years to come. As an employer, I'd be extremely reluctant to have in our employ anyone who shows such poor judgement, and so little respect - in my experience, people with those traits expect courtesies from others that they are unable to extend themselves. After a night of fairly serious rain, the early risers enjoyed a pleasant morning - having said that, as is usual with these weekends, going to bed time and getting up time can be fairly close, with a couple of recycling bins of empties to show for it.
Jeff had been master chef for the previous night's BBQ, and again took up the tongs for breakfast, with leftover sausages, steak and potatoes (reappearing fried in butter), eggs and the usual bits and pieces. Neville and I we allocated washing up duties while our respective better halves practised being ladies of leisure - they seem to have that down pat. The team then splintered, some heading of to the Lead Foot (via a café for heart starter), others to art galleries, while I enjoyed the peace and quiet of a walk, then an empty campsite, a book to read and a wee nap in the sun - marvellous. I caught up with the petrol heads a bit later in the day (after my tranquillity had come to an end with the return of the arty party...) and enjoyed a few hours of motor racing action - I'm not normally into this sort of thing, but the action was full on, the organisers having done a sterling job. What a cross section of motor racing history - state of the art race, rally and drift cars piloted by the young thrusters of today, contrasting and competing with many much older cars and drivers. Scott Dixon manfully pushed his 1906 racer (100 years old) faster than it had any right to go through the tight corners - apparently he needed a special insurance policy (Scott, not the priceless car) before his US team would allow him to participate. A great day in the blazing sun (after a wet first day), enjoyed by the many thousands who had turned up for the experience, (and to race). Back on the Harleys, keen for a cold shower and even colder beer (perhaps a few), before communal Fish & Chips from the Frying Scotchman in Cooks Beach. again, the sensible retired at a reasonable hour, the rest drifting off slowly, leaving a hard core to solve the problems of the world, Moth (he who stays up all night), Neville (MacGyver, who with his leatherman can fix most things), Joe 90, ex Army, ride leader extraordinaire, (knowing more secret back roads that the rest of us combined), and of course, me - who should know better. Jeff was again on breakfast duty, with remarkably few casualties apparent from the night before. Our 9.30 departure time soon rolled around and we were off, the roar of bikes bringing every little boy (and their Dad's) to watch us go - unfortunately one of us (me) got 500m along the road before realising something had been left behind. We headed the "wrong way" around the peninsula, and in so doing, missed the worst of the traffic, and enjoyed what is widely recognised as one to the best motorcycle roads anywhere. Barb and Jane (in the car) had set up camp at Bugger Café, our prearranged stop for lunch, before the final leg home. A slight technical issue (a shaft in my gearbox appears to have stripped), so I was stuck in 4th gear for the last 100kms - something for the good people at Auckland Harley to sort ot tomorrow. Another great weekend, the camaraderie of good bastards and Harley people very hard to beat. The forecast said it would rain and it did, sometimes a little, sometimes a lot. We all gathered at BP South exchanging stories of home much rain we'd come through, the people from the Shore coming through a mega downpour crossing the bridge. After coffees and Maccas, 9 bikes and 3 cars left, Flaxmill Bay bound. As usual Joe 90 had a circuitous route planned, over roads that most of us never knew existed, and untroubled by policemen busy on the main roads. Some unfortunate soul had managed to block the Karangahake Gorge so plans for coffee at Waihi Beach were cast aside as we turned around and headed back to Paeroa, then towards the Coromandel, again enjoying the back country roads as the rain settled in. The hills from Kopu to Tairua were shrouded in mist, bring visibility in places down to metres, but we were well prepared, dressed for the occasion and in the right head space to deal with whatever came our way. One or two of the crew had the odd moment on slippy spots, but not enough to cause too much angst. Tairua for lunch and gas then the final leg to destination, a quick nap then a few cleansing ales. A bbq dinner accompanied by too many bottles of Pinot, great company and the perfect end to another day on the road The weather forecast for the weekend is a bit dodgy, particularly if your plans include heading off on a Harley with a bunch of like minded hard core motorcyclists.
Our plans take us to Hahei, or more precisely, Flaxmill Bay 1 km in a straight line but 40km by road from Whitianga. The annual Leadfoot Festival, a mecca for motor racing enthusiast's beckons, and a wee bit of rain won't change that. As shitty as the weather may be, I'd be very (very) surprised if we had any cancellations - Harley people are not made of Brown Sugar and will go regardless - perhaps a little slower than we'd like, but there will still be a party at days end. After being mucked about by the rabble in Northland, John Key has quite rightly pulled the pin, effectively rendering the rowdy and disrespectful element of Ngapuhi irrelevant.
Than he would have even consider being put through the wringer by those few who are an embarrassment to Ngapuhi and the nation is a testament to the man. |
Don MalcolmA perfect day involves being on my Harley with a long ride ahead.
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