As any road trip draws to its close, the draw of home tends to become stronger, and as often happens the numbers thin out accordingly, our initial crew of 6 being reduced to 3 by the last night. In order to meet commitments en-route (all three of us had places to go, Craig to meet his 2 day old granddaughter in Thames, Chris to meet a client in Hamilton, and me to visit our Pukekohe office), and had agreed on a 6 am departure – this decision made after a tasting of single malts at last nights’ restaurant. I was awake and about an hour before departure – keen to get underway, and before long we were – into the darkness of predawn Palmerston North, hopefully as quiet as possible (except for Chris who had his bike idling in the car park while he programmed his sat nav). Speaking of Sat navs, mine appears to have an “off the beaten track” mode, one that saw us at times worryingly deep into the hinterland in the half light, distant from main roads, but which saw us emerge at “Vinegar Hill” not far from Taihape, and a sigh of relief as a consequence. We’d planned on breakfast at Brown Sugar, last visited a week ago while heading south and very impressed, but alas, whilst there were signs of life no one opened the door at my knock, so we were off, Plan B being the much more humble and less salubrious “Akhor Wat” café (for sale if anyone is interested) across the road from the Waiouru Army Museum. An elderly couple (even older than us!) on an elderly Harley arrived as we were suiting up to leave, and in conversation made mention of a traffic cop lying in waiting 20 km up the road – nice to have friends! The further into the trip, the hotter it got, and an excuse to stop, ostensibly to remove layers, (and also an opportunity to shoot behind a bush). By lunch time much of the fun had gone out of the ride, buddies having peeled off, being too hot, sore bum and too much traffic – welcome back to Auckland! So 11 days, about 4000 km, great times, great fun, and laughs a plenty – Living the dream! Palmerston North is not known for much more than a dodgy University run by a bent Chancellor, and a depressed town centre, the scourge of much of mid New Zealand, empty shops and dreams lost.
Having said that, The Arena Motel is a gem, a lovely place well worth a recommendation. They in turn recommended Haru Japanese Restaurant, and we’re so please they did. Voted number two in Palmerston North on Trip Advisor, and we can vouch for that - exceptional food (voted the “best on tour”, and by some margin), great service, great wine, and even great scotch - a few of which added to the overall tally. Having said that, we are mindful of the 6am departure (I wanted to leave earlier but was out voted), so an early night. Don Malcolm +64 21 924 114 We wandered down to the township from our motel yesterday afternoon and it is very apparent that the “rebuild” of Kaikoura is very much a work in progress.
It appears that most (but not all) of the buildings in the retail stretch of the “main drag” suffered earthquake damage, and those that didn’t soon closed as a consequence of the disaster. Those few that either remained open, or have opened subsequently, initially operated on grit and determination, and are now seeing the benefits. Both pub restaurants were full, and quite surprisingly had security guards on duty - go figure. Between us we had a couple of great steaks, and two lovely Blue Cod meals so well pleased, then back to the motel to enjoy the bottle of Pinot Noir that Chris’s significant other (Pam) had arranged to be left in his room on his birthday a few nights hence - what a woman! Our 7:30 departure was timed to allow a brief stop at a local bakery for coffee and a croissant (for Chris), then back on the road, with a ferry to catch. Only one cop this morning, a blue mufti car, again untroubled by 4 law abiding bikers (yeah, right), so up the rest of the Kaikoura Coast, more smells of salt and seaweed, more rugged coastline, and the ever present evidence of extensive remedial earthworks and road repairs in progress. We blasted into the dryness of Marlborough, burnt brown grass as is typical for this time of year, and not too much traffic on the road. Into Picton and down to the ferry - Craig, determined to get his coffee fix sorted left his bike amongst a sea of others, safe in the knowledge that he’d have plenty of time. Alas, not to be, and shortly afterwards his bike was alone, “that guy”.... As always, once bikes were secured it was up to the “secret” lounge to rest and relax, having first succumbed to the coffee, ham and cheese croissants, scones, etc - a delightful refuge, no kids and no dickheads. Off the ferry and up the motorway along with dozens of other bikes, the bro’s heading for Gisborne & Wairoa, others to New Plymouth and beyond, and most of our group to Palmerston North - other than Jeff who’d decided to blast on through. We’ve enjoyed a few post ride drinks in a spot of shade in the car park of the delightful Arena Motel (recommended), and shortly we’ll be heading to Haru Japanese Restaurant, rated seconded in Palmy by Trip Advisor, so we have high expectations. 6am tomorrow, we’ll be homeward bound. Don Malcolm +64 21 924 114 As I write, there is a chainsaw idling away in the room next to mine, one of the lads obviously sound asleep after a long day.
We arrived at our motel in Kaikoura late afternoon, after a fairly long ride (680km or there abouts), leaving Cardrona in the low teens, and seeing it peak at mid 30’s for most of the day. Jeff and Chris kept in the pool, while I took the cool shower option. Last nights “Farewell Dinner” was a great success, lovely meal, good wines, fabulous company, and even a delightful young French waitress - perfect. With the two Mike’s opting to truck their bikes home and join the ladies on Air NZ, we were down to four die hards, and at 8am we were off. The early start was intended to bash out a chunk of the journey before we had to complete with too many tourists on the road, and to that end we were largely successful. I was very surprised as we passed enclaves of dozens of beat up vans parked up in the middle of nowhere, obviously relegated there by towns people frustrated with their frugal and sometimes primitive habits. The Lindis Pass was awesome, both in the riding and the scenery, both perfect on what was proving to be another day out of the box - in contrast to last year when we experienced lots of rain, this year we’ve suffered very little. Gas at Tekapo then through to Fairlie for coffee and a snack (hmmm), and of course, the obligatory pit stop. I made mention a few days ago about being surprised to have seen a wallaby on the side of the road - as well as seeing the same on in a much worse state there were a few others, so obviously a few about. Enroute to Geraldine and the halfway point in our journey, we appeared to surprise a young European tourist with what appeared to be a very nice backside - she had apparently just finished having a pee as we flashed past, chuckling. The traffic cops that we saw again caused little concern, other than one who shot off in the opposite direction as we approached- I looked back hoping that Craig was not going for broke to catch up after our recent stop for gas - false alarm. The long straights across Canterbury were tough going, rather featureless after Central Otago, the aforementioned heat, exacerbated by strong, hot wind, like being blasted by industrial hair driers, but we stopped periodically for drinks and gas and chewed through the kms as quickly as we could. Our passing coincided with the Coast to Coast, and our route conflicted for a short while. We were impressed with the dozens of kayakers (in what looked to be ideal conditions), the river leg finishing and who’d yet to transition to cycles - hopefully they would be able cope with the heat and wind they were about to experience on their bikes. Our final and much needed stop for the day was for an ice cream - a respite from the heat and to help restore concentration before the last push up the coast. As always, it is the smell of the sea that makes the first impression as the wild coast appears, soon followed by the sight of boulders and waves. Whilst the route has been largely restored, there are still roadworks and speed restrictions, and unfortunately too many camper vans unprepared to offer any modicum of courteous behaviour. Kaikoura, our stop for the night eventually appeared, and we were there, pleased to have completed the days ride, knackered. Tomorrow back on the ferry, and into the North Is. The leg from Arrowtown found Mickies Mrs, Kimmie on the back of my bike, and perhaps more than she bargained with the tight turns, sheer drop offs and quick overtaking over the Crown Range to Wanaka. My style is more aggressive than she is used to, but to her credit she played her role to perfect, and did not complain.
Our accomodation in Wanaka was right in the middle of town, obviously an old place, and perhaps one of the early stalwarts of the township, set on a very large site that modern land prices would absolutely preclude, and a lovely setting for us to enjoy an end of day catch up. I became the victim of physics, catapulted backwards and downwards into shrubbery from a bbq table as Craig moved- funny for nearly everyone. Except your humble scribe, particularly as I lay upside down like a cast ewe, nearly able to move. We were collectively pumped after the arrival of WAGs, and what really is recognised as the turning point in our journey. That being the case, several of the lads pushed the boat out a fair way, perhaps forgetting that there would inevitably be a high price to pay by way of hangovers the morning after. Dinner at an Italian restaurant kindly booked by Lisa after a recommendation from a local resident, and one that proved sound - too many expensive bottles of wine and unfinished pizzas later, saw most drift off, although our youngest member needed to be prompted to go to bed. Breakfast on the main drag, bacon and eggs for most (normally a staple for me), but instead toasted muesli and plenty of local stone fruit - magnificent. A 10am departure was still to early for some, but we were soon on our bay, bound for Jacks Point (after a photo opportunity atop the Crown Range, and a slight detour due to poor navigation). First stop was at the “Bra Fence”, a real sight to behold, and another salient reminder that some tourists in rental cars are a real menace. Regardless of where you find yourself, It is easy to see why so many love this region, hot in the summer, cold in the winter, and beautiful all the time. Cromwell for lunch, at least for some of us, with a few determined to punch through tho Clyde - regardless of the choice, everyone seemed happy at post ride drinks, then later at dinner. As I write, replete and slightly intoxicated after a fabulous meal and perhaps too much Pinot Noir, it really is Easy to see why The Cardrona Hotel is one of our favourites. Tomorrow the journey homeward begins in earnest, at least for those hardy enough to take on the challenge, although the two Mikes have opted to join the ladies, with Biketranz doing the honours. Don Malcolm +64 21 924 114 As mentioned, last night we enjoyed a fairly good meal in the in-house restaurant at the Heartland Hotel, and probably stayed slightly too long. Upon reflection, the consensus is that the meal was possibly the cause of insomnia mentioned below.
In re-reading my epistle from yesterday I note that predictive text, and the lack of proper proof reading, have beaten me again. Unfortunately sleep proved elusive, at least between 1am and 6am, and to pass the time watching both men’s and women’s T20 matches against India- something I’d normally go to great lengths to avoid, but being the fair weather sportsman that I am (as long as “my” favoured team is winning, I’ll remain interested), and with few other options in my over tired state, cricket it was. That being the case, I was slightly off the ball for an 8:30 departure, and whilst not late, the others were waiting, front and centre, chomping at the bit when I appeared. Our first leg of the day was 3km to our favourite local bakery, where we decided that pies and coffee (a well proven formula from previous stops in Gore) would suffice for breakfast. We’ve enjoyed pies on three days, and so far we have 3 favourites.... Rather than the direct route to Wanaka, we opted for our traditional option, a circuitous route, doubling the distance, and making for day of far greater impact. More roads in the hinterland untroubled by very much traffic (or traffic cops) allowed us to move at a very good clip, and to take in the wonderful scenery that notes the progression from Southland into Central Otago - in crossing the Matura River, the flat and rolling pasture and hundreds of seemingly content dairy cows of Southland slowly progress into the woolly merinos of Central Otago. I made a point of taking a photo at a memorial in the middle of nowhere - a lasting monument to those who went off to War in 1914-18 and never came back, their name carved in granite the last memory grieving mothers and families had of sons seeking adventure. These sacred sites can be found in every town, regardless of how humble, and like this one, having survived longer than the community from which at the young men were drawn. As you’d expect, extra space was found after WWII (and subsequent wars) for those who proved the prophecy of “The War to End All Wars” was a fallacy. Roxburgh was our next stop, coffee, tea, and real baking, scones, cakes and sausage rolls that grandmother would be proud to call her own, and as we relaxed, we watched friends fromAuckland pass by, Neville and Yvonne on my previous bike, Beyoncé being notable. Following two women on a mission and with a lead foot in a speedy Honda SUV provided quick trip from Roxburgh through to Alexandra - they helpfully proving a sacrificial lamb in the event of any overly zealous policemen, before resuming normal speed through to Cromwell, then to Arrowtown to meet the newly arrived ladies for lunch. Now tired after a long day - I need some sleep - More to follow. Don Malcolm +64 21 924 114 Oamaru proved to be a hit with the team, lovely rooms, and a courtyard to ourselves - for which the other guests would have been pleased, particularly post dinner.
We wandered 10 minutes into town, and lobbed into the first place we found, being Fat Sally’s - pub fare, and other than Mickey who, even after three attempts, has yet to find a decent fish meal. After a couple of nights of steak, the chicken, Camembert and apricot was the preferred option, and not too bad either. The walk back to the motel was quite therapeutic, but caused one or two to work up a thirst. Mickey proved that he is in fact multi-lingual, albeit in Swahili. As prophesied, Jeff was packed and off to Wanaka and Lisa not long after the sun rose this morning - must be love. It is Chris’s birthday (and one of Mike C’s sons) so something else to celebrate. The rest of us headed off at 8:30 as planned, bound for Gore via a circuitous route that took in the Catlains, part of the country well worth a visit, yet known to most. In deference to the fairly severe change in temperature, we all dressed in multiple layers, some soon realising that even more was required. Our day started with a “fruit salad” of traffic cops - why a fruit salad? Well, we saw a red one, a blue one, an orange and bouquet of whites - and a camera van. Fortunately our new found semi adherence to speed limits, combined with hi tech evasion equipment kept us on the right side of the law. Whilst we provided little trade for the constabulary, no doubt many of hundreds other bikers would inevitably have fallen foul of their presence, and I suspect those on “go fast crotch rockets” would probably provide better pickings than mostly old guys on mostly Harley’s ( Craig is yet to see 50, and in his youthfulness, still rides an Indian...). We experienced a bit of everything, more strong winds, some rain, a little hail (apparently), a bit of sunshine, and whilst the temperature varied dramatically, it was downwards from 15C to 11C, before slowly climbing back again. As I write, the sun is streaming into my room, and it is delightfully warm, hopefully drying a few things I washed earlier. Breakfast in Palmerston provided a reintroduction to cheese rolls, that yardstick by which cafes are measured in this part of the country - to besmirch someone’s cheese roll is to make an enemy for life. To date, I have yet to find a bad one, and have come to the conclusion that the amount of butter smeared on the outside is critical. Today as everyday, we’ve enjoyed fabulous scenery, great roads, and plenty to be pleased about. Stopping at the Tapanui Pub was a reminder - a shithole, but it is the “locals local”, there for them 365 days a year, not as a waypoint for rich pricks from Auckland on their Harley’s. In addition was a guy and his wife on a 3 wheel Can Am, a machine I normally revile mercilessly as anything but a motorcycle but in this instance, perfectly suited to a guy confirmed to a wheelchair... humility restored. Once back on the road we found a secondary route to Gore, a road untroubled by traffic or traffic cops, one where previous judicious adherence to speed limits went out the window for a few minutes, providing half an hour of some of the best riding to date... Our lodgings for the night, the Heartland Hotel in Gore, are a an enigma, two absolute contrasting faces of the same coin. Rather fortuitously I was separated from the rest of the team, displaced by a bus load of Chinese tourists. My accomodation is in part of the hotel that may have been designed by an architect of the 1960s, style that anyone old enough to appreciate the Thunderbirds will understand. So, renovated in a retro kitsch manner, blacks, Browns, and oranges, but all new and good quality, and a million miles from what my buddies have to endure. In contrast, the lads are in another wing of the hotel, very much pre renovation, and certainly long overdue for a significant overhaul - to describe as “budget” would be to over salt the description, and in reality, well below a standard any worldly traveller would expect. I have just arrived back in my room after dinner, and whilst the clock shows that it is 21:22, darkness is still some way off. Dinner is a highlight of our day - a time for reflection, appreciation of the events of the day, and that we are as fortunate as we are to be able to do the things we do. Everyday we see and experience things that are simply awesome, but we’re also reminded of our own limitations, and perhaps a little of the humility that this brings. Tonight’s favourites included a quite acceptable seafood chewy and a very nice pork belly, with those who order lamb chops also extremely happy. Time to go, tomorrow Queenstown to meet wives arriving for a couple of days, then back to Wanaka. It is after 10pm on the eve of Waitangi Day, and another opportunity for the rowdy and unworthy to have a crack at those with good intentions.
I am a new phone the poorer, having had my old phone fall foul of a selfie stick that I foolishly bought, but more of that later. We bade our lovely hosts in Geraldine farewell at 8:30, not quite sure what the day would bring, but with a loose plan and plenty of options. Half an hour out a decent sized wallaby, one with a tail like a telegraph pole, laid head first into the verge, obviously quite dead, and no doubt having left a visible impact on whatever clobbered him, proved a reminder of the weird things than can and do happen along the way. Breakfast was always going to be at the Fairlie Bakehouse, quite rightly ranked amongst the best around, and so it was - having said that, everyone approached the opportunity with restraint, and we were all the better for it - the couple of Cro-Nuts were judicially cut up and divided amongst our number, so no harm done. We’d probably have drawn more attention as having cleaned the tourist shop out of possum socks Mike and Chris). Today was the first day we saw traffic cops about in any number, and see them we did - some busy writing tickets to errant tourists, others hidden amongst the scenery trying to catch speeding Jaffa’s. Fortunately a combination of judicious adherence to the speed limit (or close to it), good luck, and serious investment in technology managed to save us the embarrassment of any road side conversations. After a disappointing half hour at the Salmon Farm near Twizel amazed at the many and varied countries of origin of the plethora of tourists, we doubled back and headed for the Hermitage at Mt Cook, a ride of 55km each way that provided new challenges for the trip - the wind was monstrous, enough to bounce 500kg of hefty Harley and rider into dire straits at inappropriate moments. A bit of liquid sunshine as we approached the Hermitage, mist and rain, added to the mix, but we’re Harley guys, not made of brown sugar, and a wee bit of discomfort never hurt anyone. With a very strong tail wind, the trip back to the main road was quite a bit quicker, and again we were thankful for electronic wizardry to keep us out of trouble. The road through to Oamaru was fairly uneventful, other than another disappointed traffic cop, and to our motel for the night, 450 km to the good for the day. As we enjoyed post ride drinks, I set about to repair the selfie stick, that whilst providing reasonable service up until now, had been broken. My efforts were obviously less than ideal, and as a consequence, my phone fell to the ground and the screen shattered. Off to the Spark shop, arriving at 5:06pm, and whilst the manager initially stated (quite bravely I thought, having a big burley biker blocking his doorway) that it was after closing time and there was nothing he could do. I suggested that prior to making any decision that may prove disappointing to us both, he enter my details into his system, and from there we were both on the same page. I left 20 minutes later with a new phone and instructions on how to transfer the data. While I struggled (successfully) to complete the transfer, the team enjoyed drinks in the courtyard and told stories, perhaps the highlight of the day (my selfie stick and smashed phone having provided the encore). Tomorrow Jeff heads off to join his better half, abandoning buddies in breach of all protocol and who has been tormented mercilessly as a consequence . We’ll plan or day depending on the state of a crew who’d obviously pushed the boat out this evening Don Malcolm +64 21 924 114 On arrival in Kumara yesterday we checked in to the Theatre Royal Hotel,(and as mentioned previously, and as last year, the bookings were confusing and inefficient), but we were there and we were happy after a fabulous day on the road, and a beer or two on the deck was a perfect way to celebrate.
A pissed and feral woman braying loudly, (apparently a local), and her two old timer companions, initially provided a bit of a floor show, followed by a tattooed Chinese woman trying to take a photo of a dog in a Ute with the crowd in total agreement that the upset dog would look very good attached to aforementioned tormentor, and tempted to open the door to see first hand - alas, not to happen. We enjoyed a very good meal at the Theatre Royal in Kumara, with the rump steak appearing to be favoured, accompanied by a couple of shared entrees worth mentioning, firstly camembert wontons in a marmalade sauce, the second, fish bites. Jeff’s Caesar salad and Craig’s prawn and Parmesan salad both rated well, with Mickies fish and chips perhaps a work in progress. Those who ordered dessert were not disappointed. Chris had us in fits as he moved his chair out from the table only to find that he’d run out of deck, falling a few inches, performing 95% of an outstanding recovery, then finishing with a spectacular tumble that was of Olympic class, to the applause of those other diners close by - his efforts bely both age and stature. As dinner drew to a close, the infamous West Coast mosquitoes (in droves, and some big enough to put a saddle on) finally forced us indoors for a couple of “roaders” , admiring a magnificent sunset before heading to bed. It was another cool morning, albeit with the promise of another gorgeous as the sun rose over the mountain tops, so it was a day for layers, to be shed as and when necessary- a day the eventually found us well into the 30’s. A light breakfast at the hotel, with mostly humourless foreign tourists seemingly unimpressed to have bikers as dining companions, but the those are the breaks, and then we were off. The ride through Arthur’s Pass on dry roads was both a novelty and very pleasant, not too much traffic, and more spectacular scenery. We stopped at the old coach stop, once the place where horses where changed and weary passengers refreshed, now an extraordinary eclectic pub complete with a terrific assortment of old and unusual memorabilia from 150 years ago. Unfortunately, despite our concerted efforts, we couldn’t manage to order morning tea, so moved on without spending a cent. Coffee and brunch at Springfield, our favourite cafe now on the outer after disappointing one or two of the guys - plenty of choices and competition within 100m so they’d best get their act together sooner rather than later. By now there was some real heat in the sun, so our next stop was to be the Blue Pub in Methven, another icon that has lived long and large on its past reputation, and is now ordinary at best. A drink and time to check and clear messages was all the venue warranted, so back into the sun to saddle up. The last leg of the day was the short run to Geraldine, long straights on very hot roads, the heat exacerbated by strong dry winds, and in deference to the heat, one or two jackets packed away in saddlebags, so perhaps a bit of a suntan. Our motel in Geraldine is a gem, even the offer of a wee pool (unfortunately too busy with kids and young mums for us) and the use owners car to collect cold provisions from the local pub. We took the opportunity to invoke a laundry day, so a combination of beer and sunshine was the perfect way to get the job done, despite Craig’s mangling instructions that saw us unload a washing machine in the owners home rather than the guests laundry. I’m now back in the air conditioned splendour of my room, with time for a well earned siesta before dinner. Don Malcolm +64 21 924 114 I’m sitting on a leather chesterfield chair in the Seddon suite of the old Bank Managers cottage, part of the Theatre Royal Hotel in Kumara on the West Coast. Unfortunately, for the second year running they have confused our reservation, but thankfully everything worked out and we each have a room.
Today has been one out of the box, weather perfect, scenery and riding at least as good as anything, anywhere - absolutely beyond world class. We decided to take the Queen Charlotte Sound route and were pleased with the decision, lots of technical riding early on, tight turns, and ever the opportunity to come into close quarters with tourists yet to get used to driving on our side of the road. At one point I also took an opportunity to take a closer look at the shrubbery than is normally recommended, but fortunately, one without any consequences. As always, the views over the Sounds were magnificent, and a reminder of just how beautiful New Zealand really is. Breakfast at a delightful cafe in Havelock, then back towards the incredibly dry wine growing regions around Blenheim and Renwick - it is apparent that other the grapes and very dry red brown grass, the only other “crops” are rocks and dust, the grubby sheep hard pressed to find much to eat and struggling to find enough shade as the temperature into the 30’s. Having said that, there is a stark beauty to this harsh landscape. As we approached St Arnaud, the landscape gradually exchanged the flats and gentle grape regions, the long straight roads for hills of the hinterland. We stopped at Murchison for lunch, Craig took us to a pub, then wandered off because he couldn’t see any beer for sale(hmmm), instead settling for a “tearoom” across the road. A busy wee town where few people stop longer than the time taken for lunch or gas. We spoke to a fellow biker who proved to be the exception - his stay of several hours was the result of a severe reaction to a bee sting that saw him require urgent medical attention. A short hop from Murchison threw us a hazard none of us had experienced previously, being a wagon drawn by draft horses, appearing without much notice on a windy stretch- having said that, perhaps a fresh pile of horse poo should have given a hint. Clobbering a Clydesdale is not something you’d want to do on a motorcycle. Having resisted the temptation to exceed the speed limit by much up until now, we were very happy to follow a Mercedes suv who was in a real hurry, clocking up quite a few quick kms through to Reefton, where we planned to stop for gas and to wash away the road dust. Another fairly quick run on very nice backroads between Reefton and the Blackball Hotel, an iconic pub familiar to hard core bikers who frequent the South Is. We’re now enjoying pre-dinner drinks on the deck outside the pub, and dinner is not far away, so time to go. |
Don MalcolmA perfect day involves being on my Harley with a long ride ahead.
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