And then we were five.
You can always be sure that breakfast in St Bathan’s will be the “real deal” – Jude was up and about very early preparing bacon, sausages, baked beans, eggs and toast – no city boy, politically correct, namby pamby muesli out in Central Otago, as far from anywhere as you can get. Full cream milk in your tea and coffee too! Rather than riding to Christchurch and flying home with us, Jeff had decided to ride home. He needed to get all the way to Picton before SH1 closed at Kaikoura late afternoon, a blast of about 900km, so left early and missed out on breakfast – (his bike probably benefited by 10kph as a consequence). This ride (in one hit) is almost a “rite of passage” for any hard Arse Harley guy, something some have done, and others have not, and if you haven’t it is definitely a box to tick. We were loaded up and ready to go on time, and off we went, hoping to be at Ace Rentals by 3pm, Ace being the drop of point from whence our bikes would be collected for trucking home. Bearing in mind that we were all a bit jaded after a week on the road (and Mel had been on the go for two weeks – what a star!), and we had over 8 hours to play with, the pace was quick rather than fast, consistent, whilst still kilometre devouring. In fact our pace was such that those traffic cops we saw showed little interest in us, trickling along at just over the limit, almost boring (most of the time!). The straights lead us into the mountains, and we stopped at the lookout on the Lindis Pass, more to regale in Mike C’s previous misfortune than anything else. Several years ago a few of us, all on brand new bikes, stopped at the same spot, and parked on a slight slope at right angles to the road. We were all enjoying a pee over the fence when Mike C’s bike decided to wander backwards of its own volition, gathering speed and wobbles as it went, Mike in pursuit, old fella still in his hand. Fortunately Mike did not catch up before it toppled and fell, his new bike becoming second hand, sorry and broken, very quickly – to get between it and the ground would have been to court significant injury so, whilst ignominious, the relief was actually quite funny, at least to those other than Mike. We patched up the bike with sticky tape and cable ties, and whilst Mike’s pride took a knock, he quickly regained is indomitable spirit. So, the memory of the Lindis Pass will remain with our group, engrained as part of our folklore and the tapestry that binds us together. Gas in Tekapo, then a push through to Fairlie, quite possibly the best pies anywhere (and I do mean anywhere). Those who really wanted to push the boat out tackled a “Cronut” as well, a custard filled delight, somewhere between a donut and a croissant – unfortunately, your humble scribe had already reached the conclusion that the diet needed to start the day before, and showed remarkable (and uncharacteristic) restraint as a consequence. From here the “navigational wheels fell off” with a badly need pit stop in Methven leading to a couple of injudicious wrong turns which added about 40-50km to the 580km we’d counted on – that being said, we still arrived at Ace just after 3pm, and from there it was a race as to who could struggle out of boots and riding gear, and into more comfortable “flying home” attire. Into the lounge, and relief! Homeward bound, already planning the next one, remembering our mantra for the week: “Hurihia to aroaro ki te ra tukuna to atarangi kia taka ki muri i a koe” “turn your face to the sun and the shadows will fall behind you”. As I write I’m sitting in the sun in the back yard of what was on the Constables Cottage in St Bathans. Because I am the organiser, I get the pick of the rooms, which does have its perks. 8am saw us up and away, with a short journey to a local cafe for breakfast - muesli and a local delicacy, a cheese roll, not really found anywhere else, and we’ve come to the conclusion that it is the amount of butter smeared on the outside that really differentiates a good roll (you can’t get a bad one), and an exceptional one. From there, another short hop to E Hayes Hardware, Home of Burt Munro’s Worlds Fastest Indian, and emporium of all things hardware related - quite possibly the most comprehensive selection of just about everything that you’d find anywhere. Richardson’s Truck Museum was the reason we’d come back to Invercargill, and was an absolute must - talk about a world class collection. I’d read Bill Richardson’s book “Wheels and Deals” in the mid 90’s and after writing to him and subsequently receiving a reply, enjoyed his occasional mentorship until he died not to long afterwards. Truely a remarkable man, and a great role model. We frequent travellers to Southland know from experience where to find the best bakeries about, and our regular stop in Gore was not a disappointment, other than s slight shortage in selection due to their inability to keep up (nearly run out by mid day despite going nuts in the kitchen). Craig decided to not to follow us (dreaming of his darling Sarah perhaps), so we had a short delay rounding everyone up, then into the guys of Southland, rolling hills, huge herds of content dairy cows, and the odd cop, some on the road, others hidden away in the shadows, but none troubling us, cruise control set at a very acceptable pace, quickly eating up the kilometres, Roxburgh, coffee in Alexandra, then destination for this last night on tour, St Bathans. We have made our annual Pilgrimage here for a number of years, and consider it a highlight, including the trip in and out, the quick country roads proving a tonic, hopefully too far off the beaten track to warrant any passing traffic cops. On arrival we caught up with hosts for the night, Mike and Jude Cavanaugh, (Irish heritage being a bonus on St Patrick’s Day), before setting in for a rest, a shower then dinner, and inevitably a celebration of sorts, mindful that we have 550kms to cover tomorrow. Craig and Chris are sharing the cottage with me - Chris’s eyes lit up at the kindling beside the fire, and quickly got a raging blaze underway - a true pyromaniac! Bill Richardson's Truck Museum deserves a post of it's own - a truck aficionado could happily disappear for days, as could any petrol head or fan of vintage cars - the collection just goes on and on.
Whilst celebrating successfully completing 7 hours in the rain, and reliving the last final fling into Cardrona, we agreed that because the next leg was a short one, just over 250km to Bluff then back to Invercargill, a bit of a deferred start was in order. Those who stayed up a bit later than others appreciated the opportunity, but there were still one or two slightly seedy souls at the breakfast table. Whilst I had little reason to feel righteous, I did commend myself for forgoing that last round. These old pubs appear to offer a continental breakfast (so no bacon and eggs), but no one was complaining- a bit of roughage can’t hurt occasionally. Our weather forecasts were many and varied, but the consensus was that the later we departed, the better off we’d be - what rain we did come across was intermittent and short lived, but it was cold - quite cold in fact. The Pub was in the throes of setting up for a wedding later today, and I’m quite confident that the departure of 8 noisy Harley guys was a relief to everyone, especially those cleaning our rooms, and the wedding party, early arrived and keen to get underway. In deference to a traffic cop spotted passing the hotel shortly before we departed, but more realistically because of the long line of slow moving rental cars, our progress over the Crown Range was very subdued, although we did manage the obligatory stops at tourist spots. Progressing down the final stretch of hairpins, I felt Beyoncés rear end getting a bit loose, and upon later inspection found my near new Avon to be just about shot. Mel to the rescue - He was riding shotgun in Mickeys Mazda (and Nev enjoying a spell on Mel’s hot-rod Harley), so I asked him to get on the phone and try to locate a replacement tyre for me in Invercargill. Because my bike is a fairly unique model, it has an unusual tyre size shared by few others, I rated our chances as very low, but Mel did a marvellous job, found that the single tyre of appropriate size in the lower South Island happened to be in Invercargill, and arrangements were duly made. The tyre guy was surprised that last week’s service did not note that my Avon was well and truly shagged, and see a replacement fitted, so something to follow up next week. According to him, there is obviously an issue with the tyre wearing out so quickly. Having said that, responsibility is mine alone, and no amount of finger pointing will change that. While Mel was doing his thing, we ticked off a few quick kms around the back of Lake Whakatipu, enjoying roads that were not too busy, and whilst quite cool, there was no sign of rain until we were within 60 km of Invercargill. After dropping Beyoncé off at Terry’s Motorcycles, we progressed on to the obligatory visit to Bluff (with me in the back of Mickey’s Mazda, quietly enjoying the comfort and respite from the cold wind. Looking forward to Bluff oysters, we stopped for lunch at the Anchorage Hotel - unfortunately inclement weather has kept the oyster boats in port for the past week, so everyone had to resort to their respective Plan B, with Nev’s chowder looking especially good. We’re now settled into the Ashlar Motel, enjoying a few minutes of relaxation before heading to a local pub for dinner, and as we wait the temperature is dropping very quickly. Tomorrow, St Patrick’s Day, with St Bathan's our destination, and the final night of our tour. And then we were six. Neville arrived at breakfast slightly downcast, the reason soon becoming apparent. Somehow the Drive belt on his beloved Heritage Classic had picked up a stone and broken whilst being wheeled out of overnight storage, an issue that requires a trip on a transporter and repair at a dealership. There was an up side though - we quickly realised having Mickey and his Mazda meant everyone could be mobile and Nev could circulate, riding each bike in turn. Mind you, he was the lucky one yesterday- warm and dry while the rest of us got soaked, with 7 hours of relentless rain, pretty much up until the last hour. Fortunately this final hour made up for the previous 7, the rain having stopped, the roads having dried, and the road having improved. We picked up the pace a little and enjoyed that magic mix we all look for, but we were relieved to see the “bra fence” , an indicator that the Cardrona pub is s only one more kilometre up the road. As well as the rain, we had everything tourist drivers could throw at us, from Toyota Corollas struggling along at little beyond walking pace, Europeans in camper vans in convoy (start at extremely dangerous and get progressively worse), Asians in Camper vans that add another level of leathality to the equation, another obviously foreign couple in a Commodore station wagon stopped in the middle of the road, attempting a U turn as we went passed - just a typical day in the South Island really. So, 6 sore bums, plus Nev and Mickey were pleased to check in, and to find our way back to the bar once we’d got body and soul back in shape. Chris was in his element - we now know him to be a pyromaniac of the greatest order, unrelenting in his efforts to load up the fire. Whilst a very cool night, sitting outside around the fire was very pleasant, at least until we were called into dinner, and what a dinner it was - lamb rack was the preferred choice, and rated 10/10 by most, particularly when accompanied by the Cardrona Pinot Noir (and in some quantity). A cheese board and port to finish, then back to Chesterfield sofas adjacent to the bar (and yet another open fire for Chris to tend), a spell solving the worlds problems before finally retiring, worn out, sated, and beyond ready for bed. it. Our stop for the night at Kumara is only a couple of km from the start of the famous Coast to Coast, and is old mining town full of history and hardship, and home of an early and larger than life (ex) Prime Minister, “King Dick” Seddon.. Days end appeared out of the worsening sleet, a welcome respite after what should have been a relatively short day of just over 300km. We’d stopped at Springfield for lunch and a cold drink(where the cafe is for sale just in case anyone is looking for a change of pace). We’d encountered many stretches of road works, most of which were controlled by “stop - go” people, most of whom were interested and quite keen to chat. It seems that this is now a very established and acceptable occupation, one ideally suited to those in rural communities not interested in anything overly academic. If nothing else, each stop (some a minute or two, others 10-15) presented an opportunity to stretch the legs and enjoy the view. The northern Canterbury towns we passed through, Amberley, Rangiora and Oxford are quite delightful, almost a step back in time. Arthur’s Pass was our next box to tick, again something to look forward to, and another opportunity to put into practice Mel’s advice. Those of us with Radar Detectors had been getting excellent value for money with several close calls being avoided, but all good things come to an end, and our tour leader fell prey to a blue highway patrol car, but with an outcome that was surprisingly acceptable. Fortunately others in the bunch took the hint and kept going, otherwise a few more demerit points and revenue dollars could have been added to the total - as above, the cop was surprisingly generous, lowering what could have been an embarrassing total into a bracket that we both considered better reflected circumstances. What a marvellous place Kumara has proven to be, the renovated old hotel offering rooms with character and history, Mike C delighted to be allocated the room once belonging to a famous local lady of questionable morality, she like he apparently being very boisterous and enthusiastic. Kumara also seems to be a Mecca for cyclists of the pedal variety, with several groups arriving, soaked and self righteous, and whilst outwardly interested I suspect they look down their noses at Harley people. Whilst unable to join us for the first few days of our journey, Mickey arrived from Christchurch in a rental car not too longer after we did, determined to make up for lost time, keen to be a recipient of the hard arse trip badge we intend getting made to celebrate- we’ll possibly vote on this, not sure thay his assurance that he has been with us in spirit qualifies him. A few drinks in the bar, then into dinner, duck wontons proving to be a very popular entree, most again opting for steak, although a couple of outliers showing a for duck confit or pizza, with the pavlova and sticky date being highly rated by those who could tackle dessert (your humble scribe showed remarkable restraint). Another fabulous meal. The West Coast has a reputation for rain and the forecast assures us that this will be the case, some light, some heavy, between here and Cardrona, 470km southwards - we’ll dress appropriately and take it easy. We’ll also be extra vigilant and careful when leaving town this morning - last nights rain showed that a truck had left a trail of diesel along the road.... to edit. Click here to edAfter a couple of hectic days that had started fairly early, most of us enjoyed a morning that did not require a pre dawn departure, instead wandering to breakfast with the sun at our backs. As a matter of interest I checked the Statistics Dept website and note only 1.3% of the local population are listed as other than European (86.6%) or Māori, (13.5%), so quite a contrast to Auckland. After a leisurely breakfast it was time to go, and according to the several weather forecasts being consulted, our ride to Hanmer Springs would be warm and dry. The devastation of recent flooding was apparent, particularly as the road followed the Motueka River - the upside being that I guess the money spent on repairs and infrastructure also generates jobs within the community, but I am sure the locals would prefer the previous status quo. A few spots of rain soon proved the forecasts wrong and we were soon parked up under some trees struggling into wet weather gear, our progress slowing considerably in deference to the shiny asphalt patches, that whilst quite benign in the dry become ice rinks when wet. Fortunately the rain was not particularly heavy and only lasted half an hour, and we optimists all packed our gear away when we stopped at Murchison for lunch - little did we know that the weather gods were having a chuckle at our expense. A retired English couple engaged us in conversation over lunch, thoroughly enjoying our fair land, remarking on how safe they’ve felt whilst here, in contrast to their homeland. By their telling, England no longer belongs to the people who were born there, and I guess you’d be hard pressed to put a counter argument to that. I suggested to the guys with smaller petrol tanks that they might like to fuel up, as there was no gas between here and Hanmer - some did, some didn’t, and it was a relieved Jeff who coasted into Hanmer, with less than half a litre left between him and a long walk. Back on the road, and more spectacular riding, some tight and technical, some fast and sweeping, but all excellent fun for 7 blokes on bikes. With years of super bike racing experience, Mel is our most expert rider, and over drinks each night he has been offering advice to those smart enough to seek it, and each day his pupils eagerly put this into practice, immediately feeling the benefits, with faster safer riding the result. So, the certainty of imminent rain brought about another roadside struggle into wet weather gear, and another spell of cautious riding as we crossed the Lewis Pass, but, soon we were back into sunshine for the final run into Hanmer Springs. Our residence for the evening was very close to the township, handy to pubs and restaurants. Tomorrow, Kumara, birth place of King Dick Seddon (look him up if you need to) it. . As mentioned previously, the Lounge on the Interislander has proven its worth many times previously, the one bug bear being other travellers, invariably from overseas, keen to regal their exploits in great detail to anyone unfortunate enough to be within earshot. Tolerance is a marvellous thing - well, so I’m told, and as I write this I am trying to work our where the very noisy fridge is plugged in so I don’t have to put up with it humming all night. Picton duly arrived and after gassing up, we got underway, choosing the more scenic and windy Queen Charlotte route over the main highway. Jeff took the front and was in “The Zone” - one of those times when the stars align and everything just clicks. It was a gorgeous sunny afternoon, too hot in fact, but no one was complaining- not until we hit 3pm traffic between Nelson and Richmond, the equal of Auckland rush hour, although thankfully on a much smaller scale. The roads were chocka with rental cars by the dozen, mostly Toyota Corollas, and mostly badly driven, so caution and prudence are paramount. Likewise the many campervans are a hinderance, with few showing much courtesy to other road users, and whilst sometimes erratic, a small issue in the scheme of things. We stopped for a late lunch in Havelock, and in deference to the heat and the fact we still had a couple more hours on the road, forgoing the Musselboys famous offering for some thing a little lighter. The main highway into Nelson, and then to Motueka is incongruous in that it has been, or still is subject to the most spectacular roadworks, that which once completed being off the charts, with the still to be completed unbelievable- someone in the region must have some pull, and you don’t have to be a genius to figure out the the Auckland taxpayer is contributing in a very significant way. A trendy pub serving craft beer in a garden bar was our welcome to Motueka, a great first impression , and one that lingered, although after a couple of well deserved drinks we completed our days journey with 3km to the unusually named Equestrian Motel. Hosts Alan and Lisa were beyond welcoming, to the extent of delivering us all a beer to enjoy while we settled in. Not the flashiest Motel, but super clean and tidy, the most generous and genuine owners, and a dead cert for our next visit. A wander into the pretty and apparently prosperous township (the Main Street complete with freshly watered hanging baskets), before settling into the Sprig and Fern pub, adjacent to and recommended by Alan from our Motel. We enjoyed quite a few Pinots and 7 medium rare steaks (unlike the rest of us, Chris opted out of an egg on his), happy in the knowledge that tomorrow’s plan allowed for a late departure, a welcome respite for those who prefer to sleep in. Tomorrow, Hanmer Springs > Google Maps told us that we had 680km to cover from Whitianga to Martinborough - somehow this turned into 720, but other than a few sore bums, no one was complaining. > We ticked off Te Arora, breakfast in Matakana, lunch at a road side cafe fruit shop on the outskirts of Napier, passing through small towns and hamlets in our relentless determination to cover the distance before dark. > What a treat - because Nev was a local (we gave him the responsibility and the mantle whether he wanted it or not), he led this part of the ride, revelling in the tight and windy stuff, particularly as our destination drew near. > The Margrain Villas provided a tranquil setting - just what we needed after nearly 10 hours on the road, and after getting cleaned up, we 7 happy hard arses enjoyed a few bottles of their finest Pinot on the deck as the sun began to settle. > What a magnificent spot to unwind, and incredibly peaceful after a day, long, hard, fast and rowdy. > Unfortunately no amount of money or persuasion could motivate either of the local shuttle operators to take us the 3km into town for dinner, so back on the bikes and into the pub, Neville choosing to risk his life as my pillion. > Platters, beer, burgers and steaks were just the ticket, and a fairly early night in deference to our 6:30am departure - the Interislander waits for no one! Although Morning rolled around all too soon, everyone was ready to go 15 minutes early - even the earliest of risers would have been surprised to hear one of our number (Mike C) manoeuvring his Harley into the light so he could load up (and no, this was not a quiet process). > Our thoughtful hosts had left a continental breakfast in each of our rooms, so a slice of toast and bowl of muesli was much appreciated. > Into the dark, firstly on country roads, then into the challenges of the Rimatakas, steep and windy going up, and even more so coming down, the predawn slowly giving way to a fine Wellington day. Slightly over cooking the occasional corner was a reminder that the tolerance for error was not great, but another opportunity to hone skills. > Although We’d anticipated Monday morning traffic would be a bugger, the benefit of our early start soon evaporated, and we finally arrived at the ferry right on time - another 10 minutes and we’d have been embarrassed. > As seasoned ferry travellers we know the benefits of paying a little extra for the Premium Lounge, so after lashing the bikes down, we settled in and enjoyed a second and well earned breakfast as the South Island drew ever nearer. Harley Australia appear to have lost interest in their loyal followers in New Zealand, preferring to favour their fans closer to home, so no Harley sponsored Iron Run this year.
Having said that a resourceful enthusiast grasped the nettle and, despite being warned not to use the “Harley” or “Hog” branding, ran a very effective affair. Our small group left on Friday in brilliant sunshine, opting for the storm damaged route up the Coromandel peninsula, looking forward to the twisty stuff between Coromandel town and Matarangi. Unfortunately Fulton Hogan had been industrious, spreading a fine layer of stones over the road, with special attention to those corners we’d been looking forward to, slowing progress somewhat, but fun nonetheless. We stopped for the obligatory beer and pizza at Luke’s kitchen before a final fling into Whitianga. |
Don MalcolmA perfect day involves being on my Harley with a long ride ahead.
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