At dinner on Saturday night, particularly as the night wore on, the die-hard rugby supporters in our midst made plans to rise early and watch the 5am replay, with Jeff’s apartment the chosen spot. I wasn’t drinking too much, and did wonder whether the plans of those more inebriated than me may prove overly optimistic, particularly as 5am got closer and the party continued.
Craig even stocked up on breakfast supplies for the occasion, supplies, like the good intentions of the not so hardy, proved overly optimistic, and a bonus for the cleaners. That being said, most of us were up before dawn, some watching all or part of the historic win against the deserving Springboks, others just early risers opting for a walk around Russell looking for an early opening breakfast spot, but alas, that other a few hopeful fishermen loitering on the wharf waiting for their charter, and those staff cranking up The Duke, there was little activity about town. Not to worry – we followed the example of a large contingent of cast and crew of a reality tv show, and lined up for the breakfast buffet at The Duke which did the trick, particularly those who were quietly trying to reconcile the way they felt and last night’s exuberance as the night wore on, when feeling bullet proof I was reminded at what a small world we live in when I recognised the receptionist at the hotel as Christine, a dear friend from long ago (Linda’s best friend from school) – delightful. Fed, boisterous and ready to roll, we departed half an hour early, ready to tackle the challenge of the Old Russell Road, extremely windy and technical, complete with sun strike, errant cyclists, the possibility of wandering stock and a treacherous median strip of super slippery green moss on those damp corners that rarely see the sun – exciting stuff. In deference to the magnificent scenery and so as not to put too much pressure on those towards the back of the pack, today was a “touring stage”. The 75kms to the main road is probably as challenging as anything the average rider would encounter anywhere, and most of our crew were pleased to see the end of it, particularly those whose concentration may have been still slightly impaired after a hard night, those whose tyres were due for replacement, or whose technical skills were a little rusty. A stop for coffee at the Helena Bay Gallery, handshakes and farewell man hugs, then the final leg straight down SH1, with riders peeling off at their appropriate exit. Rusty Nuts 2018 was voted a hit – some of the best riding ever, great accommodation, great food, great mates…. Rather than start today’s missive at the beginning, I will begin towards the end.
On arrival at The Duke of Marlborough in Russell I was pleasantly surprised to be allocated the Honeymoon Suite, large and overlooking the bay - I now envy those with quieter rooms towards the rear - a fairly average troubadour whose enthusiasm exceeds his ability is performing for a wedding party, and I wish he were gone. Somehow Jeff lucked into an apartment next door, complete with spa bath and all the mod cons. Another reason to start at this juncture is to celebrate the day - another sublime day on the road, but one that a tourist nearly caused a catastrophe by crossing the centre line (by a car width), and coming within a whisker of skittling your humble scribe and a couple of others who, in deference to those who worry about such things, shall remain anonymous. A reminder at how quickly things can change. Anyway, other than soiled undies and raised heart rates, I took a breath, a moments respite, then decided to enjoy what our erstwhile assassin had nearly taken from us and go for it. So, back to the beginning. The crashing of waves from the ocean below our Motel was a reminder that we were on the rugged west coast, and awesome to wake up to. Ahipara is one of those beautiful spots quite prevalent in Northland, where poverty stricken locals take life for granted and millionaires build holiday mansions close to the waters edge. We were on the road early for the short hop to Kaitaia for breakfast - cheap and cheerful in this poor town where WINZ is almost certainly the biggest employer, and funder of most things. Back on the road, Cape Reigna bound, 120 kms of fairly fast travel, and mostly good roads, although the numerous roadworks, whilst fairly inoffensive, were evidence of Shane Jones billion dollar slush fund. The Cape excelled on this brilliant sunny day and most of us made the pilgrimage to the lighthouse, mindful that the path which meanders downwards seems much steeper on the way back, especially in boots and long pants. Off to Mongonui, Craig as usual keen to find and punish a beer or two, and the historic Harbourside pub proved the perfect spot- by all accounts from those who partook, a wicked chowder and great selection of fish straight off the boats, any variety, deep fried. From there a short hop to the ferry (extended slightly by a missed turn-off) and the ferry from Opua to Russell. Our arrival at the Duke caused a stir, jam packed with well dressed wedding guests intrigued by the parade of Harley’s (and Craig and Garth’s Indians) arriving en mass. The Duke was heaving, and because we had an 8pm slot for dinner there was plenty of time for those with a thirst to put things to rights. We wisely moved from the grandeur of the house bar to a couple of waterfront tables at a cafe outside, where a lovely young waitress with a delightful French accent named Margaritte ran backwards and forwards with drinks. As the sun sank below the horizon we headed the the very insalubrious “tavern” side of the Duke complex - talk about a contrast, a real booze slop house. Dinner was a game of two halves with those who ordered the Ham Hock being as impressed as those who ordered the duck were disappointed, but as usual the wine list proved to be the equaliser, and everyone seemed pretty happy. At various times women from a wedding party who’d obviously been on the fizz since fairly early took a fascination with one or two of our number, with Garth, bearded and long haired, and looking either feral or mistaken for an aged rocker, spinning a yarn or two. Early in the tour Garth was christened “Jesus”, pronounced in the Spanish “He Zeus” to compliment this new persona. More tomorrow Sometimes things come together, but inevitably a mixture of judicious prompting and a lick of luck play their respective parts.
After last years very wet Rusty Nuts Tour, and a ride home from Taupo that was both wet and cold, the decision was made that 2018 would see us head back to the winter less north. Unfortunately out usual date of the last weekend in September had to be deferred a week due to a total lack of accommodation anywhere, and that resulted in a couple of clashes where less dedicated Rusty Nuts made choices that didn’t include coming away - Bathurst and other long standing arrangements- hmmmm. As is to expected at this time of year, weather forecasts varied in optimism, but as our departure approached, got better and but, and so the weather gods smiled. Other than Baldric who had business commitments that ate into his day, the rest of us arrived and assembled at Dairy Flat, enthusiastic and early enough to enjoy a coffee and pie (for some) from the fabulous Asian bakery before departure, and then we were off, SH16, an early preamble for what was to follow. My new bike, having just been christened Anastasia was ready, and we headed of mindful of Harley’s recommended running in procedure - at least for a while. And the Gods smiled again - the roads were largely our own, allowing a fairly quick clip as is our usual way, and a day of riding that just improved as we went. The highlight for most was the leg through the Kauri forest between Dargaville and Opononi, a stretch that tested us all in different ways, some with suspension that wagged like a Labradors tail, others looking for that extra 2%, but all of us had smiles at the next stop, fish and chips and a drink. Onwards to Rawene to meet the iconic ferry, the 45 minute wait part of the deal, and time for a drink at the only surviving pub in town (and “just surviving “ by the look of it). The final leg of the day was more of the same, and other than a few spectacular exceptions, more great roads, magnificent scenery. Single lane bridges are a fact of life in the hinterland, and typically you get the right of way half the time - unfortunately a slight misstep found two of our guys in closer contact than is ideal, but no one was injured so a good outcome. A few cable ties and everyone was nearly as good as New. Once settled into our overnight accomodation at the Bay View Motel, a fabulous spot overlooking the water, it was roundly agreed that today was the best days riding anyone had enjoyed all year. The Motel had a great bar and restaurant, so we were happy campers (some not so happy next morning), with the seafood stone grill and Jeff’s caveman T bone steak the standouts. |
Don MalcolmA perfect day involves being on my Harley with a long ride ahead.
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