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”. Comments are closed.
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Don MalcolmA perfect day involves being on my Harley with a long ride ahead.
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