With one exception only optimists and those with wet weather gear fronted up for Neville's ride today - rain pounding the roof during the ride briefing a last opportunity for the weak of spirit to withdraw.
New Harley owner Lenny just happened to be about, and made the bold decision to join the ride - more on Lenny later. Nev outlined the plan and off we went, enjoying a lull between showers that lasted an hour or so. Off the motorway at Karaka, skirting Pukekohe and Tuakau, heading deeper into the countryside, cautious of wet and greasy roads, made worse by muddy clumps left by tractors moving between market gardens, not too good for fast moving Harley's . I was mindful of the humble and ramshackle homes on the border of Counties and the Waikato, seemingly unwanted by either, but homes none the less. Onto highway 22, windy and greasy, blasted by freezing winds straight off the Wild West coast, with a little bit of everything. After a few kilometres of nice undulating travel, the road reached the ridge line, flouro cones marking where slips had carried away one side or the other, the tight wet corners demanding real respect, and in my case, a couple of rear wheel slides to increase the heart rate. It has obviously been a wet winter, the hillsides scared by every bovine foot print, the lowlands sodden and in places the tops of fences disappearing under water, large lakes providing a haven for ducks, the cattle up to their hocks looking miserable. The few farms with pigs stood out especially- pigs make a real mess of pasture, usually small paddocks that have been thoroughly rooted through as the inhabitants drag themselves belly deep from place to place. A family of geese feeding on a tight bend caused a moment, each of us aware that hitting a good sized goose would be memorable, but an angry cock pheasant heading away from us was more interesting than eventful. When the rain found us, as we knew it must, it arrived quickly and in buckets, big heavy drops testing both wet weather gear and riding skills. In very short order, each of us pondering if the 140km route Neville had put before us really was a good idea, but knowing that our destination for the day was only 20-30km hence knuckled down to complete the task. Back to Lenny, he of the new Harley- Lenny hadn't intended coming and was unprepared, but, encouraged by the ever optimistic Wendy, decided to chance his arm. When we arrived at the Rangiriri Pub, Lenny (who is an Indian) was blue, soaking wet and freezing cold, and although nearly a cot case, still remarkably very chipper. With the very best of intentions I loaned Lenny a jacket, my XXL enveloping his slender frame (M at best) and he quickly found the fireplace inside the historic old hotel. Guinness was the order of the day, a meal in a glass some consolation for a lunch missed, pleasantly accompanied by bowls of chips provided by Joe and Bugsy, and we're talking "country pub" sized bowls, not for the feint of heart or anyone on a diet (me)! We enjoyed the time together and conversation the end of a ride (and a beer or two) brings, with Lenny slowly thawing out before heading home, Nev out in front at a very brisk pace, quickly devouring the km's, determined to take advantage of the gaps between showers. 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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