Jeff suggested a ride to Raglan a few days ago, and today was the day. It was still dark as Sabrina was quietly wheeled out of the garage, tyre pressures checked and wet weather gear stowed just in case.
There where no lights on around the neighbourhood and I hope my efforts were appreciated, although I suspect I'll never know. A quick rendezvous at Sylvia Park to hook up, then off, first stop a fast fill of gas at BP South, then into the hinterland from Drury, straight into the good stuff, lots of fast corners and few others sharing the road. We waved to a few envious workmen, filling up on breakfast pies at the Tuakau bakery before getting back into their work truck, then over the iconic bridge and onto "State Highway 22", a rather generous description for what is really just a back country road, but one that is in pretty popular, perhaps not if you're piloting a sheep truck or milk tanker, but great if you're on a motorcycle. Another day as an ornithologist, and not necessarily by choice. It is obvious that Magpies are having a bumper season, dozens everywhere, (some flattened), as big and heavy as bricks with wings, to be avoided at all costs. In the space of a few kilometres, we saw and avoided two Canada Geese, a cock pheasant and a large white goose, all intent on waddling or racing the road in front of us, any one of which would have been unfortunate for all concerned. More green and red parakeets and tiny green finches to add some colour as morning progressed. Combine that with the other wildlife, bunnies and hares, one the size of a Labrador, again to be avoided at all costs, and the evidence of possums proving little competition to overnight traffic. SH 22 can be dreary and greasy when wet, (in fact bloody awful on a bad day), but today proved fast and dry, with little traffic and only a few roadworks to slow us down, the ribbon of road that weaves along the narrow crest of the hills occasionally proving too wide for the geography and falling away, awaiting the tender care of the aforementioned road gang to complete repairs. As we progressed further I noted the rusty shipping containers, old caravans and converted buses deep within the bush, destined to remain there forever, quietly rotting away - the question being how they ever got there. All too soon Raglan appeared, and after nearly two hours on the road we were both more than ready for breakfast and to massage some life into sore bums while waiting for coffee, watching locals, couples with kids, others barefoot and feral, cruisey tourists, tattooed girls and would be bikers all enjoying the pleasant morning. Two coffees apiece, bacon and eggs and a pit stop later, we mounted up and did the obligatory tiki tour around town, checking out the waterfront and the wharf before waving Raglan goodbye. We opted for a different route home, fuelling up in Ngaruawahia, marvelling at the eclectic mix of patrons, then back to the quiet side of the Waikato River, next stop Rangiriri. Rather than taking the motorway, we kept going, giving the 3 seperate traffic cops in Te Kawhata little to worry about, the flash of headlights from oncoming locals providing courteous warning of their intentions towards errant motorcyclists. Jeff had the lead and kept us going arrow straight into the countryside, neither of us in a hurry to head home. Eventually we found the main road, and reluctantly joined the lines of great unwashed, travelling at 90km/hr in the "Safer speed area", before stopping at the Red Fox for a pow wow. Bugger this, back onto the deserted country roads, bound for Miranda Hot Springs and the Oyster Bird Coast Road. After a fast blast, more flashing headlights warned of a police checkpoint in Kaiaua, a young cop, (one of half a dozen), with braces on his teeth and a wispy ginger beard failing to offer much to add to his stature, thrusting his breath tester into helmets, ever hopeful of the big bust but falling short in every regard. An early lunch of fish and chips sitting in the garden bar at the pub, (and just one beer), before Venturing back into the fray, mindful that there where far too many traffic cops about to risk fast passage. The windy coastal road provided more delightful corners, slower traffic proving little obstacle, next and final stop the Clevedon Pub for a debrief before the last leg of the day, 400kms for the morning about to tick over. What a pleasure to be on the road with a good mate, great bikes and a ride that is second to none. 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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