I’m sitting on a leather chesterfield chair in the Seddon suite of the old Bank Managers cottage, part of the Theatre Royal Hotel in Kumara on the West Coast. Unfortunately, for the second year running they have confused our reservation, but thankfully everything worked out and we each have a room.
Today has been one out of the box, weather perfect, scenery and riding at least as good as anything, anywhere - absolutely beyond world class. We decided to take the Queen Charlotte Sound route and were pleased with the decision, lots of technical riding early on, tight turns, and ever the opportunity to come into close quarters with tourists yet to get used to driving on our side of the road. At one point I also took an opportunity to take a closer look at the shrubbery than is normally recommended, but fortunately, one without any consequences. As always, the views over the Sounds were magnificent, and a reminder of just how beautiful New Zealand really is. Breakfast at a delightful cafe in Havelock, then back towards the incredibly dry wine growing regions around Blenheim and Renwick - it is apparent that other the grapes and very dry red brown grass, the only other “crops” are rocks and dust, the grubby sheep hard pressed to find much to eat and struggling to find enough shade as the temperature into the 30’s. Having said that, there is a stark beauty to this harsh landscape. As we approached St Arnaud, the landscape gradually exchanged the flats and gentle grape regions, the long straight roads for hills of the hinterland. We stopped at Murchison for lunch, Craig took us to a pub, then wandered off because he couldn’t see any beer for sale(hmmm), instead settling for a “tearoom” across the road. A busy wee town where few people stop longer than the time taken for lunch or gas. We spoke to a fellow biker who proved to be the exception - his stay of several hours was the result of a severe reaction to a bee sting that saw him require urgent medical attention. A short hop from Murchison threw us a hazard none of us had experienced previously, being a wagon drawn by draft horses, appearing without much notice on a windy stretch- having said that, perhaps a fresh pile of horse poo should have given a hint. Clobbering a Clydesdale is not something you’d want to do on a motorcycle. Having resisted the temptation to exceed the speed limit by much up until now, we were very happy to follow a Mercedes suv who was in a real hurry, clocking up quite a few quick kms through to Reefton, where we planned to stop for gas and to wash away the road dust. Another fairly quick run on very nice backroads between Reefton and the Blackball Hotel, an iconic pub familiar to hard core bikers who frequent the South Is. We’re now enjoying pre-dinner drinks on the deck outside the pub, and dinner is not far away, so time to go. 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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