We’d decided before getting too pickled the night before that an early departure would be best, just in case any of the many road works caused major delays, so it was into the rising sun that we departed Kaikoura, everyone loaded up and ready 15 minutes before schedule.
The Kaikoura Coastline really is very rugged, even on a benign day like today, with dozens of early surfers looking to catch a break on big waves, surf crashing and boiling. The people employed to wield “stop / go” signs were on the job early, cheerful and ready for another big day - not sure that it would be my career choice, but most of those doing it seem happy enough. Our preferred breakfast spot at Ward was still closed up tight when we arrived at 8am - the sign indicating a 9am start on Saturdays, so on to Seddon to try again. Whilst offering a very limited breakfast menu of only pies or sandwiches - the bacon and egg pie being rated highly by those who made that choice, and soon we were off again. Through Blenheim and on to Picton where we hooked up with another group of Harley friends in the ferry queue. Talk about the Inter-Islander crew being organised - we were loaded and ensconced in the lounge fairly quickly, with departure 10 minutes early - great. As usual, the cost of the lounge proved to be money well spent, snacks, drinks, no riff raff (other than us), and an opportunity for a quiet snooze (although several rather cruelly mentioned than my snoozing was not altogether quiet). There appeared to be a fairly brisk blow as we entered Wellington Harbour, a strong wind that would stay with us for the next few hours - great as a tail wind, not so good from the side, but there are times when extra weight is a bonus, those skinny riders paying a price for their virtuousness. Off the ferry fairly quickly, although half our pack were caught at a train crossing so had some catching up to do, bound for Sanson and our next tank of gas. It was on this leg that we saw cops a plenty, marked Highway Patrol cars, and one mufti cop who tried unsuccessfully to trick us. We knew from the forecast that heavy weather was inevitable mid afternoon and almost on the dot, what had been fine mist turned into heavy rain, culminating in an absolute torrential downpour as we arrived into Taupo. Bike riders know that when the rain starts just about every road sign carries the message “Slippery when wet”, a message that should be taken very seriously, with those slick and shiny patches becoming like an ice rink. Whilst wet, the Desert Road caused few problems, (Mel pointing out a the corner that caught him out on the trip down, bent Armco barrier and all), but between Turangi and Taupo, conditions became quite treacherous. Neville watched as I aqua-planed uncontrollably over a long and wet slick patch then did exactly the same thing - nothing quite like a bit of a tank slapper to remind the unwary that there can be very little between vertical and horizontal. With the rain comes the acceptance that you just have to plug on, the minutes and miles taking you ever closer to destination, albeit that destination may be a long way away. Anyway, we all arrived at the motel at 715pm, safe and sound, if soaked, but happy to be there. A hot shower later, we began to clean up the remnants of our left over booze before heading around to the bar / restaurant recommended by our hosts for what some claimed was the best meal of the tour - a big call! Tomorrow, home, and no raid forecast! 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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