It is after 10pm on the eve of Waitangi Day, and another opportunity for the rowdy and unworthy to have a crack at those with good intentions.
I am a new phone the poorer, having had my old phone fall foul of a selfie stick that I foolishly bought, but more of that later. We bade our lovely hosts in Geraldine farewell at 8:30, not quite sure what the day would bring, but with a loose plan and plenty of options. Half an hour out a decent sized wallaby, one with a tail like a telegraph pole, laid head first into the verge, obviously quite dead, and no doubt having left a visible impact on whatever clobbered him, proved a reminder of the weird things than can and do happen along the way. Breakfast was always going to be at the Fairlie Bakehouse, quite rightly ranked amongst the best around, and so it was - having said that, everyone approached the opportunity with restraint, and we were all the better for it - the couple of Cro-Nuts were judicially cut up and divided amongst our number, so no harm done. We’d probably have drawn more attention as having cleaned the tourist shop out of possum socks Mike and Chris). Today was the first day we saw traffic cops about in any number, and see them we did - some busy writing tickets to errant tourists, others hidden amongst the scenery trying to catch speeding Jaffa’s. Fortunately a combination of judicious adherence to the speed limit (or close to it), good luck, and serious investment in technology managed to save us the embarrassment of any road side conversations. After a disappointing half hour at the Salmon Farm near Twizel amazed at the many and varied countries of origin of the plethora of tourists, we doubled back and headed for the Hermitage at Mt Cook, a ride of 55km each way that provided new challenges for the trip - the wind was monstrous, enough to bounce 500kg of hefty Harley and rider into dire straits at inappropriate moments. A bit of liquid sunshine as we approached the Hermitage, mist and rain, added to the mix, but we’re Harley guys, not made of brown sugar, and a wee bit of discomfort never hurt anyone. With a very strong tail wind, the trip back to the main road was quite a bit quicker, and again we were thankful for electronic wizardry to keep us out of trouble. The road through to Oamaru was fairly uneventful, other than another disappointed traffic cop, and to our motel for the night, 450 km to the good for the day. As we enjoyed post ride drinks, I set about to repair the selfie stick, that whilst providing reasonable service up until now, had been broken. My efforts were obviously less than ideal, and as a consequence, my phone fell to the ground and the screen shattered. Off to the Spark shop, arriving at 5:06pm, and whilst the manager initially stated (quite bravely I thought, having a big burley biker blocking his doorway) that it was after closing time and there was nothing he could do. I suggested that prior to making any decision that may prove disappointing to us both, he enter my details into his system, and from there we were both on the same page. I left 20 minutes later with a new phone and instructions on how to transfer the data. While I struggled (successfully) to complete the transfer, the team enjoyed drinks in the courtyard and told stories, perhaps the highlight of the day (my selfie stick and smashed phone having provided the encore). Tomorrow Jeff heads off to join his better half, abandoning buddies in breach of all protocol and who has been tormented mercilessly as a consequence . We’ll plan or day depending on the state of a crew who’d obviously pushed the boat out this evening Don Malcolm +64 21 924 114 Comments are closed.
|
Don MalcolmA perfect day involves being on my Harley with a long ride ahead.
|