The Coromandel

475 km, 10 July 2020

There is a Coromandel Coast along the south-east of India. The Dutch sailors changed the pronunciation of Karimani to something easier to pronounce and, as a result, gave a name to an area of trading importance, which led to Royal Navy ship names and then the naming of a peninsula in New Zealand.

I rode my motorbike from Hamilton to the Coromandel Peninsula, New Zealand. While I would love to explore the east coast of India, I will leave that to the future.

It was -1 degrees C when I left home to drop off my son at my ex-wife's house. There is a flashing light on the V-Strom to warn of cold weather. I know there will be some motorcyclists who have never seen it, perhaps because they live in warm climates or perhaps because they park the bike when winter comes. I get a little frisson of excitement when the light is on as I know that I am dicing with chance and I look carefully at corners and shaded areas.

As I left Hamilton for Morrinsville the sun was in my eyes and the damp tarmac reflected, sometimes with a shiny blackness and sometimes with the harder grey colour of a drier road. The shiny black worried me as I wondered if it was black ice so I was careful with the throttle and kept my foot hovering over the rear brake. Glancing across fields I could see the lovely effect of the warming sun; where there was shade the grass was white with hoarfrost but grass in direct sun was green. I could feel the cold in my fingers despite my winter gloves. I had wanted to install heater grips the last time I had some improvements done to the motorbike, but they did not have enough time. Another task for next month, when the V-Strom needs the 12,000 km service.

The temperature rose slightly from 1 degree Centigrade to 3 degrees. I rode around Morrinsville, admiring the statuesque cows, then continued to Paeroa, my planned stop for coffee. Paeroa is Maori for ridge (pae) and long (roa) but it is most known for its giant Lemon and Paeroa bottles. “L and P” is a lemonade like fizzy drink, as the bottle labels claim, famous in New Zealand. I like it. From Morrinsville to Paeroa the temperature warning light flicked off and stated that it was 5 degree C, but soon after the temperature dropped and the light came on. I was glad to enter the cafe and ask for a long black coffee. My fingers painfully gained warmth as I clutched the little cup. The break gave the sun time to warm up, and the bike's temperature scale marked first an incredible 19 degrees, then a more reasonable 14 degrees.

I rode on to Thames. I think there is something special about a town called Thames and I love the old-style buildings on main street. I filled up with petrol and stared at a army field gun outside the Returned Services' Association. I thought about big objects in New Zealand towns; Morrinsville has a giant painted cow, and many others life-size painted cows around the town, Paeroa has two giant “L 'n' P” bottles, Turangi has a giant trout, Taihape has a giant gumboot, Rakaia has a giant salmon but all I could see in Thames was a field gun, life-size. There are other giant objects, and perhaps a tour of New Zealand could have a focus of giant objects in towns. The sheep in Te Kuiti, the giant carrot in Ohakune, the guitar in Gore. I paid for the petrol and rode north, wondering what Thames could offer, as the field gun lacked originality.

The Coromandel Peninsula road north of Thames is beautiful, but challenging as it is is narrow with often a sheer fall to the sea or rocks on the left side. The sea views were beautiful, with the dark blue of the sea, the occasional views of the distant, hazy hills across the Firth of Thames, the trees clustered tightly on both sides, the rocks in the sea with perched cormorants scanning for rash fish, shore fishermen patiently watching their rods and boats lazily cruising to or from the deep ocean beyond. The narrow road, sharp turns and one-lane bridges meant continual changes in gear, from second up to third and fourth, and then drops down, and I felt pleased at my corner-taking as I was shifting my weight carefully across, I was counter-steering well, leaning forward, and gripping the petrol tank with my knees.

Coromandel Town lacks a giant object. It could do with one. It is a just a little far for the real estate pandemonium that affects most of the peninsula and it even seems to have a functioning fishing harbour though the bakery I went to just offered generic meat pies, chicken and chips, and the usual soft drinks. I selected a steak and blue cheese pie, then stood politely while an old lady struggled with her umbrella, the tongs, the pie she had selected, and the paper bag. I helped by holding her umbrella while she gave up on the tongs to use her fingers. It was my turn next. I struggled with the bike helmet, gloves, the tongs, the pie and, what should have been apparent earlier, a bag that was only barely big enough for the pie. I put the helmet on the ground, the pie on the bag on the tray and then also used my fingers to slide the pie into the paper bag. I saw the amused expressions of people behind and, shamefacedly,  decided I did not want to buy a drink.

Revitalised by the pie, which did indeed have a taste of blue cheese, I headed east along Route 25 to Whitianga, enjoying the curves, the sudden vistas of green fields, distant sea and trees. I stopped to take some photos and a German tourist admired the V-Strom. He was working near Hamilton, having finished his university undergraduate studies just before lockdown. He was with his younger sister, who was studying in a secondary school. She was very complimentary about the New Zealand education system, which is unusual as most Germans I have met complain about the informality, the low level of learning and the excessive focus on extra-curricular activities such as sports. I continued on to Whitianga, buoyed by the conversation. After a few photos in Whitianga I continued to Tairua, and then at the next junction, where I had a choice of Auckland and Thames, or Whangamata and Tauranga, I chose Whangamata. It was an idyllic road, snaking through a forest, alongside rivers and with the added fun of one-lane bridges. At Whangamata I stopped for a coffee, mostly because I wanted a break and wanted some water. The coffee and the water were welcome, and I appreciated the décor which included lyrics from songs. I was tempted to boast of my knowledge of Pink Floyd, Queen, David Bowie, Beatles, Rolling Stones and Led Zeppelin lyrics to the barista, but, as she was aged about 19 and ½ years old, I thought she would be uninterested.

I proceeded on, singing a few lyrics to myself, south, through Waihi, Katikati and Tauranga. I debated whether to go on to Whakatane and to look for a Backpackers' Hostel for the night but I had nothing, not even a toothbrush or a towel. I was not even sure if, after all the Covid-19 problems, there would be a Backpackers' open. It also started to get colder, with the temperature dropping from 15 degrees to 9 degrees. I also thought of the food I had at home; some bacon, some pesto sauce and spaghetti. Twenty minutes' cooking, and at no cost, while a stay in Whakatane would mean spending. So at Tauranga I took the road to Hamilton. This involved crossing part of the Kaimai Ranges, which meant the temperature dropped more. I enjoyed the ride up the range, but the road down was more tricky as the road was wetter and I had a car behind; on straight parts I could pull ahead but then I had to slow for blind corners and he would catch up and sit close to my rear wheel.

The rest of the road home was flat, and I was able to filter ahead of queuing traffic joining State Highway One. The sun had set which meant a drop in temperature, but, on the plus side, I was not riding into the sun. The last time I had been returning along Highway One I had to use my hand as a visor because I was riding directly into the setting sun. By Cambridge, Waikato, there is an exceptional section of the road with a 110 Km/h speed limit, in contrast to the 110 km/h limit in the rest of the country, so I was able to increase my speed. I was balancing cold fingers with a more prompt arrival home. It was good to get home, having completed 475 kilometres from approximately 9 am to 6.30 pm.