End of 2025

 I am still on the motorbike, the Honda Varadero with its 996cc engine. I also bought a Ducati ST2 with a 944cc engine, but, as I write, I am trying to sell that. The Honda is from 2008, but the Ducati is from 2002, so both are long in the tooth. 

I bought the Varadero in January 2021 with 17,000 km on the odometer, and it now has 186,000 km. I bought the Ducati in March or so of 2023 with 44,192, and it now has 89,0000 on it, and for a few weeks the odometer stopped working, meaning it probably should be well over 90k. 

So no car, just the motorbikes, a long commute and a fair amount of travelling, all add up to plenty of km on the bikes. I also rented a Yamaha Tenere in Sydney, and went with my son to the Blue Mountains and then along some lovely back roads to Newcastle. 

Update

 I started this blog full of enthusiasm for the possibility of motorcycle touring and my life in New Zealand. I am still enjoying the touring, but the Covid pandemic has meant international touring is difficult. It has also been difficult to enjoy teaching, and I have had two bad years. Those bad years seem over, and I am now in a very different teaching environment. I am no longer struggling with rude and reluctant secondary school students, but teaching online (largely) Chinese students (on the whole) the secrets of academic English for New Zealand university entrance.

In anticipation of a move to England in 2020, I sold my new motorbike. Within weeks, the move fell through, and I was left in a situation where I was due to leave my house in Hamilton, I had no motorbike, no job and I had sold or given away a lot of my belongings. I started to apply for some jobs, but then received a call from a school where I had an interview. It was an opportunity on a plate. I took it, moved to the town and started teaching. It was the same school I mentioned in a prior post and yes, the kids were difficult. I ended up losing the plot one day, when the students were rioting, and one was making monkey faces and gestures behind my back. I walked out of the classroom. 

I spent several months doing delivery in a van for a supermarket. At one stage, I asked a former student, a neighbour, to baby-sit my son for the day, and she said I was a good teacher, but the kids were dreadful. When I was given that positive reinforcement, I looked for a new job in teaching, and found this place that is between school and university. I bought a second-hand motorcycle, basically with the money from the sale of my 'new' motorbike. My new job does mean a long ride through Auckland traffic to the centre of the biggest city in New Zealand, but I enjoy it. I feel it develops my biking ability and my resilience. 

Another interesting aspect is that my car was stolen by my ex-housemate, so I now have only the bike and no car. The ex-housemate, of an ethnic group that cannot be criticised in NZ without being accused of racism, was being kicked out of the house for not paying rent. While I was away in Wellington, with my youngest son, on the motorbike, he went into my room, found my car key and took off with it. It was recovered a few days later, but written off by the insurer. 

As a result, the motorbike is my only transport, and my pleasure for every day. 

Daily use is interesting. It can be cold, rainy, even flooding one day. These winter days are also dark when I leave and return home. 

Hamilton to Tuakau; interview

An interview for a potential post next year, at 2pm on a Friday. After my experience with the school I am at, I am still not completely enthusiastic about more classroom battles next year, and this potential school has a fame of being quite rough. The children of rich kids in Tuakau go to the better township next door. 

Still, an interview is an interview and worth attending, so I went into work with my motorcycle gear, changed into my interview suit and smart shoes, taught my two classes, then changed back into motorcycle gear, and packed up my suit and smart shoes into the side saddlebag. I thought about getting a cup of coffee somewhere, but I had enough petrol in the tank and wanted to get going. I headed out through Te Rapa and took State Highway One north to Auckland. The instrument panel told me I had 107km of fuel in the tank, but after 20 minutes' riding, I had 115km so I continued on past the BP in Te Rapa. I assume that the microcomputer checking fuel quantity takes into account the type of riding, and straight lines along motorways at steady speed are very economical, so I decided not to stop at Taupiri either. I was soon heading into Auckland region, but I saw a turn-off to Glen Murray and Rangiriri and, thinking that would get me to Tuakau, I took that. I soon found myself on country roads, which were lovely, but with a slight fear about my arrival time. In the back of my mind I knew it would work out, because I had ridden from Glen Murray to Tuakau, so once I got to Glen Murray I would be fine. 

After a pleasant ride, with some light rain, I reached a t-junction and took the Tuakau road. As I was slightly worried about the time, I was not able to enjoy the road too much, but I was pleased with the sight of the bridge across the River Waikato. I rolled into Tuakau, and looked for somewhere for lunch, but could not see anything except the same place I had been to a month prior. I parked on the street and locked the wheel and my helmet. A small purchase I had for my motorbike was a simple bicycle lock, which I had seen on YouTube as good for jackets and helmets. The trick is to run the cable through the arm of a motorcycle jacket and the visor of the helmet, and then lock this to the motorbike. This kind of lock is useless against a serious motorcycle thief, who is equipped with bolt cutters, but it stops the opportunistic theft of the helmet by the delinquent walking along the street. I did take a seat in the cafe so that I could see the bike. I ordered the special of the day, a Thai Green Curry at $10, along with a much-desired coffee. 

At the school I signed in, popped into a staff toilet, changed into my suit, and returned. The interview went well. I am not sure how I feel about the place. 

I also enjoyed the trip home, and, with no time pressure, I stuck to back roads, going to Glen Murray, Glen Afton, Waingaro, Ngaruawahia and then I stopped for coffee in Te Rapa in Hamilton.

Hamilton to Whanganui

 

A new best route in New Zealand; State Highway 4.

A job interview in Whanganui. A school that I know quite well. Perhaps teaching a subject I'd like to teach. Initially I had planned to ride down the evening before and stay with a friend, but then I realised I'd miss my last tutorial for the university paper in Spanish that I am taking at distance. So I calculated that I could ride down the morning of the interview, arrive in time for the midday interview, have lunch, and then return to Hamilton. I did not even need to get up early, but while checking my emails before 7am, my little son Skyped me, and we had a conversation till it was time to go.

As I walked out the door, it felt cold, so I slipped on another layer and then put the motorbike jacket on again. “An early morning chill,' I said to myself, and headed off to Te Awamutu. It was a steady chill, at about 11°C, and there did not seem to be any improvement. I rode from Hamilton to Te Awamutu, to Otorohanga and then on to Te Kuiti along State Highway 3. I smiled to myself as I looked at the clock; instead of a department meeting, I was on the V-Strom. A little later, I smiled some more as I thought of the unfortunate person who would be teaching my first class of the day. To be fair, it was going to be easy; the students were scheduled for the library, so the relief teacher just had to encourage 21^st Century kids to pick up a book and read.

The weather did not improve, though the scenery did. I turned off State Highway 3 at about 12 kilometres after Te Kuiti at a place called “Eight Mile Junction.” Funny name that.

That was the start of State Highway 4, which instantly became a favourite road. Beautiful scenery, with all that is best in New Zealand; curves, forests, farmland, hills, valleys, rivers alongside the road and good straight stretches. There were small towns, but in New Zealand, small can be very little indeed. The rain increased, and the temperature dropped. This was not supposed to happen; as the sun rose, it should get warmer. The heated grips were warming my palms and the inside of my hands, but it was still cold.

So I decided to have a quick warming break in Taumaranui. McDonald's seemed the obvious choice; fast, guaranteed heating and cheap. I had some friendly remarks from another customer as I ordered and sat down. It was my second breakfast of the day, and once it was over, I put on the waterproof trousers and rode east and then south to Whanganui. I was now feeling warmer, though the Central Plateau was cold. Tongariro was covered in clouds, but the road was great and quiet. I sped past the village, or perhaps the tourist point on the map, of “National Park” and continued south. At this stage, I was a little worried that I would be late, so there were to be no more stops. Straight through Raetihi, and then the truly majestic part of SH4, where the road sweeps alongside the Mangawhero River, with hills on both sides, trees, valleys, sheep, beef cattle and dairy cows, the chance to sweep down a curve and cruise up the next hill, with changes of gear as the curves tightened and the road narrowed, and opportunities to accelerate past vehicles as the road opened out. The views were lovely. At one stage, I had to stop for road works caused by the combination of a river and a hillside; rocks falling from one to the other cause problems for tarmac.

Before I knew it, I was rolling into Whanganui and crossing the lovely Dublin Road Bridge. I was twenty minutes early for the interview, which gave me enough time to change into my suit.

Although the weather and the temperature did not improve on my way home, I still enjoyed the return. A great day.

Gold strike.

Sunday 11th October.

I know that I have plenty to learn, rather like Socrates, and in motorcycling there are plenty of aspects that I need to improve. I have never been the most coordinated and my hand-eye judgement is not the greatest, so I need to learn to avoid problems.

Motorcycling requires techniques, an awareness of the road and a sensitivity to the vehicle that is very different from driving a car. This year I have taken three courses with ProRider, two 'silver' courses and yesterday I took the gold course. It is not to do with age; I am well short of my Gold Card. Ok, not too much short of it. I signed up for my first Silver course soon after I bought my V-Strom, I had done a little more than a 1000km, and this was after selling my last motorbike in 2007, so 12 and a half years without a motorbike. I was concerned that I might have developed some bad habits, and, yes, I had a few. I tended to cut across corners, as I often started from near the centre white line and then would try to maintain that. Of course, if a vehicle came round the opposite way, I had to cut to the side. My braking also needed practise but my slow control was not too bad. I could get a reasonably tight circle and so esses round cones quite well. 

My next Silver course, a few months later, was enjoyable. I had practised slow speed work, including circles both clockwise and anti-clockwise, I had improved my braking and paid attention to the advice on entering and leaving curves. With braking, it is important that readers are aware that the front brake, controlled with the right hand lever, is most effective, but that grabbing it, especially when the bike is unbalanced, can lead to the front wheel sliding, which means a bruising fall. The rear brake, controlled through the right foot, is less effective in stopping but is the most stable. If you need to stop quickly, then you need the front brake to be firmly used, with increasing pressure as the tyre grips down on the road, and the rear end rises alarmingly. Of course, you must use it when going straight, because applying the front brake as you go around a corner at an angle means a slide, unless you can judge it well. 

My judgement is better than it was, and I understood the V-Strom's reactions much better when I did my second Silver course. I was better at choosing the right lines when entering and exiting curves, and I felt pretty pleased with myself. 

So, my Gold course. The first notable point was that my 650cc was now the baby of the bunch. There was GSXR750, a Kawasaki 950, then the other bikes were over a litre. Having said that, my 'little' 650cc was not the slowest and managed well, leaving me with the puzzle of why riders like huge engine sizes which frequently do not translate into improved performance. My next point was that the generally older riders felt less need to show off. In the silver courses, there was at least one person with a 250cc who had to outgun everyone and zip on at a high squeal. 

Anyway. There was some good work on emergency braking, as well as counter-weighting turns, which I had practised well, and then some open road work. I was pretty happy with my positioning both entering and leaving curves, but perhaps I was not as fast as others. Still, speed is not the only aspect, and I was content with my progress and my learning for the day. 

I can now claim a discount on my registration because I have done a silver course and a gold course in the same year. $100, sure, I will save that!

The photo shows the participants in the course.

Paeroa

 Just a short trip with C. Last weekend was lovely and warm, so I took out the inner layer of both motorcycle jackets as I felt that warmer weather was on the way. 

We rode out in chilly 14 degree C weather, and soon there was a strong cross-wind, with that distinctive feel of a southerly. There is not a lot between New Zealand and Antarctica, so the southerly can be cold for a long time. I took the usual road out to Paeroa, with a potential plan of going to Waihi, but as I felt cold and I was sure that C was too, we stopped to eat and warm up, and called it a day. It was a more pleasant ride home as the temperature increased to 18C, but the wind was piercing. I took a more rural route to Tahuna and it was very pleasant to be on good roads. 

So not much of a trip, and work at the elections tomorrow. I will be doing a ProRider Gold motorcycle course on Sunday, and then I am back to work on Monday. I can't say I am looking forward to that. 

Maungaturoto and return to Hamilton

 

Saturday 3^rd October.

The next morning, I showered, made myself some plunger coffee and then went out to look for something more substantial. I had only ridden about 100 metres when I saw a French “Bistro” on the corner. Absolutely ideal. So, I parked again, grabbed all my valuable stuff and went in. There was a lovely menu but I did not want to spend too much, and just contented myself with a café au lait, and a croissant with butter and strawberry jam. Perfect. Very civilized. The woman who served me in “Le Bistro de Paris” said that she and her French husband and daughter had come to Whangarei a few years earlier and that they had a steady business, in part because their cafe was quite unique in the city.

I set my NavMan to the school I planned to visit when I finished my repast. The NavMan was perhaps a mistake because it instantly set me a course and I felt obliged to obey the machine, so rather than pootling around Whangarei to see some sights, I was soon out onto the highway heading south again. I was soon on the flat road that does a semicircle by Marsden Point and Ruakaka. I glanced over at Uretiti Beach, where there is a campsite. I had thought about camping, but it cost $20, the same as the backpackers’ hostel. Some camping would be good practice, especially if travelling in Australia, but I need to decide what to do about cooking and food. I was recommended a petrol cooking stove since the V-Strom uses petrol too, but I cannot find anything in the so-called camping stores in Hamilton. So-called because they are mostly about stylish clothes, rather than anything else.

Before I knew it, I was back curving up and down the Brynderwyn Hills and enjoying myself. I turned off State Highway One to number 12, and was soon at Maungaturoto. I took a sharp turn at the top of a hill and rode down a few kilometres to the school. It is a little curious that the high school is a few kilometres from the town along an underused road. The school is attractive in a slightly ‘rural poor’ style; painted in a pleasing white and sky-blue colour, with wooden buildings dating back fifty or more years. There was a football pitch and various outdoor netball and basketball courts, but no rugby pitch. In the snobbishness of New Zealand schools, the lack of a rugby pitch is not only indicative of the declining interest in rugby for teenagers, but also shows that other schools nearby are aggressively competitive, so smaller schools drop rugby in favour of the less violent and more enjoyable football.

It looked a good school. The principal wants to grow languages, which is where I might have a role. Still, rural New Zealand and Spanish? Thinking positively, a teacher could be respected and a part of the community. I remounted and continued along the road, which turned to gravel and petered out, then returned to the town of Maungaturoto. There is a small supermarket, a café, a post office, several real estate agents and various rural supplies. The house prices are depressingly prohibitive at the $650,000 plus and TradeMe has no rental properties. Perhaps a government will one day make lots of new houses and people can afford them, or people could rent at reasonable rates … No, I don’t think so either!

 

I bought some postcards and stamps in the post office and continued. I thought about a cup of coffee, but I had already had several this morning. 

I continued on Route 12, and, on a whim, followed the road to Whakapirau, which was a beautiful little holiday home township. It did not look like there was much to do, except enjoy retirement. There was a small port for Aucklanders to load and unload their fishing vessels. I took some pictures and returned to the main road. I thought about riding to Dargaville, but it was quite far, and I felt I would do better to return south and eat something in Auckland.

The road south was largely empty in the direction I was travelling, but many cars were travelling north for a day in the country. I stopped to put in some petrol in Warkworth and it seemed to be a meeting place for large Indian families who greeted each other with enthusiasm, and then rushed in to get curries in the restaurant attached to the petrol station. It was perhaps the first time I had seen an Indian restaurant attached to a petrol station, but there was also the more traditional McDonalds.

I fuelled up the motorbike, checked the air-pressure in the tyres, and skipped on any fuel for myself. I saw the signs for the toll road and noted that it was $2.40 for both cars and motorcycles. I was tempted but decided to stick with the coast road. Once again, I enjoyed the views of the Auckland Harbour Bridge and turned off to the harbour itself. I had an idea of a place to go, but soon found myself by the backpackers’ hostel C and I had stayed in several months ago. I parked the motorbike, locked it, and went into a food hall. I had some Vietnamese food, though the prawn chilli did not have much chilli. I then wandered the street and had a coffee. I wrote some comments in my journal, thought about future possibilities and watched people. 

Time to continue! I was soon out into the Auckland traffic, and rode south. It was a pleasant ride and I turned off at Taupiri so that I could take State Highway 1b through Gordonton and back home. Another enjoyable trip on the V-Strom. I have not solved my life’s problems, but at least I saw a potential school, visited Northland, and had a good evening in the backpackers’ hostel. 

I can see how backpacking can be a life for people.

Hamilton to Maungaturoto

 Friday 2nd October.

I’d been phoned by a former colleague in relation to a teaching job in Northland, and I decided it would be good to explore the area. I had never been to Northland before. I also had Friday evening free, with no tasks such as Saturday football matches, so could travel. C was with his mother, as her boyfriend’s kids were visiting. I saw that the school was near Whangarei, so I found backpackers’ hostel called “The Cell”, booked a dormitory bed, and rode up north.

The NavMan told me that the distance was over 320km. Familiar roads took me from Hillcrest to Taupiri, where I filled up with petrol. It was a beautiful, sunny day, though not too warm. I continued along the new highway that by-passes Huntly and it does not appear on the NavMan, so it showed me an arrow heading up the screen but no road. Whenever I crossed a rural road, the NavMan, in a panic, would tell me that I was exceeding the speed limit. After Huntly, the GPS guide was able to relax as I had returned to the State Highway.

This road is quite well maintained as there is always a lot of traffic heading to and from Auckland. As I rode along, I thought about my plans for next year. I had started an application to be a school inspector for the Education Review Office which would be an interesting job; I have been in many teaching situations and I think that I can be an inspector and write reports. One part of me feels burnt-out with teaching. 32 years of facing up to classes, from July 1988. However, it is hard to get other jobs. So, should I look for easier teaching situations, such as teaching Spanish? Of course, that is the reason for looking at Otamatea High School; I want to check it out, even if only from the outside on a Saturday. It is in the back of beyond.

Mind you, equally far away are my applications for Area Schools in Roxburgh, Otago, and Collingwood, Tasman. They are a long way from my little son C, though the Otago post is close to my oldest son.

Housing and accommodation is another related problem. I was shocked at how difficult it is to get a rental property in Hamilton, how the estate agencies treat potential tenants as scum, and the high prices of the properties. That led me in to political thoughts; with an election coming up, would a party offer the 100,000 new homes that New Zealand needs? The best seems the Labour Party, with 18,000 new homes over five years, suggesting, and I did the mathematics as I rode along, 3,600 per year, so initially 96,400 homes short of requirement, then the following year only 92,800 homes short… Once Covid-19 is over, we can expect more immigrants to New Zealand, and they require 20,000 new homes per year. It reminded me of a short story by Witi Ihimaera, concerning a young Maori kid who goes to school to discover all the Pakeha kids are ahead of him in learning, knowledge, and language. Can he ever catch up? Can NZ’s politicians ever build enough houses to catch up the shortfall, and then to keep building enough for the future demand? And what is with it with “tiny houses?” New Zealand has a population of around 5 million in the same area of land that Britain has, while Britain has 60 million inhabitants. We have more than enough space, we should not have to live in damp basements like Koreans, or cubicles like the Japanese!

As I rode along, I thought about the cities of Hamilton, Auckland, and Wellington. Should I sell all my belongings and live as a lodger in someone else’s shared property in a big city, with a roll-out mattress for C’s visits? Can I sell everything? The books, the copies of Wisden with my brother’s name in them, the furniture, the washing machine, the pots and pans, the sheets and blankets, the golf clubs, the beds, the fridge, and the pictures? Or do I store everything? For a year? For two years? Would I ever be able to find a rental of my dreams, or even a house to buy and then to furnish? Would the cost of storage for two years be equivalent to replacement? The storage costs which would be $170/month, which would be over $2000 in a year, or $4000.

And then there is C. Can I invite him over to spend time with his dad who is in a room in a house?

Or do I give up on all of this and enjoy myself travelling?

Australia, New Zealand or South America? The destination choice is tricky, especially with Covid-19 causing panic worldwide. The finances could work out, but that would mean diving into my savings, and thus not having any savings to buy a house in the future. If I can ever buy a house! Travelling would make it difficult to see C. The travel would be fun, and fulfilling, but what do I do after? Do I return to teaching, or find another job? Should I write a book? In which case, should it be insightful, factual, or amusing?

If I don’t travel, do I accept a routine teaching job?

 

Auckland. Three lanes of traffic, mostly at slightly above the speed limit. I was careful to regularly check my rear-view mirrors and the ride went well. I did not need to turn off State Highway One, and so made good progress. I did quite a bit of filtering as the Friday evening commute was on, and I felt pleased with my manoeuvres, though I observed other motorcyclists zipping through faster than I moved. The Harbour Bridge was spectacular as always. There are such great views of the sea, the skyscrapers and the yachts on the deep blue sea far below.

Once north of the big city, I avoided the toll road. I don’t know the fee, where the road goes or how scenic it is, so I took the coast road along Orewa. I know this road is very attractive, and I continued north to Waiwera, Warkworth, Wellsford and, to break up the alliteration of /w/, Brynderwyn. The latter place sounds like something from Dylan Thomas or Terry Pratchett. Brynderwyn does not seem to be a town but just the turn-off to Maungaturoto, where I was planning to visit the next day. The State HIghway curved, rose and fell amongst forested hills. The drivers mostly stuck to the speed limit, perhaps because the road was narrow.

At this stage, I was further north than I had ever been in New Zealand. I had also been on the bike for over two hours since I filled up with petrol in Taupiri. I felt tired, and a little sore. Motorcycling does require more concentration than driving, and I knew that it is easy to make a mistake, so I consciously told myself to focus. I was rewarded with some beautiful views of the coast, the islands, and the ocean. As I rode down the curves on lovely new tarmac, I thought I could see Whangarei in the distance, but later I decided that I was probably looking at Marsden Point.

I rolled into Whangarei at about 7.20 pm, and I had told the owner/manager of “The Cell” that I would arrive at 7.30. I parked at the front, rushed to find a toilet, and then checked in, which, in reality, meant paying. I was told that the shutters would be pulled down at the front of “The Cell”, named after a former prison, but that I could put the bike in the car park at the back. Someone asked if I could help with their car, but by the time I got the bike there, the problem was fixed. I headed out for something to eat and to explore Whangarei. I can’t say much happens on a Friday night; there were a number of various expensive restaurants, but I managed to find a South African braai place, which was novel and inexpensive. I had an over-priced beer in a pub. I don’t normally go to pubs but thought I would experience Whangarei to its maximum. The bar staff were all young, the clientele all old, older than me. On the televisions we were treated to blaring modern music videos, with Beyonce and others of her ilk pushing out their breasts and treating us to salacious shots of their bums and thighs. The elderly men looked with interest, the elderly women gossiped. I drank up and returned to “The Cell,” where I chatted to a Dutchman, an Argentinean and a Swedish girl, who was the centre of attraction.

I slept well, though the Chinese girl in the dormitory bed next to me snored a little.

Return to the Tron; Wellington to Hamilton.

 

29 September 2020

It was 8°C in the car port when I started up the motorbike. I was confident that the bright sun would soon increase the temperature from a low point, perhaps caused by the shade. It was sad to say goodbye to my son, but we had a good couple of days. I had dressed C well; a thin pair of gloves and a new thick motorcycle gloves outside, track pants and jeans, several tee-shirts, one long-sleeved, a water-proof jacket, his motorcycle jacket and his new boots with thick socks. I was also dressed for the potential cold with my riding jeans, several layers, scarf, and neck bandanna.

The temperature did increase a little, to 11°C as we left Wellington on the State Highway, heading north. The route along the Kapiti Coast was lovely, though we could see the high tide waves washing over the sea wall, but we managed to time it perfectly, so we kept dry. It kept cold as we headed north. We stopped to have a mid-morning snack at the New World supermarket in Levin. Through experience, I know there is no good coffee shop in Levin and so the best that can be done is to order a coffee from their shop, ignore the heavy muffins and scones, and go in to buy the very well-made pastries inside the supermarket. It beats me that their coffee shop does not sell their croissants, pan au chocolate and danish pastries, but I save money.

We warmed up and then continued our trip. It became very windy and cold between Foxton and Sanson, so I was forced to ride at an angle into the wind. C suffered and we stopped in Bulls at the BP petrol station. Neither of us needed food, but we did need to warm up. I talked to some motorcyclists who were heading south, and they said that there were strong and cold winds from Hunterville to Bulls, and snow on the Desert Road. I wished them luck and they wished us all the best.

C was cheerful and I did not need to explain to him that we had little choice, though I did say to him that if it was terrible, we could stay in a motel or backpackers’ in Taupo. The part between Bulls and Hunterville was not too bad, and I felt that the motorcycling couple who I met in the petrol station were going to have a worse time as they headed south than we did heading north. I did put on the heated grips, though I was conscious that I could not offer any way for C to warm his hands. We sailed through Hunterville without problems and rode on to Taihape. We stopped for lunch in “Soul Café” which I like because I know they have a wood burner in the café. Sure enough, it was on and the place was warm. C initially did not want anything, which was odd, but I ordered some potato wedges, thinking to share them. Before they arrived, he became animated and wanted pancakes with syrup, which was fine. So, warmed, fed and revitalised, we remounted the bike for a cold stage. There were no real problems between Taihape and Waioru, so we continued. The Desert Road was cold and a little windy. By this time, my heated grips were on 75% and were very warm. My fingers felt hot on the inside but were cold on the outside. The temperature stayed at a steady 4°C, there was some rain, which gradually clumped to become slushy snow. The snow clung soggily to my visor and to the windshield and to my shoulders. I could feel C’s helmet against my back, so I guess he was hunched up. I kept to the speed limit as I wanted to be cautious and also thought that the last thing I wanted was to have a conversation with a policeman about my speed or the weather.

We rolled into Turangi and I pulled over the bike, partially as C had tapped my shoulder but also because I wanted to ask him about the thermal pools. Yes, he wanted a break and he agreed that the thermal pools in Tokaanu would be a great place to warm up. I paid for a private pool, and that way we were soon taking off our multiple layers. I warned him not to immerse himself too quickly, especially his fingers and feet, and he was good about that. We ended up spending 15 minutes in the pool, and both of us felt a lot better and warmer. It took us a while to get dressed again and we went for lunch in Turangi. I tried to suggest somewhere indoors, but the little lad remembered our previous visits to Turangi, and wanted to go to a fish and chips place.

I parked, we got off the bike, and then someone with a ute and a trailer reversed into the bike. I frantically banged on the trailer, and another person, on the other side, rushed to the driver to tell him to stop. The trailer had pushed the front wheel and the whole bike had swivelled on the centre stand, and I could see the left-hand indicator was pushed forward. The farmer was very apologetic, and we looked at the bike, which was still standing but with the back of the trailer jammed against the front wheel and front indicator. I could not move the bike forward, as it was on the centre stand. I did not want the ute and trailer to move forward, so I suggested that we lift the bike back and out of the way. The indicator popped back into its usual position and we both inspected the left side, as C stood and looked at us. I could see no scratches, and though I waggled the indicator, it was the same as usual. The farmer apologised profusely, saying several times that he had not seen me, so I shook his hand and wished him all the best. No harm done. I did decide to move the bike, and filled up with petrol and parked on the other side of the road, well away from any trailers.

We ate, C enjoyed himself in the playground, and remounted. The temperature was a little higher, we felt good and the bike was running well. So, we continued past Lake Taupo, enjoying the views, rode down through forests and then the small townships. Just as we were about to pass Cambridge, C needed the toilet, so I had to pull off on a highway exit and seek somewhere for him. It was a convoluted route to get back on the highway, and in the end, I had to go south and do a U-turn into a farm driveway. We rolled into Hamilton at 7pm and were able to relax. An adventure; over 520km, snow, winds, rain, the Thermal Pool, someone reversing a trailer into us, but we were home safely.

 

Wet windy Wellington.

 

Wellington 27^th September

In order to give my middle son and his partner some alone time, I took C into Wellington on the back of the bike. It was very windy, but the overnight storms had eased.

It was a good and simple ride into the city centre, though I cannot help but notice that the streets are narrower than in Hamilton, and the hills make sharp curves, blind corners, and hazardous stops more likely. We managed to park at Te Papa museum for free. We left our helmets in the cloak-room and enjoyed two hours looking at the displays. We then tried to find my middle son’s football game but found two teams playing, but we could not recognise my son. We returned home. The wind had picked up and I gripped the tank firmly with my knees, and that helped improve stability. Returning to Newlands involved more sharp curves, narrow roads, wet tarmac and blind corners, not to mention drivers close behind, but we got home safely and happily.

Hamilton to Wellington

 

Hamilton to Wellington: 26 September 2020.

We were up at 6.30am and C went on to the computer straightaway. I gave him some cereal, had some myself then showered and got ready. I was lost and frustrated while looking for my swimming trunks, but eventually found them in the last place I looked, under the duvet. I wanted to stop at the thermal pools in Tokaanu on the return to Hamilton on Tuesday. In the search process, I took everything out of the bags, laid them out and then removed a few items and repacked. The Oxford bags for the panniers were not overfull and, I feel have everything we need.

C’s stuff was in one bag, my stuff in another, and, to put over the luggage rack, I had a simple carry on rectangular bag. In that, I placed various books, the laptop, cables etc for the laptop, my journal, towel and swimming costume and other things. This bag was the heaviest, but there is a good logic in placing the heaviest bag in the centre of the bike while lighter bags are in the saddle bags. I put two bungy cords around the heavy central bag and gave it a shove. It was a little too mobile, so I had to be firm, and I stretched out the cords and linked them to the tags on the saddle bags. I have no tank bag, and I still wonder about getting one.

We set off at 8.30. I cannot complain about C, as I had said we would go at 8am, and he was ready, by himself, soon after, whilst I was faffing around sorting out bags, putting oil on the chain and so on. I put the NavMan on, entered J’s address in Wellington, pressed “Find” and the machine stated 513 km and to start with a left turn after 250 metres. We left Silverdale and then Hamilton, and I waved goodbye to C’s mother’s house. I do not know if he noticed. We soon negotiated the roadworks with their, for a motorbike, tricky gouged parallel lines. The bike wheels are guided into the gouges and then I have to watch my balance as I jump the bike out of the tracks. We were soon on the Waikato Expressway, speeding along at 110km/h. It was a little chilly, at 14°C, when we started, but as we rode on the temperature dropped to 13°C and then 12°C, so I began to be concerned about little C.

We rode through Putaruru and I pointed out the corrugated iron sheep dog and the corrugated iron sheep, and I glanced at the corrugated iron shop signs. As we climbed to the Central Plateau, the temperature kept low. A good while after Tokoroa, as we curved through an area of forest, C tapped me on the shoulder, and I pulled over. He wanted a break and I told him that we were 20 km from Taupõ and he was satisfied with that.

We pulled off State Highway One and negotiated our way past the plumes of thermal water. I filled up, parked the bike, then took a while to get to the head of the queue. C chose a small brownie and an ice-cream chocolate biscuit from Ben and Jerry’s. I had a coffee and a pecan pastry.

We stood to eat, after two hours in the saddle and about 170km. I pointed out that we had done 1/3 of the route, but I am not sure he understood. We talked about the cold, and he said he was cold all over, so I suggested that he could put two gloves on and two trousers. I showed him his ‘mad scientist’ gloves which are little more than polyester, but at least they provide a second layer. He put on his jeans over this track pants while I finished my coffee. He threw away the ice-cream biscuit; “No cookie dough, too few chocolate chips,” he complained.

The road to Taupõ from Cambridge is very attractive; there was some traffic but not much. There are forests, the road has some curves and the little townships have a cheerful and prosperous air. At the entrance to Taupõ we could see the clouds of water vapour from the geo-thermal pools and they look spectacular with a pre-historic or even ‘out-of-this-world’ quality.

From the Taupõ BP we returned to the State Highway. I’d told C that our next stop would be Taihape for lunch and he was pleased. The views of Lake Taupõ from the road were great. The sky was a picture-postcard blue with cumulus clouds, there was a crisp 14°C feel to the air and the lake was a dark blue contrast to the sky. We could clearly see the islands in the lake and across to the far shore where there was a little haze caused by the sun. It was a view worth travelling to see, and I kept looking at it and hoping that C was enjoying it too.

The road snakes alongside the edge of the lake, sweeping past small holiday towns with campgrounds advertising accommodation, curving up and down, narrowing over bridges and round headlands that jut into the lake.

We soon rode into Turangi, a memorable place from the many occasions that I had driven there to collect C from his mother or to drop him off with her. I glanced over at walking tracks we had taken, scenic reserves we had visited, the Burger King, New World, and the turn-off to Tokaanu. We smoothly rode past the golf club, where I remember playing a round and then hearing two men discussing the Christchurch Mosque shooting in 2019. Memories.

We continued south along the highway. At this point, the NavMan helpfully warned me to ‘Bear left in 140km.’ Meanwhile, I had the sharp curves and narrow roads leading to the Desert Road. Luckily, there was little traffic, so I did not have to worry about slowing down to let others pass, or speeding up to overtake slow vehicles.

Along the Desert Road was the breathtaking sight of Mount Ruapehu. While Tongariro was quite cloud-covered, Ruapehu stood majestic, noble and bright in the sun. Wisps of cloud clung to the peaks and were blown into swirls. The snow gleamed in the valleys and the rocky ridges stood out as jagged black lines. I had once been told that viewers can see a face in the ridge lines and rock formations, but I have never seen it. At the base of the mountain there is a forest, but much of the land is poor with bush and unappealing brown scrub.

As we rode along, glancing at the mountain, on a straight stretch with almost no traffic, I found myself feeling very cheerful. The bike was smoothly moving along in a way that showed how well it was made for this type of riding. I looked down at the speedometer to see that I was doing 123km/h, somewhat above the speed limit!

We rode into Waiouru, past the abandoned golf club, the secret military wireless receiving station, the military base and continued south. I had forgotten how lovely the road is, but perhaps part of the pleasure was to be on a good vehicle, with good acceleration on a beautiful day. Before we knew it, we eased into Taihape. C was happier and warmer. I pointed him to a fast food place, but he spotted a pizza place, so we shared a large Hawaiian pizza; he had been disappointed that it came with onion and green capsicum, but I solved that problem, to his delight, by asking the pizza-maker not to put them on. If only all of life’s problems were as easy to solve.

While waiting for the pizza, we walked the streets of Taihape, looking for a toilet. We found the gumboot-throwing area which is set up like cricket nets but with some very old and partially destroyed gumboots, ready to be thrown. The town has a regular competition, but we will not enter! We took a turn, had a laugh, and then sought the pizza. We ate it in the sunshine beside the bike. C ate well.

We remounted, rode on south and dropped in to Marton. My old school still looks in great condition, with immaculate grounds. I cannot say the same for the town of Marton, which looks old and grubby, with even more boarded-up shops than before. My old house looks good and it was pleasing to see the rose bushes and the cheerful green fence that I painted and repainted.

We continued to Bulls along the attractive road south from Marton to the State Highway. We were disappointed that the ice-cream shop in front of the information centre was closed, but C suggested the petrol station and he was pleased to find an Oreos biscuit ice-cream. I ordered a coffee; it was not nice, and I threw it away. We looked at the various signs that played on the “Bulls” theme; the police station has “Consta-Bull”, the toilets “Relieve-a-Bull”, the rubbish containers beg one to be “Response-a-Bull”, the garage promises the car will be “Repair-a-Bull” and so on.

On our way. I had suggested stopping in Levin to fill up with petrol, but just before Levin I saw a sign for asparagus. We stopped and bought a kilo, knowing that my oldest son and his wife are keen on asparagus. I explained this to C, who was not too impressed at buying such green vegetables. We decided to ride on to Wellington as the bike control panel indicated that we would have more than enough petrol to get to my son’s house.

The wind picked up as we approached the capital city and the weather got colder. I have to say that the NavMan was great in guiding us to my son’s lovely house. We arrived at 5pm, so we had a long but pleasing day. We ordered take-away curry as a treat.

Route 22

I took a trip up Route 22, from Ngaruawahia to Tuakau. 

During the week I applied for post teaching English in Tuakau College and thought that I should go and have a look at it. I could have ridden the V-Strom north up State Highway One and turned off west at Pokeno, but that would have been rather uninteresting. Route 22 is lovely, with gorges running alongside streams, occasional views of the Waikato River, distant sights of the sea, roads that run along the ridges of hills and then swoop down in curves to valley bottoms. There are farms, forests, small townships, a few marae, scenic reserves, dairy sheds, beef farms, and sheep farms. Though the sky was grey, occasionally interspersed with blue, and one or two black and heavy clouds, it was a good spring day to be out. I was riding north to Auckland and so waved cheerfully to motorcyclists heading south from the big city. 

I am not exactly sure of the distance but an approximate calculation from Hamilton would be 100km, so I was pleased to roll into Tuakau. There is a lovely bridge over the Waikato River and then a sweeping road past a park and walking area where people were unloading boats. The bridge is white, with several arches and looks like a child's drawing of what a bridge over a river should be like. It is also quite narrow, with an instruction to wait if a wide load is on it. I stopped at a cafe and treated myself. I could not help but notice that the proximity to Auckland meant that menu items were 50 cents or a dollar more than in Hamilton, and of course Hamilton is 50c to a dollar more expensive than Marton in the Rangitikei where I used to live. A coffee and an Afghan biscuit at $8.

Pronunciation in Te Reo Maori is not simple. Whoever first wrote down the language and then 'set' the pronunciation had some oddities in his (could be her, but I assume his) ideas of the relationship between English letters and their sounds. I am no expert, but in the name "Tuakau" the "tu" part means "to stand" and is a long "too" (I often think of Spanish tu) and the "akau" (meaning at a river bank) ends with an open "oh" sound. Pronounced slowly, it would be "tu-a-koh", but the final letters, in English, of "au," are usually pronounced "ow". So I was much amused to see the cafe had this on the wall; 

Tuakau. Two cow. While it is easy to complain about the ignorance of English settlers and immigrants, I can't help but also feel that a simplification and rationalisation of Te Reo Maori spelling in the 19th Century would have helped. I remember looking at a book on Maori pronunciation, published in the year 2000, that explained helpfully that the "wh" is like in "whales" but the "w" is like "Wales". As far as I am concerned, these words have been homophones all my life. I know some accents of the Irish Midlands have the aspirated w sound when pronouncing "whales," "when" and words like "why" but I don't think it exists elsewhere nowadays. And as for "au" to be pronounced "oh", the first writers could have saved a lot of trouble by writing "oh". The big lake in the centre of the North Island (Late Taupo) would be Lake Tohpo, not mispronounced to Maori irritation as Lake "Towpo" and Tuakau would be "Tuakoh". I took a spin around "Two Cow"/Tuakau and found the school. It looks ok. There was a team practising rugby, on a Sunday at midday, which was impressive. But with Covid-19 it would have been silly to ask questions of the coaches/managers/teachers involved.

For ages, I have wanted to take a trip out to Port Waikato, the outlet of the Waikato River to the sea. I had twice adventured out, but found myself lost and following directions to Huntly. This time, I had a clear plan as Tuakau was right by the road leading out to Port Waikato. I returned back over the white bridge, thinking about children's drawings, and this time turned right towards the sea, coasting along the southern side of the Waikato River. Again, a lovely road, which reminded me a little of the road out to Port Chalmers and to Aramoana in Otago. On the right hand side was the mighty Waikato River, on the left were the sharp hillsides with sheep. At times, there was a flat bay, with brown and low quality grass. There were few cows. The houses were far from the million-dollar luxury of Auckland, with several shacks, numerous old buses and broken-down caravans serving as housing. Port Waikato itself had the look of holiday homes, just like Aramoana, and had a similar opening to the sea. 

As well as applying for an English teaching post in Tuakau, I applied for a Spanish teaching post in Glendowie in Auckland. So I decided to see how my Navman would guide me. On the second attempt (changing from school to college helped!) it found my destination and set me a course. I would perhaps have preferred a route through Pukekohe rather than along State Highway One, but getting to SH1 was pleasant, with an enjoyable road from Tuakau to the main highway. It was badly repaired, so I was glad to be taking it in daylight when I could see the potholes! Nonetheless, the road curved, rose up to provide panoramic vistas, swooped down into quiet forested areas and then re-emerged with new sights to please me. 

The highway was just the highway. I regularly checked the Navman and pulled off at the correct turning. I felt like I was being led around various obscure routes but eventually the message was "You are at your destination." I was at a T-Junction. To the right were rugby playing fields, to the left were some football playing fields. I went left, but it was a community centre. I doubled back and found myself at the Sacred Heart School. Where was Glendowie? I had to try a few streets and I have to say the Navman was nearly right, but not quite. I found it, and slowed to look at the front of the school. Two primary-school-aged boys went past and one said, "Nice bike", so he should win a prize. The Navman helped find the place, and so I tried "Places near by" with "Restaurants" but the one I selected was closed. I meandered around some more, and found a cafe, where I was able to have a cafe and a ham and cheese croissant for $12. 

Rather than riding home along State Highway One, I choose the grandiously named "Pacific Coast Highway". I checked my paper map and saw "Kawakawa Bay," which I entered in my Navman. It gave me the one in Auckland, unlike Google which has just given me one in Northland. Again, it was a very pleasant ride out through places like Clevedon to Kawakawa Bay. I stopped at a headland to take a few pictures. The Pacific Coast Highway was another lovely road and, with Route 22, enters my list of great NZ roads. The route from Brookby to Clevedon and on to Kawakawa and on to Miranda is beautiful.

Soon after Miranda, it started to rain. I had just bought myself a pair of rain trousers so was delighted to try them out. I could not find a place to stop, except by the side of the road. While sitting and trying to get boot and a leg through the rain trousers, an elderly couple stopped to ask if I was ok. I assured them I was, and then, standing, struggled to get my other leg through the rain trousers. I could appreciate that if I was writhing around on the ground, it could cause consternation. However, it is not easy to get rain trousers on over boots and riding jeans while standing up!

Then it was time to ride home. I turned off SH 26 to Ngatea, then went through Paeroa and Morrinsville, before reaching home at 6.15pm. I had started at 9.25am, dropped off a book in Hamilton Library, and spent a lot of the day in the saddle. I also think it is the first time I have filled the tank up twice in the same day; in the morning in Ngaruawahia, and in the afternoon in Paeroa. I calculate I managed 580 km, which is not a lot, but I had several breaks and, at times, the going was slow. Another good day.

Coromandel Circuit

 There are many problems to do with Covid-19, but a small and selfish benefit is that Aucklanders are stuck in the big city, leaving all the tourist destinations of the upper North Island free for others. A friend extolled the joy of going around Coromandel without aggressive drivers (not necessarily Aucklanders, but, well, actually, yes, Aucklanders) roaring up behind motorbikes. There is a fundamentally different road use between motorcyclists and car drivers. Motorcyclists have to go slowly into corners because, if you are going too fast, you either ride off the road or into incoming traffic. Motorbikes have brakes on the front and the back tyres, and the front tyres are the most effective. (This is not because of technology, but physics; the brake on the dragging tyre behind is far less effective than on the leading tyre in front. As a motorcyclist once explained to me; if you had a wheelbarrow with a jammed wheel, would you push it or pull it? A brake on the dragging wheel is useful, but not very effective.) Unfortunately, the brake on the leading front wheel can also cause problems when turning and heading into a curve at an angle. 

As a result, motorcyclists go into curves slowly and carefully. But once the motorcyclist reaches the apex of the curve and the open road is visible, then there is the power to accelerate. By contrast, a modern car (eg, since the 1980s) has four brakes, often operated with ABS, and the driver makes no decision on front or back brakes. The four brakes mean the vehicle is unlikely to slide and of course there is no angle to the tarmac. So just when a motorcyclist is slowing for a curve, a car driver is maintaining the same speed. A small nudge on the back of a motorcycle is devastating, unlikely a nudge to the back of a car. 

So, Coromandel. Beautiful, more beautiful than the last time I was out, as the weather was better. Although I had my heated grips, I did not need them. I rode out to Paeroa, then Waihi, then went around the Peninsula anti-clockwise. My first break was in the Karangahaka Gorge. The cafe was a little Bohemian, but charming and it had lovely views of the river and, across the road, walkers were heading off to tramp out kilometres. I enjoyed my coffee and a date, apple and oat cake. Very healthy. 

Refreshed, I rode on to Waihi and Whangamata. Some lovely roads and scenery. 

(While checking something else, I saw that two motorcyclists were involved in serious crashes in the areas I was in, at about the same time.)

In Whitianga I struggled to find a decent looking cafe, but did so eventually. I was able to order a calamari and chorizo dish, perhaps two of my favourite items. The chorizo was New Zealand style, so just a kind of sausage, but the calamari was good. By this stage, I was feeling that I had treated myself too much for Sunday. The ride up and over the Peninsula was fun. As my teaching colleague had said, the lack of Aucklanders meant that there was far less traffic, and so there was less need to look behind to see if a car was going to shunt one off the road. 

On the road to Whitianga.

The road around the Coromandel is Route 25, and I guess the marketing department of the Ministry of Transport thought long and hard before coming up with "Stay Alive on Route 25." I would prefer something more positive, perhaps bringing tourists in, rather than making them fearful. 

When I have previously travelled on this route, it has been quite wintry, so it was enjoyable to take off a layer and to feel comfortable. The views are spectacular, the road is lovely, and the curves, inclines and declines, set a challenging and entertaining ride. In the far distance I could see the miasma of Covid-19 over Auckland City, but I was able to ride on with my own thoughts and enjoyment of the road. 

Raglan

Plucky Raglan fought in the Crimean War between Britain and Russia. As with Wellington, his Crimean War exploits mean that a town in New Zealand is named after him. It is a 45 km ride out from Hamilton and is a pleasant, usually touristic town, with apparently some great surfing. As for the road, it winds, rises and falls, has some sharp turns and some opportunities to let the throttle out. It is a very popular route for motorcyclists who can usually be seen on the terrace at the pub on the main street on a Sunday. I took the route out to Raglan on my first day with the V-Strom in December last year, and before you are too critical, remember that I had not been on a bike in 14 years. I was soon terrified. The weight was different, the acceleration was incredible, I had forgotten how to counter-steer, I was too nervous to shift my weight into the curve. I could go on, but I won't. I am already remembering the scenes and the nervousness. So, back to the present. It was a lovely ride. Various important people in school had meetings, but I am unimportant so left once I had finished a number of tasks. I enjoyed a coffee in a small local cafe in Hamilton, and then headed out to Raglan. As always, there is the pleasure of being out, of gripping the fuel tank between my knees, of feeling the power and the responsiveness. I felt comfortable in the curves, relaxed as the road reverse-cambered and enjoyed the chance to speed up. 

I took a look at Raglan Area School, just so that I would know where it was. Who knows? I may have to look at jobs next year. I then rode into town, down a steep street with a right-hand turn. A man in a huge ute trailed me closely and I hoped that he would realise I had to stop as I wanted to turn. Once I was safely in the centre of Raglan, I saw that the butcher's shop was open. There are very few genuine butcher's open these days as most have been swallowed up by the large supermarkets, but in Raglan there is a genuine butcher's. Although I had planned leftovers for an unexciting supper, I felt I had to support Raglan's entrepreneurs. So I bought some lamb shanks for tomorrow, and some sausages for today. I always feel a little embarrassed when purchasing; so I now state that I live alone and so two lamb shanks is an evening meal and then leftovers for work the next day. The view from the carpark over the Raglan Harbour is beautiful and I stood and admired it for a few minutes. the sun was setting at the mouth of the inlet, waves were breaking over sand-bars, and the impression was given of a peaceful timelessness. The ride home was also pleasurable, as I now know well the swoops, curves, changes of gear, shifting of weight, and the chances to accelerate. Whilst there was a lot of traffic heading to Raglan in the evening, there was hardly any traffic going my direction. 

I rolled into Hamilton, a smile on my face. A good afternoon, with an enjoyable trip out to the seaside. It certainly beats a work meeting!

Ngaruawahia, Glen Massey and Glen Afton.

 Today was a fine spring day. It was freezing in the morning, and I mean that in the sense of the temperature being below 0 degrees C, not just the hyperbole expression 'it was a little nippy'. The temperature rose during the day so when I took my little son back to his mother's, I was able to enjoy 14 degrees C. 

I dropped off a book at the Central Library and then rode out north to Auckland. The big city is in a lockdown so there was little traffic heading north. Normally, thousands of vehicles return to Auckland on Sunday afternoon from little weekend away breaks in Rotorua, Coromandel, Taupo, Cambridge or Hamilton. I was kidding about Hamilton. It is not really a 'weekend away' type place. I turned off the State Highway at Taupiri and rode through Huntly. Only a year ago, this was a hectic road, but with the expressway by-passing Huntly and Covid-19 shutting down entrance to Auckland, the old state highway was forlorn and neglected as I rode along. I crossed the Waikato River and headed off to Glen Afton, Glen Massey and my intermediate landmark, Ngaruawahia. The roads were lovely, with climbs and then vistas of paddocks, sheep, beef cattle and the occasional dairy shed. 

For those unfamiliar with New Zealand agriculture, the most lucrative livestock is dairy cows as milk powder brings in a lot of export yuan from China. Next, beef is a good earner, but lamb is not so great. Wool is worthless. I have explained the latter point to teenage students by asking them how many woolen garments they have, and frequently they look at me with puzzlement as they have none. What a strange idea, to wear wool from a sheep! I need hardly explain that, globally, mutton is hardly possible to buy, even though it is far tastier than lamb. So the poorer mountainous areas of New Zealand are populated with sheep, the medium with beef cattle, and the rich lowland valley bottoms are populated with Friesian cows. As I rode along, I admired the sheep. 

In my bid to get the V-Strom to full touring specifications, I put on protectors for the hand grips. These provide very little protection in the event of an accident, but do keep the wind and insects off the hands. 

I gave these a wipe before taking the photographs as I was sure that the sight of multiple dead insects would be unattractive. 

I also took a photo of the heated grips control. 

As I returned through the steep gorges approaching Ngaruawahia, I put the heated grips on to the lowest setting, 30%. Twenty minutes later, as I approached Hamilton's Central Business District, I switched them off, as they were no longer necessary. 

It was a very pleasing ride. Some beautiful and scenic roads, hardly any traffic, I rode smoothly and well, and was able to return home to left-over Shepherd's Pie. Please note that no actual shepherds were harmed in the making of the pie.

Covid

 Back in April and May 2020, I thought that the Covid-19 lockdown would be over within a month or so. Here we are, months later, and things seem to be little better. In fact, with an Australian State closed down, and now Auckland closed down, albeit for only a couple of weeks, my plans for travel for 2021 are limited by the pandemic. 

There is an obvious belief that travel requires money, time, and energy, but that these are distributed unfairly over lifetimes. The young have energy but, given studies and work, little time and less money. The elderly have time and money but no energy. The middle-aged, and I count myself in this category, have some money but work takes up time and the energy levels are falling. So should I be taking a massive decision to use up my money to travel while I have the energy? I would also have to leave my work, which is not such a bad thing. I feel somewhat tired of being abused by teenagers! 

Due to Covid-19, the potential timing is unclear, and the destinations are also unclear. 

On the positive side, my bike is getting to be ship-shape, if I am permitted to mix metaphors. I put on a sump-protector, centre stand, heated grips and hand protectors. I have panniers for luggage and a possible tank bag. I say possible because it does not fit the shape of my fuel tank. I have researched tents and sleeping bags, and thought about cooking materials. So that is the vehicle. Next, is the financial aspect; I have my money invested and I could use that. Realistically I know I cannot afford to buy a house in this life-time, unless I miraculously inherit money, so should I save the money for to improve my retirement, or head into retirement having done something brave and adventurous? 

My contract is to teach until the end of the year. It is hard going, with several difficult classes that make me question my worth. Still, I can count down; six more weeks this term, then a two-week break, then eight weeks. In terms of dates, that means I finish with the school in the middle of December. I have the rental of my house to think about too. In New Zealand, tenants are poorly regarded and tied up with rules and regulations. One is that if I break my contract before my year is up, I can be charged for the remainder of the year. It is possible to protest and argue about that requirement, which I will probably have to do. Basically, I will truthfully plead that I have no job, which of course means that estate agents run for the hills. 

Meanwhile, I am enjoying the bike. The heated grips have certainly added an element of comfort as my hands are kept a little warmer. I have taken rides out to Morrinsville to the east of Hamilton, to Te Awamutu in the south and to Gordonston in the north. Right now, there is a lockdown in Auckland so there is no chance of going too far north in the next few weeks. 

I am also looking forward to better weather! 

Bike upgrades

 Boyd's Motorcycles in Hamilton kindly lent me a bike while my own was being repaired. In the conversation prior to leaving the bike, I'd been told it was a Suzuki Dr650. There are many codes with motorbikes and I confess I don't know much. I kind of knew that the Dr was adventure and that 650 was the engine size. I was told that this bike had gone around the world. I was right on about the Dr and the 650, but I had not appreciated that the bike was a single-cylinder, effectively agricultural bike, with studded wheels and negligible speed. I was surprised at how small it was, and, when I checked later, it was listed as 160kg as against my own V-Strom at 215kg. 

I could not get the motorbike up to more than 80 km/h and it also only seemed to have five gears. (On a motorbike you use your left foot to flick up through the gears. This bike did not to go up beyond five. I counted, because five gears is pretty old-fashioned!) I got it home and scratched my head. 650cc?

Very narrow, small engine. Only one disk brake on the front wheel. Is this really a 650? Around the world?

Bariloche, Argentina. !Ostras!

?Y que mas? 

Ushuaia, fin del mundo. Ushaia is a town at the very bottom of Patagonia, at the very south of Argentina, at the very south of South America. This bike had been there. 

Respect.