Auckland and Orewa

11 July 2020

337 kilometres.

Auckland is Te Reo Maori for 'over priced real estate'. No, I am kidding about the language. William Hobson was Lieutenant Governor in 1840 when the settlement was established and he named it after his boss, the Earl of Auckland, who was the First Lord of the Admiralty. Did it help Hobson gain a peerage, perhaps a baronial estate in Buckinghamshire? I do not know. Lord Auckland is described by Wikipedia as lacking in talent and indifferent to the history and culture of India, where he was Governor-General. The city is named in honour of someone who never saw the place, and that should already give a sense of the pointlessness and emptiness at the core of New Zealand's largest city. Many non-Aucklanders grumble that it is not really New Zealand, but that reflects the empty premise, which is that people can point to clear culture, traditions, ethnicity and languages that are “New Zealand,” and thus identify what is “not New Zealand.”

I spent Saturday morning typing and at two libraries seeking a motorbike touring book of New Zealand. I had read Mike Hyde's motorbike tour book of Australia and I knew that he had written about touring New Zealand. I found the book in Hamilton's Central Library and stuck it in my saddlebag next to Isabel Allende's “La Casa de los Espiritus.” One of many thoughts about what I should do next year, in 2021, is to do a Ph.D, but I tried before and could not keep up the work, so that is not a relevant possibility. A key aspect to a Ph.D is a reading list, and I thought that if I want to do a tour of New Zealand, Australia or South America, then I should make such a reading list. So I need a literature review.

Moving on to the moving object, the Suzuki. I left “The Tron,” or “The City of the Future,” Hamilton for the “City of Sails,” Auckland, shortly before midday. The new expressway made a lovely ride north but as I approached New Zealand's largest city the traffic became worse and the driving standards dropped. I see this as part of my essential training: if I plan to ride a motorbike in Sydney, Melbourne, Santiago de Chile, Buenos Aires or the city of Mexico, then I had better do well in Auckland! I had no particular destination in mind, just the idea of some lunch and I had left my GPS in the car, which was being repaired. I followed signs to the port and found myself heading down Queen's Street, a major road down to the port. I looked for somewhere to park, but no luck. I rode up and down a few small streets and then noticed a scooter and a small motorbike parked in front of a tree and I left my bike at the next tree. On one side was a “Tepid Swimming Pool” and the other side was a Train Sushi. Both concepts are puzzling. Why tepid? Sure, I get that the different types of sushi are on a belt and revolve in front of the clients, but does that make it a train?

I locked the bike and took a walk. Rain poured down heavily and I remembered that I had left my baseball cap in the saddle bags. I found that I had expertly parked by the Viaduct and so the trendy and beautiful of Auckland were hanging out by the yachts, spending on food and drink. I wandered past a few places, trying to choose somewhere reasonably priced that looked fine. I took a loop around and found myself back at the bike. Nearby was a coffee shop with a special offer chalked on a blackboard. Burger, chips and coffee, $20. It was good.

I took a stroll and admired the personalised number plates. This one suggests that the owner likes to w**k a lot and he is proud of it.

Refreshed, I rejoined the traffic of Auckland and saw the signs for State Highway One, north to Whangarei. Despite living for 12 years in New Zealand I have never been north of the city but I once was offered a temporary teaching post in Orewa, along the Hibiscus Coast.

The road north was busy but manageable and enjoyable. There were clear signs for a toll road but also for a free road which would go through Orewa. It turned out to be a very touristy town, with a line of expensive sea-front houses and numerous small cafes, restaurants and other essentials for the day tripper. I had a cheerful conversation with a group who had enjoyed some alcohol with their lunch. I saw a small cafe called Tasca with a sign for “Estrella Damm, Barcelona.” Estrella is not my favourite Spanish beer, but it was a reminder of my time in Catalonia.

I ordered a coffee and asked the manager if he was Spanish, but he was from Turkey. Such is the world. A Turk in New Zealand running a Spanish tapas bar. It could explain the grilled haloumi on the menu. In the cafe there was a couple, both middle-aged, who looked like they were on a date. She did not speak English well, and he had that loud voice that revealed his belief that if he spoke loudly enough she would understand him. After the coffee, I took a walk to the beach to search for an ideal camera shot, but the ideal framed shot, with trees, had various people sitting and eating, in a very un-photogenic way. The couple from the cafe appeared and she clambered on to the rocks to demand a photo from her companion. Once that was taken she was in a panic as she struggled to get back off the rocks. I looked at my watch and realised that it would be dark by the time I returned home. I left them to their date.

I took a more scenic route back to Auckland and was doing a leisurely 80 km/h, the speed limit, when I was overtaken by two aggressive Harley-Davidson riders doing considerably more than the speed limit. They roared past. The return route was pleasing. I re-crossed the Auckland Harbour Bridge and yet again enjoyed the fine views of the sky-scrapers and the big city. On both sides there were hundreds of yachts, carefully moored in their marinas. I wondered if living in a yacht was permitted, given that the price of living on land in Auckland is out of the reach for most people.

On the motorway south I was riding well and comfortably, despite the traffic. I overtook one car though and pulled in front of it, glanced in my rear view mirror and saw that the driver, of a race and gender that I won't mention, was looking right and had accelerated to be practically on top of me. I accelerated and then let her overtake me. Another vehicle, an unexciting old station wagon, was zig-zagging from left lane to centre, to right, to centre, right again and was, at each lane change, gaining a car space. The car pulled off after a few kilometres, having gained perhaps ten car-lengths through his maneuvers. There were no other incidents on my return and I was home in time to Skype my mother and reheat some leftover food.

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.

My morning commute.

My morning commute 

 It is not a long ride into work as it is, at most, ten minutes from my home to school. The street I live on has quite a lot of gravel from roadworks done in the summer so the chips flick up. There is a simple left and immediate right and I ride past a secondary school. One striking aspect of this school is that I often see students practising football, some forty minutes before school starts. They are dedicated. Of course, parents are beginning to drop off their teenagers, buses are rolling up and I have to watch out for the pedestrian crossing. I ride up the hill at a steady 50-odd kilometres an hour, keeping within the speed limit, in third gear. The revs are fairly high, but I know that if I click up to fourth gear I am likely to push up to 60 or 70 km/h. I keep in third. 

 Then there is a tricky t-junction; some traffic is pulling in to go down to the secondary school, some traffic is heading straight and there is that irritating regularity of traffic. Either the road I am crossing has minimal gaps, or someone is turning in front of me. I now take a slightly aggressive attitude and I pull out when I see a gap, and then drive in the median, slotting in on the other side of the road. I have not had anyone gesturing to me or honking their horn, so I assume that road users here are not complaining. Soon after I turn, and while negotiating the median strip, and trying to slide in between vehicles, there is a Zebra Crossing. It is so easy to be looking in the rear-view mirrors, glancing at blind spots, trying to slide into place, shifting from first gear to second, and third, that I have to consciously look right and left to see if any pedestrian is crossing. As a pedestrian, I like Zebra Crossings as there is something powerful in just stepping out, knowing that the traffic is obliged to stop. As a motorbike rider, looking left, right, ahead, changing gears and slotting into position, the necessity to see if some pedestrian is claiming their right to cross is a challenge. I have, on occasion, not seen the pedestrian. I feel guilty. 

Then there is a good moment or two. I have my position in the morning commute. I pass some sports fields and a café that I have been to a few times. A traffic speed indicator states 48 km/h or 55km/h, but I have not yet worked out if it picks up the motorbike. There are some traffic lights, and most of the traffic heads up an arterial road leading to the west of the city. I keep straight. Curiously, I often see a young man walking to the high school I passed quite a few minutes ago. He is distinctive as he has a huge head of curly blond hair like some kind of halo. I often wonder about the boys’ hair regulations in his school, because in my own school, that length hair would not be acceptable. We have a bald-headed man who is a stickler on boys’ hair length. It is tempting to speculate on the reasons he is so strict on hair, but I will not do so. At the next traffic light, I turn right. I am usually at the front, as either I filter, or I am one of very few turning right. At this point I have one of my high points of the commute; I can pull right carefully and then accelerate away, from first gear, to second, to third and to fourth. I know that I am exceeding the speed limit as I pass by a football field, but it is great to have wide-open road in front of me for a short while. I slow for the next traffic lights, keeping a little to the right to avoid manhole covers. There are few things more disconcerting to a well-ordered person than skidding on a wet manhole cover. 

At the next traffic lights, I can frequently see students from my school, often heading into a fast-food take-away to get fried chicken and chips. I do not know whether to remonstrate that the students are eating chicken and chips at 8 o’clock in the morning or to accept that teenage boys can have a healthy breakfast at home and then be hungry after a short walk. I also admire the take-away restaurant owner’s acumen; what a great idea it is to fry up chicken and chips at 8 am! There is a gentle curve at this point, giving me a chance to counter-steer and accelerate as I head alongside the school rugby pitches. Then I indicate left and ease down, from fourth gear to third, to second and to first. Frequently, I have to stop as students are ambling across the road without paying attention to traffic. 

Although I have a designated parking place for my vehicle, nowadays I park the motorbike under a set of stairs. This flight of stairs provides some shelter from the rain. The bike is new. I love it. As an adult, I appreciate that it can withstand some rain, but I would still like to protect it as much as I can. So I indulge in some pavement riding, back up with difficulty, inch forward, back up again, and ease the bike into a protected position. My morning commute. The fact that I am on my motorbike makes this great. Unless you ride a motorbike, you will not appreciate the joy of even a simple and repetitive trip.

New Start

I have had quite a change. I don't want to detail my personal life, but instead, I would like to push my writing into a new area, that of motorcycling. In December 2019 I bought a brand-new Suzuki V-Strom 650. I have been delighted with it since I bought it. It is a beautiful machine, with a lovely dashboard interface, partially digital and partially analogue.

The revolution counter is analogue, but the left side is digital and clearly displays fuel tank range, time, air and engine temperature, and traction settings. I can move between traction settings and also other aspects such as fuel economy. It is more sophisticated than my car dashboard. Of course, the V-Strom is more expensive than my car, so that might explain the technical advances. It is a beautiful machine to look at, with lovely lines and a simple colour styling. I chose the white petrol tank which I have waxed. It seems odd to wax just the petrol tank but the reward is seeing it gleam. Another reason to wax it is because I met a guy on an immaculate scooter in Taupo. I complimented him on what looked like a new vehicle, but he said it was five years old, but well cared for. I realised he spent quite a bit of time cleaning his scooter and could enjoy the pride of a well-cared-for scooter.

So what next?

I hope to take a major road trip next year, 2021. Covid-19 has disrupted travel possibilities so it is impossible to make clear plans. My most adventurous idea is that of South America. I could fly to Santiago de Chile with the motorbike, then ride it to Buenos Aires, Uruguay, Brazil, Paraguay, back to Chile, then Bolivia, Peru, Ecuador and Colombia. From there, I could ride through Central America; Panama, Costa Rica, Nicaragua, Honduras, El Salvador and Guatemala. Once I have gone that far, I can continue through Mexico. I am not sure about the US of America. It should be relatively easy to freight the motorbike from Mexico City, D.F., to Spain, and then I could begin a European tour. The Latin American tour would be well over 18,000 kilometres and, at a recommended 300 km/day, a minimum of 60 days. Online advice suggests that travellers should add on 1/3 to the number of days, which results in 80 days. A good point about South America is that I am fluent in Spanish though the accents might be difficult to deal with.

A more manageable possibility is a tour of Australia, the big tour around the country. The Australian State Highway One is 14,935 km, but many attractions are off that, so 15,000 km is minimal. I could go clockwise, starting from Sydney, and finishing there too. I could do such a tour in 48 days, or a month and a half.

If it is impossible to get to Australia or South America, then a tour of New Zealand is possible. I have seen much of New Zealand, so there is no great novelty, but it would be fun to see the country whilst on a motorbike.

Meanwhile, I need to get through the next five months, work out what is happening about Covid-19, and make some decisions.

moving on

On a completely different note, my wife has left me. So I suppose I can umpire lots of cricket, once I get my act together!

Premier Grade

During December I was able to umpire a few senior grade games, and I enjoyed them, though they were long days!

School cricket

I have now umpired a couple of cricket games and I have enjoyed the experience. The team has not won much, but it has been good.

We won the warm-up game against the school development team (ie the colts team), but then lost to OBHS and to KHS in the league. That was followed by another loss, this time to the school development team. Still, we have played quite well, we just need to put up more runs, catch a few more catches, and get a few more wickets!

Good news was that my son played one game. He was kind of bored, but at least he played a game.