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.