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!