Gold strike.

Sunday 11th October.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The photo shows the participants in the course.

Paeroa

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

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

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

Maungaturoto and return to Hamilton

 

Saturday 3^rd October.

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hamilton to Maungaturoto

 Friday 2nd October.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

Return to the Tron; Wellington to Hamilton.

 

29 September 2020

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

Wet windy Wellington.

 

Wellington 27^th September

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

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

Hamilton to Wellington

 

Hamilton to Wellington: 26 September 2020.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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