Miss X grew up as a child in Hong Kong. Went on holiday to Sydney. Moved to Auckland. Goes on holiday to Hong Kong and Macau and Sydney again every so often. A few place-names there; what do they have in common? They're all big cities. In fact, Miss X had never been out of Auckland whilst living here, so it was time to change that.
About 30 minutes south-west of Dargaville, my family has a bach alongside perhaps a dozen other houses; they call the community Glinks Gully. I believe my family built the bach there some time around 1900.
I pinched a luggage rack from Magua's CB400N -- had some CB250RS brackets, and his rack magically fit them. Fashioned some backpacks into a tank bag and panniers (about a million bungee cords, $10 in a tube from The Warehouse). Pumped up tyres a bit, jacked up rear preload, ready to go! Headed off on Monday.
Got to the bach, came down Glinks Rd (the single-lane access road to the settlement), the first sliver of blue ocean -- magic! Hadn't been back since I was a wee fellow.
First night there, dear Miss X was a bit scared. No streetlights! The sound of the waves crashing every second, inescapable. No TV, no phone, not even cellphone coverage. Gradually adjusted, and after a day or two she was enjoying the peace and quiet. Was wonderful to watch her work out the beauty of the countryside, and feel the discovery of such things vicariously through her.
The beach goes on forever. Before coming I was a little worried about taking the bike, as this is the place where poor wee Daisy Fernandez was killed by the imbecilic trailbike rider. Small community -- everybody's family knows everybody back through a few generations. However when we got there, there were a couple of farmbikes and quads on the beach fishing, so it seemed OK. However when we did venture down onto the beach with the bike, we headed south, rather than north, where Daisy's memorial is. The CB250RS handled the sand well; road tyres are shit in the soft stuff, but due to the lightness and excess ground clearance, there was nothing a bit of throttle and momentum couldn't solve.
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Every morning and evening I'd drive Miss X up Glinks Rd to the top of the hill so she could ring her mother (cellphone coverage) and assure her that we hadn't been molested by smugglers (both parents were convinced that smugglers and pirates would be the only people who'd want to live in such a remote place).
The nearest town is Te Kopuru. My grandmother remembers it as a living and breathing place; today all that exists is a bare-shelved general store and a tiny church. From Te Kopuru it's 15-20 minutes to Dargaville to get proper groceries. To get to Te Kopuru from Glinks, one has a choice at the top of the access road; either head left, through some long, fast sweepers in the hills, or turn right, and head down a picturesque winding gravel road. What a decision to have to make!
Miss X grew to understand why people want to live so far from civilisation. Boiling water in a Zip and wiping the salt spray off your kitchen windows every morning is a small price to pay for the beauty and peace a place like this offers.
Very pleased with the little bike. Took two people and shitloads of luggage in not entire discomfort along some very rough country roads. Up hill, down dale -- still managed to wring 80kph going up the steepest hills. Climbed a 45-degree slippery grass track every morning to get out of the back yard. Took us kilometres along the beach, through hard sand, soft sand, dirt tracks and shallow inlets. Still started first kick, or at most three kicks, and settled down into a pleasant little burble, hot or cold. All whilst doing 70mpg.
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Originally Posted by xerxesdaphat
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