James Deuce
29th July 2004, 14:20
We got to Collingwood in time for a late lunch. The first photo shows the line up outside the cafe, and some fairly serious looking real estate up the hill. Most of us were still satisfied from our brunch in Motueka, but some unamed FBs tucked into chocolate and carrot cake at the Courthouse Cafe in Collingwood. This cafe was charmingly rustic (see second photo) and the staff were utter hippies. I was feeling a bit "head-achey", a combination of a little too much wine the night before and a bit of dehydration from not drinking enough that morning. Three glasses of water and a freshly extracted kiwifruit juice later and I was feeling perky again. We'd decided to make the most of the day, given our changed itinerary and Madam P enquired about the state of the roads up to Puponga bay. Apparently it is sealed all the way so we headed off.
Another cracker of a road; medium length straights connected by variably radiused swervery and practically NO traffic. Except for the odd local, obviously not expecting to see traffic and cutting corners - despite it's ducious legality, you can kind of understand why they do that as the whole region is just so quiet in winter. The first one way bridge we came to had quite a steep approach, and I couldn't help but give the trusty TRX a bit of a go over the crest and was rewarded by a tiny bit of air under both wheels and screech from the rear as it spun a little when I landed. Naughty Jim! Great fun though. Our nemesis reared its head fairly soon though, as the first couple of kilometres were heavily shaded and the ice was still quite thick on the verges, and the road was damp and covered in a thick layer of grit. Didn't take long to get past this section and from there on it was all on! Steve blasted off on the ST and the rest of us straggled behind and travelled at our own pace.
Puponga is where the seal runs out, but we all wanted to get as close to Farewell Spit as possible so we followed Steve over yet another one way bridge and up and down a very steep, damp gravel road. I was riding with Madam P and Mooch at this stage and we came across some horses and riders meandering down the path. Horses seem to hate twins particularly, so Mooch and I were a bit tentative about passing the horses at all, but the riding party's leader got them all under control and out of the way fairly quickly, and Mooch and I pulled the clutch in and idled past. We pulled up into the grassed parking area and once everyone turned their engines off, the sense of solitude and isolation that settled was quite awe inspiring.
I've never been noted for a sense of tact, but my next little "adventure" was a bit borderline even for me, and could have gone one of two ways. There was a couple collecting peat and tipping it over the stile in a wheelbarrow (see thrid photo) that they would both lift and tip into their trailer which was attached to their car, obviously set for a quick get away. You know, keys in the ignition, driver and passenger doors open. So I yelled out, "Are you two securing your piece of the foreshore before you're banned for life"? There was a stunned silence, into which my brain silently injected "Oh F__K, they're Maori, run!!", but the man laughed and called in a broad northern England accent, "Aye, it's, umm, you know, customary rights". Ever said something stupid in pub to a 6'6" mouth breather with shaved head and facial tatoos? Funny how quick you become Norman "No Mates" isn't it? I looked around and everyone had scattered. Madam P was about 200 meteres up the beach, Snuffles was inspecting some doohickey on his bike, Mangell was shuffling rapidly down the sewerage outflow pipe. You get the picture.
Once the "Peat People" had left and a couple of daytrampers got into their car and left I got some great photos that really convey the sense isolation and the grandeur of the scenery. I've only included the shot looking out along Farewell Spit here, but across the bay were the ranges we had crossed, and way off in the distance were the peaks of the Tararuas in the Nth Island, and Kapiti Is. was a faint smudge. We headed off at about 2:30, as we really didn't want to do the Takaka hill at night. Madam P and I had a bit of a fang back to Collingwood, as somehow the others had gotten quite a way ahead. Once I got to Collingwood, the speed Sirens had to be answered, and I caught up to Steve and followed him to Takaka. I continue to be amazed at how quickly touring oriented bikes can be punted over the right roads. You'd think I'd be over that by now! By Takaka I really needed a pit stop, and I can reliably report that the only thing the Public Toilets in Takaka lack is a TV and heating.
I got some gas here too and headed off in the lead, looking forward to roads that flow like oozing treacle between Takak and the Takaka hill. Snuffles hooked up with me as I took off, and by crikey his confidence had upped quite a few notches over the previous couple of days. Whne we finally got to the bottom of the Takaka hill, we had time to stop and have a chat before the others caught up. The trip up the hill was great because the road was mostly dry There is a hairpin on the Golden Bay side that just goes on and on, and we saw some paragliders near the top. Imagine soaring like a bird and gfazing at the wondeful view. The hair stands up on the back of my neck just thinking about it.
The trip down the hill was a tad unpleasant for me. My feet had frozen, despite a pair of thermal socks under my thick woollen Kathmandu socks, and my wrists were getting sore from all the low speed trickling around ice patches and grit. We soon got to Motueka and stopped at the local Supermarket to stock up on supplies for our Mid-Winter BBQ planned for that evening. We even managed to secure a supply of the DSWMC House Wine and some Mac's Gold and Mac's Dark.
Given that most of us had foregone lunch, we were all fairly ravenous by now, so we quickly got organised for the BBQ, texted relatives to NOT let us know what the Rugby score for the test between the Boks and the ABs and then sat inside while the macho amongst us seared their eyebrows off over the BBQs two foot high flames.
Wasn't that Rugby game a nail-biter! I'm not a Rugby fan at the best of times, but those giant Boks, with their ability to seemingly mass all 15 players in one place at a time, and get away with blatant offside moves, and forward passes were a real inspiration to watch. They had everything on the line, and we were damn lucky that Mr Howlett ran that try in. The rest of the night was spent in genial low key revelry, and we headed to bed relatively early, both due to the fact the we were a little shagged (evident by the enthusiastic snoring everyone seemed to take turns at) and we had to be off by 9:30am.
The ride to Picton was wonderful. At the start of Ruby Bay (at least in the direction we were travelling) the was a reserve that appeared to be named after a DSWMC member who couldn't make the trip. He is reserved and his surname is McKee, but I don't think that he is quite at memorial stage yet. The hill from Nelson to Havelock was colder this time, with Steve reporting the minimum temperature to be 1.9C! Three pairs of socks and boots so full of foot and sock that they wouldn't bend at the ankle kept the cold at bay, so I know what to do next time. The run through Wairau Valley was great, and we even found somewhere with a convenient name, so we could kinda, sorta, make it look like we got near the Blackball Hilton. I don;t think we'll fool anyone though.
We had a coffee in Picton and as you can see from the second to last picture the weather was glorious! The crossing back was smooth as a baby's bottom, and I got some wonderful shots of Wellington from all directions, bathed in a liquid amber light that a clear winter afternoon so often provides in Wellington. The whole trip was fantastically refreshing, and I can't wait for the next one. If you ever suffer a bit of hardship in life, or need a break, take the bike on long trip. It's good for the soul.
Another cracker of a road; medium length straights connected by variably radiused swervery and practically NO traffic. Except for the odd local, obviously not expecting to see traffic and cutting corners - despite it's ducious legality, you can kind of understand why they do that as the whole region is just so quiet in winter. The first one way bridge we came to had quite a steep approach, and I couldn't help but give the trusty TRX a bit of a go over the crest and was rewarded by a tiny bit of air under both wheels and screech from the rear as it spun a little when I landed. Naughty Jim! Great fun though. Our nemesis reared its head fairly soon though, as the first couple of kilometres were heavily shaded and the ice was still quite thick on the verges, and the road was damp and covered in a thick layer of grit. Didn't take long to get past this section and from there on it was all on! Steve blasted off on the ST and the rest of us straggled behind and travelled at our own pace.
Puponga is where the seal runs out, but we all wanted to get as close to Farewell Spit as possible so we followed Steve over yet another one way bridge and up and down a very steep, damp gravel road. I was riding with Madam P and Mooch at this stage and we came across some horses and riders meandering down the path. Horses seem to hate twins particularly, so Mooch and I were a bit tentative about passing the horses at all, but the riding party's leader got them all under control and out of the way fairly quickly, and Mooch and I pulled the clutch in and idled past. We pulled up into the grassed parking area and once everyone turned their engines off, the sense of solitude and isolation that settled was quite awe inspiring.
I've never been noted for a sense of tact, but my next little "adventure" was a bit borderline even for me, and could have gone one of two ways. There was a couple collecting peat and tipping it over the stile in a wheelbarrow (see thrid photo) that they would both lift and tip into their trailer which was attached to their car, obviously set for a quick get away. You know, keys in the ignition, driver and passenger doors open. So I yelled out, "Are you two securing your piece of the foreshore before you're banned for life"? There was a stunned silence, into which my brain silently injected "Oh F__K, they're Maori, run!!", but the man laughed and called in a broad northern England accent, "Aye, it's, umm, you know, customary rights". Ever said something stupid in pub to a 6'6" mouth breather with shaved head and facial tatoos? Funny how quick you become Norman "No Mates" isn't it? I looked around and everyone had scattered. Madam P was about 200 meteres up the beach, Snuffles was inspecting some doohickey on his bike, Mangell was shuffling rapidly down the sewerage outflow pipe. You get the picture.
Once the "Peat People" had left and a couple of daytrampers got into their car and left I got some great photos that really convey the sense isolation and the grandeur of the scenery. I've only included the shot looking out along Farewell Spit here, but across the bay were the ranges we had crossed, and way off in the distance were the peaks of the Tararuas in the Nth Island, and Kapiti Is. was a faint smudge. We headed off at about 2:30, as we really didn't want to do the Takaka hill at night. Madam P and I had a bit of a fang back to Collingwood, as somehow the others had gotten quite a way ahead. Once I got to Collingwood, the speed Sirens had to be answered, and I caught up to Steve and followed him to Takaka. I continue to be amazed at how quickly touring oriented bikes can be punted over the right roads. You'd think I'd be over that by now! By Takaka I really needed a pit stop, and I can reliably report that the only thing the Public Toilets in Takaka lack is a TV and heating.
I got some gas here too and headed off in the lead, looking forward to roads that flow like oozing treacle between Takak and the Takaka hill. Snuffles hooked up with me as I took off, and by crikey his confidence had upped quite a few notches over the previous couple of days. Whne we finally got to the bottom of the Takaka hill, we had time to stop and have a chat before the others caught up. The trip up the hill was great because the road was mostly dry There is a hairpin on the Golden Bay side that just goes on and on, and we saw some paragliders near the top. Imagine soaring like a bird and gfazing at the wondeful view. The hair stands up on the back of my neck just thinking about it.
The trip down the hill was a tad unpleasant for me. My feet had frozen, despite a pair of thermal socks under my thick woollen Kathmandu socks, and my wrists were getting sore from all the low speed trickling around ice patches and grit. We soon got to Motueka and stopped at the local Supermarket to stock up on supplies for our Mid-Winter BBQ planned for that evening. We even managed to secure a supply of the DSWMC House Wine and some Mac's Gold and Mac's Dark.
Given that most of us had foregone lunch, we were all fairly ravenous by now, so we quickly got organised for the BBQ, texted relatives to NOT let us know what the Rugby score for the test between the Boks and the ABs and then sat inside while the macho amongst us seared their eyebrows off over the BBQs two foot high flames.
Wasn't that Rugby game a nail-biter! I'm not a Rugby fan at the best of times, but those giant Boks, with their ability to seemingly mass all 15 players in one place at a time, and get away with blatant offside moves, and forward passes were a real inspiration to watch. They had everything on the line, and we were damn lucky that Mr Howlett ran that try in. The rest of the night was spent in genial low key revelry, and we headed to bed relatively early, both due to the fact the we were a little shagged (evident by the enthusiastic snoring everyone seemed to take turns at) and we had to be off by 9:30am.
The ride to Picton was wonderful. At the start of Ruby Bay (at least in the direction we were travelling) the was a reserve that appeared to be named after a DSWMC member who couldn't make the trip. He is reserved and his surname is McKee, but I don't think that he is quite at memorial stage yet. The hill from Nelson to Havelock was colder this time, with Steve reporting the minimum temperature to be 1.9C! Three pairs of socks and boots so full of foot and sock that they wouldn't bend at the ankle kept the cold at bay, so I know what to do next time. The run through Wairau Valley was great, and we even found somewhere with a convenient name, so we could kinda, sorta, make it look like we got near the Blackball Hilton. I don;t think we'll fool anyone though.
We had a coffee in Picton and as you can see from the second to last picture the weather was glorious! The crossing back was smooth as a baby's bottom, and I got some wonderful shots of Wellington from all directions, bathed in a liquid amber light that a clear winter afternoon so often provides in Wellington. The whole trip was fantastically refreshing, and I can't wait for the next one. If you ever suffer a bit of hardship in life, or need a break, take the bike on long trip. It's good for the soul.