ceebie13
12th February 2007, 11:29
I had spent hours lovingly preparing the CB for it’s holidays. Bex would say “anally” preparing the CB for its holidays” but I’m a firm believer that if I look after the bike, then the bike will look after me, so, anal or not, I made sure all was in a fit state to undertake what was planned to be nearly three thousand kilometres over the next two weeks. The CB was prepared down to the last drop of WD40 and she was as clean as a whistle. (Some on here would say fastidiously clean!) We had packed our Oxford Sports gear to the hilt making a point of putting our stuff into a plastic bag first because experience had shown that the rain covers are next to useless…if indeed they stay put. So there she sat, in the garage, gleaming and chomping at the bit to be let loose. The bike was there too!
I don’t know if any of you are like me but I get little or no sleep (or so it seems) the night before a long bike tour. Anticipation, excitement and nerves all play their part. But we were up at the crack of dawn (nice girl, our Dawn!) and having had a tea and toast breakfast we found ourselves taking twenty minutes to make those last minute checks. For the third time!
We had watched the forecast for some days beforehand and so we were pleasantly surprised to find the weather at least dry when we set off. Dull but dry. Crap weather had been forecast for the North but we were hoping that it would have cleared up before we got anywhere near the East Cape. (Oh how innocently misguided I am!) I had spent hours pouring over maps and plotting an itinerary that I could refer to from my tank bag map holder. It was going to be interesting to see how accurate the mapping was in terms of distance. Acclimatising myself to the extra weight was not a major problem - been there, done that on many a European tour – but I was looking forward to a nifty run up and over the Rimutakas to get us on our way. Suddenly, though I felt demoralised. We were only ten minutes into our journey and those tell tale signs on my visor only confirmed that the heavens were about to open. Fortunately we had donned our wets…just in case. But by the time we started to climb, the road was suitably wet, my vision was impaired, it was cold and misty too. It was horrible. Worse still…the bike was now filthy! I rode the hill like a wuss - particularly the descent to Featherstone - paranoid about the greasy corners and lack of visibility. Not a good confident start. But the CB took it all in its stride – unlike my gloves, which were by now extremely soggy and getting close to that “I’m about to leak” moment. Not helped of course by the constant left handed windscreen wiper action clearing my visor every 100m. Lyn took it all in her stride too. She’s a great pillion, which made the adverse conditions a lot easier to cope with. We were able to communicate with our Oxford Bike Mic3, so in keeping with tradition we whinged on (as Poms do) about the weather for miles on end.
We were on a time limit, so there was no time for scenic detours on this first day. We wanted to make Gisborne by early evening so that we could enjoy a shit, shower, shave and sh…(well, maybe not the last one - too tired!) before looking for a bite to eat! We were glad to get the Wairarapa townships out of the way. God, that long straight run on SH2 can be so boring. By Woodville the rain had stopped and a hearty breakfast was enjoyed at Café 88. Furthermore our wets could come off.
Back en croute, we took the turnoff onto SH50 at Takapau knowing it to be a more interesting route to Napier. You need to get the first 30km out of the way though before any real twisties come out to play. After a liquid lunch (non-alcholic of course, officer!) in Napier we headed off to Gisborne. Once the road turns inland then the fun begins and the CB stuck rigidly to the plan and the 80kms to Wairoa were covered with effortless ease. The lack of serious traffic is still a constant amazement to me – coming from the land of carparks (aka motorways) as I do. Lyn and I chatted away merrily as we swooped through the gentle hills and meandering curves. A while later, I spotted signs for “Café 287” (…what is it with cafes being numbered here?) but despite the said signage, I still managed to blat straight past. The call of a muffin and cold drink was too great though so we back-tracked and had a bum break for half an hour. Typically we were gawped at as if we had three heads and had just come from Mars, but you tend to get that anywhere. It’s good to chat to people about the bike and where you’re headed, and how you travel so lightly for two weeks etc etc. If the truth be known, they’d have been amazed at what Lyn had managed to stuff in her pannier (and mine for that matter). We refuelled in Wairoa and headed off again over the railway and up that steep hill out of town. The 45kms through the Wharerata Forest were brilliant – more of the same swoopy bends and hills just begging you to go back and do them again. By half five we had found our motel for the night in Gisborne, the Bella Vista. Despite booking ahead, they had no knowledge of our reservation. This had something to do with me forgetting to send a cheque as a deposit. Oops! No matter. We were soon scrubbed up and refreshed and went in search of a feed. After a beer at Scotty’s Bar (recommended by the Kendogs) we wandered over the bridge to the Wharf Bar and unwound before strolling back to the motel for a well earned kip.
The next day, our worst fears came to haunt us. Crap, really crap, weather. Bugger! Undeterred we set off to do the East Cape anticlockwise. Forever thinking it would pass, how wrong could we be? We got drenched. Sure, the wets did their job, but only just. The rain persisted and the clouds got lower and thicker. It was awful. But there was no going back (or so I thought at the time). We continued on up to Hick’s Bay feeling absolutely miserable. By now the rain was soaking my helmet lining and my gloves were once more sodden. I couldn’t tell you what the scenery was like. We simply couldn’t see it! It was such a disappointment. Ever remembering to heed the advice about keeping the tank topped up, we crept into Hicks Bay like a couple of drowned rats to look for the elusive petrol pump. Having found it, I soon noticed it was padlocked and a sign insisted I report to the general store. I stood in the shop entrance dripping water everywhere for about three minutes while the locals finished their conversation. “Spose you want petrol then?” Honestly what a stupid question! “No, I’d like to buy a lawnmower please”, I said. So anyway, I squelched back over the road to the pump only to be told I had to pay first…”Well, how the f**k am I supposed to know how much it will take to fill up??” As you can tell, by now I was not in the mood for farting about. But he made me go back over the road and pay more than I expected it would take so that they could give me change when the bike was filled. “How bloody Irish is that?” I asked. Anyway he filled it up and then insisted I move it to make way for the cars behind. Stupidly, I did what I was told and moved it, but I was more inclined to say “they can bloody wait, just like I’ve had to!” And as for anywhere to eat or drink…. forget it. Hicks Bay had one pie shop with one pie in it! We left, pouring scorn over the place, and headed for what we hoped would be cover at Whakatane.
I’m sure that road is beautiful. But that day it was disgusting. It was further exacerbated by the roadworks. Get me out of here! Not even the proximity of the coast changed the weather. We pulled in to a café near Houpoto (I think). Again the hospitality was about as warm as the coffee that we were served. Oh, did I say served…how silly of me. We ordered two flat whites and paid up. We went outside to sit under the sails (yes..in the rain!) and wait for the drinks. A couple of Aussie bikers turned up (interestingly we had spotted them the day before between Napier and Gisborne). As bikers do, they joined us and went in to order their fare. They came out to tell us that our coffees were getting cold on the counter. Such service, I thought. To cap it off, the staff came out to clear away the tables and chairs. Subtle. We chatted to Mr & Mrs Aussie Bikers and then took off for Whakatane. This time we were expected and we were soon ensconsed in our room and warming up under a hot shower. I have to say that in all this time, the CB never missed a beat. Despite all the crap thrown at it, it purred along superbly. The tyres were awesome too – coping admirably with the conditions. (Donkeys years ago, I had a CB750K7 which never ran in the wet. It was hopeless. The spark from the coils was arcing everywhere and rarely reaching the plugs. I sold it swearing that I’d never have a Honda again!). To my delight (and Lyn’s amusement) I spotted a hose at the motel, and made bloody good use of it trying to clean the cack off the CB. What a waste of time that turned out to be! At this point, and several conversations with locals later, we had to make a decision. As the Ramones would say, “Should I stay or should I go?” With no confidence that the weather was going to change, we phoned and cancelled all our motel bookings. We had decided to change our plans and head back to Hawkes Bay through the gorge.
Pic1: The bike waits patiently in Napier while we take coffee in Shadz Cafe. Pic2: Bex lollaping in the grass at that lookout spot between Napier and Gisborne. Pic3: Farkin' rain! (Whakatane). Pic4: Pointlessly cleaning the bike in Whakatane.
(To be continued)
I don’t know if any of you are like me but I get little or no sleep (or so it seems) the night before a long bike tour. Anticipation, excitement and nerves all play their part. But we were up at the crack of dawn (nice girl, our Dawn!) and having had a tea and toast breakfast we found ourselves taking twenty minutes to make those last minute checks. For the third time!
We had watched the forecast for some days beforehand and so we were pleasantly surprised to find the weather at least dry when we set off. Dull but dry. Crap weather had been forecast for the North but we were hoping that it would have cleared up before we got anywhere near the East Cape. (Oh how innocently misguided I am!) I had spent hours pouring over maps and plotting an itinerary that I could refer to from my tank bag map holder. It was going to be interesting to see how accurate the mapping was in terms of distance. Acclimatising myself to the extra weight was not a major problem - been there, done that on many a European tour – but I was looking forward to a nifty run up and over the Rimutakas to get us on our way. Suddenly, though I felt demoralised. We were only ten minutes into our journey and those tell tale signs on my visor only confirmed that the heavens were about to open. Fortunately we had donned our wets…just in case. But by the time we started to climb, the road was suitably wet, my vision was impaired, it was cold and misty too. It was horrible. Worse still…the bike was now filthy! I rode the hill like a wuss - particularly the descent to Featherstone - paranoid about the greasy corners and lack of visibility. Not a good confident start. But the CB took it all in its stride – unlike my gloves, which were by now extremely soggy and getting close to that “I’m about to leak” moment. Not helped of course by the constant left handed windscreen wiper action clearing my visor every 100m. Lyn took it all in her stride too. She’s a great pillion, which made the adverse conditions a lot easier to cope with. We were able to communicate with our Oxford Bike Mic3, so in keeping with tradition we whinged on (as Poms do) about the weather for miles on end.
We were on a time limit, so there was no time for scenic detours on this first day. We wanted to make Gisborne by early evening so that we could enjoy a shit, shower, shave and sh…(well, maybe not the last one - too tired!) before looking for a bite to eat! We were glad to get the Wairarapa townships out of the way. God, that long straight run on SH2 can be so boring. By Woodville the rain had stopped and a hearty breakfast was enjoyed at Café 88. Furthermore our wets could come off.
Back en croute, we took the turnoff onto SH50 at Takapau knowing it to be a more interesting route to Napier. You need to get the first 30km out of the way though before any real twisties come out to play. After a liquid lunch (non-alcholic of course, officer!) in Napier we headed off to Gisborne. Once the road turns inland then the fun begins and the CB stuck rigidly to the plan and the 80kms to Wairoa were covered with effortless ease. The lack of serious traffic is still a constant amazement to me – coming from the land of carparks (aka motorways) as I do. Lyn and I chatted away merrily as we swooped through the gentle hills and meandering curves. A while later, I spotted signs for “Café 287” (…what is it with cafes being numbered here?) but despite the said signage, I still managed to blat straight past. The call of a muffin and cold drink was too great though so we back-tracked and had a bum break for half an hour. Typically we were gawped at as if we had three heads and had just come from Mars, but you tend to get that anywhere. It’s good to chat to people about the bike and where you’re headed, and how you travel so lightly for two weeks etc etc. If the truth be known, they’d have been amazed at what Lyn had managed to stuff in her pannier (and mine for that matter). We refuelled in Wairoa and headed off again over the railway and up that steep hill out of town. The 45kms through the Wharerata Forest were brilliant – more of the same swoopy bends and hills just begging you to go back and do them again. By half five we had found our motel for the night in Gisborne, the Bella Vista. Despite booking ahead, they had no knowledge of our reservation. This had something to do with me forgetting to send a cheque as a deposit. Oops! No matter. We were soon scrubbed up and refreshed and went in search of a feed. After a beer at Scotty’s Bar (recommended by the Kendogs) we wandered over the bridge to the Wharf Bar and unwound before strolling back to the motel for a well earned kip.
The next day, our worst fears came to haunt us. Crap, really crap, weather. Bugger! Undeterred we set off to do the East Cape anticlockwise. Forever thinking it would pass, how wrong could we be? We got drenched. Sure, the wets did their job, but only just. The rain persisted and the clouds got lower and thicker. It was awful. But there was no going back (or so I thought at the time). We continued on up to Hick’s Bay feeling absolutely miserable. By now the rain was soaking my helmet lining and my gloves were once more sodden. I couldn’t tell you what the scenery was like. We simply couldn’t see it! It was such a disappointment. Ever remembering to heed the advice about keeping the tank topped up, we crept into Hicks Bay like a couple of drowned rats to look for the elusive petrol pump. Having found it, I soon noticed it was padlocked and a sign insisted I report to the general store. I stood in the shop entrance dripping water everywhere for about three minutes while the locals finished their conversation. “Spose you want petrol then?” Honestly what a stupid question! “No, I’d like to buy a lawnmower please”, I said. So anyway, I squelched back over the road to the pump only to be told I had to pay first…”Well, how the f**k am I supposed to know how much it will take to fill up??” As you can tell, by now I was not in the mood for farting about. But he made me go back over the road and pay more than I expected it would take so that they could give me change when the bike was filled. “How bloody Irish is that?” I asked. Anyway he filled it up and then insisted I move it to make way for the cars behind. Stupidly, I did what I was told and moved it, but I was more inclined to say “they can bloody wait, just like I’ve had to!” And as for anywhere to eat or drink…. forget it. Hicks Bay had one pie shop with one pie in it! We left, pouring scorn over the place, and headed for what we hoped would be cover at Whakatane.
I’m sure that road is beautiful. But that day it was disgusting. It was further exacerbated by the roadworks. Get me out of here! Not even the proximity of the coast changed the weather. We pulled in to a café near Houpoto (I think). Again the hospitality was about as warm as the coffee that we were served. Oh, did I say served…how silly of me. We ordered two flat whites and paid up. We went outside to sit under the sails (yes..in the rain!) and wait for the drinks. A couple of Aussie bikers turned up (interestingly we had spotted them the day before between Napier and Gisborne). As bikers do, they joined us and went in to order their fare. They came out to tell us that our coffees were getting cold on the counter. Such service, I thought. To cap it off, the staff came out to clear away the tables and chairs. Subtle. We chatted to Mr & Mrs Aussie Bikers and then took off for Whakatane. This time we were expected and we were soon ensconsed in our room and warming up under a hot shower. I have to say that in all this time, the CB never missed a beat. Despite all the crap thrown at it, it purred along superbly. The tyres were awesome too – coping admirably with the conditions. (Donkeys years ago, I had a CB750K7 which never ran in the wet. It was hopeless. The spark from the coils was arcing everywhere and rarely reaching the plugs. I sold it swearing that I’d never have a Honda again!). To my delight (and Lyn’s amusement) I spotted a hose at the motel, and made bloody good use of it trying to clean the cack off the CB. What a waste of time that turned out to be! At this point, and several conversations with locals later, we had to make a decision. As the Ramones would say, “Should I stay or should I go?” With no confidence that the weather was going to change, we phoned and cancelled all our motel bookings. We had decided to change our plans and head back to Hawkes Bay through the gorge.
Pic1: The bike waits patiently in Napier while we take coffee in Shadz Cafe. Pic2: Bex lollaping in the grass at that lookout spot between Napier and Gisborne. Pic3: Farkin' rain! (Whakatane). Pic4: Pointlessly cleaning the bike in Whakatane.
(To be continued)