Thanks to a not entirely unexpected death in the family I've been commuting over the hill (The Rimutaka Hill) for the last three days.
Wednesday's and Thursday's weather has been unreal in the Wairarapa and pretty good in Wellington except for the Wednesday afternoon drizzle.
Of course it had to rain today.
It was only light rain this morning, so no drama, but a persistent rattle from somewhere under the dash had really started to get to me by the time I got to Upper Hutt.
I like riding over the hill in commuter traffic, because they don't hang about, the trucks get out of the way, and no one gives a toss if you overtake them. Everyone has their own long established rhythm and it doesn't involve aggro.
The traffic was backed up from Melling to Wellington (about 18kms) which is really unusual, but slightly more aggressive splitting than usual got me to work OK and diverted my attention from the rattle.
[work]....[/work]
Really keen to get going now, and it isn't raining in Wellington. Traffic's really light at 6pm thanks to the Rugby but as soon as I get South of Kelson I can see it is pissing down on the Hill. Never mind, I've done this many times over the years. No special fear there.
That rattle is really winding me up so I pull in to Caltex Rimutaka and check stuff.
Bollocks.
Left Oggie Knob is loose and I don't carry a T-Bar, torque wrench, and a 12mm Allen bit.
Aha. I do have Duck Tape. Rattle dealt to, it dawns on me that the odd vibration I've been feeling is a loose engine mount. Oh well it has 5 more and it serves me right for being lazy on my bike checks lately. Too much bike swapping, bloated ego, and not enough care and attention. I may have to submit myself for ritual punishment to Buckbuck. Might be unpleasant though as he is ex-Navy. Rum, Sodomy, and the Lash and all that...
Ewww.
It starts chucking it down at Te Marua and making the stupid mistake of leaving the visor cracked costs me the normal perfect unfogged vision I get from my HJC visor, because a fine spray of mist has squirted up the middle - on the inside. Turning my head slightly to one side fixes the clarity issue, just in time to note the increasing amount of cow poo in the road.
A cattle truck with overflowing effluent tanks is lumbering up the new overtaking lanes spreading shit everywhere. I line up next to the cab, toot, and point, and get a middle finger back. Fine. Bye.
The next couple of sweeping corners are just shiny asphalt. The only chip seal is in the middle of the lane.
A chap with a trailer turns off at the Ranch place just before Kaitoke Gardens and jacknifes into the driveway. The SUV right up his date gets all sideways. Wellington drivers plus rain seems to equal a reduction in IQ.
At the first overtaking lane the traffic is bunched up behind a flat deck 2.5 tonne truck with a Standard 10 on the back that has been converted into a Bar & BBQ combo. Sacrilege. Odd too.
Now remember that the sky is chucking it down.
Three cars go past the truck and just as the overtaking lane ends, the next two cars reckon they can make it too. The guy in the oncoming truck isn't stupid, but locks it up on a shiny patch trying to avoid the incoming head-on accident. I'm trying to get as far away from all this as possible, skimming the fence line and hoping I can dart up between the fence and the 2.5 tonner in front of me. Thankfully the oncoming truck misses us both by miles.
From now on the road surface deteriorates markedly. There are standing pools of something; puddles of oil that have precipitated up from the asphalt underneath, and the road is dry underneath the oil. It has been raining all day up here.
Passively steering the bike over the hill is no longer an option. I'm now in a well spaced line of traffic, travelling at a reasonable pace, and I resolve not to touch the brakes. Bike goes into 2nd gear and stays there. I start hanging off big time to keep the combined centres of mass, gravity and balance fairly close to each other, and the bike relatively upright, actively weighting the outside peg, my white man's chicken leggs quivering under the strain.
It starts to get to be fun, and on the descent I didn't touch the brakes once. No need. Given the amount of petroleum products sitting pooled in the multitude of bumps, ruts, and channels created by ten years of increasingly poor attempts at resurfacing it would be suicide anyway. What is mildly annoying, but easily avoided by reading the road ahead in the dry, is now both a physical and mental challenge compounded by a lack of vision.
But still fun. Even better is the realisation that I'm not a passsenger on this slightly wounded motorcycle, I'm the boss, and I'm getting smoother and smoother.
Featherston.
There's a train a-coming so we have to bunch up at the crossing. The arms come up and we move off. There are people milling about at some sort of fair on the grass sward next to the Fell Locomotive Museum. A little boy runs out onto the crossing and the blonde in the Mitsi ahead comes to an abrupt halt. We're still a bit bunched up after the rail crossing, but no dramas for this lad and his new brake disks. Except I can see the guy in the Audi behind is looking at the grassy sward. I start moving alongside the Mitsi, ready to nail it and flatten the little boy - hang on, no options!! The Audi is sliding. I give it a massive rev, get the back sliding, flick it ninety degrees to the right, and shoot into the road next to the Fell Locomotive Museum.
The Audi taps the Mitsi, a gentle kiss of perfectly formed Teutonic Polycarbonate and aged Japanese rubberised ABS plastic. A cloud of steam rises up from the Audis brakes. It's still chucking it down.
People on the grassy sward are cheering and clapping, I'm performing my first standing, rolling "burnout" - except it's raining and all you get to see is spinning back wheel, all you hear is a roaring Micron and spinning tyre.
Why does no one ever see me pull this stuff off? I'll always be a legend in my own lunchtime.
I loop the block, back onto SH2 and head for the farm, quick! before anything else happens.
Mitsi blonde is tailing a 2.5 tonner on the Featherston straights, and by the time I catch her she is mighty close to the truck, enveloped in spray. Did she notice the Audi? Did she even know I was JUST behind her, almost the meat in a car sandwich?
I indicate and pull out to overtake, performing a text book early entry into the opposite lane. Mitsi blonde pulls out as soon as I get alongside. I nail it and the rear takes exception thanks to a combination of over exuberence, and yes, overflow from effluent tanks. I hadn't noticed the road was green under the water rolling off its surface.
I stay on it, flat tracking in a straight line, left boot hammering off the road imperfections. Slowly rolling off the throttle lets each end catch up with itself, and my end relax - NO - tense that bit again! Keep the only leakage around here to that on the road thanks!
The rain quickly tails off and I can see that the middle of the road is green with dried bovine faeces and urine. How is that acceptable? What gives those bastards the right, the sheer CHUTZPAH, to add to the difficulties that we already have to face, from Mitsi blondes to piss poor road construction?
I get to the farm and someone offers me a Tui. That's a good beer. Yeah right.
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shiny side up....Good Boy!!!.
Originally Posted by Hitcher
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