hell I haven’t forgotten anything crucial, and leave.
I have a little cash, a credit card, my license, sunnies
and spectacles, and my phone is connected to the
Sena headset. It plays ‘We are the World’, as I drive
out of the street heading for Turangi. It’s 3:30pm.
I can’t quite believe I am on the road, its all
a bit mad. But a beautiful evening is looming.
I barrel up and over the Bombays, the T120
thrumming purposefully beneath me. Looking
south towards Huntly, and west towards Pirongia,
it’s black. Like bloody Mordor. Bugger.
Well, I’m committed now, and the truly shitty
stuff isn’t due till tomorrow at least. I decide
to take the southern route, west of Taupo.
It’s lonely, with big distances between towns,
and it’s in the weather’s path, but there are
almost no trucks and the roads are good.
By Mercer I am clad in my wet weather gear over
my bike jeans and leather jacket. It’s not cold,
and the gore-tex is working a treat. I feel like a
trussed turkey, but my top half is dry. The lower
half, very quickly is not, and I resent the 40 dollars
I ‘lashed out’ to buy light wet weather pants.
Frugality in wet-weather gear, I learn, is idiocy.
I make fine time. I think, too late, that I should
have “Rainex-ed” my visor on the helmet, and I
resort to wiping the road film away as best I can.
I realize there is going to be no fishing
for quite some days as the rivers I pass
are already discoloured and swelling.
From Ngaruawahia it really sets in hard, and I
contemplate the care needed to arrive safely in
Turangi for the night. I come through the rocky
country into the Awakino Valley, and there’s been a
break in the downpour since Te Awamutu, it’s gloomy,
but the sun is doing ‘god-rays’ through the clouds.
Spitefully, the lake beckons invitingly.
I push on, knowing this is just a blip. The long,
empty, darkening roads into and out of Mangakino
are streaming with water, and for the first time I
contemplate the possibility of aquaplaning. I slow
further, the water now running down the inside of
my legs, filling my waterproof Stylmartin boots.
Somewhere around Omori it begins again in
earnest, I am pleased I will be tucked up dry inside
a friend’s cabin in an hour, but my heart sinks as
I contemplate a full day of this over the desert
road, and further south the next day. Knowing it’s
only going to worsen means I’ll need to push on
and try to get ahead of it, early in the morning.
Around 8:15pm I arrive, and put every wet piece
of kit out to dry, and head into Turangi township
to see if I can get dinner and some seam sealer
of some sort. The short answer is no, and dinner
consisted of an egg-foo-yong that could have
retreaded a Hummer. It fed the birds.
I lie on the bed, sleeping bag chucked over
the top, listening to a fantastic drum solo on
the tin roof. My thoughts are as dark...
Read more of Pete’s travels in the next issue.
Awakino beckons
invitingly...
KIWI RIDER 37