Kiwi Biker        

h no, not again

Monday, October 15 1996.  It’s a day that 4 friends from Tokoroa would sooner forget.  They are back at work after having completed the motorcycle ride of their lives the previous day.  They took part in the 10th Grand

h no, not again

 There’s a high cost.  Bodies in serious pain, each person having individual symptoms according to  the particular type of bike they ride.  All have sore bums, one has seized up hands and wrists, another has lower back problems.  All are still sleep deprived.  Most endure some pretty savage piss-taking from their workmates because of their horrible physical condition.  The effects last for some days, as does the piss-taking.  The riders are united in their thoughts about the future:  “Brilliant ride,  proud to have done it.  Do another one?  F--k off!”

A few months pass with fond recollections which filter out the painful bits, then Patterson spoils it all.  Says he in a mellow moment, “You know, that was great - I think I might do it again”.  He doesn’t sound all that convinced, looking from one person to another to gauge their reactions.  Unfortunately for the rest of us, male pride and the fear of being called a pack of wimps gets in the way of the sensible decision to make last years’ ride a one-off.  Things are finally brought to a head by a couple of workmates who haven’t done it before chiming in with “We’ll come”.  Bloody hell, well that’s it then, we’re not going to be shown up by them.   Entry forms are sent for, duly completed and mailed off.  The acceptances are returned.  Oh Christ, more pain coming up.  At least the newcomers can’t understand what it’s going to be like until they’ve done it.  One thing is for sure, it’s an event which is not likely to become a piece of cake the more times you do it.  Still a big air of uncertainty about the whole thing.  There is speculation on what route the organisers might have in store for us this time.  A number of guesses are made, including part of it being north of Auckland.  However, the betting money seems to be going round both East Cape and Taranaki, with something in the middle.  It’s all the same anyway, none of us will know the way all that well if it’s an East/West route, barring the bit in the middle.  The guys who did the ride last year start putting on the k’s, even if it is Winter and bloody freezing.  There’s no substitute for riding to toughen the body for the BIG DAY OUT.  The newcomers get nervous and follow suit.

The original riders from last year have all re-entered - John Patterson (Kawasaki ZZR 1100), Steve Ives (Suzuki GS 1000), Richard Shannon (Yamaha FJ 1100), and Geoff James (BMW K100RS).  The three newcomers  are Lance Mason (Suzuki RF 900), Tony Livingstone (Kawasaki ZX 10), and John White (Honda CB 1000).  John W is a total headcase.  Hasn’t ridden since his varsity days a long, long, time ago, when he was on little 2-strokes.  Comes back from a marketing trip to Japan after a rush of blood to the head with a nearly new retro muscle bike, with all the trick gear - Yoshimura pipes with carbon can, Dynojet carb kit, and braided stainless brake lines.  John does nothing by halves, an excellent way to resume his bike career and enter the larrikin stakes. 

A week or two before the event, and the signs aren’t good.  Steve strips his drain hole whilst changing the oil, and has to have it helicoiled.  John P’s fourth gear starts to grumble.  A quick strip at the dealer’s in Hamilton reveals serious wear on all the dogs.  Simply shouldn’t happen, and bits are retained for further investigation.  Megadollars later, the gearbox is repaired.  With the impending wedding, wonder if Carmel knows how much it really cost? John hasn’t finished yet, oh dear me no.  A fork seal springs a leak with only a few days to go.  John is rapidly getting pissed off with these trips to Hamilton, although the dealers probably treat him as a preferred customer.  Lance is getting windy.  He gets a really sore bum on the 400k round trip to Auckland, and the prospect of  1600k on the RF 900 is less than appealing.  Despite the earlier piss-taking by some members of the group, a sheepskin seat cover like Geoff’s is hurriedly acquired by Lance and fitted with a great deal of satisfaction.  John also follows suit a couple of days before the ride, and grabs some soft foam rubber as well.

Disasters continue.  Four days before the great event, John White rings Geoff from the Philippines, absolutely broken. John has been landed with the job of looking after A VERY IMPORTANT CLIENT as soon as he gets back from the trip.  Trouble is, it intrudes into the big ride.  Is this the time to tell the boss to go forth and multiply, or ask the client if he fancies a short(ish) ride on the pillion?  Nah, discretion is exercised in the face of his career disappearing down the gurgler at an alarming rate of knots, and he withdraws without too much bad language down the telephone.

The newspapers start to get scanned for weather maps.  There’s a big High coming across the Tasman.  Trouble is, will it last?  Only time will tell.

he Day of Reckoning

It’s close to 11.30 on the morning of the ride.  The day has dawned fine and the whole weekend forecast is good.  Yippee!  That’s a whole load of  worry off everyone’s mind. The group assembles at a parking bay by the town lake, with two of the wives in attendance to offer support or derision.  Lance has packed everything, including the kitchen sink, and is the recipient of some good-natured ribbing.  Melanie has even made him pack clean underwear, presumably in case he ends up in hospital.  Malcolm Buckley has turned up on his BMW R1100RS as a late entry, so numbers are back up to 6 again.  An obligatory photo of everyone in one piece, then it’s off to Turangi.

The smooth dudes!

Geoff leads the group down there, cruising at between 120 - 140 km/hr, with very little traffic about.  They are joined on the back by a Ducati 907ie rider from Auckland who is gassing up at Whakamaru.  Later at Turangi, he inflates the egos of the group by commenting how good everyone looked in a long string, taking identical lines through all of the bends.

Turangi is reached without incident, there being very little traffic on the road.  The organisation is as slick as ever, and scrutineering begins almost immediately.  The fact that the bikes have warrants of fitness is immaterial.  One thousand miles in 24 hours is a long way, and nothing is taken for granted.  A major setback occurs.  The scrutineers find a localised wear spot on Richard’s back tyre, and he is given the choice to change it before the ride, or during the ride if arrangements can be made.  The time is now 1pm, and the start time is 3.14, but Richard heads for Taupo at a high rate of knots to see if he can get it replaced.

The route is mapped and absorbed.  Worries set in.  It’s not until the route has been mentally travelled inside the head that the sheer distance becomes apparent.  Absolutely no room for complacency, as it’s going to require 100% concentration to get through it.  Much of the route is on reasonable roads, but there is a nasty-looking section of minor back roads between Otorohanga and Pukekohe that seems to hold considerable promise for getting lost in.  Time for a quick chat with some of the other riders, who’s ages seem to range between mid-20’s and mid-70’s;  and a look at the other bikes.  There must be around 100 of them.  They are mostly large capacity blasters, but a 1970’s Honda 100cc commuter bike captures the attention.  It looks like it’s lived every one of its years to the full, which is really another way of saying that it’s a complete heap of s--t.  Still, if it got through the thorough scrutineering, looks must be deceiving.  The rider is wearing an open-faced helmet and white gumboots!

Briefing takes place.  The organiser comments that their long distance events have chalked up nearly 3 million rider miles without a fatality, with a strong implication that anyone who messes it up will certainly be going straight to Hell for their trouble.  He also says that the police car that called in a few minutes previously is from the Taumaranui district.  The cop was really low key in his approach - they have a ski festival in Taumaranui over the weekend, and would the bikers mind not causing any grief on his patch.  There’s actually 4 of the Men in Blue on the ride, which suggests that there is a hooligan element in every section of the community. The briefing is good-natured, but the riders listen to everything which is said as no-one is taking the ride lightly. 

 With about half an hour to go,  Richard returns from Taupo.  He’s been unable to get a tyre, and after some discussions with the rest of the group, the prospect of organising a replacement en route seems to be about zero.  Nonetheless, Richard says that he will do as much of the ride as he can, just for the fun of it.  The rest of the group express their feelings and offer what support they can.  In what seems like the blink of an eye, it’s close to 3 o’clock, the start time for the first set of riders.  Everyone shakes hands and good wishes are exchanged.  John, remembering how sore his rear was last year, slides an inch thick foam rubber pad under his sheepskin seat cover - what forethought!  A last minute nervous pee, and then it’s on with all the kit and ready to go.

eg 1 - Turangi To Mananui - 60 km elapsed

Geoff leads off, cruising at around 130 km/hr.  The weather is good, the road to Taumaranui smooth and fast.  The group practice relaxing, as there is a tendency to be too rigid because of nerves, and this can cause fatigue to set in too quickly.  A comment by the organiser is remembered.  “This is NOT a race.  The real battle is with what’s up here”, he says, tapping his head.  Wise words indeed, and strikes a chord with riders who have previously done the Grand Challenge.  Having a fast bike gives no guarantee of a fast finish.  The roads are practically deserted, and the sun is shining - heaven.  The first checkpoint is reached in just over half an hour, meaning that the average speed for the leg is somewhat above the speed limit.  This is ok, because none of the riders in the group are about to do anything stupid when there is other traffic about anyway.  Only a couple of other bikes are seen on this leg, as the staggered start time means that the riders are fairly well spread out.  The group average around 120 km/hr on this leg including the stop time.

eg 2 - Mananui to New Plymouth - 320 km, 380 km elapsed

Tony takes the lead, and cruises at about 120-130 km/hr down to National Park which looks magnificent with all the snow on the volcanic peaks.  Ruapehu is emitting a sizeable column of steam just to cap things off.  Over National Park, and down to Raetihi, the speed is upped a bit as there is minimal traffic, and good time is made.  The group enter the Paraparas, an incredibly twisty road at the bottom of a valley. The part with the most bends stretches for 70-80 km, and requires a lot of concentration and physical effort to set a fast, but safe pace.  Tony starts to leave the other riders behind, and Malcolm slips past to catch him up.  The competition background and general riding experience of these two guys starts to show.  A couple of other bikes are passed part way down, but overtaking is difficult on this section of the road.  Both Geoff and John  mess up the  odd really tight blind bend through minor lapses in judgement. Good job there’s nothing coming the other way.  Both have the decency to be embarrassed and try to get control of themselves.  There’s a hell of a way to go yet,  and slip-ups of that sort will only lead to tears sooner or later. 

Steve leads the rest of the group into Wanganui around 5.20.  Tony and Malcolm have had time to stop by the roadside and look nonchalant, whilst drinking a cup of coffee.  Into the first garage to refuel  and grab something to eat.  Sport drinks are very much in evidence for the glucose and electrolyte.  It’s quite easy to sweat and get dehydrated.   John and Geoff start their normal competition about who uses the least fuel.  Bloody stupid game  considering that economic fuel consumption is at complete odds with their riding styles.  A whole load of bikes are in the garage when the group arrive, and everyone leaves at pretty much the same time.  The road to Hawera is practically deserted and relatively straight, apart from 20 - 30 bikes in a line cruising at around 140 km/hr.  At each little settlement between Wanganui and Hawera, Geoff notices that there are plenty of vehicles outside the pubs.  With any luck, they will stay that way until all the bikes have gone past.  Patea has an eerie feeling about it.  Where is everyone?  Nobody in sight, not even any cars being driven around the place.  Peel off at Hawera, and head up through Eltham and Stratford to Inglewood.  Inglewood is the only place which seems to have a reasonable number of people walking about, and there is momentary speculation as to whether these smaller communities have much of a future.  The skies are reasonably clear, and Mount Egmont makes a nice backdrop as the group reach New Plymouth at 7.20 p.m.  The big Mobil garage in the middle of town is jammed with bikes, and there is a short delay in getting access to the pumps.  The group have averaged around 91 km/hr for this leg.

eg 3 -  New Plymouth to Bombay  - 385 km, 765 km elapsed

The stop was a reasonably lengthy one; about 20 minutes, and the riders are keen to get under way and use the remaining fragments of daylight.  Steve leads off, and it’s not long before Geoff and Richard provide some light amusement for the others at a confusing (well, for some) intersection on the outskirts of the town centre. They cunningly ride onto the wrong side of a dual carriageway.  Realising that this is shortly going to be a bit of a problem if something comes the other way, some clever remedial work is quickly taken.  Geoff bumps up over the concrete lane divider and carries on like nothing has happened.  Richard brazens it out, winds the Yamaha wide open and goes like hell until the lane divider peters out.  Risky, but shows real class. 

The sprint up the coast to Mokau as darkness falls is pretty straightforward.  The gas-to-gas plant at Motunui looks spectacular - lit up like a christmas tree. The group reach the approach to Mount Messenger, and Geoff has a couple of hairy moments on the tight bends.  As he peels into the bends, the light from Malcolm’s headlight is reflected directly from his mirrors, dazzling him.  The lines taken through the corners are ever so inventive, although somewhat unconventional.  They are made even worse by Geoff riding round the corners one - handed whilst trying to adjust the mirrors. 

The Awakino Gorge wakes everyone up.  Tight bends, pitch black, and a few spots of road works to keep everyone awake.  This is where it starts to get tiring.  A thin, greasy film  appears on the visors of several of the riders.  Dunno where it’s coming from, maybe one of the bikes up front is burning oil.  It’s not really noticeable until something comes the other way, or someone’s brake lights come on, and then it shows itself by reflecting light all over the place.  Hard to see  clearly under  those conditions.  Malcolm and  Tony get up front again and the group are fair going for it.  Geoff gets hooted at by a tanker driver who presumably objects to his overtaking speed.  The mind games start.  Geoff pictures some burly tanker driver getting out of his cab at Te Kuiti when the group stop for gas and decking him.  The driver could have only had a momentary glimpse of the bike hurtling by, but the mind plays funny tricks when a rider is on edge.  

The rest of the run is uneventful, and everyone rolls into Te Kuiti together.  As the riders pull into the gas station, the attendant is busy locking the pumps.  Bugger.  Double bugger, there is a patrol car in the forecourt who must have been the last customer.  Most of the group make a silent wish not to be followed so that their style is cramped.   Fortunately, the police turn their attentions to what seem to be some of the locals, so that’s a relief.  It’s now 9.20 pm, and the town is dead.  Is this what rural NZ is like everywhere?  The group splits temporarily whilst some get food at a burger bar, and the remainder try to find gas.  A station is open at the north end of town and the group reunites a few minutes later. 

Richard checks his tyre and to everyone’s dismay, finds a tiny area where a thread of belting is just visible. Richard makes a courageous, but predictable decision to head home.  It would have been unsafe to continue any further, but it is still not an easy decision to make after 500 km of riding.  Everyone commiserates, and wishes him a safe trip back to Tokoroa.  The riders carefully wash their visors and dry them to make sure they have maximum visibility for the tricky bit coming up.  Tony cracks John and Geoff up - no pretentiousness there.  He simply bends over one of the forecourt buckets used for cleaning windscreens, grabs the brush, and saws away at the visor with his head still inside.  An hilarious moment which helps to break the tension about the unknown stretch of road which is in front of them.  Malcolm and Tony pull out and shoot off whilst the others have a quick chat with an older guy on a Harley tourer about the back roads section.

No point in blaming the organisers.  They’ve set a challenging route and it’s up to the individuals to ride at a safe pace.  However, on a road like this, it would be easy to lose masses of time by taking it too easy.  John does a brilliant job of leading the group and presses on at a good speed.  It’s incredibly difficult for him with the prevailing road conditions.  The lack of  road markings make it very difficult to  judge the turn-in points on the corners and there are a few overshoots and scary moments for all the riders, not to mention the odd wheel jumping out of line when gravel is encountered.  The Harley rider is grimly hanging on at the back of the group, and everyone is impressed.   The sheer concentration required to lead is exhausting  John, both physically and mentally.  At Glen Murray, he waves Geoff past to take over.  John has  done a simply outstanding job, and several riders think that they’d like to take a look at this section of road in broad daylight to see how much of a nightmare it really is. It would probably scare them shitless.  Mere words do not adequately describe the nervous energy expended on this section, just trying to stay upright.  The weary bunch roll into the Bombay service station on the Southern Motorway junction at 12.10 am - Sunday has arrived.  Lots of other bikes are about which is puzzling as the group were not passed on the last section.  Maybe a few ducked up State Highway 1 instead.  More fuel and refreshments taken on, and spirits rise.  Geoff spots a  plain green Holden Commodore manned by the men in blue, and makes a mental note to keep a watch on the Southern Motorway for it.  No worries though, they clear off in the other direction.  Funny how the law isn’t taking any notice of all the bikes, maybe there has been a bit of nodding and winking by their mates who are taking part in the event.  The group has averaged around 80 km/hr for this section, an excellent effort.

eg 4 -  Bombay to Gisborne  - 460 km, 1225 km elapsed

 Malcolm and Tony head out just ahead of the rest, and clear off.  Geoff  takes the lead for the remaining riders on this huge leg.  He knows a fair bit of it, and canters along at about 130 km/hr with nothing else about.  The approach to Ngatea is, however, unfamiliar territory to all the riders.  A 50 km/hr limit sign is encountered a long way out from the town, and the riders reduce speed.  Lance worries that the group didn’t roll off quickly enough.  He thinks that he might have seen a flash from what may have been a speed camera, but he can’t be sure.  Oh well, nothing to be done about it now.  Just have to check the mail for the next two or three weeks for a brown envelope with an official crest on it.  Just out of Paeroa, a couple of bikes come slowly past, and disappear as the group enter the Karangahake Gorge.  Geoff is a bit twitchy about pushing hard through here with the memory of the last twisty section very much to the fore.  No mishaps though, and everyone heads down the coast road towards Tauranga.  There is virtually no traffic about, and nobody is walking on the streets of the communities on this stretch of the road either. 

The temperature starts to drop, and the riders begin to feel the cold.  Time to get the oversuits on at the next gas stop, which won’t be for a while yet. Tauranga is reached, all lit up but everyone seems to be in bed.  Geoff sets an easy pace of around 120 km/hr as the law are known to be a bit keen in the Bay of Plenty.  The group enter Edgecumbe and encounter thick fog.  Geoff is in trouble with visor misting.  He can’t flip it up, because his specs would suffer the same fate.  John senses a problem, comes past, and Geoff gratefully follows his tail light. Edgecumbe is totally closed up, which is worrying as gas is running low.  Mercifully, the garage just down the road at Awakeri is an all - nighter and some relieved riders pull in at 3 am.  On with some warmer gear and a quick bite to eat, and the group are ready for the big run down to Gisborne.  Although the group don’t know it at the time, Tony has become separated from Malcolm and is screaming all over the Whakatane area losing valuable time trying to find him.  Malcolm, having waited for a long quarter hour or so for him to turn up, and blissfully unaware of the drama unfolding behind him; is cheerfully heading for Opotiki and the Gorge.

Lance leads off, and drags the others through patchy fog through to Taneatua.  The lights at the combined road/rail bridge are on green, and the bikes are carefully ridden between the rails.  One nudge of either rail and there is a strong possibility of going down in an embarrassing heap in front of the type of mates who won’t be showing great tact and sensitivity in such a situation.  Everyone emerges unscathed at the other end, and heads for Opotiki.  Gisborne is over 200 km away, and most of it is twisty.  In Taneatua township, Steve and John totally miss a bend in the road, but quickly recover with apparent nonchalance.  However, they only get 2 out of 10 for style.  Bet they’re cursing under their helmets though.  Opotiki appears from the mist, and the riders head for the Waioeka Gorge.  No-one has been down here on a bike before, so it’s unknown territory.

Tight bends appear with increasing frequency.  John and Geoff  independently figure out that 65 km/hr signposted bends can be taken at between 100 and 110 km/hr, and 55 km/hr bends at between 90 and 100 km/hr.   Unfortunately, their math in the wee small hours lets them down on slower bends.  Either that, or some other factors come into play because they make some god almighty stuff-ups which must be providing great amusement for Steve, who is following closely behind.  The worst bends are those which double back on themselves.  When you’re on the limit and starting to scrape things, and the corner is still tightening up, there’s not much you can do but drift wide.  If only the group had been aware of the sheer drop into the river in some places, they might have been a bit more circumspect.

Meanwhile, Lance is having a superb ride in front.  Riding quickly, but in total control,  he is giving a lot of confidence to the guys behind, despite the rapid pace.  Under heavy acceleration out of one corner, Lance suddenly hits the brakes and swerves.  John just hits the brakes.  Too late, and a possum literally explodes under John’s  bike.  The remains go skyward and backwards.  Geoff is following close behind, and has a momentary view of the animal grapeshot before it makes contact.  Eeeyuk!  Thanks pal.   A hairy moment as the group encounter dirt all over the road from the remains of a slip.  Scrubbing off speed is hard when you’re scared to hit the brakes.  A few small slides happen in the process of slowing down, but not too much to worry about.

The group emerge from the super twisty stuff at Matawai feeling fairly stuffed. Never mind, Gisborne can only be a few k’s down the road.  Idiots. The twists and turns in the gorge just make it feel that way.  They’re only about half way there.  It seems like an eternity, and is made worse by seeing the odd bike returning from the checkpoint.  The Caltex garage in Gisborne is finally reached at 0530. John shakes Lance’s hand for a fabulous bit of riding. Too right it was. Wrists, bums and other parts of the anatomy are starting to hurt quite badly.  Lance’s helmet has suddenly decided to make the tip of one ear really start throbbing.  Why now after all this time?  Malcolm has just finished gassing up, and is about to tuck into some munchies.  He is puzzled as to Tony’s whereabouts, and none of the others have a clue either.

Everyone is busy getting ready for the next leg.  Lance and Geoff ask John where the toilet is.  John, with a poker face, points inside the garage and says, “Through the door marked STAFF ONLY, and then through the double doors straight ahead”.  The gullible pair troop off, through the double doors with zips at the ready, only to find themselves back outside pointing at a hedge. The bastard.  Bet he made the same mistake earlier.  Poor hedge.  John, deciding his butt is feeling sore, pulls foam rubber pad #2 out of his tank bag and inserts it under his sheepskin.  Can his feet still touch the ground?  Just, but what comfort!  The group have averaged around 86 km/hr for this long leg, not bad at all.

eg  5 - Gisborne to Whakamaru  - 358 km, 1583 km elapsed

Dawn is approaching as the group head back the way they came in.  Oh God, another 200 k’s of bends without much let up.  Malcolm pushes off, and Steve leads the rest.  It’s clear that Steve is in a bit of pain from all the arm-flexing going on when he has the chance.  Bikes continue to come by, heading for Gisborne, and although unseen, Tony is one of them, having finally sorted out what direction he should be pointing in.  A 120 km/hr easy pace is maintained.  Too easy as it happens.  Minds start wandering onto other things, like how beautiful the gorge is at dawn.  Pink sky, purple landscape, and strips of silver mist winding round the hills.  Shouldn’t be time for poetic stuff like that if you’re concentrating at 100%.  Suddenly, John rockets by at a high rate of knots, with an arm waving to slow down - is there a serious problem?  Too right there is, he’s busting for a pee.  No time for modesty, leaps straight off the bike and does the job by the roadside.  Fool, in full view of mates with cameras?  Hahahaha, that will teach him! 

The riders reach Awakeri at 8 o’clock for gas and refreshment, and remove their oversuits as it’s warming up nicely.  Most of them are hurting in various places, and getting fairly tired.  Geoff leads off towards Rotorua and the Whakamaru checkpoint.  Going up the eastern side of the Rotoma hills, Geoff’s front wheel starts sliding on one of the bends.  As he’s doing about 70 km/hr at the time, the situation is serious.  The only thing that stops everything going down in an expensive heap is getting the foot down and going speedway-style into the bend until the tyre grips.  A fraction of a second later, the same thing is happening to John, and the identical remedy is applied.  Lance must be on a slightly different line and gets a rear wheel slide which is more easily controlled.  Steve avoids it entirely.  The cause is unknown, but it’s a real wake-up call to the group.  Everyone is completely alert again.

Geoff’s bladder is starting to fill up, and going over bumps is beginning to get a trifle uncomfortable.  Still, not far to Whakamaru, should be able to hang on.   Doubts begin to creep in near Atiamuri as it gets downright painful.  A quick sprint down SH 1 to the Whakamaru turn-off degenerates into comic opera.  John and Geoff are standing bolt upright on the footrests trying to get some feeling into their rear ends.  Riding alongside each other, they progressively accelerate until they are doing over 140 k’s still standing bolt upright.  What mature examples of manhood.

The straights along the Waikato River are eaten up at well over the “ton”.  Lance comes hurtling past everyone, god knows how fast he’s going.  Geoff is in agony now, so the high speeds are a blessing.  Into the garage checkpoint at Whakamaru, and Geoff leaps straight off the bike and finds heaven against the back wall of the garage.  John gets revenge for the earlier compromising photo by leaning on his horn and pointing.  Several bikes are in the garage refuelling when the group arrive, and more arrive as they are checking in.  The group don’t need any fuel, and don’t want to get passed by this lot either, so everyone is keen to get under way as soon as possible.  The group has averaged 90 km/hr for this long section, which is pretty good.

eg 6 -  Whakamaru to Turangi  -  90 km, 1673 km elapsed

It’s about 90 km to the finish in Turangi.  If the group can cut it out in around 40 minutes, a 135 km/hr average, they can complete the whole journey in 19 hours - a very respectable time.  Can they put in a hot leg without attracting Mr. Plod?  Steve leads off at a goodly pace, well above the “ton”.  The group keep this up for long stretches at a time, then Steve suddenly slows and fiddles about on the side of his bike.  Is he feeling for his reserve fuel tap?  Is he running out of gas?  Nope, none of those things.  His boot is coming undone and his leg is getting hot from the proximity of the pipes.  Quickly fixed and up to full pace again, with virtually nothing else on the road.  The group pull into Turangi at just before 10.15, exactly 19 hours after they left and 1673 kilometres later.  Tony and Malcolm have got there a short while in front of them.  There aren’t all that many bikes ahead of the group, and they are really delighted with their performance. Handshakes all round and big grins of relief.  It’s all over for another year.

        We couldn’t be getting a wee bit old, could we chaps?

ostscript

  In the organiser’s usual faultless fashion, badges and certificates are handed out, and drinks, marinated steaks with all the trimmings are on offer as part of the entry fee - absolutely wonderful. The group sit on the grass in the sun eating and replenishing lost fluid.  Steve mutters something about life being shortened by 10 years.  No-one is sure whether he’s referring to his bike or himself.  The riders discuss what they’re going to do when they get home.  Most seem to favour a hot bath.  Tony blurts out, ”I’ve got to mow the f---ing lawns”.  Everyone falls about in hysterics.  After a quiet doze for half an hour or so, everyone decides to get going before it becomes too hard to move.  There’s an awful lot of bikes still to come in as the group thank the organisers for a fantastic weekend, and cruise off to Taupo at a leisurely pace for an ice cream. 

A brilliant ride in near-perfect conditions.  The organisers are dead right when they say that the challenge is inside your own head, and not against other riders.

Wonder what next year holds in store?