North: Part 1

So there ended up being five of us. The guy with the Indian couldn't get a warrant of fitness in time, since the bike had just arrived in the country (sounds just like last time, no?) but we picked up another rider. There was me on my 600rr, Duncan on a 1000rr, Grant on a late 80's Ducati 750-F1 and Reese on a late 90's Wide Glide Harley. And Shawn, who isn't 'allowed' to ride after he crashed the last time he went for a Sunday ride with Duncan and myself, but who didn't want to miss out on a weekend away, driving his 1990 300zx turbo. All the motorcycles met at a cafe on Oriental Parade around nine o'clock Saturday morning and headed out from there, up SR1 towards our first waypoint, Stratford, 314 klicks.


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Not only is SR1 straight and boring, it was a three day weekend, so the traffic was horrendous, until we got a couple of hours away from Wellington. But still, boooooooooring. Shawn had left a couple of hours before us, and we caught up to him just in time to stop in Whanganui for lunch. After lunch a by-god real Irish pub, I'm talking bagpipe music here, we gave Shawn another head start and continued North. Now that the traffic was thinning out, Shawn never had a chance. We overtook him almost immediately, and headed for Stratford. I think we got into Stratford around two o'clock. We waited for Shawn and got gassed up and headed up into the hills on The Forgotten World Highway to our final destination for the day, The Whangamomona Hotel.



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Again we gave Shawn a head start, figuring that we would catch him before we actually got to where we were going. And we did. Right here.


So, there we are, in the middle of nowhere. And believe me, I know the middle of nowhere when I see it, I used to live there. We're in the middle of nowhere, and all we have to get Shawn's car out of the ditch is four motorcycles. We're fucked. As fate would have it a very handy man in a van came by and helped us get the car out of the ditch.


After much wailing and gnashing of teeth, the Z was pulled from the ditch. The Z had, rather convincingly, lost is short, and intense, argument with the fence.

It ran, poorly. Luckily for Shawn, Grant, who had come along on the Ducati, is actually the handiest man in the known universe. We, and when I say we, I mean that I stood around taking pictures, had to rip quite a few parts of the front of the car that were rubbing on the front wheel when you tried to turn. You know the scene in "Armageddon" where the drilling guys are going over the rovers and pulling parts off and throwing them away? Yeah, like that. I was just impressed that Grant actually knew what the things he was pulling out from under the wheel well were.

So we kind of slowed it down and shepherded Shawn and the mortally wounded Z the rest of the way to Whangomomona. It's just as well, right after where Shawn crashed, that road turns into a real motherfucker. I managed to only have one crap my pants moment, after which I thanked my rapidly fading 40 year old reflexes and promised myself that I would invite every last engineer from Honda that worked on the 600rr over to my house for a beer, because that bike is a god damn miracle of modern technology. Every time I think I've found out how far I can push that thing, I find out I'm wrong. So The Forgotten World Highway is a very technical ride and I'm either not as good a rider as I thought, or Reese, who came on his Harley, is batshit crazy, as he had no trouble keeping up with the sportbikes. Hopefully it's a little of both, either way, I was in awe. One turn leads to another and before you know it. We're in Whangomomona. Look at the pretty machines! If you look very close at the rear tire of my 600, you can see how far towards the rim that brand new Pirelli is scrubbed out. Woo-hoo.



Day one ended with everyone in one piece. A big meal, some rugby on the telly and a couple glasses of Laphoraig later (I'm not sure when I turned into a scotch drinker) it was time to call it a day, we did have to go back out the way we came the next day. And we still had to figure out what to do about the Z. Stay tuned. Same Z time, same Z channel

Home Again

At home, well, I was home for thirty seconds and then I came to work. Am in one piece. No worries. More later.

Stupid Rain

Well, hitting the road with the bike tomorrow AM and of course its pissing down at the moment, got my fingers crossed for it to clear up tomorrow.

South? No!

I got a new NZ driver's license last week. It's a really horrible picture, but, I transferred my California Motorcycle endorsement to my NZ license. Yay! Which means I'm 100% legal for next weekend. What's that you say? What's happening next weekend? Well, I'll tell you. It's the second semi-whenever motorcycle weekend getaway for men warily eyeing that thing sneaking up on them in the rearview mirror that looks suspiciously like middle age. That thing. We're ditching the South Island and it's crap weather and heading North for a couple days. We're going to head up to Taranaki, where, at the end of a little road called State Highway 43, there's a little town called Whangamomona (Wh is 'f' in Maori). Doesn't sound too exciting? What if I tell you that SH43 is about 150km long, and usually takes three to five hours to drive it and when I say that Whangamomona is small, I mean small.




So traffic? Not so much. And one more thing, what if I told you that no one calls it SH43, it's the "Forgotten World Highway". How does this sound?

"Built on colonial bridle paths formed in the late 19th century, the highway is remote and mysterious to the extreme. "A bit upsy downsy" is how one local resident puts it - a classic New Zealand understatement to describe a road that hugs the rugged contours of the land to provide a natural roller coaster experience"

Sounds like Oh .. Hell .. Yeah. Only 4 bikes this time and one of them is a fully restored Indian so I'm not sure that really counts. Since Shawn can't ride since his accident, he's going to drive, so we have a chase car for gear and luggage. I'll have a camera this time and I'm gong to try to rig something up to get some 'bike's-eye' footage. Also, since we do have a chase car, I'm going to take my Powerbook and jot down my thoughts as I go, so I'm not trying to remember what happened months later. Shoud be fun. I get to keep going as long as I keep coming home in one piece so keep yer fingers crossed.

South: Part IV

Did you think I was never going to finish? Hell, I didn't know if I would ever finish.  When we last saw our intrepid group of two wheeled maniacs, they had just barely beaten the rain to Hanmer Springs for lunch .......





We're in Hanmer Springs for lunch ... and it's raining, and it's raining, and it's raining.  We eventually figured out that it wasn't going to stop raining, so we better get moving if we wanted to get to Murchison before it was dark. We'd only come about 130 klicks so far, and we had about 200 to go, and we were going to have to do it in the rain.







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It's really too bad about the rain. It's not that any of us minded riding in the rain. Obviously we would've preferred for it not to be raining, bit it was what it was. The scenery was pretty even in the pouring rain, I would've like to have seen it in the sun.



If there's one thing the rain does, however, is separate the men from the boys, so to speak. When I say that none of us minded riding in the rain, I mean that some us didn't mind less than others. We had a tendency to get a little more spread out on this leg of our journey, meaning the two of us on the sportbikes were waiting for everyone else a bit more than usual. This included one main stop about halfway so that everyone could catch up and get a bite and wring themselves out as much as possible. Here we are in all our drowned cat glory.

Yes, we made endless fun of that pink and purple rain suit.



There's not a lot more to say about the rest of day two other than any motorcycle gear that claims to be water 'proof' eventually becomes water 'resistant', water 'logged' and finally water 'fucking useless' when subjected to a South Island summer downpour. We all managed to not die in the rain and finally pulled into the place we were spending the night, just past Murchison.

This lovely home was actually owned by an American  ex-pat from Hawaii. And when I say 'American' I mean 'Hippie' and when I say Hawaii, I mean 'Outer Space'.  I don't know where the grow house was but I'm sure it couldn't have been too far.  Here's some shots of the view from the front porch, left to right.

I was plesantly surprised.





I'm not going to get through all of Day Two tonight, so stay tuned for part five.

Update

My friend S is out of ICU and has been up on his feet walking around the floor at the hospital a couple of times. He's feeling well enough that he wants to know whats happening with the Stanley Cup finals (he's Canadian, eh). Hopefully he'll be home at some point next week. We've lost one of our own though. The motorcycle is getting sold "until the kids are older" he says.

Down

So, SD, DSW and I went for a motorcyle ride on Sunday morning. Up towards The Hutt, out across towards the ocean, brunch and back again. It's a great ride and doesn't take too long. I'm on my 600rr, D is on a 1000rr and S is on a Buell lighting 1200. So we thrash our way out and back and get off the SR1 in Wellington to take Oriental Parade from town to the Eastern Suburbs where we all live. This is usually where D and I leave everyone else behind. I'm used to lane splitting from LA and D is from London. Neither of us are scared by traffic but not everyone is as fearless so we usually end up spread out over the last few minutes. On this particular day, I also had to get home to take the boys back into town to the bolwling lanes for a birthday party. I got home, got my gear off, grabbed the boys and off we went. I had just been out so I knew the traffic was bad so I decided to go back out Oriental Parade to town. It's not nearly as short, but if traffic is backed up through the Mt. Vic tunnel, it can be just as fast. I got about halfway down Oriental Parade and, hey look. there's a crashed motorcycle. I always try to stop to help another motorcyclist out if I can so I started looking for a place to pull over, which is when I noticed the cop, which is right before I thought to my self ... "holy fuck, that's S's motorcycle". Stopped and talked to the cop to find out that he'd been taken to the hospital. Called W who called S's wife with the bad news.

Long story short. He's out of surgery, still in ICU. All the limbs are moving but he's got several impact/deceleration injuries including 7 broken ribs, fractured T5-T7 and a lung contusion. He'll have some titanium rods in his spine for 6-18 months. He doesn't remember what happened. "For fuck's sake, I was taking it easy" he said. He's a competent rider and he really was taking it easier than everyone else. D and I went back later to the crash site after we left the ER, and we couldn't for the life of us figure out what happened. I'm convinced that it was a total freak accident. I don't think that he could've been going more than 30 or 35 kph. I got run over by a car going faster than that and I got up and walked away. We all wear the gear ... just a total freak accident.

So ... you can pray, if that kind of thing does it for you, or at the very least think some good thoughts for S and his family.

South: Part III

I know that you all, and by "you all" I mean "Mom", have been patiently waiting to hear more about my motorcycle trip to the South Island, so, here we go.



I'd love to say that we woke up bright and early Saturday morning, but with me getting to the hotel near enough to midnight as to not make any difference, and the glass (OK, glass-es) of Johnnie Walker that I was forced to drink after I got there, it would be stretching the author's credibility, to say the least. We got up around a quarter to whenever, failed to shower, got into gear and scooted down the road at least fifty or sixty yards to a cafe for breakfast.



See? It says right on the roof. "Cafe". I'm going to editorialize for a minute just to say "see that black and silver CBR1000rr in the front of that picture? I neeeeeeed one of those. Except I need the Repsol paint job. Like this one"



need ... NEEEEEEEEED

Sorry, where were we? Yes, breakfast. So after, what else, eggs benedict, you think I'm going to put the traditional British "big brekkie" in me? Please. We hit the road. Next stop? Lunch in Hanmer Springs.



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Only about 130 km, should make it there by lunch time easily.

Now, I'm going to veer of again and say that New Zealand's South Island is god damn motorcycle nirvana. It never really gets that cold so the winters don't eat the roads. It's completely devoid of people and by extension police. It's jam packed full of the most amazing roads to ride on. On top of that, it's gorgeous.



That's about forty five minutes out of Kaikoura. It's beautiful, right? There's only one problem with the South Island ... it rains like a motherfucker. I swear to god it's the rainiest god damn place in the entire universe. Rain. Rain. Rain. Rain. It had rained early in the morning, so when we left Kaikoura the roads were damp, but not bad at all. Just out of Kaikoura you get up into the hills, and it was fairly wet up there from the lack of sun on the roads, but it wasn't unridable. You just had to be careful. Remember, this was essentially the first time I'd ridden anywhere in about four months so I was already being careful. It was overcast but only spritzing now and then so we thought that we were going to get lucky. Hell, when we turned onto SH7 north, it was downright pleasant. Finally dry enough, and a straight enough, but not too straight, road that the two of us on sportbikes could really stretch them out. Holy moly the last 25 minutes before lunch was just awesome. SH7 was empty so D and I hauled some serious ass up to Hanmer Springs. Twenty miles of wicked fast long sweeping turns, Yee-haw. Which, in retrospect, was a good thing. I'd rather do 180 km/hr on a dry road than 100 km/hr in a fucking downpour, which is exactly what happened the second we pulled in to Hanmer Springs for lunch.

So, that got a lot longer than I expected, and it's late so I'm going to leave it at that, and you all (again "mom") will have to wait for the next episode. Same bat time, same bat channel.

South: Part I

So, I don't know if it was because it was February 29th, or what, but I had a hell of a day last Friday. Let me preface this little tale by saying that getting my motorcycle into New Zealand has been a nightmare. Customs took possession of the bike around January 10th, if I remember correctly, which I may not BECAUSE IT WAS SO GOD DAMN LONG AGO. Customs had it for weeks and weeks, and every week they would call me and tell me that they needed more paperwork sent in, or a form filled out. I did everything they asked. I mean, you don't really have much of a choice. so after they've had the thing for about 6 weeks, it's finally released to VINZ, which is kind of the equivalent of the part of the DMV that deals with the car, so that it can be inspected and approved for a plate. I get a call from VINZ from a guy who was incensed that I would attempt to bring such a miserable excuse for a motorcycle into his country. He seemed to be taking it pretty personally. At this point, it's already been a huge issue, but now, it's taken so long to go through the process that my trip is coming up fast and I'm now under a time limit, so, off it goes to the bike shop for new front fork seals, a new front tire, disconnection of my headlight and brake light flashers and various and sundry other ticky-tack things. I'm supposed to leave for the South Island in 8 days . I'm told that everything should be done by Monday evening. Tuesday, I call, and get told end of tomorrow. The next day I get told Thursday. Thurs-fucking-day afternoon I get told tomorrow morning again. This is now officially a problem because I'm supposed to meet everyone at a cafe at 9:00 am the next day to get on the ferry. I've already paid for my ticket. Finally, finally, at 11:00 Friday I get a call from the bike shop. Eight fucking days and $750 later, they've sent the bike back to VINZ. I've called the ferry in the mean time to see about catching the 2:15 ferry. What the hell, right? I'll be a few hours behind. Well, I would be, if the 2:15 trip wasn't sold fucking out. The 6:00 ferry is not sold out, however so I make a reservation, not pay mind you, just reserve a spot for me and one motorcycle. Now I cal VINZ and ask how long it will take to do whatever it is they need to do to get me my motorcycle back before 4:00, so that I can be at the wharf by 5:00 to get on the 6:00 ferry. The man who takes vehicle importation into his country so personally informs me "maybe". I don't even know what the fuck it is that they need to do. Not too long after I get off the phone with VINZ, W gets a call and the same angry man informs her that VINZ is going to need the pink slip for the bike and the papers for shipping the bike to NZ from Japan and that there was no way I could get the bike back until I got them that paperwork. Which is interesting since the bike came from Southern California, and we had already couriered them the California title about two weeks before. W makes the call, and I agree, I threw my gear in the back of the Toyota and we drive up to Lower Hutt to see, exactly, what the fuck is going on.

Now I've left out quite a bit already, but to make a long story even shorter, the practical upshot was that they had misplaced the title and literally all that needed to be done was to give them my name and address, fill out one form and pay. That's it. This bureaucratic, dipshit, dumbass, lazy, big turd in a little bowl just couldn't find my title, and didn't want to be bothered to do his fucking job and find it. And that was the reason I was going to miss my trip? Fuck you Mr. VINZ guy. W got all up in some poor girl's grill that VINZ already had the damn title. A few minutes of looking and, imagine that, there it was. Forms filled out, another couple hundred in fees (what the hell, it's only money right? at this point I'm just watching the clock) and it's done. I am in posession of my motorcycle, but, am not out of the woods just yet.

I get gas, get back home, pack the gear, load the bike and head out. I figure it's not too bad, leave at 6:00 get to Picton at 9:00 get to Kaikoura by 10:30, which isn't bad, but isn't really great either, considering that I was suppoed to already be there. And since I only reserved a spot on the 6:00 boat I have to be there by 5:00 to pay, or they'll give my spot away, so if I don't get to the wharf by 5:00, the point, as they say, will be moot.

Phew, that's a hell of a back story, and I really did just hit the high points, and as you can see here ...

... I made it. In fact, I made it just in time to find out that the 6:00 ferry was running about forty five to fifty minutes behind. Are you kidding me? So I took off my motorcycle pants, rolled them up, used them as a pillow and laid down right there, right there on the pavement and took a nap, for about forty five minutes. Eventually we got on, motorcycles first. yay! It was kind of weird, there were bike spots ...

... and each spot had a chock for the front wheel, but you had to tie your bike down yourself ...

... all I could think of for the first hour of the boat ride was "jesus christ I hope I did a good job tying my bike down". All I needed was to come down when we got to Picton to find that my bike had spent the last three hours rolling around the car hold of the ferry. Or that the sheep had crapped all over it ...

... the hold was full of cows, sheep and stink. Yikes.

Well, since the only way the day could get any worse is if the god damn boat just got halfway across the Cook Straight and then up and fucking sank, I'm pretty grateful that finally, finally, I am on my way.

And only nine hours behind.

Modulate

Speaking of bikes, I got one of these in the mail today, and put it on as soon as I got home. It's pretty cool. I have to drill a hole in the fairing to mount the light sensor but I discovered that I don't have any metric drill bits, so it's a good excuse to hit Home Depo and buy some tools. It flashes about 4 time a second. Supposed to make you a lot more visible.

Help

So, I'm riding home from work today, coming up the Mulholland pass, I'm lane splitting and I can see that I'm coming up behind a guy on a cruiser. For the most part, the guys on the cruisers don't lane split very fast. Some do, but then, people do stupid things. Anyway, I'm coming up behind this guy on a Harley, and I see that his license plate is hanging by one bolt. Just swinging back and forth like a debutante on a porch swing. Just as we're cresting the pass and heading back down into The Valley, there's a break in the traffic and he pulls over to the left to let me by. Instead of zipping right by, I pulled up next to him and tried to get him to understand that he was going to lose his license plate. Now, you have to understand, Harleys are fucking expensive and most of the people in Los Angeles who can afford to ride a twenty thousand dollar cruiser are Doctors and Lawyers and Executives. Posers, in other words. This guy looked at me with palpable distaste. I'm on a 600rr in full gear, boots, gloves, full helmet, jacket and pants. I'm screaming "You're about to lose your plate" and he's just nodding and saying "blah, blah, whatever". I'm pointing at the back of his bike and what do I see? His license plate actually fell off. Oh well, good luck getting pulled over asshole.

Plate

I just bought this license plate for my motorcycle. Hopefully it won't get rejected. I don't think that is should because 'MPEACHW' and 'IMPCH W' were already taken.

Soon

I guess I spoke too soon. I'm barely 200 yards from my house on the way to work this morning. I must've driven through some water or oil. Stop at a light, right turn, accelerate out of the turn ... zing, I lose traction and the back tire of my bike decides that it's had enough of this shit and damn it, it's going to lead the way for a while and slides out to the left. Way, way out. I eased off of the throttle, and held on as tight as I could ... BAM! ... back end grabs and she tried really, really hard to throw me off on the high side. I came within about a tenth of a second of bailing out. Got wacked ... hard ... right above the boot on my right shin by the footpeg when the back end grabbed traction. I stayed relatively calm, but I could've done a little better. I think that I'm Getting a new back tire this weekend. :)

Miles

Crossed the 20,000 mile mark on the 600RR on Monday. Woo Hoo. 20,000 more accident free miles.

Nailed

For the 4th or 5th time in the last three years, I got a nail in the back tire of my motorcycle. That's a quick $200 down the crapper. $200. $200. $200 every fucking time I need a new motorcycle tire. Either I've made an enemy, which is entirely possible, or there's some kind of nail fairy that scatters roofing nails in the carpool lane of the 405 at night. I suppose that I could just be unlucky, except that I don't believe in luck. Unless by luck you mean an excuse people use to not try hard or to be woefully unprepared for life. I'd love to buy stock in that kind of luck. Then at least I might be able to afford some new motorcycle tires.