Good coffee (not sponsored) in Taihape
I know stopping for a photo is pointless; cloud
cover will be back by the time I get the camera
out and shoot it. It’s one of those things that
must be savoured right there, right then –
and I give thanks to this wonderful country
for showing its splendour in such a moment.
Another reminder to keep the heart positive.
Sur e enough, a few hundred metres more and
the mist closes in again, but I know now, that above
the fog is a beautiful sunny, summer’s day, and I’m
riding into it. I grin like an idiot. The fog persists all
the way into Taihape. The cafés are NOT bloody
open yet. I can smell delicious bakery scents and
can’t get in to buy breakfast. The gas station is my
only option. I have to say Wild Bean is pretty good
when you need a coffee. I was meant to catch up
with a Facebook contact here, but I want to get on,
there’s warmth and sun to be had further down this
road. Ten k’s out of town the weather clears, and
I am riding in bright sunshine. It’s glorious, I’m on
the road, through the wet, and I turn up the music
and ride solid all the way to Wellington. At the first
bridge outside of Bulls the bike rolls over 10,000km
since new. The T120 is loving it, and so am I.
By 11 o’clock I’m in the ferry terminal having a
22 KIWI RIDER
chat with the terrific woman on the counter, yes, I
can change my ticket and go early, and because I
purchased a variable ticket I can get a twenty buck
refund. Fantastic! I sit outside in the bike shelter
and chat with 5 other riders, swapping stories
and bike trivia. One offers the use of his house in
Barrytown; he wouldn’t be there, but the key was
hidden and he told me where to find it. Is there
any other group for who genuine camaraderie
and concern is so natural a part of the journey?
The ferry crossing is as flat as the salt flats my bike
is named for. I remark on Facebook how rare that
is, and get into an argument with someone who
says, “It’s always like that.” I recommend following
the advice to bring your own straps, as the ships
ones are poked. I tie it down like I’m preparing for
an Antarctic voyage. Leaving all your belongings
on the bike necessitates a leap of faith. I have no
locks on anything, but all was well, of course.
Leaving Picton I’m not sure where to head. Find
a motel or a campground and stop, or go to
Blenheim, or press on all the way to Kaikoura? It’s
a beautiful, sunny, still afternoon, and the thought
of stopping in overcrowded campgrounds waiting
10,000km clocked up at Bulls