seems untouched by the quakes; also seemingly
so is the Kekerengu Café, an old favourite.
The upheaval on the coastline itself is apparent
after Clarence, and there are wide swathes of
new shallow beach that weren’t there before.
Where the sea floor has been thrust up by
a metre or more, the strewn rock fields are
whited out and blighted with dead kelp beds.
The smell is fierce, and the bug life astounding,
many finding impossible holes in my visor.
I love the ride and salute the riders I pass, who all
were equally responsive. At times the traffic slows
to 30k’s and I need to be alert to mounds of built up
gravel. One particularly obnoxious policeman, for
whom I generally have the greatest respect, took
it into his bosom to find something to persecute.
in spots quickly develops into a steady soaking.
Caution is required when deciding to travel on this
road at night, as it’s easy to be trapped in Kaikoura
or ‘no mans land’ when the road is closed after 8pm.
I arrive in Kaikoura to find it full. Camping isn’t an
option, as pitching a tent in failing light and soaking
rain has as much appeal as being attacked by dogs.
Fortunately I’m directed to an Inn, up a long
road, which I find in the gloaming. The Donegal
Inn is a happily rousing Irish testament to the
immigrant Boyd family of Kaikoura. It’s a series
of long rooms on a pond and river with fabulous
views to the mountains. The owner, bless his
cotton socks , is a harried but happy man and the
dining room is ablaze with food and drink and
the largest video-wall of 80s descent yet seen.
Weather on the way into Kaikoura
Having passed me by, a kilometre or two later he
reappears behind me and sirens me to a standstill.
He breathalyses me and goes over the bike like the
Spanish Inquisition. This martinet ruined a great day
and shook me up with his ridiculous hating on bikers.
Apparently, while negotiating gravel I’d crossed
the white dashed centreline and was crossing back
over when he came round a corner, well ahead, and
saw me crossing back. In a 30km/h zone, actually
doing 30k’s! Fined, and annoyed - I’m depressed.
I ride off, and the weather mirrors my mood. It
gets blacker and darker, and the rain which starts
26 KIWI RIDER
On this were the worst Irish 80s music videos ever
made. With appalling crooners in corduroy, and
wavy hair under floppy leather berets singing
of everlasting love to bright-eyed Colleens, and
Kathleens coming back from fuck knows where.
It is, I have to say, priced to make up for the
lean times, and it’s possible to forgive them. But
30 bucks for cod and chips, and 125 more for a
basic room, has a sizeable hole in my meagre
budget. But it’s a long way from Turangi in one
day, with some exceptional riding and a little
drama too. The bed is beyond welcoming.