Maruia Saddle the helmet. By the time I reached Springfield I was in a rictus of cold, cramped, wet pain. Again I leaked on the gas station floor, while attempting to choke down a hot sausage roll. Knowing that I had to continue and there was no let up to be had, I slid the wet helmet back on my head and thanked REV’ IT! for making such a great jacket. My extremities were chilled to sub-zero but my core was warm and dry, let’ s not mention those bloody overtrousers.
The ride into Christchurch crossing the southern plains was hell-swept, winds of 70km / h or more grabbed me at the end of every farm windbreak, as I anticipated the blast by moving to the centre line and leaning hard into the wind. As the wind hit, newly unobstructed, I was almost knee down, and halfway across the road to the berm, before wrestling the bike back on a straight line. It was simple grinding endurance. When I arrived at my mother in law’ s house –
KIWI RIDER 97