Deep in the pavilion of the clown

Saturday, glorious day, felt like summer had finally slipped in the door. It was to be the first ride this season where I headed out the door with no undershirt, no arm warmers, just the essentials.

Setting off with a small select group for a gentle roll over to Piha, then Karekare and Lone Kauri Road. We travelled easily, climbing up Forest Hill Road, then over to Piha, a light easterly wind made for pleasant traverse of Piha Road, and the day lent itself to it beautifully. It was to be The Croc's last outing over into that neck of the woods before he defects.

Coming over the hill into Piha, the sea and sky showed promise of summer, a deep blue, the waves were clear in definition, and the bush was verdant, hard not to be a happy man. Our descent was easy, and included a small stop to admire the view.

After we restarted I was number three in the line, and Wayne and The Croc were ahead of me, with a car towing a boat slowing our progress a fraction. This was to turn out to be a blessing. We descended comfortably, and I was thinking of the climb back up, and relishing the thought of rolling up it like we rolled up Forest Hill Road. As I entered a right hand corner there was a very loud bang, and suddenly my back wheel was lacking both comfort and traction. Leaning the bike over to get around the corner was now not an option, I started braking and looking for somewhere to run out and get off the road. Luckily there was a nice grassy verge, with no metal between it and the asphalt, and that was where I came to stop, upright. 

Serge, who was following was in pole position to watch my panic stop. The others heard the retort of the escaping air and had also slowed quickly.

The tyre was cut through the side wall, but worse, the wheel was buckled, so a bit of gentle force to straighten it enough to rotate through the chainstays was required, along with a boot in the side wall (I did decline Wayne's smutty patch offer) and a new tube, and then I was able to roll down to the cafe with the others.

There, the service vehicle was summonsed to collect me, the others had a quick coffee and set off on their homeward journey. I had another coffee, chewed the fat with a German surfer who was spending his winter here in New Zealand chasing waves and awaited the arrival of the extraction vehicle.

I was annoyed that I suffered the mechanical, and was unable to ride home, as I was having a day of good legs, but it was tempered by the fact that I stayed upright during an event that can often result in a brief introduction to the art of flight.

Suffice to say, I am now itching to repeat and complete the ride.

Now, something for someone who knows.

The Honeyeater

The above, equals happiness for the below.

I have been extraordinarily lucky this weekend. 

On Saturday morning I rode out through Bethalls Quarry and Scenic Drive with Wayne, The Croc, Warren and Serge. The pace over, like the company was pleasant and easy. Up the quarry I lit the blue touch paper, and for a change my own fireworks were less than a damp squib. Onto Scenic Drive I eased, but some of the others from our company charged on. I was saving my legs for the expedition I had planned that afternoon on foot.

After we reached the top of Scenic Drive, and I had a fossick in the roadside gorse for the bottle of scotch that I placed there in June, I did come away empty handed, Serge and Warren rolled back the way they had come, and the Croc, Wayne and I snaked down the descent of Forest Hill Road, and then back to town by the very pleasant bike path, all the way in from Henderson. No traffic issues for us, it is a truly 

benign way to snake in from the outer west. 

My return expedition into the Waitakeres on Saturday afternoon was a delight, the highlight being the brief visitation of a Kaka while I was on a spur between steep grunts. It was wonderful to see and hear one of these chaps in the Waitakeres. I have had a mob around me before, like unruly schoolboys, but that was on the Eastern Coromandel. Several years ago, at dawn, I saw a pair on Sandringham Road, by Gribblehurst Park, but this is the first time in a while I have seen one out west. I was delighted.

The final stanza of unexpected joy was on Sunday afternoon, while I waited up a valley out of Piha for my scion to finish up his camp. As I sat, I had camera in hand, with a decent long lens, nearby was flax flowering, and I waited. Soon the territory master, a Tui appeared. Initially to chase the brace of Starlings from the prime food source, the flowering flax and it's nectar. On returning from that sortie, the Tui discovered a Myna was trying it's luck, so more whirring action required.

Rivals dispensed with, the Tui returned to start feeding, and I got lucky with the camera. It maybe a box ticking exercise, as I sure ain't a twitcher, but I have long wanted to snap a Tui on a Flax infloresence. Today was the day, a little longer lens would have been a nice luxury, but I'm happy anyway.

That done, and I looked up to see a Kereru swoop through, across the sky, I turned and nailed a Don Binney moment.

Sometimes, it just is.

In Muddy Lanes

Fifty one weeks ago four of us ventured out to Aka Aka and back, via Waiuku and a stop at the bakery at Patumahoe. The weather was pretty average and quite windy, and by the end, one hundred and forty kilometres later, I was a trifle weary.

Last Sunday it was decided that three of us should follow the same loop. Of the four last year, only two of us returned, The Croc and I, we had Wayne Hudson for company this time. The first part went quite quickly, at that stage we had The Worm present, and he made himself useful for the first three quarters of an hour. Then he turned to complete a shorter loop. That left three of us, so we carried on.
I suffered yet another puncture just before Drury, front wheel this time, glass again. I think that everyone should have to earn a license for buying beverages in glass bottles. Those who don't have their license re only allowed sipper bottles, and that way there would hopefully be less of the apparently randomly broken bottles that litter our roads.

The ride was steady and very pleasant, apart from some inclement weather. Those roads are excellent, with little traffic and a variety of terrain. Apart from mud and some passing dung they are far better than any city roads.

As we passed over Bald Hill we could see a large, dark squall bearing down on us. A steady ride to the excellent bakery at Patumahoe got us out of the worst and into warmth for a sit down and a neenish tart in my case. We congratulated ourselves on being so clever and avoiding the squall.
Saddling up for the homeward leg, we headed out, and were hit by a furious squall that included torrential icy rain, gusty wind and some hail for good measure. So much for our earlier wisdom.

Yet again, I returned home with one hundred and forty kilometres under my belt, weary and a completely filthy bike.
It's a ride I'd recommend heartily.

Here is The Croc basking in the comfort of the Patumahoe Bakery, having towed two of us for miles over Hill Road with it's wind and the worst seal in New Zealand. Top effort that man.

This morning, I went out in the pre-dawn and endured yet another wet, dirty ride, it's getting past a joke now.