Day 2 – To Northland
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New Zealand is a motorcycling paradise. This, of course, was strongly suspected when I arrived. I now know it to be true.
After a good night’s sleep, I fell out of bed on my own at 6 am (already on New Zealand time!) and headed downstairs for an excellent breakfast buffet at the hotel. After a couple of ‘long blacks’ (Kiwi-speak for an Americano, it being the opposite of a ‘short black’, or just a shot of espresso) and an omelette, I was changed and out into traffic. Lots and lots and lots of traffic.
For a city of only 1 million people, Auckland does a truly spectacular rush hour. Fortunately I was going against the grain (those that know me well will find this a familiar quality) and wasn’t held up terribly leaving the city.
Getting on the northwest motorway out of the city, however, was a much larger challenge than I expected. It all had depended upon me being able to take a turn that I wasn’t allowed to take. Ruling that out, I followed the path that I thought should take me to the motorway, only to find out that once again I was extremely wrong, and extremely lost. Or so I thought. A brief consultation of the map revealed that I was actually not as lost as I thought, in that continuing on in the direction I was travelling would actually take me where I wanted to go. Which leads to an existential question: if you’re going in the direction that you should be going, but you don’t know it, are you still lost?
Motorway discovered, I carried on in the direction of Northland (an accurate, if not terribly original, descriptor of the northern peninsula of the North Island. This worked quite well, until I unexpectedly ran out of motorway. My early morning consultation of the map said that once I was on the northwest motorway, I should follow Highway 16 all the way north to Wellsford. My progress was abruptly stopped by a T-junction, with no clear sign indicating which way Highway 16 went. A right turn felt more northward (and in fact, was) and so I followed that.
This seemed a worthwhile direction for an extended period of time, until I found out (after about 20 kms) that I was in fact on Highway 18. Or, more specifically, Highway 18 East. Discretion purportedly being the better part of valour (or at least the part that lets you get away with a lot) I pulled off the highway in Albany. Only to discover that while I wasn’t going the way I intended, I was almost on top of the other northbound highway. Which leads me to suspect that the answer to my existential question, at least here, is: probably.
Highway 1 is a delightful highway on its own, and I’m glad I discovered it (if modesty lets me call it discovery). Of course, Christopher Columbus ‘discovered’ America when he was really supposed to be looking for an alternative spice route to the Indies (slacker) so if that counts, so does mine. The highway north was beautiful, winding through verdant green countryside. Rolling hills, lush forests and undulating pastures represent everything you imagine New Zealand will be like. Only the reality is much, much better. Even better, they really, really like motorcyclists. Cars and trucks almost uniformly pull onto the shoulder when they see you in their rearview mirror. When I briefly got caught in a traffic jam, the other cars actually got out of my way so I could ride between them and the median. And, just to put icing on the cake, the toll for motorcyclists on Highway 1 (for yes, Virginia, it is a toll road) is the princely sum of $0.00.
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By 10 am, I was in Wellsford, which is where I would have gotten to if I had actually found Highway 16 and followed it. Finding a café along the main strip, I stopped for another long black and a contemplation of the route ahead. Shortly up the road was Te Hana, and an art gallery that I wanted to check out. Another few kms on, and I would leave the main highway to travel the coastal route along the eastern edge of the island. From there, I would continue back on Highway 1 to Whangarei, where I would stop for lunch.
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First, however, was the art gallery. It had been recommended in a guidebook as a must-see destination, and while this is definitely true, you have to stay alert if you’re going to find it. Te Hana is not a big town, and you are about to leave just as quickly as you arrive. Hidden behind a café, however, is the lair of Kerry and Monique Strongman. I met Monique first, who welcomed me warmly as I entered the gallery. She introduced me to some of the artworks, which included spectacular sculptures by her husband Kerry, from a series that he calls ‘jewellery for giants’. The description is an apt one, for the pieces themselves resemble nothing so much as ornate jewellery, but the majority of them stand somewhere between six and nine feet tall.
The pieces are carved from the roots of the xxx [MEM1] tree, which is for New Zealand what the redwood is for California. They grow to massive sizes, and some can be 2,000 or 3,000 years old. While the vast majority were cut down and shipped away in the last century, there were many trees felled earlier by mother nature (often as the result of a tsunami or other natural disaster) that were subsequently preserved in the mineral waters of the swamps in which they grew. Kerry takes their roots and fashions from them some of the most spectacular sculptures I have seen. While I can’t imagine how I’d get one of the taller sculptures home, I did fall in love with a mandala of beautifully carved wood. Now I just have to convince Dianne that we should buy it.
I did pick up a little something for Dianne, and Kerry also made me the gift of a carved whalebone pendant. The six overlapping spirals represent the four directions, plus papa sky and mama earth. Not a bad talisman for a motorcyclist, really. He asked if he could perform a Maori blessing of it before he gave it to me, and as he did the skies opened up in an absolute deluge. Significance? Portents from the other world? That or it just rains a lot in New Zealand. Regardless, he and his wife were incredibly hospitable. They said that if I was cold and wet on the way back I should stop in for a warm shower and a cup of tea, and that if and when my wife and I make our way back to New Zealand we would be welcome to use the studio as a home base (they live there, and have four bedrooms). All this after having met them for only a half-hour.
I left Te Hana as the rains settled into a steady drizzle. It would continue to rain on and off for the balance of my trip north, but it wasn’t permanent. Wait a few minutes, and hot clear sunshine would start to burn the water off the road, surrounding me and the bike in a wafting mist. And then it would rain again.
While I had enjoyed the ride north, another surprise awaited as I left the main highway. The secondary roads through the New Zealand countryside are simply gorgeous. They run through the countryside, bounded by fields, forests and farms, winding through the hills and valleys to the coast. I’ve complained in the past about road engineering, and the increasing prevalence in North America of solid double-yellow lines anywhere that looks even remotely dangerous to support a pass. New Zealand does not suffer that problem. Unless you’re somewhere that would be really, really stupid to try to pass, the roads are divided by dashed white lines. Around bends, over hills and through hairpins, you can pass if you think you can do it safely. Rather than the state telling you that “no, you can’t pass, it’s dangerous”, you are free to explore the principles of Darwinism at your leisure.
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As well, unless the road actually passes through a settlement, the speed limit is the national limit of 100 km/h. Blasting through a narrow, two-lane track in the countryside, you’re able to go just as fast as the conditions allow. And to be clear, I have yet to speed. The roads are sufficiently challenging and engaging to ride that there is more than ample room for excitement within the posted limits. I can’t imaging trying to get through the countryside any faster, thank you very much.
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I stopped in for another coffee at a café in Mangawhei, called the Smashed Pipi Café and Bar. It also doubles as an art gallery. Given that this is the heart of cottage country (sort of like the Muskokas for Kiwis) I’m quite sure that it is enormously crowded during holiday times in the summer. Today, however, it was just me. I had a lovely coffee while I read the local paper (Mangawhei has a new constable and he’s really enjoying working there, and there’s an art festival coming up this weekend).
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From there, it was on to Waipu, a place with a link to Canada. The first cross street I came across was in fact named Nova Scotia Drive. Apparently, Waipu was settled by cranky Scots that first emigrated to Nova Scotia, and from there set out once again to New Zealand. I’m not sure the level of dissatisfaction that led to that particular migration, but it had to be pretty significant: the voyage from Nova Scotia took six months by barque.
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After Waipu, I rejoined Highway 1 and continued north. After the narrow, winding and altogether delightful roads from Kaiwaka to Waipu, the highway was now pretty straight. Whangerai (pronounced with an ‘f’), where I stopped for lunch, is a fairly large settlement and port, and the area is an extremely popular vacation spot for New Zealanders. As a town, it’s quite commercial. There are the usual local services, and then down by the quay there’s an assembly of restaurants, cafes and stores that are clearly designed to attract tourists to the area. Certainly beautiful and scenic, but altogether more manufactured than what I’ve thus far been exposed to on the trip. Nonetheless, I stopped in for lunch at the Serenity Café on the square, and had a lovely Panini and salad.
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I had set my destination for Helena Bay, which was another 45 minutes beyond Whangerai. As I continued north, however, the construction got more intense and the weather kept pace. Rather than getting there simply to say that I had (I’m not that goal oriented, really) I turned around and headed back south. Retracing my steps was actually a brand new journey, as the weather had changed and the scenery offered a different perspective heading the other way. Once I was back south of Whangerai, I only experienced the occasional rain shower. The sun had come out (along with the wind) and I was able to enjoy all that the countryside had to offer. Which was a lot.
I stopped for a final time in Wellsford, for a final long black of the day and a chat with my sweet baboo. For the trip home, I took Highway 16, which was the route that I was supposed to take northbound this morning. I’m incredibly glad I did. The trip was spectacular, almost 120 kms of well-maintained two lane highway that winds through the hillside along the coast on the west side of the island. Despite all of the beauty I had already seen and experienced today, this was unparalleled. And it was virtually all mine. I saw all of 10 vehicles along the highway until we got in reach of Auckland. Of course, after that, I saw many, many, many more vehicles and a not-inconsiderable traffic jam, but the first 100 kms was delightful in its solitude.
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Getting back into Auckland proper continued to be an interesting challenge. I’m getting better at knowing where I’m trying to go, and the approximate location of the city to find it, but the connecting bits from one place to another still elude. After having left the motorway to get back to the hotel, I found myself on whose sole and exclusive purpose in life was to funnel me back on the motorway. Given that there was absolutely no escape from this three-lane hell, I had nothing to do but limp through stop-and-go traffic for about 3 kms (longer than it sounds). The next exit, however, dumped me less than half-a-kilometre from my hotel, so there might be something to this whole navigating-by-serendipity thing.
Parking the bike, I showered and changed for dinner and preparation for re-entry into civilization. Never one to do things by half measures, that quickly found me in the lobby bar for a delightful glass of New Zealand champagne.
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[MEM1]Karori?