Day 22: Katikati

April 29
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Distance pedalled: 53.862
Average Speed: 14.6
Time pedalling: 3:41:40
Distance since Palmerston North: 508.59


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In the morning, I give some of the kiwifruit packhouses another call but I just get more recorded messages saying there are no vacancies. It's a bit rainy this morning so I decline to ascend Mauao, I've hiked bigger summits already anyway. I pick up some more bungy cords at the $2 shop and set my sights on Katikati. Lots of ups and downs, but the ride is beautiful. I'll let the pictures speak for themselves:

New Zealand's famous Silver Ferns, you may have seen them in the All Black's logo

Once I get into katikati, I consult my campground directory. There are two in the area, the one that's closest is also the cheaper of the two, but it happens to be a naturist (i.e., nudist) campground. I figure what the hell.

The old lady at reception is thankfully not naked and does not ask me to take off my clothes, so I pay the $14 and set up camp by a beautiful stream. Perhaps not the best idea in the end with all the moisture nearby, but at least I get to go to sleep to the sound of running water and wake up to that sight.

I wave to a couple climbing out of a campervan nearby and, bags unloaded, head off to wooloworth's to get some ingredients for a real (uncanned) dinner. I decide on pasta. Looking at the community bulletin board on the way out, there are sea kayaks for sale, and whole steers for the taking ($70). Hmm.

Over dinner in the kitchen, the couple I saw earlier, Mike and Manuela are, surprise, German and looking for fruitpicking work. We're joined by two other german guys who tell us they've been waiting for a week for work. The wet weather means that the kiwifruit will just fall apart when you pick them, so you can't work on those days. Oh yes, none of us are naked. It turns out we're all just pretty much looking for a place to camp. Also, the night is a bit too chilly for that, eh?

I recycle my jars in the bin that says "recycle with care." As if it were a dangerous activity.

In the morning I see some guy walking butt naked from the kitchen to his campsite. Good on him.

Day 21: Mount Maunganui

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april 28
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In the morning I get a text from nigel. The company he was working for didn't extend his contract, so he won't have the funds to do the motorcycle trip. This means there is no pressing need for me to be in auckland on May 2. Since I am pretty well hidden from the road, I'm not worried about being discovered so I sleep in a bit. That is, until I hear noises from logging rucks. Man, I hope I don't get crushed by a falling tree or something. I resolve to go investigate, and it turns out that a couple of trucks are parked right across the street from where I will be exiting the bush. That sucks, I'd rather slip out unnoticed. Nevertheless, I get sick of waiting around since it's still quite wet, so I pack up, get my bags to the side of the road and then carry my bike over. I drag it all across the street to lean it up against the fence for ease of mounting the bags on the bike. I'ts quite difficult since the fence isn't very stable. I usually prefer to use a picnic bench or a tree or something but there's nothing like that around. Also, it turns out the fence is of the electrical variety and I get shocked a couple of times. Yay. Did I mention it's raining as well?

Progress is still difficult, but at least I've had a night's rest and I know what's ahead of me. I can hear running water as I pass the gorge area again, perhaps a river or a waterfall? I would try and get a better look but it's a steep fall to my left. Finally the road plateaus, and it's fairly flat for awhile, except now it's pouring down. It's quite miserable, really -- I do have thin plastic overpants that I picked up for the tongariro crossing but they got snagged on rocks a few times so they have big holes in them, and hence don't help much. I'm pretty cold, so I duck under a tree, reluctantly remove my gloves and have a bite to eat (a couple of peanut bars) and drink some water -- why I don't know, I've probably swallowed a liter of rainwater through my nose already. I notice a bunch of brown beer bottles and heaps of trash right where I am, and I'm a bit disappointed -- I've been doing my best not to litter here. Kiwis have a beautiful country and I don't want to contribute to ruining it.

I ready myself for more of the deluge and head out again. Before you know it a station wagon slows down in front of me. This time I'm pretty grateful. "Are you allright?" the driver asks. "Eh, I've had better, where are you going?" She's going to Tauranga, which is not really a surprise, Pyes Pa is the "Tauranga Direct" road. She tells me to throw my bike in the back on top of the single mattress. I don't want to get the mattress all wet, but she says not to worry about it. I hop in the front seat, quite aware of how soaking I am. Lucie's very nice though, a youngish mum of three, and we have good conversation. "Don't worry," she says, "I'm not dangerous -- except on weekends!" She points out all the sights on the side of the road, like pukeka, a black bird with a white breast and a red crown like a rooster. She used to live in Wellington back in the day, and we talk a bit about how courtenay place has changed over the years. It wasn't nearly as built up then as it is now, there was maybe one bar and a few shops. Within minutes of her picking me up, the weather already begins to clear.

She actually winds up taking me to Mt. Maunganui, which is just north of Tauranga and closer to the water. She drops me off in front of her husband's workplace right across from the New World, I thank her and head off to get some groceries. A few minutes later I see her again in one of the aisles.

I book into Cozy Corner campground on Ocean Beach Road, and chill out on the sand for a bit with a bottle of white wine. To the northwest is the mountain the town is named for:

Called Mauao by the local Maori and steeped in legend, the 232m extinct volcanic cone is largely covered in a "cloak" of trees, currently part of a million dollar restoration project. The mountain supposedly affords spectacular views of the area, If I'm still here tomorrow maybe I'll go up for a look. First though, I want to see if I can find out about any fruit picking jobs in the area. Right now there's supposedly a high demand for kiwifruit workers, and since I'm short on money and don't have to be in Auckland by May 2nd anymore I figure I'll try my hand at some agricultural work.

So I go and explore the town, a lazily idyllic assortment of shops and houses sandwiched between Pilot Bay to the southwest and the South Pacific to the Northwest; Mt. Maunaganui is actually built on top of a sand bar. East of the Mount lie several small islands, Moturiki and Motuotau.

I pop into a backpackers in the town and call some numbers on the job board, but it turns out there's no work after all. In that case I'll start heading out to the Coromandel tomorrow. I find a copy of Down Under by Bill Bryson, an travelogue on the arid country-continent to the west, and appropriate it since it appears to have been laid there for the purpose.



Back at the campground, I enjoy some crumbed sausages while I sit on the steel bench and read Down Under, bottle of wine in hand. Bryson's absolutely hilarious, and since I won't have a chance to visit Australia this trip I might as well experience a bit of it vicariously. You know, I always thought I'd visit Oz first.

Always have a reason to go back.

Day 20: ZORB!!

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April 27
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After getting the rear inner tube out, it looks like there's a puncture in the rubber just above the air valve. I try patching it with no success. I pick up two spares from Bike Culture and blow one of them by putting too much air in. I figured that might be a risk, but my other tube seemed to take the pressure, and I need these things pumped up well since I'm going long distances on the road. I'm more careful with the second one. After another trip to bike culture to pick up another spare tube and have them cut my brake cable and pop a cap on it, I'm off.

About 12km later, I stop at the previously alluded to ZORB. Zorb is a ride of sorts where they stick you in a giant inflatable sphere and roll you down a hill at high speed. Apparently they can either fill the sphere with water or strap you to the side, and you can get rolled down a straight path or a zig-zag path. Disclaimers warn that "ZORB is an athletic activity and as such involves risk of injury." I watch a few balls go down and it doesn't seem to live up to the hype. Everyone getting out of the balls seems to have had a blast though, so after watching for a bit to build it up, I go to the computer terminals, answer a bunch of questions, have my mugshot taken, and go over to the counter to pay.

"Do you have discount vouchers?" The Maori guy at the counter asks me. I do not, but nevertheless decide to play coy. "I don't know, do I have any discount vouchers?" He asks me where I slept last night. "Oh, you know, around." He begins to rattle off accomodations until I hear Rotorua Treks, and I tell him I stayed there, because I did. The result of this is that I paid $6 less than I would have.

I have selected the ZORB "zydro" ride, so I change into my swimsuit and hop in the shuttle to the top of the hill. The dude driving the van is american, he's learning how the operation here runs because he's going to be running the new smoky mountains zorb in tennessee. I get to the top, and after watching a couple go down, I'm told to dive in the zorb like superman. it's too foggy to see anything outside, but it's pretty damn fun and feels like it lasts at least slightly longer on the inside. you definitely slide around quite a bit.

ZORB: more fun than it looks
Upon re-entering the world, I am told to jump up and down and strike funny poses for pictures. I look at them on the computer monitor, and they are very amusing but I don't pay the 25 bucks for the privilege of owning them.

The zorb dudes ask me where I'm going next. I don't honestly know. I look at their map and I decide I'm going to tauranga and they advise that I take pyes pa road. I learn how to pronounce ngongataha. (NON-gata-HA), They warn me that it's really hill and windy, but then again most roads in new zealand aren't flat, as I've already found out. As I ride through the mangorewa gorge scenic reserve area, I find out what they mean. It's curvy and steep as all hell. plus a little wet. It is pretty though. I decide to turn back to camp at spot I scouted earlier, and am offered a lift by a guy in a van. I tell him to drop me off just down the road. His name is Simon, friendly guy in mid to late twenties. It's quite an adventure setting everything up, I selected this spot for its proximity yet in accessibility from the road. I have to find a path around a large clay pit, through huge bushes of brambles. Even the ground is not solid in places, my foot falls through up to my calf in brambles at one point. I walk back quite a bit in the pitch black, simon was telling me this is a logging area and I think there's something of a path that's been cut through the bush. I set up camp about 200 meters in, and have to make several trips to get all my bags and bike to my designated site. During all the commotion someone sees my flashing tail light and pulls over ask if I'm allright. I tell him everything's sweet as, I've just pulled over to take a piss. It's still drizzling, so everything's a little wet, but I heat up my stove and eat some macaroni and cheese from can, cleaning up as best I can so as not to disturb the spirits (or attract any wetas).

Bush camping!

Days 18-19: Stranded in Rotorua

April 25

yeah, that's pretty frelled

It seems like today I did nothing but cross back and forth repeatedly along the length of the Rotorua CBD, sometimes with my my bike on my back, sometimes not. I imagine I looked quite like Quasimodo, or perhaps, if I may be dramatic, like Jesus carrying the cross he would be nailed on. At least the CBD is a grid, which makes things easier. Since the pig & whistle is at the center of the grid (mystically, if not cartographically), I headed in that direction. The single speed mountain bike race was getting amped in front of the pub, dozens of cyclists stroked their beauties, fastened their numbers onto the handlebars and chatted each other up. It seemed a pretty friendly and uncompetitive affair. I bought a soy hot chocolate from the cafe-on-wheels (not it's actual name) and attempted to mingle with the hope of finding someone who had a truing stand in their possession, or if that failed, at least a spanner or two. The wheel, on inspection, was so badly bent that there was no way I was going to be able to true the thing on the bicycle itself. I was first going to have to take it off and stand on it to bend it back into something vaguely cylindrical. Unfortunately the adjustable spanner I had brought along wasn't really doing the trick, it's flexible nature meant that it just tended to slip over the nuts I needed to remove without actually budging them.

Unfortunately nobody actually had any tools on them, so I waited until 1:00 for Rotorua Cycles open. I bring in my bike and the mechanic tells me to spin the wheel for him -- it will barely go a quarter of a turn before it's stopped by the frame. "Yeah, that wheel's had it," the mechanic tells me. Fortunately, they seem to be the only one of 8 cycle shops that has 24" rims. The other ones I checked don't sell them -- as the guy at bike culture told me, 24" is a "kid's bike." It sets me back $70, but at least now I know I have a rim that won't go out again so easily -- unless I do something foolish again.

It's a royal pain in the ass getting both the bicycle and the new rim back to the hostel, since I really need two hands just to carry the bike. Of course, now I need a spanner. Four trips later I've got three spanners and two nuts off,. Unfortunately I still can't get this one nut off from inside the gear-- I don't know how I'm supposed to get in there. Fortunately there are a bunch of contenders for the single-speed MTB race in town that are staying at the backpackers I'm at. I ask one of them if they know how to get the thing off, and after puzzling over it for a few minutes he concludes that I need a special bike tool.

Since I'm not going to get any more work done on the bike till tomorrow, I walk to Pak n Save and buy myself some dinner and a couple of witbiers. Afterwards in the dorm room have a nice chat with a british guy and girl about travelling. The guy recounts how he climbed Uluru (Ayers Rock) in Australia and nearly fell off the side while trying to save an empty camera bag. I found this interesting, since Patrick had just told me that it's extremely frowned upon to climb Uluru, due to it's being held in sacred regard by the Aborigines. Apparently what he did was give $50 to some aboriginal group and suddenly they didn't mind so much.

April 26
Wake up bright and early so I have a bit of time to kill around the hostel while I wait for the shops to open at 8:30 or so. I just strike out in any direction -- I'm bound to find a cycle shop somewhere. I wonder why everything's closed, since Anzac day was yesterday. There's a sign on the door of Kiwibikes that says they won't be open till 11:00. I ask at the isite what the deal is. Turns out it's Sunday, and that's why everything's closed. This slightly irks me coming from a country with 24 hour pharmacies and seven elevens. Even in Wellington there were cycle shops open on Sundays. Ah well, when in Rome. I wander over to the Pig & Whistle where there's a day-after-the-race breakfast going on, hoping maybe I can bug one of these bicycle mechanics to open their shop already, but the woman behind the bar susses out that I don't belong there. Finally Kiwibikes opens up, and the mechanic spins the wheel horizontally on some sort of device and it's off. Doesn't charge me (and really, he shouldn't) and I'm on my merry way.

by 3pm I've got the rim on there, the tire pumped up. and my brakes finally tuned with a newly bought mutitool to replace the lost one. I've also replaced the rear brake cable which was starting to fray. I don't have wirecutters so I tie up the excess end with velcro. The weather's still unpleasant though (it's been overcast and wet since at least yesterday) and it's too late to hit the road now, so I guess I'll stay in Rotoru one more night. I can't access the wifi at my hostel anymore since paypal has decided I'm not me. So I book into Astray, only to find out that their wifi is way too expensive. I send them a comment giving them a piece of my mind. The clerk at Astray is friendly and helpful at least, and has his own spin on the famous oceanian "no worries." Apparently everything to him is "no drama." I kind of like it. Since there's really nothing else to do in this weather and I'm too beat to do much else anyway, I ride over to the cinema and watch The Boat that Rocked, an awesome film with Phillip Seymour Hoffman (Capote, Till The Devil Knows You're Dead) and that guy who played Slartbartfast in the Hitchhiker movie. I'ts about Radio Rock, a radio station on a boat in England's North Sea. Hilarious and highly recommended. I'm interrupted by a phone call. Checking the message later, I find that it's from SiteWifi asking me for my email address so they can send me a written response to my enquiry. And that was at 6:00pm on a Sunday. I don't understand this country sometimes.

I unlock my bike and start riding it home only to discover that the rear tyre has gone out. Did I pinch the tube when I put it on? Was it damaged in the spill that buckled my wheel? In any case I'll save it for tomorrow, it's too wet and dark to deal with now.

I don't really want to ride over to the supermarket in the rain, so I make do with some canned spaghetti and watch the first half hour or so of Double Impact. I didn't realize just how campy (to be generous) this movie was when I was 8. Also, for some reason I could have sworn the two Van Dammes were actually different actors.