Coast to Coast
(December 1998)

The day dawned fine and promised to be a great day to spend in the saddle. I had a rendezvous with fellow Ulyssian Dennis O’Neil scheduled for 8:00am and we managed to leave on time for the trip north after I hid my amazement at his immaculately presented Vulcan Classic. Now, that is one nice scoot! Along the way we passed a number of other riders at various spots where they were obviously gathering for the journey north. It seemed every coffee shop and McDonalds outlet had a half dozen bikes parked outside.

Stopping briefly in Foxton for a coffee and gas we continued on glancing skyward as the clouds gathered ominously. As we turned at Himatangi towards the coast I cursed the few spits of moisture splashing my visor. Two minutes later it stopped and by the time we arrived at the beach all was dry and fears of rain quickly disappeared as we took in the sight of about 400 bikes and riders gathered for the start. Registration was a pretty relaxed affair and not everyone there bothered with that either as it became obvious many were not wearing the obligatory arm band. Maybe it was the Scottish contingent being careful with their hard earned cents or maybe they were too staunch to be seen wearing a piece of white elastic on their macho jackets. Either way, it was a shame that the good cause of the rescue helicopter was deprived of a few dollars.

The range of bikes was amazing. Everything from a rusty old Henderson through to the latest Kawasaki Nomad, still with dealer plates on. I bet someone is going to buy that one with a few more miles on the clock than delivery. I must admit though that it would have looked good parked between my legs (gawd, did I just say that). Numbers were a bit down on last year and part of that was obviously due to the doubtful weather but also no doubt due to last year having a few of the Harley boys turning up in an intimidating fashion and the sorrowful death of the rider returning home after the end of the ride. That event was remembered by a moments silence prior to the start.

By the time we started off there would have been at least 500 bikes and it took quite some time for us all to get under way and up to speed. The ride was monitored all the way by police in car and on bikes which was welcomed by some of us and no doubt regretted by others who would later regret their own actions on the later twisty back roads.

The ride wandered back to Foxton, through Shannon and then north towards Palmerston. About this time I learnt lesson #1. Don’t rely on the velcro to hold your helmet strap in place. If the wind can shake it free you can guarantee it won’t stay secure when most needed. Dennis was very democratic as he said nothing and patiently waited while I stopped to secure it properly. As time went on, the clouds became more threatening eventually culminating in an annoying drizzle. At this time I learnt lesson #2. If you wear your wet weather gear you can be guaranteed of a dry ride but if you don’t, you’ll be parked on the side of the road suiting yourself up as the others all cruise by. Again Dennis proved the gentleman as I made apologetic motions while all the time trying to hide my fear of the slippery conditions threatening ahead.

The ride over the Pahiatua track was a bloody pain. Continual drizzle made vision difficult and the surface slick enough to be of concern to a novice such as myself. I was thankful to catch up early in the ride to a couple on a BMW that were obviously a little more cautious than I. It’s good to be able to ride behind someone at a pace where you would obviously like to go a bit quicker yet at the same time realise that to do so would likely result in your speed exceeding your riding abilities. The road would be great on a dry day but in those conditions I was thankful to make the other side still upright and relatively dry.

Arrival in Woodville was like a mini-carnival. People lined the streets to see all the bikes in town and kids waved gleefully just as they had through every little hamlet we had travelled. The two service stations were doing a brisk trade as we all lined up for fuel. It’s at time like this that I course the tank capacity giving a maximum distance of about 250km. The ride’s organisers put on a lunch for us all (well, a couple of sausages wrapped in a slice of bread) and it was welcomed by all as we wandered around looking at all the bikes, bumping into old friends and making new ones. There were plenty of Ulyssians there from all over and the usual stories and lies were told and retold, embellished and exaggerated until they reached proportions suitable for printing in an annual journal.

The ride continued in fine conditions which stayed with us for the rest of the day which was just as well. The first 50km or so was on great roads, mostly gentle curves and undulating farmland until we hit a bit higher ground where a lot more care was required. Along the way we passed a number of riders gathering their wits as they had obviously taken a corner too quickly, running out of tarmac and no doubt resulting in unwanted scratches and dents. Richard’s advice after last months Riversdale ride was very appropriate particularly given the back roads we travelled on had no warning signs of imminent sharp corners that appeared over every second rise.

The two pubs we passed along the way gave us all an excuse to stop and stretch our aged limbs and rub our weary butts but most of us were wise enough to stay out of the inviting bars inside electing to saddle up and continue on after a few minutes respite. Arrival at Herbertsville was something of a anti-climax as we couldn’t see the sea at all and remembering back to the start line, you couldn’t see the sea there either. Coast to Coast huh, hhhmmmm, close but no cigar. The purists among us (self not included) wandered down to the beach to complete the trip while most elected to lounge on the lawn outside the pub while lucky spot prizes were distributed.

I heaved a sigh of relief as tarmac again made a solid surface under the rubber only to disappear 100 yards later around the bend for another stretch of loose gravel. It was probably only a total of 5km all told but it was enough to make me very nervous throughout. The experience was probably very good for me but I wouldn’t have believed you had you told me at the time.

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