Well, I wanted an adventure and today I got one.
So, off I headed. My motorcycle atlas proved less than reliable. I turned off SH8 near Crippletown and headed up a very steep track to the old Bendigo diggings. 30 minutes later I came to a locked gate. So, I went back to the main road having wasted an hour.
I found another route up Ardgour Road. This looked more promising, confirmed when I came to a sign warning not to attempt the track in wet weather. Further on a hand painted sign said: “Bikes, keep on the track or PISS OFF”.
The track was the same one in my atlas just in a different place. It would take me past Mount Moka and through the Dunstan Range. The public road follows what is known as Thomson’s Track (Thomson Gorge Road). It is rutted and steep but perfectly passable with stupendous views back west to Pisa Range, and then near the tops east towards Raggedy Range.
There was a southerly front coming through. I could see it behind me. When I got onto the uppermost reaches of the track the wind was so strong I had trouble keeping my bike upright when stopping to open any of the numerous gates.
On the descent down into Omakau I passed a farmer heading the other way. Soon after I crossed several fords, one big enough to get my feet wet. By this time though I was feeling reasonably confident with my off road skills. The farmer overtook me soon after returning the way he came. And I had a clear unimpeded view into the valley. Destination in sight.
I came up to another closed gate on a steep descent. Because you can’t park a bike on the side stand facing downhill I turned to face back up the hill I opened the gate, returned to my bike and then proceeded to turn back down the hill. Disaster. In the blink of an eye the bike slipped and went over, facing down hill. This was a problem – a big one, weighing about 192kgs (wet).
I have managed in the past to pick my bike up when I dropped it, but not on a gravel road, or on mud (my last experience). I was stuck, high up a hill, no traffic, no way to get going.
I spent about 40 minutes trying to stop the wheels skidding by jamming big rocks under the wheels. I spun the bike round to use the slope of the track more effectively. No luck, except wrenching my back.
I could see farm houses in the distance and contemplated walking but they were a long way away.
I pulled out my mobile. There was coverage. Years ago I had taken photographs at the Omakau Garage. It was worth a shot – I figured it was about 10kms away. 018 gave me the number and so it was that I humiliated myself by asking for help. As luck would have it two of the garage workers were going off to fix a tractor. They would pass by and give me a hand.
Thirty minutes later two swarthy southern men pulled up in a white ute (symbolic?). The younger hopped out, walked up to my bike, grabbed the handlebars, and hoisted the bike up in one humiliating movement. I’m not called Skinny for nothing.
Thankfully they waited for me to load the bike back up, and we travelled down the mountain together. I drove to the Omakau Hotel and bought a dozen Speights and delivered it to the garage. Disaster averted, but the adventure was not over.
Riding out of Omakau the rain started. And then the wind. I headed towards Naseby ready to do Danseys Pass. The wind was blowing so hard it was difficult to ride straight.
I had ridden Danseys Pass back in 1982. I remembered it as relatively benign. But this time was different. 10 kms in the hail started. And the wind blew harder. I looked down and saw my crotch filling with pellets of ice. And to cap it off the road was much worse than I remembered. It was corrugated and hard to ride with ill-formed tyre tracks making negotiating sharp corners particularly challenging. And the worsening weather only made it worse.
The pass itself was hair-raising. Exposed to the fierce wind on the tops I seriously wondered if I would make it through to the Waitaki Valley. The earlier hail was followed by torrential rain.
I did eventually make it to Duntroon. The road to Kurow runs due west meaning the southerly now becomes a cross-wind. This is the worst and most terrifying wind for a motorcyclist, especially when it’s blowing this hard. Shelter belts gave some protection but they also released branches and debris across the road.
By this time I’m absolutely freezing and determined to stop at the first motel I could find. Hence, Kurow.
I’m hoping like hell the southerly will blow through and that tomorrows weather won’t be as bad as the forecasters are predicting. I need to make it to Christchurch for Wednesday night, but I need to do it safely. This means avoiding wide open spaces – bloody hard to do now that I’m near the Mackenzie Basin and the Canterbury Plains.