Sartorially, the best word to describe my look these days might be “wrinkled.” My two smartest purchases in preparation for this trip were a fanny pack—A
FANNY PACK!—and these Ziploc Space Bags. They are GENIUS. I just jam everything
into them, squoosh out the air, and voila—freeze-dried clothing. I packed as
lightly as I could, and the stuff that took up the most room in my suitcase is
the gear I wear every day. And I do mean every day: my rain suit top is my
walking-around-town jacket; outside of leathers, my non-functional-but-I-wear-it-as-a-layer-anyway
heated jacket, and boots, I have two pairs of pants (pajama-ish pants that are
juuuuuuuuust passably public-facing AND fit comfortably under my over-pants),
two sweaters, three long-sleeved shirts, six short-sleeved shirts (Australia had
better be warmer than New Zealand), and a whole host of long underwear (New
Zealand is, have I mentioned, not hot). I’ve organized myself into one pannier
for bike stuff, one for clothes, and then the dry bag on the back has shoes and
toiletries. Because I’m here for six weeks and checking my ginormous suitcase,
I bought full-size toothpaste, shampoo & conditioner, and a bottle of
laundry detergent. I got the eucalyptus scent in anticipation of making myself
attractive to koalas as I am having ZERO luck with the goddamn sheep. (I just
want to love you, sheep!) Most motels have laundry facilities for $2 NZ, which
is hella cheaper than the laundry in my building at home, AND now I smell like
eucalyptus. Coming for you, koalas. COMING FOR YOU.
So, the fanny pack. I’m in love. A tank bag didn’t feel
all-purpose enough and having to constantly take on and off a backpack seemed
like too much of a hassle. I stood around in REI for quite some time, working
up my courage, but ever since I pulled the trigger, I couldn’t be happier: my
pal Fanny has a zillion compartments, is waterproof, and frankly when I throw
that bad boy over my shoulder and head out on the town, I feel like a person
dressed in wrinkled pajamas and half of a rain suit with an extremely practical
approach to the carrying and organizing of all manner of personal items. In other words, killing it!
Today is Monday, and yesterday, Sunday, I left Dunedin and
took the scenic route down to Invercargill. The scenic route was extremely
scenic and I highly recommend that ride. Highly
recommend. It rained a bit because New Zealand, but I had ol’Rainy the rain
suit on anyway, for warmth, the roads were fine, and some of the crust of bugs
on everything got washed away. I had been told to stop in Curio Bay, so stop I
did—there is a petrified forest AND a regular forest; penguins were discussed at
length but not present. It was raining so I left my helmet on as I walked
around and Schubreth makes a really excellent $700 rain hat. Most people
ignored me but there was one guy who couldn’t stop staring and grinning and though
we did not speak, I knew for sure he was a rider.
I’ve talked to a handful of bikers along the way, mostly in
parking lots. I snuck the bike into one of those little triangle-dead-spots in
the corner of a lot the other day, and the owners of the car next to me came up
as I was taking the bags off. I said politely, “Did I leave you enough room
there?” which is code for “Don’t hit the bike, yo” and that kicked off a twenty-minute
conversation about motorcycles while the guy’s poor wife just stood there. (She
seemed used to it.) His main ride is a Thunderbird, he’s got six other bikes, he’s
a Triumph fanatic, he said don’t bother with the north island, and we spent a good few minutes discussing the difference in torque on the Street versus the Speed Triple. I met
another guy who works at a dealership that sells, improbably, Harley Davidsons,
BMWs, and KTMs. He has one of each but takes the GS out the most, and within three
minutes of him striking up a conversation he had Google maps open on his phone
and was patiently spelling out place names while I took notes.
I’m still bummed out about the no-waving situation. I love
waving and I love being waved at—it’s the one thing that cuts across all manner
of riders and rides. (Exception: One time I pulled up behind a dope on a
Daytona at a stop light, and he turned around and gave me three fingers instead of the usual two, then gestured back and forth at our bikes: I finally
figured out he was signaling that we were both riding triples and wow, dude.
No.) Mike and I once passed a couple of guys on Harleys and they gave the low
sign like normal except for one guy who very emphatically shot at us with his
finger-gun, even simulating the recoil—Bang! Bang bang bang! Later I asked Mike
what that was about and he just shrugged. Who can know what mysteries live in the hearts of
men?
People have been very nice about making sure I have a “safe”
place to put the bike. The lady who suggested this spot was so adamant about it
I couldn’t say no, but this is an extremely stupid parking place and it’s going
to take me an hour to get the bike back out.
However, it is very easy to check on the bike without
leaving my room.
Roads, as noted earlier, don’t generally have much in the
way of a shoulder. There are passing lanes fairly often, but even outside of those
New Zealand has a very free hand with the dotted line. There have been dotted
in lines in turns and going over hills with no line of sight ahead—New Zealand basically
doesn’t seem to give a shit and the message appears to be “Eh, go for it.”
Passing is very common and no one seems offended—lots of people have pulled to
the left and waved me by. (Michael, you would be very happy with road etiquette
here.) (This reminds me of a story Bryan told us once, about his Uncle Al who
sees it as his civic duty to get in the left-hand lane on a highway and go
exactly the speed limit. One of the guys at the table was so overcome by this
that he blurted out, “No disrespect but your Uncle Al should be in prison.”)
The things that get killed on the road appear to be a lot of
rabbits, something else that is brown but longer than a rabbit (a stoat?), and
a surprising amount of birds. The magpie is a beautiful creature, but either unlucky
or stupid.
My room at this joint in Invercargill has 24 individual
outlet switches (a new PR!), and the most well-appointed kitchenette I’ve seen
so far: a toast rack!! This room has a king-sized bed and a couch, but there are emphatically just TWO of everything: okay, okay--message received. Any additional guests must BYO glassware. And plates. And towels. Got it.
I am so pleased with this trip for so many reasons, one of
which is that I have so much time—it’s
just delightful. It’s been ages since I can remember not having an eye constantly on the
clock; here I often have to double-check what day it is (this is in part because my NY Times crossword puzzle app has resolutely stayed in EST and so I’m
getting the puzzle a day behind schedule and it’s doing my head in). This
morning I had a long conversation with the motel guy about these non-working
lamps he had, and how he’d done a voltage test on them and determined they
weren’t working (the lack of light had been my clue), and how he’d found the
receipt and would be returning them to the store. Right on, motel guy! Happy to
hear more! As I was coming back to the motel this afternoon, I actually looked
for the guy so I could find out what happened when he took them back. (Will update here
when I find out.) (Update: I never found out!)
Despite not having a ton of space, I did purposefully leave
myself a little extra room in my dry bag so I could pick up some souvenirs, and
hey presto how about some goddamn possum fur yarn, huh?
Today is another rainy day (wassup New Zealand) and I
spent most of it looking at motorcycles. I will make that a separate entry so
as to spare the non-MC crowd 239,765 pictures of bikes. However, of general
interest should be the E. Hayes hardware store, which is a big huge hardware
store that also has and displays a bunch of weird/old stuff.
E. Hayes is also a shrine to local boy Burt Munro, and it
was pretty nifty to see the bike that set the record, as well as the original “Offerings
to the God of Speed” shelf from his workshop.
Tomorrow, Milford Sound, if the weather holds…will be wearing
everything I brought with me, up to and possibly including this possum fur yarn,
and I think you probably see where I’m going with this: it’s goddamn cold here.
And now for the random pictures...
Hahahaha "trundler." You so crazy, New Zealand!
Hahahaha "trundler." You so crazy, New Zealand!
There was some editorializing going on here. Why display this thing if it's so shitty? I smell a personal vendetta...
Interesting to see how the key cutting businesses in town have staked out their territories.
Wool, sure, but skin? No, thank you. And what quality small things are you purveying these days?? I must know!
???
The ad agency with this account is going above and beyond: "Luxury without compromise." My brain has stopped at the wall of what this actually means: is there luxury with compromise? What's compromise when it comes to toilet paper? What does toilet paper have to do with bullfighting, or leisurely evening strolls (I looked up the definition of "paseo")?? What market research did they do that said yes, associate your toilet paper with elegance? I have SO many questions about this toilet paper.
Y'all can see this face looking at you too, right?
Sanely yours,
kkkkkkkkka$EEEEEEEEEEEy
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