10/31/18: lesson 3

Lesson 3 of motorcycle travels is that the trip is what it will be and you need to be ready to go with that—best not to have a lot of plans or expectations, as something will inevitably up end those. Yesterday I got caught behind a bicycle race for 25 kilometers, and while those guys were cruising it still put me more than an hour behind schedule. Luckily, I had baked in enough time to get my ride in before dark, but if I hadn’t I would have had to postpone for a day and that’s just what it would have been—nothing to be done and no reason to be upset, just don’t make a lot of plans and make the ones you do have extra flexible.

And so: the opportunity to post today is brought to you by a broken side stand sensor. Fun fact, non-MC-people: most modern bikes have a sensor that prohibits one from putting the bike into gear when the kickstand is down. This is a safety feature, because riding off with a kickstand down will become a problem, likely pretty quickly, or at least at the first left turn. However, this handy gizmo can get wackadoodle and prevent the bike from being put in gear even when the side stand is safely up. For a minute, there was hope that John-the-friendly-rental-guy could talk me through unplugging something over the phone—I had a screwdriver and coffee at the ready!—but once I sent him a picture of what I saw, he realized that this F700 is apparently different from the one he was practicing on in his garage and instead of flipping up this tab and pulling out the plug, there are wires that have to be pulled apart and spliced back together and we all agreed I was really not the right person for the job. (All my handy motorcycle friends would be scoffing at me now, but the nice thing about a rental, no particular plans, and plenty of time is that one can hang out in a parking lot writing up travel notes while someone else gets called in to do the greasy work. Besides, I’m a champion curser, but maneuvering cold fingers in tight spaces to strip wires and etc. is not where I want to use up today’s allocation of f-bombs.)

John and I traded phone calls for a bit--they'd try something in the garage then text me a picture; I'd take a picture of the (different) thing I saw and send it back, etc.. etc., and at some point while I was sitting on the ground in this parking lot it occurred to me to share with you something that fills me with rage every time I think about it. You know how I can make sure I’m wearing a ladies rain suit? Because THE CURSIVE. Find me a piece of men’s gear that uses this font and I’ll give you a million (Monopoly) dollars. I have a Schuberth C3 Pro helmet, and while they make a lady version, it too has CURSIVE on it so f-bomb that I ordered a dude helmet and—get this!—it seems to be working perfectly! I mean, I had to get a male friend to show me how it works because dude helmet, but once he got me up and running it’s been great.

Anyway, John the friendly motorcycle guy: he remembered me when I called, and before we even got into the sensor issue, he wanted to hear how the trip has been and if I’ve had good weather (amazing, mostly). Once we’d decided he was going to send a guy to me, he apologized several times for the delay and when I assured him it was fine—I have flexible plans and a book—he immediately wanted to know what I was reading, and then it turned out he too was a fan of the author and didn’t know there was a new title so we had a good chat (I’ve got Michael Connelly’s new book downloaded and ready to go, for anyone who wants to join the book club John and I are starting).

Yesterday’s ride was b-a-n-a-n-a-s. I left Invercargill early and rode through intermittent but just misty rain and lot of cold (as low as 6 degrees C according to the bike and I don’t have to be a scientist to tell you that is NOT WARM) along the southern coast and then up route 99 to 95 and Te Anau. I gassed up there and then girded my proverbial lions and made the run to Milford Sound.

When I bought my first bike, a Yamaha 650 V-Star, I had my license but had never actually ridden on a road. A guy I knew, Jack, who had a bike, was kind enough to meet me at the dealership and shepherd me on my first-ever road ride, and if you want to jump in the deep end I can’t make a better recommendation than Northern Boulevard in Queens. After the first half-hour or so—I have no memory of it whatsoever, such was the blind panic overriding every other sensory input—I slowly got comfortable with low-speed riding. It wasn’t that different from what we’d done during my motorcycle license course (except, you know, with roads and cars and pedestrians), so 1^st, 2^nd, and even 3^rd gear were all good. We motored around Queens and Brooklyn, stopping a few times here and there, me only once stalling out in the middle of an intersection, and by the end of the day I got to a place where I was like, “Okay! I can do this!” After that day, I took myself out for practice rides every chance I could and finally worked up the nerve to try “highway” speed. The options for “highways” near me were the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway and the Belt Parkway, and if you’ve ever driven on the BQE you’ll know there are potholes that could swallow trucks, world-class traffic, and the occasional velociraptor swinging through just to keep things interesting. So, the Belt Parkway it was. The Belt has plenty of on/off ramps, so someone who was, say, terrified of speed, could merge onto the highway, get to 4^th gear, panic, and immediately exit to surface roads. She could, hypothetically, do this for hours, gradually getting to 5^th gear and 60 mph and maybe even going two exits before losing her nerve and pulling off again. And that is how I learned to ride at speed.

Before I’d figured out my Belt Parkway plan, I’d told Jack how nervous I was to go more than 40 mph. His laconic response was simply: “You bought all the gears. You might as well use them.” I think about this every time I do something scary-to-me, and so yesterday I told myself, “You came to New Zealand and rented a bike, you might as well take the trip to Milford Sound.” I guess it’s not a spoiler to say…I did it. The “pucker factor,” as they say, was certainly high at times, but…I did it. Outside of the few really terrifying moments—sheer cliffs & no guardrail, and road that occasionally narrows to one lane, a 1200 meter pitch-black tunnel (also one lane) that leads to some truly heinous switchbacks—the ride ended up being glorious and the New Zealand scenery continues to be indescribable. I saw my first Kea, hiked to a waterfall, and by the time I was past the scary parts and on the road back to Te Anau and "Sister Christian"* kicked in in my helmet, I was feeling really glad I bought all the gears and used them.

There are signs every so often that say simply, “New Zealand roads are different. Allow extra time.” and if you ever worked at TPR you’ll appreciate that when I see that sign I say in my (dude) helmet, “No, MCAT is different” and it cracks me up every time. To be honest, New Zealand, your roads aren’t exactly “different”—they’re just not highways. They are, however, absolutely exhausting: I got home last night, had two glasses of wine while I ate an entire pizza and was asleep by 9 pm.  In fact, I haven’t yet seen the stars here—the two nights I’ve been up past 9 were overcast. I’m looking forward to seeing the Southern Cross for the first time just so I can get that goddamn song out of my head.

Today I had hoped to make it to Fox Glacier, which was going to be a big ride, but since it’s now after 1 pm by the time the bike gets fixed up the day'll be mostly gone so I'll spend another night here in Te Anau and get an early start tomorrow. The people here at the Alpine Motel have been super friendly and helpful and so I may as well dig into the Connelly book, revisit the scene of my pizza crime (it was really really good), and get a good night’s sleep.

Speaking of friendly motels:

• every time I check in they offer me milk, or they tell me there is milk in the room but if I need more/different milk I should just “give a shout.”
• every room I’ve been in has electric blankets. Electric blankets!! I forgot about those—what ever happened to electric blankets? They’re great!
• Wifi is a precious commodity here and I have been given, variously, a password for each device, one password for all, a caution that there is a limit on usage (4GB, in one case, whatever that is), and/or a warning that it doesn’t work very well because, well, New Zealand. So far I have had no issues at all, but everybody is on high alert about wifi.
• Everybody wants to give me a receipt. I have not yet wanted a single receipt. Stop printing receipts, New Zealand—what is everyone doing with all this paper?
• Still haven’t gotten close to a sheep. My heart is breaking.

*I’ve mostly been either listening to podcasts or just enjoying the ride, but when I think I’m going to be scared I put music on since my entire bike playlist is all Green Day and Night Ranger and Whitesnake and Seeger and if those guys can’t carry me through a rough patch I don’t know who can. 

Today's assortment of random pics:

Cars for scale--this is off the road to Milford Sound where I hiked to a crazy waterfall called "The Chasm."

Look at this nosy Kea checking out my bike!

He got bored of me and decided to try to collect some insurance money. 

Ha just kidding he's fine. Cheeky monkey.

Scenery from the coast road:

Scenery between Te Anau and Milford Sound:

In NZ, the ladies take the boys to school, just confirming my theory that it's women in charge around this joint. :)

I stopped off in some nothing place for a flat white (of course) and a bite. There was a lady customer walking around in her socks and I finally put 2 + 2 together when I was leaving. She could not have been less a "big mama" but at least it's easy for her to find her boots.