The time has arrived to leave my temporary oasis stopover in Howick, SE Auckland, and say good-bye to two lovely ladies that, by pure chance, entered my life; my superb hostesses, Donna Pengelly and Mum-Val. My word, did I fall on my feet that day back in early October when I made that fortunate reservation from 12,000 miles away … and all because the main lady is called ‘Pengelly’. A proper Cornish name, which seemed to me at the time to be a good omen … and it certainly was. The completely refurbished (in 2005), and shortly thereafter opened-up for business, Cockle Bay Heights B&B could be the best gateway stopover into New Zealand anywhere in Auckland. Better than a ‘home from-home’ experience for me, because the CBH B&B is by far a much better place than my own home back in Cornwall, by a very long way. A multi-million [pound sterling] private dwelling with just two – perhaps three on a good day – bedrooms, and more than enough reception rooms and a huge kitchen/diner. Each is kitted-out and equipped with the best furniture and hi-tech gadgetry money can buy; all on offer, with unrestricted access and usage thereof, for the very lucky few. So now all you potential NZ visitors know the best kept secret in the Southern Hemisphere. But hurry, cuz it won’t stay that way for too long. The number to call is: Phone/fax: 00 64 9 535 6713, or email: donnapengelly@cocklebayheights.co.nz
And it all comes with verandas and stunning views too :o)I leave Auckland, again via State Highway 1, and for the first 10-15 km in a very cautious manner. You see, the TransAlp is loaded to the gunnels with all my gear, including a near full hiker’s backpack strapped onto the rear seat – and I need to get used to all the extra weight. What’s more, it seems that everyone in Town is escaping up north to their countryside or seaside ‘Batch’ (a Kiwi name for a second/holiday home) for the Christmas & New Year holiday period. The road network in and around Auckland is extremely busy as a result. No fancy lane-splitting today … well not too much anyway! ;o)
But eventually I’m heading out into the countryside on a glorious summer's afternoon. I take in the views along the way:
SH1 isn’t especially renowned for it’s natural scenic beauty; it’s viewed more of a ‘utility’ trunk road, especially by Kiwi bikers, but I’m not being fooled! This is my 9th trip, up-or-down, this stretch of road within the last three weeks, and you’d think by now I would be getting bored with it all – but not so, how could I be? ... 
... with plenty of curves to negotiate ...
... hell, I can even stop for a natural hot tub bathe in the beach sand if I want to
But after an hour or so, I need to get refreshed with a, for me, newly-discovered cold isotonic drink called a “V”. So I pull off-road and up a steepish – GRAVEL mind you – 200m-long escarpment track to a small café that’s about to close its doors for the night. I buy a cold “V” energy drink from the pretty cashier; it's a type of ‘Lucozade’, but much tastier. Then I look over the TransAlp whilst I contemplate what I’m really trying to achieve here in New Zealand? I think to myself, ‘what a lucky chap I am?’ I now own two of the finest motorcycles ever engineered. Each built with a different yet specific purpose in mind: (1) A super-missile-type Tourer in the UK; and (2) a dual-purpose Adventure Road Tourer* in NZ, that wants to EAT GRAVEL before breakfast.Oh, and I don’t need a Sports Bike – please go back and refer to (1) above.
Now, as the BritSTockers know very well, gravel is by no means my [eh-hem] favourite riding surface, as I occasionally have been known to fall over on the darn stuff! But with this machine, you hardly notice or even feel the difference between a sealed tarmac surface and the switchover to rough gravel. It’s as if the two surface types are virtually the same.
And I think on ... ‘I can’t wait to get some real off-road work done on this outstanding little workhorse, which the more I ride, the more I’m growing to like.' I am sure that my mate John Jones, from South Island, will have plenty of off-roading lined-up for me when I get down his way in just a couple or three week's time.
* and that's now official, according to the Land Transport NZ Authority
After another 45 minutes I approach one of my favourite stretches of SH1, in the Bryderwyns area of Northland, which is a steep and twisty climb up and over the Brynderwyns via ‘Pilbrow’s Hill’. Just before I arrive there I decide that it would be great to ride this section of SH1 again early morning one day soon, when the traffic should be quieter; this would be a good initial test of the machine's characteristics, and our mutual compatibility. Reaching the top of Pilbrow’s, on the north side of the summit the landscape dramatically changes from rolling hills and dales to a more expansive flattish plateau, but only for a while.The Whangarei Heads, a line of mountainous costal hills, outcropping from the City of Whangarei (the most northerly city in NZ), comes into view. I always smile when I see this sight, as I know that the Township of Ruakaka is no more than 15 minutes away.
Down on the plateau the final run-in to Ruakaka’s turn off point involves an 8-10 km stretch of often arrow-straight road. Halfway along I spot a cop car lurking in a nearside lay-by, waiting to pounce on his next victim. I’m following a overloaded campervan that is just cruising below the max speed limit of 100 km/h (62 mph). I’m gagging to overtake it and finally complete my journey in good time. I think cool-looking mr plod, wearing his mandatory sunnies, senses this and pulls out of the lay-by like some wannabe gangster as I pass him. The Kiwi cops (also referred to as ‘revenue collectors’) are described as ‘savage’ down here when it comes to speeding motorists. There is so little crime that they seem to have nothing other better to do than haunt and harrass the life out of drivers and motorcycle riders.
I look dead ahead with more than the occasional glimpse into my wing mirrors, mr plod-the-revenue-collector is tailing me about 75 metres behind; we both maintain exactly the same speed. Not wanting to take any chances, I slow down to 90 km/h (56 mph), which seems desperately slow on this long stretch of straight roman-type road. My newest acquaintance, who is clearly taking a keen interest in me, slows down to the same pace. Then I think ‘fcuk yew mate’, so I slow down to 75 km/h (47 mph) – I feel as though I'm almost stationary - any slower and he'll probably think I'm taking the p*ss and might then ‘do me’ for ‘not making enough progress’. After around 3-4 minutes of this silly cat ‘n mouse game, by which time, of course, the struggling-to-cope campervan is nearly out of sight, my new-found friend finally makes the connection that I’m clocking him trying so desperately hard to clock me. So he pulls out, accelerates, and overtakes in perhaps disgust - but maybe not? - he could saying to himself, "well spotted John, lots don't bother to look in their mirrors" - passing by me at, of course, 100-plus km/h. Clearly HE’s breaking the speed limit. Are cops exempt from exceeding the national speed limits? ... I really dunno.
As he leaves me standing, I quietly remove my left hand from the bar grip and lay in on my LH knee and then point my middle finger, with more than a little venom, into the air. I then whisper to myself what a few moments ago I had merely thought, finishing-off with, ‘not yet matey, not yet – and certainly not today!’
Within minutes I’m pulling into Mark’s driveway.
It’s been another successful day.
