Burt Munro 2023 on ST1100 - Auckland to Invercargill Return

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Burt Munro 2023​



I had attended the Burt Munro 2019 event and I had been blessed by sun, ferries that ran on time and a dream run down and back up the country. The only difficulties had been the Kaikoura slips which washed out a couple of kilometres of road reducing it to a work site of gravel roads deep potholes and heaped mounds of gravel piles to negotiate. Overall, It was a stunning run pushing myself well past my comfort zone being a long way from home and far from support on a motorcycle that is now fast approaching classic status.

The Burt Munro event for 2020 did go ahead however there was a storm which made the last 150 km into Invercargill impassable for a couple of days with slips and road closures, it forced many to hold off and camp waiting for roads to open, I watched this unfolding from home, undertaking this event would never be a yearly ritual for me and I was happy to sit this one out as the weather projections rolled in. The Burt Munro staff tried to report a positive outing, but it was clearly not a happy time for many battling along the coast and out of the mountains to arrive.

2021 Arrived and the event got away well with brewing storm clouds of influenza in Asia and Europe starting to panic some, concern others and send survivalists and conspiracy theorists into overdrive. Personally, I was expecting another Avian Flu which would peter out to nothing like the last version in the early 2000s. How wrong I was!

Shortly after the world literally shut down, the speed with which it happened, the silence of roads and motorways that are perpetually busy for decades on end was staggering. What followed was a lot of worry, working endlessly from home in a little concrete room, trying to jolly children along as they tried learning from home while trying to balance everything else without going fully insane was a deep challenge. Being in IT a job while allows remote work and living in Auckland we took an absolute hiding in terms of restrictions even on a global scale only surpassed by Chinas suppression of their civilians.

I looked on as everything was cancelled, controlled, cut down or delayed then cancelled. By 2022 I was deeply over it and deeply frustrated. Early / mid 2022 we started back at work hesitatingly a couple of days a week and I looked forward to Burt Munro 2023. I booked for the main event and to compete in the drag racing, how hard could a drag race be… again I was to be proved wrong.

I had all the equipment like last time and the bike was in reasonable condition, I changed the oil on the bike and brake fluid along with the clutch fluid and took it for a WOF early in December so that if there was a problem I would have time to resolve… It failed on a weeping fork seal resulting in pulling the legs apart and for good measure I added a new set of brake pads, the one on the left was partially contaminated with oil from the seal. Not a difficult job except for trying to force the cap down against the spring and get it to thread which takes a bit of a knack and effort. I missed the window for WOF rechecks and was hit for another $50 to finally pass the WOF.

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I took a “Gold Ride Forever” course in January as a bit of a warm up for this event, I booked for Coromandel rather than Auckland location to get a bit more exposure to open country roads and the hills of the Coromandel range provided some exposure to what I would experience in the central range of the South Island. We completed a Coromandel loop with a mix of stunning fine weather and heavy rain on the downhill section out after Coromandel and crossing the range. It was challenging coming down the Coromandel range in pouring rain, I was a lot slower than others and felt pushing my normal boundaries of confidence braking on steep downhill sections in rain with limited visibility and highly polished roads. Its probably fortunate that I got this in because a month later a lot of these roads were washed away in the Floods and it looks likely wont be open any time soon.

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The weather running up to the event was poor with rain and storms, unusual for this time of the year to be so set in and relentless, new terms “atmospheric rivers” entered the vocabulary we had an entire January month of rain fall on the 27th of Jan (one months’ worth in one day). With the inevitable flooding, houses being pushed off foundations and sadly a few people losing their lives in floodwater accidentally or trying to help others. We had a flooded garage but did not lose anything of value and counted ourselves lucky.

Against this backdrop I packed the bike much like last time however with the addition of a set of zip together leathers, boots and a back protector for drag racing which added a significant amount of weight and bulk which probably pushed me and the bike past the limit when fully loaded with fuel, unloaded the bike is already 300Kg which gives you a slightly unsteady / uneasy feeling when pushing it around and at slow speeds until you build confidence.

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The week running up to departure we experienced a significant storm event claimed as being 1 in 100 years (which now seem to be very common) with the entire month of January normal rain being dumped in a couple of hours with the predictable results in a city with poor infrastructure and significant infill housing in the last couple of decades. Our basement flooded however many houses were swept away in Auckland by landslides or simply pushed off foundations by rising floodwater, sadly a number of people lost their lives, people trying to escape flooding, rescue workers searching houses trying to retrieve others. It was a sad day in Aucklands history compounded by these events being predictable and a poor emergency response by local government.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/2023_Auckland_Anniversary_Weekend_floods

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We cleaned it up as best as we could and watched others deal with lost people and lost houses on the news. The almost predicable outcome of under investment for decades and election cycle thinking to secure employment rather than a vision of the future for the city.

Departure morning loomed large, dark and wet on the 6th of Feb. I had been nervously watching the long range then medium range followed by short range weather forecast as it oscillated between cloudy and crappy before settling on somewhere in between (semi crappy).

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https://www.timeanddate.com/weather/new-zealand/auckland/historic?month=2&year=2023


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I had grand plans of cutting a new path south running wide out through Rotorua as a change of scenery and roads. The light rain and fog sowed seeds of doubt about this and after dropping out of the Bombay hills where city lighting disappears and the light rain thickened put paid to this plan without much consideration on my part, we were now back to a cannonball run to Wellington.

https://www.google.com/maps/dir/12+...25de85d2c9!2m2!1d168.247664!2d-46.4363923!3e0

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I had built a buffer of time into my plans but speed washed away as doubt and rain set in, somewhere south of Tokoroa the motorway was shut and a detour was put in deep out into farming territory for a circuitous route bypassing whatever damage or operations took out this section of the motorway. The signage for the detour are very small and put out by people not to worried but a couple of lost drivers so your taking it on faith that in the pouring rain and fogged up visor and glasses that you will see the sign for the next turn, because of the limited number of roads the detour was very long with a number of steps, very worried I had missed a sign and was now driving in the wrong direction.

My Navman was of no use now, it wanted to do a U Turn and head back the motorway blockage, it would now have been easy to miss a turn and all of this was eating into my margin of error for time which I had allowed on top of the already slow progress. Dodging the odd tractor heading for morning milking I eventually re-joined the motorway, Navman gave me some hope that there was still a chance and we pressed on through the thousands of acres of forestry which often form a tall near full canopy over the road leading to both trepidation about entering and the surprise of being caught by cross winds when existing into areas newly felled fields with involuntary lane changes and deep panting a result.

It was a battle all the way to Taupo but when I arrived for the first big break and fuel I knew the worst was behind me and we had turned a corner and that I would make the distance to Wellington, a few people asked me where I was from and going to and a little more shocked at where I had come from than anything else. 20 odd litres of fuel and I was away for dryer climes of the lower half of the North Island with renewed confidence.

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The Desert Road has always been a inhospitable place, a high plateau in the centre of the North Island, exposed with little to endear it except its rugged vastness, framed with snow-capped mountains and warning signs about unexploded ordnance the left overs of decades of military exercises both past and the mechanised track marks of current activities. It’s a desolate place which lives up to its name with no services and no homes. Crossing this area is normally challenging in terms of wind and weather but this time fine, warm and welcoming helping to dry out my clothes and improve the downcast mood, I don’t normally stop here but this time I caught a few photos of the tussock, Mount Tongariro and Mount Ruapahu.

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I stopped in Levin for a large brunch with renewed confidence that we were going to make the distance, rural life seemed to float past the door with jandels and stubbies (classic rugged shorts) on display, the rural hard working ute

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The lower half was much less exciting having recovering ground that had already been traversed a couple of times now and the worst of the weather behind me. I planned to stop at Levin to have a late all-day breakfast like last time and happy now to be within striking distance of Wellington and my ferry. After a greasy refuelling and stripping off a few layers I had added for the cold wet morning I pushed on for the last leg to Wellington and using Transmission Gully a new multi-billion-dollar motorway which did not disappoint.

The Kiwirail ferry fleet are now thirty years old and well past their prime, they have been plagued by engine and system failures in recent years and the run up to this crossing was no different with the Kaitaki having suffered a full propulsion failure in January 2023 resulting in them dropping anchor in Wellington harbour, dragging anchor and passengers donning life jackets and moving to lifeboat stations while perilously close to a rocky harbour wall in a severe storm, no doubt the older passengers could see news reels of the Wahine tragedy (ferry capsized in Wellington harbour with loss of many passengers, others struggled out of lifeboats only to be bashed on the vertical rock cliff walls of the harbour) in similar circumstances playing on loop in their collective heads while holding Grandchildren’s hands it would have been rightfully scary for anyone with a basic grasp of the situation they found themselves in. Apparently, a coupling in the engine cooling water system failed causing an overtempt and full engine shut down and loss of power, it was past its replacement date by a number of years… !!

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The Awatere has been plagued by issues with too wide a range to discuss but summarised as propulsion issues (engines, generators and direct drive motors) through to rudders but more classically and comically summarised by this photo when the propeller fell off in 2013.

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I tried to call Kiwirail in the days running up to my departure just to confirm my sailing was running and sent an email and Facebook message, no reply so there was more than a reasonable possibility that I would turn up and find my sailing cancelled or rebooked which depending on which sailing I was allocated could have been very inconvenient or wrecked the trip entirely. The only upside is that a Motorcycle and one walk on passenger don’t take up room compared with cars, campervans and trucks but still some lingering doubts about just getting on the boat and no alternative plan. Bluewater the only other alternative had one vessel out of service in Australia for a large service as well which eliminated any redundancy in the situation adding additional pressure everywhere.

The ride through Transmission Gulley was fantastic, eight lanes wide and brand new ploughing through hills to the base of Wellington on a summer afternoon, while being on time (early in fact) for my as yet unconfirmed but prepaid ferry crossing having battered my way out of Auckland all the way to Taupo.

Arriving at the terminal to be met by at least forty bikes already waiting to load and another twenty odd dribbled in behind me, we collectively shed clothing as the warm sun dried leathers and then start to steam cook riders until we arrived at T Shirt levels. I think we all knew there was a real risk that those at the back might not get on the boat given the well-publicised break downs and failures of the ferries. We wanted quietly in suspense to see how our lotto ticket of a ferry ticket was going to play out.

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A man in overalls tied at waist level came out to give us strict instructions to ride up the ramps and commence loading but his distance from the bulk of the crowd, background noise and lack of hearing on my part and probably others…. we saw the arm rise over his head and we needed no further instruction was required. Sweaty leathers were pulled on and helmets donned along with the over rich smell of partially burnt hydrocarbons from hot engines idling away.

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We snaked up the overpass flyover that brings you to the correct height to enter the ships hold and then the polished plat steel of bridge that forms the modern gang plank for vehicles to enter the bowels of an obviously old ship which now has equal parts paint and corrosion and rust streaked bowls.

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Within the ship itself we snaked between parked trucks to what must be the very front of the ship and lined up in military rows as the seamen throw out heavy chains between each row which become tie down points for what are predominately middle to heavy weight bikes. The provided tie down ropes look like well-used plastic 8mm strands with the consistency and strength of pasta, I however came armed with racket straps and tie down muffs for the handle bars, it was however a tight fit between by bike and the neighbours which had many times the value. The heat in the hold and engine noise combined with exhaust fumes was overwhelming, after a few tries on centre stand and off I felt comfortable that the bike was secure and collected what I needed for the next four hours of a passage to the South Island or mainland depending on where you reside.

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I have always it seems been lucky with the crossing between North and South Islands, the Cook Straight is notorious stretch of water where the Tasman Sea and Pacific collide to creating a very strong current flow and storms which can appear with speed and ferocity which has caught many a mariner by deep surprise. It’s a well-known “vomit comet” of a trip for New Zealanders in the know, the tourism board and ferry operators always present scenic photos of cruising the Milford Sounds or flat calm sailing in the Wellington Harbour. The reality Is this water is choppy at the best of times and prone to mood swings which are outright violent, most NZers have witnessed a difficult crossing with people grappling to hold on something and school children up chucking on mass.

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Inter-islander ferry Aratere on a 50-degree angle in rough seas, 4 March 2006.

My crossing was again idyllic picture postcard stuff, a light swell in the Wellington harbour and calm crossing with glass like conditions in the Marlborough Sounds. I took a rest in the tired armchairs as much as I could given I had the rough start to the day and nervousness waiting on admission to the ferry. I then spent some time in the forward bar at the front of the boat jammed in with others enjoying brunch / lunch and a liquid refreshment, the panoramic view forward and access to the walkway on an elevated promenade above the bow of the ship. The view was spectacular with dolphins ride the bow wave and playing and general fishing and ship traffic to take in, I looked up the GPS location for Barrett Reef (where the Wahine grounded) to get a reference finding calm water in the distance.

The passengers feel into three obvious groups, those cross for work transporting something, the bikers and local NZers exploring their own country given the limited and expensive options for overseas travel which is beyond the average person and possibly inspired travel to the south island which had been on the To Do list but put off by summer and sunnier climes of Australia, Islands or further afield. There we a few true foreigners travelling but these represented a fraction of a percentage for similar reasons why NZers are not travelling overseas, however these few represented the first green shoots of a once Billion-dollar industry returning after a multi-year hiatus. A welcome sight for tourism dependent operators up and down the country and a source of much needed tax revenue for the country as a whole.

I had always hoped that someday I would be able to purchase a beach front property in the Millford Sounds, theses are generally few and spaced many multiples of KM apart with reasonable land holdings and access by Jetty. They are generally off grid and held within the same family for generations so a difficult transition to even contemplate as a full time or part time holiday location unless you are born into it or have lived in the sounds and boating was a big element to your life and lifestyle. We all have dreams and this was one of mine, it will however remain un forfilled and maybe the realities of not having internet access and power would not sit and fit well for me anyway. Still something to admire, true remoteness.

In the long approach to Picton left me with thoughts about what to do for accommodation, previously I had stayed at a campground in Picton itself which was a safe bet but there is little to do and few food opportunities (none after 7pm) and I was very tempted to push on to Nelson which was a much larger place with more options and this would form the start of western side of the South island sojourn. Best guess was it was a 2 hour trip which did not seem unreasonable undertaking, looking back the ferry arrived around 7.15 but pretty sure I did not get off the ferry until 7.30 with the sun setting around 8.30pm but because of geography with Picton set at sea level surrounded by hills it appeared to have already set.

I called ahead looking for camp stops once we entered cellular range on the approach to Picton with a few dead ends until I found someone with a campground in Nelson at XXXXX and asked to reserve a tent spot, asked if he wanted payment and arriving late around 10.30, true southern man along the line of “…nah I will be gone, find a spot and sort it out with me in the morning”. And this is where I made a monumental ***** up, the plan in my befuddled mind was the following which was going to be challenging finishing at 10.30pm given my 5am start but for non sensical reasons which still escape me as to the logic I was determined not to stop in Picton and push on to Nelson but fully aware it was a mountainous region.

I stuck the destination into the Navman and let it sort the details, happy to follow its guidance, well it choose the shortest route and this is the setup I put in twelve years ago when I got these units (pre smart phones) which worked well in Auckland but the implications of this configuration were going to become apparent in about two hours with a thunderbolt of realisation in my soggy and foggy mind. This is the route I thought we were going to be taking…

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Planned Trip from Picton to Nelson – Via Motorway

This is the route it settled on which is similar in terms of time and less of a distance, but what Google Maps and Navman don’t know is that Queen Charlotte Drive follows the coast with numerous 10 kmph first gear switch back curves one after another for dozens of kilometres which on a nice day while fresh would have been a spectacular but after a marathon day, in the dark, dodging areas where the road had fallen away or where one lane traffic light control was in place was not something I was capable of.

The kilometres ground on and on, by halfway I was just looking for a piece of ground just to pitch my tent by the side of the road and talk my chances, it was raining I was wet I was tired and the road itself was treacherous. I looked and looked for somewhere to stop but there was nothing, just a road cut into bush with the odd layby full of boulders that were difficult to see at the best of times, slippery and inhospitable on a heavy bike.

I had made a damn foolish mistake and I was pushing well past my endurance and skill level on really dangerous roads, I had promised myself not to put myself in this situation but here on day one I had made what could easily have been a mistake resulting in serious harm to myself.

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Planned Trip from Picton to Nelson – Via Motorway

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Actual Trip from Picton to Nelson – Via Goat Track of Queen Charlotte Drive

I pressed on to Nelson and eventually broke out of the bush, the road to the camp site was unusually long and very long established residential in nature I could not face making a mistake at this point, I really was over this leg. At the very end… Brook Valley holiday park run by Nelson Council, I didn’t see anything off but looked for a likely camping area away from others likely sleeping. I was greeted by a man in his slippers and dressing gown heading to bed after a late shower and pointed me in the direction of some tent spaces, I selected one by a light to help setup the tent and called Georgina at 10.40pm to tender my apologies for pushing my luck.

https://www.google.com/maps/dir/pic...2m2!1d173.2443635!2d-41.2985321!3e0?entry=ttu

http://www.nelson.govt.nz/recreation/venues-and-grounds/motor-camps/brook-valley-holiday-park/

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Camp Ground at 10.30pm - Brook Valley Holiday Park
 
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5th of February 2023 Finally Over

https://timeline.google.com/maps/ti...t9UkFYcuuGiRth04UHiw&pb=!1m2!1m1!1s2023-02-04

660 Km by Bike

90 Km by Boat

4.41am until 10.37pm


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Map from Google Tracking of the Day (Roughly)

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A Better Shot In The Morning - Brook Valley Holiday Park

It was a bit of a relief to wake to an overcast but otherwise fine morning after the issues of the night before behind me, I paid the park manager the princely sum of fifteen dollars for the night which included a shower and hot water for my thermos to jolt my brain back into gear with a couple of hits of strong coffee.

He was a previous resident of Howick and discussed the changes of the area intensification and traffic which are perennial issues for Aucklanders to discuss along with house prices. At the camp I met a few interesting men who called the camp home, mostly 50+ professional looking men in slippers and dressing gowns with toiletry bags and towels in hand going about their well-worn morning rituals. By the look men who lost homes unexpectedly late in life and their lives hit a divergent path from what was expected and now found themselves living in tents which had been added onto and upgraded over successive seasons.

The residents had become the inheritance of the Council Park management when they acquired the business and subsequently changed the rules to prevent long term stay. Nowhere else to be, nowhere else to go sitting out there time in idyllic surrounds wistfully thinking of the previous life and happy to have a conversion with anyone bringing news from outside of the cocoon they inhabited.

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Packed and Ready to Go! - Brook Valley Holiday Park

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My original plan past Nelson was to see more of the West Coast of the South Island by heading down to Westport and then crossing over to the East Side to continue my southward push towards Queenstown. However even by the time I was leaving Nelson it was already raining, felt like the rain was chasing me South on my journey. It was planned to be a big day already at 800+ kilometres to get to Queenstown while I did not have to make a brisk pace to achieve this target I did have to make progress and so again I took the short option through the Lewis Pass rather than the Arthurs Pass which is further south and would have been the more obvious “tourist” approach for cross the central spine in the upper half of the South Island.

Lewis Pass was undoubtedly beautiful, granite mountains, lakes and natural native forests untouched by man (or women), glacially crisp cold water pure and clear. The roads were well maintained but challenging as we climbed and then descended, broken by the odd section of repair which given the environment and context did not seem unreasonable.

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There was significant low cloud or fog backed up into the valley headlands which gives an altogether twilight experience of dipping in and out of visibility of the surrounds, surreal when I finally dropped out of the cloud layer and see the valley ahead of me dropping down onto the Canterbury plains.

The rain was still chasing me down the hills or maybe it was always present at the top of the range, and I just outran it on the downward run off the central spine of the South Island into the wide expanse of the Canterbury Plains. The West Coast is renowned for rain and cool weather and my little taste of it reinforced this view.

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I swept out over the Canterbury plains heading for Woodend which is a bit north of Christchurch, I was trying to hold myself to not over stretching the distances and putting myself at risk (something that would not be achieved this trip).

Woodend Beach Road was the site of a farm (80 acres) of the earliest members of my direct family to arrive and settle in New Zealand in the 1860s and the camp site (Woodend Beach Road) I stayed at would have almost certainly been a direct neighbour or potentially on the site of the family farm, so it has a certain amount of appeal to me.

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Once you descend out of the mountains your entering prime farming land of the Canterbury plains, straight roads and thousands of acres of hay, cows and fields, just racking up the kilometres and trying to keep the speed below “your bike is being impounded do you want to call your lawyer…”.

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The relatively fine weather on this side of the range, the warmth had an uplifting impact on mind mood and drying effect on my motorbike gear. I putted into Woodend and throw up the tent a couple of hours before sundown near or on our historical family farm. I took a walk along Woodend beach which is a fine sand surf beach, amazingly long, must have been an amazing contrast to Ludlow, Shropshire England for them.

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All that Remains of Samuel Trumper (my Great Great Grandfather)

I had fish and chips from the local Chinese Shop and a hot shower and enjoyed a successful end to the day by comparison to the previous day. Asleep on the family farm or at least an area close by that those early settlers knew very well.

6th February 2023

https://timeline.google.com/maps/ti...t9UkFYcuuGiRth04UHiw&pb=!1m2!1m1!1s2023-02-06

471 Km

9.39am until 7.40pm

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On the previous trip in 2019 I had intentions of stopping at John Brittens “Factory” which was in fact an old railway engineering shop which backed onto some tracks which he had leased in some sort of supporter pepper corn rental from NZ Railways, but in 2019 I was just so tired after riding up from Invercargill that I flagged it away. I had been there once before in the 1990s when the first company I worked for PDL Industries flew me to Christchurch a few times for training, it was just around the corner on Waltham Road.

It took an age to find the location, I googled the ***** out of it on my phone and still could not locate the place, called Georgina to look through my “John Britten” book but even that was not specific, the PDL building had long been demolished. The reason I could not find it was the building was significantly damaged in the Christchurch earthquakes of 2011 and subsequently demolished and replaced. I had to join a Facebook group and ask the question, anyway after a lot of hunting the answer is 31 Carlyle Street, Sydenham, Christchurch but the building is gone, I had witnessed the real building once in the late 90s, note to self, do those things you want, tomorrow is never guaranteed to anyone.

Apparently, John was a terror for riding excessively loud motorcycles in the industrial areas at all hours of the night over the concrete slabs of the area until the Police advised him that his goodwill with the constabulary had been used up and cease and desist or else, the local fuzz was tolerant but there was only so much they could turn a blind eye too.

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Site of the John Britten Railway Shop Since Demolished – 31 Carlyle Street, Sydenham, Christchurch

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Rear of Site of the John Britten Railway Shop Since Demolished - 31 Carlyle Street, Sydenham, Christchurch

It was a bit said to see that the old PDL Industries rabbit warren of old buildings (built in 1910 originally as a flour mill) had gone and Johns Railway Service building where he and his team built the legendary Britten’s was also gone a victim of the devastating earthquakes which swept through Christchurch removing a lot of the history and heritage… and unfortunately taking the lives of 185 people leaving many people behind grieving and devastated.

Amongst all this, was good to be close to an element of motorcycling heritage that produced something unique, beautiful, and new by a group of friends working enormous hours with limited hours that rocked the motorcycle world to its foundations wherever they went, lead by a man who battled against dyslexia and other learning disabilities but was a natural engineer and visionary who could unite people to undertake an extraordinary endeavour against the odds. Its probably worth noting as a way of bringing balance and comparative that John Britten was driven and on many occasions drove right over the top of others contributions given without reward without appropriate recognition, there is always a price to be paid for high achievement and its generally paid for by many people.

https://www.google.com/maps/@-43.54...ekbchbZWANH8EsnA!2e0!7i16384!8i8192?entry=ttu

I swung out of Christchurch for a southern run towards the central spin of the South Island towards, I heard on the news that the Killer Beez (motorcycle gang) was planning on attending the Burt Munro and was really concerned they would be an anti-social pain in the ass and contribute to damaging or ending the event by taking over by force, it was not something I was going to hang around to see or be part of. As far as I am concerned Motorcycle Gangs like them are a cancer on society and nothing good comes from them despite their public relations exercises from time to time. I thought we must be on the same road at about the same time so consciously looking for them.

The southern run through this was hot and dry racing through the heart of Canterbury farming land and central milking country the backbone and several significant organs of the NZ economy, it was a glorious run with a still and steamy heat drying my clothes and equipment before starting to feel oppressive as we powered on through the lowlands of the Canterbury plains.

I stopped for gas on the outskirts of Timaru, slogged my way through town at 50 kmph in heavy traffic before turning inland and heading for the central spine of the South Island again, the last stop inland before climbing the mountain range as Kurow a town stuck in the 1960s where the locals were just happy with it that way, a monocultural environment of farming and the hobbies are rugby, shooting and trout fishing.

The lady at the petrol station must have been in her mid-twenties, happy and welcoming, the station, she looked the capable farming type with a level head and capable in all weathers. They had an impressive array of trout fishing equipment and sundry vehicle parts fan belts, thermostats and your more regular light bulbs, something you don’t see in Auckland anymore. Reminded me of my five years at BP Whitford in the 90s when everyone when everyone and I am sure if you left your wallet at home you could settle the debt tomorrow.

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Caltex Kurow

After this we started climbing into the mountains towards the Lindis pass and then turning south towards Queenstown following lake Dunstan to Cromwell.

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Lindis Pass - -44.822489,169.436422

A lot of switchback climbing and granite faced walls as we pulled higher and higher towards the top of the Crown Range Pass which is the highest paved road in New Zealand at 1100 meters elevation, from there you can look down on aircraft weaving there way down the valley and into Queenstown International Airport (but only during daylight, they don’t attempt night landings..).

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Top of Crown Range Pass at 1120m

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Top of Crown Range Pass 2 at 1120m



I made the Cardrona Hotel just as the sun started to set behind me and had a quick look around and had local tourist snap a pick of me and the bike. The Cadrona Hotel was built in 1863 servicing the gold rush period of the Queenstown and Wanaka areas, its famous for appearing in a number of Speights Advertisements but other than that a very picturesque place.

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Cardrona Hotel

The next stop was the Cardrona Bra fence which was started some time in the late 1990s and I would guess has in excess of 1000. Now used as both a promotional material to raise awareness and donations for breast cancer awareness and support and more controversially for the local communities the region itself appealing more to the more common back packer and freedom camper or just regular resident Kiwi than the more well healed visitor that they would prefer to be rubbing shoulders with at the local delicatessen, oh how they squealed for support when Covid shuttered the local economy but happily lock out local visitors as soon as international arrival hall doors re opened.

When we need help the hand goes out quickly when the good times return the fence goes up to keep the riff raff of regular New Zealanders out.

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Cardrona Bra Fence
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Cardrona Bra Fence

I admired the range of messages written I Bras that had been left and pushed on, some reflecting the loss of Sisters and Mothers and their own experiences with Cancer and other health issues, heartfelt expressions left anonymously on a fence. Although to be fair there were a lot of spur of the moment decisions to go bra-less which I fully “support”.

The final drop into Queenstown was a precipice fall of intensive cut back curves in first gear which loaded the wrists in the extreme as we existed the Crown Range Road into the Arrow Junction.

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I stayed at Arrowtown Holiday Park, which was most pleasant, very well-manicured lawns with an expectation you were bringing your 100K Motorhome and an additional 50m awning to accommodate the Flatscreen, only issue was I arrived to late to find anything local to eat. You can really appreciate the South Island here with crisp clean alpine air a remarkable backdrop to every photo and only the better end of the well heeled to deal with in your daily commute to collect you freshly brewed coffee in an environmentally friendly recyclable cup.

The only real problem was I arrived to late to organise any food or find a shop that was open, I settled for noodles and whatever I could find in my bags.

7th February 2023

https://timeline.google.com/maps/ti...yavI5jJwJVRb4LVMJNTyDUwpF7qPg2x7W5sBhY5ZOg8nA

215 Km

9.42am until 2.12pm

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I packed and hit the road following the share granite cliffs on side and cold clear lake on the other it was overcast and blustery with a lot of freight trucks winding their way in and out of the area.

I stopped for lunch at the Route 6 Café and Bar in Lumsden and started to see a collection of bikes heading southward on a similar tack to myself.

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All through this journey there had been reports of Tribesman attending the Burt Munro event more probably in an informal capacity. Personally, I see these groups as drug dealing scum that serve no other purpose than to rip the ass out of society. In the intervening mountains out of Queentown I was tailed by a car and group of riders trying to give my bike a valve grind while in motion, that how far up my exhaust they were. Eventually and with some relief I found a place to pull over and the screamed past, I took a brake to collect myself. I sort of expected that I would find them crashed out somewhere in a farmers field somewhere, the speed they were carrying just seemed insane.

In the approach to Invercargill a dose of Southern Hospitality was awaiting, looks like Southern Command had brought in the troops and put in a well-placed, well resourced reception to check warrant of fitness / registration and licences for anyone sporting any sign of a yellow shirt, they had every side road covered, a lot of very plain Skodas and Holdens essentially a Southern Welcome.

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Tribesman One

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Tribesman Two

This is the van and trailer with three bikes which overtook me at 120-130 kmph followed by associates.


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Tribesman Three

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Checkpoint Charlie… I was of no interest to them… keep moving… “thanks”

And that was the last of the Tribesman, good riddance. The ride through Invercargill was uneventful, I made my way out to Oreti Beach and found the camp grounds open but unmanned and with little in the way of facilities, I had planned to arrive the day before official opening of the festival of speed. I did a late looking for a sheltered spot back against the trees as a wind break and away from everyone else because of my snoring.

I watched a few groups and had a noisey through the competitors work and equipment areas and the eclectic collection of spectator machines and taking in the view of the Bluff Harbour Tiwai Point before battling my way over the causeway back towards town

Burts final house which appears in his book towards the end where he initially had his famous / infamous (for the neighbours) shed still stands much as it appears in the book, a modest but comfortable single level house, easy access, warm and inviting. The address is no secret, 105 Banfield Road. Almost as soon as I parked the owner was out to say hello and have a chat, took a photo of me in front of his letterbox, apparently the story of the peeing on the lemon tree was a fiction for the movie, however, remember my own Grandfather would happily take a pee against a tree as needed at his bach (holiday home) while working in the garden. The owner seemed a happy older retired Gent and if I had said I was looking for a cup of tea I am sure he would have invited me in…

https://www.google.com/maps/@-46.37...hrqqeJQhG0uVvfKQ!2e0!7i16384!8i8192?entry=ttu

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Burts House

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Burts House (Sleeping Roll and Sleeping Bag – Which would Subsequently Part Ways)
 
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Burts House and Burt and the Bike -1978 – From Book “One Good Run – The Legend of Burt Munro”

I headed to the camp obvious to the fact my Sleeping Roll and Sleeping Bag had parted ways not long after Burts House.

A plumbers van slowly circled the camp grounds asking “do you have a sleeping bag”… thought this was a funny question to ask, was he selling? With my hearing I almost ignored him but a glance in the direction of my bike proved I did need a sleeping bag… mine was MISSING.

Mines missing was my retort, I have it was the response, my god thank you so much. While the bed roll I could have lived without at least for a while the sleeping bag was indispensable given I had just dragged it the full length of the country. I had become lax rather than using mechanical rachet straps I had used bungy pull thorough eye style devices to attach the bag and roll to the top of my gear. A foolish mistake I wont do again. I thanked him so very much for driving out of the way to save my day and from a cold night. A local Invercargill man supporting an event which helps the local economy, thanks Mr Southlander.

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I got my tent up, far enough back for protection from the prevailing wind direction but hopefully far enough out that if it dropped a tree limb it would not come through the tent, well that was my concern looking at the gnarly old twisted pines that encircled the sports fields.

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There were few people starting to roll in but few of the services were open other than essentials, but I took a walk and recovered from loosing some of my luggage in literally the last three kilometres of a two thousand five hundred kilometres. I went into town to have lunch and pay my second only visit to the most comprehensive, most awesome, most cool, most humble, most warm, genuine, honest, most kiwi… guess.. come on.. yes Hardware Store in New Zealand E Hayes and Son.







E Hayes and Son is a large format Hardware Store, you can buy your brass shim stock by the sheet, pick out your nuts and bolts into a paper bag and write the size and price on the side with the supplied pencil. Additionally, you can get some paint and wallpaper, spark plugs for the lawn mower and a range of household supplies. But this place is different, its special, you feel its age and presence, it has heft, the knowledge of real Engineers. Last remodelled between Wars it also houses a significant museum dedicated to Burt Munro, when he recognised that a stroke and eyesight had called time on more work and bequeath his possessions (bikes, god of speed) souvenirs and awards, photos and life detritus that collected over the decades to Mr Hayes a friend who must have had deep vision of the unrecognised value in the collection and constructed a gift arrangement to ensure its safety and a space in his Hardware store to make its visible and available to all who wished to view, but of course there is no entry charge here, but if your boots are muddy, best to park them at the door and walk around in your socks like the locals.

You could wonder for hardware store for hours just pottering around and taking in the expansive range of tools and materials available. There is a pile of photos which follow, not really worth trying to explain something from a different age which no longer exists in the world most people have been born into.

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E Hayes and Son Invercargill – Parking Out Front

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Look Down the Main Aisle of the Hardware Store

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Burts Bike and Rego Papers

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Burts Jacket – Must Have Been Skinny – Small (70-80Kg)

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Burts Helmet (Pudding Basin)

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Bell Helmet Bag and Googles

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Burts Other Bike “Velo” - Velocette

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Offerings to the God of Speed 1

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Offerings to the God of Speed 2

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“Pinking” Pre-Ignition in High Strung Engines (High Compression / Hot / Lean Mixture) Often Leading to Piston Destruction and Rapid Uncontrolled Engine Disassembly. Although It might have been a valve dropped but my bet pre ignition resulting in the top coming off the piston.

Notice two ring landings for compression and a final grove for an oil control ring to scrape the oil off back through the holes and back to the oil pickup pump at the bottom of the crankshaft. The less rings you have the lower the friction but at the same time increased risk of blow by when trying to hold in very high combustion pressures.

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Bit of Fun Display

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The Trailer

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Norman Hayes Seems to be “Like Minded” with Burt

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You leave with the impression that engineers of the time were so gifted to make do with so little material and resources that necessitated such a hard and long development processes for Burt and his kind to build these machines, endless setbacks and trials which would have necessitated unending hard work and trial failures mixed with the odd success to keep them going.

I had a late lunch in town, the usual biker fair of full breakfast and coffee with the opportunity to walk and stretch my legs and ass muscles having developed a cowboy gait to my stride over the last couple of days and headed back to the camp grounds which were still filling as the early arrivals rolled in, while previously I had no neighbours, now magically I did, hope they have air plugs as I snore like a freight train…

I retreated home to coffee and watching the hail rattle the tent roof and clattered against the bikes parked in front of my tent. Glad to be stretched out and have arrived in one piece with all my equipment and the bike feeling solid and strong which is important being a long way from home…

8th February 2023


20 Km

9.54am until 11.22pm

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I went into town to stop in at the local branch of AB Equipment, pays to show your face just in case I need someone to pull the bike and myself out of a hedge at a later point in this southern sojourn, seemed very much the same as my last visit in 2019. Had the usual morning tea which is enforced with military precision.

Next stop was the track to see a warm-up session out at Teretonga Park Raceway, it was bitterly cold and raining the wind ripping through everyone, standing water on the track which I thought looked crazy for the speeds they were running. But they seemed to be keen to run a set for each of the groups. I stuck it out as long as I could, but the only spectators were myself and a few RV and motorhomes with the occupants steering out through foggy glass with hot coffee in hand. There was not much to see because it was so miserable and the rain/fog and patches of hail limited visibility somewhat.

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Teretonga Park Raceway – Hiding from the Rain / Hail

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Hail and Rain

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Bit Bleak at Teretonga Park Raceway (Starting to Feel It After a Long Day)

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Hail and Plenty of It

Unfortunately, I left my helmet with my go pro balanced on a power cabinet out of the rain and hail but some wind knocked it off and ended my go pro which was a sad finish to the day, much changing of batteries and button pressing but nothing would stir the electrons within to join hands.

9th February 2023


13 Km

9am until 1pm

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First trick of the day was to replace my go pro, pickings were slim, but found something in budget and headed out to Bluff for the Timed Hill Climb. This bluff overlooks Tiwai point which consumes 540 MW power at all times which would be enough for a small city or a couple of towns supplied by a Manapouri hydroelectric power station which was built specifically to support the Smelter.

The ride out to the Bluff itself is via a relatively narrow causeway of land set low and exposed to cross winds that pushed the big bike around, enough to feel unnerved on occasions as gust caught and pushed us over to a 30 degree list to the leeward side.

Its impressive to look down on the Bluff harbour and town and Tiwai in the distance belching steam and then in the distance you can see the Chatham Islands, past that is a long stretch of water, the roaring forties and then Antarctica over the curvature of earth.

I like the idea of the hill climbs but there is so little to see, you need to arrive very early walk up the course, find a spot with a view of the sweeping corners and hold out for the majority of the show, the start point really has only 20 meters, while impressive in its own right it’s just not viewable.

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Hill Climb

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Hill Climb Event Listing

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Quad Bikes Hill Climb

I headed back to the campground for a nap which lasted long than expected. I woke with a start remembering I had entered to compete in the drag racing, I was already to late but grabbed my leathers and back protector and boots and set off on the short trip to the drag strip.

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Drag Racing Briefing and Check In

I had missed the cut off by more than an hour which put paid to my participation but on reflection I was probably a bit out of my glass and the weather deteriorated throughout the evening. I did see someone look at my ST1100 and go “not a drag bike more of a drag queen”… Booo to you. Anyway, it looked a bit dangerous towards the end with standing… not pools of water but solid patches on the strip which I don’t think I would have been keen on.

There were many bikes on display the most impressive was a VW Beetle engine folded up into a 90 degree V4 which I thought was a great achievement.

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Home Made Wheely Bar

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VW Beetle V4 90 Degree Drag Strip 1

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VW Beetle V4 90 Degree Drag Strip 2
 
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Drag Strip – Burt Munro 2023 1


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Drag Strip – Burt Munro 2023 2

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Drag Racing – Little Person

As the rain started to close in it was more difficult to actually see down the strip and more pauses in the programme. I watched a few sessions, it was quick, the wind cut across the strip and it was wet, it did not feel very inviting for my very first launch of a 30 year old bike when I was 1700 km from home. Just felt like a bad idea..

I headed back to the camp for some basic food and sleep.

10th February 2023


11 KM

8am until 2pm

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This was the day of days, Oreti Beach for the beach racing final, which is also a national event, in short figure of eight around fixed points spaced 1 km apart for something like 50 laps (100 km). You always think of sandy beaches as being soft and forgiving but very fine sand when compacted under its own weight and the action of sea and rain settles into a very hard and unforgiving surface and then swept smooth by the constant breeze of the Atlantic sweeping up from Antarctica. To fall on it is like hitting concrete covered in one bed sheet worth of loose grains of sand, like sandpaper glued to concrete.

For riders this surface presents a lot of contradictions, it’s both fast for terminal speed, slippery in terms of acceleration because of the countless grans of sand rolling under the tyre and very changeable as the race progresses, initially it’s hard, then the corners round the barrels get chopped out into huge banked mounds then the race line becomes broken, bucking and banked favouring those with speedway skills over track day or motorcross superstars. As the race progresses picking the line and not getting bogged and the ability to handle sudden changes in condition when tired favours the competitor.

This for me is probably the peak for the trip in terms of Burt Munro, it represents a lot of what Burt would have done, speed, an element of seclusion, wind swept beach cold and focused against a lot of odds to achieve something special even if this was not widely recognised in his own lifetime.

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I took the ST1100 for a run on the beach away from the competitors but there was a heavy (but friendly) Police presence, the sand gave me an unnerving feedback feeling, both slow to respond to steering input and hard like concrete where the constant small corrugations and undulations in the hard packed sand caused by wind and wave gives unsettling ride at lower speeds, I am sure I would have come to grips with this but there was a lot of people moving, police and cars which reduced my enthusiasm for giving it a bit of speed, there is also an inherent risk with riding or driving on the sand of hitting soft patches and having the bike dig in and tip me over, just so unsettling to be on a new surface that you don’t have experience with.

This event was really the end of Burt Munro for myself, getting here was a third, a third in the event itself and getting home another third while being fully intact being all I really wanted to achieve. The goal had been for the most part achieved without injury and loss of blood I was still in good spirits if tired and I think having lost a few KG from the more constant work of riding and more limited calory intake.

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11th February 2023

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The homeward run begins, I was happy and reasonably confident, it had been a good trip everything had gone to plan and I had done this before, the weather was ok if more overcast but I was aware poor weather lay ahead in the upper north island but that was at least two days away and anything in NZ in terms of weather can change in that period so its by no means a given.

I rode out for Woodend which is a bit north of Christchurch this is some 7 hours riding and 600 km which is about my limit at this juncture, import to remember that mileage achievable really does reduce on every day of travelling so yes on day one I could ride 1000 in a 20 hour period but now 700 km was about my limit of endurance.

The camp I stayed at was called “Woodend Beach Holiday Park” and Woodend Road and this is where the earliest part of the family originally farmed, the holiday park might have actually been part of their 70 acre farm back in the 1860s, they were there until 1907. I looked at the beach and how entirely alien this land must have felt compared to Shropshire in England. Getting to NZ by sailing ship took them 90 days and would have been like travelling to the moon, one of their children died on the voyage and was buried at sea.

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12th February 2023


I started early at I think what we call “the crack of doom” (crack of dawn) but actually well before sun up to push on for Picton and the ferry terminal. I arrived and went down to pull my flexi ticket in by one day to the 13th but during the waiting period I just had that feeling I should push on and try to cross the Cook Straight to get to Wellington, the weather forecast was looking unpleasant, the cook straight is notorious for being rough and cancelling crossing and our ferries are well past the end of their economic lives and suffer from frequent breakdowns.

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It just felt wiser to push on across this barrier and if necessary get stuck in Wellington rather then a very small town with fewer options in Picton. The booking agent sent in the obligatory 4000 keystrokes to an obviously ancient and decrepit booking system and after much gnashing of teeth and cursing early life decisions resulting in this employment “opportunity” out popped a ticket like a Willy Wonka golden ticket from a chocolate bar, the booking agent looked like she needed a lie down and a cup of tea poor thing.

I fueled up at Subway and cancelled my Picton accommodation (pissed off proprietor) and booked myself a cabin in Wellington TOP 10 Holiday Park which is in lower hutt, its shared and I did warn her I snored but assured me I would be alone in the bunk room… alright you have been warned.

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I much prefer this style with a rest for the front wheel and a chain rather than a chain in front and behind.

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It was already 11pm when we got in and it was a crawl to Lower Hutt and some sleep, I don’t remember much other than I could feel the barometric pressure dropping and felt it was now a race to get home.

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13th February 2023 – Hello Gabrielle

Yeah I ****** up big time, I promised I would not put myself at risk, I had no reason too, I had the time and money to ride out bad weather and sleep in but that as not to be, one of lifes silly decisions inbound and her name was Gabrielle described variously as a Category 4 severe tropical cyclone, the next level up Category 5 will take your house off its foundations so it does not get any worse in terms of riding.


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Is was a bit wet and miserable in Lower Hutt and I found the oil was low and stopped at Supercheap, bit perplexing as this bike never used oil and it was at least 750ml short and I had been working it hard my only thought was I did the oil change to bring to full then rode it for a bit but did not recheck as the filter absorbed some oil and everything settled leaving it short, I guess other things on my mind.

The first leg was to punch my way up state highway one to the start of the dessert road, and mild wet weather which was miserable expectantly greeted me at Waioru I put on my full wet weather gear and mulled over the decision ahead of me, it was full on rain now and gusting. The Dessert Road is beautiful but inhospitable, remote and rugged and the road itself is in poor condition, there is nothing in terms of services or shelter or even much of anywhere to pull over, I foolishly pulled out for my second to worst decision of the day.

It was just a slow plugging away at it keeping focused with gentle breaking and acceleration and keeping halthy distances from those around me, I expected to hit a smooth tar section of the road with no chip and get skittled but just kept plugging on.

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I stopped only once at the following nasty bit of switchback to let traffic pass and gather my wits, there is a section which switches back on itself, drops off the plateau into a raven and even on a dry day makes my sphincter pucker up and the heart race, the road is polished because of trucks and class one dangerous. The picture does not do it justice for how evil it is and remote between anything. I could feel the eyes of the people in the cars passing with a mix of ‘’... crazy… hope he makes it… mad as a march hair to be out in this….’’. It was a slow grind holding up traffic to the other side.


The rest of Dessert Highway was just battling being pushed around in the lane by cross winds and focusing on the road ahead, it was tiring.

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We completed the dessert road and a circuit of Lake Taupo to arrive at Rotorua which is really the last major city before Auckland (not counting Hamilton which is by passed). I stopped at McDonalds and had some fuel and coffee and contemplated the worsening weather and belting rain.

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I pulled on my last dry clothes and jumper my raincoat and pants and then riding gear over the top of this to give myself a dry internal layer, plastic condom around me and wet riding gear as the final line of defence and plugged on into the storm.

It got predictable and progressively worse with fewer and fewer cars or even trucks on the road, the most direct path is State Highway 1B which is new expressway with a 110 kmph speed limit but its also very exposed and on elevated sections, I should have avoided this, it was a mistake. Just trying to stay on the two-lane northbound section was dicey, being pushed into involuntary lane changes with other trucks around was scary, real risk of over correction as I attempted to hold lane put more risk in.

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I dropped to third and reduced speed but with the motor spinning a bit faster than normal and just concentrated on the immediate road ahead, its was dark but still only late afternoon, nobody else was about. The water was pouring in everywhere my visor was fogging.

Now bent over the tank with little view of the road I noticed orange light flickering around me from an uncertain source and the motor stutter and then kick back into life, I thought for sure the constant water flooding must be getting into the electrics and the motor and possibly lights were in imminent risk of failure, nowhere to stop. The orange flickering and motor faltering continued for an hour or so but always seemed to recover; I reduced speed further with some risk of becoming road kill as a truck might runover the top of me, maybe my lights had failed, I pushed on.

I thought the orange light might be an overhead street lamp with odd colours because of the rain and reflection from multiple sources but its consistency with the motor issue suggested electrical gremlin slowly arcing and killing the bike, maybe the fuse block and some green copper wire exposued to rain arcing out. The thought of loosing power and lights and gring to a holt here felt like ‘’Apollo Thirteen’’ crossed with ‘’The Perfect Storm’’ on a bike.

I pushed on through the last of the stages and up the Bombay Hills to roll down into the outskirts of Auckland, few cars on the road skuttling for the safety of home, a couple of cars paced me for a bit to look at this insane dude on a bike in a Cat 4 Cyclone weighted down with camping equipment, they paced for a bit then shrugged and left, I could feel the eyes watching. An old bomb (wreck) of a car paced me for a bit to look and I would guess a big Māori Dudes arm came into the rain to give me a solid thumbs up for 6 seconds before being retracted and disappearing.

My off ramp was flooded, and I am sure the water came up to the panniers I hit the water before I knew up but kept going adding more power to wade through to the other side, I was fully wet and my feet were swimming.

The garage door was open and I rolled in pulled all my clothes off and dumped them in the corner and hit the shower. We spent the rest of the night sweeping water out of the lower levels of the house and trying to build dams to divert water away from things of value.

Cyclone Gabrielle claimed 11 peoples lives in NZ and many houses, it was the most costly weather event in the Southern Hemisphere and described as a once in a lifetime storm. 14.5 Billion Dollars NZD in damage ($9.2 Billion USD) for a country of 4 Million People, it was devastating and the decision to ride home through it was simply stupid and reckless on my part.

The orange light and stuttering engine turned out to be the traction control light which was reflected and fragmented through the water droplights which were everywhere on my visor and windshield and wet service as my rear wheel spun because it was about to let go because it had no grip cutting the engine to re establish grip and then allowing the motor to kick in again.
My tyre was worn but still good when I left the extra weight on the rear punishing roads, higher speeds took a severe toll on it, metal belts showing and bald in parts, I should have put fresh rubber on before leaving this was a serious mistake. Trying to save money because of all of my other significant financial commitments almost cost me my life on this one.

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Not sure I will go back to Burt Munro, its done I hope I have learned some lessons from it, two trips racked up now 2019 and 2023. The next big thing is what called a ‘’Big Lap of Australia’’ the ST1100 is not the right bike for this trip but she is close enough and a known quantity of strength and quality Japanese manufacturing which I understand her inside and out..


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Videos from Trip
 
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