tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4072784282884036712024-02-20T17:07:05.610-08:00On the Road AgainThe Road Worrierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05550283398632079792noreply@blogger.comBlogger45125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-407278428288403671.post-79672147849686147232013-05-08T19:58:00.002-07:002013-05-08T19:58:28.318-07:002.14 – Nawlins
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
It seems odd to start with a story about
shoes – it should probably be a footnote – but bear with me.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">When I was leaving Las Vegas, I got to the
airport early, but was disappointed to find no business lounge. With time to
kill I looked around and spotted a shoe-polishing guy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Now my shoes are pretty battered after a
winter biking through the Amsterdam snow, many gigs, and many drunken
dancefloors, so they could use a spruce up. But they’re nubuck (like suede) so
you can’t just polish them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Relax!” I thought, this guy’s a shoecare
professional, he’ll know what to do. So I sat down and asked if he could do
anything with nubuck.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Yeah, sure” he replied and polished them
to a shine!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Flash back nine years. The first time I
arrived in Louisiana was on a road trip with Craig. We were playing pool in a
hotel bar when a “good ol’ boy” demanded:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“How can you visit Louisiana, and not go to
Nolene’s?!!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Well” I replied defensively, “we’re not
here for cities, we want the open road. So we’re not going to New Orleans”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“It’s not “New Orleans” it’s Nawlins!” he
insisted. “…go there, go to the French quarter and you’ll see some of the
craziest shit you’ve ever seen!!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Craig and I mustn’t have looked convinced.
The guy continued:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“A kid will come up to y’all, and tell you
where you got your shoes…”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Craig replied: “But I know where I got my
shoes, I was there when I got them”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">As I arrive in New Orleans from Austin, my
shoes still wearing their unfamiliar shine, I recall this puzzling
conversation.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Fifteen minutes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">That’s all it takes from the moment I leave
my hotel until someone says:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“I know where you got them shoes!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">It seems that even nine years on the locals
are still making money from tourists with their incredible powers of insight.
Or is it just a load of cobblers?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Vegas has the strip. Austin has Sixth
street. New… sorry, N’awlins has Bourbon Street.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">And what a street it is?!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Even at 5pm on a Monday it’s an attack on
the senses. There’s neon everywhere, street performers banging on all kinds of
things, greeters trying to usher me into bars, clubs or “cabarets”, and the
smell!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Wooph!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">The buildings are old, the streets are
tiny, and the sewers are odorous.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">It’s all a bit crazy, so I take refuge in
the Hard Rock café, eat some grilled salmon and talk to a couple from Maryland,
where I’ve been:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“You probably didn’t stop!” says Phil,
perceptively.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">With some Dutch courage I head back down
the street, and find loads of live music. There’s covers band after covers
band, though they’re mostly playing the usual cheesy rubbish.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I find a blues band playing Stevie Ray
Vaughn and ZZ Top, but without much conviction, and I actually find myself
following a subtitled documentary on ESPN, about the 1983 NFL draft, while they
play.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">And so it’s an odd night. The bands make it
hard to talk to people, but I’m enjoying the music, so I roam the street
looking for a better band.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I find one place where they’re playing
Heavy Metal covers with vigour. I stay and headbang for an hour until they take
a break.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Next minute I’m dancing to a Maroon 5 song,
then I’m in a crowded club and some guys with a brass section are belting out
“Superstition”. I’m surrounded by young people in fancy dress having a good
time. They turn out to be Aussies, with lots of energy. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Finally the band quits. Out in the street
again, but New Orleans is slowing down after midnight. The Heavy Metal band are
belting out some AC/DC so I end the night there. They’re no ETB, but not bad
for a Monday!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">On Tuesday I take a tour around the French
quarter. It’s a good size to walk around, and with only a couple of days I feel
I can just “do” this area, rather than trying to take in all of the city.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">There’s a definite buzz to the area, none
of the corporate cleanliness of Vegas though, which makes it feel a bit edgier
to walk around. Lots of ornate buildings, trinket shops and entire streets of
galleries displaying art and stuff…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Time for a run.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">It’s a sweaty one around the edge of the
French Quarter and along the Mississippi river. It’s not so hot, but it’s
plenty muggy. And after three weeks of partying I’ve lost a lot of my Kiwi
fitness. I’ll have to get healthy back in Amsterdam.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">But I’m still on holiday, so it’s another
night on the town. I start with a pizza slice, and as I queue to pay I here
familiar sounds<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Are you guys from England?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">…and that’s all it takes to draw myself
into a night of madness!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Four guys called, er, Morton, “Rocky?”
“Rocky’s brother” and “Rocky’s brother’s flatmate” welcome me to their group.
It seems I’m not the only inductee:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“No, I’ve just got here from Indiana
University”, says the Australian, confusingly. “These guys are in my hostel”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">We’re on a mission tonight, to find some
real Nawlins Jazz. We’ve been told to “head for Frenchman’s street” but first
we have to get down Bourbon Street, and all the hustler’s beckoning us into
their establishments.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Come on in!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“No thanks”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Where you going, you’re missing it!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“No thanks”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Cheap beer!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“No thanks”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Two for one”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“No thanks”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Best bar in town!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“No thanks”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Three for one”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“No th…. Wait a second, did you say “Three
for one?!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Yes sir!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Well, it’s a long walk, we need some
sustenance.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">And so, we battle our way down Bourbon,
encountering persistent midgets offering “Tooters”, surviving mechanical bulls,
dodging “hand grenades” until we reach “Fritzels, a European Jazz bar”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">We get a table and wait for the band. The
place is packed with old people, the band must be good.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">And they are. It’s a trio of pianist, bass
and guitar, tootling away. I’m not a jazz man so it’s hard to describe the
music, maybe “ragtime”.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">But we were hoping for something more
energetic, so we plough on. Eventually we make it down to Decatur Street and
almost to Frenchman, but there’s a great sound issuing from a bar.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Inside we find what we’re looking for, a
great band belting out the sort of high-energy jazz music you associate with
Nawlins, well, I do.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Of course the band eventually takes a
break, so we finally reach Frenchman’s street, and at least three more
entertaining bars, before returning to our favourite. Nawlins begins to wind
down again, and the boys are feeling the effects, so we decide to head home.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Via Bourbon street of course.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">And hence I find myself on my last day of
the trip, and quite possibly the very first day that nothing memorable has
happened. After two nights of raging in every bar in the quarter, three weeks
of partying, and two months of full-on experiences I’m done-for. Time for a
quiet night in, some rest before the long journey back to Europe. And barring
an entertaining flight, the final blog entry.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">It’s been a great trip, a wild ride. I hope
I’ve managed to capture most of my memories here for myself, and in doing so,
entertained some of the people who care enough to read this foolishness.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I’ve met a heck of a lot of nice people,
and a few truly special ones. I’ve been to incredible places and encountered
awe-inspiring surroundings. I’ve seen and done so many things that made me glad
to be alive, and out there trying. And again, going away makes me appreciate even
more the people I left behind, and look forward to seeing them again. I know I
can be a paranoid, miserable sod, fixating on the few things that remain
tantalizingly out of reach, but I appreciate how fortunate I’ve been to make
another epic trip. I hope I can find a reason to settle down, or better,
someone to share RTW3…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">And I know where I got my shoes:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I got my shoes… right here on my feet in
New Orleans.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<!--EndFragment-->The Road Worrierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05550283398632079792noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-407278428288403671.post-36284944190392897382013-05-05T15:19:00.001-07:002013-05-05T15:19:22.235-07:00Two One Three - Leaving Las Vegas (again!)
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<!--StartFragment-->
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I decide to end my Vegas experience the way
I started: Sabana de Pollo at the Pink Taco. The barman’s not buying my minimal
gambling strategy and charges me for my drink. There’s another guy here for
work (like Danny was), but he’s on his first night so has to be responsible and
go to bed early.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I try the Culinary Dropout bar. It’s an odd
setup with a four sided bar, but large corner pillars prevent conversation
between sections. So it’s a gamble on where to sit. I squeeze in next to a
couple of guys and girls, with my usual maximal English:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Is anybody sitting here?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“No, go ahead, we’re just leaving”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Groan. Oh well, I guess I could do with a
quiet final night, at least the barman recommends a nice beer.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">..and another.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Finally a girl sits on my bit of the bar.
Apparently she was the Maitre D’ earlier but is off shift. She like the place
so much she’s sticking around for a drink. Despite her South Pacific heritage
her name’s Vera. Her middle name is Liona, which is a lot more fitting. She’s
very pretty, but very young.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">The bar is open to the warm Vegas night and
we’re feeling the heat. A guy called Scott arrives and tells Vera it’s “way
cooler” on the other side of the bar. I’m more than happy when Vera invites me
to also move round.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Scott is a “day trader” during the week and
a High Roller at the weekend so spends a lot of time at the HRH. He comes from
Austin Texas, my next stop and Live Music Capital of the World, but Scott seems
intent on telling me about places to eat.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">The barman’s also from Austin and offers
the helpful advice:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“It’s a shame you’re not there for South by
SouthWest”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">More people join us, even the late-shift
Maitre D’. The restaurant closes at ten, but they give people time to eat so
stay open later.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Much later.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">There’s a table full of people from PBR
beer who drink nothing but cans of PBR. Taking corporate loyalty a bit far
methinks.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">An artistic-looking waitress finishes her
shift and joins us. She seems really cool in a leftfield kind of way.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“I’ve never been in a nightclub, they sound
like awful places” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">From what I’ve seen of Vegas nightclubs I
don’t blame her.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">It’s great to hang out with a crowd, and
everyone agrees the HRH has the best “vibe” in town. But they all have to work
tomorrow so eventually I’m left with just Matt and Mark closing the bar.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">So much for an early night.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">And so to Austin. Via Phoenix. First Class!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">There’s no Business class on US Airways
domestic flights so I’m upgraded. Wahoo! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Or not.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">They call it first, but it’s not up to
European Business class standards. They don’t even let me in the lounge in
Phoenix. How dare they!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">At least the flights are short and the
connection smooth, and I’m soon in Austin to pick up my Camaro. No messing
around this time, I booked “Exact Model”.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“That, looks a lot like a Mustang”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Er, yeah, the Camaro we have got a factory
recall”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Great”. Although I’m not that bothered.
The latest Mustang is an OK muscle car, just not as pretty to look at. And
after Vancouver I’m not sure I’ll actually be driving much at all here anyway.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Especially since my hotel is only half a
mile from downtown, where all the action is.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">But not tonight.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I’m finally done in. I collapse into bed
for some sleep and prepare for a big day tomorrow.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">May 1<sup>st</sup>. And a very special day.
Today I get to meet someone very special. Someone who has made a huge
contribution to my life. Who’s work has been there for me when I needed it,
morning or night. From the North Dakota plains, to my Kiwi caravan. Without
them I don’t know how I’d cope.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“I must be one of your biggest fans” I gush
effusively.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Well, er, thank you”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“I love your stuff, people mock me for it
but I love it anytime of day!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Good. I see you’re enjoying the Raisin
Bran” says the bloke from Kellogg’s.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Oh yeah, this is good. But I also like
Start, Sustain, Just Right, Coco Pops.. oh I could go on… and you can’t beat a
bowl of corn flakes”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Riiiiight.” Says the guy, backing away
slowly. Wishing he could just enjoy his hotel breakfast without this crazy
Englishman.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Wow.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Makes my VIP encounter tonight with Jewel
pale by comparison.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">When I decided to do this trip I looked if
anyone I liked would be playing Austin around the time of my visit. I was
overjoyed to see that one of my favourite artists would be here, and somewhat
incredulous to see they were offering VIP tickets to go backstage and meet her.
I believe it was the first thing of the entire trip that I booked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">So I find myself staggering toward the
Moody Theatre in Austin through the afternoon heat. I arrive to find a band
already playing on the balcony, entertaining the early-arrivers.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I find our meeting spot, slap on my VIP
sticker and talk to some of the other guests. They all seem to be local. Jenna
has only just found out today that not only is she coming to the concert, she
gets to meet Jewel. Her husband surprised her with the VIP ticket and now has a
spare ticket:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Wanna upgrade?” he asks me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Er, aren’t the VIP tickets in the best
spot?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“No. This is row D you’re back on the
mezzanine”. He even shows me the seating plan and I’m torn. It sounds like an
improvement, but surely they’d give us better seats for buying the VIP tickets.
Maybe the view from the floor’s not so good?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“I’ll stick with mine, thanks.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">And so we’re taken into the concert hall
and straight up onto the stage. It’s a nice medium-sized venue for a few
thousand people, and weird to start by viewing it from the stage. There’s about
a dozen of us falling over the carefully placed equipment and taking pictures
of each other.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">We’re soon whisked backstage for wine and
cheese, to collect our free stuff and to await Jewel’s arrival. There’s a film
crew recording tonight’s performance for Austin City Limits live and they want
some shots of us meeting Jewel.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Pick up that T-shirt again!!” yells a
cameraman at me. I don’t mind, he’s just trying to do his job, but he suddenly
realizes and adds “…please?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">We line up and Jewel arrives.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">This is the greatest moment of my life, I
can die happy now. Is what one of the girls says to me. Not for me. Jewel is
“Meeting” a dozen people a night, shortly before performing for thousands, and
in tonight’s case, a TV crew and live internet stream. She’s not got time to be
interested in our questions or stories. I respect that, and am glad she at
least avoids looking bored for my picture.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Then she’s gone. The other guests seem very
happy with their brief brush with greatness and we talk excitedly until a
cockney-sounding geezer tells us the support act has started and we should take
our seats.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">We’ve nibbled the cheese but not started
the wine. I risk some sarcasm.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Are you moving us on to keep all the wine
for yourself?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Gary is from Essex, and manages the venue.
We have a brief chat about the artists they’ve had through, then he points me
to my seat.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I’m in the back row of four on the
mezzanine. We’re further back than the floor seats obviously, but there’s a
good view and waitress service. The support act seems OK, one bloke playing
guitar, but there’s an old guy in the seat next to me going crazy<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Wahoooo”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Oh, yeah!!!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">The song ends.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“That’s my boyyyy!!!” he yells, explaining
his excitement.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“You must be very proud” I say. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">He explains he was a singer but never got
to perform at the legendary Austin City Limits so is very pleased to see his
kid up there.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">During the break lots more people flood in.
Amazingly for an artist, Jewel starts on time, must be the TV taping. But with
more people comes more noise. At the back of the mezzanine are corporate
lounges. People who think their own voices are more interesting for us to hear
than that of the artist we came for. Or perhaps they just don’t think.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Jewel starts her first song, she’s singing
solo and acoustic tonight.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Oh, how incredible is that voice?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Oh, how I wish the people would shut up?!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Can you believe the nerve of some people,
showing up late?!” asks the old guy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“I don’t mind that so much as the people
yabbering!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“God loves em all” he says.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Well, I don’t.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">They’re not even whispering! And there’s so
many of them I can’t just ask a few to shut the hell up.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">And they don’t.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Yeah, sure, they clap and whoop loudly when
Jewel finishes a song, acting like it’s the greatest thing they’ve ever heard,
then they chat through the next one.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">It’s seriously annoying me. I’m even
contemplating leaving. What’s the point in watching the show if I’m just going
to be pissed off the whole time and associate bad memories with Jewel songs?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Damn, how I wish I’d taken the other ticket.
I bet the people on the floor are showing some respect.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I go for a beer, and find a quieter place
to stand on my way back. This is a bit better. I relax and enjoy a few songs.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Jewel’s concerts have a spontaneous feel to
them. Choosing some songs on the spot, forgetting lyrics, in London she even had
her mum up on the stage.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“I’d like to invite my brother up to join
me” says Jewel.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">See what I mean?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Jewel’s brother turns out to be the guy who
did the support act. But then that means the crazy old guy sat next to me is…
Jewel’s dad!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I retake my seat with increased enthusiasm.
Jewel’s brother Atz is singing louder, more forceful songs, which drowns out
much of the talking. Then his dad has a word with the noisiest group and they
quieten down.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Finally, I begin to enjoy the gig. Atz does
a couple of great songs, his dad’s going crazy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Jewel comes back on and remembers that this
is supposed to be a Greatest Hits tour, so she does some of her most well-known
songs, and the morons shut up when they hear songs they recognize.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Foolish Games” almost has me in tears.
What a song, what a voice.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Jewel recounts her days living in a car,
performing and working hard to be successful. She thanks the people who went
out and bought her albums and helped her achieve the success she has today.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Her dad grabs me by the shoulder and says:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“That’s you, Paul!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Wow.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Then Jewel announces that her father is
here tonight, and tells some funny stories about him. She then invites him to
join her on stage. The crazy guy from seat 229D leaps up and heads for the
stairs, and suddenly the people around me cotton on.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Is that her Dad?!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Are you part of the family?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Dad joins Jewel onstage for a couple of his
own songs, and then, as is traditional for a Jewel show, some yodeling.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">And suddenly, it’s over.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">An hour ago I almost left. Now I’m beaming
like a loony. Outside I bump into Jenna and husband, they’re very happy. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Funny old world. If I’d taken that ticket
I’d have probably enjoyed the show throughout. But I wouldn’t have had such a
memorable encounter!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I’ve some autographed stuff to drop back at
the hotel. Then I catch the shuttle to sixth street. Austin promises to be the
Live Music Capital of the World, but based on the Kiwi “Capitals” that’s just
setting me up for a fall. However, sixth street is a row of bar after bar, with
live music billowing from almost all.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Just walk down the street til you hear
something you like”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">…is the advice of the hotel receptionist.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Sure enough I hear a band on the balcony of
the “blind pig” playing rock covers, and sit down to the sounds of Black
Sabbath:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“People think I’m crazy because I am
frowning all the time”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Yep. This is the spot.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I get a can of “Lone Star” because it looks
local. It tastes like generic pissy lager.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Do locals actually drink this stuff?” I
ask a guy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Nah, it’s for tourists”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“So why are you drinking it?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Cos, that idiot bought them!”, “We drink
Shiner Bock”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I get a Shiner Bock. Half as big, twice the
price, and tastes like slightly better generic pissy lager.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I’ll stick to Bud Light!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Austin by day is not particularly exciting.
Mind you, I need some quiet days. I run around Lady Bird Lake, which is
pleasant , but not particularly memorable, and the highlight of my day is
finding a shop with caps that are actually large enough for me!!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Maybe things really are bigger in Texas!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">In the evening I’m heading to sixth street
again, but need food first. I’m delighted to discover there’s a Hooters just
round the corner from my hotel!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Of course I get a good conversation at the
bar. Ryan is a local and also happens to be heading to New Orleans next week.
He has to work in the morning so reluctantly declines a trip to sixth street.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I walk the street again and here some
bluesy rock belting out of a bar called Friends. No space at the bar, so I
squeeze in a gap behind a lady with a fantastic cowgirl hat, dark tassled
waistcoat, dark jeans and boots. I offer to step aside when she looks to get up
but she says “You’re cool”.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“No. You, are cool!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">The guitarist introduces the group as “The
Eric Tessmer Band” and launches into another awesome riff. Then he launches
himself off the stage and begins working his way through the crowd, giving
people a close-up view of his flying fingers. He reaches the back of the bar,
but he’s not done. Eric ventures behind the bar and talks to the barmaids,
still playing hard.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Meanwhile the bass player is not to be
outdone. He climbs off the stage, acquires a cigarette and heads out into the
street, still playing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Eric is now serving drinks.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">He’s playing with one hand, lining up
glasses and pouring shots.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">This, is quite possibly, the coolest thing
I have ever seen.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">We all take a drink with Eric, whether we
were in on the round or not, and he heads back around the bar. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">He still hasn’t stopped shredding.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Now he heads out into the street to join
the bass player. They’re still blasting away, puffing away, and checking IDs at
the door.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Finally they pause for breath, and the poor
drummer, constrained by his instrument, gets a chance to shine with a
blistering solo.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">He builds to a crescendo, the guitars
rejoin and the performers storm back into the bar for the finale.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">This …is fricking awesome.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I stay til the end. The ETB only take one
break, during which I talk to some interesting people, then we’re drowned out
by the music again. When they finally finish, Cowgirl returns and congratulates
me for staying, before dashing over to fawn over the band. I head home happy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">So that’s Wednesday and Thursday in Austin.
How good is the weekend going to be?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">My rental car is sitting unused. I
contemplate a trip to San Antonio, but the only real attraction there is the
Alamo, and I’ve forgotten what that is.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">One of Austin’s big attractions is the “bat
bridge” and it’s opposite my hotel. A million and a half bats fly out at
sunset.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I wait around until Sunset and watch a
million and a half bats fly out, as described. They take their time about it so
it’s twenty minutes of mild interest when I was hoping for thirty seconds of
insanity: skies darkening, deafening screeches of sonar…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Oh well, the best bit is all the friendly
people to talk to while we wait.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">It’s Friday night. What the hell, I’m going
to Hooters again. This time I meet George from Houston, who desperately wants
to move back to Austin.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">If I could find a place where it’s as easy
to meet women as it is to meet men at an American Sports Bar I’d be married
with three kids by now!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“It’s a shame you’re not here for South by
SouthWest”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Helpful.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I use the hotel shuttle to get downtown
again, and the receptionists are bitching about the cold weather. It suits me
just right!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Apparently sixth street gets a bit young on
the weekends so they suggest the Warehouse district where the older folk go
(the over 25s).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">But the bands are few, far between and seem
pretty lame. I head back down sixth street to discover many of the bars don’t
have live music on a Friday. The streets are packed with drunken “teenagers” in
high heels and posh frocks queueing to get into bars blaring the same old
HipHop tunes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I can enjoy this stuff around a Vegas pool,
but in Austin?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Eventually I find a half decent band, but
nothing memorable.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Saturday. Still tired. Maybe I’m broken.
Good job there’s less than a week left.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Back to Hooters and another new friend:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“My friends are buying ammo by the ten
thousand. We’re arming ourselves for the coming civil war. Do you know that,
thanks to Obama, every child is born fifty-three thousand dollars in debt to
the Chinese?!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Oh-kayyy”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“It’s a shame you’re not here for South by
SouthWest”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Let’s try the South Congress district
tonight.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Nope. No fun there.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Back to sixth street. It’s still packed
with drunk kids grinding against each other, but there’s one oasis. A refuge of
talent and performance away from prats in backward caps poking laptops.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">The Irish pub isn’t very Irish, but it has
live music in the shape of…The Eric Tessmer band!!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Here we go again!!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<!--EndFragment-->The Road Worrierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05550283398632079792noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-407278428288403671.post-27663462287671919192013-05-03T17:33:00.000-07:002013-05-03T17:33:12.325-07:002.12 - Coming Home.<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
It’s a Thursday, for what it’s worth, and
I’m knackered. A big week in Vancouver and the emotional toll of making new
friends and leaving them has me drained. I need to go somewhere quiet and
recuperate…</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Las Vegas.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">The flight is uneventful, and I’m swiftly
in a taxi and at my hotel. I step out of the taxi to the sounds of Springsteen
singing that <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“you can’t start a fire without a spark”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">…and I know I chose the right place to
stay. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">It’s good to be back at the Hard Rock
Hotel. The girl on the desk doesn’t welcome me back this time, but she does put
me in a suite. I’d ticked the box for a cheap upgrade if any suites were unsold
and ended up with a corner suite. It’s huge, has a vast bathroom with an epic
bath, and not just a 42 inch TV, but two! I plug my ipod into the sound system
and crank AC/DC’s Sin City.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Vegas…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I can’t take it easy in Vegas.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">To the bar!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">On the way I check out the displays of rock
memorabilia. There’s one for a girl called Orianthi. I’ve never heard of her
but she’s on the cover of Rock Guitar magazine, and playing a gig tonight at
the HRH so I buy a ticket.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I head for the Pink Taco and a Sabana de
Pollo. It’s as decent as I remember. The lady next to me isn’t very chatty, but
the guy on the other side is. His name is Danny. He’s from Huntington Beach,
California, but he has an English girlfriend from Shrewsbury, so seems excited
to talk to another English person.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I join him for another drink at the new “Culinary
Dropout” restaurant bar, then he goes to gamble while I go to the gig. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Sadly my timing is way off. I catch the
last two songs of the support band Future Vilains, and they’re really good!
D’oh! Then I have to hang around waiting for Orianthi, double d’oh! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Eventually she starts and, well, I’m not
convinced. To me she looks like Christina Aguilera trying to be Jimmy Hendrix.
She’s technically very good, but I wouldn’t call it Rock and Roll. Where’s the
venom? Where’s the passion?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Other people seem to like it, so I leave
them to it and go look for Danny. He’s propping up a blackjack table and making
the most of the complimentary drinks. Though by the time he’s tipped the
waitress they’re not that complimentary.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Danny explains the secret of how to win at
BlackJack. Bet ten bucks. If you win, leave fifteen on, if you lose three in a
row, quit.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Er, yeah, sure, that makes up for playing a
game designed so the house always wins. No thanks.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Danny keeps winning while I stand there,
and it looks temptingly easy as the players invite me to join in. But this is
one of those occasions where being cynical is good.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Not for me, thanks”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">But Danny’s off to the loo, and is
trusting/drunk enough to ask me to watch his chips, and play while he’s away.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">It’s a mug’s game, but I still get a slight
buzz from at least having a go at something new.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">OK. Here we go…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Ten bucks bet.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I’m dealt 13.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Great.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Hit me.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Jack. Bust.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Ten bucks bet.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">12<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Great<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Hit me”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Queen. Bust.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Ten bucks bet.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">14.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Oh, for……<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Hit me”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Five. Makes Nineteen.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Woo-bloody –hoo”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Dealer draws twenty-one.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Colour me unimpressed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I follow Danny’s three strikes rule and
stop losing his money. He returns from the bathroom, doesn’t seem surprised
I’ve lost three, doesn’t want his thirty bucks back, and proceeds to lose the
rest of his three hundred dollars.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">They built this city (not on Rock and Roll)
but on games like this???!!!!! There really is one born every minute.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I point out that if we’re going to blow
money in Vegas we might as well blow it on getting drunk, listening to loud
music, and failing to chat-up attractive girls, so we head to a club.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">But first we’re stopped by a skinny black
lady named Lianna, who is apparently a masseuse, and is very keen that we take
her upstairs so she can show how good a masseuse she is, but I decline. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“I already had a massage at the airport before
my flight. I’m still quite loose, thanks” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Lianna gives me an odd look. She obviously
takes her massaging very seriously.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">The club is much more fun and me and Danny
have a great time, until Danny gets too drunk and wants to fight people. I
start to distance myself from him, I don’t want to be thrown out. I hope the
bouncers can’t see us.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Then Danny decides he wants to fight me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I hope the bouncers can see us!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">But it’s just talk, he’s wasted. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I’m pretty tired too, and it’s the weekend
tomorrow!!! Time for bed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Exhaustion, hangover, and no “Do not
disturb sign” in my room are a bad combination. There’s not even a notepad to
make one. I yell at the persistent maids until I think to have reception bring
a sign up.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Eventually I stagger out to the pool, and
my hangover is quickly forgotten. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Oh, the Hard Rock Hotel pool. How I’ve
missed you!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">It’s a beautiful place, more like a beach
than a hotel pool. With exotic plants and trees, music blasting, beautiful
people, beautiful landscapes …and no fricking kids!!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">My happy place.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I swim around for a bit. Soak in the hot
tub. Then find a rare luxury: an unoccupied Lounger.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">There’s a girl about my age on the next
lounger sunbathing alone. I ask her how it’s going but she doesn’t say much.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Think of something, think of something…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">…If she’s almost my age, she’s long since
stopped being a girl…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">No. Think of something useful!!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Think of something, think of something…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“I hear Prince is playing here tonight, do
you know anything about it?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Yeah, my boyfriend runs up for Prince”
comes the reply. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Wow. With one short sentence she’s
destroyed any hopes of hanging out, created a likelihood that I can learn a lot
about the show, and confused the hell out of me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">What the hell does “runs up” mean? He makes
dresses? Climbs hills? Comes in second place at every contest Prince enters?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Instead of asking that, I ask about the
show. It seems Prince is indeed performing, but the tickets are 250 a pop. Now
as a fan of music, I respect Prince’s achievements, and would like to see him
perform, but I don’t particularly like his own songs, so 250 is ridiculous.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Speaking of value, I head to Mr Lucky’s
diner for dinner. It’s rubbish. The service is slow, the décor is plain, but it
has one thing going for it: The Gambler’s Special. Not on the menu, but a big
salad, shrimps, steak and spuds for 7.77 is a bargain in Vegas, especially at
the HRH.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Afterwards I wander into the trendy clothes
shop, but the assistants tell me where to go.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">They’re more interested in my night out
than selling me anything and suggest I head downtown. This is a good idea, I’ve
been meaning to go and see Fremont street since Ben recommended it last time.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I hop in a taxi, and only 25 bucks later(!)
I’m under the giant LED canopy. There’s some bloke blaring a saxophone, people
dressed as all sorts of celebrities and a real buzz about the place. It’s less
dressy than the strip. The strip tends to be a mix of everything from shorts
and sandals to suits and shiny shoes. Here there’s no suits, just happy people.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">There’s lots of live music. I find a
fantastically energetic band playing covers of chart hits, with a guy and a
girl taking turns on the vocals. There’s an outdoor corner bar to watch the
action from so I can rest my weary bones and thoroughly enjoy the show.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Eventually they take a break for the
lightshow. It’s pretty impressive. The canopy is huge and there’s a live Bon Jovi
video playing through the masses of speakers. All kinds of spaceships blast
around overhead, the Battlestar Galactica flying past the Enterprise, Klingon’s
dueling with Thunderbirds and Cylons.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Somehow I make it back to the hotel at a
respectable hour and get some sleep.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Saturday. Rejuvenated I head out to the
pool again. After a soak and a swim I nip to the gym for a long overdue
workout, though it means running on a treadmill, yawn!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Back to the pool and I meet an hispanic guy
who’s celebrating his 22<sup>nd</sup> birthday with a group of mates. He tells
me I look 25, until I take my cap off.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Keep the cap on”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">It’s a nice day at the pool, a good warm-up
for tomorrow’s insanity - anyone who read RTW1 should remember what Sunday at
the HRH pool means.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">But it’s Saturday night. Where to eat?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I know!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I can’t believe I’ve been travelling for,
what, 48 days? ..and not been in one Hooters Bar!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I taxi to the Hooters casino and head for
the bar. There’s an epic queue for tables, but I get a spot at the bar. People
who misunderstand the appeal of Hooters should see that queue. It’s Saturday
night in Vegas. There’s plenty of places where you can go and eat and stare at
girls wearing a lot less than the Hooters waitresses. Yet here’s a huge queue
of men, women, couples and families waiting to get in.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Of course the barflies are good for a
conversation. The guy next to me is from South Dakota, but seems to have a kid
in every state. He always stays here when visiting Vegas and seems confused
that I’d want to stay elsewhere.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Strengthened by my Philly Cheese Steak I do
the epic casino trek. Through MGM Grand, across to New York, New York, and down
to Planet Hollywood. Red Light Vegas recently ended their residency here, but
I’m pleased to find a band called Evenflow playing. They’re extremely good, and
throw in some heavier songs with the usual uninspired requests.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“No, we’re not playing Journey!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Thank goodness.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“…til after midnight”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Groan.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Two years on and people still want the same
song?! Sixty years of rock and roll and that’s the best song you can think of?!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Being “Evenflow” they can knock out some
impressive Pearl Jam, and the guitarist is particularly impressive, playing
behind his head at every opportunity. There’s some drunken tall guy next to me.
Keeps mumbling things but I’m not sure what. A small blonde woman arrives with
a bloke, both looking a bit worse for wear – but then it is a Saturday night in
Vegas. She introduces herself as Jen, and Andy is leaning on the bar.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Does my head look alright?” she asks.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Er, eh? You mean your hair?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Either”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“er, yeah, sure, they both look fine”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Up or down?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“erm, I’d say Hair down, head up”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">This gets me a free beer from Jen and is
enough to convince drunken tall bloke that we’re a match made in heaven.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Why aren’t you dancing with her?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Because that’s her husband!” I explain,
for the fourth time.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Suddenly everyone wants to find me a woman.
Jen is asking ladies politely, Andy is drunkenly yelling at them, and Tally
McPissed is insisting that me and Jen are the perfect couple.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“There’s nobody here right for you” says
Jen.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“I know. Thanks. But the music’s great
isn’t…”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“But I’ll keep looking!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I really wish she’d stop and leave me alone
to enjoy the…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Hang on. She’s gorgeous!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Who”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“The white girl in the black dress with the
black girl in the white dress” I answer, monochromatically.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“OK!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Jen charges off. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Yeah, right. Like a gorgeous,
early-twenties, brunette is going to respond to the “my friend fancies you!”
level of chat-up lines and come over.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">At least it’s keeping Jen busy so I can
enjoy the…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Hi, I’m Monique”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Oh, er, hello”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Your friend thinks I’m a prostitute”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Does she?” I reply. Given the scenario,
Jen has a point. But Monique explains that she works in “Promotions” so that
clears up any possible doubt. And she’s French.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Vraiment?” I ask, hoping that’s a French
word.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Oui, Parlez-Vous Francais?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Ah! Bien Sur!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Somehow I manage to babble in French for a
while without accusing her dog of smoking hosepipes and she’s smiling at me. I
switch back to English.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Why is your friend wearing a Tiara?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“It’s her birthday”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Of course it is. Now I can’t really buy
Monique a drink and ignore her mate, but what the hell, I haven’t been blowing
my money on blackjack.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Can I buy you a drink?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Strawberry Margherita”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“…and your mate”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Her friend comes over and says “Adios”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Eh?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“It’s a drink”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Right. Barman!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“I need to see their IDs”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Oh. I don’t have my ID”. Says Monique.
“Here’s my club wristband from earlier”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“No. Sorry”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Her mate doesn’t have ID either.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“We’ll nip home and get them” says Monique.
“Wait here”. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">And so ends one of the weirdest encounters
of both trips. I watched the band for another hour and a half. They were very
good until the end, though they did of course play “Don’t stop believing”. They
finished with “Enter Sandman” by which time Jen and Andy had left, and I’d
found myself someone to dance with.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Monique didn’t return, so I’ll never know
whether she was just a nice, forgetful woman with a penchant for older English
guys.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Sunday. Rehab.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">As you know by now, Rehab is an ironic
name. So a late night with evenflow wasn’t the best preparation. Luckily the
queue was short at 1pm:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“We’re having a lull, but it’ll soon get
busy again…and we go on til 7pm”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I passed the security check, stepped out
into the bright sunshine and took in the sight that greeted me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">How can you possibly improve on perfection?
Sunshine, drinks, beautiful happy people dancing, jumping and splashing to loud
pumping music.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">How?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Beachballs.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Hundreds of them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">It’s madness in the pool. Balls are flying
everywhere. Some are being kept aloft through impromptu volleyball games, most
are being launched at anyone not looking.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“oof!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I exhale as one hits me in the face,
knocking my cap off.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“I’m really sorry!” apologises my extremely
attractive, bikini clad attacker, and gives me a big hug.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Awesome. Forget opening lines. Just smack
‘em in the face with a beachball!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">And so went the next six hours. I didn’t
even drink. Just splashed in the pool and danced like a fool. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I love rehab. It’s all the fun of a
nightclub without the pretension. Instead of prancing about on high heels in
tonnes of make-up, the girls let loose. The guys are still prancing about
showing off their muscles, but there’s plenty of chubby, pastey, old, bald, or
crazy guys just having fun. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">As one of the more direct song lyrics puts
it:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“This is f**king awesome!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">There’s just one disappointment. The
dueling piano show no longer happens at the HRH. This is a real bummer for me.
After a day’s partying it was the perfect way to spend the evening last time. There’s
no point going clubbing again, and leaving the hotel seems like hard work. I
eat in the Pink Taco again, and for once get a free drink by gambling the
minimum on the bar machine.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Stick a fork in me, I’m done.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Monday. Last day in Vegas. One last chance
to enjoy the glorious pool. I meet some guys who are going to ride Harleys for
a week, then see Santana and some other bands in Vegas. Sounds awesome.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">There’s a man desperately searching the
pool for his wedding ring, egged on by his wife. Poor sod.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I somehow manage a workout, though I don’t
last long. Gym’s are boring at the best of times, but with the sun shining and
the pool calling me back..<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">There’s still some beachballs knocking
around. After rescuing a ball a couple of times I’m invited to join in a game.
There’s a very intense dude keeping count and insisting we can keep the ball up
for 50 hits. (Well, yeah, if we all stand together and make small hits dude…)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">We reach 95 and I think he’s going to
explode with joy. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Tattoos on girls are getting more popular
and larger. One girl has two angel wings and a devil tail all over her back.
She’s talking to some pretty boy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Do you know what it symbolizes?” she asks
him<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Er, like wings…”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">She pulls a face and asks me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Yeah, sure. It’s the duality of your
personality. As a Gemini you have two distinct sides to your character, pulling
you in different directions…”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Her face lights up, glad to be validated by
a clearly intelligent human being. Then she returns to talking to the good
looking guy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Who am I to argue!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">As the sun’s beginning to set I find a nice
spot to take in the last hour. But I’m dragged into yet another game of
volleyball. This one’s great fun. No intense dude. The circle is widely spread,
the ball goes high, and there’s great delight in the extremes people go to in
keeping the ball aloft.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Full stretch dives are the norm.
Re-emerging to cries of “again!” as the ball falls back on the spluttering
hero. Even those who are not playing are joining in, with “celebrity shots”
from the sun loungers rescuing our ball and keeping the dream alive. Every
rescue is greeted with a cheer, none more so than when a wayward shot is
returned by the lifeguard from her high chair.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Sadly our numbers eventually dwindle as
people have to leave. I rescue my shirt and towel, and as I leave the pool area
I take one last look around.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">If I ever came into a fortune I wouldn’t
buy a big house. I’d rent a suite here.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">…and a second one so you can come and
visit.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<!--EndFragment-->The Road Worrierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05550283398632079792noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-407278428288403671.post-26462198316234080682013-05-01T00:13:00.007-07:002013-05-01T00:13:23.334-07:00Turn it up - 2.11
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Airborne: Auckland to Vancouver, 12 hours
45 flight time. But hey, I’m in the fancy seats. No problem. I can just lay
back, relax, and there’s a brand new episode of Top Gear to watch. Noooo
problem. Nothing else to think about here.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">A “Bing Bong” freezes Jeremy Clarkson on
the screen, mid sentence.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Ladies and Gentlemen, due to the heavy
turbulence we’re suspending the meal service for a while. During this time bla,
bla, bla…”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">SHUT UP WOMAN!! I’m trying to ignore the
crazy bucking of the plane, the rising and falling, that my “welcome aboard”
orange juice is attempting to make contact with the ceiling.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">The pilot promised us a little turbulence
after take off, then a smooth ride, but we bounce our way across the pacific
like a space hopper on a trampoline.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Eventually the pilot gets us through it and
I get a few hours sleep, ready to cope with doing Friday all over again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I only need to limp to a hotel, curl up and
ride out the jet lag and I’ll be ready for Saturday night.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">But that would be too easy. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I pick up my “Dodge Avenger” saloon,
puzzled by the Mitsubishi logos, and that it looks a lot like an SUV. Hmmm. It
also has a V6 badge, and nice seats, so I guess I’ll take it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I head out of the airport toward Vancouver,
then turn right. I’ve got another destination.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Last December feels like a lifetime ago. I
was in a bar in Amsterdam when an incredibly good-looking blonde girl (mid-twenties?)
walked in. She walked up to me and asked:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Are these seats taken?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Yes, sorry” I blurted, inwardly cursing
the temporarily departed occupants. Then I cursed myself. I’d assumed she
wanted two seats but didn’t ask. If she’s alone I could find her a seat, give
up my seat, whittle a flippin’ seat out of the end of the bar for pity’s sake
man!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Another chance blown. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">My good friend Kim arrived, but there were
still no free seats by me. Kim went to talk to some friends, then spotted a
couple of seats open up.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Where?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“At the other end of the bar, by that
blonde girl.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“oh, ….OK…..I guess”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Blondie was scribbling in a notebook and
half-heartedly glancing at a TV showing football. I summoned up my best smile
and with all my wit, flair and panache asked:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Are you a sports reporter?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">..and that’s how I come to be heading for Port
Moody, where Miranda lives.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Sadly we only had a few drinks and a couple
of meals together in Amsterdam before life split up our burgeoning friendship.
In that time I’d learnt that she’s completely different to me in so many ways. She
dresses distinctively, laughs loudly and openly, smiles frequently and doesn’t
show any cynicism. We use different language to describe the world, and have
vastly different approaches, but somehow we work on the same wavelength, I
admire her positivity and I feel energized by her attitude. She also shares my
passion for the special things in life such as Scooter, Buffy, and Fisherman’s
Friends. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I can only hope that Amsterdam wasn’t a
fluke and that we continue to get on so well in Canada. But my cynical nature says
she’s bound to be a nutcase in some way.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">First, I get to meet her boyfriend, Roland.
He’s the manager at a bar called Burrard’s which has hotel rooms, and he’s
supposed to be putting a room key in my hand but gives me a pint instead. After
a long flight and a long drive through traffic I need a lie down… but it would
be rude not to have just one!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I get a room, a power nap and I’m back in
the game. Friday’s thirty-eight hours old, but it’s still only 7pm.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Burrard’s is a fantastic Sports Bar. Lots
of screens, lots of beers, friendly staff and chatty regulars. I ask a
waitress:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“How’s your day going?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">and get the unwitting reply:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Looong! How’s yours?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Roland introduces me to the regulars and
I’m chatting away when a guy says “I recognize you from facebook”.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I’ve just time to think “What the hell?”
before he introduces himself as Sam, a friend of Miranda. Samuel Blondahl, to give
him his full credit. He’s a sci-fi author, an interesting guy and I’m looking
forward to helping him promote his first book at a convention tomorrow. But
we’ll get to that ….hopefully.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Another drink, sir” says the barman,
handing me yet another beer.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Oh,” I exclaim to Roland, “don’t we need
to be going?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">We’re already late in meeting Miranda at
the bar where she works.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Yes. But if you don’t tell the barman
you’re done before you’re two-thirds through, he’ll get you another one –
that’s how it is here. Drink up” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Eventually we make it to the Irish bar
where I finally meet Miranda. She’s every bit as lively, attractive, funny,
whacky and loud as I remember, maybe more, and pleased to see me. It’s a shame
she has to work while I’m in Vancouver.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“I’ve got the next 5 days off!!!!!” she
screams. “What do you wanna do? What do you wanna do???!!! Tell me, now!!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">After 5 weeks in New Zealand. 13 hours on a
plane, a 43 hour Friday and many beers, I’ve no fricking idea!!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">But Miranda does, and we’re starting with
the “Fan Expo” tomorrow.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">A great night and an epic day concludes
back at Burrards. As everyone sidles off in taxis I’m grateful I only need to
climb the stairs.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">In the morning I just need to get my stuff
and my car to my downtown hotel. An easy enough task, except downtown’s gridlocked.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">The Vancouverites are celebrating the date
4/20 by gathering to smoke marijuana openly. After a year in Amsterdam this
seems like an odd thing to get excited about, so I fume in my car.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Eventually I reach the hotel, and head for
the Expo. I know I’m getting close when a large woman in a superhero costume
bounds past me on the street.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I’ve heard about Fan conventions before.
I’ve watched a fair bit of sci-fi and recognize some of the star names and know
the movies, but I’m still taken aback by the sheer enthusiasm of the fans. I
walk around the show, smile at the stalls of witty T-shirt slogans, peer from a
distance at the celebrities:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Uhura, Spike and Dru from Buffy, that scary
bloke from Prison Break, David Prowse, Elvira….<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">But it’s the paying customers’ outfits that
make the show special. People haven’t just bought a plastic uniform and a poxy
light-sabre, they’ve gone the whole hog and made outfits of their favourites
from sci-fi, manga, cartoons, video games…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“How long did your outfit take to make?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Oh. I spent hundreds of hours……. just on
the holster”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Speaking of outfits, Miranda is dressed as
Rainbow Bright. I’ve no idea what that is, but the outfit’s fantastic, and
helping draw attention to Sam’s booth.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Mercury” is Samuel Blondahl’s first book.
He has the second ready to go and the third of the trilogy almost done. There’s
a pile of books on the table so I skim-read the prologue and find myself torn
between telling people about the book, looking at more people’s outfits or
sitting and reading Mercury.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">A couple more of Mir’s friends turn up. Les
is quiet, Chris is anything but. He loves to talk to people, so drags me round
the room, introducing us to anyone in an impressive outfit and posing them for
pictures. I finish the afternoon with a camera full of images of green-skinned
people.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Sam has a dinner date with Darth Vader.
Roland has gone to work, and Chris is busy, but Les joins me and Mir for a nice
dinner. Then we have drinks at the posh hotel where Miranda used to work: The
Fairmont.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">It’s turning into another big night. Sam
rejoins us, but he has to be alert tomorrow: there’s a whole ‘nother day to go
at the expo. Mir reluctantly also departs, leaving me and Les. I’m battered
after lots of standing, and quite a bit of drinking so I’m only ready for one
thing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Shall we go to the After Party?” asks Les.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“You betcha!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">…and what a party. I’ve never been in a
club with so many people looking so happy and so willing to talk.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“What’ve you come as?” is usually an insult,
but here it’s a great opening line. I meet Ghostbusters, Manga characters, some
girl called “Faye Valentine” and several Doctor Who’s.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Unsurprisingly, I’m not up in time for
breakfast.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Sunday, and expo again. No Chris today, but
Roland’s here and dressed as, er, “Tuxedo Mask”? Miranda’s come as “Sailor
Moon” today, which is a big hit with any Japanese people we encounter. Her dad
is also here, and meeting him explains where Mir got some of her whacky,
engaging, inspiring and puzzling nature from.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Sam is still working hard, pressing the
flesh and smiling, until it’s time to pack up.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">We head to some more great bars. Roland
helps me work my way through seemingly every beer ever brewed in Canada.
Eventually we arrive at Goth night. I’m expecting all kinds of madness, but
it’s Sunday and pretty quiet. We dance to a fairly eclectic selection of music.
It seems like anything’s OK as long as it’s not happy. The others leave me
again since they have to get up early, but they don’t miss much.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">In the morning I’m knackered. I miss
breakfast again. The long good Friday plus a weekend of drinking, dancing and
standing around has taken it’s toll on my legs. I wonder what Mir has in mind,
maybe we could do some cycling to give my legs a change and get a bit of exercise.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I get a text:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“We’re going cycling round Stanley Park”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Miranda proves to be a demon on a bike. Sam
and I are struggling to keep up. Though that could be because we’re trying to
enjoy the view. Then:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Kerchunk! tinkle, tinkle.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">That, of course, is the sound of my chain
falling off.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I could fix it in seconds but I’m trying
not to get covered in oil so it takes a while. Sam texts Miranda, who’s
disappeared ahead.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I restore my chain to it’s rightful place
and we set off again. Fortunately, the path is one long loop around the park so
we don’t have to worry about losing Mir. Which is good, because she’s miles
ahead.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Eventually me and Sam decide to stop and
call her. I get Sam’s side of the conversation:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Can you hold up?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“What?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Where?!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Oh……”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">It seems Mir got Sam’s message and came
back for us. Somehow we missed each other on a 3 foot wide bike track, and now
she’s back at the start!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">We stay put until Mir catches up. She’s
been biking for ages but doesn’t complain, so we carry on, staying together
this time.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">The path is a beautiful ride along the
water’s edge around the park, offering views of the city and out across the
Pacific. We bike on to find a café and have a nice lunch. The weather’s
fantastic so we sit outside and enjoy a wonderful day.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Later we go for a drive. First we stop at
Tim Horton’s, a Canadian fast food institution, to collect what I’m told is
fantastic coffee, though I’m no expert. Mir shows us the scenery north of
Vancouver, which is spectacular. As it’s Spring here, there’s snow on the
mountains, the only thing New Zealand was missing. We turn back as the sun sets
and from a hilltop we get a wonderful view of the city at night.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">There’s one more special treat this day. I
take Miranda’s packet of Fisherman’s Friends to discover: They’ve made them
resealable!!!!!!!!!!!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Tuesday, and I finally make it to
breakfast!! Miranda is picking me up and driving us to Whistler. It seems silly
that my rental car is sitting at the hotel, sillier still that I still have a
room at the hotel and we’re heading to a different one, but hey, that’s the
cost of not planning ahead.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Roland is dying of the flu or something,
but proves what an awesome guy he is by not objecting to us going without him. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">As much as I love driving on an open road,
it’s a pleasure to let Mir do the concentrating, so I can enjoy the sights, and
the sounds.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Oh the sounds!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I mentioned that we both love Scooter, and to
misquote one of their songs:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Miranda, believe me, she likes it LOUD!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">We arrive at another Fairmont hotel in
Whistler at around 4, still time to get to the pool and soak up some sun. It’s
bizarre to be sunbathing in April with snow still around us, stranger still to
realize we’ve actually got slightly sunburnt!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Dinner is very posh and very nice. Our
waitress, Nicole, is fantastic and after one strong cocktail wants to get me “between
the sheets”.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I’ve no idea what was in it but it was
another nice drink.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I finally get to have a really good long
talk with Miranda about what makes her tick, and what makes me tick. She’s like
a Mickey Mouse alarm clock, all bright colours, expressive hands and character.
I’m a Sony LED electronic model. Dark, black, with digital accuracy, cold and
scary at first, but with hidden depths. We express ourselves in different ways,
yet somehow, we agree what time it is.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Whistler’s pretty quiet tonight. The ski
season is ending, there was a big event at the weekend but not much tonight.
Everyone who is out is at one nightclub, but they’re playing dubstep, so we
stay away. A barman suggests we could just go to one of the quiet nightclubs
and make our own fun.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">We head into Buffalo Bill’s Nightclub and
find about four guys sitting at the bar, the rest of the place deserted.
There’s a dancefloor though, and a pretty decent selection of tunes playing.
Mir persuades the barman to turn up the volume (what did I tell you?) and we
attack the dancefloor.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Soon a couple more guys walk into the club
and join us on the floor. It’s weird, because the sound is more “loud living
room” than club level, so we can actually hear each other.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">One guy is French, the other Dutch, and
they’re impressed I can understand both their native languages. (As am I!).
Frenchy is attempting to dance close to Mir, but she’s practicing some form of
Kung Fu dance moves, all fists and elbows, deliberately to keep him at bay. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Another guy joins us, but he doesn’t seem
to realize we can actually talk, so just dances with us like we’re in a loud
club, and everyone is too amused to tell him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">We have a great time, dancing to everything
from hip-hop to classic rock, to reggae. Eventually the electronic DJ is
strangled mid-tune and it’s time to go.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Hey man, I thought you danced really well”
says Frenchy… to me!!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Nobody’s ever said that to me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Er, thanks.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“No, really. It’s rare to see a guy who can
dance well.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Cool, thanks”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">As we head outside the mute guy joins us,
introduces himself to me and says: <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Your dancing was really good”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">That’s it. I’m not going to go back to
work. No more blogs, I’ve found my calling. I’m off to join Kylie on tour….<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">After so much partying this week we’re both
feeling the strain in the morning, so decide to have a relaxing detox day.
There’s time for another hour in the hot tubs before checkout. Then we have a
posh hotel lunch of salad and a sandwich, before hitting the road back to
Vancouver.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">It’s another beautiful day, and the
snow-capped mountains look incredible. It’s an odd ride back for me, as we pass
through Squamish. When I came here on RTW1 I was at a real low. I was weary of
travelling and feeling lonely, happy to be meeting so many interesting people
but sad that I didn’t get to know them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">This time it’s one of the highlights of the
trip. I wasn’t even sure if Vancouver was a good idea, didn’t know what I’d do
here, and fully expected Miranda to turn out to be a nightmare. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Yet here she is, taking me for a drive
through stunning scenery, with my favourite music blasting. Perhaps I should be
less cynical and open to…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Do you want to come to Laughing Yoga?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“….er….”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Laughing Yoga, is apparently a real thing.
With classes all over the world. There’s not the bending and stretching you
might expect from the title, it’s about making each other laugh for an hour.
This makes you feel better, happier, and is good for your health, since your
heart and lungs are getting a workout. Even if you’re faking the laughter you
still get the benefits. It sounds like something my mum would love.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">But me?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Making silly faces and prancing around with
a bunch of strangers?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Pretending to laugh manically and out loud?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Looking people in the eye while I’m doing
it?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Not a chance.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“So do you want to come?” asks Miranda.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Yeah, sure” I squeak.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">First we stop off at Lighthouse Park to
enjoy a walk – healthy day, remember? – then fight through the traffic to reach
the class.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">And it feels like a class, since we’re in a
kindergarten schoolroom.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Miranda’s dad is here. As an expressive,
creative, extroverted soul he loves this. Miranda, of course, also loves it.
There’s three other people with us. The lady in charge, who acts like I imagine
a kindergarten teacher to do, a lanky guy, who looks like he loves this stuff
too, and a small Asian lady, who looks slightly scared, and somewhat perplexed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">But you know what, this is not so bad. Away
from the judgement and mocking of everyday life, it’s nice to be in an
environment were silliness and foolishness are allowed to spout freely.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">We’re encouraged to fake-laugh until the
laughter comes. So I’m laughing as hard as I dare. The cynical,
unswitchoffable, part of my brain is fighting back:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“This is ridiculous. You’re making the
sound but you’re not really laughing are you? You can smile, but your eyes give
you away!!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">But that’s the genius. Because fake
laughter is encouraged from the outset, it doesn’t matter if people know I’m
faking it. I’m joining in, I’m having a go, I’m ….playing!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Miranda appears to be loving it. Her dad’s
laughing like crazy, and the other guy has fallen to the floor in hysterics.
The laughter’s infectious and at times I’m giggling for real. Sure it’s not as
funny as say, reading one of my own blogs, but it is fun.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Surprisingly soon the hour is over and
we’re asked to express our thoughts:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“That was one very weird hour” I say, “but
I enjoyed it, thank you”. It’s definitely a workout, and if a miserable cynic
like me can enjoy it, they must be onto something.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Roland’s clambered off his deathbed and
come to join us for dinner at a nice Greek restaurant. We then bid farewell to
Mir’s dad and head to another swanky hotel for one last drink.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I’d love to stay out late with Roland and
Miranda but I’m tired after such a manic week, and with a flight to catch in
the morning I have to call it a night. We head back towards my hotel, still
blasting Scooter. And to the emotive high-pitched refrains of:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Friends, we’ll be friends…..”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">…it hits me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I’m tired because I’m sad.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Sad to leave Vancouver.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Sad to head off on my own again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Sad to leave Roland, as cool a guy as I’ve
ever met.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">And sad to leave Miranda. In Amsterdam I
thought she might be an incredible person, but was bound to be crazy in some way.
In Vancouver I found out in what ways she is crazy, and I like her all the more
for it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I really hope that, despite the distance,
“we’ll be friends”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">A block from my hotel there’s one last stop
to be made. Roland and Miranda leave me in the car briefly, a sadness in my
heart, a tear in my eye, until they return with a cup of Tim Horton’s finest
for me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">But you know what?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">It’s too late for coffee.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<!--EndFragment-->The Road Worrierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05550283398632079792noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-407278428288403671.post-52718527887653840622013-04-19T00:20:00.001-07:002013-04-30T23:16:49.635-07:002.10 Quickie at the airport<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Brooke was actually from Ohio, but lives in
Colorado with her husband. He left her, though not in the Estonian sense, and
went back to Colorado for work. We had a great chat all one hundred kilometres
back down the road, and all too soon we parted ways at Kaitaia Pac’n’save.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I headed North West towards the Bay of
Islands, wondering if I’d be able to see any islands in the morning. The
campsite was miles from anywhere, but huge, so I got to run a few laps before
retiring to write.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Wednesday began more brightly, but as I
caught the vehicle ferry across to Russel things turned grey. I’m not sure what
I’d have done if the sun was shining, but with the wind blowing and the rain
falling I decided to get out of Dodge. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">…and back to Whangarei.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Nothing in the guidebook grabbed my
attention, and with fatigue setting in I was glad to be back somewhere
familiar. I checked back into the Top 10 and said:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“I see the Estonian’s still here. Has his
girlfriend come back?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Oh, you know about that?!” squealed the
excitable lady on reception. “She came back!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I parked back on site 42, and was looking
forward to another attempt to run up to the lookout, when the Estonian guy
appeared.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“How’re you doing?” I ask, with more
purpose than usual.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Meh. She’s still deciding”.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">He then asks me about the South Island and
if I could help him persuade her to go with him. He’s got his laptop out under
the tree so I point him at google images of “Queenstown Gondola”, “Milford
Sound” and “Mount Cook”. His jaw drops, he’s blown away.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“…and the photos are nothing like as
awesome as being there!” I add.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">His girlfriend returns from a shower and
sticks her head into their car. He shouts something in Estonian like:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Hey honey, come and look at these
pictures”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Grumble, grumble”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“…but they’re amazing, you should come look
at them”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“grumble, Grumble”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Seriously. I didn’t know why he was waiting
for her before, now I’m very confused.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Good Luck!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I had bigger fish to fry. Man against
mountain once again. This time I’m ready. Well rested, two days sober, I know
what’s in front of me, and I know what I have to do. To the top, run every
step!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">But the hill is relentless. It doesn’t feel
pain, or pity, or remorse. It just keeps on battering me, until my Achilles
feel like they’re going to snap.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">But I’m a machine. I can take it. All the
way. Just….keep….lifting….those …..feet.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">And then ….what’s that ahead? Can it be?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Yes!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">It’s the lady from reception.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“You’re doing well, keep going!” She says,
pausing from her stroll to stand around drinking her water.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“phnnnk yrr” I grunt.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Must….get ….to….the…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">And then, a sign! No, not an omen, an actual
sign where the paths join. This means I’m almost there. I’ve made it! Just a
few easy yards to the top and:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Woo…….Hoo….!!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Getting back down’s a lot easier, and I
bolt into the campsite with a smile on my face and a puddle on my head.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“How are ya?” asks one of the campers.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Great……..just……..ran….up…..that!” I gasp
proudly, pointing at the hill looming above us.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“and you do that for fun?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">It’s a long walk into town the quick way,
and the reception lady sends me the scenic way. So I’m starving when I get to
the pubs after 30 minutes. Legends is open but looks rubbish, so I hit the
Irish bar. Oh, for a large bowl of pasta, a chatty barmaid, and maybe some live
music.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“It’s Jam night, tonight” says Hannah,
taking my order for chicken linguine. I confirm that doesn’t refer to a fruit
preserve competition, and so I’ve hit the jackpot!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">My bowl of pasta arrives, but it’s not
massive. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“I’m off” says Hannah, to be replaced by
some stoic barman.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“When’s Jam night start?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“9.30” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">…it’s 7 o’clock.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Bollocks.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">The place is empty so I don’t fancy hanging
around. And I don’t fancy doing the walk twice more. So I give up. But I’m
still hungry. I stop off for a Mcdonalds on the way back. I’m not talking about
a McFlurry, a full cheeseburger meal. When I reach my van I’m still hungry and
have a bowl of cereal. Don’t diet, run!!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Thursday. Last full day in New Zealand.
Nothing much to do but head South, rejoin Highway 1, and head to Auckland. I
wonder if I might see Brooke again on Highway 1, because most people will have
to go that way down to Auckland. But she didn’t need to get back until Sunday,
and was planning to stay up North a lot longer than me. I’m being silly. I
guess after travelling for so long I’m missing company. Luckily, Ben is free to
join me tonight back in Takapuna.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">The scenic road south from Whangarei is
fairly scenic, but extremely wriggly. In fact I’m in danger of running out of
diesel because the hills and bends are using so much more than they should
have. I pop out onto highway 1 and am glad to see a familiar petrol station.
Though not glad to remember it’s the one with the pump attendant.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">What’s the point of a pump attendant? It’s
not a complex task. I don’t mind standing around with a petrol pump in my hand.
But if he’s filling the tank I’m just standing around with…well, nothing to do!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Back on highway 1 and heading south I spot
a hitch-hiker. Despite my tongue-in-cheek comments last blog, it’s hard to tell
what someone looks like as you head towards them at a hundred
kilometres-an-hour. I can tell that it’s a woman, and she’s not huge, but
that’s about it. So I brake and hope she’s as interesting as Brooke was.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">She’s certainly similar looking to Brooke.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Very similar.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">In fact….<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Hello!!!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Hey, Brooke!!! What the hell?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">She’d made better progress than expected,
ending up ahead of me. But still, for me to come along at the same time as she
was waiting alongside a very busy road, the main road of New Zealand no less,
was pretty amazing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">So we caught up on adventures and swapped
stories, before I dropped her off at a Honey store by the road.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Is it a special place?” I ask.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“No, I just like honey”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Well, that cheered me up. It’s nice to
return to Takapuna, and be in a place where I know the layout. Ben makes the
long trek across the bay to meet me, and we have a few last beers.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Friday is a fairly boring day in a lot of
ways. There’s nothing to do but admin. Returning the bike, the van, catching a
flight. But it’s also very exciting. Not least because I get to see whether
I’ve won my two thousand dollar bet!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">You see, the van rental people have an
excess of 7500 dollars. So if I have a prang I might have to pay that! In fact
they charged the full amount to my credit card as a bond. Maxing out my card.
You can pay to have this excess reduced to nothing. But on a 33 day rental that
would cost two thousand dollars. So I gambled.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">But for some reason this makes the last
day’s drive particularly nervous. Of course, I’m in the only campsite that has
a very tight entrance. It’s today that a lady chooses to park her caravan
across the entrance, making it tighter, but I squeeze through.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Somehow I survive to the bike rental place,
and say goodbye to my bike. I park up and indulge in the epic task of repacking
my stuff down to 2 bags for flying. Not helped by stuffing in my XL helmet.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Finally I make it back to the rental place
and the van’s in one piece. I get all my money back, wahoo!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“You have to pay diesel tax, 5 bucks per
hundred kilometres”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Boo!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">To the airport, and into the business class
lounge.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Oh , sweet luxury. After 33 days in a
campervan this feels really good.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Now just a 14 hour flight to get through
and I’ll be in Vancouver.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">…and it’ll still be Friday night!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<!--EndFragment-->The Road Worrierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05550283398632079792noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-407278428288403671.post-42140012773850394162013-04-16T03:30:00.003-07:002013-04-16T03:30:45.505-07:002.9 The End of The Road?
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<!--StartFragment-->
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Papamoa Beach is very pleasant, and I’d
love to stick around, but I’ve only got a week left, and there’s so much of
this wonderful country to see. Plus, I’ve got a night out with two gorgeous
young Kiwis tomorrow in Auckland.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">The question is whether I have time to
drive round the Coromandel peninsula on the way. It’s supposed to be very
scenic, but it’s going to mean two days with quite a lot of driving and not
much chance to enjoy the beaches. Maybe I could skip it and just hang out at
the beach?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">But Friday morning is somewhat overcast,
not ideal beach weather so I head up the coast. The road travels inland,
meaning I can’t just enjoy the shore as I go, I have to guess which spots to
visit. I stop for lunch at Waihi Beach, which is also very pretty. Then drive north
to Hot Water Beach.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">The descriptive name is due to the natural
heating of the water from under the sand. If you dig a deep enough hole, and
get sea water in it, you can sit in your own natural hot-tub on the beach.
However! You can only do this on a very small stretch of quite a large beach.
So I arrive to find a half-mile stretch of completely deserted beach, except
for a twenty yard stretch were fifty people are gathered in and around holes. I
didn’t fancy all that digging lark, so I enjoyed a run down the empty beach,
then when a couple got bored and abandoned their hole I had a quick go. It’s a
larf I suppose, but no Kerosene Creek.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I rang up and booked a spot at the Top 10
in Coromandel Town, hoping beyond hope that there’d be some life on a Friday
night, though it’s unlikely in a town of 1700 people. But the drive across is
something else.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">The morning’s clouds have dissipated
throughout the day and as we reach Golden Hour the sun is free to shine. (I
don’t know if everybody knows about Golden Hour, it’s the term film-makers use
to describe the last hour before sunset when the light is particularly
beautiful). Well, I’m heading East across the Coromandel, towards the setting
sun, I have my “Awesome Lenses” on, and the scenery is just beautiful. Not
spectacular like much of the South Island. Beautiful.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">The road twists and winds endlessly up a
climb. I’ve about 20km to go and I’m tired of the turns, they’re hard work in a
campervan, but I’m not bothered. I’ve got Bob Seger on the stereo, and he’s
singing about “The Fire Inside” as well as when he felt “Like a Rock”:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“I stood arrow straight, unencumbered by
the weight, of all the hustlers and their schemes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I stood proud, I stood tall…”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">It’s an incredible Road Trip moment. The
drive, the music, the light, the scenery. For at this point I reach the top,
the viewpoint, and the eye-melting vista. Down to the glittering Coromandel
town, out across the shining sea, and up into the golden sky.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“…high above it all. I still believed in my
dreams.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">And if the guitar solo doesn’t make you
shed a tear, well, you’re probably not standing on top of a mountain, on your
own, twelve thousand miles from your friends and family, and watching the
sunset into a beautiful bay.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Down to earth, with the descent down the
other side into Coromandel town. Indeed it is very small, but I’m pleased to
find a lively-looking pub at the top by the campsite. No bloomin’ barstools
though! I walk down the main street and find another bar which has stools, but
nobody in it, and then a fairly large pub, but with not many people and no
barstools.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Time to play Friday-night-Roulette.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Go for the barstools, says my inner voice.
So I enter the “saloon bar” which has maybe 5 people in it and sit at the bar.
There’s one girl sitting on the end of the bar, but she looks barely 18, so I sit
close enough to be within conversation distance but far enough to not look like
I’m hitting on her.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Luckily, the barman is quite chatty. Eric
has a Maori dad and is barely 18 himself. He’s leaving in two weeks, to go and
work in the big city. I get Fish and Chips. A couple more guys and a girl enter
the bar and sit on the end with the first girl. But the body language isn’t
helping me say hello, it’s all elbows and backs. I’m out of food and out of
beer, but decide to hang in there for another pint and watch the rugby.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Can you turn the rugby off please?” the
second girl asks Eric.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I pull a startled face.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Oh, were you watching that?” she asks me
in a Scouse accent. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Yeah, but I don’t need the sound. Are you
a Scouser?” I reply, demonstrating my knowledge of accents and keen ear.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Nah, I’m from Middlesbrough”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“!” and “?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“But I lived in Liverpooool”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">A-ha! I know everything about Liverpool,
having lived somewhere near there, once, when I was about five, so I’m able to
engage her in conversation. Emily is late twenties and works out here. She
wants to get a job down in Queenstown. I ask what’s good to do in Coromandel on
a Friday night.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Well, we’re heading down to the Bottom
Pub”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Excuse me?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Oh, there’s the Top Pub and the Bottom
Pub. They’ll have Live music, you should come with us”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">And so begins another night of intellectual
debate about politics, history, relig…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">JAGERBOMBS!!!!!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Something called a “barmaid”. Which holds
several pints and has a tap and I last saw in Hooters near San Diego.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Some wannabe bodybuilder friends show up,
eager to display their manliness by downing pints. Thankfully I’m too mature
for that kind of..<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">JAGERBOMBS!!!!!!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">We drag in the rest of the bar, which turns
out to be a couple from Adelaide. I play some guy at pool, and finally we head
for…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">JAGERBOMBS!!!!!!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">…we head for the Bottom pub.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">The band are really rather good, though
after a few Jagers it’d be a surprise if they weren’t. They play covers from
all sorts of bands. The usual stuff, plus some cool choices, like my favourite
Pink Floyd song, and don’t flinch when Emily yells at them to “Play Kimbra!!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">We have a good dance and a great night and
all too soon it’s closing time, but outside the others are piling into a car
with barely enough room for the locals so I don’t get an invite, or the chance
to wish Emily goodnight.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Ah well, just another brick in the wall.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Sunday was predictably slow to start, and
oh, wait, it’s Saturday. I’ve got a night out in Auckland to get to.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">But the roads. Uurgh, the roads. Give me a
Lotus Elise and this would be fantastic. But a long wheelbase transit with
cupboard-loads of pots and pans rattling around?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">The road snakes along the shore, seemingly
forever, before finally reaching the mainland from the peninsula, and open
land. I deviate through a place called Miranda, for reasons which should become
clear later, hoping to collect a souvenir, but it’s less than a hamlet, without
even a town sign to photograph.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I battle on towards Auckland. After a good
night out it’s a tiring drive, but eventually I reach the motorway and head
into the City.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Motorway!!!!????!!!!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">It’s been four weeks! Four weeks of driving
almost constantly. Mountain roads. Small towns. Lake sides. Deserted highways.
For four weeks a traffic jam has meant coming across two cars together. Now I
find myself surrounded by five lanes of nose-to-tail cars, with five lanes
heading the other way!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">And buildings: Huge, vast, tall buildings,
everywhere!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Overload!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Last time I arrived in Auckland after
London and Tokyo. It felt small and quiet. This time it’s big and frightening.
Luckily Sat Nav and the Motorway take me straight through the city and dump me
on the North Shore.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">With thanks to Catherine I’ve found an
incredible campsite, right on the ocean but yards from the North Shore bars. I
run on the beach and look forward to a crazy night out with a couple of
youngsters and who-knows what crazy friends. Friday night in a small town was
good, Saturday night in Auckland is going to be…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Renkon”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Pub?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“It’s not a pub”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Pu-b?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“It’s a Japanese food place”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Pu-ub?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“No, it’s not a pub”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Cat’s been doing something called “Work”
all day and is tired. Elena’s also tired. What’s wrong with kids these days?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">So we have a nice meal, and go for a drive
to a Kiwi-yo for some nice Ice Cream. I’m introduced to a plethora of sweet and
crunchy toppings, but none of them are beer, and dropped back by my campsite in
a bit of a daze.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">It’s fantastic to see the girls again, but
disappointing that we’re not sharing a crazy night out.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">There’s still time for me to spin that
roulette wheel on my own, and I think I’m in luck when the Irish bar are
showing the Warriors (Rugby) league game. But nobody’s watching it and there’s
nobody to talk to.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">My stomach’s a bit off since my lunchtime
meatball subway, so my sensible side is glad it didn’t turn into a big night.
In fact I’m still feeling rough in the morning. So I decide to stay put.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">But the campsite’s a bit noisy and
unpleasant for staying put, and there’s a Top 10 just outside of town. Maybe
just a few miles.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Off I pootle, and am reminded of one upside
of motorways when I get a half-decent brekkie at the service station.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I reach Orewa Top 10, but it doesn’t look
great. My breakfast is helping. Maybe just a few more miles?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Magical Mangawhai is next. That’s what the
road signs say, but they’re wrong. So I head on to the next Top 10 at
Whangarei. It’s not a great place, but the campsite’s nice and by some woods,
so hopefully I can get a decent run. The guy in the next van is sitting with
his headphones on and his laptop. He turns out to be from Estonia.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Are you travelling alone?” I ask.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“No!” he seems startled. “My girlfriend was
with me, then she cheated on me with a guy, now I wait for her to decide if she
wants to be with me”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Oh. How long have you been in New
Zealand?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“A Month”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Wow” I say, “Have you been to the South
Island?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“No. Just round here”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“WHAT?!!?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Well, I’m not going to go by myself am I?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Why not? I just did. Had a great time!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“I must learn to do that” he says, and
returns to moping.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I go for a run, and it’s a great run. The
woods lead to the Parahaki Scenic Reserve, and a path up to the Lookout. The
sign says “40m”, presumably 40 minutes, but is that return or one way?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Only one way to find out!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Well, you know the story by now. Lots of
struggling, sweating, climbing, running, battling, and generally complaining
about how hard it is but how good it feels at the end.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I did manage to overtake the local fire
brigade who were on a training jaunt up the hill. But then those boys were
wearing their heavy jackets, trousers and boots!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I fancy a walk into town to watch the
Chinese Grand Prix, and I invite the Estonian.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“No. My girlfriend might come back”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">It’s a bit of a hike to town, but there’s a
Legends Sports Bar so I’m looking forward to massive HD screens, flowing beers,
chicken wings and attractive young waitresses.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Closed on Sundays.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I utter a word, which is technically a body
part close to a leg end, and look for somewhere else. There only appears to be
one pub open, in a town of fifty thousand people!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I walk in the door and there’s half a dozen
locals playing a pool tournament with some Jonny Cash blasting from the speakers.
On the screens, grown men are being pulled round a dirt track in little buggies
behind horses.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">The woman behind the bar looks like an
Eastenders Bar owner.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Er, can I watch the Grand Prix?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“The what?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“The Formula One? ….motor racing?….from
China?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“What’s it on?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Sky Sports 2” (Rule 1 of watching sports
abroad - Do your research!)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Suddenly, the old dear becomes very
helpful. Puts the telly on, and offers to put me out back where I can have the
sound.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Brilliant!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Ooh, I think I can get the sound on in
here. Yep, there”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">So she cranks the volume to ear-bleeding
levels. The guys playing pool now can’t here Jonny, and are being deafened by
some Scotsman banging on about tyre-degradation and heat-cycles.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“ERE, WHO’S GOT THAT ON?!!?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Bar lady: “This fellow here wanted it”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Oh great, now I’m hated by the locals, and
I don’t suppose they realize it’s a two hour race. At least I’ll get some food…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Nope, no food.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Uh-oh. This could be a problem.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“But I can do you a toastie for two bucks”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">So instead of a shiney sports bar I find
myself watching the race at my newest Nan’s. The picture’s fuzzy, in the wrong
aspect ratio, chopped off, and the sounds distorting. Meanwhile I’m expecting
to get a pool cue wrapped round the back of my head any second. Still, the toastie’s
nice.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I survive to rise another day, and as I
leave the campsite the Estonian is still sitting alone.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Who knows, maybe she’ll come back to him,
they’ll enjoy the rest of their holiday and rekindle their relationship into a
wonderful life together. But I can’t help thinking: “So long Sucker!” as I
leave the campsite in search of more adventures.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">But my spirit is soon dampened. It’s
chucking it down. Proper chucking it down. Once again I’m tempted to stay put.
But do what? Sit in my van waiting for Estonian romance?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">If I head North East I’ll pass the fabulous
Bay of Islands. But visibility is so bad it will be the Bay of Murky Grey
today. So I head North West. From what I can tell there’s not much there, even
on a good day, until you reach Ninety Mile Beach. So I plod on, making myself a
new paylist with Luke Bryan singing “Rain is a Good Thing”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Eventually I get to Ninety Mile Beach, but
with visibility more like ninety yards it could be any old beach.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">There’s a campsite, but it’s being battered
by the wind and rain. That’s going to be a problem anywhere round here. But the
Top 10 promises to be in a sheltered cove, so I head there. It’s on a smaller
peninsular, called Kari Kari, which turns around on itself offering beaches
facing North, West, South and East within a few miles. But today they’re grey,
wet, windy, and miserable. The campsite’s OK. So I huddle up with some baked
beans whilst my van gets blown around, and I’m very glad of the internet,
facebook and online friends.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">The thought of quitting enters my head. I
can’t be bothered with this for 4 more days. Maybe I can get an earlier flight
and have time to recover in Vancouver before the weekend. I’ll decide in the
morning.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">But in the morning it’s a little brighter,
and it’s almost stopped raining. OK, let’s finish the job.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">The final 100km of State Highway 1 runs
parallel to Ninety Mile Beach and ends at Cape Reinga, where there’s a
lighthouse and a signpost, and hopefully a burger bar. But the land’s only a
few miles wide the whole way. So I’ll have to drive back down again. Worse,
there’s only a few turn-offs to the beach. I take one, drive 6km to find that,
yes, there’s still beach.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Visibility has plummeted again, and the
rain is back, so there’s nothing in the slightest bit remarkable about the beach.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">There’s nothing remarkable about the road
either, no real twists or turns, climbs or drops, just a long boring plod
northwards. My only moment of excitement is coming across a herd of sheep in
the road, and watching them be herded around my van.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I stick Creedence Clearwater in the CD
player. “Who’ll Stop The Rain?” and count down the kilometres. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Fifty.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Forty.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Thirty.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Hey, there’s some prat hitch-hiking! I
wonder how he got this far and no further. The poor sod is getting soaked. And
looks like a woman. A cute woman at that. Well, until she scowls at me for
failing to<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">STOP!!!!!!!!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Now before you go thinking (to quote the
bumper sticker) “I only brake for Hot Chicks”. A small woman is less
intimidating than a lone guy, and I’d feel worse about leaving her standing
alone at the side of the road. Besides, it’s my stuff, my neck, my risk. So
yeah, I only brake for hot chicks!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">There’s no point asking where she’s
heading, as there’s only one place left on the road.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">She asks: “Are you heading for Cape Reinga?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Er, yeah, there’s nowhere else down this
road!” I answer, smooth as ever.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">She rather considerately puts a towel on
the passenger seat before hopping in, and she’s wielding a huge, expensive
camera, so probably not a thief. (Unless she’s nicked the camera)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I introduce myself.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Brooke!” she answers, in a cheery Canadian
accent.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Where ya from Brooke?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Colorado”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Brooke’s around thirty, witty, smiley, and
a masseuse. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">The miles fly by. It’s great to have a
travel companion for a while. People ask me:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Do you like to travel by yourself?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Hell yeah!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">But that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t enjoy
company. I’ve never said, “No, it’s OK, don’t come, I’ll go on my own”. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">It’s different though. With someone to
focus on inside the van, what’s happening outside the van is less intense. Whereas
on my own I live every curve, every climb, every car, every view, with company
it’s just a road and scenery. I’d never be bored with an interesting companion,
but would I be brought to tears by a hillclimb if I was nattering all the way
up?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">We reach the end of the road, or at least
the sat nav says so. The fog has descended and enveloped us, and we can barely
make out the car park ahead. No signpost, no lighthouse.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I offer Brooke a lift back and she accepts
gladly. It also saves her lugging her bag around while we search for the
lighthouse.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">We park up, get out and find a path.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I spot a bloke heading towards us out of
the mist and ask:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“How far’s the lighthouse?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Eeee, it’s aboooouuuuut teeeen
miiiiinuuutes from heeere” comes a familiar-sounding reply.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Where’re you from?” I ask.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“The North of England” he replies,
redundantly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“I got that, but Lancashire?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Aye”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Lancaster?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“No. Morecambe, well, Heysham”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Within a five mile radius for accent
spotting! Back in the game!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Brooke and I head on through the murk,
several people pass us in the other direction, but nobody’s going our way. Finally
a lighthouse looms out of the mist in front of us.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">We’re here.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I’ve made it to the end of the road. And
I’m here at a lighthouse, surrounded by fog, with only the sounds of the waves,
and my new friend for company. I’d have loved to come here on a clear day and
admire the views. But in it’s own way, this is pretty special.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<!--EndFragment-->The Road Worrierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05550283398632079792noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-407278428288403671.post-63138097933731456172013-04-11T05:35:00.002-07:002013-04-11T05:35:23.333-07:00 Two Eight - North
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Spending the night in a car park with my
head six feet from a main road was unsurprisingly not conducive to a quality
night’s sleep. So in the morning I leapt at the chance to acquire one of the
glamorous spots on the other side of the car park. This gave me the chance to
do another entire day’s drive in reverse (a feat you’ll remember clearly from
chapter three) and the extra ten yards made a surprising difference to the
noise.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I set off in search of food and (now don’t
fall off your chair) I walked past the sports bar offering “All you can eat
pancakes”. Well, they didn’t have seats at the bar, and besides I’d been given
a tip-off: Fidel’s is the place to go for brunch. I knew it was appropriately
on Cuba Street, but it’s a long street so I looked around for help. A pregnant
lady stopped by me to light a cigarette. As she was clearly a person of great
intelligence I asked her for directions.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Fidel’s? Yes, you see that grey building
right down there?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“What the one miles away?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Yep, that’s it”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Eurgh!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">But it was OK, this was going to be an
awesome experience. So I trudged on down the street, pausing at umpteen sets of
lights before finally reaching Fidel’s which was… without power, and therefore
not serving food.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“EEEEuuuuurrrrrrgggghhhhh!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I found another place nearby and had a
decent breakfast, served on a ciabatta. La dee daa.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Next up, a trip to the museum. (That should
have knocked you off your chair!) Te Papa is trumpeted as a Must See in
Wellington and contains “an amazing collection of Maori artefacts”. It’s also
hosting an exhibition dedicated to video games. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">….and STILL, I didn’t enjoy it. Guess I’m a
lost cause. But I did enjoy the chance to experience Magical Sound Shower. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I went up the cable car, and down through
the botanic gardens, which were pleasant enough. But this isn’t why I came to
Wellington. I came here to par-tee.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">And that’s where Helen comes in.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">A friend in Amsterdam put me in touch with
her good friend Helen who lives in Wellington. Helen had sent me loads of
suggestions on what to do, and we arranged to meet for dinner. But I was
concerned, her messages had a serious tone and I thought maybe she’d be dull
and boring. I was wrong.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">We met up in a bar called “The Library”
which is very cool, has the appropriate décor, but is also very dark which
can’t make reading easy. I was eyeing up the Knight Rider annual on a shelf
behind the bar and wondering if I could read it whilst projecting an attitude
of ironic detachment.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Helen showed up with a friend and a
boyfriend and we went to Chow for dinner and ate Asian fusion food with
chopsticks, which was very nice.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">By this point you’re probably thinking
you’re reading the wrong blog, but fear not, we were soon on a tour of the
local drinking establishments. Wellington may be a cultural town, but on a
Saturday night there’s more than a whiff of Newcastle or Cardiff about it. Lots
of young people in very short skirts tottering around and shouting. The bars
and clubs were packed, and we had a very good time.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">So good, in fact, that the next day’s drive
was a real slog. After two great evenings, and two nights in a car park I was
struggling. I’d decided to head for Napier, but boy was it a long drive.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Finally I arrived at Napier, the World
Capital of Art Deco. Now I do actually like a bit of “Art Deco” so I was
looking forward to Napier, but I don’t know about you, I hate all this
self-aggrandizing. Calling yourself the World Capital is only going to set me
up for disappointment. Why not just say “Napier. We’ve got a bit of Art Deco
knocking around, come have a look”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Then I would have been much more impressed
by the town centre, the Daily Telegraph building and the seafront. As it was I
said:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Meh, I prefer Miami Beach”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Maybe it’s the rain. I’ve done really well
for weather the last fortnight, but it’s wet and windy at the seaside. I even
abandon my idea for a run along the seafront, and resort to lapping the
campsite, which turns out to be gigantic.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">After the weekend’s antics it’s a quiet
night, then up early for some Mountain Biking.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Which sucks.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I can’t believe it. After some amazing
rides I thought I was falling in love with this sport, but today I’m hating it.
Their tracks run through a forest and they’ve created dozens of them. Yet
they’re all the same. The forest floor is slippy with dew, and the only thing
that makes the intermediate tracks tougher is trying to get up slippy slopes.
There’s nothing technical here to occupy my attention, no jumps, berms or
ledges. There’s not much in the way of signs either, demanding frequent stops
to look at the map. The past rides I’ve felt scared to death, here I’m bored to
death.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">The only thing that is scary is the sound
of gunfire. The map says:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“All tracks through the gun club firing
range are off limits to bikers”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">but fails to mention which tracks they are,
or where the firing range is.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">So I’m frustrated, lost, bored, and being
shot at. Time to go.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">The drive to Lake Taupo is a lot more
enjoyable. After weeks of stunning scenery it’s a surprise to meet something
new. The road climbs for several miles before bursting out from the woods onto
a plateau. Wow. One second there’s trees and hills all around, the next the
view stretches forever. It’s like someone pulling away your toilet walls and
finding yourself in the centre of Wembley Stadium!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Into Taupo and it’s time to jump out of a
plane. For Taupo is, of course, the World Capital of Skydiving. Yeah, right,
bollocks to that. Do you really think “The Road Worrier” is going to sign up to
jump out of a plane? I get scared just walking into a shop. If I somehow found
myself in a small plane, and someone pulled out a parachute, smiled and said:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Wanna?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Then, yeah sure, Geronimo. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">But book a slot, wait around, turn up, get
on the flight, go up, and then jump? The jump isn’t the danger, it’s the heart
attack I’d give myself worrying about it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">With that decision made I enjoy Taupo.
There’s a racetrack where you can drive a V8 racecar, but not today, so I take
in the lake and the town and pretend I’m on holiday to have a relaxing time.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I get talking to a girl ….called …….Deb….bie…?....
about travelling and seeing the world. She lives in Taupo but has some big
ideas. She wants to experience culture and history. Her boyfriend is in Cancun
for Spring Break, and is coming back via Vegas. I know who I’d want to holiday
with!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Another day, another bike ride. But this is
much more like it. I’m at the Craters of the Moon track. Although I think it’s
much better pronounced:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Craters…..Of The Moooooooooooooooooon!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">…and it’s awesome. Lots of variety, clear
signs, crazy slopes. I head onto the Outback Loop, which snakes through woods,
bushes, streams and clearings. I haven’t seen anyone for ages when I ride over
a large rock and the front wheel drops directly onto a tree root with a smack.
Woah! That could have burst the tire. Imagine that, a puncture in the outback!
If I couldn’t fix it I could die of exposure before anybody… well, no, but it
would be a long boring walk back. I ride on, thinking: At least there’s no
crazy animals out here, not like the Australian Outback. When suddenly I hear:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">PHHHHHEEEEEEOOOOWWWWWeeeeeeoooooooeeeeeOWWWW…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“What the hell is that?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">…eeeeOOOOEEEEflobalobalob.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">That, is the sound of a rapid loss of tyre
pressure. Oh, bugger. Well, I’ve got a spare tube so here goes. Now, what do I
remember from teenage puncture repairs? Don’t pinch the tube, don’t pop the new
tube on the same sharp thing. And there we are, fixed. Phew. Nobody passed by
while I was stopped. Best get some more tubes!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Having survived the Outback it’s Rotorua
next. But it’s only just down the road, so I loop the long way round Lake
Taupo. It’s a beautiful view most of the way round, but the rain shows up to
spoil my fun. I whip out Blue Amazon again, and this time there’s no
coincidental respite.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">There is, however, a whiff of burning
rubber. Uh-oh. I can fix a puncture but not a motorhome, what the hell is…?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Welcome to Rotorua.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">World Capital of Sulphur. (Probably). <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I check into the Top 10 campsite, hit the
town, and finally get someone to share my campervan. His name is Ben, he lives
in Auckland, and I mentioned him earlier. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Ben’s come down for a couple of days break
from the Big Smoke, and it’s great to have another drinking buddy. But Roto is
no Welly. We walk back and forth, round and about the town, trying to find
anyone who’s out on a Tuesday night.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">We ask in the Irish pub if there’s anywhere
lively.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Try the backpackers place: the Lover bar”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Lover bar?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Yeah”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“er, OK”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">We eventually find the Lava Bar, the
dancefloor’s lit up ready for action, but the place is dead. Oh well, we head
back to the brew pub we’ve passed, expecting old men and boredom, but find an
open mic night has started. We get some half-decent songs, and some odd
company, with a few Japanese characters, and a couple of German lads who we
hang out with and sample the fine ales.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Somehow we make it through the night in the
van without anyone getting kicked in the head – I’m glad it’s a massive van! -
and head off in different directions in the morning. Ben thinks a holiday is
for relaxing and enjoying yourself, so is off to find a mineral pool. I’m off
to kill myself.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Yup, we’re talking biking again. Third day
in a row, but Rotorua is The World Capital of… actually, I haven’t seen that,
but it has been referred to as Mountain Bike Mecca. So I have to ride the
tracks. Or at least some of them, their network is huge. There’s dozens of
tracks in the forest. At first I’m apprehensive, the initial track is very
reminiscent of Napier, a dull meander through the trees, but then I find some
better tracks. Sadly, you can’t loop round just on the tracks, you have to use
the forest gravel roads to link them together. There’s even an option of a
shuttle bus up “Hill Road”. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">But I didn’t come here to sit on a bus,
where’s the sense of achievement in that? So I ride, and I climb. And I climb.
And …flippinheck. This is one hell of a climb. On and on it goes. The sun is
beating down and my helmet is an inverted bucket of sweat. Only my head reduces
the flood pouring into my eyes. My legs are arguing with my back over who hurts
the most. My hands want to join in. Onwards I climb. I can’t see. I can barely
breathe. There’s no sign of the next track. I’m exhausted, half lost, alone.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">This is how to holiday!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Finally I spy the board marking the start
of the next track. I’ve made it. Eureka. Keep your bus. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">It doesn’t take quite so long to get down.
This track is marked as more difficult, and they’re not kidding. Jumps, berms,
rocks, roots. This has it all. It’s too much for me. Especially my hands,
they’re so sore from hanging on and braking like crazy. But I make it down in
one piece. Right. I’ve been going nearly two hours, and I’m knackered. I’m
done. Time to head to the car.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Except I’m miles away. There’s no quitting
here. On I ride, thankful I have water and a cereal bar. On, down and up, up
and down, over crests, through valleys, on.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Finally I reach “Dipper” and know I’m
almost there. It’s a great track. Swooping along, with lots of small jumps even
a wuss like me can enjoy. After Dipper there’s one more choice. The easy way
back to the car park, or an expert track. I want to attack the Expert track,
but I’m so tired I’d be at serious risk of getting hurt so I decide to go Easy.
But there’s a problem. The signpost’s gone. It’s hard to explain, but there’s
nothing to indicate which point I’ve reached, so it’s not even certain which
path is right or left. I haven’t seen anyone in ages. Bollocks.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I look at the map. I could be at either of
2 points. If I go left I might be going the wrong way, if I go right I’ll be
heading the right way, but might be choosing the difficult track. I go right.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">It’s OK at first, then gets tricky. This is
just what I need. I’m exhausted, and just want to get back in one piece, but
they’ve put every kind of obstacle in here and no easy options. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Focus Paul, take it slow, don’t fall off.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I round a corner and stop. I’ve come to a
dead end. What I thought was the track, ends at a river. What now?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I get off my bike for a closer look. It’s
not very deep, and not that big. In fact it’s more of a stream, and the drop is
a jump. Good fun if you’re an experienced biker and awake. Not so much when
you’re a half dead Rookie.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">But I can wade across.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">A couple more turns and, is it? Could it
be? Yes. It’s the CAR PARK!!!!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I stagger out into the light and clmb off
my bike. I’ve only been gone three hours but I feel like I’ve survived the
wilderness.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">And it feels great.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Ben’s been sitting in a pool. Pah!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I get back to the campsite, jump in the
Natural Thermal Pool, get bored in five minutes, then jump out again. Beer
time!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Back to the brew pub, but no sign of Hansel
and Gretel. I have, however, collected another Ben. Or rather Ben has collected
another Ben, as his mate has joined us. I munch my way through a bucket of
potato wedges, then a steak. The Bens decide to go back to Ben’s house, but I’m
too tired. I’ll just finish my beer and stagger back to the van. I move over to
the bar to chat to the bar staff. We’re talking about travelling when a small
guy appears next to me and says he’s the chef and has just knocked off.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Have you done much traveling?” I ask him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Not really, I might have trouble getting
in some countries”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Why?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Because I have convictions”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">The barmaid asks: “anything major?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Yeah, Assault and Battery” he replies.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“My steak was fantastic!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Another guy at the bar is interested in my
trip and buys me a drink to stick around and talk. He’s going on his first solo
holiday next year, despite being in his forties. So of course I have to buy him
a beer. And then there’s another, and these are strong Real Ales, so things are
getting blurry and Dean is getting repetitious. Several times he asks:“Where’s
good to go tonight?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">And the barmaid replies: “Nowhere, maybe
the Lava bar”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Dean fails to persuade her to join us, but
is up for more fun. So we head for the Lava Bar. Except Dean disappears. I retrace
ten paces and find him flat on his back in a car park.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Get up!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Wheeeeeeerrrree weeee goingghh?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“The Lava Bar”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Where is it?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Just down there!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“OK”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">No movement.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“GET UP!!!!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Wheeeeeeerrrree weeee goingghh?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“The…. Lava…. Bar”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Where is it?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Just down there!!!!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“OK”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">No movement.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">By this point I’m poking Dean with my foot,
then prodding him, then practically kicking him. I’m booting a drunk man who’s
on the floor in a dark car park. Maybe this is how the chef got in trouble…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I ditch Dean. I don’t think he’s in any
danger, just being an idiot. And I hit the Lava Bar, expecting emptiness and
time to go home.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">But it’s throbbing! There’s a busload of
backpackers in town, and they wanna have fun. I bump into the chef at the bar,
and he buys me a drink. I talk to a couple of backpackers and dance like a
fool, and we all come to a general consensus that if it hadn’t have been for
cotton eyed Joe, we’d have been married a long time ago. Though we’re unsure
about his background or current whereabouts.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">In the morning I rejoin the Bens and we
head to Kerosine Creek. Forget your campsite thermal pool. This is a proper,
middle of nowhere naturally heated mineral pool. I’m expecting a three foot
puddle, and I’m amazed to find a thirty foot natural plunge pool in an
incredible setting. No entry fees here, and we have it to ourselves.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Too soon the holiday’s over. Original Ben
has to return to Auckland and work. I bid goodbye to New Ben and head north.
But I’m knackered. Three days of biking and partying has wiped me out. It’s
only an hour to my next destination, but it’s a long hour. Finally I reach
Papamoa Beach, and another Top 10.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Do you want to pay the extra for a sea
view?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“How much?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“2 dollars”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Oh, go on then”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">and I’ve made it. I can finally sit back
and take it easy for a few hours. Well, right after I’ve run a few miles on the
beach…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<!--EndFragment-->The Road Worrierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05550283398632079792noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-407278428288403671.post-8352019848256395662013-04-06T23:01:00.000-07:002013-04-06T23:01:44.187-07:00Two. Seven. Up!
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<!--StartFragment-->
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sadly, not many other people are. So it’s a
quiet final night for me here at Harry’s. At least I get to chat to the barmaid
for a while, and Amberly seems genuinely disappointed that I won’t be sticking
around. I leave Queenstown and Harry’s with a heavy heart.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">In the morning my legs are also aching. It
seems the mountain wants to take our battle into extra time and has pinched an
early lead. There’s only one thing for it, fight back!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">It’s amazing where the time goes here. A
month seemed like forever to explore a couple of small islands. Every day I’m
at full pace, I do barely a fraction of the activities available, and yet I’m
still pressed for time.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">After reading the guidebook I could find no
reason to squeeze in Invercargill or Dunedin so I’m heading north. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">And north means hitting Wanaka again, and
another chance to ride the Dean Bank track! Despite my aching legs, the second
time is even better than the first. There’s no choice of routes here, just
pedal like Billy-O, and hanging on. I set myself the target of staying on for
the whole loop, and blast round in barely a half hour. I might just be getting
the hang of this!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Back in the van and on up the road. The
scenery continues to be stunning, and I’m heading for what ought to be the
greatest sight of the lot: Mount Cook, the highest Mountain in New Zealand. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">It’s at the end of a long cul-de-sac, but
what a drive! As I emerge over a ridge, the first thing to hit me is the
incredible blue-ness of Lake Pukaki. The rivers and lakes round here aren’t
just pure-mountain-water blue, they’re weird, alien-landscape blues.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Then I reach “Peter’s lookout” and join the
other gawping tourists. From here we can see Mt Cook, standing tall above the surreal
blue lake, beckoning us onwards down the road. It’s still 50km away, but looks
stunning.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">The road curves and winds, then straightens
out into a valley. Mt Cook is joined by other huge peaks, forming a wall around
the valley, heightening the anticipation that we are heading into a truly
special place. Then, as we approach the towering wall, the road sweeps left,
around the gigantic mound which has been obstructing the lower half of Cook,
preparing to reveal the entire mountain in it’s magnificence. As I reach the
Mount Cook village, the mountain finally re-emerges and it’s utterly, mind
blowingly disappointing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Oh, OK it’s a very nice view. But for me,
the views from miles away were way better than the view close-up.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Nevermind, the reward for making it all the
way is the chance to visit the Edmund Hilary Alpine centre, a celebration of
the greatest Kiwi climber, and a truly great man. Or a collection of old boots
and a few cars, depending how you look at it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I’m always cynical about museums: the
best exhibits here seem to be movies, and I could watch those anywhere, why
come here? Well, I think you come here to trek. To spend days gawping at the
magnificence of the scenery. But as usual I gawp and run, the attention span of
a<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Onwards to Lake Tekapo, one of the greatest
places in the world to observe the night sky. I check-in at a campsite on the
lake shore on a cloudless evening and head for a beer and hopefully some
company, but the local establishments are pretty quiet. This at least gives me
chance to walk back along the lakeshore in the dark and gaze at the incredible
night skies. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Phenomenal.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">In NZ I’m running out of superlatives in
the daytime, now the night sky is blowing my mind! The Milky Way is clearly
visible above me, I see a shooting star, then another, then another…and make
the same wish thrice.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">There’s no moon tonight like at Westport,
and there’s very little local light from buildings. It’s no surprise they built
an observatory on the hill by this lake.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I don’t know if I can cope with any more
incredible sights. I could do with turning New Zealand off for a bit.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Tuesday, and boy, do my legs hurt! Stiff
from the running and the biking, I can barely walk. As I perform the morning
campsite rituals of emptying out and filling up (the van!) a guy asks me where
I’m heading.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Christchurch, I guess”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Yeah us too, unfortunately”, comes his
forlorn reply.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">After a week or more in the brilliance of
Otago and Fiordland it seems sad to head for a city, and was there any fun to
be had in Christchurch? Janelle hadn’t mentioned any.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I toy with the idea of not going, but
there’re no real alternatives, and I should go seethe place while I’m here.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">The drive is boring this morning. My
request for respite has been answered, and the scenery’s gone dull. There are
other people on the road, too. Not exactly traffic, but it’s disappointing not
to have an empty road ahead.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I’m having a glum day. There’s nothing at
all to complain about, and I needed a quiet day, but I’m blue nevertheless. I
stop for lunch in a lay-by and look at the guidebook and the map again. What to
do?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">There’s a Scenic Inland Route. And there’s
a Top10 in Christchurch. It’s far from the centre, but let’s not over-complicate
things at this stage, let’s go!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">The Scenic Route is perfect. Not
overwhelmingly gob-smacking, just pretty, and the sun comes out. I’m back to a
content buzz when I round a corner and the road turns dark under the shade of
the trees.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">But there’s something odd about the
darkness, it’s rippling and seething, and…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“COWS!!!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I brake to a stop, but they’re coming right
for me. Hundreds of cows across the width of the road. So I find myself reversing
away from the herd, hoping a gap opens up I can squeeze my van through! Yep,
this is farmland. I’ve started seeing sheep. I thought New Zealand was supposed
to be all sheep, yet I’ve barely seen any. They talk about the sheep
outnumbering the people, but is that more a reflection on the number of people
than the number of sheep?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Anyhoo, I squeeze through a gap in the cows
and carry on. The sun’s out and I stop for a 99 before reaching Christchurch. At
least I can stay in the Top 10 Holiday Camp. I haven’t been in one for a while
now, and spying the big yellow and blue sign feels like coming home.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Soooooo tired. Maybe I’ll just take it
easy, and do the good stuff tomorrow. I assume the earthquakes will have
reduced the options, so I won’t need too long<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">What little hair I have is getting shabby,
so I find a hairdresser for a trim and ask:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“What’s good to do in Christchurch?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Nothing”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Oh. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I’m very happy to find a Chinese Massage
place in the mall, and they manage to restore some sensation to my legs, though
it’s hardly a deep tissue massage.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Back to the campsite and check what’s
recommended locally.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Either trips outside of Christchurch, or
bus tours of the earthquake destruction.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I find this rather sad. I don’t want to
stare at the damage done, I’ve read about the energy and inspiration that the
folk of Christchurch have shown. Not complaining about their lot, but accepting
the challenge of a fresh start. Yet there seems little evidence of this in the
tourist information. After some digging online I read about the restart mall,
and the gap-fill projects and decide to go see them in the morning.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I park in the park. The brochures proclaim
it: “Christchurch’s answer to Central Park”… it isn’t. If it’s the answer to
anything, it’s “Hyde Park?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Then I walk across towards the Central
Business District and it hits me: The Silence.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">The quake that killed people was 2 years
ago. The major aftershocks stopped around a year ago, so there should be some
real progress by now, right? But seeing the city centre brings home just how
great the effect has been. So many buildings damaged and rendered unsafe, so
much work to be done. And maybe because there’s only 4.5 million people in New
Zealand, there’s only so many people who can fix things. The city’s in ruins.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">But there are signs of life, of the hope of
a new beginning. The chance to replace an apparently drab city centre with some
more inspiring architecture. The gap-fill project uses empty sites in
innovative ways, to brighten the area. I find the Dance-O-mat, where a
coin-operated washing machine powers a dance floor, sound system and lights to
the tunes from your ipod, making for a social music experience.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">…and the Re:Start Mall. If I was from
Christchurch and someone asked me what to do, I’d tell them to come here.
Whether you want to shop or not, it’s delightful to walk around the area, where
shipping containers have been re-purposed as temporary buildings for the shops.
But by decorating them in bright and bold colours they’ve built a very special
place to be, where there might have been a soul-destroying half-assed temporary
mall.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I wish them well, but that’s enough
big-city for me. Back on the road.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Hanmer Springs, or Kaikoura? My friends
back home recommend Kaikoura, for the chance to see whales. I’ve already seen
Wales, so I head to Hanmer Springs.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Hanmer Springs apparently has some great
mountain bike tracks, and lots and lots of hot water springs and spas. It’s
been raining all day, and my legs are still hurting like hell, so I head toward
the hot water springs building, and walk right next door to the information
centre for a map of the mountain bike tracks…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I need a map, because there’s loads of
them! The map recommends 3 different loops which can be ridden. I’m tempted to
string the 3 together. But I’ll just do a half-hour blast. Maybe an hour. So I
hobble onto my bike and set off. The first section is a fantastic flowing
section through the woods. Within moments I’m speeding along between the trees
like an Ewok on Endor. I pass one group of people in the first 20 minutes, and
the rain has given way to sunshine. Time for some harder tracks. I climb up, up
and up the hills above, then swoop down by the river. More tracks. Eventually I
reach the top of the climb up “Swamp”, emerging from the head high grass for a
swig of water and to admire the view. I’m amazed to discover I’ve been going
ninety minutes and glad I’ve brought a snack.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">By the time I get back to the campsite I’ve
been riding almost two hours, in “full attack” mode throughout. I’m utterly
knackered, sweaty, muddy and bloodied. Fantastic!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Another quiet pub night and on towards
Picton in the morning. The road is very pretty again. On any other trip I’d say
it was stunning. I go through Kaikoura but don’t go looking for large Mammals.
Through Blenheim, which has lots of vineyards, but drinking and driving don’t
mix well, so I bezz on up to Picton Top 10.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Here’s the start of the Queen Charlotte
Walk. An epic trail along the edge of Marlborough Sounds with incredible views
across the bays at the islands, peninsulae and isthmi (or whatever the plurals
are). But you should know by now I don’t walk, so I strap on my trainers and
see how far I can run.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Well it’s bloomin’ steep but my legs are
feeling better so I’m trotting along when a young guy in a Brazil shirt
scampers passed me. Bloody kids!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">A few km later I find “Ronaldinho” stopped,
bent over and panting, so I offer him some of my water.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“How far’s the viewpoint?” he gasps.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“5 to 10 minutes”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“I’ll meet you there” he says gesturing me
to go on ahead.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">So off I toddle. When I reach the viewpoint
it’s very impressive, but I still wouldn’t fancy days of plodding along at
walking pace to see more of it. I have a drink, take some pictures and wonder
what happened to “Pele”.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Running back he’s nowhere to be seen, so he
must have quit. It’s not often I get to be the victorious tortoise!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">The evening is chilly and wet, so I don my
cap and coat, and find an Irish bar, the first in almost three weeks! Walking
in the door I’m immediately surrounded by a group of old guys wearing caps with
F.A.H.R.T. emblazoned above the peaks.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Dammit I wore the wrong cap!” I cry,
unwittingly launching myself into an evening of foolishness, Blues music,
drunken revelry, antipodean jocularity and all round good fun. Just don’t ask
me what F.A.H.R.T. stood for!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Friday is ferry day. I’m in the posh seats again,
but on a different ship. Instead of the exclusive eight seat “Cove” for Janelle
and I, this one has a Premium Plus lounge with about twenty people slumped
around untidily. On the upside there’s free food, including chicken curry and
bakewell tart, and without a cove companion I go outside and appreciate the
view.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Wellington, and the usual big city problem.
I want to be near the action, but who puts a campsite downtown?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">WWMP! That’s who!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Wellington Waterfront Mobile home Park is
basically a car park with power sockets and a bathroom, but it’s right on the
waterfront and right by the action. It’s noisy of course, but a few beers
should prevent that being a problem. And there’s plenty of drinking venues here. Sadly
they’re mostly lacking bar stools, but there’s so many bars I find a few places
where I can meet people.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I meet some kiwis in suits, who give me the
usual endless list of things I “have to do” and I meet English people. A lot of
English people. Chrissie from Finchley was particularly memorable, and we
talked for hours. Sadly she's unavailable to join me for the next night, the
whole North Island trip, marriage…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<!--EndFragment-->The Road Worrierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05550283398632079792noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-407278428288403671.post-17901562412713070922013-04-03T01:12:00.003-07:002013-04-03T01:12:45.484-07:002.6 – Going uphill slowly
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
…for the bee. I’m left with a sore head and
the irony that my hated helmet has just caused one death and one head injury.
The poor insect flew right into the vent and got stuck, so stung me with all
its might, instead of bouncing harmlessly off my head. Great, just what I need:
another lump on the forehead.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I went in search of medicinal alcohol, and
found it in a car park. There’s a “Slopestyle” tournament in town, a few
hundred people watching professionals on mountain bikes hurl themselves down a
purpose-built track and launch themselves thirty feet into the air, often
upside-down.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I then check out a few pubs. Queenstown’s
supposed to be a party town, so it should be awesome for Easter. But the bars
don’t have stools, and I don’t have the nerve to just wander up to a group of
people sitting round a table and say: “Mind if I join you guys?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">After a few bars I’m getting cold, bored
and tired, and decide to call it an early night. But on the way back to my van
I get annoyed. I don’t want to quit yet. So I grab a jumper and head back out.
There’s two bars just down the hill, and the second one is called “Harry’s Pool
Bar” but turns out to be the promised land. A busy bar with lots of happy
people, screens showing a rugby game, no queue to get served, and …a beautiful
long bar with stools. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Harry, I love you.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Probably not the best thing to say when you
walk into a bar, but fortunately the barman wasn’t named Harry. I sat down, got
a beer, watched rugby, and sure enough got talking to a few random people about
Queenstown.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">There’s a heck of a lot of English people
here. After a few short conversations, I notice another Northern accent and get
talking to a girl named Jess who look’s about 21. It’s nice to chat to someone
who comes from the same place. Quite literally, as Jess explains to her German
friend:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“This is Paul. We were born in the same
hospital!!!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Wow, on the same day?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Who says Germans don’t have a sense of
humour?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">We have a good talk about travelling the
world, and I find Jess’s exploits far exceed mine (I hope she can’t write witty
nonsense about them!). A poor night turns into a great night, and I’m
disappointed when they close the bar at midnight.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">On Friday I have a potter round the shops,
loads of Outward Bound places here and quite a few bike shops, though of course
they don’t have any….<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Wait. What’s that? Could it be? ..and
reasonably priced…and in the sale? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">An XL!!!!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Not just the promised land, I’ve found the
Holy Grail!!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Eager to enjoy my new purchase I head out
to Seven Mile Track, about ten kilometres out of town. Both of my fellow
gondola passengers recommended it as more varied cross-country riding. But
actually, the ride in is ridiculously steep, then you choose from a maze of
descents. It’s not up there with my favourites, but still good fun and there’s
a real sense of achievement when I finally make the climb without stopping or
losing traction. This is no mean feat as I have one eye shut because it’s
stinging with sweat!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I vacate the park just as girls in fancy
dress start arriving for a “Lady’s Only” event. Boooo! Back to town, and back
to Harry’s. I’m starving.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Are you here for the purpose of dining
sir?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Why, yes I am my good fellow”. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">That was an odd greeting.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I drink my beer and wait for my pizza, it’s
quiet in here tonight so I chat to the staff. One lady shares my love for
Oakley’s amazing bronze lenses.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“I call them my Awesome lenses” she says,
and I’d have to agree. Forget rose tinted spectacles, buy some of these and the
present always looks way better. Like Instagram-ing your eyeballs.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">More people walk in and receive the odd
greeting-come-challenge:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Are you here for the purpose of dining?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Er, we want a drink and to play pool.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“We’re only open for the purpose of dining,
it’s Good Friday”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Can we just drink water and play pool?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“We’re only open for the purpose of dining”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“What about if we get a snack?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“We’re only open for the purpose of dining”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“One small pizza between four?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“It has to be a substantial meal”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“That’s ridiculous!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“It’s the law”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Hmm”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“I’ll have to ask you to leave, thanks,
goodbye”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">They walk out, more people walk in.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“We’re only open for the purpose of dining”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“What???”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">And so the play repeats. A scene which must
happen in bars across New Zealand every public holiday as foreigners encounter
this ludicrous law.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">And you know what? You can come back at
midnight and get as hammered as you like.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">So the challenge is to make your pizza last
until midnight.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">My pizza arrives at the bar, and so does
Jess. I hadn’t spotted her in the pub, but she is kind of small. Her and her
friends have had their pizza though and are leaving, so she invites me to join
them at the backpackers while we all wait until we’re allowed to drink.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I take the rest of my pizza back to my
fridge, grab some beers and head down to join them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">The backpackers were a young, attractive
and fun bunch to hang out with, but to protect the “innocent” I never blog
about drunken debauchery, ahem, I mean: social nights out with entertaining
people, so I’ll just say that it was a really fun night out. Am I too old to
become a backpacker?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Staying out all night with people half your
age isn’t difficult. Recovering is the hard part. So the next day was pretty
slow, although I managed a good run along the shore of the gorgeous Lake
Wakatipu.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Back to Harry’s, more rugby to watch, but
it’s a bit warm in the bar. A good looking girl appears besides me and asks the
barmen:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Is it hot in here, or is it just me?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Oh Harry, now you’re even gifting me
punchlines?!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">So I spend another enjoyable night talking
to people from all over, well, England.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Michael from Hampshire:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Yeah, I dunno why people want to go to
bars and just sit with the people they know. You could sit at home and do that!
Much better to sit at a bar talking nonsense to some random nutter, far more of
a larf!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">At which point some random nutter girl buys
me a jagerbomb, before leaving. And if you don’t know what a jager-bomb is,
consider yourself lucky!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Finally I speak to a non-English person,
from Vancouver, where I go next. He tells me a week won’t be enough, but has to
go play pool before he can explain why.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">It’s a Saturday night, so there should be
more epic drunken silliness. But the crazy laws come back into force at
midnight, saving me from myself.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Easter Sunday, and time for something
extreme. I still don’t fancy putting my life in the hands of jobbing
backpackers, so I’m going to take on the mountain. A run up the “Tiki trail” through
the woods to the top of the Gondola. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Tiki” is a Maori word for “bloody steep”,
probably, because it’s a ridiculous climb. The same steep slopes I described
biking down, but worse, because it’s more direct. A figure in skimpy shorts and
vest arrives behind me, more goat than man.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“What are you training for?”, he asks.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Er, I’m just trying to make it to the top!”
I gasp, as he disappears above me. I bet he didn’t have a half a dozen pints
last night (at only 5 bucks each! Cheers Harry!)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">It’s futile.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I can barely get my foot up to the next
rock, let alone maintain a “run” so I drop to a fast climb. I WILL make the
summit. I’m gasping, so I stop for a swig of water (Hey! I actually brought
some water!)before battling on.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">As I pass walkers, descending or ascending,
I find mysterious bursts of energy, and manage to run a little, before rounding
the next bend. Their shouts of encouragement help, fraudulently earned though
they may be.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">About two-thirds of the way up the track
joins a service road, and I can just about run. It’s still insanely steep, but
I’m getting there. Then all of a sudden I spy a wooden shack, then I see a
wire, then a larger building, and I emerge from the forest to the magnificent
view.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Staggeringly, gobsmackingly, magnificent.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Even more incredible than I remember from
Thursday. Maybe it’s the lack of oxygen, but this place really is
eye-wateringly phenomenal.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">And back down again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">This time I stick to the road. But it’s so
steep even descending hurts. By the time I reach the bottom my legs are jelly.
I didn’t manage to run it all but I’ve made it. A score draw perhaps? Too close
to call, Mr Mountain?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">When some sensation returns to my limbs I
pack up the van and head to Glenorchy. It’s a small town at the North end of
Lake Wakatipu. Actually, it’s more of a hamlet, and there’s not much point
being there. But going there! Wow, the view across and around the lake gets
impossibly better. Of course I have my “Awesome Lenses” on, but even without
them this place is stunning.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Back for one last night in Queenstown, one
last trip to Harry’s and after that run…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">You’re damn right I’m here to dine!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<!--EndFragment-->The Road Worrierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05550283398632079792noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-407278428288403671.post-52461128671166572822013-04-01T03:36:00.000-07:002013-04-01T03:36:00.917-07:002.5 - Contains scenes of mild peril
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
“All aboard!” yelled the Captain.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Well, he actually mumbled something about
yellow tickets, which wasn’t very nautical. Nobody seemed to have shown up
speculatively at the end of the 120km road, as there were indeed about 20 of us
on a boat for 75. So it was easy to get a good spot on the bow with a great
view. I slapped on some sun-cream to protect my bonce, then realized the wind
was going to batter it, and a cap wasn’t an option. Bother! Looking out of a
grubby window isn’t the same, but I don’t want a wind-blasted scalp. Ah, but I
have my fabulous new jacket with a superbly adjustable hood. So as the others
around me stood around in t-shirts I covered up and…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">What? You’re more interested in Milford
Sound than my wardrobe choices?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Oh, OK.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Awesome.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">There you go.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">There’s a few places on earth that you have
to see for yourself. Photographs just don’t convey the scale of the experience.
The Grand Canyon is one, this place is another. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">The weather’s glorious, a bright warm sun
shining from a clear blue sky. The mountains soar above us on all sides,
dwarfing our boat. You can fit the QM2 in here, with ease. In fact they did
just that only ten days ago. Our Captain takes us in close to the cliff, then
closer, then closer, until the bow is within touching distance. We get a great
view of the colours in the rocks, and the rainbows from the water cascading
down them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Further on we see seals basking on a ledge.
An unusally shaped mountain dominates the first bend.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“That’s Mount Kimberly” announces the
guide, “though it’s more commonly known as “The Lion Mountain””<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">…because it looks like a lion.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Next to it is the Elephant mountain”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">…which looks nothing like an elephant.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Onwards we sail. (“Sail?” don’t you need
sails to “sail”? Hmmm.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Onwards we cruise. Out into the open sea,
pausing to check a crayfish pot. It’s empty. Out at sea you can understand how
Captain Cook missed this place. The entrance disappears like a magic trick, or
one of Puzzling World’s illusions. Even as we head back in, it resembles only a
small bay until we’re well within the Sound.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Milford Sound is not a sound”, explains
the guide, “it’s a fjord, made by a glacier, not made by a river as a Sound
would be”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“In fact all the Sounds round here are
fjords. To correct the mistake they called the place “Fiordland” …but they
spelt it wrong, and they haven’t corrected that”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">The water’s choppy, but not bad, so I
bounce around on the bow, happily ensconced in my jacket, noticing a few wind-reddened
faces around me. A group of dolphins appears from nowhere, and puts on a short
display for us, then we approach a waterfall and I get to test out my jacket as
the Captain pokes the nose of the boat under the 15 storey drop.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Refreshing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">All too soon we head back to the wharf. Two
hours have flown by. It was a fantastic trip. I’m only sorry I don’t have the
poetry to do the place justice, and pictures don’t capture it, so you’ll have
to go for yourself!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Oh, and you know what? The 4.30 didn’t go
out.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">The drive back down the road is more
restful. Almost too restful, it’s been a long day and I’m tiring as the sun
sets. I’m desperate to reach the campsite before darkness, but the sunset is
turning the little fluffy clouds red as they reflect in the mountain lake below.
This demands a few stops for pictures. My camera’s battery is as dead as mine.
The warning has been flashing since the dolphins yet it keeps on clicking. Good
work Panasonic!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">(..or maybe “shoddy work, sort your battery
display out!”)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Finally I make it back to the campsite,
thank Dannieyell and ask for the nearest pub.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Ridcliffs”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Radcliffs?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Ridcliffs!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I walk down the road and find a restaurant
called Red Cliffs, but it’s a bit posh for me so I nip in another bar and just
manage to get food before they shut at 9!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">The next day was a Wednesday. And because
of my successful dash I had nothing to do. By this point I needed a rest day.
After RTW1 I came up with a rule of staying put at least one day a week, and
I’d already blown that. So I would do nothing today. Except go for a run on the
shore of Lake Te Anau (the second largest lake in NZ, lake fact fans!)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Then I got itchy feet, and not just from
the sand fly bites that you get round here. I went into town and asked the man
in the bike shop about mountain bike tracks round here.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Nope” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">…and XL helmets<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Nope” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I spotted a small plane floating on the
lake. I’ve never been in a small plane, or landed on water, this could be a
laugh. But it was too windy for the pilot. (…and I didn’t fancy going without
him)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">So I was forced to rest. I did find a
cinema showing a movie which purports to represent Fiordland in all it’s
magnificence. But even swooping helicopter shots on a big screen don’t do that.
Especially when the real thing is just outside the door.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Back to the campsite to write a bit, when
Rob and Kerry showed up for one last time. We had a beer and a chat about
plans, ideas and experiences and confirmed we were parting ways. I’ll miss
their familiar faces at the campsites.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Thursday and off to Queenstown. Retracing
my drive from Tuesday, but with time for photo stops and, boy, is it worth it.
The views across the lake to the cliffs are incredible. Miles and miles of
astonishing scenery, until Queenstown appears on the far shore.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">The Top 10 was full for Easter, so I’m at a
different campsite up the road. Whereas the Top 10 was small, with compact
sites tightly knitted between a few trees, the “Lakeview” is a wide expanse of
barren, gently-sloping hillside. But the sites are still compact, so they can
squeeze 300 campervans cheek-by-jowel.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">It’s also very close to the gondola ride up
the mountain, which looms over the town, and has a mountain bike track down it.
Unsure if I’ll ride today or wait for tomorrow I take a ride up the gondola with
my camera and fail to capture the immensity of the vista.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">At the top there’s an insane bungy jump,
and a more tame “luge” which is a downhill track for kids go-karts. Except big
people are allowed to play too. So I painfully squeeze my melon into a piss-pot
helmet and hop on. I whizz past a few people, but it’s hardly thrilling.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I’m not daft/brave enough to fling myself
off a mountain at the end of a rubber rope, so it’s time to grab a 3-day pass
and fling myself off a mountain on some rubber tyres.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“The bike track will be closed over Easter”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Oh.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Seriously?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Over Easter??”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“During Queenstown Bike Week?!?!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I’m appalled.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I grab a half day pass and dash back for my
bike figuring I’ve got 3 hours left and that will be enough for one day. I was
really looking forward to spending the weekend getting better, getting off the
easy green tracks, getting the hang of the blue intermediates, and maybe onto
the insane black tracks.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I grab my bike and helmet, and join the
bikers queueing for the Gondola – no riding up hills here!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Everybody else has a bike with more
suspension than a Monster Truck, and they’re dressed like Robocop. Shin pads,
knee pads, elbow pads, full face helmets, ski goggles… If you called the riot
squad, nicked their shields and gave them a 3 grand bike each, you’d pretty
much have this queue.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Uh-oh!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">What have I heard about this place?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Well, someone said “You’ll be alright, just
don’t stop!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">…and the guy at the campsite said simply,
“You will fall off”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">OhhhKayyy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">A nice man whips my bike from me and
dangles it perilously from a hook atop the gondola, which holds just the front
wheel. As I ascend I scour the mountainside below for the debris of fallen
bikes, but my bike is still there when another nice man removes it at the top.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I give way to a couple of guys, or maybe
girls, they’re wearing so much gear it’s hard to tell, and then it’s time to
go.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Even though I’m on the green run, it’s
incredible. It’s steep, fast, twisty and bumpy. Within moments my hands hurt
from hanging onto the bars and squeezing the brakes. Damn right I’m braking,
but I’m still dropping like a stone across dirt and rocks.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“HoooOOooooOOoollllLLLllllYyY CraaAAaaPP” I
exclaim as I vibrate furiously. This is not like the other tracks. And because
it’s all downhill there’s no let-off! My legs are bored with no work to do, but
my arms are on fire. They’re steering, braking, carrying my weight, and
braking.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I am so very glad I didn’t by the 3 day
pass. This isn’t fun. Not because it’s scary, it’s just so damn rough, and
there’s no glory from climbing any steep parts.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I reach the half-way clearing and stretch
my aching hands.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Owwwweeeowwweeeowww” (or some more profane
utterance)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">The only way is down so I plough on. At
least this makes you focus!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Finally the track bottoms out above my
campsite – “Hey there’s my van!” – and I get to pedal back to the gondola.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I head back to my van for a drink of water,
hoping to regain some feeling in my hands and so very glad that the experience
is over.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Maybe just one more go…”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Helpfully, they can fit 2 bikes on each
gondola carriage, so I get to have a chat on the way up. A guy from
Christchurch recommends a track a few miles from town that has more variety.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">The second time it’s not so bad. I know
where you can go quick without disappearing off a cliff, and where to slow
down. I drop my seat all the way so I can get some weight off my hands, though
they’re still screaming. This is not so bad, in fact I’m quite enjoying it this
time. I still wouldn’t want to do 3 days, but I might have another go.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">It was on the third go that I was involved
in a fatal collision.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I met another nice guy in the gondola, and
he was dressed like me! No plastic accessories other than the mandatory helmet.
I went back down the same green route. It would be nice to explore some other
stuff, but given how crazy the green track was I didn’t fancy the blue with
only a week’s experience.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“I’m getting the hang of this”, I think.
Then remember that’s exactly the point where you gain confidence before skill,
and have an accident. Through the halfway point with barely a pause. My hands
are getting stronger, or they’ve gone numb.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Down the last section, and I’m actually
catching one of the Robocops up! When…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Wham! Something small slams into my helmet.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I brake, but it’s too late. There’s a
piercing pain in my head. I finally bring myself to a stop, duck to the side
out of the way of the bikes behind me, and rip my helmet off. It’s no use.
Death follows swiftly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<!--EndFragment-->The Road Worrierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05550283398632079792noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-407278428288403671.post-87004029362762084252013-03-27T02:07:00.000-07:002013-03-27T02:07:47.213-07:002L4C - Too Late?
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I managed to complete my run on the beach
before the sun disappeared behind the clouds. It decided to stay there, so the
rain showed up to keep me company.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I’ve said it before, but there’s nothing
quite so grim as rain at the seaside. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">First stop of the day was at Punakaiki “Pancake
Rocks”. Well, they have rocks, which look like a stack of pancakes. But they
also have a café serving actual stacks of pancakes. Guess which I preferred!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">The rain continued to fall, and after two
days of jaw-dropping wonderment my feet were back on the ground. The scenery
turned into trees. Miles and miles of trees. Occasionally there was something
amazing – a ridiculously blue river for instance. But it was all a bit glum. I
rolled on into the descriptively named town of “Franz Josef Glacier”. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I took a quick look around town, but there
wasn’t much to see. There was a new Mountain Bike track on the map but nobody knew
how to get to it. The rain finally lifted and there was even some light in the
sky, so I figured I’d have a quick nip down to the glacier that evening,
instead of chancing what the weather would be doing in the morning.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Stunning. Mesmerising. Spectacular.
Awe-inspiring.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">These are words I’d expect to be using to
describe a glacier that has a whole town built for it, on an island where every
bend unveils a new wonder.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">But the only word that sprung to mind was:
Grubby.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">The white ice is cloaked in a layer of
black debris, which kind of spoils the magnificence. The glacier on the
Icefield Parkway is far better, and it has the decency to come down to the car
park, where Franz Josef, and his mate “Fox” down the road, require you to hike
for 40 minutes to even get to the viewing spot 500m away from the face.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Which is why the following morning, with
the clouds and rain still hanging around (well, the clouds were, don’t suppose
rain can hang) I decided to keep rollin’. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">But I should mention the surprise encounter
at the campsite. I got back after grabbing dinner to find my new neighbours were
my old neighbours! Rob and Kerry were parked next to me again. They were
talking to a couple of “Clockers”.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I’d best explain that: There’s not many
roads round the South Island, and most campers seem to be trying to see all of
it. So everybody does a lap, and you’re only choice is which way round you go.
Hence there’s a tribe of people heading the opposite way to me who I’ll only
ever encounter briefly, the “Clockers”, and my tribe, who I keep running into,
the “Antis”. It’s weird, you find yourself checking in at the campsite next to
the German lady you saw in the layby when you were both taking the same
picture, or the old guy you said hello to at the lake.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">So we had a nice chat to this particular
pair of “clockers” but I didn’t remember their names. Those guys are just not
worth it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">In the rain I reach Haast, which seems to
entirely consist of a café. It is at least a nice café, with a roaring fire and
décor reminiscent of Northern Exposure, with animal heads protruding from above
the bar.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I stodge up and roll on. The incessant rain
and monotonous trees require an aural remedy, I select “The Javelin” by Blue
Amazon. It’s an album that’s basically an hour of not particularly remarkable
trance music which serves to heighten the impact of the final tune, their big
hit: “..and then the rain falls” which seems appropriate.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">So for an hour I drift along in a contented
daze. The road meanders and traffic is sparse. I’m enveloped in the music as I
reach the final track. The synthesized strings swell to a roaring crescendo,
then fall away leaving one kicking bass drum, followed by that glorious vocal:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“…and then the rain”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">STOPS!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Bloominheck! I’ve been building up to this
point for an hour. Coping with the drudgery in anticipation of a glorious
climax and now the weather has ruined…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Hang on, the rain’s stopped!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">…and at almost the exact same time I emerge
on to a glorious lakeside road. Twisting and turning, clinging to the steep
slope at the side of the lake. Above me, the arboreal monotony has given way to
a dry cragginess. Incessant green has been replaced by browns, reds, yellows
and black, reflected in the blue lake below.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">This is better. This is more like it. This…
is Otago!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Around Lake Wanaka I skirt, then Lake
Hawea, equally beautiful and into the town of Wanaka.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">First stop, “Puzzling World”. Almost like a
museum, where all the exhibits are optical illusions, but so much more. There’s
a hall of faces, where all the faces follow you around the room. There’s a
perspective twisting room, that looks square, but makes an adult on one side
appear smaller than a child at the other. I particularly liked the sloping
room. The floor slopes steeply, but the walls don’t, giving you the impression
that the floor is level. This makes it hard not to topple over, and indeed a
Japanese tour group entered, literally fell through the room, then left!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">After more mind-bending exhibits, and the
chance to play with a stack of puzzles and games from around the world there’s
a 3 dimensional walk-through maze.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“As long as you start the maze by 6pm
you’re OK” says the guy on the desk.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Will you come and rescue me if I get
lost?” I enquire, half joking.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“We’ll bring you tea and a sandwich”.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">But I needn’t have worried. The maze sign
says it takes 30 minutes to 1 hour. I reckon I can beat that with my top-secret
maze-solving strategy!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">In 19 minutes I’m within sight of the exit
when a guy stops me and asks me to photo him and his wife! Doesn’t he see I’m
against the clock?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“smileonetwothreeclicklovely!!........what
ANOTHER ONE?!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">But I make it to the exit and crash
through, at 20 minutes on the dot, to rapturous applause!! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">(Funny, the looks people give you when you
crash through a wooden gate in a sweaty mess and rapturously applaud yourself.
Oh well!)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Brilliant place that Puzzling World. And I’d
steamed round so fast I still had time to find the local mountain bike park,
and navigate my way round it without a map. Which turned out to be considerably
more difficult than the maze – and the maze didn’t have huge drops to fall
down!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Fortunately I found my car and emerged just
as a young couple of bikers were loading their bikes onto their car.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Is there a map for this place?” I pant.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Sure, have mine” says the guy, and
explains that they’re on their way to Queenstown for Mountain Bike Week.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Which I knew nothing about a week ago, but
now find myself heading inexorably towards!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">At the campsite I have a quick look around
for Rob and Kerry, but they’re not here. Well, I didn’t ask where they’d be
next, so it was pretty unlikely.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">…until the morning, when there they are,
getting their van ready for the day!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">OK, I should point out I keep staying in
the Top 10 chain of Holiday parks, as do they, so it’s less extraordinary, but
still nice to see familiar faces. We compare plans, they’re doing 2 nights in
Queenstown, then 2 in Te Anau, I’m doing 1 in Queenstown, then 2 in Te Anau,
then back to Queenstown…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Wait, that sounds like planning!!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Well, yes, but only because Easter weekend
is approaching so I’d better have something booked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">It’s raining again. I don’t have far to go
to Queenstown, and I’d like another go at the Wanaka track, armed with my
sweaty second-hand map, but it’ll be ridiculous in the wet (the track, not the
map!). So I kill some time wandering round sports shops in a bemused attempt to
see if anyone stocks XXL helmets.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Lucy doesn’t but she has some very nice
jackets for half price, and I don’t have a really good waterproof so I buy one.
She says I should ride the “Dean Bank track” before I leave town.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Their helmets are too small.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I try another shop.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Good Morning, no, sorry those are all the
helmets we have”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Sigh. It’s not that good, what with all
the rain”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“True, but you have a nice jacket”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Ah, thanks”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">…and another 2 shops, but no protection for
the cranially well-endowed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">It’s still pouring down. What to do? I
don’t want to leave town without a ride, but yesterday’s track in the rain will
be lethal. I decide to head out to the start of the Dean Bank track, just to
have a look. It’s only 2km out of town, but what do you know, the rain stops as
I get there, so I give it a go.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Well, thank you Lucy!! Another truly
awesome mountain bike track. No decision points or clumsy maps on this one,
just 11km following a twisty, turny track across desert sands, up cliff faces,
into the woods, down to the river valley floor, up slippery slopes, over jumps,
under tree boughs…fantastic. And thanks to the rainfall I got a good spraying
with mud as I went!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Luckily I have my awesome van and my own
portable shower which …isn’t working. Hmmm. The taps are coughing and spitting
up water and the pump is making an awful racket. I manage a quick wash in the
tepid dribble but this is not good with weeks still to go. Hopefully the tank’s
just empty, but I filled it up recently. Then I remember, there’s a Britz
rental place in Queenstown, and I’m going there next.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I take the scenic route to Queenstown via
Cromwell, and there’s lots more beautiful views of lakes and craggy desert
hills, but I press on and make it to Britz. They shut in 15 minutes but the
mechanic is happy to take a quick look. While I wait the girl on the desk says,
“oh the water tanks are very small. One 2 minute shower and you’re pretty much
out”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I’d have expected more from a 2 person van,
but sure enough the mechanic tops it up and it all works fine.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I apologise for wasting their time (better
than wasting mine coming back if it needed fixing) but they’re very pleasant and
I’m in Queenstown.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">After a week of campsites a few km from
small sleepy towns it’s fantastic to stay a few hundred metres from the centre
of a bustling young town with so much to do. And Rob and Kerry show up again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">But I’m coming back for the Easter weekend
so tonight I take it easy and find a pub with a live singer. No stools at the
bar though. It seems the Kiwis don’t tend to adopt the American
sit-at-the-bar-and-talk-to-strangers habit which is a real shame for a stranger
in a strange land like me. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Tuesday, and a quiet day in store. Next
stop is Te Anau, a small town of no real consequence, but the start of the
120km road up to Milford Sound, the biggest attraction in Fiordland. So I take
my time, fill up with diesel, and set out on the leisurely 2 hour drive.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I’ll get to the campsite in the early
afternoon, then spend the rest of the day sorting out a cruise around the Sound
on the next day. The guidebook warns that the road to Milford will be packed
with buses heading for the popular midday tours, and that booking is essential.
I don’t fancy an early start so I might as well aim for a late afternoon tour,
and try and get one of the smaller boats. I’d rather tour with 75 people than a
couple of hundred, and at least the drive back will be quieter.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">It’s a really beautiful day today, barely a
cloud in the sky… what will it be like tomorrow?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Hang on, if I’m going for a late cruise
anyway, why wait? It will be awful if the weather’s grey tomorrow and I could
have gone today.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Have I got time?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Suddenly my quiet day vanishes and I’m
against the clock. Luckily the roads are as deserted as the land. If I push on
I can reach Te Anau around 12.30. Plenty of time you’d think, but the 120km
drive with all the buses and tourists takes two and a half hours, and that’s
without stopping for views.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I’m in luck, one of my brochures has a
small boat going at 4pm in “Late December-March”, check in 20 mins before
departure. That gives me 40 mins to call at the campsite and maybe grab a quick
lunch.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">So I screech into Te Anau at 12.30 and find
the Cruise centre.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Sorry sir, we’re not running the 4pm
cruise anymore. It’s only Decenber to March.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“But it IS March!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Exactly, so it isn’t running”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Eh!! ….er…..OK, when’s your last cruise
go?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“2.45”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“How long does it take to get there?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Two and a half hours”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Maybe I ain’t cruisin’ today.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">But there’s another company, offering a
4.30 cruise, so I call them:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Do you have space on the 4.30 cruise?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Yes, certainly. But we need six people to
go out”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“What do you mean?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Well, with you, we only have three people
booked, and we need six before we’ll go out.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Oh”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“It’s a nice day, I’m sure we’ll get more
and go out though, don’t worry”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">But I do worry. It’s what I’m best at.
They’re at the end of a very long slow road, where there’s nothing else to do.
How many people are going to drive all the way down there without booking?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">It’s such a beautiful day though, I’ve got
to take the chance. So I duck into the campsite because I’ll be late back, and
the girl on the desk – some oddly spelled name like Danniyell – recommends
another tour group, who do a 3.45 sailing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Thanks, but I wanted the smaller boat.
Besides I don’t think I’ll make that one”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">If I’m going to drive another 2.5 hours,
then jump on a boat for 2, then drive 2.5 back, on top of the 2 I did this
morning, I’m gonna need lunch. Thankfully Te Anau has a Subway. So I munch down
a footlong and hit the road soon after 1pm.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">But there’s nobody on it!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">And there’s not much to see for the first
60km. I mean it’s fabulously beautiful, but only in the way most of the South
Island has been. So I push on. In a car I’d be tempted to plough on, but in a
campervan it’s a bit more tricky. At least I don’t feel like I’m missing stuff
by not stopping…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Oh.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Wow.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">At about the 30km part the road emerges
from the trees into a valley. And what a valley. The floor is flat and wide,
but there’s mountains soaring into the sky. As Tennyson might have put it:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Mountains to the right of me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Mountains to the left of me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Mountains in front of me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Hang on… in front of me? How’s that going
to work? No time now, keep pushing on. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I’m making good time. The 3.45 is easily
do-able even with 20 mins check-in. But I’m heading towards the face of a cliff.
Surely that’s going to slow me down?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Yes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">On the upside, there’s a tunnel.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">On the downside there’s traffic lights and
a sign saying “Wait up to 15 minutes”.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">To the right there’s a countdown clock. 5
minutes 15 seconds to go.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Come on, come on”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">If they need six people and there’s 3 of
us, can’t we pay double?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I’d pay double not to have to come back
again, not to have to pay for diesel, and we’d get a tour with just the 3 of
us. How cool would that be? Surely the others will pay double? How much would I
pay not to have to come again? Could I buy 4 tickets?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Green!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Great tunnel. No messing around with any
bends, or a ceiling. Just a straight drop through a mountain, getting dripped
on.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Out blinking into the sunlight.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Onwards and downwards.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Come on, come on!!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">The road twists and turns, but luckily
there’s still nobody on it. Of course that means there’s nobody to join our
cruise.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Damnit!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">How’re we doing?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">3 o’clock.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Ten km to go.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Good, I’ll have time to bag up stuff for
the trip. Have a quick pee. Ask about the 4.30, and if it’s not going, still
catch the 3.45 - If there’s any places left.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Except there’s something funny about the
destination on the sat nav.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">No time to look now. The road’s still
twisty, and beautiful, …look at that view…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">No, watch the road!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I’m there!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Except I’m not. I’m in the car park, but
there’s still a “ten minute walk” to the cruise terminal<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Quick, quick, quick. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">The drive was great, but I really don’t
want to do it again tomorrow.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Into the cruise terminal. I spy the desk with
“Next cruise 4.30pm” and gasp the question:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Is the 4.30 going out?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“We still don’t have 6 people, but we’ll
get them, it will most likely go out, it’s a nice day.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“How many do you have? Still 3? Or have you
got more”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Oh, the other 2 came earlier and decided
to catch another cruise. It’s just you”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“I see” I yelled over my shoulder, running
for the other desk.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Have you any space on the 3.45?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Oh yes”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“It’s a big boat then?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Oh no, it’s a small 75 seater”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Oh great, how many people are going?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“20”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">And there I was. I’d made it. And after a
long frenetic dash there was nothing to do but wait.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<!--EndFragment-->The Road Worrierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05550283398632079792noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-407278428288403671.post-86832253171990752932013-03-24T02:01:00.002-07:002013-03-24T02:01:46.405-07:002dot3 - Going downhill fast
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<!--StartFragment-->
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
…and savage my helmet.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Now some of you may be shocked that I would
deliberately dismember a piece of safety equipment, but think about it –
carving a few millimetres of polystyrene to produce a shape custom-moulded to
my head has got to be better than something which is going to focus any impact
on a point previously weakened. Plus an impact is far more likely if I’m
distracted by painful headgear. The only other alternative was to spend a large
part of my holiday searching for a bike shop big enough to stock an extensive
range of helmets, and I know from experience I’d still end up having to doctor
one. So I carved up my rental helmet, which is probably a second illegal
activity for the day, but I’ll just buy it off them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">In the morning continue Due South. I decide
to detour via Palmerston North, a place John Cleese described thus:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">If you
wish to kill yourself but lack the courage to, I think a visit to Palmerston
North will do the trick</span><span lang="EN-US"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">But fortunately I know someone who went to
University here and she can tell me what’s good to do:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Nothing”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">So I only stick around long enough to
discover they have the most incredibly nice Burger King, in the world, ever!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">There’s nowhere left to go but Wellington,
and since the aim is to get there on the way up on a weekend, it seems wrong to
go there now. The thought of catching a ferry that day creeps into my head, and
before you can say “stupid bloody idea” I’m in a headlong dash down to
Wellington, concocting numerous justifications:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">…if there’s a 3 o’clock ferry, I could get
across to the South Island, get to a campsite and be sitting with my feet up a
day early!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">…the weather’s nice. If I wait a day it
might be horrible! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">But wait! This is silly, I have the
technology, I can just pull over and check. So I pull over, turn my phone into
a wifi hotspot and whip out my macbook. Modern day camping eh? Gotta love… What?
No signal!? But it was there a minute ago!!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">So I try on my phone, and learn there’s no
3 o’clock journey, and my phone tells me I can’t book on a ferry for 3 days!!
What the hell?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I’ll just get to the local Top 10 campsite,
use their wifi and stay the night.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">But my phone can’t even get a signal to
ring the campsite and book, so I bang the address into my GPS.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Number 95 does not exist, use 103?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Yes, whatever!!!!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">But when I get there I see the problem. The
road starts at 103! Several minutes of head scratching and three point turns
later, not easy in a long wheelbased campervan, I discover that the other half
of the road lies on the other side of the river, and requires a half-mile
backtrack to get round!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Some days eh?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">But the campsite’s really nice. It’s in
“Lower Hutt”. The town is right across the bay from Wellington and has a bit of
a beach. Not much to lie on, but good to run on, and only a couple of km from
the campsite, so I get to use my bike again, and my nicely fitting custom
helmet. And I get the boat booked for the morning.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I finally have a camping interaction. My
camping neighbours Tony and Trish are from somewhere near Vancouver, towards
Kamloops, so I probably drove past it last time. They’re in their 60s or so,
and met because both their previous partners were suffering from the same kind
of brain tumour. But that’s far too poignant, moving and downright real for
this blog.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Terry’s son has shot some videos for
Australian TV explaining scientific concepts to laymen, which is apparently
very successful. (Google “Veritasium”)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">By heck it’s a cold night. Britz provided
me with a duvet, but it’s no match for the cold night here so I have to keep
the van’s internal 240V heater blasting all night. In the morning there’s a
line of vans with frost on their windscreens, except mine which is suspiciously
clear!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I’m up early for my ferry, but I needn’t
have worried as the ferry is an hour late. Well, the sun is shining out of a
clear blue sky and I have a comfy van with a loo to use while I’m sitting on
the dock of the bay, and this means I can finally read the guidebook I’ve
carted halfway round the world!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">In fact I get so caught up in planning that
I’m actually annoyed when the ferry is finally ready! Boarding is fun though, the
traffic is segregated, then carefully filtered onto the boat, to fit the right
size and shape vehicles in every available nook and cranny on the deck. I
haven’t seen such clinical procedure in loading a boat since I was hanging out
with Noah and it started raining.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">With my home tightly squeezed into a spot I
went upstairs to get my full cooked breakfast:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“We’re not doing breakfast on this voyage,
sir”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“But, you said you were?!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Yes, but now we are an hour late it’s too
late for breakfast”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“</span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Wingdings; mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-char-type: symbol; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;">L</span><span lang="EN-US">”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">So I got a crappy Lasagne, but soon cheered
up when I found “The Cove”. For 30 bucks extra you get access to an executive
lounge that seats only 8 people. Oh, and you get 5 bucks worth of wifi, and 15
of vouchers for onboard spending, making it good value for a bit of seclusion
in my book. However, I did wonder if I would have more fun remaining in the public
bit and finding someone to talk to.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">But even that was available in the Cove.
The only other person there was a young lady who turned out to be named
Janelle, and was driving a Ute from Auckland to Christchurch for her company’s
use.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">It’s a 3 hour 20 minute journey across the
Cook strait, but the time flew by as we talked about New Zealand, Christchurch,
Life after the Earthquakes, Metallica and all that, and I pretty much missed
all the views. Ah well, I’m coming back this way.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">And so, I found myself in Picton, the
gateway to the South. It’s a very pretty seaside town, and I know exactly what
to do next – acquire a sleeping bag. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Done. Now what?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Er… oh look there’s a Scottish pub! You
see loads of Irish pubs, but a Scottish one? I’ll get some grub at the “Flying
Haggis” and figure out where to go.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">If the bangers and mash is anything to go
by, I know why you never see a Scottish pub!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">But at least I have a plan. Head for
Nelson.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">The road out of Picton is called the Queen
Charlotte Drive, and what a road it is!! It clings to the cliff edges and
climbs, swirls and dances back and forth above bays and coves for mile after
mile. There’s plenty of gorgeous views out to sea, and down to the shore, or
across to the harbor, but little time to look at them as the road heaves itself
into the next sequence of hairpins.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Oh to have a nimble sports car to dance
between the curves, scamper over the rises and falls, skip daintily from one
crest to the next…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">But my huge van brings its own entertainment.
Working the gearbox to keep up momentum, following the racing line to reduce
the swing on the corners.... or as
Waylon Jennings would put it: Straightening the curves. Flattening the hills.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">For the next two hours my jaw didn’t leave
the floor. What a drive! What an island!! The North island had been
underwhelming but this was overwhelming. Every bend brought new scenery to gawp
at. I should be taking pictures, but when?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Now?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Now?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">What about now?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">You could stop every 10 metres and capture
a stunning image. But I’m in the zone. Paul Oakenfold’s Goa mix on the stereo
and nobody on the road. Heaven.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Eventually I reach Nelson, and barrel on
through to Richmond, where the Nelson Holiday camp is(?). I’m tired, but it’s
right in town so I don’t want to waste the opportunity to walk to the pub, the
receptionist points me at four. They’re all empty.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Wednesday.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">No, Thursday.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">…Friday?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Up early and North towards Abel Tasman
National Park, </span><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #1a1a1a; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">renowned for its golden beaches, sculptured granite cliffs, and
its world-famous coast track. Except I’m going to the less famous Kaiteriteri
Mountain Bike Track. Yeah sure if I had someone to talk to I might spend all
day hiking along a coastal track, but on my own? No chance!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #1a1a1a; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">But bombing round a forest? That’s more like it!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #1a1a1a; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">The car park is like a scene from a movie. One of those “beware
of American yokels” flicks. It’s actually a clearing in the forest with line
after line of empty caravans, and my campervan. I have the track to myself. I
take a quick picture of the map: lots of squiggly lines with odd names, and I
set-off up “Half pipe”.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #1a1a1a; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Holy cow it’s steep!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #1a1a1a; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Yes, any rise is a shock after 9 months in Amsterdam, but this
is ridiculous. I stand up to get some strength into the pedals, and the back
tyre spins up. I lean back to get some weight on it and the front wheel lifts
off the ground! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #1a1a1a; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">“Aarrggh! So this is what all those gears are for!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #1a1a1a; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">The hairpins are incredible, practically vertical. It’s a test
of will to carry enough speed to get round, knowing that if I go wrong I’ll
plunge off the cliff. By the time I reach the top of “Half pipe” I’m panting
like a dog, and grinning like an idiot.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #1a1a1a; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Next is “Sidewinder” a less mental version of “Half pipe” and I
can make it round the hairpins. Then comes “swamp monster” and the track
finally levels out for a bit, and I start to feel like I’m getting the hang of
this.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #1a1a1a; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">There was no indication of distances on the map, so I’ve no idea
how long the loop I’ve chosen will take. It’s another glorious day and the sun
is peaking through the trees, trying to fry me. I emerge into a clearing by a
gate and am thankful there’s a water fountain for idiots who don’t bring water
with them (oops!) and plunge on into “Glade Runner” and along “Revelation”.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #1a1a1a; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">The tracks are graded for difficulty, and apart from “Half Pipe”
I’ve ridden the easy tracks so far, but to complete the loop I need to continue
on the intermediate stuff, and that means mounting “Ziggy” and ascending “Big
Airs”.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #1a1a1a; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Well, crikey what a climb. My lungs are bursting, my legs are
burning, I’m wishing I’d brought food, when the unthinkable happens…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #1a1a1a; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">I run out of gears!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #1a1a1a; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Fortunately I’m only yards from the summit and there’s nobody to
see me quit and walk.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #1a1a1a; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">The ascent had come close to killing me, but the descent was
definitely going to finish me off. The track becomes ridiculously narrow.
There’s barely half a bike’s width between the track below and the cliff on my
right, but if I lean left there’s a plummet that looks like a hundred foot drop
through bushes and trees.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #1a1a1a; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">This is fantastic!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #1a1a1a; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">No intelligence-insulting safety briefings, no plodding along
between grannies and kids on an “Adrenaline-fuelled fun ride”. This is where
it’s at: surviving on your wits, living on your reactions… if I make a mistake
there’s nobody to help. And if I fall into a ravine all alone, and have to hack
off a limb to survive, I can write a book about it (slowly).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">But I don’t. I eventually make it round in
one piece, with two thoughts: <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">If I lived near here I’d be a Mountain
Biker for life. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">It wouldn’t be for very long.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Back to my van and “Wahoo!” I can have a
nice hot shower here in the scary caravan field.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Southbound and down, loaded up and
truckin’.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I stop at Murchison, home of New Zealand’s
longest “swing bridge”. Think Indiana Jones, only with fewer scimitar-wielding
natives. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">S’alright.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I wind up at Carter’s Beach, near Westport,
and it’s a great campsite, right by the beach. My neighbours are from
Newcastle. Not the “Why aye man” one, the one near Sydney. They started in
Christchurch and are doing the loop anti-clockwise, same as me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Most people go the other way round” says
Jenni.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Really, how do you know?” I ask.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Because we see more people going the other
way”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Er, right”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">They point me at the local pub for some
grub, I get a friendly hello, some ok food and a welcome beer.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">But the best thing about staying here is
the beach. I don’t know which was more incredible, the glorious sunset, the wondrous
star filled night sky, or my dawn run along the sand, but I know it was an
incredible first two days on the South Island. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<!--EndFragment-->The Road Worrierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05550283398632079792noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-407278428288403671.post-70339519414272169492013-03-23T03:01:00.000-07:002013-03-23T03:01:45.140-07:00Don’t Mess With My 2.2
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
OK, where was I?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Ah yes, stuck.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Well, they finally got the train moving and
I was back at my hotel by 10.30pm for some desperately needed sleep… but not
yet!!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I was still hoping to go out with my friend
Catherine who I met in Amsterdam. As the clock ticked toward midnight my
resolve ebbed away. But having so little time to see someone who lives on the
other side of the globe spurred me on. Well, that and 2 cups of coffee and a
late night steak and cheese subway!!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I was glad I hung in there when Cat showed
up around midnight. She’d also picked up two Kelseys on the way …or maybe two
Kelsies? ...actually, I think it was one of each. Anyhoo, we went to the Casino
complex in the base of Auckland’s Sky Tower. Not to gamble, oh no, we’re not
morally corrupt, we went to laugh at drunken people dancing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">As a frequent performer of inebriated jigs
this seemed harsh to me, until I witnessed it for myself. I don’t know if it
was that club, that night, or a genuine Auckland thing, but you’d be forgiven
for thinking the International Crazy-Legs Rodeo was in town!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I’m looking forward to being back!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">The great thing about staying up late was
that I got a good 8 hours exhausted sleep and woke up on Sunday morning feeling
like I might have actually beaten the jetlag!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I went for a run around the world famous
Albert Park, which was nice, though small, and I couldn’t quite remember what
it’s famous for.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Then back in my hotel room I felt the
earth, move, under my feet!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Was that…?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Really…?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Best text a local: “Here Cat, was that an
earthquake?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Yup!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Wahoo, that was my first!!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">It was a noticeable, but not particularly
exciting wobble, about a 4.0 I decided, based on my vast experience.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">The next day’s paper was full of Auckland
people getting excited about the ‘quake, (a 4.0 would you believe?) and I
wonder what the people of Christchurch thought!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Then I met up with Elena – Cat’s long time
travel buddy, and it’s weird to see them individually – who asks what my plan
is.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“I dunno really, all I know is I’m heading
South”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Oh, OK. But wouldn’t you be better heading
North and enjoying the end of the Summer on the beaches?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Oh, bollocks.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Elena has to dash off and I return to my
mountain of guides to think of a plan, whilst keeping half an eye on the TV
coverage of the Melbourne Grand Prix from Albert Park (d’oh!). But it’s St
Paddy’s day and there’s a ticking in my ear.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Screw it. Let’s go South.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">With all that planning done I’m ready for a
drink. Donny Doolan’s was a great place to have one. They had two live bands,
(no, not at the same time!) and a raucous crowd of drunken revelers dressed in
the usual green “Irish” nonsense.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I’ve met plenty of Kiwi nutters in
Shepherd’s Bush, and always assumed they were acting up because they were
abroad. Based on Sunday, I guess not! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Some random girl swooped the drink out of
my hand and proceeded to help herself. It soon became clear she didn’t need it.
Several blokes gave me a cheery slap on the back or a too-familiar hug,
everybody seemed in a great mood. Finally I met a relatively sane girl, who
turned out to be from London. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“I have to be at work at 8 in the morning
to teach kids!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Oh, that’s tough, ….want another drink?”
(I did say “relatively”)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Oh yeah, and I saw a Leprechaun, naturally.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Monday. Time to hit the road. I got another
lift from my former colleague, now chauffeur, Ben and arrived at the Airport
Campervan rental place fresh as a daisy. Albeit a daisy with a hangover, but I
don’t know how anybody makes it through the rigmarole if they’ve just got off a
plane! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">First up, I have to watch a 15 minute video
about my van. This obviously saves staff time, but is a bit confusing if this
is your first time camping and you don’t know your grey water from your waste
water from your gas canister.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Then I get to “self check-in”, except the
amounts were wrong and there was no way to correct them so I had to wait for a
harassed looking member of staff. She looked at my list of options, corrected
the price, then tried to send me on my way.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“But what about my GPS”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Did you pay for one?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Yes, it was in that list of options you
just checked”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Oh, yes, sorry, I’ll get it for you”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Thanks, but what about my Road Atlas”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Did you pay for one?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Yes, it was in that list of options you
just checked”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Oh, yes, sorry, I’ll get it for you”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“But what about my table and chairs?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Did you pay for one?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Yes, it was in that list of options you
just checked”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Oh, yes, sorry, I’ll get it for you”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“But what about my bike and bike rack”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Did you pay for one?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Yes, it was in that list of options you
just checked”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Oh, yes, sorry, I’ll… no, you have to
drive to the bike place to get it”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">So I go outside, check over the van, get my
stuff in it, hand another lady the random screwdriver which has been left on
the floor, and I’m finally on my way!!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Except I’m not. First stop is the
supermarket next door. I was never very good at shopping for food, then I spent
9 months eating out. And foreign supermarkets take forever, since you have to
actually read the packages to know what they are, your brain doesn’t just know
all the colour combinations. I also kept throwing in random items I might need
in my van, and somehow ended up with 350 dollars worth. That doesn’t happen at
the Albert Heijn!!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">At least I’m finally on my way! Oh no, best
get a Kiwi sim from the shop next door.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Right. Finally… Oh, bother, still got to
get the bike.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I find the bike place and he’s got a nice
looking mountain bike ready for me. Not sure how I’m going to cope with all
them gears and brakes, but good to have a bike again and I’m looking forward to
the freedom…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“And we’ll need to get you a helmet”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Ah.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Er, OK, just fetch the largest one you
have”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">You see, in order to contain my
inordinately large brain I have, of course, an inordinately large head. Which
is bad enough, however it is also streamlined, which means helmets are never
long enough. But if that wasn’t bad enough, I also have a lump on the front of
my head from a bike accident as a kid. Now you’d think a lifetime disfiguring
scar might make me a fan of helmets, but actually it taught me to stay on a
bike, and also how to come off one.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">So, no, I’m not a fan of helmets, because
it means putting my head in a vice. Go ahead, try it, it’s not like wearing a
tight belt, it pretty much stops you enjoying anything.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Well, bike dude brings me several helmets,
and none fit. I’m fed up, and want to get on the road, so when he claims that
one “looks OK” I pretend not to feel like I’m having dinner with Mr Lecter and
take it. I’ll figure something out.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Finally, finally on the road…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">But where to? Well, I have to come back to
Auckland, and I really want to take my time down South, so I might as well just
get down there. Somebody mentioned Waitomo Caves, no idea what’s there, but
it’s about the right distance.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">So off I crash, bash and sway, and then stop
to nail everything down again. I went for a campervan with a loo, figuring if
I’m going to have a van, I might as well have all the amenities, but it’s a bit
big!!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">The views are rolling hills rather than
anything spectacular, the traffic’s light, but there’s no motorway, barely any
dual carriageways, and 100kph limit is your lot, so it takes a while to get
anywhere!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I make it to Waitomo and the caves, and the
Top 10 Holiday Park, one of 52 in New Zealand! How does that work?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Nice place though, and I get a freshly
BBQ’d steak and some local beers at the store across the road.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Tuesday dawns over Waitomo. Pretty good
night’s sleep, despite being woken by the rain showers rattling my tin roof.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Now the woman at reception gave me some
pamphlets, including “Campervan hire - Driver goes free” to the Glowworm caves.
But there’s no way they’ll let me in for free without any paying passengers. Oh
yes they do!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">It’s a moderately interesting poke about in
caves for half an hour, including a large one called the Cathedral Cave with
fabulous acoustics in which Dame Kiri te Kanawa has performed a concert. We
then sail to daylight in a boat. About 20 of us sit in the darkness and
silence, as the guide quietly pulls our boat through the final cave, and we gaze
at the hundreds of “Glow worms” on the ceiling of the cave, resembling stars in
the night sky.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">We then emerge into daylight and it’s time
to head south. I’m saving the big touristy stuff for the return journey north,
so I head out to the West coast. It’s pretty uneventful, the weather’s fairly
grim, and there’s only a couple of snatches of shoreline to lift my spirits
before I finally wend my weary way into Wanganui. Fortunately the campsite’s
right on the riverbank which makes for a nice view, and there’s some good
running tracks on the riverbank a few kilometres down towards town – the
perfect opportunity to try my bike out.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">So I hop on my bike, spurning my crappy lid
for the short ride down a vastly wide suburban street and have a great run.
It’s been a good end to a reasonable day, when I get busted by the law:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“HELMET, MATE!!” yells the copper as he
stops his car.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“SCREW YOU, FASCIST SCUMBAG!” yells the
voice in my head. But oddly it comes out more like “yeah, ok”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">So I get off and walk for a bit and don’t
get a ticket, but back at the campsite I’ve had enough. I reach for a sharp
knife…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<!--EndFragment-->The Road Worrierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05550283398632079792noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-407278428288403671.post-92203454976542868312013-03-16T16:56:00.000-07:002013-03-16T16:56:33.565-07:00Two Point One
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<!--StartFragment-->
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Here I go again on my own…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">…only this time it’s different. The last
time I went on a trip of a lifetime I was looking to escape. 12 years in London
had left me tired and confused. I was unhappy with life, looking for something
to believe in and sought answers in the freedom of the open road.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Reading back through my blog I realized I
found the answers, but not in the place I was looking. The answers weren’t in
independence, freedom and isolation on deserted highways, they were in the
people I met. From the incredible week on the QM2, to the days with Dolly,
Eric, Everett and, yes, even my sister. The one-off encounters with waitresses,
barmen, fellow customers, random people in the casinos and waitresses. Even
brief conversations with people from different backgrounds with different
experiences, different lives, were fascinating.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">After RTW1 (as it’s now known) I was numb.
I’d found the answers, but didn’t realize, and if I did, I didn’t know how to
apply these answers to life.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Then came Amsterdam.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I found myself in a place where I could
meet people from all over the world, go out every night and have a good time,
(almost) all the time. Yet I also had the advantage of staying put, of making
friends. For the first time I felt like I might actually want to… (deep breath)
…settle down!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">So I’m going round the world again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Er...not sure why!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I still want to see New Zealand. And this
might be the last chance I get to spend a good quantity of time down there, at
roughly the right time of year. So I booked a trip. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Yes, booked. I told you this one’s
different. Fixed timescale, all flights, 2 months, full on, no messing about
getting lonely crying into my mojito on exotic Hawaiian islands.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">In fact, that’s enough bollocks, let’s get
on with the trip…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Tokyo!!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">(Via Frankfurt, London, Southampton)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Round The World tickets are complex things.
To cut a long story short, I could go business class for less than the usual
mark-up, but had to go via Frankfurt to get to London.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">However, flying fancy meant this wasn’t a
chore! Oh, how the other half lives… not just big seats and space, but airline
lounges! Peace and quiet, free wifi, free showers, and free food and booze! I
made it my objective to consume more than the difference in ticket costs!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Off the plane first, straight through Heathrow
and straight into my rental car. Perhaps I’d been hard on jolly old London…until…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Traffic.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">You don’t get this on a bicycle.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Screw this, I’m off.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">So I decided to sell my car and move out of
my London flat. After all, I had 3 days to spare.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Thus followed a manic 3 days, getting out
of London, and dumping my stuff at a mate’s in Southampton. So RTW2 began, just
like RTW1, with a meal with Craig. Only this time, rather than a disappointing
burger, it started with some very nice tapas.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Back to Heathrow, and I could finally
relax. And in the Singapore Airlines Lounge, man, you can relax!!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Six nations rugby on tv, a nice curry, some
tiger beer, a quick shower.... bliss.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">But I’m not going to Singapore! Oh no,
thanks to the Star Alliance, I can use any of the 27 member airlines lounges!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">So I nipped next door to the “No.1 Lounge”,
which was a bit, well, number 2. Then the SAS lounge, where there was a
surprising lack of balaclavas, and it was time to hop on board All Nippon
Airways, where I have my own pod.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I’ve never had a pod before. Cool.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I mean, some might think it’s just a seat
with walls, but it’s not, it’s a pod!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Although something’s not right, there’s a
small child behind me! In business class? What the hell? Something needs to be
done about this!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">But it’s a Japanese child, and as I was to
discover, Japanese people are quiet.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">The trouble with a pod is you don’t get to
chat to your neighbours. So you won’t find many plane-buddy anecdotes this
time, and the fact that I got more than an hour’s sleep on a plane for the
first time in history makes less amusing reading. But meant I was ready for
Tokyo!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Well, sort of, I didn’t get more than 2
hours sleep, pods ain’t beds!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">So off the plane and into a Limousine.
Wahoo! Travelling in style…. “Bust out the Hennesey!” “Where da girls at?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Er, no hang on. A “Limousine Bus”. Or as we
call them in England, “a bus”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Oh well, it takes me into Tokyo (Narita
airport is 45 miles away!) and I get to see a bit of the city on the way.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">And a bit more<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">And a bit more<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Tokyo’s a bit big. Something like 35
million people in the Metropolitan area. Finally we drop down from an overpass
into the world of Bladerunner. Neon soaked streets, shouty LED video screens.
Hustle and bustle.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">But it’s clean. And tidy. And quiet. How
can so many people be so quiet? There’s no sirens, no car horns, no trucks in
the city centre. Just taxis, taxis…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Taxi!!!!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Things I know about Japan: Don’t get hit by
the remote control taxi doors!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">..and into my hotel, which is French, but
also very quiet. Very, very frickin quiet. Bjork could write a song about this
place. How can the quietest place on earth be half a mile from Tokyo station!?!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">In fact this doesn’t help with the jetlag
as I spend so much time in bed, with no audible signs of life rousing me from
my pit.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Another thing about Tokyo, there’s a lot of
Japanese people here. Now, stop snickering at the back while I explain that.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">In London when you walk down the street you
see people of all sizes and shapes, all colours, races, religions whatever.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">In Tokyo, you see Japanese people. And all
the men are wearing suits. Not stylish “Suit up!” suits. Drab, dull, dark
suits.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">And just as the monotony starts to affect
your mood there’ll be someone dressed as a nutter.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Seems to be the Japanese way. Miserable
conformity, or blatant reactionism.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I’m not good at talking to people. I enjoy
it, and I can hold a fun conversation, but I’m rubbish at starting them,
especially with people who don’t speak much English. So I need a bar, with
stools, where I can plonk down next to some poor soul and strike up a
conversation. But Tokyo is so compact all the bars seem to be hidden in
basements, making it impossible to wander round looking in windows for a nice
looking place. I descend a few staircases and find deserted bars. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Over four nights I didn’t get to talk to
anyone Japanese. I found a decent bar called 300, because everything costs 315
yen(?). A couple of rubbish “British pubs” which weren’t pubby, or containing
anything British. Eventually I ended up in the salubrious part of town but at
the Hard Rock Café were I finally got to talk to somebody. A Swiss bloke who’s
lived in the Far East for years.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Where do you recommend for a bar to have a
good time?” I ask.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Bangkok”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">So if the bars didn’t work out for me what
did I enjoy?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Well, I went up a tall building and looked
at the view which was, er, Tokyo. Not the most famous skyline in the world, but
it gives you a reminder of the scale of the city.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I went to the Sony building where they have
lots of exciting cutting edge technology like 4K (even higher def telly) and
er, phones.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I went to Akiba, where they have lots and
lots of technology, and girls dressed as… I don’t know what they’re dressed as,
but it involves short dresses.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I went to Shimbuya, where that busy
crossing is that appears in loads of movies. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I was disappointed to fail to find the
banana vending machine, but did manage to acquire a bottle of sweat.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">And that was pretty much Tokyo. No Sumo on
at the mo. The sake tasting place shut at 5.30pm (I was going at 7 so I could
continue drinking)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I’m not saying I had a bad time. Just
walking the streets is pretty incredible, but I didn’t have a “great” time.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">To the airport!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">…via the Narita Express train, which was
very nice<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">…and into the United Airlines lounge, which
sucked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">So along to the ANA lounge, which was much
better, and allowed me to cram in the essential Japanese experiences – Sake,
Sushi and a mechanical massage chair with Japanese instructions that almost
killed me!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I even bumped into the only person I know
in the whole of Japan! The Swiss bloke! Maybe it’s not such a big place.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Another plane, another pod. Only the Boeing
777-200 as everybody knows, is not as nice as the 777-300, so my pod is
smaller. Hence 1 hour’s sleep. The stewardesses are better though. You can keep
your Japanese dolly birds, I’ll take a nice middle-aged Kiwi mother figure with
a sense of humour any day!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">And I arrive in Auckland to meet Ben, who
you last encountered in RTW1 in Vegas, as did I , come to think of it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Ben is dressed for summer, with shorts and
sandals, because it’s hot in Auckland and hasn’t rained for 3 months. I don my
shades and walk outside into the drizzle.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Honest it hasn’t rained for 3 months!!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Ben has to work, but has kindly agreed to
drop me at my hotel, and gives me a quick rundown on where to go, what to do,
and how to get there:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Don’t use the trains, they’re awful”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">and that the number one Kiwi phrase to learn
to use is:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“She’ll be right”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">…an expression of relaxed contentment, and
a reminder not to worry.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I’m in luck. The local rugby league side
are playing Sydney tonight, and at New Zealand’s greatest stadium, Eden Park.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I book a ticket online and ask the Concierge
how to get there.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Take a train”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Oh, any alternative?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“What? Take a train – it’s simple”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">So I take a train. It is indeed simple, and
cheap, and painfully slow – I could walk this fast!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">But the atmosphere on board is good. And
the atmosphere at the stadium is great. Incredible seats, barely any queues,
and a great game. The Warriors start slow, and those bastards from Sydney look
like having the better of “us”, but in the second half the Warriors fight back
and we have plenty of chances to go mental in the stands, while the pyro guy
tries to give a few thousand people second degree burns.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Fantastic stuff.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Which is fortunate because I’m flagging.
Forget beer, I’m on Red Bull. The guy at the counter has my second drink ready
for me. 42,700 people and he knows my order? Am I the only one drinking Red
Bull?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">The Warriors score another try, the
conversion will level it…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Go, Warriors, Go!!!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">The bloke behind me points out that a tie
means extra time<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“No, Warriors, No!!!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">but the glorious pansy misses, and blows
the Warriors last chance. With 60 seconds to go it’s all over, and I peg it for
a train.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Predictably the train is packed and takes forever
to leave as they ram it to the gizzards. But my speed has paid off and I have a
seat for the epic 2 mile trundle back to town. Honestly, I’d have walked if I
had the faintest clue which way it was!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">We’re half way there when the train grinds
to a halt. After ten minutes the driver comes over the radio:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Ah, there’s a dropped track ahead and a
technician has been called to fix it, could be a while…”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Eeeurggh. Despite the loss there’s a good
atmosphere on the train, and it’s been a great day, but I’m flagging badly. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Sooooo tired! I’m struggling. How blooming
long are we going to be stuck here? We can’t get off. And even if I could get
off, where the hell are we?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I hang in there. Repeating the magic
phrase:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“She’ll be right.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Right?!!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<!--EndFragment-->The Road Worrierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05550283398632079792noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-407278428288403671.post-78845926403151084282012-09-19T14:46:00.001-07:002012-09-19T14:46:21.595-07:00Intermission - On the Canal For OnceWow!<br />
<br />
Has it really been over a year since I got back?<br />
<br />
And now I find myself in Amsterdam, writing a blog merely to keep this account open. But while I'm here maybe I can write something interesting...<br />
<br />
Returning home after such an eventful trip was like coming down from the ultimate high. For several weeks I was unable to imagine what to do next. I had such an overwhelming experience over those four months that it took time to process. I'm very thankful to Craig and Kat for putting up with me during that time. I finally got my head straight, got some new glasses, started to run again and finally got off their sofa and went to see my Mum and Dad.<br />
<br />
Morecambe Bay proved to be the beautiful place I'd taken for granted as a kid (I almost wrote "growing up"!). Travelling the world made me realise how incredibly unappreciated our own scenery is in England. The sunset in Morecambe bay beats any I've seen.<br />
I was lucky to get the chance to spend a few weeks living with my parents and really spending time with them. How many people get the chance to do that as an adult without unfortunate circumstances?<br />
What proved tough was finding a job, without a home base, so I decided to return to West London and rent a flat.<br />
<br />
Now this wouldn't be a proper RW blog without a bit of daft dialogue so here's what happened at the estate agent:<br />
<br />
Me: I'd like to rent a flat in Ealing please<br />
<br />
Estate Agent Lady: OK, where do you live now?<br />
<br />
Nowhere.<br />
<br />
Where do you work?<br />
<br />
Don't<br />
<br />
I'm sorry, we don't have anything available.<br />
<br />
Oh, that's unusual for an estate agent in West London isn't it?!<br />
<br />
Well, it's er, busy, and er, recession, and er, not much..... to be honest, you're going to find it difficult to persuade people you can afford the rent without references...<br />
<br />
Me: What if I paid all the rent up front?<br />
<br />
Her: Well there's this place.... and this one....and here...here....<br />
<br />
4 appointments-to-view followed!<br />
<br />
This made me realise two things:<br />
<br />
I'm glad I didn't blow all my money on pool parties, Bud Light and convertibles.<br />
<br />
It must be bloody hard for people who want to build a life, but have fallen out of the system.<br />
<br />
<br />
In a bizarre twist, it turned out my old flat was still empty, albeit with a new landlord, and had just been refurbished. So I lapped the planet and ended up where I started - but without a carpet!<br />
<br />
You don't want to hear about work, so I'll skip over my time working in West London. However I did make some new friends who I hope to see again.<br />
<br />
I was also very fortunate to get the chance to meet up with Chris and Kate, of the musicians on the boat. Chris runs a fantastic music night in North London called Karamel where I spent many happy Wednesdays. Sadly Kate didn't put on any performances, but did introduce me to the fabulous "Dove and Boweevil", surely the greatest thing to ever come out of Norfolk!<br />
<br />
As my contract came to a close I was pleased to receive a text regarding a trip to Amsterdam. I figured it was the Stockport boys suggesting another weekend, like Bilbao.<br />
<br />
Ah, let me tell you about Bilbao!!!<br />
<br />
%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%<br />
<i>Content removed at request of Forquar Solicitors, Stockport</i><br />
<i>%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%</i><br />
and it cleared right up!<br />
<br />
<br />
But to my great surprise the text was a job offer!<br />
<br />
For some reason my friends seemed to think I would enjoy Amsterdam - presumably because of the healthy lifestyle, cycling around, and the amount of culture to be found - so they encouraged me to leave the country...<br />
<br />
...and I'm going to pause there. Vegas rules will make an Amsterdam blog tricky, and I certainly won't be writing about anyone who comes to visit, or lives here already, for that matter! But I'll see what I can knock up.<br />
<br />
<br />
Stay tuned, as my thoughts are turning towards RTW2........ New Zealand is still out there. South Africa. Brazil. Alaska...<br />
<br />
<br />
...... Las Vegas......<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />The Road Worrierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05550283398632079792noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-407278428288403671.post-16553057955119470002011-09-03T23:05:00.000-07:002011-09-03T23:05:08.662-07:00Thirty – ‘til We Run out of Road.<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Everything’s gone black.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’ve panicked.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">But I haven’t passed out, though that might have been a blessed relief. With the two tracks before me I couldn’t immediately see where the track was going, so I couldn’t anticipate the movement of the car. Closing my eyes really hasn’t helped (thanks for nothing Obi Wan!) so I open them again.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Breathe. Just breathe.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Soon I’m gasping like an asthmatic at Lamar’s class. It seems to help. The two tracks spread apart and I can see what’s coming next.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Hard left.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Hard right.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">UP and down.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’m mentally addressing the track. “Please don’t spiral. Don’t go upside down, no fancy stuff. We’ve all had a bit of fun here, now let’s just calm down and head smoothly back to the platform”.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Amazingly the track capitulates, and we slow down and pull back in. I’m gasping, I’m drenched in sweat, and there’s a tight band of pain attempting to form in the left side of my chest. I’m afraid that’s 3 for 3 in “me not enjoying roller coasters”, but at least I gave it a shot.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">They’ve fixed the F1 simulator and it’s the same as the ones the real drivers use, so I’m looking forward to my go, but another person has thrown up in it. After my distress on the coaster I can understand people having uncontrollable reactions to movement, but it’s a simulator! You’re in control. If you feel woozy, stop and get out!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">So Mark and I have to make do with the F430 simulator. It’s a laugh, but you’d have as much fun at home with your mate shaking your chair. (Doesn’t everyone have a force-feedback steering wheel, a ten foot screen and a bucket seat at home these days?)</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">We’ve done practically everything. They’ve finally opened the vertical slingshot ride, but the queues are ridiculous, so we leave. Right next door is the Yas Marina circuit so we head over to see what we can see. Not much today, but we sign up for a tour on Saturday. Awesome.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Back to the Holiday Inn, and a nice steak at the Vista restaurant next door, with a view of Dubai’s 7 star hotel. Tomorrow we have to be up early to go on a “desert safari”, otherwise known as “dune bashing”. After my experience of the roller coaster I’m worried about being driven off-road by some lunatic. However I’m reading Jenson Button’s book and he says it wasn’t so bad for him, and he’s a terrible passenger, so it should be OK.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Oh my friend did that and got whiplash” says the lady at the next table. Great. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Though she does tell us an amusing story about life in Dubai: One night, with her husband in dire straits (medically, not musically) she calls the hotel reception:</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“I need a doctor, and make it quick”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Yes madam, right away”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Lady waits ten nervous minutes, her husband is very ill, but there’s no sign of the doctor, so she calls again:</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Where is he?”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“On his way”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Another ten minutes, then a knock at the door. Thank goodness. Relieved that her husband will now get some much needed medical attention, she opens the door to find member of hotel staff cheerfully brandishing a small plastic item.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Here you go ….adaptor!”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">But at breakfast I’m still worried about my reaction to the movement of the dune bashing vehicle, and wondering how much I can offer the driver to take it easy. Sarah’s looking worried, though she’s concerned about us hitting something. I don’t know why, there’s nothing to hit in the desert is there?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">An Indian bloke called Dennis rolls up in his Toyota Land Cruiser, complete with high wheel clearance and roll bars. We drive for an hour to reach the dunes of the desert, then he pulls onto the sand and lets the air out of the tyres.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Here we go. He charges toward a dune and the strangling sensation wells up, then subsides! This ain’t so bad! On the soft sand he can’t get past 40mph, and I quickly understand which lines he’s aiming for. Soon I’m enjoying myself, though I’d still rather be driving, and Dennis isn’t wearing his seatbelt so he obviously isn’t worried.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“How long have you been doing this?” asks Sarah.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Ten years” replies Dennis, missing an easy chance for a wind-up.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“…and have you had many crashes?”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“No crashes” comes the reassuring answer, especially after he’s told us there can be up to a thousand dune bashing cars out there!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“…but I’ve rolled many times”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Ohhhhhhhkayyy. But my discomfort is physical, not mental, so I’m happy to bounce around while the radio plays “Staying Alive”. We meet a few camels, then head out to the camp in the desert for our next dice with death.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Quad bikes are a good way to get hurt. Just ask Ozzy Osbourne. Obviously your helmet will protect your head, but they can roll over easily, and if you’re lucky, they’ll just break your leg. At least I’m in control, so I climb aboard my steed, ready to receive my safety equipment and instructional briefing.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“These stop. This go. Follow me”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">…and he disappears off in a cloud of sand.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Mark follows him, and I try to follow Mark, steering wide onto the soft stuff to avoid getting eyes full of sand. A helmet and a visor might have been handy!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Mark slows and lets me past, shortly before the guide blasts up a steep slope, turns sharp left and accelerates along a sandy ridge. I chase after him, it’s tricky to be fast enough to make the climb, but slow enough to make the turn onto the ridge. I glance back but Mark isn’t up yet. I daren’t look back too long else I’ll fall off, so I hope the guide turns around soon. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Seconds pass. Do I dare risk another glance? Will the guide hear me yell anyway? Then he turns round and his psychotic smile turns to a puzzled expression. There are two possibilities. Mark ran out of power and stalled on the incline, or he’s rolled, pinned and screwed. The guide whips round a tree, drops off the ridge onto a path, and floors it. Thirty yards behind, I’m faced with a choice. If I turn round here I can probably get straight back to the slope and Mark, but if I’m wrong I’ll be lost in the desert. If I follow the guide I’ll have to go flat out to keep up, risking my own big crash.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I mull it over for several milliseconds before the answer springs to mind:</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Boot it!”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">…and we zoom back across the dunes to find Mark sandy, but intact and upright, trying to start his machine.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Somehow Mark pulls off proud and embarrassed at the same time: “I rolled it!”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">He’d stalled on the climb beginning the turn and fallen backwards. The quad had come for him, but Mark won the rolling race and survived with the odd bruise and scratch. The guide was very impressed. He got Mark’s quad going again with some magic tool, yelled</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Oh my God!”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">…a couple of times and careered off into the dunes at full speed.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">We made it back to camp, and I chastised Mark for his lack of judgement. “Why did you let me past and then fall off? I’d have loved to have seen that!”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">We bashed our way back across the dunes and to the hotel. Enough time for a Sub and a shower before the next driving experience.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Dubai Autodrome is another modern racetrack facility, and my sister had decided that I might enjoy the chance to bomb around it in an Audi R8 V10. Oh, go on then.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I keep trying to avoid the adjective out here, but the place really is deserted. There’s me, Mark, and one other chap here to drive, I go first in case Mark rolls again, and I have the entire track to myself as I learn the lines in an Audi TT. Then it’s into the R8 and off to the moon. I stopped looking down at 240 on the straight and screeched through the corners, following the instructions of a bloke from Wigan. Three times past the pits and it was soon over. Awesome car.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Would I have one? Nah, too planted, too smooth, the Nissan GT-R was more fun. But then maybe I just need a few more laps to find the R8’s limit…</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Out on the town for Friday night. We find a pub with a “live band” but it turns out to be two girls performing awful karaoke, with a backing track and some poor sod on guitar who I can only think is sleeping with one and related to the other.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">After the excitement, a much needed lie-in on Saturday, before our tour of the Yas Marina, Abu Dhabi’s Grand Prix track.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">We’re in luck, there are no cars running, so we get to ride the bus round the track, and stand on the grid. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We head for race control and then the podium, where the guide asks if anyone knows what the drivers spray to celebrate. Jenson finished third here in 2009 so I know this one:</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Rose Water” I shout, proudly. I’m so clever.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Wrong. Rose water is like a strong perfume. If we used rose water the ladies would have no fun at the party afterwards because all the men would be chasing the drivers. We use sparkling grape juice” …and he shows us the bottles to prove it. Thanks Jenson!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">We also get to sit in the North Stand which has a clear view of a large amount of track. They don’t want to make a profit at this track, so there are only 44,000 seats, which means they’re all in good spots.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Sarah and Mark have a plane to catch, back to Qatar and the unpredictable construction industry. I fly home tomorrow, with no idea what will happen next. But sitting in the stand of this amazing venue, we’re sharing a thought for the future.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">We’ve got to come back for a Grand Prix!</span></div>The Road Worrierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05550283398632079792noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-407278428288403671.post-70919612390854633272011-09-03T09:35:00.001-07:002011-09-03T09:35:35.208-07:00Twenty Nine – Back on Track<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">It’s hard to enjoy yourself when you’re not well, even in the best places in the world. On the upside I have a nice room with a view down the river to the Marina Bay. In the distance I can see a giant ferris wheel, and what looks like a ship balanced upon a sky-scraper – have I started hallucinating?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">On Saturday I feel a bit better but my stomach’s still sensitive so I don’t fancy straying too far from the hotel. The sky is overcast and it’s the usual 30 degrees and massive humidity as I walk down the river, so like most people over here I head for a shopping mall. I wander round, pass on the karaoke, stock up on books and check out the “longest wall of HDTVs in Asia!” I’m in need of a sit-down when I spy a couple of massage chairs like the ones you see in British service stations. Only the Singaporeans are at a whole new level.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The chair automatically reclines. Cushioned clamps form around my lower legs and pin me in the chair. The sides squeeze me until I worry about the camera in my pocket. An unexpected pressure massages my, er… the base of my spine and, well, it’s very effective. As my five minutes are ending a Japanese lady sits on the other chair, peruses the instructions, fingers the money slot speculatively, then decides to have a go. Judging by her squeals I think she enjoyed it!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’m finally staying put long enough to follow a Grand Prix weekend. Even better, Singapore has a Hooters, so I’m looking forward to plonking myself at the bar with a plate of boneless wings, watching the qualifying and hopefully meeting some interesting people.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Welcome to Hooters!”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">…chorus the girls at the door. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“I’ll have a seat at the bar please”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Table for one?”, comes the confused, and confusing reply.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“No, a seat at the… er….where’s the bar?”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">There’s no fricking bar!!!!!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Looking around in shock, I can see there’s a small one, outside in the sweaty uncomfortable world, with no seats to watch TV, but there’s literally nothing in here. I’m still hungry, so I’ll sit alone and have some..</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Where’s the boneless wings?!”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“We have chicken strips”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">…which turn out to be unpleasantly gritty. Arggh. I don’t even get the trademark Hooters banter with a friendly waitress. I later read that Singaporeans don’t do small talk because it’s considered rude to ask a stranger direct questions. I don’t know if that’s true or if I just got a grumpy waitress, but I can’t get out of there fast enough! Feeling tired again I return to the hotel, but I pass an Irish pub which looks promising for tomorrow.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Sunday is race day so I head for the Irish pub. It’s 7.45pm but still hot and sweaty, so I luxuriate in the air conditioning inside as I look for a good seat where I can see the big screen showing football. Hang on, football?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“We’re showing the F1 outside, sir”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Well that’s just great.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I look around for an alternative venue, but the other sports bar is showing the footy as well. Returning to the Irish pub I can’t find an empty table outside but there’s a bloke sitting alone who turns out to be John from Holland. Well, I think he said John, though that doesn’t sound very Dutch. “John” is happy for me to join him. Being Dutch I wonder who he’s supporting in the race.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Lewis, and then Jenson”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Good answer.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">John says something about working as a taster, or maybe a toaster, which is intriguing, but we’re soon distracted by the race. We cheer on the Brits, argue about tactics and swap jokes over beer. It seems a long while since I’ve had some enjoyable company and we have a good laugh, especially when John tries to buy me a beer and the waiter keeps giving him my entire bill, cottage pie and all!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Monday was uneventful, partly because I’d begun reading “127 hours between a rock and a hard place”, adventurer Aron Ralston’s account of being trapped beneath a boulder. I couldn’t put it down and missed out on sleep, desperate to know how long he’d be trapped for, and whether he’d live to tell the tale.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">It wasn’t the best preparation for Tuesday’s early start to catch a flight to Dubai. I was also disappointed that Terminal 1 in the legendary Changi airport doesn’t have a good brekkie place! But I enjoyed “Limitless” on the plane, and sat next to an Aussie from Brisbane who was flying out to surprise his daughter. He had annoyingly wide shoulders but was a laugh to talk to, which helped pass the time in the Dubai airport queues.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I met up with my sister at the Holiday Inn Express in the district curiously named Internet City. Sarah moved out here a few years ago when the UK construction industry dried up. She’s since moved to Qatar, but she’s come back because she’s loving and caring for her little brother (..and by the sounds of it there’s sod all to do in Qatar). She’s brought along her house-mate Mark and they’ve got some fun stuff planned. Or at least that’s what they claim, as they’re not telling me what it is, but I’m hoping it includes the Abu Dhabi GP circuit, Ferrari world, and an Audi R8 has been mentioned!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’m excited but nervous about being in a muslim country. I don’t like the sound of restrictions on where you can get a beer, but I’m not so bothered about the lack of pork as I don’t really eat pork.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">We start by heading to an ex-pat bar, and meet their friend Chris and his girlfriend. Chris is a real character, a cockney Geezer, with the appropriate tattoos and outlandish stories. He’s planning a party where the guests have to buy outfits from the Carrefour supermarket for less than 100 dirhams. Given that that’s about 17 quid, including shoes, it sounds like fun, but won’t fit in our schedule. After hearing some more stories, it sounds like it would wipe out more than an evening!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Wednesday morning and it’s busy at breakfast. A poorly designed buffet and the holiday of Eid make for a long queue, and I can’t find the sausages or the bacon. We have fun watching people from a wide variety of cultures, united by their efforts to burn down the hotel by stuffing the toast machine.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Mark drives us around Dubai and it’s unlike any place I’ve seen. Singapore, Hong Kong and Manhattan all have many sky scrapers, but here there seems to be nothing else. Few smaller buildings occupy the gaps. And because everything has gone up in the last twenty years, there’s no variety of age in the architecture, just gleaming towers of glass. Its 42 degrees in the shade, and baking in the sun, so there are very few people outside, giving the feel of a ghost town.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">We visit the beach, but it’s too hot to hang around, so there’s nobody there either. We head to the mall, and find all the people. The top activity for the Eid holiday is not shopping, but window shopping. The mall corridors are packed, but the shops themselves reasonably quiet, since most of the immigrant workers don’t have the money to splash on a ten grand watch, even if George Clooney recommends it. Other popular activities in the mall include ice skating, skiing, snowball fights and watching sharks swim around a three floor aquarium.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">But we’re heading for the top. The top of the world in fact. The Burj Khalifa is the tallest manmade structure in the world with over 160 floors so we jump into the lift and head for the “at the top” viewing platform on the 124<sup>th</sup> floor. You don’t need a fear of heights to feel wobbly up here. It’s in a different league to other viewing platforms, with a view I associate with helicopters, not balconies.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">After the sun sets, we return to earth for a very nice Chinese, though there’s no beer. For that we’ll need to fight our way through the traffic back to the hotel. There’s no quarter asked or given out here. Rules are for fools. If you see an indicator it’s probably a trick. Signal your intentions and you’ll watch the traffic close up to block you. It’s like driving in India, (where most workers come from) but with more porsches.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">No Porsches on Thursday though, we’re off to Ferrari world. The world’s largest indoor theme park, resembling a red Millenium Dome and covering a space the size of seventeen football pitches. Home to the fastest rollercoaster in the world, which isn’t running. In fact nothing’s running when we get there, as the park doesn’t open til 12, so by sheer luck we’re the first through the gates twenty minutes later. Mark and I make a bee-line for the Ferrari simulator ride, and Sarah game-fully climbs aboard another hydraulic rig so we can race each other and five people unaware they’re about to get embarrassingly beaten.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The gangway falls away. Each of our rigs rises into the air, and I find myself in an F430 on the grid at the Abu Dhabi GP circuit. The red lights come on, the revs rise, the computer crashes and we return to earth with a jolt.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">An engineer is summoned, he applies the level of deep knowledge of technical systems we’re famous for and turns the system off and on again.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Twice.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Sorry folks, can you come back later”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">So we ask when we can go on the expensive, ultra-real F1 simulator</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Ah. That’s broke too. Someone threw up in it last night”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Great. But from then on things improve. We’ve come at the quiet time so there’s hardly any queueing. We move from attraction to attraction, and by good luck and good judgement, never have to wait. There’s car displays, movies, an interactive quiz, motion simulators that jiggle you around and even a live show with (as my old mate Wuz would put it) “angle grinders and the lot!”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">…and a roller coaster.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Now I’ve ridden two roller coasters in my life, and I hated every second of them. I don’t get scared, or sick, but the physical sensation makes me massively uncomfortable. Imagine holding your breath as long as you can, then, just as you gasp for air, someone covers your mouth and nose. So I’m very glad the super-fast coaster isn’t running, but they have another one. …or two to be exact, as they have two intertwined tracks where 12 seater “F430s” race each other.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Oh crap.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Maybe it’ll be OK. I’ve had some luck fighting the sensation on racetracks, being thrown around at ludicrous speed by professionals. If I can relax, go limp, let it flow, maybe I’ll be OK. Who knows, maybe I can have as much fun as I would if I were controlling the thing.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">We trundle forward from the platform. As we exit the huge dome, we’re hit by the outside temperatures, the air is thick with humidity, the sun is scorching, but I don’t even notice. All I’m aware of is the plummeting drop before us, and the tortuous, twisting, tangle of track ahead.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">We pick up speed…</span></div>The Road Worrierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05550283398632079792noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-407278428288403671.post-65151215805016549002011-08-29T05:34:00.000-07:002011-08-29T05:34:08.991-07:00Twenty Eight - Under the Weather<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Soggy morning on the Gold Coast, but I enjoy jogging along the sea-front in the rain and it gives me the appetite for a thirty dollar buffet breakfast. The usual target is five courses: Cereal, fruit, full English, toast, yoghurt, then enough coffee to get the energy to leave the table! Awaiting the caffeine buzz I make a plan. I’ve four days left in Australia, but Brisbane airport is only a hundred miles away. I’ll stay just another day in Paradise, then three in Brisbane. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">My current room has been booked and I can’t take my paid-for internet with me, so I’ve half an hour to find a place in Brisbane, book it, and move room. There’s an apartment in Brisbane getting rave reviews, and it has a washing machine, so I don’t hang about! Booked it, Packed it, …ed off! </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Being a soggy day at the seaside there’s not much to do, so I potter round the shops and find a massage place offering an Opening Week special. I head for the Hard Rock again, and enjoy the banter with the staff. I try to leave early, but it’s raining so heavily I’m forced to return to the bar.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Monday, a dull drive into Brisbane, notable only for the lack of traffic. I’m staying on Kangaroo Point, overlooking the Brisbane river. It’s a great spot, quiet and secluded, whilst straight across the river from the CBD served by lots of ferries, and a bridge. The apartment is like something from a catalogue. All clean lines, pretty furniture and stylish surfaces. With underground parking, a balcony view of the river, shared use of a swimming pool and even a cinema room I feel like this could be my home and open the fridge to discover a carton of “Paul’s Milk”!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">With my own kitchen I can eat-in for the first night since, er, May? I nip to the shop for practically the last trip in the car. Leaving the shop I jump in, look around, whack it in reverse and whip it across the car park. The reversing sensor always starts with a long beep to show its working, by which time I’ve backed out of my spot, swung out and stopped. But the long beep immediately becomes a shrill tone. By more luck than judgement I’ve come to rest inches from a ridiculously placed, badly lit, steel bollard. (By the looks of it, many people haven’t avoided the bollard, it’s probably sponsored by the local garage) After ten rental cars, more than ten thousand miles in cities, forests, deserts and beaches, I almost come a cropper in the supermarket car park!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’m up early and ready to explore Brisbane. I walk over Story Bridge into the city, shunning the Story “Bridge Climb”. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s a tiny bridge compared to Sydney, and the view of the river is hardly a match for Sydney Harbour. I’m soon amongst the bustle of city folk. I spot an approaching charity worker, they can’t sign foreigners up so I’m happy to talk, making her robot dance to get my attention even more amusing.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Kaycee is about to go on a world tour, so I’m able to offer my considerable experience in these matters. She explains that she’s heading to Thailand, England, then Peru, and has:</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“…about twenty bucks a day”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“er… yeah, you’ll have great fun” I assure her, even though I spend more than that on breakfast!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Kaycee suggests I check out the South Bank, but it’s another soggy, grey day and the pleasure of ambling through the arboreta and botanic gardens is ruined by the frequent downpours. I hear a lot of excited yelling and round a building to find a large group of half-naked men in what could be a swimming pool or a large pond, playing some kind of impromptu water polo. It might give you some impression of how miserable the weather was, that the next shower caused this group of nutters to abandon the game because it was too wet!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Eventually, the showers subsided and I was able to continue along the river, looping back round to my apartment. It was a fair few miles, and my legs have become used to sitting in a car all day, so I was struggling and my legs were quite sore, so I went for a run.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">In the evening the local bar was pleasant enough, and I got a decent pie, but no good opportunities to talk to strangers.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Wednesday was not so good. I felt absolutely knackered. Sure, my legs were sore but I was completely drained. Just sitting up made me feel ill, so I watched TV for a while. The trouble with pretty furniture is that it’s bloody uncomfortable in reality, so I went back to bed and read, and slept, and read, and slept..</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I felt better the next morning, buoyed by the adrenalin of being on the move again. Off to the airport, and goodbye to another car. I’d managed to book an exit row seat, and was pleased to find that all five seats around me were empty. Mid-flight, I got away with cheekily placing my bag before me so I could use it as a footrest, and we were in Singapore in no time.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I arrived at the Grand Copthorne feeling tired, but happy to have made it without a hitch. I called it an early night, having eaten in the morning, at the airport, and on the plane.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">But I still woke up with a grumbling stomach. It felt like I was really hungry, but at the same time full and bloaty. I could use a snack, but there was no sign of a room service menu and I was unable to think what I’d ask for. Besides, “all you can eat buffet” was only a couple of hours away. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">At 6.30 on the dot I was ready for another five course meal. Only to be reminded that Singapore don’t do cereal. Well, they do, but it sucks. The cereals taste different, and the milk comes from a bean instead of a cow. There was plenty of other food so I made do with four courses and, went back to bed and waited for my strength to return.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">By mid afternoon I figured I’d try a short walk, and get some much needed drinks and snacks. I found a 7 eleven and staggered back to my room with my haul. I remembered I had a fridge in my room, but I couldn’t fit the stuff in because it was full of drinks and snacks provided by the hotel.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">In the evening I ventured out again, still feeling woozy. The hotel is on the river, and it’s a pleasant, though humid, walk along the bank. I found a pub and had a good juicy burger while watching Aussies beat each other up on the TV. I’m not too glum, I’ve seen Singapore before, and wasn’t expecting to do much during the days, but was hoping for a couple of fun nights out.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">After the feed I felt better, but didn’t know how long it would last, so returned to bed. TV was showing Wipeout USA, which is far better than the UK version, and had me in tears of laughter. I hope it is the best medicine.</span></div>The Road Worrierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05550283398632079792noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-407278428288403671.post-72403746747123513042011-08-23T00:29:00.001-07:002011-08-23T00:29:42.995-07:00Twenty Seven – Oh. Think twice…<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Before I left Singleton I visited one of the town’s many claims to fame. The largest sundial in the Southern Hemisphere. It was a sundial, and, er …it was quite big.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The sun is peeking through the clouds as I head north through rolling hills and fields of green.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With some relaxing music playing (Anjunadeep for anyone working on the soundtrack) it’s a lovely drive through the countryside, and for once I’m not<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>hurrying,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m taking my time and enjoying the day…</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">(Sorry to interrupt, but If you’re squeamish you may wish to jump ahead to Friday!)</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">…when a small dark animal scurries out into the road. As I brake, it begins to flutter – just another bird – so I only brake gently, expecting it to take-off. But instead of taking flight the bloomin’ thing flutters into the middle of the road like a chicken. There’s no room to get round it so all I can do is aim for it and hope the chicken knows how to duck.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I watch the rear view mirror to see how it survives but nothing appears. That’s odd. So I pull over and wander round to the front of the car. At first I just see feathers. Then, poking out of the radiator grill, I realise it’s the bird’s head, with one cold dead eye staring up at me. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The eye blinks.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Somehow the bird has gone through a tiny gap in the grill, until its head wouldn’t fit. In its effort to escape, one of its legs has poked back out through another gap in the grill. It’d be bad enough pulling a dead bird out, but pulling away feathers, feeling muscles and tendons squish as I try to extricate the poor thing …eeeuggh. Also, what can you catch from a wild bird in Australia? So I’m avoiding the claws and beak and worrying about germs and fleas!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Eventually I untie the mangled bird and plonk it on the ground. Bereft of most of its feathers, its sense of balance, and probably half its brain cells, it staggers away. At this exact moment a Rentokil van pulls up and a lady leaps out. She gives an impression of the scale of the decimation by asking:</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Is it a bird?”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">(Well, it ain’t Superman!)</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“It was, but it’s pretty screwed”…but she’s not listening as she scurries after the mangled chuck. Relieved to have avoided the dilemma of whether to leave the poor unfortunate animal to die of its wounds or reverse over it, I straighten the number plate and leave, breathing a sigh of relief that there’s nothing for the folks at Hertz to get upset about.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Maybe the bird belonged on a weather vane, because soon after the weather took a turn for the worse. I was gaining altitude and losing temperature. It dropped to 2 degrees C and the rain began to pour, turning a lovely road trip into a miserable slog. I hoped that the country town I was heading towards was big enough to have some motels. The GPS said yes, but also warned of unpaved roads and offered me a route around. Battling with the unfamiliar and unintuitive GPS I didn’t realise it was taking me the wrong way round until I’d gone thirty kilometres out of my way. (Who hides the zoom buttons in a sub menu?)</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Finally back on track and a few kilometres from the Best Western at Armidale, the rain was pouring and the sky was darkening at 4.30 so I was relieved to be almost there. Out of the gloom emerged flashing lights and a detour sign. Great! …and of course a detour in the Aussie bush means several kilometres out of your way just to get to the next road over! </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">My crappy GPS is yelling at me for going the wrong way. I don’t know when I can start listening to it again because I can’t zoom out to see if it’s taking me back to the same stretch of road. I’m detoured through so many country roads I have no idea where I am and its chucking it down and cold.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“AAAAARRGGHH!”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">There’s quite a few people being detoured, and our line passes a couple at the side of the road changing a tyre. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Oh well. Things could be worse”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">After passing through Armidale I eventually arrive at the other end of the road closure. The Best Western is 3 miles outside town and I have to be allowed through the barrier of the closed section of road to get into the motel. I later learn from the news that the road was closed after three people were killed in a crash involving a car and a truck.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Yep, things could be worse.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Friday</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The motel is quiet, and it’s a nice change to open the curtains to frosty countryside, especially as I expect to be at the seaside or in the city from now on. It’s another nice morning for a drive and I’ve picked a great road. All the roads look the same on the map, but you can find yourself sailing along an open freeway or wiggling through a twisty ravine on any one of them. There aren’t many options so I’m amazed that I chose a road where I didn’t catch anyone for over an hour! It was a fantastic drive, only blunted by the huge car I’m lugging around. Once I joined the Pacific Highway however, I was able to enjoy my luxury vehicle again and waft towards Byron Bay.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Byron Bay can only be described as a hippy town. But it has a beautiful beach and a lighthouse which marks the most Easterly point of Australia. After an hour at the lighthouse I’m happy to get a room in town, though it’s pretty scummy and the wifi’s broken (The BW had wifi, but not strong enough to reach my room, so I’m feeling cut off!). For the first time in ages I get to run on the beach, and it’s a wonderful beach to run on. Wide and flat, with the sun setting in the distance. Despite being the East coast, it’s probably the best sunset I’ve seen on this trip, with the sun shining through the clouds, across the distant mountains, the North side of the bay, the ocean, and reflecting off the South side of the bay. It’s spectacular, and I smile at the bride and groom posing for what would be the most magnificent wedding picture ever, where it not for the sweaty bloke jogging past.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Once again I fail to find a decent bar to eat at, at least there’s my regular backup option of a Subway.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“We’re closing”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“…at half past six!!??”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Yeah, the toaster’s broken, it’s quiet and the manager told us to close”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I pulled out my sad face, and the other guy agreed to make me a sandwich before they shut, which saved me from a lawsuit for assault.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Afterwards I found a reasonable duo playing guitars in a bar…and listened for a while.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Saturday dawned grey and wet. That was always going to be a problem coming to Australia in August. As I drove up the coast peering through the rain I was wondering what the hell to do. There’s not enough time to drive up to the sunshine in Cairns. I’ve been here before so it’s not that novel, and I haven’t much I want to see.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Just keep rolling” I thought, and soon I reached Surfers Paradise. What would be a great place to stay in Summer was wet and horrible, but my head was aching so it was time to try another fallback<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>option. I asked GPS for a Holiday Inn and it was just 2km away! It wasn’t even 1pm but so what? I didn’t even get discouraged by the price and went for the better view and buffet breakfast.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">It was a great move. A nice hotel by the beach, and loads of pubs within walking distance. It’s a wet weekend by the sea, but there’s enough live music, merry people and stag and hen do’s to make for an entertaining night. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">…and there’s a Hard Rock Café, where you can eat at the bar, the barmen have time to talk and I finally got to chat with some Aussies!</span></div>The Road Worrierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05550283398632079792noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-407278428288403671.post-17147256061387819952011-08-18T00:07:00.001-07:002011-08-18T00:07:32.770-07:00Twenty Six – Where women blow and men chunder?<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">After resting on Kauaui it was time to get moving again. To avoid an epic day I’d booked the flight back to Honolulu for the Saturday, with the long flight to Sydney on the Sunday. This meant a stop at the Ohana Honolulu Airport Hotel. I figured I’d just get a taxi but the woman wouldn’t let me in the taxi line:</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“There’s a free shuttle bus, comes by every five minutes”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">So I hang around for ten minutes, thinking this is going to be a waste of time, when a bus with Ohana on the side, but Great Western on the front shows up. I ask the driver and he says:</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Oh no, the shuttle won’t come unless you phone up”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">But he’s a typically helpful Hawaiian and calls the other shuttle bus for me and the assembling group. When I reach the hotel I’m oddly excited. It’s a dull hotel, just a useful spot for a stopover and an early start, but I’m travelling again. I have a clear purpose.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Sunday</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Five am start to catch the 8.15 Jetstar flight. The shuttle bus driver drops me off and directs me to:</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“That great big line over there”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">But I’m travelling business class – Jet star is Australia’s low cost airline so it’s more like premium economy, but it means I get to waltz past the queue! Gold Lane means I’m through security so fast I almost get busted for forgetting to ditch my highly dangerous water bottle!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Normally I wait ‘til last to board the plane, but with a comfy seat awaiting I was happy to board first <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>and not have to wait for dozens of people to cram their armfuls of carry-on into the overheads.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However the seat is not that great, the legroom’s good, but the seat must have been designed by a person with the legs of a child. Fortunately I’m sat next to an interesting guy, though I didn’t get his name. Originally from London he moved to Sydney eight years ago and sells medical equipment. Hawaii is apparently a convenient place for their conferences!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I watch Battle LA and Paul, then the pilot episode of Magnum PI as my last Hawaiian Hurrah. The pilot gives a time check, but fails to mention that we’ve crossed the date line and it’s now Monday!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">First off the plane, straight through customs, I’ve just time to grab some Aussie dollars out of the machine before turning round to see my bag emerge on the carousel! No queue at the Hertz desk and my car’s parked across the road. Now that’s a good trip!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">It’s weird climbing in the right hand side of a car. This is rental car number ten, but the first right hand drive. I also have a new GPS unit to get my head around, although it does have a sexy Aussie accent.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So I plunge into the Sydney traffic, and hope to end up somewhere near the big bridge.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Thanks to my devotion to Holiday Inn, I’ve managed to earn two free nights at their place on George Street. There’s a nice atrium, triangular and open through six floors, it’s like being inside the Luxor pyramid. The girl on reception looks like Hannah from S-Club, and the room has the usual Holiday Inn trimmings. Oh yeah, and the hotel has a rooftop area and pool, overlooking the harbour, midway between the Bridge and the Royal Opera House!!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">After taking in the view I need to check something with Hertz but I’m not paying 30 bucks a day for internet so I pull out the 1026 page phonebook and open it on exactly the page with Hertz’s number! </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Perhaps I should buy a lottery ticket as I’m going to need a fortune down under if Sydney’s anything to go by. 2.40 for a Fruit and Nut bar, 5.50 for a 1.5 litre bottle of water, 24 bucks for brekkie and the Aussie dollar is about 66p at the moment!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Hannah, aka Jess, suggests some pubs so I wander down George Street to the CBD. (“Central Business District” – Aussie equivalent of “downtown”, or “The City”). There’s lots of young people filing out of the offices so I’m hopeful for a good night out. Hope soon fades when I discover the usual city problem. It’s not that people are unfriendly, they’re just not excited by meeting people from elsewhere because it’s nothing new.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The bars are more like English pubs than American bars, which means not many places have a line of bar stools, and the chance to sit with other individuals. I’m happy to find an Irish pub serving steak and guiness pie, and showing a rugby league match, but there’s nobody to talk to except the barman, who’s not very chatty, though he does give me a pair of socks.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Four hour’s time difference from Hawaii, so it’s early to bed and early to rise. I visited Sydney in 2003 and we climbed the bridge and sailed the harbour, so this time I want to tour the Opera House. I find a discount token in a guidebook, and remember to take it to the ticket office:</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Tickets are 29 dollars”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“A-ha! I have a 20 percent off token”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“OK with that the ticket is 28 dollars”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Eh?”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“The tickets are normally 35 dollars, they’re on special at 29 but you can’t double discount”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Bargain. Still the tour guide is another pretty Aussie girl and we start the tour by walking past some bloke with a horse. (Reading the paper the next day it turns out it was the winner of last year’s Melbourne cup, there to show off the trophy – yawn – and later joined by two former Miss Australias – D’oh!)</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The tour’s not particularly revelatory, you can see most of the good stuff from outside, but the highlight is another element of chance. The Sydney Symphony Orchestra are practicing in the main concert hall and we’re allowed to sit in for 10 minutes and listen to them play. It’s fantastic to hear a full orchestra play without amplification in a silent hall and a shame they haven’t a show before I leave town.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">My feet and legs have an aversion to standing still, and after an hour I’m in more pain than if I’d run for the same time so I hobble back to the hotel. After recovering I go for another wander around the CBD in search of a good pub. On the streets I find painted blokes playing didgeridoos, a trio singing daft songs like “it’s fun to dance with a kangaroo”, and a bloke giving a solo rendition on his sax, but no great sports bar.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I settle for an English pub and get Shepherds’ Pie. But it’s also English levels of service, so the barmaid doesn’t return to ask:</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“How are you enjoying that pie, sweetie?”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I enjoy a chat with a charity worker in the street, and an older guy in the newsagent helps me get a map and gives me tips on my trip up the coast. But in the pubs nobody wants to talk to a strange English bloke on his own.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Time to hit the road. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Wednesday.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’ve got a Ford Falcon and in a shock move I’ve gone for the swanky G6E over the sporty XR6. It seems unlikely I’m growing up, but I did choose the comfy seat and ipod control over a “sporty” setup.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m heading for the Blue Mountains, but as I pass through Parramatta I can’t resist a stop-off at one of only three Hooters in Australia, though it’s too early to eat.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Disastrously, the crappy Aussie GPS doesn’t know anything about Hooters and I only know that it’s somewhere in Parramatta. I pull in to a petrol station to think what to do next when something orange catches the corner of my eye. Of all the petrol stations…</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Another unlikely result is spoiled when I find they haven’t opened yet! Oh well, it’s not quite the same popping in for a coke.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">On to the Blue mountains, but the weather’s terrible. August is mid winter, but it’s like a typical English day in April. 16 degrees C and wet, wet, wet. I arrive at the Three Sisters view point but thanks to the deep fog the only way to see them is to close my eyes and remember back 8 years. As I drive off Mark Knopfler sings:</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“These mist covered mountains, are home now for me…”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’m back amongst my road trip Nemesis: Trees. What little view they afford is blocked by the mist. But I’ve found a winding road, and enjoy spells without traffic. I’m amazed at the pace of an eighteen wheeler, and I only manage to pass him with the use of a hairy overtaking lane, snaking it’s way up a hill. The reason the lorry can keep up with me is that he doesn’t have to worry about encountering wildlife, as it won’t make a dent in his front end. So when I round a corner to find a kangaroo in the road I’m pleased to stop easily in time with no drama. However, as I watch it hop out of the road I wonder whether the truck driver has considered if a Ford Falcon will make a dent!!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">In the forest I spy a roadside café and stop for a bite. There’s just one old codger in the place, and the two old ladies working there, so it seems odd that the TV is blaring out the equivalent of Cbeebies, with two shouty women in gaudy dresses singing songs about fairies. I decide to be very English and order tea and scones, and she agrees to bring the scones over. But she forgets when another customer returns his ham sandwich</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“This has cheese in it, I’m<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>allergic to cheese, you could have killed me!” He says with a straight face.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I finish my tea with no scone in sight and have to remind the old dear, and acquire a free cuppa. Meanwhile the singing fairies are “doing my head in”. Thankfully, the scones are lovely.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Glad to escape the twilight café I drive on to Singleton. In the gathering gloom I don’t want to mess around with finding the best hotel so I pull up to the first one I see, and figure I’ll take a room, so long as it’s not over, say, 180 dollars.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“We’ve one room, and it’s 180 dollars” (I’m not making this up!)</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I pull a sad face and put on my best puppy dog eyes.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“I can do it for 156”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">At least the Aussies include tax, so that’s like 140 US. Not cheap, but at least there’s no more messing around today</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“I’ll take it”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“OK. To get to the room, you have to drive back out to the street. Turn left. Across the roundabout. Turn right up George Street. Do a U-turn. Turn left. Unload here. Here’s the remote fob for the alarm. Then you can drive back round and park on George street.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">It’s a nice big apartment with a reclining sofa, and I’m in town so I can walk to the pub. But once again I’m stumped. There’s three pubs, but none of them have seats at the bar so I’m just pleased to find a Subway and return to my sofa, TV and blog.</span></div>The Road Worrierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05550283398632079792noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-407278428288403671.post-79365536823642180782011-08-12T23:51:00.000-07:002011-08-12T23:51:58.162-07:00Twenty Five - Ker Why Ee<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I couldn’t find a direct flight from the Big Island to Kauai, the fourth and last Hawaiian island on my list. This wasn’t helped by Hawaiian airlines not accepting non-US credit cards. Through a third-party website I booked a flight to Oahu and another on to Kauai. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Big Island airport at Kona is impressively small, and I always enjoy walking out onto the tarmac to climb aboard a plane. Unwilling to join the scrum to sit in a chair that bit longer I managed to be the last person to board the plane. As we approached Honolulu airport the pilot announced that anyone continuing to Kauai on flight 313 should stay on-board.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">That’s a new one on me, so I sat and watched as the other passengers deplaned one-by-one, until I was left alone as even the flight crew got off!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">For about 20 minutes I had an entire Boeing 717 to myself. I was tempted to prance down the aisle, or sneak into the open cockpit, but I figured they’d be back any second and I’d end up in airline jail. So I sat and revelled in the stillness of a plane without the hubbub of a hundred passengers. I watched out of the window as my bag was separated from the others and put back in the hold, then I buried my head in my book. Soon, the moment passed and I was returned to the real world as people one-by-one invaded my space.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">At Kauai airport in Lihue I collect rental car number nine. I manage to grab the last Mustang between a pair of Sebrings, check the roof works and drive to my hotel. For the first time in weeks I arrive at a hotel after dark. The Kauai Sands is in a scruffy looking side street and has an unappealing entrance, but then it is cheap. Unsure if Hawaii has rough areas I’m glad not to be driving a zip-up Jeep as I hit the lock button on the remote.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Nothing happens.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Try again - nope. OK, well, I can use the key for that, I just hope I can open the boot. Nope.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Eeurrgh. How many things do you have to check on a sodding rental car?! Worse still, they charge two hundred dollars for damage to the key fob. So if I put up with it for a few days will I get charged as well?!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">But just as I’m getting annoyed I round the corner and discover that the rest of the hotel is quite nice. There’s a lawn with a pool in the centre, a reasonable reception and the Pacific Ocean washing up fifty feet away. I chat with the receptionist until she gives me the best room available and half an hour later I’m relaxing on my balcony with a Spicy Italian.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Tuesday.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The beach is too soft to run on, and it’s chucking it down. But I’ve found KVIC, a local TV channel which loops a guide to the island. It must be three hours long and after a while I wonder if I need to leave the room, but the sun turns up and I’m off clockwise.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Kauai has only one major road, and it doesn’t quite join up to circumnavigate the island. This means everyone on the island seems to spend most of their day on the same road. Despite some rapid work from Alamo to swap my fob battery, it takes me an hour to get twenty miles down to the south coast, before the traffic eases and I can head North West to Waimea Canyon.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The guidebooks quote Mark Twain describing it as the “Grand Canyon of the Pacific”, but that’s both an obvious description and quite misleading. I’d seen both canyons on TV before seeing them in real life. When I stood on the rim of the Grand Canyon I could hardly catch my breath. It’s overwhelming, so huge you can’t take it all in, nothing like you imagine from pictures. The Waimea canyon is far more colourful, the red dirt contrasting with the plush greenery and the black rocks. But at the same time, it looks like the pictures.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">In fact, that’s my overall impression of Hawaii. It looks like the pictures.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The clouds are descending into the canyon, and my attempt to go for a hike is thwarted by the lack of a view other than billowing white. I head back out to the coast and reach the end of the road. In many senses.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">After eighty four days in the USA, I’ve gone as far West as I can drive. I’ve met many interesting people, seen many incredible sights and had many wonderful times. With three days to go, I’m done. There’s no bars near where I’m staying, if there’s any on Kauai. The vast majority of holidaymakers are couples, so I’m unable to hang out and make friends in the evening. The next day I take a drive round the North of the island, but it’s one long busy road.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">No road trips and no sports bars. A couple of restaurants promise “live music” but it’s just a fat bloke with a ukulele. I could sign up for an “activity” but I can’t be bothered joining honeymooning couples. It’s hot and humid, so I retire to the hotel pool for my last couple of days in the States.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Sipping a cool drink under the palm trees, with the warm sun on my back and the waves splashing onto the beach, I grumble to myself about how harsh life can be.</span></div>The Road Worrierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05550283398632079792noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-407278428288403671.post-4823920336218392362011-08-07T15:12:00.000-07:002011-08-07T15:12:47.882-07:00Twenty Four – The Longest Day<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The chopper hovers thirty feet above the rim as the blazing volcano spits fire twenty feet into the sky. Bright red lava flows in a river down the mountainside and pours into the steaming ocean below. It’s incredible, it’s unbelievable, it’s …a video. I’m still standing in front of the concierge desk and Amanda the expedia rep is trying to talk me into the helicopter tour.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“After the earthquake that hit Japan a plug formed, blocking the top of the volcano. On Wednesday that plug fell in, and there’s now lava spewing out of the side. It’s a fantastic opportunity to see it”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“But my friends and the guidebook recommended I take the tour on Kauaui instead”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Yes, but Kauai doesn’t have an active volcano and after the volcano you get to see the scenic valleys and waterfalls, just like Kauai. It’s so good at the moment that people are flying across from the other islands for the chance to see the lava flow and there’s only a couple of slots left.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“What the hell. I’ll take the 2 hour flight”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">But with a cheeky question from Amanda to the tour operator she gets me a free upgrade to the 3 hour tour including a valley landing, still at a discount to the 2 hour price, and says:</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“You must have good Karma”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I don’t know about that, I’d settle for a good car. The Sebring’s brake pads are definitely on the way out, and the hard seats are uncomfortable as I head for the airport at oh crikey hundred the next morning.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Actually since this is 24 I should probably be writing:</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Ker-chunk, Ker-chunk, Ker-chunk</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">07.31.01…02…03</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The helicopter takes off and slews alarmingly to the left. We straighten and fly up the rise between Mauna Loa and Mauna Kea (which roughly translate as Big Mountain and Frickin’ Big Mountain), passing observatories and weather stations. The pilots commentary is battling with the effect of air pressure on the eardrops in my dodgy ear, and the other earpiece ain’t working. A quick self-repair to my cans and I’m binaural, though the open talkback with the Hungarian family sharing the chopper makes me wonder if I’d have been better off breaking the good side.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The first 20 minutes is basically commuting to the good stuff, and the reason you need to book a long flight on the Big Island. But soon we’re approaching the Volcanoes National Park. Danny, our pilot, is happy to announce that the weather on this side of the island is clear, and we can already see smoke spewing from the Kilauea caldera, where I stood on the rim on Wednesday, cut off from the excitement down the road.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Black lava is oozing it’s way down the hill towards us. Rain clouds are forming in the distance over Hilo, America’s wettest city, but here we have a clear view of the eruption.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Except eruption is probably the wrong word. It’s more of an oozing. The crater is hundreds of feet wide, but the vent is more like tens of feet. It’s hard to get a sense of scale from several hundred feet in the air, but safety first means we can’t get closer. Mind you, we can feel the heat from this height, so perhaps melting the electronics at ten feet and crashing into a lava-field wouldn’t be too clever a way to go(but very cool!)</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">It’s only bright red at the very edges of the vent, we circle the giant crater, and see the black lava oozing away down the slope. Danny throws in some S turns, so we get a great view from every seat, and we stick around for several laps, dodging the other choppers full of gawping people, until it’s time to go and see some waterfalls.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">This is 24, so first we fly past Jack’s house. A local nutcase has a house in between the lava fields. The roads have all been wiped out so he has to trudge in and out for supplies, and every eruption he prays to the Volcano gods for safety. I’m not sure if Danny is kidding when he says you can stay with Jack for a hundred bucks a night!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">We fly on past the waterfalls of the East coast, where tourists flock for pictures, but Danny ain’t stoppin’.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Pah! They’re only a coupl’a hundred feet tall”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">So we admire the cliffs of the coastline, then tour the valleys to the north, which are inaccessible by road.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">This is more like it. Danny takes the chopper into the valleys and fights the updrafts to hold her steady so we can capture the view. The waterfalls here are thousands of feet high. They fall from the tops of the cliffs to the valley floor, broken up by pools, carved into the cliff. Because this is one of the wettest places in the world the valleys are lush green. We’ve still got the weather gods on our side (maybe Jack had a word) and the waterfalls are glistening in the sunlight.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">After touring a few valleys Danny takes us into the one we can land in. This will be the one with the football-field-sized landing strip at the bottom no doubt. But peering around all I can see is trees, a small hut and a river. Danny heads for the river. As we’re below a hundred feet a small rocky ledge emerges, Danny’s aiming for it. He has the chopper completely under control, and hovers incredibly slowly down the last few feet before touchdown.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">We emerge from the chopper, there’s no need to worry about the tail rotor. Before you’d get to it you’d fall off the thirty foot drop to the river below. There’s a big rock six inches to the side of each runner, and we have to clamber down a slope to get round the front of the chopper. No wonder Danny brought it down slowly!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">With the engine and rotors stopped, we’re in a tranquil valley. Inaccessible by anything but helicopter. Time for a picnic, and time to absorb the journey. I’m very glad Amanda got me on the landing tour.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">We’ve 45 minutes in the valley but it feels like three. All too soon we’re taking off, whizzing above the cliffs and heading back to Kona – the sunniest city in the USA.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">There’s 13 climactic regions in the world and the Big Island has 11 of them. (My fact’s are probably not spot on but they should be pretty close, and I’m not doing research on my holiday!) So as we fly out of the rainforest, we cross green fields, green hills and then there’s a visible line where the scenery changes to desert.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">A quick tour of the posh resorts on the North West coast and we’re back at the airport. I’m a bit dazed. I don’t think I’ve blinked for three hours. Danny asked if it would count as one of the highlights of my trip and I paused.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Well, it’s outside the top ten, but in the top twenty”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was an incredible sight, but that’s all it is. I want my senses to be overwhelmed. I want incredible sights with incredible sounds while being thrown around.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I want to drive down a twisty road through eye melting scenery in a fun car with my favourite music blasting.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">So first the car:</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Sebrings suck. How we managed 32 states in 23 days in 2004 in a Sebring I don’t know, though I do remember the back aches. So I was very happy when I exchanged my Sebring with the scrapey brakes for a Mustang.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Funny thing, a Mustang on Oahu, after the Camaro SS in Vegas, felt cheap and nasty. This Mustang felt wonderful, I dropped the roof, and I had my stash of CDs ready to go.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Now the road:</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Amanda warned us about Saddle Road.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Don’t drive it. 80 percent of all accidents in Hawaii happen on Saddle Road. It’s tight, twisty, and full of small bridges”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Sounds perfect!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">My road trip buddy Craig came here on his honeymoon, and has always regretted not driving Saddle Road, just by it’s reputation. But the rental companies won’t insure you, with specific clauses forbidding driving up there.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Well, that didn’t stop me on Maui, but I read the agreement just to see what risk I was taking. Then I re-read it.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Thou shalt not drive on unpaved roads.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">…was the only clause, no mention of saddles! I’ll drive to the edge of the pavement, then decide. Probably no fun taking a Mustang off-road anyway.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Half an hour up into the hills and I make the turn. It’s motoring Nirvana, just as described. Screw helicopters looking down from a thousand feet, safely in the hands of a guy paid to take no risks. This is where it’s at, scenery flying by, tunes blasting, sun shining, and my attention fully occupied in making sure I anticipate every sharp turn, blind crest, tight bridge, oncoming innocents, while allowing for that which can’t be anticipated: animals, mechanical failure, fly in the eye!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">But suddenly it was all over. With only 5 miles done and 45 to go the fun stopped. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The road straightened out, and widened! Surely some mistake? But that was it. I continued across the island, over the “saddle” between the two aforementioned big mountains, to the soggy city on the other side, but the road was nothing to write home about (What do you mean most people don’t write home about roads?). </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I think it’s a conspiracy. Saddle road is the quickest way across the island from Hilo, where the locals live, to Kona, where they work. I think they spread the scare stories to keep the traffic off the road they need to commute down.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I cruised onward up the North East side of the island, cut off from the coast by the secluded valleys, thankful to AC/DC for keeping me awake, sad to have my fun cut short. But the Big Island had an ace up its sleeve. The Kohala Mountain Road doesn’t carry a reputation for being dangerous, but it does for beauty. However the sign at the start warns of “17 miles of twisting mountain road with no shoulders”. Awesome.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">A clear road and a clear view. Great bends and great scenery. The V8 bellowing as the Mustang and I climb into the sky, battling for aural supremacy against Brian Johnson repeating the refrain “Well give me highhhhhhhhh……”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Now that’s what it takes, to make the top ten!</span></div>The Road Worrierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05550283398632079792noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-407278428288403671.post-42739607169466555612011-08-06T02:13:00.001-07:002011-08-06T02:13:16.141-07:00Twenty Three – Grinding to a Halt<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’d only booked 4 days on Maui, as I was considering the cruise on the Pride Of America, but what I read online put me off. It’s the exact opposite of the QM2. The ship sails at night and spends every day moored off an island. So it doesn’t sound like a good way to see the islands, instead it’s a quick way to get around, and cheap – unless you’re a solo traveller, then they’ll charge you for two!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">So I decide to give it a miss, and finish the week in Maui. Extending the hotel stay was only a question of rates – the manager said it was normally 240 a day(!), but she could offer me the “owner’s rate” of 148 a day. I’d found it for 121 a day online. The manager couldn’t offer that rate, but was happy for me to go back to my room, book online, and let her know so I could keep my room!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Meanwhile, Alamo had run out of cars, so I had to return their Jeep, then wander across to Avis and collect my new machine. Although I was pleased to have mastered the Jeep roof, I still wasn’t comfortable leaving my stuff in a tent on the high street so I figured I’d just get a runabout. (Like that was ever going to happen)</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">But for 5 bucks more than the crummy runabout I could get a “premium fullsize” car. So I ended up with a Chevy Malibu. I christened it “The Fridge” because it was big, white, and after the airy Jeep it felt like I’d been sealed inside! Typically American it was big and smooth, and wonderful to waft back to the hotel in comfort. It also had a decent stereo and I began to re-evaluate my car criteria – instead of “wow” to look at or drive, is it OK if it makes you say “Ahhhh”?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">On Sunday morning I made another attempt at the ascent of Haleakala. (Pronounced Helly Ackerler) Again there was a lot of traffic trudging up the hill, but this time it was a sunny day and I could enjoy the view from my comfy seat. There were still clouds around the mountain, but as I climbed, I found myself above the clouds (…or “taken by the sky” as Stevie Nicks was singing) and the view was like looking out of an airplane.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The highest Alpine pass is 2810 metres, but this road tops out at 3030 metres, with a climb that starts at sea level! I was full of respect for the cyclists who were battling their way up, trying to pull oxygen out of thin air.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Haleakala is not a classic cone volcano, so there’s no distinct bowl to look into, (nowhere to hide your evil lair!) instead the entire far side of the mountain has been worn away by lava. It’s been extinct since 1738, but the result is still an incredible array of colours and textures. Well worth the climb.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">As I descended I was beginning to feel a bit drained. Then I realised my mistake. After protecting myself so well in three convertibles, I’d left my bonce exposed in a saloon with a sunroof! By now I’ve got a decent tan, so I wasn’t burning, but with no hair up there it’s easy to get overheated and a touch of sunstroke. So I had to take it easy on Sunday and didn’t take up the invitation to re-join Gray and Danny at the bikers’ club.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Most of Monday was spent online. With the rest of my trip requiring flights and hotels I needed to spend a lot of time booking. It’s not easy cobbling together several weeks travelling whilst you’re on the road, but somehow I managed (Frequent breaks in the pool helped) – until I was rudely interrupted by the Tsunami alarm.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Er, should I be running for the hills? Is this a test?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Amazingly, I’d read the welcome pack so I knew where our meeting point was, but I don’t recall a test schedule. So I did what any normal person does in these situations… I looked to see what everyone else was doing. Of course, what they were doing was sitting with puzzled expressions, looking around to see what everyone else was doing. One guy got up and started wandering towards reception, then the sirens stopped. Phew. I found out four days later that the first of the month is test day – well, thanks for the warning guys!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Finally I’d booked practically the entire journey home, so I headed to another sports bar, but it was pretty quiet. The main entertainment was Wii Bowling, and the regulars were worryingly good at it. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Tuesday was time for leaving, on a jet plane, heading to Hawaii. Helpfully, in Hawaii, there’s an island called Hawaii, which is the biggest island in Hawaii, but not the most populated and doesn’t hold the capital, it’s known as “The Big Island”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Unhelpfully, it was cloudy and very grey as I picked up my convertible. However, if there’s one thing I learned from the Jeep encounter, it’s check the operation of the roof before you leave the rental place. But they’d given me a Sebring, not a Jeep – you just hold a button down, that can’t go wrong can it?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">A-ha!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The roof stuck halfway!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">So I called the “greeter” back over and he tutted:</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“What have you done? That’s going to be expensive!”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I see we have a comedian. Just what you need after a flight. Lucky for him it was a short flight!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Turns out the previous renter had divided the trunk divider inappropriately, and Alamo hadn’t bothered to check, or clean it! </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">(At least they insured it. Other companies like Avis wait until you’re good to go, then announce that you’re liable for anything that happens to the car, up to its full value, and the insurance will be 30 bucks a day – a small price for peace of mind, they say. Oh yeah? How many people would pay ten grand a year car insurance? “But my credit card has Mastercover for that” will get you a scare story about how much hassle it will be. I usually say no, and I’m 540 dollars ahead of the fear peddlers on this trip, but we’ll see!)</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’m staying at the magnificent Keahou Beach Resort. It’s right over the water, with some incredibly important historic stuff next to it that I’m ignoring. I’ve an ocean view, and can watch the sun set from the bar each evening. The only thing missing is a damn beach!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Having resurrected my running in Maui, I’m disappointed to find all the beaches around here are about 50 yards long. Enough to snorkel from, but sod all use to a runner!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">With a Big Island to explore it’s time for a mini road trip. Actually, with a lap of about 250 miles and lots of 30 mph zones it’s not so mini, but I am returning whence I started. There’s some great scenery across the island, then a “4 mile scenic drive” down into the soggy city of Hilo. Kona, on the West gets a bit of cloud in the afternoon, Hilo gets all the rain – that was lucky! Although Hilo does have a nice park to run in, d’oh!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Onwards to the Volcano National Park and I escape the crowds to find a lovely quiet spot, with a fantastic view across the moon-like crater of the Kilauea Caldera. This is an active volcano, with clouds of sulphur spewing into the air. Sitting their alone, staring at one of the great sights of the world, all I can think is… “meh” (an expression of abject ambivalence).</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Maybe I’ve seen too much. Is there a limit to how much amazement you can take in? Eventually does the extraordinary just become, well, ordinary?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The volcanoes are particularly active today, a knock on from the earthquake that hit Japan months ago. Unfortunately the result is that a large part of the park is shut! Bloomin’ Health and Safety types spoiling our fun just to keep us alive.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">As I complete the loop of the island I’m diverted around a forest fire, which rages against the road, and up to a beach where the sand is completely black.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Meh. What do you expect at “black sand beach”?”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">For several miles the road cuts through lava flows from years gone by. Acres of black countryside. It’s an incredible landscape, a reminder of the fleeting nature of human existence against the epic timescales of geological advances and… are we there yet?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The next day I do some more local exploring, and find a jogging track. I also find the Kona brewery, where they make the ubiquitous Island Lager “Longboard”. (They drink it on Five-0!). I’m missing the Great British Beer Festival for the first time in ten years so I have my own festival and acquire a Kona pint glass to fill the hole in my collection – hope it survives seven flights!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I hope I survive too as the car brakes are making a scraping, grinding sound as I head down the steep hill to the hotel.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I ate a Kona pizza (Hawaiian, of course) and<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>don’t need to eat for 18 hours so it’s a quiet night in, but I make it to the track for a dawn run.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Breakfast is like a Hitchcock movie. The predators circle us, waiting for a chance to swoop for the kill. A mother turns her back on a young girl and they seize their chance. In a flash it’s too late. The birds have ravaged her breakfast.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">At first it’s charming, but it soon gets silly. The breakfast area is open to the elements, so you can appreciate the wonderful sea views, but the birds appreciate the free food more. Still, there’s plenty to go around!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">After brekkie I’m invited to listen to the Expedia Rep peddle some boring tours. I’d rather explore for myself, but I toddle along and discover I’m wrong. Amanda’s very enthusiastic and knowledgable, and provides lots of handy tips, many I’ve learnt the hard way – like “don’t attempt to lap the island in one day”.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">But despite her enthusiasm I’m struggling to summon up the desire to do anything. It’s a real effort to sign up for a helicopter flight tomorrow, despite her claims that right now the lava is as “amazing as you’ll ever see!” and “don’t wait ‘til Kauai”. I spend two hours in my room trying to have a decent skype chat with my friends Craig and Kat but once again we’ve technical problems. However, by the end we’ve solved the problems, and gone from not being able to complete a sentence, to being able to watch TV together, across half the world.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">There’s something else I need to fix. My ear’s been driving me crazy. It started itching weeks ago, but I’ve been hoping it’d sort itself out. I know what it is, it’s just inflammation caused by staying damp at so many swimming pools, but the cure requires a prescription. All I need is a small bottle of drops, but it means finding a doctor, probably paying a fortune, then trying to claim it back. ..and how to get an appointment when you’re on the move?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">But there’s an “urgent care facility” at the shopping centre, and for a mere 165 bucks and a 30 minute wait I get my prescription. The drops are a not astronomical 29.50 and I have the cure!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The car brakes still seem to be scraping so I arrange a swap at the airport after my chopper flight.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Tomorrow I can begin to fix my ear, get my sense of wonder back on the chopper ride, and get my car swapped. Maybe then I’ll stop grinding to a halt.</span></div>The Road Worrierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05550283398632079792noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-407278428288403671.post-69269627940060452922011-07-30T14:53:00.000-07:002011-07-30T14:53:22.948-07:00Twenty Two – Every day is a winding road<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Tuesday, (26<sup>th</sup> July, for anyone who’s lost track) and I’ve got a plane to catch. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Pack my bags. 45 minute shuttle to the airport (Sorry Kate, you’re too expensive for me!) check in, hang around, board plane, take off…</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“You’re now free to move around the cabin”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">…and we’re on our way to Maui, time to take the shoes off, recline the chair and read the guide book.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Please retake your seats for landing”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">38 minute flight, including take off, landing, and taxiing. I’ve spent longer than that waiting to deplane at Heathrow!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Maui airport is nice and small so I’m quickly at the rental desk for my Mustang.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“We’ve got a Sebring for you”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Oh, well that’s OK. The mustang wasn’t amazing and I haven’t tried a Sebring in 7 years.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“… or you can upgrade to a soft top Jeep”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Now that sounds interesting. I know some of the roads on Maui aren’t paved, so a Jeep would be useful, except they still forbid you from taking a rental car on them, making it a bit redundant. But it’ll be a nice change so I take the Jeep.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Well, it’s certainly a change, and this is an adventure. The guy shows me how to drop the top…</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“First, you unzip the side panels”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">That’s right, a car you can enter like a tent. To a Londoner, that’s ridiculous.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Then you unclip the sun visors, unlatch this, pull this thing, scream because you’ve caught your thumb in the joint, fold this bit, swing this bit…and you’re done!”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’m tempted to ask him to show me how to put it back up, but hey I’m an Engineer, and fitting is just the reversal of removal, right?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I bang “Maui Beach Vacation Club” into GPS and it just shrugs. Hmmm. I check the address and click on a hotel down the street. It’s only a 10 minute drive and South Kihei road is right by the sea. But my hotel isn’t. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I don’t mean it isn’t by the sea, I mean it isn’t. It doesn’t exist.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">There’s several “Maui Beach” places, but no MBVC. After a couple of U-turns I pull into the Maui Beach Resort to ask for directions.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Before I can speak the guy says “surname?”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I respond automatically, but add, “I actually just wanted to ask if you knew where the…”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Yep, we have you booked for 4 nights.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Oh! …Eh? …Oh?! …OK.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Maui Beach Resort turns out to be a timeshare place that rents the rooms out as MBVC. It has a nice pool, balconies, kitchens, and Kihei beach across the street. I’ve finally found a place where I can get up and run on the beach in the morning.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Phew!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">…and that wasn’t relief, it’s hot and humid in the room. Incredibly there’s no aircon, so it’s open all the windows, crank up the fans and be glad I’m upstairs.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Meanwhile, I’ve left my luggage on display in my silly vehicle. I don’t suppose anyone’s likely to be running down the road trying to loosen the load of 20kg of my socks and pants, but still…</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Except I can’t get the roof up. Bollocks!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">My sense of adventure starts to wane as I struggle and fight with the tarpaulin in 90 degree heat and 90 percent humidity. (Probably - the Jeep doesn’t have a thermometer!) I ask the bloke from reception, he’s an islander so he’s probably seen loads of these. He doesn’t know, but he gives me a hand anyway, and teaches me a vital trick. It’s a Jeep, so you can climb all over it to get leverage.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">With this added angle, I’m able to get the roof up in under 20 minutes. I’ll never complain about slow convertible roofs again! I hope it doesn’t rain around here.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">But the next morning the Jeep makes sense again. I’m driving the “Road to Hana”. 40 miles of twists, turns and narrow bridges. I don’t need an off road vehicle, but the added height means I can see clearly over the barriers and down to the coast below. The best sights along the road require you to get out of the car and go for a walk. Regular readers will know this is not likely for me, especially since there’s no signs advertising the stops, but it means the road is packed with dawdling tourists and tour buses. By the time I reach Hana, the trip has been filed under “enjoyable, but not fantastic”.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Even my guidebook describes Hana as underwhelming. (Yes, I actually read something in my guidebook!) So I grab breakfast and head on down the road. Hana is only about halfway round the Eastern loop of Maui, but according to the map, completing the loop will “Violate my rental agreement”. However, it’s hard to tell what point I can’t pass, so I decide to head on until I see a great big sign.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The road gets narrower, and quieter. The tourists have turned back. It gets windier and windier, (more twisty and more blowy!) and more bumpy. I finally have the road to myself, just as the road stops being a road. But it’s still a clearly defined track. Bouncing along in my open top Jeep through dense forest, I can’t help but hum the theme from Jurassic Park.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">As I swing round onto the Southern, leeward, side of the island, the scenery changes dramatically. This side doesn’t get the rain, so the forests give way to barren rocky slopes. This is more like it! I don’t understand why people, and guidebooks, would rather look at a waterfall surrounded by trees, than be able to see miles of open scenery.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I bounce onwards. The track becomes a road again, and I’m once again permitted to crash into things. Which is handy, because I’m engaged in a battle with the elements. The sun is endeavouring to burn my head to a crisp. My cap is hanging on manfully, but the wind, whipping unopposed across thousands of miles of open Ocean, is doing its utmost to separate me from my headgear.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">As I reach the foot of the climb to Haleakala, I decide I’ve had enough fun for one day. It’s time to head back to the pool. I stop to put the roof up, and give my scalp some relief. I’m losing the fight when a car pulls up next to me. A bloke gets out and says:</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“I have a Jeep, but mine has the hard top, would you mind if I look at your soft top?”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">He turns out to be Danish, and his wife and kids sit in his car while we fight the good fight. Together, we get the roof on in under 10 minutes. I don’t think he’ll be changing car soon.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">After partying in Waikiki I’m having a few quiet nights in front of the telly. Except it’s too quiet, the remote has stopped operating the TV. Catastrophe!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I have a bland remote with a Z on it, and a TV with ilo written on it, whoever they are. I manage to figure out that code 0115 will get the two on speaking terms again, and in less time than it takes to put the roof on a Jeep. Maybe I can still call myself an engineer!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Thursday. Early run, then time for another winding road. Western Maui has a very busy road that loops clockwise past the main resorts at Lahaina. It’s very busy because you’re not allowed to complete the loop around the Kahekili highway. So that’s today’s mission.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">It’s a fantastic drive, a single lane road hugging near vertical cliffs, rising high above the ocean. Lots of twists and turns and not so many safety barriers spoiling the view. Eventually I return to civilisation and a car park full of people admiring views which pale into comparison with what I’ve just witnessed (by violating my agreement again), and when I say “phew” this time, it’s not from the heat!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I even succeed in getting my roof up alone, with only 5 minutes of struggling and swearing.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Friday, and time to ascend the Haleakala highway to 10 thousand feet to stare into the crater. Except today I’m just staring at grey. It’s a cloudy day and everything above two thousand feet is covered in fog. Tourists who’ve paid a hundred bucks to roll down the mountain on a bicycle, are doing so getting soaked, with no view to enjoy. The drive up isn’t a patch on the last two days and when I reach the top I don’t see the point paying to get into the National Park, when the only thing visible is the gift shop. Hopefully I’ll come back.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Although it’s Friday I’m pretty tired from spending the afternoon booking flights, hotels, and cars. I’m not sure I can be bothered with another night out, telling the same tale. But that’s going to make a dull blog, so I get my lazy backside out the door and find a sports bar.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">There’s a bunch of grey haired bikers sitting round the bar as I pull up a stool. The guy next to me even introduces himself as “Gray” and tells me about his trip round the UK three years ago. They treated him well, and he wants to repay the favour by treating me well. He forces me to eat one of his ribs (from his dinner, you idiot!), buys me a beer, and introduces me to everyone who comes in the bar. There’s a live band, but they’re not playing for another hour, and I have to drive. Gray and his other half, Danielle, are leaving, but offer to show me another bar they’ve been talking about, near where I’m staying. It’s a small place, oddly named “the Sandwich” but it’s friendly and fun talking to the locals. The barmaid Trish makes a wicked milkshake sundae. I’ve still got the Jeep so when I return to the hotel I’m hoping there’s no laws against Driving Under the Influence of a sugar rush!</span></div>The Road Worrierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05550283398632079792noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-407278428288403671.post-52381178145271540172011-07-25T02:20:00.000-07:002011-07-25T02:20:38.501-07:00Twenty One - Book 'em, Danno!<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="color: #2a2a2a;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">After Sunday in Vegas was Saturday night, Monday was definitely Sunday. Time to recover from the days before and prepare for the flight the next day. Hard to believe that in ten weeks travelling I haven't been on a plane. I squeezed my stuff into just two bags, fretted about weight limits, dumped loads in the bin, but couldn't resist another day by the pool.<br />
In the evening I had dinner in the "pink taco", ate something very tasty called “Sabana de pollo” and did some serious gambling. I’d tripled my investment by the time I'd eaten and was wondering whether I should stay in Vegas and make a fortune. But it was time to move on..<br />
Actually having to get up before 6 in the morning was a real shock, but for once everything worked out beautifully. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="color: #2a2a2a;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">As I said goodbye to the Camaro the guy asked how many speeding tickets I'd got in it. <br />
"None? You've not been driving it properly!"<br />
No queue at check in. No queue at security. A nice new plane with decent screens and an empty seat next to me. I had to pay six bucks to watch telly but I didn't mind when I saw what was on.<br />
They had the new series of Hawaii five-0. So I could watch an action series and learn a bit about Hawaii in the process. I watched six episodes back to back and every time the iconic theme music played my excitement increased.<br />
Despite my protestations that I still had two episodes to go, the pilot landed us smoothly and I was in state four-9!</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="color: #2a2a2a;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Hmm, must have missed one. Oh well, there’s always next time around.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="color: #2a2a2a;"><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">A nice lady called Kate drove my taxi and pointed out President Obama's high-school, where to shop and why they’re digging up the high street. She also pointed out that they didn’t have gun battles and car chases every day. TV lied! </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="color: #2a2a2a;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The Holiday Inn isn't right on the beach but it's damn close, and convenient for all the shops and bars in Waikiki. Even better, my room is available. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So I’m a very happy man as I use a contemplate unpacking for the first time in 2 months.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="color: #2a2a2a;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’m less happy when I take a walk around. The famous Waikiki beach is actually quite small, and it’s packed with people. There’s adverts for surf lessons, but the waves look even more packed than the beach. The streets are crowded with people, and all the shops seem to be selling “Aloha shirts”. I’d spoken to the Army guys about the corner shops over here called ABC stores, but I hadn’t realised there was going to be one every fifty yards! I kid you not!</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="color: #2a2a2a;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I failed to buy a shirt but succeeded in replacing my broken camera. I was tired after the flight – not so much from jet lag, but from getting up early – so I gave up looking for authentic food and decided to just grab a burger. But around the corner from Mick D’s I spotted the original “Cheeseburger in Paradise” restaurant.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="color: #2a2a2a;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Of course, they don’t make any claims about the burger itself, just the location, so it shouldn’t have been a surprise to get a fairly average burger! I staggered back to the hotel for an early night, but stopped for a quick one in the hotel bar cum surfing museum.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="color: #2a2a2a;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Other than the signed surfboard from Apocalypse Now (Charlie don’t surf!) the displays weren’t much fun. The barmen were though and I had a good laugh talking to them and the other guys at the bar. They closed at 9, but the main restaurant next door, “Jimmy Buffett’s Margeritaville” had a live covers band. So once again I found myself hanging out, chatting to the band and talking to randoms.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="color: #2a2a2a;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">In fact that was to become the shape of the week. Unlike mainland USA where I would jump in my car and head on down the road, here I’m trapped. It’s very expensive to rent a car, and if you do you have to pay for parking. Besides, the roads are jammed with traffic.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="color: #2a2a2a;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">It’s not a terrible thing. The sun is shining, the people are great, and there’s plenty of bars within walking distance. It’s just not the adventure I’ve got used to. But it’s good to take a break from the relentless movement, right?</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="color: #2a2a2a;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Er…</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="color: #2a2a2a;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">By Thursday I’m coming down with a cold. Figures. I usually catch a cold when I go on holiday. Combination of my immune system relaxing and sharing a spending a few hours in a metal tube with a few hundred germ infested people. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="color: #2a2a2a;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I resort to pay per view and watch a movie called “Soul Surfer”, hoping to be inspired to book some lessons. It’s a good story and although it doesn’t get me in the water it gets me out of bed.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="color: #2a2a2a;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">By Friday I’m not coming down with a cold. I decided it’s time to get out of the city so I rent a car for the day. Of course I can’t just get a sub-compact so I find a shiny red Mustang convertible and blast off into the hills.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="color: #2a2a2a;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">…except there’s too much traffic, which I expected, and no hills, which I didn’t. Oahu’s roads skirt the green hills, and for much of the island there’s only really one road, so everyone’s on it and looking for a parking spot near the beach. I plod on, and eventually reach the East coast. Here the road runs right along the sea and finally up a rise over the hill. It’s all very pretty, but not gob-smacking. Maybe I’ve seen too much, or maybe I need to get to the other islands.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="color: #2a2a2a;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">With not enough to do, I start to think:</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="color: #2a2a2a;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Vegas was paradise for a single traveller, with so much to see and do available instantly. Hawaii is paradise for couples. Romantic dinners and excursions abound. There’s another contrast, Hawaii is very much about culture and history, two words that don’t exist in Vegas. How much you enjoy the island spirit may come down to whether you enjoy being enveloped in the sounds, sights and smells of island folklore, or recoil at the sight of a bunch of blokes in skirts setting fire to things.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="color: #2a2a2a;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">So I wouldn’t recommend a deliberate trip to Oahu to a fellow road worrier, but it’s a handy stop off, and there’s other islands to see.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="color: #2a2a2a;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I make the most of the evenings. There’s a Hard Rock Café, a place called the Yardhouse that has 102 types of beer, a “Giovanni Pastrami” and many more. People seem even happier to talk out here than anywhere I’ve been, probably because they’re almost all on holiday. I meet Aussies, Kiwis, Americans… I get bought beer, buy beer for people. Spend a night with more military guys, this time it’s the bomb squad – and you thought you had a stressful job! I meet a girl whose come to Hawaii with no money, hoping to get a bar job. There’s a couple from Christchurch whose home was badly damaged in the quake, and they tell me the after-shocks still continue!</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="color: #2a2a2a;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">..and for five nights I’m happy to finish up watching the band.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="color: #2a2a2a;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">By Sunday I need an early night. But the blog’s overdue, and I need to make some plans. So it’s a long session on the ‘net. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="color: #2a2a2a;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Eventually I have a plan to get me home. The next Hawaiian island lined up. Chance for another road trip, and still the possibility of a second cruise…<br />
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Best go and say goodbye to the band.</span></span></div>The Road Worrierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05550283398632079792noreply@blogger.com0