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The Red Barons more or less challenged me to report on proceedings of this run, I think because they thought they were untarnished model citizens yesterday: then Enzo, the Ferrari red RS broke down. Pride cometh before the trip home on someone else's pillion.A small collection of bikes (Bwucie and the Sex Toy; the Red Barons and Enzo, along with the footrest off the main stand, which Enzo left on the forecourt of the Shell station - Alex, if it breaks off, then it classes as excess baggage if you pick it up and take it with you; Richard, 1150RT; John, who appeared outta nowhere after not being at the briefing, R1200S; and klingons Jason, 'Blade, James, SV1000, and UncaMoose on his new-to-him very pretty K1200RS - possibly about to lose his klingon status?) left Westgate for smoko at Kaiwaka, via Peak Road, Woodcocks, SH1. Yes, thank you, I did feel the pressure of quicker bikes and riders behind me as I white-sticked my way through Woodcocks. Sometimes I think it should be a worry when the lead rider's Metzelers still have an almost full set of elephants on them, and the three or four bikes behind have no visible chicken-strips at all, then I remember I'm like Popeye: I yam what I yam - chicken, and it's too late to grow bold now. They all know they are welcome to go by me if they want to.From Warkworth to Kaiwaka Kerry Red Baron abandoned Enzo to the pilot-officer-in-command, and jumped on the K1200, so UncaMoose got to try out the new toy with a bit more of a load. Both pronounced the experiment to be a success. Mine host at the Italian Restaurant was still setting up when we arrived, so there was a small delay for our brews, but worth the wait. Unlike a lot of Kiwi barristas he had his water temperature just right, so no bitter oils in the java - nice one.From Kaiwaka we processed via the Port Road to Parua Bay with a brief fuel stop for the two bikes with too small tanks. That would be the eleven-hundy and the twelve-hundy ess. No photos from lunchtime, 'cos I left the pointy-snappy camera in the pannier, and it was too hot, too far, too much trouble. Lunch was good, served pronto, and we had us a nice shady spot on the lawn by the tide. Doesn't get lots better. After lunch, John and the twelve-hundy left for home (probably only took him about 3/4 of an hour to get to Auckland, the guy can pedal), Bwucie and UncaMoose had a mission to complete at Ocean Beach. Jason and James demanded more twistems, so I stopped on the way to the Heads and pointed out Mt Tiger Road to them to try on their way home. I have been over it a couple of times in a cage, and have it very high on my list of roads to ride, but just haven't found my TUIT yet. (James came in to pick up some of our freight from work today, and confirms it's as good as I thought - Bar Steward!) Everyone (bar gone John) came down to the Heads for the ride (such a pretty, pretty area) but J & J had to go scrape their toes around Mt Tiger, and Richard left to get home, rather than stand on the beach and go snowblind from the sun on the white sand. While Bwucie and UncMoose hit the tide, the Red Barons did their Otto-Phocus thing with the pointy-snappy.
As soon as preparations started, the Surf Patrol sent their little 8 x 8 to get a rubber duckie to save the whales.
UncaMoose gave up after filling his ears with sand and salt water (it never makes the ride home a lot of fun when you do that)
Meanwhile Bwucie proved the theory that any bloke can pull chicks by putting two ping-pong balls and a tennis sock in his budgie-smugglers is not true.
Route home (eventually, after the children stopped playing) was via Waipu/Langs Beach/Mangawhai. At Mangawhai, things went pear-shaped. Alex needed fuel, so tanked up Enzo at the G.A.S. station while the rest of us bought ice creams. Then Enzo wouldn't start. We established, by pouring ether into the back of the airbox, that the only thing stopping the RS firing up was lack of fuel, but nothing we could do on the gas station forecourt would persuade the pump to pump, or the injectors to inject. Alex got dejected when his fuel wasn't injected. After a long delay trying to source assistance via cell phone, we left the bike locked under cover in the gas station (hope the Red Baron remembered flowers for the lady today), and we threw the Red Barons' gear in Unca Moose and Bwucie's panniers, threaded the selfish seat cover off the 1100s pillion up the back of Bwucie's jacket, and headed for home, two-up. Kerry and I got overtaken by another bike about opposite where the Dairy Flat Service Centre is: we both felt sorry for the guy pedalling the bike, he had such a fat chick on the pillion, then we realised it was UncaMoose, and the "fatchick pillion" was Kerry's other half. (Alex, is it true your bathroom scales say, "One at a time, please," when you hop on them, or is your lady-wife exagerating again?)By the time I waved ta-ta to my bro-in-law and his K1200 when I left the motorway at 'Rewa Hard, he had got to try his new ride on twisties, with a normal weight pillion, with a (slightly) more robust pillion, AND he was getting to test the headlight in the dark. I understand he doesn't despise it so much he is gonna go see Henry to get his money back, and my nephew will be relieved about that, 'cos he's buying his Dad's GTS1000.
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