The steep learning curve….[ Part One | Part Two ]

It doesn’t really matter what you ride, the days leading up to the trip always seem a little tense somehow. For me, this trip to Greymouth on the west coast of South Island, New Zealand with my brother-in-law Steve, was even more so. Don’t get me wrong, I knew the route and in fact it is one of my favorite rides, the difference this time was the mode of transport…..my ’41 741 Indian. Prior to this I had done the ride on much more modern fare, primarily a K1 BMW, fast and comfortable and, the only problems or difficulties likely to arise, inevitably self-inflicted…..usually the result of excessive speed and/or underestimating a corner. I had also done one long trip on the 741 to Nelson and back for the Indian Rally in 2000. The round trip about 700 miles, but this had been done in the company of a number of like-mounted souls, including my friend Ben who had done most of the work on the restoration of my bike and who knows Indians inside out. This time I was going solo.

The week before, all those ‘to do’ things going through the brain….check the tires (18 front, 20 rear), check the oil (don’t forget a liter in the saddle bags, just in case), what tools? (screwdriver, wrenches, open-enders, plug spanner), what spares? (points, plugs, rotor, condensor). Ring Ben just to check, he also advises me to go over numerous nuts and bolts on the bike….’I’ve heard of carbs falling off, seat bolts dropping out and the guard stays are notorious, especially when you’ve tried to use the originals as you have’. Then do a final check on the generator chain, something which I have had problems with in terms of adjustment, get the tension right and a quick squirt of chain lube before I push the rubber plug home. My needs on the two day journey are minimal…..sleeping bag, wallet, water-proof leggings and of course the camera. Steve is on his Ducati and we’re going to Westport for the first night and then, an early morning start to Greymouth to catch some of the street racing to be held in the town center on Sunday. By leaving Greymouth mid-afternoon, we planned to be back home late Sunday afternoon. Ahead, a ride of just over 400 miles. In this part of the world, October is when we begin to pull the dust covers off the bike of our dreams and think of sunny days, sweeping corners, and a few mates telling stories over a beer or two.

For our trip the forecast looked great, on both sides of the island! Why the surprise? Well for those unfamiliar with South Island geography, we live on a N-S oriented rectangular lump of crust which is almost dissected in half by a continuous string of mountains called the Southern Alps. This range has a significant affect on our weather, such that inevitably when the prevailing winds are from the west, it’s a sure bet that the rain is bucketing down on the narrow coastal strip west of the Alps, whilst those living on the east will be experiencing warm, dry Fohn -type conditions. On the west coast, rainfall is measured in meters and in some parts, they expect to average an inch or more per day! So, with that in mind, thoughts immediately turn to the Indian’s electrics, thoughts of this nature tend to be short lived since almost everything of that ilk on an Indian is there for all to see….like the washing on a clothes line, gets dry if it’s sunny, gets wet if it rains!

We leave Christchurch in sunshine and head up the main road North. As so often happens on the plains east of the Alps, there’s a cool wind blowing off the sea and we’re pushing straight into it, makes the ride less pleasurable for the rider and harder work for the bike. About 40 miles up the road we ride through the small rural community of Amberley and, although the village is only a mile or so from the sea, to the west the foothills of the Alps begin to close in. For motorcyclists familiar with this country, a good sign because as we head west and inland, the roads become a rider’s paradise, hills, valleys, sweeping corners and scenery like nothing else on earth. Through the limestone country of the Weka Valley and rocky ramparts forming gigantic frogs, elephants, imagination the only limit and, the need to divert the attention back to the road because this short stretch is a great ride. Refuel at Culverden and then past the Hamner turnoff (if we had time a relax, the hotpools there would be just wonderful) and up the Waiau River Valley towards Lewis Pass. If there is one thing which is really hard to grasp its the fact that this landscape is geologically speaking, so young. The rocks may be old, but the hills and mountains have been shaped by a period of sustained earthquake activity which occurred over the last few hundred thousand years…..one major fault which passes through the valley is still extremely active. As we gradually climb , occasionally small slips cause pebbles and cobbles from the road-cutting to roll onto the seal….another reason to focus on the road and forget the surroundings for a while. We pass a very typical high country farm on the left and then immediately the road sign indicates serious bends ahead…..a hairpin over a gully, down to first and then a step gradient up the other side. The Indian pulls strongly and quickly we are over the worst and then into top….the gear we both love best. Quickly up to 60 mph , and to my left one of my favorite sites, so typical of where I live, massive thicknesses of river gravels eroded into the most dramatic of cliff faces…..if you have the time, stop and take a look, sunsets are best. If you want to get closer, always go and talk to the farmer before you go on his land, in most cases they’re happy to see people are interested in their land. Steve and I push on, the landscape sharpens and the river valleys begin to close. We stop on one uphill section alongside the Boyle River for photographs….in the distance the familiar sound of some exotic two-wheeled machines in their element, thumbs up as a Ducati, a couple of Guzzis, a Honda and a Suzuki barrel past and then like dominoes, line up and lean into a uphill right-hander…..’I guess they’re of to the bike races as well’, says Steve.

The country from the Boyle River through Springs Junction and on to Reefton provides what must be one of the best motorcycle rides anywhere. The rider is usually confronted with one of two problems. The scenery is breathtaking and distracting, the roads demanding and exhilarating. If this is the choice you are confronted with, then problem two isn’t. When you cant see nature’s wonders, then your probably riding in rain, its almost certainly very heavy and the only advice is do it, enjoy it and think about the stories you’ll be able to tell to the blokes back home over a beer on a cold winters night. For Steve and I, the weather is perfect and visibility stunning…we stop at the bottom of the final section of road leading to the top of the Lewis Pass, Mt Una 20 kilometers away, clear and majestic, snow covered and framed by the bluest of blue skies. In the foreground my Indian looks the part, more photographs. From the top of the Pass to Maruia (more hotsprings), another ride to remember, downhill sections with wonderful corners, the road simply a two-laned strip of asphalt through dense stands of Mountain Beech. In places, opposing canopies of the trees above, extend to almost touch, we ride through these wooded tunnels, the greens intense, the low angle sunlight fractured by each trunk creating a new, mesmerizing atmosphere, movie-like. An approaching fast sweeper clears that air and gets the attention it deserves….there is nothing like the satisfaction of knowing you judged almost every aspect of the turn to perfection, its gone but the smile will linger. On the valley floor, and the pace quickens as Steve and I forget mother nature and discover more about the nature of man and his toys…..I get clear indication that I’m pushing things a bit when I take a sharper left hander just a little too wide, back off on the throttle just a little. On the right, a road which leads to Lake Daniels and numerous mountain walking tracks. Drive down that road about 200 meters and on your right, a small, straight concrete wall. An experiment, scientists wanted to know more about how earthquake faults in this area move, so they built a wall across the fault, over 40 years have past, and still the wall remains intact…..some suggest cynically that the wall has stitched the fault together! We stop at Springs Junction for a coffee and a bun; check the bladder, in need of draining; check the bike and everything is as it should be…..the more I ride this bike the more I enjoy it.

From Springs, it’s a reasonably steep climb to the Rahu Saddle and when the road sign warns a 10 mph hairpin ahead…believe it! Over the top and a downhill run of breathtaking beauty, beside us the Inagahua River tumbles over granite boulders, like us Reefton bound. We catch up with a HiAce , 4WD no less. Clearly the extra differential is of no concern or value to the driver….speeds up, slows down, rapid approach to the corner, then brake into it. Through the rear window, I see all sorts of baubles hanging of the rear-view mirror, I make the link ‘Asians’. At last an opportunity to pass, wind the Indian out (she sounds great in this valley) and a quick look to the left.…’Europeans’, bang goes another theory! Out into the open and the lush green landscape I know and love so well, the West Coast. High above on the crest of a hill, blue smoke signals the site of a burning seam of coal, it has been that way for decades and nothing it seems can snuff the burn. Quickly through the river valley and quaint, seen-better-days villages with blue-smoke chimneys indicating the coal range is going and the billy is boiling, same as it was even before the mine caught fire. Finally and just as suddenly, a 50kph sign and Reefton, a town of sufficient proportions to have a main street or two, connected by not-so-main streets, some with houses, others with nothing ‘cept the odd pile of coal, a rusted out truck and a old black and white dog (border-collie cross) looking for a place to pee. The name of the town tells all, for some the reef (quartz) was a bonanza, for others it was just another hazard to shipping…..when the luck runs out there is only one question, to stay or go and in the case of Reefton most punt for the latter. Coal is still mined in small quantities, but with talk of Global Warming and fat fingers elsewhere pointing at fossil fuels, the big question is bound to be asked more and more.

We head north up the relatively broad and flat Inangahua River valley, through places with names like Waitahu and Cronudun, a cemetery indicating times when things were much different….significant quantities of gold were discovered in the river gravels and every man and his dog from California, Alaska and Australia got to hear about it. Tailing-riddled river terraces up and down the narrow coastal strip, a stark reminder of how serious man can be when he sets his mind to do something, but then other signs indicating nature works at another pace. A landscape peppered with rotted iron, for this environment eats the metal of the Industrial Revolution; once cars, once trucks and tractors, mementos, shrinking images of conquest, spirit and hope, soon forgotten, overgrown.

I’m jolted back to reality as the Indian’s pulse goes offbeat, turn on to reserve as we pass a road sign at Inangahua Junction indicating another 44 kilometers to go to Westport. I do know there is no possibility of refueling anywhere in the Buller Gorge, what I don’t know is how many miles the bike will go on the reserve tank…..decide to push on regardless. It never ceases to amaze me on this journey that, having just completed one section of road which you believe cannot be topped, next thing you’re confronted with the ‘scenery versus road’ dilemma again. So it is with the road down the Buller River. Many never get to see it at it’s best because when it rains……. but Steve and I seem to get it right every time and on this occasion riders and bikes are on song. As we pass the Berlins Pub a wave from a group of motorcyclists refreshed and preparing to leave, as we continue west however I begin to feel a growing unease, that fuel question. Through Hawkes Crag (a single lane cutting through some seriously thick and hard rock….rock or river the engineers choice) and I decide to back off on the throttle to improve my chances. A feeling of relief when ahead through the bush, I can see the valley profile begin to widen, an indication that we are about to leave the hills and ride across the narrow coastal plain to Westport. No sooner said than the v-twin’s pulse loses it’s rhythm and I switch off the ignition and take advantage of a gentle downhill section to gain an extra two hundred yards or so. No point in cussin’ the bike, this is something I have to take total responsibility for. On the other hand the 741 has done it’s bit because we’ve pulled up outside the base for outdoors adventures in the gorge…rafting, jet boating and trekking, roll the bike up the shingle drive and introduce myself to a delightful young woman in the office. She goes out back and talks to someone else explaining my predicament…..’and only 3 miles from Westport’. By the time I return to the bike, said woman and a young chap with a strong, strong Irish accent are sitting on a bench beside the bike….looking at the Indian. Irish asks the questions …how old?, is that the gearshift? why two footbrakes? The gent from out the back soon appears with a small tin full of gas, enough to complete the journey. After a few more questions, the bike fires up first kick, first gear, a wave and a sharp left hander on to the main road. As I get up to speed, I figure I’ve got reason to smile and I guess the folk back at the Adventure Park probably feel pretty good about the whole deal as well…..Indians have that affect on people.

First stop in Westport is to refuel, then to our accommodation for the night where the bikes are secured, then a short walk into town. A quick meal and then into a pub (one of many in such small town) for a few beers in front of the TV….its rugby night and our home team is in the final. Two hours later, we’ve lost. Home to bed, early start tomorrow, about an hour and a half to Greymouth, on another of those roads.

After a minimalist breakfast, we roll the bikes out and I start to go through the pre-flight checks…..Ben’s list of must do’s firmly imprinted on the memory banks. ‘Check the carb screws, they’ll often vibrate loose, even had the bike start to cough only to look down and see the carb just hanging on the fuel lines’……screwdriver alongside the inlet manifold and all screws are loose, that’s one for Ben. Check the oil, down a little but OK, check the generator chain….bloody loose again! Tires OK, nuts on the guard stays all tight, axle nuts OK. The bike fires into life after two priming kicks, the engine settles down to a comforting idle, pack our gear and head east out of Westport and about 3 miles down the road, take a right-hander onto State Highway 6 and on towards one of the greatest coastal rides anywhere. But before you get to the coast, there is a 20 mile stretch across a narrow coastal plain which bares the scars of decades of serious gold mining. During the last Ice Age only some 20,000 years ago, this landscape was being uplifted quickly as two continents collided. Progressively the quartz-rich rocks of the hinterland gained altitude through folding and faulting, at the same time, valley glaciers eroded the already crushed and weakened rock. Much of the resultant debris rapidly found its way to the sea and then wave action began a process of sorting….large, small; heavy, light; round, angular; hard soft. This process concentrated alluvial gold along a series of strand lines which paralleled today's coastline. Almost 150 years ago, the miners and prospectors working this land came to understand gold’s pattern, the ‘blacksanders’ as they were known, tunneled and sluiced their way along and through the strand lines and when that ran out, they turned their attention to the higher river terraces further inland. We ride across flat road sections interrupted by steep-sided river cuttings, some natural but more often still showing the effects of the sweep of water-cannon. Through road cuttings and small ravines where clearly the search for gold was fruitless and as a result where much of the bush remains relatively undisturbed. Some serious corners in some of the gorges and advised speeds worthy of note, especially for the uninitiated. Every mile we edge closer to the coast …..

Just before Kaipakati Point we begin a quite rapid climb, punctuated by some extreme corners….1st and 2nd gear for the Indian but at the top of the section a view south to take your breath away. On a good day, Point Elizabeth 22 miles to the south should be in view, a sweeping coast green, bush-covered, often enveloped in a mist generated by the Tasman Sea pounding it’s beat. On a bad day, the rain pulls a curtain on almost everything, on such days look for a pub…..Charleston, Barrytown, Rapahoe, grab a beer, put your feet up in front of the open fire and savor a different color of the west coast, the locals. For Steve and I, there is a slightly overcast sky and a cool wind from the south, near perfect conditions. Quickly we gather in two riders loaded for the long haul, Harley-clones, singles, taking their time, enjoying everything; they pull over and wave us on. As we approach Punakaiki, I realize neither Steve nor I had bothered to talk about pit stops for either bikes (or riders!). Punikaiki, despite being one of the most frequented tourist stops on this Highway 6, is well worth a visit, especially if there is a strong ocean swell pounding this part of the coastline…..and yes, the palms growing along the road are very special. They are native Nikau, and have the distinction of being the world’s most southerly growing palm. Look through the dense, green bush so characteristic of the landscape west of the alps and you will see exposures of peculiar layered rocks….the world famous ‘pancake rocks’ of Punakaiki. This is why the tourists stop…..a short walk to the coast and, as a result of a combination of earthquake, rainfall and waves, the rocks have been exposed and eroded into a series of platforms ,coves and spectacular blowholes. Take a rest, buy an ice cream and make the walk, it is worth it.

The steep learning curve….[ Part One | Part Two ]

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