Time to chill out, and time to get my bearings. Luckily Marc wanted to give me the locals guide to the area and beyond. I'll condense Saturday and Sunday into one jaunt, as I've fallen behind with updating this Blog. This will come as no surprise to some, and to those who are surprised.. "Hi, I'm Steve, we've met? Yes?"
Heading along the coast road of State Highway 1 on Saturday morning, and after me suddenly telling Marc to pull over every five minutes when I saw another fantastic view,
we pulled in at an eatery for a late breakfast of pizza & coffee. Last nights catching up on old times may have left our bodies a little dishevelled, and pizza for 'brunch' seemed as good an idea as any.
Having wolfed down the sustenance needed to get us through the day, our next stop was at the Southwood Engineering motor museum.
A private, and eclectic, collection of cars, motorcycles, a couple of aeroplanes and a 1950's racing powerboat, Southwood is a fun place to wander around. As it wasn't laid out with the set design or organisation of somewhere like Beaulieu, it was like being allowed into a millionaire petrol head hoarders garage. A whole mezzanine of motorcycles was like a history of New Zealand motorcycling in one place. Had I not been dehydrated from the last nights excesses I would have drooled over many an exhibit, and probably have taken more pictures, but there you go.
Following on from the petrol heady halls of the museum, we trundled a few miles down the road to Paraparaumu beach. A wide empty expanse of sand and air,
although that's apparently how it used to be in the past. Although the beach is still wide, and the air is still expansive, the little town has grown into a beachside community for the new Wellington commuter set. With rail lines into the city revamped, Paraparaumu wouldn't be a bad place to live, at least that's what the advertising hoardings told me, and after an afternoon of coffee and strolling on the beach, I was inclined to believe them.
Then a slow, twisty, roller coaster of a drive back through the hills and valleys, yet more roads that I am itching to drive or ride on. A feeling that I was obviously not alone in having, as when we stopped so I could get some shots of a tranquil spot in a gorge,
bike after bike thundered past, heading for the hills.
I say thundered, as the screams of inline fours that I'm used to hearing on British country roads, seemed to be replaced with the thumping of big twins.
As much as some would complain about the peace of the scenery being spoilt, I found the roar of bikes gave me a comforting, and admittedly a bit of a jealous, feeling.
Sunday.... Sunday as the religious types say, was a day of rest.
Rest from what? You may ask, and I would struggle to answer that, but apart from a stroll around Wellington, and an afternoon of being lazy sods.... that was Sunday. Oh, and Marc introduced me to a couple of the local 'energy drinks'... Ha! Excellent!
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