 Dawn on the last day
So
what does a bike shop owner and faithful spouse do on holiday? Cycle of
course and this time it was the call to warm weather that saw us
planning a trip around East Cape.
The week before Easter we drove in pouring rain to Gisborne to stay with friends who have also just entered the world of retail and have opened a branch of Poppies Bookshop. We were fortunate to be there for an evening of 10 book reviews presented by a sales representative from Unwin Publishing. I chose a good book but was later to regret this added 500 grams.
We left town after a hearty breakfast and obligatory coffee just as the schools were starting. We passed a bakery, which lured me in to buy Chelsea buns and crispy bread rolls and rolled out of town past the hospital and through the neat rows of the Ormond vineyards. Already the holiday was perfect with the sun on our backs, a gentle incline and little traffic.
When we joined state highway two the logging trucks appeared, full ones coming towards us but the empty ones passing us. With everyone I gritted my teeth as I relived the reality of friend, James Forrest's fatal cycle accident under an articulated truck the previous week. I soon got less terrified when I realised these truckies could see us and were giving us lots of space but you were certainly with us on this ride Jim.
 Ready to go, Phil with hostess Jan
The ride was a gentle up hill climb through vineyards giving way to farmland with the many stately deciduous trees reflected the first tinge of autumn and the sky darkened threatening to dampen our spirits which were easily foisted by our bakery feast at an abandoned cottage.
Otoko hill had us breathing hard as we took the slow traffic lane up it's twenty plus kilometre length. Regenerated bush lined the road with a mixture of farmland and forestry but on we pushed the rest of the 70 km to Matawai with renewed vigour once we saw the Hotel 5km road sign.
Inside the run down turn of last century pub was Esse, the hotel owner. Looking like a Ponsonby fashion store assistant, Esse trotted out from her office and the fruitless task of trying to get broadband working, to serve us and fellow shorts and bush shirt clad travellers.
The beer in hand I looked around and in front of me on the edge of the bar was a small plaque "Stan" and further along names of other frequenters. A terrazzo tobacco spittoon ran along the length of the base of the bar. On the wall behind amongst the ancient shearing equipment I spotted a pair of emasculators and perched above the doorway was a stuffed two-headed lamb that had been casting it's glassy stare since 1938.
We could no longer get a midday meal there but could have stayed and dined for the evening in the formal dining room with its crisp white linen and silver service. Instead we had a burger at the takeaway, bought a bottle of wine and headed a further 9 km along the Motu river valley to spend the night with a local farming family on Pakahi Station. It rained and my legs screamed out for a rest after the five hours we had gone. We pushed along the gravel track to the last remaining house, the stationmaster's house of the once thriving railhead town of Moutohoro. One look at us covered in cowshit, Heather ran the bath and made a cup of tea; bliss! Fine food, wine, company coupled with exhaustion commanded deep sleep.
Warm drizzle accompanied us at the onset of our second day. From the house we could just see the pass we would tackle. Slick tyres and a wet gravel road had me concerned but at the speed we hauled our laden bike and tailer up the Old Motu Coach road I was enveloped by the beauty of our bush clad surroundings, dripping and fresh. We pushed on steadily and it was a couple of hours before we saw a vehicle full of hunters and then another parked in the bush. We were sharing this stunning remote place with very few other people. It was tough and my legs ached but after the first big climb we rested and we heard it, ‘the roar'. The tone, it's depth and the closeness will remain with me and I now understand the lure to the hunter.
 Old Motu Coach Road
Down we rode, occasionally slipping on patches of clay and then up and up. Down again and this time back into farmland so lush and green as we drew close to the Bay of Plenty. The sun shone and glinted off the abandoned cars that lined the roads and littered the paddocks. We were back where people live like there is no tomorrow,
We reached the coast at Omarumu under a cloudless sky. I was looking forward to a flat ride around the bays but not for long as we were soon climbing up out of one bay into the next. I was struck by the shabby unkempt appearance of the houses (which all seemed to sport sky dishes) contrasted with the well-groomed grounds and freshly painted Maraes.
 Typical Eastland home, note Sky dish and horse (SUV not shown)
The sun was hot as we cycled from to Opape Bay, past Morices Bay and through the large semi circular bay at Torere, up and over till I refused to cycle any further. I had noticed along the way to my surprise that many of the beaches were closed and had non-trespass notices on them. We couldn't just camp in a pleasant spot of our choice so we stopped at Hawai Bay Motor Camp. Another seventy-nine kilometres day.
Our camp site had trees, a table and a place to put up the washing line but best of all we were just fifty meters from the sea. The sun set in the middle of the bay with brilliant shades of orange. Yes life was perfect.
 Hawai Bay Sunset
Heavy overnight (April Fools Day) dew meant little drying and I had to struggle into a wet sports bra which I might add is worse than wet togs but as the sun got hot as we strained up the 218 metre high Maraenui hill out of the Hawai Bay I remained cool. The view back and forward from the top was worth the climb over and we were rewarded by an inland deviation to the bridge over the Motu River, which had made its way down from Matawai much more directly than we had.
 Maraenui Hill
On our way up and over from Whitianga Bay to Omaia Bay we past a sign advertising both Pig Dog training and Taxidermy. I wonder just how many untrainable pig dogs don't get out alive. At Omaio was the first opportunity to replenish our supplies and we paid a huge sum of money for iced buns, rice and tuna and then set our sites on Te Kaha Bay for a beer and lunch. The ride was punctuated by glimpses of sheltered coves and sandy beaches and rewarded by a jug of beer on the deck at the waters edge Te Kaha Hotel The Café answered the call of our rumbling stomachs. I found Camembert cheese in the store here so had to buy it.
 Enjoying an ale at the Te Kaha pub
The day got hotter as we cycled down to the Kereu River past Waikawa Point and on to Whanarua Bay, the home of Pacific Coast Macadamias. It was where we found an amazing view, shade, espresso coffee, home made macadamia nut Manuka honey ice cream and venison salami. A cool breeze and refreshments gave us the will to pedal the next twenty kilometres.
 Ruakore Church
We had an easier gradient as we made it through Makaehako bay to Te Waiti and on to Ruakokore where in stark contrast to the surrounding homes the Anglican Church stood out gleaming white in the late afternoon sun. Inside it smelt of fish, claimed by the locals to be caused by penguins living under the floorboards. The stained glass window too looked out of place in these surroundings with untethered stock and horses wandering free.
 Espresso and Macadamia ice cream at the orchard in Whaharua Bay
Up and on to Waihau Bay and content with a beer and fish and chips we watched the local kids jumping off the wharf and the sun got low in the sky before we climbed aboard for a short ride to the camp at the other end of the bay. We had covered eighty-four kilometres. Once we had booked in we got a taste of some native unrest as the camp manager threatened the shop manager in ‘choice' language. The morepork called in the trees and a bothersome possum climbed on the bike in the middle of the night but the store hadn't been torched, just an eviction notice taped to the front door of the shop.
 Eastland Wharf
After following the sea to Whangaparaoa, the landing place of the Tainui and the Arawa Waka in 1350 AD, our ride to Tokata was a pleasant one through regenerated bush surrounded by forestry plantations. The highlight for Phil was the sight of the appropriately named Nipple Hill.
Lunch at Hicks Bay was an education as the local childcare brought their small charges for an iceblock at the local dairy, which appeared to be the centre of activity in this unkempt community. The hill out and over to our back packers, Sunrise Lodge, had a welcome lookout stop, which gave our first view of Poverty bay. After a bath to ease my weary legs and a rest we headed down to the beach where we watched the moon come up over Poverty Bay while the sunset over our shoulders on the Bay of Plenty. Looking out that there is sea and the Chile, the next planned cycle touring adventure in our calendar.
After being among the first people to see the sunrise a bird shat upon my head. The only good luck was I had just put on my cycle helmet in preparation to cover the one hundred and seventeen kilometres to our next campsite. The ride took us up some big hills and through the edge of some pleasant farmland but as we journeyed further south vast areas appeared rundown and many parts resembled wasteland. It was hot and we were hanging out for a beer as we panted into the attractive town of Te Puia Springs and parked our bike outside the Hotel. One thirty and the bar didn't open till two we were told so we lowered ourselves into the soothing waters of the hot pool in the backyard shed. Dressed we returned to the bar but left half an hour later still with no beer as the licensee hadn't come to work yet.
Downhill we whizzed, cooled by the airspeed till we got to Tokomaru Bay where we bought up large at the Four Square. We ate and watched as children finished school under a perfect blue sky against the backdrop of the eight kilometres of golden beach.
Refreshed we ground our way up and down the ever busier main road until we decided to turn off and head out to Anaura Bay. The hill up had us moving at just five kilometres an hour but the bay and the campsite right on the beach were a fitting reward for our long day's grind.
 Anaura Bay from the saddle
Sunrise glorious sunrise and even I was happy to see it in such a beautiful setting.
On the journey back out to state highway thirty five we encountered a herd of cattle roadside grazing. They were clearly afraid of us on our long road waka and kept running ahead in panic and I was a little afraid they would come run at us but I am grateful I hadn't yet seen the movie Black Sheep.
We rolled into Tolaga Bay and with it's cafes and takeaways and realised we were back into mainstream New Zealand. At the far end of the bay, three kilometres from the town is a now disused wharf that once took stock out and brought roading materials into the area until it made itself redundant. We cycled along it's 660 metre length and admired the bay from the unusual vantage point.
 Tolaga Bay Wharf
The rest of our journey down state highway thirty-five to Gisborne was in glorious weather. We climbed up and down and glimpsing the glorious Tatapouri and Makarori beaches and road down Okitu and Waunui beach fronts. The Breast Screen Bus from Palmerston North passed us bringing home the reality that our tour was at an end.
We celebrated our completion of the five hundred kilometres with a lunch of fresh fish and a glass of wine at the Wharf restaurant Gisborne.
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