I had another day off. Whenever I spend days away from paddling, I always have plenty to do. I spend time mopping water and sand from the kayak, recharging my various equipment e.g. VHF radio, cell phone, sat phone, lantern, camera, laptop, etc, updating my notes, reviewing maps and brochures (for camping sites), obtaining weather reports and gathering local knowledge. It is not uncommon for people to approach me to ask where I have come from, or to talk of kayaks, or as has happened on a couple of occasions for people to ask where my car is.
I was speaking with one such person on this day. They had a permanent site in the campground for use during such times as Christmas and by the end of the conversation I had been offered the use of a bicycle to ride the 4km along the coastline to Waihau Bay’s ‘centre’. This consisted of a mechanic’s workshop, a general store, and the Waihau Bay Lodge, though this did not appear to be open for business. I gladly accepted the offer and promised that I would put air in the tyres whilst there.
I arrived at the workshop where I noted the mechanic (in standard issue overalls) dozing in a chair at the garage door entrance. Business was slow today. I suspect this may well be the norm although I expect too, that if a boat were out of action, he would not be given much peace.
I pretended not to realise he was sleeping and offered a loud traditional Australian greeting of “G’day!” I like people to know I’m not of their land. They seem to be more forgiving when I display any sort of ignorance. In this instance I still could not understand that he was telling me I had to plug the other end of the air hose into the plug in the wall for it to work. He had to repeat himself three times.
With the tyres now inflated satisfactorily I parked the bike and marched into the General Store. “G’day!” I announced loudly. “One hamburger with egg, bacon, and cheese, please! And I’ll grab some stuff off the shelves too.”
With my hamburger and supplies in hand I sat at the small table on the front porch looking over the boat ramp and the Bay beyond it. I noticed a couple of kids at the other end of the porch who’d not been there when I walked into the shop. One, in a wheelchair, was wearing a singlet and cap. “G’day!” I greeted.
He and his mate had moved from their end of the porch to mine before I’d finished my burger and we were chatting away about this and that. My guess was that they were about 16 years old. I learnt that he was here to visit his Mum for Christmas. She had made my hamburger.
A young pretty girl of a similar age walked over singing along to some tuneful hit. She was wearing a red and white checked and collared shirt, tied off below the chest, along with denim shorts. Daisy Dukes! I could not tell from where the music was coming until she removed what looked like a mobile phone from her pocket. She selected a new song and leaned against the porch pole beside our table, humming along. I guessed she was the sister of my new friend. She resembled the kid’s mother.
Whilst we talking about famous New Zealand sporting identities a charcoal grey Mercedes drove up for some petrol. It was what I call the bullet-proof model. Expensive, solid, and indestructible looking. Both the driver and passenger were wearing baseball caps. I should point out that the driver looked like a respectable man in his 40’s and that the passenger appeared to be his son, about 12.
My friend asked his mate if they belonged to the mafia. “They hoods, bro?” he questioned again when his initial comment received no response. “Get my bat! Go on get it!” he urged and then demanded.
I had learnt that what we call punnets in Australia can be called ‘chips’ in New Zealand, whilst a holiday or beach house is called a ‘bach’, pronounced batch. So it was that I hoped ‘bat’ meant something different to my initial impression.
When the kid with the legs came running back with a gold coloured, aluminium slugger, in his hand and handed it to the one without, who then began twirling it baton-like in his right hand, I decided that word 'bat' meant the same here as it did at home. I also decided that I’d finished my hamburger and should be returning the bike.
Trying not to appear fazed or hurried I climbed aboard the bicycle, said goodbye, and wished them a good day… whatever that consisted of. I gave the still humming girl a smile (I probably looked nervous), and began riding out of town... as it were. When the rear tyre popped and released all its air in one swift hiss, I decided that I should not bother the mechanic and walked the rest of the way back. I had some sand to get out of my kayak.
