Look, Lean, Roll…

Queenstown Day…. 6?

Bill and I have settled into a house here in Queenstown and have a lease for the first month of our stay. Our initial strategy was to find work first and a place to live second, but after reluctantly going to a showing where we thought we would be looking at a local families spare room we were instead shown an amazing retreat home that’s usually rented out to groups or families for the season. The house sits up on the hill overlooking the city and sleeps eight to nine in its’ four bedrooms, each with its’ own bathroom, shower and tub, as well as two large living spaces, a pool and hot tub out on the patio. We were pretty shocked to see what was offered for about the same price as we had been paying in Boulder, albeit we are sharing a room. There are far more affordable places to live but many advertised were cramped and run down, many for only 50 bucks less a month. At least this way we have a nice place for the holidays where we can invite new friends and hang out in style instead of dumping money down the drain at bars.

We seem to have lucked out with the roommates thus far. In what is shaping up to be an episode of the Real World INTL we have three couples filling the other rooms, a pair from England, Chile, and France. Everyone seems to be very cool and the first two pairs were roommates prior to moving in so at least half of the house knows they can get along. The Chileans and French have decent working English too, which is a true blessing. Hopefully I can knock the cobwebs off my Highschool french and learn something.

On the work front I have been a bit lazy after being delivered two promising leads. My hope was to come and find some work in the Mountain Bike community and after trying every operation in town the last finally admitted to be looking for some one around the end of this week as things begin to hit the busy summer. With any luck I’ll be doing some mechanic work, selling trips and guiding a few times a week. I’m going to hold out for this one and if it doesn’t work out I should be able to find something else. Bill found a barman’s job at an English pub and has hit off there with a good crew, which is promising, his workmates say there’s always work to be found somewhere during the summer.

The country is quite beautiful here and I’ve already been on several good motorcycle rides around the area. Shockingly however I discovered that the bike, after being ‘fixed’ in San Francisco for it’s overheating was neglected to be filled with coolant before being handed over to me. Does this sound familiar to anyone? Well I don’t know how it’s possible, but I’ve managed to ride from San Francisco to L.A. and then Auckland to Queenstown, a good Two thirds of the country, with zero coolant, the temperature gauge never showing anything out of the ordinary, and the engine yet to self destruct!?

In last week’s episode Bill and Dusty were left hanging from a branch of dubious strength, surley ’bout to give, and ready to drop our heros into a writhing pool of knashing teeth and swirling tails, which could only be one thing - Salties - the big fuckers.

Luckily, shipping agents are no where near as menacing or mean spirited as a thousand pound prehistoric eating machiene. The day following the arrival of the bikes and their release pending payment, we were able to put enough cash together on our own to spring my bike, and using Bill’s pasport as proof of future payment, the damaged but not destroyed Triumph Tiger as well. This was done, instead of refusing to accept delivery of the bikes, on the condition that our agent here in New Zealand would hold payment to our U.S. agent untill a more reasonable price for shipping was delivered. Our Los Angeles contacts were actually far more quick to respond then our expectations led us to believe they would be, and while the final price has yet to be determined, we will be receving a credit. The crating agents hired by our shipper were taken to task for their shoddy work and things are moving forward with out the need for bloodshed or legal wrangling.

With the bikes in hand we sprinted off down the road to Hamilton where we had a very nice evening a small backpackers hotel called the Eagle’s Nest. The ‘nest’ is run by an elderly retired couple, Hugh and Moira - Scotts I believe, who were very warm and welcomeing. Bill and I had a good night out with some the other guests and headed out to Wellington the next morning to catch a ferry for the South Island.

Now a days we are in Queenstown looking for work and a place to live. One alone is hard enough, seeking both together is a chore. For now it seems staying in one of the smaller hostels for an extended time at a discounted rate is the best we can do and we’ll have to get money comming in before we can afford to look for something more personal and hopefully affordable.

Queenstown is gorgeous and I’ll be sure to let you know just how soon.

Well. As you might have guessed things are talking a somewhat ugly turn down here. Our Bikes, which arrived at our cargo handlers ware house on Tuesday, went for their MAF inspections today to a greater degree of success then I initially anticipated. I was afraid that my bike would be too dirty to enter the country and would need a steam cleaning to dispose of any foreign uglies that the fair people of New Zealand wouldn’t want foiling their country. Bike - passed. Tent - passed. A locked hard case on Bill’s bike - needs re-inspection Thursday - no big deal. All customs paper work has gone through, and our cargo handler on our end was even nice enough to post the refundable bond for our machines.

The problem you ask?

Well these gouges on Bill’s Cases for one…

Or perhaps the fact that they could not get my Bike to stay upright during transport.

Oh or that they’re trying to charge us twice the quoted price.

Hopefuly all these issues can be resolved tomorrow, but we’re entrenching ourselves just incase.

At LONG last the bikes are near! After leaving Los Angeles on the 6th of this month, the cargo ship Cap Sunion and will be steaming into Auckland on the 20th… Sunday… tommorrow. It’s been a long wait we should have timed it better but what can you do!? Bill and I met with Matthew, our customs contact at Cargo Express, the receiving agent, and things went really well. It’s actually a pretty simple process. We filled out some paper work, basically the same declerations you make as a traveller flying internationally. To be technical we’re using New Zealand Customs Temporary Vehicle Import which allows us to bring in the motorcycle(s) for 12 months using our U.S. plates and registration. As long as our registration remains current in the states and we get a sticker to prove that here at the DMV we are good to go! Neat huh? We do have to put down a refundable bond with the customs agency for 12.5% of the value of the bike, but that’s nothing in the grand scheeme of things. The crated motorcycles will be delivered to the Cargo Express warehouse on Monday and then either Monday or Tuesday we have a meeting with the Ministry of Agriculture and Farm (MAF) to determine if either of the bikes or our personal affects (tents and such) are clean enough to enter the country. My bike is the only real concern as I’ve had it up to it’s eyeballs in mud. Worse case scenario; they steam clean the bike and that will only cost about 120 dollars NZ. So with some luck we’ll have the bikes by mid week and we’ll finally feel whole again.

After that it’s off to Wellington, the southern port town of the North Island where we will catch a ferry to the South Island and proceed directly to Queenstown so Bill and I can look for work and a place to live. We hope to get into something cool, like moutnain bike guiding. Yeah, we’ll probably be fruit pickers but we have to atleast try to find something better. Bill found a place that you can learn to be a skydiving cameraman and after 25 free training dives they start paying you for shooting peoples pale petrified faces from upclose. Hey Johny One Eye….jealous? We shall see, just one of a hundred thoughts.

Well, I think I’m going to go russel up some food and see if Bill is out of bed yet. Last night we went out for a few hours with our buddy Dave to have a laugh before he heads out on his own for a couple weeks. Dave and I got in at about 3am after cruising a bunch of places with a few people we met here at Base Backpackers Auckland. Bill sauntered off with a German girl and I have no idea what time he got in. Apparently ze Germans take quite the liking to Kaiser Willhelm, so he may have scorred!?

Ok, so neither Bill and I were very happy with the blog we first started (we won’t name names) the features were hard to use and overly complex for the value added there fore we didn’t get out to it much. I doubt anyone missed us too much ‘cept you Mom of course. I love you - don’t let anyone tell you different!

I’ve told my self that I was going to go back and fill in all the gaps but it’s a little daunting so we’ll just start off with today and move forward, filling in the last month here and there when the mood strikes perhaps.

Synopsis

Denver to California : BORING Exceptions: Salt Lake, Donner Pass, the KLR overheating coming into San Franscisco and San Fran itself which was really cool.

Here I am on the Salt Lake near Bonnivile Raceway (no they wouldn’t let us out on the flats).

San Fran to L.A. : Gorgeous, in that cliche once in a life time way; no motorhomes, little traffic, great weather.

Fiji:
> Bluest F’ing water you will ever see, warm too - ahh so nice.

> Amazingly freindly natives, staff, and other travelers.
> Good freinds made, like you Dave! And Tabby, and Ally, Gemma and others.
> Camera Stolen - very upsetting to this very day, can’t seem to let it go ( Sorry Dad ). Ok so not every one was so freindly.
> Good diving too, not the best, but pretty cool.

New Zealand
> Dove the Rainbow Warrior with Bill and Tabby. Very cold, creepy and cool.
> Re-unite with Dave from Fiji and share car.
> White water rafting on the Kaiatuna river with class V drop at Okere Falls. Ever seen eight people in a raft dissapeer under water? Not a clean wetsuit in the bunch.
> Spending too much money, on drink and food primairly.
>Waiting for our babies.

“The Warrior” as its most commonly known here in NZ is a ship commissioned by Greenpeace in the early eighties for world wide protest actions including anti whaling operations and such. In 1985 the boat was docked in Auckland harbor and crewed to sail to the base of French nuclear testing amongst remote pacific atolls. Just before midnight a warm December evening an explosion rocked the boat tearing a large hole in the engine compartment. All but one aboard abandoned the ship, a lone photographer returning to collect his equipment when a second blast sent the boat to the bottom taking the sole journalist with it.
Local NZ authorities quickly apprehended the saboteurs, French secret service personnel who using a hired yacht had smuggled the explosives into the harbor after meeting up with a French submarine. The two agents were released into French custody where they were ‘imprisoned’ on a French controlled tropical island in the Pacific. After two years they returned to France as heroes.

After being pulled from the harbor bottom, patched up and stripped of valuable components The Warrior was towed up north up the coast to a set of islands about an hour’s boat ride from the resort town of Paihia.
The dive itself is cold and deep, lying at a depth of about 25 meters in sub-tropical waters leaves limited visibility of 12 to 15 meters and temperatures of 15 deg. C. We wear 5 mm farmer john wet suits with booties, and a 6mm jacket and hood to fend off the cold.
Descending down the mooring line you see very little other than your buddy and the bubbles of the others rising from the murk below you. Reaching the bottom we kneel on the sand just at the stern of the vessel which sits upright, and peer at where the propeller once spun. We swim beneath the overhung recess for the prop and shaft rolling over to our backs to examine the hull overgrown with a reddish orange coral mimicking the rusty hull beneath it. Beyond the hull we see only the faint light of the surface unlike diving in Fiji where you can locate the sun and see the ripples of the surface waves.
Turning the corner of the ship we run along the bottom and hope to find something interesting lurking beneath the various hunks of metal thrown clear of the ship during its’ scuttle. We find only a large lobster, a lone sentry to the starboard side. A few minutes more and we are to the bow of the Warrior and here we see some truly psychedelic soft corals, blue, pink, yellow, and red neons appear in patches three to twelve feet in diameter. The colors are stunning when you realize how little light reaches them at this depth, and one can only wonder how vibrant they might be at half the depth. We pause to watch the little coral blossoms (each individual smaller then a dime) wave in the surge, and then proceed around the ship at about half way up the hull to the stern once again. Ascending to the aft deck we criss-cross toward midship peering into dark holes and then drop to the lower mid ship deck toward moving toward an open hatch where we will briefly penetrate the wreck. Stopping just before the door our dive master does a quick OK to everyone making sure that all are comfortable before entering this dark void. One by one we swim through door and find a spot to crouch and wait for the others. After our eyes adjust to the darkness we see we are not alone. Towards the bow of this compartment are hulks of twisted metal for what original purpose I can’t decipher but they fill one half of the compartment, leaving precious little room for 6 divers and the two hundred some odd eyes starring at us. To the side opposite of us are a hundred or so “Big Eye” fish, each about 7 inches long with eyes as large as half dollars, presumably to see in dark places such as this. They are schooled together all facing the same direction and sit patiently, and somewhat nervously I suppose. After a few minutes the novelty has somewhat warn off and one by one we ascend through the gapping hole through the fore deck, and once again pause to check air and anxiety levels in the group. All is well, we have no ‘freakers’ in this bunch and we are doing well enough on air, so once again we drop off the bow of the ship and move along the port side, gazing into the ship through tears and holes which reveal more twisted metal and a pair of scorpion fish, the lone sentries of the port side. We return to the stern of the ship and swim off toward the mooring line for our accent to the surface. It is becoming right cold and we shiver our way through our safety stops at 15 and 5 meters, finally surfacing to chattering teeth and the promise off hot coffee to warm us for our second dive back among the islands.