February 13: Left at the possum...

Jimmy

The smoky smell of Wayne's fish dryer permeated the air all night. But after the incredible meal at the Success Cafe a few hours ago, mixed with a couple vivid dreams (chase dreams my specialty), the sunny morning seems secondary. Oh yes, gotta pedal again. It's decided that E will have herself, bike, and our cart trucked overhill to Whitianga, G will ride it solo. 
The climb from Coromandel Town is famous. Ungraded and 2 miles long, it climbs from sea level to 1000' directly, a continuous 7+% grade. At 11 am the sun is beating already. The climb is a "red zoner". Then a long down thru jungle, into the mist of strangling clouds, then light rain. Climbs alternate with mist, with sun, with sheep farms. Place names are odd: Whanggapoua, Matarangi, Kuaotunu...   oh yes what were those directions??

Bruce, brother of Wayne, whose B&B we stayed at last night and who smokes fish, gave me the following info: " When you reach the bay at Kuaotunu, go til you see the dead possum in the road, make a left, go 50 meters and you'll find the store that sells ice cream cones so big you can hide behind them". Never meaning to doubt a well intentioned suggestion (regarding food), I found myself in the presence of one gi-nor-mosterous IC cone, which slid down the IC hole quite well, considering the conditions.  Jimmy, the shop's 18 lb. Tiger Tomcat was my witness, tho he never looked up from napping under the postal box.

Climbing outta the bay (and it's always that way, isn't it?!), more mist, a few short, but steep climbs, then brilliant sun in Wharekai back on Mercury Bay. In a small park on the beach, I find myself sitting under an ancient Pohutukawa tree, one that Cap'n Cook supposedly had sat under in 1769 when he made his "discovery" of New Zealand. He promptly claimed the islands for Britain, as was the custom. Hey, why not, it's a great tourist destination.

Rejoining Ellen at our "flat for the night" in Bruce and Adelle's basement, Gary rehydrates and we claim a small patch of the beach for the Ralf. We devour some more giant green mussels and polish off the smoked snapper and another bottle of Sauv Blanc. Skeeters out tonite...