Day 30 Mossburn to Bluff
The last day to complete the Brevet on time.
I haven't been sleeping well. I'm up and down like a demented cuckoo in it's clock with a broken mechanism. I got up at 5 to do some blogging and passed Alistair in the corridor. He was dressed and ready to go. He asked me the time and I told him so he muttered about thinking it was later and went back to bed. I left at first light and was steaming along through the mist which didn't clear until just before Winton 69 kms away. Around the Castle Downs Swamp on a long stretch of road with long grass on the sides a figure appeared out of the grass pushing a bike. It was Margo who I had seen on and off with Kate who is still gamely heading South as I write, nursing a bad knee and thigh. Margo had pushed on past Mossburn and slept in a one person tent. I offered her some barley sugars and we rode together to Winton, she grumbled about hating the mist and cold and wanted to stop and brew up a cup of tea but I bullied her into pushing onto Winton. We chatted and laughed and were doing a great speed. (I averaged 21.9 km/h to Winton, usually managing 11-12) because it was a smooth surface and downhill all the way to the sea. We cruised into Winton hours ahead of my schedule. I anticipated meeting Sam here after she flew into Invercargill and got a rental and came out to see me and pick up my gear. We settled into a big breakfast, I had Eggs Benedict with extra bacon and toast, a milkshake and one then another coffee. Margo ate more.
Food is fuel I can't slow down the eating and had to try at breakfast today to chew slowly. We lazed around texting and chatting then finally roused ourselves and left at 12. While Margo was in the restroom Brad appeared so I told him he had sailed past Margo, who ducked down fearful of being discovered. He looked sheepish when I told him he had been singing at the top of his voice. He said he was a terrible singer. The joy of life!
Margo and I pressed on. The tyres were singing. We got to Wallacetown and were trying to figure out which way to go when a car pulled up. The figure in it looked vaguely familiar. It was Samantha my darling wife come to rescue me. I gave her a big hug then so did Margo because she had heard me talking about her she felt like an old friend. Margo knew my cousin Alistair and Sue living in the old family home at Kikiwa and was friends with the teacher whose class I had spoken to in Paeroa. Kiwis are truly only three steps away from a connection. Sam took the luggage including some of Margo's and we resolved to meet at Bluff. Sam could track our location so knew when to get there. In the cafe one of her friends had texted and told her to get moving- she had been sitting around too long. We pushed on to Bluff all ideas of finishing tomorrow now gone.
Of all dad's friends his old army buddies were the dearest. We always visited and stayed with them if travelling. I remembered staying with the Redpaths just out of Cromwell. The house is still there, I went past it with my wife last year. Behind the house on the hill for water for gold prospecting. It ran miles back into the hills. We went and watched while Mr Redpaths dam it so the water would spill out and irrigate the slopes. The Redpaths were religious and spoke with thee and thou and he read from a huge bible at mealtimes and his three kids and I exchanged glances while our eyes should have been closed. Dad helped him build a straw structure with the tied stooks of wheat and the women watched. It fell down soon after it was done and they had to laugh.
I have a memory of dad lying quietly under willows by the Clutha river, his head in her lap, and she was stroking his hair. I wasn't old and it was such a tender moment and I realized they cared about each other but had so few moments like this because they had,5 crazy kids and were always working. Dad visited Gordon Ham regularly on his farm. He was a champion ploughman and had won the Silver Plough and kept a team of Ayershire horses for show ploughing. At dad's funeral he told me how dad would always have warm food for them when they came back from sentry duty. Cooking was always an issue when near the artillery because firing would blow out the promises. He said when they got to Rome instead of carousing, which they could do anywhere, they went around all the ruins and were blessed by the Pope which pleased dad.
Gordon Middleton had trotter horses and would stay whenever passing through with his horses. Dad loved going to the RSA and we were all proud of our fathers on Anzac Day when platoons of them marched at the War Memorial medals chinking and glinting in the sun then off to the RSA to rejoice and reflect and remember. They shared a bond and every time they put on the uniform they were choosing to risk their lives. Day after day.
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