Cycling NZ26 - Day 24 - The Weather Forecast

It’s arrived. It’s 3 pm and its tipping it down.  Like this.

So thats me holed up in this part of the world for the next two days. 

Kaicoura is a lovely little place on the Pacific coast. Absolutely brimming with cafes and motels. Should you wish you can go out in a helicopter or a speedboat whale watching or just go watch the seals frolicking at the beach. 

The trouble is it is 125 miles from Christchurch. And any other significant place. To be out in this on the bike in the hills with a harsh southerly headwind, for that is where all the weather is coming from, mixing it with double articulated 50 tonners, cos there is only one road in and out of this place, well that would for sure have been one of my not so good ideas today. 

Of course the decision to stay was made a few days ago. Not because of the New Zealand TV weather forecast cos for sure they do very good reports on what has happened but somehow always fail to even attempt to say what is going to happen tomorrow. I hate the internet but I have to use it to get a forecast. 

Well there I was waiting. All night and most of today. The promise I thought was for a lazy shag. But apparently you have to put some effort into it. Not only it but also in finding a victim - sorry a like minded person in my case one that is blind and not really that fussed if they get a long conversation instead. 

Whilst travelling this country from time to time my path did cross with other like minded people. I’m sat on my balcony and there she is. A fellow tour rider. A rather powerfully built woman who I chatted with just the other day. The hostel is full. But I have a spare bed in my room and perhaps rather than trying to camp in this weather she might be happy to shack up with me.

She’s obviously been on her bike for some time going by the state of it. Her poor saddle has been worn so hard that it’s lost the colour out of its flesh. Solid bronze calfs and thighs that might just might look as good as Southside Marks with a bit of netting wrapped around them. 

Anyway she’s in and freshening up in the bathroom. Comes back into the bedroom looking like a God!  Wet touloused hair thrown back and with more frontage than Brighton pavilion. How she wrapped the towel around all of it God only knows!

Now up to this point Balloon Dog has been asleep in the bushes. As she exits the bathroom I feel him open one eye, raise his nose and let out a little sniff. 

She sits on the bed next to my prone carcass. Now for some reason I had failed to close the kennel door…

Oh how sweet she exclaims. You’ve got a puppy!  

Er, well no actually. It’s a fully grown dog. 

Well by now balloon dog is sat up smiling with his tongue out and wagging his tail profusely. 

May I pet it she says.  

I’m starting to get that thick feeling in my throat just as balloon dog rolls over and exposes his belly.  Her hand gently caresses his underside which only makes him swell with pleasure. If he had legs they’d be spinning right now. I must say she’s a dog lover for sure. 

Now I just cannot explain the next 30 seconds or so any better than this. 

In a swift move the towel fell away. She grabbed Balloon Dog by the throat and for some reason started to kiss him all over. Poor old Balloon Dog. It’s as though someone had jammed a high pressure air line up his jacksi cos he went from all soft and gentle to this great Christmas Balloon Dog of a thing in about 9 seconds flat. So pumped up I thought his googly eyes would pop right out of his head!  For her to then massage his neck!  It’s been a while since he’s eaten any grass but by the look on his face and the noises that he was making, well, to avoid the mess I would have to be very quick to get him out of the house!

All of a sudden I’m pinned. My only defence now from a full frontal attack is my guard dog and he’s quite unwell and about to explode!

I look up. She straddles me. Now it is clear that this gal is a long distance tour cyclist. The garden is bare of anything flowery. And there’s a concrete path between the playpen and the shit house which all comes crashing down on top of a whimpering Balloon Dog. 

I hear a loud pop!  She’s obviously missed.  

She knows instinctively that something has gone wrong, quickly stands up and starts to apologise profusely!

I gather him up in my arms. I cry!  Balloon Dog!  Balloon Dog!  Speak to me!  Speak to me!  

I look at her with sad painful eyes. You’ve killed him!  You’ve killed him!  He’s as flat as a pancake. You’ve broken his back!

There he was. Flat. With his little tongue hanging out and a pair of X X eyes. 

Apparently she had tried in her desperation to ram him into her playpen but one of the bed springs let go just at that critical moment. My super excited dog saw what was happening but failed to turn the high speed corner on a shaven polished floor and so got hit in the head by the concrete path. 

Poor old Balloon Dog.  I ever so gently place him back in his kennel in the long grass and close the door…

Theres a loud WOOO! and a SWOOSH! WHOOSH!  I awaken to the sound of the storm outside. 

I’ve been dreaming!  I quickly open the kennel door and there he is curled up all warm and happy like. Obviously having a dream of his own going by the twitches as the storm rages outside. 

What do Balloon Dogs dream of?…

I dunno. But if he’s like me there will be a can of Winalot somewhere in the mix…

Ciao for now…