Hobson Street, Auckland, under the Sky Tower, "can't miss it" I was told. A few conversations to people in the street later, I found the coach station. It seemed hidden away behind a tall tower !!
I wondered in, leaving my bike outside in full un-nickable view. It was a hot day and I was eager to enter the cool of the coach station without pausing to lock my bike. A coach was due to leave a few minutes later, so I didn't have long to hang about. The driver took my shiney new bike whole, I just had to wrap the chain with what seemed handily stiff newspaper. Friends had warned me that I had to be ready to dismantle it at the driver's request. I knew how to remove the front wheel, and that to remove the pedals, I would need a spanner that I wasn't carrying. I had no intention of buying and hauling one of these spanners around with me as I am in travel light mode.
All loaded up, I wasn't even charged for the bike's journey. 15 NZ dollars was all it cost, ?.50 to the British, for the roughly 120 km. The ride itself not being rough at all, we were taken through all the spaghetti junctions of Auckland, out towards the number 1 motorway of the North Island. Probably the first motorway to be built in New Zealand.
Once we were on straight uncomplicated roads, the driver announced that someone had brought a guitar along and would be expected to play a song for us. I realised that New Zealanders are all very friendly, but to be expected to join in singing with everyone on the coach seemed a little "National Lampoons" over the top. A little light laughter from all sides and no more was mentioned about communal entertainment.
A few stops were made in out of the way towns. Expecting only the one stop, the stop at Hamilton, I was all anxious when the coach pulled up in a southern district of Auckland, Papkura, only half an hour into the trip. From then on I sat back assuming the driver would throw me off if I stayed on too long.
Just stirring from a doze where my neck was amazingly not scrunched up painfully, the driver announced "Hamilton" over the microphone which seemed to be breathing heavily of its own accord.
Piccie 1: The River Waikato in Hamilton.
Piccie 2: The steam boat, which takes passengers for dinner cruises.
Piccie 3: Some statues at the top end of Victoria Street, the main street of Hamilton.
See the piccies (151.1KB)
The coach had dropped us at the central coach station of Hamilton, the only coach station. A little rough around the edges, but those messy bits were the anti-ruins of the new coach station. The information office dealt me a town map with directions to the camp site or "motor camp" as they like to call them.
All loaded up again, I took a one way street the wrong way, as directed by the information lady. I think she ought to be noted for her observations, I was holding a cycle helmet when I spoke to her. This tells me that if you're a cyclist in New Zealand, road signs do not apply to you. Neat !! Over a wide river and out into the East the roads took me. Number 14 was the address, but a way out from the town, I realised that the map was quite small scale, so I returned and there it was, the camp site right at the junction.
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