As we prepared for bed last night, Andy began to poke fun at me for having set up my mosquito net. He said it looked like the little tents we had to put over our food at Basata in Egypt to keep the flies from dragging off our meals. The tables turned at midnight when he was scurrying around looking for his. He had an immense amount if difficulty setting it up. You would have thought it was a ten thousand-piece jigsaw puzzle. I finally gave in and helped him just so I could get back to sleep. Speaking of sleep, it had been a long time since I'd slept so well.
Once Andy got settled I didn't open my eyes once. Then next morning we arose with the sun (praise the lord that it doesn't really rise until around seven). We loaded our (seemingly extremely) heavy bikes. Mine seems to have increased in weight during our break. I can only surmise that the recharge of essentials like sun screen, energy bars and the like are the culprits. Not ready to admit that I am not in as good shape as I was when we stopped riding last year. That is the logical assumption given how sore my thighs were and tender my taint was this morning.
With quiet flat coastal plains nestled up against brown grassed hills on our right and a marshy-muddy tidal beach we began our day. Huge black and threatening clouds seemed to close in from every direction. Luckily they blocked out the punishing heat of the sun. We stopped to breakfast where we'd intended to stay the night before at a massive campground and hot spring. Breakfast was less than inspired, a couple of \"steak\" pies and the local Gatorade equivalent filled our bellies and wet our whistles while we watched a septuagenarian breast stroke inch-by-inch across the pool. The proprietor like every kiwi had a strong opinion about what route we should take to make Te Aroha.
The big problem is that it is hard to obtain any kind of consensus of advice here in New Zealand, which makes it harder to follow advice than to plan our own path. Turned out to be a mistake to follow the camping woman's directions. It led us on icky, boring, flat roads against the wind and through construction zones. The last stretch to Te Aroha was along a winding rural road without traffic, reminding me of how much I love to bike. Riding side-by-side we joked and planned our afternoon. We'd made better time since turning with the wind and contemplated going beyond our intended stop.
Te Aroha turned out to be yet another Kiwi town stuck in time. Looking like a fifties US mainstreet, Te Aroha provided many fried food lunching opportunities. We stopped at the tourist information office in advance of eating where they gave us maps for free and lots of great advice. We munched at Jax snack shop and headed towards Matamata. I wondered aloud if the local newspaper was called the \"whatsamatta\". Riding along where the valley met the mountain range we roller-coastered along with the wind whipping us along. Making our final turn towards Matamata the terrain became insufferably difficult as the humidity went through the roof.
Every few hundred meters we'd dive into a little valley and haul our way out. About the time I became completely exhausted we came upon a quaint little campground and hotspring. I bargained for a backpacker's room and Andy managed to upgrade us to a motel room complete with a kitchen. We soaked in the hotspring and dined on spaghetti before collapsing.