AKAROA BY ROAD.

Sun (Christchurch), Volume III, Issue 763, 21 July 1916, Page 3

AKAROA BY ROAD.

A MOTOR CYCLE TRIP. SPLENDID EXERCISE. [Written for THE SUN.] Said the oldest inhabitant: "You young fellows don't take enough exercise. Many's the time I've walked from Akaroa, over the hill-top, down the bullock track to the valley, and along the flat to Christchurch, and that, too, before the railway was built, or even agitated for." Maybe he was fortunate. His troubles were strictly limited. Sooty plugs, that hardy perennial, the puncture, and an exhaust, oily, red hot, and finally blazing, held no worries for him. When his feet were sore he soaped them, but even the best soap has fallen into disrepute as a panacea for the modern traveller's ills. The motor cycle, especially, takes unkindly to it. Lanthe kit stand in its place.

Froiri the city to Halswell the road was sloppy—the machine being an inch deep in greasy mud. This was substantial evidence that the wet week-end was more than local. Further on the going was good, theylast shower having fallen on the Thursday. liv these days of motor lorries and electric cars, one is apt to forget that the bullock wagon has a place in the 20th century. At Kaituna, a team of eight oxen were drawn up at the station, the wagon bearing a large load of potatoes. Further on again, a team, two miles from the road, dragged a waggon on spragged wheels down a track set up on end. Even with the wind against him that bullocky made the cycle shy.

The first (roubles were experienced on the hills beyond Little River, where a dray, 'zig-zaggyig under a heavy load, had peppered the thoroughfare with a portion of its contents. The back tyre picked up some of it, a roofing nail, a nail calling for the most expressive language. That dray was never sighted, the driver may be, probably is, a saintly man; but if, on reaching his home gate, he did not pass remarks on finding a good half of his nail bag dribbled over miles of road, an unknown man's character and command of English has been sadly un-der-rated. Four pounds and a few ounces of lead-headed nails lie at The Sun office, awaiting an owner. These few were picked up while the engine rested after each steep rise, and while the exhaust box as a protest against a double load, became red hot, caught fire, and cooled again.

From the hill top, Akaroa Harbour was seen, the hills still wooded in part, their spurs running out to form bays and coves, the contrasts of greens and greys, made a beautiful picture. The road down the hill, skirting the water's edge, and over the last three pinches is in first-class condition. On the first of these last hills three mobs of pig-headed cattle blocked the way. No sooner were they passed than the engine slowed up, coughed, did its best, and died. After 10 minutes' examination the trouble was diagnosed as, a sooly plug. Time was getting on, and the worries of these forced stops, the memory of the red-hot box, and the punctures, faded with the sunset, for Akaroa, two hills away, held those who were capable, even ready, to extort a fine of £5 from the motorist who tours the hills after dark. It had to be done. Five pounds sounded a fabulous sum—Midas would have hurried. The hills were too long and stiff for a double load, so half of it ran, and, moreover, ran against time. The last pinch was topped with the exhaust glowing ominously. Akaroa, with its welllit main street and houses, came in sight across the head of the bay. We were in > with several minutes to spare.

Akaroa householders handle their locally-produced electricity in a way that would shock a Coleridge consumer. A yearly charge per candle power is made, whether the light is used or not, and consequently every window and porch is bright. Last summer the two streams which feed the turbines ran so low that a traction engine was requisitioned to fill the gap, but to guard against a further dry season, a gas engine will shortly be installed. Several runholders ,on outlying bays have water-driven plants of their own, and others look forward to obtaining the, Coleridge power within the next year or so. At 8 the moon rose, and all doubts as to Akaroa's. popularity were at once dispelled. Ten next morning found us on the road to Pigeon Bay, via Duvauchelles, to the Summit Road. Those who pointed the way said, "Yes, fairly steep." They were right. We assisted the engine by running, then by walking, and finally—for the hill is long—by sitting down and watching her cool. Pigeon Bay enjoys the reputation of being the best roaded bay on* the Peninsula. Also it is one of the prettiest. A long strenuous climb, more running, walking, and watting, brought us again to the ridge, which divides Akaroa Harbour from Pigeon Bay, and from it a magnificent view of the two inlets, due north and south, and the hills, is obtained. A start was made along the Summit Road to the Hill Top. This road, being on the shady side of the hill, is rather greasy, but is not immoderately steep. On this stretch we again ran into cattle, more stupid and younger than our first blockaders. Surely there must be a deeply-set feud between cows and motorists, otherwise why does a mob invariably choose the steepest and most slippery rises to deploy and hold the road, till the engine stops dead, and then move on in close order, while the motorist for five minutes swears and at last gets under way again? The run down hill to Little River was made in good time, and a halt called to fill the tank, and charge the lamp generator. That stop meant much, later in the evening. When darkness fell, no amount of water or match striking would persuade the lamp to burn anywhere else but round the joint of the generator parts. This had its disadvantages. The flame was rather near the petrol tank, and as a road light it was feeble. The rubber had been left hehind at Little River. String, leather, and flax packing wasted time and gave no encouraging results. The one possible solution lay in the homely jam jar ring.

Wc scouted in the dark for a farm house, but the dogs heard us. I am fond of dogs, and as a rule they lake kindly to me; but these started out to

lake to me so enthusiastically that a disorderly retreat and three more miles of eyestrain were deemed advisable. A second stop brought a tiny tot to the door. "Is father in?" "No, but Grandma is." "Grandma" proved a brick. She produced a ring, apparently specially measured, water for the lamp, and glasses for us. Bless your cow, madam. All correct, the final run went well till Halswell was reached. Mere a villainous patch of heavy metal almost butt us in a ditch. Christchurch was reached about nine, after a trip of some 130 odd miles. It is a question if we young fellows had not enough exercise. Although a light machine stands up wonderfully with a heavy load over the Peninsula, it spells no end of running and pushing. Next trip may be made with a heavier machine. If that cannot be bad, the same 3a will be used, and failing that "shanks's pony" is well worth three week's exertion and two days of anyone's time. THREE AND A HALF.