14th January 2022 (sunny and warm) 0km

Woke this morning in Waihola, or as it has come to be known, Whatahola.  Like an Amazonian tribe, undiscovered since time began, so in a way do the inhabitants of this dreary lakeside village exist. Happy, in their own way, pottering in their gardens, counting flies on the wall, pulling out the cutlery drawer and replacing the knives where the spoons used to be.                      

Literally used as a transport stop between Dunedin and Invercargill, stock drivers named "Trevor", complete with stubbies and work boots, enter the confines of the roadside cafe, for a triple shot coffee and a "Jimmy's" pie.    

Mid morning we left the cell-like features of our holiday park cabin, complete with two, middle of the night freight trains, rolling on endlessly into a parallel universe. Our move took us directly across the highway to a motel, booked well before we knew, that suicide was a preferable option than staying for two nights.                                                             

We were however pleasantly surprised with the motel. We were at least able to hold a conversation indoors, whereas outdoors the constant truck noises ruled out any chance of understanding a solitary word and leaves you lip reading and smiling like a simpleton.     

Looks nice from a distance. 

A trip to the lake for a swim on this now, very warm day, brought forth comments and looks of distaste, at the slimy brown texture and colour of the bird laden pond.  A swim did not eventuate.                                    

Met a man, the grandfather of a young  boy. The boy was  obviously  mentally and physically disabled. The grandad said he had a genetic condition contracted by only one in a million. We automatically presumed that it was "Waihola Disease," especially since the family had lived in the area for generations. 

The young man stands on the corner of the street waving to the truckers flying by, trying to communicate. The truckers honk their horns, little realising the young boy is trying his best to say...." Get me the f**! out of here".                                                  

The saying "where time stands still", really does apply here and it was a good few hours before I realised that the clock on the wall, was in fact a painting.     

To endure our final night here, we intend to scale the hills behind us, looking for the Chinese miners opium dens, that used to exist, in the hope that even after one hundred and twenty years, it won't have exceeded its use-by-date.    

Because today was so boring, you, lucky reader, get to read about it twice!

We stayed last night in the aptly named Waihola, Wai obviously meaning water,  (and there is a big lake here), and it is a hole eh.

Had a good sleep despite the two trains that went through only 50 metres from our cabin.  Brody nearly wet himself after waking from a deep sleep to find our cabin shaking on its piles as the train thundered through this backwater as fast as it could.  Pete and I of course are well used to sleeping near train tracks so felt oddly at home instead of deathly terrified by this overwhelming racket.

When we woke we could see through the chink in the curtains that it was a beautiful day outside, but we were all loathe to get up too early as we already knew what Waihola had to offer...and that was a big fat zero.  We hoped with better weather there might be a change in our outlook,  but feared this would not be the case.

Eventually at 7.30am we all went over to the kitchen for a cup of tea and weetbix.  The lake did look a whole lot nicer with not a breath of wind on it.  So after we'd shifted across the road to the motel which I'd booked online about a week ago, we decided to do a spot of geo-caching as there appeared to be nothing else to do in this town.

For the uninitiated, geocaching is finding "treasure" which other geocachers have left and put clues on the website to help you find the treasure.

We walked to the given coordinates, so it would take longer, and found the treasure within five minutes and logged it.

Unfortunately, but unsurprisingly, there was only one geocache in Waihola,  unless you wanted to climb some massive hill  which we did not.  Most geocaches are linked to points of interest,  so I suppose we should be glad there was even one here.

Help! Let me out of here!!

Decided it was getting warm enough for a swim, so grabbed the togs and walked to the lake edge.  Even though the sky was blue, the water still appeared brown and looked murky in the bottom.  You knew if you stood in it, you were going to stir up all manner of dirt and slime.  Add into that the bubbles of dirt on the lake edge and all the grass clippings that I assume the council had dumped there, and it looked wholly uninviting....and for a water baby like me, that is saying something.

On the way back, Pete decides to read some historical plaques, which he'd noticed yesterday but had been saving for today's entertainment.  Brody and I went with him as at the moment,  that was the best show in town.   It was also in the shade.

While reading the plaques, a man wheeled over his disabled son (or perhaps grandson), to wave at the passing trucks.  We'd noticed them there yesterday. The boy we found out was fourteen,  although he looked about 10.  He'd been perfectly normal until they came to Waihola and stayed for a week.  Now his idea of fun was dribbling his bag of chips out the side of his mouth and waving at passing trucks.

We nervously tried to edge out of this conversation as the boy got out of his chair and wobbled over to Brody, grabbing his hand and seemingly encouraging him to start waving at the passing trucks. 

Brody was slow to catch on so he wobbled over to Pete and reached up to start shoving chips in his mouth.  I've never seen Pete refuse food on a bike trip before, so this was a first.  But like all of us, he was aware this was a hotel california situation.....relax, said the mad boy, you are programmed to receive,  you can check out anytime you like, but you can never leave.   Well maybe he did just say uck...(maybe it was truck?), but we all knew it was dangerous to linger too long in these parts.
Especially when the next truck honked his horn and we all started to lift our hands to wave.

Safely across the road in the cafe, we ate lunch and with a lack of any other options, retreated to the coolness of our motel room. 

Brody suggested we count the spokes on the wheels of our bikes, something which had never before interested me.  Now I considered it a legitimate use of my time.

When I'd finished that, I looked around for Pete and saw him standing by the fence with a bag of chips in one hand, waving to the honking trucks with the other.  I fear we may have stayed here too long already.

After I'd enticed Pete away from the fence, convincing him how much fun it was to count wheel spokes, we decided we needed to make sure there was no impediment to us leaving tomorrow.  

So we went for a trial run down our planned escape route to make sure there were no hitches tomorrow.   As we cycled we noticed someone had beaten us to it with some drastic action.  A hearse rolled past with the number plate RIP 01, bearing his passenger to greener pastures and bluer lakes.

We picked up some drinks from the pub and ice creams from the dairy and took them back to Brody, who'd managed a nap, despite the noise of the traffic.

Went through our gear getting rid of unneeded things and trying to streamline the pack up process for tomorrow.  Fish and chips for tea and a chilled night watching TV.