Respecting Our Elders

Many moons ago I set out on an adventure to bike around New Zealand. Looking back all these years later, I realize how Lewis and Clark it was of me to set off by myself to such unknown territory on a bike I had not ridden all that much with a tool kit I had barely touched. Such is the naivety of youth that allows us to head off on such an adventure without any second thoughts about the "what ifs".

Two days into my expedition, having  consulted  my "Cycle Touring in the North Island of New Zealand" book, I left the small village of Kaitaia to ride up to Cape Reinga, the northern most point on the island. Surrounded by beach and water on all sides, I envisioned paradise. What I had not envisioned was the condition of the road out to Cape Reinga. As I poured over this book in the weeks leading up to my departure, I often came over the words "sealed" and "unsealed" as descriptions for roads. I figured that unsealed roads were probably just a little bit more rough in the same way that I figured I could manage just fine with a tiny tool kit for a two-month excursion. Details, details.

Halfway up the Cape, I decided to take a side road to a beach to spend my first night out in the wilds of New Zealand. A hundred yards into this detour, I realized that "unsealed" meant "get off and walk" for one on a loaded touring bike with skinny tires. A mile into this slog, a jeep pulled up alongside me and offered to give me a lift. Now, I know what you're thinking: new country, solo female traveler, two males offering a ride, recipe for disaster. But this was New Zealand, after all, and the passenger was an 83-year-old man named George who was soon to become my new best friend. I accepted the ride, spent a wonderful night on the beach, and then slogged back out to the main road the following morning.

As I set out to finish my trek to the Cape, I was startled by a small camper that was beeping its horn at me. Who could possibly be honking at me in this country that became home just three days earlier? George and his wife Mabel. As we sat inside their camper drinking tea and eating homemade cookies, I learned that they were from Auckland, had toured on bikes through Europe, and they said if I was ever in Auckland they would be happy to put me up for the night. George then said, "If you come on a Sunday, I'll take you out on a ride with the Auckland Cycle Touring Association."

Fast forward three weeks, and there I was in Auckland (Papatoetoe to be exact, pronounced "Papa-toy-toy" -- the best sounding town on the planet) visiting George and Mabel who treated me to a lovely dinner and slide show of recent travels. After four hours in their presence I felt like a long lost granddaughter. The following day was our Sunday ride, which I anticipated would be a nice stroll in the park without my panniers. George failed to mention, however, that the Auckland Cycle Touring Association was preparing for a "century ride" (100 miler) in just a few weeks. He also failed to mention that one of the members of this very grey-haired group had ridden in the Berlin Olympics. Details, details. My leisurely Sunday ride was anything but and was filled with unsealed roads that these guys rode over effortlessly. I was schooled that day, but I loved every moment. These men, George in particular, taught me about the art of aging gracefully. As a 25-year-old I had little appreciation for just how important a lesson that was to receive at such a young age.

So why recount a tale from the ancient past? A few weeks ago my friend Kelly invited me to go to a seminar at a local nursery on gartending -- the blending of common garden plants in beverages. Right up my alley! The speaker, Beth Evans-Ramos, was an energetic, grey-haired woman who instantly made me think about George and Mabel. Setting out on a new post-retirement career, she re-energized in me that adage of doing what you love, no matter your age. Life is full of adventure if you're willing to let it into your life. I could go on forever about all the fun tips we learned in her class, but I've kept you long enough, so I will just send you to her website,

mamaknowshercocktails.com. How can you resist with a name like that?

I leave you with a drink I've been wanting to make for a long time, the Sidecar. I'm a huge fan of the NPR game show "Says You" and many months ago they included a section where the panelists had to guess the origin of various famous drinks. According to them, the Sidecar was created in a Parisian bar during World War I where it became the favorite drink of an American officer who regularly arrived by sidecar.  At closing time, the officer, not so fit for duty anymore, would then  be transported back to the base in the same trusty sidecar.  Many drink aficionados believe this story to be totally false, but how can you resist historical fiction? In honor of Beth Evans-Ramos and her love for infusions, I let the sugar for the glass rim blend with dried orange rind for a few days to add an additional splash of flavor.

Sidecar

1oz brandy

1oz.Cointreau

3/4 oz. fresh lemon juice

Chill your glass. While it's in the freezer, combine all the ingredients in a shaker with 5 or 6 ice cubes. Shake until nice and cold. Strain into a sugar-rimmed glass. Serve with a flamed orange peel. Check back to my Negroni recipe for that great video on the art of flaming an orange peel -- it's well worth a second or third viewing.

For the sugar, I collected the zest of half an orange and let it sit out overnight to dry. Then I added about a half cup of sugar and put the combo in a sealed container. After a second day I then strained out (most) of the rind before using the sugar to rim the glass. Drying slices of the peel would probably work just as well and would be easier to remove.

Salut to George and Mabel. Life is as full of adventure for as long as you are open to it.

PS. I was lucky enough to get only two flats during my entire biking adventure in New Zealand. And it's wonderful to be back to the blog!