This was posted to rec.bicycles.rides by Jim Hendrickson in March 1996, and-- finding it a good read-- we sought and obtained permission to reproduce it here. Enjoy!
Copyright © Jim Hendrickson, 1996. All rights reserved.
Would you like to cycle at a slow pace through a Gaugin-like countryside lush with banana and papaya plantations, past tall coconut palms swaying gently in a warm, tropical sea breeze? You can make that dream come true as I did on Rarotonga, the largest of fifteen lovely atolls that comprise the Cook Islands, an independent nation anchored in the South Pacific Ocean.
The interior of Rarotonga consists of steep, forested mountains and deep, green valleys. Offshore, a reef encircles most of this small atoll, forming a shallow blue lagoon. A well-paved asphalt road follows the entire perimeter of the 19-mile coast around the island.
I was visiting Rarotonga as part of a four-month journey around the world, so it was impractical to transport my old Schwinn Le Tour bicycle. Instead, I decided to rent a bike at Tev-A-Na Rentals located near my motel in the village of Arorangi. When I entered the small shop, I saw three shiny Suzuki motor scooters and four used bicycles, one of which was tagged "For Sale." The owner of the rental store was Naku Tamaariki, a short grey-haired Maori gentleman in his late fifties.
"Good morning," I said to Naku. "I'd like to rent one of your bicycles for the day."
"Don't have many right now, mate," Naku answered in a distinctly New Zealand accent. "That one over there is my best one. I charge eight dollars ($5 US) per day."
He pointed to a yellow and black 18-speed Worldrider "Mountain Machine" that was manufactured in New Zealand where Naku was born and raised. I looked closely at the bike and wondered aloud.
"It needs some work, huh?" I asked.
"No worries, mate," Naku replied confidently. "I'll fix 'er up for ya in no time."
Naku reached into an old toolbox, took out a few wrenches, and began to work on the two-wheeler. A half-hour later, he had adjusted the brakes, oiled the chain, raised the seat, and washed down the entire bicycle with a garden hose.
"There ya are, mate. That'll be eight dollars, thanks," Naku said.
I handed Naku a colorful ten-dollar Cook Islands bill. He went into his house, located in the back of the shop, and returned with my change: a two-dollar coin in the shape of a triangle.
Before I left on my bicycle tour around Rarotonga, Naku introduced me to his pretty wife, Tevaerua, who was working in her vegetable garden nearby.
"Do you like bananas?" she asked with a smile.
"Sure do," I answered, smiling back.
"Well, help yourself to some bananas from the yellow bunch in the garage," she said. "You can put them in one of those plastic bags hanging there on the nail."
"Gee, thanks!" I said.
I went into the garage and plucked three small bananas from a large yellow bunch that was hanging alongside a larger green bunch. Then I put the sweet golden treasures into a plastic bag.
"Hope you'll like them," Tevaerua said to me, smiling again.
Undoubtedly, the Tev-A-Na Rentals was a family business run in true Cook Islands style: informal, slow-paced, and very friendly.
I said good-bye to Naku and Tevaerua, and began my self-guided bicycle tour around their beautiful island. I was wearing a straw hat, an old T-shirt, a white swimsuit, and a pair of thongs that Cook Islanders call "flip-flops."
I pedaled past a commercial laundry where I saw a humorous sign out front: "Let us do your dirty work." That sign reflected the good humor that I found everywhere on Rarotonga. Farther down the road, a bar displayed another cheerful sign:
When I asked a Cook Islander why Happy Hour lasts for six hours, he smiled and said, "Well, here on Rarotonga we're on coconut time."
I cycled slowly past the Rarotonga International Airport whose runway extended almost one-third across the northern coast of the atoll. Twenty minutes later I arrived in Avarua, the capital of the Cook Islands, a town of about 4,000 people. In fact, Avarua is the only town on Rarotonga.
I locked my rented bike to an old water pipe in front of a historical landmark: the Banana Court Bar. Over the years, this one-story colonial building has housed a hospital, a dental clinic, a courtroom, and a hotel. Today it is one of the most famous taverns in the South Pacific. The writer of one guidebook designated the Banana Court Bar as "one of the last old-time South Seas bars anywhere." Another author acclaimed the bar as a great watering hole of the Pacific, "probably one of the last to slake the deep thirst caused by too much fun, too few women and too much water."
I noticed that a large crowd of people had gathered across the street from the Banana Court Bar, which faces the lagoon. Curious to see what was going on there, I unlocked my bicycle and walked to the shoreline. Members of several sport clubs were holding their annual races in self-built wooden catamarans. Young men and women, divided into groups of singles, pairs and trios, were competing against each other. A middle-aged man stood in a beached yacht where he announced the proceedings of each race over a loudspeaker in English and Maori.
After watching the catamaran races for an hour, I mounted my bicycle again and departed Avarua. Soon I came to a place called Perfumes of Rarotonga. I locked my trusty steed to an old outrigger canoe that someone had converted into a unique lily pond complete with small goldfish. A nearby sign with an arrow read, "To Mama Te's Kaikai Shack" (kaikai means "eating" in Maori). I walked in the direction indicated by the arrow and came to a well-built thatched hut. There I met pretty 16-year-old Tungane Marstens.
"You look thirsty," she said. "How about a coconut?"
"Great!" I answered. "I need a break." The temperature was in the low 80s, and the humidity was reaching 90 percent.
Tungane opened the door of an old refrigerator, took out a medium-sized coconut, poked a straw though one of its "eyes," and served it to me atop a clean Coca Cola glass. I drank the cold, refreshing coconut milk slowly, and soon the delicious liquid quenched my thirst.
To appease my hunger pains, I gobbled down a large papaya scone topped with melted butter and a tasty mixture of raspberry and mango jam. I completed my afternoon snack with a yummy dish of homemade banana-flavored ice cream made from a coconut base. The total cost for my sweet indulgences at the kaikai shack was only $2.50 US.
Apart from coconuts, scones and ice cream, visitors can purchase a variety of perfumes on the premises. Ngaoa Ranginui and her American husband own and operate Perfumes of Rarotonga. "I make the perfume from coconut oil, caustic acid and various flowers that we grow here on Rarotonga," Ngaoa explained. "We've been in the perfume business for six years, but we're tired of it. So now we want to sell the whole operation. Maybe we'll start up a cane furniture business near the Sheraton Hotel on the other side of the island. Or maybe we'll move to a different island all together."
I said good-bye to Ngaoa and Tungane, and continued pedaling downthe road, stopping briefly to watch a cricket match. Soon I reached The Pacific Resort on Muri Beach, reputed to be the finest beach on Rarotonga. Outside, near the reception hut, I saw a sign with a large coconut hanging from a string. The inscription on the sign read as follows:
Official Cocorock Weather Forecasting Station
Cocorock is wet...Raining.
Cocorock is dry...Not Raining.
Shadow on ground...Sunny.
White on top...Snowing.
Can't see rock...Foggy.
Cocorock n' rolling...Earthquake.
Swinging rock...You are drunk.
Cocorock swinging...Windy.
Cocorock gone...Rarotonga sinking.
The cocorock was dry and I saw its shadow on the ground, so I decided to go for a swim in the resort's lagoon that stretched out the length of ten football fields. In the far distance, large waves broke against the reef, but they caused barely a ripple in the crystalline lagoon. It was sensual to wade in the warm, turquoise water as my feet sank into the thick layer of soft, white sand that blanketed the bottom of the lagoon. I was pleasantly surprised to discover that the water was not deeper than four feet. I could have waded without danger to a small island located 800 yards offshore. But I was lazy that afternoon, so I floated on my back without a care in the world. No person could have been more at peace and closer to Nature than I was in that pristine place.
An hour later, I returned reluctantly to my rented bicycle and continued pedaling leisurely around Rarotonga. I switched gears occasionally, but used only three of the eighteen gears on my rented bike because the coastal road was nearly flat. Many islanders waved to me from their colorful concrete block houses that were settled well back from the road. A rich variety of tropical flowers and trees graced their homes: fragrant jasmine, sweet-smelling plumeria, slender coconut palms, and towering breadfruit trees. On my right, puffy white and grey clouds hovered over the peaks of volcanic mountains. On my left, was the ubiquitous lagoon where small groups of dark-skinned children played in the brilliant light of the sun. I was cycling in a painting by Gaugin.
I completed my bicycle tour around Rarotonga with a stop at the Rarotongan, a large hotel complex that had an inviting swimming pool. Several guests were sunbathing in lounge chairs there, a few people were drinking beer at the poolside bar, but to my surprise no one was in the pool. Unable to resist the temptation, I took off my straw hat and sweaty T-shirt, slipped off my flip-flops, and jumped into the deliciously cool water. It was a wonderful way to end a self-propelled tour around paradise.
Note: Jim Hendrickson has just published his newest book, Cycling the North Star, in which he describes in much greater detail his 3,200-mile self-contained bicycle expedition from Montana to Alaska. If you would like more information about this book, please send an e-mail message to: JHendri007@gnn.com