I live in an especially beautiful part of the world. Subtropical. Coastal. Rural. Forest. Windy roads – (un)sealed. Offroad. Great motorcycling country. And the weekends remind me of Northern Germany (the Niederlaenders and local petrol-heads would head for us – we had the only hill(s) and windy roads for a couple of hundred kilometrers). Groups of ego-ridden dick-heads riding like they stole it. Probably been watching that “world-end clock” counting down to 2027 …

You learn to stay home weekends.

We have a local cafe. Perched out over the harbour. On piles. Like a wharf. Has a balcony out back. Open. Above the water. Non-Smoking. Top spot for a cone or two. Was sitting there the other day. Primed. Contemplating. As you do. Been coming here for decades. Family have been living in the area for much much longer. Generations.

Sea-Levels 1885-2024

I then rode along the beach. The same beach my family have been using for hundreds of years. West Coast. Full geomorphing powers of tide and weather. Got a feed of mussels from the same rocks used by the same families for generations. Got water and brewed a coffee from the same spring used for generations. Came back thru the harbour mouth using the same wave-cut rock-bench that has been there for god only knows how long.

Makes you think. If you can – that is.

I have played many sports. Some to a high level. Kinda normal when you grow up in ‘godzown’ land. Of them all, rugby, sailing, surfing and fishing were my favourites. And I discovered motorcycles.

As a kiwi, rugby is part of your soul. Whether you like it or not. The Springbok tour of 1981 tested the limits of kiwi social conscience. And through their actions, the NZ Police lost, forever, the respect the NZ population had previously given them. Police are, after all, simply the biggest gang in the world.

Like many kiwis I stopped playing and watching rugby. Totally. The working class image of Rugby League captured many, myself included.

In the late 90’s I ended up in Germany. A land with almost no rugby profile. 2007 a mate from home contacted me. Wanted to come and visit. Experience the Rugby World Cup in France. Together we rode 2 of my XS’es ca. 10000km each through France. Traveling from game to game. Reawakening my passion for rugby. Today, my son plays rugby for RKH.  Rugby Klub Heusenstamm. It is really nice to feel the passion these (?not so?) normal German families have for this wonderful game.

The 2015 Rugby World Cup tournament has now ended. The winners were, of course, Rugby.

As the celebrations ended and the dust settled we learnt that Jonah Lomu would never experience his greatest desire. To see his boys grow up.

His rugby heyday occurred during the ‘dark ages’. My self-imposed rugby exile. My loss. Greatness has a habit of transcending barriers. Lomu’s presence impacted into my world. What a League player he would have made. Later I had the pleasure of meeting the man himself. Typical of many Tongans I know. Big. And humble.

Jonah Lomu … ?the worlds first global rugby superstar?

A day later, Richie McCaw, All Black captain, ?the world’s greatest yet rugby player? announced his retirement.

A truely sad week.

The Phoenix at work.