Galloping Gums

My new bike is fab. The freedom and access it gives me is invigorating. I even has a little Styrofoam box on the back of the bike for stuff. I head out to explore the village of Martinborough and get some badly needed groceries.

My first stop is the bank where Clare the teller gives me the low down on using a bank card in NZ. It seems most outside machines are contracted through a company so if my card gets eaten I may not see it again. She does find a way to get me some funds on my Visa card and I am flush again, albeit over budget. It is austerity time, which means meals in my flat, no more shouting meals for new found mates, and lots of touring the countryside with what is commonly known as a 'push bike'. Clare hands me some Kiwi bills, the exchange rate is favourable, a blessing that will help me balance the budget. I thank her and step out the door only to be confronted by a short little man with a Cheshire cat grin and a wool cap perched on his head standing near my bike. This is Tony a.k.a. Galloping Gums. I know him instantly even though this is the first time we've met.

"Allo mate I've just come about to see 'ow yer gettin on" It is a mix of Liverpudlian and Kiwi dialects that greet me, I struggle to understand what he just said as I straddle the bike.
"Hello Tony I can't thank you enough for lending me your bike" I reply.
"That's awright think nawfin of it, it's my pleasha. Where's yer helmet? Ef the coppers see ya it'll be a ticket straight away" He warns. Before I can even reply a police car pulls up and a female copper gets out with a ticket book in her hand.
"Is that your bike sir?" She inquires looking me right in the eye.
Before I can respond Tony speaks up. "Uh it's my bike officer, the young fella was just usin' it to git 'round a bit, he don't know about the 'elmut law he's from Canader." Tony smiles at the copper, as my turns crimson red.
"Yes I just got here from Canada and to be honest I left the helmet at home I apologise." The grovelling works and the ticket book is put away. The copper warns me that it is the law in New Zealand and I must comply. She drives off and Tony winks at me.

"I knew she was cumin' ova so I figured I'd mess about is all. I don't like coppa's." Tony's 5'1.5" frame is puffed up, proud of his accomplishment fending off the copper. "Yah I'm not a big fan of the cops either Tony, how about we go for a beer and..." Before I can finish, Tony who hasn't heard a word I said launches into a story about Seamus a giant of a man and a notorious Irish gangster that rubbed some poor Italian blokes face into a brick wall. Fifteen minutes later I am still standing outside the bank, I don't think old galloping gums has stopped to even take a breath. In the end Seamus had one his lungs ripped out by Tony and a few of his mates none of the gruesome details were spared in the retelling of the tale.

Once again I broach the subject of shouting him a beer (Kiwi term for buying your mate a beer or dinner or whatever) as it would infinitely more comfortable sitting down with a cold one as opposed to standing on the bank steps while locals parade in and out staring strangely at Tony's latest victim. I eventually pry myself free with the promise to catch up tomorrow. I run some errands and get some groceries wobbling back to my flat balancing two bags of groceries on the handlebars. The Martinborough Hotel dominates the main intersection, around the corner a nifty little butcher shop, library, a take away fish and chip shop, and a small grocery store most buildings dating back to late 1800's when Martinborough was a farm supply town. Today it is one of several wine producing regions in New Zealand and a boutique town for Wellingtonians to slip away for weekend retreats. I spend the balance of my day cycling from vineyard to vineyard tasting the best the region has to offer.

I haven't forgotten my promise to Tony and the next day stop in at his house leaning my bike against the long forgotten white picket fence painting flecking off, supporting a moss covered mail box. He is delighted to see me, an ear to ear grin spreads across his face.
"C'mon in mate." The spartan surroundings belie the real existence of many seniors living on the edge of poverty. On one wall is a large picture of a woman on a flying carpet superimposed over a picture of Taj Mahal. Just below it a quote "You don't stop doing things because you're getting old, you get old because you stop doing things."

"So how are you getting on Steve?" The always cheery voice draws my attention away from the wall. A tiny cot like bed occupies one corner of the room, a couple of chairs with a miniature end table are the center piece of the room.
"Good Tony very well, I can't thank you enough I couldn't believe the price of renting a bike. Those robber barons at the Cafe want $35 a day for a push bike."
"Yes, well you know the thing about dealing with a charrrracter like Seamus is you have to bloody careful 'e doesn't find you that's how I come to New Zealand mate." He has launched into another story in the blink of an eye. An hour later I manage to get one sentence in edgewise. "Could we not go to the pub and finish the story?" I am almost pleading. Tony shakes his head and confesses that he has no money for a pint.
"Tony it's on me and as a matter of fact I want to give you this for loaning me the bike." I pull out a couple of twenties to give him but he refuses. "I'll tell you wha' shout me a beer and it'll all be good mate." With that we are off. Two hours later I leave the pub, Galloping Gums hardly drank any of his beer, he was too busy talking to drink. My ears are ringing but at least we were sitting down this time.

Over the next few weeks Tony and I would share many of his stories over a pint. To be honest I enjoyed the time we sat and I listened. Tony did me a huge favour shouting me his personal bike and only form of transportation, the least I could do was listen or attempt to listen while he shared his life experiences. I will miss my new mate but as Maree a neighbour told me you can't help but drift off while ole Galloping Gums is prattling on, the irony is he doesn't even notice.

Tony is a retired tool and dye maker in his early 70's and one of the many characters I meet on my travels discovering my New Zealand. I spent quite a few afternoons with my new mate shouting a beer, learning to fly fish and listening.