Being familiar with the surrounding area, I was aware of a not too distant side road running west towards the mountains from the main highway. Within sight of the road junction stood a farmhouse set back against a stand of tall pine trees, with an even taller stand of blue-gum trees behind the pines. Recently, I had passed the property a number of times while hunting wild pigs in a rugged region further up the valley. One of the more unusual features about the place was the mail box. It was constructed from an old porcelain toilet bowl, complete with seat and cover. Presumably, the cover was lifted and the mail dropped into the bowl that was firmly anchored to a small square of concrete in front of a tangle of wild blackberry. It was not unusual to see the blackberry being hungrily consumed by a big old ginger and black billy goat sporting an impressive rack of horns that appeared rather lethal indeed.

Amidst a cacophony of back firing exhaust, I arrived at the junction, swung into the side road and gently coaxed the Triumph along the rough, partially sealed road until I arrived at the toilet bowl. There was no sign of the billy goat as I bumped across the cattle stop and negotiated the narrow, potholed driveway that wound its way towards the house. Drawing closer, I began to realise how dilapidated the place was. Broken down guttering was hanging from a shabby roof, a roof that was long in need of a fresh coat of paint. Windowsills were split and paint was peeling away in long strips, while the decaying veranda sagged badly. The house was generally run down and unkempt which seemed a great pity, as in its day, the place would have been a superb piece of cottage architecture set in what I’m sure were once beautiful, well cared for grounds.

Killing the engine and leaving the Triumph on its stand in a small, weed infested cul-de-sac at the end of the drive, I wandered off around the house in search of a door that might not fall apart when I knocked on it.

When I finally did find a door, the cobwebs spread across the entrance indicated that it hadn’t been opened for a very long time, possibly years. Side stepping an area of dry rot on the veranda, I casually as possible made my way towards the rear of the house. Rounding the corner, I was met by the sight of a naked woman, probably aged in her early to mid thirties, sitting in an old cast iron bath tub that was placed roughly in the middle of what had once been the back lawn.

The woman hardly spared me a glance as she scrubbed energetically at her shoulders and neck with a soft bristled brush bound  to a short wooden handle by a length of bailing twine. Her neck, shoulders and forearms were strong and muscular and while my mind was busy trying to figure it all out, I couldn't help but notice she had the appearance of a person who was accustomed to hard, physical work.

‘Gidday young fella,’ she greeted me. ‘What can I do for yah?’

‘How's it going?' I replied, feeling and probably looking a little uncomfortable.                         And then added. 'Ummmm, my  bike is running a bit rough and I need the use of a spark plug spanner. Don't suppose you happen to have one?’

‘Yeah, sure, there’ll be one in the implement shed. Just hang on a minute will yah.’

And with that comment, she pinched her nose between the fore finger and thumb of her left hand and disappeared beneath the water. After a second or two she surfaced, blowing water from her mouth and shaking a thick spray of excess moisture from her straight, shoulder length, light brown hair.

‘Toss me that towel will yah mate.’ the woman demanded, more than asked, waving a hand vaguely towards a faded, threadbare bath towel draped over a rickety  trellis fence.

Stepping over, I reached for the towel, then threw it, not wanting it to fall short or go too far. An arm shot out from beneath the water, expertly catching the towel in mid flight. Realising she was about to climb out of the bath, I knelt down and pretended to adjust a boot buckle, while she stood upright and dried off.

Glancing up to see her fully relaxed and grinning at me was no surprise. Keeping the towel draped across her front, the grin widened as she stepped nimbly from the bath, making obvious a dark gap in her mouth where an eye tooth had once lived.

In a brief moment, she turned and walked briskly towards the house. 'Back in a minute mate.' she called over her shoulder, wrapping the towel firmly around her self, effectively covering the area from armpit to thigh. Although this girl was solidly built, she had good bone structure and a nice body shape. And the distance between knee and ankle was remarkably long for someone who would not be considered tall. With back and shoulders held perfectly square, she walked with purpose and soon disappeared from view.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                     Five minutes later the woman re-appeared, dressed in faded blue jeans that were frayed  around the pockets, a washed out brush cotton shirt and and a pair of lace up rubber boots. The towel was now wrapped like a turban around wet hair. She extended her right hand that happened to be minus the fore finger. ‘My name is Alice.’ she said, staring directly into my eyes, no longer offering a smile.

Reaching out to grip her hand, I found it warm and dry, but a little odd to grasp due to the missing finger. For some obscure reason, it occurred to me Alice wouldn't be able to pinch her nose shut with the thumb and for finger of her right hand before ducking under the bath water.

'Pleased to meet you Alice, I'm Brian,' I said, then quickly added. 'Sorry to interrupt your bath time.'

'That's okay Brian. I'd been in there long enough. Come on, lets go find that spanner.'

The smile had returned, but so had the gap in her teeth and it made Alice look a little bit predatory. And after all, what could a young bloke still in his teens do if a rough, tough, mountain girl pounced on him without warning? Offer token resistance and give it up?

 With my imagination soon back under control, I felt the urge to say something - and right then, anything would suffice. Alice was already walking hastily away and I called after her.
                                                                                                                                               
‘You wanna let the bath water out?’

‘Nah,’ she shot back. ‘The goats will drink it!’

Glancing down at the murky water and wondering how often Alice took a bath, I felt quietly relieved I wasn’t a goat!

Curious, but reluctant to ask why the bath tub was outside, I quickly caught up and followed Alice along a broken down, moss encrusted path that lead out to a freshly ploughed paddock between the two stands of trees mentioned earlier. On the far side near the blue-gums stood what I assumed to be the implement shed. As we drew closer, it became obvious that like almost everything else on the property, it was falling apart. Parked in one corner was a clapped out tractor with a buck rake attached. Parked adjacent to the tractor was a not so clapped out front-end loader with a pile of cut firewood filling the bucket. There was an assortment of general farm equipment scattered about the place, including chain saws, axes, shovels, wire ropes, empty cartons, sacks, coils of fencing wire and bundles of ratchet strainers, as well as an ancient horse drawn plough with all the harness equipment intact. You name it, it was there. Alice clambered about, searching amongst the junk like a tomcat that had scented a feline on heat! Finally, she jerked open the lid of a shabby old chest that was full of tools of all types and shapes. After rummaging around in the chest for a minute or two, she came up wearing another of her smiles.

‘There you go.’ she exclaimed, looking extremely pleased with herself, standing with one foot on the chest brandishing a rusty, battered, spark plug spanner that had seen better days. Not to worry though, it would do the job.

Alice tossed me the spanner and said. 'That Triumph of yours is running a bit rough alright.’

She had caught me by surprise. ‘How did you know I was riding a Triumph?’ I asked.

‘Heard you coming up the drive. No mistaking that sound mate, even though you were running on one pot.’

I was suitably impressed.

‘You apparently have an interest in bikes Alice?’

‘Sure do. Come and take a look at this.’ she beckoned me.

I followed her to the far end of the shed where we clambered over and around yet another ample pile of junk. Brushing away spider webs as we went, we eventually reached a large tarpaulin that was draped over an object sitting in a dimly lit corner.

Flicking the switch on an overhead light, Alice reached out and grabbed the tarpaulin by one edge, carefully pulling it back to reveal a relatively new, canary yellow, Norton Commando.

‘Holy shit!' I exclaimed, making no attempt to disguise the envy in my voice.                   'Does this belong to you?

‘Yeah mate. Well, it does now. It used to be Jacko’s.’

‘Jacko?’ I asked.                                                                                                                         'Jacko was my husband. The dumb arse drank one too many whiskies and ran off the road while on his way to Westport a little over 9 months ago. Took three days to find him. Stiff as a board and cold as chilled beer by the time we hauled his body out of there.’

I did have some recollection of the accident. Jacko had been driving an early model jaguar and had lost control on a bad bend with a very long, almost sheer drop on one side. If it hadn't been for a traveller stopping to take photographs and noticing a broken road marker and pieces of debris scattered down the hill, it may have taken a whole lot longer than three days to find Jacko. It was several hundred feet to the bottom of the bluff he'd plunged over. 

‘I remember that accident Alice. I’m sorry it was your husband.’

‘All in the past now,’ she said with a shrug. ‘This farm has been sold. Me and the Norton are moving to Nelson. I’m going to be a city girl.’

Alice came across as blas'e and uncaring. But I detected a flash of hurt in her eyes and there was a slight quiver in her voice. A momentary emotion that passed in an instant, but it had been there.

I felt for her, but wasn't about to show it. This woman didn't tolerate weakness of any sort.

‘Good luck with Nelson.’ I uttered, whilst helping her to pull the tarp back over the Norton.

'If you're going to make the transition to city life, it may as well be Nelson.' I added.

'I'm from up that way.' she replied, while opening a small cupboard that was hanging from the wall at a crazy angle.

‘Here, these might be useful,’ she said, passing me a set of brand new Champion spark plugs. ‘Save you cleaning up your old one’s and even if that works, they won’t run for long before breaking down again.’

She then went on to say:

‘I’ve set the gap, they should be about right for your bike.’

I tried in vain to pay for the plugs, but I may as well have been talking to the bath tub! Alice went into 'deaf' mode, turning away and totally ignoring me. We ambled back to the house together where I got my hands dirty and fitted the plugs. Leaving me with instructions on how to find the door, Alice headed off to the kitchen to put the kettle on.

Hoping she might have brought the drinks out and unsure of what to expect, I entered the house after hearing her call - ‘The tea has been poured  - come and get it while it’s hot.’ Inside, the house was unexpectedly tidy and the fresh scones smothered in whipped cream and home made apricot jam went down well with a large mug of hot, sweet tea. Two mugs of tea, four scones, a bloated stomach and 45 minutes later, I decided it was time to go. But only after attempting to pay for the spark plugs one more time.

Alice stood with one foot extended forward and thumbs hooked into hip pockets, watching while I pulled on my jacket and helmet. Kicking the Triumph into life, I noticed her wide grin was exposing that damn gap in her teeth again. Briefly wondering if she might have the tooth replaced in Nelson, I let the clutch go a little too quickly, wobbling drunkenly for the first few feet. Regaining control of my bike, I half turned in the seat and waved goodbye, before making my way back down the long drive. Pausing at the toilet bowl, I lifted the lid and dropped in enough money to more than cover the cost of the spark plugs. The big billy goat had appeared and was eyeing me suspiciously as I pulled my gloves on and pointed my Triumph towards home. This was to be my last ride on a motorcycle for quite some time. My new job as a professional hunter would find me based on the West Coast of the South Island where I would exchange my motorcycle for a Land Rover and my helmet and leather jacket for a new hunting rifle in .243 calibre.

I never laid eyes on Alice again. But while delivering a truck load of deer and chamois carcasses to the wild game processing factory in Christchurch the following year, curiosity gained the upper hand and I turned down that same side road for a look around. From a distance, I could see the shabby old homestead had been torn down. Pulling up outside the property, the big old goat was still there and munching happily away on blackberry too. But the toilet bowl had disappeared and had been replaced by a smartly painted milk can mounted on a length of railway iron buried in the ground.

‘Not nearly as exotic’, I muttered to myself.                                                                                  In place of the original homestead stood a white, concrete block, split level dwelling with an inbuilt garage. There was a late model Land Cruiser and a dark green falcon utility parked out front. The drive had been fully reconstructed and was covered with a layer of fine gravel. Most of the bracken and overgrown shrubbery had been cleaned out, giving a clear view from the road all the way to the house. Over yonder, past the blue gum and pine trees, I could see a group of men working on the roof of what I assumed to be a new implement shed. It all looked very nice indeed and was probably more in line with the environment I liked to live in. But having said that, there was part of me that realised the place didn’t  have the same character about it. And I reckon that would have applied to the occupants too.

END