On the tourist trail

On the ride from Mossburn through to Walter Peak I got a serious dose of reality as the road conditions deteriorated along with the weather.

First it was a combination of a very dusty road, an annoying amount of holiday traffic to kick up the said dust and a lack of wind to disperse it. The dust was doing its best to imitate a Waikato winter fog hanging in the air for a lot longer than was healthy. However, the bonus was sunshine and this was good as I was camping.

At Mavora Lakes the sandflies were thick and ravenous. Job number one was to apply lots of insect repellant to any exposed skin. When they did not play fair and continued to dine on me, job number two was to cover any exposed skin. Oh the joys of camping.

The good news is that natures deterrent was about to arrive, unexpected. The first few spots I attributed to a rouge isolated shower that the last weather forecast I had checked before we went off grid, had promised. A few hours later, and with steady rain falling, I was doubting the isolated shower explanation. By morning, with rain still falling and the tent starting to show signs that it was giving up on providing shelter, I was definitely resigned to the fact that my worst camping scenario was unfolding. The silver lining? The sandflies had retreated to their hangers or wherever they go when they are not on a blood collection mission.

I had breakfast in the very cramped little tent, donned my wet weather gear and packed everything into the, hopefully, watertight bags. Loaded them on the bike and then dropped the saturated tent and wrestled with it, trying not to get too soaked myself. But as there was no sign of any let up in the rain and I had at least 5 more hours exposed to the elements I just resigned to my soggy fate.

Yesterday’s dust had become today’s mud. I was booked on the 3:45pm sailing from Walter Peak to Queenstown but reckoned that if I put my mind to it, I could get there a lot earlier. I was now on a mission.

Fortunately, it was not heavy rain, just persistent, moderate rain. From the perspective of getting wet, the difference is minor. But for fording streams this is an important distinction. The last bridged river was the Oreti. It looked good, no angry brown water rushing under the bridge so I decided to push on into the gloom.

The river crossings were a breeze, dealing with the wandering stock and their by-product was not. I assume that they had all retreated to the road to keep their hooves dry – there had to be some explanation why, out of 40,000ha they had to choose a narrow stretch of gravel to hang out on. There is nothing to eat on the road but I suspect their motivation was more sinister. They were going to make life miserable for at least one human, one that hardly ever eats their bros. Apart from the poo, they were also flighty and I was concerned that I could get bowled off the bike as they charged around in front of the bike unable to decide which side they wanted to take refuge on. They were acting like a bunch of undecided voters being showered with party promises.

Anyway, about halfway into the ride across Mt Nicholas station I could see that my concerns about my battery were at least not going to make the journey any harder. In fact, I decided that I could afford to crank the pedal assist up and have a shot at getting the mid-day sailing. My rain gear was losing the battle with the water and I did not fancy shivering around Walter Peak for a few hours in wet clothes.

I made it and sat next to the boat funnel which was generating plenty of heat for the short ride to Queenstown. I was pleased that I had decided not to have a rest day there. Fantastic location but wow, is this what we have to do in the name of growth?

I am delighted to report that since that last sad soggy tale, I have now experienced nine, yes nine and counting, consecutive dry and sunny days. What makes this phenomenon even more unbelievable is that six, yes six of them, have been on the West Coast. I have also, with the exception of the route between Wānaka and Hāwea, been riding on State Highways, the longest stretch of the entire trip, over 500km. Oh no! I can hear you thinking, danger, danger, danger. Well not really. These are primarily tourist routes and despite the horror stories we hear about tourists and kiwi roads, I have not had too many problems. They have mostly given me plenty of space, the odd one seems a bit reluctant to cross the centre line and will follow me (slowly and patiently) until I spot them and stop and let them pass. The only exception was a local who gave me a blast on his horn because he wanted to pass me when there was an oncoming vehicle. I gave him the benefit of the doubt and assumed he was being friendly. I gave him a friendly wave back as he roared past me in his beat up ute that left me with a cloud of exhaust smoke. The enjoyable aspect of the roads is that they are mostly truck free and in good condition. The scenery has been amazing and in addition to soaking that up, I can listen to the bird song in between the odd vehicle.

There is a lot of virgin indigenous rain forest in South Westland (same guy that named Southland?). It is impressive (the forest not the name) and I am sure I could hear the carbon being sucked out of the air. I could certainly smell said carbon being expelled into the air each time a vehicle passed. Two observations while riding this remote section of the country. Very few dead possums on the road. They are either very smart down here or the numbers are in decline. I realise that traffic is much lighter but I have seen more dead possums on shorter sections of remote North Island roads than through the most of South Westland. Alas, the most common road kill is small native birds.

Fox Glacier was the rendezvous point for Howard to take over from the RA for five days. But of course we all know that the RA bailed before the return ride and as Bob is always fully rested he didn’t need a break so in the circumstances the only purpose of Howard joining was to occupy the back seat for five days and enjoy the ride. I had been warned before I returned South that his fitness was marginal due to a strained back so when we met up at Fox I fully expected that another stoker would be going to the bench (might need a bigger one soon). Of course he was not going to be up to it. Honestly, I don’t want to have anyone on the backseat who may not make it to the next destination. It is not good for them and I don’t want to be calling in rescue services if it all turns to custard in a wilderness area. Anyway, I have enjoyed having some company in the evenings and I can leave the bike configured for riding solo.

But I am starting to think that I should modify the bike and sell the RA seat. Unlike the ride South with the two of us pedalling, people are very reluctant to engage with a dodgy old codger cycling a tandem on his own. Weirdo, is he looking to abduct someone? Mentally unstable? Did he murder the stoker? Did they fall off? Is the earth flat?

Anyway, I have long trail ride tomorrow and unlike the road where passing cyclists initially wave then do a double take as me and the empty seat flash by, I will no doubt have to actually engage with some of them and reassure them that I am not a complete fruit loop and a danger to their safety. Bob is not actually helpful in these circumstances for when I pull him out of his pocket, their worst suspicions are somehow confirmed.

Now I hope you realise that I am so far out of my comfort zone now that I could be a candidate to join Elon Musk when he eventually decides that earth is stuffed and he might as well blast off to Mars. Don’t take pity on me, but think about the vulnerable kids that have to face these sort of challenges everyday of their life. I have included another story from The Bald Angels and a reminder that you can show your support for the ride and help the angels by donating via our give-a-little page.

For the record, we are now 5,190km into our journey taking us 307 hours of pedalling. I will pass the 1,000km of solo riding in the next few days.