More Dramatic at Every Turn

We've been riding down the West Coast of the South Island for a couple of days, sometimes winding through twisties in the mountains and lush rain forests, other times popping out onto dramatic coastline of the Tasman Sea. My speeds through the turns are getting faster and smoother by the day, and I'm not as scared of the technical bits as I was when I got here.

On the way to the place in the above picture, we were all rolling happily along down a beautiful country road, when everyone came to a dead stop. Hundreds of white sheep filled the way in front of us, and a skilled dog worked hard at getting a stray out of a culvert into which it had strayed. Thousands more sheep crowded the meadows on either side. Unfortunately, no one had a camera handy, and it wasn't really safe to stop.

Last night found us in Punakaiki, at a modern resort set amongst the Pancake Rocks. One can walk miles along the Maine-like beach at low tide, and even find millions of mussel beds. The rock formations are easy to climb, and the surf loud and constant. We had our windows wide open all night (no screens, no bugs, no crime) and I woke up at 2:00 a.m. to the sound of howling wind and sheet-pouring rain. There was no way I could stop thinking about what it would be like to ride in those conditions. Fortunately by 4:30, the wind machine turned off and the rain tapered to a drizzle, but much of the day today was in fog. Far from being unpleasant, it only made the rain forest more lush and the coast more dramatic.

Do we really have to return to the land of ice and snow?

Merge Like a Zip

Now that we're getting more comfortable riding on the left side of the road, we're having more fun taking in the signage, like the one coming into the rotary at Taupo. Merge like a zip. Really does make sense, doesn't it? Too bad the Russians couldn't figure it out in time to follow instructions, but no harm done.

Then there are the one-lane bridges. All over the place. Every dozen miles or so. Through a complicated system of street signs involving opposing arrows, and triangles and lines painted in the road, it's very obvious who has the right of way. And in this land of endless twisties, every one is marked with an appropriate speed. Whether you're able to go faster or slower than that, you at least have a clear indication of what's ahead. Learning to trust that signage has enabled me to pick up my speed considerably.

We're having a bunch of fun with the rest of the group as we get to know each other better. One source of amusement and amazement has been the food. Like the ice cream a few days ago, the mussels here are radioactive. Green lipped mussels, however, taste just like the ones at home.

Coffee is an art form, in description and in presentation. If you just order a cup of coffee, you'll get instant. Nuf said. If you're lucky, you'll find filter coffee (like just plain brewed), but more often your choices will be long black, flat white, latte bowl, etc. These are all variations on a very stark espresso. If you get anything with milk in it, you'll be served a beautiful art piece with designs swirled into the foam. Chris says that's a competition here between cafés, to see who can serve the most complicated design. David had a maple leaf yesterday, but he sipped it before I could get a picture.

And then there are the possums. Screaming, tears running down your face, fun every day with these little guys, even the flat fauna variety. A possum here isn't a big ugly rat with a naked tail, but rather a fluffy little beast that looks like a racoon got frisky with a meerkat. Their fur is lovely, soft, and weaveable, and is often combined with merino for heavenly sweaters. I bought one of these yesterday. The Russians bought huge possum blankets, and Warner gave them each a hide with tail. We suspect they're trying to work out a way to hunt them, but the language barrier has its own challenges.

Like the challenge of making my new hair glove stay put. A gift from Warner's wife, Lisa, it's lovely, but I think I'll either have to grow more hair (like another couple months' worth) or cut off a couple inches from the glove. All in good fun.

Today we head over the mountains to Queenstown, where we'll have a day off before the last two days of riding. Do we REALLY have to go back to the land of whiteout?

A Day Off, Most Welcome!

The scheduled day off in Nelson offered several options, including riding up around the coast. We, however, opted for a day on our feet instead, and it felt wonderful to move the lower halves of our bodies for a change. What a beautiful city! The more time we spend in this lovely country, the more time I want to spend. David is looking at real estate ads in every window.

Walking past a row of historical houses on the way to dinner tonight, we passed the strangest tree I've ever seen -- the bark looks like it's wearing military fatigues.

Up the row of cottages, built for workers in the mid-1800s, a black cat with big green eyes came out to say hello. It gave me a long story about how I should bring my black cat and come to live here, offered its ears for a rub, and then said goodnight. So shall we. Back on the bikes tomorrow.

They Say it Gets Better

But I can’t imagine it. After crossing Rimutaka Hill on our way to the ferry at Wellington, we got out of the knife-edge twisties for awhile (today’s came complete with construction, or “road works,” as they say here) we descended into the beautiful bowl of a city with the most amazing cultural museum I’ve ever seen. We only had a couple hours there, so not enough. But we were privileged to see the famous Britten racing bike that won at Daytona in 1994, and some lovely quilts. The one below measures about seven or eight feet square.

Then onto the ferry for the three-hour journey across Cook Straight to the South Island. Oh. My. Gosh. Way too many photographs here, but I couldn’t stop. After the ferry we had another couple hours going through kilometers and kilometers of vineyards (the wine here is beyond excellent by the way) and then back into the hills to our final destination of Nelson, along the shore of Tasman Bay. Chris (below right) lives here in real life, and I can’t imagine why he would ever want to leave.

Still, he says it will get better. And exactly how can that be remotely possible?

You Don't Want to Know

Leaving Rotorua this morning headed for Greytown, we knew it would be a long day. But we had no idea just how long. The first part of the run down to Taupo was a little breezy, but pretty enough, mostly moving right along. As we stopped for coffee at a little café by the lake, we looked to the south and groaned. It was black down there, and that’s where we were going. Rain gear on, off we went, and it didn’t take long to be glad we had it. I had brought the wrong rain pants, and couldn’t use them, but didn’t think it would matter much.

Wrong. Imagine riding under a fire hose for 30 or 40 miles, then turn on the wind machine, and redline it. And when you’re really having fun, throw in a few miles of knife-edge riding along very twisty mountain roads, on the left, mind you, where if those winds took you the wrong way, you’d have a few thousand meters of flight before you hit the rocks at the bottom of the Gulch of Death. Pull into a gas station, that has no gas, and find another one, then try to get off your bike, soaked and frozen to the core.

I love the people I’m riding with. David and I were at the front of the pack, and when the others caught up, everyone dug through their bags and found enough extra clothing to offer that I was able to get back on the bike after lunch.

A brief respite came in the form of the rain finally ending, and a lovely road through hilly sheep farms, with twisties enough to be fun, but not sharp enough to be hard work. At the next turn, however, the wind was back, and I can’t count the times I literally feared being blown off the road. We later learned that it had been clocked at 135 kmh.

At the end of it all, however, we landed at a lovely old hotel with huge rooms and fluffy beds and delicious dinner. The three Russians in our group, Yuri, Leonid and Alexander, decided we all needed a bit more warming up, so they bought a few bottles of vodka for the 12 of us, and shots were consumed. I was so tired I don’t even remember pulling up the covers when we went to bed, and never knew a thing until morning.

By the way, the photograph above is the Huka falls, which are the outflow from Lake Taupo. Not long ago, a famous New Zealand Rugby player was drowned here, when his paramour threw him in. I think there’s a moral in there somewhere.

I Love the Way They Talk Here!

Because we did today’s ride yesterday, which is really today if you’re in Maine, we had a day off in Rotorua. Chris began the day for us with a leisurely ride up to Whakatane, on the eastern shore of the north island. We rode twisties around several lakes, continuing to dodge debris from Cyclone Wilma. But people were swimming! Boating! Sunbathing! I so don’t miss winter.

The most fun part of Whakatane is how it’s pronounced. “Wh” is normally said with an “F” sound in Maori words. So figure it out. It’s almost as much fun to say as, “underpants.” Another new expression today is, “wall to wall bugger all,” meaning “a whole lot of nothing,” and generally referring to Australia. And if you have an Aunt Frances, don’t ever give her the traditional Maine nickname, because that is a BAD WORD in New Zealand, never to be said in public.

After parking the bikes, we went a short way out of town, where bubbling hot springs and geysers coexist with an interactive Maori cultural museum. We hated to leave. The language lesson continued. “Geyser” here is pronounced, “geezer.” So whenever they talked about the boiling geysers, all I could think of was Nick Saum being tossed into a lobster pot.

In the evening, the Maoris entertained us with a Hangi, their traditional meal cooked underground. They also shared with us a moving and dramatic demonstration of war dances, peace rituals, songs, and games, finishing with a walk through the woods in the dark to look at the glow worms in the trees and on the ground. Seriously cool.

A Land of Surprises

“For a country that prides itself on being a nuclear free zone, New Zealand sure makes strange ice cream!” So said John Jesson, one of our tour guides. The first day of the official ride was a mixed bag, and by the time we made it to the ice cream, we didn’t even know where we’d lay our heads that night.

As we enjoyed a delicious kickoff dinner at the top of the Skyline Tower, Cyclone Wilma ripped through the North Island, leaving more than 8” of rain, and much flooding and destruction in her wake. We pulled out of Auckland the following morning, beginning our first day of riding on the left, through the city, onto the motorway (interstate) headed for the Coromandel peninsula.

Wilma, however, had other plans. As we tried detour after detour, it became obvious that Coromandel was not to be. While Hugh enjoyed his radioactive ice cream, Chris Gladstone, our leader, worked it out for us to spend a second night in Rotorua, where we were supposed to have stayed on Sunday night anyway. So a bit of extra riding, fine. It was very windy, but little did we know what would be in store for us down the road.

Lessons from day 1:

Stay to the left!

You can whip around any old left turn, unless someone is doing it from the right.

Stay to the left.

Go around rotaries (there are thousands) clockwise.

Stay to the left.

Look for traffic to the right.

Stay to the left.

NEVER turn left on a red light.

Stay to the left.

132 looks REALLY cool on the speedometer! Yeah, yeah, it’s only kilometers, but still…

Stay to the left.