Canterbury punisher: NZ Day 4

As soon as we got up this morning, we meant business.  Breakfast was consumed, panniers were packed and bikes prepared in record time.  Today was the day we'd be getting this show on the road, literally.  Our destination was the town of Methven, about 110km away from Christchurch.  We were following the route suggested in the very excellent and highly recommended Pedaller's Paradise cyclist guidebook (by awesome coincidence the "sample page" on that website is the very same we were following this day!), taking us across the Canterbury Plains on quiet roads, crossing Rakaia Gorge and into Methven.  On paper it looked reasonably straight forward, with an almost imperceptible rise for the first 90km or so.  I'd been around some of the Canterbury Plains in the past, and my main recollection was of it being very flat, so I wasn't too concerned about the day's riding.  I did have some reservations about the weather - it overcast and breezy, and also quite humid with rain threatening.  Standing out the front loading my bike up with gear, I had no idea what the weather held for the day.

Loaded up and ready to ride. People often ask me what kind of bike I use for all this stuff, it's a Redline Conquest Classic with a few modifications

We pushed off into the Monday morning Christchurch traffic at about 7:30am, wobbling around on our loaded bikes.  It had been a little while since I had ridden a loaded tourer, and although I was only carrying around 8kg in luggage and gear, I still found the cut and thrust of city traffic riding somewhat challenging.  After what seemed like an eternity of scurrying through busy commercial and industrial areas, we were finally out of Christchurch, and out on the open road.

After a while we passed a few cycle tourers, we kept leap-frogging them all day.  They were a friendly couple from the US

A photo of me taking a photo riding into the Selwyn District

If it's flat, it must be easy...

We rode along the flat highway heading roughly north-west for a couple of hours.  As we progressed the traffic gradually thinned out, and the weather relented somewhat - it was turning into a clear and warm day.  At a place called Aylesbury Corner (quite literally just a corner on the highway), we turned off the main road and into a quiet farming district.  We were making excellent time, and the ride did seem like it was going to be pretty easy today, so we stopped for a little while to have some food and relax on the side of the road.  This point was also a bit of a milestone for myself - everywhere we went from here on this tour on was somewhere I'd never been before.

For some reason Jer thought the sign meant it was 69km from where we started to Methven, and that we only had 29km to go.  I informed him it was in fact still 69km to Methven.  I then joked we had 7 hours to get 70km, there would have to be something wrong with us if we couldn't do that.  Turns out, we're both idiots

As the morning wore on, we inched ever closer to the mountains

Even from afar the mountains energised and excited us, it seemed like we were stopping every few minutes for photos

Stopped at the small village of Hororata for a lunch break.

This was actually the best coffee we had while we were in New Zealand. You should see the face Jer pulls when he doesn't like something

Heading out of Hororata, the wind increased dramatically.  It was one of the north-westerly winds we'd heard so much about - an unrelenting icy blast blowing straight down the mountains and into our faces.  Just to mix it up up a bit, every now and again the wind would swing drop off for a few seconds, then swing around 90 degrees or so, blowing us either across the road or off into the culvert.  It made for tough work,  sitting heavy in the saddle, plodding along at speeds as low as 10km/h.  

Even struggling along in the wind, I was delighted to be away from the city and out in the countryside.  I find cities make me claustrophobic, even when experienced from the security blanket that is my bicycle.  In a city it feels to me like there is so much going on and too much to look at, but nothing to capture my imagination.  Out here, where there were few houses, few people, no traffic, and maybe an occassional hedge or two, I found my imagination and curiosity firing all the time.  This is what cycle touring is all about for me, and why I make the effort to get out on the open road.  By the time we reached the road to Rakaia Gorge, I felt like my mind and body had pretty much been reconfigured into touring mode.

Excellent signs abound in NZ, although some of the distances stated therein seemed entirely fictional

Very gradual climbing, through spring flowers on the Canterbury Plain

Something we hadn't bargained on in NZ was the magpies.  Throughout the whole day we kept getting smashed by these birds, looking like crazy people as we rode along waving our arms above our heads in a futile attempt to deter their attacks.  Introduced to New Zealand from Australia, the NZ variety seemed far more aggressive and persistent than their Australian cousins, even attacking flocks of sheep.  Upon seeing this occur, I asked Jer "if there was one of those crappy animated movies about a sass-talking magpie that musters sheep, then forms an unlikely friendship with an eccentric farmer, and against all the odds wins a sheepdog tournament, what would you call it?"  Jer thought about it for a nano-second and replied "Shepherd's 'pie!".  You've gotta hand it to him, the guy is quick!

Jer showed me that if you hold a yellow flower up to your chin and it reflects yellow on your skin, it means you like butter. I'm not one to argue with science, and it appears Jer hates butter (or possibly likes it)

Wind: the invisible enemy.  Between about 80km and 90km, I reckon we stopped at least eight times to take a break from the gale

Get that man a cold drink - by this time we'd been in a howling headwind for about four hours

It's not just a clever name

As we got closer to the mountains, the wind increased in speed and decreased in temperature, until it was insane and impossible to ride in a straight line.  It was swirling all around and impossible to predict.  It was as though the mountains hated us and were determined not to let us pass, causing us to predictably make the relevant Lord Of The Rings reference.  After what seemed like an eternity of punching into the wind, we reached a T-intersection at around the 90km point of our ride.  To the west was Rakaia Gorge and beyond that our overnight destination of Methven, about another 20km away.  To the east was a tiny village called Windwhistle.  We were keen to get to our destination and didn't like the prospect of having to backtrack to where we were, but we were also low on water, and I wanted a can of a particular world famous carbonated caffeinated beverage.  We turned east and rode for about one kilometre until we reached the Windwhistle Garage, which appeared to be the only business in town.  Turns out Windwhistle isn't an ironic name, it was indeed so windy that it was whistling all around, and we were having difficulty even standing up in it.  In addition to the wind, I reckon it's highly likely that when they were naming the place, Coldville might have also been thrown in there as an option.

Jer stretching out the front of the garage.  The owners were very helpful, letting me use their workshop to adjust a few niggling things on my bike

Jer had been complaining about some undercarriage related discomfort for the past few hours.  Sitting heavy in the saddle with no real climbs so far wasn't helping, and neither were those tight shorts I imagine

A few minutes from Windwhistle we turned a corner and were confronted Rakaia Gorge, in stark contrast to the flat farmland we'd been riding through all day.  Standing out on a spur over the gorge, the weather turned dark and foreboding, and a light rain started to fall

I had to push my bike back in from the spur, it was so windy I couldn't get started without falling over.

The weather appeared to be closing in fast, the air pressure felt to be dropping, and I felt an immediate desire to get across that gorge and away from that place as quickly as possible.  I felt very exposed out there on a bike so close to large mountains in an environment I was not at all familiar with.  Those same mountains that had intrigued and energised me all day were now suddenly frightening the living shit out of me.  We left the top of the gorge and after a hectic descent for a few kilometres, found ourselves at the river.  Out on the exposed rocks the wind was intense, blasting us and our bikes with a fine black powder, stinging our faces.  We stood silently surveying the scene, particularly the climb back out of the gorge.  The road seemed to cut straight up the western escarpment at an impossibly steep angle.  In normal circumstances I would have procrastinated for ages before tackling such a climb, but on this day, we were quickly back on the bikes and headed to the base of the gorge wall.

Those scandalous shorts!  Come to think of it I've not seen them since that day, it was their first and last appearance ever

We stood around briefly trying to decide the best way to tackle the climb.  We soon concluded there was no easy way, and reluctantly rode off knowing that painy season was about to commence

The bridge across is level, this isn't a trick photo.  The cutting is the angle of the climb out of Rakaia Gorge - insane

We both managed to get up the climb without walking, although at a few points the gusting wind blew our front wheels off the ground, and blew me across two lanes of traffic just after this photo

98km into the day, a second steep climb followed the main ascent out of the gorge.  I'm not sure what I'm talking about here, but you can guarantee it involved a lot of swearing

Late respite from the wind

After two tough climbs we arrived at the foot of the Mt Hutt ski field, although the ski season was long since over and the area was pretty much devoid of people and traffic.  We reached a sign telling us it was 12km to Methven, and we turned south-east, with the wind now at our backs.  The mountain wind which had been so unkind to us all day quickly turned into our ally, propelling us at 45km/h the entire way into Methven.  Riding at such high speed for such a long way all but erased the memories of our struggles to Windwhistle and out of Rakaia Gorge, and we arrived at our accommodation feeling as though we'd only been on a ride to the shops.  The trip computer told a different story - although it was only 110km of riding, the final 69km had taken us 6 hours and 40 minutes!

Jer steams towards Methven at full speed

Our hostel, the Mt Hutt Bunkhouse.  We had the place to ourselves, a pleasant contrast after the hustle and bustle of Christchurch

After dumping our gear in our large room, Jer had a nap for a little while, and I went about my usual post-ride routine of stretching, eating, applying various lotions and potions to various bits of my body, and putting on my compression tights.  I went outside to do a little bit of maintenance on my bike - it seemed our little trip to the riverbed of Rakaia Gorge had filled my drivetrain up with very fine black sand, which had turned into a grinding paste stuck all over everything.  As I was cleaning it all up the manager of the hostel came and chatted to me for a while - he told me Methven was a ski town and the season was finished and the tourists gone for the year.  I locked away my bike, had a shower, and walked uptown with Jer.  The town was empty, to the point that it was eerie.  Shops were all closed, no cars, no people, and strangely silent - we eventually found a pizza place that was open and devoured a large pizza each while listening to some local reggae music on the radio.

I must get myself some of that hair conditioning spray. Keep your eye out for the declining standard of hair care as the trip progresses over the weeks

Methven certainly seemed pretty quiet in November

Walking back to the hostel under the the late afternoon overcast sky, there were no shadows, just a soft grey light over everything.  I was feeling a bit lost and odd.  I stopped by a phone box and phoned home to see how everyone was.  My wife and kids sounded like they weren't having a great time and were missing me - I asked my three year old daughter what she did that day, and all she said was "I cried because I want you here".  In that instant I felt very much like I wanted to go home - and trudged back to my room feeling quite overwhelmed by everything and nothing in particular.  Getting back to the hostel I busied myself doing my laundry and packing my panniers, before turning into bed early, before the sun had even gone down.

My panniers had a tendency to explode at the end of each day.  This photo was taken about 20 seconds after we first walked into our room

Although it was only 110km and the terrain wasn't all that hardcore, it had seemed like one of the most epic days I have ever had on a bicycle.  In the space of a day we'd propelled ourselves from a busy seaside city, across a vast agricultural plain, to a near deserted rural town by towering snow capped mountains.  We had gone from one situation to a totally different one, all in one day, all under our own power.  One of the great pleasures of cycle touring, particularly in New Zealand, is experiencing the gradual transition from one place to the next.  I drifted off to sleep with the route notes for the following day still in my hand, pondering what fresh challenges tomorrow would bring.

Self-inflicted struggle street: NZ Day 3

I think I must have woken up at about 9:30am.  The sun was blasting in the window of our gaol cell room, and I didn't feel great.  I was still fully clothed from the afternoon before, including shoes, polar fleece and compression pants.  I was sweating a sickly sweat and felt very pasty.  I had gone to sleep with my keys, wallet, phone and camera in my pockets, and tools and gear all over my bed, so I was covered in bruises.  I got out of bed and looked at Jer in the top bunk, he was totally out of it.  I grabbed a bidon, shuffled out to the coffee shop and got a coffee, then shuffled to the front garden to get some fresh air and wake up a bit.  Thinking about it, I hadn't been all that outrageous the night before - I'd gotten eight hours sleep and only had five beers and three shots, but being such a lightweight I just couldn't handle it.  I felt more vague than ill, and strangely depressed.  I remembered that feeling from when I used to drink back in the day - for some reason the day after I have even a couple of drinks I used to feel really down and out, and that was part of the reason I gave it up entirely.  Still, it had been good to have a bit of a blowout the night before, and I resolved to drink an electrolyte drink, have a shower, then walk around town to see what I could find.

After drinking my drink, I walked back into our room to grab my gear for a shower.  It smelt feral and was a disgusting mess, and still Jer was fast asleep amongst it all.  I headed up the showers.  The showers had been much spruced up since the building was a prison, but the same basic plumbing remained.  Basically, water in each cubicle drained into a small channel cut into the floor, which ran through all the cubicles before draining out at the end of the room.  I felt fine walking into the shower, but for some reason as soon as the water hit me, I started to feel suddenly and extremely wretched.  With great gusto and force I projectile vomited my coffee and electrolyte drink, trying to get as much of it as I could into the little drain cut into the floor.  The stuff just kept coming out, with the bright green coffee and bile smelling liquid flowing through the little open drain in the stark white floor, past all the other men showering, before eventually draining out.  It probably didn't make the other people having a shower that day feel too great, but I certainly felt back on top after getting rid of it all.

After cleansing my body inside and out in the shower, I walked down to the Burger King about fifty metres away to fill up on greasy food.  I bumped into Myles again at the hostel, he was bright as a button after the night before, and we walked off into Christchurch city centre.  Myles had told us that a new shopping area had opened up only the day before, and it was the place to be.  It wasn't too hard to find, there were hoards of people walking in that direction, and the place certainly was jumping.

In the heart of the destroyed city centre, a new shopping precinct had just opened - in shipping containers!

Coffee shops, boutiques, it was all pretty cool and exciting to see

This was all great, but I was still feeling a bit fragile and have to admit the crowds were freaking me out a little bit

Just over the fence from all the hustle and bustle, the broken glass and twisted metal of the city loomed

Walking back towards the hostel, Myles mentioned a girl at the bar had invited him to a Halloween party that night, and he needed a costume.  I suggested he go to "The Warehouse", which is kind of like K-mart or Target, so we wandered to a shopping centre to find something.  Much hilarity ensued, as he tossed up between either a French maid outfit or a naughty Mrs Santa outfit.  In the end Mrs Santa won the day, and Myles announced he might head back to the same bar as the night before for a few more beers, at about 1:00pm in the afternoon.  There was no way I was joining him in this endeavour, so I politely declined and kept walking back to the hostel.  The last time I saw him he was jauntily walking into the bar - it's a shame we never got his email address or anything, he was a funny guy.

In New Zealand, a trolley is called a "trundler".  This amused me greatly

I say I was feeling better, but the reality was I still had to wear sunglasses indoors

Sleeping beauty

Back at our room, little had changed.  It still smelled like drunk cyclists, there was still clothes and tools and bikes and crap everywhere - the only difference was now Jer was lying the other way in bed, still asleep.  He later told me the sun was too bright, but he didn't think to close the curtains and that just flipping the other way in bed seemed the logical option.  I went back out into the hallway, made a cup of tea and walked about taking photos of the building for an hour or so.

This really was an incredible restoration of an old derelict building into something useful

Historical displays and artefacts all over gave the place the air of staying in a museum, which had the added bonus effect of making guests go about their business quietly

We were due to head out onto the road proper in the morning, I was concerned by the cloud and wind increasing as the day progressed

Back on track

I went back to the room of stench, opened the window and had a siesta for about an hour.  I awoke from this feeling much better, physically and mentally.  I remembered that I was actually here for a big bike ride, a fact I had somehow forgotten in all my hungover moping.  I set a simple plan for the remainder of the day to shower, make some dinner, have a cup of tea and pack my panniers for leaving tomorrow.  Having a plan and being back on track made me feel a lot better, and I had a real sense of excitement growing at the prospect of getting out on the road, into the unknown.

I was in the bathroom brushing my teeth when Jer walked in, having eventually surfaced after having spent the whole day sick in bed.  He grimaced silently at me, then walked into a shower cubicle and closed the door.  A second later I heard him shout "ah FUCK!", I asked him what was wrong - he had dropped his new toothbrush in the drain, the very same one I had thrown up in earlier in the day.

I went to bed early, pretty much as soon as it got dark.  I was in a state of complete contrast to when I first got up, and I was refreshed, excited and feeling positive.  I considered the prequel of this tour to be over, and the real adventure was about to begin.

Return to the Port Hills, return to the pub: NZ Day 2

We treated ourselves to a bit of a sleep in, rising at about 8:00am.  Fortunately, there was a coffee shop right in the hostel, so we both grabbed a cup and sat around out in the  garden.  The weather was foggy, and the temperature quite cold - it certainly didn't bode too well for a day of riding up in the Port Hills, an area situated on the rim of extinct volcano and known for its views of the city and beyond.  Before we got near the bikes however, we had a few other chores to take care of.

Our first task was to walk a few kilometres to the nearest post office, to send our bike bags poste restante to Dunedin, our destination in three weeks time.  The ladies working at the post shop seemed a little mystified by this request, and indeed it seems not a lot of travellers know about this excellent service, so while I was glad to be rid of about 2kg of excess gear, I was also a little unsure if I'd ever see it again.  The next step was to buy some chain lube and other consumables.  Chatting with the guy at the bike shop, he informed us that the tracks around Port Hills we intended to ride had changed a lot since I was last there about a couple of years ago, and also that the fog would lift and it would end up being a hot day.  His meteorological predictions did indeed prove accurate, by the time we reached our third destination, the supermarket, the sun was set to scorch, the sky was blue, and the temperature was on the rise.

Going to a supermarket in a foreign nation is always a deeply amusing and somewhat confusing experience.  I was at an advantage as I've been to the shops many times in New Zealand, and managed to get myself three days of breakfast, lunch, dinner and road snacks for just $21.  Jer didn't fare quite as well with his groceries, I glimpsed him ambling aimlessly around the supermarket looking fairly confuddled.  This was his first trip to New Zealand, indeed out of Australia, and his confusion manifested itself in his shopping basket, which was filled with an assortment of random crap consisting mainly of hair care products.  Shampoo, hairbrushes, conditioner, hair elastics, hair spray - you name it, he had it.  I was a little unsure on what he planned to eat for the week, but he certainly would have a full and lustrous mane.

Ride to the hills

After lunch back at the hostel, the time had come to actually get on our bikes and ride them somewhere.  We did a few laps around the old gaol grounds, adjusted a few things that had shifted during the flight and assembly process, and set off through the Christchurch traffic, south towards Port Hills.

The original gate to the old gaol complex at the hostel

Jer makes some adjustments out the side of the main building

Setting out onto the main roads of Christchurch

One of the great things about cycling in Christchurch is that the majority of the urban area is very flat, so getting around isn't usually too strenuous.  We only had about 7km to go to reach the Rapaki Track, which leads from the suburbs up to Port Hills.  I'd ridden the route before and I knew where I was going, but after about 5km I had to pull over to the side of the road, exhausted.  It wasn't like me at all to be this tired this early into a ride - my heart was racing, I was breathing fast, my muscles hurt and I couldn't concentrate.  I mentioned my troubles to Jer, and he reported suffering exactly the same symptoms.  We sat there discussing it for a minute, and realised in the stress of riding to a new location in a different city in a different country in foreign traffic, we were forgetting to breathe!  I realised I'd pretty much been holding my breath from nerves and excitement since I left the hostel.  At the same time, Jer realised that in his supermarket induced excitement, he had forgotten to buy sunscreen, and now the UV rays were really starting to spice up and he was getting sunburnt.  A few hundred metres down the road we came across a dairy (what they call a small shop in New Zealand), and Jer ducked inside to get some sunscreen.  He soon emerged with the world's most expensive tube of sunscreen, we turned out of the suburbs, onto the open grassy climb of Rapaki Track.

This is what a $20 tube of sunscreen looks like. This is what a man who just got ripped off looks like

The smooth gravel of the Rapaki Track is the easiest way to the summit of the Port Hills

Very hot as we climbed out of town on the exposed slopes.  I unzipped my jersey to cool down, and to catch nutritious insects in my chest hair

Rapaki track looks easy enough...

...but I've got to admit it does go on for a fair way!

Taking a break about halfway up.  Port Hills really turned it on for us - blue skies, green grass and warm weather

View from the top, looking south to Lyttelton Harbour

We paused at the top of Rapaki Track, having reached the summit road.  This road runs roughly east to west along the top of Port Hills, with scenic vistas of the city, mountains and ocean in each direction.  Our plan was to head east to Godley Head, overlooking the Pacific Ocean, before dropping down to the seaside town of Sumner for an ice cream.  These plans were thwarted however, when we discovered the road east was closed as a result of earthquake damage.  I wasn't too concerned, we'd just head west along the summit road, back down the main road into town, then out to Sumner through the suburbs.

Normally I'm pretty keen for riding around road blocks, but on this occasion I didn't

The closed road meant very few cars on the summit, we only saw a few other cyclists

Jer riding out to a scenic lookout, with snow capped mountains hidden by haze in the distance

Chasing down a lone cyclist in the Port Hills

A long and entertaining descent back down to the city, just enough to allow my legs to cool down completely

We skirted along the edge of the hills, heading east towards the seaside suburb of Sumner.  Much has been reported in the media about the effect of the earthquake on central Christchurch, but not much had been said about Sumner.  I had naively expected to find the place largely unaffected, but in reality, it appeared to be just as destroyed as the CBD - perhaps more so.  The main road in and out of Sumner runs under seaside cliffs - these had been severely damaged by the quake, and now the road was lined by a massive row of shipping containers protecting from more rock falls.  The road up back up to Port Hills was closed at Sumner, indeed we found that whole suburb had been evacuated and abandoned.  We had no way of going on, and we did not feel right at all touristing around the area on bicycles, so we made haste out of Sumner, and back to our hostel as quickly as we could through the maze of roadworks and detours.

Above the container wall on the road to Sumner. Yes, that is what you think it is...

...a house dangling from the cliff. Horrifying

Another blocked road, another mechanical adjustment

Even sections of the beach were closed.  The earthquake hit Sumner very, very hard - yet outside of New Zealand we heard very little about it

With so much infrastructure around the city damaged, water seemed hard to come by on the road that day

Negotiating the container wall on the way back to Christchurch.  This continued for several kilometres, and could best be described as "harrowing"

Time to unwind

We arrived back at the hostel around 5:00pm, and I immediately began my post-ride recovery routine.  Even though it was only a 60km ride over a couple of hours, we both admitted to feeling really tired and worn out.  I diligently did my stretching, ate some food, applied creme to my nether regions, had a shower and put on my compression tights.  We spent a good few hours just kicking around our room doing kind of nothing at all.  At around 7:30pm we decided to walk back to the same pub as the night before to have a couple of beers, then retire to bed early.  As we were walking out we bumped into a Canadian guy we had been chatting to earlier around the hostel.  We suggested he come down to the pub for a couple of quiet beers with us.

Jer has his first sip of beer.  Pretty much the precise moment it all went wrong

We sat around at the Pegasus Arms, just talking rubbish and having an entirely pleasant time in the afternoon sun.  Our new Canadian friend, whose name was Myles, was a cool guy.  He told us that a few days earlier before arriving in NZ, he had broken up with his girlfriend, so he was a free agent, so to speak.  We should have realised at the time, but the combination of two awkward recluses who rarely drink (I'd not had a drink in two years until the day before), with a socially awesome single guy wasn't going to end well - for us anyway.  Two beers turned into three, then Myles suggested we go to a different bar where he had apparently been chatting up a barmaid the previous night.  For some reason we agreed to this, and off we all merrily went.

The second bar had a pretty bizarre music collection, so we sat around getting increasingly jolly for a while longer.  It's always awesome hanging out with someone from a different culture, particularly when they are in a joking mood.  A new one I heard was "What has seven arms and sucks?  Def Leppard!".  At one point Myles excitedly pointed to someone and said "Hey those girls are getting shots!", and before I knew it we'd downed three each.  I was well and truly over the edge by this point, and went outside to get some fresh air.  Jer soon joined me, and apparently found me wandering around a carpark over the road.  From there we headed to another bar, and after about five seconds of being in there I'd had enough of being out and about.  I just turned on my heel and walked off, leaving Jer and Myles to set the night on fire with their crazy shenanigans.  I don't really recall getting back to the hostel, although I do remember hearing someone running behind me on the road.  I turned around and saw a guy in a full suit, wearing a backpack, jogging around at 1:00am.  That was a bit weird.

I don't know what time Jer got back to the room, but he was also pretty worse for wear.  I sat up to greet him, it must have been nearly dawn, but the sudden move from horizontal to vertical was too much for me to handle, and I ran out to the bathroom for a vomit.  I later commented that I hadn't had a huge spew, and Jer informed me that he had gone in to do the same a little later, and found spew all over the floor, walls, everywhere.  I thanked him for being such a nice guy and cleaning up my epic mess, but it turns out he just didn't want to get the blame after spewing in there himself.  What a tops guy.

In hindsight, it was a truly massive day with a massive finish, I pushed my body to the limits in all the wrong ways, maybe to over compensate for my sedate and strangely quiet arrival in New Zealand the day before.  Whatever it was, it's not something I plan on trying to replicate in the foreseeable future, that's for sure.

From here to the start: NZ Day 1

I awoke at 3:59am, exactly one minute before my alarm was due to go off.  The time had come for Jer and I to depart to New Zealand, for three weeks of cycle touring on the South Island.  Sitting around eating breakfast in the dark, trying not to wake up my family, I felt very anxious.  I couldn't put my finger on it - I'd wanted to do this ride for at least two years, yet here I was about to set off, and I suddenly didn't really want to go.  I don't know what was bothering me, perhaps it was that I finally had to put my money where my mouth is about this trip.  Perhaps I was worried about getting my bike through quarantine.  A big part of my anxiety was about flying into post-earthquake Christchurch - in February 2011 the city was hit by a violent earthquake resulting in widespread destruction and loss of life. I was dreading what I might find there, a bit like the feeling of walking into a hospital to visit a very ill friend.  Whatever it was, I certainly wasn't feeling as jubilant and excited as I usually do at the start of a big ride.  Soon my mate Rudi arrived to drive me to the airport.  I picked up my bike bag, left the house with little fanfare and set off into the dawn.

One of my lesser known hobbies is being unnecessarily early to things, and today was no exception.  I met Jer out the front, we checked our bikes, got our tickets, cleared customs in record time, and set about the business of killing time around Brisbane airport.

Waiting at the airport: it's awesome!

I'd like to solve it thanks

Once in the air, Jer played his trump card for blasting away the airplane blues - a Sega Megadrive emulator on his laptop.  We settled in for a few hours of sampling the finest games that 1992 had to offer.

All the coolest kids play 1992 Wheel of Fortune

Go directly to gaol

After what seemed like the shortest trans-Tasman flight ever, we began our descent into Christchurch, past the icy peak of Mt Cook peeking out above the clouds.  We landed, quickly cleared customs and quarantine, and were soon on a shuttle bus driving through the city to our accommodation.  To say driving around Christchurch was shocking and confrontational would be a profound understatement.  I'd been to the city a few times in the year leading up to the quake, and now it was quite literally unrecognisable.  The entire CBD was closed off, deserted and looked like a photo of a blitzed Second World War city.  All through the suburbs were demolished buildings, potholed roads and damaged homes.  It was intense to see, and I actually felt very guilty being a tourist being driven around through it all - I'd be leaving in a few days, but this was the inescapable everyday reality for the residents of the city.  We drove mostly in stunned and sombre silence, eventually reaching Jailhouse Accommodation, just south of the cordoned off city centre.

Located in the main building of an old gaol, our accommodation appeared an imposing site in the late afternoon twilight.  We dragged our luggage inside, and were shown around the building.  The rooms were immaculate and easy to navigate, built in the converted cells radiating off the main concourse.  By this stage we hadn't eaten for some time, and I was starting to feel quite vague and a little bit panicky for some reason.  We hurried off to the local shop to load up on snack food, and returned to set about building our bikes in the hallway.

I use one of the excellent Ground Effect Tardis bike bags to cart my stuff around

Assembling bikes while eating greasy snacks, to ensure correct lubrication of bolts and maximise dropping of parts on the carpet

My favourite feature of the Ground Effect Tardis bike bag is that it folds up very small, which I then post to my destination to collect when I get there

With the bikes all ready to go, finally it was time to relax

Once the bikes were together, we stepped out into the light rain and walked in towards the Christchurch city centre, looking for somewhere to have a feed and a beer and a quiet sit down.  I used to know my way around Christchurch reasonably well, but now everything seemed different - we wandered around, not really knowing where we were going.  The streets were largely deserted, which I found odd for a Friday evening. We eventually came across The Pegasus Arms, a little pub adjacent to the cordoned off city centre.  Stepping inside, it appeared as though the entire population of Christchurch was in there that night - the place was very lively and welcoming.  To celebrate our arrival in New Zealand, I had the first beer I'd had in two years, which I immediately proceeded to spill everywhere with an elaborate hand gesture after my first sip.

Back in our "cell" - as you can well imagine, gaol jokes were flying thick and fast

The first day of our trip was a strange experience that was both busy and boring.  I went to bed feeling disoriented and exhausted, and also buzzing with pent up energy and anticipation of what lay ahead in the coming weeks.  I was just about to drift off to sleep, when some people walked past the window outside, loudly having a drunk conversation.  A girl said in a dejected voice "All I wanted to do was have a one night stand with him!", to which some guy said "Will you have a one night stand with me?".  The girl then angrily replied "I don't have one night stands!".  It was a fittingly bizarre and disjointed end to a bizarre and disjointed day.  Tomorrow, I'd be back to the comfort and familiarity of my touring bike, something I was very much looking forward to.