Into the Waitaki valley - NZ 2014 Part 3

After a restless sleep, I woke up at about 7am feeling like a piece of dessicated coconut, having inadvertently left the heater on all night.  As per usual Chris was up and about before me, and informed it was clear and blue outside.  We only had a short and straightforward day ahead of us today, so the decision was taken to go for a wander up the main street of Waimate for a leisurely breakfast.

Blue sky was a novelty after the last few days of wall-to-wall grey.

 I was relived that we didn't ride all the way from Timaru yesterday, and excited that we'd get the afternoon off after a short ride to Kurow.

Waimate was a pleasant and clean farming town, with a wide main street and historic buildings.  Despite being close to 9am, most food places were closed, and there seemed to be no bakery.  All we could manage was a lukewarm pie that had been in the warmer since time immemorial, washed down with an equally lukewarm and lacklustre coffee.  The good news was that the local radio DJ mentioned the weather outlook for the day was "NGR", which he *hilariously* clarified to mean "no gumboots required."  We left the cafe staff to their underwhelming fare and contrived AM radio banter, and stepped out into the warm sunshine on the main street.  After a quick resupply for fruit and road food at the local supermarket, we discovered that there seems to be some kind of competition among the local Waimate hairdressers to see who can come up with the best pun business name...

I couldn't determine who won the pun tournament - Shampers...

...Sophisticuts...

 ...or Scissorhands.  You be the judge.

 

 Cool junk hey...?

 Waimate: punctuation hell.

Many building on the main street had these grand old facades.

Sweet turn-ups!

All packed up and ready to leave.  As I mentioned the room was very basic, but for $25 I couldn't fault it.

 After packing up and chatting to a bloke who was walking around NZ, we rode back to the main street and turned towards Kurow, our destination for the day.  I couldn't find much information about the route ahead - I knew there were no town, and no shops.  As far as I could tell the northern side of the Waitaki Valley was rarely ridden by touring cyclists.  Within a few turns of the pedals we left Waimate behind, and rode immediately into a winding gorge.  The clouds closed in and the wind picked up, however I had trouble riding quickly.  My right knee suddenly became extremely sore when I hopped back on the bike, so I happily dawdled along through the rolling countryside knowing that even at a slow pace I'd only be on the bike for a few hours.

Riding out of Waimate.

 The township finishes suddenly, and within a couple of minutes of leaving the cabin we were back out in the countryside.

 Riding into Waimate Gorge.  I really had no idea what I expected to see today, so this was a pleasant scenic surprise.

 Emerging from the gorge, the road continued through rolling farmland.

At one point the road descended down to a creek.  Chris was a little way ahead of me so I grabbed the camera out to get a photo of his descending.  I didn't account for just how steep and long this hill was - by the time I snapped this photo I was doing about 70km/h.  It was a bit frightening going that fast one handed!

The Waihao Forks hotel - an unexpected pub out in the middle of nowhere.

 

After a while the sun came out.  I stopped to have some food and admire the super saturated colours all around.  Given we had a whole day to get to Kurow, we decided to stop every hour for a full sit down roadside snack to keep our energy levels high.

As I rode through the green farmland, I became fatigued but couldn't really figure out why.  I kept getting slower and slower, having change into lower and lower gears.  I thought I was having some kind of energy or power crisis, however stopping to rest and looking behind, I realised that we had climbed a long way up that morning.

 Reaching the summit before heading down to the Waitaki River.

A fast and fun descent through farmland continued for about 8km. It was nice to get so many "free" kilometres in on a short day.

Chris and I are pretty evenly matched in the cycling stakes, so we broke up the day by taking turns to lead while the other drafted on the long, flat road leading up the river to Kurow.  I'd lead for half an hour, Chris would lead for half an hour, then we'd stop for a roadside snack.  Of all the buddy systems I've tried cycle touring, this one worked the best to keep us fresh and moving forward.

One of many single lane bridges along the way.

Breakfast / lunch / dinner of champions.  I've lived on these things for days out on the road.

A familiar sight for any cycle tourer - sitting in the grass by the side of the road eating muesli bars.

 Kurow approaches, and the cloud starts to thicken and lower.  Fortunately by this point I estimated we were only a few kilometres out of town.

Chris hooks it as our energy picks up with the knowledge the day is nearly over.

Crossing over the Waitake River on the boundary of Canterbury and Otago, I came the closest I ever have to being cleaned up by a passing car.  To get into Kurow we needed to cross from one side of the valley to the other, across the Waitaki River.  The bridge was out for repairs, so a temporary deep gravel alternative route had been constructed into town.  The flagman waved us through, and as I got to the narrowest part of the deep gravel detour, walled in on both sides with temporary barricades, I spotted a Nissan X-trail faux-wheel-drive in my mirror.  I moved over to the left a bit, into very deep gravel.  The car passed within about 30cm of me - close, but I've had closer.  I concentrated on riding in a straight line through the gravel, lest I end up under the wheels.  What I hadn't bargained on was the fact that this particular moron happened to be towing one of those huge hire trailers, significantly wider than the wheel track of the car.  I was doing about 15km/h, X-trail dickhead was doing maybe 20, so it wasn't as if I was slowing him down considerably.  The end of the detour (and centre of Kurow) was maybe 50m away, so it wasn't as though he'd be stuck behind me for ages, but no - he was going by.  I braced myself for the inevitable shove from behind as the wheel arch hit my pannier - but it never came.  The trailer passed so close that the wheel arch of the trailer passed under the mirror on my bar end.  Chris was riding behind and was sure I was getting hit - there was maybe a centimetre or two in it.  At the Kurow junction a few metres later, X-trail man turned left, and I turned right to look at a roadside map.  I noticed X-trail man pulled up down the road, talking to a bunch of ~55 year old cyclists that must have been doing the Alps To Ocean trail.  He was clearly driving the support car for them.  So here we had a guy who clearly had some knowledge of touring cyclists, was about 100m from his destination, was going 5km/h faster than a cyclist, but was still so busy and important that nearly running another rider off the road was a logical course of action for him.  I briefly considered riding down there and giving him a bollocking - but then much like Queen Elsa from the smash hit motion picture movie film Frozen, I decided to let it go.  However the fact remains that X-trail man (and by association everyone he was "supporting") is a complete and utter fucking idiot of the highest order.  Comforted by the thought that this individual lived the hollow and unpleasant life of a career fuckwit and other must hate him as much as I did, I pedalled off towards the bucolic splendour of the Kurow Holiday park.

Our totally awesome cabin at the Kurow Holiday Park.  Highly recommended.

Chris eagerly embraced my post-ride tradition of eating an entire packet of jellies each day.

How a bin should look at the end of a successful day of cycle touring.  Liquid breakfasts, nut bars, ibuprofen and whisky.

My handlebar bag prepped for the following day - nut bars, sunscreen, electrolyte and chamois creme.

We got into Kurow at about 2pm, so we had time to get some chores done.  I laundered my clothes, cleaned and serviced my bike, then wandered uptown with Chris for an early dinner.  The small town had all the usual shops and services - we grabbed some road food and headed to the Waitatki Hotel for a well-earned beer.  All of the traditional pub food there looked awesome, and we were pretty hungry, so we ordered the unlikely combination of lasagna and mashed potato.  After a short while a small mountain of food arrived on a plate the size of a bicycle wheel, and I hungrily scoffed the whole thing.  It was the most I'd ever eaten in one sitting - I couldn't believe it.  Plus I was still hungry.  Chris also powered through his food mountain, expressing a similar sentiment that he'd never eaten so much in his life.  Even the barmaid was impressed with our ingestion efforts - and here was me thinking the surefire way to impress a barmaid was to sit at the bar all night and show her just how much you can drink.  The pub was warm and cozy, and we'd had a great day.  I felt like staying there for a while longer, however knowing we had a huge day planned for tomorrow we sensibly dragged ourselves away and walked back to the cabin for an early night.

Kurow holiday park overlooking the Waitaki River.

We were only a few metes into Otago, but already the scenery was unmistakable.

Metaphoto: taking a photo of taking a photo.

Low cloud over the Waitaki Hotel.  Best we go inside to stay warm.

$8 jug of Monteith's Black Beer.  I was so stoked, my favourite beer for sure.

The ride from Waimate to Kurow was cycle touring as it should be.  Not many people about, good weather, good company, lots of laughs, with a lot of hours to unwind at the end of the day.  Tomorrow was shaping up to be a massive day, over the famed Danseys Pass - a remote dirt pass with no services in the middle of nowhere.  I went off to bed early, knowing I had everything organised for the following day, refreshed and ready for any and all cycle touring challenges.

Snatching victory from the jaws of defeat - NZ 2014 part 2

In my exhausted state from the huge ride the day before, I managed to sleep a solid ten hours before my alarm woke me at 0700.  Chris was already up and about, and informed me it was raining steadily outside.  My low mood of the earlier day had faded somewhat after a good sleep, and I had resigned myself to the fact that I'd be riding in the wet for a big part of the day.  On the bright side, at least I'd be riding into some new terrain - I'd already ridden a bike to Mt Somers a few years ago so the area held no real new surprises.  Chris and I quickly packed up our bikes, I donned my full wet weather gear, and we bravely ventured 300m to the local shop for a breakfast of pasties and coffee.

The view out on the road hardly inspired a lot of hope for a lovely day of riding.

Mt Somers general store - now with an actual coffee machine!

 Inside the Mt Somers store

I was extremely excited at the prospect of riding a day in wet weather with all the scenery obscured by cloud.

Once we got moving out on the open road heading south towards Geraldine, it became obvious there was only one option - gun it.  While the rain and low cloud was miserable, it did mean there was little wind, and within the hour we had ridden a massive 29km.  The 20km straight section through the tiny town of Mayfield was dispensed with before we even had a chance to be bored by the lack of corners.  Chris was riding without a speedo or clock, so by the time we reached the corner after the long straight he reckoned we'd ridden about 11km all up.  He was shocked that it was nearly 30km we'd knocked out that morning already.  Our momentum was good, and although we were soaked through by the time we hit the town of Geraldine we were in high spirits.  I was especially pleased as from this point onwards I'd be riding across new ground - the last time was in Geraldine I'd headed west, today we were continuing south to the seaside town of Timaru and beyond.   

We were too dripping wet to eat inside, so we quickly ate a hot breakfast under the cafe awning before jumping on the bike and making a break for it.

Once we reached highway 1 at Winchester, things kind of unravelled a little bit.  I'd heard that NZ highway 1 was bad to ride on, although I had it in my head that it probably wasn't all *that* bad.  As we rode south along for a while things were going OK - lots of large trucks passing pretty close, but nothing I wasn't used to from highway riding in Australia.  Then we hit an extended stretch of roadworks that involved us now riding in soft gravel right on the side of the road as the lanes had been narrowed, leaving no room at all for bikes.  This was treacherous enough, so when a savage southern headwind sprang up along with heavier rain, I'd pretty much had enough.  By the time we hit the light industrial on the outskirts of Timaru I was starting to get quite depressed.  A few taxing hills later and we'd arrived in the centre of town, where I stopped into the local information centre and tried to find out what the deal was with catching a bus the remaining 50km we were due to ride that day to the small town of Waimate.  The buses weren't for hours, and only dropped us 10km from Waimate.  I was less than thrilled at the prospect of waiting around for 4 hours in town then riding 10km in the dark in the rain, so I opted to continue on southwards from Timaru.  Chris agreed to go along with that plan, but I could see that he wasn't too stoked at the prospect of more freezing rain and big hills...

We jumped on our bikes and pedalled away from the city centre heading southward.  As soon as we reached the edge of town, the heavens opened with a vengance, and a harsh southerly sprang up with a view to pushing us all the way back to Christchurch.  I still hadn't seen a shred of scenery for days, but in the gloom I could see a very large hill that we'd have to ride over to continue onwards to Waimate.  Apparently there were a number of these hills that we'd have to contend with.  Almost instinctively, I slowly rolled off the road and sheltered under the awning of an abandoned shop.  I wasn't having fun.  I made a snap decision.  I turned to Chris and said "This isn't a prison, let's just stop."  To say he looked relieved was a profound understatement.  We raced back to the shelter of the information centre in the heart of Timaru.  I booked us a bus to the Waimate turnoff to save us riding into the southerly and over the big hills.  We'd have to ride the last part in the dark - I didn't care.  The bus trip cost a small fortune - I didn't care.  Suddenly it felt like a weight had lifted off my shoulders.  I decided to write off the whole trip to this point as a false start.  The adventure began now.  And the perfect way to celebrate the start of the adventure was to sit in a warm pub for three hours while we waited for the bus to arrive.

Outside the Timaru information centre.  Fortunately for us it turned out to be next door to a pub.

The manager at the pub was a cycle tourist himself, so he didn't object to us spreading out all out wet gear in front of the gas fire.  Despite spending 2 days together already Chris and I had hardly talked at all - now it was good to be able to chat and catch up over a lot of food and a couple of beers.

Soon the time came to leave the warm pub and wait for the six o'clock bus - something I managed to do while looking incredibly stylish.

The small bus finally arrived, we threw our bikes on the back and were away.  The forty minute drive revealed that there were a lot of big rolling hills to traverse along our intended route, and that the traffic and weather on Highway 1 that day was ordinary to say the least.  Still, it was nice to feel that our tour was now out of the starting blocks, and we were jubilant when the bus dropped us at the deserted Waimate turnoff as the very last evening light drained from the sky.

As the bus drove away I had an overwhelming feeling of elation.  For a start it wasn't raining, and to the west I could see a tinge of pink as sun set under an obviously clear sky.  In the dark I could see the silhouette of actual scenery - rolling hills, a mountain range, and the ocean to the east.  For the first time on the trip I felt as though I was actually on a cycle touring holiday, not just some hellish ride through nondescript grey.  Chris was obviously feeling the same vibe - we were singing, jumping around and joking as we put our luggage on the bikes beneath the lonely fluorescent light beside the otherwise dark road.  I turned on my largely ineffective bike lights and pedalled off into the night towards Waimate, about 10km away.  This momentous event marked the first time I've ever ridden at night in a foreign country.

As the light levels dropped, so did the temperature.  It was freezing as we pedalled down the deserted main street of Waimate about 20 minutes after setting off from the intersection.  The ride in had been uneventful with no traffic at all - riding through town it seemed like nobody actually lived at Waimate anyhow.  The long main street looked prosperous with shops and pubs and heritage buildings and the like, but there were all closed up with not a soul to be seen.  With a bit of crafty navigation we eventually located our overnight stop at the council-run Waimate holiday cabins.  The cabins were basic - very basic - but after a long and exhausting day of two halves, we were absolutely delighted to arrive.

We couldn't make much out in the dark, but we had arrived safe and sound in the right place.

Bags unpacked and bikes stored inside.  For $25 the small but basic cabin had a bit of a school camp vibe, but after a long day on the bike it was perfect.

We knew that we had no chance of getting anything to eat up the main street, but we went for a walk anyway out in the cold night air.  The previous night at Mt Somers we hadn't walked around at all due to rain and exhaustion, so it was a great feeling to get outside on foot and reflect that we were actually in a different location than where we had started that day.  As expected most places were closed but we did manage to find a chippy that was just shutting doors, where I bought the most expensive can of soft drink in the history of commerce ($2.50 for a Sprite).  Still, I wasn't bothered about the lack of dinner as I still full from my Timaru pub lunch, and feeling generally upbeat that we had put the false start of the tour behind us and were now well and truly covering new ground.

Mystifying Easter display at the Waimate chemist shop.  The little Easter baskets had no chocolate eggs in them, but did contain an array of pharmacy only restricted medications.

Back at the little cabin we laid all our wet gear out around the huge heater, drank duty free whiskey, and reflected on our day.  The start had been tough and disheartening, and it seemed like a bit of a cop out to catch the bus, but at the end of the day we'd done what we had to do to arrive at our destination.  It was one of those days that went from bad to worse to horrible, but managed to come around full circle to end up an awesome and memorable day of cycle touring.  Even with the bus ride we'd still ridden over 100km, and were looking forward to a relatively easy 70km ride tomorrow.  The plan was set to lie in a bit, get breakfast uptown in Waimate, and have a very leisurely pedal tomorrow.  I felt energised at the prospect of riding into a new challenge, and managed to mentally draw a line under my usual negative start to a long bike tour.  In cycle touring terms, we managed to turn this whole thing around and snatch a sweet victory from the jaws of defeat.  Roll on adventure!

 A dry roof, a 3 bar heater, and only 70km to ride tomorrow.  Things are looking up for this guy!

A long day in the saddle - NZ 2014 Part 1

I recently returned from an ~850km cycle tour around the South Island of New Zealand, taking in some awesome and remote adventure riding.  The first couple of days of the tour, however, were among the most shithouse days I've ever spent aboard a bikecycle.  With the benefit of hindsight, staying up for the 24 hours before having to ride the first 135km leg of a cycle tour probably wasn't the best idea.  Before turning a pedal I'd already been up early with my kids, packed up my bike, driven to the airport, flown from Brisbane to Christchurch and had to clear NZ quarantine.  Fortunately my mate and riding companion Chris was waiting for me when I finally emerged into the cold and damp Christchurch midnight. 

Following an action-packed SUV trip involving some drunk roadside teens and an old derro playing chicken with us in his circa 1982 Mazda sedan, we arrived at Chris' cousin's house in the Christchurch suburb of New Brighton.  I jumped straight out of the car, raced straight into the garage, and began assembling and tweaking the bikes we'd be setting off on in a few short hours.  My bike went together in record time, although I realised it was probably time to get to bed when I suddenly became manic and confused as I decided to try to perfectly align my rear light perfectly perpendicular to the rear axle of my bike.  I looked at the clock as I hopped into bed - it was 2:30 in the morning.

Chis makes some last minute adjustments to his bike before setting off.

My trusty Redline all ready to begin another cycle tour.

Although I had technically gone to bed, I managed to get no actual sleeping done.  I was wired from the flight and the bike assembly, and concerned about the crappy wet weather I'd arrived in the night before.  I hopped out of bed at 0600, quickly drank a couple of liquid breakfast energy type drinks, and Chris and I tentatively wobbled out into the grey, but mercifully not raining, Christchurch dawn.

Chris begins his first ever cycle tour - getting thrown in at the deep end.

Our ride started on the eastern side of town, and we were headed west.  An hour of pedalling through the Sunday morning gloom of empty industrial estates and car yard strips started the day.

Eventually we cleared town and rode out into the countryside.

On a clear day, the looming Southern Alps are clearly visble from the outskirts of Christchurch.  The very sight of them energises riders as they pedal out of town to the foot of the snow capped mountains.  Not on this day however, every direction was just low grey cloud, light drizzle was beginning to fall, and without the excitement of seeing the Alps, my energy levels were already flagging about 40km into a 135km day.  It was shaping up to be a long day in the saddle - particularly faced with the same scenery for the entire day.

I was having to stop to stretch and eat a lot already.  It was the most tired I have ever felt on a bike, and I wasn't even a third of the way to my destination for the day.

If Chris' bike looks familiar, it's because it is - this Fuji Touring bike is the same bike formerly ridden by Jer last time we toured NZ.

By about the 60km mark, I'd well and truly had enough of riding for the day.  Fortunately Chris was there, and was able to offer me some moral support - as well as allowing me to tuck in and draft behind him on the long straight flats into Hororata.  Arriving in the tiny village just before lunchtime was a feeling of tremendous relief, and I demolished a couple of pies, a sandwich, a plate of chips, and a few coffees.  As I sat there shovelling food into my face for an hour, the weather looked like it was clearing a little bit.  By the time we grabbed some road supplies and pedalled out of town at midday the weather looked almost promising.

70km into a long tour and I was already hitting the wall.  Chris, a novice to this type of thing, was feeling fine and was in high spirits.  I tried to dampen his spirits with my incessant whining, but it seemed to have little effect.

Riding out of Hororata, the gloomy weather looked to be lifting.  Turns out it wasn't.

Rakaia Gorge, at the foot of the Alps.  Raining, gloomy, dark, freezing.  Blerrrrgh.

Before dropping down into the Gorge, Chris and I were standing around near the top pondering the route ahead.  Out of the gloom a female cyclist clad in bright lycra on a racce bike, complete with race number, pulled up and asked "did you guys see a race come through here?" We hadn't.  Before the steep descent into the Gorge, she got on her mobile phone, made a call, then wisely decided to turn around and go home rather than drop down the steep road.  Once down at the river,  there was only one way out...

The climb out of Rakaia Gorge.  This thing is diabolically steep, just the thing we needed after about 100km of riding.

We both managed to tackle the steep section of the climb without much drama, although I did have to stop a few times during the 4km ascent to let my heart rate drop a bit.  I was on cold flu medication and my heart was racing with the slightest exertion.

Taking a break at the top of the climb.  This was the first of many 3pm bursts of energy I'd have along the trip.  Pedalling out of there for the final 30km or so push to Mt Somers, I felt strong, and was looking forward to a pub dinner.

As soon as we pedalled away from Mt Hutt towards the small village of Mt Somers, the weather finally changed from drizzle to actual rain.  The scenery was pretty non-descript - with visibility down to a few hundred metres in the now fading light, there wasnt much to see.  It felt like I could have been riding anywhere - I was cold, wet and there we no visible landmarks to give me any clues as to my location.  All I could see were the cows in the cleared paddocks either side of the road.  As we progressed towards our destination, Chris became progressively more tired and disheartened, and by the time we pulled into Mt Somer Holiday Park to our cabin our road speed was down to 15km/h.  Despite our slow finish we'd kept a reasonable speed throughout the day - our average moving speed over the 135km was 21km/h.  

Once in our basic but comfortable cabin, we unpacked, cleaned up, and walked over to the nearby Mt Somers Hotel for dinner and a beer.  As soon as we set in foot in the utterly charming rural pub, the publican said "you blokes look exhausted!"  Indeed I was - and starving too.  Chris and I sat there at our table, not saying much.  Despite the fact I hadn't seen Chris for ages before today and wanted to catch up, I kind of just didn't have much to say after such a long day of riding around in the drizzle - fortunately of all my mates Chris is probably the most understanding of those days when I just don't feel like speaking.  I was exhausted and a bit disoriented, and looking forward to a sleep.  Outside the rain was really beginning to bucket down.

Inside our basic but comfortable cabin at the Mt Somers Holiday Park.  Money well spent to be warm and comfortable.

Bike travel pro tip: vaccum seal your favourite chain lubricant so it doesn't leak everywhere on the plane.

Inside the Mt Somers Hotel.  Rural hospitality at its finest.  It's a shame I wasn't a bit more awake to enjoy it more

 This ham steak was enormous - that's a pint of beer there to give it some perspective.  Classic kiwi pub food.

As with my previous tour of NZ, the first day had been strangely deflating and depressing.  I'm usually pretty hopeful that the following day will always be better than the current one. As I lay in bed I was hopeful the next day would be better, but listening to the rain pour down outside, I wasn't so sure...

December on the Brisbane Valley Rail Trail

As I often do, I rode the Moore - Linville section of the Brisbane Valley Rail Trail last weekend.  Since I've already done a million blog posts about riding that section, I thought I'd do something a bit different and put together a little video of my weekend...

Enjoy my grumpy and awkward talking to camera as I try (and fail) to think up any kind of insights out on the trail!