On a natural high in New Zealand
Posted: Wednesday, April 25, 2012 by Kate Crinion in
For my part I travel not to go anywhere, but to go. I travel for travel’s sake. The great affair is to move, to feel the needs and hitches of our life more nearly, to come down off the feather-bed of civilization and the globe granite underfoot and strewn with cutting flints. Robert Louis Stevenson.
(Starting off with a
quote seems to be what any self respecting blogger does so I thought I’d join
the bandwagon)
Small, remote and thinly populated, New
Zealand punches well above its weight as a cycling destination with outlandish
scenery. Not surprisingly bicycle
tourers flock here, what Mecca is to the Muslims, New Zealand is to peddlers. On my first day
cycling I met more fellow bicycle tourers than I did in my entire 3 months in
Australia. My cherished cyclist bonus card I had enjoyed throughout Asia as a
rare nutter on a bicycle had suddenly expired.
Landing in Christchurch airport, kitted out in shorts and flip flops from the searing Melbourne heat left me looking as in place as a white poodle in a coal barge in the chilly airport. Quarantine had a near heart attack when then saw me trying to inaptly push my bike through the narrow customs aisle with my camping gear near falling out of my panniers. I spent the following half hour having all my possessions fumigated….the adventurers launderette!- to their credit they know how to repack a tent as I pondered if it had ever fully fitted in it’s cover since the evening of its inauguration pitch many months ago!
Landing in Christchurch airport, kitted out in shorts and flip flops from the searing Melbourne heat left me looking as in place as a white poodle in a coal barge in the chilly airport. Quarantine had a near heart attack when then saw me trying to inaptly push my bike through the narrow customs aisle with my camping gear near falling out of my panniers. I spent the following half hour having all my possessions fumigated….the adventurers launderette!- to their credit they know how to repack a tent as I pondered if it had ever fully fitted in it’s cover since the evening of its inauguration pitch many months ago!
Route 3500km....I was very surprised by this large figure so I may have to reconsult google maps on this calculation!
To say the air was noticeably cooler than sweltering Melbourne would be a massive statement of the obvious. The 25 deg Temp. difference took a bit of getting used to and as locals waltzed by in t-shirts I was still clinging to the onion philosophy, layered up like a pass-the-parcel present…..so much for the hardy world traveler!
I spent a brief
few days acclimatizing to the New Zealand climate and shedding layers by the
day. The “Garden city” that is Christchurch is a beautiful city despite its
recent and ever trembling troubles. I unfortunately never had the chance to see
the city in it’s former glory and therefore had no backdrop in my mind to
compare the current post earthquake situation. Sections of the CBD area were
and continue to be closed off to the public with an abundance of derelict
houses encompassing it. Glimpsing a shoe in the rubble is a heart wrenching
sight to see as it is ever reminiscent of the urgency the people had to evacuate
their houses and was also the symbol that affected me most in the Tibetean
earthquake I experienced. The sense of a community working together is ever
present in the city and thankfully the locals certainly have the right balance
of resilience and humor to move forward.
Christchurch memorial tribute to those who died in the earthquake.
Christchurch memorial tribute to those who died in the earthquake.
First day cycling in
NZ I glanced at my map and reckoned a trip to the coast would make for a fine
day trip....but kate did not look at a terrain map. (will i ever learn)Leaning
on the handlebars as if it were a zimmerframe I could almost hear my heart
pounding. Ah but the photo was worth it…..
Although it was quiet on the tremors’ front, it was a shaky start as I inched my bike out of Christchurch and within 10km’s had found myself with a flat tyre. As I spotted a car mechanics further up the road I decided to test out how water proof the theory of the “kiwi hospitality” was by asking could I use his modern pump instead of my ultra light version which comes with the drawback of ejecting air in proportion to its size.
“So how far have
you come”
”Erm from
Christchurch”
”Not a great start
then”. I couldn’t disagree.
To ease the “trauma” Mick the mechanic then offered me a
beer. He evidently had diagnosed me as mad and felt mad women appreciate an
early beer. Not the most
energizing potation at 10am on an empty stomach….never one to be rude I couldn’t
fail to imbibe when it’s offered with such good intentions!
New Zealand attracts a substantial number of Asian
tourists due to it’s proximity and being a “safe” country. Ever the hit in Asia
my cycling fans were plentiful in New Zealand and inevitably at the top of
every mountain pass there was a guard of honor of them waiting to brandish
their SLR’s in my direction and occasionally if I was lucky a cold drink. Sadly
it was mostly the former. I have come to the conclusion that I just must look
totally inapt on the bike with an air of pathetic thrown in as no other cyclist
seems to have such a fan club or get offered so many lifts .along the way….a
power-ranger cyclist I will never be! All Asians then inquire about my
nationality like a fine horse breeder would inquire about a Stallions history.
Sadly Ireland is too small to feature in many Asians geography (granted it has
the population of a small Asian town) and on most places on route it proved almost impossible to convince
the average citizen that Ireland was not my mispronunciation of either Iceland
or Thailand. And the occasional erudite individual who had heard of it usually
remarked brightly “ ah yes, part of Britain” which is infinitely worse than
being a mispronunciation of Holland!
It took a while to shake off the constant animalistic
need for food that I had developed in Australia due to the sheer unavailability
of it (4 days of constant oatmeal leaves some scars!). It seems I have a compulsive
knee jerk reaction to enter a supermarket whenever I happen across one and tend
to have at least 5 days worth of food on me at any given time….which does hamper
ascents! The availability of water in
the al fresco taps that come in the form of streams and waterfalls takes an
enormous amount of stress off the cyclist agenda leaving only food and shelter
to flap about. As for accommodation I embraced camping once more like an eager
girl scout and took advantage of the abundance of freedom camping and
Department of conservation campgrounds. Gentle kidnapping was also frequent on
many an isolated road where a chance encounter with a farmer would lead to
swapping a sleeping bag for a duvet. If being saved from a burning building I
would probably stop and chat to the fireman…..but it has its value sometimes!
These chance encounters apart from their accommodation merits
also came with their knowledgeable pluses. If someone knows their country’s
history and land well it’s a farmer. I was never shy to bring out my trump card
“Sure I come from a farm myself” but Irish farms are mere token gestures in
comparison to the 10,000 plus acre farms one can pedal through in NZ. It was on
many a day I somehow found myself in woolsheds sipping tea with shearers,
gallivanting (badly) on ATV’s mustering sheep and pulling dead sheep to the
dump…..always willing to lend a hand!
Puff my way to the top for a good ole Connemara Ireland mist view!
Puff my way to the top for a good ole Connemara Ireland mist view!
It's no Newgrange but impressive none the less!
The mountain passes tended to look more frightening than they actually were “No such thing as a steep hill just inappropriate gearing and all that”! Inevitably if I inquired about the terrain ahead I got the same answer “Oooh plenty of hills” just like the “Oh you’ve a long way to go yet” in Australia. If vastness was my challenge in Australia and it seems hills are my obstacle in New Zealand. Many cyclists lived by their profile charts of the terrain but this took away the unpredictability for me…guide books don’t tell you about terrain and that’s how I like it. The world is so full of information now its hard to have an adventure some times and so I chose to cycle in ignorance. Knowing there is a hill in front of me is not going to change the fact that that I still have to climb it but at least I don’t know how long I’ll have to climb it. That said I did get caught out once or twice running out of provisions usually because one doesn’t realize that often rural shops close at 2 or 3pm! With nothing left in my panniers to eat on one such occasion except my emergency energy bars, I declared an emergency and ate with gusto. Sadly energy bars provide energy yet don’t actually fill you so I was left with a frustrating energy but an insatiable hunger....well nobody said it was going to be all clean sailing!
My first reaction to many
of the roads was that the road engineers were obviously feeling suicidal,
matricidal and mulicidal… After descending many of the mountain passes in
horrific weather (you don’t get glaciers if it’s sunny every day!) it later
occurred to me that I may have a suppressed death wish. However after a week
the unfamiliar converts seamlessly into routine. The mountain passes that went
on and on like a landscape rollercoaster and were truly the most memorable and
enjoyable occasions on my journey. A pen can no more than hint at this
countries glory. Admittedly gradient of the hills seemed of ladder proportions
after the flat plains of Australia but I am an adaptable creature. The purity
of the morning air after the rain will forever remain etched in my memory as it
was more rejuvenating than any double espresso making me tingle as though I ran
on electricity.
While running the ad hoc
marathon in Hatyai in Thialand (still have the blister scars as a memory) I
made friends with a girl Giang who told me of her plans to run “The Mountain
Marathon” ((I somehow never heard the word mountain in this initial
conversation) in New Zealand and I told her casually (first mistake) to keep me
informed about it and you never know our paths may cross. Well she never made
the marathon but she planted the seed for me and before I knew it I was
pedaling my way to the starting line. If any of you know Moke lake near
Queenstown I’m presuming you recall the way to get there before you actually
remember the lake. I was nearing cardiac arrest at the hairpin ascent before I
even got to the start and then a dirt road was thrown in just to truly jolt me.
In hindsight it was probably a good thing as I was so pre occupied with
actually managing to get to the race on time (crinion punctuality never fails)
that I didn’t have much time to think about what lay ahead …..if I had I would
certainly have altered course in the opposite direction!
I'm just missing the cross...
You just can't buy good shoes these days!
I'm just missing the cross...
You just can't buy good shoes these days!
To sum up the event it was officially the hardest 8.05
hours of my life (I envisaged a lot of downhill which never really happened)
and mostly found myself lost trying to find the temporary ribbon markers that
were scattered around the wilderness. Second time round I can also confirm that
bicycle fit does not mean running fit and I spent the first 2 hours running
like I was pedaling! – rather akin to Monty Python ministry of silly walks style!
It was more a game of mountain orienteering than any preconceived images of a
marathon that I previously had, with only hares, rabbits and deer for support
and instead of grabbing electrolytes from a table every 5km, I was dipping my
bottle in streams as I went. 70 people ran it and in the middle of the
wilderness 70 people disappear pretty quick- naturally I hadn’t studied or
looked at the course outline before I started (not to mention the terrain) so I
was rather flummoxed at any hint of direction. After the first hour and about
10 river crossings I understood why it was compulsory to carry a first aid kit
and thermals in a backpack for the event! However as with everything the pain
was gone in a few days and I have the memories for a lifetime…..a more unique
marathon in spectacular scenery will be very hard to come by! It truly was a once
in a lifetime experience!
Tramping Cascade Saddle Glacier.
The tramper in action.
After the exertions of the marathon I thought it may be wise to see the Fiordland scenery at a more leisurely pace. With that I reluctantly left the hospitality of Legend Louis (If you think I’m mad he kitesurfed around the world!) and hit the road to Glenorchy where I proposed parking my bike for a rest at the most hospitable family you will ever meet, the Hasselmans. While “the missile” rested I embarked on stretching my legs on one of the Great Walks the “Routeburn Track” and then made my way to Milford sound. It was such a joy to experience the landscape at a different pace and found I could walk much longer (time wise) than I can cycle. Once all the tour groups where tucked away in their fancy mountain huts by early afternoon I had the track to myself until dark….one of those memorable moments in life I will never forget. The following day I was in Milford sound and in my continuation of the Irish luck I happened to meet a party who were heading around the sound on their boat and were only dying for a little storyteller like myself….if being saved by a burning building I reckon I’d stop the fireman for a chat on the way. I returned the following day on the Caples route though only over the other side of the mountain it was a totally different walk which I enjoyed for its more backcountry feel. Having caught the “tramping” (word for hiking in NZ) I felt I had to do the hat trick and set off on the Rees dart track with promises of glaciers which made me feel a little like Edmund Hilary or Tensing. Well it was far from pick axes and frost bite but an epic walk none the less…..that's not to say it wasn’t without its challenges although they didn’t come in the form of avalanches but in the form of Kea birds.
The tramper in action.
After the exertions of the marathon I thought it may be wise to see the Fiordland scenery at a more leisurely pace. With that I reluctantly left the hospitality of Legend Louis (If you think I’m mad he kitesurfed around the world!) and hit the road to Glenorchy where I proposed parking my bike for a rest at the most hospitable family you will ever meet, the Hasselmans. While “the missile” rested I embarked on stretching my legs on one of the Great Walks the “Routeburn Track” and then made my way to Milford sound. It was such a joy to experience the landscape at a different pace and found I could walk much longer (time wise) than I can cycle. Once all the tour groups where tucked away in their fancy mountain huts by early afternoon I had the track to myself until dark….one of those memorable moments in life I will never forget. The following day I was in Milford sound and in my continuation of the Irish luck I happened to meet a party who were heading around the sound on their boat and were only dying for a little storyteller like myself….if being saved by a burning building I reckon I’d stop the fireman for a chat on the way. I returned the following day on the Caples route though only over the other side of the mountain it was a totally different walk which I enjoyed for its more backcountry feel. Having caught the “tramping” (word for hiking in NZ) I felt I had to do the hat trick and set off on the Rees dart track with promises of glaciers which made me feel a little like Edmund Hilary or Tensing. Well it was far from pick axes and frost bite but an epic walk none the less…..that's not to say it wasn’t without its challenges although they didn’t come in the form of avalanches but in the form of Kea birds.
The Kea and I were to develop a close relationship my
entire way through New Zealand. On and off the bike we were inseparable, an
undoubtedly beautiful bird but like a supermodel he had an attitude to match.
Basically a kea bird acts like a rebel teenager with the destruct button on. If
seen from an outsider one may call the ISPCA on me for throwing boulders at
them but I assure you colorful language and a more delicate approach has no
effect. One particular Kea was so insistent on joining me in my tent that he
pecked away at it for 3 hours including boulder throwing intervals and left me
with nightmares featuring a bill in my cranium. The next morning while fetching
water from the stream I spotted his brother flying overhead with an item in his
mouth catching the first rays of sunrise…..the poetic start to the day was
culled when I realized it was my invaluable solar charger.
Camping buddy.
Royal Albatross, Otago Peninsula.
The wet coast… sorry west coast of New Zealand is the tourist highway of the south Island and with good reason. With glaciers, stunning wild coastline and unique wildlife it features on any self respecting tourists itinerary. Gone are the pesky Kea and in with the persistent sandflies. Now you may be thinking I’m becoming a bit soft about the wildlife in NZ, I mean I had deadly spiders and snakes to contend with in Australia after all! Taken individually sandflies are not all that scary but in an all out attack I assure you they are unendurable. No amount of sandalwood or DEET -my perfume of choice, seems to have any affect as they are un-naturalistically drawn to it like honey…that said Irish blood is hard to resist! Fine diners they are not, mosquitoes are more fine French dining, choosing their meal carefully as opposed to sandfly “fill a hole” grazing techniques eating en masse and whatever they can. On the upside Sandflies never bother me during the day as they only attack when stationary which is contrary to what I aim to do on the bike. At night however is when they get truly friendly. Drawn by the light of my head torch they inevitably add an extra condiment of protein to my food. I’d rather they stay on the food and not on me but we can’t have everything!
My traveling water bottle.
It's fair to say it was a windy day.....I was sadly going in the direction of my thumb!
Bored is not in the vocabulary of a bicycle tourist in New Zealand as the landscape is so unpredictable, one never knows what lies around the next corner or over the next hill (of which there are many) Even the weather throws in an unpredictability card. Many a morning have I woken up, unzipped my tent and found a mist that looked like it had been imported from the Connemara overnight. After a mornings cycle and 3 ecosystems later I’m basking in the sun like I’m in the Costa Brava. Everything is so extreme here that language loses its power. Lack of planning is the way forward for bicycle touring in New Zealand...the weather forecast reports a non committal “mostly fine” no matter if a heat wave or a monsoon is on the way so best just to adopt an ignorance is bliss attitude and keep going.
While in Australia I learnt the value of water or an Ice coffee if I was feeling flash and with every new country comes a new appreciation....in New Zealand it was a warm shower! On the note of warm showers I decided to get on board with other cyclists and join the bicycle community that is www.warmshowers.org. It’s a fantastic way to meet fellow tourers in their own country, full of knowledge on their country and a delightful way to spend an evening exchanging stories with people who “get” what your doing and allows the conversation to fast forward past the “But why?” “Don’t your legs get tired?” part of the conversation!...and all that while comfortably knowing you don’t have to pitch your tent that evening! Jenny, Adrian, Mark and John I’m oiling my chain in anticipation of your journeys to Ireland….just give me a while to get there first!
Thats not to say that
I spent every night regaling people with tales from the road on the contrary
many a wet night was spent with fellow campers and RV’s out in the
elements....just to keep me honest! Often I was the only tent though, shielded
by a circle of “homes on wheels” or RV’s. It never ceases to amaze me how
people can so acutely recreate the indoors outdoors to help them “get away from
it all”...is that not just taking it all with you? Many a night was spent with
the rain pounding against the tent so hard I can scarcely here myself think and
water audibly running below the floor. After a night with the tent in a minor
swamp one learns to “read the ground” better!
Ah that would go some way to explaining why its so cold!
Ah that would go some way to explaining why its so cold!
As enjoyable as it looks....
One morning while walking like a penguin- literally frozen stiff – on the way to the bathroom it was almost a race for fellow campers of the RV variety to offer me a bone thawing cup of coffee safe from the elements in the decked out caravan or RV....it would be rude not to and used all self restraint not to act totally desperate and politely RSVP with an air of decorum. If there was an award for the most hospitable nation, New Zealand ranks up there.
One morning while walking like a penguin- literally frozen stiff – on the way to the bathroom it was almost a race for fellow campers of the RV variety to offer me a bone thawing cup of coffee safe from the elements in the decked out caravan or RV....it would be rude not to and used all self restraint not to act totally desperate and politely RSVP with an air of decorum. If there was an award for the most hospitable nation, New Zealand ranks up there.
New Zealand has no
bad route choices, each corner of the country had it’s own charm. In the
Caitlins I felt I was back in Ireland just minus the Irish accent, on the Otago
peninsula I swooned over penguins, sea lions and albatross. The rail-trail
route provided a “holiday cycle” with it’s cycle by numbers but thoroughly
enjoyable route…thanks for sharing the holiday experience Charlie! The west
coast lived up to it’s reputation and even belted out the sun for me. I fell
under the Wanaka town spell so much that I was thankful when the heavens poured
(monsoon style) allowing me to linger guilt free which goes against the grain
being Irish where it’s a natural reflex to groan once it rains. Fiordland
however stole my heart and had I seen a patch of land for sale there I fear I
may still be there!
Caitlins.....on a rare dry day.
Apart from Kea encounters there were other more pleasurable wildlife experiences. Waking up in the morning and watching a clumsy penguin waddling past makes for a very good start to the day. A sea lion bathing in the afternoon on the beach or a Royal albatross with it’s giant shadow shielding you from the suns rays gives you a sense of where you are in the world.
The most common way for young people to see NZ
is to buy a camper van and tour the country freedom camping as they go. So I
was not alone in my search for nomadic conveniences -a place to charge my
computer, laundrette, stock up on water etc. On a particularly wet stretch (5
days in a row) and with a wet sleeping bag still brewing a mouldy smell in my
panniers I decided it was high time I found a place to dry it or a miserable
nights sleep lay ahead of me. Even the most avid campers spirits are dampened
when sleeping in a wet sleeping bag! Being in the middle of nowhere when I
happened across a lone pub I knew this was as cosmopolitan as it was going to
get for the day. As I marched in from the elements frothing at the bit at the
sight of smoke from the chimney I noticed a sign “This is not a launderette, no
drying of clothes here”...evidently I was not the first camper to come up with
this master-plan. As a last resort I figured I had nothing to lose by going
down the brazen slapstick comedy approach and proceeded to wrap my sleeping bag
around me in an off the shoulder number and completed the outfit with a
delicately placed brooch. A vogue look it was not! I waltzed in like I was the
queen of Sheeba and plonked myself strategically between the bar and the fire
and ordered a drink. To my relief instead of a telling off I got a handshake
and a laugh from the bartender.....it’s nice to be in a country with a sense of humor!
The open road.
The hardest days
cycling came in the Caitlins. I was pedaling through my 3rd wet day
on the trot and was beginning to think I had trench foot. I happened across an
all encompassing “store” which had a bit of everything for sale. In a moment of
desperation/resourcefulness I bought two white swim hats and put them over my
shoes and sealed them with food clips (put on backwards for aerodynamic
purposes) If I ever thought it was mad to cycle around the world this outfit
confirmed it as I ambled down the main street of the town with my swimwear
shoes. I battled on to slope point stopping occasionally to walk and get the
feeling back in my feet. Slope point was a mere 6km each way off the main road
and I foolishly felt it necessary to get a photo of myself and the missile at
the southernmost point of NZ. An hour later after falling off my bike 6 times
as it literally was swallowed and spat back out by the wind I made it to my
destination pushing my bike like a granny with a hangover.....only to discover that if I brought my bike for the all
important photo it would now be in the ocean. Why didn’t I accept one of the
countless offers of a lift at the start of the road! The only thing I earned on
the nightmarish 2 hour trip was the respect of the local farmer who even
admitted the weather had “Gone to custard” .
Bike for boat on the west coast.
My overriding memories from New Zealand will be the positive friendly attitude of the locals with the Jaw dropping scenery in the background. As for attempting to describe this scenery, there comes a time when we literary conquistadors must lay down our pens and admit defeat. The best I can conjure up is :Go there! Some may joke that NZ is 20 years behind but in my opinion they are 20 years ahead. It’s a country that has it’s priorities and values straight which is very refreshing for a developed country nowadays. A country where people of every generation spends it’s Sunday afternoons out canoeing, tramping, cycling, or just appreciating the beauty of the country they live in is a country to be envious of.
My overriding memories from New Zealand will be the positive friendly attitude of the locals with the Jaw dropping scenery in the background. As for attempting to describe this scenery, there comes a time when we literary conquistadors must lay down our pens and admit defeat. The best I can conjure up is :Go there! Some may joke that NZ is 20 years behind but in my opinion they are 20 years ahead. It’s a country that has it’s priorities and values straight which is very refreshing for a developed country nowadays. A country where people of every generation spends it’s Sunday afternoons out canoeing, tramping, cycling, or just appreciating the beauty of the country they live in is a country to be envious of.
To everyone in New
Zealand who made many a road smooth for me, ironed out Kea chewed gear cable
issues, collected spare parts, offered a bed, meal or a warm drink (to go for
an ole scuba dive together?) and was up for sharing countless stories over a
drink or a campfire...Thank you for the precious memories! New Zealand is a truly
spectacularly beautiful country, I’m aware it’s only March but I’m backing this
remark as this years most blinding glimpse of the obvious.
Great read and super pics to match as usual...! I still ythink you are nicking them off some website.... haha... New Zealand looks amazing and the people equally..! That offer stands when you return of an exhibition or at least a talk for the club. I'll be annoyed if ye dont contact me when ye get 'home'...!
Chat soon Kate...!
Ricardo (no one else calls me that...!!!! hahaha) xxxx
(oh yeah... thats not a Royal Albatross in that picture... more like some sort of tern.. anyway who cares...!)