Day 13: Homewards

So with all our off road options north from Hanmer blocked it had to be a cruise up state highway 1 along the east coast. Dave Mac made it very clear that we were not to muck around with overtaking manoeuvres as he was still smarting from the trip south where I chose to follow a line of trucks , rather than die. 

So this morning as we left he says “now boys, when I overtake I want you up my arse”. This seemed unusual for Dave as he is the ruler by which straight men are measured. Having said that we have been away from home for a while. Anyway I love him but he is not my type and so I set off with some trepidation. Dave Lear was quietly thoughtful. 

Thankfully the trip from Hanmer to Blenheim was uneventful and we all arrived safely, albeit with Dave Mac slightly sexually frustrated. 

So as we prepare to board the ferry it is time to wrap up our trip. The bikes are safely in the trailer, us choosing the comfort of the land cruiser for the last leg, rather than another 500km of sitting on the vibrating plank (which could appeal to some ) that is the seat of the 500. I gave my bike a thankful pat on the seat for delivering me home safely. Whatever vital fluids leaking from its innards were not enough to stop it. It was the perfect bike for me on this trip and coped perfectly with the very varied terrain we covered. In the rough stuff it is happiest and on the few occasions where I chose to push rather than protect it showed what a refined off road machine it is. Dave Mac and the 890 deserve real credit. Weighing double the 500 he took it well beyond its design envelope. Testament to the pilot and the engineers it coped beautifully with everything that came its way. 

We have ridden almost exactly 3500 km of which the majority was of the highest quality. We have experienced the whole gamut of emotions, from wonder to exhilaration to anxiety to satisfaction to happiness and even a slight sprinkling of sadness. As Jennie would say, we are returning in a very  tame state, the beast has been fed. 

So on that note, thank you to Jennie again , for not only letting me go but encouraging me to go on another trip. 

Thanks to Dave Lear for being such a good facilitator. The many thoughtful gestures from carefully thought out accommodation , to cups of tea so I could focus on my literary excellence , writing this blog every evening, to bringing my bike closer for packing. It is all noticed and appreciated. 

Thanks also to Dave Mac who always makes the world a more interesting place. For being our lead man and opening countless gates and for being gracious when his riding buddies wanted to have a beer instead of going to look on the far side of the mountain. It is very reassuring to see you up front. And for getting up in the morning and going to sleep at night. And for driving us home through the night, I am typing this at 3.30am!

Thanks also to everyone reading this. Some of you  I know  and some  I don’t. I apologise for not answering any comments, I only noticed them this morning. And yes, if you  are wondering, it is all true. 

Till next time. I 

Day 12: Hanmer Springs

We had a slow day as it was transport back up through Canterbury. So lie in and lazy departure heading up the road to Geraldine for breakfast. Again a crisp morning but a pleasure to be out with lovely pastoral scenes I  a region that has had plenty of rain. With the mountains in the back ground it almost felt like Switzerland although I think the European alps wins on the architecture front. Bacon and eggs for breakfast instead of muesli was good although our evening menu generally undoes any health benefits we might have achieved during the day. Then onwards north with the benign morning changing as a strong Norwester picked up. Riding changed from chill to hang on, especially on the light 500’s. Thankfully we had invested in steering dampers for just such an occasion and with it cranked up to full it was all manageable. Dave Lear forgot he had one so that was $1000 well spent. Come to think of it he also keeps forgetting he has a helmet strap. We need to watch that one more carefully. 

For once it didn’t rain in the Canterbury foothills and so the mountains to the west and the multiple braided rivers gave most pleasing viewing pleasure. 

Unfortunately the theme of closed roads continues and so both options we intended to take north of Hanmer are closed (the rainbow and molesworth roads).

So tomorrow we head north to the ferry for a late night crossing back to reality. 

No photos taken on the road today as it wasn’t that kind of day but one from our quaint little breakfast stop and the other with the bikes tucked away after a hard day. 

Day 11: Fairlie

Today is emergency laundry day. If my words could capture the stench from a 11 days of sweaty riding you would hoink your computer or smartphone or whatever you are reading this on into the yard where you would burn it with a flamethrower. It is stench that you can cut with a knife. I have my own pet flies, Walter and Wilbur, who have followed me from St Bathans. So as I type the industrial washing machine does it’s magic. 

It will come as a surprise that we left Twizel in cold foggy conditions. We rode up the eastern side of Lake Pukaki with its glacial chalky blueness and then rode over the top of the hills to Lake Tekapo. Visibility was poor in the clouds but the gravel road was great. Popping out of the clouds we surprised a group of sheep dog trialists. The dogs ignored us, the sheep didn’t. 

After a coffee stop in Tekapo we moved onto the main event for the day, riding up the eastern side of Lake Tekapo through the Lilybank station and then towards the confluence of the Godley and Macauley rivers. To get there we had to cross the significant braided Macauley which involved riding up and down between braids to find bits shallow enough to ford. 

We had to pick which valley to go up and because we are a democracy we went up the Macauley. I would have gone up the Godley but only because it’s part of New Zealand back country folklore whereas who has heard of the Macauley?

It was a fun track, a mix of riverbed double track and river bed. After 15km or so any semblance of track had disappeared and it was just a boulder garden. Fun though with multiple crossings and picking lines through the rocks. We reached a point where bits of bike were disappearing and it seemed wise to turn around. The trip back was quicker, usually it is with the assistance of gradient on one’s side. 

The reverse crossing of the Macauley was complicated by the presence of a large group of 4 wheel drive people watching. Obviously, because we have penises, we could fritter around trying to find safe shallow crossings but instead we barrelled through. We got to the last braid which had definitely been considered too deep on the way in. Dave Mac, who is under the impression he has the largest penis dived in and impressively the 890 displaced enough water to get through. Obviously i had no choice then but to follow. You know it’s deep when your exhaust is under water. Thank god there were no rocks in the wrong place. Dave Lear is a mermaid and stylishly went through with no fuss. So we got away with it and forever those 4x4 people will wonder at the 2 wheeled awesomeness they witnessed. To be honest I doubt they were even looking. 

So back down Lilybank road, 50km of high speed pea metal to close out the off road part of our trip. 

I cautiously congratulated myself for not dropping the bike on this trip. That changed in the car park at Tekapo in front of 10 000 onlookers. 

The thing is the bike is tall and I am short. I don’t like to stand on the foot peg with the side stand down as it is flimsy and with the additional weight of my carefully concealed rotundness I worry it will snap. 

So to get around this I do a ridiculous goose step, risking pulled hamstrings every time, to get my leg over. On this occasion the bike was on an incline and in neutral so as I did my goose step the prick of a thing started rolling backwards down the hill. The result was me hopping along with one foot on the saddle which is about the height of my ear if you need a visual. The hopping went on, with each hop my dignity being shed like a thing that sheds a shitload (all the examples I could think of would get me into trouble). Well it all came to an inevitable conclusion with bike and dignity on the ground. To be fair I kept the handlebar off the ground by 1cm but the spectacle was complete. Thank god for helmets. Having pulled several muscles in different parts of my body I casually righted the bike, unhooked my pants from a foot peg (how did that even happen) and rode off into the sunset. 

Day 10: Twizel

Some people just have a lovely way about them and Sue, the proprietor of the Vulcan hotel in St Bathans absolutely falls into that category. A calm and kind spirit. 

After a hearty breakfast we left into mist or drizzle, depending on how you define these things but fortunately it lifted leaving beautiful morning crepuscular rays(Google it) with a backdrop of mountains as we approached the Manuhericia river valley. The river has an east and west branch, both crossing the Omarama saddle in slightly different spots. You can choose which way you go and for today we went west. The western route has about 25 crossings of the river, again each is it’s own little puzzle. Unlike the Nevis though, many a bike has been drowned here. Why do it then? Ask my mates. 

For those that don’t understand what it means to drown a bike, the motor is continuously sucking air in to provide oxygen for its little explosions and then the waste is expelled as exhaust gases. If the bike is under water while the motor is running it sucks water instead of air and that is bad. It stops working. 

So I follow thier lead and in the end we got through with some hairy moments but no drama. Pretty hairy indeed. 

So with some relief and exhilaration we topped out over the saddle to enjoy a long fast descent to the pastureland around Omarama. Quick lunch and then we headed up towards the Glen Lyon station in the Dobson valley above Lake Ohau. 

This glacial valley heads into the Southern alps and was unashamedly chosen because we expected spectacular views. We traveled 60km up the valley, for the most part on well formed farm tracks but at times crossing scree fields with no formed tracks. More Erzberg stuff, perhaps the toughest of the trip. The views delivered and apart from getting lost in one of the scree fields on the way back it was uneventful. 

If manhandling one’s bike over rock and then bush bashing through Matagouri thorn bushes till we found the track again can be considered uneventful! Several buckets of sweat and some tears later we made it to Twizel for our overnight stop. Except for Dave Mac. He hadn’t had enough and went to look at a power station somewhere. Dave Lear and myself processed with beer instead which seemed like the wiser choice.

 

Day 9: St Bathans

I knew it was going to be a good day when  Dave Lear lubricated his face with chain lube. He was trying to push a little nozzle on but his brain and his finger got confused. Ok, I exaggerate. He applied the lube like perfume but the confused brain and finger was real!

It will come as a surprise to hear it was cold. Off we went up the road towards Mataura, wearing everything I own and feeling as mobile as the Michelin man and looking quite similar. 

Now take a seat. We got to the track to discover that it too was closed. It’s getting beyond a joke. Logging again. You would think we were having a housing crisis the way the are felling trees. This time I knew they wouldn’t be logging the riverbed which is where our track went so we snuck through. After a brief tour of the forest due to a wrong turn we found our track. Behind a padlocked gate. Cover the childrens eyes for a moment. For fucks sake!

Apparently due to extreme fire risk which is a little surprising as it’s greener than I have ever seen it and there are puddles of water everywhere. I watched my mates take a surprisingly long time to reach the obvious conclusion. We were not going further. Dave Mac tends not to give up easily so he was plotting all sorts of things including going to every farm house in Southland until he found a key. Eventually we did head back. The view east along the Mataura towards the morning sun was worth the trip so I was happy. 

The picture is below. It’s included for the 2 Dave’s who were so busy ranting at things inside thier heads try didn’t notice. 

From there we did a road ride along lake Wakatipu. It was very beautiful in the still crisp air that already has quite an autumnal feel to it. Dashing through the Queenstown where the traffic was jamming, even without the foreign tourists. Lots of self aggrandising people in big vehicles who confused money with success. Karma. 

We hummed off to plan B, the Carricktown track, behind Bannockburn. This track starts in the ruined gold mine town of, you guessed it, Carricktown. It cris crosses a 34km water race that brought water to power the battery stampers over 100 years ago. For the time it was a marvel of engineering, dug with pick and shovel. How they got the fall right without lasers I don’t know. It was a big job. I’ve dug shitty little trenches in my garden and that was too much. So we learnt that even back then people would do an incredibly pointless amount of work for money. Now the water race is used for irrigation so they inadvertently did something useful!

The track was quite a challenge climbing steeply up the hill with some unexpected Erzberg enduro sections. Lots of fun was had and lots of sweat was lost. Little coffee stop at the top, a stones throw from where we joined the Nevis yesterday, and then back down. With the assistance of gravity the descent was easier and great fun. 

Off through Cromwell and north towards Tarras and then across the Dunstan range on the Thompson Gorge track. This track runs through Thompson gorge. Yes I jest. 

We took a little detour and surprised a few modern gold diggers who clearly aren’t aware that the new gold is TikTok. 

Fun descent down the other side and onwards to the old town of St Bathans, with its unique Blue lake and artificial geology created by gold sluicing. It’s very photogenic. 

To my horror the place was full of very manly motorcyclists. If you are confused, we are not very manly motorcyclists. Well with the exception of Dave Mac. Anyway, we waded through the testosterone and bravado to collect our own little beer which we drank in a quiet sunny spot while Dave Lear threw a ball for the local dog. 

Day 8: Athol

Perfection. That pretty much sums up today. Well to be honest the garlic steak was a little tough and it was overwhelmed with raw garlic but otherwise. 

I jest of course. 

We woke up in a cold, foggy Waikaia. 6 degrees when we set off so several degrees below freezing once we added windchill. The cold was exaggerated by the fact that the prick of a tumble dryer didn’t work and so we had damp clothes from last nights washing efforts. Summer or I guess early Autumn in Southland! It’s been a theme this year. Helmet visors instantly fogged so we rode up into the beech forest north of Waikaia with freezing eyeballs and snot streaming. Suddenly we rode into glorious bluebird skies with virtually no wind, eventually climbing up above the tree line onto the tops of the Old Man Range. It’s a fabulous track with rocky steps, ruts and   lots of lines to be chosen around little features. To the west we could see the Remarkable ranges, the east had the Dunstan ranges and the distant Maniotato that we crossed yesterday. We intersected the Old Woman track which was a new trail for us and climbed to over 1700m where only lichen seems to grow. Coffee had with a 360 degree view that went on forever. Eventually we descended to Duffers saddle on the Nevis Road, just south of Cromwell and Bannockburn and of course Lake Dunstan stretching into the distance. The trail was a rocky, bermy delight. 

Onto the gravel Nevis Road and it’s 25 creek crossings to give a little interest and frisson of danger, each with its own puzzle to solve, some quick and easy, others needing a little thought. 

At the head of the the valley one climbs onto the Hector mountains and as if it hadn’t been enough already, possibly my favourite view in New Zealand is revealed. Looking across the green Mataura river plains to the Eyre Mountains and in the distance the soaring peaks of fjordland. To the North the Southern arm of lake Wakatipu. 

All to soon we were down in the valley and after a quick diversion for fuel we reached our overnight stop in Athol. Dave Lear, who has many talents, including master of finding the best accommodation, outdid himself and somehow has us in a luxury lodge that is well above our station. 

None of the photos today even remotely do justice. 

Tomorrow we continue our flirtatious relationship with Southland heading deeper into the Eyre mountains to the headwaters of the Mataura river before eventually saying goodbye as we head north into the rock, dust and golden history of central Otago. 

Day 7: Waikaia

My family is aware of the 8th law of physics, or possibly biology. It is not well known but is as follows : The towel forgets.  That’s it. It is proven. What the law is about is that when you have your shower and you dry off you will start with your face and then your other bits and eventually your nether regions. That’s logical of course as let’s face it, you are hardly likely to bury your face in a towel with which you have just polished your bum!

But, then the towel is placed on the drying rail and next day when you shower the towel has forgotten so you can safely start the process from face onwards. 

The towel forgets. 

Well I wanted to extend the research further to see if indeed other items of clothing forget. The answer is they don’t. Undies that haven’t been washed for 4 days definitely remember. You most definitely don’t want to put your face in 4 day old sweaty undies. To be honest , even the intended occupants of the undies were beginning to baulk at being stuffed back in there. That is a very long winded way of saying we were in desperate need of a laundry day. 

After a good nights sleep at the recommended Commercial Hotel in Omakau we set off on yet another cold morning. We only rode for a minute before Dave Mac’s gps unit shat itself and dumped all the stored gpx tracks for our trip and then retreated into a shell where it refused to communicate with anybody. Dave’s response was an interesting and detailed description of female anatomy and procreation which seemed an unusual response but shows where his mind spends most of it’s time. 

The gps came back but the tracks didn’t and Dave’s mood was matching the light drizzle. 

So we headed over the old Dunstan road descending into the upper Taieri river valley where the poor man wanted to stop for coffee at the side of the road in the  heavier drizzle. Obviously I refused. Dave M showed remarkable restraint, only briefly mentioning one of my past failings and Dave L was wisely keeping quiet. 

So up and over, bisecting the Lammermoor and Rock and Pillar ranges we went. The rain stopped and so did we, at a beautiful spot overlooking the Loganburn reservoir. Coffee was had and mood brightened and although it wasn’t stated, obviously I was right. 

After a long flowing run across the top we intersected with Gardiners track which was to take us to the town of Lawrence. It was closed due to logging activities. Karen will smile at this. Predictably Dave M wanted to go take a look, I didn’t and Dave L was placed in an awkward and impossible position i.e. how could he keep us both happy. He couldn’t. 

Knowing I didn’t have enough fuel to backtrack I wasn’t going to go and to his credit Dave Mac didn’t make a fuss and rode off on our bypass route. And what a blessing the bypass was. A mixture of winding seal and mostly pea gravel through stunning south Otago countryside. Green paddocks lined with tussock over hill and dale in the most incredible sunlight that had broken through with a backdrop of purple dark clouds that threatened, but in the end only delivered atmosphere. I should have taken more photos but I didn’t. Certainly none that did it justice. 

In Lawrence the earth’s equilibrium was restored when Dave Mac found a kind and trusting lady who lent him her computer so that he could reload all the gps tracks. Faith in humanity and technology restored we allowed Garmin to take us to Waikaia via more awesome Southland rural gravel. The sun disappeared and the wind blew in our faces so it was cold and not perfect which is how it should be. 

Dave Lear had shed all his warm gear in Lawrence because he was standing in a sunbeam surrounded by dark skies. What a positive outlook. Obviously he was punished for that and got to our destination completely frozen. Take that.

So Dave Mac who forgives me my failings daily, helped me reattach the bits of my bike that were beginning to fall off and hopefully my luggage will stop tapping me on the back of my head. I’ll test it on some rough trails tomorrow. Continuing the theme that there should be no perfection, my water pump cover gasket is leaking. So now I can replace my minor luggage worry with something slightly more significant! 

Dave tells me not to worry so I won’t. The only reason I wrote about it is so I can sound knowledgeable but rest assured, I don’t have a clue. 

Dave Lear, he is too good for us, has spent  the last 4 hours fighting with faulty washing machines and tumble dryer’s. That’s adventure riding for you.