Day 5:  Methven to Geraldine

05 December 2010
80 km (50 mi)

Today we entered unchartered territory for New Zealand – we eclipsed our Day 1 record of 55 km and hit 80 km for the day.  This was mostly out of necessity, with few to zero places to stay between our starting and desired ending point, and partly out of proper goalsetting, i.e., time to get some road under our tires.  Of course all this came at a cost, paid in sore shoulders, elbows, wrists, necks, thighs, and what else but bums.  But we did it and for that we are proud.

We started our day with a beautiful pink sunrise and surprise – we were up out of the tent shortly after 6 am.  The clouds rolled in not long after the tent was rolled up, but it didn’t look like rain and for that we were pleased.  Our ride out of Methven followed a few skinny, yellow roads (this is what we look for on our map) that had us headed back toward the mountain range we had left behind yesterday.

Just in time for second breakfast, we came upon the Alford Forest cafe.  Too cute to pass up, we stopped for a Flat White.  It was here that we experienced what will most likely be THE most bizarre encounter that we will come upon, despite the fact that we are only 5 days into our trip.  It is hard to imagine what could be in store for us that would be more odd.  As we were enjoying our coffee, an elderly gentleman pulled up to the cafe.  He went inside, bringing the owner back out to look at something in his boot (i.e., trunk).  We paid them little attention, too busy discussing whether or not Gina should have saved 50 cents and ordered a smaller coffee for herself.  As the gentleman was rolling past us in his car, readying to get back on the road, we waved and smiled and oh, oh, here came the brake lights.  He stopped, got out of the car, popped the trunk open, and came around the back, telling us that he thought we had “a little one” with us (based on how my helmet was laying on the table, one could see how he thought we had a child traveling along, plus I have a little head) and he wanted to show that little one what he had in his trunk.  Now maybe this was one of those situations that your mama warns you about as a kid, but immediately our interest was piqued.  “Trunk?  What do you have in your trunk?” we said.  “Well, I’ve got 5 possums in here and they’ll fetch me about $500.”  “Possums?” we said.  Oh yes, he had possums in there alright.  Five heretofore wild possums in five cages.  We’d show you a picture to prove it but (a) it was just too weird and (b) them possums weren’t looking so great, certainly not photo worthy.  Their heads were all banged up and they pretty much just looked pissed.  As we stared in both disbelief and horror while at the same time smiling and shaking our heads knowingly – yes, possums, good, possums – we both couldn’t help but think now why in the world would you want to show a little kid this trunk of carnage?

After he left, Gina queried the cafe owner as to whether or not elderly men driving around with live possums in their trunks was a normal thing around these parts.  Turns out in some ways it is.  Apparently the possum, a non-native critter here, is worthy of capture for a couple of reasons.  First, they are a tree-killing nuisance, eating the young saplings that are planted as part of logging/reforestation efforts.  Second, their hides are worth something.  If you’re squeamish, skip this next part, but apparently the possums are captured live because once they’re dead, one only has 5 minutes to pluck their coat, so the killing has to be done systematically.  The coat is then sold and shipped off to places like China where it’s incorporated into other products, e.g., that expensive Merino wool sweater you wore last winter or those Smartwool socks you have on right now.  I guess we should be checking our clothing before we buy it to see if the tag says “Possum Blend.”  Who knew?

So, bellies full of coffee and heads full of question marks, we headed back out on SH72.  The ride continued on near the foothills, green as could be and with a bonus downhill grade.  We never hit 30 kmp on a loaded touring bike on a flat grade but we were clipping along at just that.  We needed the extra boost, for it was a long ride for us on our 5th day out.  The scenery continued to be a mix of farmland, mountains in the distance, and deer farms along the way.  We arrived in Geraldine a little bit exhausted but nonetheless enthusiastic, for the town is quite cute.  There were no cozy cabins available tonight, but the tent is pitched, it still doesn’t look quite like rain, and if we can get it together, we may be able to catch a movie at the Geraldine Theater tonight.

Postscript:

We did catch the movie.

Day 4:  Glentunnel to Methven

04 December 2010
43 km (26 mi)

Before we called it a night last night, we flipped on the TV in our cozy cabin to see if there was anything on.  Normally this is something we never really do on holiday, but given that this holiday should be a little longer than most, we decided that this was Life and Life involves a little TV.  There was great stuff on, starting with “True Beauty”, an American show searching for The Most Beautiful person, both inside and out.  We immediately started rooting for the blonde guy, Billy.  He was way less vain than Joel.  Sadly, Billy lost, but at least Joel didn’t win.  Following that fine show was “Dating in the Dark”.  Now this was absolutely brilliant.  Take 3 guys and 3 gals and have them pick to go on dates with one another in a dark room where they can’t see what each other looks like.  Then, once they’ve picked the person they think is right for them, show them briefly who they picked before fading back to black.  If you STILL want to date the person, you go out on the balcony to meet them.  But if they don’t want to date you after seeing the entire package, they walk out the front door, right in your view.  Brilliant. Finally, there was “High School Reunion.”  I can’t recap that one for you as I insisted that Gina turn the darn thing off and go to bed.

Today we headed back out on SH77 for Rakaia Gorge.  We are definitely struggling a bit with the roads we’ve been on.  Not so much with the terrain – until we had to exit the gorge the route has been mostly flat – but more with the traffic.  Again, not so much that there’s been a lot of traffic, but because our chosen route currently has us on SH roads, the cars that pass by do so at high rates of speed.  The buffers they are giving us are, for the most part, quite acceptable, but we can’t help compare the riding with that in Europe, where you can pass through similarly beautiful scenery on much quieter roads.  I suppose this is just us again, overanalyzing and overcomparing.  We’re in New Zealand and need to start accepting the roads as what New Zealand has to offer.

Certainly the scenery can provide a distraction.  Today it progressed from the rolling green farmlands to views of the mountains.  We are very enthused by this.  Rakaia Gorge was beautiful, with it’s amazing river of turquoise.  The grade out had us pushing the bikes for at least a kilometer or two.  But the views were worth it.

Tonight we are camping in Methven.  The weather, which has been cloudy and threatening rain since we left Christchurch, is clear and warm.  A perfect time to pitch the tent.

As we approached town, we came across Farmer Ben:

Farmer Ben is 8 years old and was wearing a shirt with “Bondi Beach” printed on it.  As Gina said, sometimes signs like these tell us that we’re exactly where we need to be.

Day 3:  Ashley Gorge to Glentunnel

03 December 2010
44 km (27 mi)

Another day on the saddle = another day of sore bums.  Once you get settled on it’s not so bad, but the settling process was no better today than yesterday.  Partly for this reason, we started our day discussing what we could jettison from our bikes.  We concluded that redundant items thrown in under that 3 month guise have no business being toured around New Zealand.  It’s not as if we are cycling through outer Mongolia with no services.  If nothing else, jettisoning a few items will give us an emotional boost, just knowing we have lightened our load, no matter how little.

We left Ashley Gorge around 10 am, it taking us longer these days to get going in the morning.  We cannot decide if we are getting soft (hello cosy cabin every night) or just simply out of practice.  Or maybe because we are on no schedule, no requirement to be anywhere at any particular time, not even a sense of urgency that we must pedal pedal pedal to make it around the island, which would be a goal but not a hard and fast one, we therefore feel no need to hurry our mornings.  It’s nice.  We should relax more into it.  Now there’s a goal worth achieving.

It was about a 9 km (5 mi) pedal into the only real town of the day, Oxford.  We classify it as a ‘real’ town for it has a supermarket.  Based on our expected route for the day, we noted while planning ahead last night that there may not be a single other market along the route (and there wasn’t) so we best shop in Oxford for our next several meals.  All of this is just another way of saying we stopped for a break after only 9 km of pedaling.  This break included coffee and a freshly baked muffin (those last 40 minutes of pedaling deserved a reward).

Gina was in charge of the grocery shopping while I sipped the last of my flat white.  Clearly the girl hasn’t been getting enough to eat – I must admit we’ve both been feeling a bit less than satisfied when going to bed after a night of soup and carrots – for the purchase she was most excited about was this:

A 750 kg block of cheese!  It’s huge, heavy, and happily provides over 37 servings!

From Oxford we followed SH72 (our old friend) southwest, toodling along more green farmland and foothills, to Waimakariri Gorge.  Seeing how it was past 12:30 pm and there was a beautiful view of the river off to our left, we chose this spot to stop again.  It was lunchtime, afterall.

The remainder of our route southwest zigged (Highway 73) and zagged (back to SH72) and zigged (Highway 77) a bit more before landing us in Glentunnel.  We had decided last night to make this our destination for the day, as to continue on to the next campground would have been too far for our fatigued bums and bodies.  It was only 2:30 in the afternoon when we arrived at the Holiday Park, but we figured this gave us more time to pick through our panniers.  “Jettison” is still the word of the day.

Day 2:  Rangiora to Ashley Gorge

02 December 2010
44 km (27 mi)

Question: What is more sore than Gina and Dena’s bums?  Answer: Nothing.  Settling down onto those saddles this morning, like a duck settling onto her nest, was excruciating (and included about as much bum wiggling to get comfortable).  We knew it would be, we braced ourselves for how awful it would feel, but in fact, it was worse than that.  In the first few hundred meters I was seriously calculating whether or not I would be able to ride 40 km today without sitting on the saddle.  Those BMX kids bust all over town without sitting down.  Maybe I could do that too.

We are typically not this out of shape for our biking tours.  Back in Seattle we were regular bike commuters, toughening up those bums on a daily basis.  In Sydney, we were not.  Not for lack of want but instead for lack of safety.  We are paying for it now.  And with every rise from the saddle and gentle touch back down, we vow to never again live somewhere where we do not feel safe cycling on a daily basis.  It wreaks too much havoc with our favorite holiday activity.

Today’s goal was to get the heck out of Rangiora.  Unfortunately, we had to head directly into Rangiora to get food for the day.  This was the source of much mumbling and grumbling and dissatisfaction on Gina’s part.  She hates backtracking.  But she also hates being hungry with no food, so the backtracking was a necessity.

Once loaded with a few more pounds on the bikes, we turned back and headed west, along SH72.  Not exactly the road we wanted – any number with a “State Highway” preceding it is not a good route in our book – but our bums weren’t ready to pick our way toward the foothills on quieter but bumpier dirt roads.  The farther west we pedalled, the less traffic on the road and the greener and more forested the scenery became.  Now this was more like it – the New Zealand riding we had been hoping for and expecting.  And in all fairness, I must say that the drivers we have encountered on some of the busier roads have been quite courteous, giving as much cushion as possible when they motor past.  Some of them even slow down a bit and others give us a little toot of encouragement.  Kudos again to the Kiwis and to you Italian drivers, take note!

Our route took us through the wee town of Cust, where we turned north off SH72 onto more lonesome side roads.  We stopped for lunch at the local community center, noting that our Rangiora backtrack was now paying off.  We still had about as much road in front of us as there was behind us for the day, which was a little worrisome given the state of our bodies, but now we were on the super quiet roads, giving us at least a little encouragement that things were looking up.  Our views had shifted from taillights to tail ends – mostly of the sheep variety as they sprinted away from us.

About 5 km (3 mi) from the Holiday Park at Ashley Gorge, our chosen destination, Gina stepped off here bike for a bit of a stretch.  Similar to our morning’s start, we were back to the moaning and groaning over a sore bum and just about every other muscle.  Despite the fact that we were on a flat road, she then started pushing her bike.  “Um, Gina, it’s only about 5 more kilometers to the campground … we could probably get there faster if you pedalled instead of walked.”

Here at the Ashley Gorge Holiday Park, we have treated ourselves to another cabin.  Tonight’s reasoning is that (a) it’s misting outside, (b) there are some bugs that go with that mist, and (c) why do we even need a reason to choose to stay indoors?  Hot showers, an en-suite stove upon which to heat our evening soup, and two real pillows per person.  Priceless.  And thumbs up to the holiday park with its access to the nearby river and views of the forested foothills.  As Gina would say, “THIS is what I’m talkin’ about!”.

Day 1: Christchurch to Rangiora

01 December 2010
55 km (34 mi)

We said our goodbyes to Stephen this morning after about 4 hours of organizing and reorganizing, packing and repacking.  We’ll see him again at the end of February, but it was still a little bittersweet as we’ve truly enjoyed his company.

Stephen lives at the bottom of a short, steep road on the top of a very long, high hill.  This means we started our trip not by riding but by pushing our bikes.  Believe me, this will not be the last time I will write about pushing our bikes.  Once up the short, steep road, we eventually opted to get on the saddles and hope that when we had put the bikes back together, we had reinstalled those brakes properly.  Riding down the hill seemed like a better option than being pulled down the dang thing by our 75+ pound loads.  We are LOADED to the gills.  We are easily each carrying 10 pounds more than typical.  And that’s just on our bodies.  Lord knows how much more we’ve packed onto the bikes.  Many items have been thrown in under the auspices that we are traveling for 3 months instead of 3 weeks, so sure, we might need that too.  We are like Costco on wheels.

Truthfully, though, we did throw out a few items last night.  Some extra wipes, chapstick, and my brush.  I could see no earthly reason why I would need one on the road.  It’s like one long weekend, and I never brush my hair on the weekends.

Safely down the hill, it was time for the Routefinding to begin.  Having a few bike tours under our belts meant that we know that the first day is typically the worst day.  There’s always some big city you’ve flown into that now you have to navigate your way out of.  Fortunately, we had a copy of Christchurch’s bike route map (courtesy of Neighbor Cynthia, supplier of all things necessary) to help us out.  If only we would have followed the more direct route it offered, instead of toodling off the long way around thinking that (a) it would be quieter and (b) we weren’t going all that far today anyway, seeing how it was our first day out on the bikes.  What we found was that our toodling wasn’t much quieter and perhaps had sent us into a less than desirable area and the longer we toodled the less likely it became that we weren’t going far today.  Just when we decided that we should alter our path and cross the Avon river, we ran into this:

Amazing, the power of the recent earthquake to have twisted that bridge like a licorice stick.

Ultimately we found our way out of the suburbs and onto what is probably the straightest road in all of Canterbury.  Great for Routefinding (“just keep going straight, dear”) but not so great for scenery.  Plus at this point, we had circled at least 10 km (6 mi) out of our way and after planning to ride only 40 km (24 mi) today, we were already pushing that number.  What that meant?  Our legs were beginning to fatigue and our bums?  Beginning to make their unhappiness known.  Not only was the road as straight as an arrow, but it was without even the merest hint of accommodation.  Now Stephen had told us many times that we could “free camp” in New Zealand – i.e., plop our tent in a farmer’s field and if we’re as lucky as he and Carol, wake up to the sounds and smells of cattle licking the dew off the rain fly.  But given our first-day-on-the-road jitters and wanting to treat our bums to something a bit more special, we opted to turn off the straightest road in all of Canterbury and head farther north to Rangiora.  The map showed a Holiday Park there and the bikes showed us the way.

Tonight we are cosily tucked into our Holiday Park cabin with no cattle in sight … just the Ladies room across the way.  And we are completed tuckered.  We’ll try that free camping before we leave New Zealand, though.  We first have to decide who’s job it will be to scare off the cows in the morning.