Dansey's Pass(ed it) [30th Dec 06]

After cooked breakfast at Fawlty Towers I headed back to the Old Dunstan Road South. Disappointingly, the surface was easy except for a few muddy sections. The biting southerly wind got colder, my nose freezing and dripping until I wrapped my neck tube round my face. The area was suddenly less rocky than the northern section, much more reminiscent of Dartmoor. The Otago Press was reporting that the Met Service had issued a severe weather warning from the previous night, saying rivers were running high and the Otago region was due 5cm of rain, with snow settling on some of the pass roads above 700m. Widespread rain still to come. So much for Christmas in the sun. It could easily have been mid December on Exmoor.

I reached Clark’s Junction with no real challenge from the road. It seems they did in fact have a bit of rain in the valley...



I linked back on to the State Highway 87, and headed north for Dansey’s Pass as the weather brightened and the scenery changed again. The Pass road became more winding and rough, the green of the hills taking on a sudden burst of bright yellow flowers or moss.






















A brief stop half way for a photo and a chat with the first trike I have seen here,
















He's brave
and I pushed on to north of Oamaru and into Glenavy for a fuel stop. Now Gary, the proprieter of the Mobil garage proved an interesting and informative contact. He collects 70s motorcycles and Harley Davidsons. We talked for a while and I discovered among other things that he used to race motorcross bikes and knows all the off the map, off-road routes around Queenstown. I will definitely be heading that way again it seems.

I considered doing another off-highway route home but realised I had had enough. Three days riding had taken its toll, and apparently there was yet another barbeque at Matt’s house in Christchurch so I folded away the map and headed straight back up the highway just in time for a sossie sizzle and a glass of wine.

New year’s will be very quiet, I aim to catch up on sleep and organise some more work. I have the chance to become a lettuce picker for a week. Oh the life I lead.

Happy New Year to you all. I hope 2007 brings you blessings and adventures wherever you are.

The Rider of Rohan [29th Dec 06]

My first task of the day was to find the Quartzville 4x4 track which links back onto the Nevis Rd. Extending out of Bannockburn, south of Cromwell for just over 25kms, it proved the hardest, most gruelling track I have ridden.


A brilliant challenge, I stood on the pegs for the whole ascent, allowing extra flexibility and weight shifting as the heavy Honda was constantly made to pick its way through large ruts and up over rocks protruding the hard pack dry mud. Huge lumps of quartz littered the innumerable outcroppings of rock.


I was joined by two local riders on nimble motorcross bikes. We stopped for a few pictures and a chat about riding. On discussing how some bike riders disrespect horse riders by not slowing down and giving too little space, one of the fellows quite seriously remarked “It’s not that they’re ignorant, they just lack knowledge.” Well said.

I let them zoom on and soaked in the view before proceeding to the Hawksburn descent into Alexandra and then out to Galloway and into the Moa Creek area. The ride into Rohan would be via the Old Dunstan Rd by the Poolburn Reservoir, whose surrounding plains and hills were used as LOTR locations for the Rohirrim Village and the massive battle on the Plains of Rohan. It was only 4pm but the weather turned wet fast, so I stopped at a the Poolburn hotel for shelter and a coffee.

The barman/owner was Larry, who had just opened for the evening. Being 5km from the nearest dwelling, with no main road to bring regular passing trade, I was the only person in the bar. We talked for a few moments and I asked Larry how business was going. I rather suspect he detected my unintended tone of scepticism. He smiled tentatively with circumspect raised eyebrows whereupon he explained about being a school teacher in Alexandra who is taking a foray into a second trade.

This is typical of the current economic climate and of Kiwi initiative which shows the business ingenuity and bravery I admire. I am hoping it will rub off on me. A significant proportion of Kiwis have a sideline business. I’ve seen a few that will surely end up in the 2 out of 3 small businesses that fail. However, there is no stigma attached to the failure, just congratulations for giving something a go. The American dream might be to go from nothing to vast riches with as much gusto as possible; the Kiwi dream is simply to moderately succeed. Which somehow speaks of the modest hardworking ethos of the country.

Ironically, the anticipated trickle of local customers turned into a torrent with the arrival of 2 minibus loads of stag day revellers.
At half past four in the afternoon they were already in the advanced stages of inebriation. Drinking challenges ensued for the selected members, all dressed in aviator shades and tight trousers. I spent the next two hours keeping my head down, whilst the revellers ‘skulled’ drinks in the designated style (Gazelle- left hand only. Wilderbeest: both hands together. Penalties incurred for drinking out of fashion). I just wanted a quiet coffee until the rain abated. Then the stag’s task for this leg of the tour was issued. “Wearing the cunning camouflage provided, infiltrate the neighbouring field and capture a sheep.”

Needless to say, the wolf in sheep’s clothing had no chance.

They soon departed, leaving a number of unfinished jugs of beer and the faint impression of there having been a riot in the bar. I finished the crossword, ‘skulled’ my coffee and headed to Rohan. The sky had brightened. The southerly wind, fresh off the Antarctic, made the ride through the Rohirrim road more of an endurance exercise than anticipated.

The scenery was great, despite the overcast sky. Rolling hills with an enormous amount of outcroppings of the most fascinating rock formations. I made it through to the otherside with no problems. I was assured that I could find lodging in Paerau, but after searching for what turned out to be an invisible village, I headed up to Ranfurly, low on fuel, freezing cold and concerned I might not find a solution to either of these problems before dark.

The backpackers was full. I could get self-service fuel but it was getting too late to expect to reach the next town and find any accommodation still open. Fortunately the backpackers manager phoned around to find the last remaining room in the Lion Hotel. I got a twin room en-suite for half price, plus they opened up the kitchen for a round of toasted ‘sammies’ (sarnies). The place was very Fawlty Towers but I wasn’t complaining.

Queenstown, old friends and dry feet. [27th Dec 06]

I packed my bike up, including the elephant man stick, and headed out for a 6 hour dash across country to Queenstown which is reputed to be party capital of the island. Its lakeside location and proximity to the mountains makes it an all year round hot spot for snowboarding in winter to waterskiing and hiking in summer. It has that snow resort feeling to it, very Meribel or Tignes. I found the shoddy backpackers which I had booked blind over the internet and set about tracking down my old friends from Bristol who had arrived the day before on holiday.



This is Lord of the Rings country. Helicopter and Landrover tours can take you through the stunning and unique scenery which surrounds, and to any fan of the films it is constantly evocative of the realm of Middle Earth. The first ride out had to be to Skippers Canyon, a narrow winding road which hugs the high walls of the canyon and descends into the gorge of the Shotover River to the location where Liv Tyler drenched some nasty horseriders in black with a magical deluge.


As the tree lined track descended parallel with the water, I could glimpse the river and the canyon wall just 25 metres beyond to the left. Suddenly the heartstopping chop of helicopter blades pounded off the canyon walls. It was very close. I looked up, nothing. Then formidably it appeared, level with me, directly to my left, the other side of the few small tress, maybe 10m away. I looked into the cockpit, could see the passengers with their big headphones, the monster hovering just a few metres above the water and progressing slowly down the canyon. There must have been mere inches between the rotor and the canyon.


It was awesome, and was followed by two others only seconds apart. It was amazing to see this unusual machine in the wilderness. Maybe they thought the same about my Africa Twin, clambering along the rocky pathway, alone, intrepid… or maybe it ruined their pictures of Tolkein’s Ford of Bruinen, their dream pictures ruined by a gaudy, A-team coloured 1990s motorbike .

I explored the canyon for another hour and then headed out to Arrowtown where they filmed the other half of the Ford of Bruinen scenes. A rocky 4x4 road leads to Macetown, a disused mining town up the river. Unfortunately the water was just a little too high. Even the 4x4s were turning back.


Slightly disappointed, I decided to go and do the Nevis Rd from Garston which I had been saving for a full day’s exploration. That morning I had been told about the café owner in Athol who owns a beautiful old Goldwing 1200 Aspencade. So I left town and headed out 50kms to Garston, via the LazyBones Café in Athol for a coffee and a chat about Hondas. I was taken through the servery to see the flagship tourer, kept in the green carpeted office turned garage. Cardboard boxes of papers were strewn about, as if hastily rearranged to house the VIP bike. The Aspencade was indeed immaculate, having come from California and been cherished by the proprieter since importation in '91. This brought back memories of my Goldwing tour of America. That plush leather seat, the cruise control, the stereo. Another idea was planted… when I have finished the adventure tour, I might come back next year and trade in for an Aspencade. His one is for sale… hmmmm.

Anyway, I tackled the dusty, rocky inclines of the Nevis Rd and saw some of the most stunning scenery to date.




Four hours, 25 water crossings and 212km later I completed the round trip back to Queenstown. My new Sidi Discovery adventure boots are absolutely brilliant. Despite wading in water and splashing through the water crossings, my feet were totally dry.

Tristan, the very slack hostel desk jockey had miraculously managed not to allocate anyone else to my 5 bed dorm. So after trying to avoid reading the quite tasteless graffiti on the underside of the bed above, I turned out the light and had a passable nights sleep, disturbed by nothing except the too-thin foam mattress and the odd drunken (British) tourist shouting in the street.

...and a partridge in a pear tree. [24th -26th Dec 06]

As I have said already, it doesn’t seem like Christmas because it is summer. People who have been here 30 years say it is still weird having yule tide in the sun. Peace on earth and goodwill to all men. Try: shift some earth, pavers and a rubber mallets to all men. Christmas Eve gave me blisters and sandy knees

But as elsewhere stated, arbeit macht frei, and it was very satisfying to see about a third of the patio done in time for Christmas day.

Santa did his rounds and brought us the world’s cutest kitten, which has no fear and gets on well with the 3 alsatian guard dogs already in residence.














Jesus’ birthday saw more hard labour in the standard issue uniform of blue overalls and questionable cowboy hat,


















in order to clean the decking. All done by 1pm as the guests began to arrive. “Table for 15 for lunch, non smoking please.” Well, there were just enough chairs and enough space on the patio to mean everyone could sit and enjoy the sun which, despite being hidden by cloud, can still burn in 20 minutes, such is the lack of ozone in this part of the world (worse than Aussie apparently).

$2 presents all round meant that everyone got to open numerous trinkets, visitors from Pomland included. My presents ranged from edibles (which for me counted as zero calories as they were later to be consumed by Turbo the very fat but still hungry Labrador), to partly edibles (a LARGE bag of penguin shaped chews) to a clockwork plastic horse ridden by tomahawk toting Red Indian. The temperance pamphlet “Liquor Has No Halo” was perhaps the most mis-judged present or at least a joke I didn't get. Maybe it was meant for someone else, judging by the amount of booze which was in fact consumed, mainly by the girl from Oamaru, who mocked me for my relative abstinence.

I got to chop some wood for the fire, Kiwi style















And did my bit for the meal by overseeing the bbq



















Late night phone calls to the UK were greeted with recorded messages explaining the lines were overloaded so I made do with sending a few Christmas emails and went to sleep.

Boxing day was spent 75kms away in the countryside, where the men of the village set about straightening an old shearing shed


and after another barbeque, a race round the paddock on some old motorbikes, it was time for a fire on the beach to toast marshmallows. Copious amounts of beach wood was gathered in just moments and we created a bonfire to rival the towering inferno. I was very generously given an unusually shaped stick as a souvenir. It is gnarled at the end and looks like the elephant man. My very own Gandalf staff.

Then off to bed ready for an early start for Queenstown and some awesome off road riding through the Otago wilderness.

Christmas and the big red bearded fellow

Christmas and the big red bearded fellow.

Depending on how you read the line above, you will probably imagine Santa. However I was meaning this...



The time in Waikawa was a real blessing. Alex (the farm manager) and Jacky and the family were again so generous with their hospitality and have become good friends. Generosity and ingenuity have marked this entire trip and this last fortnight has been no exception. Keith in Christchurch made me an extended screen for the bike out of a sheet of perspex and some duct tape. It deflect all the wind perfectly. Alex this week solved the problem of my ripped seat with... duct tape. Oh, and he also welded by broken side stand. The country's motto should be 'Everything is repairable'.

We have had great weather in the Sounds this week, and even saw dolphins, which circled us for about an hour, and came within 10 feet of the barge.

I have been blessed also by meeting again with Dave and Cathy who have been a great encouragement and inspiration. I have found God's provision in so many ways, small and big.

Christmas will give me more time with Matt in CC, and them I am going to meet old friends in Queenstown who are arriving from the UK for a few weeks holiday. Life is rich. God is good.

I have left Picton with real friends, more contacts, and a few more dollars to keep me moving. And it's still a small world. One of Jacky's neighbours who visited, got talking about friends in England. One of whom I knew in Birmingham from Elim church on Tiverton Rd- it has to be the same guy- how many Andy Ferrari do you know! So we looked him up on the 'net, found his mum in a picture of the governers of a random school in London, and mailed them to ask if they could put us in touch.Crazy times.

More pics to follow, plus video of how to prepare paua for eating...

Rainbow to Picton

The day after the Lees Valley mud bath I decided to go to Picton for another 10days work, so rather than waste a 700km round trip on tarmac I wended my way through the Rainbow Road, famous in the South Island for crossing some amazing and rugged terrain and connecting with NZ's largest farm, Molesworth Station which is at least 2000 sq km.
Jollie's Pass
The pictures speak for themselves. Desolate as it seems, I saw four other vehicles during the 106 km route, plus one lone female cyclist. It was 7.30pm and getting dim. I took a few pics of the Molesworth boundary and ate a sandwich. As I proceeded down the hill the other side I saw a blond female figure at the waters edge with no shoes. No equipment or anything else in sight. I stopped. "Have you been swimming in that?!" I asked incredulously. It would have been about 4 degrees.

We stopped and chatted. She had just stopped her bicycle after a long trek into the area and had dived into the stream to cool off. If I had arrived 30 seconds earlier, she said, I would have had quite a surprise apparently - a naked Scots woman paddling in the freezing currents. Not what you need when trying to concentrate on gravel bends.

After talking for 15 minutes, I passed on through the valley and out to the farmhouse, paid my $10 toll fee and made steady progress to Blenheim then Picton. Exhausted. Good preparation for another week of marine farming, early starts and questionable sea legs.

[See More Marine Farm Pics in the gallery, and the toilet we added to the barge.]

Mud bath, hail and snow

KiwiBiker.co.nz has introduced me to like minded adventure riders who know the roads. Online they have user names which get used in person. So I changed the clumsy mouthful wideboyracer to The Tourist. Last Saturday I joined up with 11 of them including Transalper, Plug, Ghost Lemura and FarQueue to ride through the Lees Valley and off into a secret farm location which is usually unaccessible.

The weather was wet, and we were going to high ground. Wrapping my feet in silver tape won't keep out the water so I got some plastic bags from the Mobil garage and slipped them over my socks and taped around the ankles.

Most of the riders had small 250cc machines capable of riding through all sorts of rought terrain. What do they know that I do not? Then some BMW F650s turned up so that made me feel a little less ill at ease. At least I had new tyres the day before, designed to get extra grip, especially in gravel.



We arrived at the farm land over sweeping gravel roads through amazing hills. I was too focused on the riding to notice much more. The little bikes were storming through the bends. I had to concentrate on getting every corner right to keep anywhere near them. Then we arrived at the service station before the hill climb.

Then the going got tough. The roads turned to tracks turned to mud. The hail started as we made our way higher into view of the snow. Summer started officially 2 weeks ago. But New Zealand is a place of extremes. You can ski and surf in the same day if you wish. Mountains can turn on you at any time. I would never have attempted this ride alone for fear of getting stuck in mud and having to heave out the lump of a bike I ride. With the back up of a few other riders you get the confidence to really go into the wilderness and know you get into too much trouble.

Which is a good thing. My new tyres are great in the gravel (running down to 15psi for extra grip) and even in the mud they did well. In the mud on a slope with rocks.. different story, as the video footage will show. Despite a few near stationary sideways moments and some helping hands, I think the Africa Twin did remarkably well. (OK, so that is a veiled attempt at humility... in the hands of a lesser rider this bike would have caused major problems, but I managed to keep it upright and muscle it through where F650s came unstuck).

Then came the river crossing. Most had made it through. It was up to mid thigh height at least and flowing fast. Again, no one would attempt this alone but with support it is always possible. This is real adventure riding. The way to cross a fast flow is by going upstream and attacking it at 45 degrees to allow the current to help push you. I was one of the last 4 to face the crossing. Carl, with the helmet cam, decided to cross quickly to get a good angle on The Tourist getting wet. In his haste he entered the water at 45 degrees against the current and suddenly stopped dead in the middle. He looked across, I seem to recall seeing his eyes wide with realisation as he gently fell to the right. The CR230 disappeared under the surface, then so did he.

The camera equipment is watertight so the footage of the sub aqua antics is available in the gallery. After draining the cyclinder the CR230 was back up and running. Now it was my turn to cross the water. With an audience of self confident gloaters who had already crossed, I gunned the revs and splashed through. The adrenaline rush meant I was probably going to fast for the front wheel to keep grip and as I exited the bike just fell left. But I was through. Cheers went up, hands helped right the bike, and we moved on. Staying dry had long since been neglected.

After crossing a few more hilltops, we returned to the shearing shed and I decided it was time to go. I zoomed out of the farmstead with Ghost Lemur on a CR250 and Paul on a 1978 XT500 and went home muddy tired but triumphant. Definitely time for new boots.

Edoras, Mt Cook Glacier and a Ray Mears experience?

Over the last two days I completed the most adventuresome ride of my entire stay so far.

I rode through some truly stunning landscapes: planes, mountains, a glacier to dry river beds.

I found the location for Edoras, the Rohan city built for Lord of the Rings. The striking outcropping of rock in the Mount Potts high country station in the Rangiata Gorge in Canterbury seems an obvious film location in retrospect. I tried to imagine the intricate theatrical set whilst dicing with rocks and gravel under my tyres.

Then after a late arrival at the hostels of Lake Tekapo and almost having to spend the night in the carpark, I headed to Mt Cook and found my way up the Tasman Valley Road which leads directly to the glacier. It stops at a car park and a hut where a sign reads "Track not maintained. Vehicle access not advised." Sounds like an invitation to me...


The road was rugged, winding through enormous boulders and scree slopes. It had an eerie, other-worldly feel. I've never been anywhere like it. The scale of the surrounding grey mountainsides was breathtaking. The glacier is 29km long. It is covered in shards of fallen grey rubble, the green-white of the ice flow only visible at the southern end.

This picture is from towards the end of the valley walk right at the edge of Tasman Glacier. Can you spot the bike in the landscape?!



After the glacier I headed down the Pukaki River Road which follows a mostly dry river bed down a delta of old water courses towards a lake. The map only shows one main track; in reality there are many, some hardly discernable from the river bed itself. I suddenly found I was lost in the middle of nowhere with no roads and no accurate map. The path was well worn, just not well drawn. The track seemed well defined. I had to cross water, fast flowing and in places about two feet deep. The first crossing caught me out. Somehow the front wheel slid and I was suddenly on my side, left glove and both feet filling with cold water. Note to self. Wrapping your leaky boots in duct tape makes no difference. Be a real adventure rider and accept getting your feet wet.






I picked it up, with the help of super human adrenaline that occurs at times like this, and walked it out in first gear under revs, like you might encourage a granny on a zimmer frame to negotiate some tricky steps. I was wet now so each of the next 3 crossings I waded to gauge the depth. Then I was out of the rubble and riding up on to a bank to view the entire delta. It could have been Africa except for the power pylons.

But I had ended up the wrong side of the lake. After over an hour of fjording rivers and negotiating some serious rubble, I managed to retrace my route and discover to my annoyance that crossing the water courses would not have been necessary if I had seen the (now obvious) white stones marking the official route, leading to the iron bridge I should have taken at first. I was across and out of trouble. I had seriously considered surviving the night in the dry delta. In my head I was making shelters, stone igloos, wind breaks. It was going to be a mild night. I would have just had to make do with four squares of Cadbury's Caramel til daybreak.

After the river road, I headed straight out towards Timaru via Mackenzie Pass. The mountain pass was steeped in mist, which produces fine rain (soaks you through). My feet were squelching, getting colder (Ray Mears will tell you that water removes heat from the body 20times faster than air) so I decided to skip finding a hostel and head straight back to Christchurch.

On route I stopped at a petrol station to dry my feet, change socks and dry my boots with tissue paper. The garage was just about to close so i did all this on the forecourt. The proprietor didn't mind. He even gave me the day's last three hot pies for free. That made the last 2 hours more bearable as it was really getting cold. Maybe that night in the river delta wouldn't have been so cosy after all...

Christchurch already.

Time for a few ramblings to catch you up with movements. I have done a lot of miles and in a short space of time seen too much to recount in detail. Interspersed with all the sights is the common theme of Kiwi hospitality.

I have quickly discovered how Kiwi hospitality works and we Brits have a lot to learn. When we meet someone and invite them to stay should they ever happen to pass by, we seldom actually mean it. This hollow gesture is seldom taken up, perhaps because people understand it as bravado, and those that don't are bemused by the surprise and indignation we display when some foreigner we vaguely remember invites himself for dinner and accomodation.

Here, I have mostly stayed with people who know people I hardly know.

In Takaka I stayed with some friends of a person I only met briefly in Wellington. I had my own room, ensuite, and was blessed with great hospitality, good conversation and the chance to go sea kayaking. I paddled out along the creek which leads from their property to the sea. The water was quite flat so I ventured further, out to the remains of a pier lined with birds who didn't flinch. Then I noticed a seal, lolling and playing in the waves just 15 feet away. Then suddenly a swish beneath me, the dappled markings of something moving fast enough to leave a cloud of sand and silt. The mother seal perhaps. The wind and the current seemed to increase so I paddled home. There I learned that the dappled swish was probably a basking sting ray. Glad I didn't know that at the time.

After Takaka, I headed south to Murchison where I met a friend of Alex the marine farmer. I was told I must call in for a cup of tea which turned out to be dinner as well. More Kiwi hospitality, the connection here being that I know Alex and would be passing the door.

Then after a couple of hours there I headed to the west coast, via the Buller Gorge which follows the wide and twisting course of the Buller River. At one point the two way road narrowed to one lane and cut in under an overhang in the steep sides of the gorge. It was dark, misty and like something from an arcade game.

After an overnight in a Westport hostel, I headed to Cape Foulwind for a beautiful but expensive breakfast overlooking the Cape, named by Captian Cook upon his arrival in 1642 on account of the fierce weather (not the after affects of the curry the night before).

Then, further down the coast to Punakaiki and the pancake rocks and then on to Arthur's Pass to cross the mountains which divide this island and on towards Christchurch. I passed by Oxford, through Sheffield and into the capital of the south island. Christchurch is different to other NZ cities. The highway into the city was narrower and more compact, more British feeling. Then as I reached the open space and trees of South Hagley Park it was like I had arrived in Roath Park, Cardiff. The houses, the trees, all very unexpectedly familiar. CC is spread out with few tall buildings but in its centre is planned on a US-style grid layout making for a strange twist of American conformity, British atmosphere and Kiwi culture.

After getting horrifically lost I bought a map so that I could continue to get lost but at least know how lost I really was. I am staying with the family of my friend Matt from Woodlands. They have insisted I stay as long as I want. There is no end to Kiwi generosity. Matthew will be here on the 9th and I will be spending Christmas with them along with the entire family who will be here all together for the first time in about 6 years. I met a sister in law yesterday. After only a few minutes of conversation I had a place to stay in Invercargill.

I recently posted a request on the Kiwi Biker forum for like-minded adventure riders to show me the off road routes. The online bikers use nicknames on screen and even in person. So PLUG and TRANSALPER took me on a stunning trip covering 225km and we spent all day Saturday exploring the cattle routes and goat tracks around the peninsula. Amazing views, unusual roads, exciting riding. And then to the KiwiBiker barbecue.

So, that is a brief view of the last 7 days. I aim to find some work here over the next 2 weeks. Christmas is almost upon us, with the promise of scorching weather and barbecues by the pool. It doesn't seem quite right but I think I will get used to it!