travellingbennetts

New Zealand. The international travel Australians do when we don’t want to go overseas. Culture shock rating of zero, but scenery, gastronomic, and riding shock ratings of extreme.
Our trip to New Zealand’s South Island had been planned for March but was postponed to very late September. The last time I had been to NZ was for our honeymoon, which was at exactly the same time of year, and we’d had a skiing holiday then. For some reason, no matter the level of experience acquired trying to get freezing snow chains on with rapidly freezing fingers, the weather in the South Island was assumed to be going to be very like SE QLD. Maybe a little colder, perhaps a touch wetter, but the gear inventory was considered good enough to handle the negligible climactic differences expected. The proper BMW winter gloves were locked in the top box of the BMW R850R “Beast”, but the cover was on so getting them would take 3 minutes and was considered too hard; won’t need them anyway.
Early into Christchurch airport, one rider of our team had the entire contents of her luggage inspected in quarantine, which filled some time in nicely before a cab into town and stroll about the still-scaffolded city and lunch. The afternoon was spent gathering data on craft brewery sites, and the fun preparation of the gear for the morrow.

Day 1 morrow achieved, we were picked up by South Pacific Motorcycle Tours owner Carole Lester and taken out to their base at Kaiapoi, north of Christchurch. After meeting the SPMT team, the arranged weddings with our partners for the next fortnight were conducted. Cindy had chosen Black Beauty, a new Triumph Bonneville T100. I had been swapping photos with my prospective partner Jessica, a 2016 BMW 700GS, for a long time so riding consummation anticipation had been building and I wasn’t disappointed.

The program was a GPS-led two weeks around the island, with accommodation pre-booked at good B&Bs. We had never done this style of trip before, but it seemed to cover two of the three big motorcycling questions; where am I going, and where am I staying? The third big motorcycling question of why I didn’t bring winter gloves wasn’t answered, but that didn’t seem important in the glorious clear Canterbury weather.

The competency assessment was to follow SPMT co-owner Mike Lester down the road and assuming we didn’t crash, Mike would just wave us off and we would keep on going. We didn’t crash, so soon we were on our own under the leadership of Garmin. Garmin’s leadership style was soon made clear at the Waimakiriri River; follow me on the precise path I have set, as though we are in a minefield, or else I will punish by confusing you and forcing you to turn around and I will make you do it all again. If we missed a waypoint by a few yards, the incessant demand to do a U-turn initially had us wondering whether we’d somehow missed a turn-off while admiring the fabulous mountain scenery.

Our destination was Lake Tekapo, and although there was intense temptation to deviate through Coalgate as I’d run out of toothpaste and was highly self-amused by the thought of buying some Colgate in Coalgate, we decided instead on a lunch stop in our old honeymoon town of Methven. The post-lunch riding was on was nice roads down the plains, with some a bit winding up through Burke’s Pass before getting into Tekapo in the late afternoon. We had a quick stop at the Church of the Good Shepherd, which had spectacular views of white caps on the lake and clouds on the mountains, before getting to our first B&B. The carpark was a taste of most of the B&B carparks we would experience – no cover, and loose gravel. It was AFL grand final day and we had the long walk into the touristy little town to the pub, amazingly full of Collingwood supporters and with the big game on all the screens rather than the rugby.

 

Day 2 started with a surreptitious de-icing and drying of the motorcycle seats using a B&B towel. We stopped at Lake Pukaki for fabulous views of cloud over Mt Cook, before pushing on to the town of Twizel. It was coffee time so we forced someone to open and make us some raisin toast, before pushing on to Omarama, Otematata, Otekaieke, and Oamaru for lunch. Studiously avoiding the Steampunk Museum because it sounded a bit funky for us, a Sunday pie and a thorough tour of the town looking for the loos were the memorable highlights.

While on the topic of NZ town names, it appears the NZ official town naming alphabet is missing about 20 letters and the policy was to always try to start the name with a W, otherwise an H, K, M, P, R, or T must be used. On no account were any vowels allowed at the start except O. W names must always start with Wai, and the result is 30,000 names of places all starting with Wai. Which is really helpful when kind B&B hosts are telling you that the amazing views/hot springs/whatever at Wai-don’t-remember-the-rest should not be missed, just make sure you take the turn-off at Wai-can’t-distinguish-it-from-the-other-20-Wai-names-you-see, whatever you do don’t turn at Wai-tiny-variation-in-arrangement-of-the-same-letters-as-all-other-Wai-names.
Next stop on the southern journey was the interesting sounding Moeraki boulders, and the amazingly spherical rocks lying about on the beach and poking out of the cliff did not disappoint. The septarian concretions are 60 million years old, and not between 70 and 79 years old as we first thought when misreading them as septuagenarian concretions.

We meandered mid-afternoon into Dunedin, where the trend of our accommodation being a fair hike out of town was repeated. A bit of planning had gone into Dunedin as we were catching up with work colleague Katie and her husband Nev and son Flynn. There was only one dinner option as far as I was concerned; Emersons craft brewery, fortunately closer to us than other craft brewery establishments. It was an excellent choice with sensational beer and cider and food.
Day 3 was a repeat of sneaky use of the hotel towel to get the moisture off the seats, before hitting the road south along the coast through Brighton, before joining the main highway at Waihola and stopping for a coffee and an un-recalled type of fruit-infused bread at Milton. Soon after, we rode past Sod Cottage, built in the 1860’s as a stopping place for miners, but we couldn’t stop as we’d only just re-started. We reached the bad weather “plan B” town of Balclutha, but as the weather was close to perfect we kept on south into the Catlins rather than take the feeble rider’s route through Gore.
We ignored the GPS and stopped to take a stroll through the railway tunnel at Tunnel Hill, which is becoming a routine activity for us having had such fun going through the Mt Perry tunnel in Queensland. No chance to get the bikes through this one, which was sensible as it was very slippery and a dead end, efforts to do a loop were stopped by the bog at the other end.

We pressed on in the cool but still fine weather to Curio Bay to see the petrified forest. A quick lunch of the sandwiches we’d made from the Dunedin breakfast tray, and we wandered down to the waterfront to wander among the petrified logs and stumps which sit in the intertidal zone, miraculously we’d nailed the timing precisely and it was low tide when we arrived.

The weather began to turn as we headed into Invercargill, so we didn’t bother heading to Bluff, which at the time we thought was the most southerly point, luckily we didn’t go as we’d already been further south at Curio Bay and Bluff is simply the most southerly town, with Slope Point winning the most south bit according to Wikipedia.
Invercargill was a bit confusing, our itinerary said that our accommodation was the Ascot Park Hotel, but the GPSes took us into a suburban street and then stated unemotionally that we’d arrived. There was no sign of a hotel, but fortunately Cindy knew better and said we were staying at the place on the left, the Villa Rouge B&B. There was no sign of it being a B&B, and I was extremely suspicious that we were just parking in someone’s driveway. We knocked at the door, fully expecting a track-suited and be-slippered mystified person with a half-smoked ciggie hanging from a moist bottom lip to answer. Instead, the B&B world as we understood it was about to change.
Noel and Diana were the hosts, not necessarily in that order, and after we’d lugged the gear in, we received the full tour. The entire front of the house was ours to enjoy, and with complimentary wine and beer and truffles there was severe risk of over-enjoyment afoot. After changing we met with our hosts in the kitchen, to enjoy an afternoon tea with a magnificent sweet. The conversation turned to motorcycling, and Diana confessed she had never been on a motored bicycle. As we hadn’t yet had the opportunity to get into the complimentaries, I suggested that no-one could consider they had lived until at least giving it a try. Diana then started the cycle of “no I really couldn’t”, “but I want to”, “do you think I should Noel?”. Noel helped by having a vastly superior record of hits on social media posts, so Diana saw a rolled gold opportunity to unseat the Lord of Facebook.

The matter became a certainty by me just finishing my sweet and going off and getting everything ready. With Cindy’s helmet and jacket on, and the communicators on, Diana was on the back of Jessica the BMW and we were off out into the country for a quick spin. On our return, trips down to local motorcycle dealerships were already planned, and continual monitoring of the hits on Diana’s Facebook post eventually showed the venture to be a success.

A short wander up the road after Diana’s social media glory saw us at the Buster Crabb restaurant, renowned for seafood, and a huge bowl of mussels and fish were consumed washed down with NZ pinot and IPA.
Day 4 started with a spanking breakfast, before packing and mentally practising loading the bikes as it was raining and so getting it wrong meant everything would be wet in the panniers. After a tearful farewell to Diana and Noel (may have just been rain coursing down our collective cheeks), we headed for the morning’s sightseeing in Invercargill. First stop was Bill Richardson’s Transport World, fortunately only 10 minutes away as we were already sick of riding in the rain. The World is a huge shed, divided into separate sheds with cars, tractors, trucks, and motorcycles. The Ford car line-up starting from the 1903 Model A was particularly impressive.

Having dried out a bit and warmed with a hearty cappuccino, the next stop was the E. Hayes hardware shop to see the line-up of classic motorcycles including Burt Munro’s, but also because it is phenomenal just as a hardware shop. Our souvenirs from the visit were an H7 globe to replace Jessica’s blown headlight, and an $8 pair of flock-lined chemical gloves which saved my hands from getting wet and frostbitten for the rest of the trip.

As it had stopped raining we comfortably headed west along the coast for a bit, until the fingers and toes began to numb which called for a stop at the Orepuki Beach Café, which served up a hearty lunch and a freezing cold coke which was probably an error of judgement given the delicate state of the pinkies. We continued west until New Zealand runs out of flat land, then the road heads north to skirt the mountains and fiords and lakes of the west coast.

After a brief stop to admire the impressive Clifton suspension bridge, in no time at all we were heading through the magnificent mountainous lakes district and into Manapouri, coincidentally located on the shore of Lake Manapouri, before the final push north in the rain to Te Anau, coincidentally located on the shore of Lake Te Anau. After the usual fuelling up in the clearly touristy town, we found the Te Anau Lodge B&B out in the ‘burbs. The B&B was very large by B&B standards and was an ex-convent which had been relocated to Te Anau after the last nuns had been exorcised. After meeting our friendly and helpful host who didn’t introduce himself, and who henceforth was known as Mr X, we festooned every possible hanging point with damp gear while taking advantage of the complimentary wines, then headed into town for dinner at one of the numerous and rather expensive restaurants.

Day 5 was a little bit casual getting started as we had two nights in Te Anau, so no frenzied packing was required. We also wanted to wait for the temperature to climb to something survivable before attempting the road to Milford Sound, which had only been closed a few days previously due to avalanches. Ice was scraped off the seats, and without giving too much thought to the cold we were off. Fortunately, a lot of the road just follows the river valleys, so the altitude only increases near the end, but the mountains lock in the cold dense air which flows from the peaks down across motorcyclist’s fingers. Cindy without hand warmers was really struggling, while even my Burt Munro chemical gloves and full hand warmers couldn’t keep the fingers unfrozen for long, so regular stops were required to thaw before the ability to use brake and clutch levers was permanently lost.

The stops heading into the mountains often included the presence of Keas, the alpine parrot. SPMT had warned us about their desire to rip off ABS cables, brake lines, and upholstery, so one rider was always required to keep an eye on the Keas and make sure they respected the rider’s code of never touching anyone’s bike without asking. One couple at a stop were thrilled to have a Kea land on their hire car so they could take close-up photos, they were less thrilled when it started to rip the little aerial off the roof.

Eventually we reached the Homer Tunnel which gave us a chance to stop for chilblain recovery. The stop sign includes a timing device to let travellers know how long they must wait in the avalanche zone, although the slopes appeared to have avalanched themselves out a few days earlier. Once inside, the tunnel slopes down quite steeply, and water running out of the ceiling does little to enhance the comfort levels. The tunnel is also very dark and the headlights even on high beam really didn’t reveal anything, so fortunately we weren’t first so could follow behind a car rather than hit the wall or something. Once out, the road winds down the hill which makes for awesome motorcycling fun, apart from the odd piles of grit which are carefully positioned on the best racing line in the corners.

Finally a place for a walk to warm up was reached at the Chasm, where a fast flowing creek has cut a narrow channel through some very hard rock. Again, the problem of Keas came up, so it looked like the walk wasn’t a good idea until Cindy had the bright idea of asking the coffee van lady in the car park to mind the bikes. As we were the only motorcyclists heading into Milford Sound that day and probably close to first of the season, there was definitely some value in our novelty. So with a brace of coffees in a brace of slowly warming hands, we managed a quick visit to the Chasm.
Whilst on the subject of coffee, a strange cultural phenomenon in New Zealand is the cappuccino topping option. Whenever ordering a cappuccino, the barista’s agent, or the barista themselves in the case of van coffee, will ask the customer whether they want chocolate or cinnamon topping. Whether this is the start of a world-wide trend that will one day have a hipsta Barista in New York asking you if you want dried Goji berry or dusted bee pollen on your decaf single source Laotian cappuccino remains to be seen. There is absolutely no way I would have a substance other than chocolate, and initially being asked whether I wanted cinnamon topping felt as wrong as being asked whether I wanted the barista to sprinkle dandruff through the foam, but good on NZ for trying.

The bitter cold came to an end as we waltzed into Milford Sound. We were lucky with the weather, it always looked as though it was about to rain but never did. A cruise option was discounted as it was expensive and given our exposure and the fact that it rains for 363.5 days a year in Milford Sound, we took the safer option of a couple of walks, a quick lunch, and a hasty retreat. At least the waterfalls were pumping due to the recent bad weather.

The trip back was a bit of a slog, punctuated by excellent riding up to the Homer Tunnel now that we knew where the grit was in the corners, the trip through the tunnel itself, and the odd stop to thaw fingers and work the glutes. Back into Te Anau, our first target was a shop that sold gloves, as Cindy had demonstrated that even Gore-tex couldn’t cope with the conditions.

We finished the day with dinner at the Redcliff café including a wild hare backstrap served in an orgy of mushrooms. Once we had broken up the orgy and cleaned up the mess, it was back to the B&B for a few complimentary wines and packing for the next phase of the trip; the west coast, north coast, and east coast which gives a good indication that the South Island of New Zealand isn’t that big. But the riding and scenery isn’t too bad.
End of Part 1.