| We complete the three hour
crossing of Cook Strait in sunshine
and on a kind sea. We untie the bikes and offload from the ferry at
Picton Harbor and ride into town for lunch at the Toot-n-Whistle next to
the rail terminal.
On the Inter-Island ferry
Jim, Matt, and Jim
We leave Picton on Queen Charlotte Drive,
which is marked on our maps as a "narrow winding road".
This twisty back road offers great views of Queen Charlotte Sound
and is a short cut between Picton and the main Nelson highway at
Havelock. Normally this would be a great ride, but the road is
crowded with a line of tourist campervans and there are few
opportunities to safely pass. We dallied an hour at lunch thinking this
would be ample time to allow the ferry traffic to get out of town ahead
of us, but to no avail. Usually a New Zealander will pull over to allow
a faster motorcycle to pass, but not this tourist crowd. We fall into
line, plug along, and try to appreciate the opportunity to view the
scenery.
Matters improve once we reach Highway Six at
Havelock and we have opportunities to pass the slower traffic. It's a
lovely afternoon and we enjoy our first look at the South Island. We
are riding through low hills that are the northern terminus of the
Southern Alps in an area of great beauty. With more than 2,400
hours of average annual sunshine, the countryside around Nelson has a
reputation as the sunniest part of New Zealand and is a popular retirement
area.
We find the Aloha Lodge where we are to
overnight located south of the city just off the beach. Al, who came
over with Bruce on an earlier ferry, has Bruce's motorcycle in the
parking lot with fairing pieces strewn about the bike. We learn
that he has phoned ahead to the local BMW dealer for replacement parts,
and with new parts and duct tape he and Tom are making the bike road
worthy again. We offer to help, but they have the project well in hand,
so we ride into the city to look around and visit the BMW shop
ourselves.
Nelson has a population of 41,000, and its
sheltered deep water port is home to the largest fishing fleet in New
Zealand. Trafalgar Street in the tree-shaded heart of the city is
lined with wooden buildings fronted with covered boardwalks that give
the city a Victorian look. Each Saturday a market is held in the city
center. It's a place I mark as worthy of a return visit.
The next morning is cool and
cloudy, but dry. After a bit of a panic while Matt searches up the keys
to his motorcycle, we're off down the road with Jim in the lead. Today
we will ride north out of Nelson toward Abel Tasman National Park as far
as a scenic mountain lookout, then reverse course and come south
along the Matueka River to rejoin the main highway.
The road up the hill is dry,
clean, empty, and challenging, and we ride briskly to the top, pausing
to enjoy the view before starting back down. By late morning we're back
on the main road down the valley to Murchison and lunch.
So far we've enjoyed good
weather, but as we crest the Hope Saddle and look down the valley that
runs along the northern flanks of Mt. Murchison we see we're headed for
a dramatic change. The valley below us is socked in heavy clouds. We
pull off the road to don rain gear.
Soon we're riding in moderate
rain. I've learned that if I carefully and tightly close the flaps on
the Darien pants they will not leak. I am also wearing a light
waterproof pullover under the Darien jacket and so far I'm dry.
However, I am having a problem keeping my visor from fogging.
We ride on in the rain to Murchison, fuel the bikes, and find a cafe. As
we park, two ducks are swimming across the flooded parking lot. In
the cafe we find Al and the rest of the tour with their wet riding gear
tossed over the backs of chairs, dripping steadily on the floor.
We drink coffee and wait for a break
in the heavy rain. None comes, so finally we bundle up and wade out to
fire up the bikes.
Back on the Highway Six in heavy rain
we twist along the Buller River as it carves its way through the
mountains. The Buller is the principle drainage on the West Coast and
for much of its 169 kilometer course the river roars along contained in
a steep gorge. Obscured in rain and swirling mist, the white-water river
below us has the vague definition and muted colors of a surreal
painting.
One of the Many Deer Farms on the South Island
Because of the bad
weather we've decided to forego a side trip north of Westport to see the
sea lion caves and Cape Foulwind. It's foul enough as it is, and we're
wet  and
cold and ready to find a warm pub. All of us that is except Jim, who is
a riding animal and leaves us at Westport to ride off in the pounding
rain to see the sights.
The run down the coast from
Westport to Punakaiki becomes an endurance test, slogging it out in the
rain. The temperature is just cool enough that I cannot keep my visor
clear without cracking it open an inch. The rain is smacking my face,
soaking the helmet liner, and running down my neck. I'm wearing BMW
waterproof gloves inside Aerostich triple digit waterproof rain
covers. Both are soaked and the wet gloves have lost their thermal
quality leaving me with numb hands. Doesn't anybody make a warm
waterproof glove?
Even through the haze of heavy
rain the coast route is as spectacular as the road along Big Sur. It's a
shame that we're passing through all this great scenery on such a poor
weather day. The "Rainy Coast" is living up to its
reputation. Twice we are slowed to a crawl by cattle on the road that
are being moved in the driving rain to new pasture. I'm forced to
chuckle at the thought of what we must look like, dog paddling the bikes
along in a blinding rain storm in a herd of cows. What a picture.
Also remarkable, Bruce has
sucked it up and thrown his battered leg over his repaired bike and is
toughing his way through the storm somewhere behind us. No one can
accuse this young man of lacking grit.
Much of this wild coast we're
riding through lacked any sizeable population until 1860 when gold was
discovered and thousands of prospectors flooded onto the area.
Punakaiki, located at the mouth of the river by the same name, is now
famous for its pancake rocks, which are sea cliffs that have been deeply
eroded by wind and wave into starkly stratified formations.
The Beach at Punakaiki
Finally we pull into the
motel at Punakaiki, a stones throw from the beach. Matt and I
spread soaked gear all over the room and take turns thawing out in a hot
shower. I come out of the shower to find Matthew microwaving his
soggy gloves. It works--about three short cycles and the gloves are
nearly dry. When word  of
this get around, other members of the group try this trick, and we hear
later that one pair of gloves is forgotten in the microwave for a moment
too long, and becomes a molten mass.
The rain lets up and Matt and I
walk towards the village pub. We're discussing the events of the
day as we pass by a group of young men standing in the doorway of a
small cottage. They recognize our accent and call out, "Hey mate,
come and join us for a beer". It's the local football team (soccer
to us) who pour us a glass and gather around to question us about
California and how we like New Zealand. We visit a while with these
young folks and their coach before resuming our walk to the pub, where
we find Al Walker holding court with the rest of the group. Al is
cheerily taking flack about the miserable riding conditions.
The next morning the sky is
threatening, but it is not raining. We start down the coast toward
Greymouth. Here we turn into the interior for a side trip up to the top
of Arthur's Pass. We ride along the Taramakou River across a broad
alluvial plain before beginning the climb into the mountains. Ahead,
blown inland by the prevailing easterly winds, black clouds are piled
against the peaks that tower over the valley. Soon the rain
starts and quickly becomes a torrential downpour. We bloody well had
enough rain yesterday and pull into a roadside shelter to take stock. We
decide the hell with Arthur's Pass and return to the coast route.
Enough Rain for A lifetime--Jim and Matt
Out from under the rain clouds
and back on the on the main coast road we enter Hokitika, another town
with its origins in the gold rush. We stop for hot soup and to walk
through the line of shops that specialize in products made from the
local jade. Hokitika is known as "the town that turned its back on
the sea". It's true, on the main street it's impossible to see the
beach and ocean that are hidden from view just behind the stores that
front the street. 
South of Hokitika we cross
another of New Zealand's numerous one-lane bridges. A sign at the
entrance to each bridge indicates who has priority to cross and who must
give way. A couple of these bridges have rail tracks down the center and
are a challenge to motorcycles.
We spend the remainder of the
afternoon riding in good weather, crossing several large rivers and
passing through a succession of small villages. We catch a glimpse of
the Franz Josef glacier from the road as we ride by.
We arrive at the motel at Fox
Glacier late in the afternoon and pull the bikes into a covered shelter
in front of our rooms. Several of the group unload their gear and ride a
mile or so out of town to visit the glacier.
Fox Glacier is the
largest ice flow on the West Coast and is unusual for the fact that it
is one of the few places in the world where a glacier reaches down into
the ferns of a rain forest. Tom tells us that the Maori believe the
glacier is formed from the frozen tears of a maiden weeping for her
lover lost in the mountains. A more immediate concern is guarding our
motorcycles from the ravages of the Kea, a bold local parrot known to
eat the rubber seals around windows and mirrors of parked cars,
and, if given a chance, will make a feast of a motorcycle seat. One of
our group stands guard at the bikes while the rest walk up the terminal
moraine to see the glacier.
Fox Glacier--The Dots in the Foreground are People
That evening the village of Fox Glacier is lively and the
local pubs are noisy and crowded with people in tramping clothes. We
find room at the bar and order a pint before dinner at a large table in
a corner of the pub. In the middle of the night I'm awakened by the
crash of a violent thunderstorm pounding the roof. I shudder to think
what the riding conditions will be tomorrow.
Fortunately the next morning is
cloudy, but rain free. We check our maps for today's route and, after a
quick return visit to the glacier, start south again in search of
breakfast on the road. In the lead, I find the salmon farm cafe which
serves a full breakfast that I discovered on my last trip. We're
fortunate that a bus full of tourists is just leaving as we arrive, and
we and five riders from Australia who arrive behind us have our pick of
tables. The entrance to the cafe is a bridge over several ponds in which
we can see large salmon swimming. Inside the cafe salmon fresh from the
pond outside is offered in a variety of dishes.
 
From Pond to Plate
Morning Map Check
At
Haast we leave the coast and turn inland along the Haast River and in a
few miles begin the ascent through the rain forests of Mount Aspiring
National Forest. The moisture laden prevailing winds off the Tasman Sea
dump massive amounts of rain on the western slopes of these mountains
and the vegetation along the road is lush.
Dion in the Rain Forest
We reach the crest
at Haast Pass and, as we descend into the rain shadow of the mountains, the
dense forest gradually gives way to open grasslands. The skies clear and
we're treated to a wonderful view of the Southern Alps as the roads
winds its way into Wanaka, a beautiful little town located in a curve of
beach at the southern end of Lake Wanaka.
East of Hasst Pass on the road to Wanaka
In Wanaka we find Al Walker's house and, as he promised,
he's there brewing tea for a house full of riders. We meet Ruth, Al's
architect wife. The family garage has been converted into Ruth's office
and is filled with drawings and computer equipment.
From Wanaka to Queenstown we try a newly paved road down the Cardrona
Valley and up and over the Crown Range, ending in a spectacular descent
into Queenstown.  What
follows is an hour of some of the best riding on the planet, with only a
brief pause for the view overlooking the Queenstown valley.
Queenstown is a bit of a shock
after the open country of the past few days. The town is the busy
tourist capital of the South Island and a Mecca for thrill junkies. If
you want to soar in the air, bungee jump off a bridge, or do spins in a
jet boat, this is the place for you.
We thread our way through the
SUV's to find the Melbourne Motor Lodge and park the bikes. Tom is
waiting with room keys and we unload and walk down to town to take a
look around and find an internet cafe to check email.
Home in Queenstown
That evening Al introduces us
to his favorite pub down on the waterfront. The place is full of locals
and serves good draft beer and great pizza.
The next day is free and I'm up
early to ride back to Wanaka to go fly fishing with Richard Grimet, a
fishing guide whom I met last year. The morning is clear and cold,
and because I'm concerned that there may be frost on the Crown Range
road, I take the lower route to Wanaka through the scenic Kawarau
Gorge. In a little over an hour of brisk riding I'm at Richard's
house where he is waiting with hot coffee. It's only 8:30 A.M.
Jet Boating in the Kawarau Gorge
Richard and I
drive out of Wanaka down a dirt road to the mouth of the Timaru River
where it flows into Lake Hawea. We unpack our fishing gear and start
walking the stream. Richard explains that because this spot is so close
to town the stream may be a bit crowded. In the next three hours
we see exactly two other fishermen on the river. Richard obviously has
never seen the American River below the Nimbus Dam during salmon season
when hundreds line the stream shoulder to shoulder.
The water in the river appears
clear to me and I can easily see the trout that Richard is pointing out,
but he says the normally crystal clear visibility in the river has been
reduced by the heavy spring rains. Richard, who has grown up fishing
with a fly rod, effortlessly flicks a dry fly lightly onto the
water just upstream of the dark shadow that is a waiting trout. In a
moment he is hooked up and the thrashing fish leaps in a flash of color.
It's more like hunting
than fishing as I know it. We stalk the stream until we see several
trout holding in the shadow of the bank or in a riffle, and only then do
we present a fly. These trout are not plants but native rainbows. We
catch and then release. For me, it's the experience of a lifetime. I
know I'll have to go back.
Richard and I drive back into
Wanaka and I start back to Queenstown, again taking the great road
over the Crown Range. At the crest I catch up with Matt, Harry,  Dion,
and Jim who are returning from a visit to the Fighter Pilot Museum, and
we all ride down into Queenstown.
The excellent Fighter Pilot Museum at
the Wanaka airport houses a number of WW II aircraft and is a must-see
for any aviator.
It's been a perfect day topped
off by a superb ride home. Today has made up for all the bad weather of
the past few days.
For dinner that evening we ride
the gondola to the Skyline Restaurant overlooking Queenstown where we
overeat at the "Taste of New Zealand" six-course buffet,
pausing only to watch the sun set on Lake Wakatipu and the Remarkables
mountains.
Jim on the viewing platform above Queenstorn
Tomorrow we move on to Fiordland and Milford and
Doubtful Sounds.
|
