River City Beemers

On the Road to Milford Sound
 

      At the southern end of the lake we turn into Kingston to have a look at the Kingston Flyer. In the years before the highway,  travelers coming from Invercargill in the south who wanted to reach the gold fields around Queenstown could travel as far north as Gore on the main rail line. From Gore the Kingston Flyer would carry the gold seekers to the south end of Lake Wakatipu where a boat waited to ferry passengers on to Queenstown.

     The vintage steam train at Kingston still operates, now carrying tourists in its seven wooden carriages along the nine miles of remaining track.

       From Kingston we strike south headed for the tip of the South Island and Bluff, the boyhood home of Peter Arnett of CNN Baghdad fame. The international signpost at Stirling Point is as far south as one can drive in New Zealand. We get our photos taken under the sign.

The GPS says S45 36,804 E168 21,447--next stop Antarctica.

     Before we leave Bluff we ride to the top of the headland where some 150 years ago spotters searched the horizon for the telltale waterspout of the black whale. The old whaling station in the Bluff harbor is gone, but from here we can see spread below us the huge aluminum smelter that draws power from a power station 100 miles away and 7,800 feet underground. We'll be there tomorrow.

     Bluff boasts another item of civic pride. This little town has the most amazing public toilet. Fronted by a bed of flowers, it is not only clean and automated, but when you turn the door lock soft classical music begins to play.

     From Bluff we again ride north, stopping for fuel at a little station on the south side of Invercargill. The attendant, a middle-aged lady, comes out to assist and I ask, "Where do the local folks go for a good seafood lunch"?  "No question about that, it would be the M.H.S. King," she answers. She draws out directions and offers to call the restaurant to reserve a table for five.

     Our plans for a quick light lunch turn into a seafood feast. We're all ripe for a nap after the meal, but it's back on the bikes as we must put some miles under us before dark.

     North of Invercargill we turn west along the southern coast, and then north toward Te Anau where we're scheduled for our second farm stay. Matt, Harry, Jim and I are staying together, while Dion is a short distance up the road at another farm. We find the family name on the mail box and turn down a long lane to the farm house. Decima and Murray Lott come out to greet us as we arrive.

The view from the Lott kitchen window                                                

    From the farm house the view in every direction is breath taking. We will stay in this beautiful place for two nights, using the in-place day tomorrow for a visit to either Doubtful Sound or Milford Sound.  Matt, Harry, and I have done the Milford trip and so will make our first trip to Doubtful, reputed to be more remote but just as dramatic as the better known Milford Sound. Jim has not seen Milford so we advise him not to miss it.

 
The view from Harry's window                                                        The Lott Farmhouse                               

     We learn from framed awards on the wall that our host Murray Lott is a champion sheep dog trainer and handler who has competed in international dog trials.  We ask him about the awards and his experiences, and after dinner the next evening he shares with us video tapes of his performances in competitions, explaining the finer points of working the dog by whistling various signals. It's fascinating and a subject about which I knew nothing.

     The following morning we ride into Te Anau to meet Al and sort ourselves into groups for Milford and Doubtful. Matt, Harry, John Paul, Tom and I will make the trip to Doubtful, while the rest of the group will make the ride into Milford.

The Glacial Valley at the Head of Milford Sound
 

Doubtful Sound from Wilmot Pass

     Although Milford and Doubtful are referred to as sounds, they are both in fact excellent examples of fiords, a drowned glaciated valley, typically narrow and steep-sided.

     A good road runs all the way to Milford.  To reach Doubtful we will first ride our bikes to Manapouri and catch a launch to the west side of Lake Manapouri. Then we will travel by motor coach, first to visit the Manapouri Power Station, then up and over Wilmot Pass to the head of Doubtful where we will climb aboard a larger boat for the cruise out the fiord as far as the Tasman Sea. There, clustered on the rocks that bar easy access to the Sound from the sea,  I see my first live penguins in the wild.

      By the time we make the return trip up the sound, retrace the bus route, re-cross Lake Manapouri, and ride the bikes home to the farm, it has been a full day of travel.

The Manapouri Lake launch                                      Sleeping Seals at Milford                       Sleeping Matthew back at the farm

      With its dramatic scenery and easy road access, Milford Sound is more famous than Doubtful, but Doubtful Sound is three times longer with a sea surface some ten times larger than Milford.  Having now seen both, I believe that a visit to both fiords is well worth the effort.

      We thank the Lotts for their generous hospitality and ride out the narrow farm lane to turn north and east for a 300+ mile day to Lake Tekapo. On the way we'll meet the rest of the tour for a hosted lunch in an orchard.

                                                                                                                                                       Mount Cook

     By late afternoon we're north of Twizel riding through grand scenery.  Spring has only lightly touched this higher country and the road here runs for many miles over a great dun colored plain lined at the horizon on both sides of the road by white tipped mountains. In the clear air the distant mountains stand in sharp relief. There is no wind, nothing moves in the landscape but us, and the only sound is the low voice of engine and tires.

      Jim has ridden ahead of the group to insure that he has time before dark to make a run up to the base of Mount Cook. When we reach the Mt. Cook turnoff Matt rides north to see if he can hook up with Jim for the return ride to the village of Lake Tekapo.

Sunset at Lake Tekapo                  Sunrise at The Church of the Good Shepherd
 

     A short walk down the road the Church of the Good Shepherd sits alone on a rise overlooking the lake. Built in 1935 of lakeside stone and oak, and with a clear glass window to afford a view of the lake more inspirational than any stained glass, the tiny church is dedicated to the pioneers of the Mackenzie region. The native thorn bushes which grow about the church go by the wonderful name, "Wild Irishman".

     The next morning we begin our last day on the road. Our route today takes us over Burkes Pass and down onto the Canterbury Plain for the final run into Christchurch. As we load the bikes, I eye the eastern horizon with suspicion. The mountains over which we must pass are obscured by ominous looking clouds and rain. We prepare for the worst and ride out.

     As we reach the hills east of Tekapo and start to gain altitude, rain begins to splatter us, and the temperature drops. I'm in the lead and slow a bit for the conditions, and crack open my visor because I'm again having trouble keeping it fog clear. It's cold but I'm comfortable with the Gerbing jacket cranked full up.

     As we climb into Burkes Pass the pelting rain turns first to sleet, then snow. Rime ice is collecting on my visor and making the road difficult to see. Conditions are rapidly deteriorating and becoming dangerous, and I look for an open cafe or a shelter where we can pull off the road, but we're in open country and I see no safe place out of the weather..

     I think to myself, "If we can hang on for a short while longer without one of us going down on the slippery road, we should soon start the descent out of the mountains and into warmer temperatures". To break the tension,  I'm humming to myself and trying to remember the words to the Bing Crosby tune I've recently heard in a TV ad, "The weather outside is frightful, but the fire is so delightful........".  Then I remember the last line, it's, "Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow."

     We finally crest the pass riding through the biggest snow flakes I've ever seen. Visibility is awful, the country around us is turning white, and the road is covered in slush, but the riders behind me are still in line. Surely we've gotten through the worst of it and should soon be back into rain as we descend.  I think, "How appropriate this is, we've ridden through violent winds and pouring rain, why not snow and ice to round things off."

     Fortunately the road beyond the pass descends steeply and we are quickly out of the snow and back into moderate rain. Ahead over the Canterbury Plain I see the sky is solid overcast and drifting rain showers. We hunker down for a long dreary ride into Christchurch.

     At the edge of the city I see Al fueling the van and pull into the station under the overhang. Most of our tour members are there, or arrive in the next few minutes. Since none of us knows the way, Al suggests that we all follow the van to the Cotswold Hotel. We line up and Al pulls out into traffic with 11 motorcycles in trail. I'm happy to be rid of the responsibility of leading and to have a chance to see a little of the city, at the same time concentrating on staying alive in traffic.

    I'm the first rider in line behind Al in the van so I don't see when John Smith back in the pack is cut off by an aggressive driver and goes down in the slippery street.   Tom stops to assist and they right the bike, it's rideable, but John has taken a nasty smack on his ankle. A shame, only five minutes from the end of the trip.

    It's still raining at the hotel and we dash about unloading the bikes and the van. At the check in desk I hear a familiar voice. It's Jim's wife Janet who has been in New Zealand at an equestrian academy, and has come up to join Jim in Christchurch. She and Jim will do some touring by car before returning home.

    In a hour or so we get a break in the rain and again follow Al in the van to return the bikes to John Rains' Christchurch facility. John is there to check in the bikes, and a little sadly, we part with the machines that have given us such good service.

     That evening John Rains and his wife host a dinner for us at the hotel. Al Walker is also there, looking relieved to have gotten us all through a trip with its difficult moments. Not once did his good humor fail him, and whenever he was needed he seemed to sense it and make a timely arrival with a helping hand. We hand him a pint of Monteith's Black and toast our thanks.

     The following morning most of the group depart for the airport. Jim and Janet are off by car.  Matt, Harry, Dion and I have rented a car and plan to knock about the Christchurch area for a couple of days before flying out.

    The next evening at the Brewers Arms down the street from the hotel,  Matt, Harry, Dion and I talk over the trip and its challenges. We sit beside the fireplace, each of us with a fresh pint in hand. I reflect that time and time again the New Zealanders we've met have commented on what a brutal spring the country was enduring. On the 2000 trip we rode in the rain for a couple of days on the West Coast, but enjoyed great weather for the rest of the trip. When I traveled the tour route in a car in 2001 the weather was sunny, even on the rainy West Coast.

     Matt says, "a motorcyclist accepts weather as the luck of the draw and makes the best of it."  We've certainly ridden in some wild weather and challenging conditions during this trip, and been fortunate that no one in our group of five has dropped a bike or been injured.

And, we've enjoyed it.  I say, "If I remember correctly, didn't Hemingway say something about it being adversity that makes an experience real."  Matt studies his glass, then counters, "Winston Churchill said it better, 'There is nothing more exhilarating than to be shot at, and missed'."

    One thing for sure, we'll remember this motorcycle ride like no other.

    Outside the pub Mathew lines up Harry, Dion, and me for a final picture.

Acknowledgements: Photographs shown on this web site were taken by Tom Van Beveren, Harry Hauss, Matt Kelch, and myself.

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