tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-78941950992365010782024-03-14T20:36:25.433+13:00Sifter Goes (Bike) Ridingsifterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15453244482461385029noreply@blogger.comBlogger254125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7894195099236501078.post-40331330319217487152024-03-09T17:14:00.002+13:002024-03-09T17:24:48.073+13:00Getting back to my roots and rocks<p>As regular readers will have noticed, my cycling volume dropped away considerably over the last few years. There were multiple factors, including work pressures, my "new road" addiction (and the lessened interest in roads well worn), and that my now 50-year-old body was increasingly not coping with the stresses and strains of sitting on a road bike for hours on end. </p><p>Strictly speaking, I was a cycle commuter long before I ever put knobbly tyres on, and started the slow and sometimes painful process of mountain-biking. My first three rides were to Red Rocks and then two laps of Karapoti in 1998, which in hindsight wasn't the nicest introduction to the sport! I hit my peak on or abouts <a href="https://sifter-writes-bikes.blogspot.com/2013/03/a-personal-best-at-karapoti.html" target="_blank">Karapoti day in 2013</a> (an account and comments that literally just brought tears to my eyes as I reread them). Dabbling here and there since has generally triggered some relief that hard-won skills had hung around to a decent extent. But, I never rode so regularly that I was able to experience the stress-free haven that riding on the road came to provide. </p><p>About a year ago, I decided to take a punt by treating myself to a new mountain-bike, on the basis that it would force me out. As a tip of the hat to past support given by Kashi Leuchs way back in 2011, there was never any doubt that the new bike would be a Yeti, and the shortest travel fully (then the SB115, now SB120) seemed to be a best match to my skills and inclinations. </p><p>(Fortunately,) that strategy seems to have worked a treat, to the extent that virtually every homeward commute this year has involved at least 25 minutes of singletrack. It has been fascinating to note how over that time, the trails have seemed to become wider, and the trees further apart, and that despite going faster, features that require attention and careful management seem to come at me more slowly. The virtue of practice, I suppose. </p><p>I haven't yet come a cropper (thanks in no small part to my front tyre hanging on for grim death on a couple of occasions), and the fuller body workout that is MTBing seems to be agreeing well with my lower back. Cadence is all over the place, I'm up and out of the saddle more, and engaging my upper body and core - all good things, I think.</p><p>After a <a href="https://sifter-writes-bikes.blogspot.com/2023/12/mtb-road-trip-tasmania.html" target="_blank">wonderful bit of travel</a> with Sarah and Khulan just before Christmas, commuting, the occasional weekend ride with Khulie and/or Sarah, and a Wellington Anniversary trip to Rotorua, a discount voucher in my Inbox for the Motatapu Marathon event was just the prod I needed to book a trip to Queenstown. I'd been acting dean throughout January, and since that had pushed my workload through the roof, heading south on the Wednesday seemed a good way of clawing some of that time back. As we watched cars on the Crown Range Road out the window of the plane, anticipation was high!</p><p><br /></p><h4 style="text-align: center;">Shakedown ride - Wednesday evening</h4><p>Our flight got in the late afternoon, but by the time we'd got to our hotel, and reassembled the bikes, there was still plenty of daylight ahead, and a short ride beckoned. I needed to buy a whistle for the event, and at the bike store asked for a recommendation that didn't involve shelling out $55 a head for a single gondola ride. With some loose instructions in hand, we set off towards Fernhill.</p><p>After a few minutes on the Link Track, we turned onto the Wynyard Loop climbing trail, which was beautifully constructed on steep terrain, without ever being steep itself.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs3RU32UL6kquxz294bkSn0vnMM9I9dNSgZo51JGRsx6n_-xOF2FO88Szn941nMAMLtYD-sDO7MCm1ExeYVWd9oTRe1nTMOfyTJMUm9SJmWiqDTI-VCxGldpyphg9yYTae-yPyjnmYhP6IF_6XLe0y08V1RNjlS20BzK9BXwWln1LujHxzF5XH6bX12rV4/s4000/20240228_182946.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs3RU32UL6kquxz294bkSn0vnMM9I9dNSgZo51JGRsx6n_-xOF2FO88Szn941nMAMLtYD-sDO7MCm1ExeYVWd9oTRe1nTMOfyTJMUm9SJmWiqDTI-VCxGldpyphg9yYTae-yPyjnmYhP6IF_6XLe0y08V1RNjlS20BzK9BXwWln1LujHxzF5XH6bX12rV4/w400-h300/20240228_182946.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">We lost the scent when that track ended at a 4WD road. We should have gone downhill slightly to pick up the Fernhill Loop track, but instead grovelled uphill on the road, and ended up in the midst of some humungous jumps. There were dozens of spectators there, and we joined them for a few incredulous minutes.</p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdeJ_HgSFcjGZUgVZmvKgMF05NGaLx7OpfiyeNz1vNlosF04eKwmwTROTCeacva5X2Yw7D613qBz6DZxZgyMSk7PWUSjWPXv9-CDVqt5LTryG7npS5-aCUJRpLrRac4DPQntdCTGPyXZlA4ZrcQG0bxRBi2JsBrxNWxWgMICqonVNyxGGKdSffvI_PTF9N/s4000/20240228_184309.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdeJ_HgSFcjGZUgVZmvKgMF05NGaLx7OpfiyeNz1vNlosF04eKwmwTROTCeacva5X2Yw7D613qBz6DZxZgyMSk7PWUSjWPXv9-CDVqt5LTryG7npS5-aCUJRpLrRac4DPQntdCTGPyXZlA4ZrcQG0bxRBi2JsBrxNWxWgMICqonVNyxGGKdSffvI_PTF9N/w400-h300/20240228_184309.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">Almost everyone we asked for advice was "here for the first time", but we did find our way onto McNearly Gnarly (about half way down) which took us to the start of the Fernhill Loop climb. From there we rode to the very top of McNearly, before descending all the way to the lakeside, and cruising back to base, all the blood on the inside, and with bikes and legs appearing to have travelled well. </p><p style="text-align: left;">We celebrated with a 3-foot long pizza, much of which was demolished, with the rest packed into baggies for ride snacks the next day.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPfOfXvfH_yqp08FXzAHipi-n6DlqaxgHG5WL5g4rDy8gcKK4-0Ht0cF_M_-fECisrPKrOu7UxvUwlXrW1uo1Y0bIs2vKyk1wsu8bLYjMlIoztpSsYTN6hZgL5fst2uZxpCJOz0mEegn-XzIsJoy1wFu-0dYova_ja3-Tgt6P2IX2yZ40B2F0RT1TItt2M/s4000/20240228_202633.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPfOfXvfH_yqp08FXzAHipi-n6DlqaxgHG5WL5g4rDy8gcKK4-0Ht0cF_M_-fECisrPKrOu7UxvUwlXrW1uo1Y0bIs2vKyk1wsu8bLYjMlIoztpSsYTN6hZgL5fst2uZxpCJOz0mEegn-XzIsJoy1wFu-0dYova_ja3-Tgt6P2IX2yZ40B2F0RT1TItt2M/w400-h300/20240228_202633.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;">Stats: <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/10852419154" target="_blank">18km ridden</a></p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><h4 style="text-align: center;">Day 2 - The Coronet Loop</h4><p style="text-align: left;">Contrary to common sense, the Motatapu event wasn't the planned centrepiece of the trip. Rather, I was most looking forward to doing the <a href="https://queenstowntrails.org.nz/maps-and-trails/trail-experiences/coronet-loop/" target="_blank">Coronet Loop</a> with Sarah.</p><p style="text-align: left;">We had sampled bits of it on previous visits, namely an unpublished ride down the Bush Creek Track with Ash in 2020, and <a href="https://sifter-writes-bikes.blogspot.com/2022/01/summer-tour-training-camp.html" target="_blank">a foray into Skippers Canyon</a> on our Opens on Christmas Day, 2021. At those times, the loop hadn't been fully established, and I'd been looking forward to checking it out since it had started popping up in my Strava feed. </p><p style="text-align: left;">As the Canadian's would say, we'd lucked out with the weather - a good thing, strangely. After breakfast, we drove to Arrowtown, and after a quick coffee and muffin, located the start of the Bush Creek section, and started climbing under gorgeous clear blue skies. One of the many Motatapu events was coming through here two days hence, and they'd already begun taping off short cuts. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS_hItN8v7XqU-o9Mw-OdLToAb0WCCqSBP5LBXdlB651r8Y3ctic1X-aClob2R4SQGZqf3qVWDMvva3_XGG8forYHSbv9Qer2wGgkqI-Bj4YEjkYMZF_3E37ZBSuQFfWGAFl6zHpdyIUx-tITiBPKqynnl_PdFeB0zWcM447moIkTUVuwXXMReKXlwXZdr/s4000/20240229_105505(0).jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS_hItN8v7XqU-o9Mw-OdLToAb0WCCqSBP5LBXdlB651r8Y3ctic1X-aClob2R4SQGZqf3qVWDMvva3_XGG8forYHSbv9Qer2wGgkqI-Bj4YEjkYMZF_3E37ZBSuQFfWGAFl6zHpdyIUx-tITiBPKqynnl_PdFeB0zWcM447moIkTUVuwXXMReKXlwXZdr/w400-h300/20240229_105505(0).jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">When we'd ridden with Ash there had been a number of challenging creek crossings which eventually soaked three pairs of shoes. These had now all been bridged, and to make matters even better, deviations had been built here and there to lessen the gradient. It was fascinating riding up something we'd only once come down, and trying to piece together years old memories to anticipate what was coming up. </p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijM1vcYBK0Y-ugHQUWX8uX1F5r9eb7Enwig8QjBRX6xLS2stYmgL_z69k2PsJooRjkbbex15Cv0VrctLuyrPD-rKilTaAtoPOrS79O0oeLxreCFRbifL9c8GOBv27AIqZ4n-n848kSDjumuSwfJ8Y3sT6Wtc8G9nOHRXTL88OO1keEpxN55dm0-pAJnwCz/s4000/20240229_111202.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijM1vcYBK0Y-ugHQUWX8uX1F5r9eb7Enwig8QjBRX6xLS2stYmgL_z69k2PsJooRjkbbex15Cv0VrctLuyrPD-rKilTaAtoPOrS79O0oeLxreCFRbifL9c8GOBv27AIqZ4n-n848kSDjumuSwfJ8Y3sT6Wtc8G9nOHRXTL88OO1keEpxN55dm0-pAJnwCz/w400-h300/20240229_111202.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">Having left the beech forest behind, we veered left, and before long were at the start of the Coronet Face Water Race section, with absolutely glorious views over Speargrass Flat and towards Queenstown.</p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin-UtyHIBiWighbhVQU5JESyXBFrqj8l-vD3_9MMI7mFY3hTleISX5XRF2RvQ4PAuUb9Bjrr0ym_Fip6h5GzAGGSfQ_MevpSrwsanvC_S_x8a-jTg7wxcmWJ0Med3eG-QoFElLIwVKLvdjq6_IQigKf8QnJLjocGSsLTCOsN1oirHtjb0D0Jz9hmjyKVYI/s4000/20240229_113414.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin-UtyHIBiWighbhVQU5JESyXBFrqj8l-vD3_9MMI7mFY3hTleISX5XRF2RvQ4PAuUb9Bjrr0ym_Fip6h5GzAGGSfQ_MevpSrwsanvC_S_x8a-jTg7wxcmWJ0Med3eG-QoFElLIwVKLvdjq6_IQigKf8QnJLjocGSsLTCOsN1oirHtjb0D0Jz9hmjyKVYI/w400-h300/20240229_113414.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">The trail has some serious exposure, and it was kind of nice that the two riders we'd seen so far hadn't appeared along this section - for the time being there's no railing, but it wouldn't surprise me if some sections do have protection added, though hopefully not in response to tragedy. </p><p style="text-align: left;">After sidling for a long while, we began climbing up to the road crossing - this we had ridden in the same direction, which mitigated the need for memory juggling. We at a wee rest at the road, and I put up with a few grizzles about the effort required so far. </p><p style="text-align: left;">Alas, we had a bit more climbing to do before the fun descent of Pack, Track and Sack. I was curious to see what this was like on a more suitable bicycle. Our fat-tyred road bikes had been remarkably capable, but I was nonetheless looking forward to doing it with proper brakes, excessive grip, and suspension!</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5yXzSlifmXrfv4_Hsz0FB2ycamElo-_q6nJKvqlFWjfNBG3QOH29X_hqZvsz1VAglfRffZU7yB3_dUCq6v9FqPSzBzwHk5fJnybpIhsZQ4LNVVqs_ZOL68bVRlplzAs3k_SSK3Hd-bbvD5Z0EhOKuCPO3HqNz_G4jcX0sv97AmzCQAc0T-fkDcLodTRbN/s4000/20240229_122241.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5yXzSlifmXrfv4_Hsz0FB2ycamElo-_q6nJKvqlFWjfNBG3QOH29X_hqZvsz1VAglfRffZU7yB3_dUCq6v9FqPSzBzwHk5fJnybpIhsZQ4LNVVqs_ZOL68bVRlplzAs3k_SSK3Hd-bbvD5Z0EhOKuCPO3HqNz_G4jcX0sv97AmzCQAc0T-fkDcLodTRbN/w300-h400/20240229_122241.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sarah moments after a tactical walk</td></tr></tbody></table><p style="text-align: left;">We both successfully navigated the gnarliest section, albeit Sarah on foot. The turnoff away from Skippers Road was a touch sooner than I was expecting, but it did cut out elevation loss. Figuring correctly that Sarah's mood for climbing wouldn't have improved, I left her to it, giving me plenty of time to enjoy the stunning views from Greengates Saddle.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidKX5lLJaMOeakko7-MxgStiAkmOcX6bR1MFFIYowp8yPY9sDyMHFOetIS8ET8MDvKEpZZza-curdtf44kGtLNKtAT9RPOPR2dNydtzQOtk1q_6TLWTWzEmp6ueXjB0Fsi8PKJOT_cSYGhyi5M1PAweFJGFa_k9ECXD2f5d6_afgPA_PGiwcIY_Nv-O1Tk/s4000/20240229_124821.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidKX5lLJaMOeakko7-MxgStiAkmOcX6bR1MFFIYowp8yPY9sDyMHFOetIS8ET8MDvKEpZZza-curdtf44kGtLNKtAT9RPOPR2dNydtzQOtk1q_6TLWTWzEmp6ueXjB0Fsi8PKJOT_cSYGhyi5M1PAweFJGFa_k9ECXD2f5d6_afgPA_PGiwcIY_Nv-O1Tk/w400-h300/20240229_124821.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p style="text-align: left;">After chugging some of our pizza, we descended to a nifty old stone hut, very happy with our bike choices. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkquK_soTVmm2jxUapKUBugOGl5dTGWnBGHGNWbKQbdpg5ec71atsXf1n44G3lfdVNgJbwY5bTChUXJhehEsugJpywG6j68-Dz9CQr72-QGsRPPv0x29vmD9RTztTxpA3ldc0IbQfHe62nwsEinyigS8vau7Pk8FUK0CYz8ePCR8ragI4_WvrEb9IudYFB/s4000/20240229_130407.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkquK_soTVmm2jxUapKUBugOGl5dTGWnBGHGNWbKQbdpg5ec71atsXf1n44G3lfdVNgJbwY5bTChUXJhehEsugJpywG6j68-Dz9CQr72-QGsRPPv0x29vmD9RTztTxpA3ldc0IbQfHe62nwsEinyigS8vau7Pk8FUK0CYz8ePCR8ragI4_WvrEb9IudYFB/w400-h300/20240229_130407.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p style="text-align: left;">We had a quick look inside, but didn't linger. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgldrynQu6xwqU_zcaPXr6sQbmKs_HghEUfA85j1HWDntAbES3ed6E_m-OGgxJ7FpZERl7h_gFngQ-cFp-ndxLPnqLVE6Kywt2t3vJd2hnxLgf2UieSWG6ZCAkec3seg8LnWcNzvIRNptA61cbALz_0ngl049mUPcu2M5KUw0hTo7VRdQz0GGAwAFoVm9Qz/s4000/20240229_130543.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgldrynQu6xwqU_zcaPXr6sQbmKs_HghEUfA85j1HWDntAbES3ed6E_m-OGgxJ7FpZERl7h_gFngQ-cFp-ndxLPnqLVE6Kywt2t3vJd2hnxLgf2UieSWG6ZCAkec3seg8LnWcNzvIRNptA61cbALz_0ngl049mUPcu2M5KUw0hTo7VRdQz0GGAwAFoVm9Qz/w400-h300/20240229_130543.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Greengates Hut</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">Next came the climb up to Picnic Rock, and we sat for a while and soaked in the views. After a bit more riding, including some stream crossings for which some effort was required to keep the shoes dry, we came to the base of the final significant climb of the loop. Sarah got herself emotionally ready by having a lie down in the stream!</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgytVxO92zuWDwLDZhsiVyO8_ShDuNpB__MqIS0WQGtOoyThKoYwob29gvMHcx_1iRs4hMax6NvzHLTQFsG3_hbT80b4HDtT6pd439OWKJ9hY-whJ8YE048J0CNgSp1dNlHcf0OioUdcIe1KlxbrvtCeDdUZB72CalRZZN0J6WOws9wkEpwszSps3HlcfIE/s4000/20240229_133903.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgytVxO92zuWDwLDZhsiVyO8_ShDuNpB__MqIS0WQGtOoyThKoYwob29gvMHcx_1iRs4hMax6NvzHLTQFsG3_hbT80b4HDtT6pd439OWKJ9hY-whJ8YE048J0CNgSp1dNlHcf0OioUdcIe1KlxbrvtCeDdUZB72CalRZZN0J6WOws9wkEpwszSps3HlcfIE/w400-h300/20240229_133903.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">The climb took quite a while, and included sections of trail that seemed to have been built by lawnmower! Occasionally, I thought I could hear some talking, and then spotted a fluoro orange jersey up the way. It turned out this was being worn by a drone operator, to whom I spoke briefly before reconnecting with Sarah. Before the top of the climb I passed a couple of women, who were the fellow's models. After a brief rest, Sarah and I began the long descent to Arrowtown.</p><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW8drq0rReoMo0wDOA-XmnpwoiunwHtHztkyMfkxakp_ATWJkmtpZ5pWuzN08GB-xuqX6Yu3HF_BiwtpCEuJEgj-Ezu-s6GrmgVAWdhb9CD9g7_dBsBsFLO3CiKOYtD9qtY8s0mGYui__jKMDEm6ZgHETejqqLXS2OJuLdcH2MhlwtgBOOGHdKaHfwvPcn/s4000/20240229_150325.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW8drq0rReoMo0wDOA-XmnpwoiunwHtHztkyMfkxakp_ATWJkmtpZ5pWuzN08GB-xuqX6Yu3HF_BiwtpCEuJEgj-Ezu-s6GrmgVAWdhb9CD9g7_dBsBsFLO3CiKOYtD9qtY8s0mGYui__jKMDEm6ZgHETejqqLXS2OJuLdcH2MhlwtgBOOGHdKaHfwvPcn/w400-h300/20240229_150325.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">Our next milestone was Deep Creek Hut, which wasn't quite as quaint as the earlier stone hut. </p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzxADUz2jKe8y4pr-QGoptiCYN_IQKjRNjQc2Yy4ghWP_wAbaEK0gYez1EibMNBn_sPJ_7kmJBr7aja1TqmeGKE_ZXYS15lJ2J3g5I-K2JG7wVYzW3cPRPC_-sYTVRgHb88DR4Pq2b7gsnagzggGi0GTGMIsNhXkfKDc_fknv6yUwtzJ8ofkXl5YFhjglI/s4000/20240229_150745.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzxADUz2jKe8y4pr-QGoptiCYN_IQKjRNjQc2Yy4ghWP_wAbaEK0gYez1EibMNBn_sPJ_7kmJBr7aja1TqmeGKE_ZXYS15lJ2J3g5I-K2JG7wVYzW3cPRPC_-sYTVRgHb88DR4Pq2b7gsnagzggGi0GTGMIsNhXkfKDc_fknv6yUwtzJ8ofkXl5YFhjglI/w400-h300/20240229_150745.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">We soon after arrived at Macetown Road (actually a 4WD road) and began ducking and diving around bogs. I'd mistakenly assumed we'd immediately joined the course I'd ride on Saturday, but it was quite a while before we came to a "Runners merge with Riders" sign that identified where the Soho descent actually hooked in.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Sarah and I had a bit of a debate at a bridge across the river. She was reluctant to take it on account of the steps and steep track on the other side. I'd seen the sign that indicated this was the actual loop, but succumbed to her desire to stay on the "main road". Minutes later, we came upon the first of very many "Enter Here" / "Exit Here" sign pairs, guiding racers as to how they should cross the Arrow River. Fuckity fuck. </p><p style="text-align: left;">When we finished the ride about an hour later, I was rather cranky and was really regretting not taking the dry-feet route. I got over myself soon enough, but... ARGH...!</p><p style="text-align: left;">After loading the bikes into the back of our rental (no mean feat, as it turned out, but we were up to the 3D jigsaw puzzle), we set off for Lake Hawea to rendezvous with the Peters family: Steven, Ash, and Brook. Our first glimpse of the wee one was atop a balance bike, being adeptly ridden no less! </p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJfkglC6urBOcVRgHAlXoHC1o3ceBF4B2vuUHfyh_rFFZwKEq4JY6AHQC_2dqG3lfoHCc3e9asTH_UGWySz0ksu0e18L9YYQMa2ld3DBEnjt2BA3jFx2C9GU4YcNe3PkQa3znwrodp_UG45vSPgDmjQb7Sarksrcs0cIGc2fT9I1HG3QiDAiUyaN2ofDxd/s4000/20240229_180329.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJfkglC6urBOcVRgHAlXoHC1o3ceBF4B2vuUHfyh_rFFZwKEq4JY6AHQC_2dqG3lfoHCc3e9asTH_UGWySz0ksu0e18L9YYQMa2ld3DBEnjt2BA3jFx2C9GU4YcNe3PkQa3znwrodp_UG45vSPgDmjQb7Sarksrcs0cIGc2fT9I1HG3QiDAiUyaN2ofDxd/w300-h400/20240229_180329.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">Stats: <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/10858782778" target="_blank">50km ridden</a>, a must for any fit MTBer in the region!</p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><h4 style="text-align: center;">Cafe Ride Friday</h4><p style="text-align: left;">The next day, Steven was off to Queenstown then Christchurch, so we were without his company. Sarah and I dropped Ash's vehicle in Albert Town while Ash wrangled Brook. Back at home, we were glad to have missed a random heavy downpour, but it had us wondering if our already underway plan would backfire. Fortunately, the rain amounted to little and was perfectly timed. We were soon rolling out without coats on!</p><p style="text-align: left;">We rode initially along the lake, before connecting onto the Hawea River Track which would take us to Albert Town.</p><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1KuDld3-W3d6T1Z4hyphenhyphene4Ox7v8ZlEUF-sSYCsv0IuW80ZR60f-0hoKGtraVbuEM8wKy8N8cRTgRNt7AThFW0RY1KVxdUuMcDLDXuCAp1-stSfW1ngXCgfcvrkFVFsRzUGp84VrSQjIMPPtTV7t8naqWnKm2mvjludQet6qoembfw6ypLZ_256uAgLQNidn/s4000/20240301_095338.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1KuDld3-W3d6T1Z4hyphenhyphene4Ox7v8ZlEUF-sSYCsv0IuW80ZR60f-0hoKGtraVbuEM8wKy8N8cRTgRNt7AThFW0RY1KVxdUuMcDLDXuCAp1-stSfW1ngXCgfcvrkFVFsRzUGp84VrSQjIMPPtTV7t8naqWnKm2mvjludQet6qoembfw6ypLZ_256uAgLQNidn/w400-h300/20240301_095338.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Three of my favourite people in the world</td></tr></tbody></table><p style="text-align: left;">We enjoyed a nice tail wind, plus a bit of gravity, and a mostly-content Brook. Sarah and I became useful entertainment at times, with Brook reciprocating for the sake of the adults. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2fTszJ1_zqHHS0yk-5lps36MctiM4BsTT9uTumkG6_pCLQoWeDRwRoepRQUBzMI00jQv07jpQYa42DvlP57efM69BaXXp9JftFWWuzZkd3z6Ax3IQ8pwcp5pQsrTOGRB-3l5Y617Y9iJf3cGc2nLJfWLO7R1KuicpTqcoBVnbhZizSB1fm5EaVV-YyWaT/s4000/20240301_104213.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2fTszJ1_zqHHS0yk-5lps36MctiM4BsTT9uTumkG6_pCLQoWeDRwRoepRQUBzMI00jQv07jpQYa42DvlP57efM69BaXXp9JftFWWuzZkd3z6Ax3IQ8pwcp5pQsrTOGRB-3l5Y617Y9iJf3cGc2nLJfWLO7R1KuicpTqcoBVnbhZizSB1fm5EaVV-YyWaT/w400-h300/20240301_104213.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">We were all excited about a second breakfast at the Pembroke Patisserie. We shared a table with a Tibetan family, who were holidaying from their current home in Canberra. They were headed to Queenstown and Milford Sound next, and it was both nice to hear about their holiday past, present and future, and to be able to make a few suggestions. </p><p style="text-align: left;">After driving back to Lake Hawea and catching up with a bit of work (email for Sarah and I, parenting and phone calls for Ash), we were well ready for a late afternoon outing, which included admiring <a href="https://1964.co.nz/wanaka-tree/" target="_blank">That Wānaka Tree</a>, or rather, gawking at the tourists going crazy over the once-willow-fencepost. Despite visiting Wānaka a few times, I'd never seen it (or even heard the legend), and the feeding frenzy was something to behold. </p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKahCFSTPvAoB74kjP-4nB9IWcvR4ZYy5e_K6jzmk9FA-dsy1NLadZLDgSEDqlZsMF7ldGZvpwQ_8_v4XzVt0CigMVt09apCf-rYX7wlL-dGfGD5cuJJ7Bos7HI0ViGxi3ROCCa5Gz0Ja1h7M1cbifJIdMK-CJ1MNmMJAUfZuMHyptPlEr1RW4B6yPl-vH/s4000/20240301_164907.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKahCFSTPvAoB74kjP-4nB9IWcvR4ZYy5e_K6jzmk9FA-dsy1NLadZLDgSEDqlZsMF7ldGZvpwQ_8_v4XzVt0CigMVt09apCf-rYX7wlL-dGfGD5cuJJ7Bos7HI0ViGxi3ROCCa5Gz0Ja1h7M1cbifJIdMK-CJ1MNmMJAUfZuMHyptPlEr1RW4B6yPl-vH/w400-h300/20240301_164907.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p style="text-align: left;">Dinner included an ill-fated order of Firebird Fries. The menu did say "smothered in liquid cheese", but the order was more like "liquid cheese with fries", and my usually bomb-proof guts started screaming "ENOUGH ALREADY" surprisingly early into the meal. I did stop before things got too dire, somewhat confident I'd inhaled enough calories to get me through the next day's event. </p><p style="text-align: left;">At dusk, Sarah and I walked to the lake, and I watched her go for a short swim, during which I sat shirtless in order to minimise the pressure on my stomach!!! (Yes, I literally took my shirt off to try to make myself more comfortable...)</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbFgdThMsnTw7HIbm_VPkWOTtFDmbSc9FoQ1DSaYLoN8EedC0EGTRSUzol-iGhMVJRZmNsX9npSowBd2h02xDA7JZZY0KtCWlkT5KcIbc3BKhuo7zjZN5uaGDki-kKR4Hn0S-HLYiywMNpjqCxJmACI70cYOtkoJcrg3IQOOjs08IqrHNeVflypda3WFeC/s4000/20240301_193035.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbFgdThMsnTw7HIbm_VPkWOTtFDmbSc9FoQ1DSaYLoN8EedC0EGTRSUzol-iGhMVJRZmNsX9npSowBd2h02xDA7JZZY0KtCWlkT5KcIbc3BKhuo7zjZN5uaGDki-kKR4Hn0S-HLYiywMNpjqCxJmACI70cYOtkoJcrg3IQOOjs08IqrHNeVflypda3WFeC/w400-h300/20240301_193035.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;">Stats: <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/10864080659" target="_blank">15km ridden</a></p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><h4 style="text-align: center;">Motatapu Race Day</h4><p style="text-align: left;">The event I think of as the Motatapu Marathon has been running the same weekend as Karapoti since 2005. At first glance, the 8am start time was very civilised, but when we did the morning arithmetic, it still demanded a 5-something alarm. </p><p style="text-align: left;">To speed up the breakfast process, I soaked some muesli overnight. I felt a bit bad disturbing Ash so early, but on the other hand it was lovely to be able to say a proper goodbye to her, albeit while we were both a touch sleepy! </p><p style="text-align: left;">We'd contemplated me driving alone and stashing the key for Sarah to collect later, but in the end, she decided to come with me to the start. After registering, we had a quick coffee in the car together, before I said my farewells. I was glad we hadn't started any earlier, as I think I would have felt underdressed, and later, I was glad to be done before the day really heated up. </p><p style="text-align: left;">Only the day before, I'd discovered that <a href="https://sifter-writes-bikes.blogspot.com/2018/07/business-time-and-time-to-reflect-on.html" target="_blank">Tour de France organiser</a>, Jonny Douglas, was going to be in the field, and was delighted when he spotted me in the start chute. A minute later we were rolling over the timing mat together, and a few seconds after that, I was stationary, giving his lovely lady Julie a big hug - a strange but totally necessary mid-race activity!<br /></p><p style="text-align: left;">Jonny and I rode side by side for a while, chatting away - the first time we'd seen each other since a low-key 5 year anniversary celebration of our fundraising trip to France in mid-2023. He stressed that I should go ahead if I wanted to, but we didn't separate until a longish climb about 7-8km into the event. At the top, I'd sensed he'd drifted back (or that I'd drifted ahead), and after a quick glance over my shoulder, I decided to press on.</p><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVSVkHO2h3cvIDexJPZ7YAMPXhaloNR7k9-CMK-TcdvtZH8zaq1vhRqLq8CdcrV-fM2MEMTBLyfcoVEU_Wf7ClpyXHyA6jXnoyjQix5JVso4ncj0shzngVkzVkR_WpI70cIhT0yoy_U-zBbmxLUj5VF_jGrvgQ6XpfuBEs6dV8Rt8qiAYQ2WAUTilMqkEw/s4000/20240302_081353.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVSVkHO2h3cvIDexJPZ7YAMPXhaloNR7k9-CMK-TcdvtZH8zaq1vhRqLq8CdcrV-fM2MEMTBLyfcoVEU_Wf7ClpyXHyA6jXnoyjQix5JVso4ncj0shzngVkzVkR_WpI70cIhT0yoy_U-zBbmxLUj5VF_jGrvgQ6XpfuBEs6dV8Rt8qiAYQ2WAUTilMqkEw/w400-h300/20240302_081353.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jonny, on one of Anton Cooper's retired race rigs</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">The course was pleasant enough for a while - always double track, generally uphill, and in this big open country, the riding was simple, yet arduous. After the second aid station, the course veered to the left, and we started climbing up a wide valley. While visually dramatic, it was a real grind - there were regular stream crossings - all eminently rideable, but deep enough that I started feeling bad for my bike. </p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjERJw4DEYst5ueFrf_Rbh4iNL_W2vsJKXUnKeOt3yuTZ7uAdxuhNyLkFvUUErMyX7D0fVpLT7MejRygf7pKbIXG0jVCYI3xhkrGBgUqa0NP3odGW7LQf1QO_k541dKHQSWecS-_S88PPBocQj2Q4JOD_VH-bLxJA6ToBrTG0Oyy45OVK2duLq3212BxvQP/s3200/11_m-FPIX-32-01211265-DIGITAL_HIGHRES-7337_014616-41949132.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2134" data-original-width="3200" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjERJw4DEYst5ueFrf_Rbh4iNL_W2vsJKXUnKeOt3yuTZ7uAdxuhNyLkFvUUErMyX7D0fVpLT7MejRygf7pKbIXG0jVCYI3xhkrGBgUqa0NP3odGW7LQf1QO_k541dKHQSWecS-_S88PPBocQj2Q4JOD_VH-bLxJA6ToBrTG0Oyy45OVK2duLq3212BxvQP/w400-h266/11_m-FPIX-32-01211265-DIGITAL_HIGHRES-7337_014616-41949132.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p style="clear: both; text-align: left;">To add insult to injury, the 4WD road wasn't seeing a lot of use, and often-times we were riding on grass - very sluggish indeed. I'd felt relatively strong on the gravel surface in the first half of the race, and a few e-bikes aside, was generally passing people. I could feel myself slowing down reinforced by the occasional rider who would overtake me. This was a combination of growing physical fatigue, and I think a bit of a subconscious tantrum over the unmotivating surface. Nonetheless, it wasn't lost on me that the best course of action was to get this over and done with, so I kept pedaling as hard as I was able!</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8YqHSSF7YxMboV5kycqXOuWEoQtLf-lfKQalVkYeiGKQLO-0KMrbrC0GWeartGO8OXGVhT-BGaGm7uzUsgoeScaLTlhLsQfsTgP2_MBLcJ2xQ1zAd8LTazRkA26oLqCfBg-pdNDHMaSfwRc04KoATCBeUSHqs7qM2unZOPW8JRvxzwWZN8sJnDcKzBe5p/s4000/20240302_095350.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8YqHSSF7YxMboV5kycqXOuWEoQtLf-lfKQalVkYeiGKQLO-0KMrbrC0GWeartGO8OXGVhT-BGaGm7uzUsgoeScaLTlhLsQfsTgP2_MBLcJ2xQ1zAd8LTazRkA26oLqCfBg-pdNDHMaSfwRc04KoATCBeUSHqs7qM2unZOPW8JRvxzwWZN8sJnDcKzBe5p/w400-h300/20240302_095350.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Good things come to those that do, and that included the Soho Descent. This was a win-some-lose-some affair, with the double track generally having a good side and a bad side. The bad included some really muddy sections, which were sufficiently trench-like that it wasn't always easy to pop out of them. At least bike washing services weren't far ahead. </p><p style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Soon enough, I was on familiar territory, namely Macetown Road. There awaited a surprising effect - bright sunlight plus a white-ish clay from time to time combined to create a whiteout, and as far as my brain could discern, I was riding on an unblemished bit of pavement. Of course that wasn't the case, but damned if I could tell, and there was nothing for it but to trust my bike. Fortunately, it was well and truly up to the task, and I arrived at the first river crossing rubber side down. The same couldn't be said for the half a dozen or so riders I'd seen tending to punctures - so many that it became weird to keep seeing them.</p><p style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I hated the river section with a passion. Most competitors were riding the crossings, and I'd flip flop between feeling bad for my bike (and carrying it across), and feeling like a bad racer (and riding through the water). Even though the latter approach was pretty guilt-laden, it was interesting to note how possible it was to ride even when hubs and the bottom bracket were fully submerged - the modern mountain-bike really is quite incredible, and a sucker for punishment...</p><p style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Eventually the torture was over, and a short section of dry land was a welcome way to finish. </p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlcACin5iYLUx2pvdFkobgCaaiNBiaLmLwxTNH7111sU_PKCR_rVqQjnmxj8kYzerhaIdbaNGs5qZ1EsuwmCanNrbgWpkm5RP-ihh8_xNh6C2YgAi3dn30X7IygM7iTrrwuHrwVPSBqjfMIUCn2nH3NXNeaF_4cGWKMuYRh2mLzRz6zF9eo9xPtjFtTdi-/s3200/15_m-FPIX-32-01211265-DIGITAL_HIGHRES-7337_054308-41949136.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3200" data-original-width="2134" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlcACin5iYLUx2pvdFkobgCaaiNBiaLmLwxTNH7111sU_PKCR_rVqQjnmxj8kYzerhaIdbaNGs5qZ1EsuwmCanNrbgWpkm5RP-ihh8_xNh6C2YgAi3dn30X7IygM7iTrrwuHrwVPSBqjfMIUCn2nH3NXNeaF_4cGWKMuYRh2mLzRz6zF9eo9xPtjFtTdi-/w266-h400/15_m-FPIX-32-01211265-DIGITAL_HIGHRES-7337_054308-41949136.JPG" width="266" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I wandered around in a daze for a wee while, but shortly after Jonny's arrival, connected with him and Julie. Seeing them snapped me out of my river-funk. </p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlEWnyIAp2mU-hEyxpnqxPif8BfQaRpSN-NDPEusJFZdMiyPnpBdxdpIHRNpXr_QL-PrZw4l-4ZHalTyvgIMvCz3xSZ1bT6v-aJKBbi26hbcYZnEq4UvifgTtI7wCCpFD9tbdgXXQw6IHfr5WGUx4Y2NLjQJk3b9zPzRNSJGjONfmyBeEOAKrcwClWoRQg/s4000/20240302_111618.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlEWnyIAp2mU-hEyxpnqxPif8BfQaRpSN-NDPEusJFZdMiyPnpBdxdpIHRNpXr_QL-PrZw4l-4ZHalTyvgIMvCz3xSZ1bT6v-aJKBbi26hbcYZnEq4UvifgTtI7wCCpFD9tbdgXXQw6IHfr5WGUx4Y2NLjQJk3b9zPzRNSJGjONfmyBeEOAKrcwClWoRQg/w300-h400/20240302_111618.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Rather than sift at the finish area, we made our way into Arrowtown, and enjoyed sitting in the sun out front of a pub. We were visited there by Mark "Willy" Williams, who is an old university mate of Jonny's, one of the driving forced behind Queenstown Trails, and who I'd met at the <a href="https://sifter-writes-bikes.blogspot.com/2012/04/2012-absa-cape-epic.html" target="_blank">2012 Cape Epic</a>. Not long after seeing Willy, Sarah arrived, and after ducking to the shop, we all agreed to relocate to the Shotover River for a swim - a fitting reminder of the event handily completed. </p><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu3Poua4gZQswCPo2HdUL7Fiv0CeB3-FFPekOA_iQNHjSA3VSfYTaSu6yu5xNJvOBkBj96WTfjIRoaKzxrAEeIsnEIMysEcWugQx0j-kRoErGsAygVDzB-B1iMlmkOZFtazFOxYcwmXR4Fkr1yFgRsEAKWWe8rlj1zW9WIReN1ZoaOhIBdbAQWKYf_jDgN/s4000/20240302_150915.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu3Poua4gZQswCPo2HdUL7Fiv0CeB3-FFPekOA_iQNHjSA3VSfYTaSu6yu5xNJvOBkBj96WTfjIRoaKzxrAEeIsnEIMysEcWugQx0j-kRoErGsAygVDzB-B1iMlmkOZFtazFOxYcwmXR4Fkr1yFgRsEAKWWe8rlj1zW9WIReN1ZoaOhIBdbAQWKYf_jDgN/w400-h300/20240302_150915.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Just upstream of the Arthurs Point bridge over the Shotover River</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Given Sarah hadn't had much time to catch up with Jonny and Ju, we had dinner together, and there made a walking date for the following morning. That call enabled me to pack both bikes up - they wouldn't be needed again prior to the next day's flights back to Wellington.</p><p style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Stats: <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/10870044631" target="_blank">47km ridden</a>, and a not-too-shabby 9th place in the 50+ men's category</p><p style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></p><h4 style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Mt Crichton Loop Walk</h4><p style="text-align: left;">We met the next morning after breakfast, and after a 10-minute drive towards Glenorchy, began our walk. This was another great opportunity to natter, but also was spectacular in its own right. We did the loop clockwise, at various times lamenting not being on a bike!</p><p style="text-align: left;">Highlights included more fantastic beech forest, and some pretty crazy evidence of the mining activity of a century ago, including a slot cut through rock to drain the water being used to wash away the hillside.</p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPGpIeQn3lEy9yZtOcE3TVaGtLhxMFUxR4hbBh8om8MUeOshZIo5WISwSW6JZpOYu0Y-dy-_5qsXrPOA5oMFZxPKuRP8w0mlkRfYDmhclTDk56xYoXrJ_Z3DAdgXnYsBlQ7vj1qEQhX_28Q3z0L1G0E3Jbxy_y7xcuOfCNNdipFX1-jLJCnYDxhAGJJZMl/s4000/20240303_103951.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPGpIeQn3lEy9yZtOcE3TVaGtLhxMFUxR4hbBh8om8MUeOshZIo5WISwSW6JZpOYu0Y-dy-_5qsXrPOA5oMFZxPKuRP8w0mlkRfYDmhclTDk56xYoXrJ_Z3DAdgXnYsBlQ7vj1qEQhX_28Q3z0L1G0E3Jbxy_y7xcuOfCNNdipFX1-jLJCnYDxhAGJJZMl/w300-h400/20240303_103951.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p style="clear: both; text-align: left;">After Sam Summers Hut, the track got steeper, but no less beautiful.</p><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja4COJapXEYaJgDudrNfuncWltz-TH9UZU3y7PUyF5iQELMrDup5lhqWmi9UlgL-rkQw27ycK4FVduHIsJ2FlF0VNxKq2F0HK921knk0M596tMMTYUJVB39eMXJ0Ds-7Z4a1Vr9ss6LguIkq1jtvgv2DPVD7lwWagU1TgOh1nSFVB-GbZQfdPMl14Oq8M0/s4000/20240303_105111.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja4COJapXEYaJgDudrNfuncWltz-TH9UZU3y7PUyF5iQELMrDup5lhqWmi9UlgL-rkQw27ycK4FVduHIsJ2FlF0VNxKq2F0HK921knk0M596tMMTYUJVB39eMXJ0Ds-7Z4a1Vr9ss6LguIkq1jtvgv2DPVD7lwWagU1TgOh1nSFVB-GbZQfdPMl14Oq8M0/w300-h400/20240303_105111.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not sure if this waterfall was called "Sam Summers Shower" but it might well have been</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">Surprise of the walk came just before we started descending again. We found ourselves out in the open overlooking Lake Dispute, which Sarah and I had ridden past on our Moke Lake Loop back in 2021, a few days before visiting Skippers Canyon with Khulie. I knew the descent from that Lake had been fairly long, and it was amazing to realise how much elevation we'd gained during our walk. </p><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgsSq4Uv4kcP-lk14lkCCPUXybJNzXbkS93pUS9nVo7VfCPeOEj5BSjrGYJPhPm6r2KPxxO9UeXosF-20ZK5dObspd1T8GPyEQKXAxi6WGWUaOK-JgR3Vu5V27CxfVwCMMQfynAqRVygMWVK0dYP841puJwyVHQSzHC-uNDXHQiRmiaKqi1CfQ4Kw-yHhD/s4000/20240303_112023.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgsSq4Uv4kcP-lk14lkCCPUXybJNzXbkS93pUS9nVo7VfCPeOEj5BSjrGYJPhPm6r2KPxxO9UeXosF-20ZK5dObspd1T8GPyEQKXAxi6WGWUaOK-JgR3Vu5V27CxfVwCMMQfynAqRVygMWVK0dYP841puJwyVHQSzHC-uNDXHQiRmiaKqi1CfQ4Kw-yHhD/w400-h300/20240303_112023.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lakes Dispute and Wakatipu</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The walk back to the car was a good reminder of the previous days' activities, and from time to time I fantasised about being atop a bike. Once back at the car, with no rules broken, Jonny and Ju dropped us back to our rental. We thanked them for their wonderful (and surprise) company, and we hoped we see each other again soon.</p><p style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I dropped Sarah at the airport, before returning to the hotel for the bike bags - much more easily crammed into the car without our additional luggage, and with Sarah's seat rammed forward. At the destination, one's own bike is a godsend, but travelling with it is such a pain in the arse!!! </p><p style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Arrival into Wellington went smoothly, and we caught the airport bus into town, stashed our bike bags in my office, before connecting with Khulie for the drive back to Karori, tired but happy. </p><p style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Stats: <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/10877325298" target="_blank">8km walked not ridden</a></p><h4 style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></h4><h4 style="clear: both; text-align: center;">* * *</h4><p style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Long term review of my Yeti SB115 purchase is that it has had the desired effect and then some. It has not only been a great platform for a handful of adventures - this trip and Tasmania the notable ones - but in no small part has been the motivator for them. In addition, the bike has also hugely enhanced my physical and mental wellbeing through regular commutes between town and Karori, sometimes with Sarah and sometimes alone. Not only has it been lovely to ride, but it has also taken good care of me, and I'm under no illusion that on a lesser beast, I would no doubt be sporting a few extra scars! </p><p style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I may have been a bit rude about the Motatapu course in my description of the event, but it really was a privilege to be able to ride through the various private lands between Glendhu Bay and Arrowtown. I described it largely as I experienced it, but that of course was tainted by the race-like effort that I was putting in. Had I been riding at a more sustainable pace (and keeping my bike out of the water), it would have gotten a gold-star rating for sure. If you haven't had a chance to do it, stick it on your list. </p><p style="clear: both; text-align: left;">This was also our first time travelling with the MTBs in our dusty old Evoc and ChainReaction bike bags. Great success, in no small part due to a pair of after-market mounting stands for the bags (now available as <a href="https://www.marleen.co.nz/accessories/frame-bike-protection/evoc-bike-stand-pro.html" target="_blank">Evoc Bike Stand Pro</a>). I install in the dropouts while the bike is upside down, and then standing upright on the garage floor, it becomes a breeze to remove (or replace) the handlebar for packing into the bag. My SB115 clocked in at just under 24kg in the (12-13 years old) Evoc bag, while Sarah's heavier SB130 was sitting at under 23kg in the lighter CRC bag. Both travelled well. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifZVqfIZlWsQk_NE4dAIvYGIy-VxAqCloDG-s06SgmBDuFREZV3F4EEz4DUHlRTjvXI0A6kpFlgM6J4ofC4iABfrAphPhcO9i43qOA86GnMd_7JEGh0eU9uS4LFYBNj2NAwlVi-C3L4DnTOiThpzt22WNpkJtwJz7_joMkLfdobQnP600WfRCPezcgnkUv/s4000/20240309_163406.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifZVqfIZlWsQk_NE4dAIvYGIy-VxAqCloDG-s06SgmBDuFREZV3F4EEz4DUHlRTjvXI0A6kpFlgM6J4ofC4iABfrAphPhcO9i43qOA86GnMd_7JEGh0eU9uS4LFYBNj2NAwlVi-C3L4DnTOiThpzt22WNpkJtwJz7_joMkLfdobQnP600WfRCPezcgnkUv/w400-h300/20240309_163406.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Exhibit 2</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Motatapu was a great excuse for a long long-weekend away, during which time we clocked up a nicely balanced amount of riding, swimming, walking, and socialising. The stunning scenery and trail infrastructure were the foundation, but great weather and great people made it all the more enjoyable and memorable. Thanks to all involved! </p></div></div>sifterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15453244482461385029noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7894195099236501078.post-52684247917130113082023-12-27T12:03:00.003+13:002023-12-27T12:34:51.430+13:00MTB Road Trip Tasmania<p>Not twelve months ago, in summing up <a href="http://sifter-writes-bikes.blogspot.com/2023/01/tasmanian-devil-tour.html" target="_blank">a curve-ball laden road cycle tour</a> of Tasmania, I described it as "<i>a spot that is begging for a rerun, perhaps with a mountain bike and campervan</i>." Not one to let a good conclusion go untested, once it became time to sort a summer holiday, I began digging into the idea.</p><p>Having committed to riding mountain bikes, the travelling party soon followed. While Kaitlyn hasn't touched her bike since starting university some 5 long years ago, Khulan averages a few rides on hers a week, and by now has probably spent more time mountain biking in her life than I have in mine. While I can still hold my own on a climb, it only took a couple of years for her skills to surpass my own, and the gap has only widened since! Wonderfully, she was interested in joining Sarah and I, and we booked a period which would include Katy's final law exams, hopefully to soften the blow on all of us that she wouldn't be joining us this time. </p><p>I was initially less sure about the motorhome side of the equation, but upon exploring options for getting three people and three large mountain bikes around Tassie, it did seem like a good way of ticking both the transport and accommodation boxes off. I booked a whopping 6-berth vehicle, figuring that while Khulie and the parents slept in two of the double beds, the three bikes could occupy the third. None of us had any campervan experience, so there was an appealing novelty factor too. </p><p>Transport to the airport was a bit of a hoot. Stacking three bike boxes on the roof of our corolla might have been possible, but I discovered one box sat very nicely between the boot and our bike rack. It was remarkably satisfying getting three large boxes, and three beautifully proportioned riders across town, and thanks to my brother Ed's imminent PhD graduation, my father Geoff was on hand to be our driver. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFO1SPJXdFLd_zhmLCCLOBMWCRDs3mWoT_1kUv8ayEn1GSjvI0dw__qaW7-5ijKsObsd2btMI-4j9Ltwc_vNFj5x_o1Q5IYngJpIreiXnTYG3hEhTrgTlaEYETcBG0AOJq0yVdSVG-R_OFPPntjElsUlhJa74_1kfOHU_WCJELPqfzSO9pDH3Htx8icMBR/s4000/20231213_195033.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFO1SPJXdFLd_zhmLCCLOBMWCRDs3mWoT_1kUv8ayEn1GSjvI0dw__qaW7-5ijKsObsd2btMI-4j9Ltwc_vNFj5x_o1Q5IYngJpIreiXnTYG3hEhTrgTlaEYETcBG0AOJq0yVdSVG-R_OFPPntjElsUlhJa74_1kfOHU_WCJELPqfzSO9pDH3Htx8icMBR/w400-h300/20231213_195033.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Unwilling to inflict the drive on Geoff at 3-something in the morning, let alone ourselves, we booked a room at the airport Rydges, and the next morning, after a smooth check-in process, hit the Air New Zealand lounge moments after it opened at 5am. Khulie was a bit battered and bruised once we finally buckled up on our flight to Hobart - a quick dash back to the domestic terminal was required to retrieve her helmet, but her carry-on load was lightened due to some oversized lotions and potions. I guess in the scheme of things better to be replacing creams than a helmet. </p><p style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Thanks to the early start and the 2-hour time difference, it was only late morning when we landed in Hobart. I caught a cab to pick up our RV, and that done it was a short drive back to the airport to collect Sarah, Khulan and our luggage, ever mindful of the necessary 3.5m clearance! When I stood at the doorway with the first box, the door suddenly seemed incredibly small and the box incredibly big. It was some relief to get not one but all three boxes up into the vehicle, and our game of 3D-Tetris underway. </p><p style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></p><h4 style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Mount Wellington, Hobart</h4><p style="text-align: left;">By the time we'd plugged in to our first powered site at the Hobart Showground Motorhome Park, hangriness was threatening to overcome both Khulie and I. We set out on foot to a nearby cafe, and ate before either of us were tipped over the edge. Our return trip took us past a huge outdoor store, where Sarah and I picked up a pair of heavily discounted jandals each, which were put to great use for the remainder of the holiday. Bellies full and feet freshly shod, things were looking up!</p><p style="text-align: left;">Back at the RV, we decided to assemble the bikes, and that done, put them to some good use. The <a href="https://www.hobartcity.com.au/Community/Parks-sportsgrounds-and-reserves/Tracks-and-trails/Riding/North-South-Track" target="_blank">North-South Track</a> on the flanks of kunanyi Mt Wellington beckoned! </p><p style="text-align: left;">By good fortune rather than good management, our parking spot was perfectly positioned. We were not only a few minutes' ride from the Intercity Cycle Path which would take us into Hobart, but also just down the road from the Glenorchy Mountain Bike Park, from which we'd emerge a few hours later. What's more, a stonking tail wind would help us get our legs warm and take the emotional edge off the paved start to the ride. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI5qGzH3BsPb9rkRjYfVVJXKARaZ-A66n_eMZFZH6G-Az0AcWliJcrq8seTTPcLN2fltEHg3oiwDAtfSeqbjW-g45wLqeks1R2xNflpPwzkzYo7hWGnyAxlDUz4YjUv1tcE7TyPyEg9d5BL1g5FMFLhqy21cLyZJnw40jN4kEZ9d4t-MhPo93MumnpkTAC/s4000/20231214_153434.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI5qGzH3BsPb9rkRjYfVVJXKARaZ-A66n_eMZFZH6G-Az0AcWliJcrq8seTTPcLN2fltEHg3oiwDAtfSeqbjW-g45wLqeks1R2xNflpPwzkzYo7hWGnyAxlDUz4YjUv1tcE7TyPyEg9d5BL1g5FMFLhqy21cLyZJnw40jN4kEZ9d4t-MhPo93MumnpkTAC/w400-h300/20231214_153434.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">It took us a couple of hours to get onto the North-South Track itself, forgoing the final paved kilometre by skipping the very top section from the carpark at The Springs. We'd climbed almost 600m vertical to reach our version of the trail head, but within 600m horizontal, it dawned on us that we would be justly rewarded. Indeed, it was apparent our very first ride was setting the bar incredibly high, and it wasn't lost on any of us that this might just be the best track of the trip. </p><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhulhruudMVtwntutgiFNhR_-exlNpkp-ehoPqwP6h1l4iB_aQ1knTty51gaufEY3pt5h2vrqn5yOvMk5Q0TxbOx5Q7Rmlt9RTRNuui3igkaULlOAiEf6WXDga1Kp2RazfSlfiYMYJfrslyMVxNa11uGNx4ZEGqtBGkljCNWVSTHqiiEmGaSv0AY7mGvf3F/s4000/20231214_174602.jpg"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhulhruudMVtwntutgiFNhR_-exlNpkp-ehoPqwP6h1l4iB_aQ1knTty51gaufEY3pt5h2vrqn5yOvMk5Q0TxbOx5Q7Rmlt9RTRNuui3igkaULlOAiEf6WXDga1Kp2RazfSlfiYMYJfrslyMVxNa11uGNx4ZEGqtBGkljCNWVSTHqiiEmGaSv0AY7mGvf3F/w300-h400/20231214_174602.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><p style="text-align: left;">When the bush wasn't blowing my mind, the use of rock in the trail surface was. </p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTmuiRKzn0xLC9MklqXj_cn2cfk2o_RXSZ1yiCv1YiORy-KGpUgGXxUIlL_t_d0baCBvBDQWR-N_oMWFhz1MTnfiq8nVEcfK0YV0NWWNyib2ewfx-fjBFOhgIZABHwpQC9kX0wOrvNotQDK3vfjYooeN8FVuO9wJY6nqAbhmCCZsa26s1d64oAKZC2Dnqn/s4000/20231214_175508.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTmuiRKzn0xLC9MklqXj_cn2cfk2o_RXSZ1yiCv1YiORy-KGpUgGXxUIlL_t_d0baCBvBDQWR-N_oMWFhz1MTnfiq8nVEcfK0YV0NWWNyib2ewfx-fjBFOhgIZABHwpQC9kX0wOrvNotQDK3vfjYooeN8FVuO9wJY6nqAbhmCCZsa26s1d64oAKZC2Dnqn/w300-h400/20231214_175508.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br /><p style="clear: both; text-align: left;">When we reached the upper boundary of the <a href="https://www.gcc.tas.gov.au/discover-glenorchy/venues-and-facilities/glenorchy-mountain-bike-park/" target="_blank">Glenorchy mountain bike park</a>, the style of the trail changed dramatically a couple of times, becoming narrower and steeper initially, and then into a slalom of jumps and huge berms. It paid not to be distracted by the grazing kangaroos!</p><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfYz3z3765qyew-fbOHICY_YKqbY_FcmfF7BHfM7M0OH4y7_TwamX60TUZEr2-Swi3FcTLMp9Fs61FjrKYpmE2eSnwoACmY4JnFO7RSDp15EMDmVKdG0flwgy7W5oDAubfCeiepHm2nrxqbxPPx894uhzNCnkNxKyikMMltxouftjrzosYyPtN8kYT_75y/s4000/20231214_184133.jpg"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfYz3z3765qyew-fbOHICY_YKqbY_FcmfF7BHfM7M0OH4y7_TwamX60TUZEr2-Swi3FcTLMp9Fs61FjrKYpmE2eSnwoACmY4JnFO7RSDp15EMDmVKdG0flwgy7W5oDAubfCeiepHm2nrxqbxPPx894uhzNCnkNxKyikMMltxouftjrzosYyPtN8kYT_75y/w400-h300/20231214_184133.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></p><p style="text-align: left;">As shake-down rides went, this was one hell of a pick, and it was well worth sneaking in. In all, the loop was <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/10378045669" target="_blank">38km and soaked up about 5hrs</a>, including a sit-down dinner and a supermarket mission. </p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><h4 style="text-align: center;">Maydena Bike Park</h4><p></p><p style="text-align: left;">The next morning, we drove 80km to Maydena, a small settlement part way down a long dead end road. Upon arrival, we rebuilt the bikes from their travelling configuration (front wheel installed for Khulie's bike, and both pedals and wheels added for the parents'), and that done, made our way to the <a href="https://www.maydenabikepark.com/" target="_blank">Maydena Bike Park</a> Guest Services centre. </p><p style="text-align: left;">Having done zero homework, I was guided through the various options by a helpful staff member, drawing the conclusion that for the first day at least, we'd require only a $20 Mountain Pass each. This gave us access to a 380vm ascent on a series of Climbing Trails as far up the park as the Midline traverse, beyond which we would need to use the shuttle. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcle74Ccc3XmWd6eTCdEHOY9NACx9mT0EIr6yVz5l8tbg37r5kB8pqKTdAYZpHtlnR19SFf0rzjVhs2eh0xy3P9QrJZdDdUU0ZZiXkMQ27z34g-MWypI1D5a8IFOXMlTsJZ50gMVbzYtt-nRascFe0NmvTmwkvmKGdOBGmAyYWpSEB05YtWx2dOf_6G9bW/s4000/20231215_124529.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcle74Ccc3XmWd6eTCdEHOY9NACx9mT0EIr6yVz5l8tbg37r5kB8pqKTdAYZpHtlnR19SFf0rzjVhs2eh0xy3P9QrJZdDdUU0ZZiXkMQ27z34g-MWypI1D5a8IFOXMlTsJZ50gMVbzYtt-nRascFe0NmvTmwkvmKGdOBGmAyYWpSEB05YtWx2dOf_6G9bW/w400-h300/20231215_124529.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sarah on Giddy-Up</td></tr></tbody></table><p style="text-align: left;">Between Midline and the bottom of the park was the top of the "Lower Mountain Uplift", and while consulting a large map there, we were helped by a friendly Australian, who described our "decision paralysis" quite accurately, and then helped ease it somewhat with suggestions!</p><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA4yHlOuEVAo2bJxhv66V3kKyrLZWk4okK71bLsevszQqLfIuhuddi8xhZkoURGQEtFQVboeIlXUnf4CManAJEItRo1UaUe231laR7JtThmexQ7kpqVdxkrb6_Fe6rlap-vU5pO84il7uil2xkKBTGnrcm8B2DV2Jeuj-lB782dhIHUn5j567NOAzdJ3g5/s4000/20231215_144236.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA4yHlOuEVAo2bJxhv66V3kKyrLZWk4okK71bLsevszQqLfIuhuddi8xhZkoURGQEtFQVboeIlXUnf4CManAJEItRo1UaUe231laR7JtThmexQ7kpqVdxkrb6_Fe6rlap-vU5pO84il7uil2xkKBTGnrcm8B2DV2Jeuj-lB782dhIHUn5j567NOAzdJ3g5/w400-h300/20231215_144236.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Heading along Midline to the Outer Limits track</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">Having made two ascents to Midline, and enjoyed some very well designed and built track below it, we retired to Left of Field campground, about 12km back down the road, and after showers, walked to the nearby pub for dinner.</p><p style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The next morning, it was pretty wet, and for a while we contemplated alternative options, including a drive to the Gordon Dam at the end of the road, and even a gravel road loop. In the end, we hardened up, and decided to have another two and a half laps of the lower park, the last of these fueled by a very good pizza from the park cafe. </p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBrU0A6lHcSN0w-KqCDXniUDYTGbolBfdzi0P3uo3ErWi6PdY9UWQrIY_WKMeppVmCDM9BRtj-AA9g-s6NZaY3JmCIakgoWBifTWLZJvuu-2IwopQSEfQRYC6VruBLRJ9ZwGToTp6ErC0kb-RAJ_2YnJTyQfXbUQn1v98HAA5IRmYZdSHRYXa9iJVJJpB_/s4000/20231216_150640.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBrU0A6lHcSN0w-KqCDXniUDYTGbolBfdzi0P3uo3ErWi6PdY9UWQrIY_WKMeppVmCDM9BRtj-AA9g-s6NZaY3JmCIakgoWBifTWLZJvuu-2IwopQSEfQRYC6VruBLRJ9ZwGToTp6ErC0kb-RAJ_2YnJTyQfXbUQn1v98HAA5IRmYZdSHRYXa9iJVJJpB_/w400-h300/20231216_150640.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">For our third and final day, we upgraded to a shuttle pass in order to enjoy the upper reaches of the park. The first descent was very cold, and I was glad to have worn a woolen t-shirt under my riding jersey and jacket. To this point, Sarah and I had generally ridden the same trails as Khulie, but we separated more often so she could enjoy putting her superior skills to good use! </p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXmBkpW6R9nUGAG0qgt_tDkeaILXz8yQjkHa9MVR1F31HTjgZxZFZTwt1d6UTpYpc4YQmpAg_oL1-fvFNGwo1FQ1jT6qRH5SyiZL1gQ77owd-YJKk6lcbPCGluidMArQQAEdoAH3z5kiu767vAYqsXkRWVFRAK0XEMQ2ak75w78SW9NFRZBMb5fAJA45aN/s4000/20231217_094351.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXmBkpW6R9nUGAG0qgt_tDkeaILXz8yQjkHa9MVR1F31HTjgZxZFZTwt1d6UTpYpc4YQmpAg_oL1-fvFNGwo1FQ1jT6qRH5SyiZL1gQ77owd-YJKk6lcbPCGluidMArQQAEdoAH3z5kiu767vAYqsXkRWVFRAK0XEMQ2ak75w78SW9NFRZBMb5fAJA45aN/w400-h300/20231217_094351.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p style="clear: both; text-align: left;">We did three full uplifts, each giving us a good 40-plus minutes of descending time, peeling off a whopping 700vm per lap. </p><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSAw611tPkewOm0HfQgSJnqo76zhvcl6mm9JYzwdUnu74bHxlk0nzsac5gf463EuWOeMTSQ_QJ5x033knl2RyYGcmVZdIfVWnG4u8bBKQmDlzxYsQ7a2Y7w3QEmMeuiIXssuQ8NaWOeRda5Un6gRq3xIh4VKqUKaZt7m7IM1BIK8fSYyXCQkWT0PRMMlte/s4000/20231217_103324.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSAw611tPkewOm0HfQgSJnqo76zhvcl6mm9JYzwdUnu74bHxlk0nzsac5gf463EuWOeMTSQ_QJ5x033knl2RyYGcmVZdIfVWnG4u8bBKQmDlzxYsQ7a2Y7w3QEmMeuiIXssuQ8NaWOeRda5Un6gRq3xIh4VKqUKaZt7m7IM1BIK8fSYyXCQkWT0PRMMlte/w300-h400/20231217_103324.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sarah on Green Room</td></tr></tbody></table><p>By the time we were done, the three-ride <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/10382271110" target="_blank">mix</a> of <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/10382271110" target="_blank">pedaling</a> and <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/10392242254" target="_blank">shuttles</a> seemed perfect. There were many more trail choices below Midline, and the climbing trails had been a fun and cost-effective way of sampling them. </p><p>We did find the track grading a bit hit-and-miss, with some of the intermediate (Blue) tracks definitely being a step up from the harder (Black) trails. We found it was best to keep your wits about you at all times, and be prepared for the odd tactical walk! </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1-Mpp81y1MwEX4vq0atcmb-FyXBJenn9y2qkzLNFUHmxCZz_xdDGV-RZzMgt6Kymy-W8ZmQldqNRBulMPH29qyZ-hiRm23w3_OsGiwp6WSvVVYYesvGP3kLQxB0MO1AhFtfqcHKzGxGAjqgkNQrl52ZBQvkZMoANdDdSlJHValvJ0tv78What27acGS17/s4000/20231217_114720.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1-Mpp81y1MwEX4vq0atcmb-FyXBJenn9y2qkzLNFUHmxCZz_xdDGV-RZzMgt6Kymy-W8ZmQldqNRBulMPH29qyZ-hiRm23w3_OsGiwp6WSvVVYYesvGP3kLQxB0MO1AhFtfqcHKzGxGAjqgkNQrl52ZBQvkZMoANdDdSlJHValvJ0tv78What27acGS17/w400-h300/20231217_114720.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yeti SB115 looking splendid atop the Maydena Bike Park</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">After a bit of bike cleaning, we settled in for the three hour drive to our next spot - Queenstown on the West Coast. Sarah and I had toured on much of the route we drove, and it was fun to reminisce. </p><div><br /></div><h4 style="text-align: center;">Mt Owen MTB Trails, Queenstown</h4><p style="text-align: left;">We awoke to pretty grimy weather, and I was kind of glad I hadn't been organised enough to book shuttles into the upper reaches of the <a href="https://mtb.westcoasttas.com.au/ride/owen/" target="_blank">Mt Owen MTB Trails</a>. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQtIS4yoVXtr3ykUygBclPSpsKKqHYSVv_C5Vt2rvzIWfGIX8hpeTQIYR05ch4mhJGPWyX6c4RZapSvSEy2c95r_HxOCYrRTPBjR1wh5glFoOVtPLijg5cWwUiOT4_3t2dzyFbTCxn4C3Z7Y70hPs5Bd1qNm-2GtRm4VD2B2NrY91BkeJaOEa3l0uSBLWV/s4000/20231217_184513.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQtIS4yoVXtr3ykUygBclPSpsKKqHYSVv_C5Vt2rvzIWfGIX8hpeTQIYR05ch4mhJGPWyX6c4RZapSvSEy2c95r_HxOCYrRTPBjR1wh5glFoOVtPLijg5cWwUiOT4_3t2dzyFbTCxn4C3Z7Y70hPs5Bd1qNm-2GtRm4VD2B2NrY91BkeJaOEa3l0uSBLWV/w300-h400/20231217_184513.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Shuttle-only access to the North Owen Descent</td></tr></tbody></table><p style="text-align: left;">Nonetheless, we were able to climb almost 400vm over six very nicely designed kilometres of trail, before clocking up almost as much distance on the descent. </p><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTZAl4OmSkEWTLAsZgBcg24p7OTSdZwbK2dpA4aH8XPkTSSjBY0P5zVzF44PeLoH6NaJYtsULiohC4Ba5CZkggATknarijhdGGrz4L-k9O-_Ricwo5pgdq-0VUkN5nqK62Hj_8gRG7Ik4-3sU3884WWxUPe9u6sZTIr4YW-_REx7DnreNhwUk7hAXXnqCV/s4000/20231218_122557.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTZAl4OmSkEWTLAsZgBcg24p7OTSdZwbK2dpA4aH8XPkTSSjBY0P5zVzF44PeLoH6NaJYtsULiohC4Ba5CZkggATknarijhdGGrz4L-k9O-_Ricwo5pgdq-0VUkN5nqK62Hj_8gRG7Ik4-3sU3884WWxUPe9u6sZTIr4YW-_REx7DnreNhwUk7hAXXnqCV/w300-h400/20231218_122557.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Near the top of Sledge Track</td></tr></tbody></table><br />The network basically followed a ridge parallel with the road we'd driven down the evening before, with the spectacular Horsetail Falls feeding the valley between them. We were afforded great views over Queenstown itself, and the road, and at various times could make out the airport perched atop a hill. <br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl_qJ06NTGTJ-xENJgf4mDijP7XHmbjkQoutwyM08DYMqQb6iOCnabrLTgwpzVfHDn_CnMNbl_9x7MjTMEPtYg_LaByulYcOuSQNsn_bMN-eXyFkcCSwoHmW5AGyTK2nMlsPjzKngUVUYYAhAyyKdRqGs1V02cHjBday-nsjsfYAUloIFZQxeiyyENpnmo/s4000/20231218_124039.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl_qJ06NTGTJ-xENJgf4mDijP7XHmbjkQoutwyM08DYMqQb6iOCnabrLTgwpzVfHDn_CnMNbl_9x7MjTMEPtYg_LaByulYcOuSQNsn_bMN-eXyFkcCSwoHmW5AGyTK2nMlsPjzKngUVUYYAhAyyKdRqGs1V02cHjBday-nsjsfYAUloIFZQxeiyyENpnmo/w300-h400/20231218_124039.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Going down on Sticht Up</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div>The geology of the area was apparently very complex, and the track surface was constantly changing, at times spectacularly so. There were a few white-out sections where it was pretty hard to make out where the track was. Aside from the upper-most loop which got a bit muddy at times, it was a pretty perfect surface to be riding on in the wet. </div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGHBwnPMtviTtIA9ZkkRzdGF-8vH6_GrU6uPlilQID3VMDh7hI4OHsJo4XCNlgKGMWCrZxoRFEBXA5Ov1rVNyyoOaSJF3i7OFk2zCTTFa8a2WuNka6_DdUq4WFWsKYA_GwPZlw6edFUJ__Y6IjmecTlfNZqAOF9_pQRb82kuFcKzJBLkCr7x5rZgHOUVSZ/s4000/20231218_125255.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGHBwnPMtviTtIA9ZkkRzdGF-8vH6_GrU6uPlilQID3VMDh7hI4OHsJo4XCNlgKGMWCrZxoRFEBXA5Ov1rVNyyoOaSJF3i7OFk2zCTTFa8a2WuNka6_DdUq4WFWsKYA_GwPZlw6edFUJ__Y6IjmecTlfNZqAOF9_pQRb82kuFcKzJBLkCr7x5rZgHOUVSZ/w400-h300/20231218_125255.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Welcome to Queenstown</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">In the Tour de France, they'd call this a transition stage, but the <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/10397702423" target="_blank">short ride in cold conditions</a> helped break up our driving foray into the West Coast. I'm sure that a sunny day would call for at least one uplift to the top of Waterfall.</p><p style="text-align: left;">After a bit of arithmetic, I decided to forgo a visit to the <a href="https://mtb.westcoasttas.com.au/ride/heemskirk/" target="_blank">Silver City trails</a> in Zeahan, instead driving as far as Devonport to set us up for our next ride in the Wild Mersey network - a recommendation from a fellow I chatted to during one of our shuttle rides at Maydena. </p><p style="text-align: left;">One of Khulie's superpowers is the ability to sleep upright, and as far as I could tell with regular glances in the rear-view mirror, she missed a fair bit of the scenery on the 200km drive. Much of the route was new to me, and overlapped with last year's riding route only between Tullah and the Cradle Mountain turn off. Sarah and I had a short walk to see the Anthony Dam at Lake Plimsoll, though the best views from below the dam were probably off the road. Cycle tourists take note!</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihk0rQj0QvQ7KbaO9i7XZfX81P18Id9sY-Q-7rBk0UntqvPPik8sI-2DVyabOF_cFDiDkacRaG2DS26e72mGIwdHAmFooUio_M6dPx-I36ftRaX3VRvnICs8nOAVzvcMgkH2lSb3iv5P-sQW7XGjgCtinyLH91gh9zKfBEUcfzV9v73a9_FmV01ZHmwI7J/s3807/20231218_153221.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2856" data-original-width="3807" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihk0rQj0QvQ7KbaO9i7XZfX81P18Id9sY-Q-7rBk0UntqvPPik8sI-2DVyabOF_cFDiDkacRaG2DS26e72mGIwdHAmFooUio_M6dPx-I36ftRaX3VRvnICs8nOAVzvcMgkH2lSb3iv5P-sQW7XGjgCtinyLH91gh9zKfBEUcfzV9v73a9_FmV01ZHmwI7J/w400-h300/20231218_153221.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looking up Lake Plimsoll from Anthony Dam</td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div><div><h4 style="text-align: center;">Wild Mersey</h4><p style="text-align: left;">Our overnight stay in Devonport was short but pretty action packed. When we arrived at our campground in East Devonport, the whole side of the town was experiencing a power cut, thanks to someone in a ute who had recently decided to take on a power pole. From our table at an Indian restaurant by the Mersey River, we watched one of the massive ferries departing for Melbourne. It couldn't have been much more than 100m from us, and the restaurant was virtually at sea-level, and the boat was incredibly imposing from our vantage point. After we'd turned in, the heavens really opened, but at some point our brains decided that we no longer needed reports of the heavy rain on the campervan roof, and we all slept soundly enough.</p><p style="text-align: left;">After breakfast, we made the short drive to Sheffield, where we had an extra coffee and picked up a paper map of the <a href="https://ridewildmersey.com.au/">Wild Mersey</a> trail network from the information centre. Google helped us to find the trail head carpark off Nook Road. </p><p style="text-align: left;">For me it was pretty much love at first sight. A section of the <a href="https://bikepacking.com/routes/tasmanian-trail/" target="_blank">Tasmanian Trail bikepacking route</a> took us through to the small town of Railton, along which time we snuck in a beautifully designed wee loop of Shredwater Creek + Ewoks. Perhaps the heavy overnight rain in Devonport had completely bypassed this area, but if not, the area had drained incredibly well, and fears of a mud-bath were unfounded. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKLPnRMPBBFSWKGZ8Er8NqiLj_w2tI3qgbAGJjUjXY1O4VVEqWZzf7z7VWFLzl6N0t_u8Ujsvje0V6xCpL04Mb86bN0f-11hBwOe470ExrU-HAXJWGgNuP-77VmRjM4_wC5OP9UykrQiOQgvjJrSmUKY8AvetRdCdL3ViIkTAu_VogM9jHLEbhwCJSJoIn/s4000/20231219_113930.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKLPnRMPBBFSWKGZ8Er8NqiLj_w2tI3qgbAGJjUjXY1O4VVEqWZzf7z7VWFLzl6N0t_u8Ujsvje0V6xCpL04Mb86bN0f-11hBwOe470ExrU-HAXJWGgNuP-77VmRjM4_wC5OP9UykrQiOQgvjJrSmUKY8AvetRdCdL3ViIkTAu_VogM9jHLEbhwCJSJoIn/w400-h300/20231219_113930.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tasmanian Trail section aka the Railton Rattler</td></tr></tbody></table><p style="text-align: left;">We stopped for a pick-me-up at a very bike friendly cafe in Railton, replete with MTB magazines on all the tables, before setting off on an almost 100% single track loop back to our vehicle in Sheffield. </p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfu5gHNkLLRDK7XpjihPWYBqEx-_aUuWkzwmenWekDtmLN2475F6AGRCjoQ5L8RcXx9LvfMqEI_PBGdDwN1_hrJdQRkjNwyxM9vxDLbgAutfiz0zTzTlwtpfXSH3TZQpOZQOJaPQ5h4zrgQuet5RaGhmsK8t3AaJTWLPV6_dMkwoV1BtDhx7RGm6BibIWj/s4000/20231219_124055.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfu5gHNkLLRDK7XpjihPWYBqEx-_aUuWkzwmenWekDtmLN2475F6AGRCjoQ5L8RcXx9LvfMqEI_PBGdDwN1_hrJdQRkjNwyxM9vxDLbgAutfiz0zTzTlwtpfXSH3TZQpOZQOJaPQ5h4zrgQuet5RaGhmsK8t3AaJTWLPV6_dMkwoV1BtDhx7RGm6BibIWj/w300-h400/20231219_124055.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><p style="text-align: left;">As we climbed away from a suburban area on Green Hornet, I thought I saw either a small snake or a large lizard. Whichever it was, it disappeared pretty quickly off the track as I passed it. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRb3RQNb6stVdo7whLtRmV2B7xH9NQMWfsW7JLUBMFcrRiOyKFPS5LfKrYb2xO2MpHV4_UogsA4yElUmoyIiXolFHepKsrNjxnLYFjdssrHr-P_ONkTnG3-RtxVQXgogKbLSNOpu9U2A82miX96JcpOmEybePJttfuQMjohh1eTZ5-EHV_JXjsApWewbKt/s4000/20231219_132100.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRb3RQNb6stVdo7whLtRmV2B7xH9NQMWfsW7JLUBMFcrRiOyKFPS5LfKrYb2xO2MpHV4_UogsA4yElUmoyIiXolFHepKsrNjxnLYFjdssrHr-P_ONkTnG3-RtxVQXgogKbLSNOpu9U2A82miX96JcpOmEybePJttfuQMjohh1eTZ5-EHV_JXjsApWewbKt/w400-h300/20231219_132100.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">After a couple of short but fun climbing trails, we were offered a track which wasn't on our paper map - Raptor Ridge. We'd just added a short loop, and so incorrectly assumed this extension wouldn't be much longer. WRONG! The extension actually added 10km, and took us an hour and a half! The track was sweet, but it was both physically and mentally demanding. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRhyetymRAlSZjKFevrvL8bI4X2gbzEcaYH6oRjmyRYCUO7z0-IFeK6ktKUsrRBqS5twl-CmtL3tHUbf7VfXbJcjQViokj2GeUc9YZeUbfpx2rom5G-T5OqnFbCHFXijdWY4HbgKPEmJnuL5XW_HW1LstaRnIownlUL-sUUw5FARIgPMzOBgHrShGmBEpV/s4000/20231219_134858.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRhyetymRAlSZjKFevrvL8bI4X2gbzEcaYH6oRjmyRYCUO7z0-IFeK6ktKUsrRBqS5twl-CmtL3tHUbf7VfXbJcjQViokj2GeUc9YZeUbfpx2rom5G-T5OqnFbCHFXijdWY4HbgKPEmJnuL5XW_HW1LstaRnIownlUL-sUUw5FARIgPMzOBgHrShGmBEpV/w400-h300/20231219_134858.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Trying to keep the troops entertained!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">Back on the main loop, we continued climbing. We lost Sarah for a few minutes when she decided to take an unintuitive turn up at a 4WD crossing. That was briefly stressful, but was no match for what came next.</p><p style="text-align: left;">With words like "exquisite" and "sublime" running through my mind, I was greatly enjoying a technical climb, and like a typical Kiwi cyclist with nothing particularly worrisome on the ground to watch out for, was intently focused on a spot just beyond my front wheel. Consequently, I didn't spot the snake sunning itself on the trail until I was alongside it. At that point, stopping would have been catastrophic, as one of my feet would surely have ended up on or very near the snake, so I pedaled increasingly frantically. Initially this propelled my bike forward, but then my chain dropped and for a couple of pedal revolutions my bike went nowhere. At that point, I hit the eject button, and ended up in a heap off the side of the trail. I didn't lie there for long, not really knowing where old-mate snake was...</p><p style="text-align: left;">Back on my feet, I looked at my bike only to see the snake's head trapped between my chain and the lower jockey wheel of my rear derailleur. In many respects, my dear Yeti could not have done a more perfect job of saving me than this, with the pointy end of the snake being kept well away from my ankle... </p><p style="text-align: left;">By this stage, Khulan had stopped a few metres away, and we both watched as the snake successfully extricated itself from my drive train, and slithered away into the bush. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicSow5JOZjxt1kxpusBMV2DSThYFmB-gj5C1p5446RTYvRzfmksqoqAoaLAsJF9_R1WypjWUL6MT-AfWc3XvHaUJJa-9aLUeOC9I_uDJAmXZ4logtqmGZHY1kuDx_0Ftn_6jviN4v_Dw2trWQCKLHHa4ZJklqDU5fWFuS8fII-j_Fz_DvMqfPQUBKp2IMa/s4000/20231219_163231.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicSow5JOZjxt1kxpusBMV2DSThYFmB-gj5C1p5446RTYvRzfmksqoqAoaLAsJF9_R1WypjWUL6MT-AfWc3XvHaUJJa-9aLUeOC9I_uDJAmXZ4logtqmGZHY1kuDx_0Ftn_6jviN4v_Dw2trWQCKLHHa4ZJklqDU5fWFuS8fII-j_Fz_DvMqfPQUBKp2IMa/s320/20231219_163231.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">I ran diagnostics, and concluded that all my divots were caused by hitting the ground, rather than directly due to the snake. It seemed that I'd probably live to tell the tale. Far from feeling great about that, this whole experience was a real buzz kill, and very chilling. </p><p style="text-align: left;">For a start, I felt stupid for not being better prepared to avoid this, by adjusting my riding style to suit the potentially treacherous trail conditions. It was also incredibly freaky to come so close to having a serious incident with this "large and highly venomous" Tasmanian Tiger Snake. Getting bitten would have put us all in a really bad situation, and we hadn't studied up how best to act if it did happen (i.e. we hadn't read the likes of <a href="https://taswildlife.org/snake-bite-emergencies/" target="_blank">this advice</a> in advance which compelling advocates for staying completely still). </p><p style="text-align: left;">The good news was that I'd appeared to dodge a bullet. The bad news was that we still had plenty of riding ahead of us. Taking point once more, I desperately tried to interrogate every tree root, fallen branch, shadow and blemish on the trail ahead, this time well before passing it. Between that impossible task and the snake encounter, the absolutely stunning trails through to the end of <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/10402993807" target="_blank">our 50km loop</a> were not much fun, and I was absolutely frazzled by the end of it. The distance blowing out the way it had, plus the drama, had worn all of us down.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Luckily we were the only ones that day who had bitten off more than we could chew...</p><p style="text-align: left;">After loading the bikes we were able to calm our nerves with a 150km drive to Bridport. In hindsight, we should have stopped for dinner in Launceston, but fortunately a pub were willing to serve us after their kitchen had begun to wind down for the evening. </p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><h4 style="text-align: center;">Blue Derby</h4><p style="text-align: left;">The next morning, it was a relatively short drive to Derby, where we set up camp in Derby Park in the absence of a powered campground. We were a touch unprepared for there to be no convenience store in the wee town, so had to make a couple of trips to nearby Branxholm - no big deal in a car, but a bit of a drag in a motorhome! </p><p style="text-align: left;">We found a flattish parking spot, and who did we find as our next door neighbour? None other than the fellow who'd kindly given us advice at Maydena. This time we properly introduced ourselves to Kevin, who was making his second months-long break from work and as a result knew Tasmania and its MTB jewels very well. He was getting ready to head out for a ride on his E-bike, and invited us to join him. </p><p style="text-align: left;">Kevin treated us to a short but stunning loop in <a href="https://www.ridebluederby.com.au/" target="_blank">Blue Derby</a>, the self-proclaimed "home of Australian mountain biking". The orientation ride was really helpful, the trails were beautifully designed and built, and fun to ride, AND THERE WERE NO SNAKES TO BE SEEN. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUnBQ1aGbxCU59GdF7-OinP5DoafjgA8zQQZkrVRyTDRj0YQJlgIsoigcZ89J7iRYLkfYauZw22ZnGX-eGYb5VARWlOG-Of3fWUnz80jG0Qbe-cNsQYQwUYVoN43f_47PHOWoHZZxngompwvTzKG1k35pVh7fuvKsewYY4g9xHtgcg6fi8Ni91KzF8F1Se/s4000/20231220_123321.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUnBQ1aGbxCU59GdF7-OinP5DoafjgA8zQQZkrVRyTDRj0YQJlgIsoigcZ89J7iRYLkfYauZw22ZnGX-eGYb5VARWlOG-Of3fWUnz80jG0Qbe-cNsQYQwUYVoN43f_47PHOWoHZZxngompwvTzKG1k35pVh7fuvKsewYY4g9xHtgcg6fi8Ni91KzF8F1Se/w400-h300/20231220_123321.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Below Tasty Trout Falls</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2qfipXejFuaVOP13ncfcpceNjCe7S089psMUqDc0vQDeReENVsiunnCr6TaSXqzPrQ4aA1sRzfYi63easdhpIsH99fKLr2x8_S6MCqeteMC16d8ftvIDqlEmqbFBgXM68d67wQwYJI2R_lBQZRKBlxRTrf55wyTbRpK2yaRstRUfJsygR5S6_OK3oLs7e/s4000/20231220_124243.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2qfipXejFuaVOP13ncfcpceNjCe7S089psMUqDc0vQDeReENVsiunnCr6TaSXqzPrQ4aA1sRzfYi63easdhpIsH99fKLr2x8_S6MCqeteMC16d8ftvIDqlEmqbFBgXM68d67wQwYJI2R_lBQZRKBlxRTrf55wyTbRpK2yaRstRUfJsygR5S6_OK3oLs7e/w400-h300/20231220_124243.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Heading into Krushka's</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWzII_Anei9thWaKhA-aGm5XYj5dZGUAhM1Db139cG9Yrcp-_LLx2CAnk3qKWmTdLq4bjwvDCxi3gI0NWsKAHcrTxp2hrVA7kTKLu5IQZ079yuHIA2BXM5iPouQeSjW94zmIVBzzHK3qEVTe3d6S3ThfAtRxE4d6dy5UQe0asHJzeIz7h114j7g-CyFHGb/s4000/20231220_134437.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWzII_Anei9thWaKhA-aGm5XYj5dZGUAhM1Db139cG9Yrcp-_LLx2CAnk3qKWmTdLq4bjwvDCxi3gI0NWsKAHcrTxp2hrVA7kTKLu5IQZ079yuHIA2BXM5iPouQeSjW94zmIVBzzHK3qEVTe3d6S3ThfAtRxE4d6dy5UQe0asHJzeIz7h114j7g-CyFHGb/w300-h400/20231220_134437.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Khulie on Krushka's</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi35YvExr_PbTB4yd8MAid2_o9KlUdJ1b5s_wh3OA7e_dU_4zBt-pbyiRmR5mJHULAD2ImWY4x7tjGe80vTAL99Y_QNoKNVw_nGKa7wGsjKJCxGcJnrcZkJrE_E6Myp8iRjaA9Kz4DpMmTRZrzKiuTJ2rBUXPRY1qLfqH_zGlpE0k9_dDya1pfxdr5cXROa/s4000/20231220_142210.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi35YvExr_PbTB4yd8MAid2_o9KlUdJ1b5s_wh3OA7e_dU_4zBt-pbyiRmR5mJHULAD2ImWY4x7tjGe80vTAL99Y_QNoKNVw_nGKa7wGsjKJCxGcJnrcZkJrE_E6Myp8iRjaA9Kz4DpMmTRZrzKiuTJ2rBUXPRY1qLfqH_zGlpE0k9_dDya1pfxdr5cXROa/w400-h300/20231220_142210.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Khulie, Kevin and Sarah at the top of Twisties</td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;"><br /><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEoFis1-JKeEXwcDYU_eTMlmdAHsUs2S3Xk_nPEkUU1XuU61KXKm4AVYuD7kn7YYfSSdFX3rkAq1Y_k7A5rwZnsGr5lPkfrlf0UB3MWQAJTPpGOe0B0TzZmef7dp6MvCSEtZVVsKkMC68C0EuiYkK9elyM0oKzmc7-6CMi3L_cV4OfYdhtkX5KkzrIZwG4/s4000/20231220_142847.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEoFis1-JKeEXwcDYU_eTMlmdAHsUs2S3Xk_nPEkUU1XuU61KXKm4AVYuD7kn7YYfSSdFX3rkAq1Y_k7A5rwZnsGr5lPkfrlf0UB3MWQAJTPpGOe0B0TzZmef7dp6MvCSEtZVVsKkMC68C0EuiYkK9elyM0oKzmc7-6CMi3L_cV4OfYdhtkX5KkzrIZwG4/w400-h300/20231220_142847.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Heading into the long and (fortunately) lit Derby Tunnel</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjICrLZwSAfIU8R-1So7pt9uXUbv29jrdOXYniFiwHs3SYa4nURXyKK6wCQAa1FpA4jS7NmJp7tTg2Nv1m81lLHUEiQuBNhw-_bnyh-5N-olTZW7dqVTAvgbUBBgILVYERT6vo-vDJvK3hScxWJhYsWywr_fs941cEJXesLo45DLlvhFM2qdWkuTrDG3Dr4/s4000/20231220_145855(0).jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjICrLZwSAfIU8R-1So7pt9uXUbv29jrdOXYniFiwHs3SYa4nURXyKK6wCQAa1FpA4jS7NmJp7tTg2Nv1m81lLHUEiQuBNhw-_bnyh-5N-olTZW7dqVTAvgbUBBgILVYERT6vo-vDJvK3hScxWJhYsWywr_fs941cEJXesLo45DLlvhFM2qdWkuTrDG3Dr4/w400-h300/20231220_145855(0).jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Derby main drag</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">After <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/10407955301" target="_blank">showing us back to the trail head</a>, Kevin headed in for another lap, while we celebrated with a half dozen donuts from one of the main bike-stores on the main road. It remains curious to me that a town that can sustain no fewer than five bike shops doesn't have a shop where you can buy groceries (the Post Office sells a few bits and pieces, but I think stock goes pretty quickly, e.g. all the loaves of bread first thing in the morning). That said, at least there were plenty of dinner options, and we opted for some delicious wood-fired pizzas. </p><p style="text-align: left;">The next morning, we set out on our own. One of the nice features of the Blue Derby network are a set of seven loops of varying lengths and grading. These are displayed on a map board at the trail head, but better yet are signposted throughout the park, and are easy to follow. We (or, I, on behalf of...) chose loop 7, which is the longest of the loops, and usefully, less difficult than "Very". </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_-Q8xqyjJ4o_FsStnRQL-qI6GUt5JZlEaIPkHrW2Zza7ksSnwUk0FL-g6G6AlEfP_Ma1vVNK6C5pc0rJHwXIBhQ5g7mtW6yvfc-shZVFDL451qSma72nqIp2dLult1a3v7YRKIGyuSDVTEHcnCZ6aZIbWJhhjiS6iz4l-nN2mCVLdzivZcig2-Fcpeley/s4000/20231220_182004.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_-Q8xqyjJ4o_FsStnRQL-qI6GUt5JZlEaIPkHrW2Zza7ksSnwUk0FL-g6G6AlEfP_Ma1vVNK6C5pc0rJHwXIBhQ5g7mtW6yvfc-shZVFDL451qSma72nqIp2dLult1a3v7YRKIGyuSDVTEHcnCZ6aZIbWJhhjiS6iz4l-nN2mCVLdzivZcig2-Fcpeley/w400-h300/20231220_182004.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p style="text-align: left;">We were soon heading up a nifty set of switchbacks, and enjoying what I have no doubt are among the world's best climbing berms. Sarah decided to follow Khulie and I up a rocky short-cut, but didn't quite give it the commitment it required, and my photo captured disaster-in-progress rather than success. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVkmKf-kq8YVpV0uD4Nf1jx6p6g371rYbirb4mxDWKH73tKIjag4NnqY7FVONPwmCZEeZ-Fs6FrIWFcwij7cZ2BNIatZB8ZVZu0CCgOBleK7-q62VJBQdtnj12jtcmyh5uNf6MnS-DmLeKTrZaU3ZmoftVjTH5fv53F7dSZENJMeXzbax7WvyAHzLl8Tgu/s4000/20231221_104537.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVkmKf-kq8YVpV0uD4Nf1jx6p6g371rYbirb4mxDWKH73tKIjag4NnqY7FVONPwmCZEeZ-Fs6FrIWFcwij7cZ2BNIatZB8ZVZu0CCgOBleK7-q62VJBQdtnj12jtcmyh5uNf6MnS-DmLeKTrZaU3ZmoftVjTH5fv53F7dSZENJMeXzbax7WvyAHzLl8Tgu/w400-h300/20231221_104537.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">From there were gathered ourselves, and headed up to the Black Stump shuttle point and beyond. A trail aptly named Dambusters took us around a lake perched a couple of hundred vertical metres above the town. </p><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqZ0A6hyt7im6bPTMxwPPY2i5U0DtmHJanNTCMoyQjvf8O_80fkfu38t_f8ZblVmYz3LvrkWB4-lG-WFM0bcM6GxEBaE8t2kkN9f9L3UlfzF2XYLNKj_zsS2_5EePY0RYjg6kWb24j72eEoT5qZppfTFV1ZJXW91Db82JuQjcmpAWKEM_H0LWBUZyHjQJV/s4000/20231221_124306.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqZ0A6hyt7im6bPTMxwPPY2i5U0DtmHJanNTCMoyQjvf8O_80fkfu38t_f8ZblVmYz3LvrkWB4-lG-WFM0bcM6GxEBaE8t2kkN9f9L3UlfzF2XYLNKj_zsS2_5EePY0RYjg6kWb24j72eEoT5qZppfTFV1ZJXW91Db82JuQjcmpAWKEM_H0LWBUZyHjQJV/w400-h300/20231221_124306.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cascade Dam</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div>Sarah and I took a different descent to Khulie, and actually made it down to the bottom before her, thanks to an echidna she felt compelled to stop to admire. Despite energy levels flagging, we stuck to my plan, and ascended Krushka's for the second time in two days, enjoying the quirkily-named features along it, as well as the trail itself.</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdvPDlqjO0O7lAQdHeQ23I8XwVjvTUFZZvzqumLoa5cQhot17DN-qczF0OV-raUm2GZro8sUD49gR50c9rEOSZCHph6HIYXO7y92Ewc64IXnZlVDPtGGx-14QnB21S4BleLtLQ-yOL6HPo7OjmPmzWUvKp6Uw-9L0V3xahvrNGPNVG9qDEoMfW8XeFUYXT/s4032/IMG_2922.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdvPDlqjO0O7lAQdHeQ23I8XwVjvTUFZZvzqumLoa5cQhot17DN-qczF0OV-raUm2GZro8sUD49gR50c9rEOSZCHph6HIYXO7y92Ewc64IXnZlVDPtGGx-14QnB21S4BleLtLQ-yOL6HPo7OjmPmzWUvKp6Uw-9L0V3xahvrNGPNVG9qDEoMfW8XeFUYXT/w300-h400/IMG_2922.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">De La Vu</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKTK75LLtDZPNolC0F9bD8mCiB_rd7xkzp__45Wy1Sjnx9g3PRLnJtLMYl_YmweSbq5BfIQRRtRUDOHm9-ok5Ao0_AL-_o03QkGKFCiXzG7zxjBEyqvJdLFoXw_dqaP5j0w02EpsUXi8sfqsWnZcyMP0Ub2U7b4-QN9wnrGqlOdhb7VobGQVwcJGs7NqGR/s4000/20231221_141340.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKTK75LLtDZPNolC0F9bD8mCiB_rd7xkzp__45Wy1Sjnx9g3PRLnJtLMYl_YmweSbq5BfIQRRtRUDOHm9-ok5Ao0_AL-_o03QkGKFCiXzG7zxjBEyqvJdLFoXw_dqaP5j0w02EpsUXi8sfqsWnZcyMP0Ub2U7b4-QN9wnrGqlOdhb7VobGQVwcJGs7NqGR/w300-h400/20231221_141340.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Big Mama</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">Sarah and I decided to join Khulie on a descent of Cuddles, and soon found ourselves at the top of an imposing rock face. There were a couple of lines which looked rollable, including the one that Khulie had long since taken. Among the spectators at the bottom was Kevin, and we were peppered with advice about how to proceed (and how not to). I had a mind to attempt the middle line, but as if the track weren't intimidating enough, the hollering from below had me chicken out. I stewed on that for the rest of the ride, testament to the saying "better to regret something you did, than something you didn't". </p><p style="text-align: left;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRoLHJhyphenhyphenc_-icQRoEhiynnofAXU2g4Pw78aPcPlbMEW8TZFpb6yDygJdwNi8U6EJPCkGf6VDsmSqn6PMj5UG7hXABJzxxCUi6T1WjGDDJ3WxvbzN45jXXw_Lh3GhEbEAE2zQbFBWfpqonuNrpDMVG6-USbUO4iVx_B0wscw1ErrFiWK9EwtpK4GiptuYw0/s1621/Khulie-Cuddles.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1621" data-original-width="1080" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRoLHJhyphenhyphenc_-icQRoEhiynnofAXU2g4Pw78aPcPlbMEW8TZFpb6yDygJdwNi8U6EJPCkGf6VDsmSqn6PMj5UG7hXABJzxxCUi6T1WjGDDJ3WxvbzN45jXXw_Lh3GhEbEAE2zQbFBWfpqonuNrpDMVG6-USbUO4iVx_B0wscw1ErrFiWK9EwtpK4GiptuYw0/w266-h400/Khulie-Cuddles.jpg" width="266" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Khulie on Cuddles</td></tr></tbody></table><br /> <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/10413156321" target="_blank">Loop 7 done</a>, Sarah and Khulan were happy to head back to the camper. I'd had a mind to add on Loop 3, but made do with a blat around Lake Derby. But not before popping in to a couple of shuttle operators. The second I tried, Vertigo Bikes, had not long before cancelled a shuttle of Blue Tier and Altas, two of the higher profile rides in the area, but with the three of us keen, kindly agree to haul us the next day. <p></p><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR61DjH1YhMPMO6I-pvD2sIOfWzxHPfJRHCmAg6LhR2w_ZN9we0KO3Uw6gOzx5tLpr5gZSa1kA6qogFJKTUQLZEUkE2TV2Mz56BSUOVgUOohORF7pFecl25U5bBvQdvQAxZKmDpuSTNK6su33gbWgM7-38kDrcwkUpx-grx4egmLdDz8JQvPGOKK7SmDR7/s4000/20231221_154643.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR61DjH1YhMPMO6I-pvD2sIOfWzxHPfJRHCmAg6LhR2w_ZN9we0KO3Uw6gOzx5tLpr5gZSa1kA6qogFJKTUQLZEUkE2TV2Mz56BSUOVgUOohORF7pFecl25U5bBvQdvQAxZKmDpuSTNK6su33gbWgM7-38kDrcwkUpx-grx4egmLdDz8JQvPGOKK7SmDR7/w400-h300/20231221_154643.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lake Derby, in front of the bike shop laden town</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">The shuttle booking wasn't quite what I'd intended, but I realised it was likely the only way it was going to happen. The Blue Tier trailhead was almost an hour's drive from Derby, and sets you up for a lovely 22km ride into Weldborough. From Weldborough, the ride up to the start of Atlas would have only been 7km on a 4WD road, but our package included a shuttle of this leg as well. I figured best just to embrace it!</p><p style="text-align: left;">Aside from the chilly start to our third day at Maydena, the temperature had mostly been perfect - never too hot, and generally not too cool that a riding jersey wouldn't suffice. This morning was a bit of an exception though. I used the same strategy as I had with the Maydena shuttles, and wore a merino t-shirt under my long-sleeved jersey. Sarah seems to be warm no matter what - sturdy Mongolian stock, I guess - but Khulie only had a couple of winters there, and to make matters worse, I hadn't provided clothing advice before we'd left. Luckily, in the first 10km of trail, we only descended 50m, so there was plenty of pedaling to generate some heat.</p><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2gkra_uLARPo4w8BKKqH5b-sRgzm5Zko-A_vR-FPAtHsq1wgsttpOhZPK6QR-qksEWWAuiqGV9f6w8Fag236cSnIaJRl7B5btLu3gCrG4WRIY7hyphenhyphengUeHmamy_GdOVeV06k5A40YbIoeytuiZh0GyIOMUhwQ-JIj3XsISZyOxxjdGF377J9Ujp8yal2A4a/s4000/20231222_095612.jpg"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2gkra_uLARPo4w8BKKqH5b-sRgzm5Zko-A_vR-FPAtHsq1wgsttpOhZPK6QR-qksEWWAuiqGV9f6w8Fag236cSnIaJRl7B5btLu3gCrG4WRIY7hyphenhyphengUeHmamy_GdOVeV06k5A40YbIoeytuiZh0GyIOMUhwQ-JIj3XsISZyOxxjdGF377J9Ujp8yal2A4a/w400-h300/20231222_095612.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">We'd now become well accustomed to the Tassie style, and expected the beautifully shaped trail, and stunning use of rock as "natural" armouring. <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/10417692483" target="_blank">Blue Tier</a> was no exception, but strangely none of us were willing to rave about the trail once we were done.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitq2FSOo6EEqaN1m9efEGixcolwdOJciyEoNqsssjKQsw-EmpyYOB3qmGqQoxdBHPwPXMSPa5CTsN_C5tOsFgnGROwYuw9fE8dO2tZ_FqKeAp_xGlQJz6fZohCV_TtA1eghAsY1AE-EgMJh-NWyJ6zuXz_KyMq_wl2EOxlbmJSxUN4BPuOOdu46D80gjqh/s4000/20231222_103430.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitq2FSOo6EEqaN1m9efEGixcolwdOJciyEoNqsssjKQsw-EmpyYOB3qmGqQoxdBHPwPXMSPa5CTsN_C5tOsFgnGROwYuw9fE8dO2tZ_FqKeAp_xGlQJz6fZohCV_TtA1eghAsY1AE-EgMJh-NWyJ6zuXz_KyMq_wl2EOxlbmJSxUN4BPuOOdu46D80gjqh/w300-h400/20231222_103430.jpg" width="300" /></a><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitq2FSOo6EEqaN1m9efEGixcolwdOJciyEoNqsssjKQsw-EmpyYOB3qmGqQoxdBHPwPXMSPa5CTsN_C5tOsFgnGROwYuw9fE8dO2tZ_FqKeAp_xGlQJz6fZohCV_TtA1eghAsY1AE-EgMJh-NWyJ6zuXz_KyMq_wl2EOxlbmJSxUN4BPuOOdu46D80gjqh/s4000/20231222_103430.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div></div><div><br /></div><div>We opted out of the Little Chook climb to re-ride the final couple of kilometres, and instead made a beeline for the pub, where we sat and ate a very grand lunch of burgers and chicken parmi, alongside our driver. We excluded him from the family consumption of a serving of bread and butter pudding, with croissants being the secret ingredient.</div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3jDzeAh5R5vPp6h-QKxrfYq8m0a6EDlNZEHZL7F6lj1uhOVEAEMk_T723PobQHFRit_Tn_E7X872cb4s6xUBbCHCDRgVDopVs6ygN2Rage0k3v23qegUJYh106erHl7XTzTMfKBBVsKskiBIhu6dR4pUFT9HCXsefHtvYKPxxD0csbO6A0fKVIolESviP/s4000/20231222_125006.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3jDzeAh5R5vPp6h-QKxrfYq8m0a6EDlNZEHZL7F6lj1uhOVEAEMk_T723PobQHFRit_Tn_E7X872cb4s6xUBbCHCDRgVDopVs6ygN2Rage0k3v23qegUJYh106erHl7XTzTMfKBBVsKskiBIhu6dR4pUFT9HCXsefHtvYKPxxD0csbO6A0fKVIolESviP/w400-h300/20231222_125006.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Thanks for the special service, Vertigo MTB</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">Kevin hadn't been a big fan of Atlas, but for some reason, I really loved it, and in some respects, it might have been the <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/10417692699" target="_blank">track of the trip</a> for me - our very first, the North-South Track in Hobart, being the closest contender. Eventually, we converged on Dambusters from Day 2, and soon after, sidled across to join Krushka's once more. Khulie descended on Trouty, while Sarah and I took a less technical but much longer series of tracks back to base. </p><p style="text-align: left;">We farewelled Kevin, and thanked him for his helpful advice both at Derby and Maydena. An hour's drive later, we were on the hunt for dinner in St Helens. After our dinner-like feast at lunchtime, we made do with a picnic lunch, albeit in the camper, and back at the Big4 campground. </p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><h4 style="text-align: center;">St Helens Mountain Bike Trails<br /></h4><p style="text-align: left;">The next morning, I was the only one with any inclination towards an additional ride. Unfortunately the timing and relative location of the trailhead meant that we would need to check out from the campground, and the park hub was deserted when we all arrived after a 5km drive. I aimed to ride for only an hour, and figured that Sarah and Khulie could give their bikes a fit-for-NZ-biosecurity wipe down while I rode. </p><p style="text-align: left;">I didn't quite wrap my head around the stylised maps at the <a href="https://www.sthelensmtbtrails.com.au/" target="_blank">St Helens Mountain Bike Trails</a> carpark. There were three, each at a different zoom level, but I didn't click that they weren't completely nested, so the most zoomed-out map didn't have everything on it. The user was meant to splice them together, which this user didn't realise... Anyway, I wasn't intending to go far, so jumped on the first track away from the Trailhead, and followed the arrows! </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOmv67pWTxrUZqKH_HhqKto8E2K53dqyPxdozJmv-WnVJV4boQS1c2bDVTMkTfE6nlrYD0zo-ubiO4DdR2e5vL5d3CoEM1S_kuwejywjBp7w0WIZMLycsOziPH8Dm8WXpr7sManPnSHYE3rPJ8mv01_Ofk3Ae0V3FU6T9LHnaqSfV2gg0Zz1w38xBK4Ssu/s4000/20231223_090217.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOmv67pWTxrUZqKH_HhqKto8E2K53dqyPxdozJmv-WnVJV4boQS1c2bDVTMkTfE6nlrYD0zo-ubiO4DdR2e5vL5d3CoEM1S_kuwejywjBp7w0WIZMLycsOziPH8Dm8WXpr7sManPnSHYE3rPJ8mv01_Ofk3Ae0V3FU6T9LHnaqSfV2gg0Zz1w38xBK4Ssu/w400-h300/20231223_090217.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Makes perfect sense, now I'm not in a rush!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">I wasn't carrying a pump, so wasn't delighted to see a lot of very angular rock on the tracks, but I managed to avoid having any issues. Despite being dry and a bit skatey in parts, the design was familiarly awesome, and I really enjoyed the solo blat. Without consulting my photographs of the maps, I turned back half way up Garn Up, and that brought me back to the carpark only slightly outside my <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/10421905030" target="_blank">predicted hour</a>. </p><p style="text-align: left;">That had us well on track for the 240km drive to <a href="https://mona.net.au/" target="_blank">MONA</a>, for which we had 2pm tickets booked. I made an ill-fated and premature stop for food before we hit State Highway 1. Khulie reported that her coffee at least <i>smelled </i>like coffee!!! Khulie seemed to enjoy her first visit to MONA, and Sarah and I both agreed that twice was probably enough. In any case, it was well worth giving up a bit of flexibility for.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE-v7ntJ76l1jVpcZwpj_9gILV3VpWH6rGx3qzJJ87og88t4EioU93yQkRznAf_lR1bwRQic5MLDSbLKn7l0vi5vREuGMPoJ22DecuUivlO4NC7kvf1OELJrAbuf3CJXZjhNdGA4GB2qDMUERCtBTfEvFsh7TpkxwR6CUdwalYUzySxgqbkZEK_-BJA98J/s4000/20231223_161612.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE-v7ntJ76l1jVpcZwpj_9gILV3VpWH6rGx3qzJJ87og88t4EioU93yQkRznAf_lR1bwRQic5MLDSbLKn7l0vi5vREuGMPoJ22DecuUivlO4NC7kvf1OELJrAbuf3CJXZjhNdGA4GB2qDMUERCtBTfEvFsh7TpkxwR6CUdwalYUzySxgqbkZEK_-BJA98J/w400-h300/20231223_161612.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looking at Mt Wellington and the Glenorchy bike park from MONA</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><h4 style="text-align: center;"><br />6-berth Deluxe Motorhome</h4><p style="text-align: left;">I said to a few people before the trip that I expected to either love or hate my first campervan experience. A few dents in my head aside, the latter certainly wasn't true. </p><p style="text-align: left;">The vehicle was surprisingly easy to drive, though my experience improved when I found how to turn off the lane encroachment alarms - it would ping me whenever I tried to smooth out a corner, either by cutting into the shoulder, or crossing the centreline, and avoiding this was both stressful and meant the van rolled around a wee bit more than I liked. I also ended with slightly more tolerance for campervan drivers that do not pull over to let following vehicles pass - at least on the narrow Tasmanian roads, this was surprisingly difficult to do.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Khulie and I were definitely in sync inside the vehicle, and seemed to flow around each other well. Sarah was more often in the wrong place at the wrong time!</p><p style="text-align: left;">We had three configurations that we swapped between:</p><p style="text-align: left;">1A. Bikes mid-vehicle with the rear in dining mode. We ate breakfast together at the back of the vehicle each morning, with a bit more space each than we'd have got in the middle berth (which also had a table). Khulie's bike went into one of the two small boxes inside the single larger box, with both pedals on and the front wheel removed. With the rear padding on the seats in the central berth, the large box would be nicely wedged in, and we didn't have to secure it. We would take both pedals and wheels off the two Yetis, and rest the frames vertically inside the third bike box. After a bit of experimentation, the best approach seemed to be to have the forks in the centre of the box, and in the corners have one of our handlebar grips. A bungee kept the frames together and a second bungee to Khulie's bike was used to stop the box from tipping out. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxIc0b8xtaGM80atI3ozcjUvmqpV_N_y4CW3PhTyIL4mwqLb5PH4MQOX8KdFIk9kL975hzIAd1L0r1YqIH9U-vzIjx8pZlUAX4GFFOB94Mrpo23Jpd4PflacFkMkhyt6FZD8FMAOVcrkgpYu32rfnDYpNiKRNvy0JQawmWWkx5IpomiAzTGJSfLNvBtON6/s4000/20231215_115224.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxIc0b8xtaGM80atI3ozcjUvmqpV_N_y4CW3PhTyIL4mwqLb5PH4MQOX8KdFIk9kL975hzIAd1L0r1YqIH9U-vzIjx8pZlUAX4GFFOB94Mrpo23Jpd4PflacFkMkhyt6FZD8FMAOVcrkgpYu32rfnDYpNiKRNvy0JQawmWWkx5IpomiAzTGJSfLNvBtON6/w300-h400/20231215_115224.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Early version before we'd realised the merits of removing all pedals</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">1B. Bikes mid-vehicle with the rear in sleeping mode. We'd set this up just before bed-time. The rear table became a mattress base, and we'd have to move some padding around to build up the mattress. We'd jointly committed to never using the in-van toilet, and also chose not to bother with the shower, so the bathroom compartment became a useful storage facility for Sarah's and my bedding during the day. </p><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRrXVO9cb_C6DpQo0ENmsgHVIkDpesxztx49EimpnXNe-Jhww42tYYYyeD_XlDwo8hkHouJnZoilUhIB2mAG8Lpy4_Wrw5clISD8ehSry-PP8H2XsZOQpjOxtWTmXgSKJfVG5XNVZNyksj1Uo8rYT9UT2ncvqQimFlqKXBoPnXEiVASaNGGgutxEfiyuwd/s4000/20231215_193900.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRrXVO9cb_C6DpQo0ENmsgHVIkDpesxztx49EimpnXNe-Jhww42tYYYyeD_XlDwo8hkHouJnZoilUhIB2mAG8Lpy4_Wrw5clISD8ehSry-PP8H2XsZOQpjOxtWTmXgSKJfVG5XNVZNyksj1Uo8rYT9UT2ncvqQimFlqKXBoPnXEiVASaNGGgutxEfiyuwd/w300-h400/20231215_193900.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>2. Bikes at the back of the van for driving purposes. This was necessitated by the fact that the only additional seatbelts were in the middle berth, so we couldn't leave the bikes in the middle berth. Fortunately, the boxes fitted snuggly in the rear space, so they wouldn't slide around when I was driving. The wheels were a bit of a pain in the arse, but we mostly lashed these together with a bungee and used them to stop one of the kitchen drawers from flying open around corners (its latch was busted). </div></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj0qQIdi6OO7maPksQKyZeHDMozlfFDz1Nr7uF1y4ptAcu1642p94KHDXokygRITkK6c-p_1eqlOEkjQtrjZfJAYvYIw7FfY6HwesWJlzA8dE47hnvHvfo6qQIIHfYfjJe9o717Fut4Tw8qfIhIwrxuhmj7zeJjtAXwsZXB3FND3cHvUzj_T1RSN4t4aFK/s4000/20231215_115035.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj0qQIdi6OO7maPksQKyZeHDMozlfFDz1Nr7uF1y4ptAcu1642p94KHDXokygRITkK6c-p_1eqlOEkjQtrjZfJAYvYIw7FfY6HwesWJlzA8dE47hnvHvfo6qQIIHfYfjJe9o717Fut4Tw8qfIhIwrxuhmj7zeJjtAXwsZXB3FND3cHvUzj_T1RSN4t4aFK/w300-h400/20231215_115035.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">We never took the boxes outside, so they remained pretty clean. Moving them around in the vehicle did add some wear and tear though, and had they not got a drenching on arrival to Auckland, probably would have been destined for the recycling bin anyway.</p><p style="text-align: left;">I regret not watching the instructional video a couple more times, as I never fully got my head around the power systems in the vehicle, and in particular the LPG option. We were pretty light users really, even considering the two nights in Derby Park where we couldn't plug in, but it would have been good to have a better sense of what the contingencies were, and to know how far we could squeeze the power consumption while free-camping. Another time, perhaps!</p></div><div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4zUTJfqJv8g_3GQuFATQyPtqlWUw1EGGzo5svFRElpzYfe4RD9X1w9EJulpz-qWJJPiGXkKFDakVP3xwaGLJWohgDo1uVw7CvOA4LluYRhbYWqVZ3SQb1J0lbfWs1WG3vBVeI-ynb9SQ5k6LLqFBB7tY8b2mXlKzfYBH83xsNUnvUo0jqQzYMUyiDXc38/s4000/20231216_130527.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4zUTJfqJv8g_3GQuFATQyPtqlWUw1EGGzo5svFRElpzYfe4RD9X1w9EJulpz-qWJJPiGXkKFDakVP3xwaGLJWohgDo1uVw7CvOA4LluYRhbYWqVZ3SQb1J0lbfWs1WG3vBVeI-ynb9SQ5k6LLqFBB7tY8b2mXlKzfYBH83xsNUnvUo0jqQzYMUyiDXc38/w400-h300/20231216_130527.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p style="text-align: left;">Ever so occasionally, I wouldn't think far enough ahead, and stowed the bikes post-ride in the wrong place, but by and large, operating in and around the vehicle was a fun use of my overly analytical approach to life. I drove Sarah a bit crazy, as she was used to being the bossy one in the home, rather than the object of bossiness. And, comically, back in Karori, our home feels a touch too large, and moving around it to do things (or find one another) is taking some getting used to!</p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><h4 style="text-align: center;">* * *</h4><p style="text-align: left;">All three of us agreed that this was a wonderful holiday! </p><p style="text-align: left;">I clocked up almost 275km of riding, on my brand-new-to-this-blog 2022 Yeti SB115. I've had it since March, and bought it hoping it would reinvigorate my interest in riding. While I haven't ridden it a huge amount, every ride has put a smile on my face, and it has helped mix my exercise regimen up a bit. While Sarah is on a beefier SB130, the 115 really seems like a great match to my skills and inclinations. The bike and I seemed to work very well together, and while I had a few refusals and short walks, the fat tyres, suspension and frame geometry all contributed to papering over the cracks in my technique, and I very much enjoyed the riding as a result. </p><p style="text-align: left;">Try as I might to elicit some direction from Sarah and Khulie, the destination choices ended up being all mine. I haven't bought a MTB mag for years, and nor have I done many events, so am not really in tune with what is cool these days. However, I knew to expect good riding at Maydena and Derby, and our touring route a year ago had me curious about Mt Wellington and Queenstown. The rest I pieced together on the fly, with various online sources as reassurance - this expose from <a href="https://flowmountainbike.com/features/best-mountain-bike-trails-in-tasmania/" target="_blank">Flow Mountain Bike</a> would have been a great source from the get-go, and probably wouldn't have made much of a difference to our ultimate itinerary (though might have had us regretting the "shortness" of our 10-riding-day window). In terms of the "ones that got away", top of the list next time would be the Bay of Fires ride from the start of Blue Tier out to St Helens, and Silver City out of Zeahan. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhTpQcS8UHJMhH7KG6iiiXbrzsBNBuLC3gzE36XZsbbj7U0cFLqOUSQMhh1c6Dfv6Gn6a-yku5QSxyT9cjpDOuMYmmkNihZbNMONRhOf9wNlZVmBxEOe5qKssqkwZBuZ8FLleJRQWlC_PApea5hiuN20093KZMLEZA2b0JnQqQhjuq8DFwH1_a2k6vZVYD/s987/destinations.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="975" data-original-width="987" height="395" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhTpQcS8UHJMhH7KG6iiiXbrzsBNBuLC3gzE36XZsbbj7U0cFLqOUSQMhh1c6Dfv6Gn6a-yku5QSxyT9cjpDOuMYmmkNihZbNMONRhOf9wNlZVmBxEOe5qKssqkwZBuZ8FLleJRQWlC_PApea5hiuN20093KZMLEZA2b0JnQqQhjuq8DFwH1_a2k6vZVYD/w400-h395/destinations.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Previous touring route, plus the MTB destinations named in red</td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div><p>As far as mountain bike destinations go, having sampled Tasmania in this way, I cannot recommend it highly enough, particularly to those that aren't averse to pedaling. The trail design and construction starts to feel very familiar, but it really is top shelf, so never starts to feel boring. Stitching the destinations together isn't trivial, i.e. you do need a vehicle, and while we didn't explore Airbnb-type accommodation options, I'm sure there are plenty that would make a station-wagon or similar a viable option for a couple of people. The wildlife is mostly of the cute variety, but do watch out for the snakes - a close encounter is fucking terrifying, to put it mildly. </p><p style="text-align: left;">The cost of living in NZ has been prominent in the media for a long while now, so I was quite surprised by the high grocery prices. Meals out were also expensive, so worth planning around that. Maydena, Queenstown and Derby all had paid riding options (indeed, at Maydena, you couldn't ride at all for free). In future, I'd tend to reserve shuttles for the long point-to-point options rather than the multiple uplifts of a single hill. Otherwise, you're looking at adding $100 a day to your budget, which adds up very quickly (especially with multiple riders). </p><p style="text-align: left;">At regular intervals, we lamented the absence of Kaitlyn, even acknowledging that the RV would have been pretty cosy with a fourth person. From time to time, someone would bring up an anecdote from some of our early family holidays, but particularly our last <a href="https://sifter-writes-bikes.blogspot.com/2018/01/family-riding-native-forest-edition.html" target="_blank">to the Bay of Plenty</a>. Kaitlyn will move to Melbourne soon to finally be with her man, Danny, and we all wonder if a campervan holiday might be a good way for her to get acquainted with back-country Victoria, and us to spend some quality time with her. In June we will reunite for a two-week (no bikes) trip to Mongolia - Khulan's first in over a decade, and Kaitlyn's first-first. Where one door closes, others open, and rest assured we will look for any opportunity to pop over for a visit. In any case, Katy was never far from our minds, even though this trip format almost surely wouldn't have suited her well. </p><p style="text-align: left;">It is easy to forget how far Sarah has come from the <a href="https://sifter-writes-bikes.blogspot.com/2015/01/family-fun.html" target="_blank">early crash-marred days of MTBing</a>. She did end up considerably more bruised and battered than I was, but nonetheless seemed to have a very successful time across a range of challenging terrain. No surprises that she remains my very favourite travelling companion!</p><p style="text-align: left;">Having Khulie with us was both an honour and a pleasure. I dare say she feels grateful for being invited, but to my mind the gratitude is more appropriate in the opposite direction. I've no doubt that she would have had a wonderful time riding with anyone but her parents, and would have instantly made friends with the cooler set that were in abundance at Maydena and Derby in particular. It was nice that she didn't ditch us, on many levels. When she started out-riding me on the descents at 15 or 16, it never struck me to feel stink that I was slower than my daughter, and today, I feel a great sense of pride, admiration and love for her generally, but also for her incredible talent on the mountain bike in particular. We were also regular beneficiaries of her work ethic, particularly when it came to assembling or disassembling the bikes. She was a great companion, and a privilege to ride and be with. I can't wait to do it again some time. </p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;">After an incredibly shitty year at work, this trip feels like just the anti-venom I needed, and a very nice note to end 2023 on. Wishing any and all a Merry Christmas and Happy New Year. </p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p>sifterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15453244482461385029noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7894195099236501078.post-6139423547459614782023-12-09T15:17:00.003+13:002023-12-10T06:59:11.972+13:00Finding (the source of) my mojo in Malaysia<p>I returned from our recent trip to Taiwan feeling like I needed a break, and hoping like hell that a work trip to Malaysia would prove the necessary antidote! </p><p>A decade-long institutional relationship with a private college in Melaka had taken me annually to the region, but this would be my first trip back since the pandemic. I'd taken a bike with me only once before, and had a wonderful time, <a href="https://sifter-writes-bikes.blogspot.com/2019/11/everywhere-has-roads.html" target="_blank">simply following my wheel</a>. I hoped to have a similar experience, and to make space for it, extended the trip by five nights over the much shorter stay of my boss. </p><p>Prep was simple - I unpacked my bike solely to wash it, and pulled together a very minimal gear list, thanks to an incredibly predictable temperature range. Riding solo, I thought I might want to take a couple of selfies using the drone, so had the Revelate Egress Pocket to stow it and its controller. Sarah's lower profile seat bag would be more than enough for overnight gear and a pair of jandals, and tools etc were still stowed in my frame and top tube bags. The necessary GPS base map was simple to download and install from <a href="https://garmin.bbbike.org/" target="_blank">https://garmin.bbbike.org/</a>. </p><p>The work leg of the trip came first, and it was great to see the folk from KYS in person for the first time in four years, as well as colleagues from UC and UoA. It was also a real treat to spend a few days "on the road" with my dean - someone I see often at work (and <a href="https://sifter-writes-bikes.blogspot.com/2021/01/dont-leave-town-till-youve-seen-country_19.html" target="_blank">once, randomly, in Raetihi</a>), and have great respect and admiration for. </p><p>Prior to leaving NZ, I'd explored a few route options. One was to cross the peninsula, riding from the west coast to the east coast and back again. Another was to ride to Kampung New Zealand, a curiously named place I was aware of thanks to my father, a former NZ High Commissioner to Malaysia. In the end, the allure of a border crossing into Singapore won out, and as I transitioned from work to play, a southern target for my first "leisure day" of the trip, in the parlance of work's insurance officer, was locked and loaded. </p><p><br /></p><h4 style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Day 1 - Melaka to Pontian</h4><p style="clear: both; text-align: left;">After breakfast, I began preparations to leave the hotel. I'd booked a single night prior to heading to the airport, and they were more than happy to store my bike bag and luggage until my return. Three nights on the road beckoned.</p><p style="clear: both; text-align: left;">While booking.com seemed to have good saturation in the towns between Melaka and Singapore, there weren't that many towns! Consequently, I'd decided to give myself a fairly ambitious day, hopefully to enable a bit of sifting once I arrived in Singapore on day two. I figured that riding alone, on flat terrain, great road surfaces, and a fast bike, would give me a helpful range boost. </p>In 2019, I'd ridden as far as Muar, but decided not to fuck around searching out "new roads", and made a beeline for it down one of the main coastal routes. Despite being on a big road, traffic wasn't an issue, and from time to time there was something interesting to see.<div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxX28arDtcCEBTy6sZ2Rf3WS1Ax4Nk6jEsN8elOnM9EEnsQ-EzyQiI9Lh7gw80z2RYX8yIbQRR2BHWsNPmT-98P7e9hBLuCGswi20YnS2P4pUhbXaM8qfhYM6d833L8Q7mHFcFzqoyKsIsNiAA2DDFbnUGde5ZnZTdQTJBB_3lYtbj1kEOLDx_KxS92DJA/s4000/20231117_103802.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxX28arDtcCEBTy6sZ2Rf3WS1Ax4Nk6jEsN8elOnM9EEnsQ-EzyQiI9Lh7gw80z2RYX8yIbQRR2BHWsNPmT-98P7e9hBLuCGswi20YnS2P4pUhbXaM8qfhYM6d833L8Q7mHFcFzqoyKsIsNiAA2DDFbnUGde5ZnZTdQTJBB_3lYtbj1kEOLDx_KxS92DJA/w400-h300/20231117_103802.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Functional hat sculpture</td></tr></tbody></table><p style="text-align: left;">It wasn't too hot when I set out (mid 20s), and as both my legs and the day warmed up, I enjoyed playing a bit of a game trying to match my speed to the air temperature, occasionally to great success.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgffSbjkGfjL89HZRRCo1soyUl6v1gkXsNSVvbIOvE7R5p4oZsJMZEPiz2e2bRWzzYFkwNGJIWVAuzcl0LyDYUx1PhCNb43l9qDPiKQMGtAt4G0Cf9e5vrTD5SiIepWv_45UzH-9_iYBOC-biG4JslGlx5QHngFk3LO8ytqvfbo9kgMRYo6zRV8h7LIJnEg/s4000/20231117_103409.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgffSbjkGfjL89HZRRCo1soyUl6v1gkXsNSVvbIOvE7R5p4oZsJMZEPiz2e2bRWzzYFkwNGJIWVAuzcl0LyDYUx1PhCNb43l9qDPiKQMGtAt4G0Cf9e5vrTD5SiIepWv_45UzH-9_iYBOC-biG4JslGlx5QHngFk3LO8ytqvfbo9kgMRYo6zRV8h7LIJnEg/w400-h300/20231117_103409.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p style="text-align: left;">After crossing the Muar River, and navigating a strange one-way setup, I decided it was time for a late morning tea stop. While nutritionally questionable, the "roti canai and teh tarik" combo from the ubiquitous Nasi Kandar restaurants - generally positioned at a ground floor corner of an office block - slipped down very nicely, and cost not even $2 all up. Paying would often involve the price being displayed on a calculator, and I was now alert to the possibility that there'd be no decimal point (the previous afternoon, I thought I was being charged NZ prices, but 41 ringgit turned out to be 4.10...). </p><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8ATveZmKn5lY7LVc60pQzqVy6duaP7zUooe6JVebECwUBG5DJ-8woYiWTKmSB8WOeiSaICRiHhP2mie7lfE3U2R1YKmio0dm7hmvSKGSYqYIHBtmYefbJHk7PFjP6gKwvowtQI0VgOsh9OkT3_6W58dEz93Xlh2X8qTJkNlif0vxkkxjsnaI8F21Bsxm_/s4000/20231117_113130.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8ATveZmKn5lY7LVc60pQzqVy6duaP7zUooe6JVebECwUBG5DJ-8woYiWTKmSB8WOeiSaICRiHhP2mie7lfE3U2R1YKmio0dm7hmvSKGSYqYIHBtmYefbJHk7PFjP6gKwvowtQI0VgOsh9OkT3_6W58dEz93Xlh2X8qTJkNlif0vxkkxjsnaI8F21Bsxm_/w400-h300/20231117_113130.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">The region was predominantly palm plantation, and therefore the scenery was pretty uniform, I try to keep my eyes peeled for wildlife, but sadly roadkill are easier to spot than the real deal. A top-10 list of exotic creatures which notably includes a French badger and many Tasmanian wombats, had various puny snakes replaced by a whopping and only partially squashed python.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir8YNgVYi8cJHZM-vSGd94HUDNVEwKPjo4hf9494dSWgBzCOA3fgqFlonDisf1KJ7O1i4FwQ4UijUSOLtW2lJ2mRqroaxYJh_QMS5bSs926sD3v2OfcukrBtOHA4u00auGMdT9W4FDNbnlxmz3YO3x9DQgGhGY84etMQhBUgxLqsCgC6Sdq3xg1xcZdt56/s4000/20231117_122216.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir8YNgVYi8cJHZM-vSGd94HUDNVEwKPjo4hf9494dSWgBzCOA3fgqFlonDisf1KJ7O1i4FwQ4UijUSOLtW2lJ2mRqroaxYJh_QMS5bSs926sD3v2OfcukrBtOHA4u00auGMdT9W4FDNbnlxmz3YO3x9DQgGhGY84etMQhBUgxLqsCgC6Sdq3xg1xcZdt56/w300-h400/20231117_122216.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Incredible to think of things like this lurking to my left...</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">Fatigue, and an ever sterner target had put paid to my "speed = temperature" game, and I started to fixate on my bike setup. My saddle appeared to have slipped backwards (or had been dramatically aft for a while - who could say). In combination with sweaty hands, this was making me feel quite uncomfortable when I had my "hands on the hoods". I stopped a couple of times to faff around with allen keys, but had probably waited too long, so even useful changes weren't having the desired effect. </p><p style="text-align: left;">I pulled a U-turn to check out what two young Malaysian women were selling at a road-side stall. Among the extensive selection was a dessert I recognised from Little Penang's cabinet (one of our go-to Malaysian restaurants in Wellington). After a short conversation with them, I rolled out with a family pack of <i>sri muka</i> - layered glutinous rice and pandan custard - in one of my pockets. I dipped into this every once in a while, and enjoyed the taste from home...!</p><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkMsRFcyNT6AvPji7aaBgc7904Ipsf1lCg60nhbDCwU0Y8KikkZqx7G7s5wKXrLlLm1UdEP3sSFENcZV_3_bWfaqs8cvwJeNCSgRT8Fbae4xIRnypui2Y_3fAdlA69X6OQq5nIVG7SUAO3lyXLB8vPLgBw65PIBamjKs3IugHmDBx4q9Ebwvfhj5fh1x61/s4000/20231117_131733.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkMsRFcyNT6AvPji7aaBgc7904Ipsf1lCg60nhbDCwU0Y8KikkZqx7G7s5wKXrLlLm1UdEP3sSFENcZV_3_bWfaqs8cvwJeNCSgRT8Fbae4xIRnypui2Y_3fAdlA69X6OQq5nIVG7SUAO3lyXLB8vPLgBw65PIBamjKs3IugHmDBx4q9Ebwvfhj5fh1x61/w400-h300/20231117_131733.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sri muka was not the only souvenir of this stop!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">As I should have expected, the day dragged on and on, but at the pointy end I found my hotel easily enough, about a kilometre from the main road. There looked to be a couple of food vendors across the road, but by the time I was washed up and ready to eat, both fatigue and a heavy downpour meant the 20 metre walk was a bridge too far, and I satisfied myself with a very unsatisfactory "meal" from the convenience store in the same building as the hotel. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKt-3AhxR0MpTAZzXrwcdwHWRlr2GSoKM7c6kWBsaEv8YwexdWcdGiwciuEtuUSKR8H3KMN02gXP3t9RRpAYbI4SnmRsncmPbUryZxi8IaM9tFNyH1-FZgxGNvNbeokFcbORn7txGCffeHvBJKFSZ8wd55NphfNqX9HgBOIud1SRdsrOaaTrClEr2jTkPv/s4000/20231117_181452.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKt-3AhxR0MpTAZzXrwcdwHWRlr2GSoKM7c6kWBsaEv8YwexdWcdGiwciuEtuUSKR8H3KMN02gXP3t9RRpAYbI4SnmRsncmPbUryZxi8IaM9tFNyH1-FZgxGNvNbeokFcbORn7txGCffeHvBJKFSZ8wd55NphfNqX9HgBOIud1SRdsrOaaTrClEr2jTkPv/w300-h400/20231117_181452.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Malaysia, known for its great food...</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><u>Stats:</u> a somewhat ambitious <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/10232883262" target="_blank">172km</a>, average speed 27.5km, average temp 31 degrees</p><p style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></p><h4 style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Day 2 - Pontian District to Singapore</h4><p style="text-align: left;">My room came with free breakfast, which included energy-laden banana-leaf-wrapped nasi lemak. I spent quite a bit of time messing around with various mapping tools on my phone, but never really got myself completely sorted. In any case, it would be a ride of two halves: the first to the Woodlands Crossing into Singapore, and the second, from there to my hotel on the far side of the island. </p><p style="text-align: left;">Having seen no cyclists on day 1, only a few minutes into my ride, I saw a sharply dressed peloton heading the other way. While a Saturday for me, the locals were enjoying the second day of their Friday-Saturday weekend - not uncommon in Malaysia. </p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfbZRtY1tyNpOWzdPw6_AIedqp2oscLPWjki_qv4Ix7R0jtwYeNNyhgSzhXqLUeE6vF7MLYMq9DXupcwVHy7dkxDIGpniBNXIeGAwOSaO0N5i5VV9pNjdRIxfR8GdEqRrdJQxOKG1J8_G6S7QN_T8bFVyeam6RbtsKohmdmMeQQjxTSDf-PR5LC36d8Z7b/s4000/20231118_083445.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfbZRtY1tyNpOWzdPw6_AIedqp2oscLPWjki_qv4Ix7R0jtwYeNNyhgSzhXqLUeE6vF7MLYMq9DXupcwVHy7dkxDIGpniBNXIeGAwOSaO0N5i5VV9pNjdRIxfR8GdEqRrdJQxOKG1J8_G6S7QN_T8bFVyeam6RbtsKohmdmMeQQjxTSDf-PR5LC36d8Z7b/w400-h300/20231118_083445.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">One of the downsides of route planning on a phone is that the screen doesn't have enough real estate to get a good sense of an area. Zoomed out, a cyclist tends to get too little information about suitable roads (seeing only major highways), while zoomed in, it is hard to see the wood for the trees, and again, it feels like you're getting too little information. Target one was a bridge over the Pulai River, and from there I would need sort out how to get to Woodlands. </p><p style="text-align: left;">South of Pontian really felt off the beaten track, and I enjoyed ducking through a couple of plantation roads, one of which was barely wide enough for a car, despite being beautifully surfaced. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDMCCHta3Zabmu94bFf3SQNm0-7hFWBWGIns5S2UdVDBlD7LSPwSK5tYo7EriYMeE__geHAqFtm3dqNwwrxDj6kKs6tf4E8TZeA2sk6c3-4aO67rP2ROZaf0oAw-wlvjBYipTR-KK7SEKkDojrLZrCUc3rerOTDtyqU40satEUrbzRyVeSr4GiAb1WIrxr/s4000/20231118_092113.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDMCCHta3Zabmu94bFf3SQNm0-7hFWBWGIns5S2UdVDBlD7LSPwSK5tYo7EriYMeE__geHAqFtm3dqNwwrxDj6kKs6tf4E8TZeA2sk6c3-4aO67rP2ROZaf0oAw-wlvjBYipTR-KK7SEKkDojrLZrCUc3rerOTDtyqU40satEUrbzRyVeSr4GiAb1WIrxr/w300-h400/20231118_092113.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">That spat me out onto a major road, in the form of the not-even-one-year-old Pulai River Bridge. There, I was passed by a trio of roadies who were really hauling, though I passed them stopped at the "summit" of the bridge. The bridge itself gave spectacular views, north up the Malay Peninsula, and south over impressive port infrastructure. </p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmTX3TzNGONFQ-BIMTs4nYSaL_l4BdclypDnZNsU9UlAtXeSb74T5vCtqEkOI_6C0xcb5EjoijPTtcleN2O2pw71b8xsK9CGZVng_YvEa7C3DA2mWnmfd9FyokN3EYCDJ5qe5CDBUbKu0NvVU07kvRQOySU5hyphenhyphenYThpJCYmY5XadiJjgo43u1hfdnmLnspB/s4000/20231118_094226.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmTX3TzNGONFQ-BIMTs4nYSaL_l4BdclypDnZNsU9UlAtXeSb74T5vCtqEkOI_6C0xcb5EjoijPTtcleN2O2pw71b8xsK9CGZVng_YvEa7C3DA2mWnmfd9FyokN3EYCDJ5qe5CDBUbKu0NvVU07kvRQOySU5hyphenhyphenYThpJCYmY5XadiJjgo43u1hfdnmLnspB/w400-h300/20231118_094226.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Soon after, I was passed by a group of 8 cyclists, which probably included the threesome. They seemed happy for me to jump in, and I enjoyed sucking wheels for 10 minutes or so. Once again, they were moving at an impressive clip, and when I pulled the pin and left them to it, I noticed that one guy was being pushed up the hill by a cobber on an E-bike, shedding useful light on our pace along the flat. </p><p style="clear: both; text-align: left;">It was a shame I hadn't been able to hang on, as navigation through to Woodlands was tricky, and at times I found myself on busy major roads. That said, cyclists were out in abundance, and served to reassure myself that I wasn't breaking rules (or norms, at least) by riding where I didn't belong. </p><p style="clear: both; text-align: left;">A common design feature of the three lane roads was that approaching a crossroad, the middle two lanes would have an overbridge bypass of the intersection, while the outside lane would stay low and deliver to a set of traffic lights. This felt like a damned-if-you-do / damned-if-you-don't decision point, as crossing the outside lane felt dodgy amongst fast moving traffic. On the other hand, I soon discovered that going "straight through" the set of lights was often not possible (at least for a law abiding car), with left and right turns being the sole options. Hopping a curb allowed me to pick up the on-ramp, but it started to feel like the greater of two evils. </p><p style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The stress of the approach to Woodlands meant the border crossing, which I'd been looking forward to and had been to a great extent the motivation for the ride, was a bit of a blur. I'd dutifully filled out an <a href="https://www.ica.gov.sg/enter-transit-depart/entering-singapore/sg-arrival-card" target="_blank">SG Arrival Card</a>, though had joined an <a href="https://www.facebook.com/groups/253745422308310" target="_blank">SG to Malaysia Cycling Facebook group</a> for guidance on how to handle "bicycle" not being an available vehicle option for Land entry. As a result, my declaration wasn't 100% accurate, but this seemed not to present a problem at the well signposted manual lane, and I was soon through, with a Malaysian exit stamp in my passport as a memento. <br /></p><p style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Stress levels rose soon after, as it became apparent I'd missed a bicycle-friendly exit ramp on the Singapore side. I managed to get off the fantastic but illegal shoulder of a freeway, by jumping first an armco barrier, then a deep gutter, then a small fence, and riding out of the road reserve on a small path. </p><p style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The difference between Malaysia and Singapore was stark, and I mistakenly thought supply stops would be abundant. The first was easy to find, and was a hub of various fast food options. I made do with a seat in a drinks bar, from which I could both enjoy some air conditioning, and keep a close eye on my bike. Their specialty <i>gula melaka </i>drink took me a great step further towards sugar overdose - I quite enjoy <i>teh tarik</i> once a fortnight or so, but the overly sweetened drinks were rapidly pushing me towards my threshold, and a different approach was beckoning. </p><p style="clear: both; text-align: left;">As somewhat of an av-geek, I was keen to ride around Changi Airport perimeter, and keeping the water on my left also made for simple navigation. En route (having done very little homework), I was surprised to find another airport - Seletar - and a dearth of shops. In the end, needing both food and drink, I asked a young couple for directions and deviated from the <a href="https://pcn.nparks.gov.sg/know-our-pcn/rir/" target="_blank">Round Island Route</a> that I'd stumbled upon (and was proving to be nice cycling, lo and behold). After the best part of ten minutes, I noticed a supermarket, and duly raided it.</p><p style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Without retracing my steps, I tried to hook back into the cycle path. A promising sealed track through a river-side bush reserve had regular public service announcements on "what to do when you encounter wild boars". Literally 20 seconds after stopping to photograph one, I encountered none other than a wild boar. In my surprise, I both struggled to remember the instructions and was unable to capture the moment for posterity, failing the latter completely, and the former somewhat. </p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkAgjh07O-vIeEDodQAy9QJJzWERbmx5ADNRwm2RHvU-9eaxky1XvLIGj1HLA_4Zo17CmPglFoLDvsLSlFwvUr0f_pwajcgU_QL6LQBIucqRf8vjX0lWgyORBFoRAwvXx4YDaUS_zVpOg6ZRHGMoWwkx2KgFtvkbsf6ZxI6dkWBai7bPUEZ7-bgsLvSWa8/s4000/20231118_143304.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkAgjh07O-vIeEDodQAy9QJJzWERbmx5ADNRwm2RHvU-9eaxky1XvLIGj1HLA_4Zo17CmPglFoLDvsLSlFwvUr0f_pwajcgU_QL6LQBIucqRf8vjX0lWgyORBFoRAwvXx4YDaUS_zVpOg6ZRHGMoWwkx2KgFtvkbsf6ZxI6dkWBai7bPUEZ7-bgsLvSWa8/w300-h400/20231118_143304.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">For whatever reason, I was not having good sensations, and to break things up I stopped often, both giving a chance to recover physically and to observe the weekend in action. The downside of the regular breaks was that the ride duration began to mount up, thus adding to fatigue and the inclination to stop. A couple of bad turns didn't help, and the day was slipping by.</p><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJdjFbxGhBB2CB5uoMDgYWNLXyHKuc4Sz3EWCikv8KbqRHfOdnAwjbHiq1A3z_gqNh6TYmD-pr-lvTpZUz5ubCG-eEXmsKaxt40aP9V5yr8QTjyFXhbiFRvbMdkmDuARgN1RXJY0PD0-25d3jAhzQ0s82exlDDTvmGFowFlbGF_SvlskRzWTLpZlrWst0F/s4000/20231118_151247.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJdjFbxGhBB2CB5uoMDgYWNLXyHKuc4Sz3EWCikv8KbqRHfOdnAwjbHiq1A3z_gqNh6TYmD-pr-lvTpZUz5ubCG-eEXmsKaxt40aP9V5yr8QTjyFXhbiFRvbMdkmDuARgN1RXJY0PD0-25d3jAhzQ0s82exlDDTvmGFowFlbGF_SvlskRzWTLpZlrWst0F/w400-h300/20231118_151247.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">An interesting ship at the Loyang Jetty</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">At Changi Village, an ice cream and coke supplemented my usual convenience store purchases of 100-Plus electrolyte drink and cold water. From there, the ride to my hotel looked simple, but while "around the airport and along the foreshore" were quick to say, they still represented 30km on the ground. </p><p style="text-align: left;">The airport was huge, and while I was momentarily in the flight path at the northern end of the runway (and got to enjoy some departing planes overhead), much of the perimeter could have been big, straight, flat road in an industrial area anywhere in the world. </p><p style="text-align: left;">Approaching the runway axis again, I left the roadside and entered a lovely parkland, which was full of people walking, riding, and whatnot. I was delighted to discover that a big plane overhead was none other than an Air New Zealand flight landing, though didn't have the wherewithal to wipe down my camera lens before taking a snap through the trees. </p><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRLiMs8UxO-tzvCdVKwUfFGXTVGySM6vVEyoy2SCi_atLkMtcv7TP758vPY1XEzHz25sEYb_0pAAQvyGTrcNDF6j8RoJUix17SM2u2ISxaSDIYFpwqNtZt5g3bkaiAvA4SFLk4xaKb3JVklRN8mRfXquDAMt_wtOVrNyl-x4N83eZolaGKNPoz0DQzdxl9/s4000/20231118_163746.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRLiMs8UxO-tzvCdVKwUfFGXTVGySM6vVEyoy2SCi_atLkMtcv7TP758vPY1XEzHz25sEYb_0pAAQvyGTrcNDF6j8RoJUix17SM2u2ISxaSDIYFpwqNtZt5g3bkaiAvA4SFLk4xaKb3JVklRN8mRfXquDAMt_wtOVrNyl-x4N83eZolaGKNPoz0DQzdxl9/w400-h300/20231118_163746.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">NZ284, almost done for the day</td></tr></tbody></table><p style="text-align: left;">By this stage, it was 5pm, and I was well and truly ready to stop. Despite the many potential customers and yours truly craving a pick-me-up, I was unable to spot a food or drink vendor. On the positive side, the busyness of the park kept me entertained. One of the more interesting sights was the Singapore Wake Park, with a collection of overhead tow ropes providing forward propulsion for people on boogie boards. Some runs were a dedicated out-and-back type arrangement where the sole rider was responsible for sweeping U-turns at each end, while others were a big loop, which a rider did as one of many on the minute-long circuit. Recovering from a crash on the latter involved a long swim, whereas the former was a relatively simple recovery as your tow rope came back to you - I presumed there was an operator tasked with helping a fallen rider get going again, but perhaps it was an automated system that returned to where sensors told it things had gone pear-shaped! </p><p style="text-align: left;">I arrived at my hotel to discover I'd stayed there before en route to Malaysia! Once showered, I paid crazy money to use the guest laundry (to the extent that the attendant seemed amazed that I wanted to proceed), and while I was waiting for my wash to finish, the heavens really opened! The rain was of biblical proportions, and while I may have been able to borrow an umbrella, I didn't feel like aquaplaning in my jandals, so made do with a simple meal from the mall below the hotel. I had enough Singaporean cash to cover a somewhat eclectic combination of laksa and fries before heading up to bed. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTikc1o12x8-Y81r2GX1-NTkHbL9CG6Rd0qSAC7xFFKnbcHXisVVC9PiejVmg5nvRqd2IpDVCzqAEqF84qbyk1K5lTZ3upWLXZANOmGFKehqou049Q22usXGiX3U5L3u60J_6VzXm1vXzaQXNOzMkArUY4s0eQdSv7Bqe-Vt6O7NhRy8zrfglIZf6p46b1/s4000/20231118_181727.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTikc1o12x8-Y81r2GX1-NTkHbL9CG6Rd0qSAC7xFFKnbcHXisVVC9PiejVmg5nvRqd2IpDVCzqAEqF84qbyk1K5lTZ3upWLXZANOmGFKehqou049Q22usXGiX3U5L3u60J_6VzXm1vXzaQXNOzMkArUY4s0eQdSv7Bqe-Vt6O7NhRy8zrfglIZf6p46b1/w400-h300/20231118_181727.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><u>Stats:</u> <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/10237990580" target="_blank">147km ridden</a>, moving time = 7h22, elapsed time = 8h46 (which came as a great surprise to me when I looked it up just now - was expecting to find at least 2h of sitting around...). </p><p style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></p><h4 style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Day 3 - back the way I came</h4><p style="text-align: left;">Reflecting on my lack of energy and enthusiasm the previous day, I'd drawn the conclusion that I hadn't eaten nearly enough and tried to force myself to go a wee bit overboard at the breakfast buffet. Fearing more of the same nonetheless, I plotted a fairly direct route back to the Woodlands Crossing, and picked a destination which would cut the 270km back to Melaka almost exactly in half. </p><p style="text-align: left;">I hadn't rushed out of bed or away from the hotel, but soon concluded that most of the city-state was still slumbering. The roads were very quiet, despite being engineered for a lot of traffic! </p><p style="text-align: left;">As I neared the bridge back to Malaysia, I was fortunate to catch a sign reading "Motorcyclists to Woodlands Checkpoint use BKE via Turf Club Ave", which I took to apply to me as well. Had I re-read <a href="https://daysoflightblog.com/2016/01/20/cycling-from-singapore-to-malaysia/" target="_blank">this blog</a>, I wouldn't have left this to chance, but suffice it to say, the route got me there in one piece (albeit wondering if I was turning a blind eye yet again to freeway rules). Cyclists were definitely less well catered for on this side of the border, and I didn't see any bicycle signage at all, more's the pity. </p><p style="text-align: left;">At the Malaysian border control, I had to wait in a 15-minute queue for a manual counter. There, I struggled to hear the fellow behind the heavy glass, but after showing him outbound flights on my Air New Zealand app, he, apparently begrudgingly, let me back into the country. </p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT1O6njQQEqUuZdyopGUbeaFvL7-5UiP07RdspCW1I0OYv5CLoNfotb19f8OmD1IJvB3Y0x24uXQ4xMA9zj-RDyQSKF7MDa7O4kuTdoi_nyKmSrk7VICRDFrT2oTbwCI-CEd4LRn_JctWvu9SghQaQXAfMfBGDYH24tRQidHrPov2rOcW_KiOnToStCMIa/s3648/20231119_103958.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3648" data-original-width="2736" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT1O6njQQEqUuZdyopGUbeaFvL7-5UiP07RdspCW1I0OYv5CLoNfotb19f8OmD1IJvB3Y0x24uXQ4xMA9zj-RDyQSKF7MDa7O4kuTdoi_nyKmSrk7VICRDFrT2oTbwCI-CEd4LRn_JctWvu9SghQaQXAfMfBGDYH24tRQidHrPov2rOcW_KiOnToStCMIa/w300-h400/20231119_103958.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">My accommodation at Ayer Hitam was on Route 1, which runs north parallel to AH2 (Asian Highway Route 2). By this stage, I was in the "are we there yet" frame of mind, so made no attempt to find a more interesting route through Johor Bahru, or beyond. </p><p style="text-align: left;">Slowly but surely, I sensed the city coming to an end, and traffic thinned considerably when the road intersected for the first time since Woodlands with AH2. I grabbed a service station pick me up, and enjoyed a bit of shade half an hour later just outside a Hindu Temple.</p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2elc80wWYwJk2IMlH7mB9Qy9JC9BOgevsE7ZhfXm7fbJJ718tS3xVCfZAm3N_7eCNzI7NFeW0jhBHNiIPRf_SJwk8AH_3RckXPFDWt9rgebYYFrqgmLD6v4kQ8GN658zduqZxKtobM8vcqs4emmpe9ABpgHsLzOCGxzCsgLa2E0hJYsCGZGRd7BCix7EM/s4000/20231119_120147.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2elc80wWYwJk2IMlH7mB9Qy9JC9BOgevsE7ZhfXm7fbJJ718tS3xVCfZAm3N_7eCNzI7NFeW0jhBHNiIPRf_SJwk8AH_3RckXPFDWt9rgebYYFrqgmLD6v4kQ8GN658zduqZxKtobM8vcqs4emmpe9ABpgHsLzOCGxzCsgLa2E0hJYsCGZGRd7BCix7EM/w300-h400/20231119_120147.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>I made do with some snacks for lunch at yet another service station, favouring the air conditioning (and predictability) over local food. In the face of "better to regret something you did, than something you didn't", I'm still kicking myself for not stopping for afternoon tea at a place I passed later, which was teeming with people. The queue looked to be a good half an hour's worth, and it seemed absolutely certain that something delicious lay in wait, not to mention a nice cultural experience...</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim_OEzwEBdBqokvJoyBFPqUHjUEpVy3LgAqMTrir6nPu35vgcLImJX4IpP5QkhdAv_I2GK84W4vr0aYqlDqQkXnm8nMhyAH_kiZX6seEe9pooOFqqk1dHCzE5ib81XSAR-t6g_Jbyn_HFRsBKji7WDa6PDox5dPGBcfRHKzrOdTcUwLGfaGoXSr_YxjIvo/s4000/20231119_143401.jpg"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim_OEzwEBdBqokvJoyBFPqUHjUEpVy3LgAqMTrir6nPu35vgcLImJX4IpP5QkhdAv_I2GK84W4vr0aYqlDqQkXnm8nMhyAH_kiZX6seEe9pooOFqqk1dHCzE5ib81XSAR-t6g_Jbyn_HFRsBKji7WDa6PDox5dPGBcfRHKzrOdTcUwLGfaGoXSr_YxjIvo/w400-h300/20231119_143401.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>An hour later, I was desperate for a break, and settled on the first Family Mart I'd seen since the thousand or so Sarah, Brendan, Viv and I <a href="https://sifter-writes-bikes.blogspot.com/2023/11/taiwan-take-2.html" target="_blank">had passed in Taiwan a few weeks prior</a>. As a tip of the hat to them, I decided to brave the dreaded door chime, only to find that this venue was bucking chain policy by not having one (or muting it!). Despite having tables for eat-in, my request to have some instant noodles there seemed to elicit confusion, but we got there in the end. </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigpJ7whNTAZnTpcegP227mY-GRqIrMcuJwySxCEKeL1vL8uwuytAvWn9Ktk7zhzbphVU57P4lo9_r3uRGJ1RIF5I1ABYV5z7EhkiDoWGYmZTuQcZEcK9B9kDTNgtVymR-lwUIF3ZobrqL5Y9s8FwI6DAZASve2jAngMG7Qd3bKUlwdWHgnQpzNUwTpT3LA/s4000/20231119_154237.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigpJ7whNTAZnTpcegP227mY-GRqIrMcuJwySxCEKeL1vL8uwuytAvWn9Ktk7zhzbphVU57P4lo9_r3uRGJ1RIF5I1ABYV5z7EhkiDoWGYmZTuQcZEcK9B9kDTNgtVymR-lwUIF3ZobrqL5Y9s8FwI6DAZASve2jAngMG7Qd3bKUlwdWHgnQpzNUwTpT3LA/w300-h400/20231119_154237.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">A messy and unmemorable day, mostly due to my headspace, had a messy ending thanks to my accommodation's location in the booking.com system being completely wrong. Thankfully, the incorrect location was en route to the actual location, and a hotel with a vaguely similar (but not identical) name was searchable in Google Maps. It was on the far side of Ayer Hitam, so I rode past very many restaurants to get to the hotel. </p><p style="text-align: left;">There, I was relieved to be able to check in, and after stashing my bike in the staff area, and then showering, I stumbled down to the next door Nasi Kandar for dinner. I ordered a mee goreng, which was tasty, but a fried chicken wing had been chopped with a cleaver before being stirred into the meal, so I had to eat more carefully than I'm prone to do. A shame, as I was well and truly in the mood to wolf my food down. (Anyone who's ever seen me eat would be forgiven for wondering if that is ever not true...!!!!) </p><p style="text-align: left;"><u>Stats:</u> <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/10243813950" target="_blank">134km</a> at an average speed of 21km/h, a far cry from Day 1's pace of 27.5km/h. Are. We. There. Yet...?</p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><h4 style="text-align: center;">Day 4 - back to Melaka</h4><p style="text-align: left;">I started the day with a very nice nasi lemak and a couple of roti canai, determined to have a better ride, energy-wise. </p><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNF9yCQiHAFGnMRHgq6cM53fSpu1ROKDc0gfJ857ToU6pILSasj45zajT3z1zHpCnUJpbFWDrzs2Su4WGsRPwn9LCHufrUL7C-7qlbAKQTsIpxD7MxaEPeQtVRb0ckzmjPpD7kEekA5EbX-8Q-nartQ9-DQlZxkLXc6C8GEpznHAJ5yEypvO5miPlavYoG/s4000/20231120_093351.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNF9yCQiHAFGnMRHgq6cM53fSpu1ROKDc0gfJ857ToU6pILSasj45zajT3z1zHpCnUJpbFWDrzs2Su4WGsRPwn9LCHufrUL7C-7qlbAKQTsIpxD7MxaEPeQtVRb0ckzmjPpD7kEekA5EbX-8Q-nartQ9-DQlZxkLXc6C8GEpznHAJ5yEypvO5miPlavYoG/w400-h300/20231120_093351.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Breakfast of champions? I hoped so</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">After a short time on Route 1, I turned off and took relatively minor roads to hook into Route 24 which went all the way to Muar. The spell away from the highway had been nice, and returning to it (and its traffic) not so much. In my eagerness to take another back road, I didn't do as much due diligence as I should have, and a "parallel route" turned out to add quite a bit of riding. Despite that, it was nice to be on smaller roads, and between the occasional stops for shade, or at stores for a pick-me-up, good progress was made. </p><p style="text-align: left;">I probably should have found a decent meal at Muar, but continued to make do with service stations, where I was guaranteed cold air and cold drinks. I began tipping cold water down my back and over my head, which was refreshing, but I made the mistake of stowing my cap in a pocket. A couple of weeks on, a strip of badly sunburnt head has both stopped hurting and stopped peeling! I've thanked my lucky stars for my height, presuming that from above and behind, I've looked bloody silly!!</p>I think through a combination of motivation-to-finish, somewhat better attention to what I ate, and the physical and psychological effect of the cold water, I managed a higher average speed back to Melaka. I spotted another dead Malaysian Civet, the first of which I'd ridden by without stopping a couple of days prior. Sad, but fascinating. <br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw4eciCQV_PyLTOtQZzsfZ24aY_Y4w90Ryh8CTLpOrDrWUYY_HvO-i8niZNFV00JuwcIPFQ7L2D-uTwebngEimDdTbXK7HM_nFIldndpVXLdGx7YoWjKH0AZl5_ykFFxGfU7iWwei7HERvHjKVEkMuKgD3t3l1Oj_w2SQjryQ90dYCyqsM4bqPQY_hfwrg/s4000/20231120_155202.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw4eciCQV_PyLTOtQZzsfZ24aY_Y4w90Ryh8CTLpOrDrWUYY_HvO-i8niZNFV00JuwcIPFQ7L2D-uTwebngEimDdTbXK7HM_nFIldndpVXLdGx7YoWjKH0AZl5_ykFFxGfU7iWwei7HERvHjKVEkMuKgD3t3l1Oj_w2SQjryQ90dYCyqsM4bqPQY_hfwrg/w400-h300/20231120_155202.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A Malaysian Civet, a touch smaller than a labrador dog, at a guess</td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div><p style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Nearing Melaka, I took a series of back-roads to Ayer Keroh, where my hotel was waiting! After a wash, I decided that I couldn't be bothered with an outing, despite again having access to a proper pair of shoes. In any case, the hotel restaurant made a mighty fine laksa, which marked a happy ending to a surprisingly unenjoyable cycle tour. </p><p style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><u>Stats:</u> <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/10249952297" target="_blank">137km ridden</a>, average temperature 35 degrees.</p><p style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></p><h4 style="clear: both; text-align: center;">* * *</h4><p style="text-align: left;">The solo cycle tour was something I was craving, and yet it was an experience from which I came to a surprising realisation. </p><p style="text-align: left;">Harking back to the VORB days, I had a thread titled "Sifter Goes (Bike) Riding", in which I used to say something about almost every ride I did. When I shifted to this blog, I documented a lot of racing and exploring, but when I look back at recent years, almost every post describes a trip with Sarah. This year alone, we've ridden in Tasmania, Thailand, Mongolia, South Korea and Taiwan - latterly joined by Brendan and Viv. In 2022, we did a mix of domestic and overseas riding (South Island and Coromandel, Fiji and Australia). I have to go back to an Easter 2021 ride with Brendan to find a cycle tour I did without Sarah, and to June 2018 to find a cycle tour I did (mostly) alone. </p><p style="text-align: left;"><i>Le Cycle Tour de France</i>, ridden back in June 2013 and described via daily posts in June 2018, remains a period I vividly remember as one of great calm, great enjoyment, and encompassing 4800km over a period of 29 days, a ride in which I devoured kilometres without ever feeling sated. </p><p style="text-align: left;">I think my lack of enjoyment of the roads between Melaka and Singapore was a combination of many factors, all pushing in the same direction: </p><p style="text-align: left;"></p><ol style="text-align: left;"><li>a lack of fitness had me poorly prepared for 590km in four days;</li><li>I didn't fuel well, with low appetite and poor choices both contributing;</li><li>my route choice was not great, focusing on the destination (i.e. border crossing) rather than seeking interesting terrain.</li></ol><p style="text-align: left;">But, I think the single biggest factor was that I was not in the company of my dear wife. I set out thinking that this was a feature, and that I <i>wanted</i> to be alone. But I finished knowing it was actually a bug, and discovering how much she's become a factor in making a good ride just that. </p><p style="text-align: left;">On reflection, I realise how much less I stress about her now - every pothole, or car, or bit of debris in the road used to trigger a fear reflex as I hoped that Sarah would notice it and successfully pass it by. That is a wasted reflex nowadays, such is her level of experience - touch wood, gone are the days of phone calls from roadside or emergency rooms reporting another silly crash. </p><p style="text-align: left;">I also realise how much Sarah entertains me when we are out on the road. When she's ahead of me, I enjoy watching her pedal, and full of admiration, the hours fly by. At other times, I constantly have my eyes peeled for opportunities to take photos of her in a way that showcases our surroundings. We stop more deliberately, enjoying food, drink, and conversation. In trying to ensure she has a good time, I ensure I have one myself. </p><p style="text-align: left;">In the bike racing scene, you often hear that "you're either winning or learning", but this trip was both. I did get some solid exercise, and enjoyed eating some great, cheap food. The ride wasn't fulfilling in the way I expected, but I would argue that it was much more than I could have hoped for. Far from returning to say "I really must do that more often", I think I'll be hesitant to <i>ever</i> do it again! Instead, I will make damn sure that Sarah, my riding-super-power these days, is part of the plan. </p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjJGPRTaVtfWNaEYZV5dDwwjSu3VmlBNXG2DsN5QOYTy_t9yFrZYFYE2nLPiyT8yV0yl6HZESAr2sjdFWeWe0XLCp1A-fsopeHShIMVin74yk44aT4wlUbajCrd9cwhD60eCer013Z0U4rLawSvsAKsH1zRDTcwxcLbEEbp79PC2O2FXtLGXslUIqUzu6T/s2005/map.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1026" data-original-width="2005" height="205" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjJGPRTaVtfWNaEYZV5dDwwjSu3VmlBNXG2DsN5QOYTy_t9yFrZYFYE2nLPiyT8yV0yl6HZESAr2sjdFWeWe0XLCp1A-fsopeHShIMVin74yk44aT4wlUbajCrd9cwhD60eCer013Z0U4rLawSvsAKsH1zRDTcwxcLbEEbp79PC2O2FXtLGXslUIqUzu6T/w400-h205/map.png" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><br />sifterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15453244482461385029noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7894195099236501078.post-62366881246797137852023-11-11T10:43:00.003+13:002023-11-11T10:53:44.205+13:00Taiwan, Take 2<p>Way back in February, Sarah and I booked an October trip to Taiwan, as a fitting way for me to celebrate my 50th birthday. <a href="https://sifter-writes-bikes.blogspot.com/2019/06/taiwan-cyclist-tourists-paradise.html" target="_blank">We had been there once before</a>, though in the sweltering summer months, and despite the heat, had been really impressed with what the island nation had to offer. We thought the occasion warranted company, and were delighted when Brendan and his partner Viv accepted our invitation. </p><p>Little did we know how much needed - and well timed - the trip would be. This has been an incredibly challenging year at work, and our somewhat regular breaks have provided essential R&R (it is tempting to say, in the M*A*S*H sense). </p><p>To avoid a somewhat brutal start to the trip, we flew up to Auckland on the Friday evening, staying (sans one bike) at the Ibis Budget hotel 10 minutes walk from the domestic terminal. Before we hit the sack, Sarah's steed had been located in Wellington, and we were assured by Air New Zealand that it would be on the first flight up in the morning. When we did successfully collect it the next day, it seemed that the zip tie the baggage tag had been attached to must have snagged on something, and the whole shooting match had torn off, leaving the bag untagged. We breezed through check in and emigration, and were joined soon after by Brendan and Viv in the lounge. It was exciting to be underway! </p><p>It was still daylight when we began our approach into Taoyuan International Airport, some hours of slightly underwhelming in-flight entertainment later. It was fascinating to see so many windmills along the north-west coast, and a huge number of small lakes in the area south of the airport that befit "the land of a thousand ponds". It was a bit of a mission to get to our hotel, but we managed to wrestle two bike bags and a couple of bike boxes on and off a fairly packed metro, and negotiate a short suburban walk. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiklPfR0zkAwCalD4qdvNBGKpFVxZD8T4qIdGYg58PyRsrVPCWjI2ojC7vnOpMAQGeW44P6S-_Dt4XCTNdhp7DBXlHXIYDD6CZJl4BDiRQuI6A0F3sx-ki7YMB-4qVoZCuusevsllYIcdkEsIvosiEVAjMUaHBU7iMjpIwXC2qJqgV6bQ2DhyKL6WHDHeUy/s4000/20231021_165744.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiklPfR0zkAwCalD4qdvNBGKpFVxZD8T4qIdGYg58PyRsrVPCWjI2ojC7vnOpMAQGeW44P6S-_Dt4XCTNdhp7DBXlHXIYDD6CZJl4BDiRQuI6A0F3sx-ki7YMB-4qVoZCuusevsllYIcdkEsIvosiEVAjMUaHBU7iMjpIwXC2qJqgV6bQ2DhyKL6WHDHeUy/w400-h300/20231021_165744.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A few of the thousand ponds</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">Respective work demands had slowed our planning down a bit, and it was useful that we'd booked two nights' stay. That gave us a lay-day to spend a bit of time in Taipei, and sort out bag and box storage. The latter turned into a head-ache when our hotel said they had no space for them. After considering a bunch of options, the least bad seemed to be to take them back to the airport and leave them at a storage facility there. This was charged based on the sum of the dimensions per piece, and was eye-wateringly expensive, particularly for a couple of cardboard boxes which you can often pick up for free at a bike shop. Before leaving them, Brendan checked box availability with a couple of airlines upstairs, to whom the notion of selling a bike box was completely foreign, and the call was made to bundle them together and left as a single piece. In hindsight, we should have taken the time to put both bags inside one box, and tape the other flattened box to the first, thereby storing a single "Super Large" item. </p><p style="text-align: left;">We'd been a bit aimless in Taipei, but when everything is novel, there was no shortage of fascination. We spent a short amount of time in a museum, and it was bemusing to discover that the migratory bird exhibition included a couple of kiwis (one skeleton, and one stuffed)!</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDVZw8M5K9n8rfgFTXNhc86_Dqi3M3ReeMw4sW1TGKDNEKmv4BZ3TVzxDvUm6AAitrGUFYfdP1IUnUzmCDKb8eiX7qgjizkJ68_lJZaH_6ufZ48bthW3YW1XnYnZdZua17NIgizvbqkNL_qBvpXw8RTUqGhn0yTmqcoMvJ8-QuItJIhrRwNa_MJ8UOhUp-/s4000/20231022_103801.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDVZw8M5K9n8rfgFTXNhc86_Dqi3M3ReeMw4sW1TGKDNEKmv4BZ3TVzxDvUm6AAitrGUFYfdP1IUnUzmCDKb8eiX7qgjizkJ68_lJZaH_6ufZ48bthW3YW1XnYnZdZua17NIgizvbqkNL_qBvpXw8RTUqGhn0yTmqcoMvJ8-QuItJIhrRwNa_MJ8UOhUp-/w400-h300/20231022_103801.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Permanently mounted child seat</td></tr></tbody></table><p style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Before turning in for the night, Brendan and I did our first of many booking.com missions, to pin down accommodation a day's ride south. The site seemed to have pretty good saturation, but we did get an early heads up of one of the main challenges of travelling with others! I took the lead on pinning down a rough destination, putting Strava's route builder to good use, while Brendan was responsible for the finer details (i.e. hotel), Sarah and I following suit once a place had been picked. </p><p style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></p><h4 style="text-align: center;">Day 1 - Taoyuan to just north of Taichung</h4><p style="text-align: left;">We had breakfast at a nearby cash-only Family Mart convenience store. I'd quickly come to prefer the 7-Eleven chain, which accepted credit card, but also didn't have an incredibly annoying door chime. Frustratingly, 7-Eleven also tended to have a slightly inferior range of food. </p><p style="text-align: left;">The first couple of hours riding were messy, and that was on me as Brendan hadn't had a chance to install the Taiwan GPS base-map from <a href="http://garmin3.bbbike.org" target="_blank">garmin3.bbbike.org</a>. I was struggling to get the zoom level on my screen right, and was not always leading us in the right direction. Brendan was doing a much better job with only a broad outline of the island on his unit, supplemented by the wind direction! To add insult to injury, I picked up a bit of glass in my tire and had to mend the tube before resuming the torturous ride!</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfZPtujwjUeobm3K2pQ6CT1iCxAjAu2i2NWDr2JFhKru1wNS3_Mlabu9a_5KIk-0OAweqH5NFN_5wQ58J8rV789VtorvLszBs_d-1GmL0QMg_v_XGahRfXu756lYtaXDt-pjNGMtr7qJTenRZk1g7mMlFM1GvAXIRNxu48KeJXj-xkwDkfF5Ol0oiE6Sad/s4000/20231023_085454.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfZPtujwjUeobm3K2pQ6CT1iCxAjAu2i2NWDr2JFhKru1wNS3_Mlabu9a_5KIk-0OAweqH5NFN_5wQ58J8rV789VtorvLszBs_d-1GmL0QMg_v_XGahRfXu756lYtaXDt-pjNGMtr7qJTenRZk1g7mMlFM1GvAXIRNxu48KeJXj-xkwDkfF5Ol0oiE6Sad/w400-h300/20231023_085454.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Are you sure about this?!"</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I hoped that when we finally hit the coast, things would get more straightforward. They did, but not before a promising road running parallel to the main highway was blocked by sand forcing a brief battle against what was usually a sweet tail wind. </p><p style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The ride was not without its upsides though, including a toilet and sunscreen stop alongside an impressive statue. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXw_66-WNy4JrunTBqBpuKUjaEEE6nZJnENEDGV_3yNZ3OiG_IQdlXVV2wFhiEA4PCnHq1E95TcXD3bEFcfJx74gHjXgFBNZO6kDvI96Z-1rX_YXo3IgG_uiyUxANGTN8rIrRiKVk3ALWScOYEAUc2YNf0Co_kbvjzQ8zkPUt6_9s1Soomo8PiNYGdAAtX/s3946/20231023_110843.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2960" data-original-width="3946" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXw_66-WNy4JrunTBqBpuKUjaEEE6nZJnENEDGV_3yNZ3OiG_IQdlXVV2wFhiEA4PCnHq1E95TcXD3bEFcfJx74gHjXgFBNZO6kDvI96Z-1rX_YXo3IgG_uiyUxANGTN8rIrRiKVk3ALWScOYEAUc2YNf0Co_kbvjzQ8zkPUt6_9s1Soomo8PiNYGdAAtX/w400-h300/20231023_110843.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p style="text-align: left;">Navigational stress vanished just before noon, when we stumbled upon the Xinfeng Coastline Bike Path, which would connect in with Cycle Route 1 (CR1) a bit further south. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyCk_tTTAnKxuaa3rl77pwBVT3gEts6Twyu1e6AxoMuG1RASiE4dqcK7R22Iq6sl14BjXJtBtEQndaxmf57EEvZBAxhrexKUYLv3psL6JYzUqmBF9QjSHcVAjpNV1KtLq8g7Sv0R__fAGJk2Z6fB1_34-QH4F28GGx8XjQOYYlScGwJ5DErhyphenhyphenx7Sym7N4O/s3652/20231023_113656.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2739" data-original-width="3652" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyCk_tTTAnKxuaa3rl77pwBVT3gEts6Twyu1e6AxoMuG1RASiE4dqcK7R22Iq6sl14BjXJtBtEQndaxmf57EEvZBAxhrexKUYLv3psL6JYzUqmBF9QjSHcVAjpNV1KtLq8g7Sv0R__fAGJk2Z6fB1_34-QH4F28GGx8XjQOYYlScGwJ5DErhyphenhyphenx7Sym7N4O/w400-h300/20231023_113656.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">One of the more curious stretches was alongside a multilane tunnel which had us wondering what was going on above. There was at least two kilometres of covered road, all of which was open on the seaward side, along which ran a glorious cycle path. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU046ghiEdycDhe-ouR0a3Sj6BbIiMX6c46qrnu63Xhn3bJ-F1hR0N9uIjXMpFKOLQ5nKjppYLgXKP1OdrU9fdkZwjp3DCyKErMhcM3t0wXVRsO096Bxu5BmquVG7UDe0BarsCm9Ff9Al6lIyHNAd4D_lF8gW_54KMX-n9IYvBTi-60WLwKwfF1fjx64Wl/s4000/20231023_120530.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU046ghiEdycDhe-ouR0a3Sj6BbIiMX6c46qrnu63Xhn3bJ-F1hR0N9uIjXMpFKOLQ5nKjppYLgXKP1OdrU9fdkZwjp3DCyKErMhcM3t0wXVRsO096Bxu5BmquVG7UDe0BarsCm9Ff9Al6lIyHNAd4D_lF8gW_54KMX-n9IYvBTi-60WLwKwfF1fjx64Wl/w400-h300/20231023_120530.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><p style="clear: both; text-align: left;">For the most part, we had the route to ourselves, with a notable exception being a peloton of similarly clad folk, on a mix of road and e-bikes. We didn't attempt to overcome the language barrier, but waved regularly as we made our way past. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCm0XyVwnO-2RKruRHHb0s5cyU87QwJ2a_qupsk2T181IwDC3hI-64X02krBus_dDBspPcyoDbF4gAPrW0FN7IRflb2Bp3xG_XFp6zLldAC4bmA1NMlQRDTqP6EB7QXoR7DZgt8hyphenhyphendWEQ2mG31f1rH1E-2j081KTEn6KqGLc48Ixk4W6qBeUN34xavsKCZ/s4000/20231023_134721.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCm0XyVwnO-2RKruRHHb0s5cyU87QwJ2a_qupsk2T181IwDC3hI-64X02krBus_dDBspPcyoDbF4gAPrW0FN7IRflb2Bp3xG_XFp6zLldAC4bmA1NMlQRDTqP6EB7QXoR7DZgt8hyphenhyphendWEQ2mG31f1rH1E-2j081KTEn6KqGLc48Ixk4W6qBeUN34xavsKCZ/w400-h300/20231023_134721.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">Land-based windmills had been a regular sight along our route, but later in the day we started seeing dozens of massive off-shore windmills. These well and truly implied regular strong wind, so it was very nice to be heading with it, rather than against it!</p><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZQgLwo69IJbkwhsltYk949GtG5Xl2V6weLxUjahDTVG0XY_Gr5baYfWe-nJcnrH__Z8ZMlvVOgSSkpWyW3axy0w0-yi7B8KbyC_uarrzeecH91nfDSosa5mrctgilzO3NuhFDFTPaAanjaMDLGyBxgoYXjYIzO0Gx404e56MwMoNtiPY5yMpgB1iTaVd5/s4000/20231023_141550.jpg"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZQgLwo69IJbkwhsltYk949GtG5Xl2V6weLxUjahDTVG0XY_Gr5baYfWe-nJcnrH__Z8ZMlvVOgSSkpWyW3axy0w0-yi7B8KbyC_uarrzeecH91nfDSosa5mrctgilzO3NuhFDFTPaAanjaMDLGyBxgoYXjYIzO0Gx404e56MwMoNtiPY5yMpgB1iTaVd5/w400-h300/20231023_141550.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB8f2vtByNpKkx9bCAb2r3KKokf8IhVgegavKwe8X8j6nXXMV6qMP7kzQiQ7VaMU5AQRUZcbB1FMajVupMki8ZLF2513V_es7aaEfWHapG3Ly5VDFX7cUWEJzBPGo9oWdiIBlYvb1Ff7MDrVeAnd2LjFeW5X63qbsbYJo2maaF5DO0Lr33xAbv5vPEW04H/s4000/20231023_152215.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB8f2vtByNpKkx9bCAb2r3KKokf8IhVgegavKwe8X8j6nXXMV6qMP7kzQiQ7VaMU5AQRUZcbB1FMajVupMki8ZLF2513V_es7aaEfWHapG3Ly5VDFX7cUWEJzBPGo9oWdiIBlYvb1Ff7MDrVeAnd2LjFeW5X63qbsbYJo2maaF5DO0Lr33xAbv5vPEW04H/w400-h300/20231023_152215.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wind+solar energy harnessed</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">After a long stretch on dedicated cycle paths, we ended up on a huge but empty road. I'd advertised the day's ride as 110km, but we'd blown through that milestone at the 8 hour (elapsed) mark, and we would end up with almost 145km on the clock! Even now, it is hard to see where all the extra distance came from. As our destination neared, the road was completely transformed, and for the last hour or so we were joined by a seemingly endless supply of commuters heading home after a day in the factory (including at least one for Giant Bicycles, judging by the clothing being worn). </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgq2KPyd3oU0Yew5ZYpAleuhilmGySH23aYy8dFL5Avy5LkMlRmlbGH0nBFUoZTQDmERPWd0LfPX-Xz_KnWXcezGP62ndjLMGvEs-_i4WdbznyMMdK_P_I83eThMlJFXToV-LSU50C0GRujfcTttYSIXR1Sv91XAPPqgKy-hUTFdHOm3kN07Jb5I8Ii1Pb/s4000/20231023_161417.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgq2KPyd3oU0Yew5ZYpAleuhilmGySH23aYy8dFL5Avy5LkMlRmlbGH0nBFUoZTQDmERPWd0LfPX-Xz_KnWXcezGP62ndjLMGvEs-_i4WdbznyMMdK_P_I83eThMlJFXToV-LSU50C0GRujfcTttYSIXR1Sv91XAPPqgKy-hUTFdHOm3kN07Jb5I8Ii1Pb/w400-h300/20231023_161417.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">At check-in, I felt confident that wherever our bicycles ended up, they'd be well watched. In the end, we were told to take them to our rooms, which happened on many of the nights. Other times, we were more than satisfied that they would be safe (or too pooped to care). </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiecOIFy1Y1a3eLeoMdMbYKXncWqeLbe2CDqI8-BE05bklM-52z2ofjhfFhyphenhyphenjZ0p0V2BWK83WWalKXL7KAcDjrZEpgseA9JJVkty6U2rfw9yqTQtA_FGsJAWhFXwy1e7eR2pWWU9xRsmmjgb0jAuyuniGI7GUVgcZffGvVjcumLq_jmgVf4fHxVVv9tk1Kh/s4000/20231023_174653.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiecOIFy1Y1a3eLeoMdMbYKXncWqeLbe2CDqI8-BE05bklM-52z2ofjhfFhyphenhyphenjZ0p0V2BWK83WWalKXL7KAcDjrZEpgseA9JJVkty6U2rfw9yqTQtA_FGsJAWhFXwy1e7eR2pWWU9xRsmmjgb0jAuyuniGI7GUVgcZffGvVjcumLq_jmgVf4fHxVVv9tk1Kh/w400-h300/20231023_174653.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>The hotel had an adjacent laundromat, which we put to good use. In the end, Viv, Brendan and I ate out, while Sarah nursed a bad headache back in our room. Fortunately, she was feeling a lot better when I returned with some dumplings, though a long day in the saddle and that relatively light meal did not set her up well for the next couple of days on the bike. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNCjiuQgBz6yR6E5cHIevYSukEyvBB7jTzy13CxfzIOPomfy2ta3fSXZKAhX21VxS39lmjATtWnuPVBuOoABap34m2N1mc2cm8Jhb1LXTwFL3BD6YSOnh9QKEbFG4ArW5D2QujimENPl7W798w92jQobTPTHjKElwjP_ndp1xMqfE2lnghhNJvQkfpihcb/s4000/20231023_201401.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNCjiuQgBz6yR6E5cHIevYSukEyvBB7jTzy13CxfzIOPomfy2ta3fSXZKAhX21VxS39lmjATtWnuPVBuOoABap34m2N1mc2cm8Jhb1LXTwFL3BD6YSOnh9QKEbFG4ArW5D2QujimENPl7W798w92jQobTPTHjKElwjP_ndp1xMqfE2lnghhNJvQkfpihcb/w400-h300/20231023_201401.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;"><u>Stats:</u> <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/10088923108" target="_blank">144km ridden</a>. Many more windmills and ponds passed. Temperature 25 to 36 degrees, average 30. </p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><h4 style="text-align: center;">Day 2 - into the foothills</h4><p style="text-align: left;">With an eye to Days 3 and 4, our target for the second day was Caotun, about 20km inland, and in the foothills of the mountain range that separates west from east. Between us and Caotun lay Taichung, the largest city in Taiwan by population (2.8 million people). We could have got there in about 50km, but instead headed south along CR1, both to make a day of it, and to avoid passing through the city. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2-r37V4U3x4_WuDjEzq3bo0jTUjAoaYzd_hXqMbx1hIOzdQM0W5ZPjUr-F8E5xK8VV-2dyDBJYK1rNh6UB5-aGG0UUlAUhffItLzWZOJCW0GatwtSa8qAjggI0e-TqrffFScr7pot-ccZo4n9xzc4CwdwmXIJ-pMjb5tBn3rf3JiNYv1jSJQDfUB32HoN/s4000/20231024_091420.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2-r37V4U3x4_WuDjEzq3bo0jTUjAoaYzd_hXqMbx1hIOzdQM0W5ZPjUr-F8E5xK8VV-2dyDBJYK1rNh6UB5-aGG0UUlAUhffItLzWZOJCW0GatwtSa8qAjggI0e-TqrffFScr7pot-ccZo4n9xzc4CwdwmXIJ-pMjb5tBn3rf3JiNYv1jSJQDfUB32HoN/w400-h300/20231024_091420.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Curious road-side emporium</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">On the face of it, the highly industrialised area we rode through that morning should have been a nightmare. There were a huge number of trucks on the road, and factories are hardly "good scenery". On the contrary, the drivers were awesomely courteous, and the glimpse into this side of life in Taiwan was actually really interesting (in suitable moderation!). </p><p style="text-align: left;">I caught a glimpse of something behind a fence that deserved a closer look, and comedy ensued. The solid fence was too high for me to see over, so I snapped a photo at the top of a jump, much to my companions' amusement, and to poor effect. I asked for someone to volunteer to be hoisted up, and Viv kindly put her hand up, kindly removing a shoe before using me as a ladder of sorts. The photo of us was much better than her photo over the fence, due to a second fence that we didn't anticipate. </p><p style="text-align: left;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCUeXW1K3EdgotQ00Bw5NkkQH3axiOITwa-xdR1yokTu7oViJT_TlD6nFxImSmtC-4pf5MVwMhzaH_pHdVA-DMqUPDZFzJdeciR4oCZNjjhpbC87YFvL3MMwtonG77PFp5-b25YnfE5NKt2YZJMjGrpYcPNDsRyEQYIhED1Iox_H92uV6wX7RonTO2f7GX/s4000/20231024_094132_st.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCUeXW1K3EdgotQ00Bw5NkkQH3axiOITwa-xdR1yokTu7oViJT_TlD6nFxImSmtC-4pf5MVwMhzaH_pHdVA-DMqUPDZFzJdeciR4oCZNjjhpbC87YFvL3MMwtonG77PFp5-b25YnfE5NKt2YZJMjGrpYcPNDsRyEQYIhED1Iox_H92uV6wX7RonTO2f7GX/w400-h300/20231024_094132_st.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>That triggered me to fire up the flying camera, with which I got the shot I was after - of various windmill components (and its platform) being loaded onto a ship for installation out in the strait. Of course, 200m down the road, both fences ended, and we could have got a perfectly good shot from the roadside, but no-one seemed bothered by the novel use of the past 10 minutes, least of all this blogger. <p></p></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCl_J0MggsYR4Aq1ip8AFE8i3gukCXZtewFpHTfA5x2262GvOU3UkkIjO_4tcPi4UwGgDx3Lmj2BpKRGx5qbCVwVXZfhSlcjepMFC8iPe5qunDYMpXzic0lI10wqIdj9g0uSXY4MTYANrzBQFRrVH0r1bK7evr2gOFsnt9vUyMGIaJ40EHrW-DM6t8PNNM/s4032/DJI_0125.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCl_J0MggsYR4Aq1ip8AFE8i3gukCXZtewFpHTfA5x2262GvOU3UkkIjO_4tcPi4UwGgDx3Lmj2BpKRGx5qbCVwVXZfhSlcjepMFC8iPe5qunDYMpXzic0lI10wqIdj9g0uSXY4MTYANrzBQFRrVH0r1bK7evr2gOFsnt9vUyMGIaJ40EHrW-DM6t8PNNM/w400-h300/DJI_0125.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><p style="text-align: left;">Progress continued to be slow when not 5 minutes later, Sarah announced a flat tyre. We stopped to fix it, and that done, I enjoyed finding segments of a Screw Pine cone littering the ground - still on the tree, the cone resembled a ball, but when that falls apart it reveals beautifully flat surfaces with a crystalline and mathematical vibe to them. </p><p style="text-align: left;">The day was heating up, and we stopped for a while at a 7-Eleven just down the road from the Taichung Power Plant (apparently the fourth largest coal-fired power station in the world). Once underway, we soon crossed the Wu River (which we would follow into the mountains the following day), and continued south for a while longer on large roads.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZAdbH04KRGVm43_7ucXwnr-aSOR940qANQqzXz5Rc-omDc8oJw9tuxlppaQjkwuTAWOV5RyhFETced3RGienUBBLhS6S5CAosM506_iZAwu7Rj-1imN-0spDdGrXvLkYqZ-d_cjgOyEkP_sq4v8a02Cteclwr-HkirWKS_fCS-zJTo4yQ_QKVUSPBOZMx/s1913/20231024_103307_crop.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1430" data-original-width="1913" height="299" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZAdbH04KRGVm43_7ucXwnr-aSOR940qANQqzXz5Rc-omDc8oJw9tuxlppaQjkwuTAWOV5RyhFETced3RGienUBBLhS6S5CAosM506_iZAwu7Rj-1imN-0spDdGrXvLkYqZ-d_cjgOyEkP_sq4v8a02Cteclwr-HkirWKS_fCS-zJTo4yQ_QKVUSPBOZMx/w400-h299/20231024_103307_crop.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Taichung Power Plant</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I'd planned to head inland at the next major river, to approach Caotun from the due south, but the day had worn on a bit, and plan B was enacted. There now lay a fairly grand ridge between us and our destination. Circumnavigating it to the north and south were both possible, but these would both add unwelcome distance, and the northern approach would likely take us into the edges of Taichung and heavy traffic. The ridge seemed to be gaining altitude from north to south, so I plotted a route a little to the north of "as the crow flies", that would cut out 100m or so of climbing. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO6WEjbfHYdQrJcM92Ty9e4dHDDKtZrz5vL06_wSCj9gPjg-W33Xd1tqKQPxpsxIDYUHmTIZhdGv1cxUVxSphVqgMpyLLmdWumaEHVxeqzgMktTDZDYZT1g9u_lbkWJ14ohQPuMKFuRW1ERnxPEIBBHxR5DsGGyxMLaS8EfQXzuT15Rgi-CV3P0F92vt9A/s4000/20231024_151302.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO6WEjbfHYdQrJcM92Ty9e4dHDDKtZrz5vL06_wSCj9gPjg-W33Xd1tqKQPxpsxIDYUHmTIZhdGv1cxUVxSphVqgMpyLLmdWumaEHVxeqzgMktTDZDYZT1g9u_lbkWJ14ohQPuMKFuRW1ERnxPEIBBHxR5DsGGyxMLaS8EfQXzuT15Rgi-CV3P0F92vt9A/w400-h300/20231024_151302.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hill-climb ahoy!</td></tr></tbody></table><p style="text-align: left;">A nifty series of small roads took us slowly but surely towards the start of the climb. Passing through one village, we got to watch the rubbish collection service in action - the truck played a loud jingle, not unlike Mr Whippy's, and residents would line up along the route with their trash. We witnessed this time and again, and it seemed like a very effective process!</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXNkVEtshGEDwkiKXsQTnpsO1fAtUBAUxmt57ylaDlKABUWGpKLSfGKNJf7VnoXEQ_MdyiNYIKxsE-7IU7LPAajzpNeDI8iONyO_bMVFnchXnWy7v9iVl1dX3xGSxi9MCX7AbCprEDNP1SeKhEHf3FcT-_WD4UIVE51uI3ExP5SenBLbROKGoqFACyyNlm/s1440/VideoCapture_20231024-212328.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1440" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXNkVEtshGEDwkiKXsQTnpsO1fAtUBAUxmt57ylaDlKABUWGpKLSfGKNJf7VnoXEQ_MdyiNYIKxsE-7IU7LPAajzpNeDI8iONyO_bMVFnchXnWy7v9iVl1dX3xGSxi9MCX7AbCprEDNP1SeKhEHf3FcT-_WD4UIVE51uI3ExP5SenBLbROKGoqFACyyNlm/w400-h300/VideoCapture_20231024-212328.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p style="text-align: left;">The 200m climb turned out to be not too bad, and if anything I enjoyed it much more than the descent, during which time I was alerted to the fact that my rear tyre was not fully seated in the rim. The slight deformity in the tyre profile wasn't overly apparent at 25km/h, but at 50, it was a nightmare! Whump, whump, whump, whump...</p><p style="text-align: left;">Once down in the valley, we had 8km or so to get to our hotel, during which time we passed an impressive statue just away from the main road. We deviated to check it out, but the closer we got, the harder it was to see. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlA14Xhg-7EtVJ7eoRQ6_7D5iU2cEGkoRpKoXxwBGBPcSG7mEe-cdf_5bs8Kz1bakm9VumYTKdeREQsa-EQw1JtUuZYXKSreHrFEKuglALmxVT3dYbLwAMb7z0s_J0IYfLADuwOH_rq0qQVysAOfY9DAc4veDOSHozYAscP1KTwnBtumSOsBmsRPy0dhl2/s1440/VideoCapture_20231105-141737.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1080" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlA14Xhg-7EtVJ7eoRQ6_7D5iU2cEGkoRpKoXxwBGBPcSG7mEe-cdf_5bs8Kz1bakm9VumYTKdeREQsa-EQw1JtUuZYXKSreHrFEKuglALmxVT3dYbLwAMb7z0s_J0IYfLADuwOH_rq0qQVysAOfY9DAc4veDOSHozYAscP1KTwnBtumSOsBmsRPy0dhl2/w300-h400/VideoCapture_20231105-141737.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;">Checking in was somewhat confusing, as the facility was actually two separate places (a hotel and a motel with the same name), and the staff's english wasn't much better than our mandarin. It turned out that Brendan and Viv were in the hotel, while Sarah and I had a motel room. We'd worked up a bit of a lather during the day, so we were all keen to find a laundry. Alas, our hotel compendium turned out to be a sex-toy catalogue (among other things), and we had to resort to a more traditional search process.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Our dinner outing was relatively benign, and after a longish walk, we found a nice road-side stall selling loaded pancakes. I ordered the "comprehensive" one, and was not disappointed! </p><p style="text-align: left;"><u>Stats:</u> <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/10094553910" target="_blank">100km ridden</a>, our first hill climb, and plenty of weird and wonderful things seen. Temperature 24 to 40 degrees, average 33. </p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><h4 style="text-align: center;">Day 3 - Caofen to Ren'ai Township</h4><p style="text-align: left;">In the morning, my rear tyre was completely flat. Since I'd ridden in on it the previous day, I figured I must have a slow leak, and removed the tube to find the hole. I couldn't locate one passing the tube past a wet lip, nor past an ear, and even a basin of water back in the room was bubble-less. There seemed nothing for it but to replace the tube, and a bit of brute force later, both it and the tyre were back in their rightful positions. I was half expecting to have to deal with it a few kilometres into the ride, but it held air all the way back to Taipei, and the source of the leak remained a mystery. (My personal theory is that it was an anonymous "I could have stolen your bicycle but didn't" message...)</p><div>Getting out of town was a terrible mess on account of some roadworks, but this was tempered by fantastic views of some rather serious looking mountains, and it may have been less annoying to the cyclists being led, than it was stressful for the navigator. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDSLSAjyANYtiJ9e4iZ1TdUt1zo99sKnZzlrGLPX52d9qXF6fDrB7lIYwPIX8v2fndOLn4Fuq0JMm2_uLuZ8BGbUa2YhxFq68NA6tSI8TjJG1kGjeFv6rA2F9Te896hWl3rx-fbCJsOCeKy4cq05NEfLYSwFsZO89Wi_GEeUC6efqbQOnpzqelvbtC-hrx/s4000/20231025_091354.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDSLSAjyANYtiJ9e4iZ1TdUt1zo99sKnZzlrGLPX52d9qXF6fDrB7lIYwPIX8v2fndOLn4Fuq0JMm2_uLuZ8BGbUa2YhxFq68NA6tSI8TjJG1kGjeFv6rA2F9Te896hWl3rx-fbCJsOCeKy4cq05NEfLYSwFsZO89Wi_GEeUC6efqbQOnpzqelvbtC-hrx/w400-h300/20231025_091354.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">The road network looked somewhat confusing on the map, with a major highway heading into Puli Township, so I was glad to find the route I'd plotted was indeed appropriate for bikes. From time to time we would see the main road, as we each criss-crossed our way up the river valley. </p><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsXZ4lICB9h53TCxZZj7utN4tNPaOcN69VoIKYnPZw9j4_AjWo-pjLhyUqtwuvANr26ObBePJtcNdfPhI8LUli8VMJgdRyIseJTd_quCJdkfisBRoPPp2tqMTOrRECft3xiMpnLYnPoGDiF14YhWTfarYp3ZcMZSREDr6DLd5k-OnBPgCdvmX8_iXPbpXX/s4000/20231025_101109.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsXZ4lICB9h53TCxZZj7utN4tNPaOcN69VoIKYnPZw9j4_AjWo-pjLhyUqtwuvANr26ObBePJtcNdfPhI8LUli8VMJgdRyIseJTd_quCJdkfisBRoPPp2tqMTOrRECft3xiMpnLYnPoGDiF14YhWTfarYp3ZcMZSREDr6DLd5k-OnBPgCdvmX8_iXPbpXX/w400-h300/20231025_101109.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">SH6 from the B-road</td></tr></tbody></table><p style="text-align: left;">Distance-wise, Puli lay roughly at the half-way mark for the day. We had a good break at a convenience store on the edge of the city, before passing through a built up area to pick up our mountain road. We had a bit of a giggle upon noticing the branding on one of the many busses that passed us...</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0muaGg0P9yKRU4CfdEddizrFBfwYruAF45XSy5HPijJC__KPMoqW4UyL41marRzvEAxa7PJ4fHnEW0m4tOnMzlfQKtTDQ3pAFzhshhCzSANz13IlIyWmvWCvVPh7Z1Vf4WEKDj3-UKmrG4GcAiGCZKlwVnAj2rIKoNN_QMjYkdjZdxLJNGq4S8KuK-4rq/s4000/20231025_112403.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0muaGg0P9yKRU4CfdEddizrFBfwYruAF45XSy5HPijJC__KPMoqW4UyL41marRzvEAxa7PJ4fHnEW0m4tOnMzlfQKtTDQ3pAFzhshhCzSANz13IlIyWmvWCvVPh7Z1Vf4WEKDj3-UKmrG4GcAiGCZKlwVnAj2rIKoNN_QMjYkdjZdxLJNGq4S8KuK-4rq/w400-h300/20231025_112403.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">When scoping out a route the previous evening, I'd noticed we'd pass "the geographical centre of Taiwan", and sure enough, google translate confirmed a likely-looking stone, reminiscent of Asterix cartoons, as "the Stele that marks...". </p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpH0WSPXnkbhgE_arWCzVEwNti8xciEkDaDjU545_UWtTYr6zMLq4axWtYNnI_gSbDsEPpvueMiTGYPs0DVxPPNUTlyrjlU6iRiQOYvkiZamMw0DBTU9RThHJThu01Eg9LW1JXB_SHC5QjXbvqkLgbP35pCHi9OPsds7ZrVicJfjzRgpQwus7g3FxlDGVY/s4000/20231025_113522.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpH0WSPXnkbhgE_arWCzVEwNti8xciEkDaDjU545_UWtTYr6zMLq4axWtYNnI_gSbDsEPpvueMiTGYPs0DVxPPNUTlyrjlU6iRiQOYvkiZamMw0DBTU9RThHJThu01Eg9LW1JXB_SHC5QjXbvqkLgbP35pCHi9OPsds7ZrVicJfjzRgpQwus7g3FxlDGVY/w300-h400/20231025_113522.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">Thereafter, we found ourselves on <i>the </i>main road, and we soon discovered we were sharing it with dozens of Aston Martin sports cars. At a few hundred thousand dollars a pop, it was kind of crazy to be passed by millions of dollars worth of cars in the span of a few seconds. It was quite the convoy! Fortunately, much of the traffic stopped at Puli, as had the freeway, so riding conditions were not bad.</p><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsM0OHrFmtVro_s6Sxnbj6gchJln2-aRWex3Kg2_Uw9jazJJNPX7UzWfdaAu98FBtIZ5XniSaNT5neNwf8G4WE8d9mng_u2fcGnC1ebgdnL7VeWJCjuBt7Zfpn_G10S3Wflp9pssBSlEbnMaCUwdjylQc4oo7sSQLJgrcd3tghBcaIgzuj3WC2HPHFfQoi/s4000/20231025_114909.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsM0OHrFmtVro_s6Sxnbj6gchJln2-aRWex3Kg2_Uw9jazJJNPX7UzWfdaAu98FBtIZ5XniSaNT5neNwf8G4WE8d9mng_u2fcGnC1ebgdnL7VeWJCjuBt7Zfpn_G10S3Wflp9pssBSlEbnMaCUwdjylQc4oo7sSQLJgrcd3tghBcaIgzuj3WC2HPHFfQoi/w400-h300/20231025_114909.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Two of very many...</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="clear: both; text-align: left;">As we made our way further up the valley, we began to see the scale of the task that lay ahead. We'd been climbing all morning, but slowly, and it was clear that gradients were about to get sterner. Our accommodation was 2000m above sea level, and we gained about 1200m of that in the last 20km of the day. From below, it was incredible to see villages clinging to the hillsides above. </p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEii3cOuSPWvMepNHccEdzZ9a_CSEv4bFDZj7dcdWjkARlkZAqo2Ad9q9U_AIWFF2naOnnk3Pnf8hAUbywJsx_f6VUugktanR3xrWnBWuL5dkSPsVYKXtNsS0D_THFhRH9zLC4FyHy6J08jfA-CnS_cPPTcuFUNSgQo_ctH1a6J8dg0SacvOONz72GVMuBvl/s4000/20231025_132313.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEii3cOuSPWvMepNHccEdzZ9a_CSEv4bFDZj7dcdWjkARlkZAqo2Ad9q9U_AIWFF2naOnnk3Pnf8hAUbywJsx_f6VUugktanR3xrWnBWuL5dkSPsVYKXtNsS0D_THFhRH9zLC4FyHy6J08jfA-CnS_cPPTcuFUNSgQo_ctH1a6J8dg0SacvOONz72GVMuBvl/w400-h300/20231025_132313.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p style="text-align: left;">When booking the previous evening, accommodation appeared abundant along a 10km stretch of road, and I was glad I'd pushed for the upper-most options. Every metre we ascended today was one less to climb the day after. Sarah was struggling a bit, which I put down to the light meal two nights earlier, and I did my best to offset that by confiscating most of her luggage.</p><p style="text-align: left;">There were regular convenience store options as we crept up the hill, all the better to keep ourselves hydrated, fed, and to otherwise recuperate for the next push. The views were also incredible, and at our relatively low speed, they were easy to savour!</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKmcZaP59iQtLwJQ5fyqoI2__0rUqwm3_sI2WWrh5uU1V0G_EzbAUD9dv9Ii0dPwhd20FwX6xJsLEq13ZB-l4ktRGlZ5U-ukZWi-I4wroyUVWqfPPmdfSfQkYxakcfl21_qs9KtXgpBlhJzeuyNEoToZd728l9eE93yQrMXKaPFNhBF8wZwV-Dmg8-5btZ/s4000/20231025_142422.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKmcZaP59iQtLwJQ5fyqoI2__0rUqwm3_sI2WWrh5uU1V0G_EzbAUD9dv9Ii0dPwhd20FwX6xJsLEq13ZB-l4ktRGlZ5U-ukZWi-I4wroyUVWqfPPmdfSfQkYxakcfl21_qs9KtXgpBlhJzeuyNEoToZd728l9eE93yQrMXKaPFNhBF8wZwV-Dmg8-5btZ/w300-h400/20231025_142422.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wanta Reservoir, looking less than full</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">There was the occasional quirkiness to keep us entertained, not least a couple of buildings that looked more suited to European mountain roads. </p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxeOGttrK5DfTXPsbavYEgFtUDND1YMQA0h0cie3-G5RolIP2yBGG8Ue_W8-fb8ls7L6nHgDG-Ht9pHYKNzw-8n8RasCHWT3GG5SqYVodDCi_2LF-aORFaJ3tn-REgrIoL7vy73zOxQezhoDwNO7hMYLVxLSB72ye2s1HCmfEU9bocn9l8zlktV5lrNICq/s4000/20231025_151758.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxeOGttrK5DfTXPsbavYEgFtUDND1YMQA0h0cie3-G5RolIP2yBGG8Ue_W8-fb8ls7L6nHgDG-Ht9pHYKNzw-8n8RasCHWT3GG5SqYVodDCi_2LF-aORFaJ3tn-REgrIoL7vy73zOxQezhoDwNO7hMYLVxLSB72ye2s1HCmfEU9bocn9l8zlktV5lrNICq/w400-h300/20231025_151758.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">Qingjing Farm and Sky Walk had been prominent on the map, and I had wondered whether we would want to stop to partake in some more traditional tourist activity. This turned out to be an extensive walkway, which often ran just along the road. We didn't feel compelled to stop and take a closer look, forgoing both the inevitable admission fee, and a long walk. </p><p style="text-align: left;">As we neared our turn off, I did a bit of a shop for the next morning, fearing we might not have a simple opportunity to do so (without peeling off a whole lot of elevation by riding back down the mountain). As it turned out, we passed no fewer that three 7-Elevens subsequently (and a Family Mart, with its dreaded doorbell), one of which we'd walk to after checking in. Never mind, hauling the stuff up the hill was all good training!</p><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPEoop0nIbf3CjQh5pDtY-bZFLAkBrPfo5AlVrcKIHP6mV-3jtJfL1tswlw_WWdi39ZwPhyphenhyphennQvDX-DQZ-4FLX9A-gTZbov-uDkapRHrNhDTxPW6MdZOXeYqxc1ZEfj22NRoYypVhQDNjA7gjqA0DaQNLtKxbRBw3hZc-CX9lsb7HAY5EEEg924FIerxZZb/s4000/20231025_160937.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPEoop0nIbf3CjQh5pDtY-bZFLAkBrPfo5AlVrcKIHP6mV-3jtJfL1tswlw_WWdi39ZwPhyphenhyphennQvDX-DQZ-4FLX9A-gTZbov-uDkapRHrNhDTxPW6MdZOXeYqxc1ZEfj22NRoYypVhQDNjA7gjqA0DaQNLtKxbRBw3hZc-CX9lsb7HAY5EEEg924FIerxZZb/w400-h300/20231025_160937.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">All sorts on offer, but what exactly escaped us!</td></tr></tbody></table><p style="text-align: left;">Check-in was a bit of a palaver, in part because while we'd booked separately, we'd ended up on the same hand-written booking invoice (small country?). We got there in the end, and soon enough were heading out on foot to find dinner. We settled on a Roasted Chicken place, which seemed to be a thing in these parts (we'd passed a bunch of similar places on the way up). Sarah and I ordered a three-course set menu, which turned out to include a whole chicken. We were given the option to carve it ourselves, but when we signaled for the alternative, the waitress donned one pair of gloves to deal with the heat, and a second pair to keep things hygienic, and within moments, had torn the bird apart! </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBuwpUrUqsgu_KP1-nikCegX1tr-nlSo8NsImnXBJSl17msCVu8TWciUE4Vu-KvYZOXZY6LTLbj4v1QtIE9cMLbzesl_NNKydBxY11Vp7o9Eg0PdxW1hyK_vIVTZOkhBN6gDH54y7fJRmeTNGqLpyQ_IK0kDZXaIJwwp0yI_wyKr_f_ZI99_piW5EYfMo4/s4000/20231025_182118.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBuwpUrUqsgu_KP1-nikCegX1tr-nlSo8NsImnXBJSl17msCVu8TWciUE4Vu-KvYZOXZY6LTLbj4v1QtIE9cMLbzesl_NNKydBxY11Vp7o9Eg0PdxW1hyK_vIVTZOkhBN6gDH54y7fJRmeTNGqLpyQ_IK0kDZXaIJwwp0yI_wyKr_f_ZI99_piW5EYfMo4/w300-h400/20231025_182118.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><p style="text-align: left;">Dessert, water for our bottles and snacks for the morning's climb were all acquired after dinner, and then it was time to hit the sack!</p><p style="text-align: left;"><u>Stats:</u> <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/10100722845" target="_blank">76km ridden</a>, 2000m climbed. Temperature 16 to 34 degrees, average 28. </p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><h4 style="text-align: center;">Day 4 - Ren'ai to Taroko Gorge</h4><p style="text-align: left;">We woke relatively early, all the better to savour the day ahead. In many ways, it was the one I'd been most looking forward to, and boy oh boy, did it look like we'd gotten lucky with the weather. </p><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH4-uESpzweeVl-brmd3w3MpZGDPf_ydn8c0fD8i9GoaM68Dqd3SQJ9IVRs3GNQAAKxUkhGeat4amYV1Bx-mSt6owf6mbWNmYmFw1tjKNPAJ4vJJxWvwrw3nks_3eQuUHIGSRAYhAQ8yqPu50ylCXNwEPKUW4YRIFAicO8h33c1-VmDd9FwNo5YGgCcST2/s4000/20231026_073710.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH4-uESpzweeVl-brmd3w3MpZGDPf_ydn8c0fD8i9GoaM68Dqd3SQJ9IVRs3GNQAAKxUkhGeat4amYV1Bx-mSt6owf6mbWNmYmFw1tjKNPAJ4vJJxWvwrw3nks_3eQuUHIGSRAYhAQ8yqPu50ylCXNwEPKUW4YRIFAicO8h33c1-VmDd9FwNo5YGgCcST2/w400-h300/20231026_073710.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looking south over Ren'ai</td></tr></tbody></table><p style="text-align: left;">The guesthouse breakfast was traditional Chinese, and consisted of a rice porridge and scrambled eggs with chopped bacon. That down the hatch we suited up and got ready to knock off the morning's 19km climb up to Wuling Pass, ascending from 2000 metres above sea level, to a hair over 3200m. We would likely feel the altitude, and I hoped it would merely slow us down a bit. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh_W_gJsze4ZvRUpVvHRBymBJLIrU-PtvwOa2IVPzKpC-pi8T7Crt5lg7HovtaxS8Yak454OkF7DVKE4ErEJxQ5GydrOHqoNB15vi00gZKoR9F-C9boejAqHyJKTK5RSF4dCa1pf9PRtSOlPGaRYkBSUPTxHYaU1fBdaeyFkgom7R3Cu1gIqV1glHodI-u/s4000/20231026_083723.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh_W_gJsze4ZvRUpVvHRBymBJLIrU-PtvwOa2IVPzKpC-pi8T7Crt5lg7HovtaxS8Yak454OkF7DVKE4ErEJxQ5GydrOHqoNB15vi00gZKoR9F-C9boejAqHyJKTK5RSF4dCa1pf9PRtSOlPGaRYkBSUPTxHYaU1fBdaeyFkgom7R3Cu1gIqV1glHodI-u/w300-h400/20231026_083723.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A nifty ramp to warm the legs up</td></tr></tbody></table><p style="text-align: left;">Not far up the road, a sign led me to conclude that we'd dodged a bullet with our route choice, despite most of it being in Mandarin. It seemed clear that the Taiwan KOM event was the following day, completely unbeknownst to me. We would ride most of the route, but in reverse, and I could only assume that we'd not have been able to ride down at all had we been riding through a day later. </p><p style="text-align: left;">We saw a few riders finishing their preparation for the event, as well as one guy with lightweight touring kit, who turned out to be on a mission to climb Wuling Pass from all three sides (a feat he nailed)! When we weren't admiring others on their bikes, the road was a thing to behold, perched as it was on a narrow ridge that would steadily climb to 3275m above sea level. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3fAmJqChWNdTjap2dC35B8KmAMY2xN3Wlqjs8SdapcoxEFOFTzEbVq28G53vojXlH1ateVedG13GrfspLNlNRLTaVjH37z475UgJyMrGX414kca1dPVAbRAMvNqjjlUnq5YL5lCBIZ7U62FeBy4kXZzewO-uKQbNZOBL4F6U2hSPsHQO96CzsvyyKXo8Y/s4000/20231026_100357.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3fAmJqChWNdTjap2dC35B8KmAMY2xN3Wlqjs8SdapcoxEFOFTzEbVq28G53vojXlH1ateVedG13GrfspLNlNRLTaVjH37z475UgJyMrGX414kca1dPVAbRAMvNqjjlUnq5YL5lCBIZ7U62FeBy4kXZzewO-uKQbNZOBL4F6U2hSPsHQO96CzsvyyKXo8Y/w400-h300/20231026_100357.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p style="text-align: left;">The views were amazing, though it was kind of gross to see nasty haze engulfing the mountains to the south - presumably blown eastward from Taichung. Fortunately, we had our backs to it for the most part. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxYbKkEuzJpV-r-wnBx5X2KNTGYHpsp5b2RpahsFbpQtMQu8E_f6MPcf33WkIIyk3Eupgu_jUV7CMwm5wQiFqw3R6zckm9gwD71OPQgnI0dhqTeqYBT5rRg2NaPdVu5GGrNAUX74ImuKvwytcWlEprjynM-X9ReA-FcGScA-y6-XuripWbwS7dhsMeu_Dx/s4000/20231026_105715.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxYbKkEuzJpV-r-wnBx5X2KNTGYHpsp5b2RpahsFbpQtMQu8E_f6MPcf33WkIIyk3Eupgu_jUV7CMwm5wQiFqw3R6zckm9gwD71OPQgnI0dhqTeqYBT5rRg2NaPdVu5GGrNAUX74ImuKvwytcWlEprjynM-X9ReA-FcGScA-y6-XuripWbwS7dhsMeu_Dx/w400-h300/20231026_105715.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p style="text-align: left;">Even though we were riding at high altitude, none of us had any issues with the thin air, and nor did it get cold enough that the riding effort was insufficient to keep us comfortable. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjU01Y2D-KDuile6J8wD-nxGlZ8ymm-LQDruXVTyLN9MJF2Swt6QjhG4JvM0JalDtu43vhbW9uvfDz6IUk-cTjmGs7P5P1_0_hHpnN7jlytCen6IvvVcOjqIeQjSqfBM5Cy7SaY11wZkDrSItdBpsMpX-Yo8GV_nW0q8LAfpJVdTuQ7d5OKBvPNkCLtuMl/s4000/20231026_110030.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjU01Y2D-KDuile6J8wD-nxGlZ8ymm-LQDruXVTyLN9MJF2Swt6QjhG4JvM0JalDtu43vhbW9uvfDz6IUk-cTjmGs7P5P1_0_hHpnN7jlytCen6IvvVcOjqIeQjSqfBM5Cy7SaY11wZkDrSItdBpsMpX-Yo8GV_nW0q8LAfpJVdTuQ7d5OKBvPNkCLtuMl/w400-h300/20231026_110030.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wuling Pass just behind Brendan's head</td></tr></tbody></table><p style="text-align: left;">The pass itself was packed with an eclectic mix of folk. There were a handful of other cyclists, plenty of motorcyclists, and a good number of bird watchers, who clearly knew something the rest of us did not about the nondescript birdlings that were hanging around.</p><p style="text-align: left;">After putting on jackets, we dropped down what must be one of the hardest race finishes on the planet! It isn't always easy to tell what something will be like ridden in the opposite direction, but at over 3000m, the climb to the saddle from the north would be very intense, particularly if at the end of an 80km climb!</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0vW09JPXute1C8HDM3dK3VxiOs_U-GD_4BK_g_45tCppbeBCtssh6kG-1raaOQbUGz_xJfnMmuedPbjV-rXL4zCI9DQJdWqWuoqxBhyYS4y2N5zuWQLoaYmEWeFn3PWdryvw1YQ4d5jNZudeg7AeoL8JNM0aPRozmjl2it_JBSYwrN-dao5KrmDPWcJPX/s4000/20231026_113749.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0vW09JPXute1C8HDM3dK3VxiOs_U-GD_4BK_g_45tCppbeBCtssh6kG-1raaOQbUGz_xJfnMmuedPbjV-rXL4zCI9DQJdWqWuoqxBhyYS4y2N5zuWQLoaYmEWeFn3PWdryvw1YQ4d5jNZudeg7AeoL8JNM0aPRozmjl2it_JBSYwrN-dao5KrmDPWcJPX/w400-h300/20231026_113749.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p style="text-align: left;">While we'd passed only one "shop" since leaving our accommodation (actually a vege market), only a few minutes from the summit was a cafe, which we stopped in for coffee and something to eat. The coffee cups required a deposit, which was kind of odd, since they didn't exactly seem to be the sort of cups one would want to walk off with. </p><p style="text-align: left;">After a short climb, which made it awkward to know what clothing to set off in, there was a nifty descent (including a couple of super steep corners) through to the tunnel that Sarah and I had gone through on our 2019 tour. We regrouped there before descending a little further to a service station that was exactly as I remembered. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGm7uXcm2ezZTEKeEPGxWjU_DvgN4cyQ5t7bAzq_TbYbNqsB9lDvr6UcQmlMMYzA8QHUkTH8T5MMyjFJxQn9z8W7_WOTl_Lx-tDVBx3hh9ahPdfOFmHPyPbrI8on7f76oGzkLO8fTOIt9EvYO3T-q093nxlB4uz_bSjNLk7JJnSRGHmkHUORMJu-bhhEKv/s4000/20231026_125115.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGm7uXcm2ezZTEKeEPGxWjU_DvgN4cyQ5t7bAzq_TbYbNqsB9lDvr6UcQmlMMYzA8QHUkTH8T5MMyjFJxQn9z8W7_WOTl_Lx-tDVBx3hh9ahPdfOFmHPyPbrI8on7f76oGzkLO8fTOIt9EvYO3T-q093nxlB4uz_bSjNLk7JJnSRGHmkHUORMJu-bhhEKv/w300-h400/20231026_125115.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><p style="text-align: left;">There, Sarah used the loo, before we skirted around a sign and kept descending. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr8WkmDjLvWC7PHjIoVmA5WyQaT5G_up8xX1NRm8razDunwmpYG3Yf_RWFa20iwhzVHmDEGyRmelnlxzjSHqG-eH3T3s64YptvfKShMQVXRbSz7khbdILQ-oulkz9LPI1hYq4tzM7NMn0y2thyphenhyphenUH-Qcg0wOTt4nqCvHYWgd4P4QLoTKg3t77eaHxA-b_u7/s4000/20231026_130912.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr8WkmDjLvWC7PHjIoVmA5WyQaT5G_up8xX1NRm8razDunwmpYG3Yf_RWFa20iwhzVHmDEGyRmelnlxzjSHqG-eH3T3s64YptvfKShMQVXRbSz7khbdILQ-oulkz9LPI1hYq4tzM7NMn0y2thyphenhyphenUH-Qcg0wOTt4nqCvHYWgd4P4QLoTKg3t77eaHxA-b_u7/w400-h300/20231026_130912.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Skirted, untranslated</td></tr></tbody></table><p style="text-align: left;">The significance of the sign became clear 5 minutes later. It turned out we'd just missed an hour-long chance to pass through a work site. The body language of the fellow manning the barrier suggested that the 12:00-13:00 period was a literal one, and that 13:09 was not "close enough". We knew better than to try to convince him to let us pass, and somewhat frustrated but resigned to our fate, headed back up the road to the service station for an extended lunch break. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGfCR7bALbgeRySZPNBKgFoDOGlUXdAZSbeov-M1F1c9_0tfbTJV_qZ8RXNdvToy9fgHMI-6MuD1rgq3aQL6i7xAQM3kN19YOo0t7opl0Whr9VOmQDh-wok3zaxLjN7Iizn94V25U1I0i1wk5vkVCeMIjtoYq64B_ijHpx37gvZdE8C4KhlhCVM_3dEwCj/s4000/20231026_131840.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGfCR7bALbgeRySZPNBKgFoDOGlUXdAZSbeov-M1F1c9_0tfbTJV_qZ8RXNdvToy9fgHMI-6MuD1rgq3aQL6i7xAQM3kN19YOo0t7opl0Whr9VOmQDh-wok3zaxLjN7Iizn94V25U1I0i1wk5vkVCeMIjtoYq64B_ijHpx37gvZdE8C4KhlhCVM_3dEwCj/w400-h300/20231026_131840.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p style="text-align: left;">That did give us a chance to try a rice ball that another cyclist had recommended to us, claimed to be world famous in Taiwan. Despite it being one of the few things available to buy, it wasn't the easiest transaction to conduct, but I got there in the end. It was worth the effort, and the pork and mushroom laden rice was indeed delicious, and quite possibly worthy of its reputation! </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbmLDCmNBpxEqfWkuKGO-9IGIdL3inaweTG26Fpqd2HsfIHP4LA7KaI_KWmBD6V-6Gs2RCi81XoYi9E6JvzQ0tVLuI_gTnzCPWeO_55lzBu50E3FUs07QpZr61DgM8ASFHD9Q5Z-T-7jmSAbFgpU2gY6xo6AcRbOnVcd-XeqFFgw2kYnImiXmiloWOSVBJ/s3648/20231026_133820.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2736" data-original-width="3648" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbmLDCmNBpxEqfWkuKGO-9IGIdL3inaweTG26Fpqd2HsfIHP4LA7KaI_KWmBD6V-6Gs2RCi81XoYi9E6JvzQ0tVLuI_gTnzCPWeO_55lzBu50E3FUs07QpZr61DgM8ASFHD9Q5Z-T-7jmSAbFgpU2gY6xo6AcRbOnVcd-XeqFFgw2kYnImiXmiloWOSVBJ/w400-h300/20231026_133820.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Making the most of the unexpected down time</td></tr></tbody></table><p style="text-align: left;">We joked about missing the 10-minute opening at 3pm, but had we done so it would have been no laughing matter - the next chance was at 5pm, which would have been not long before sunset. We arrived 15 minutes early, and got a fair bit of attention from various drivers who also had been caught out by the closure. </p><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpO2_0YUnbaGfBoeoAdhDj5WkGeRphkDUfJTaHjRbqgqPqDD_cUaX_rPph2-LqKjL3P4qX1Qp5Gn5TjAF8P723t2bqL1baWPZFQ6Mr0H9oPl8dTD3qQEyPdhMWfYd7A00e53fuURZxESDDQzjILfPyOY5ghnVbQoWXz65bYSM1bHd3sb1UcFU80rHRPtQA/s4000/20231026_145937.jpg"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpO2_0YUnbaGfBoeoAdhDj5WkGeRphkDUfJTaHjRbqgqPqDD_cUaX_rPph2-LqKjL3P4qX1Qp5Gn5TjAF8P723t2bqL1baWPZFQ6Mr0H9oPl8dTD3qQEyPdhMWfYd7A00e53fuURZxESDDQzjILfPyOY5ghnVbQoWXz65bYSM1bHd3sb1UcFU80rHRPtQA/w400-h300/20231026_145937.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">I'd thought it would be really cool to ride this road in reverse. From the coast, I'd billed it as a strong contender for <a href="https://sifter-writes-bikes.blogspot.com/2021/02/milford-sound-go-now-thank-me-later.html" target="_blank">the best one day ride I've done</a>. As a descent, there were a few disappointments. One, I couldn't have anticipated, and on this day, cloud cover masked from us a thousand metre drop to the valley floor below. The other I might have predicted, and that was at descending speed, you have much less time to focus on the scenery, let alone (safely) photograph it. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9xynl88gC4ZBTVjS1sYEqSYWGD3hfVb62JheQiw7kEgIEr0DvdjAkdwaytWulw_NePqZ5Yt-mxiqjnLcyG9Ta2E0njPmtifJKIL1vH56zNmYVuixbV4KfISEAPkl8WPhcdLU7C1d9yJTvZJ4y9brUMQw8nsRmY1nyFB5-OUhKJUWVeOqYTI8JLynSF537/s4000/20231026_151646.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9xynl88gC4ZBTVjS1sYEqSYWGD3hfVb62JheQiw7kEgIEr0DvdjAkdwaytWulw_NePqZ5Yt-mxiqjnLcyG9Ta2E0njPmtifJKIL1vH56zNmYVuixbV4KfISEAPkl8WPhcdLU7C1d9yJTvZJ4y9brUMQw8nsRmY1nyFB5-OUhKJUWVeOqYTI8JLynSF537/w400-h300/20231026_151646.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p style="text-align: left;">Sarah and I descended together for the most part, and every 10 minutes or so we would stop to regroup with Brendan and Viv. The cafe near the giant tree was closed (temporarily or permanently I couldn't discern). </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsbLo7dpDKtb_Vwa5q4J73sOChVrAwAIYbOs1T2NdVvwJjfw6714S2mGbc5kPBOMuRcG8QY1R2Zwn8CGepDnquz7t05HSI10jyHpXlC3myliM5mxE3IAAjoUwvc0s82zfEnzikdOJi82AY3FgRqh_2qiAmV7jmGEwosUULeEKs5Ih0ZcHNW8HJDH2ccLcq/s4000/20231026_153239.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsbLo7dpDKtb_Vwa5q4J73sOChVrAwAIYbOs1T2NdVvwJjfw6714S2mGbc5kPBOMuRcG8QY1R2Zwn8CGepDnquz7t05HSI10jyHpXlC3myliM5mxE3IAAjoUwvc0s82zfEnzikdOJi82AY3FgRqh_2qiAmV7jmGEwosUULeEKs5Ih0ZcHNW8HJDH2ccLcq/w300-h400/20231026_153239.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Bilu Giant Tree</td></tr></tbody></table><p style="text-align: left;">The descent seemed endless, and even though we were moving quickly, with photo stops, regrouping, and the occasional flat or uphill section, it still took us a couple of hours to descend 50km. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIwPly0ke_awp8hWk27WFwj3SSyEXt1SwZ9UOiLSiMRZEdJnuPZ3jzz_0xa88EmGC8bR2YQ9NcnTZ4J5jeceeFmaC5yXop_UGR-l0VJssGUvMD9_GvgkXTAZtLXIiBvweBH4zARi547bnIlfCseFrtFGWAcbiEnBOecHCcB4OrLVHdAmjTkdI2S3ez2MiQ/s4000/20231026_153956.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIwPly0ke_awp8hWk27WFwj3SSyEXt1SwZ9UOiLSiMRZEdJnuPZ3jzz_0xa88EmGC8bR2YQ9NcnTZ4J5jeceeFmaC5yXop_UGR-l0VJssGUvMD9_GvgkXTAZtLXIiBvweBH4zARi547bnIlfCseFrtFGWAcbiEnBOecHCcB4OrLVHdAmjTkdI2S3ez2MiQ/w300-h400/20231026_153956.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><p style="text-align: left;">Even though it was fun to be hooning down the road, I still forced myself to stop for photos when something caught my eye, including someone's unusual water supply station. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDqdp4Vvf_ISUhLpa-ndX5ja7kU7bDn36XqwfkkPfvsiMfbQ77Uo-6QRyPMmhKxMFboVuxs72IPOWLfrUSs5k2X5UkmtUXA1l_bc653TaqdbpLIpr9EY-9yqjHFNqwDQy8tYdV8hlbBJcqrsLdMKYtFEObNEnaXnXstRPIORNGnOozxUSEOiwjj5vnXWoa/s4000/20231026_163944.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDqdp4Vvf_ISUhLpa-ndX5ja7kU7bDn36XqwfkkPfvsiMfbQ77Uo-6QRyPMmhKxMFboVuxs72IPOWLfrUSs5k2X5UkmtUXA1l_bc653TaqdbpLIpr9EY-9yqjHFNqwDQy8tYdV8hlbBJcqrsLdMKYtFEObNEnaXnXstRPIORNGnOozxUSEOiwjj5vnXWoa/w300-h400/20231026_163944.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><p style="text-align: left;">The true cost of the road closure became apparent when we got down to Taroko Gorge itself, and we really had no time to marvel at the surroundings. Once again, Sarah missed out on visiting the monastery, and even the incredible Tunnel of Nine Turns was more like a mid-race aid station raid than a meal savoured, as it should have been. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibkCcjNgiLQ4XduCxc_LTh_ZAy1asPicRYtci9K_NN2IPMhIMDawaSxY0H4qMjYJmebPlZmY_lkqJlVudQUs6GqtUT8421kyOqfosuH-9wdvtqVFqC9tDJjqEZgWsH3j-ecWUOWrOnRMguTO9eetnzJmebKc3ilKNXWL2_2ogQs3dE1jNIIJo0UXg8RHgB/s4000/20231026_171221.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibkCcjNgiLQ4XduCxc_LTh_ZAy1asPicRYtci9K_NN2IPMhIMDawaSxY0H4qMjYJmebPlZmY_lkqJlVudQUs6GqtUT8421kyOqfosuH-9wdvtqVFqC9tDJjqEZgWsH3j-ecWUOWrOnRMguTO9eetnzJmebKc3ilKNXWL2_2ogQs3dE1jNIIJo0UXg8RHgB/w300-h400/20231026_171221.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><p style="text-align: left;">I'd had no intention of riding anywhere in the dark, so only had packed one rear and one front light. I had both on my bike, and Sarah and I rode two abreast so we could each benefit from both. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxOZMmLYVapqj8YFsSvu6pCU8fKJPL7Eg2YEGeHOL1U2ytwm1E4xFu9jcT2CLtwHE-Fk-gPPbGXZ2XtUw5VJYdwpzmlW-GLInw7QLqiSpeZoc3N20YwSAZxpj6MsKwSrOsHbiUNgcfZ4I4RrYI3lFdr7CvA42w2GPf52SeGLy6rdJVBY_GTnXSCAyMnEx2/s4000/20231026_172249.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxOZMmLYVapqj8YFsSvu6pCU8fKJPL7Eg2YEGeHOL1U2ytwm1E4xFu9jcT2CLtwHE-Fk-gPPbGXZ2XtUw5VJYdwpzmlW-GLInw7QLqiSpeZoc3N20YwSAZxpj6MsKwSrOsHbiUNgcfZ4I4RrYI3lFdr7CvA42w2GPf52SeGLy6rdJVBY_GTnXSCAyMnEx2/w300-h400/20231026_172249.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><p style="text-align: left;">Several billion dollars of tunnels and bridges later, we emerged from the national park, and rode the few kilometres south to find our accommodation. It had been a long day, and the last hour or so had been somewhat stressful with the failing light. We weren't inclined to add dinner stress, so made do with what we could scrape together at a nearby 7-Eleven. This wasn't all bad, as they were well set up with instant noodles, microwavable meals and other goodies, plenty fit for hungry travelers. </p><p style="text-align: left;"><u>Stats:</u> <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/10106844341" target="_blank">115km ridden</a>, almost 100 of them downhill!!! Temperature 12 to 32 degrees, average 20. </p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><h4 style="text-align: center;">Day 5 - Taroko Gorge to Luodong</h4><p style="text-align: left;">The "notorious Suhua Highway" had been another highlight from 2019, and I was looking forward to taking another crack at it given that some of the construction work (on tunnels bypassing the old highway route) had been completed in the intervening period. </p><p style="text-align: left;">After convenience store breakfast, a series of near-deserted back roads took us through to our first stretch of highway. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb-AtpywSd-FS1Js8pyozyD1BkQ_nAzmbiIpgiEBYUb1gs1mbgvznSEOkew1Q-76eCQd2oWj1bfgTWKpnblf8Ex15p1_YGQLqlQEui0mFmBWEAOacBJNh2kbScooQi0AMIRCQoFBZFVVvKSPLPDoHiKQ62kljYTzd5yA6yFsQSDhjd3Wgotx8qFqu_sKra/s2944/20231027_083859.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2208" data-original-width="2944" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb-AtpywSd-FS1Js8pyozyD1BkQ_nAzmbiIpgiEBYUb1gs1mbgvznSEOkew1Q-76eCQd2oWj1bfgTWKpnblf8Ex15p1_YGQLqlQEui0mFmBWEAOacBJNh2kbScooQi0AMIRCQoFBZFVVvKSPLPDoHiKQ62kljYTzd5yA6yFsQSDhjd3Wgotx8qFqu_sKra/w400-h300/20231027_083859.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p style="text-align: left;">When riding with Sarah, from time to time I feel guilty when what looked promising on a map, was unpleasant in reality. But, as it turns out, when playing host to others, these feelings multiply!!! The first two tunnels we came to, in very close succession, had prominent "no bikes" signs at their entrances. With no alternative, we proceeded through them, safely enough, but I got the distinct impression Brendan was wondering what the hell I was getting them into!</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhanF8Gt8sa0uOJdgasZR5K-W1lZy8RWFARSv9ooka4sBid_dXaF2p5JoKUB6ej473WteYFusUTKM68mEylwM5qPOWG1OxQJS4PYmRTBhtl4pNHsTVyMQG2YK3IsP5eklmCxZ93ooor3i-4dPaYCGYhpyR7dPTZY3Sfw1zoBV7IA9nsgZrOIw6yy4GO9Ao9/s4000/20231027_090959.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhanF8Gt8sa0uOJdgasZR5K-W1lZy8RWFARSv9ooka4sBid_dXaF2p5JoKUB6ej473WteYFusUTKM68mEylwM5qPOWG1OxQJS4PYmRTBhtl4pNHsTVyMQG2YK3IsP5eklmCxZ93ooor3i-4dPaYCGYhpyR7dPTZY3Sfw1zoBV7IA9nsgZrOIw6yy4GO9Ao9/w300-h400/20231027_090959.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">It seemed likely that there <i>had been</i> cycling and walking bypasses of these tunnels, but each was closed by rockfall or some such, and the authorities hadn't bothered taking the signs down. A saving grace from the point of view of my credibility, were the prominent "Cycling Route Number 1" signs painted on the road, literally metres after forbidden passage, and despite there being no apparent way to reach them while cycling! </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbw-f1Kr2NdZLP-vb1fO2U-xBqZjXPoc9go_ofQ3Qm-UMkmK-Cyf7HAUo8E-mXY-uA0iH03Zcv3Lxs9uVI8gyvvMlGD33AcbRAJKFBCOjFPLjbKwgZ_VOYnUNjRqGlhGHE8LibrrUczreK0bgeG45b2dW34dYlCVwPVI-BxyjQrYSCQDh-28zfea6xQc7P/s4000/20231027_091158.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbw-f1Kr2NdZLP-vb1fO2U-xBqZjXPoc9go_ofQ3Qm-UMkmK-Cyf7HAUo8E-mXY-uA0iH03Zcv3Lxs9uVI8gyvvMlGD33AcbRAJKFBCOjFPLjbKwgZ_VOYnUNjRqGlhGHE8LibrrUczreK0bgeG45b2dW34dYlCVwPVI-BxyjQrYSCQDh-28zfea6xQc7P/w300-h400/20231027_091158.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><p style="text-align: left;">Fortunately, the next major tunnel was the newest one, and we peeled off onto a spectacular stretch of retired main road which had very little traffic on it whatsoever. Exceptions were typically motorcycles, very slow moving cars, and at least a couple of petrol tankers (maybe banned from the tunnels). Each and every one gave us a generously wide berth. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv3YfHtJhKtjwj1u-JmSNjFhAedklz9xMUobzSm3_Agxcp6uEY80CgW-3VTbKtkYiSILEWHaqLfndj3VN0-m13Y0iSvdPU-uqEd6oT0F47oaatgWkaDHSNAijzhfObAtABC8wIWoHC1swcCHZfIGBqZZ04LeQRHiFXld2K5beX-LaCPaVUDaWx1H2NMfxu/s4000/20231027_093016.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv3YfHtJhKtjwj1u-JmSNjFhAedklz9xMUobzSm3_Agxcp6uEY80CgW-3VTbKtkYiSILEWHaqLfndj3VN0-m13Y0iSvdPU-uqEd6oT0F47oaatgWkaDHSNAijzhfObAtABC8wIWoHC1swcCHZfIGBqZZ04LeQRHiFXld2K5beX-LaCPaVUDaWx1H2NMfxu/w300-h400/20231027_093016.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">These tunnels were a work in progress in 2019</td></tr></tbody></table><p style="text-align: left;">Despite the rough start, the merits of the route slowly but surely became apparent, and my feelings of guilt began to abate and were soon forgotten completely. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirt-qSLhstCKEhCFZgr6MYnKXYWVsozu4IxLftf1iPIJG6V0wWEkmWYEa0_h0OVAVphtcoB5ibIONOHQKFbVpUGTNsiG_Vd-5a17Kuj1Mei2VjIx3fRfkoSUngHfQXM4UiOgKbePOWtFhy4866hIc_xeliyCbNfpauDwB4rBWtMVaiKFwhRFJS_5DwuLrC/s4000/20231027_093806.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirt-qSLhstCKEhCFZgr6MYnKXYWVsozu4IxLftf1iPIJG6V0wWEkmWYEa0_h0OVAVphtcoB5ibIONOHQKFbVpUGTNsiG_Vd-5a17Kuj1Mei2VjIx3fRfkoSUngHfQXM4UiOgKbePOWtFhy4866hIc_xeliyCbNfpauDwB4rBWtMVaiKFwhRFJS_5DwuLrC/w400-h300/20231027_093806.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The road was often clinging to a cliff, but from time to time it would enter a bay, where typically would be a small settlement. At our first such place we pulled in for a cold drink. I took a punt on a bottle of "Green Asparagus Juice" and was pleasantly surprised by how palatable it was. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvo-Nxyup30PzIlCDLxOML9DmFcg8TRNJB1TDcVcXDP0Peo5-vIfgZuzmm7Pe0Lo6TxLmmB6uJ1Me6HEBwSYaWz3YgFm8vO7QPUK-3uQIQBVS_nvRjnhx0xAFJdj4hbQi0TNK9eOhT1ZYovNg9nueQi7nNEU3f0WiNjVnMwWySynNUaR_UOg7DqbNazVQE/s4000/20231027_095914.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvo-Nxyup30PzIlCDLxOML9DmFcg8TRNJB1TDcVcXDP0Peo5-vIfgZuzmm7Pe0Lo6TxLmmB6uJ1Me6HEBwSYaWz3YgFm8vO7QPUK-3uQIQBVS_nvRjnhx0xAFJdj4hbQi0TNK9eOhT1ZYovNg9nueQi7nNEU3f0WiNjVnMwWySynNUaR_UOg7DqbNazVQE/w400-h300/20231027_095914.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p style="clear: both; text-align: left;">In the same fridge were small baggies of betel nut, which none of us chose to partake in, even without <a href="https://www.businesstraveller.com/features/taiwan-beating-the-betel/" target="_blank">reading up on the ill-effects</a> of this local "delicacy". </p><p style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The next dose of civilisation seemed to be some sort of industrial complex. As we passed, it became clear it was about to rain, and when we pulled up to get coats out, I noticed a 7-Eleven sign. We rode into what seemed like a parking lot for factory employees, only to find a well equipped rest stop teeming with travelers, which was so weird given the unlikely location. We'd had a few experiences with whistle-toting officials, and I attracted both the attention and ire of one when I deigned to ride my bike across a wet courtyard to get to the loo. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3V3Su1sBnhKtRfptO_tQ0hN5UOPcWGEaJtfcA2h0rRJ1_9GMSWykiI-X1DkMY5gf3HyMPEUMJtpUmVxjR15bRhnqWlkYWO3DtVIPjSyvJX3YXjUSlXHqo-O2q3ra8FoKzbM_64dQbL2yZ1kA_40FBwUFX594kDaQdM28lfY8cMmzEmBHMWBgBymnOC86r/s4000/20231027_102815.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3V3Su1sBnhKtRfptO_tQ0hN5UOPcWGEaJtfcA2h0rRJ1_9GMSWykiI-X1DkMY5gf3HyMPEUMJtpUmVxjR15bRhnqWlkYWO3DtVIPjSyvJX3YXjUSlXHqo-O2q3ra8FoKzbM_64dQbL2yZ1kA_40FBwUFX594kDaQdM28lfY8cMmzEmBHMWBgBymnOC86r/w400-h300/20231027_102815.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p style="text-align: left;">It didn't actually start raining properly until 30 seconds after we'd set off without coats, and we were promptly forced to stop again. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhra80i1DgXgmYeky92_hcnwLMKn9x6vkPI7sWHH2svSvB9OMmbYduXenDdqndHcIBJo2oaUXGHX68WhYLbDklyufl4vAeTrzVvt5dSNUX1I7YehZbpm45FzusDyjgfqwGFKzj0S866mv8zAhajJS2855kzhq1ichNMkEnmexD1h0fh0vX6zZgiOFkVsrDU/s4000/20231027_105202.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhra80i1DgXgmYeky92_hcnwLMKn9x6vkPI7sWHH2svSvB9OMmbYduXenDdqndHcIBJo2oaUXGHX68WhYLbDklyufl4vAeTrzVvt5dSNUX1I7YehZbpm45FzusDyjgfqwGFKzj0S866mv8zAhajJS2855kzhq1ichNMkEnmexD1h0fh0vX6zZgiOFkVsrDU/w400-h300/20231027_105202.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">UFO parking across the road?</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">Following Sarah's wheel in the wet, I may have missed an arrow, and then a (figurative) coin flip didn't go my way and we ended up riding towards the next main (and this time actually forbidden) road tunnel. Once at the portal, we could clearly see the road we wanted to be on below us, but there was no way to get down there, even on foot. A highway worker ushered us towards a turnaround bay, and some 7km later, we were passing the spot again, just 20m closer to sea level! </p><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiflxCZZSJ9kjt9PlTAruYzAbDzDpc3KM5gOpyF1oVxYuzaNsraXwK97C6oD1uzO9JIdmh4iUZ5npKaDbr_XqPbrQAF5FlKZqGX7HuvPVI_jeqm9hDzbZMjBbLN6aQiciMYqER-v9_-q8miN7uFF-5r2O81wAHm8z5BDdNgaEvVyEjTwrQWgmigmNP4mRK8/s4000/20231027_110515.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiflxCZZSJ9kjt9PlTAruYzAbDzDpc3KM5gOpyF1oVxYuzaNsraXwK97C6oD1uzO9JIdmh4iUZ5npKaDbr_XqPbrQAF5FlKZqGX7HuvPVI_jeqm9hDzbZMjBbLN6aQiciMYqER-v9_-q8miN7uFF-5r2O81wAHm8z5BDdNgaEvVyEjTwrQWgmigmNP4mRK8/w300-h400/20231027_110515.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A view of the factory we shouldn't have got!</td></tr></tbody></table><p style="text-align: left;">The correct road continued to dish up treats, and while we'd got used to the impressive commitment to road building, it was still quite remarkable that engineers had tamed this landscape (not once, but again).</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH2qY4Q5GxtdJdqbZkic2c4vI4O5ifa18_AXS503Yoda4mDRTMr2A1-xNuFJLqkxyM_EM4cGhNxGRDAf68Ix8qFBREMgJh7VFOaGFNHDRgbgfXD5zHy46ADiq8Rbxit5Ihc9mdYDjxWDQHvfKlDYE9NicH8A285LUUpE7WPtXTePeEAU1dBV4tf2-LneCL/s4000/20231027_114540.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH2qY4Q5GxtdJdqbZkic2c4vI4O5ifa18_AXS503Yoda4mDRTMr2A1-xNuFJLqkxyM_EM4cGhNxGRDAf68Ix8qFBREMgJh7VFOaGFNHDRgbgfXD5zHy46ADiq8Rbxit5Ihc9mdYDjxWDQHvfKlDYE9NicH8A285LUUpE7WPtXTePeEAU1dBV4tf2-LneCL/w300-h400/20231027_114540.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br /><p style="clear: both; text-align: left;">One section of road took us quite deep into a gully, and it was cool to see the pair of tunnels briefly become exposed between and below the sections of road we'd taken. I wondered if the traffic therein would have had any clue they were briefly crossing a bridge out in the open!</p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBdVR-ThWfeyKm-MaPn6Qalugx5lrZCNEnMhpI3-waQ_TZFWcUn1qxajytyzJDO0DYRvqwaEJVhTbDZY2fxVFD20YwgsLwxiTDHiMGwxFz4Pcwc5vTSHuwCz0YUVBfzZuCoxE3G21iCAr_aDWs9tF7qCNolBCpwBhsdo1P8_tJkr0Sxsavt6XvQ0uAF_s5/s4000/20231027_120516.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBdVR-ThWfeyKm-MaPn6Qalugx5lrZCNEnMhpI3-waQ_TZFWcUn1qxajytyzJDO0DYRvqwaEJVhTbDZY2fxVFD20YwgsLwxiTDHiMGwxFz4Pcwc5vTSHuwCz0YUVBfzZuCoxE3G21iCAr_aDWs9tF7qCNolBCpwBhsdo1P8_tJkr0Sxsavt6XvQ0uAF_s5/w300-h400/20231027_120516.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">We made our next stop shortly after being held up at a level crossing. The barriers were interesting - instead of the lowered arm we are used to in NZ, these remained parallel to the ground and were raised up a pair of pylons either side of the road. </p><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi16H_01_45h9Yk_CPyG4eHUnr0TdJ3_VuWefdKVY6oibuf-JFtZ9f0reKUhmR-qVC97xhksLCwgDFE1P5RHdL6dqNRhyphenhyphenk2e9RD66TEkEs8nx0nWf0plHjEpygSsGV3d3CARHi25RlVRowzx5ryR7uXKsvTx7op3VlowsWe6DwegJUP4E0g89Ig7Z0BENn_/s4000/20231027_124048.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi16H_01_45h9Yk_CPyG4eHUnr0TdJ3_VuWefdKVY6oibuf-JFtZ9f0reKUhmR-qVC97xhksLCwgDFE1P5RHdL6dqNRhyphenhyphenk2e9RD66TEkEs8nx0nWf0plHjEpygSsGV3d3CARHi25RlVRowzx5ryR7uXKsvTx7op3VlowsWe6DwegJUP4E0g89Ig7Z0BENn_/w300-h400/20231027_124048.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><p style="text-align: left;">During this stop I read some horrible news about the death of a young colleague, and this required me to briefly put a work hat on. The individual was never far from my mind for the rest of the trip, though far from being intrusive, if anything it made me appreciate what I was doing all the more. </p><p style="text-align: left;">As our destination got nearer, the rain intensified, and we started to have some proper (though tiny in comparison to the previous days') hills to deal with. At least one section of roadworks was to our benefit, as what would have been a fairly busy stretch of road was pleasant riding alongside a queue of jammed up cars and trucks! It also guaranteed a long descent with the road to ourselves, so all in all, felt like a great win. </p><p style="text-align: left;">While wet, the temperature was cool enough that we weren't pickling in our coats. </p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk6CRdgbScT18Uu_2MsIDKrYRJD2ICHA7wb3WDc_fbZ6RPe0BREdouoxKpkJurpKat8PUh9t1B_Fp9s2ZkQhVU3lFQ7kcGBzcOn8hQa29QoxiVwBeYFxIQCKeRwtSOcCm46QpEPd0ejWE5b3g9QdSIRba7SzQwGIJzICHDdWp6VHwX52O6scKPoC7IHhkK/s3648/20231027_151526.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2736" data-original-width="3648" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk6CRdgbScT18Uu_2MsIDKrYRJD2ICHA7wb3WDc_fbZ6RPe0BREdouoxKpkJurpKat8PUh9t1B_Fp9s2ZkQhVU3lFQ7kcGBzcOn8hQa29QoxiVwBeYFxIQCKeRwtSOcCm46QpEPd0ejWE5b3g9QdSIRba7SzQwGIJzICHDdWp6VHwX52O6scKPoC7IHhkK/w400-h300/20231027_151526.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p style="text-align: left;">At a brief stop on the outskirts of Su'ao, we discovered that while climate control was going well, our fingertips were all looking very prune-like, all the better to grip things in the rain...</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfQv2ZeXz7xAjAkskDFyIkZajDSY_Re-Ff0gCG5yJK4nuhqn2fLGu2p31HJjhX9i2CJcQEEW_UhHwB9_lV967Y43VYIDbCFHM_Ty4zohJ_Q-sSzEPSpcKBqMi_5LcLuD-6MzV-6ERgdXCaZ9IR7FZAoZoHOCx1maFr_MgsUjpWe0crSBOvMax9DSj4dNw7/s4000/20231027_151558.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfQv2ZeXz7xAjAkskDFyIkZajDSY_Re-Ff0gCG5yJK4nuhqn2fLGu2p31HJjhX9i2CJcQEEW_UhHwB9_lV967Y43VYIDbCFHM_Ty4zohJ_Q-sSzEPSpcKBqMi_5LcLuD-6MzV-6ERgdXCaZ9IR7FZAoZoHOCx1maFr_MgsUjpWe0crSBOvMax9DSj4dNw7/w400-h300/20231027_151558.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p style="text-align: left;">I was fascinated by wildly varying memory quality. I recognised some parts of the 2019 ride very well, including random things like the correct side road to our accommodation in Su'ao, but there were other features that I couldn't pick (because things had changed, or because I'd misremembered them I cannot say). </p><p style="text-align: left;">We'd booked accommodation in Luodong very close to a night market. After showers, we struck out for the local laundromat, before spending a good hour sampling various delicacies at the open air market. Loaner umbrellas from the hotel were put to good use, and it was a lot of fun buying random things to try. To that end, I even spent 20 minutes in the longest queue on the street just to see what all the fuss was about. (It was delicious enough, but we couldn't really work out what the food was!)</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaJtRn4MP-nG6VYjdMOQBf5iydlMinQ34kF8DvDlJsEJdApbPhkWq2e9yHLnPUiKWlVmwIKtrUqNwI2lpYRTvJXpuJDnpNYpMKu1L4cNgFDlF7Z4nSNHnJwNm3fPwHSAXNd1ixU01SKvGWAU7O_XYPrB550HwXp7TWIRnicDIhv_m5eDRzc8ozLW6GGAvI/s4000/20231027_183929.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaJtRn4MP-nG6VYjdMOQBf5iydlMinQ34kF8DvDlJsEJdApbPhkWq2e9yHLnPUiKWlVmwIKtrUqNwI2lpYRTvJXpuJDnpNYpMKu1L4cNgFDlF7Z4nSNHnJwNm3fPwHSAXNd1ixU01SKvGWAU7O_XYPrB550HwXp7TWIRnicDIhv_m5eDRzc8ozLW6GGAvI/w400-h300/20231027_183929.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>We shared a dessert with Brendan and Viv, in no small part because we could enjoy it seated at a table. We were all a bit walked out, and the cost of the dessert might as well have been table rental for all we cared! </div><p style="text-align: left;"><u>Stats:</u> <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/10111893088" target="_blank">102km ridden</a>. Temperature 18 to 32 degrees, average 22. </p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><h4 style="text-align: center;">Day 6 - Luodong to Jiufen</h4><p style="text-align: left;">For our 6th day, I'd lined up a very wiggly road in the direction of Taipei, but accommodation options and the ride length they necessitated, combined with a collective weariness and a wet weather forecast, had us set off along a Strava route I'd titled "Day 6, Plan G"! </p><p style="text-align: left;">We made a slow start to what was my 50th birthday, and I even got a message from Brendan screenshotting a train timetable! None of us were in a hurry to start riding in the rain again. </p><p style="text-align: left;">One delay tactic was to check out a "gambling den" across the street. In NZ, these coin operated scams (???) seem targeted towards children, but in Taiwan, whenever we saw them in use it was by grown men. We were intrigued to see some relatively high-end electronics, as well as secret-Santa type prizes, but these did not encourage us to partake.</p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbTT4IJuNfYEfWU3jQH5JMkCo1hvYSA0oWD5s0jLJ3ruOD8gvlT9cVNVHMIewP1HaQDKULLHojrhbOzGpqJd4ApKhSi7ziKW8eMDo6eF9bGU9gdsZDQwxpOzaeaj2uaGvrTYEbL8k_BUbwLgMcJJfiUqJICf-ybmhpVJlSFJGNkELC1FVxHVOe6WilXfOX/s4000/20231028_090037.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbTT4IJuNfYEfWU3jQH5JMkCo1hvYSA0oWD5s0jLJ3ruOD8gvlT9cVNVHMIewP1HaQDKULLHojrhbOzGpqJd4ApKhSi7ziKW8eMDo6eF9bGU9gdsZDQwxpOzaeaj2uaGvrTYEbL8k_BUbwLgMcJJfiUqJICf-ybmhpVJlSFJGNkELC1FVxHVOe6WilXfOX/w400-h300/20231028_090037.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p style="text-align: left;">Brendan borrowed one of the hotel umbrellas and went off to do some shopping, but eventually there was nothing for it but to roll out.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0Z4GoqEJxSBipzp2Vwy13EF0E4y7l-lglI8icSZdpTjsCWsoYPGOx9Jzr1-K-pcpBP8vDApvGj-h3Sp2leDsNxVIN6UrCiysuSMEsZiEEU4PwkhEUbhPhNW2PpouNtNOPuLw-_pDth-6QheXkW0Xa1FDMhAPFb9fNpHA2Wwpyt8tmpYxPSI_Zscz_h05J/s4000/20231028_102157.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0Z4GoqEJxSBipzp2Vwy13EF0E4y7l-lglI8icSZdpTjsCWsoYPGOx9Jzr1-K-pcpBP8vDApvGj-h3Sp2leDsNxVIN6UrCiysuSMEsZiEEU4PwkhEUbhPhNW2PpouNtNOPuLw-_pDth-6QheXkW0Xa1FDMhAPFb9fNpHA2Wwpyt8tmpYxPSI_Zscz_h05J/w400-h300/20231028_102157.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p style="text-align: left;">We correctly predicted that the various towns at the foot of the Lanyang River valley would flow into one another, and sure enough, it was impossible to tell when one ended and another began. </p><p style="text-align: left;">On the other hand, we well and truly knew when one block ended and another began due to the incessant red lights we'd stop at. Pretty much all of these would have a counter showing how long the wait was, and it was hard to tell whether this made things better or worse. Motor scooter riders seemed very law abiding, and so we generally weren't tempted to slip through "on the footpath", even when crossing the top of a T-intersection. </p><p style="text-align: left;">A cycle path did give us some respite from these stops, but when we were forced back onto the main road, we didn't quite make it, stopping instead to mend a puncture in one of Viv's tyres. That gave a good opportunity for a coffee run, and these were downed while order was restored. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtU5CZRWcccIYrLPmg1vkNA2sPNjKt1mOZsTJERlDcy7UOV7Dw2AOq-NDUhqeOVxDrk8m4eoHe0njmrY7hJrJ9Ifp9PKKhDxmN451qfR9eUyx-jLHFma5wlRE4fozyAq0JWvDO58EIRHvx7inkorao2_ro_42xHSwCyVj9-ZeROj-c1qGI40YcfO04veOD/s4000/20231028_112132.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtU5CZRWcccIYrLPmg1vkNA2sPNjKt1mOZsTJERlDcy7UOV7Dw2AOq-NDUhqeOVxDrk8m4eoHe0njmrY7hJrJ9Ifp9PKKhDxmN451qfR9eUyx-jLHFma5wlRE4fozyAq0JWvDO58EIRHvx7inkorao2_ro_42xHSwCyVj9-ZeROj-c1qGI40YcfO04veOD/w400-h300/20231028_112132.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">There were very many election posters, and very many different power-poses</td></tr></tbody></table><p style="text-align: left;">We passed more than one cyclist riding with an umbrella. These, and rain ponchos, were readily available, but none of us were game to find out at what speed they were more hassle than they were worth. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIck73sq33jXEC-bfkAScX8AQh8FfapfmTR1izaXSiA4_u4X05ay5WIUTIXztTNU3pw02JoRaWuS97lwEmP3hT3Rc4QiVjjc5gBHv3Z-V7r_rs-ZdS7oiLlll-SgmbP5YkQZMKql8SDlbfU5ryW9AiYSfaVVV5cDCfgI-RGjFMnJ_eM_z8vVbZIC60D3sU/s4000/20231028_113251.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIck73sq33jXEC-bfkAScX8AQh8FfapfmTR1izaXSiA4_u4X05ay5WIUTIXztTNU3pw02JoRaWuS97lwEmP3hT3Rc4QiVjjc5gBHv3Z-V7r_rs-ZdS7oiLlll-SgmbP5YkQZMKql8SDlbfU5ryW9AiYSfaVVV5cDCfgI-RGjFMnJ_eM_z8vVbZIC60D3sU/w400-h300/20231028_113251.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p style="text-align: left;">Heading south a few years earlier, I'd snapped a photo of a building sinking into a lake. It had seemed to be in the middle of nowhere, but it turned out to be a museum building on a main road. We stopped there briefly, and then had coffee and cake at a nearby cafe. The coffees came with impressive latte art, drawn by a world-famous artist, judging by the price of the drinks!</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3-0isWF5gnZGb4Xg7V78yrxJwjb0RohkAeAdT7GnPm-5Ty1x8EZhb0OqgEot320VUE_00xCEliMRnWespKfeCmxqwc1UUxJjgOtnfQ6uSi-lQ2Ux-5VX5kaqbHJF2s93aqxhZXyQ2kFCkH4YN4d_IElorSmcouEeO-Fw7KbVVQXu0kP22A_XTZhep5jOi/s4000/20231028_124803.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3-0isWF5gnZGb4Xg7V78yrxJwjb0RohkAeAdT7GnPm-5Ty1x8EZhb0OqgEot320VUE_00xCEliMRnWespKfeCmxqwc1UUxJjgOtnfQ6uSi-lQ2Ux-5VX5kaqbHJF2s93aqxhZXyQ2kFCkH4YN4d_IElorSmcouEeO-Fw7KbVVQXu0kP22A_XTZhep5jOi/w400-h300/20231028_124803.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Lanyang Museum</td></tr></tbody></table><p style="text-align: left;">We then began riding along the coast, and after seeing the rockforms there, the museum suddenly made a whole lot more sense. I'm not sure the angle exactly matched the clear dip of the layered rock, but the similarity was obvious. Chapeau to the local council. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLhsxV7JMEl-ucSjznqqZnypebHYf3MeZ9IweJ6BCNCkw_jt2LW9vYY_ACbF8CTSJQdbUJtPT8nh-h3VITKgQfJOl1RnCL60HOPhAPr6hK0gKjtZ-UsHbRMHE9zdBPXzvowG7OovC1Sk9SlgS3sJGaag_JlasFS46b_wxcDgjP_JwI403oo1DZsebw45-E/s4000/20231028_134807.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLhsxV7JMEl-ucSjznqqZnypebHYf3MeZ9IweJ6BCNCkw_jt2LW9vYY_ACbF8CTSJQdbUJtPT8nh-h3VITKgQfJOl1RnCL60HOPhAPr6hK0gKjtZ-UsHbRMHE9zdBPXzvowG7OovC1Sk9SlgS3sJGaag_JlasFS46b_wxcDgjP_JwI403oo1DZsebw45-E/w400-h300/20231028_134807.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p style="text-align: left;">We focused on the riding for a spell - although we had a relatively short distance to cover for the day, the late start, puncture, red lights and sightseeing had made for incredibly slow progress, to the staggering tune of 10km/h for the first three hours!!!! OMG. </p><p style="text-align: left;">We were good for double that in the next hour, and that was enough to get us to the start of the Old Caoling Rail Tunnel. As previously, this was busy with cycle tour groups and other punters like ourselves. Sarah and I both vividly recalled the tunnel being respite from the heat of June, but this time there was no discernible difference between in and out. </p><p style="text-align: left;">We had a bit of afternoon tea just before picking up the coastline again, passing by the mothballed Lungmen Nuclear Power Plant en route. If it is never finished (as anticipated), the impressive chimney could be repurposed as a bungy tower, with a couple of strange protrusions resembling diving platforms. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmg4IpN1ZDUmuh-CpioQy8TmY9zOYaMcqP8gZoeULZKOOzS44m-OgJ22Ij8_llz6ni0ybuNRp5SChAwUIadyAYfmNmtmynpb05sgjf8CQwrqRL7OBAm_mlWO13scUM0tM_dXrVPjabxlvReD5jtAANlkkCPLDEWNm1_LCo5czuKR2ESVFiZ-LKMaV5Cwob/s4000/20231028_151322.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmg4IpN1ZDUmuh-CpioQy8TmY9zOYaMcqP8gZoeULZKOOzS44m-OgJ22Ij8_llz6ni0ybuNRp5SChAwUIadyAYfmNmtmynpb05sgjf8CQwrqRL7OBAm_mlWO13scUM0tM_dXrVPjabxlvReD5jtAANlkkCPLDEWNm1_LCo5czuKR2ESVFiZ-LKMaV5Cwob/w400-h300/20231028_151322.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lungmen Nuclear Power Plant</td></tr></tbody></table><p style="text-align: left;">I made a bit of a menace of myself stopping for photos along the coast - Sarah and I have ridden together now so much that she typically knows to give me plenty of space, but I also leave a fine draft, and it was all too tempting for Brendan despite the inherent risks (which I should have managed better). </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZAsCLfn644UehN8jFHUqa4h59nM2xwWsd40Ff9K5W_JFvuhKp1-OrjoGAAzAiIgUnJQGfqAc9yJjPrK_ceoVCRGH08aW6n0_RsDc-Cztzt1DNZCcL1MOt4pZturiYD8lb3_vz2gAxtrKrcL4zYtvAXmbiF-hIHVrBRizumb_9UtzMM87-rZxhiPyjztif/s4000/20231028_153535.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZAsCLfn644UehN8jFHUqa4h59nM2xwWsd40Ff9K5W_JFvuhKp1-OrjoGAAzAiIgUnJQGfqAc9yJjPrK_ceoVCRGH08aW6n0_RsDc-Cztzt1DNZCcL1MOt4pZturiYD8lb3_vz2gAxtrKrcL4zYtvAXmbiF-hIHVrBRizumb_9UtzMM87-rZxhiPyjztif/w400-h300/20231028_153535.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A cute harbour on the north coast</td></tr></tbody></table><p style="text-align: left;">Along the road side were fisherfolk of all descriptions - boats, and rods abound. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEGEsBXVoTPF8JJ7CM43cOBQ6PjZkQ_TCXlS-j3vFrQ2RAeKTKPH-8qHiFyUlqE1INQGcwfaIFbfSMKAo9HR4UeD0fDDl_ho77qSB3zOwARGH35qz9b4G3zQ7q8f12Oqr-Z63924xyWufZNbt-kiYNvLuIgTOPhEH309whalAI6HaGUsqs5e8yT9u2IwJw/s3891/20231028_155258.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2918" data-original-width="3891" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEGEsBXVoTPF8JJ7CM43cOBQ6PjZkQ_TCXlS-j3vFrQ2RAeKTKPH-8qHiFyUlqE1INQGcwfaIFbfSMKAo9HR4UeD0fDDl_ho77qSB3zOwARGH35qz9b4G3zQ7q8f12Oqr-Z63924xyWufZNbt-kiYNvLuIgTOPhEH309whalAI6HaGUsqs5e8yT9u2IwJw/w400-h300/20231028_155258.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">The geography was also spectacular, with great big rock outcrops, and it demanded regular stops. </p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrtjGZ4gaR06evA4qD27id-VwkqokEheKa3uKr4ihgLEPyeoSWB2xKnPDBqIwL72wmze3_LqGb4SuZ-IzEpX4PjcwzB2OZfHNXytEmPBDR0_XOe36ZDJ65vB-7Y1KkgFnTUhoXwpVWlV56yTAUyhKtnNoq1stNA_ZwVHtycQIvuMFMxhA42IbOhnHT0_si/s2000/IMG-20231028-WA0006.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1500" data-original-width="2000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrtjGZ4gaR06evA4qD27id-VwkqokEheKa3uKr4ihgLEPyeoSWB2xKnPDBqIwL72wmze3_LqGb4SuZ-IzEpX4PjcwzB2OZfHNXytEmPBDR0_XOe36ZDJ65vB-7Y1KkgFnTUhoXwpVWlV56yTAUyhKtnNoq1stNA_ZwVHtycQIvuMFMxhA42IbOhnHT0_si/w400-h300/IMG-20231028-WA0006.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Places always look so flat on the map, and I was intrigued to discover our approach to Jiufen. At the turnoff was a tourist facility, which appeared to be access to remnants of an old mine. The carpark and the ruins were blindingly obvious, but the actual "tourist activity" was less clear. </p><p style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Our road took us up a steep gully, past the "Golden Waterfall", presumably named after the mineral stain it left on the rocks, rather than a town fetish. </p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxlnF6FWSrEvm2fV_O8XvCzk47W3nSeQsf-Q2GmKeaxcfi0cV8tGFb8XepcfUBCVnwRpn-Ek7XgOcC7CNRBiFROejJw9crYCtInZaC00wn5dJyTGM19sd6YtVlxCGiBanjdtCRPiYdq0QnipXL3yMFjiyhvfxEhuYmtEbwy5fiFTvQTLz3R0BNaGHz_UgC/s4000/20231028_161123.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxlnF6FWSrEvm2fV_O8XvCzk47W3nSeQsf-Q2GmKeaxcfi0cV8tGFb8XepcfUBCVnwRpn-Ek7XgOcC7CNRBiFROejJw9crYCtInZaC00wn5dJyTGM19sd6YtVlxCGiBanjdtCRPiYdq0QnipXL3yMFjiyhvfxEhuYmtEbwy5fiFTvQTLz3R0BNaGHz_UgC/w400-h300/20231028_161123.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p style="text-align: left;">The road we took offered occasional tantalising glimpses of the main route on the other side of the gully, and it was a good case of the grass likely being greener on the other side. To add insult to injury, while I <i>thought </i>I'd mapped the route to our accommodation quite carefully, in the end Brendan and google maps both cut out a bit of climbing, and saved me an embarrassing retreat. </p><p style="text-align: left;">Based on the look on our hostess's face, Brendan and I committed a cardinal sin by taking off our (wet) riding shoes when checking in, but we were admitted to our lodgings despite this. Sarah and my room had come with dinner, which turned out to be possibly the most grown-up meal I've ever had. It was a hotpot, with a couple of broths (spicy and not) in which to cook various meats and veges. The spicy broth came with blocks of congealed duck's blood, and lengths of something's intestines. Brendan was impressively game, and while I had a few bits of blood, I was lucky to get a single bit of intestine down, and had no interests in seconds. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjro5aqColUJmTU06kRVJW7Q7YpKajSN0Y0fENBUguO6zm6QkP0lfU8ihkrH1wDMHhhPgG2rhO8mz9W1gqQVd1zFt6Jo3M0CB7KOnoTiSJnlUtgDr082kjQ-VXNCh3yBYoNnEzfcSD66qKwMRRg6lsfAuwMwzX905PLTJq5GVSDgD14jZMCe8Ucac3yhWD9/s2000/IMG-20231028-WA0005.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1500" data-original-width="2000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjro5aqColUJmTU06kRVJW7Q7YpKajSN0Y0fENBUguO6zm6QkP0lfU8ihkrH1wDMHhhPgG2rhO8mz9W1gqQVd1zFt6Jo3M0CB7KOnoTiSJnlUtgDr082kjQ-VXNCh3yBYoNnEzfcSD66qKwMRRg6lsfAuwMwzX905PLTJq5GVSDgD14jZMCe8Ucac3yhWD9/w400-h300/IMG-20231028-WA0005.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Before photo...</td></tr></tbody></table><p style="text-align: left;">Our host assumed we'd want directions to the Jiufen Old Street, which we'd been oblivious to when we booked. It turned out to be "a popular day trip from Taipei" and a genuine tourist attraction. We did a little bit of shopping, but things were winding down and so we didn't get the sit-down dessert I was craving, not least to obliterate the last of the aftertastes from dinner. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy-ze4KFvzsX8nf4R88mjQkueZgJXolta5Lq409aCTRwSDlUJ2mP163rqI9lMD2E_ahzcogI0ZkM5T_maTP2tT3dPGGX2xuSOf-4K-zNWil_jZKjPyvzqJVIcvv2qe7aKujNzPUBxztzYxchuVLXTRi-a3PL69XJ65m_uesvOFJGrG3ZBdi3YEDA0Q7YWn/s4000/20231028_195841.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy-ze4KFvzsX8nf4R88mjQkueZgJXolta5Lq409aCTRwSDlUJ2mP163rqI9lMD2E_ahzcogI0ZkM5T_maTP2tT3dPGGX2xuSOf-4K-zNWil_jZKjPyvzqJVIcvv2qe7aKujNzPUBxztzYxchuVLXTRi-a3PL69XJ65m_uesvOFJGrG3ZBdi3YEDA0Q7YWn/w300-h400/20231028_195841.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><p style="text-align: left;">A small stepped "side street" seemed to be attracting a crowd, so we queued up and got a pair of couples shots. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHOLX69w_H4HiGxosTzbo23YmTkJ6vchcItZ_T0WxCabrwHfXrwYcgK3J9EUaq5-a2Yew89s8HKWraTuGr2skBVc-Ec0Ehp0XbzG8WtcSAq3xarRWB2oyZ0AErZS5WkElNrFSHR1QeuUeuxZwVKlyfmguPThi4piocck_0jwZNfngvZgjhNMStNyT8n8Cy/s4000/20231028_202607.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHOLX69w_H4HiGxosTzbo23YmTkJ6vchcItZ_T0WxCabrwHfXrwYcgK3J9EUaq5-a2Yew89s8HKWraTuGr2skBVc-Ec0Ehp0XbzG8WtcSAq3xarRWB2oyZ0AErZS5WkElNrFSHR1QeuUeuxZwVKlyfmguPThi4piocck_0jwZNfngvZgjhNMStNyT8n8Cy/w300-h400/20231028_202607.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><p style="text-align: left;">The walk back to our digs was relatively short, and we all took care not to disturb the hugest and gnarliest spider any of us had ever seen in the wild. Its web was above the path, and high enough that even I would have struggled to walk into it, but the spider's body was like a stout finger, it had long legs, and even its colours made it look like it packed a real punch!</p><p style="text-align: left;"><u>Stats:</u> <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/10117022322" target="_blank">76km ridden</a>. One 50th birthday celebrated! No spider contact. Temperature 18 to 25 degrees, average 20. </p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><h4 style="text-align: center;">Day 7 - Jiufen to Taipei</h4><p style="text-align: left;">As our return to NZ was getting closer, Brendan and Viv were keen to spend a bit of time in Taipei, and we agreed to part ways for a night. In my accommodation survey I'd stumbled upon a place up a river valley in the hills behind Taipei which touted in-room thermal pools, and so Sarah and I had an exciting target. </p><p style="text-align: left;">Rather than drop straight down to the coast, we decided to head uphill towards the old street. It was threatening to rain again, so we hid in a Family Mart for a wee while, during which time I did a bit of running repairs on my handlebar bag (it may have dropped onto my front tyre a few too many times and was sporting a short slit...). </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUFJasHSbDTvFl3IfYawGjL91CaRdV_m_reZ0CDNSri_CBKues-tNQuLiyBLoT0mZOHVmOVRLsXbomWC3x0NisEVFzUFiirMAG9xQ0DupLmIw9xJZUDQksUk80VZ7_rvZ-Rc_E4584s1YZIad05VFOW4FBEF2hkg-wmOqXc6Xpbke3V4prjledFuL0DFSq/s4000/20231029_093154.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUFJasHSbDTvFl3IfYawGjL91CaRdV_m_reZ0CDNSri_CBKues-tNQuLiyBLoT0mZOHVmOVRLsXbomWC3x0NisEVFzUFiirMAG9xQ0DupLmIw9xJZUDQksUk80VZ7_rvZ-Rc_E4584s1YZIad05VFOW4FBEF2hkg-wmOqXc6Xpbke3V4prjledFuL0DFSq/w400-h300/20231029_093154.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looking towards Keelung from Jiufen</td></tr></tbody></table><p style="text-align: left;">In theory the short climb should have saved us some riding, but once underway, I missed a turn, and we ended up dropping into a valley behind the hills adjacent to the coast, necessitating some correction. Nonetheless, before too much longer we'd reached the port city of Keelung, and it was fun to cruise along the wharves getting yet another slice of Taiwanese life. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwwyDAOEsGwmdI-fY2miZvblGGtpL2TGEeOa0uUTT-wuMKvdYq1UVlh8o0Mxlk2G0_87J7_MvEGvkwJn5NyoT1H7OCmn4obQHRCbhMryPC5RgjV1eobPIocFBmd8DkFL77nc0QpnG5doowH5zGIbdHnOnfsAyYrdgDrjoYLVWmcqNEHpLBBErIrkm-WKRa/s4000/20231029_104855.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwwyDAOEsGwmdI-fY2miZvblGGtpL2TGEeOa0uUTT-wuMKvdYq1UVlh8o0Mxlk2G0_87J7_MvEGvkwJn5NyoT1H7OCmn4obQHRCbhMryPC5RgjV1eobPIocFBmd8DkFL77nc0QpnG5doowH5zGIbdHnOnfsAyYrdgDrjoYLVWmcqNEHpLBBErIrkm-WKRa/w400-h300/20231029_104855.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p style="text-align: left;">We found ourselves back in the land of the scooter as well. They hadn't seemed quite as popular in the mountains and on the east coast as they had been on the western side of the island, though that might have been because of the weather as much as anything. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYtye7ddQFOvl5na_q6K3XdV8BYoUnK_Du4UNuHJYUIxg-RTH36VN8DJaPOxtVTYjhyphenhyphen-BTjCnibje4koy64EruXWOC4jCP0eAdyoCS6j4CbxJdgk_XoqX9GcIG2u8luyqV3xF_VvVd485m2Kv1FkwOyq21WOL9LA4GntwaTU3jSZqQ_MJ6NCc22NIg2sIB/s4000/20231029_105714.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYtye7ddQFOvl5na_q6K3XdV8BYoUnK_Du4UNuHJYUIxg-RTH36VN8DJaPOxtVTYjhyphenhyphen-BTjCnibje4koy64EruXWOC4jCP0eAdyoCS6j4CbxJdgk_XoqX9GcIG2u8luyqV3xF_VvVd485m2Kv1FkwOyq21WOL9LA4GntwaTU3jSZqQ_MJ6NCc22NIg2sIB/w400-h300/20231029_105714.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">Just before we turned away from the coast for good, we stopped for a short toilet break. There was an impressive flock of what looked like some sort of eagle circling above the harbour. </p><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7lGDUJiuBZv8-g0-RlAs-Btw8aIudEsTf5a17mXgBK8E-tMbxsNKlbcdnqbUA8rUjYJCWezhelQLqwad4nIK75PLTRn4Nnoy4oO0T67VPiLHPzEw1Mi1-jPKQkrR_8BhhkqzyXFv4ovQmWFFWzuJpOeU1Xkx8Sf8lPwBFKeBGs3AwepEt1ctwYXf1Toyz/s3905/20231029_110423.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2929" data-original-width="3905" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7lGDUJiuBZv8-g0-RlAs-Btw8aIudEsTf5a17mXgBK8E-tMbxsNKlbcdnqbUA8rUjYJCWezhelQLqwad4nIK75PLTRn4Nnoy4oO0T67VPiLHPzEw1Mi1-jPKQkrR_8BhhkqzyXFv4ovQmWFFWzuJpOeU1Xkx8Sf8lPwBFKeBGs3AwepEt1ctwYXf1Toyz/w400-h300/20231029_110423.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Coast guards</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="clear: both; text-align: left;">We soon rejoined Cycle Route 1, and eventually we were able to turn onto a dedicated cycling and walking path along a river. The path was small initially, but as we neared downtown Taipei, both the river and facilities alongside it increased in size. I couldn't pick the section of path that Sarah and I rode in 2019, but it came and went. </p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdooAf-cdPzBiZVEHG0_f_DSQ79O_NwjS_x18WQQeZCLHlGDq6wxIKjNsNxALxCbK0VZVyIM8Amr_E25VTlAeUGBqBQGRttVxeTaOBntuOMHFKKiA_jbixO1j9f-zLzLjL2ICJ1nYJKo9ey9W3CIblJTGv8VHTa_ZS4XJG2swhejLJ6FiabIW06_9gHWh4/s4000/20231029_122722.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdooAf-cdPzBiZVEHG0_f_DSQ79O_NwjS_x18WQQeZCLHlGDq6wxIKjNsNxALxCbK0VZVyIM8Amr_E25VTlAeUGBqBQGRttVxeTaOBntuOMHFKKiA_jbixO1j9f-zLzLjL2ICJ1nYJKo9ey9W3CIblJTGv8VHTa_ZS4XJG2swhejLJ6FiabIW06_9gHWh4/w400-h300/20231029_122722.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p style="text-align: left;">A downside of being in the river corridor was that we weren't passing convenience stores every few minutes. We were all peckish, and there wasn't much on offer. We stopped at a small collection of food trucks under a big sale, buying some fried food from one, and drinks from another (aka table rental fee). While we were eating, the heavens opened, and we got a laugh out of the fact that while we were dry and sheltered, we'd left our bikes under an open gutter! It wasn't so bad that any of us could be arsed moving them. </p><p style="text-align: left;">Sarah and I said goodbye to Brendan and Viv there. We were due to ride about 40km further than them, so needed to press on. As lovely as their company was, there was something strangely comforting about being alone for a while - Sarah and I have now done so much of this that the ebb and flow of the ride is so very familiar to both of us. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlkB7sCMxs7ZVZPYBAxut2kW2a5_uOTMgg1WIrv3oWENaa_pSCaPQZ7cwjKiA3nLe6raAK7os1QXnse2E9O6vik1Bkv7THiVEUB5ZV7PlFhNwPftwpxE-SrCljvx6PLmga5i7EkroJr74-yOYSd685A8gBOAqTMDHPSN4HBj1iRQMMWCUHmI9hdaLjhjA2/s4000/20231029_130523.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlkB7sCMxs7ZVZPYBAxut2kW2a5_uOTMgg1WIrv3oWENaa_pSCaPQZ7cwjKiA3nLe6raAK7os1QXnse2E9O6vik1Bkv7THiVEUB5ZV7PlFhNwPftwpxE-SrCljvx6PLmga5i7EkroJr74-yOYSd685A8gBOAqTMDHPSN4HBj1iRQMMWCUHmI9hdaLjhjA2/w300-h400/20231029_130523.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Taipei 101 ahead, which would be visited by B&V that evening</td></tr></tbody></table><p style="text-align: left;">I enjoyed the cycle path, and enjoyed noticing the occasional gates through the otherwise impregnable flood walls. We did feel very well catered for indeed, and I really enjoyed seeing (in English) "Bicycles can be brought in" on a toilet door or two. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_VU3NdB14iKEzv_wXi-66Eki8XGRcJ3LPH60JkK7LCTDmyCu6BSIhMrVMefIfc73mlr03QOb9_85xi2VGbPqHZf5BklOtF11BpSTyNLCJf5hBaVjtQK__kfm2E9EtMNiYkkdyIGFQHCEli6O4ApOmDecrKrMpKWvVDNkJL9Js4YSX-VeY2HEo18tXyWyt/s4000/20231029_143218.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_VU3NdB14iKEzv_wXi-66Eki8XGRcJ3LPH60JkK7LCTDmyCu6BSIhMrVMefIfc73mlr03QOb9_85xi2VGbPqHZf5BklOtF11BpSTyNLCJf5hBaVjtQK__kfm2E9EtMNiYkkdyIGFQHCEli6O4ApOmDecrKrMpKWvVDNkJL9Js4YSX-VeY2HEo18tXyWyt/w400-h300/20231029_143218.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p style="text-align: left;">Nearing what seemed like the end point of the river trail I lost Sarah for a bit, and had to double back before I'd seen her various messages telling me she'd punctured. We got that sorted, and rolled on ahead, passing a cute park with swan-like pedal boats before busting out onto the road for the rest of the ride. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk25dH_zSYfKV6AG1_Rj9M8glGANz2T_hS-bk8px-bb7oypEkD_cvij6eRMUEWfqR41DrN7cdIS4cORckDEDnF3DBL3qKKY2q5NYmwcl-6HmbGa0yAum2bAJaPQSps8EHrGXadJwFjjnG_hfcDt5662rgiaAE6EcyY5GmjRY4JNy79QjyHJyqec82gcud6/s4000/20231029_153501.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk25dH_zSYfKV6AG1_Rj9M8glGANz2T_hS-bk8px-bb7oypEkD_cvij6eRMUEWfqR41DrN7cdIS4cORckDEDnF3DBL3qKKY2q5NYmwcl-6HmbGa0yAum2bAJaPQSps8EHrGXadJwFjjnG_hfcDt5662rgiaAE6EcyY5GmjRY4JNy79QjyHJyqec82gcud6/w400-h300/20231029_153501.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p style="text-align: left;">At our hotel, Sarah wasted no time in filling the bath with thermally heated water. It definitely had an alkaline feel to it, and while I think I'd have preferred a few degrees hotter, we enjoyed soaking for a bit. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8DOPKSF3I85_zLAwN9gQtssJxqkNUaeCTAFE8KpEnFWZDRdg0hDnA6FeVXli6T-WgYKzgI38mMl_Q-0cq8Ri2PXvA2i9lkESw0HaairKZHjqUoe2VDgfWerkEwLh4x33x_dgfea4opiYkCEDovvLGwH2h4Jf1-9VfLgluPVgQ10MEIawBg4MEvRVlfzr5/s1600/IMG-20231029-WA0003.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8DOPKSF3I85_zLAwN9gQtssJxqkNUaeCTAFE8KpEnFWZDRdg0hDnA6FeVXli6T-WgYKzgI38mMl_Q-0cq8Ri2PXvA2i9lkESw0HaairKZHjqUoe2VDgfWerkEwLh4x33x_dgfea4opiYkCEDovvLGwH2h4Jf1-9VfLgluPVgQ10MEIawBg4MEvRVlfzr5/w400-h300/IMG-20231029-WA0003.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">Dinner turned into a bit of a mission as we were low on cash (and no-one seemed interested in our Visa card), but we eventually found an ATM and a restaurant packed with locals. We ate well, before slipping back to the convenience store for dessert. We even could have bought some Whittaker's chocolate, which was a real surprise, especially given that we felt a bit off the beaten track. </p><p style="text-align: left;"><u>Stats:</u> <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/10122901513" target="_blank">96km ridden</a>, four temporarily became two. Temperature 19 to 27 degrees, average 22. </p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><h4 style="text-align: center;">Day 8 - reuniting in Yingge</h4><p style="text-align: left;">Our final night in Taiwan was booked in a neighbourhood called Yingge, which had a couple of things going for it. For one, it was within easy ride of the airport, but the reason we were heading there was because of its status as a "<a href="https://eng.taiwan.net.tw/m1.aspx?sNo=0002091&id=R180" target="_blank">pottery town</a>". Over the last couple of years, Sarah has developed incredible skills with a pottery wheel and an assortment of accessories, and had been excited for months about this leg of the journey.</p><p style="text-align: left;">After checking out we rolled to the nearby Family Mart to scrape together some breakfast. That done, we headed back down the valley, but this time on an incredibly nifty little road on the true left of the river. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihDJgRL3NDCcTW4x3dqXe0ofdbXVDJYpG5dyK8JXi_UVqY2P6JiStkVmJWCND8W3UBe7pV0KhXO9aHCQ5OMnFM4Dt1nRzx8ijwlp5kfld13WjodIzF2mWJa0ATh82hw5ROYMcQNGyCUpfiMsq0aTrPBZc3Uot9f2CACQHuI76THWQxd-bt6QvcjlqVXA51/s4000/20231030_093345.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihDJgRL3NDCcTW4x3dqXe0ofdbXVDJYpG5dyK8JXi_UVqY2P6JiStkVmJWCND8W3UBe7pV0KhXO9aHCQ5OMnFM4Dt1nRzx8ijwlp5kfld13WjodIzF2mWJa0ATh82hw5ROYMcQNGyCUpfiMsq0aTrPBZc3Uot9f2CACQHuI76THWQxd-bt6QvcjlqVXA51/w400-h300/20231030_093345.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">I regretted Brendan and Viv not being with us, as to some extent, it was one of the strangest (and therefore most interesting) stretches of road on the trip. It was very narrow, had nice views over the river, and even included a tunnel that, if the warning sign was accurate, I'd have struggled to walk through without stooping. I regret not waiting to watch a vehicle (carefully) pass through it.</p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_Mcc4WkC6kBGnm0yXEzZsuU_QKw75vHjA01ZCEO7Vk28nS3MrYa1g_imeHdpX53tGBxNa5HLGGXQCb62VCzPVa5sFgX1fFCma7LoZe41WQmooSEPSpWVyzlFNlUZt6IKzlkmfcKQthdB2jgeROLbrpIcjaVm9dph42_YvDZzLCMRJAEfsZP7AltMF3FBD/s4000/20231030_094237.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_Mcc4WkC6kBGnm0yXEzZsuU_QKw75vHjA01ZCEO7Vk28nS3MrYa1g_imeHdpX53tGBxNa5HLGGXQCb62VCzPVa5sFgX1fFCma7LoZe41WQmooSEPSpWVyzlFNlUZt6IKzlkmfcKQthdB2jgeROLbrpIcjaVm9dph42_YvDZzLCMRJAEfsZP7AltMF3FBD/w300-h400/20231030_094237.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><p style="text-align: left;">The next curiosity was a line of up about a dozen photographers, and associated onlookers. They were set up with huge telephoto lenses, and were all peering across the river towards a jungle-clad slope. It was impossible to see what they were looking at with the naked eye (an eagle according to one fellow), so I made do with watching them!</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAmwQNWkiwkWWDb8gHEv0Qqn9SRICpMiaZdAofR9Voe1WTkqG-k3qZki8IKz5j23ir0vBZ5fOtgWIuIeNaTVu1wM0fyAcaHF4qsBGev1TG73R8mFgn3u3czKzek-3Ugl_PHk40pHW-9SPKLcrRCOIAmqT2G1Htag3HFfS7hCKSSURwYxkd_F6xlAMa-jTC/s4000/20231030_094649.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAmwQNWkiwkWWDb8gHEv0Qqn9SRICpMiaZdAofR9Voe1WTkqG-k3qZki8IKz5j23ir0vBZ5fOtgWIuIeNaTVu1wM0fyAcaHF4qsBGev1TG73R8mFgn3u3czKzek-3Ugl_PHk40pHW-9SPKLcrRCOIAmqT2G1Htag3HFfS7hCKSSURwYxkd_F6xlAMa-jTC/w300-h400/20231030_094649.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">Eventually the minor road took us into the edge of the city. Once there, over a second breakfast, we debated the merits of dropping back into riverside cycle paths, or riding down another valley which would take us more directly to Yingge. Sarah opted for the shorter valley route, all the better to get there sooner! </p><p style="text-align: left;">What looked like it mightn't have much traffic on it turned out to be a fairly major route, and I was surprised to find ourselves back on Cycling Route 1. Despite being an eight lane urban road to begin with, vehicles were soon funneled off onto a Freeway, and we had the valley much to ourselves. </p><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKg87AdILP3YA_i7aBNmHYbguqDBdVbGbtq8rYVl194zPRVb5pG2w6imojp-LcQIQ7q5O3Zg2a6coPZiNgpQotgq-SRBaViwhG2uYG3g1QNLNXnBT598DTu0xVOxgD_yTlVtEtYotQIKuNllGTIK90xRRHw4GbiCEBck3AViwrUynm101iuwf0emrXd8nT/s4000/20231030_112408.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKg87AdILP3YA_i7aBNmHYbguqDBdVbGbtq8rYVl194zPRVb5pG2w6imojp-LcQIQ7q5O3Zg2a6coPZiNgpQotgq-SRBaViwhG2uYG3g1QNLNXnBT598DTu0xVOxgD_yTlVtEtYotQIKuNllGTIK90xRRHw4GbiCEBck3AViwrUynm101iuwf0emrXd8nT/w400-h300/20231030_112408.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not often you see a crane depot!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">I hadn't had a chance to look back at our 2019 route into Taipei, but felt that we were likely to cross paths with it at some point. Out of character, Sarah made another great suggestion about visiting the Sanxia Old Street, and on our way there, we stopped for some amazing dumplings.</p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTLp5EFkm2pqsMydZBE11jXfVf4r7kr6VszLCAMeTd6DCipw-SQeMC58ZKuPZRQZLlkZfNeqR5_WFl2_zm9OU3RfzhHocEM71_nfGNwQ0S7eJo1pNPHTTUDkFjSUZZ-cVRxqUMjpUOhcXbzekDya5jTcKCNj6QeKnRN8KRnetziqd3ys9BRQ2tw9Y35Jlm/s4000/20231030_120912.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTLp5EFkm2pqsMydZBE11jXfVf4r7kr6VszLCAMeTd6DCipw-SQeMC58ZKuPZRQZLlkZfNeqR5_WFl2_zm9OU3RfzhHocEM71_nfGNwQ0S7eJo1pNPHTTUDkFjSUZZ-cVRxqUMjpUOhcXbzekDya5jTcKCNj6QeKnRN8KRnetziqd3ys9BRQ2tw9Y35Jlm/w300-h400/20231030_120912.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">From there it was a short but hectic ride to a very cute old street, that was well worth the detour. We rode its length, and then retraced our tracks, stopping briefly at a small bakery for a croissant each. Sarah queued for a wee while, and we watched people leaving with dozens of the things each. We developed high expectations, which were not met, but it was still a nice stop.</p><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZpmVuTbDyHTOf73abvR-Alw5h4eXIwVQ594nNd3s9uxnYLmvzIZioXKBzSiMLOiwuXsqPuD9nPBalEfAQLPrxMSgBgew2nmwg5HlxxNlzEjjSuCP9DQdw4u-hVUCxQU6IcA8NOqLPnl1xvUNFr8PuoNxgPfRqzP7pI2b2gQQH0ZekZMfn4Z-PCYuR-Qyz/s4000/20231030_122947.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZpmVuTbDyHTOf73abvR-Alw5h4eXIwVQ594nNd3s9uxnYLmvzIZioXKBzSiMLOiwuXsqPuD9nPBalEfAQLPrxMSgBgew2nmwg5HlxxNlzEjjSuCP9DQdw4u-hVUCxQU6IcA8NOqLPnl1xvUNFr8PuoNxgPfRqzP7pI2b2gQQH0ZekZMfn4Z-PCYuR-Qyz/w300-h400/20231030_122947.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sanxia Old Street</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">From there we took big roads to cross the Dahan River, and rather than turning right on the cycle path towards Taipei, as we'd done in 2019, we turned left towards Yingge. We soon started seeing ceramic sculptures, and in eagerness to check one out, Sarah buried her front wheel in a hidden grassy drainage ditch and had an awkward low-speed spill. Fortunately, all the blood remained on the inside, and the ground was dry so there was no mud to contend with!</p><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUaP7QperNoIVAFEuKhyphenhyphenb696AqfWIaq2a6TCd5C31BXy9_o3rS2-Gw29xgJZCtDAa4LqCGXIP4T0eL1gBmP2szwRDyvyWekG9N6sWEZG7JS00zFF-MZG3G1J87Z3nlhOcCJfk6BMEldU9XPJHFOXMbFElRVYEPPGPw7nLqvWIPQCQtnyFeblCJTUpqCgvN/s4000/20231030_131012.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUaP7QperNoIVAFEuKhyphenhyphenb696AqfWIaq2a6TCd5C31BXy9_o3rS2-Gw29xgJZCtDAa4LqCGXIP4T0eL1gBmP2szwRDyvyWekG9N6sWEZG7JS00zFF-MZG3G1J87Z3nlhOcCJfk6BMEldU9XPJHFOXMbFElRVYEPPGPw7nLqvWIPQCQtnyFeblCJTUpqCgvN/w400-h300/20231030_131012.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">These two were really taking their time over the perfect shot. This was after five minutes or so of waiting...</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">Our hotel's booking system had made quite a fuss about check-in being from 4pm, but we took a punt turning up just after noon, and were checked in as if the time were irrelevant (neither we nor they mentioned it). That was a very welcome turn of events, as it gave us a chance to shower before setting out on foot to explore the neighbourhood.</p><p style="text-align: left;">We made a beeline for a tool shop, which Sarah assured me was the biggest distributor of specialised potters' tools in Taiwan. Before we got there, we shared some dragonfruit, which is one of my few favourite fruits, alongside rock melon, but one which I rarely eat. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_wa19X-VM_Og-9vit6H35pT-nz6vA4VzJiLNjIQZBff66ObCDBhzwv3MPcdzkc27uRc5EWBHNeL7eXZzfXcs5xpBPrUuWyJWJe5uASSyieknBG1lmNUwePQgmV6BNHivbOBzTdDUKakyaxz0lHbKivy_BMNfvQzAK29CTitKXp_bU5LCWjcVPMe0AkMqW/s4000/20231030_140815.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_wa19X-VM_Og-9vit6H35pT-nz6vA4VzJiLNjIQZBff66ObCDBhzwv3MPcdzkc27uRc5EWBHNeL7eXZzfXcs5xpBPrUuWyJWJe5uASSyieknBG1lmNUwePQgmV6BNHivbOBzTdDUKakyaxz0lHbKivy_BMNfvQzAK29CTitKXp_bU5LCWjcVPMe0AkMqW/w300-h400/20231030_140815.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">Soon after, we found a coffee shop, which had a few tables for coffee drinkers, and sold beans, coffee making equipment, and had an eclectic assortment of grinders and machines behind the counter. The coffee we each had had the both of us zinging for a good couple of hours, testament to the quality of the fellow's brew, and also the lousy (often milky canned or bottled) coffee that we'd been drinking for well over a week now. </p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEk7-9J938Outj3StFAG8YXO4dM-sLqANEJQ631j3BmsYRoDnNmwtuHqXWabardSPgSJu4ZqNoy0E-lg73nHReussmRdl4pfUKoa6Iz_PSxLnKuWfAG07hpnEqXWnueHiaXVLHIBpg4NuP7pYIR3rha9ndE0xoAYrgSSY6Rd21zx_ybPEcggBAjtd0i0dd/s4000/20231030_142150.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEk7-9J938Outj3StFAG8YXO4dM-sLqANEJQ631j3BmsYRoDnNmwtuHqXWabardSPgSJu4ZqNoy0E-lg73nHReussmRdl4pfUKoa6Iz_PSxLnKuWfAG07hpnEqXWnueHiaXVLHIBpg4NuP7pYIR3rha9ndE0xoAYrgSSY6Rd21zx_ybPEcggBAjtd0i0dd/w400-h300/20231030_142150.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">After shopping up a storm, we returned to the hotel and were able to connect with Brendan and Viv. We made the mistake of prioritising laundry over food, so when we did set out for dinner, we were possibly less discerning than we might have been with lower hangriness levels. </p><p style="text-align: left;">The "highlight" of dinner was trying stinky-tofu, which tasted very unpleasant, but fortunately didn't smell too bad from the confines of its spicy broth. The taste did confirm that the occasional roadside waft of what could be mistaken for open sewage was actually a local delicacy! </p><p style="text-align: left;"><u>Stats:</u> <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/10128638695" target="_blank">40km ridden</a>, one potter like a pig in muck, and four friends reunited. Temperature 22 to 32 degrees, average 28. </p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><h4 style="text-align: center;">Day 8 - Yingge to Taoyuan International Airport</h4><p style="text-align: left;">Our flight wasn't until early evening, so we were in no rush to make the short dash to the airport. </p><p style="text-align: left;">Sarah wanted to pop back to buy a few more tools, which meant we got to do the coffee/dragonfruit double again, both of which had similar incredible effects on our brains as they had the previous day. We lamented not having Brendan and Viv with us!</p><p style="text-align: left;">Sarah and I visited the nearby ceramics museum, before suiting up and reconnecting with our companions and spending literally our last new dollar on some cinnamon buns, which had smelt insanely good the evening before, and slid down fairly neatly. </p><p style="text-align: left;">We were relatively close to what looked like it would be a riverside path, and sure enough, that's what we soon found. </p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSrf2Ab7wD4_dbd6SJ5qepj8qe3-4sXFGQO5OWjREiJmj3kaKR_c5QRf3zaw-HiGhZXtkQJvb530KKhuG0noAurauyT7BtmWbtyggVJIFg8WsyMYfagiWOAz5LD_XxeMlb55C6pb9cmmZ0PUpT53FTZKURWCp7QxmsWccBs5qp5NxyItiDjIWfY6iQYzDw/s4000/20231031_133014.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSrf2Ab7wD4_dbd6SJ5qepj8qe3-4sXFGQO5OWjREiJmj3kaKR_c5QRf3zaw-HiGhZXtkQJvb530KKhuG0noAurauyT7BtmWbtyggVJIFg8WsyMYfagiWOAz5LD_XxeMlb55C6pb9cmmZ0PUpT53FTZKURWCp7QxmsWccBs5qp5NxyItiDjIWfY6iQYzDw/w400-h300/20231031_133014.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">Some road crossings were mitigated by underpasses, and there was one exquisitely designed and executed bridge, which made us all feel quite wonderful about the Taiwanese (and Asian, more generally) investment in good cycling infrastructure. </p><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS_l0sRmsz9HyrkrpbLxf8glebT5Cnd_mPWB6InCaXRq1s7ymBnknOtaCLhZC3a5NtvHSIiBaV-0IKXyqDlN5PSaL0xOXcBBLH3o47kDl1BWDorignkiUX_uvX0OYOv_yB59ooIHgrKfjKbN_WQvIqYV4TFJK9OEt4RT4GFbs6VRF1d7FRy-3WfPkihVzA/s4000/20231031_133452.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS_l0sRmsz9HyrkrpbLxf8glebT5Cnd_mPWB6InCaXRq1s7ymBnknOtaCLhZC3a5NtvHSIiBaV-0IKXyqDlN5PSaL0xOXcBBLH3o47kDl1BWDorignkiUX_uvX0OYOv_yB59ooIHgrKfjKbN_WQvIqYV4TFJK9OEt4RT4GFbs6VRF1d7FRy-3WfPkihVzA/w400-h300/20231031_133452.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Insanely expensive, no doubt, but a treat to see and ride</td></tr></tbody></table><p style="text-align: left;">It looked like the path on our side of the river would take us almost all the way to the river, but after 50m of gravel, we ended up riding along the top of what can only be described as a wall! We pushed ahead, but after a few minutes, that abruptly ended, forcing us to back track to a bridge across the river. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSDPCeNpDCzXqz-ewBWOHngWl3-ZIfqA38zxYtCEI-vMr8Lp9QSFG44fsy8Aopie2LPeHJadpV-HFO_h0fRppp2V2o9mDiVwSb0CVHoeXXiyCM0dCA7idv6SOX-fNCGbhhcfTtBUhJXJPdLynYzjqMHmnD_vM18wYtlMeYbrlMgBjMgB6DwGX-psVJPeKw/s4000/20231031_135606.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSDPCeNpDCzXqz-ewBWOHngWl3-ZIfqA38zxYtCEI-vMr8Lp9QSFG44fsy8Aopie2LPeHJadpV-HFO_h0fRppp2V2o9mDiVwSb0CVHoeXXiyCM0dCA7idv6SOX-fNCGbhhcfTtBUhJXJPdLynYzjqMHmnD_vM18wYtlMeYbrlMgBjMgB6DwGX-psVJPeKw/w400-h300/20231031_135606.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">We had another deadend due to some roadworks, but were soon at the edge of the airport precinct. We had plenty of time, so made ourselves comfortable in our final air-conditioned 7-Eleven of the trip, and had a spot to eat and drink.</p><p style="text-align: left;">I'd hypothesized to Brendan that we might find it difficult to ride the final kilometre to Terminal 2, suggesting that our recourse might be to head to the nearest metro station and catch the train one stop. On the other hand, Strava's heatmap overlay suggested plenty of people had either ridden or walked to the terminal, which was promising. </p><p style="text-align: left;">On our approach, the road was big but not overly busy, and we didn't feel out of place. At an underpass, there was an obvious no-bikes sign, but we were able to take a frustratingly narrow walkway along the edge of the tunnel. I never really got out of scooting mode, and ricocheted between the barrier to my left and the tunnel wall on the right. Both were covered in soot, which added insult to injury. </p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGh5IMBz5PYO9_ayF5rESkWFApMj5JGZIZ8EEJKR-WHOwY0DE2-OZMa9j84-xaN_-LiNfI_lyVMJRiQO3SW60krP2CMN-j57BjaxJ4EjVUPICJKCkBebtplxTOg-Z-XCrDEA6hFM88rAezpnW9VTix2T9kfHzbjdN21cCumshmqVV10n9jc6aO8rgNy7BL/s2944/20231031_150208.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2208" data-original-width="2944" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGh5IMBz5PYO9_ayF5rESkWFApMj5JGZIZ8EEJKR-WHOwY0DE2-OZMa9j84-xaN_-LiNfI_lyVMJRiQO3SW60krP2CMN-j57BjaxJ4EjVUPICJKCkBebtplxTOg-Z-XCrDEA6hFM88rAezpnW9VTix2T9kfHzbjdN21cCumshmqVV10n9jc6aO8rgNy7BL/w400-h300/20231031_150208.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">We had a cross a few lanes of traffic to get to the terminal, and once inside we were reprimanded by a policeman, who told us we shouldn't have been "on the freeway". Glad not to be locked up or fined, we walked our bikes through the arrivals hall to the left-luggage facility. There we attracted the attention of airport security. I tried to quickly pay for the bags, boxes and get out of Dodge, but they were intent on challenging us, presumably knowing fair well we shouldn't have ridden to the airport, and presumably that the local trains wouldn't have accepted the bikes either. Fortunately, when we stressed that we were heading back to NZ, they relented and let us get on with our packing.</p><p style="text-align: left;">That took a while, and Brendan and I both worked up more of a lather doing that than we had on the ride! The bags were slightly quicker to pack, so we agreed to regroup at the lounge after passport control. There, the food was great, but the best perk from everyone's point of view was the shower facility. </p><p style="text-align: left;">Just when I'd assumed the novelty was over, the walk to our gate dished up a few nice extras, the first of which was a coffee "vending machine", the likes of which I've never before seen. It was a crying shame we neither had time nor appetite to test it out (and may not have had the necessary cash even if we had). </p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqBshQ1q2lHKLcl0d8U-sRN74S9iGxFtnQJIMe4_rsIFhAD9vTMIb_LwLkuGUtxVsa929WPjeK69I1Z_Sgusng63Ur4pO5YxZ3AdkfMM6ejwF_UEwk0EWd3eaN8CCnFYZNM0S6lfG82aI2ADwHNZ42dtqv7BXTLVTa42t8MJlBBd8zIvpRboWwotreT4LN/s4000/20231031_182406.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqBshQ1q2lHKLcl0d8U-sRN74S9iGxFtnQJIMe4_rsIFhAD9vTMIb_LwLkuGUtxVsa929WPjeK69I1Z_Sgusng63Ur4pO5YxZ3AdkfMM6ejwF_UEwk0EWd3eaN8CCnFYZNM0S6lfG82aI2ADwHNZ42dtqv7BXTLVTa42t8MJlBBd8zIvpRboWwotreT4LN/w400-h300/20231031_182406.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">Not 20m down the concourse was a gift shop, with an incredibly ironic welcome mat, given the challenges we'd had in the last kilometre of our tour!!!</p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF3wVjtrkBMOhlA1XyTgCn0jJOith207qXWX1fj4sc269Mi_Y-7_qcXiG-TnA0FJ3fx4wrEp5MP3HtkvpMTJNwsguogIKosxS5CwkDp5Uw7l0XlpfBBuUYeisFKpidbdt_sMsWHce5rc4eZ4m-diNxcFIDxhAsLLV7UtgF1dPkAiGwMbnYJQLvqdhyWTAU/s4000/20231031_182432.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF3wVjtrkBMOhlA1XyTgCn0jJOith207qXWX1fj4sc269Mi_Y-7_qcXiG-TnA0FJ3fx4wrEp5MP3HtkvpMTJNwsguogIKosxS5CwkDp5Uw7l0XlpfBBuUYeisFKpidbdt_sMsWHce5rc4eZ4m-diNxcFIDxhAsLLV7UtgF1dPkAiGwMbnYJQLvqdhyWTAU/w400-h300/20231031_182432.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p><u>Stats:</u> <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/10134360403" target="_blank">27km ridden</a>, a couple of them illicitly. Temperature 26 to 33 degrees, average 29. </p><p><br /></p><h4 style="text-align: center;">* * * * *</h4></div><p style="text-align: left;">Last time, I'd nominated Taiwan as a cycle tourist's paradise, and yet again, it delivered a spectacular and stimulating experience along a 780km route which had a bit of everything.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Late October was a very nice time to visit, climate wise, and a far cry from the hot and sticky June days. When it wasn't raining, we all rode in short-sleeved riding jerseys, and even in the mountains, it was warm. </p><p style="text-align: left;">Our bikes ran beautifully, a few punctures aside. We'd managed to get each to Oli for a good old fettle, and it showed! Sarah was sporting a new Shimano drive train, which sorted out some nasty friction in her bottom bracket, among other things. I've developed a practice of disconnecting the Di2 battery when the bikes are packed, and that (plus warranty replacement batteries in both bikes) seems to have sorted out the discharge issues. </p><p style="text-align: left;">Riding with Brendan and Viv was a real treat. Their company made for interesting conversations, and it was nice to watch and photograph three, instead of my usual one. Of course, there's additional complexity when travelling in a group, as accommodation, food, and activities have to meet the needs of all, but we navigated that fairly easily. It was also nice to realise just how in sync Sarah and I are when doing this alone - I think we've both been conscious of how lucky we are that we click doing this, much as we click at home, but riding with others went to show just how simple it is when we are alone!</p><p style="text-align: left;">As route designer and navigator, I was chuffed with how things worked out, and sensed that Brendan, Viv and Sarah were all delighted with the experience. With our two 23-year-old adult children, Sarah and I have a ton more ability to travel, but I do look forward to signs that we might have inspired others to spread wings a wee bit, and get out amongst it. I also look forward to getting the band back together in the future, here in NZ or somewhere more exotic, to explore once again. </p><p style="text-align: left;">Celebrating my 50th birthday in this place, with those people was great, though it didn't happen in a vacuum, and my return to work forced me to confront that environment, and the tragic loss of my colleague. Great memories faded abnormally quickly, but I'm trusting that they will freshen up again, once this current emotional onslaught eases. I guess the hard times make the good times all the more precious, and worth savouring while you can. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh07VxYSCfumSbGYuwVHMaK9WytoCz8Mc33w-oQYpbnQ0RlBxW3sSCBKz6e_Uu0FV41BJfPjtMTf9U8nvNvm9z3Qew09o1uAZlTtGq9JNqVruCC5t7dqvPYsAYU1VbI3FYmJ0nYqmbmy656ZIWILNIPoK9a8tc_7ZRwgP5nqS-ki1_ShUOwBdCkqXTcpiD/s976/route-2023.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="976" data-original-width="793" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh07VxYSCfumSbGYuwVHMaK9WytoCz8Mc33w-oQYpbnQ0RlBxW3sSCBKz6e_Uu0FV41BJfPjtMTf9U8nvNvm9z3Qew09o1uAZlTtGq9JNqVruCC5t7dqvPYsAYU1VbI3FYmJ0nYqmbmy656ZIWILNIPoK9a8tc_7ZRwgP5nqS-ki1_ShUOwBdCkqXTcpiD/w325-h400/route-2023.png" width="325" /></a></div><br /><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p>sifterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15453244482461385029noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7894195099236501078.post-55917028154032558722023-07-08T18:19:00.004+12:002023-07-08T18:19:52.156+12:00Family time in Ulaanbaatar<p>One of the nice things about this time of year is that Facebook reminds me of a period that was a turning point in my adult life. 10 years and a couple of days ago, I was riding into Paris at the end of <a href="https://sifter-writes-bikes.blogspot.com/2018/06/10-june-2013.html" target="_blank">Le Cycle Tour de France</a>, and a few days after that, I was introducing Sarah to my parents (and vice versa), at Wellington airport. "<a href="https://sifter-writes-bikes.blogspot.com/2014/01/french-kissing-and-usa.html" target="_blank">French, Kissing and the USA</a>", posted in January 2014, was the first of many posts on this blog documenting our family cycling activities. </p><p>It took us a long while to organise my first trip to Mongolia, but timing of the <a href="https://sifter-writes-bikes.blogspot.com/2019/08/10th-anniversary-mongolia-bike-challenge.html" target="_blank">10th Mongolia Bike Challenge</a> in 2019 worked out well, and the long overdue mission was made, with my parents as company. </p><p>We came back to NZ knowing full well (and with me declaring at the end of the write up) that we'd need to make that trip more regularly. Of course, COVID-19 had other ideas, and so 2020 and 2021 were impossibilities. The draw got that much greater in March 2022, when our only niece on Sarah's side, Tsomoo, had her first child, Urin. In August we booked return flights to Seoul Incheon for June 2023, a long way out, but giving Mongolia a chance to get through its winter freeze, the airline industry a bit of time to settle back into moving people (and their luggage) around without mishap, and us plenty of time to look forward to the trip. In January, we finally pinned down the balance of our time away from NZ, and booked a separate return ticket from Korea, where we'd <a href="https://sifter-writes-bikes.blogspot.com/2023/07/one-week-tour-in-top-of-south-korea.html" target="_blank">squeeze in a cycle tour</a> on the way back home. </p><p>As much as I dislike the "gravel bike" terminology (much preferring "fat tyred road bike", though finding it harder and harder to use, given the growing ubiquity of the former), Mongolia is a destination that really suits the format. Virtually the entire country is public land, and there are beaten trails criss-crossing the place, most of which would be hard going on a road bike, but with enough pavement to make a mountain-bike frustrating.</p><p>Travel with a bike seems to be all about compromise though, and we optimised for the Korean leg of the journey. Besides, we were going to Mongolia to see people, rather than ride. We had every intention of using the bikes, but the vastness of the country quickly became apparent when we looked at the possibility of connecting up some of the key locations in Sarah's upbringing - her home town of Darkhan, her grandfather's birthplace Khuvsgul, and the capital city, Ulaanbataar (or UB, as everyone seems to call it). The necessary 1000-plus-kilometres in the Mongolian wild seemed like a bad use of our time. Instead, we planned make do with short rides around UB, all the better if friends or family would be on hand before, during or after. </p><p>We had a daytime flight from Seoul to UB, and flew into Chinggis Khan International Airport for the first time, just shy of its second anniversary of opening. Views on approach were uniquely Mongolian, and once we did get out on the bike, it was amazing to see the extend to which outback "roads" were mapped and an official part of the network. </p><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiicX7kqH2ZZZYY0e2XN6uazydYKBJZ6zMX35ZWt7Jexk-wx8rGHAC_SdjLDzJLkdL9WiVt42AsR6unKPLok-DlGd3canLpL7Azy8Idvcf9NLwTy2Md906nU8IKCm7ZxJiEK-QMkyl3MTKuU8PFM3TKeBC5sKZGvFYDDvGtoqVVycxyLZ9ODHGQHgUPeyIW/s4000/20230605_125644.jpg"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiicX7kqH2ZZZYY0e2XN6uazydYKBJZ6zMX35ZWt7Jexk-wx8rGHAC_SdjLDzJLkdL9WiVt42AsR6unKPLok-DlGd3canLpL7Azy8Idvcf9NLwTy2Md906nU8IKCm7ZxJiEK-QMkyl3MTKuU8PFM3TKeBC5sKZGvFYDDvGtoqVVycxyLZ9ODHGQHgUPeyIW/w300-h400/20230605_125644.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><div><br /></div><h4 style="text-align: center;">Ride 1: to Chinggis Khan Statue Complex</h4><p style="text-align: left;">The (skinnyish) road tyre format was a little constraining, but simultaneously helpful in cutting down the options. I felt like I had unfinished business at the Chinggis Khan Statue Complex - about 50km east of the city, we'd visited it with Ma and Pa, but there was something I'd opted out of then, and since regretted. </p><p style="text-align: left;">We'd had a day and a half to settle in, and it was mid-week, so were slotting rides in and around my (remote) work, and usual routines for the non-riders around us. Weather conditions on our second morning screamed "come get it", and while we were a touch short on fitness, 100km at holiday pace seemed manageable. </p><p style="text-align: left;">It seemed to take no time at all to adjust to the unique flow of the UB traffic, but we did need to be more conscious of the road surface - holes and other hazards were common, and had a habit of appearing out of nowhere. </p><p style="text-align: left;">We left the city fairly promptly, and crossed the Tuul River which runs between UB and the Bogd Khan Uul Biosphere Reserve, which, according to Wikipedia, claims to be the oldest national park in the world, with usage restrictions dating back to the 13th century. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYRXrox-yRjzZwAcDwafocIP7LUxZDoQCCjWMT2DMJiWtUmseHTGXT8uLrihAIoSJTpgmygUnFDWwwCvnFI6xXqumd_PmMnK0vDhIpYULikCiLr7qW4CuMBM-cydxvfJTperJ1zmTev4kj_BBceSB9dKwtqME4kTzk42cUMeG0oLadxH_XspXm55cJeh6p/s4000/20230607_104225.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYRXrox-yRjzZwAcDwafocIP7LUxZDoQCCjWMT2DMJiWtUmseHTGXT8uLrihAIoSJTpgmygUnFDWwwCvnFI6xXqumd_PmMnK0vDhIpYULikCiLr7qW4CuMBM-cydxvfJTperJ1zmTev4kj_BBceSB9dKwtqME4kTzk42cUMeG0oLadxH_XspXm55cJeh6p/w400-h300/20230607_104225.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">For the first half of the ride, we were on a separated cycle path alongside the major route east. The eclectic mix of buildings was intriguing, from gers (Mongolian word for yurt), to very modern buildings that wouldn't have looked out of place in an expensive NZ suburb (albeit with vastly superior insulation!), to older buildings that looked very harsh to my eye and which probably resemble eastern European apartment blocks. These were in pockets, with grassy areas in between, and all under a dramatic and vast blue sky. </p><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhimaWtqqyc9zO5RLLV5K2IYuFlmVWdEh2GePwZk-JxE_mDQs601ZRus1dloAovxwfAtDJaBTK-MMcHSFlehPLkc-qZNYV0BGaYVobTWwR7J_BRM-HL-tEYbmkKJJEVm4JaHH-Ky_8RWszeBEkUrnikINJC0DpVCqLOQfwqMafNRya7ThYYzoIt7rFjFmkV/s4000/20230607_110434.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhimaWtqqyc9zO5RLLV5K2IYuFlmVWdEh2GePwZk-JxE_mDQs601ZRus1dloAovxwfAtDJaBTK-MMcHSFlehPLkc-qZNYV0BGaYVobTWwR7J_BRM-HL-tEYbmkKJJEVm4JaHH-Ky_8RWszeBEkUrnikINJC0DpVCqLOQfwqMafNRya7ThYYzoIt7rFjFmkV/w400-h300/20230607_110434.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looking back towards UB about a half hour into the ride</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">We slowly climbed, reaching a high point of just over 1500m above sea level, before taking the necessary off-ramp. Here marked the end of the cycle path (if you don't count the occasional, short, unbuilt sections), and the time for a pick-me-up. Convenience stores were common, and obvious, and these I could navigate on my own. "Cafes" and small restaurants were easy to pick out, but I doubt I'd have been able to make do without Sarah. We weren't quite ready for khuushuur (fried dumplings), so made do with some simple snacks. </p><p style="text-align: left;">It had been nice to be on the cycle path, and being on a fairly major route took a little bit of getting used to. The traffic was awesome though, and my stress levels slowly subsided. While I hadn't reread my earlier blog, I did notice I was mentally prepared for the mind-bending distance distortions - what road features we could make out did seem to creep up much more quickly than expected. It wasn't lost on me that in part, this was because of a stunning tail wind. Progress wouldn't be so easy on the way home. </p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM52ug_MGrOge1grOVOTg6-jG5MrvzaZ0lIV2wQdHf-mMBsbfEOsMr6bwIg5JeFOlHV1cTvBitAFm_BXlbq-BRbWkJOlvWAm_v6iel81g3D438Rmne48sARQlIwtZSliiGRP1GwUSznAPY7ala5a3lUTglUy6cW5fSgC0EUOQgC5ivCZ4Xjb6_vXwNzxeW/s2944/20230607_123946.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2208" data-original-width="2944" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM52ug_MGrOge1grOVOTg6-jG5MrvzaZ0lIV2wQdHf-mMBsbfEOsMr6bwIg5JeFOlHV1cTvBitAFm_BXlbq-BRbWkJOlvWAm_v6iel81g3D438Rmne48sARQlIwtZSliiGRP1GwUSznAPY7ala5a3lUTglUy6cW5fSgC0EUOQgC5ivCZ4Xjb6_vXwNzxeW/w400-h300/20230607_123946.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">I'd slightly misremembered the approach to the statue, so it was a nice surprise to see it all of a sudden, in all its majesty. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpFKuSU6AK_Gv-sFAa8mmd3euH18Cu_0CGz6m9Jnkr2MYPeYhbCkgwSI7jByskA9KG3rjZXYYJNjFXqtu0vwiJ7FZlqP1k8yQOKIdWiTuHOW9d3nuqvmLY8LvpqOs1iv7MFLmGtQ9eU2_F6YANAX4q9SSvNDznZ4Ng81vfpuUj81hCBfrFZpDxD2itfXPm/s4000/20230607_124842.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpFKuSU6AK_Gv-sFAa8mmd3euH18Cu_0CGz6m9Jnkr2MYPeYhbCkgwSI7jByskA9KG3rjZXYYJNjFXqtu0vwiJ7FZlqP1k8yQOKIdWiTuHOW9d3nuqvmLY8LvpqOs1iv7MFLmGtQ9eU2_F6YANAX4q9SSvNDznZ4Ng81vfpuUj81hCBfrFZpDxD2itfXPm/w400-h300/20230607_124842.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">Once in the complex, we found a few very welcome tourist traps - I'd been hoping to pass them on the road, and was disappointed by their absence. We passed on archery, but felt compelled to pose with a magnificent golden eagle.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR34lOWOsjr4l8Z-h2C9WVICUfXBFqs-D9g9DPHwAOY_vbnhzGz1K5EQl0V0DT3L8pL1hbJjYtLXoPKtVk2M64XSiG37jiK3CzA8EObz-taSGDWZEMV17vBodhd_u8sbrjCzokZXQzXBFEOBdyzdm1ZsxaNrQDzD2V4Lbi1viRt-E1StetbotqajvZVSH3/s4000/20230607_125325.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR34lOWOsjr4l8Z-h2C9WVICUfXBFqs-D9g9DPHwAOY_vbnhzGz1K5EQl0V0DT3L8pL1hbJjYtLXoPKtVk2M64XSiG37jiK3CzA8EObz-taSGDWZEMV17vBodhd_u8sbrjCzokZXQzXBFEOBdyzdm1ZsxaNrQDzD2V4Lbi1viRt-E1StetbotqajvZVSH3/w300-h400/20230607_125325.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br /><p style="text-align: left;">Quickly getting into the swing of things, we followed that up with a short camel ride, Sarah nattering away incessantly, often explaining the unusual package that we are (especially with the bikes thrown into the mix)!</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjWuCuomwzWF5i12kFe8QZnAjcHzyCm5WIq9vVZDMvOW0-OfT7O9-vVZLwxLPLc1d-cnkwCzRJMbfoKJhK7jmuJad1gOkU0kNxEfuufeVLay6LoBBdvcNnO1t7O9ZWNCOULkjrRsGE2xOb89IkxuD42_R2oAYZKmArgOHWwaKJdl8jRM7tQakqm08LrH_Y/s4000/20230607_130727.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjWuCuomwzWF5i12kFe8QZnAjcHzyCm5WIq9vVZDMvOW0-OfT7O9-vVZLwxLPLc1d-cnkwCzRJMbfoKJhK7jmuJad1gOkU0kNxEfuufeVLay6LoBBdvcNnO1t7O9ZWNCOULkjrRsGE2xOb89IkxuD42_R2oAYZKmArgOHWwaKJdl8jRM7tQakqm08LrH_Y/w400-h300/20230607_130727.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">When it was time to head into the building I strolled straight past the ticket booth, assuming that we would only have to pay for rooftop access. That caused the staff quite some alarm, though I was oblivious to the commotion, and it was quickly smoothed out with a Sarah-plus-credit-card combo!</p><p style="text-align: left;">We did go up top, but the thing I most wanted to do was play dress-ups. Last time, I'd declined to do so, writing off as silly, but subsequently realised I'd forgone a somewhat unique opportunity. I chose "king" over "hero", and we got a few lovely photos together before starting to overheat in the heavy garb!</p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcf7s2-ExVnwG5MZuLBBa4zSnbz_F-8GOKwsckS7xTFPI-kTW_J0qoQmtQPC0KBh8mWOKJDYRkWO5Dkeuf9xy4Lga4BD-SQe9Jh5Tsu7c0hjMRpQoKwygIp8N_s1SUtw23ZW5ByW--XHlEBsmpNWSlZVEl6x4npGZ7bnYUB5A0W34dsnTxoHUSrprHxj-F/s3648/20230607_141937.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2736" data-original-width="3648" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcf7s2-ExVnwG5MZuLBBa4zSnbz_F-8GOKwsckS7xTFPI-kTW_J0qoQmtQPC0KBh8mWOKJDYRkWO5Dkeuf9xy4Lga4BD-SQe9Jh5Tsu7c0hjMRpQoKwygIp8N_s1SUtw23ZW5ByW--XHlEBsmpNWSlZVEl6x4npGZ7bnYUB5A0W34dsnTxoHUSrprHxj-F/w400-h300/20230607_141937.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">After having a solid crack at enough lunch for about four people, we started the ride back to UB. As predicted, the wind was going to make it a real slog. </p><p style="text-align: left;">We swung by an interesting collection of roadside stalls, which seemed to consist of a "shop front" with living quarters behind. Returning to the road, I made a real mess of things, and lost my front wheel in some loose gravel. I was barely moving forward, so only had to deal with the rapid movement downwards. Fortunately, my bike coped with the sharp hit, and I had plenty of fresh water on hand to rinse out a few divots in my skin. </p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6QwwVVB1VsHSZwrbheV4RMmtxMQ9l-SpWQ8232b-sTLwVKj7ZCoWmAe8m4L2X0jkDgEKtVO3zbuj8gGhKnSMqukMOs8GdavPzz2dOd31WEpUOK78MbLWy3dSapXUwSQYs02CaipBML1YrgYD-ms8COYecomzdfoMfivOIrSrR4bg4G2xKCGzSv7aueGGT/s4000/20230607_152455.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6QwwVVB1VsHSZwrbheV4RMmtxMQ9l-SpWQ8232b-sTLwVKj7ZCoWmAe8m4L2X0jkDgEKtVO3zbuj8gGhKnSMqukMOs8GdavPzz2dOd31WEpUOK78MbLWy3dSapXUwSQYs02CaipBML1YrgYD-ms8COYecomzdfoMfivOIrSrR4bg4G2xKCGzSv7aueGGT/w400-h300/20230607_152455.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">Once back on the main highway, we had both the cycle path a 250 metre drop to help counter the nasty headwind. It was a real slog though, and necessitated a coffee stop about 20km from home. We made a good choice, and the barista in turn made a very good coffee. </p><p style="text-align: left;">We took a slightly different route into UB, and soon found ourselves weaving between though some very jammed traffic. Shortly before we discovered the cause of it all, we had to dodge an entrepreneurial local who was walking the queue with a tray of cold drinks! </p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4TVD86b_9_mFl9a3zVWHgklS41G0OAWG2e7_xbuSMC9JHLnJhN78ZSo7yloSl4lU-jz1U4UcUSScyh24sF7MS1ymXcBNd_YUmPcKq7d5pctlT-49SWjjIl7PdtW-_6hBEVw5VWG-gppQYhXagQa7XQ30QRcMK0lLuVta9Qk9Z-PnfoIpSDCZQwg0iq0ca/s4000/20230607_174838.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4TVD86b_9_mFl9a3zVWHgklS41G0OAWG2e7_xbuSMC9JHLnJhN78ZSo7yloSl4lU-jz1U4UcUSScyh24sF7MS1ymXcBNd_YUmPcKq7d5pctlT-49SWjjIl7PdtW-_6hBEVw5VWG-gppQYhXagQa7XQ30QRcMK0lLuVta9Qk9Z-PnfoIpSDCZQwg0iq0ca/w300-h400/20230607_174838.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">Perhaps he was paying commission to the small handful of drivers at the root of the problem. It did appear that significantly many cars had made a simultaneous play for the same patch of side road, and by virtue of the cars behind them, were unable to untangle themselves. We couldn't see damage to any car, but there just wasn't quite enough empty space, and probably more to the point, no conductor to take charge. It was a remarkable sight, and all but guaranteed us a stress free ride back to our hotel!</p><p style="text-align: left;"><u>Stats</u>: <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/9218856426" target="_blank">114km ridden, plus 500m on a camel</a>. Altitude-adjusted to 900m by the end, if my GPS was to be believed. </p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><h4 style="text-align: center;">Ride 2: from Hustai National Park outing</h4><p style="text-align: left;">The next day, we headed out to Hustai National Park with one of Sarah's closest friends, university class mate Tungaa, her husband Tsogi, and their two youngest children, Baysaa and Misheel. </p><p style="text-align: left;">Baysaa was well into English lessons at school, and could clearly understand all of my cheeky comments to him. While he steadfastly refused to reply, he wasn't quite so able to surpress his amusement! For her part, Misheel looks a lot like Khulie did in photos of her at that age - a very precious part of her life that I missed out on. I enjoyed being around so much cuteness, even though it made me a little envious. </p><p style="text-align: left;">We rode short distance from our hotel to their apartment, but once there, put our bikes on the back of their SUV. We'd originally planned to ride to our overnight destination, but the combination of headwind and wanting to spend time in their company, meant that we were both very happy in the car. </p><p style="text-align: left;">Hustai is famous for being one of the few places in the world that you can see Tahki. Despite having a perfectly good name already, these wild horses were renamed Przewalski's Horse upon discovery in the 19th century by a similarly named white guy. Their natural habitat is the Gobi Desert, but Hustai is one of the key areas in the conservation efforts to save these animals from extinction, thanks to significant support by the Dutch government (of all people).</p><p style="text-align: left;">After dropping off luggage and bikes at our overnight ger camp on the boundary of the park, having lunch, and getting directions, we set off in search of the Tahki. Said directions were given in Mongolian, and as the drive went on, including a few false turns, it seemed inconceivable that we'd find anything in this huge and apparently empty space!</p><p style="text-align: left;">How wrong I was, and we soon got to enjoy a collection of 7th century "man stones" which commemorated the death of an affluent, powerful, or otherwise influential man of those times. </p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFC3zesekehPYO7FInJAWL8_r9gAqHuk0vURCFOMRg7VW8DEd9FmwCuPYgKu9nydWF_LA2BYoRKi1A5P8FNlo25LJp7TesNweWSsje9D7jvC5_KXZLpCojUuZjjWgeFdJZZNFKLMjIcvqI23QmX8ssa1LyJnDLOroY10ujkV5ugvf1seACiJIulzOwgyH1/s4000/20230608_171903.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFC3zesekehPYO7FInJAWL8_r9gAqHuk0vURCFOMRg7VW8DEd9FmwCuPYgKu9nydWF_LA2BYoRKi1A5P8FNlo25LJp7TesNweWSsje9D7jvC5_KXZLpCojUuZjjWgeFdJZZNFKLMjIcvqI23QmX8ssa1LyJnDLOroY10ujkV5ugvf1seACiJIulzOwgyH1/w400-h300/20230608_171903.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">That done, our search for the Tahki began in earnest. We drove up and over a ridge, and after one observation point with nothing to observe, things went from the sublime to the ridiculous, and we got to enjoy half a dozen small troops, marvelling at one, before moving on and seeing a larger or closer group almost immediately after. The kids enjoyed watching me fly the drone, but my lack of practice and the wind meant I didn't enjoy it at all!</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5tG_Dxj3tX8hPcbMlOMV1Jp5fok__5pqg23QsB_toChoX2pDYRVHCNvJksyPNu4iIXBwG3yLaI6mdH7S7DhSn9j8cd42gtHrAADZI1H3tlhQMj5CfgcIqymL7DgudVpux_nuLkwLxVvm1ZqEvzA8cdicGp7uqMA1ICK8ZQGxk26NNmlqe6YXZqnuz4AZ3/s4000/20230608_192448.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5tG_Dxj3tX8hPcbMlOMV1Jp5fok__5pqg23QsB_toChoX2pDYRVHCNvJksyPNu4iIXBwG3yLaI6mdH7S7DhSn9j8cd42gtHrAADZI1H3tlhQMj5CfgcIqymL7DgudVpux_nuLkwLxVvm1ZqEvzA8cdicGp7uqMA1ICK8ZQGxk26NNmlqe6YXZqnuz4AZ3/w400-h300/20230608_192448.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p style="text-align: left;">Horses duly admired, we headed back to base. We'd been very lucky, and were booked into the last two available gers. It turned out Sarah and I were in the VIP ger - our sole and unusual ensuite had been retrofitted for the 2006 visit of Dutch royalty!</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim6W4OWCVdNIpvOPnrhUzsCWHFa4qz-lPd2dWSc6uBBPpk3fcN4MtfWmuF0y-Rs4dmvYzwLTldznt6wXnvK0biEEksL54Fbx7SgDBqz7-4UbfroW7oxeDNZPV_Mkjwbpo47D9ZVF3M5MG10_GQKn6Aa5jmkF3FcIyqFD7UFFgbPeXcLwWstFG5Fn1mUBOP/s4000/20230608_205106.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim6W4OWCVdNIpvOPnrhUzsCWHFa4qz-lPd2dWSc6uBBPpk3fcN4MtfWmuF0y-Rs4dmvYzwLTldznt6wXnvK0biEEksL54Fbx7SgDBqz7-4UbfroW7oxeDNZPV_Mkjwbpo47D9ZVF3M5MG10_GQKn6Aa5jmkF3FcIyqFD7UFFgbPeXcLwWstFG5Fn1mUBOP/w400-h300/20230608_205106.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">In the morning, we checked out a nearby Bankhar trainer - preparing huge Mongolian wolfhounds to keep an eye on livestock with minimal human intervention - and then spent a bit of time exploring a local sand dune. Tungaa introduced me to Mongolian rhubarb, which, chewed and spat out, has a range of medicinal properties. </p><p style="text-align: left;">We drove just over half way back to UB, before finally taking the bikes off the car near an area used for the massive national Naadam festival. The wind was in full effect, but we began the ride elevated, and this helped take the edge of the wind at critical junctures. </p><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidJ_vvJIr2qWBn38m8fOCD3zjaWoSGbok0yOM8Jq19o6QMWq2dzP8WEUJLi0_ZIT_NweGCvEjcVBQFQf0F7hmgdj2NGF-a6sZ7FqzM9mdxvY3h6Q-E0NbwGfW78MsDmIHbGFdkam89-_3ZJN8pJvmijobug4TTOml8yURp4fhqRsj9N7DKYNMAkEnsWN0E/s4000/20230609_144313.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidJ_vvJIr2qWBn38m8fOCD3zjaWoSGbok0yOM8Jq19o6QMWq2dzP8WEUJLi0_ZIT_NweGCvEjcVBQFQf0F7hmgdj2NGF-a6sZ7FqzM9mdxvY3h6Q-E0NbwGfW78MsDmIHbGFdkam89-_3ZJN8pJvmijobug4TTOml8yURp4fhqRsj9N7DKYNMAkEnsWN0E/w400-h300/20230609_144313.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Permanent carpark for the once-a-year festival area</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">We were circling around the northwestern corner of UB, and soon crossed the main road to Darkhan, on which we spent a blissful minute or so - our first time with block tailwind. We then continued north-east for a while, before turning a hard right (under the watchful eye of Tsogi and family). Now with the wind permanently at our backs we began slowly climbing. Up ahead, we could see the last part of the climb - a gravel wall. Time would tell if it was as bad as it looked!</p><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOAlf5qUUvDHo0FQuhK0g-rFcQE7FIFiCrTbTF03Xp_JO0LFuzbvfi7HWz5QSFMKRpHkJtyWU_eG5uWSF66n-BxJwZWV_6yWUWe2wpFGHkrUHnlawDFypk1KAmSbpO847u5gpYxZFxACLsxkiyjrDGCreyGRIbawuiFxT6GUPoU4rw8J8o61yOK7-Ir42f/s4000/20230609_162629.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOAlf5qUUvDHo0FQuhK0g-rFcQE7FIFiCrTbTF03Xp_JO0LFuzbvfi7HWz5QSFMKRpHkJtyWU_eG5uWSF66n-BxJwZWV_6yWUWe2wpFGHkrUHnlawDFypk1KAmSbpO847u5gpYxZFxACLsxkiyjrDGCreyGRIbawuiFxT6GUPoU4rw8J8o61yOK7-Ir42f/w400-h300/20230609_162629.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The road passes through the low saddle mid-shot (wooded to the right, and clear below)</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">Tsogi had warned us the saddle was unsealed, and this seemed to be common, and is necessitated by the winter months. (I guess the sealed roads do not cope well with the extreme cold.) </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqcJ1rJlQZ_gJvwyBK9fu-67w-F2UePQZoG-gz9mSPpIi18U2w04CncVp2UoKszpmp8uG_KFsOic6S6fWS6MTxHRuvqgfcaArpAzmI8VZfyj8oXIPZ7ZoaL2kb90AKnDKzqK7d2GP7jgEzPUo9Vg4aHsF4ppZk5KNlh5pIiBXiw7aN-FQRSTOOzZUBEUe-/s4000/20230609_164231.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqcJ1rJlQZ_gJvwyBK9fu-67w-F2UePQZoG-gz9mSPpIi18U2w04CncVp2UoKszpmp8uG_KFsOic6S6fWS6MTxHRuvqgfcaArpAzmI8VZfyj8oXIPZ7ZoaL2kb90AKnDKzqK7d2GP7jgEzPUo9Vg4aHsF4ppZk5KNlh5pIiBXiw7aN-FQRSTOOzZUBEUe-/w400-h300/20230609_164231.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Misheel - a captive audience</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">I wasn't so worried about the climb, though it turned out to be a pretty stern challenge. I overcame the issue of the dust by pretending I was in NZ, and hugging the left "gutter". Sarah didn't click that this was a great way of getting out of the dust cloud each and every passing vehicle would generate, and instead stayed on the right side of the road (in both senses) and downwind of everyone. The road was also steep and managing traction was tricky, with some parts lumpier and looser than others. </p><p style="text-align: left;">Fortunately, the descent was shorter, less steep, and less rough, so better in every respect. We were soon off the brakes and enjoying a sealed blat into an outer suburb of UB. Before too long, we arrived at Tungaa and Tsogi's dacha, and not long after that, were back in the vehicle and taking a spectacular short-cut to another university friend's place in next valley. </p><p style="text-align: left;">There, we had a lovely meal together, during which Baysaa treated us to a tune or two on his horse-headed fiddle. I was fascinated that in his mind at least, speaking English to me and playing a musical instrument for everyone were not equivalently performative. </p><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMpFs9Xc0URFSMZZUKdwYp0qLlO-DCbKuqoiWbTk5QTfgBqdfLW3ozTkuzYNEOsgZls9PGdhh-dszO-LWhcohk93ZDvDSErUrXk5iJ8EUMAxwnU2orO6lkfMBekh_BIYK3pxUFTJ9QMqrXsbMGVIgqx-2TNGErKLLmRX99rjEpzzr4IGwMfbJ8x3iroA4G/s4000/20230609_172417.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMpFs9Xc0URFSMZZUKdwYp0qLlO-DCbKuqoiWbTk5QTfgBqdfLW3ozTkuzYNEOsgZls9PGdhh-dszO-LWhcohk93ZDvDSErUrXk5iJ8EUMAxwnU2orO6lkfMBekh_BIYK3pxUFTJ9QMqrXsbMGVIgqx-2TNGErKLLmRX99rjEpzzr4IGwMfbJ8x3iroA4G/w400-h300/20230609_172417.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not far from the dacha</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;"><u>Stats</u>: many more kilometres on the bike rack than on the road, but <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/9231448967" target="_blank">57 kilometres ridden</a>.</p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><h4 style="text-align: center;">Ride 3: Ariuna's to Terelj</h4><p style="text-align: left;">The next morning, we saddled up once more, and set off towards Terelj, not far from the Chinggis Khan statue. We were headed for Tumen Khaan Tourist Camp, where we would overnight with Sarah's sister, Saruul, and Tsegi and Khulan, who we'd first met in Wellington when Tsegi was a master's student at VUW (and Khulan a five-year-old, now a teenager). They were driving out with Tsoomoo, her partner Tsemee and wee Urin, who on account of not having any experience of overnight outings with Urin, would return to UB at the end of the day. </p><p style="text-align: left;">While we did have bikepacking bags for the next leg of the journey, we'd packed overnight clothes into a backpack, mostly so we could each have a pair of walking shoes. Kilometres 30 to 53 overlapped with our route out to the statue, the vast majority of which was cycle path. To get there from Ariunaa's we had nice suburban arterial routes, plus a few big roads nearer the centre of UB. </p><p style="text-align: left;">Once on the cycle path, we knew we were ahead of the vehicle, so there was a sense of anticipation that at some point they would relieve us (i.e. me) of our backpack. It was a bit of a stuttery ride to that point, in part due to their uncertain arrival, but also with various half-hearted and somewhat unsuccessful attempts to top up caffeine and/or food levels. </p><p style="text-align: left;">We met them just before we turned off the cycle path, and agreed to regroup not far up the road for a picnic. Despite the imminent food, I realised I was a little desperate, and forced Sarah to stop for a quick pick-me-up. 15 minutes later we were joining the others for some fantastic chicken sandwiches, which I enjoyed in part because we'd temporarily claimed a vacant spot of land for ourselves, as one does in Mongolia. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxmO7bVg8uCxDu5v2LVIGVSX-Ns8yfr1_-aFYlzMKbT5zdHFtFyXGuP7IwINwun-D2oK3a4pVl637-cnAko5IyFLpMkhs82K6o6ok1CcHl_GSVe5qbXBTcfoV0z6t_ua0YoqOWPJgzH2DAfok_pPJywt-z7oKDxCgJuTdGSF8gZ1UgyGUVD7vx2UoEMwsG/s4000/20230610_125108.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxmO7bVg8uCxDu5v2LVIGVSX-Ns8yfr1_-aFYlzMKbT5zdHFtFyXGuP7IwINwun-D2oK3a4pVl637-cnAko5IyFLpMkhs82K6o6ok1CcHl_GSVe5qbXBTcfoV0z6t_ua0YoqOWPJgzH2DAfok_pPJywt-z7oKDxCgJuTdGSF8gZ1UgyGUVD7vx2UoEMwsG/w400-h300/20230610_125108.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p style="text-align: left;">After lunch, Sarah and I set off, and quickly dispatched a short climb. While I waited for Sarah at the top, I noticed an eagle sitting on a pole and went up to investigate. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWJVCgJk9wXm8DCAPlScZpb29zmyNUZJsZLXplEQd1SEkxSkIR-mTjNE2znnd5C-CAkUDUJmeDEZXvP5UN27JGc7so3IPpQcdfbjFvgkKpXzTVCww9lWnWwcXfPReoeudgXW5pZWuBGJ-G9P-tDXFs6CiEjl_T17QIgpUqlvUBbzFI_QuAZBoNmMiGvkTM/s2944/20230610_132631.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2208" data-original-width="2944" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWJVCgJk9wXm8DCAPlScZpb29zmyNUZJsZLXplEQd1SEkxSkIR-mTjNE2znnd5C-CAkUDUJmeDEZXvP5UN27JGc7so3IPpQcdfbjFvgkKpXzTVCww9lWnWwcXfPReoeudgXW5pZWuBGJ-G9P-tDXFs6CiEjl_T17QIgpUqlvUBbzFI_QuAZBoNmMiGvkTM/w400-h300/20230610_132631.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p style="text-align: left;">In short order, Sarah had commissioned on my behalf a heavy leather glove. Once that was on, a four-year-old golden eagle soon promptly joined it, and as instructed, I gently flapped my arm to ensure the eagle would do the same. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCNsf_175o-5l7E9K4Jj8_jPpZRKF3WEMAdvT1oyIonCx5BAyvVumonTIlDadhUnDFPLVW4XuAmKUYFrKloolkDvAFiKcakFnBRUqbm1MFUuTcsANzELHzh3cPluM9XG5wPPStKyUyq5nd0KSo66m_evXysCVvAScPqfkhu7Zint2VO5TpXrRfaAmdChsz/s4000/20230610_132804.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCNsf_175o-5l7E9K4Jj8_jPpZRKF3WEMAdvT1oyIonCx5BAyvVumonTIlDadhUnDFPLVW4XuAmKUYFrKloolkDvAFiKcakFnBRUqbm1MFUuTcsANzELHzh3cPluM9XG5wPPStKyUyq5nd0KSo66m_evXysCVvAScPqfkhu7Zint2VO5TpXrRfaAmdChsz/w300-h400/20230610_132804.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not your average mid-ride activity</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">Feeling elated, we descended, first on gravel, to cross the Tuul River again. We took an old bridge with a wooden deck, and from it admired the beautiful clear water, and the various groups on hand who'd chosen the spot to spend their Saturday afternoon. </p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR_kKBAd5aQUxQVprWHQ36TbSOSnGrVvCyEn988DyZmBcSlHQTWLtW1EriY24AL-IiiNGj1PufpEsERa2_WlEL8liL-WNkjagYeSSSrte9Yl5w0v2JGGB_AKAdN6Jn5bVlmJXVCzJuM1u6EtqVVOHO-Qjl51PDu4szHfWJJTNJTcn4ByckyEEBLrTFJIBh/s4000/20230610_133447.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR_kKBAd5aQUxQVprWHQ36TbSOSnGrVvCyEn988DyZmBcSlHQTWLtW1EriY24AL-IiiNGj1PufpEsERa2_WlEL8liL-WNkjagYeSSSrte9Yl5w0v2JGGB_AKAdN6Jn5bVlmJXVCzJuM1u6EtqVVOHO-Qjl51PDu4szHfWJJTNJTcn4ByckyEEBLrTFJIBh/w400-h300/20230610_133447.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Beyond the bridge, we began passing tourist resorts with increasing frequency. The road swung around to the north, and we rode into a relatively narrow valley lined with dramatic rock outcrops. There was a lot going on, with horse and camel rides on offer, ger camps abound, and herds of cows and yaks among other things. We even passed a compound with (at a guess) life sized dinosaur sculptures, which Sarah told me (our) Khulan had really enjoyed when she'd visited at the age of 10.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRg3CmdvBOVfXylgbvG3hxuyq_TXcmzTFPaZLbJjJRVYpVO1kpFL6kOReOvQCVJu7_yb-rfaFx2IQu0u4C2cJh6LpiMD4Kgq15WE49mSpUOPLTBv_mvL_Pt6xZABiEkPMBpEONzYkOdqX_J48-BFEZ7EY2qLGjiec7zkEHpp0Y67sRIHddZe0k2DlxYen-/s4000/20230610_140745.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRg3CmdvBOVfXylgbvG3hxuyq_TXcmzTFPaZLbJjJRVYpVO1kpFL6kOReOvQCVJu7_yb-rfaFx2IQu0u4C2cJh6LpiMD4Kgq15WE49mSpUOPLTBv_mvL_Pt6xZABiEkPMBpEONzYkOdqX_J48-BFEZ7EY2qLGjiec7zkEHpp0Y67sRIHddZe0k2DlxYen-/w400-h300/20230610_140745.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p style="text-align: left;">We had yet another unsealed saddle to deal to, before descending to the town of Terelj. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2T5poZqBjObD-dTWEvqrakABweakNyHSoQXGCWudw_RVmyJs8x6cPjKLj6_J7HsSePFc1GCeqa1bSLcQIItRZkR6EVHVX2U5i288LVTjwfzbIHUS7PXgbV7tzILUkL6V5a7xGZXNn5P5C1DQBXsfqKimQ5WXfzN3SY0Ky6pjP6syJTIGPzGQCRvIOL-LM/s4000/20230610_144618.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2T5poZqBjObD-dTWEvqrakABweakNyHSoQXGCWudw_RVmyJs8x6cPjKLj6_J7HsSePFc1GCeqa1bSLcQIItRZkR6EVHVX2U5i288LVTjwfzbIHUS7PXgbV7tzILUkL6V5a7xGZXNn5P5C1DQBXsfqKimQ5WXfzN3SY0Ky6pjP6syJTIGPzGQCRvIOL-LM/w400-h300/20230610_144618.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p style="text-align: left;">There, the (mostly) sealed road came to an end, and we spent 5km or picking our way along a dirt road corridor, which was mostly a perfectly pleasant ride (and way more pleasant than SH2 through the Wairarapa would have been on the same set up, i.e. smooth)!</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtbRPhxQJGsxo7d6eXHX7l0QSzazJCo08Dcw4ovvbjF7WjqPjfziMTiOWcezy5Ng7s1eMAPIOFr-hvMcY87DCqVRYa5x--QBAgpwhEHz8_tJVbXck4AkfjdLbeLOKHjOlS-sjSvvsAmQ5bhRKR5WRSyU6kENZDi3HYBdN44g7cr3T_bIHbhuOoKQ8GoOWc/s4000/20230610_153006.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtbRPhxQJGsxo7d6eXHX7l0QSzazJCo08Dcw4ovvbjF7WjqPjfziMTiOWcezy5Ng7s1eMAPIOFr-hvMcY87DCqVRYa5x--QBAgpwhEHz8_tJVbXck4AkfjdLbeLOKHjOlS-sjSvvsAmQ5bhRKR5WRSyU6kENZDi3HYBdN44g7cr3T_bIHbhuOoKQ8GoOWc/w400-h300/20230610_153006.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">We arrived at the Tumen Khaan Tourist Camp to find the others waiting. Tumen was the given name of Sarah and Saruul's dad, and became their surname (as "daughters of Tumen"). We arrived a little frustrated by the dirt road, and feeling like we'd quite happily have shortened the ride by 15km or so. However, as the hours ticked over, the charm of the place really grew on us. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAOLEZy87G-FI1SuZZtrZUw7Ofxkr7CyLzITniHCucmJauQxgOP965xpPDm7FcremYmsPiZ-GPB6e8xDqgzYeCZuQcvTdwHyki3ZpLQ6_Dvdbwpn8auxCMoJd00dMlh-tCxttqkkOCS11A1bepEQyk6B4wwMrQt5Bny4V9iFzyC4h0g2gmpXaMcF54JsUs/s4032/dji_fly_20230610_212630_111_1686462875211_photo.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAOLEZy87G-FI1SuZZtrZUw7Ofxkr7CyLzITniHCucmJauQxgOP965xpPDm7FcremYmsPiZ-GPB6e8xDqgzYeCZuQcvTdwHyki3ZpLQ6_Dvdbwpn8auxCMoJd00dMlh-tCxttqkkOCS11A1bepEQyk6B4wwMrQt5Bny4V9iFzyC4h0g2gmpXaMcF54JsUs/w400-h300/dji_fly_20230610_212630_111_1686462875211_photo.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tumen Khaan Tourist Camp, Terelj</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">After dinner, we farewelled Tsomoo and family, and then retired to our gers. Soon, a staff member knocked on the door and asked if we wanted our fire lit. While it wasn't that chilly to start with, it was incredible how the "summer stove" quickly heated up low-ceilinged and well-insulated space. Tried and true design, no doubt.</p><p style="text-align: left;">The nicest experience of all was drifting off to sleep to the sounds of Mongolians singing and otherwise enjoying an evening away from the city. I was probably the only non-Mongolian in the camp that night, and it wasn't lost on me that probably every other place we'd passed would have offered a more curated, and less genuine, experience. Name aside, the choice of the place made wonderful sense all of a sudden.</p><p style="text-align: left;"><u>Stats</u>: <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/9236765784" target="_blank">90km ridden</a>, very many wow moments, and a few that crept up on me. </p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><h4 style="text-align: center;">Ride 4: home again</h4><p style="text-align: left;">My addiction for "new roads", and general aversion to out-and-back rides was at the the forefront of my mind in the morning. Google maps showed no distinction between the major paved road to Terelj and the dirt road that would have avoided the need to back-track. I really wished the Opens were in their usual "go-anywhere" state, and promised myself that next time they would be.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Aside from inappropriate tyres, we had another good reason to go back the way we'd come, and that was to do a side-trip to see the Turtle Rock, and a Buddhist monastery tucked up the valley behind it. Absent those, I'd have really been torn, and would rather have been regretting something I did, than something I didn't (at least for as long as we had puncture repair capabilities)!</p><p style="text-align: left;">After breakfast, we wished Saruul, Tsegi and Khulan good luck for their mission back to UB (they had to walk to Terelj, and then catch a couple of buses), and then set off ourselves. Almost immediately, there was a massive yak to sneak past - definitely the biggest I'd seen, and very close to the road. </p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibOHtwM4YjzYYmmN1Nk5Ac3km1TPHPDwqyIRJUiPAMROYYjgUbHd_rD3-BKzKEt5QENs1lJgskA28EER_SO695G6ex1ZYeeit3BzO9dYsGhbn-RH_3hyyp4id9MfpdC5X9sOpczuP4RL59abew1rqcftoFcAaxjEdau4iX76nBNF4GbWm74WP3Qt7MM5nA/s4000/20230611_094301.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibOHtwM4YjzYYmmN1Nk5Ac3km1TPHPDwqyIRJUiPAMROYYjgUbHd_rD3-BKzKEt5QENs1lJgskA28EER_SO695G6ex1ZYeeit3BzO9dYsGhbn-RH_3hyyp4id9MfpdC5X9sOpczuP4RL59abew1rqcftoFcAaxjEdau4iX76nBNF4GbWm74WP3Qt7MM5nA/w400-h300/20230611_094301.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p style="text-align: left;">Before leaving Terelj, we stopped at a minimart for water, and enjoyed a few peculiar sights. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxUXtlCgEr7ZB4qJEcWg6vROZa91Ex4m-FdMfj7gUWua64DfG-1HZ-jcc3NlWqIIEq6Y3kyAMQxQJiSOixK8rHgoWkATkj0bu0Lk4atzAlYYZfEOnedngDAq8X7bZg7F-_S3nfDGud1KBOVHy9JKqsCDq8hlDupqehT18bBMLhuIx780oHV37X_3cmHzqd/s4000/20230611_100407.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxUXtlCgEr7ZB4qJEcWg6vROZa91Ex4m-FdMfj7gUWua64DfG-1HZ-jcc3NlWqIIEq6Y3kyAMQxQJiSOixK8rHgoWkATkj0bu0Lk4atzAlYYZfEOnedngDAq8X7bZg7F-_S3nfDGud1KBOVHy9JKqsCDq8hlDupqehT18bBMLhuIx780oHV37X_3cmHzqd/w400-h300/20230611_100407.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p style="text-align: left;">It took about 40 minutes to get back over the first saddle and to reach the turnoff to Turtle Rock. I was committed to getting the drone out again, and managed to get a photo of us posing in front of the rock before deciding to do a videoed orbit of the thing. At the risk of retraumatising myself by writing about it, all went well until the massive rock was between the drone and its controller. There, the radio signal struggled a bit, and I intermittently lost control. There was nothing around but the huge rock, and it seemed unlikely but not impossible that I might crash the drone into it while trying to regain control. Panic ensued, though a bit of flailing around later, I'd managed to find the thing in the sky, and bring it safely home. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB2ZzLkfEcsPpRQSjdV1IJcOCbsJFnLR_egXw9sPeUUAUsKHLuxK87XmyBttN1MWScfixXztTACHysThE5joyf7yLuERirUHnSST1Ljjz2Pr9jJGHjVmnvSU2IXFsMtwIS9fxxRDttVfanRF2HZPdFjXw5miWISS47sMp6gqEI2baMBjBuUBfd5IeaC9A7/s4032/dji_fly_20230611_145302_114_1686462943398_photo.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB2ZzLkfEcsPpRQSjdV1IJcOCbsJFnLR_egXw9sPeUUAUsKHLuxK87XmyBttN1MWScfixXztTACHysThE5joyf7yLuERirUHnSST1Ljjz2Pr9jJGHjVmnvSU2IXFsMtwIS9fxxRDttVfanRF2HZPdFjXw5miWISS47sMp6gqEI2baMBjBuUBfd5IeaC9A7/w400-h300/dji_fly_20230611_145302_114_1686462943398_photo.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p style="text-align: left;">My GPS showed the road looping in the upper valley, and continuing a run of bad choices, picked the left fork. Past the apparent point of no return, that subjected us to picking our way over a low ridge using indistinct tracks, which while physically demanding, and a touch stressful on the bike front, was a lot of fun once it was over. We emerged right at the carpark for the monastery, and locked our bikes just inside the main gate.</p><p style="text-align: left;">There was a loop path to walk, adorned with signs with Buddha Quotes. I read each, and very mindful of the early stages of a very unpleasant downsizing process being underway at work (approximately 15% of the workforce needing to be made redundant in order to respond to a shortfall in revenue relative to growing costs), I was particularly taken by one, which may or may not have been first uttered with the academic community in mind. <span> </span></p><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHImLdUlloHinq0oCSPoM5ElW6lTWSxho8JyAo4dzXaEnPscWWBKfLfum4dww6l4uKnnDfT5EU_BrT8d_gIBKWfZ8hlv8LDlB7Mu-W-KFRDsTwFIFzR9WcfajUWfAKyfbIOi1RH7FbUP3Tr-Df2IpwS2dUXSM6po2gSs8LCremfMJ1Jsks-qISCplpqRp1/s4000/20230611_115426.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHImLdUlloHinq0oCSPoM5ElW6lTWSxho8JyAo4dzXaEnPscWWBKfLfum4dww6l4uKnnDfT5EU_BrT8d_gIBKWfZ8hlv8LDlB7Mu-W-KFRDsTwFIFzR9WcfajUWfAKyfbIOi1RH7FbUP3Tr-Df2IpwS2dUXSM6po2gSs8LCremfMJ1Jsks-qISCplpqRp1/w400-h300/20230611_115426.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"<i>If wise beings discontinue their great deeds, this empty world will look much uglier"</i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">The approach to the monastery itself consisted of a brutally steep set of steps, I guess to minimise unwanted interruptions. We went up, and sat quietly inside for a while. There were no official proceedings underway, but many of the visitors undertook similar rituals which I enjoyed surreptitiously watching.</p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9GLUVEjMlHeTjAZKXjFXngicUDCFaR-xDNaDTD3fw3qEE_wXfbtwvO2WwO4kXKyK2Z4MHsmi47wQYPfO-Q9pEtFGRFk1H8l1RkBjX9RInNwY7YGIWUdIptdrGXgApN1p_xtogxgrG6EW5oDsBlVp_QwyH8ceUzmsDTG35qcnricL2om-AsP24pRiTsgwO/s4000/20230611_122648.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9GLUVEjMlHeTjAZKXjFXngicUDCFaR-xDNaDTD3fw3qEE_wXfbtwvO2WwO4kXKyK2Z4MHsmi47wQYPfO-Q9pEtFGRFk1H8l1RkBjX9RInNwY7YGIWUdIptdrGXgApN1p_xtogxgrG6EW5oDsBlVp_QwyH8ceUzmsDTG35qcnricL2om-AsP24pRiTsgwO/w400-h300/20230611_122648.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p style="text-align: left;">The ride back to UB almost took a turn for the worse, when we made a poor restaurant choice. Despite being fairly quiet, the wait for food was interminable, and became a bit outrageous. It was very hot outside and we'd had a stressful morning what with the drone incident and hike-a-bike, so we were relatively happy to sit quietly, playing on the internet and waiting to be fed. After an hour though, a fellow a couple of tables down took offense on our behalf, and spoke his mind to one of the staff. His physique was not unlike that of the Incredible Hulk, and aggressively spoken Mongolian added to his menace. Sarah could of course understand everything that was being said, but I was only able to absorb the volume and tone, and became fairly convinced there was about to be a fight. Fortunately, the chap was content with pointing out that the kitchen staff were a disgrace to the Mongolian Tourism industry, and we got our tasty enough lunch soon after!!!</p><p style="text-align: left;">The final highlights of the ride came as we rode alongside the Tuul before cutting across and into the city. One was a massive peloton of motorcyclists - at least a couple of hundred of them - many flying Mongolian flags which looked spectacular in the sunshine. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcbNFaegZVDjpk016zU8ONrvcjsStZ0yGrrbyYxC9LuvwcJp7sc1XrrbQuZVLKTu8hNb3bdv5KFzWhjKTPGwxXVddEAEGIi8enC-z-ldSRRioqSRVQ9PoaYLDszBN-zlIQm4uBwlLtWmIhFvP0lkVg7klq2XTPxxXFScNUOI5rCxLXDN0aqcpCBb0DN6bh/s4000/20230611_161100.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcbNFaegZVDjpk016zU8ONrvcjsStZ0yGrrbyYxC9LuvwcJp7sc1XrrbQuZVLKTu8hNb3bdv5KFzWhjKTPGwxXVddEAEGIi8enC-z-ldSRRioqSRVQ9PoaYLDszBN-zlIQm4uBwlLtWmIhFvP0lkVg7klq2XTPxxXFScNUOI5rCxLXDN0aqcpCBb0DN6bh/w400-h300/20230611_161100.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">The other was a section of roadside stalls to service the needs of those chilling out beside (or in) the river. The water was as clean here as it had been out in the countryside, and the folk enjoying it were soon to notice it was almost dinner time. To that end, there were dozens of BBQs being fired up, ready and waiting to serve.</p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrj58yfoLGZ54OnnGXsGBjrPGBorTg_kVMYL-9r8cVSfun0v1cHoHppe7KVOhcjFAkajWvzdKzPXdfg9J4VsYSzfz5lg7W6MoH5bECwzr355_taiL12bNZaw49odNIZ-6b4Pb7HbOMKqPIqKiwVbAbPF7bc-9e7Qofy52kwlhIhFafddtz3IOLbL18UIs3/s4000/20230611_163346.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrj58yfoLGZ54OnnGXsGBjrPGBorTg_kVMYL-9r8cVSfun0v1cHoHppe7KVOhcjFAkajWvzdKzPXdfg9J4VsYSzfz5lg7W6MoH5bECwzr355_taiL12bNZaw49odNIZ-6b4Pb7HbOMKqPIqKiwVbAbPF7bc-9e7Qofy52kwlhIhFafddtz3IOLbL18UIs3/w400-h300/20230611_163346.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p style="text-align: left;">I'm not so keen on meaty delicacies at the best of times, and particularly not in a part of the world where pretty much everything soft is consumed. So, we passed on the various temptations and made a beeline for the hotel. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzf4NzG9Uw5ifAFgT5XDqWrqfOSr7GpQqiga36pn2og7p-oOMomrtsCi7NpMYC0m8eW-rw6w7Dpm-phgPs3YYJZ9N54kMRFWyuuG_QavrF98fV9G89CCXJgfsKmff1_t3lsA4DbFLUlyV8EFcG0fg9KAgpBX9HX0_JfPkkK3Y3PioDQhy4HtGIaZQ8cdGk/s4000/20230611_163508.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzf4NzG9Uw5ifAFgT5XDqWrqfOSr7GpQqiga36pn2og7p-oOMomrtsCi7NpMYC0m8eW-rw6w7Dpm-phgPs3YYJZ9N54kMRFWyuuG_QavrF98fV9G89CCXJgfsKmff1_t3lsA4DbFLUlyV8EFcG0fg9KAgpBX9HX0_JfPkkK3Y3PioDQhy4HtGIaZQ8cdGk/w400-h300/20230611_163508.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p><u>Stats</u>: <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/9243556632" target="_blank">85km ridden</a>, 44 degrees maximum temperature (30 average)</p><p><br /></p><h4 style="text-align: center;">* * *</h4><p>In many ways, the ride we didn't have back to UB was a perfect place to end, as it left me craving a bit more, and in particular, the dirt roads that cover the place like an endless spider's web (with no "spiders" to watch out for other than the lack of shops, and no dead ends). </p><p>The next trip back might not the be with that in mind though. The gravitational pull on Sarah by her homeland is stronger than ever, especially with Urin's arrival into the family. Khulan hasn't been back for over a decade, and Kaitlyn hasn't been at all. Both of those things need to be remedied, and without a pushbike to be seen! If we can get our diaries to mesh, that might be next year. </p><p>Sarah's family and friends were wonderful hosts, and the time we spent in and around UB was wonderful in and of itself, but also a great antidote from stressful goings on at work, and an opportunity to clock up a solid 350km week before doubling that soon after <a href="https://sifter-writes-bikes.blogspot.com/2023/07/one-week-tour-in-top-of-south-korea.html" target="_blank">on the roads of South Korea</a>. On about every dimension, it was a much needed break. (And the dirt roads will keep.)</p><p><br /></p><p><i>PS: anyone whose whistle this has whet, hit us up. Sarah's sister sidelines as a tourist guide, when she's not exploring the world herself and offering translation services. </i></p></div>sifterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15453244482461385029noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7894195099236501078.post-3090688286357644922023-07-02T17:50:00.002+12:002023-07-02T17:50:33.043+12:00One week tour in the Top of the South (Korea)<p>While I do enjoy the fleeting glimpses Facebook's algorithm gives me into the lives of my friends (past/present, actual/figurative), the social media platform I'm most active on is Strava, both in terms of sharing an important dimension of my own life, as well as keeping an eye on what folk are up to. </p><p>Case in point, way back in June 2019, local rider (and lovely guy) Mark Hussey had a work trip to Seoul, and shared a few rides he'd done on what appeared to be top-shelf cycling infrastructure. Jump forward a few years, and the top line detail remained - South Korea was high on my list of potential riding destinations. </p><p>As pandemic restrictions began to ease, we knew it was high time for Sarah to get back to Mongolia to see sister, niece and new great nephew. Seoul is one of the very few southern gateways into Mongolia, and by virtue of Mark's work conference, had additional endearing qualities. Booking flights through Seoul was one of the simpler decisions we've made. Our plan would see us away from NZ for almost three weeks, and we'd given ourselves more than enough time to slot in a cycle tour in Korea. </p><p>Logistical preparations can be a mixed bag, though plenty of experience helps. </p><p>Our Open U.P. bikes in road mode got the nod, and given the anticipated temperatures, we planned to travel lighter than usual. Sarah would have a small handlebar bag, and one of Revelate's smallest seat bags for her toiletries, so many of which seem nice-to-haves that I've developed an aversion to hauling them myself! On the other hand, I have no qualms packing two sets of warm-weather evening wear into the largest of our Revelate bags. Most tools, tubes and some emergency food go into my half-frame-bag, a bit more into a top tube bag, and in case I'm motivated and brave enough to fly the drone, it packs well into a handlebar bag. The bags are such great quality, I feel a little sorry for Bryce from <a href="https://www.cyclewerks.co.nz/shop-online/bikepacking-bags/category/bikepacking-bags" target="_blank">Cyclewerks</a> that we don't have to replace things more often. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7sVZ6RPUG6MVYYXMpp1UdsldjFvkhl6RHkn5gAX3f6F9b25_zH0Q7-deosF03PxLgdwKFQ0CY8faXJOObZvvb90tDoBc2bXLCQ3rTBicJ-QJe7n5U7p5qp-RO_O1Q-kvCsZBi-leLYyhMpp__klWhHF_UVIL_1iihVfn7IeWhicHQPIW4RvhYydZvPJ8A/s1876/ready-to-roll.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1478" data-original-width="1876" height="315" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7sVZ6RPUG6MVYYXMpp1UdsldjFvkhl6RHkn5gAX3f6F9b25_zH0Q7-deosF03PxLgdwKFQ0CY8faXJOObZvvb90tDoBc2bXLCQ3rTBicJ-QJe7n5U7p5qp-RO_O1Q-kvCsZBi-leLYyhMpp__klWhHF_UVIL_1iihVfn7IeWhicHQPIW4RvhYydZvPJ8A/w400-h315/ready-to-roll.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ready to roll</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>Today's route-planning tools are amazing, with my current preference being Strava, what with its easy phone interface and (95% of the time) seamless automated uploads to my Garmin GPS. What seems to be more of a movable feast is getting a basemap organised, with <a href="http://BBBike.org" target="_blank">BBBike.org</a> being my current go-to. </p><p>I barely need to refer to my <a href="https://sifter-writes-bikes.blogspot.com/2013/01/gear.html" target="_blank">gear list</a> these days, and besides that, I MUST. UPDATE. IT. In any case, it gets a quick skim before closing up the bag zips for the last time. </p><p>Arrival into Seoul from Mongolia went relatively smoothly, in part thanks to a dry run on the NZ-Mongolia leg, where we'd enjoyed a two night stopover. The train from Incheon airport into the city was relatively easy to negotiate with two bike bags and a suitcase, as was the short walk from Seoul Station to Aroha Guesthouse. That's possibly the last time I choose lodgings solely by its name, and after one night with barely enough vacant floor space to open our door, we relocated to Niagara Hotel, a stone's throw from the Han River.</p><p>Our 8th floor room overlooked a tributary of the Han River, which itself cleaves the Seoul metropolitan area, and the large but relatively minor waterway was action-packed in and out. From my temporary "office", we could see from time to time a massive school of large fish in the murky water, as well as a seemingly endless stream of cyclists on an adjacent cycle path. A shake-down ride was a good idea anyway, but it did become impossible to resist getting amongst it. </p><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh01Va4lAnnTbLnPyDoLnycMVsLvCbkqQ4h5_6-PE2Rg-askNNFXn0WmHRqxOiJA6Saduj6vuT7A1gNfwbdq_HjehW9L1tt2PBEP0ovlvg-e_AOeVnvUl0tO5AbpwVS5ujmtRSvedbUDhrASaLb1XMb0Wh5AR8ZKZXTo2YYqhDujHK7CQ-gn-rOUs0vFObq/s4000/20230616_130833.jpg"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh01Va4lAnnTbLnPyDoLnycMVsLvCbkqQ4h5_6-PE2Rg-askNNFXn0WmHRqxOiJA6Saduj6vuT7A1gNfwbdq_HjehW9L1tt2PBEP0ovlvg-e_AOeVnvUl0tO5AbpwVS5ujmtRSvedbUDhrASaLb1XMb0Wh5AR8ZKZXTo2YYqhDujHK7CQ-gn-rOUs0vFObq/w400-h300/20230616_130833.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p>It is always nice to set out for a first ride with absolutely no agenda, knowing any route would be a novelty. It took a minute or two to get from the hotel down to the river. Maintenance prevented us from going right, so we turned left and for the next couple of hours simply followed our front wheels. </p><p>It was <i>almost </i>like riding in a parallel universe where cars didn't exist. The river-side paths were basically a completely separate transport network, catering for cyclists of all types, e-scooter riders, runners and walkers. The cyclists were diverse, spanning suit-clad office workers commuting using a bike-share system, to wannabe pros in $1500 worth of kit, riding $15000 bikes. It was glorious. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMunygfJq_zCyINVBYEgaUsy0AJqqdu--YbqHZf-hBuSXr0MbFSmP3VBKJW4AtJqOdpFTJjxEAXnZ4oixWeMaTKca3LGJqXHepE4_5SwbLtaMbRrFx--A88H7rJ0Di99142dQSoFJvWgb69axyS0JdikMbeSa5qLAV9pHWHhoVyyY9XJ9Mo56BrbiqvgS8/s4000/20230616_163757.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMunygfJq_zCyINVBYEgaUsy0AJqqdu--YbqHZf-hBuSXr0MbFSmP3VBKJW4AtJqOdpFTJjxEAXnZ4oixWeMaTKca3LGJqXHepE4_5SwbLtaMbRrFx--A88H7rJ0Di99142dQSoFJvWgb69axyS0JdikMbeSa5qLAV9pHWHhoVyyY9XJ9Mo56BrbiqvgS8/w400-h300/20230616_163757.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>We initially headed upstream on the Han River, enjoying a dedicated south-bound lane, and being occasionally confronted with traffic calming measures, off-ramps to who-knows-where, and even roundabouts. </div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtNiVvw89SJtqQITEfvRX_Tm4Hp6D75_-RJQySSL_24q8rOffzLQFHdaDsIgghp13tZjub0rl1UDjm6oFvhvl6QQ9JOIm745ogwfdpox_VUxBO1_8_vr5iPXuSKSNlmJGMTcDEr99vYOh2FuyWPku9PxPM3Hndvw6n5U0wJSgxmO_lxrwXXEYq105Tlbg9/s4000/20230616_165736.jpg"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtNiVvw89SJtqQITEfvRX_Tm4Hp6D75_-RJQySSL_24q8rOffzLQFHdaDsIgghp13tZjub0rl1UDjm6oFvhvl6QQ9JOIm745ogwfdpox_VUxBO1_8_vr5iPXuSKSNlmJGMTcDEr99vYOh2FuyWPku9PxPM3Hndvw6n5U0wJSgxmO_lxrwXXEYq105Tlbg9/w400-h300/20230616_165736.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">After a touch under 10km, we took a ramp up to a road bridge and crossed to the other side of the Han River. On the far side we took an elevator down to pick up the cycle path on the true right of the river. These elevators seemed to be the primary mechanism for getting the little guys (like ourselves) up to bridge level, with rideable paths being not always available. </p><p style="text-align: left;">We turned downstream, and ultimately rode for almost 20km before crossing the Han again, and making our way back to the hotel. </p><p style="text-align: left;">Sarah was on point for dinner, and soon discovered that all "hangover soup" is not created equal. In Mongolia, it is made with water, flour and salt - flour lumps essentially becoming mini-dumplings. The Korean version, or in particular, this evening's version, was abundant with sliced intestine, and a large block of baked blood (which didn't get eaten). Caveat emptor!</p><div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRHLiAYKwN8jt9cWQWqYDf7kWLCxECfam50DDMtLFRb5bvEQJOpTPm6gOxgSCpQo2Chf0fSJHMdCqyVfeqqEyRZWK8OeanXYEuIxjFT_EjCZaen8gbEcgPmc06mFEGFgBt2WzJXo2RvffTAJV_3JxenxHVUb3nte1K9d93Ev17qRy_M_EgTxr3PjQQ7tzq/s4000/20230616_195642.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRHLiAYKwN8jt9cWQWqYDf7kWLCxECfam50DDMtLFRb5bvEQJOpTPm6gOxgSCpQo2Chf0fSJHMdCqyVfeqqEyRZWK8OeanXYEuIxjFT_EjCZaen8gbEcgPmc06mFEGFgBt2WzJXo2RvffTAJV_3JxenxHVUb3nte1K9d93Ev17qRy_M_EgTxr3PjQQ7tzq/w300-h400/20230616_195642.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not often that a Mongolian balks at a meaty dish!</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Despite the dinner challenges, we hit the sack looking forward to the week ahead - perhaps not optimally fueled, but otherwise ready!</p><div><u>Stats</u>: <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/9275251537" target="_blank">42km ridden</a>. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><h4 style="text-align: center;">Day 1 - Seoul to Yeoju</h4><p style="text-align: left;">After a fairly leisurely breakfast and pack-up, we loaded up the hotel's office with our two bike bags and suitcase, and then high-tailed it out of there before they changed their minds about storing our stuff for a week. As with the previous afternoon, we were almost instantly "off-road" and that remained the case for almost the entire ride. </p><div>As might be expected for mid-morning on a Saturday, the paths were busy, and before long we began to recognise some of Seoul's recreational norms. Shaded areas were an obvious design feature, achieved either through purpose built shelters, or via things which had another primary use, i.e. a bridge or elevated roadway. It was common to see cyclists taking a break where there was shade, but there would usually also be gym equipment there being put to good use. </div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLJGoTKwEhURxPBWoG7hBX6cWjUO21GcPV28Kc20hx4MLDmKAgvAov9zcfEvcOYnFxKRWB_SAycIOwBKhPpT9SRiQcRwH1ErS2DFtp4x3DW4YEOFQjjO5Zfn_Gc47AF0y7SpOK1NJ6A9FhI91Sa1-6dcMK4rrc1EaI1DrxHIHr4A4TWCQEA3f8e_yzlppS/s4000/20230617_112034.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLJGoTKwEhURxPBWoG7hBX6cWjUO21GcPV28Kc20hx4MLDmKAgvAov9zcfEvcOYnFxKRWB_SAycIOwBKhPpT9SRiQcRwH1ErS2DFtp4x3DW4YEOFQjjO5Zfn_Gc47AF0y7SpOK1NJ6A9FhI91Sa1-6dcMK4rrc1EaI1DrxHIHr4A4TWCQEA3f8e_yzlppS/w400-h300/20230617_112034.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Saturday morning on the Han River network</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">Along with hundreds of others exercising informally, we passed a beach-like area on Yeouido Island, as well as a large running event winding down. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioTJW2R-GMZBdyzJ55MWQyBRHvXeWGOtpCxFEZoN2OH5fcJ32cbj9GaHqxf7robbRC4i7e9iSBd7YBI9osOyyT1ie_inq7yq6NaS8q4XDY_xslQ1Pvk64ZitwkoFSObSY7uorYDyVtk460g3SQmp1BKjAAiiNYp--CZeTdTuoF7sce079QCfYS91LNN1yY/s4000/20230617_113331.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioTJW2R-GMZBdyzJ55MWQyBRHvXeWGOtpCxFEZoN2OH5fcJ32cbj9GaHqxf7robbRC4i7e9iSBd7YBI9osOyyT1ie_inq7yq6NaS8q4XDY_xslQ1Pvk64ZitwkoFSObSY7uorYDyVtk460g3SQmp1BKjAAiiNYp--CZeTdTuoF7sce079QCfYS91LNN1yY/w400-h300/20230617_113331.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Man-made beach</td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div><div><p style="text-align: left;">The previous day's 40km hadn't exposed us to every surprise the river path had to offer - a four-lane stretch was a new treat. Our progress was fairly slow - despite a good pace when moving, there were endless distractions, including drink stops and other curiosities. I had kept my eye out for a "certification center" - the Koreans have a Bike Passport system, and invite accumulation of stamps from booths which ultimately yield medals and other knick-knacks. We hadn't sought out passports, and finding our first booth didn't make me wish we had. </p><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXtc8HX03K-nEjpwKo5gmcx-AsQ6K6VtLccwgTQ_Ka2m9lEIR2wvmpYzBg3PKHrvAD5JMlLl-Cl877b1M-JKGqBZq_t6KeGVN_5yqCeVQ_ZDW8LiV6s0MGWRVs29n4I-kU4UsIZlVl5fUtnQ9bzSrW329GgtCw2Xfx7Oi-A871wB9N3r9MuzIfy6al69Zw/s4000/20230617_114924.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXtc8HX03K-nEjpwKo5gmcx-AsQ6K6VtLccwgTQ_Ka2m9lEIR2wvmpYzBg3PKHrvAD5JMlLl-Cl877b1M-JKGqBZq_t6KeGVN_5yqCeVQ_ZDW8LiV6s0MGWRVs29n4I-kU4UsIZlVl5fUtnQ9bzSrW329GgtCw2Xfx7Oi-A871wB9N3r9MuzIfy6al69Zw/w400-h300/20230617_114924.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Keep right unless passing?</td></tr></tbody></table><p style="text-align: left;">Down in the river corridor, it was easy to miss what was going on directly above us, we could see the dwindling size of buildings on the far side of the river. Bridges across the Han were another sign that we were leaving the city behind. Despite that, the concentration of recreational cyclists on the path wasn't dramatically different, and for hours we were still obviously within range of Seoul's out-and-back riding community.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKjsqFNTVyPhOQuFvXskxmBaizE02XfWD19FiyNVFBbeqgFuq2bm6MRwhtoepHz3V_J9acfiuS6DXrWK0Mji9TMX61z_UorHd2NDYNQs8vO4ABWuUBGK867nQa4bOgVkH4whPUUd1As-qoGz6t_QfZbXhZExOpUhqkU0hsAwLEzdk51SP0IvWV5_u-skP5/s4000/20230617_130447.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKjsqFNTVyPhOQuFvXskxmBaizE02XfWD19FiyNVFBbeqgFuq2bm6MRwhtoepHz3V_J9acfiuS6DXrWK0Mji9TMX61z_UorHd2NDYNQs8vO4ABWuUBGK867nQa4bOgVkH4whPUUd1As-qoGz6t_QfZbXhZExOpUhqkU0hsAwLEzdk51SP0IvWV5_u-skP5/w400-h300/20230617_130447.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>About 45km into the ride, we crossed the Han, and after a few more kilometres started to see a bit more variation in the style of the path, which to this point had been almost entirely like a road along the river. We began to spend more time on what seemed like an old railway line, and occasionally was <i>guaranteed</i> to have been such. All direction signage was in Korean, and besides, I wasn't really sure where we were going. Rightly or wrongly, I was tending to follow arrows accompanied by a flower-like logo, which themselves tended to point in the direction the bike most wanted to go in. <br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkl9izdfRSz1nLK-bstty-23Z-qeF4Mgqr5jz09FNSjSEUcox4rGm9KIlvMe3hJD8tc6M22OCYt9S2ZKleaEE59Lo7ekh4AxuGP0KuVFWvVKHBAsfgZcelRnYAuOAbAxl_qh32S8Bd0zk4V8n_nuJyNw0h5VxspPb46CianNYXwuc82NglWIFVSNOB3Vtu/s4000/20230617_140417.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkl9izdfRSz1nLK-bstty-23Z-qeF4Mgqr5jz09FNSjSEUcox4rGm9KIlvMe3hJD8tc6M22OCYt9S2ZKleaEE59Lo7ekh4AxuGP0KuVFWvVKHBAsfgZcelRnYAuOAbAxl_qh32S8Bd0zk4V8n_nuJyNw0h5VxspPb46CianNYXwuc82NglWIFVSNOB3Vtu/w300-h400/20230617_140417.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sarah almost certainly in the wrong lane!</td></tr></tbody></table><p style="text-align: left;">Convenience stores kept us fueled, and in the mid-afternoon, we rode out of range of Seoul for good. As fatigue levels started to creep up, we experienced a few minor frustrations, including taking a bad turn as we attempted to pass through a town, and being seemingly in the middle of nowhere when we were ready to stop. </p><p style="text-align: left;">Booking.com saturation wasn't great, and we also became aware that seeing "HOTEL" written in big, bold and thereby obvious letters on the side of a building was rare. Enter Google Maps, which while totally disfunctional as a route planner ("Directions" do not work), at least identified hotels on the map, from which you could get a vague sense of how far away they were. </p>95km would have been an adequate ride, and we ended up going in at least one circle at around that point, crossing the river a couple of times trying to find a hotel, giving up and getting back on to the path, eventually clocking off 20km later.</div><div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5SKCFFNuVBw8vkRxXkJi1Fnm7M1SV2W-k5B-57r1wvUwi8ri4FBRVO-TWXQjCl4xu3XN6jMwRFXS4U5iuSma5hsgVMlPJFu8Wv3lumv_2Kwi7ryl29vxQ3fWG1h3PorMZPzV6p0o9L3fCoKbU6swS_ZaleTJmdOAq8J1NyTgAMymgTWiBZDsSOWxOf6Tn/s4000/20230617_170421.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5SKCFFNuVBw8vkRxXkJi1Fnm7M1SV2W-k5B-57r1wvUwi8ri4FBRVO-TWXQjCl4xu3XN6jMwRFXS4U5iuSma5hsgVMlPJFu8Wv3lumv_2Kwi7ryl29vxQ3fWG1h3PorMZPzV6p0o9L3fCoKbU6swS_ZaleTJmdOAq8J1NyTgAMymgTWiBZDsSOWxOf6Tn/w400-h300/20230617_170421.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Big empty infrastructure</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">Travelling as a pair is always great from a bike-security point of view, as while one investigates food or lodgings or some-such, the other can ensure the bikes stay put. </p><p style="text-align: left;">I drew the short straw to investigate the hotel we'd found. At reception, the language barrier was relatively easily overcome. The context does so much of the leg-work, and a variation on "one room two people", payment, key receipt and query about what to do with the bikes, enabled mostly by correct anticipation of the next step, but also supported by sign language, tended to work out just fine. </p><p style="text-align: left;">After washing up, we didn't have to walk far to find a very popular BBQ place, and a short wait on the footpath later, we were mimicking the locals in cooking and comsuming a couple of slabs of beef, as well as all-you-can eat side dishes. Tongs and a pair of scissors substituted nicely for the sorts of utensils we might use at home, and contributed to both a great meal, and an enjoyable cultural experience. </p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNND0VUyB3hSrqpLBLJVcjPDgVSKPn4fbV2x0fK8qZ6SVLABzIln0A_1cEWryYKOCRIzR4z-DKw5GWWdLReRukUIyOhecccCdRhZ_QhkDvNrVvjDVnfagcS_dUYRdGtX_5G1wy7S52dtr4QMdyhiWMpyiKLtGlfFAFR4d7V0-tUcTcMVAFt4fvkzsDfZza/s4000/20230617_192422.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNND0VUyB3hSrqpLBLJVcjPDgVSKPn4fbV2x0fK8qZ6SVLABzIln0A_1cEWryYKOCRIzR4z-DKw5GWWdLReRukUIyOhecccCdRhZ_QhkDvNrVvjDVnfagcS_dUYRdGtX_5G1wy7S52dtr4QMdyhiWMpyiKLtGlfFAFR4d7V0-tUcTcMVAFt4fvkzsDfZza/w300-h400/20230617_192422.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;"><u>Stats</u>: <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/9280643027" target="_blank">113km ridden</a>, temperature predominantly in the 30s, and probably no more than a few kilometres ridden on-road. </p><div><br /></div><h4 style="text-align: center;">Day 2 - Yeoju to Jecheon</h4><p style="text-align: left;">The next morning we rolled out before eating, and had to hunt a wee bit for even a convenience store to raid. Hotel rooms tended to come with a couple of sticks of instant coffee (plus milk powder and likely a bit of sugar), but this only took the edge off the morning for so long. We'd noticed that "COFFEE" was probably the English word we'd most commonly see, even if what was available didn't quite match the quality of what we're used to at home! On the downside, these joints typically had very little food available, despite a range of hot and cold beverages on offer. The town had a Sunday-morning-sleep-in vibe to it, and reminded me of the Wellington of my youth. Eventually we found a 7-Eleven tucked away, and made do with some individually packaged bready things, and some canned coffee, as well as water to fill our bottles. </p><p style="text-align: left;">The river path was easy to find once we'd had a bite to eat, and we were soon on our way. </p></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_0IC6jym5aqSfH1e8vgpzov5b_Wy8crwnugUIKxGzY6mIjQrzjyG1trU14hTmg7fIsyKgf3jY_gTCmN2kdp9-Wak0x81tsMVee8Fem7DVWqLxTjqXS7m0fwEW8Nx7qHzFmgnwrIcwPNFyxtnklDw5Fl_W0IEMQIR7ZrEyhuH9LHeUkOby3enpnFq_L20X/s4000/20230618_100839.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_0IC6jym5aqSfH1e8vgpzov5b_Wy8crwnugUIKxGzY6mIjQrzjyG1trU14hTmg7fIsyKgf3jY_gTCmN2kdp9-Wak0x81tsMVee8Fem7DVWqLxTjqXS7m0fwEW8Nx7qHzFmgnwrIcwPNFyxtnklDw5Fl_W0IEMQIR7ZrEyhuH9LHeUkOby3enpnFq_L20X/w400-h300/20230618_100839.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Almost immediately I took a wrong turn. We crossed the river, and soon after that ran out of cycle path, forcing us onto the road. That got messy quickly, as a road heading in the right direction turned out to be a motorway. After a bit of guess work, we'd soon picked up the river trail again (without having to retrace our "steps"). </div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJWTrXhnHQiReSdZ3mC1tRWEioZxoguoiGXNS0P6qJNFHIZ5Ao2zmf-SQLFVCxTL7k5Dcs9MK5uZxymwK6RVJCYZUVhsNeN5gap_6xSg9yH6zo-QAN_wkSeMHWb095yAi1umvDr4GWPh_Fdk-lXLzm12uenkkJA3Sl92HcqpyJ4k-fPoQbeusEO0RgtF1N/s4000/20230618_104032.jpg"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJWTrXhnHQiReSdZ3mC1tRWEioZxoguoiGXNS0P6qJNFHIZ5Ao2zmf-SQLFVCxTL7k5Dcs9MK5uZxymwK6RVJCYZUVhsNeN5gap_6xSg9yH6zo-QAN_wkSeMHWb095yAi1umvDr4GWPh_Fdk-lXLzm12uenkkJA3Sl92HcqpyJ4k-fPoQbeusEO0RgtF1N/w400-h300/20230618_104032.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">Riding was easy, and there was no shortage of things of interest happening along the river. What the wee foray off the path had hammered home though, was that while the path was giving us a relatively stress-free ride, we were missing out on seeing how Koreans live, a spot of recreation aside. As the hours ticked over, we became increasingly ready to go off-piste. </p><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZWY7eUHfkLFG3vM8ptM96L630xtYMhqnjVBGy6hxnCl6lMU_LM0dlMTBH4gev0kAMGTBAPgX3rIFoIFwnmNA7JzUtzWw-w3yM8_lE-CKRqb7xBKEypA75PqvrxUALBv8K6QshOv-i63wV4X7LKASS7AKwMV5-rhyjn06LIcNU8wNw-woeD9ODRR0pJFMZ/s4000/20230618_112535.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZWY7eUHfkLFG3vM8ptM96L630xtYMhqnjVBGy6hxnCl6lMU_LM0dlMTBH4gev0kAMGTBAPgX3rIFoIFwnmNA7JzUtzWw-w3yM8_lE-CKRqb7xBKEypA75PqvrxUALBv8K6QshOv-i63wV4X7LKASS7AKwMV5-rhyjn06LIcNU8wNw-woeD9ODRR0pJFMZ/w300-h400/20230618_112535.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Two of three powered parachutes out for a morning blat</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">We stuck to the path some time after that conclusion had been drawn. Before we'd left Seoul, I'd formulated a loose plan, based around one of the more English-laden maps I'd managed to find of the cycle path network. By all accounts, the most popular route was the "Cross-Country Route" from Seoul to Busan. We were headed for the east coast, and it looked like riding the Namhangang path to its end point at the Chungju Dam would take us part of the way there (though now I see the many stylised maps available differ hugely on exactly how far - the one we had probably doubles the length of the last dog-leg bit of our trail). </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbmsTzYeOBvGtWuIDnDb60eHQdWBPKvqZRXfynlFUUjkxm4jrolq0n6riDxahXi80EOtG0cLIvKWJP6YuZcvjG_2rMoDymsMAm4jpnH2mi18ffk2QVeC8APbJdowxqqDbeZoKoDYitpVOSbXEry4YPY9Pzqovegaq2yD-agf-2Qk-aq1y8GZNsMw6oVwjK/s838/4_rivers.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="838" data-original-width="640" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbmsTzYeOBvGtWuIDnDb60eHQdWBPKvqZRXfynlFUUjkxm4jrolq0n6riDxahXi80EOtG0cLIvKWJP6YuZcvjG_2rMoDymsMAm4jpnH2mi18ffk2QVeC8APbJdowxqqDbeZoKoDYitpVOSbXEry4YPY9Pzqovegaq2yD-agf-2Qk-aq1y8GZNsMw6oVwjK/w305-h400/4_rivers.jpg" width="305" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This wasn't the map I had, though in hindsight I wish it had been...</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="clear: both; text-align: left;">In any case, we did peel off the Busan route somewhere in and around Chungju, which was adjacent to a beautiful stretch of river. It would have been a shame to miss it, but on the other hand, had we, it later became clear we'd have cut out a lot of distance had we cut eastwards sooner. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIUSshPbetmgStwWagYvdl6BdU_PQJVaID6ZpknYwYncRUS9U01X6z1j7iO93u59Pj42bkfxUSWPRhskyVOxCxz6uYTaqtjYVfrusVMtizp6Sk3w43BtY6fV_53n5V1okJMHbvyp99aOaprzZMK1E6qSzJsSUJHfhTCwiFWgQiCoL5SDvIlq8dY11HaZt3/s4000/20230618_140126.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIUSshPbetmgStwWagYvdl6BdU_PQJVaID6ZpknYwYncRUS9U01X6z1j7iO93u59Pj42bkfxUSWPRhskyVOxCxz6uYTaqtjYVfrusVMtizp6Sk3w43BtY6fV_53n5V1okJMHbvyp99aOaprzZMK1E6qSzJsSUJHfhTCwiFWgQiCoL5SDvIlq8dY11HaZt3/w400-h300/20230618_140126.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Railroad, looking glorious</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Because of the "not-to-scale" issues of the map I was being influenced by, it was surprising, and therefore slightly confusing, to reach the dam so soon after turning off, but the dam itself was incontrivertible, even though we piked on the final kilometre or so to admire it from close up. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguCFTc0Y8_d5yz56BnWn_HyTxzF1wY_m1bZpe8sEJHzuRwSh7Tb7iOdAcSukBjWQhK7vjrFEp0SLr4DMyXpOTDRSVJRA1TCv4tDZysxQ_vbHekXtS7-s6XtRFAZVHP9u_zdBOmWE05jvFpkjJLN9VwVEM9UJHo-PjIQVvK1SvTdKKLAubFUzxKxkrxuZb1/s4000/20230618_142619.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguCFTc0Y8_d5yz56BnWn_HyTxzF1wY_m1bZpe8sEJHzuRwSh7Tb7iOdAcSukBjWQhK7vjrFEp0SLr4DMyXpOTDRSVJRA1TCv4tDZysxQ_vbHekXtS7-s6XtRFAZVHP9u_zdBOmWE05jvFpkjJLN9VwVEM9UJHo-PjIQVvK1SvTdKKLAubFUzxKxkrxuZb1/w400-h300/20230618_142619.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Over a coffee, I explored a few route options through to a hotel we'd pre-booked in Jecheon. There was a super-tempting road above the hydro lake, which by its shape, was virtually guaranteed to be carless and as scenic as you'd ever want. But, as tends to follow, it was longer and hillier, and my instinct was that we had neither the legs nor the inclination for too many extras. </p><p style="clear: both; text-align: left;">As it turned out, the more conservative route was perfectly lovely, and it was indeed nice to be getting a bit more of a look at Korean society. When we swapped notes at the end of the day, Sarah and I found we'd both noticed the complete absence of farmed animals - we saw no sheep, cows or pigs. On the other hand, any land that wasn't covered in bush or buildings tended to be growing something. Rice paddies, which tended to come with beautiful herons, were common.</p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij_YfWqfh3-EdCdb-WayQvbY3XII9btZwhHlUPbI7_mwEaG3OSPRqx98aUQrNPrSIy0sxYg7iexj3WSCHQnxa8T5kYWibsRNmC95DlmscASbMrX_YytyKcoGvgiY5hnBzNrGin37X2KkLOxXx-P3qgS2KoVHyO3YQFxzU6-Mc_cQyNYNBM5nAqo9fw6f6V/s4000/20230618_174227.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij_YfWqfh3-EdCdb-WayQvbY3XII9btZwhHlUPbI7_mwEaG3OSPRqx98aUQrNPrSIy0sxYg7iexj3WSCHQnxa8T5kYWibsRNmC95DlmscASbMrX_YytyKcoGvgiY5hnBzNrGin37X2KkLOxXx-P3qgS2KoVHyO3YQFxzU6-Mc_cQyNYNBM5nAqo9fw6f6V/w400-h300/20230618_174227.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">The previous night we'd ended up with our bikes in our room. I'd acted as if it would be as simple again, but having paid for a room, we were asked to leave our bikes outside under the watchful eye of CCTV cameras (but visible to the road). We had only a tiny lock, and so I signaled we'd have to find an alternative hotel. Fortunately, that triggered a call to the manager, who was more pragmatic than his underling felt able to be, and we were offered to put them in the ground floor corridor. That seemed like a sufficient step-up in security, and we were soon focusing on the next problem - finding somewhere to eat.</p><p style="text-align: left;">We were in a decent sized city, but not quite in the right part of it, and as we struck out on foot, we found that most restaurants were not open. An exception early in the walk had been a pizza joint, and eventually we ended up back there - Sarah not entirely delighted to be having western food (when in Rome, and all that...). On the other hand, absent trying again on our bikes, it wasn't clear we had any choice, and my hangriness was rapidly overwhelming me. Fortunately, the meal was delicious, and any frustrations were soon behind us. </p><p style="text-align: left;"><u>Stats</u>: <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/9287185790" target="_blank">118km ridden</a>, about 45km on road, which made for a nice change. Temperature again in the mid-30s.</p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><h4 style="text-align: center;">Day 3 - Jecheon to Gangneung</h4><p style="text-align: left;">The hotel had a coffee machine and toaster in the lobby, which we made good use of before suiting up and rolling out. We'd soon ridden further than we'd walked the previous evening, and it seemed inconceivable that the plethora of eateries would all have been closed. We did stop, but at a chemist. Sarah had a pretty sore throat, and was issued three day courses of antivirals of some sort - one to treat the throat, and the other her sinuses. </p><p style="text-align: left;">It took a short while before we'd ridden out the other side of the city, and I was surprised to see how instantly apartment blocks were replaced by market gardens. People were growing vegetables on the literal edge of the city.</p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDFmNwW6XWds9pBmhHfJORCyYz2pisZKp271yza0IEYSezPF_dhLEivo98uROkM8TmOguHdw4ou6CJ3gh0BIuhc0FFVY0PPIkXN-HeOuUggTzEjVBoBdsP1fPh2eZzrS4N-zyi346W3dOCHjx0AXWDpo6K_fGnzPuQZPqRZRimgMEWxrwNEB2VNqGg1apv/s4000/20230619_100821.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDFmNwW6XWds9pBmhHfJORCyYz2pisZKp271yza0IEYSezPF_dhLEivo98uROkM8TmOguHdw4ou6CJ3gh0BIuhc0FFVY0PPIkXN-HeOuUggTzEjVBoBdsP1fPh2eZzrS4N-zyi346W3dOCHjx0AXWDpo6K_fGnzPuQZPqRZRimgMEWxrwNEB2VNqGg1apv/w400-h300/20230619_100821.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">I'd mapped out a route towards the coast, and while somewhat randomly chosen ("this connection looks good on the map...") it was almost immediately intriguing and feature-filled. We found ourselves in mining country, riding alongside and under a covered conveyor belt that reminded me of a similar setup we'd ridden past <a href="https://sifter-writes-bikes.blogspot.com/2017/09/cycle-touring-new-caledonia.html" target="_blank">in New Caledonia</a>. </p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUMVsnGNI3XVwLV3kpH8WQtG7GzLkjdnmV_0dkQVo6Exn-Q3Bcm7xSXgvbIcyYTr_1WbJkVnYn0GVMqiX95wTbOQZNInjSY64kTYq3eg3RGNjBnaRoGgYh-MIXqwFIRRSiqkqYk0g6ZxHdHJ-d34FWSdI77fXDBQcRPW0YqQwQUJfJvLPwXMskcbZLGQsL/s4000/20230619_105247.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUMVsnGNI3XVwLV3kpH8WQtG7GzLkjdnmV_0dkQVo6Exn-Q3Bcm7xSXgvbIcyYTr_1WbJkVnYn0GVMqiX95wTbOQZNInjSY64kTYq3eg3RGNjBnaRoGgYh-MIXqwFIRRSiqkqYk0g6ZxHdHJ-d34FWSdI77fXDBQcRPW0YqQwQUJfJvLPwXMskcbZLGQsL/w400-h300/20230619_105247.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">The road was really fascinating, ducking and diving in surprising ways. While we were enjoying that, Sarah's Di2 battery demanded a charge. We stopped to hook up our conveniently stowed power bank, and I took the opportunity to interrogate the next stretch of riding. An immediate deviation seemed like it would eliminate a small but not insignificant climb, and we set off with that plan in mind. </p><p style="text-align: left;">Our first nice surprise was a lovely cafe, which was a blessed relief for me. Then, out of nowhere, the road went crazy for about 30 seconds - narrow and then a super steep descent with a couple of tight bends before turning back into a regular road along a river. It was so out of character, that it wasn't outlandish to wonder if you'd simply imagined it. </p><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc_YhbJ85j_DY7u02BoXtDJA-CvOabAs68zH7yt_GQrwSk7JV88J9BK67qQGGefPRbS5xGzT02_1nlvOaej90HfG-iyMQheIReV9Yeb9LZiBjBzVN60EXLa3t9hKebEa-YAgNOB-xXyxUSg4GmfM01nsoeuYPHhLe1cneSsw86j_QsO_nIv9q4jQy_IdNp/s4000/20230619_114328.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc_YhbJ85j_DY7u02BoXtDJA-CvOabAs68zH7yt_GQrwSk7JV88J9BK67qQGGefPRbS5xGzT02_1nlvOaej90HfG-iyMQheIReV9Yeb9LZiBjBzVN60EXLa3t9hKebEa-YAgNOB-xXyxUSg4GmfM01nsoeuYPHhLe1cneSsw86j_QsO_nIv9q4jQy_IdNp/w400-h300/20230619_114328.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gutted I didn't have my camera out still 10 seconds later, though I'd probably have struggled to control my bike even if I'd managed to take photos of a spectacular piece of road. <br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p style="text-align: left;">We didn't attempt to translate signage that soon followed, but it is likely it would have said "road subject to flooding" or some such. In any case, the road got strangely narrow and at times underbuilt, and that too was glorious. I presume flooding was sufficiently regular that the smaller the road, the cheaper it was to repair. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJreOLFNJayuMZwn_4A0Bg3EIVtKJ0BI0o9jmOA5SsYO1f3oKlQZ-HXrxnwjJevdf83f82az6HZ4xlCb37LteqklzpfIehzVlHZBNnKwi4uXdnSp3RopL0YBATQ4K7RdYz1BIT0lEtZ20HeCPUvQkm4sa2kjr6TMArOdr9RJMTHbg773McY8QC7KzCf0rn/s4000/20230619_120002.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJreOLFNJayuMZwn_4A0Bg3EIVtKJ0BI0o9jmOA5SsYO1f3oKlQZ-HXrxnwjJevdf83f82az6HZ4xlCb37LteqklzpfIehzVlHZBNnKwi4uXdnSp3RopL0YBATQ4K7RdYz1BIT0lEtZ20HeCPUvQkm4sa2kjr6TMArOdr9RJMTHbg773McY8QC7KzCf0rn/w400-h300/20230619_120002.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">We passed some guys diving in the river (wetsuits seemed a bit out of place), and minutes later the road got back to normal again. About 200m short of the intersection with the road we'd baled on, we found locals filling up water bottles at a spring. We rejoined the route about 16km of riding from when we'd left it, perhaps as much as doubling the distance ridden but at the expense of a small climb. On the other hand, it was a star-studded 16km, and felt like a nice substitute, albeit one that by virtue of its points of interest, had chewed up over an hour!</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMpaXnXHUXnMGYdIYHeasCvDnwU-L2H4vUp4zsm0RX8KlWD0cyDSFyviLHrHDCZXGS60OUjYY0uAii_GmoJcvn67BdIRXYBAXD6Yio2xVfiTrkkStKr9eP9WKa_IaaUSiAZwlAneucm0Hxm1gawJeL37UB9UV07g2t-VwIROkjVxPtXo7QNhKzSIh7EnGL/s4000/20230619_121053.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMpaXnXHUXnMGYdIYHeasCvDnwU-L2H4vUp4zsm0RX8KlWD0cyDSFyviLHrHDCZXGS60OUjYY0uAii_GmoJcvn67BdIRXYBAXD6Yio2xVfiTrkkStKr9eP9WKa_IaaUSiAZwlAneucm0Hxm1gawJeL37UB9UV07g2t-VwIROkjVxPtXo7QNhKzSIh7EnGL/w400-h300/20230619_121053.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">At work, my body tends to demand an early lunch, and while I tend to cope better on the bike, by 1pm I was starting to get a bit cranky, and willing to scrape the bottom of the barrel if need be. Cycle-path-adjacent stores were clearly not representative of road-adjacent ones, but we'd noticed these generally had ready-to-eat instant noodles (common also in Mongolia). Again, through a combination of mimicry and letting the proprietor take the lead, we were soon tucking into some food. The language barrier did tend to mean we ended up with incredibly spicy instant noodles, but hot soup (in two senses) was better than an empty stomach...! </p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBoRkGf97P7BDXHtjbkpOmisX0xRB5akDep_3jTlr-1obuOrzhYo9s2Z6xe903E84fRoX2XWtrta7Tod_6BlL31wA86uZ-f4kUhN4orAge7IyiUtb4j2va6fG4GSoxz050bt6boTl6Q3Ygi8LBTOGD0FOFarmF2i0wNmcAovA4EL8TK8lNy_HU8DB4nlM_/s4000/20230619_131631.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBoRkGf97P7BDXHtjbkpOmisX0xRB5akDep_3jTlr-1obuOrzhYo9s2Z6xe903E84fRoX2XWtrta7Tod_6BlL31wA86uZ-f4kUhN4orAge7IyiUtb4j2va6fG4GSoxz050bt6boTl6Q3Ygi8LBTOGD0FOFarmF2i0wNmcAovA4EL8TK8lNy_HU8DB4nlM_/w400-h300/20230619_131631.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">I was finding the ride really stimulating, but it also had its challenges, which proved to include heat, food, hills and distance. These tended to hit Sarah harder than they hit me, and she was also dealing with the lurgy that she'd almost surely pinched off me. From time to time road conditions enabled me to give her a helping hand, gently pushing her uphill with one hand on her lower back. </p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUPk3-hHC_AuMGJKV8N8NAzuvjeXYzV7OHdscRVrsVpr7uCbMwwI_5X7X84ve8sBRRclrK7-BZU4-18xGfEPv2TX4V-QNjNhSxxC4hpDoHAMJ3alzFhzAwtibjNKdQ0GTfFRNH88VLUBxFCnYNwF__5QWoslzxx1wHgdtaM0AHewaX3-7ExeROEdOWktAs/s4000/20230619_140438.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUPk3-hHC_AuMGJKV8N8NAzuvjeXYzV7OHdscRVrsVpr7uCbMwwI_5X7X84ve8sBRRclrK7-BZU4-18xGfEPv2TX4V-QNjNhSxxC4hpDoHAMJ3alzFhzAwtibjNKdQ0GTfFRNH88VLUBxFCnYNwF__5QWoslzxx1wHgdtaM0AHewaX3-7ExeROEdOWktAs/w400-h300/20230619_140438.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">The ride profile suggests that the Korean peninsula has over the millennia been given a hefty shunt up and out of the Pacific Ocean. As we rode East, we climbed from about 200m above sea-level, to a peak of over 800m within coo-ee of the coast. Interesting, but hard progress. </p><p style="text-align: left;">The road network was similarly fascinating, but also a nuisance. It seemed like there were three levels of road headed in the same direction (motorway, highway, and local road). Every now again, there'd be no local road and we'd end up on the four lane highway, which was itself a dual carriageway and didn't always feel like the right place for a bike. Luckily the traffic was light, and the drivers also tended to give us a wide berth. In our attempts to stay off the highway, we ended up back-tracking a couple of times when what seemed to be the local through-road turned out to lead to a motorway on (or off)-ramp</p><p style="text-align: left;">Nonetheless, we eventually got to the summit. It was an eerie place to ride, as it was engulfed in cloud, which all but hid from sight massive wind turbines. It was also, to an extent, the effective end of the ride. Even absent the cloud, I doubt we'd have seen the ocean, but to compensate was a very enjoyable bit of road - we lost almost all of our altitude in the next 10km and barely needed to turn a pedal. Sarah praised the road design highly - engineers had designed width in really useful places, almost surely not to give cyclists a breather from the more torrid stretches, but it served that nice purpose. </p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoztYYyXsM_9UrlIg-zVj0dw3P2mjN1L6ssw7t2_6U_boUujFndQrMagBh7ghHAHRUbnjwmzTtZTG-hECj80jYJg4R8PWth_h12aF5oh31FgPh-MtaZ5RwMWO4t5hBNUwGhwE0_TKBuFBg2-RTE-JzdxWZokZQXMpTW-rr9eqwfl1MA60csTj3n5RrSAih/s4000/20230619_175716.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoztYYyXsM_9UrlIg-zVj0dw3P2mjN1L6ssw7t2_6U_boUujFndQrMagBh7ghHAHRUbnjwmzTtZTG-hECj80jYJg4R8PWth_h12aF5oh31FgPh-MtaZ5RwMWO4t5hBNUwGhwE0_TKBuFBg2-RTE-JzdxWZokZQXMpTW-rr9eqwfl1MA60csTj3n5RrSAih/w300-h400/20230619_175716.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">At Gangneung, we'd pre-booked a room. There was no great drama with bike storage, although we struggled to find somewhere to have dinner. I had a wee bit of energy left after we'd eaten, so struck out on foot to a laundromat, just managing to convince the proprietor to let me do a quick wash before locking up and heading home (had I demanded a dryer, or a long wash cycle, I think he'd have turned me away). </p><p style="text-align: left;"><u>Stats</u>: <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/9293578385" target="_blank">145km ridden</a>, 1500m climbed, and some very cool stretches of road, major and minor. </p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><h4 style="text-align: center;">Day 4 - Gangneung to Songjiho Beach</h4><p style="text-align: left;">We ate at the hotel restaurant in the morning - it was on the top floor, but despite this, I was surprised we still hadn't nabbed a view of the ocean. A bit of riding put paid to that though, and beyond the first 15 minutes or so, for our fourth day we were seemingly never more than a stone's throw from the Pacific. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8WxjAvb6_yjgIFIyF7ucLc_BUeEWBu7kJQiOGJvYiA1SsqwMIACoVmLIyoyZO9vDB9yaPKajtTlidGbWch_kqFsukcmmvvVGySUZBTOA4yXhGSEOH8kUonnqR03BkGTf2lx-8c2bJUDhoJssD92d-BJF8lqHvsuLq9N2WTFm5KlzlgT7Mbqic1mw5Suyv/s4000/20230620_101917.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8WxjAvb6_yjgIFIyF7ucLc_BUeEWBu7kJQiOGJvYiA1SsqwMIACoVmLIyoyZO9vDB9yaPKajtTlidGbWch_kqFsukcmmvvVGySUZBTOA4yXhGSEOH8kUonnqR03BkGTf2lx-8c2bJUDhoJssD92d-BJF8lqHvsuLq9N2WTFm5KlzlgT7Mbqic1mw5Suyv/w400-h300/20230620_101917.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ocean!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">We quickly picked up the Gangwon section of the East Coast Cycle path, and eased into a pattern of off-road separated cycle path between fishing villages (or towns), with sections of on-road riding through the villages themselves. Beaches and harbours and man-made islands gave us plenty to look at out our starboard-side. There were humans too - surfers mostly, but also people doing anything but sunbathing.</p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiciEJjjqzGgQ4bqE3NZkS4FcGPOGLS9PTdF-iLk-p2Tugt0unCPbabPmVZ6Qi4snp375iIUKSuTgyknX4xzDZlxZnVVuzpZL2gg1yx1XfbzHHIXO5r_6usWi04Q0uqsRFCiOMZM_UtfVGUTe4PYH4PijrE0YAX4T5hK0Qh_V7pyGQfEDxwnTVEX0A81IAh/s4000/20230620_105140.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiciEJjjqzGgQ4bqE3NZkS4FcGPOGLS9PTdF-iLk-p2Tugt0unCPbabPmVZ6Qi4snp375iIUKSuTgyknX4xzDZlxZnVVuzpZL2gg1yx1XfbzHHIXO5r_6usWi04Q0uqsRFCiOMZM_UtfVGUTe4PYH4PijrE0YAX4T5hK0Qh_V7pyGQfEDxwnTVEX0A81IAh/w400-h300/20230620_105140.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">The stretch reminded me a lot of our ride into Valparaiso <a href="https://sifter-writes-bikes.blogspot.com/2020/01/a-christmas-trip-across-andes.html" target="_blank">at the end of 2019</a>. As might be expected, there was plenty of seafood on offer, but the presentation had a tacky touristy vibe to it, and from what we could make out, the pricing was such that you wondered if they actually wanted to sell it this way - namely, super expensive. We made do with window shopping.</p><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6M0kcSqNe3KynqpaocxxiYpUIvzuMwTCCO_rFHupgAL4m7us3RpEbjMz0ObXz_xzM48DsUDdDJXpAJWF67djufB0r4LYqs1PgFHpIUb8VA9i1EpyjvUbfg0ImaTBmYLi3K0yy9m8nypJl3hJ3RYNeuxayPyMQXYUzkMcfTj9G3oISs7gstSo3FttYr5MF/s4000/20230620_105527.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6M0kcSqNe3KynqpaocxxiYpUIvzuMwTCCO_rFHupgAL4m7us3RpEbjMz0ObXz_xzM48DsUDdDJXpAJWF67djufB0r4LYqs1PgFHpIUb8VA9i1EpyjvUbfg0ImaTBmYLi3K0yy9m8nypJl3hJ3RYNeuxayPyMQXYUzkMcfTj9G3oISs7gstSo3FttYr5MF/w400-h300/20230620_105527.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Crabs waiting to be put out of their misery</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH146S2wvfnLUAqL2f8YziMzs2BA3BmOgs7-NHPanMzNnlx9Wk5g1RAvz8FhVstQaOIjiWtP45GKn2Wk-2DPRHR2oGgMyC6zSySvB9WTsUD88f9MFERHFuAF518nfUS5NkdyPWm2IT6MTT1dUrMBhNx0Jq59_LL4hsH3b7QwYr01ZR2GpAUvzbgZU6taxS/s4000/20230620_105951.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH146S2wvfnLUAqL2f8YziMzs2BA3BmOgs7-NHPanMzNnlx9Wk5g1RAvz8FhVstQaOIjiWtP45GKn2Wk-2DPRHR2oGgMyC6zSySvB9WTsUD88f9MFERHFuAF518nfUS5NkdyPWm2IT6MTT1dUrMBhNx0Jq59_LL4hsH3b7QwYr01ZR2GpAUvzbgZU6taxS/w400-h300/20230620_105951.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Squid, hung out to dry</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">As we tracked north, we started to get hints of the war-state that the Korean peninsula is in (formally, there's an armistice agreement signed only by North Korea and the UN). At one point a large military transport helicopter flew overhead, and we began passing compounds behind razor wire, none the wiser from what exactly was within. What looked like apartment blocks from a distance, were probably barracks once we saw exactly where they were situated. From the cycle way at least, the war state was very discreet.</p><p style="text-align: left;">We saw one instance of a road feature described by one commentator as "<a href="https://www.stripes.com/news/s-korea-s-overpasses-to-nowhere-remain-part-of-defense-strategy-1.106886" target="_blank">South Korea's worst kept military secret</a>", namely a massive and otherwise useless block of concrete perched above the road. In the meantime holding up what I guess might be some tongue-in-cheek propaganda (on the northern side only, of course), but whose primary purpose is to be brought down onto the road to hamper invasion by the hostile northern neighbour. </p></div><div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg17QTpien_OmoMISt-jJFzeoXC5VKS9IB1-W7hNe1FMXB9pDaL-gy0Z2XxgHNOxVMTlQ_sWQtCHXEni1fZ8-Q9dbf0IEIeJnBk9q17QqNg8_9EX4Ah_bsuWKH9xf9qXYCECxCenPdAZTRnLy0O4iA4_Kt0OcXCbZyURnAbF4amGXtZgmomwnjZ4zqNIRNa/s4000/20230620_121858.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg17QTpien_OmoMISt-jJFzeoXC5VKS9IB1-W7hNe1FMXB9pDaL-gy0Z2XxgHNOxVMTlQ_sWQtCHXEni1fZ8-Q9dbf0IEIeJnBk9q17QqNg8_9EX4Ah_bsuWKH9xf9qXYCECxCenPdAZTRnLy0O4iA4_Kt0OcXCbZyURnAbF4amGXtZgmomwnjZ4zqNIRNa/w400-h300/20230620_121858.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">Features of the route weren't all chilling, and there was plenty of artistic flair on display. Being from a part of the world where cycle paths tend to create absurd levels of drama, it is nice to see local authorities jazzing them up in a way that signals they're not being installed wholly reluctantly. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNDMgAnWzDik63WqNzyuZxvLP_CKZ2NRGBtMimpxfTsjlR-wmaytu7z5b264lv7T7g96ZuVDz8nr-5kcdUPSgYP7Pb1ZWHfyPDa_eZZPcYA589TNMNGLLDjr94vKTf1N3u1AVstKQX_8gEux-kpPeFQaqawG_Nd74bsGZhcCGCuQHfXZ2Ismu93kBk_VUW/s4000/20230620_133053.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNDMgAnWzDik63WqNzyuZxvLP_CKZ2NRGBtMimpxfTsjlR-wmaytu7z5b264lv7T7g96ZuVDz8nr-5kcdUPSgYP7Pb1ZWHfyPDa_eZZPcYA589TNMNGLLDjr94vKTf1N3u1AVstKQX_8gEux-kpPeFQaqawG_Nd74bsGZhcCGCuQHfXZ2Ismu93kBk_VUW/w400-h300/20230620_133053.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">My tendency to keep moving means we pass things without being able to fully discern what might be going on. The day threw up more than one unanswered question, many of the WTF variety. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5lBwruwYRqnFGKMb-SiTkWVmxn6_-AO3Bc-Y2F5m-hInnQFf0NXsbcbMUq46_DW_y46YltJ4idZfnRC1_V56NDmdkL7b2EyKLup3qhk-hAVayMkBKkgISgT-4sIloynFVdeesLHSXjjMVCW1YDIDtUpbe5xq12V-eeXP8lYh9iZKjnhQKGUiAgKyxpJoP/s4000/20230620_145829.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5lBwruwYRqnFGKMb-SiTkWVmxn6_-AO3Bc-Y2F5m-hInnQFf0NXsbcbMUq46_DW_y46YltJ4idZfnRC1_V56NDmdkL7b2EyKLup3qhk-hAVayMkBKkgISgT-4sIloynFVdeesLHSXjjMVCW1YDIDtUpbe5xq12V-eeXP8lYh9iZKjnhQKGUiAgKyxpJoP/w300-h400/20230620_145829.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br /><p style="text-align: left;">Drizzle had started and coats were on by the time I subjected us to a bit of hike-a-bike. I have a strong "push-on" reflex, in part because the crazy sections tend to be very short-lived, motivated in part by curiosity, and in part because I really don't like turning around. In any case, while navigating steps, cobbles, more steps and then sand, my rear tube slowly but surely went flat, adding insult to injury. </p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtDerPssJJBcpwL5ipBkLCMOxzO4zD_0UuvJm6JfE3zU3oMnE7hIWeAeR9B4xzEJQopEcXsFkAqZ0c0RlqRpkar5nvjn_0vrk51UKZ6ff_ztYOnyJlL16LtWyD6LDHhkOE9GMLZ29X2DMRdAVuEFQkoWsQaG4zRYhPXhmuKD7Mn9M9qutHMx95uLNY4SGh/s4000/20230620_151804.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtDerPssJJBcpwL5ipBkLCMOxzO4zD_0UuvJm6JfE3zU3oMnE7hIWeAeR9B4xzEJQopEcXsFkAqZ0c0RlqRpkar5nvjn_0vrk51UKZ6ff_ztYOnyJlL16LtWyD6LDHhkOE9GMLZ29X2DMRdAVuEFQkoWsQaG4zRYhPXhmuKD7Mn9M9qutHMx95uLNY4SGh/w400-h300/20230620_151804.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I perhaps foolishly tried to repair the tube rather than simply replace it, and I think lost track of exactly where the hole was, put the patch in the wrong place, and within minutes had to stop to install a new tube. </p><p style="clear: both; text-align: left;">To offset the weather and the messing around, we were both excited about our destination. An expensive hotel was well positioned, and we'd splashed out on a room. Upon arriving at the somewhat pretentiously named "Renebleu by Walkerhill", it quickly became clear that people usually do not arrive on bicycles... As a result, they weren't quite sure how to handle us and our steeds, but we got there in the end! </p><p style="clear: both; text-align: left;">We had a great view from our window, and the rooftop blacony was even better, up the coast and out over the ocean. One of the room's more unusual features (which we had seen in others) was abseiling equipment. It may well have only been there to please the fire marshalls, but it wasn't a stretch to assume it was to temporarily evade invaders. </p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBBdmgDnXUCsxl_CTxad4sXVQSHcUG1Ko7m6aXSsqDljz4jJPsovkPDTIvos0ULUdmVK_o5-3s_MNKOOXui7XOwDWHGTfZjOCmqecjVksAdpq78dg8Y9RSqcD4fQmVIXfxfqxeE6VoaEs4k6oUD_BDWswsey9VcX-ywTexw2xrQdf5oHFn72K9c_ZmSqTE/s4000/20230620_174202.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBBdmgDnXUCsxl_CTxad4sXVQSHcUG1Ko7m6aXSsqDljz4jJPsovkPDTIvos0ULUdmVK_o5-3s_MNKOOXui7XOwDWHGTfZjOCmqecjVksAdpq78dg8Y9RSqcD4fQmVIXfxfqxeE6VoaEs4k6oUD_BDWswsey9VcX-ywTexw2xrQdf5oHFn72K9c_ZmSqTE/w400-h300/20230620_174202.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">We each had a tasty pasta dish at the hotel restaurant, but were disappointed there was no dessert menu. After raiding the nearby convenience store for ice-creams on sticks, we retired to our room, and watched a trashy movie on Netflix, familiar enough with the layout to access it (sans Korean subtitles) despite everything being in Korean script. </p><p style="text-align: left;"><u>Stats</u>: <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/9299319755" target="_blank">92km ridden</a></p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><h4 style="text-align: center;">Day 5 - Songjiho Beach to Hongcheon</h4><p style="text-align: left;">We woke to similarly wet conditions, which were then factored into our game plan. Before leaving Seoul, we had done a half-day tour to the DMZ, but despite that, I was still interested in going up to the road's terminus at the Goseong Unification Observation Tower. Arriving there wet and with poor visibility meant that we were unlikely to enjoy the sights on offer (the views north, and the museum among others), so we made the call to cut out about 60km of riding, and instead turn inland at Goseong itself.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH0S6rp-cHUPbt2vbB9I5hfj1_f1xT85MSs9_lLFjpsLGTdE3pYrbD-H6qkRGZAYNnNsCYv1qVg66KOgAOkjERADpHqsBdC5MKJ9jDosv-jIBvVhgdYyOEfaC6eZKUgFpKTK94w8BvtbiZxoBsb764O2WWJt17ZBvATWX0898JbkoamHQhvMTYT7pjaQzy/s2635/DMZ-flagpoles.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1976" data-original-width="2635" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH0S6rp-cHUPbt2vbB9I5hfj1_f1xT85MSs9_lLFjpsLGTdE3pYrbD-H6qkRGZAYNnNsCYv1qVg66KOgAOkjERADpHqsBdC5MKJ9jDosv-jIBvVhgdYyOEfaC6eZKUgFpKTK94w8BvtbiZxoBsb764O2WWJt17ZBvATWX0898JbkoamHQhvMTYT7pjaQzy/w400-h300/DMZ-flagpoles.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">File photo: Korean DMZ and two very large flagpoles</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">While still on the coastal cycle path, we passed a tribute which made clear the artificiality and resistance to the barrier across the peninsula. </p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsf18SdgsJ7gJFGwe8VYYYbhvZ59j43UFqg_xqEJzo_lGVZYZd_xEWKuscBqUGRp5uYUoTNrdSR_X9Xo_6SAS5SwF10qEPCERV_n_SKcWSP9nJtoZj_ivvEuNqcVGYp1vaOFz9HLAs4U6UmNLiM1PcKLdVH4UUhz6HN5ZrAc7ojrAx3Rombf63xNXwkfXk/s4000/20230621_094547.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsf18SdgsJ7gJFGwe8VYYYbhvZ59j43UFqg_xqEJzo_lGVZYZd_xEWKuscBqUGRp5uYUoTNrdSR_X9Xo_6SAS5SwF10qEPCERV_n_SKcWSP9nJtoZj_ivvEuNqcVGYp1vaOFz9HLAs4U6UmNLiM1PcKLdVH4UUhz6HN5ZrAc7ojrAx3Rombf63xNXwkfXk/w400-h300/20230621_094547.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>We soon noticed another variation of road corridor defense, and it was a good motivator to move on. Reluctantly, we also passed the Square Root Gallery (Coffee and Bakery), at a time when we were both wet, and still full to the gunnels of hotel buffet. As someone who regularly does square roots in my day job, I was disappointed, but not so much that I was willing to stop. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw-y7_sRtST0RmWHx8wpnRWgYyvlqT5B9gfuVYpx7enc8Ma0xaLimRgDy-hLgHxbs969e3ODnjp9xXhuag4f1u7n-cMYzMpIgetEhEDvjBllUzpCecjV0B42uMlZwfBAweTU97Z-5xzYYvUeBcnKZ5yOptfsTlwS2Km7UIdbr5as6p0rmXH4cKRAD991IJ/s4000/20230621_095206.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw-y7_sRtST0RmWHx8wpnRWgYyvlqT5B9gfuVYpx7enc8Ma0xaLimRgDy-hLgHxbs969e3ODnjp9xXhuag4f1u7n-cMYzMpIgetEhEDvjBllUzpCecjV0B42uMlZwfBAweTU97Z-5xzYYvUeBcnKZ5yOptfsTlwS2Km7UIdbr5as6p0rmXH4cKRAD991IJ/w400-h300/20230621_095206.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">When we turned inland, it heralded the beginning of the climbing, and we were glad to discover that not every road to the coast plummeted like the one we'd taken into Gangneung. Instead, the climb was gradual, indeed often imperceptible, unless you stopped pedalling altogether. The occasional military vehicle would pass us on the road, but really compound razor wire was the most in-your-face aspect of the defences. </p><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVG7d2nhTNEFrFA3v000_qMIr7-gHe3_Iro7tJ-AKqhN2nAQ9MKMaSkSvWAE0Ns_iQNh7M4Yo4pXqdguQdOeOd9XiXUjCS_YTUiXdnRdnHh7Xltp2HHbPf3I46UrbL9B77vZAicrbVAgd8H2X-shRjdFu0OySWSUNADvdqKv988QZitVebgUke0Cgzjafc/s4000/20230621_104111.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVG7d2nhTNEFrFA3v000_qMIr7-gHe3_Iro7tJ-AKqhN2nAQ9MKMaSkSvWAE0Ns_iQNh7M4Yo4pXqdguQdOeOd9XiXUjCS_YTUiXdnRdnHh7Xltp2HHbPf3I46UrbL9B77vZAicrbVAgd8H2X-shRjdFu0OySWSUNADvdqKv988QZitVebgUke0Cgzjafc/w400-h300/20230621_104111.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Empty bunkers?</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqV8uzkf-qJDwrGhs5WlllI3tBWWG9XqK3zWfbqa_7tVGeLZCLbl2j5_n7z7mR3Zn_xGL-iDnYFVRr0UTDa78p3YyLfJfMtfvbY_jOhKyN42afipB35CaPB0BewmiAC8t_aJVxQStRn1BFXbK39bB5THjPltQGCHq58FOa3TupnthFzh2MXjuBtPfbv44-/s4000/20230621_115534.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqV8uzkf-qJDwrGhs5WlllI3tBWWG9XqK3zWfbqa_7tVGeLZCLbl2j5_n7z7mR3Zn_xGL-iDnYFVRr0UTDa78p3YyLfJfMtfvbY_jOhKyN42afipB35CaPB0BewmiAC8t_aJVxQStRn1BFXbK39bB5THjPltQGCHq58FOa3TupnthFzh2MXjuBtPfbv44-/w400-h300/20230621_115534.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Future PITA</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">We reached our elevation highpoint at the 35km mark (about 600m above sea level), and we knew we'd got lucky with the route. From there we began riding down-valley, and while the road was big, again the traffic was both light and well behaved. There were plenty of points of interest to keep the brain engaged. </p><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxmfZqf5lhqYOTS24sb1q8ZFFlsJCqYplqONgmYDBT81VMi-iyNXiI_1kEpUoeYTcVe3AIhn2wn_cEAtpG0hor2W9fXx1bS2ZQyUNzkzoRBsG9CYwkDHH_ahfGz7Qo0C8uzHDQ0JC5ObLfwTvh7QLBkXTMNMN_l9xPi1s8VjiNZ_UYepL29gK1puzLALmf/s4000/20230621_125712.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxmfZqf5lhqYOTS24sb1q8ZFFlsJCqYplqONgmYDBT81VMi-iyNXiI_1kEpUoeYTcVe3AIhn2wn_cEAtpG0hor2W9fXx1bS2ZQyUNzkzoRBsG9CYwkDHH_ahfGz7Qo0C8uzHDQ0JC5ObLfwTvh7QLBkXTMNMN_l9xPi1s8VjiNZ_UYepL29gK1puzLALmf/w400-h300/20230621_125712.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Unusual to see a wind farm damn near on a valley floor</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3tJ_ZozbJxpk2MmVGf6LFuSAGupylaAAqg0iSWAiyjnKOFjSmapMcBD-8TrvNVAiHFjoaFmf8IvZwGstuzUet9FulqFhDZa1nQBtqQbya6GprytzdwO0N3XbRkm9fb2Rwxmr03ftKKzge1RH2LhKuPNwRsJHjlZEMjNp1wmjK0NjXnWU2rE-Ij20r7fKj/s4000/20230621_143909.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3tJ_ZozbJxpk2MmVGf6LFuSAGupylaAAqg0iSWAiyjnKOFjSmapMcBD-8TrvNVAiHFjoaFmf8IvZwGstuzUet9FulqFhDZa1nQBtqQbya6GprytzdwO0N3XbRkm9fb2Rwxmr03ftKKzge1RH2LhKuPNwRsJHjlZEMjNp1wmjK0NjXnWU2rE-Ij20r7fKj/w400-h300/20230621_143909.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">More road defenses</td></tr></tbody></table><br />Just before 3pm we passed through the major town of Inje. We contemplated finding a hotel there, but it seemed a bit too early to stop, and we pressed on. There, and from time to time otherwise, the main road would go through a tunnel so we were "forced" onto a local road remnant, and got to enjoy the longer, quieter original route. <br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhykisdXyLHt4oLuv88dQmenZ1tul2AbPrFj1mNyTDe1_RQRd7Iy1NdKqHLnFNnQv5s2cItFZAZ0h93ubydfnWkq-YUVdIStuEZgG-WgAuk2sycnxp0SDLOT81NKKK6AJXiy7b-7efFj7iFQNhtBLjfV3uVzCsp-_RsTG7bS4gtrN-gBc7gHTBv6skrLZuk/s4000/20230621_144322.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhykisdXyLHt4oLuv88dQmenZ1tul2AbPrFj1mNyTDe1_RQRd7Iy1NdKqHLnFNnQv5s2cItFZAZ0h93ubydfnWkq-YUVdIStuEZgG-WgAuk2sycnxp0SDLOT81NKKK6AJXiy7b-7efFj7iFQNhtBLjfV3uVzCsp-_RsTG7bS4gtrN-gBc7gHTBv6skrLZuk/w400-h300/20230621_144322.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Inje</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">The merits of waving goodbye to Inje were later questioned, and it was a long, messy push through to Hongcheon. About 20km out from our final stop we made a concerted attempt to locate a guesthouse, but balked given the communication barrier - both our ability to interpret written road-side signage, and speak to the potential host. </p><p style="text-align: left;">We rode on to a hotel further down the valley, only to find it was closed. Our next attempt warmly welcomed us, provided we were happy with an underground room. The juxtaposition of sleeping the previous night with abseiling equipment and a great view was not lost on us. We were invited to take our bikes into our room, and couldn't resist making use of the hand-held shower and bathroom floor sump for four showers rather than just two.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Dinner worked out OK in the end. What we initially ordered turned out to be a local variation on steak tartare. Fortunately, they were willing to take those back, and set us up for a spot of BBQ, albeit without the vege buffet that we'd lucked out on a few nights earlier. All in all, it felt like a day where cooked food and shelter of any sort was a win! </p><p style="text-align: left;"><u>Stats</u>: <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/9306087967" target="_blank">125km ridden</a>, coats on all day, and perhaps an hour too much.</p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><h4 style="text-align: center;">Day 6 - Hongcheon to the outskirts of Seoul</h4><p style="text-align: left;">Despite the cycle paths wearing a bit thin early in the trip, the Bukhangang Cycle path, starting just north of us in Chuncheun, seemed like an ideal opportunity for stress-free riding into Seoul. Between our hotel and Chuncheun was a confusing network of roads, again varying from off-limits motorway to what would prove to be stunning local rides. In between lay the highways which were always a touch confusing to be on. (Must we be here? Are we allowed to be here? Can this be right?)</p><p style="text-align: left;">40km didn't seem like too many, so we made do with a light convenience store breaky, and then set off. We navigated on the fly from time to time, when what we saw on the ground seemed like a better option than what I (or the Strava route building algorithms) had planned. </p><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnPajD_lrIC4OXQeapcxL_W4BsK_7785VQOONER-w4OnS4RmKPsqZ8s2TS1gS5up3-17mhLmDM9Nr7oGLbn9lStl93jeghaFU8RHATmGClB-00plNvZaVxd3ox1YJM-nOJRkn6Big4YjxHFLVqcNzopvrHpUptWt8kq_jxKZ24jhTsEokY-iHHXZ_3VyRh/s4000/20230622_104356.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnPajD_lrIC4OXQeapcxL_W4BsK_7785VQOONER-w4OnS4RmKPsqZ8s2TS1gS5up3-17mhLmDM9Nr7oGLbn9lStl93jeghaFU8RHATmGClB-00plNvZaVxd3ox1YJM-nOJRkn6Big4YjxHFLVqcNzopvrHpUptWt8kq_jxKZ24jhTsEokY-iHHXZ_3VyRh/w400-h300/20230622_104356.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Huh?</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">We were well and truly ready for coffee when we rolled into the outskirts of Chuncheun. We stopped at a bakery, and ended up eating a bready thing not unlike a donut. The "jam" was red bean paste, and the "cream" resembled slices of camembert cheese (absent the rind). That turned out not to be cheese, but slices of butter (perhaps more correctly described as blocks...) which were OK to eat initially, but soon became overbearing. By the time we left there was probably about 3-4 tablespoons of butter accumulated onto a napkin...! </p><p style="text-align: left;">Stunning urban cycle path was an immediate antidote, which at some point (without fanfare) morphed into the national cycle way. </p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj56MfzBdjfY2Ez4QpwqlDXSmUR7AZGridKMPQTmlOfKf-wA6VjjWxTjA2gOj7rrJerNjgLe-tyfacoSnB-Dh2NzpA8dL6lf9UHin0Yx2qkH1FtHgyantQClTvrU0pbbtyeqPJovyOZR2YxWKp84CMHKXOU1LwSKQQH7TqVSpziLtGJn5ZGglky-O4Y0EFt/s4000/20230622_113840.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj56MfzBdjfY2Ez4QpwqlDXSmUR7AZGridKMPQTmlOfKf-wA6VjjWxTjA2gOj7rrJerNjgLe-tyfacoSnB-Dh2NzpA8dL6lf9UHin0Yx2qkH1FtHgyantQClTvrU0pbbtyeqPJovyOZR2YxWKp84CMHKXOU1LwSKQQH7TqVSpziLtGJn5ZGglky-O4Y0EFt/w400-h300/20230622_113840.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">Adjacent to an exhibition area, we saw preparations for a military parade. There were a couple of attack helicopters, as well as tanks and even missile launchers. Not things I expect the NZ Army has, let alone displays. </p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvncPegDvGRU0afOevzJffbYkSUAJlXQ5iC1rCoJSqX0jHRAAHRgHrzio1SUBcWjhBFCqzWWx94j0l1TvgLVy_L24_u2RO0zyhsbecnb2Knble9HheQoMaA-4G825R0uSaJCCr3YcxujQGZPEIZWybv5I0Y7bME2POEqxQS09U8jSsP3uk2-L8qL_Ps_ui/s4000/20230622_114638.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvncPegDvGRU0afOevzJffbYkSUAJlXQ5iC1rCoJSqX0jHRAAHRgHrzio1SUBcWjhBFCqzWWx94j0l1TvgLVy_L24_u2RO0zyhsbecnb2Knble9HheQoMaA-4G825R0uSaJCCr3YcxujQGZPEIZWybv5I0Y7bME2POEqxQS09U8jSsP3uk2-L8qL_Ps_ui/w400-h300/20230622_114638.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">Soon after, going with the flow took us to a path alongside a massive man-made lake. Despite now having close to 700km on the clock, we were still seeing novel sights, one being a gondola station sending people far across the lake and up into the hills. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9HZvGyEWO7agry4M5Kvoaj2tRNjY2f7fxFRk3BwkJE5G3T6P6yMwuaUkJiEE6YT23rUCyIhCgRwryFKDelmqiZRv0flpFMAeiWUKZIodHWFbEHyAiQEjUOMCONWkC0vfa93zpsa7fHMml75v5VigvzHI1UCnkGZQOa7d8EwuQ-MtvIJsZDfTUxAgaZcHv/s4000/20230622_115229.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9HZvGyEWO7agry4M5Kvoaj2tRNjY2f7fxFRk3BwkJE5G3T6P6yMwuaUkJiEE6YT23rUCyIhCgRwryFKDelmqiZRv0flpFMAeiWUKZIodHWFbEHyAiQEjUOMCONWkC0vfa93zpsa7fHMml75v5VigvzHI1UCnkGZQOa7d8EwuQ-MtvIJsZDfTUxAgaZcHv/w400-h300/20230622_115229.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p style="text-align: left;">Despite the path being... um... pretty obvious, I lost Sarah for a few minutes. We'd both installed <a href="https://etravelsim.com/" target="_blank">e-SIM cards</a> and were consequently able to clean things up without too much bother, nor risking hefty voice over data charges. </p><p style="text-align: left;">At the bottom end of the lake, we crossed a dam and, after a bit of confusion, deviated from the main cycle path, which is presumably a loop around the entire lake. </p><p style="text-align: left;">From there we began following a river which eventually feeds into the Han just upstream of Seoul. We had this section of path pretty much to ourselves. At times we could see various tourist attractions across the river (folk in jiggers on some old railway line included). </p><p style="text-align: left;">One nifty section was riding through grass which was at times two metres tall and was gently swaying in the breeze. I was on point, so Sarah might well have been oblivious to the large dragonflies I'd disturb every twenty metres or so. There was a huge railway station above us, with the railway line at each end disappearing into tunnels. It seemed like a very odd place to have a station, as other than some buildings on the far side of the river, there was no visible population base. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtRsdu5UcsDFs-rxll9Wlz0az_a1URYldYsRREHK28UrQS3nKb6NtcjbKU7S9Yf-sB7bbsJsZ6y6CFI1T6aLtLCPRCZofE_X06biJUo4s1r-MQsuKUIspFuW0uFszUxveyCG1QDCpovs1PKtY15zgl9FJkvMa38rSGbAJDn7obo0BJwVbBL7oFQliftTxD/s2944/20230622_130022.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2208" data-original-width="2944" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtRsdu5UcsDFs-rxll9Wlz0az_a1URYldYsRREHK28UrQS3nKb6NtcjbKU7S9Yf-sB7bbsJsZ6y6CFI1T6aLtLCPRCZofE_X06biJUo4s1r-MQsuKUIspFuW0uFszUxveyCG1QDCpovs1PKtY15zgl9FJkvMa38rSGbAJDn7obo0BJwVbBL7oFQliftTxD/w400-h300/20230622_130022.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">At about the 90km mark, we deviated from the main route, and I was surprised to find ourselves on an old railway bench, replete with frequent tunnels and other nifty features. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwrwNdAAln043IsaQV9WTha57F8YYQlOUwfZ0lPcIWea3E_wES0TBlf2ZSvvumWgW2sJULb-qpFCPsvmNWaN4hGU_4klDeDrmcgpApTy-h7pyFnt-AanKePp7A6uJQmp7OpQK8Zi6C1pJ8pqCHJNFpdoTuJpAoUYzzrGUveMGxpE6GAJ4h53Z1T2X0na0r/s4000/20230622_140626.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwrwNdAAln043IsaQV9WTha57F8YYQlOUwfZ0lPcIWea3E_wES0TBlf2ZSvvumWgW2sJULb-qpFCPsvmNWaN4hGU_4klDeDrmcgpApTy-h7pyFnt-AanKePp7A6uJQmp7OpQK8Zi6C1pJ8pqCHJNFpdoTuJpAoUYzzrGUveMGxpE6GAJ4h53Z1T2X0na0r/w400-h300/20230622_140626.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">e.g. tunnel</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio3lKSrt2PC6QwJsAxC9NXpe7eOmFYOqUa_vC9oyKzAjEZcISZV9MrMuiykjoLIcHu0jni3EX5cbyAlNVpAJWy98GIyc7vE1f1lWYhzFHngE_jCUIr_wLAZyF9am2Z0KsCRkL5nHDkdunIDCKdmu7wmZZRyq4fyj-cFvJ8j32fcSklIDP7_GMbaCgM0txb/s4000/20230622_142418.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio3lKSrt2PC6QwJsAxC9NXpe7eOmFYOqUa_vC9oyKzAjEZcISZV9MrMuiykjoLIcHu0jni3EX5cbyAlNVpAJWy98GIyc7vE1f1lWYhzFHngE_jCUIr_wLAZyF9am2Z0KsCRkL5nHDkdunIDCKdmu7wmZZRyq4fyj-cFvJ8j32fcSklIDP7_GMbaCgM0txb/w300-h400/20230622_142418.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">e.g. a nifty feature</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">We'd started the day open to riding all the way back into Seoul, but by mid afternoon it was clear that we'd not be back at Niagara Hotel. We used booking.com to scope out some hotel possibilities much closer to us, but didn't book anything. That invited a bit of messing around exploring earlier opportunities. We were in an urban area, if not yet in greater-Seoul, and we were teased by buildings apparently containing everything but lodgings.</p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUYNB8SpY_4MDIkNTObowcDQfHfy0gH6UfCMBJzCZ9E70OSA8QJHZ0p2_LmA0tHoEVBbz1rICWPyfpIB7ezC8q-wmikJN5kJnwZpQQ9K7tozCYxak7ALK_L8hwEm4nx_08pQ0xOKLoBjcqd1ussE7fU_d8piRoaMik3pNwr4LsCQCqhKOpBGPnA0GH19jG/s4000/20230622_155209.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUYNB8SpY_4MDIkNTObowcDQfHfy0gH6UfCMBJzCZ9E70OSA8QJHZ0p2_LmA0tHoEVBbz1rICWPyfpIB7ezC8q-wmikJN5kJnwZpQQ9K7tozCYxak7ALK_L8hwEm4nx_08pQ0xOKLoBjcqd1ussE7fU_d8piRoaMik3pNwr4LsCQCqhKOpBGPnA0GH19jG/w300-h400/20230622_155209.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">Before riding further became unsufferable, we reached a hotel we hadn't booked online. There were rooms available, but the overnight bike storage on offer was the parking garage which all but had public access. It turned out there was another hotel just nextdoor, and they were able to offer a storage area adjacent to reception, which we accepted with delight.</p><p style="text-align: left;">There were plenty of dinner options nearby, though maybe too many and we struggled with the choice. On the way back to the hotel, we saw a fellow walking a small dog in a dog-pushchair. It seemed like this was a thing here in Korea, with various different off-the-shelf haulage methods, including dog-ready handbags. I suppose it is one way to stop the little buggers shitting on the footpath. </p><p style="text-align: left;">Job almost done, we slept without any qualms about the short ride ahead of us in the morning.</p><p style="text-align: left;"><u>Stats</u>: <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/9312304515" target="_blank">120km ridden</a></p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><h4 style="text-align: center;">Day 7 - closing the loop</h4><p style="text-align: left;">The beginning of the final ride was a bit of a shambles, courtesy of yours truly, and the various poor choices necessitated corrections. After fits and starts, we reached a major river, which no surprise, had a stunning cycle path along it. The route I'd planned had us crossing the river, but with no obvious way to get up to the bridge we'd need to use, we decided to follow our noses instead. I'd kind of been looking forward to riding through the centre of Seoul, but scooting around the edge on this amazing path seemed like a fair compromise. </p><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_MAAH2MdP_kB8C1KrGLAIoQyZ6hKa6-qlCB3snA0z8EqFPrFsj6mGX7jDjIRHoeJJUkBRcAtOajUCMoSnxqWUx3V--YxKP1QvLQZIg41DtpySVD4Dxl3DWPRdaCIl16cYapAofVhbshlDyEMHYluoYE2DFTvKv0Gb7_IRTiXl3PBk-CT4n3Kjzga0vQbM/s4000/20230623_114734.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_MAAH2MdP_kB8C1KrGLAIoQyZ6hKa6-qlCB3snA0z8EqFPrFsj6mGX7jDjIRHoeJJUkBRcAtOajUCMoSnxqWUx3V--YxKP1QvLQZIg41DtpySVD4Dxl3DWPRdaCIl16cYapAofVhbshlDyEMHYluoYE2DFTvKv0Gb7_IRTiXl3PBk-CT4n3Kjzga0vQbM/w400-h300/20230623_114734.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Roses and horses are two things I know Sarah loves to stop for. Her mother's name was Roza</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">The path enabled us to enjoy many of the recreational patterns we'd observed, including discovering how active people are well into their old age, typically using public exercise equipment to keep themselves in good nick. While delighted by how our own two almost-50-year-old bodies had coped with the demands of the ride, I did find myself deludedly fantasising about keeping myself limber in my old age, knowing full well that before <i>keeping </i>must come <i>becoming</i>...</p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtu9TrpmJ1IHsqhFFZWusuhqc4rze3HEsbkKHlX_5mP8s2JvYKiHWjnyoOFDivV-hV15WYzF87wpBQNYI-HA7BwPzz6ZV9K7Ey5FvrOYDQZnE8eVLPpvau9rp4wIcTcfV1SiNzL7nFkWmcMi3ncDxbMTN-mfu93q8EUVz0e-XNPFtJ_LsiUNA-aqkiy_Er/s4000/20230623_122046.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtu9TrpmJ1IHsqhFFZWusuhqc4rze3HEsbkKHlX_5mP8s2JvYKiHWjnyoOFDivV-hV15WYzF87wpBQNYI-HA7BwPzz6ZV9K7Ey5FvrOYDQZnE8eVLPpvau9rp4wIcTcfV1SiNzL7nFkWmcMi3ncDxbMTN-mfu93q8EUVz0e-XNPFtJ_LsiUNA-aqkiy_Er/w400-h300/20230623_122046.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p style="text-align: left;">Whilst it was a bit of a downer to return to trodden paths, it was also a boon, as we were able to easily navigate back to the hotel. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3dZGl1zyqKI7Iz0HZ3pAs3lZUuAdIz4T40B9Ax0j88_K8xXp8zeLZhf6OUurvn_8kxKghtZMYF5EDMP2ln-f8S5Vr0T6pBQoP-fFWvbXGks2IAAeAlqcNrKKKdhV9v-YRErJa3Aybb7pfeWxbQiQJ1rz9l9q9-juHw26jPLT8bPjcQvzJBuzzvicgqyQW/s4000/20230623_133029.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3dZGl1zyqKI7Iz0HZ3pAs3lZUuAdIz4T40B9Ax0j88_K8xXp8zeLZhf6OUurvn_8kxKghtZMYF5EDMP2ln-f8S5Vr0T6pBQoP-fFWvbXGks2IAAeAlqcNrKKKdhV9v-YRErJa3Aybb7pfeWxbQiQJ1rz9l9q9-juHw26jPLT8bPjcQvzJBuzzvicgqyQW/w400-h300/20230623_133029.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sarah crossing the fishy river for the last time</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">There, we were too early to check in, so to productively kill some time, I packed both bikes. That done, we were still to early to check in, but benefitted from some Americans hitting the counter a little more presumptuously than we had. The clerk, who it turned out had spent 10 years living in New Zealand, sheepishly knew he could then hardly turn us away, said our room was now available without us having to ask. We decided another short delay was worthwhile, and showered and changed before heading out for lunch at what had become our favourite spot.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXfstXOoiJ599Dk6BI28zDEC7SC3okB8BO813toZo0FMh_Uxn4coHQ2oIRNsJ3eKU7ISsP8rm4juD472PAekrP8lwcxlU1Md2pXzODqo3kNHIkJCghzm0eu049u-gGijouTWRHlozCPdPM7acn6rmSj9wEMcGv1r6JL2MkKryfmSJqNUm7qgx6vk2XHaB3/s4000/20230624_174421.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXfstXOoiJ599Dk6BI28zDEC7SC3okB8BO813toZo0FMh_Uxn4coHQ2oIRNsJ3eKU7ISsP8rm4juD472PAekrP8lwcxlU1Md2pXzODqo3kNHIkJCghzm0eu049u-gGijouTWRHlozCPdPM7acn6rmSj9wEMcGv1r6JL2MkKryfmSJqNUm7qgx6vk2XHaB3/w300-h400/20230624_174421.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dumpling guy extraordinaire!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">Bellies full, we figured we had enough time to go into Seoul, and while our attempt to get into an art gallery failed, we did stop by a little boutique bike store which had the blingest collection of bikes and components for sale than I think I've ever seen in a single store. </p></div><div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh38B6uqdxFoDCDQpov6zmc0AWDza29eTZledeYymVPPrr-ePq6TIC3ockEpVA-MO0wlb_iKq8PqJj3q2jOXQ-25XsTGHa7-lrSKo79wMLq-OGkZQ0lJEObSTG5gMefJfSiNN_F5ydsdnwmMBWmsmLKh5lE2vxfq2ovg0D6NFCLo7Ik9PYnWOqixnEJSECj/s4000/20230623_172700.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh38B6uqdxFoDCDQpov6zmc0AWDza29eTZledeYymVPPrr-ePq6TIC3ockEpVA-MO0wlb_iKq8PqJj3q2jOXQ-25XsTGHa7-lrSKo79wMLq-OGkZQ0lJEObSTG5gMefJfSiNN_F5ydsdnwmMBWmsmLKh5lE2vxfq2ovg0D6NFCLo7Ik9PYnWOqixnEJSECj/w400-h300/20230623_172700.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">$100k bike rack?</td></tr></tbody></table><p style="text-align: left;">The bike store was followed by dinner, and then a trip to a laundromat within easy walking distance of our hotel. There's something very special about getting home from a trip with almost no laundry to do, and that brought to a nice conclusion our penultimate day in Seoul. </p><p style="text-align: left;">A late evening flight the next day allowed a spot more non-cycle-touristing, and plenty of experience using the subway system ought to have made for easy airport logistics. As it was, I managed to inadvertently avoid any waiting at the airport by initially catching our first train in the wrong direction, so while embarrassing, it wasn't entirely a good idea. </p><p><u>Stats</u>: <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/9317460260 " target="_blank">40km ridden</a>, no bike kit worn by your truly.</p><h4 style="text-align: center;">* * *</h4><p style="text-align: left;">South Korea is a very convenient southern gateway to Mongolia, but more than that, it is a mecca of off-road cycle paths, and associated necessities. The country has a few awkwardnesses, not least that Google Maps does not function fully, and an at times challenging language barrier. That could have been usefully mitigated had we done a bit more food prep, using local restaurants to better acquaint ourselves with the typical options, but otherwise doing things on the fly wokred sufficiently well.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Our bikes were great choices, namely fat-tyred-road-bikes (aka "gravel bikes") but in road trim. We ran GP5000 racing tyres, and while I had a couple of additional rear tyre punctures to add to the one I mentioned (and probably have to replace the tyre), they otherwise made for a great cycling experience.</p><p style="text-align: left;">June was a good time of year to visit. Warm but not too hot, nor yet overly rainy (NB: monsoon season started soon after we left), and not oppressively humid. </p><p style="text-align: left;">You could do worse than the route we ended up with. It was a nice mix of dedicated cycle paths, and roads, both of which were enjoyable in different ways. I'd have gone stir crazy entirely on the former, and might have come home feeling like we'd ridden amazing cycle paths anywhere in the world. The road gave us access to what felt more uniquely Korean, but it would have been a shame to entirely forgo spending time on what really is incredible cycling infrastructure. The balance was about right, I think.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Including the shake-down ride we rode a notch under 800km in six full and two half days. I'd quietly hoped to get a bit closer to the border, but perhaps that's ill-advised - it is possible you wouldn't actually see much of the DMZ without being a nuisance. South Korea is a destination I'd definitely go back to - I'd read cycling blogs about trips taking in off-shore islands in the west and south, and I'm sure that's but just one dimension we completely missed out on. There's plenty yet to sample, in any case. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilcVxGC9frgY8SaQzyDUyF32crxAVwGhur-MRxCXvUFCnWtbB9ai7TYHRgCk55T0BoowtMMU5UGlm4IFrxvCpPOjeSaXsvyXPrz57J3rnaIxrAAG4SBYPQBji4wJWu2og7nfD-TSK3CdpqtRRWt4JW55zrKaSrAZxHDT8chzHX3yRC82g_aGrltD9gvgsZ/s995/korea-route.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="956" data-original-width="995" height="384" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilcVxGC9frgY8SaQzyDUyF32crxAVwGhur-MRxCXvUFCnWtbB9ai7TYHRgCk55T0BoowtMMU5UGlm4IFrxvCpPOjeSaXsvyXPrz57J3rnaIxrAAG4SBYPQBji4wJWu2og7nfD-TSK3CdpqtRRWt4JW55zrKaSrAZxHDT8chzHX3yRC82g_aGrltD9gvgsZ/w400-h384/korea-route.png" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIk6QyWp9HbG7NO2CMJC3xa7oBehJ_h7ViYgDnk00CwVIozT7o4q2dxopFOQT-OQsx8M5F9CnOeqnlcuYwOKATZ-eLGrSPZkh6LJy1cpKJ09ID5FsGHOLUSSeooMDwqxLNHbJDFsgLI6WVGy0Fv6TVT28Bf49wlQCRuN0nrD3wUK9s-Nw35gji_7Nm-C2p/s1060/korea-route-zoomed.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="872" data-original-width="1060" height="329" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIk6QyWp9HbG7NO2CMJC3xa7oBehJ_h7ViYgDnk00CwVIozT7o4q2dxopFOQT-OQsx8M5F9CnOeqnlcuYwOKATZ-eLGrSPZkh6LJy1cpKJ09ID5FsGHOLUSSeooMDwqxLNHbJDFsgLI6WVGy0Fv6TVT28Bf49wlQCRuN0nrD3wUK9s-Nw35gji_7Nm-C2p/w400-h329/korea-route-zoomed.png" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p>If I were ever to win a competition that enabled me to specify a feature upgrade to Strava, I'd be ready with one - namely, the ability to filter out people's indoor training from my feed. I hate wading through Zwift rides, and they can crowd out a "real" ride somewhere motivational. Perhaps absent Mark Hussey's trip to Korea, we'd still have planned a stopover here, and still done this most enjoyable cycle tour. But, I think there's also a fair chance that we'd have not. So, thanks Mark, and thanks to Strava for hosting a social network that enables us to inspire one another. </p><p>If I'm not mistaken, my first actual post on this blog was about 14 years ago, and I'm really glad I've stuck with this strangely old-fashioned medium. Documenting these trips is significantly more effort than chucking some GPS data and a few photos up on Strava, but it is a habit that brings me pleasure and satisfaction in the moment, and which guarantees a nice reference article for the future - whether to cheer myself up, or to help me plan the next ride. I hope also, that like Mark, I inspire or otherwise inform a visit to Korea in someone else's future.</p><p>To my most photogenic riding buddy, wife, and and incredibly capable companion, thanks for these memories. I feel very lucky to be able to have these experiences with you. This was a wonderful and much-needed break from real life. </p></div>sifterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15453244482461385029noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7894195099236501078.post-1977183398659767392023-04-25T17:51:00.003+12:002023-04-27T08:34:08.016+12:00Thailand Fire and Brimstone<p>There were a fair number of lessons learned in our Christmas <a href="https://sifter-writes-bikes.blogspot.com/2023/01/tasmanian-devil-tour.html" target="_blank">cycle tour around Tasmania</a>, and as our Easter trip to Thailand drew nearer, I became increasingly stressed about the details. </p><p>Some elements fell into place more easily than others. Successful warrantee of a dead Di2 battery saw us with a spare, and I decided to go full-contingency-plan by not only replacing one of our 3-port external junction units with a 5-port one, but also acquiring another seatpost clamp. Now, if a battery shits itself, we should be able to run an external battery as a stop-gap measure. Of course, being so well prepared will now probably mean that we'll never have issues again, and if that's the case, I'll be delighted. </p><p>We booked flights back in September, with dates influenced largely by fares and how long we figured we could be away from work. Just before we met, Sarah had spent six months working for UNESCO in Bangkok, and we'd been invited to stay with one of her ex-colleagues in Bangkok. Sarah was keen to take me to Angkor Wat, but upon discovering how pan flat the terrain was in between, I'd pushed for a foray into the hills in the north of Thailand. </p><p>In particular, I kept reading wonderful things about the Mae Hong Son loop (although targeted at drivers, <a href="https://catmotors.net/routes/mae-hong-son-loop/" target="_blank">this guide</a> is <i>almost </i>comprehensive). People talked about buttery smooth road surfaces, cheap and abundant food, great scenery, and hospitable locals. Although April would be hot, the guides said it would at least be dry. My frustration was that getting up there, doing the loop and then getting back to Bangkok was a lot to squeeze into the time we had available, and I'd spend an occasional hour playing around with mapping tools to see what might be done. </p><p>As departure drew closer, I'd enacted a few pieces of the puzzle. Both our Opens were in road trim - for Sarah literally the first time she'd be riding on road tyres, having exclusively ridden the bike with fat gravel tyres on 650B rims. My plan was for her to be riding with bottles only, while I'd be the pack-mule. I hoped the fast tyres and the unladen bike would be enough to compensate for a change in recreational activity, from cycling to pottery, but deep down, I feared it wouldn't be, and fretted about biting off more than we could chew. </p><p>Aside from the bike setup, I had bought train tickets from Bangkok to Chiang Mai. It would have been a cheap and short flight, but to avoid the age-old logistical challenge of boxing bikes, an overnight train seemed the best way to take advantage of our base in Bangkok, but not burn through too much of our available time budget by spending all day completing the 700km trek north. After a bit of online research, I was ready to pounce when the tickets became available exactly 30 days in advance on the <a href="https://dticket.railway.co.th/DTicketPublicWeb/home/Home" target="_blank">official website</a>. Thanks to this <a href="https://www.thailandtrains.com/carrying-bicycles-on-thailand-trains/" target="_blank">helpful blog</a>, I was confident that our train (#13) would indeed take bikes.</p><p>It wasn't until a few days before departure from New Zealand that I finally pulled the plug on the Mae Hong Son notion. It simply had too little wiggle room, and to get back to Bangkok on time, we would have had to stick to a fairly challenging riding schedule. Instead, I mocked up a few potential days from Chiang Mai, got the Thailand road network <a href="https://garmin3.bbbike.org/" target="_blank">onto my GPS</a>, and booked our first night's accommodation in Chiang Mai itself. The rest we'd play by ear. </p><p>Travel to Bangkok went well enough, though our first day was very long - a 6am flight out of Wellington connected with an Air New Zealand flight to Hong Kong, during which I was foolish to not nap, despite scoring lie-flat seats courtesy of an upgrade. We hit the sack just after 11pm, which once the time zones were factored in, wasn't far from 24 hours after we'd got out of bed in Wellington. </p><p>Our second night was also in Bangkok, and at dinner, our hosts Margarete and Roland tried to convince us to book a taxi for the trip to the Bang Sue Grand Central station the next evening. While the excellent commuter train network (elevated and underground) would get us close, we couldn't take our bikes on those, and Margaret in particular, was worried about us riding. We tried to impress upon her how lousy NZ drivers were, but she remained adamant that cycling was a bad idea. The topic didn't come up again at breakfast, as I guess we'd all resigned ourselves to the likely outcome!</p><p><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b>Day 0: Bangkok commute</b></p><p>After a bit of exploring during the day, it eventually came time to suit up, and pack the portion of our gear that would be accompanying us on our northern adventure. </p><p>Although we'd scoped out the railway station on foot, I hadn't mapped a route there, so the ride was a bit messy, navigationally speaking. It took a wee while to get the necessary sense of flow in the heavy traffic, but ultimately, the key elements <a href="https://www.newsroom.co.nz/ideasroom/how-the-traffic-in-saigon-is-a-lesson-universities-should-learn" target="_blank">described by my new Vice-Chancellor</a>, Nic Smith, prevailed, and well before we arrived at our destination, we began to enjoy ourselves!</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU3W6VbtJqpoeK-i2UcuzfNUld9CisC0wZTIfkiSYG7OlRMIlCmRg26YNyHt-JC70kErPaYSc5Wvs03vCHBd5NbEXz5iOQZBzrFeshe1tpBmlmQaPur3qDJlvsdFYgIaRw3_awOsulBAe6qzc1iTaqU15lsMVQSAqSWA9K05sIo9396FGJouNaTKjspg/s3648/20230407_172756.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2736" data-original-width="3648" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU3W6VbtJqpoeK-i2UcuzfNUld9CisC0wZTIfkiSYG7OlRMIlCmRg26YNyHt-JC70kErPaYSc5Wvs03vCHBd5NbEXz5iOQZBzrFeshe1tpBmlmQaPur3qDJlvsdFYgIaRw3_awOsulBAe6qzc1iTaqU15lsMVQSAqSWA9K05sIo9396FGJouNaTKjspg/w400-h300/20230407_172756.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">Despite the station being vast, we knew where to head once we'd arrived, namely, Gate 4, where we would eventually secure freight tickets for our bikes. I initially queued in the wrong place, but was soon put right, and once the national anthem stopped playing and the attendant returned to her duties, we were sorted. </p><p style="text-align: left;">We changed, and then hung out in a food court for an hour or so, before heading to the gate area. Despite things being somewhat of a mystery to us due to the paucity of English being spoken, what was going on around us seemed nonetheless very orderly and easy enough to follow. </p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXn6hKhFk-kRT41ioA6LWlpBujN7zRWw-HQxrM_gCqveKazYRjBTIpVkoXxuLSAx_wjjZMoAkJj_qThBFvCnrSvJ6ycnSi4zeZOO5m-Bqz2-CxZVto6c412zeV-Mmweb2AC8iw-hoD7xS_oaIzcB7QdS323m4UrgH38azxX6_Kcw40xAxUgKxwUZ6T7A/s4000/20230407_192823.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXn6hKhFk-kRT41ioA6LWlpBujN7zRWw-HQxrM_gCqveKazYRjBTIpVkoXxuLSAx_wjjZMoAkJj_qThBFvCnrSvJ6ycnSi4zeZOO5m-Bqz2-CxZVto6c412zeV-Mmweb2AC8iw-hoD7xS_oaIzcB7QdS323m4UrgH38azxX6_Kcw40xAxUgKxwUZ6T7A/w400-h300/20230407_192823.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /><p style="text-align: left;">Once at the train, we delivered our bikes to the freight carriage, before finding our 2nd class, air-conditioned sleeper carriage at the other end of a dozen or so cars. Our berths were already in bed mode, and unlike the sleepers I'd been on in Europe waaaaay back in 1998 while my master's thesis was being examined, these were parallel with the direction of travel, double-decker, and a row along each set of windows. Sarah and I had the bottom storey, directly across from one another. We each had a pair of curtains for privacy, and these were promptly drawn, with two sets of eyelids soon following suit. </p><p style="text-align: left;">Stats: <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/8846907768" target="_blank">15-dead-flat kilometres</a>, not all in the right direction.</p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b>Day 1: Chiang Mai</b></p><p style="text-align: left;">We woke with a couple of hours of the train journey remaining. Not long after, our prebooked breakfast was delivered and both helped pass the time, as well as take the edge off empty bellies. It was also a nice distraction from the "scenery" which was at times difficult to discern, due to a startling amount of haze.</p></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_bfWKWJJIKQb6WMRkv3RdOm7n2M31x1CsPncRa4i7ScgB_HbHA3gEAcIh8EgwIrmz-TyBjDOe4Ooape8VybqoqxAYt6T7fmPooLGWkobi30AFHWhgvTiedSjt-Tcyc7nPPphj89CnBi0mGiI8zt6-MEL6oo3MFXiuytwHe3jsEsGCIA_ZsYcL-XW9Xw/s4000/20230408_081428.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_bfWKWJJIKQb6WMRkv3RdOm7n2M31x1CsPncRa4i7ScgB_HbHA3gEAcIh8EgwIrmz-TyBjDOe4Ooape8VybqoqxAYt6T7fmPooLGWkobi30AFHWhgvTiedSjt-Tcyc7nPPphj89CnBi0mGiI8zt6-MEL6oo3MFXiuytwHe3jsEsGCIA_ZsYcL-XW9Xw/w400-h300/20230408_081428.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p style="text-align: left;">We arrived at Chiang Mai slightly later than the scheduled time, and then took turns to suit up. We had various other tasks to perform, including refreshing our cash supply and filling bottles. That all took the best part of an hour, but eventually, we were rolling. The overnight train had lived up to its potential, and it was cool to think that we'd made the journey during otherwise unproductive time, and were well rested and set for a day in the saddle. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS1wHOxf8szmIy3VmGeMOFiLvE33_O0Xog058TCXG_h6M5AJ18hEkdf8ZgobIMhM3jx1cp2AeMDbOlUZj3TUEfFbQtsz81-LaY50zsR8u63otWpiptyx8t_aTWIZYAXT5YthZ7q51ZiAOr4YkKbPyylXr7iaSpcwGKplQsc1LftlcqW1AMvruGdfELDQ/s4000/20230408_100016.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS1wHOxf8szmIy3VmGeMOFiLvE33_O0Xog058TCXG_h6M5AJ18hEkdf8ZgobIMhM3jx1cp2AeMDbOlUZj3TUEfFbQtsz81-LaY50zsR8u63otWpiptyx8t_aTWIZYAXT5YthZ7q51ZiAOr4YkKbPyylXr7iaSpcwGKplQsc1LftlcqW1AMvruGdfELDQ/w400-h300/20230408_100016.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Leaving Chiang Mai railway station</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div>The ride to our hotel took us past an impressive temple, elements of which were over 500 years old, and which we spent 15 minutes or so exploring. We were too early to check in proper, but ditched my saddle bag, and then headed off on a loop around the Doi Suthep-Pui National Park in the hills north west of the city. </div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyHIAmNyYtxjwucZ8CsA2m1gImjD1J10nxOfB0DyBk2DTnE_nD7yLhklRdW-Mo85BYDgvcWWyyQ7-0AP_LMbPHSoVZUNBSieqWrYv_BtHQ5rOgCpUfqFqkBfJRLpq21DcwIevHLcDfIiJZ3Wlg1IFED6_np2NRGalqNOB22BWGBwjXuoZGF0gUWgGHrg/s4000/20230408_101350.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyHIAmNyYtxjwucZ8CsA2m1gImjD1J10nxOfB0DyBk2DTnE_nD7yLhklRdW-Mo85BYDgvcWWyyQ7-0AP_LMbPHSoVZUNBSieqWrYv_BtHQ5rOgCpUfqFqkBfJRLpq21DcwIevHLcDfIiJZ3Wlg1IFED6_np2NRGalqNOB22BWGBwjXuoZGF0gUWgGHrg/w300-h400/20230408_101350.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of the many intricacies of the Wat Buppharam</td></tr></tbody></table><br />We followed a main road to Mae Rim, though were treated to a separated cycle path along much of it. What wasn't a treat was the air quality, and I took to riding with my mask on, something I'd never done before. Pre-COVID, I'm not sure it would have crossed my mind to do so, but now that masks had become ubiquitous, it seemed crazy not to try it. I was surprised at how not-unpleasant it was, and it struck <i>me </i>at least, as the lesser of two evils. <br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSwetqM11q18U651bBoHsm9z_1c3x8rgfoK7GSZEQ8ja4SfKgbxZUHeDhZQulD1WodB6J7B8WqxASkfaL5ovBMQsESESkqad1YDWlpSjVg8wKW_6G7CnEnMWruQquLp9H4q0BsW4xtKO9i5RwP2ZwMFemA-BjXu0I33tzrczwxhllHLsnJivx29S-KXw/s4000/20230408_112213.jpg"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSwetqM11q18U651bBoHsm9z_1c3x8rgfoK7GSZEQ8ja4SfKgbxZUHeDhZQulD1WodB6J7B8WqxASkfaL5ovBMQsESESkqad1YDWlpSjVg8wKW_6G7CnEnMWruQquLp9H4q0BsW4xtKO9i5RwP2ZwMFemA-BjXu0I33tzrczwxhllHLsnJivx29S-KXw/w400-h300/20230408_112213.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">At Mae Rim, we stopped at a 7-Eleven for some refreshment, both of the edible variety and atmospheric - ironically, standing inside was both an opportunity to remove my mask, but also to enjoy the very cool air, courtesy of grunty air-conditioning units. Immediately after, we turned left off the main road, and began a 25km climb, during which we'd ascend about 800vm. </p><p style="text-align: left;">Early in the climb, we took a detour to go check out a waterfall, only to find that it would involve quite a bit of walking to see the main one, unfortunately not before shelling out an entry fee, and clocking up some unnecessary climbing. We passed on the main attraction, but saw a few minor falls by way of consolation. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhreZyTiTCsd1z1n9fcZUw3rias1WtJ5z78JCLsfvxh59zUdqoQZEeHtSuA5BY8Ur5ZwImlRwYXKW_uyK2BPx533qLZmhAjksTqPCzHT3NmUI9jeKiRrh9LLVLuQzC65sbrDBbqhFjmcFcbxiEhPf6NC2nzBpB8b2lqAragcaCRC5XquqievUe7gUGnqg/s4000/20230408_123241.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhreZyTiTCsd1z1n9fcZUw3rias1WtJ5z78JCLsfvxh59zUdqoQZEeHtSuA5BY8Ur5ZwImlRwYXKW_uyK2BPx533qLZmhAjksTqPCzHT3NmUI9jeKiRrh9LLVLuQzC65sbrDBbqhFjmcFcbxiEhPf6NC2nzBpB8b2lqAragcaCRC5XquqievUe7gUGnqg/w400-h300/20230408_123241.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of the lesser waterfalls at Mae Sa</td></tr></tbody></table><br />Back on the climb, we regularly passed through villages, and all of these had prominent opportunities to buy something cold to eat and/or drink, something we did regularly. <br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCE6G3r0x5bTpsJPqL3Lp5rHKWstNZJWVQSOc5D-iV4tabWF3x73KfmDOzL5Ka_9SrKZfgIOTAQup5sSitM_NRvDFE9SKXNqL40oZNlO9zOlEUqp7OXSh-ghE1fFIqvQORFvXN1yGVIPQGA9nscW6yHOHcjzxq_93D-jIK67-KLUJXWO1Ypm7GGRKWKw/s4000/20230408_131621.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCE6G3r0x5bTpsJPqL3Lp5rHKWstNZJWVQSOc5D-iV4tabWF3x73KfmDOzL5Ka_9SrKZfgIOTAQup5sSitM_NRvDFE9SKXNqL40oZNlO9zOlEUqp7OXSh-ghE1fFIqvQORFvXN1yGVIPQGA9nscW6yHOHcjzxq_93D-jIK67-KLUJXWO1Ypm7GGRKWKw/w400-h300/20230408_131621.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">An impressive pair of elephant sculptures marked the limits of a sanctuary</td></tr></tbody></table><br />The road was following a stream into the hills, and Sarah became very keen for a cooling soak. We did stop at a facility set up for streamside picnics, but it wasn't completely clear what the norms were (no-one else was in the water, and we didn't know if we were supposed to pay to use a platform), and so she made do with soaking extremities. <br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZi4NuoEVlUw4LA0ONg778SV1usDBg16nIX6oSAalk99pDNnQIuhWWQulI7NgOi8x2eHhIGH394GGDR0L9o8pbtPwJCpPDpX1-GjpzfNK4wrmEnPoWCQ5xRSuWoYb0hSTxWb5YA1-oSGzeiopDdYCZbxR65Sc9redfo4gqks2edYkS9P_oeMZq-bV77Q/s4000/20230408_132343.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZi4NuoEVlUw4LA0ONg778SV1usDBg16nIX6oSAalk99pDNnQIuhWWQulI7NgOi8x2eHhIGH394GGDR0L9o8pbtPwJCpPDpX1-GjpzfNK4wrmEnPoWCQ5xRSuWoYb0hSTxWb5YA1-oSGzeiopDdYCZbxR65Sc9redfo4gqks2edYkS9P_oeMZq-bV77Q/w400-h300/20230408_132343.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The climb dragged on, but the gradient was typically mellow, and we were able to keep Sarah's temperature in check through our stops. Over the top, things changed dramatically on both the supply and demand sides - there was a long stretch featuring no shops, and savage gradients! </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjir7MiSr9uMfRtpni8iTckZ8azBPuJ0QXSkZq7SdMCYdrwJ0IRPjGK6kR0-XCzsJOlt9U4v1hpWt58Ifiv5oRsYBJ4DMuS7RMcefT19GpiXUSFyNH_C5SfmG4O74FbQAZlPXrZYkmgXtZ7VVRHYeyh1DodzS9ajA4K5LeZoqXcs3qT6mrKIh6ZZ4Doew/s4000/20230408_160339.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjir7MiSr9uMfRtpni8iTckZ8azBPuJ0QXSkZq7SdMCYdrwJ0IRPjGK6kR0-XCzsJOlt9U4v1hpWt58Ifiv5oRsYBJ4DMuS7RMcefT19GpiXUSFyNH_C5SfmG4O74FbQAZlPXrZYkmgXtZ7VVRHYeyh1DodzS9ajA4K5LeZoqXcs3qT6mrKIh6ZZ4Doew/w400-h300/20230408_160339.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>The third summit, about 65km into the ride, marked a turning point, and whilst we couldn't have literally rolled 30km back to the hotel, it wasn't far from the truth. We didn't see elephants crossing the road where the signs warned us of the same, but did pass other things that kept the ride interesting. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUFZGUzVCA2ty16_QX7mGYGahF3s_Z93abzFpQZT8Ofnvw_wlHseZ5l6u5AYx8L6Qhx-hS6Wo2W6f9ZhXn4JAkfwJrK2jxtCchnC8WO-hNFDWlxnqcGFyzvjoQNkT-vZdm97kd4-INESp3gOWEI6lHjpAYAtQPpXd16qx2IbDFXw6KrP96Jj7f1NvHIQ/s4000/20230408_164733.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUFZGUzVCA2ty16_QX7mGYGahF3s_Z93abzFpQZT8Ofnvw_wlHseZ5l6u5AYx8L6Qhx-hS6Wo2W6f9ZhXn4JAkfwJrK2jxtCchnC8WO-hNFDWlxnqcGFyzvjoQNkT-vZdm97kd4-INESp3gOWEI6lHjpAYAtQPpXd16qx2IbDFXw6KrP96Jj7f1NvHIQ/s320/20230408_164733.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;"><u>Stats</u>: <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/8853102141" target="_blank">93km ridden</a>, 1660m climbed, max temp 41 degrees</p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><div style="text-align: center;"><b>Day 2: Chiang Mai to Ban Chom Thong</b></div><p></p><p style="text-align: left;">By the time we woke up in the morning, Google's algorithms had fully caught up with our plans, and we were being bombarded with news about the lousy air quality, including a declaration that Chiang Mai was literally the most polluted city in the world at that time. Headlines like "<a href="https://www.straitstimes.com/asia/se-asia/work-from-home-order-issued-as-thailand-s-chiang-mai-chokes-on-pollution" target="_blank">Work-from-home order issued as Thailand's Chiang Mai chokes on pollution</a>" were quite at odds with the typical tourist-directed lures, describing the place. </p><p style="text-align: left;">With that in mind, and our first day's riding under our belts, I decided that the 145km ride I'd planned across to, and then down, a valley east of Chiang Mai, was unnecessarily ambitious, and instead plotted a new route alongside the Ping River, which eventually flows into the Chao Phraya River, on which we'd taken a ferry a couple of days earlier in Bangkok. Our destination was Chom Thong, a small town at the bottom of the road to Doi Ithanon, not only Thailand's highest peak, but one which you can ride to the top of. </p><p style="text-align: left;">We rolled out in freshly laundered riding gear, which gave us a very short-lived feeling of cleanliness. The centre of Chiang Mai is interesting, with an old-town surrounded by wall remnants, a moat, and a major one-way road either side of the moat (anticlockwise inside, and clockwise outside). It made for a convoluted but otherwise fascinating start to the day's ride. </p><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAlu033HZWYL1MeJcwZ-B3h8A2iTGxfelRbQrD9wLpYdjRd0mFUu3c_vujJs8FgNA7nD9sbqp3-typS-4aBbc7lhvadKGISpVFm7BBzqy-_6h2jqcBhp2Xy4REesWIL1JkqKtRNA04_vY1MhoR9dpHSbeKPvMob4dyYD91UUSCCuddCN5CZTGOhHov5A/s4000/20230409_095610.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAlu033HZWYL1MeJcwZ-B3h8A2iTGxfelRbQrD9wLpYdjRd0mFUu3c_vujJs8FgNA7nD9sbqp3-typS-4aBbc7lhvadKGISpVFm7BBzqy-_6h2jqcBhp2Xy4REesWIL1JkqKtRNA04_vY1MhoR9dpHSbeKPvMob4dyYD91UUSCCuddCN5CZTGOhHov5A/w400-h300/20230409_095610.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chian Mai's moat and city wall remnants</td></tr></tbody></table><br />We soon found ourselves alongside the Ping, on the true right side of the river. While both the air and water quality left a lot to be desired, the road surface was stunning, and the road itself was interesting - very rarely straight, and often lined with homes, shops, or otherwise interesting signs of life. <br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXWx9G69M1P3nf1S_yuQrVE-mX4SVlrXoicUVrpuJ6VtCYQR1qFceBHAPsiSwL-Yqpy5-yn79fc0lqzr8Q5C1PrqZcrejkyr76NicayKCBxjVPmRJ-UtI4VdmbJwscMOsy_iTlyln3ZTGdCjxlsHLAvnwgK2YhYPy2HMWGt6jpHdvzm8gkx6m4PUGe_Q/s4000/20230409_103513.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXWx9G69M1P3nf1S_yuQrVE-mX4SVlrXoicUVrpuJ6VtCYQR1qFceBHAPsiSwL-Yqpy5-yn79fc0lqzr8Q5C1PrqZcrejkyr76NicayKCBxjVPmRJ-UtI4VdmbJwscMOsy_iTlyln3ZTGdCjxlsHLAvnwgK2YhYPy2HMWGt6jpHdvzm8gkx6m4PUGe_Q/w400-h300/20230409_103513.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Control step on the Ping River</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">About an hour into the ride, we passed a fascinating contraption which had been prepared for an upcoming ceremony - a wedding at a guess. I didn't try to estimate the dollar value of the currency that had been folded into the sculpture, and it reminded me of a bouquet that had been handed to Natt, a master's student I'd supervised years ago, at his graduation in honour of his achievement. It would be interesting to know if there were "florists" who only supply this sort of arrangement. [Ed: <i>Natt confirmed these are examples of a Kathin bouquet - charity directed towards a buddhist temple.</i>]</p><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0Tv3Vt0zNBsJR5uVz9jNZAK7nGMDcTpy2z6IlkDRr4Y8QtKdK43szKZd2TwmPfutG_B36emjl2vHCnOveUU3K2QZ6StlOP9OXjexdEWmlUViuIVkqGFqqukxXCww3CHzMSlBa1wRLg9F3TFMP-Zrb4FVAbxHtzHA1cp6tLNp1koWgyLortfEUIXfmTg/s4000/20230409_105348.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0Tv3Vt0zNBsJR5uVz9jNZAK7nGMDcTpy2z6IlkDRr4Y8QtKdK43szKZd2TwmPfutG_B36emjl2vHCnOveUU3K2QZ6StlOP9OXjexdEWmlUViuIVkqGFqqukxXCww3CHzMSlBa1wRLg9F3TFMP-Zrb4FVAbxHtzHA1cp6tLNp1koWgyLortfEUIXfmTg/w300-h400/20230409_105348.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br /><p style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The money didn't appear overtly guarded, but having secured my photographic souvenir, I continued on my way feeling pretty sure I'd have been challenged by a few folk lounging around had I got any closer. Contrary to Fiji, where we fleetingly interacted with almost everyone we passed ("Bula!!!!"), here people seemed to deliberately avoid eye contact, let alone anything more substantial. I'm sure they'd make an exception for a thief though! </p><p style="clear: both; text-align: left;">We rode alongside the river for a good long while, and there were regular opportunities for refreshments, which from time to time we availed ourselves of. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXhahFXLhiWUpo3YyePT6J7L0nHbEfw_iCua1NdhdHW-HU38b9O60m4owv6BJyYKyC2GZnU0pvg3_hCBVvLymgcZbUA8ZX7yjEyU2LbDrI4u38cMHzY__zF47vseR2Mmr77_RBTWc7cMbwwt5ApZkpfWTyb4zg29_us7t2TcZ8nz6hSfakt607KjZM5Q/s4000/20230409_114016.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXhahFXLhiWUpo3YyePT6J7L0nHbEfw_iCua1NdhdHW-HU38b9O60m4owv6BJyYKyC2GZnU0pvg3_hCBVvLymgcZbUA8ZX7yjEyU2LbDrI4u38cMHzY__zF47vseR2Mmr77_RBTWc7cMbwwt5ApZkpfWTyb4zg29_us7t2TcZ8nz6hSfakt607KjZM5Q/w400-h300/20230409_114016.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Riverside drink stop</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">There were also regular glimpses into rural Thai life, although it wasn't always easy to discern what we were looking at. </p><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrvO09KHBzbmg2p7za1qnJ1mT0CxTRKISrjosbDlOFihVnY7JGo_fdWuutJq1-Ez_uhjsqfFPg5YXX-Rt77nEeDkU9NEbj7nTp7MlRreZUK4sHLR_SBqvAdayVM5dLGYADmTrsZLEUeQm1ovP0OrGUBiz6PAjb2jMgZco1ZA-XSdtBB0KejRvQN6IbEw/s4000/20230409_121610.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrvO09KHBzbmg2p7za1qnJ1mT0CxTRKISrjosbDlOFihVnY7JGo_fdWuutJq1-Ez_uhjsqfFPg5YXX-Rt77nEeDkU9NEbj7nTp7MlRreZUK4sHLR_SBqvAdayVM5dLGYADmTrsZLEUeQm1ovP0OrGUBiz6PAjb2jMgZco1ZA-XSdtBB0KejRvQN6IbEw/w400-h300/20230409_121610.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fishing, definitely, though the finer details remained a mystery</td></tr></tbody></table><p style="text-align: left;">Even though the riding was near effortless, the temperature had climbed, and it was a pleasant surprise to find a group of boys providing a drenching service. I myself got hit by a bucket of water, but was a bit slow to get my camera organised, and by the time Sarah had passed through, had missed the moment. There was nothing for it but to double back to commission a re-enactment, healthily rewarded by a generous tip, much to the delight of the boys and a mother. </p><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9S7DQKkbNUpEH8TgpaS_AgDBijVW0AYinfPSgeocC_9t8Im2Dq9XwWMr-Y250z0X3cW8U3bckuDR3D18rFV6D8STrsAGcrK9R5WXQ9n0TEY4Cz_Xn5Ytp9dRMpYIBrOz4K8YLQLIY3zClnjgrPuyBje67umJf8W4ltRXSdaRyOfMbEJppvRnFnnMDVA/s4000/20230409_140253.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9S7DQKkbNUpEH8TgpaS_AgDBijVW0AYinfPSgeocC_9t8Im2Dq9XwWMr-Y250z0X3cW8U3bckuDR3D18rFV6D8STrsAGcrK9R5WXQ9n0TEY4Cz_Xn5Ytp9dRMpYIBrOz4K8YLQLIY3zClnjgrPuyBje67umJf8W4ltRXSdaRyOfMbEJppvRnFnnMDVA/w400-h300/20230409_140253.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Take 2</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">Soon after, we missed a turn to stay on the road following the river, and ended up reaching Highway 108, one of the main roads to the south of Chiang Mai. It was baking hot, and we ended up floundering around a bit and even then, settled on a pretty unpleasant lunch experience. When I returned to my bike, my GPS was reading 52-degrees. Keen to avoid riding on the main road, we back tracked a kilometre or so, before picking up the river road again for most of the remaining ride to Chom Thong.</p><p style="text-align: left;">After a drink stop in town, we took a very circuitous route to our accommodation (sort of like a big spiral), which for a time had us on a very cute wee gravel road. Although hard to find, our digs were lovely, and relatively well appointed. </p></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx3dS4aDWcOlsDJI3_vaQCFZ4MpPgWkwuUx9tNgA0UBvamWlY73-9sfhM-diEBPTCijprpIsRQtGcU1IYBKV1sLa5czjHuDv4yitLr_IplzaBwbsUwtMflVGtJmacsf9_5h_036hwvIJwWLFbt4Vu_2xJ3y2Bq4EFtRp406BxL6d8td7KXtnGo6JhYMw/s4000/20230409_151418.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx3dS4aDWcOlsDJI3_vaQCFZ4MpPgWkwuUx9tNgA0UBvamWlY73-9sfhM-diEBPTCijprpIsRQtGcU1IYBKV1sLa5czjHuDv4yitLr_IplzaBwbsUwtMflVGtJmacsf9_5h_036hwvIJwWLFbt4Vu_2xJ3y2Bq4EFtRp406BxL6d8td7KXtnGo6JhYMw/w400-h300/20230409_151418.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">Just as we'd struggled with lunch, so too did a dinner venue initially prove elusive, but we found something in the end and ate relatively well. Back at base, I took great advantage of a very favourable time zone, and that GCN+'s race coverage in Thailand included races that I'd not have had access to back in NZ - in particular, one of the most prestigious races of the pro calendar, Paris-Roubaix. Although watching on my phone, I managed to enjoy the last 130km or so of the event, which would have been one hell of an ordeal back at home. It struck me as ironic that the cycling highlight of the trip so far had been watching cycling on TV...</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe1Vmu7LGqNzB_NwByy0CPcfyvEAi4zeqIAGPDRBCzprVtnpyisVcgEZ69CQTxNw5SupfJ2EyoTLL-RZ9KOX8mK8sVLY5LW64N_oKunCUS84uDAWd-IsY4ovwc_7MNaq-3e6a4bKoR8LN-83Zts0vEYxbfcC_pz706H6puwGX35BnVlr59RjIO3lLUoQ/s1915/Screenshot_20230409_194131_GCN.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1915" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe1Vmu7LGqNzB_NwByy0CPcfyvEAi4zeqIAGPDRBCzprVtnpyisVcgEZ69CQTxNw5SupfJ2EyoTLL-RZ9KOX8mK8sVLY5LW64N_oKunCUS84uDAWd-IsY4ovwc_7MNaq-3e6a4bKoR8LN-83Zts0vEYxbfcC_pz706H6puwGX35BnVlr59RjIO3lLUoQ/w400-h225/Screenshot_20230409_194131_GCN.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">100km to go, don't mind if I do!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><u>Stats</u>: <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/8858098964" target="_blank">94km ridden</a>, with the dinner run added in. </p><br /><p style="text-align: center;"><b>Day 3: Chom Thong to Wang Din</b></p><p style="text-align: left;">One of the reasons I'd chosen Chom Thong as a destination was its potential from which to mount an assault on Doi Ithanon. While watching Paris-Roubaix, I'd explored various options, including an up-and-back ride, and a loop. Factoring in the air pollution, the temperature, our fitness levels, and commitment to the cause, I ruled out each and every plan. Instead, by the time Mathieu van der Poel had ridden to victory in spectacular fashion, I'd decided there would be no more "extras", and had booked accommodation along a three day route to Sukhothai, the ancient capital city of Siam. In total, it looked like it would be about 300km, with a few options to shorten if necessary. </p><p style="text-align: left;">I enjoyed the start of the ride. We spent a short time on the main road, before crossing the Ping River and then riding through a cute network of minor roads alongside a tributary. </p><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRLZ2_NMFM_a1soQhrKbNfHT-P7vMsKE7vz9M_4TbUdxjIwT0W4R-vkYCQI6HX6NMXsMigjQrTEIcLO6PjFmEv0o3Exj52Wr0t8eivvmKGXXpoM08lrbL5Sg3hg-QwnHxfndOekXHRjhppC02EQuS4yX8QL-UuUFoApe5oryfxRWpBSKNcgNgjFzYB0Q/s4000/20230410_075909.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRLZ2_NMFM_a1soQhrKbNfHT-P7vMsKE7vz9M_4TbUdxjIwT0W4R-vkYCQI6HX6NMXsMigjQrTEIcLO6PjFmEv0o3Exj52Wr0t8eivvmKGXXpoM08lrbL5Sg3hg-QwnHxfndOekXHRjhppC02EQuS4yX8QL-UuUFoApe5oryfxRWpBSKNcgNgjFzYB0Q/w400-h300/20230410_075909.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Highway 108 through Ban Chom Thong</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">One curiosity was the sight of an oversize vehicle's driver carefully reorganising overhead power lines so that he could get his vehicle into a petrol station forecourt! </p><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGZ_HrjG8phYGUrR5iu0s8-8cU-jfHm3mSBiZlJ2S3eU2Ib9YRt2X8orfm9BHboM_Nb5u9y11EDcJBlDUge8MquYG2dfaOQFTfFHPe63DJkyHn50fuT2sSf-55j-YWZ5ihP-79qLp9G3vJUaTX8NKAkC3cMLhc7S1q-Sv9ykeiOdziCe2SV8f1jjaA7w/s4000/20230410_084348.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGZ_HrjG8phYGUrR5iu0s8-8cU-jfHm3mSBiZlJ2S3eU2Ib9YRt2X8orfm9BHboM_Nb5u9y11EDcJBlDUge8MquYG2dfaOQFTfFHPe63DJkyHn50fuT2sSf-55j-YWZ5ihP-79qLp9G3vJUaTX8NKAkC3cMLhc7S1q-Sv9ykeiOdziCe2SV8f1jjaA7w/w300-h400/20230410_084348.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Strange, but apparently effective enough</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">After an hour's riding, we reached Highway 106, which would have taken us directly to our next accommodation. The traffic wasn't too bad, but after 15km we turned off nonetheless, and crossed over into a parallel valley. We climbed gently for almost 30km, but then reached the high point of the day's ride, and in theory, could then enjoy a 55km gravity-assisted run to base. </p></div><div>The heat and air conspired against us, and for my part, a growing dose of frustration that we'd got our timing so wrong. By and large, the roads were beautiful, and in clear air, I knew I'd have been fizzing about the insight we were getting into rural Thailand, and the - at times - spectacular scenery. It wasn't all bad, but only just. I was literally beginning to hate the fact that I was on my bike - a very rare thing indeed, but especially during a cycle tour in an unfamiliar place. <br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrNYn7sl0lPyWf7CRl2GNaKfxTqkDTq6TFfjvS0dPCB66WzXQHxreAb9-SAemBScTi9Hru9frfK_0j6PdyWmbm3w-wKaHN2WWNZE2ye_yeH9qm2fwf6MaKxztq-1rsp2GUqG_QOZLGjpkeDe5YhdPCjHc8_VkVdgtVubF-K4iRuX3c472nfmkbgW7aCw/s4000/20230410_120544.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrNYn7sl0lPyWf7CRl2GNaKfxTqkDTq6TFfjvS0dPCB66WzXQHxreAb9-SAemBScTi9Hru9frfK_0j6PdyWmbm3w-wKaHN2WWNZE2ye_yeH9qm2fwf6MaKxztq-1rsp2GUqG_QOZLGjpkeDe5YhdPCjHc8_VkVdgtVubF-K4iRuX3c472nfmkbgW7aCw/w400-h300/20230410_120544.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stopped above a stream, this fellow had set up a pump and was watering his pigs</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">As had generally been the case, we were never too far from a 7-Eleven, and these made for regular opportunities to cool down briefly. Earlier the previous day, Sarah had set off from a stop with the left-over ice from a drink stashed in her jersey pockets. By now, she'd taken the cooling strategy to an extreme, and was buying a bag or cup of ice at each stop, and filling every nook and cranny (including bra, and helmet vents) with handfuls of the stuff. I couldn't cope with the burn, but her skin - no doubt tuned during harsh Mongolian winters in the first half of her life - seemed to handle even direct contact! Quite remarkable, and a godsend as it turned out. </p><p style="text-align: left;">Up until this point I hadn't bothered putting sun cream on - it seemed like all the crap in the atmosphere was doing a more than adequate job filtering out the UV. However, we actually got some blue sky towards the end of the day's ride which started to become a bit stressful. The irony wasn't lost on me! </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFXQddPalwhJDdITcdU26HOTdMeVpKdvWP2vPsw6-_P7aXVjifGqv56hsV-I6hp_XmPudYcUp9r7UBaZUGj8rBQ8fYp-w_corkNQ4OQfodo4vQC1V-Ms5Vse7eB2qAJbLsxnDeOG5PiCzuIkvqUDZY93I96atO3zXYGkESdfLFcnicSqJnEqDan2dY3w/s4000/20230410_135404.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFXQddPalwhJDdITcdU26HOTdMeVpKdvWP2vPsw6-_P7aXVjifGqv56hsV-I6hp_XmPudYcUp9r7UBaZUGj8rBQ8fYp-w_corkNQ4OQfodo4vQC1V-Ms5Vse7eB2qAJbLsxnDeOG5PiCzuIkvqUDZY93I96atO3zXYGkESdfLFcnicSqJnEqDan2dY3w/w400-h300/20230410_135404.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Water buffalo in the foreground offered a momentary distraction from whatever it was we couldn't quite make out in the background</td></tr></tbody></table><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;">When we did finally stop riding for the day, Sarah had a bit of a melt-down, and told me she'd be catching a bus the next day. I decided not to debate the issue, and headed off to crank up the A/C unit in our room for the night. </p><p style="text-align: left;">After show and a bit of rest, it was apparent that neither of us was badly sunburnt, which was nice. We were in need of other running repairs though, and I was able to successfully cut through the language barrier at a pharmacy near our motel to get some anti-histamine pills for her and anti-fungal ointment for me. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4LTmHjuRm4kUxPDGNXmTaqCWN4bsD-_r2akewv82LoDB9QgW2pdpKVvXoOzgeoQ0yL-Y-9x65cbf_g69a_3tif_lYxpqAZq5Ca1RCITl8dSERHbuz_StOCkMWF5_JZcQERnh4vOhc0xFaD0BRUriu40Bd1EdtkusVK_9ltVlPy6HFb0NSCE_eQG5OjA/s4000/20230410_160651.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4LTmHjuRm4kUxPDGNXmTaqCWN4bsD-_r2akewv82LoDB9QgW2pdpKVvXoOzgeoQ0yL-Y-9x65cbf_g69a_3tif_lYxpqAZq5Ca1RCITl8dSERHbuz_StOCkMWF5_JZcQERnh4vOhc0xFaD0BRUriu40Bd1EdtkusVK_9ltVlPy6HFb0NSCE_eQG5OjA/s320/20230410_160651.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><p style="text-align: left;">After more rest, we struck out on foot to find dinner. There was very little evidence of English being spoken, and while "<i>pad thai</i>" was a pretty handy phrase to know, not everywhere served it. Nonetheless, google translate seemed to handle menus well, and pointing at the Thai script was effective enough. </p><p style="text-align: left;">Our hotel was on the main road, but our room was right at the back of a large complex, and we weren't troubled by road noise. The sun was very low in the sky when we turned in for good, and to the naked eye was glowing a spectacular red colour. It was difficult not to admire it, but knowing that the source of the colour was the horrendous atmospheric pollution largely ruined the effect. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI4XuM5TUehNglkwjtej7UWNNfbv4tbOVLZww69WsezcNZCF_QJsHIU4oud1wP48qrgDzdU6bFEWOzktAT8nXlRlu4NSStcZeB-iktukquNqHAwjVVHzC9u4zSxJD3CWt0MNNoy7lVXq6PtUdXx4qFFpQlaU9U1oqCDL7sFsLhfW9xXdVaVGnaEfJHiQ/s4000/20230410_181624.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI4XuM5TUehNglkwjtej7UWNNfbv4tbOVLZww69WsezcNZCF_QJsHIU4oud1wP48qrgDzdU6bFEWOzktAT8nXlRlu4NSStcZeB-iktukquNqHAwjVVHzC9u4zSxJD3CWt0MNNoy7lVXq6PtUdXx4qFFpQlaU9U1oqCDL7sFsLhfW9xXdVaVGnaEfJHiQ/w300-h400/20230410_181624.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><p style="text-align: left;"><u>Stats</u>: <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/8863896596" target="_blank">123km ridden</a>, one plausible threat to bus the rest of the journey.</p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b>Day 4: Wang Din to Thung Saliam</b></p><p style="text-align: left;">Sarah seemed to be feeling much better after a sleep, and we didn't discuss the bus option. After a solid breakfast at the hotel, we both suited up and got ready to roll. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjma_VPUW-mlYZVUAATG069RUTzWCYF_QxYKLYHKAb6EGnPZnnqpG7yEDtVY2CZJD_w2pGO5l67B0btHbsmKIjgcItYrdlSbqBT6I9owxcsJNtmeRmcQdq_sNf87KS1RoN3kns2I7QBiW454DxBhcqZgp1BevvuXBHLvsK57KHpkEPxPz6uC7QGmxvnqA/s4000/20230411_070622.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjma_VPUW-mlYZVUAATG069RUTzWCYF_QxYKLYHKAb6EGnPZnnqpG7yEDtVY2CZJD_w2pGO5l67B0btHbsmKIjgcItYrdlSbqBT6I9owxcsJNtmeRmcQdq_sNf87KS1RoN3kns2I7QBiW454DxBhcqZgp1BevvuXBHLvsK57KHpkEPxPz6uC7QGmxvnqA/w400-h300/20230411_070622.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">Even though our previous day's ride profile finished with a long descent, we were still relatively elevated, and after gently acquiring even more altitude over the first 20km of the ride, we began a long descent into the next valley. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8J8ff8haLxyvrC6GbtoL6fiKgGwqnxKA0FZi9Mk0P9iZXh7yYo8LM78CQ-bQxU1UIR9iUgGcpE0De3nwCwnAe48OBkyI3pmIDaNAXTc8XYv34bxwkE_5iB4soRvtCHcvGvBE5liDFWKBqkmbIghwIxJH8DtOV3uNrK1c2EnSWRvtYqsBUqeSMYVrvkw/s4000/20230411_084832.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8J8ff8haLxyvrC6GbtoL6fiKgGwqnxKA0FZi9Mk0P9iZXh7yYo8LM78CQ-bQxU1UIR9iUgGcpE0De3nwCwnAe48OBkyI3pmIDaNAXTc8XYv34bxwkE_5iB4soRvtCHcvGvBE5liDFWKBqkmbIghwIxJH8DtOV3uNrK1c2EnSWRvtYqsBUqeSMYVrvkw/w300-h400/20230411_084832.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Helicopter seeds?</td></tr></tbody></table><p style="text-align: left;">The road was beautifully designed, and even though we were travelling fast, the road surface was predictable and we rarely needed to brake heavily. The air was hazy again, but that didn't completely take the shine of the lush bush, and the road reminded me a lot of the descent from St Mary's to the Tasmanian east coast. </p><p style="text-align: left;">One point of difference was the regularity of burnt foliage. Sarah wondered if the fires had been deliberately lit, but my feeling was that they were probably a symptom of poor driving (or ill-advised cigarette butt disposal). In any case, it was a crying shame to see. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinIzFu4lLimhuaZHlwlpjmqZxdMycon5V1P8-32QJKP0SENJ7vtIC-nQll5Q1kc37LG0lC4SPhiRgI1mlGjqaPpaZp6rljht3sIHzd3c75nQtOgA1zqQPYGCXun5nDLQt9gh_elY4AMIIo_4H6eBUY7bW2nI9CC2wNnUrF8ZEWr1_RCw9O4QiAbKztNw/s4000/20230411_090627.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinIzFu4lLimhuaZHlwlpjmqZxdMycon5V1P8-32QJKP0SENJ7vtIC-nQll5Q1kc37LG0lC4SPhiRgI1mlGjqaPpaZp6rljht3sIHzd3c75nQtOgA1zqQPYGCXun5nDLQt9gh_elY4AMIIo_4H6eBUY7bW2nI9CC2wNnUrF8ZEWr1_RCw9O4QiAbKztNw/w400-h300/20230411_090627.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">We had our drone with us, and probably should have stopped to use it before we reached the bottom of the main descent. Occasionally through the trees I spotted a large lake, which I could see from my map was man-made. The temperature made stopping (other than in 7-Elevens) uncomfortable, and that was one thing that put me off. The other was knowing that the images would not be great due to the haze. I could have easily overcome the tree-obstructed-view, but deliberately didn't. </p><p style="text-align: left;">We crossed the valley floor, and then both the Wang River and State Highway 1 at Lom Raet. The highlight on route was seeing the second of two dead snakes we passed during the time. This one was about a metre long, a beautiful bright green, and was re-killed by a passing vehicle while we were admiring it.</p><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh804MHsdBMOU1p4Tzf305FDVFUFj0gZPELW134pQ1yCnSy7jQKQImeMEq17d-yBYHirXeyQ7eD6XtfspkceWSTfniEiHz_wI8RU42YJX9_eIKt7dSeG2IuQPto0vhcX6TDn89_otonf-VCsyffxejGsRdVDcQjuFaWq_RSD-TSZ6Jwt2pY-k-HIxuLWA/s4000/20230411_101239.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh804MHsdBMOU1p4Tzf305FDVFUFj0gZPELW134pQ1yCnSy7jQKQImeMEq17d-yBYHirXeyQ7eD6XtfspkceWSTfniEiHz_wI8RU42YJX9_eIKt7dSeG2IuQPto0vhcX6TDn89_otonf-VCsyffxejGsRdVDcQjuFaWq_RSD-TSZ6Jwt2pY-k-HIxuLWA/w400-h300/20230411_101239.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">SH1</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">We started climbing out of the valley, and soon passed a sign for the Mae Mok Reservoir. I could see it way ahead on the map, and inferred from the sign that there might be recreational opportunities there, not least a swim. Time would tell. </p><p style="text-align: left;">The 250m climb was fairly stern, and not long into our descent we were able to stop for a pick-me-up. Sarah's bag of ice was larger than usual, and it was quite something to see her roll away! </p></div><div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDmxuU4HZpL4wAtb7r2yaCneYsmqyDckp8bFCAC5mkdA_42Z2EIJAwEyVVoU50o_ywphahGeUwLPh_pzH_23IfAvhpgeYZHfmbIbxBJPnpp1W6JhYx4-TOiqNH5nKHKvUYR2ObLFW4J_NI26nCTl2YIvzcTcIMBV4wd8Q4girsxMKssz6hmo-fQNffRg/s4000/20230411_112358.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDmxuU4HZpL4wAtb7r2yaCneYsmqyDckp8bFCAC5mkdA_42Z2EIJAwEyVVoU50o_ywphahGeUwLPh_pzH_23IfAvhpgeYZHfmbIbxBJPnpp1W6JhYx4-TOiqNH5nKHKvUYR2ObLFW4J_NI26nCTl2YIvzcTcIMBV4wd8Q4girsxMKssz6hmo-fQNffRg/w400-h300/20230411_112358.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">I kept monitoring progress towards the lake, and with every sign, became increasingly convinced we'd soon be bathing in cool, clear water. We turned off the main road a couple of kilometres early, and took a back road to the lake. There, my hopes were dashed - far from the scene of my fantasies, the water looked both hard to get to, and wholly uninviting. To add injury to insult, on our way back to the main road, I brushed against a thorn bush and had to spend some time following the source of each blood trickle to remove the various stowaways from my skin. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_fyONqNb50ie5O4P52GWiR2YqKLRj9ey9vwXY5KL88p62eMbjPrSON2EqWAbrPkmbSEbvUSISXGPqKmS0vCVybNF_d41IWcSep5Tue8wy_Ib1BKYxscw0cvLmByl4quBdpr7CtQSPh4GuzbnSav00IghhhRgPFcYB52qr8Esfmmpj8tSvy1qUm0e2Tg/s4000/20230411_122855.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_fyONqNb50ie5O4P52GWiR2YqKLRj9ey9vwXY5KL88p62eMbjPrSON2EqWAbrPkmbSEbvUSISXGPqKmS0vCVybNF_d41IWcSep5Tue8wy_Ib1BKYxscw0cvLmByl4quBdpr7CtQSPh4GuzbnSav00IghhhRgPFcYB52qr8Esfmmpj8tSvy1qUm0e2Tg/w400-h300/20230411_122855.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mae Mok Reservoir</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">There was a slim possibility that we'd approached the wrong part of the lake, but neither of us felt inclined to take a second detour (even though I now slightly regret it, having seen <a href="https://www.google.co.nz/maps/place/%E0%B8%AD%E0%B9%88%E0%B8%B2%E0%B8%87%E0%B9%80%E0%B8%81%E0%B9%87%E0%B8%9A%E0%B8%99%E0%B9%89%E0%B8%B3%E0%B9%81%E0%B8%A1%E0%B9%88%E0%B8%A1%E0%B8%AD%E0%B8%81+%E0%B9%82%E0%B8%84%E0%B8%A3%E0%B8%87%E0%B8%81%E0%B8%B2%E0%B8%A3%E0%B8%9E%E0%B8%A3%E0%B8%B0%E0%B8%A3%E0%B8%B2%E0%B8%8A%E0%B8%94%E0%B8%B3%E0%B8%A3%E0%B8%B4/@17.3273485,99.4217426,3a,75y,90t/data=!3m8!1e2!3m6!1sAF1QipNW5E1M03doVVKUKmtXrgDzE7cWCyePpQVGm4Au!2e10!3e12!6shttps:%2F%2Flh5.googleusercontent.com%2Fp%2FAF1QipNW5E1M03doVVKUKmtXrgDzE7cWCyePpQVGm4Au%3Dw203-h114-k-no!7i5184!8i2916!4m16!1m8!3m7!1s0x30dba455536e6875:0x30346c5fa8a6e00!2sChom+Thong+District,+Chiang+Mai,+Thailand!3b1!8m2!3d18.374638!4d98.6160674!16s%2Fm%2F02pnlc7!3m6!1s0x30de91eb26ca0047:0xb6b1904f3760535d!8m2!3d17.3273463!4d99.4217319!10e5!16s%2Fg%2F11tc1gmjd4" target="_blank">the Google Streetview imagery</a>). <br /></p><p style="text-align: left;">Beyond the lake, we had about 20km of riding on a main road through to our accommodation, during which we stopped for a 10-minute break at a convenience store. The ice-creams and drinks were cold, even if the air-conditioning wasn't quite up to 7-Eleven's standards. On our way out, I noted a display case, similar to ones we'd regularly seen (usually attended by an elderly gentlemen) and which I interpreted as some form of daily lottery ticket. </p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN0tkRJWnNjywTEMukqdGrq9P0edp10jfwssftbziDsl_pM15-NK-SyjBP65W565XxbHX6XvESv7Zka9XODACFIsex-q1jFXCKBhKfbRPpX1obC-3TEsC28WgFzibgNrpqoATZtUWaUfMr2NXeQf19kLuhsWO5lIaMEz49_u6f1GmjvAA4p0CNE7xIuw/s4000/20230411_130423.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN0tkRJWnNjywTEMukqdGrq9P0edp10jfwssftbziDsl_pM15-NK-SyjBP65W565XxbHX6XvESv7Zka9XODACFIsex-q1jFXCKBhKfbRPpX1obC-3TEsC28WgFzibgNrpqoATZtUWaUfMr2NXeQf19kLuhsWO5lIaMEz49_u6f1GmjvAA4p0CNE7xIuw/w400-h300/20230411_130423.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Finding our accommodation was tricky, but we got there in the end, to find a nice setup. Despite being fairly upmarket, as with most other places, it was cash-only. We were running a touch low, and so after an afternoon pick-me-up (which we could afford), I ducked out before dinner to resupply. </div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieBwLD2aQOybKJbit6gfnbK7oTFJycRhIiLUcMO5BRXjjl36DYa1OkQPEscmxKuWE1TNzuG_Rnerc90Eg9vqGKoBw_PMBhgbYzUEWEIhu9pE30J-XfZbXwD2421t4P0Nd4DI_LiqXqJX1Yz_VenOZiW1fl1SqSFy7_X0JxSYWeVYHOHvhjH7ayG9ThMg/s4000/20230411_143401.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieBwLD2aQOybKJbit6gfnbK7oTFJycRhIiLUcMO5BRXjjl36DYa1OkQPEscmxKuWE1TNzuG_Rnerc90Eg9vqGKoBw_PMBhgbYzUEWEIhu9pE30J-XfZbXwD2421t4P0Nd4DI_LiqXqJX1Yz_VenOZiW1fl1SqSFy7_X0JxSYWeVYHOHvhjH7ayG9ThMg/w400-h300/20230411_143401.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Resort gardens</td></tr></tbody></table><br />Just down the road I found an amazing temple, so rang Sarah and urged her to come to meet me. She did that, and we enjoyed exploring together. <br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI8tZN0_qOc5iVfpEeXYbyZSLmO57a_A6YN5vtNy13ut5kxokDL8J71tdMo1sSwnYBiRkECiwYuzesqYDvnF1rLViz9_68N36RysybnrVfUW4MBpoONsp9vj6LLSr7gVEKuMGpC7yAyFbRrSm4yzjY4nCYljM8oQlrUdAPlaEo1f65QmTe8faQ2PxK2w/s4000/20230411_162643.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI8tZN0_qOc5iVfpEeXYbyZSLmO57a_A6YN5vtNy13ut5kxokDL8J71tdMo1sSwnYBiRkECiwYuzesqYDvnF1rLViz9_68N36RysybnrVfUW4MBpoONsp9vj6LLSr7gVEKuMGpC7yAyFbRrSm4yzjY4nCYljM8oQlrUdAPlaEo1f65QmTe8faQ2PxK2w/w400-h300/20230411_162643.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wat Pipat Mongkol</td></tr></tbody></table><br />It was hard to know exactly what we were looking at, and in particular, how old everything was. Elements of the complex were in the process of being either built from scratch, or restored, and it was quite cool to get a sense of the construction process by virtue of almost every phase being visible at once. It had me wondering how old brick technology is, and it turns out the answer is "very" (since 7000BC at least). <br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-LIBkdXAb6PXBeBHwuUpN6HLu10Gi1k_wamXryoQN8aJRhcovCay8-LPxl1ZJwLRyzzkNxm01n08RVu1pHDK0B1oObfkV6vw6HOFSQFMLxtVf37JcLjyblHX4exOKZvqgc7JiNFSGb72lzNzHaakFAPgzdo6BHwidVBym3CG7q_27bgg6YN9om2vbcQ/s4000/20230411_164119.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-LIBkdXAb6PXBeBHwuUpN6HLu10Gi1k_wamXryoQN8aJRhcovCay8-LPxl1ZJwLRyzzkNxm01n08RVu1pHDK0B1oObfkV6vw6HOFSQFMLxtVf37JcLjyblHX4exOKZvqgc7JiNFSGb72lzNzHaakFAPgzdo6BHwidVBym3CG7q_27bgg6YN9om2vbcQ/w300-h400/20230411_164119.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><div><a href="goog_872104764"><br /></a></div><p style="text-align: left;">The afternoon's activities were a nice antidote to a ride I'd found tough. Strava had been suggesting "Morning Ride" as titles, and I edited this one to "Mourning Ride", since I genuinely was mourning riding without a mask. My ears were starting to get sore from the constant tug of the elastic, and I had also found my cooling system was not unlike a dog's (an observation <a href="https://pubmed.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/30454592/" target="_blank">borne out by science</a>). </p><p style="text-align: left;">As we were winding down, I randomly flicked to GCN+, and found that the first stage of the Giro di Sicilia was about to finish. I watched an Emirates UAE rider ease off the front of the bunch with a couple of kilometres to go, then discovered not only was the rider a New Zealander, but the son of a dear friend of my own dear friend Brendan - Finn Fisher-Black. While I yelled at my phone, Finn rode to his first professional win, much to the delight of his team-mate and fellow Kiwi, George Bennett. See their elation was contagious, and it was nice to so randomly bear witness to it. TV was ruling the cycling roost!</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHk_kvX1sgaNAkZRsnWs2dtbYOxS-f05gBYoFo2gKjM52yWD0PqH8CzIswMKr33Ew2tLNBkj27iNuaRMH1nW5TIGt2V5ADvx0qGaUSttb32yWB4CxbghvF9I90MR0ppm6CpREKehR4-X1LqaJmt5S23WhOSMddp0boB_QTzPrkwFmGgJdSVuW_EyfHgg/s2340/Screenshot_20230411_200359_GCN.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="2340" height="185" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHk_kvX1sgaNAkZRsnWs2dtbYOxS-f05gBYoFo2gKjM52yWD0PqH8CzIswMKr33Ew2tLNBkj27iNuaRMH1nW5TIGt2V5ADvx0qGaUSttb32yWB4CxbghvF9I90MR0ppm6CpREKehR4-X1LqaJmt5S23WhOSMddp0boB_QTzPrkwFmGgJdSVuW_EyfHgg/w400-h185/Screenshot_20230411_200359_GCN.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p style="text-align: left;"><u>Stats</u>: <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/8869889279" target="_blank">120km ridden, including cash run</a>, 40-plus degrees for the entire second half of the ride, max 48</p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b>Day 5 - Thung Saliam to Sukhothai</b></p><p style="text-align: left;">One of my earlier route plans had us peeling off the Mae Hong Son loop and passing through Sukhothai, an ancient capital of the Thai Empire, and now a UNESCO World Heritage Site. It was one of the few details that had endured, and we set off from Thung Saliam looking forward to a bit of regular tourist activity to take our minds off the riding!</p><p style="text-align: left;">There was an abundance of route options, but I chose to head south from our accommodation before picking up a major road that would take us straight into the heritage site (literally, as it turned out).</p><p style="text-align: left;">We were into the flat-lands, though often following a watercourse and so gently climbing or descending, depending on our luck. Distractions included:</p></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM9vVu0k76ASAeqjQz7yyZU9GNBzhC9RLLpjUgxi2qDR4BhnFTwYNn1b6p6IjhTjMjy3lwq4W_tOtkJfVh684mwNEc4eApQx5VQuwfYsloGadMOVzVtrLIYH3yDJ6zk3bO2OEgTr0JssZnR41x_ldiez_BUgTF2MX64ZCz9X0vj0nwbU2NLG2EVIbEQA/s4000/20230412_084646.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM9vVu0k76ASAeqjQz7yyZU9GNBzhC9RLLpjUgxi2qDR4BhnFTwYNn1b6p6IjhTjMjy3lwq4W_tOtkJfVh684mwNEc4eApQx5VQuwfYsloGadMOVzVtrLIYH3yDJ6zk3bO2OEgTr0JssZnR41x_ldiez_BUgTF2MX64ZCz9X0vj0nwbU2NLG2EVIbEQA/w400-h300/20230412_084646.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">new or old buildings in a now-familiar style...</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDBbyh38Og7QeOxf6rV6LLxbedev1meYhm75Ih0YmvMWFHEMvUvDOOp3zaDF5D7dQl8oNnB735KS1JWVu9L3RYCA3amAxWxqLzjNHM_4MqOk-X3i32-FJ-A_s-n7F0sTdcDyspvhYDrklYxq3Byco5wjju573UqtcS1dkWgqyFuacC1EBFvNJCYhtbsw/s4000/20230412_093328.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDBbyh38Og7QeOxf6rV6LLxbedev1meYhm75Ih0YmvMWFHEMvUvDOOp3zaDF5D7dQl8oNnB735KS1JWVu9L3RYCA3amAxWxqLzjNHM_4MqOk-X3i32-FJ-A_s-n7F0sTdcDyspvhYDrklYxq3Byco5wjju573UqtcS1dkWgqyFuacC1EBFvNJCYhtbsw/w400-h300/20230412_093328.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">funky vehicles...</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRxaadO9G5vtv7NxqiM5TCn___GohVsU2pES5iDBqpE_wt3D5ntJymk1WvA7sEM-lh3C-vpDeIUzQ-xJlivPa04Kp3pXp4vntOZGvUMPnSM1ahlvU6yKI-Lt_6njZ6EUY37qmmIYwuSS9hXXtcSTgr4EBGBSKejX58JzKGLCVO2cRYemVPR3SY_fx2gw/s4000/20230412_093509.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRxaadO9G5vtv7NxqiM5TCn___GohVsU2pES5iDBqpE_wt3D5ntJymk1WvA7sEM-lh3C-vpDeIUzQ-xJlivPa04Kp3pXp4vntOZGvUMPnSM1ahlvU6yKI-Lt_6njZ6EUY37qmmIYwuSS9hXXtcSTgr4EBGBSKejX58JzKGLCVO2cRYemVPR3SY_fx2gw/w400-h300/20230412_093509.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">and wildlife.</td></tr></tbody></table><p style="text-align: left;">The rural back road hit the highway at Lan Hoi, and there we made our first drink stop for the day - at a wee coconut bar, where we both had a very nice coconut frappe. Sarah asked about a bottled drink that was on display, and which we subsequently got to sample. Despite being not at all creamy, it had a strong coconut taste, and must have been some derivative of coconut nectar - a new concept for both of us. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsnN4MzTrcrIIMD0tC_5L92oC1GPwpSNvntDqCK4-dWrCSdnJA-_ms00weLQSvcPvKNcgilxNnyw-7nT7Kt9XWGG0ZGUIlvzljpGJ9ZWBHEoFiFqFdr7a7UQrtFAIW8JFM_dcD3e3fdmy9wLCEv_frx9yrC6qmROqs5gfLi-BOohkLbHayzabcVj1GHw/s4000/20230412_103148.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsnN4MzTrcrIIMD0tC_5L92oC1GPwpSNvntDqCK4-dWrCSdnJA-_ms00weLQSvcPvKNcgilxNnyw-7nT7Kt9XWGG0ZGUIlvzljpGJ9ZWBHEoFiFqFdr7a7UQrtFAIW8JFM_dcD3e3fdmy9wLCEv_frx9yrC6qmROqs5gfLi-BOohkLbHayzabcVj1GHw/w400-h300/20230412_103148.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p style="text-align: left;">It was then about a 15km ride on a large road. Soon after passing through remnants of ancient city walls, we found ourselves at a ticket booth for the UNESCO site. Quite often at this point, tourists would hire bikes, but of course, we'd brought our own, so didn't need to shell out extra for the privilege. </p><p style="text-align: left;">For the next 2.5 hours or so, we explored the old ruins, which were fascinating - a far cry from Angkor Wat, perhaps, but a great experience nonetheless. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlw1wRuxrBJzV_G5QDyxxhO-n_iXhq58IEq1R1pUjrj1ZkRZ_aqQCF3z_0yqprBTLpGnpBFWMGlEQ3WgZGREPnQl7AZswa9zTvZzKsawS9CPHnIVtx99lK79BtJsWHxIvyg6dXrtP1YWWjMdxpu7O1iDsEMAc-DQiQa2dfUhc7L8rJpZ_hLwg8bAMezw/s4000/20230412_114329.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlw1wRuxrBJzV_G5QDyxxhO-n_iXhq58IEq1R1pUjrj1ZkRZ_aqQCF3z_0yqprBTLpGnpBFWMGlEQ3WgZGREPnQl7AZswa9zTvZzKsawS9CPHnIVtx99lK79BtJsWHxIvyg6dXrtP1YWWjMdxpu7O1iDsEMAc-DQiQa2dfUhc7L8rJpZ_hLwg8bAMezw/w400-h300/20230412_114329.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A well-used bike rack</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div>We made one foray from within the old walls to the western sector, where we declined to trudge up a <br />steep stone path to see the "Buddha on the hill". By chance, we ended up running out of steam at the Wat Mahathat, which we both agreed was the most impressive site, and a nice note to end on. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvuaPF038idArVtZBhZsMrv6_egVX2cFFoQ0a4OaePHKBfJwmxU3Pd2SDm2jvo4bpOaqrBpPGJRP6bH8V9QtqWh0Kr9ceYIXdMbAkEtEktBCFTIUBXfeaxKKQp_Ks0Zm3nlBZ9cnYBGGKkRrdqUO_0fAatgmsxLTkMucPY93j0ELgfJVD6rs8GdAG47w/s4000/20230412_132536.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvuaPF038idArVtZBhZsMrv6_egVX2cFFoQ0a4OaePHKBfJwmxU3Pd2SDm2jvo4bpOaqrBpPGJRP6bH8V9QtqWh0Kr9ceYIXdMbAkEtEktBCFTIUBXfeaxKKQp_Ks0Zm3nlBZ9cnYBGGKkRrdqUO_0fAatgmsxLTkMucPY93j0ELgfJVD6rs8GdAG47w/w400-h300/20230412_132536.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">Ahead of us was a short ride into (modern) Sukhothai. On the main road again, we passed a sign for a cycle route, which necessitated a quick U-turn. We then found ourselves on a lovely minor road, which for the most part felt like a dedicated cycle path along one side of a small canal. </p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPblntXrOoZ1lrA2fodmcv3EVHXQGDHiukJmWAGjNismwLDR48SVjahCCBOIvVslxFKf1igpl3-Rj7OKHmVNjFd08QUuwdGbLHVNoSOxBavNulhDAy_YyiAvJL6_v1rllGuma5kjB5SYh7wriEAC-JEi5Og_Xfnd9XJ4SpIcaJ1XHCfel9h-pZyOMhJA/s4000/20230412_141204.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPblntXrOoZ1lrA2fodmcv3EVHXQGDHiukJmWAGjNismwLDR48SVjahCCBOIvVslxFKf1igpl3-Rj7OKHmVNjFd08QUuwdGbLHVNoSOxBavNulhDAy_YyiAvJL6_v1rllGuma5kjB5SYh7wriEAC-JEi5Og_Xfnd9XJ4SpIcaJ1XHCfel9h-pZyOMhJA/w400-h300/20230412_141204.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">With only a few kilometres left to ride, the path took a strange turn away from the canal, and given where it seemed to be taking us (the Holy Heartland - a heart-shaped island within a heart-shaped lake) it was very tempting to keep going. After a quick consultation, we agreed that we were done with riding, and made do with admiring the lake on the map...!</p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDRy0THzTkJ-A4c2n5HmnLhMa9NT6Cc88I4DwMdzJoN2oYUAclPx8nZEeBYG_XuMXabVjac0mTLds2BwB8LkfrQsIFo1ImG267qPYiy50f_U0r7A4lIH2ixpeTuZIMy5DLGeXkd72qgJ4pgefCAtPkUhq55TR7RxpxJzsxedM3vDM6BfDXwwTMa8WWDg/s4000/20230412_141658.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDRy0THzTkJ-A4c2n5HmnLhMa9NT6Cc88I4DwMdzJoN2oYUAclPx8nZEeBYG_XuMXabVjac0mTLds2BwB8LkfrQsIFo1ImG267qPYiy50f_U0r7A4lIH2ixpeTuZIMy5DLGeXkd72qgJ4pgefCAtPkUhq55TR7RxpxJzsxedM3vDM6BfDXwwTMa8WWDg/w300-h400/20230412_141658.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">The sacrifice was put to good use, and we soon found ourselves at the Foresto Sukhothai Guesthome, and a lovely destination at that. After being warmly welcomed by the proprietor and a towel sculpture on our bed, we hit the swimming pool - our first dip of the trip, and a very emotionally cleansing one at that. </p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg10T8UbYdLYkkTf2U6F9bp7g4rR0gOXrMEH72AptKHS8LDhB-Lg8XCFAL1kIEdCRzQY9SjUjm-fXNL1D1e0vwsPBrZe0CXpzlRPLsajBJSVhsOLk1Opvsg8sVsxISWx_UPt02Q-7hlLlUskf9yUjfR2bZeTS-XoNRqfgy57R9QsuZ4qgFBy_aPfrZivw/s4000/20230412_144331.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg10T8UbYdLYkkTf2U6F9bp7g4rR0gOXrMEH72AptKHS8LDhB-Lg8XCFAL1kIEdCRzQY9SjUjm-fXNL1D1e0vwsPBrZe0CXpzlRPLsajBJSVhsOLk1Opvsg8sVsxISWx_UPt02Q-7hlLlUskf9yUjfR2bZeTS-XoNRqfgy57R9QsuZ4qgFBy_aPfrZivw/w400-h300/20230412_144331.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">Before dinner, we headed out on foot to the bus station, and returned via tuk-tuk with tickets to Bangkok in hand. This was the first time in memory I was so glad to shorten a cycle tour, and in so many ways it was a relief to pull the pin.</p><p style="text-align: left;"><u>Stats</u>: <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/8876257237" target="_blank">93km ridden</a>, many at snails pace as we enjoyed the UNESCO Heritage Site. </p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b>Day 6: A couple of commutes</b></p><p style="text-align: left;">The next morning, after a breakfast fit for cycle tourists and a fairly leisurely pack, we made the short ride to the bus station, via some neat street art on the city side of a wall lining the canal. </p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif17GHI__eqqYmXGe3nOA3jJxWi3mrwE-n_S1DIxnwS0BemyGBoFeyfGv7rvNjMslB2qvm25FxBFTA6N1eo1rgm4ZY4atiGhjYvoR8D786p6T6u3gMbLoMlmC6fYyz1rmQm7j0JO02EEI5jgnwaISvdfcD2INZ4OiGKQEMUMfikaDFMKMMV2DFFdVB-Q/s4000/20230413_083414.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif17GHI__eqqYmXGe3nOA3jJxWi3mrwE-n_S1DIxnwS0BemyGBoFeyfGv7rvNjMslB2qvm25FxBFTA6N1eo1rgm4ZY4atiGhjYvoR8D786p6T6u3gMbLoMlmC6fYyz1rmQm7j0JO02EEI5jgnwaISvdfcD2INZ4OiGKQEMUMfikaDFMKMMV2DFFdVB-Q/w400-h300/20230413_083414.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYy-5oZsbblvsxmMGyEIBbdGjigplnOus5spFvMi-UtB7LPaQNgA28zgxh_lJPRUFPTBqnn4qKpHHGsN-RjJ2433xRtSPAjzPCsmwYz52Vf70xDXRfN2ZN00o129WmsYAu2pIa9d-eYa7VMfWCEOrCpvl0O1vHtkh2MnNhhkxjKy5qda6ZmDfyrWwjeA/s4000/20230413_084624.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYy-5oZsbblvsxmMGyEIBbdGjigplnOus5spFvMi-UtB7LPaQNgA28zgxh_lJPRUFPTBqnn4qKpHHGsN-RjJ2433xRtSPAjzPCsmwYz52Vf70xDXRfN2ZN00o129WmsYAu2pIa9d-eYa7VMfWCEOrCpvl0O1vHtkh2MnNhhkxjKy5qda6ZmDfyrWwjeA/w400-h300/20230413_084624.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">At the bus station, we were gently guided into doing the necessary admin, which included buying "tickets" for our bikes (it wasn't clear why we hadn't been able to buy them at the same time as tickets for ourselves), and then removing wheels. </p><p style="text-align: left;">Once our bus arrived, the bikes and wheels were relatively easy to stow, and then we made our way into the bus and found our allocated seats. The 7-hour ride (including a half-hour lunch break off the bus) was comfortable enough, and it was nice to be cool and breathing twice-filtered air for the most part. </p><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJY0PqNHe_98bQgRpqMg67LXXNxTTGnmK_zsE_MS6gLptz-EKShg_mgxU1IiUAs1WtieZI2TVrLGAjocY7zc1kiPMakUvmSF8JEWsQ2WCuN1Qm4ej4bym-nJVBaqci9MRhquDgWqb3BmGF7YrCAAcogjxnQsBjMWTOP-h7nu2D5KesSEu8Q0W-UH1-8Q/s4000/20230413_093046.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJY0PqNHe_98bQgRpqMg67LXXNxTTGnmK_zsE_MS6gLptz-EKShg_mgxU1IiUAs1WtieZI2TVrLGAjocY7zc1kiPMakUvmSF8JEWsQ2WCuN1Qm4ej4bym-nJVBaqci9MRhquDgWqb3BmGF7YrCAAcogjxnQsBjMWTOP-h7nu2D5KesSEu8Q0W-UH1-8Q/w400-h300/20230413_093046.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">New vs 3-day-old mask</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">Our destination in Bangkok was not far from the railway station we'd originally left from, so we had a fair idea of our orientation. I managed to get Margarete and Roland's address loaded into my GPS, and so was being provided with a recommended route which updated every time I ignored it. Our ducking and diving included occasional defiance of the road rules, but the beauty of a bicycle is its narrowness, and insignificance in the scheme of things. </p><p style="text-align: left;">We found Bangkok in the early stages of the Songkran festival, which seems to have evolved into one great big water-fight. Teenagers and adults alike were often sporting water pistols, and we were regularly shot at on our final ride. Our clothes went straight into the washing machine once we stopped, as we'd each copped a bucket of water along the way, and were quite sodden. </p></div><div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuseJzB9QcwuX35Kzhp9L2e7Y7aRXlkt0HAE4Cn-juQJjBrRHFg-NuTrnlhaJtKhx6N8W6XnUJv7BwhySJEUJU9XOPL7Ynv4HUSadhcPo81W5akt-z7kM_zlMq_ky9jIethmXdSmRLE_fZSBcw_aiqtp-1X0oCfq851hjCd6LC1DmcO-_fyBqpuXfczA/s4000/20230413_175059.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuseJzB9QcwuX35Kzhp9L2e7Y7aRXlkt0HAE4Cn-juQJjBrRHFg-NuTrnlhaJtKhx6N8W6XnUJv7BwhySJEUJU9XOPL7Ynv4HUSadhcPo81W5akt-z7kM_zlMq_ky9jIethmXdSmRLE_fZSBcw_aiqtp-1X0oCfq851hjCd6LC1DmcO-_fyBqpuXfczA/w400-h300/20230413_175059.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It hadn't been raining...!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: center;">* * *</div><p style="text-align: left;">As if getting off the road, or more specifically, out of the air, hadn't been happiness-enducing-enough, our remaining time away from Wellington was great. We had two and a half days to do a little bit of shopping. Our final dinner was in the <a href="https://liveandletsfly.com/na-oh-bangkok-l-1011-review/" target="_blank">hull of an old aeroplane</a>, and was an amazingly eclectic experience, well worth the logistical challenge of getting there (not to mention at some point in the booking process losing control of my credit card details and having the card blocked)!</p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJwNz97EKrJHJ20pp7mr2PWnW3M1aV8ATZICEXpZB0fPh-SZsvyIt38EOD8u1TCvEo6Oln7GUDWwLAEQquLqz_e3n0r4VnxUEhJcW_6Uzg4eR7trahYaTt63OiJJpXyl7CRnNCuOImAqJ6UZACN_t7SQDclLWvAmDiETXxr-mjs9_7u4cm-K-omKjDgg/s4000/20230415_192754.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJwNz97EKrJHJ20pp7mr2PWnW3M1aV8ATZICEXpZB0fPh-SZsvyIt38EOD8u1TCvEo6Oln7GUDWwLAEQquLqz_e3n0r4VnxUEhJcW_6Uzg4eR7trahYaTt63OiJJpXyl7CRnNCuOImAqJ6UZACN_t7SQDclLWvAmDiETXxr-mjs9_7u4cm-K-omKjDgg/w400-h300/20230415_192754.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">Our flights home were also quite an experience. A pricing quirk had seen us booking Singapore Airlines business class, and the package of hard and soft product had me grinning like a Cheshire cat the whole way home (when I wasn't curled up sleeping, that was). </p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjczlaWvasUxmKySGnVXVSp8iVTaXSZbspvgqCaKtnshiVuzsGhawMLcFGDvPwskIZJX-CA3qa2thdewR0U0kHekbYZ9i7rHNoSg1YV8SNj3fMSBApEyJLgBC1v3lG6uWcKYNyTkL_HnU7au2eNuomDLn6WDrVjK-pkz9etQbNDoi0NtVYeoxYDshVKdQ/s2944/20230416_215038.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2944" data-original-width="2208" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjczlaWvasUxmKySGnVXVSp8iVTaXSZbspvgqCaKtnshiVuzsGhawMLcFGDvPwskIZJX-CA3qa2thdewR0U0kHekbYZ9i7rHNoSg1YV8SNj3fMSBApEyJLgBC1v3lG6uWcKYNyTkL_HnU7au2eNuomDLn6WDrVjK-pkz9etQbNDoi0NtVYeoxYDshVKdQ/w300-h400/20230416_215038.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br /><p>Various final non-cycling-related elements, including my onboard "book the cook" Singapore Laksa helped bring the trip to a nice conclusion, and helped me recover from an amplifying-with-every-pedal-stroke sense of disappointment. </p><p>On reflection, the trip wasn't a disaster, and we made the best of a bad situation. Ironically, the bikes ran flawlessly, the train, bus and accommodation logistics all went smoothly, and bodies coped with aplomb. The biggest hiccup other than the pollution was my credit card blockage, but fortunately that came after our final online accommodation booking, and besides, Sarah had hers at the ready (just not to hand when she was booking the restaurant and handing over <i>my number!!!</i>). </p><p>We will often come home from a trip with a lingering souvenir - sometimes a word (e.g. we still say thank you to one another in Hawaiian - <i>mahalo</i> has such a nice ring to it). In this case, the "discovery" was of an e-SIM. We'd initially tried to buy a (physical) tourist SIM card, but hadn't had our passports with it. Margaret had mentioned a recent guest had bought an e-SIM, and $24 later, we'd each purchased one from <a href="http://etravelsim.com">etravelsim.com</a> which had more than enough data to last us the trip, and was good for the occasional call between us as well. It doesn't look like every destination supports them, but I guess coverage will improve over time. </p><p>Now that we're home, and I know what to search for, I do see some advice regarding travel to the area at this time of year, e.g. <a href="https://www.madornomad.com/the-mae-hong-son-loop-motorcycle-guide/" target="_blank">this guide</a> writes:</p><p></p><blockquote><i>March, April (hot), May, June: Hot season and less rain. It’s also the time of year that people light thousands of illegal fires in the north. The entire north is engulfed in smoke and smog and the pollution levels are extremely bad.</i></blockquote><p></p><p>Nonetheless, most "when to go" pointers would seem to infer it isn't a bad time of year to visit. Consider ourselves warned!</p><p>The Mae Hong Son loop will sit on my to-do list, and since returning, I've found myself daydreaming about stringing together a tour from northern Thailand, through Laos, down through Vietnam, before hooking back to Bangkok through Cambodia. If I do ever make that a reality, perhaps over a couple of months, it will be after much more attention to timing. </p><p>This was a much more balanced holiday than we've typically taken (either all bikes, or no bikes), and with a bit of time, my memories are generally fond. It was nice to see Sarah reconnect with Margarete, and to get to know her and Roland more myself. Despite the riding not living up to its potential, the privilege of being able to travel, and the break away from the stresses and strains of work, were welcome. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR3t52f4povVR9CkysmuPL1JLTNn6A5OhYHCPtoYkEwmLLYVcZj6-l4H8-UWHOn5XYYksh6ZhHn_WASsqVnqE_xibjFAMOFj-OT7bei1Kb70MFUzs4kFPZetRG1W3vhnU4ThfD0GQyj2KyXxq3ZFOLWVpQM9ipFySlNeXbddmtePsuTSGZ2Iv-VHtIaQ/s1138/map.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="867" data-original-width="1138" height="305" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR3t52f4povVR9CkysmuPL1JLTNn6A5OhYHCPtoYkEwmLLYVcZj6-l4H8-UWHOn5XYYksh6ZhHn_WASsqVnqE_xibjFAMOFj-OT7bei1Kb70MFUzs4kFPZetRG1W3vhnU4ThfD0GQyj2KyXxq3ZFOLWVpQM9ipFySlNeXbddmtePsuTSGZ2Iv-VHtIaQ/w400-h305/map.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">560km, and plenty of food for thought</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><br /></p></div>sifterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15453244482461385029noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7894195099236501078.post-74355636688692084872023-01-10T19:46:00.000+13:002023-01-10T19:46:21.273+13:00Tasmanian Devil Tour<p>Our trip to Tasmania didn't get off to an auspicious start, falling victim to the short-lived Australia-NZ bubble in the second half of 2021. On the upside, by the time the October trip was cancelled, I'd got far enough through the planning to realise that a single week wasn't nearly enough. When we rebooked for Christmas 2022 (literally, saving a cool $1500 by leaving home on Christmas Day), I doubled the length of time on the island. </p><p>Travel-prep was relatively straightforward. I dusted off the boxes we'd used at the end of <a href="https://sifter-writes-bikes.blogspot.com/2022/01/summer-tour-catching-up-with-southern.html" target="_blank">last summer's South Island tour</a> and duly packed two lightly-used-in-the-interim Opens. Sarah's Di2 battery was brand new, having recently been warranteed, so we were hoping for smooth sailing on that front. </p><p>Our holiday started an evening early - after a lovely Christmas Eve dinner with our daughters and my parents, newly restricted driver Khulan dropped us down at the airport for bed-time at Rydges, all the better to ease the burden of a 6am domestic flight to Auckland. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGjWrBzoYizFUaTiAHhpr6DvL4I_fl-cdNRTpWNFmy7EHrJUo0hbEv3R-ve8-PQirP3zURegvZsIaLrcPkQs6Y8d4oJv56fM6CeeKSADDfPQ4fY-8gfm0DKj2KDdzgYayBU_20BALQEqsTIRnCVIXIrY1OOePjOR-5PK4NZjBaPSuvApHHxTpYnupyyA/s4000/20221225_043944.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGjWrBzoYizFUaTiAHhpr6DvL4I_fl-cdNRTpWNFmy7EHrJUo0hbEv3R-ve8-PQirP3zURegvZsIaLrcPkQs6Y8d4oJv56fM6CeeKSADDfPQ4fY-8gfm0DKj2KDdzgYayBU_20BALQEqsTIRnCVIXIrY1OOePjOR-5PK4NZjBaPSuvApHHxTpYnupyyA/w400-h300/20221225_043944.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rydges Wellington Airport, making cyclists feel right at home with their lobby display</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">The airport transfers and flights were relatively uneventful, and once through immigration at Hobart Airport, we assembled the bikes for the 20km ride into Hobart itself. It was warmer than we were used to, and we had a decent hill or two to negotiate, but it was nice to be rolling.</p><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifqTEcuZN3YaxCe9-xyGERxKMDKC3Of86YFGERI3i3M9Ey-rg9bOV3qgeuu7BYMP-XSz7JvwE8YM-SaWWdKwPE2WhRruyWdzvKXCV3o1heftM4ZYfKxZz8HGUWjbnf8U97TLIUcr1c8JhW-W2cgyo3k71M9G7Xm3JepZsO9DOLXjTrGGfWLxfWzTJ5qg/s4000/20221225_154813.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifqTEcuZN3YaxCe9-xyGERxKMDKC3Of86YFGERI3i3M9Ey-rg9bOV3qgeuu7BYMP-XSz7JvwE8YM-SaWWdKwPE2WhRruyWdzvKXCV3o1heftM4ZYfKxZz8HGUWjbnf8U97TLIUcr1c8JhW-W2cgyo3k71M9G7Xm3JepZsO9DOLXjTrGGfWLxfWzTJ5qg/w400-h300/20221225_154813.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A nifty bridge over Rosny Hill Road</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">As we approached the Tasman Bridge, which would take us across the Derwent River, we could see Mt Wellington looming over the city. What better to dredge out some muscle memory...</p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8p7wkAiSPdZ5D8KB_o6JA8nYJ-X2yZNFmkmkpYYxPPOOebw0ZpPAuyxBStElBUFlkV_K1U_uyWNYZVJZAMIEBeMpOAuUDfltepO4hP6wacdrs4mIREFglZOxS3z_sDYANxPKKaxN1qUpqhk1YXgXYQUjbmve7RtHel3NNMXwwQ2cpr6LYi48sFxY33Q/s4000/20221225_155412.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8p7wkAiSPdZ5D8KB_o6JA8nYJ-X2yZNFmkmkpYYxPPOOebw0ZpPAuyxBStElBUFlkV_K1U_uyWNYZVJZAMIEBeMpOAuUDfltepO4hP6wacdrs4mIREFglZOxS3z_sDYANxPKKaxN1qUpqhk1YXgXYQUjbmve7RtHel3NNMXwwQ2cpr6LYi48sFxY33Q/w400-h300/20221225_155412.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">After finding our accommodation and ditching most of our luggage, we made our way onto the Hobart Rivulet Track which made a great start to the whopping 1300m ascent. There wasn't much traffic on the road, giving us plenty of ability to focus on the incredible views. </p><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7qTn5PyD8uTz6KUFTPNGG65CF_buxffgnM8VGJLNCa-KOduJElNO37JsYsi2p0EIXJWdzks8KOCycknTF52kcOSJhPGYxpiWDnhFTFWGFn8DaUZ2Gq_9FgO5hvZ5rGZHNZL9pxDjzn9oQmbl_bbv8K6UmfS4pUQAgkRJqdSvyee6erflajGCnHS8Z8g/s4000/20221225_185507.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7qTn5PyD8uTz6KUFTPNGG65CF_buxffgnM8VGJLNCa-KOduJElNO37JsYsi2p0EIXJWdzks8KOCycknTF52kcOSJhPGYxpiWDnhFTFWGFn8DaUZ2Gq_9FgO5hvZ5rGZHNZL9pxDjzn9oQmbl_bbv8K6UmfS4pUQAgkRJqdSvyee6erflajGCnHS8Z8g/w400-h300/20221225_185507.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looking back towards the city, about 4km still to climb</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="clear: both; text-align: left;">After a few minutes at the summit area, I put our map down the front of my shirt to cut out a bit of the wind chill, and we made our way back down to our digs, stopping only for photos, and a minute away from home, some supplies from a service station. When I came out of the store, Sarah was chatting with a local, who'd shown interest in our bikes and plan. </p><p style="clear: both; text-align: left;">On the way to dinner, my gear shifting was unresponsive, but after removing and replacing the various plugs (with the specific Shimano tool, as instructed), including the one into the internal battery, things came back to life. </p><p style="clear: both; text-align: left;">After a bit of hunting, we finally found a open restaurant - Nepalese for a nice change - and we were well fed by the time we left!</p><p style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><u>Stats</u>: 64km ridden, 1500m ascended (most of it in a single 20km climb), max temp 36 degrees.</p><br /><h4 style="text-align: center;">Day 1 - Hobart to Bothwell</h4><p>We had a mighty fine start to the day, with a cooked breakfast and barista coffee from our B&B host Kevin, as well as great conversation with a Vietnamese family who were near the end of their holiday in Tasmania. We inspired them to drive up Mt Wellington once they were done with breakfast. </p><p>Things took a turn for the worse 100m into the ride when I attempted my first gear change of the morning. I followed the same strategy as had succeeded the previous evening, but to no avail. This left me with a frustrating choice: find an open bike store which also had workshop capacity to diagnose and fix the problem suitably quickly to enable us to make our first night's accommodation in Bothwell (a hell of a lot of ifs, especially on Boxing Day) or... ride on. It had been quite a challenge booking accommodation as it was, and most of the highlight were packed into the first half of the trip - aside from the financial hit, plus a scramble to find alternatives, I really didn't want to miss what I had planned.</p><p>We did a lap of the city centre and passed at least one closed bike store, from which I assessed we had a vanishingly small probability of having the issue resolved. So rather than chew up time and energy flailing around, I decided I'd rather chew up time and energy nursing a single speed bike around Tasmania. The gear I was in seemed as good as any: small chainring in the front (31-tooth), and fifth sprocket of 11 at the back (19-tooth), even though it wasn't at all clear that I could do anything about that. Onwards!</p><p>We departed Hobart on the "Intercity Cycleway" which took us a fair way out of town. It was fairly flat, which gave me a good sense of what the gear would be like on some of the worst terrain. I started getting used to spinning furiously and then coasting sufficiently long to let my speed drop to the point that I could briefly get on top of the gear again. Rinse and repeat. We were moving forwards at least.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixKKHv0NG5AR2t7N4cWLsADA-LcfR7wHmv6BzyB7wS0DojdlkcItcMKcB7C6DkO3fxmGmwpHhaqly52xBe2wQipzuHhz3rTsGpPNfZqHM6cSTcsJeTo10U8dWqDRq6j-VSiN1AOVe822mfw8k4iSeSkqT2D3_v2U6jEhirhqlRXarcpZhdcxYaTgmvEA/s4000/20221226_095701.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixKKHv0NG5AR2t7N4cWLsADA-LcfR7wHmv6BzyB7wS0DojdlkcItcMKcB7C6DkO3fxmGmwpHhaqly52xBe2wQipzuHhz3rTsGpPNfZqHM6cSTcsJeTo10U8dWqDRq6j-VSiN1AOVe822mfw8k4iSeSkqT2D3_v2U6jEhirhqlRXarcpZhdcxYaTgmvEA/w400-h300/20221226_095701.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p style="clear: both; text-align: left;">We crossed the Derwent River on a neat old bridge that took us into Bridgewater. It would have been fun to see the middle section of the bridge being raised, but we had to make do with photos washed down with lunch from a local supermarket. I impressed Sarah by buying much less food than usual! </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjMfeZE6e0myQoMSSvleiyqFL5yOmv5T-oeHzDU-2zMxjj_gNFwpwhMEqE920WzuRyGbTs4ta8XLbMRAKPxdvmA2Q3a7Uc5NfG-Szjh7sVs59xdWlRvp5TX9Ec_TGd6d7zwsMCRu3lcB0h2plMQ2FMbFnQgGNSmw0vubzDv7zB2E7nfnRelbOqaUmzlw/s4000/20221226_110618.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjMfeZE6e0myQoMSSvleiyqFL5yOmv5T-oeHzDU-2zMxjj_gNFwpwhMEqE920WzuRyGbTs4ta8XLbMRAKPxdvmA2Q3a7Uc5NfG-Szjh7sVs59xdWlRvp5TX9Ec_TGd6d7zwsMCRu3lcB0h2plMQ2FMbFnQgGNSmw0vubzDv7zB2E7nfnRelbOqaUmzlw/w400-h300/20221226_110618.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Midland Highway Bridge</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">After a few minutes alongside the A1, we turned off onto Ellerslie Road, designated C185. After an hour or so, by which time we were more than ready for a cold drink, Sarah mistook a family BBQ for a shop, but we were quickly set straight - no stores until Bothwell, which is where we'd be staying. </p></div><div>My left pedal started developing a clicking that sounded sinister. One advantage of the occasional "tactical walk" (bless you, Dave Sharpe), was that I got a bit of a break from that, but mostly I was able to ride. With each pedal stroke, the innards of that pedal slowly but surely consumed one another, until such time as the pedal body developed about a centimetre's play in from side to side on the pedal axle. While an unwelcome distraction, it was indeed a distraction from what I'd been incessantly ruminating over since leaving Hobart - the state of my Di2 setup.</div><div><br /></div><div>We were treated to a lovely (albeit short) gravel section, and a hedgerow full of black cockatoos before reaching Bothwell. There, I looked longingly through the window of the hardware store, hoping to see something bicycle related, but made do with food from the adjacent superette. <br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTr4T7ySTVmCazQl9m6Nw1Xfr7NOh-lw7T-Fb-Ln6VqZDKDzDYq3zG42Wpki68DMQbEYD-nAG732uCXBzMtaM_JgJNXWsouZMCcJDe4LfKzrjpV6SbiaEUNQIpcmBPqPKLrmxtkUnRliJvuYEIPPa4FynDrhWub52mkfrOGsqbRDX_erqIoR7Q00gzGg/s4000/20221226_141219.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTr4T7ySTVmCazQl9m6Nw1Xfr7NOh-lw7T-Fb-Ln6VqZDKDzDYq3zG42Wpki68DMQbEYD-nAG732uCXBzMtaM_JgJNXWsouZMCcJDe4LfKzrjpV6SbiaEUNQIpcmBPqPKLrmxtkUnRliJvuYEIPPa4FynDrhWub52mkfrOGsqbRDX_erqIoR7Q00gzGg/w400-h300/20221226_141219.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Marked Tree Rd</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">Our accommodation was at Ratho Farm, a couple of kilometres out of town. After getting our room sorted, my next query was whether or not they had a pair of pedals they'd be willing to part with. I vaguely recall Thomas Lindup finishing the first Kiwi Brevet with a setup I was trying to emulate - one scrounged pedal. Soon enough a lovely young man was delivering me a pair of cheap plastic flats - he claimed they weren't using the bikes much these days on account of the horses, but my suspicion was that his delivery vehicle (an e-scooter) was the more likely substitute! Problem two sorted, I also plugged my bike into Sarah's battery to discover my bike fully responsive. Having experienced the 31-19 gear in both extremes of unfavourable terrain (flat and steep), I decided to stick with it, but it was a relief to know what the sole issue was. Launceston was only 540km and five days away - perhaps I'd be able to fix replace the battery there...!</p></div><div>The rest of the Ratho Farm experience was also great. We ate communally, and chatted throughout dinner with two women - one a teacher from Bundaberg, and the other a political refugee from Czechoslovakia (back when it was still that). It was fascinating conversation, intermingled with our host telling us some of the history of the farm and area. <br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-UeZFTLnSIBLe8nzi8PgbawcOauVylLwu_UKZqmmeOQ_ux7bzyfCWJSJtT6_1Zt_GhzRhf5TsPT_dWGZOySWK9yojz59nmky288EvMztKgK6t0CWKTNh7F2qDSsSNi7_aL02gVM-xWZbMbkt-_vUuOfnb15hFBBdAaNGL8NyizJUdsWDK8MTddQwGIw/s4000/20221226_185452.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-UeZFTLnSIBLe8nzi8PgbawcOauVylLwu_UKZqmmeOQ_ux7bzyfCWJSJtT6_1Zt_GhzRhf5TsPT_dWGZOySWK9yojz59nmky288EvMztKgK6t0CWKTNh7F2qDSsSNi7_aL02gVM-xWZbMbkt-_vUuOfnb15hFBBdAaNGL8NyizJUdsWDK8MTddQwGIw/w400-h300/20221226_185452.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p><u>Stats</u>: one dead battery and one dead pedal, the latter duly replaced. <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/8305566084" target="_blank">92km ridden</a>, 1150m climbed, max temp 40 degrees</p><p><br /></p><h4 style="text-align: center;">Day 2 - Bothwell to Lake St Clair</h4><p style="text-align: left;">The next morning we were first at the breakfast table, and soon had bellies full. Thanking the hosts for the pedals and their hospitality, we set off on a lovely gravel sector which took us across to Ouse on the Lyell Highway (A10). </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPJP-fexnXTUqxip7dldAuN5cTqqne5q7iwQcSgHJNbmmlNiIXxOj5vYgwfdGwQ_ZZJ78Tm0Ew5Y--D2e_pqWln_2Lsi7Zw76D7EQ9cq5hESiI6GCRz3yZXzNbDaZzL-EZwl1bTvRfSbIbuyg4Yi9Na2KuOPK2120XEF1b8qQgWw8LDs-Ml8CwlzoG5Q/s4000/20221227_102650.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPJP-fexnXTUqxip7dldAuN5cTqqne5q7iwQcSgHJNbmmlNiIXxOj5vYgwfdGwQ_ZZJ78Tm0Ew5Y--D2e_pqWln_2Lsi7Zw76D7EQ9cq5hESiI6GCRz3yZXzNbDaZzL-EZwl1bTvRfSbIbuyg4Yi9Na2KuOPK2120XEF1b8qQgWw8LDs-Ml8CwlzoG5Q/w400-h300/20221227_102650.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">Even by the time we got there, the temperature was already well into the 30s, and climbing. We had an early lunch, topped up bottles, and then set off on the highway towards Tarraleah, which we assumed to be where our next shopping opportunity would be. </p><p style="text-align: left;">We were headed into the Central Highlands, so no surprises that more often than not, we were climbing. My gear dictated a faster pace than Sarah was comfortable with, and when some shade was on offer (which was rare), I'd often sit and wait for her. She wasn't sweating much, which worried me a little, and each time we met, she reported having trouble with the heat.</p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXznXFxJUVtXxznYaLkYoh5v-evRPjX0wBmH_d3DcBqNsjGaNtC7XMwgXMsZs2XBKRn0Hi_67fICbdQiIrY4vXKh3fMQvSnTxQz3l3a-mQ7laMq_sw6jdPlpZ05Geri04mMdKyczQzboYjoV_MnmlIXAWhllrWOZsEo0aSw0LNAgDTDvagczQCm6Cimw/s4000/20221227_123349.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXznXFxJUVtXxznYaLkYoh5v-evRPjX0wBmH_d3DcBqNsjGaNtC7XMwgXMsZs2XBKRn0Hi_67fICbdQiIrY4vXKh3fMQvSnTxQz3l3a-mQ7laMq_sw6jdPlpZ05Geri04mMdKyczQzboYjoV_MnmlIXAWhllrWOZsEo0aSw0LNAgDTDvagczQCm6Cimw/w400-h300/20221227_123349.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">Short periods in the shade wasn't cutting through her overheating, so I was keeping my eye out for water that might be suitable for cooling off in. I rejected a couple of options due either to the colour of the water or access challenges, but did eventually identify a stopping spot. </p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk60IsKkGPseMk3JJmjnjMBgs-_L1nMAQEeof8oAZ5Y_q6j4RdvxVQqfCKdu4hPbVQRSnK9t_3JT7T_5gAvmTY5i8DaFIDvQuOf46SbOuwpbRW6WMcXwrs661SsEX6SBzOZoDYP5QfAShNqmrUbG60uyZGeB2uxSrJufo-XUzG5q9fBpNbaby0ptKCqQ/s4000/20221227_130133.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk60IsKkGPseMk3JJmjnjMBgs-_L1nMAQEeof8oAZ5Y_q6j4RdvxVQqfCKdu4hPbVQRSnK9t_3JT7T_5gAvmTY5i8DaFIDvQuOf46SbOuwpbRW6WMcXwrs661SsEX6SBzOZoDYP5QfAShNqmrUbG60uyZGeB2uxSrJufo-XUzG5q9fBpNbaby0ptKCqQ/w400-h300/20221227_130133.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">Once underway again, I was alarmed by how slowly Sarah was moving. At one of our many stops, she asked to have a short nap, but couldn't settle due to the flies. Besides, I wanted to keep moving - we were only a few kilometres away from Tarraleah, and, as I was imaging, an air-conditioned cafe... I began getting frustrated that despite me silently pushing a single-speed with one flat pedal (that due to the shape of my shoe sole kept settling in an uncomfortable position under my foot) and hauling most of our luggage, she was the one complaining about the conditions, and stewing on that helped while away the time. </p><p style="text-align: left;">Some respite from the climbing came when we reached the canals above Tarraleah. By that stage our four bottles were all empty, and I found it incredibly ironic being thirsty while riding alongside huge pipes full of water. Tarraleah seemed to be a venue rather than a town, and I left Sarah in the shade of a tree while continuing onwards to see what I could find. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3olA3TL13e-2HSGGHC2ogDhlFQH9bCVARzD-GzeAIbhtwbmFpdDRATOdRp1meFg115a47shSqp4KPuFCQIpjtRfdWsEGqmH8g26r-HcaPLQBA_rgHiHsB36Aa4yrsuHh5o65-gFFKC3UmQmRE0mQkb_1hcsKSxPMwBxGKRzU1-kOr49AV1vAZxNMJwg/s4000/20221227_152439.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3olA3TL13e-2HSGGHC2ogDhlFQH9bCVARzD-GzeAIbhtwbmFpdDRATOdRp1meFg115a47shSqp4KPuFCQIpjtRfdWsEGqmH8g26r-HcaPLQBA_rgHiHsB36Aa4yrsuHh5o65-gFFKC3UmQmRE0mQkb_1hcsKSxPMwBxGKRzU1-kOr49AV1vAZxNMJwg/w400-h300/20221227_152439.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pipes feeding the Tarraleah Power Station</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">Despite being on a mission, I took a short detour to admire the drop to the power station, before successfully scrounging some water from an administrator at the lodge. It was a far cry from what I'd been imagining, but it was what we needed most (we had plenty of food). </p><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSpJ8x6W4OmJRTuww1PO-oXedVA8pGsUsIf8bfayh0BKtwt9GispaAaX3TgtX7D4rkWUZ-Qx1g-KjVV1rwa2rDVXTCZfCfHZur4_hNmpnr4D7phzkhYAUngZtzyOTGSORE08qEXuFzyXXTyl_Lh7d7APG2VRcB7BVpC7DyboYvvfw3IykE9OX8pKUoBg/s4000/20221227_153142.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSpJ8x6W4OmJRTuww1PO-oXedVA8pGsUsIf8bfayh0BKtwt9GispaAaX3TgtX7D4rkWUZ-Qx1g-KjVV1rwa2rDVXTCZfCfHZur4_hNmpnr4D7phzkhYAUngZtzyOTGSORE08qEXuFzyXXTyl_Lh7d7APG2VRcB7BVpC7DyboYvvfw3IykE9OX8pKUoBg/w300-h400/20221227_153142.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tarraleah Power Station</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">The water and rest were useful remedies, but probably the saving grace was Fourteen Mile Road - a lovely gravel back road that cut out a stretch of the Lyell Highway. There was less heat radiating off its surface, it was shorter, and for the most part shaded. We even saw our first live echidna - one of many, and just about the only non-bird animals we saw from our bikes that were not squashed!</p><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4_cwNrjYOkF6WANyZMMq_3x7wWOaFF8bMUJQAsF0SSY4LPMhhkLrNdlvxxT3ha3A79A1iVtEz-bVDfkj24KHdDi_5SiZTUpB_QZNnsvz0k2Msne0aM2VUxh1CXsMs9fYP3lUNEULfdMJLHyoKG42Pw08RpP7Dky0lQrenUK5uBli1YKvUGLMuv5zO6Q/s4000/20221227_172143.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4_cwNrjYOkF6WANyZMMq_3x7wWOaFF8bMUJQAsF0SSY4LPMhhkLrNdlvxxT3ha3A79A1iVtEz-bVDfkj24KHdDi_5SiZTUpB_QZNnsvz0k2Msne0aM2VUxh1CXsMs9fYP3lUNEULfdMJLHyoKG42Pw08RpP7Dky0lQrenUK5uBli1YKvUGLMuv5zO6Q/w400-h300/20221227_172143.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fourteen Mile Road</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">The map had us hitting the highway again at Bronte Park, and after our experience with Tarraleah I wasn't holding my breath for a shop. Sure enough, low expectations were not surpassed, and we turned towards Lake St Clair for the final 25km run. The evening cool was helping Sarah immensely, and the scenery was helping me. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9LztOuTcdDmw3RaK5f_aDNkncZin95iFOQL_kqlcLeIzRAHXnoRob9acGFrs6AM5krC2PnUMcn_4JSOSchFQzB4uyRYQkWBf01U9MPR0WV9yKcISGv5LREqr79OX9z2Nc2gp7tEoXPUOo3xGgiTN1kbsroK-zx6LxEfQCMQjw6oL9QJsEZogoRDELAg/s4000/20221227_183447.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9LztOuTcdDmw3RaK5f_aDNkncZin95iFOQL_kqlcLeIzRAHXnoRob9acGFrs6AM5krC2PnUMcn_4JSOSchFQzB4uyRYQkWBf01U9MPR0WV9yKcISGv5LREqr79OX9z2Nc2gp7tEoXPUOo3xGgiTN1kbsroK-zx6LxEfQCMQjw6oL9QJsEZogoRDELAg/w400-h300/20221227_183447.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p style="text-align: left;">We'd splashed on a cabin at the Lake St Clair Lodge - the most expensive night of the trip - and the room was well up to scratch, even though we had no internet connection there (a plus in some eyes, I'm sure!). We'd been recommended to take a boat on the lake if we could, but the morning's 9am sailing only had space for an outbound journey. Sarah had no interest in a 3-hour hike back, which was a good call, and maybe not one I'd have been sensible enough to make myself. After a hard day in the saddle, we ate well, and enjoyed a short walk back to our cabin along the lake. </p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhghjlveiZ5i63ae8f46Sj4wDwtZoeaLGHM1phix1XdyBjG0RnRZEZLEOAuG7Dq4jrunSfNi53_kr8nac5fBBzS80zIIgFzQO-mTgYfGvAEKGSr0xWCw2TaIeiUObdFjtPDldCOn8cZE0s6zkQ6K-xJKMxBM0-EjBw0AvJJgFa1U7WE55SsRbyw2_JU9A/s4000/20221228_080046.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhghjlveiZ5i63ae8f46Sj4wDwtZoeaLGHM1phix1XdyBjG0RnRZEZLEOAuG7Dq4jrunSfNi53_kr8nac5fBBzS80zIIgFzQO-mTgYfGvAEKGSr0xWCw2TaIeiUObdFjtPDldCOn8cZE0s6zkQ6K-xJKMxBM0-EjBw0AvJJgFa1U7WE55SsRbyw2_JU9A/w400-h300/20221228_080046.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p><u>Stats</u>: one long meltdown, two too few shops. <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/8296268572" target="_blank">125km ridden</a>, 2130m climbed, max temp 42 degrees. </p><p><br /></p><h4 style="text-align: center;">Day 3 - Lake St Clair to Queenstown</h4><p style="text-align: left;">A buffet breakfast was provided the next morning. Weird "coffee bags" were signalled as a perfectly good substitute for the cafe's coffee machine, which wouldn't be in use until 10am. We quietly disagreed, and wondered what the logic was...! </p><p style="text-align: left;">We'd walked to and from breakfast in overcast but dry conditions. The ride began with a 5km gentle climb back to the highway. It was plainly obvious that we'd slept through a very windy night, judging by the debris all over the road. </p><p style="text-align: left;">The road was passing through the Franklin-Gordon Wild Rivers National Park, and was suitably spectacular. We were passing through a massive plateau, at about 750 metres above sea level. It had been about 15 degrees when we set off, but the temperature dropped steadily through the first hour of riding and by the time it hit a low of 8 degrees or so, it was joined by light rain. Before we got near the start of the descent, I put my road-coloured jacket on, plus a fluoro vest over the top, and also my overtrou and buff. Sarah was much happier in the cooler air than I, and I knew better than to suggest she rug up. The overtrou were less about the rain, than about the wind chill, and having my quads and knees covered did wonders for my comfort levels. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1hwyVhdSna7cWgg2LJZaYU6_6ynt1jaWEXfRD8Mqncx7a7immf2mt_MvUs0M2UbZugowxUUthJxfe0huifsktT8JwEwM-_n-U9nnlV3tbz6IVW4imm3Wl0v0f6q16vcOwA7CsDhpw-VWZkUQSM9rUl8qzMABRNrpANtmYMxwt1c3L45RdslYt9vlMQg/s4000/20221228_093521.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1hwyVhdSna7cWgg2LJZaYU6_6ynt1jaWEXfRD8Mqncx7a7immf2mt_MvUs0M2UbZugowxUUthJxfe0huifsktT8JwEwM-_n-U9nnlV3tbz6IVW4imm3Wl0v0f6q16vcOwA7CsDhpw-VWZkUQSM9rUl8qzMABRNrpANtmYMxwt1c3L45RdslYt9vlMQg/w400-h300/20221228_093521.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">When we did start to descend properly, we passed a couple of women doing the <a href="https://bikepacking.com/event/tassie-gift-event-2022/" target="_blank">Tassie Gift</a> bikepacking route. We stopped briefly to chat to them, during which time they were fumbling around in their bags for something to supplement their summer riding clothes. I'd had my storm gear on for at least 20 minutes, and was shocked that they'd ridden on for so long! </p><div>Sarah was ahead of me when she spotted our second echidna of the trip. We never did see a squashed one - when startled they would generally stop and expose their bigger spines, and presumably the squat and stationary targets were easy enough for drivers to avoid. Less so the bigger wombats, wallabies and kangaroos which we regularly saw (and failing that, smelt) in varying states of decay. </div><div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0Hhjp9py-z7HoZXQBXpJ5kQw2-NtyXotUzlyuMO8fD6Nap5wcZ1AYTU2LRdDcE1nbyp3xm1TSrv_obWbpwY1uGVEz6gR4lZoTc2_jk-z6F2pE6_z6Hx2KBABhT5tSMuRglLZZ6o76im6FeAnohrN-x__CDr8Gu7RGD9Fw84ClqtjE6MQKMqhY0FJKZQ/s12000/20221228_143931.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="9000" data-original-width="12000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0Hhjp9py-z7HoZXQBXpJ5kQw2-NtyXotUzlyuMO8fD6Nap5wcZ1AYTU2LRdDcE1nbyp3xm1TSrv_obWbpwY1uGVEz6gR4lZoTc2_jk-z6F2pE6_z6Hx2KBABhT5tSMuRglLZZ6o76im6FeAnohrN-x__CDr8Gu7RGD9Fw84ClqtjE6MQKMqhY0FJKZQ/w400-h300/20221228_143931.jpg" width="400" /></a></div></div><div><br /></div><div>We gently descended for a long while, and this proved not to be great terrain for my single gear. I was going too fast to pedal, but gravity wasn't helping enough for me to actually go fast. The now-suitably-clothed French women finally caught and passed us, not to be seen again (though we did see their bikes leaning against a pub wall in Queenstown). </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjrpKEZ3_WD31UhiaiXAPoyaMICLBijzm-D09aduIZhGP8VtQCmV05fIEW26wmjp2RIbDtKKUOVZ66uyFtE9xawm06HqV-BLyb5PA3w07p4iK8UrE0A5DN2S5uW7liSCqV5u9V99ipbI_Ha5Du2wSg-ffKsz-5a5mgtRdwOO99Aq59WZ4wFbXGBXpXJA/s4000/20221228_114500.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjrpKEZ3_WD31UhiaiXAPoyaMICLBijzm-D09aduIZhGP8VtQCmV05fIEW26wmjp2RIbDtKKUOVZ66uyFtE9xawm06HqV-BLyb5PA3w07p4iK8UrE0A5DN2S5uW7liSCqV5u9V99ipbI_Ha5Du2wSg-ffKsz-5a5mgtRdwOO99Aq59WZ4wFbXGBXpXJA/w400-h300/20221228_114500.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">After running alongside Lake Burbury for a few kilometres, the road crossed it in spectacular fashion, and we couldn't see either extreme from the bridge. </p><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWsR9_8fizg4BpmFGElmYRGp1hsPPOVXkjjsFVTHrsffnppT6jErQWkoQVeF7KIybimPwaIiKy85bWYp_xqAoPuMbmAhou1L9bE9N7TqyStlgLpqGELALnVCvdzwXqGkLH0NYaQZuAm-FEiDCIxMpl65x0cPbZHn_g9IJqCDkCkdIBNZfq7JyRlYvriQ/s4000/20221228_125841.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWsR9_8fizg4BpmFGElmYRGp1hsPPOVXkjjsFVTHrsffnppT6jErQWkoQVeF7KIybimPwaIiKy85bWYp_xqAoPuMbmAhou1L9bE9N7TqyStlgLpqGELALnVCvdzwXqGkLH0NYaQZuAm-FEiDCIxMpl65x0cPbZHn_g9IJqCDkCkdIBNZfq7JyRlYvriQ/w400-h300/20221228_125841.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sarah crossing Lake Burbury</td></tr></tbody></table><p style="text-align: left;">We started to slowly climb away from the lake and reached a small settlement named Linda. There were conflicting signs as to whether we were about to score a coffee. A permanent sign on the remains of the Old Royal Hotel suggested the cafe was closed, but an "OPEN" flag was flying. After marvelling at the <a href="https://www.trailforks.com/trails/north-owen-descent/" target="_blank">North Owen Descent</a> visible on the ridge behind us, we went to investigate the coffee situation...</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD00vum6QH-z2V5ASqi0ERO9PAqh_YPofPgjqXwjreGBMBK8p34w8xbpqbwZc0IYG8e4fgdVd0YZAyAoP0RJ7uBI9jnF7t9H6Dlu5GS29kcJMIRhhNaLh9K5_76D0IVaM4Mi4oxNtgnPuDWQhM9FZtDfvOvic_CBxKKLAE0YtVj9SHhsFtp_TXQUAzAQ/s4000/20221228_133818.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD00vum6QH-z2V5ASqi0ERO9PAqh_YPofPgjqXwjreGBMBK8p34w8xbpqbwZc0IYG8e4fgdVd0YZAyAoP0RJ7uBI9jnF7t9H6Dlu5GS29kcJMIRhhNaLh9K5_76D0IVaM4Mi4oxNtgnPuDWQhM9FZtDfvOvic_CBxKKLAE0YtVj9SHhsFtp_TXQUAzAQ/w300-h400/20221228_133818.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Black trail ahoy!</td></tr></tbody></table><p style="text-align: left;">Alas, while we could see the coffee machine was on through the window, there was no other sign of life. They had a covered but outdoor lounge which I chilled out in while Sarah made use of the bathroom, and then we headed back to the road, to tackle the final climb of the day. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU6czHijhqyKdtsJBdSbuIkRNS4lDJQZie1pSFN452Z9FaVFdZpATfLoffYTJVjOyrEm-Ee-Y2ON042GuvgTBrv4k9Ml3mGV_yEoRg2BvJPgtpFkcGpeliwD3G8-vryfdIbd_kqxUZcakHnDjKxNfrTmQFfsttVLIjXKWa6aV3ZBTqGxDig56SkNUtEQ/s4000/20221228_134047.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU6czHijhqyKdtsJBdSbuIkRNS4lDJQZie1pSFN452Z9FaVFdZpATfLoffYTJVjOyrEm-Ee-Y2ON042GuvgTBrv4k9Ml3mGV_yEoRg2BvJPgtpFkcGpeliwD3G8-vryfdIbd_kqxUZcakHnDjKxNfrTmQFfsttVLIjXKWa6aV3ZBTqGxDig56SkNUtEQ/w400-h300/20221228_134047.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">So near, but yet so far</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">At the top, we were faced with a couple of options that might have appealed on a warmer day, but definitely didn't in this cold wind - a 900m gravel climb for a viewpoint over the town, and a walking trail to see a waterfall. Instead, we enjoyed a nifty road descent, from which mellower MTB track was visible, and the town beyond it. </p><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr2cZ7FpSAcbCQKtKHO_sqQ8CdYjdrQ7xXvHnrpdLnhWAPMqQBXm4meEmcRBHhnKLi8fL08VI_XnMpTFYUkVmNx-wRE8peo0ETwAWxAfS1DvrtfattfK3BdEyt8OjVOpgY030NyzCHw_8gLhsYch9CCG1JEtVJLb9qANgX9YGiowWGrsPaw985l88DTA/s4000/20221228_140424.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr2cZ7FpSAcbCQKtKHO_sqQ8CdYjdrQ7xXvHnrpdLnhWAPMqQBXm4meEmcRBHhnKLi8fL08VI_XnMpTFYUkVmNx-wRE8peo0ETwAWxAfS1DvrtfattfK3BdEyt8OjVOpgY030NyzCHw_8gLhsYch9CCG1JEtVJLb9qANgX9YGiowWGrsPaw985l88DTA/w400-h300/20221228_140424.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The climb at the end of "Waterfall" trail</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">Entering Queenstown itself was a remarkable experience. There had been various clues we were in mining country, but the outskirts of Queenstown had clearly been built in the mine itself, and almost had the feel of sitting in a huge swimming pool. A small cutting led us out of that, and soon after we swung into the town proper. We made straight for our motel, checked in, washed, and made our way to the railway station cafe for a late lunch. </p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkimm5NXShLH71iUXml8fXOCAibBL4GYzfpaS2u5ud9ZGak-QGrFD8uUBcWCelx_1i4TQ1GEPdBpJeEW7dLl0D_6dIHYZ4542nmNc1Bw4Vigul5KJ7Lqt2MY0MSnf0948jjc7ZnOGcH4VjLj_ajKLzw9iQGtaGJTKkAnAHcrerIJF4EkSj2eXzPVUcbg/s4000/20221228_143917.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkimm5NXShLH71iUXml8fXOCAibBL4GYzfpaS2u5ud9ZGak-QGrFD8uUBcWCelx_1i4TQ1GEPdBpJeEW7dLl0D_6dIHYZ4542nmNc1Bw4Vigul5KJ7Lqt2MY0MSnf0948jjc7ZnOGcH4VjLj_ajKLzw9iQGtaGJTKkAnAHcrerIJF4EkSj2eXzPVUcbg/w400-h300/20221228_143917.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">There I finally started to warm up, in part courtesy of a shared plate of loaded fries. While we were there, the train returned from its daily lap of the <a href="https://www.wcwr.com.au/" target="_blank">West Coast Wilderness Railway</a> - booked solid months in advance, we were later told. The final carriage ferried white water rafts, and we were treated to a bit of manual turntable action before heading off to check out the town Museum.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoHAdOH-f3CAHcQzKOhlAJJN4CmzVVPt4RCWgaLB1M5QRBosD7ZtA5S7OSmZTMEZeSoKMKafLTNyt1hur7boUP7dvI--I2d1_yTKS5Yb3nWBrH2-Cw6kephMMVbjcYNt63t4dKRNo79bMLtbFWprdqOoWIPxnTZ_PegDpavCjHRoVe5DpSVRI4pEq6Kw/s4000/20221228_152449.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoHAdOH-f3CAHcQzKOhlAJJN4CmzVVPt4RCWgaLB1M5QRBosD7ZtA5S7OSmZTMEZeSoKMKafLTNyt1hur7boUP7dvI--I2d1_yTKS5Yb3nWBrH2-Cw6kephMMVbjcYNt63t4dKRNo79bMLtbFWprdqOoWIPxnTZ_PegDpavCjHRoVe5DpSVRI4pEq6Kw/w400-h300/20221228_152449.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p>There we chatted to Raymond, who gave us some rather sobering information about the transformation of Queenstown from a mining town into "a town with a mine" (currently closed due to unfortunate fatalities). The museum was full of fascinating artefacts, and we left with both a dinner recommendation and confidence to contact Aaron from the local bike shop despite it being closed for the holiday. Yet another perk of the short day's ride was an opportunity to give our riding kit a wash at the nearby laundromat. </p><p>By the time we knocked off for the evening, I had a 9am rendezvous set up with Aaron, and drifted off to sleep excited that the more annoying of my two problems was about to be solved. </p><p>Stats: one happy Mongolian, <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/8300531805" target="_blank">93 kilometres ridden</a>, only 900m climbed, average temp 11 degrees. </p><p><br /></p><h4 style="text-align: center;">Day 4 - Queenstown to Zeehan</h4><p style="text-align: left;">We woke early enough that we could head down to the railway station cafe again in civvies, and were checked out and fully suited up when we met Aaron and his son Zane outside West Coast Ride. Not long afterwards, I was sporting a new left-hand pedal, and the spare right-hand flat pedal in my frame bag had also been replaced. Even had the post office been open, I'm not sure my risk appetite would have let me post the surplus home at this point... We donated Ratho's flat pedals (which they seemed happy enough not to get back) to Aaron's parts bin. </p><p style="text-align: left;">We set off bound for Zeehan. The Lyell Highway would have got us there within a couple of hours, but we took a slightly longer route through Strahan. Slowly regenerating bush was masking some of the effects of decades of mining activity, but tell-tale signs were everywhere, including the stream passing through the town.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT0YMk5HhEkN_PwBV9c8MfoTuzLsIpIxhUKKxuUp0J7znu5mz9OJviTAcahw0Sb8nglcCoJqiPGiQTKVmjLgKMvpNvOP_0yZPQ08hMtud7zMge2lsBmpFYtzSI_O1v0mg8KWE4H7Un9J_2GlSC-mshIs18lZ3-XJS-O0-8bNSGkX7nrl5XSWFSGZUSNw/s4000/20221229_092600.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT0YMk5HhEkN_PwBV9c8MfoTuzLsIpIxhUKKxuUp0J7znu5mz9OJviTAcahw0Sb8nglcCoJqiPGiQTKVmjLgKMvpNvOP_0yZPQ08hMtud7zMge2lsBmpFYtzSI_O1v0mg8KWE4H7Un9J_2GlSC-mshIs18lZ3-XJS-O0-8bNSGkX7nrl5XSWFSGZUSNw/w400-h300/20221229_092600.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>We saw a couple of cyclists out - a roadie gave us a nice wave (we'd see him again the next morning), and we got smoked by a woman on an e-bike (possibly hauling a child). </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr1ljcWrVM6Xj73t1PH-hxMvY4kqZJsbD6bbHDr8F6704TFyO7vBoKZFXnib5k51w82NS_gxYPrZR7eZtGvLdrIa6sFSXZG9GO2pKkFhbq4DRPhKOiNwFB-ciUjubWsNkXr--vxF1h9QFwrwjyhKZadh8ninFf8lvLM1HGgYu_4O4W74csEFmnhIXK-Q/s4000/20221229_095447.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr1ljcWrVM6Xj73t1PH-hxMvY4kqZJsbD6bbHDr8F6704TFyO7vBoKZFXnib5k51w82NS_gxYPrZR7eZtGvLdrIa6sFSXZG9GO2pKkFhbq4DRPhKOiNwFB-ciUjubWsNkXr--vxF1h9QFwrwjyhKZadh8ninFf8lvLM1HGgYu_4O4W74csEFmnhIXK-Q/w400-h300/20221229_095447.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">Once away from Queenstown we began getting views which were somewhat more appealing. We stopped at a layby to better admire the West Coast Range looming to the south of us. Sarah chatted to some locals while I went for a slash. </p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXcMXntWykL0UApJcoqVl6VUZ2Bw_nUC6IWrMIBNlszWzpzzJmjgEbxvRl-RTnN7W5NkPJspldWIogAvMoRUek62GLF0laK6A6AqwTLuLfWBm-hqTl5jqlVVCA1M4oph0deBG4W21dt2BN_nQ6Fc8Y10QKr-6RNz_1ZOwjTbW5-OYkugV0OKFkM2TVrA/s4000/20221229_103529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXcMXntWykL0UApJcoqVl6VUZ2Bw_nUC6IWrMIBNlszWzpzzJmjgEbxvRl-RTnN7W5NkPJspldWIogAvMoRUek62GLF0laK6A6AqwTLuLfWBm-hqTl5jqlVVCA1M4oph0deBG4W21dt2BN_nQ6Fc8Y10QKr-6RNz_1ZOwjTbW5-OYkugV0OKFkM2TVrA/w400-h300/20221229_103529.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">We peeled off about 300m of elevation largely in tree cover, so the "big reveal" of the ocean I was expecting never came. Sarah's near-death experience in the heat had also triggered a bit of pain and discolouration behind one of her knees, and she'd been somewhat successfully treating it with ibuprofen. We ducked into a chemist as we entered Strahan and ended up with some spray-on voltaren, which will live in the small first aid kit in my frame bag from now on. We credited the medication combo and my single-speeding for her recovery. </p><div>Next stop was a small cafe on the riverfront, where I enjoyed one of the nicest toasted sandwiches I've had - chicken, cheese and avocado. There, we also chatted with a couple from Hobart who were doing a road trip with their mountain bikes in tow. They mentioned seeing us in Ouse a couple of days prior, and on the road at least once since! </div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglqVfhM8qqIRe3Zag_EHAhdRQb7O4OtsA7WHHz4MmtuAGVtODzEKwuTCGBVWwksOqm9ZpDxfLov43fgTvb19XKw04KXHzhdZB0Bnp2xD3uon6wIkE760wH-vR9Z3HfYYy1GS5UmUrXblkyzeoFTtUUx8Yg2PMuQEcdHg-0ERX85vfGoE2rGZPcH9QFxA/s4000/20221229_115951.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglqVfhM8qqIRe3Zag_EHAhdRQb7O4OtsA7WHHz4MmtuAGVtODzEKwuTCGBVWwksOqm9ZpDxfLov43fgTvb19XKw04KXHzhdZB0Bnp2xD3uon6wIkE760wH-vR9Z3HfYYy1GS5UmUrXblkyzeoFTtUUx8Yg2PMuQEcdHg-0ERX85vfGoE2rGZPcH9QFxA/w400-h300/20221229_115951.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Strahan's other claim to fame...!</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">Beyond Strahan was a bit of flat riding, during which I was hoping to pop out to the coast and was keeping an eye out for a dirt road that might get us there. The shortest distance between the road and the sea came and went, and soon after I spotted a huge sand dune in the trees. We went back to investigate, and after locking the bikes up, discovered a bit of a playground tucked away. After we'd groveled up the steep dune, we found several families boogie-boarding, and also discovered that the ocean was a loooong way away still - far too far to walk, even if we'd not had the bikes to worry about. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMkqCJLoCUdOKFBudWZ6GqqUZPh7yA3mmY3cfrszmhQSYdX5U-J8IxjnLRfQz7fdi09myzZRZW-jk2pp1a04v9YC2ahnxmBQHBofCC_vy6DMx4_UlwHc3L8MOKMdvQT1wxC07ss09cmKX-AuOoJfunKa6P8QUZ6STDbP0y6rJJG8G1OvCLZ955HJw1Hw/s4000/20221229_132926.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMkqCJLoCUdOKFBudWZ6GqqUZPh7yA3mmY3cfrszmhQSYdX5U-J8IxjnLRfQz7fdi09myzZRZW-jk2pp1a04v9YC2ahnxmBQHBofCC_vy6DMx4_UlwHc3L8MOKMdvQT1wxC07ss09cmKX-AuOoJfunKa6P8QUZ6STDbP0y6rJJG8G1OvCLZ955HJw1Hw/w400-h300/20221229_132926.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">Eventually the road turned away from the coast and we began climbing. I was enjoying having both feet clipped in, but not so much the 12-degree slopes which were a struggle to ride. Looking back over the ocean was just about enough to make doing this loop in the opposite direction compelling - at some point rounding a bend to see this would have been awesome, and it was a shame we didn't experience the same in our direction of travel.</p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsgPAEhbmdUs0WNGdy0WZgiog_QiAOpWgkToaoVJuH1a7PEgQcs6JDGr8KKOmJfqNVn6wlA7RtF4nhSVCW4RxwswVRFuuyCGKLjumyOoPJfcI2H7-PADsWUWjjKyzNQaMuvnnSoxCWRV4Wa1Ytn2AlYJF0XQcul4rVxWJ9NSm4GS1LmZrX2BzRZjlFQA/s4000/20221229_140758.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsgPAEhbmdUs0WNGdy0WZgiog_QiAOpWgkToaoVJuH1a7PEgQcs6JDGr8KKOmJfqNVn6wlA7RtF4nhSVCW4RxwswVRFuuyCGKLjumyOoPJfcI2H7-PADsWUWjjKyzNQaMuvnnSoxCWRV4Wa1Ytn2AlYJF0XQcul4rVxWJ9NSm4GS1LmZrX2BzRZjlFQA/w400-h300/20221229_140758.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>We took a back road into Zeehan - another town with mining heritage. Before heading to our accommodation we made a visit to the local IGA, and given its name, I couldn't resist getting some chips to snack on. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWF-lcipBgki7SYWvWY4pJXg_z0AoL4iu39Tw9w2SR5u9_Gu8mOPxicHRkS76EGcwoUKPZ2MVOCkNT3WGcSks08yw65O-9Ep1x-Vgiw6eI_5fJVNmLpxEm4SAR7R3g0rPfW1sFL6klW9_uTLK7g5f0PtgMuc-fMpoT5izeUkpfvzPmR2p78SeDoFz7gw/s2944/20221229_152723.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2944" data-original-width="2208" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWF-lcipBgki7SYWvWY4pJXg_z0AoL4iu39Tw9w2SR5u9_Gu8mOPxicHRkS76EGcwoUKPZ2MVOCkNT3WGcSks08yw65O-9Ep1x-Vgiw6eI_5fJVNmLpxEm4SAR7R3g0rPfW1sFL6klW9_uTLK7g5f0PtgMuc-fMpoT5izeUkpfvzPmR2p78SeDoFz7gw/w300-h400/20221229_152723.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">A couple of kilometres down the road we found the Zeehan Bush Camp. While I checked us in, Sarah sculled the whole bottle of chocolate milk, having missed the memo that it was to share! No scowling selfie after that, but all was soon forgiven as the mood was lifted by our awesome glamping setup. The whole thing seemed incredibly well thought through and delivered - pre-prepared firewood, marshmallows, private and shared facilities. All in all, a great experience, and I was very glad it hadn't fallen victim to a Boxing Day rejig. </p><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbxqTOquMff3xlMbFdLJpW9ig6Kh-b7W_kqzh2YhNaZTBTFWrTkhGvw58Ds-FjJRAPTMfbHtrIhKo9E8z819SRntPRGv_8bSQZXFwgbVxL5kVdovYBTRx-4CG7JwF6Cx9hHX4NskQT0cENUXgtn6XUoryJ14mgm9OBaZKMeMg5KjOOsJ2UdcU8TRVbew/s4000/20221229_214756.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbxqTOquMff3xlMbFdLJpW9ig6Kh-b7W_kqzh2YhNaZTBTFWrTkhGvw58Ds-FjJRAPTMfbHtrIhKo9E8z819SRntPRGv_8bSQZXFwgbVxL5kVdovYBTRx-4CG7JwF6Cx9hHX4NskQT0cENUXgtn6XUoryJ14mgm9OBaZKMeMg5KjOOsJ2UdcU8TRVbew/w300-h400/20221229_214756.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br />After popping out for a dinner at the local pub, we came back to base, lit our fire, and were entertained by a Tasmanian nativehen, which is from the same family as the pūkeko, but in shades of green rather than the familiar deep blues. It was well worth a late night to see our tent (and our neighbours') all lit up.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwu3QL5g7vioKCM5TVXsGjOPPiu3gVeMBNoNzu0Ga2RKpWYQ_Q61OuCoJpYizPELk0o7TqGzU37xqr_YxFKRnKnw4g1fRHEpRPATQlvj96NUgjqkJhq58ZlBVAMrSs5F5rkw6N52Syk9MJ8YGsw8od1fBXSN-952wRsScfaFZ48TwkHvOEpqjEUdYkOw/s4000/20221229_220434.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwu3QL5g7vioKCM5TVXsGjOPPiu3gVeMBNoNzu0Ga2RKpWYQ_Q61OuCoJpYizPELk0o7TqGzU37xqr_YxFKRnKnw4g1fRHEpRPATQlvj96NUgjqkJhq58ZlBVAMrSs5F5rkw6N52Syk9MJ8YGsw8od1fBXSN-952wRsScfaFZ48TwkHvOEpqjEUdYkOw/w400-h300/20221229_220434.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p><u>Stats</u>: two happy glampers, <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/8305197746" target="_blank">90 kilometres ridden</a>, 1100 metres climbed, max temp 26 degrees</p><p><br /></p><h4 style="text-align: center;">Day 5 - Zeehan to Moina</h4><p style="text-align: left;">We hadn't seen the town cafe when we'd gone out for dinner despite looking for it, so had bought breakfast supplies for the morning. Of course, that act had ensured we did stumble upon it on the way back to camp, but in any case, we rolled out well fed.</p><p style="text-align: left;">We had a pretty big day ahead, and various tasks to perform en route to our B&B about half way between Zeehan and Launceston. </p><p style="text-align: left;">Mining activity and paraphernalia was sometimes obvious, but other times not at all. Once back on the Lyell Highway, we passed a major facility on our left, which, to our great surprise, was excavating under the hill to our right. We stopped and watch a conveyor belt emanating from a tunnel that must have been only a couple of metres beneath us seconds before. I dare say an aerial tour of this west coast region would yield some pretty shocking sights.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjleqOoy2nfQxYMSbld_WqvCbMsyhul7g7VgVhxlY4bLIuqFF8BGNNBNNRUhfRLXd9jh1SyhOWzfo1fWv4h_-vSUtKCuW_Fz_A2F-FE4M35zpx1BV5xnGOJiQXXpwb-POUvjRRoQcEsLURZHjdUO2rB1-EdtCpHcR3KpZIl7sKx_osX9R9maWE282zYMg/s4000/20221230_095941.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjleqOoy2nfQxYMSbld_WqvCbMsyhul7g7VgVhxlY4bLIuqFF8BGNNBNNRUhfRLXd9jh1SyhOWzfo1fWv4h_-vSUtKCuW_Fz_A2F-FE4M35zpx1BV5xnGOJiQXXpwb-POUvjRRoQcEsLURZHjdUO2rB1-EdtCpHcR3KpZIl7sKx_osX9R9maWE282zYMg/w300-h400/20221230_095941.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Who would otherwise have known rock was being shifted under the road...?!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">Our host had warned us the only real shopping opportunity would come at Rosebery, sadly only a quarter of the way into the ride. There, we had a second breakfast, and then I set to trying to organise a new Di2 battery. I spoke to a very helpful person on the phone at the Launceston My Ride, only to discover at the very last moment that the battery they had was not the right one. Another store - <a href="https://rollcycles.com.au/" target="_blank">Roll Cycles</a> - was recommended, and with the help of a part number from Jesse Cseh (who had his feet up after a mind-boggling tour of the Whakarewarewa forest - <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/8305090081" target="_blank">literally <i>all of it</i></a>) and an incredibly pro-active salesman, Josh, I soon had purchased the necessary part, and had negotiated after hours delivery of it to our motel since we'd arrive after closing on new year's eve. </p><p style="text-align: left;">That sorted, we also bought a pack of pasta, tin of tomatoes and a couple of small tins of tuna for our dinner. Once that was lashed to the top of my saddle back, we set off again, an hour the poorer over a straight snack stop, but with some important tasks done. </p><p style="text-align: left;">As we climbed out of town, we were reminded of our mixed feelings towards the local drivers. On the one hand, they'd almost uniformly been incredibly courteous of us, giving us plenty of space on the road. On the other, we had passed an inordinate amount of roadship trash - including weird things like McDonalds or KFC wrappers, despite being hours away from either. </p></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGNTJRW0hhPhzgiGvIeVmZzsOZDD_IBnCE6KPIDLxKiicTQXEKZ_8-CUZf7JKebrBijm0-Yjn6I1S-aRvwKEmnJNz8JGzzgnxn_vA25tmpbu28Hzfdtxyfp8mua7sUxR-HglII-I4LY22Q9ZO_FLSdNb86HCXpQfvlTHYyBacSxDtL7eTfsGYJ2XedRw/s4000/20221230_120328.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGNTJRW0hhPhzgiGvIeVmZzsOZDD_IBnCE6KPIDLxKiicTQXEKZ_8-CUZf7JKebrBijm0-Yjn6I1S-aRvwKEmnJNz8JGzzgnxn_vA25tmpbu28Hzfdtxyfp8mua7sUxR-HglII-I4LY22Q9ZO_FLSdNb86HCXpQfvlTHYyBacSxDtL7eTfsGYJ2XedRw/w400-h300/20221230_120328.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"STOP LITTERING PEOPLE"</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div>Straight out of the gates was a tough climb, followed by a descent to an intersection with another main road from Queenstown that I hadn't noticed on our map. We did pop into the Tullah Lodge for a cold drink, and this literally was the last store we'd pass until the following morning. </div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir4QwDuuTkXrDpat154Miu6xTQQRmmMqf_ZHC7X3nVCb0eV63zCDDPuVtO6q2FlHYuDY833fAwYsWkmAxS2dOannjfLFVvC8ESMvTY26yHlEPkEEcLhrIQpzjt-84zqNAyn0aGRJZKbGEoApfyvQT2CktVIr-Epe7UuqVd9FkdY3xq_c0B77Z2anYSew/s4000/20221230_125239.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir4QwDuuTkXrDpat154Miu6xTQQRmmMqf_ZHC7X3nVCb0eV63zCDDPuVtO6q2FlHYuDY833fAwYsWkmAxS2dOannjfLFVvC8ESMvTY26yHlEPkEEcLhrIQpzjt-84zqNAyn0aGRJZKbGEoApfyvQT2CktVIr-Epe7UuqVd9FkdY3xq_c0B77Z2anYSew/w400-h300/20221230_125239.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chess on the shores of Lake Rosebery</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">As if to reinforce the importance of the Di2 battery purchase, the afternoon's roads were incredibly tough. It was slightly mortifying to resort to tactical walks on a main road, but with gradients at or above 15% on a few occasions, I had no choice. An upside was it was easier to admire the scenery on foot, rather than chewing on my stem.</p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwil-w-xYDSz-8goJs7BzaiRGPP6rMrgU2acwk8Y-jwtagg5MchrvkkRnU08QNEfQjWINjZT4UFqXGGsrJ7vAfvAmMG1VS-dLCK6FI__Nqm3eTw2NTulyRFb8Tb0PpSqNSoLM7i1EjvPlFAWDMpvdbuvEAQ9kcbD9q7fbQjNXPeH_0qm1PzFs3NbgEaA/s4000/20221230_160418.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwil-w-xYDSz-8goJs7BzaiRGPP6rMrgU2acwk8Y-jwtagg5MchrvkkRnU08QNEfQjWINjZT4UFqXGGsrJ7vAfvAmMG1VS-dLCK6FI__Nqm3eTw2NTulyRFb8Tb0PpSqNSoLM7i1EjvPlFAWDMpvdbuvEAQ9kcbD9q7fbQjNXPeH_0qm1PzFs3NbgEaA/w400-h300/20221230_160418.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">The road summit brought Cradle Mountain into view - a jewel in crown of "Tasmania's Outdoor Art Gallery".</p><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxm5kTv2lDGWhV-W2oJG8rBbEw4fpLvUEwo6-SzcDYUzjmMsNmIPALoN0Kx6gHCmLNXWvnZ2bggelNJTXmm1pq88qG3eiof7qmKHF0I-4fVCeyXQVgrtRW63FnTXis6a_3-ZZ2ARJi7cXQfPAyaPmxVWZFAl0a55RrdYt2oq0ZeN_b9r_9DrukGpFPpQ/s4000/20221230_161548.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxm5kTv2lDGWhV-W2oJG8rBbEw4fpLvUEwo6-SzcDYUzjmMsNmIPALoN0Kx6gHCmLNXWvnZ2bggelNJTXmm1pq88qG3eiof7qmKHF0I-4fVCeyXQVgrtRW63FnTXis6a_3-ZZ2ARJi7cXQfPAyaPmxVWZFAl0a55RrdYt2oq0ZeN_b9r_9DrukGpFPpQ/w400-h300/20221230_161548.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Well played, Kentish!</td></tr></tbody></table><p style="text-align: left;">We did take a short side track, which gaves us amazing views over the dramatically (and aptly) named Vale of Belvoir. Cradle Mountain itself was off in the distance and not at all a dominant feature in this incredible landscape, despite the signage suggesting otherwise. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVnF9D27Iv4zdxISDJ6k-G7ImQXDTM9GXMP5AAfnw75daeohtKtxeRhMv9Zun9OSoy1slZvu-0m94szn99aDC87agsFO9bdX6FfiW8sc0aZ0IFIsU6t8wowl7nwosXGJ3zja3bgIwT32F4OyvnGDlGMjCX7T7_MK2lcifstUdYhypu3Bxb26o3Gi_qew/s4000/20221230_162318.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVnF9D27Iv4zdxISDJ6k-G7ImQXDTM9GXMP5AAfnw75daeohtKtxeRhMv9Zun9OSoy1slZvu-0m94szn99aDC87agsFO9bdX6FfiW8sc0aZ0IFIsU6t8wowl7nwosXGJ3zja3bgIwT32F4OyvnGDlGMjCX7T7_MK2lcifstUdYhypu3Bxb26o3Gi_qew/w400-h300/20221230_162318.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Vale of Belvoir, and Cradle Mountain mid-shot</td></tr></tbody></table><p style="text-align: left;">After grovelling up steep hills, the final hour or so of the ride wasn't so bad terrain-wise, but the weather deteriorated, and I ran out of physical and mental steam to an extent. Sarah was in her inclement element though, which was good. We passed both the turnoff to Cradle Mountain and a shit-load of rubbish in the the roadside ditches, and eventually arrived at our B&B, bedraggled and for my part, relieved. We'd been allocated the cabin named "Roland" and chuckled to discover its neighbour was called "Wellington".</p><p style="text-align: left;">The facilities were great, and the "breakfast basket" that had been supplied probably could have comfortably stretched to dinner as well, had we come unprepared. We made good use of the guest laundry, and also the spa bath! </p><u>Stats</u>: one Di2 battery bought, <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/8310018757" target="_blank">119km ridden</a>, 2400m climbed (some on foot), max temp 37 degrees, final two hours steadily decreasing from 17 to 7. <br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><h4 style="text-align: center;">Day 6 - Moina to Launceston</h4><p style="text-align: left;">When I plan a touring route, by and large I ignore the terrain and focus on distance and the bigger picture only. However it hadn't escaped my notice that we'd start day 6 by peeling off about 500 vertical metres, before painstakingly recovering most of it on the other side of the steep valley which we'd cross. With another day in hand, pushing north towards the coast would probably have avoided this natural feature, but we were headed eastwards towards "Lonnie". </p><p style="text-align: left;">A couple of minutes into our descent we took a side road which promised good views over Cethana Dam. There, I mustered up the courage to fire up our drone for the first time - a replacement for the one I'd put into a palm tree in French Polynesia (it wasn't the tree that killed it, but the foot of water it fell into...). </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUCqwu8eVjSCFETVslzpeyDKCofxRJTzQbeNCryLcvAHjQPprL4w6cXgb43GYIZ8nmQU80jMcJv9APdLJ-t7lcjDLAoKkqbU3yXpvG1Rf5WMzN5Z2Ig6kYhRYtCfkTTQkphjA6QZXT1joAFXDzz37NsejYoK5Ws7k5hVTGnVd3m0PxcAJUBqYt3SVWTw/s4032/DJI_0082.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUCqwu8eVjSCFETVslzpeyDKCofxRJTzQbeNCryLcvAHjQPprL4w6cXgb43GYIZ8nmQU80jMcJv9APdLJ-t7lcjDLAoKkqbU3yXpvG1Rf5WMzN5Z2Ig6kYhRYtCfkTTQkphjA6QZXT1joAFXDzz37NsejYoK5Ws7k5hVTGnVd3m0PxcAJUBqYt3SVWTw/w400-h300/DJI_0082.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cethana Dam on the Forth River, from above</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ6Maf4QJkoOhi-l44HsIVCFhKGx-xXOGgMgso42GIr22thlk8XsOh27sGq_PVTGqI_EFa59dRQWfiz69tCqKk_7e3jZn_kPltleLl54f64pQJjR2QXLD9Rmwkmv0TS89ZeGhmWk53ao6ZMB3c8MPm4d5unzDRQ9PEqmtlE4xMYcHQ-s561GNPXu5HNg/s4000/20221231_094318.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ6Maf4QJkoOhi-l44HsIVCFhKGx-xXOGgMgso42GIr22thlk8XsOh27sGq_PVTGqI_EFa59dRQWfiz69tCqKk_7e3jZn_kPltleLl54f64pQJjR2QXLD9Rmwkmv0TS89ZeGhmWk53ao6ZMB3c8MPm4d5unzDRQ9PEqmtlE4xMYcHQ-s561GNPXu5HNg/w400-h300/20221231_094318.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cethana Dam from below</td></tr></tbody></table></div><p style="text-align: left;">Once across the Forth River, I was pleased to note that my legs felt OK on the 300m climb that followed, despite the previous day's hammering. I was surprised to reach a saddle, at which was a cafe. There, I did a bit of route tweaking which cut out additional climbing, and we were pleased to descend gradually through Gowrie Park and Claude Road (one of the weirder place names I've seen).</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguBAWZJo8RBjvvGeL0rjtpLjD0EbI1ITsmsYMXDreyBT1DVuCBpPsFD72UxK8OGaktggPLmSNyBBOIDWcAslBalLvZaBUc1y3maziE3nFWgm_WFsDq2hzfkN9cGi1cmAKfbA9jNSJK_otlxGnJru1ZIolXlU8VFT6iiEs0nKOnWjQ6z2C7Oo_sYjwgjg/s4000/20221231_105303.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguBAWZJo8RBjvvGeL0rjtpLjD0EbI1ITsmsYMXDreyBT1DVuCBpPsFD72UxK8OGaktggPLmSNyBBOIDWcAslBalLvZaBUc1y3maziE3nFWgm_WFsDq2hzfkN9cGi1cmAKfbA9jNSJK_otlxGnJru1ZIolXlU8VFT6iiEs0nKOnWjQ6z2C7Oo_sYjwgjg/w400-h300/20221231_105303.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Street art at Gowrie Park</td></tr></tbody></table><br />Claude Road (the road, rather than the place) took us around the looming Mt Roland Regional Reserve. Along its length, and a regular feature of West Coast properties that we'd passed were firewood stacks that reminded me of the immaculate ones <a href="https://sifter-writes-bikes.blogspot.com/2018/06/28-june-2013-border-crossing-at-2700m.html" target="_blank">I'd admired in Italy and France</a> almost 10 years prior, and also gave a strong suggestion about the sort of winter conditions faced by Tasmanians.</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQXva-fAZpIvMdEJGPUfjSk8zcD-IfyAbfZag7bBsOpExL4553vj7tMkxzlfK4tQaxBsReMyBgv4DPM7RFWJozY2RUiqzQmprHzFphftZegq79XteGgUs0TpWzcEX3agwZrpX-qRYX0IRvdjd2o1cEoClE8gHXncQH1bFMoUnfDLmEZ0XbN5FjtO7Hlg/s4000/20221231_111229.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQXva-fAZpIvMdEJGPUfjSk8zcD-IfyAbfZag7bBsOpExL4553vj7tMkxzlfK4tQaxBsReMyBgv4DPM7RFWJozY2RUiqzQmprHzFphftZegq79XteGgUs0TpWzcEX3agwZrpX-qRYX0IRvdjd2o1cEoClE8gHXncQH1bFMoUnfDLmEZ0XbN5FjtO7Hlg/w400-h300/20221231_111229.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">Shortly after Claude Road (the place, rather than the road) we turned off to enact Plan C. We'd forgone the climb past Tasmazia which would have taken us into Sheffield, and also ignored the deviation to Mole Creek. Instead, we rode a mix of sealed and dirt roads through Paradise, Lower Beulah and Weegena and eventually to Deloraine, where we found a decent lunch stop. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbZoD6OWtdXlYLcJZcqN3vYo7ibhzTgVWlnnAzeTih3c9PqptfMnfK_UpH6rZCFLXitldO8xMS3aDLJWCQyVYOK3c30a3N180tjyLuxJgO2r5bvvZhUisnKOcUqQUwpk_xPbr_UusP-Q81j-pqz6muPRWdWTRjz7pYxybXZD4LcezStk137e3KwzaUTw/s4000/20221231_113705.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbZoD6OWtdXlYLcJZcqN3vYo7ibhzTgVWlnnAzeTih3c9PqptfMnfK_UpH6rZCFLXitldO8xMS3aDLJWCQyVYOK3c30a3N180tjyLuxJgO2r5bvvZhUisnKOcUqQUwpk_xPbr_UusP-Q81j-pqz6muPRWdWTRjz7pYxybXZD4LcezStk137e3KwzaUTw/w400-h300/20221231_113705.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Somewhere in Paradise, and high on my list of great letterboxes! </td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">From Deloraine, the road was pretty uninspiring, and seemed likely to have once been the main highway into Launceston - these days running parallel to the Bass Highway (A1 designated). I was having a great time (NOT!) spinning my legs like crazy on the slightly downhill terrain. I seemed to be able to maintain in excess of 25km/h, but frankly, the spin/coast/spin/coast pattern was wearing a bit thin, and on my undercarriage, almost literally. Bring on Lonnie.</p><p style="text-align: left;">We arrived at our motel just before 5pm, and at check-in, I was shocked to discover that nothing had been left for me, asking the clerk three times if he was sure nothing had been delivered. I hadn't had the wherewithal to ask for Josh's private number, and became a bit despondent at the thought of trying to clean the situation up once the store reopened on the 3rd of January. It all seemed like a bit of a disaster until about 15 minutes later there was a knock on our door, and there was Josh! At that moment, I realised that actually him dropping in late was worth the alarm it had caused, as I was able to give him a handsome tip for the after-hours hand delivery. </p><p style="text-align: left;">I was kind of expecting the battery to work out of the box, so blood pressure spiked again when it didn't. However, 10 minutes on the charger and everything came to life. I had a real spring in my step when we walked to the local shopping centre to grab kebabs for dinner, a fittingly simple meal to bring closure to a rough year...! </p></div><div><p><u>Stats</u>: ending the day with TWO fully functioning bicycles (HALLE-FUCKING-LUJAH!!!!), <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/8314275409" target="_blank">117km ridden</a>, 1400m climbed, max temp 32 degrees. </p><p><br /></p><h4 style="text-align: center;">Launceston Lay Day</h4><p style="text-align: left;">We spent new year's day cruising around Lonnie in civvies, and generally having a low key day. I changed gears with gay abandon, which was a nice thing to be able to do. We were somewhat aimless, and simply followed our noses, to a great extent along dedicated cycle paths, which was great fun. A culinary highlight was a very delicious Cauliflower Cheese pie for breakfast from a Banjo's Bakery store. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRiP_vlmgqT7MqUlmC3IVlkNSnJeIXjbCxznf5g1cy1WEhUN5a5p_3J9jvUOFVElnoopgtRKqz9L5ytvDNDBpu_9qhG8OiySGy5rxh_8DAEjLD1apMp76kfD4XUEcZtb1DfVbOt9Yj9pOHkjXVsPVBJkqU7fivSSvR3Jueu2_xBHOjXugakGSlkfrJpA/s4000/20230101_125145.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRiP_vlmgqT7MqUlmC3IVlkNSnJeIXjbCxznf5g1cy1WEhUN5a5p_3J9jvUOFVElnoopgtRKqz9L5ytvDNDBpu_9qhG8OiySGy5rxh_8DAEjLD1apMp76kfD4XUEcZtb1DfVbOt9Yj9pOHkjXVsPVBJkqU7fivSSvR3Jueu2_xBHOjXugakGSlkfrJpA/w400-h300/20230101_125145.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A very impressive playground in Riverbend Park</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><u>Stats</u>: 53km ridden, no sunburn, despite not putting cream on and an average temp of 21 degrees. </p><p><br /></p><h4 style="text-align: center;">Day 7 - Launceston to St Marys</h4><p style="text-align: left;">Touring Day 7 also got an impromptu route adjustment. I'd planned to connect into the A4 south of the Ben Lomond National Park, but that was in anticipation of riding Jacob's Ladder in the north of the park on our day off. Alas, the torrid week prior had left us with little inclination to have a huge ride on our "day off", leaving the back roads that we would taken as prime candidates for our next day to St Marys in the hills above the east coast of the island. </p><p style="text-align: left;">Our motel's cafe was closed up for the festive season, so we made do with breakfast at a nearby Maccas. When we rolled out for good, the skies in the north were ominously dark, and we could hear the occasional rumble of thunder. For a while it looked like we might avoid getting hit, but eventually the skies briefly opened, and in the absence of convenient shelter we rode in the rain for a few minutes.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoQYdXQ1GwFEqHo2mVjo7RQO2ggCPVIvwBonCXFnYW7ESarTStHi5vMEGvoqV1QrQW1qgbDkpFobJI-t25n_LQpuZxy2bTomwWl4exf4wh6B5p2a8mHZryN3pWtFJvkE6BcqZkbJXqIrkCegndFYYIyMPxL9O317Y0f1BWXCq7gAtA4Xmfy2evWo2hVA/s4000/20230102_091454.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoQYdXQ1GwFEqHo2mVjo7RQO2ggCPVIvwBonCXFnYW7ESarTStHi5vMEGvoqV1QrQW1qgbDkpFobJI-t25n_LQpuZxy2bTomwWl4exf4wh6B5p2a8mHZryN3pWtFJvkE6BcqZkbJXqIrkCegndFYYIyMPxL9O317Y0f1BWXCq7gAtA4Xmfy2evWo2hVA/w400-h300/20230102_091454.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The North Esk River</td></tr></tbody></table><p style="text-align: left;">The road was sealed until soon after the Jacob's Ladder turnoff (which I was ever so slightly sad to skip, but under no illusions about our ability - or lack thereof - to squeeze it in). The dirt Roses Tier Road started gently enough, but it was clear from the ride profile (and the ridge we could see ahead) that we were in for a stern test soon enough. </p><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPa-pIjp5ITyA39BUL1EMnEp6vRW_e0JD2bYNqPCXmi5A4E-z9dfTbe-mkOMsvJeMnF-8NNmBvCHBTnn4o_8pPC-Uzx7b_btx1gK6Z54TFEzrAQol_5IOyIkUwA5-ucTDP-dwn5hmf-pxznFV07BdRm1UCsON-mNasLHhvVGNlqR3UwC6HUKVJfTKECA/s4000/20230102_114828.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPa-pIjp5ITyA39BUL1EMnEp6vRW_e0JD2bYNqPCXmi5A4E-z9dfTbe-mkOMsvJeMnF-8NNmBvCHBTnn4o_8pPC-Uzx7b_btx1gK6Z54TFEzrAQol_5IOyIkUwA5-ucTDP-dwn5hmf-pxznFV07BdRm1UCsON-mNasLHhvVGNlqR3UwC6HUKVJfTKECA/w400-h300/20230102_114828.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">No overtaking or passing on Tassie's one lane bridges, please</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">When the steep part came - just over 2km with an <i>average</i> gradient of 14% - I rode the whole thing as a matter of principle. The fairly regular ramps exceeding 20% required careful traction management, but one advantage of being almost 100kg clothed and riding a loaded bike, was that the bike sticks to the ground like the proverbial. There was no way I'd have gotten up there a couple of days earlier, but with a full complement of gears, there was no way I wasn't going to ride it...!</p><p style="text-align: left;">The descent was much more gradual, and on the way we were (unsuccessfully) keeping an eye out for a ute that had lost a sack of fertiliser off their deck soon after passing us. </p><p style="text-align: left;">We took a punt and did a short side trip into Mathinna, only to find the store well and truly shut up. Instead we ate the snacks we'd hauled with us, before resuming our ride. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEght4HSllJTYr0QLGktRQnluS6vb00eBMrknijbELEON67hkDEsgwmgU7fEgv9DdSHqVwpRFvbMz_O3a2NkMGXRUlEdAgrevqPD66_vr3lItxgg7Y3LgI6w0Kqdsrt4fQQcVDx_Edb92_R2UofhG7K4MKSOcM_sRA4CjJLzvgBLBJoJRtP0S0irKTy-wg/s4000/20230102_133804.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEght4HSllJTYr0QLGktRQnluS6vb00eBMrknijbELEON67hkDEsgwmgU7fEgv9DdSHqVwpRFvbMz_O3a2NkMGXRUlEdAgrevqPD66_vr3lItxgg7Y3LgI6w0Kqdsrt4fQQcVDx_Edb92_R2UofhG7K4MKSOcM_sRA4CjJLzvgBLBJoJRtP0S0irKTy-wg/w400-h300/20230102_133804.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">Soon after, and just under 20km short of meeting the main Esk Highway (A4), we turned off onto the C430 back road, almost immediately being treated to some apt road sign vandalism (a repeat of which we'd see once more a couple of days later). </p><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYN-0oQ-bCUIcGn6zr4bW8kCvWNmz0oUYeVDjXUsBSWj6xCYStHIJloCz9K3kLzovxI8LwhjF6RMHPRKG17JykVjXIo0bU-36kD_iZKma83LGhEf1xUk49A6eSMLaF_I8MrKgeeaywLgyqLDXnY6m6DGcSsty4UeQgDgpE8p-wJFbT3Rt6_ERJmQXQwg/s4000/20230102_135745.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYN-0oQ-bCUIcGn6zr4bW8kCvWNmz0oUYeVDjXUsBSWj6xCYStHIJloCz9K3kLzovxI8LwhjF6RMHPRKG17JykVjXIo0bU-36kD_iZKma83LGhEf1xUk49A6eSMLaF_I8MrKgeeaywLgyqLDXnY6m6DGcSsty4UeQgDgpE8p-wJFbT3Rt6_ERJmQXQwg/w400-h300/20230102_135745.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">The unsealed back route was lovely, and we were entertained by the birdlife - Forest Ravens and Black Cockatoos in particular (which we would both hear and see), but also the occasional Kookaburra laughing or Sulphur Crested Cockatoo screeching. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi56VkmYzGc4rY2Z7_LIcNwCGDYNiI4JLou3IX6L_fOa1OqgAz2GgTZLs4CrdhXFlE0FcMdfSO69LZzjowovH4iEFyIb5f1IM04G8Hh45J9edF5c0VWvQo_VDikthPR-J8FWTwrKV_vDkuPpvGHzTulICLVw55VenWJTGmWLtdFjLe7s3NCrdrsoyTpew/s4032/DJI_0088.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi56VkmYzGc4rY2Z7_LIcNwCGDYNiI4JLou3IX6L_fOa1OqgAz2GgTZLs4CrdhXFlE0FcMdfSO69LZzjowovH4iEFyIb5f1IM04G8Hh45J9edF5c0VWvQo_VDikthPR-J8FWTwrKV_vDkuPpvGHzTulICLVw55VenWJTGmWLtdFjLe7s3NCrdrsoyTpew/w400-h300/DJI_0088.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Marital bliss</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div>After a short play with the drone, we soon hit the base of Mount Nicholas Road, which was the not insubstantial price we'd have to pay for the unsealed road. Soon enough, we'd dispatched it, and were rolling into St Marys on the Esk Highway. After a stop at the IGA, we checked into our room at the pub and washed up. After a shower I went back to the supermarket and added to the multitude of nail clippers that we already own, many of which I've bought midway through cycle tours once my fingernails have become unbearably long. These ones too have been added to the frame bag aid kit. Time to break the cycle!</div><div><br /></div><div>After dinner we decided to head out for a stroll around the village. As we left, we bumped into another cycle tourist, and one of only a few that we saw during our fortnight out and about. We discovered Carsten to be a German working for a Norwegian architecture firm in their Austria office, seconded for three months to their outpost in Adelaide. I was envious to discover he had gone up Jacob's ladder, and even more so when I saw some of his photos after a bit of strava stalking! He'd probably been a couple of hours behind us up Roses Tier Rd, and credited walking for seeing a wombat crossing the road. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitNCBbTdNRbO0K8uxKV9n9iCrRlJYqjEV6_oI0lB100FHw6caKiXA36W88HMaB9022hrqJWetyq-znmRs4Z_PV0XyGXx08ljB5cHv16osUoTehrOj-I16EsLCZf4CZ-LQHiLRiVyjnqphNsdkO8JmuluNZ5USPF3Wd0shQy7ue96yL26ZddXhsH6KVsg/s4000/20230102_210103.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitNCBbTdNRbO0K8uxKV9n9iCrRlJYqjEV6_oI0lB100FHw6caKiXA36W88HMaB9022hrqJWetyq-znmRs4Z_PV0XyGXx08ljB5cHv16osUoTehrOj-I16EsLCZf4CZ-LQHiLRiVyjnqphNsdkO8JmuluNZ5USPF3Wd0shQy7ue96yL26ZddXhsH6KVsg/w400-h300/20230102_210103.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p><u>Stats</u>: a few thunderstorms mostly dodged, <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/8323772654" target="_blank">119km ridden</a>, 1700m climbed, max temp 33 degrees. </p><p><br /></p><h4 style="text-align: center;">Day 8 - St Marys to Little Swanport</h4><p style="text-align: left;">On the way into town, and again during our walk, I'd seen advertising for the Mt Elephant Pancake Barn. Sadly, the internet was firmly of the belief that this was closed, which was more than a tad disappointing. The hotel provided cereal and toast though, and we chowed down on this, chatting to Carsten as we did so. </p><p style="text-align: left;">We left ahead of him, so were the first to discover that the route we were all intending to take - over Elephant Pass and then down to the coast - was closed. While this did save me from having to ride past the pancake place, the alternate route looked about to add 15km to our day's tally. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUliNSBump6vcUnS8q8iIcpqHOUMizD8U6gmJOIFXcONd0embW7kiboMyhUlpoClHQLMxtLDDKkZzcXu9vyzBBwBHUFmW9v5057_4X_aKdNEQ6iE5eQwkNzwKyt0558n4vBtqJPdOB7w6U7kxyj6FUtLGy1vP1BXUlmXGFQw2Buyl3Zx7qaxjIROpOLA/s4000/20230103_091600.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUliNSBump6vcUnS8q8iIcpqHOUMizD8U6gmJOIFXcONd0embW7kiboMyhUlpoClHQLMxtLDDKkZzcXu9vyzBBwBHUFmW9v5057_4X_aKdNEQ6iE5eQwkNzwKyt0558n4vBtqJPdOB7w6U7kxyj6FUtLGy1vP1BXUlmXGFQw2Buyl3Zx7qaxjIROpOLA/w400-h300/20230103_091600.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Closed</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">There were a couple of silver linings, the first being that the northern route over St Marys Pass didn't kick off with a 150m climb like we would otherwise have been doing. Instead, after a very gentle rollout, we were descending most of the way to the coast. </p><p style="text-align: left;">Once down at sea level, we turned into a brisk headwind, and coats were on again, off again, until we reached the Elephant Pass intersection. Curiously, there the road shrunk, and for the rest of the day, we were riding without any shoulder, and with a rough edge to the pavement to boot. As it turned out, the road we weren't intending to ride was the nicest stretch of the day, at least looking straight downwards. For the most part, the drivers compensated for the road, which was greatly appreciated.</p><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCcKEmyy7Jq3UZIsIRv2f_BE4YJPiYuBqaZnHKMX_Ai7Eh-OJRH08DAwag2NaejMJBuNzFcbyUn2VZpnkaB3ssKfArdNln8fnORJOWnVFfd2KVos5qIb8MoW1U-Qy6KzsviriODQUMg2B_8-UgsE1TP3w1F7IjTAB2fqS75zLA6zqI4D6kvIeNIYF28w/s4000/20230103_142728.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCcKEmyy7Jq3UZIsIRv2f_BE4YJPiYuBqaZnHKMX_Ai7Eh-OJRH08DAwag2NaejMJBuNzFcbyUn2VZpnkaB3ssKfArdNln8fnORJOWnVFfd2KVos5qIb8MoW1U-Qy6KzsviriODQUMg2B_8-UgsE1TP3w1F7IjTAB2fqS75zLA6zqI4D6kvIeNIYF28w/w300-h400/20230103_142728.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">We stopped for a bite to eat in Bicheno, a small town which seemed to be absolutely pumping. It was lunchtime, but I assumed that because it wasn't great beach weather, things were busier than normal. Today's pie variety was curried scallop, and it was pretty damn fantastic. Scallops did seem to be less of a luxury here than back in NZ, and when in Rome...</p><p style="text-align: left;">It had been really hard to find accommodation along this East Coast route, and the best I could come up with was a bush camp a wee way from the nearest shops. Rather than haul dinner ingredients and take our chances with the facilities, we decided to stop in Swansea, and have a dinner-like afternoon tea (which turned out to be a so-so meal of fish and chips). We left with some goodies in our rarely-used backpack, namely a loaf of bread, some spreads (the supermarket conveniently sold single serve packs of peanut butter and jams for 25 cents each - horrible for the environment, but very cost effective and efficient), some soup sachets, and a packet of biscuits. That'd do us for supper and get us on the road in the morning. Sarah reported good legs, and volunteered to do the hauling, which I gladly accepted. I was bound to get things sweaty, and I appreciated the effort she was putting in. </p><p style="text-align: left;">I was slightly nervous about navigation, but shouldn't have been as the camp was well signposted off the main road. </p><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW7KJeC5gSkhirM3gStmDV5dhhgwmXRNVCLIqxFqv10yFue1S8vQgxEx5baUPKlUZ5x6d9Q9cZs3BEo-i7vzPX7b5eEqEt4eRqJXwVozhirCioiWqPb8U5U1ai_sJPCnzUliavDWg2AtJ2ztCht5Yp9lKt85oNCaLypjyzjd9LdU0ZNdpkSXRHG-tfqA/s4000/20230103_171906.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW7KJeC5gSkhirM3gStmDV5dhhgwmXRNVCLIqxFqv10yFue1S8vQgxEx5baUPKlUZ5x6d9Q9cZs3BEo-i7vzPX7b5eEqEt4eRqJXwVozhirCioiWqPb8U5U1ai_sJPCnzUliavDWg2AtJ2ztCht5Yp9lKt85oNCaLypjyzjd9LdU0ZNdpkSXRHG-tfqA/w400-h300/20230103_171906.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p style="text-align: left;">At check-in we rented a couple of sets of linen, and were also able to buy a couple of small chocolate milks and a can of mushroom soup for Sarah (which had been requested but unavailable at the IGA in Swansea). Once washed up, we had a few sandwiches each with our soup, washed down with some bikkies. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhah3LfG6JlC60CjyMbhIGVK-12zUqb4tJdpPmZ5aKX2mULRe4fEbNqwn8i-kElS9-IIMPV19fIZ9bIZfmJbBB_dkvkdDTsYb6FWipO3a4C8a_DN6eY7tI8q7-qMuFBgicaOgwkM8m_UO6h3gQsvOR4OMXNR83s_DjHicSRkytz9nAd7YV45wtuWtrQBQ/s4000/20230103_183558.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhah3LfG6JlC60CjyMbhIGVK-12zUqb4tJdpPmZ5aKX2mULRe4fEbNqwn8i-kElS9-IIMPV19fIZ9bIZfmJbBB_dkvkdDTsYb6FWipO3a4C8a_DN6eY7tI8q7-qMuFBgicaOgwkM8m_UO6h3gQsvOR4OMXNR83s_DjHicSRkytz9nAd7YV45wtuWtrQBQ/w400-h300/20230103_183558.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p><u>Stats</u>: one 15km detour, <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/8329534406" target="_blank">139km ridden</a>, 1300m climbed, max temp 20 degrees. </p><p><br /></p><h4 style="text-align: center;">Day 9 - Little Swanport to Eaglehawk Neck</h4><p>After demolishing the rest of our loaf of bread and a couple of instant coffees each, we rolled out. I'd caught a fleeting glimpse of a kangaroo on the ride up to the camp the previous evening - literally the first we'd seen off the bike - but we were able to enjoy one more clearly soon after leaving the premises. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiczsgRjVRWuL9QXClP06VXZAIRoijpI6owafgIWcIlN9NL1TAc4AqKxKp2oVDidynIFPuCIiqml8gPWdfCq2sFKL4UCB-rZWzTqlpMB7scPGl-EEWJj-1NHeiShXg875RdCYu7zHDST8YEtpFxPFkC1JxLpse53nURSubJTF69vuCP0LnqY5eBuEkyrg/s4000/20230104_094546.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiczsgRjVRWuL9QXClP06VXZAIRoijpI6owafgIWcIlN9NL1TAc4AqKxKp2oVDidynIFPuCIiqml8gPWdfCq2sFKL4UCB-rZWzTqlpMB7scPGl-EEWJj-1NHeiShXg875RdCYu7zHDST8YEtpFxPFkC1JxLpse53nURSubJTF69vuCP0LnqY5eBuEkyrg/w400-h300/20230104_094546.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p style="text-align: left;">Back on the highway, it was just over 20km to Triabunna, where we found a cafe for a second breakfast. Before settling on a place, we waved to a couple of elderly cycle tourists who'd stopped for the night in Swansea, and had clearly made a much earlier start than us. When we chatted the day before, the woman told us she was soon to be in the South Island and had some great bikepacking lined up.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Orford was less than 10km further down the road, and there we turned off. Almost immediately was a sign for the "Wielangta Road Forest Drive" which sounded very appealing. I checked my planned route and discovered that we would hook into this road in about 12km. After a bit of humming and hahing, I decided to stick with the plan, and continue along the coast for a bit. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj80dbv1mGbFl13m7f3M77AYTz5i_I0JJSVbXWYYMZtHlLqwlHL0mU6DpyhRb8QgfUawg6WlkIPql4mZaHN8q8Z3ceoJvjqgJbKWJIRtVeFqVlnlsLxcCV_mN8RYWshghmitiToPZsaqvTaxCwgdI7CdoNpILuaXadk4nNARK3Bl0j3X1G1-w3J_EFKeA/s4000/20230104_121728.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj80dbv1mGbFl13m7f3M77AYTz5i_I0JJSVbXWYYMZtHlLqwlHL0mU6DpyhRb8QgfUawg6WlkIPql4mZaHN8q8Z3ceoJvjqgJbKWJIRtVeFqVlnlsLxcCV_mN8RYWshghmitiToPZsaqvTaxCwgdI7CdoNpILuaXadk4nNARK3Bl0j3X1G1-w3J_EFKeA/w300-h400/20230104_121728.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><p style="text-align: left;">The great views we soon got out towards Maria Island and along the coastline reinforced that decision. The road itself was also interesting, with a couple of weird cattle-stop/gate combos, and soon after a switch to a gravel surface. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguAXYbOu58t7k8xCZPKpO_og6rkj6DlWd-89Jjd1k74mzmtXmxV2ptm2eGYS5PVmBx2IiovNmH2G1Yeqnslfe2tzjqknAWW7m9JROtI0X5Mjh5TIx64SFFDFHcvJdS51vEqBBuA75lqAm1Fweh9I0XLt1Oh23TC2j9RLA4BCoZCvwDV7JsQDHSJRVENA/s4000/20230104_121955.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguAXYbOu58t7k8xCZPKpO_og6rkj6DlWd-89Jjd1k74mzmtXmxV2ptm2eGYS5PVmBx2IiovNmH2G1Yeqnslfe2tzjqknAWW7m9JROtI0X5Mjh5TIx64SFFDFHcvJdS51vEqBBuA75lqAm1Fweh9I0XLt1Oh23TC2j9RLA4BCoZCvwDV7JsQDHSJRVENA/w400-h300/20230104_121955.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p style="text-align: left;">Even better, the road was virtually deserted, oh, and I had two clip in pedals and 22 gears, a privilege I was still conscious of.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge4Cl6M-ic5umxSKsu_rpH3L4d-kuk4UyKD-QC2hjkYStjq69dsgcbPz5QaVVNLM-1M-W4j4jVpqctnz84gDmm65XsKQZ4z2vrsOp7CfJRxP8Dp-85g6pyPSTl8FXcvAUDGNhgvLCgY7897MCvkkGnhUSy1tigiMkoUVhpDmJuyNkd1fRhxAzZjEEo1A/s4000/20230104_124155.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge4Cl6M-ic5umxSKsu_rpH3L4d-kuk4UyKD-QC2hjkYStjq69dsgcbPz5QaVVNLM-1M-W4j4jVpqctnz84gDmm65XsKQZ4z2vrsOp7CfJRxP8Dp-85g6pyPSTl8FXcvAUDGNhgvLCgY7897MCvkkGnhUSy1tigiMkoUVhpDmJuyNkd1fRhxAzZjEEo1A/w400-h300/20230104_124155.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p style="text-align: left;">The traffic volume increased ever so slightly when we joined Wielangta Road, and it seemed many were ignoring the 4WD suggestion, ourselves included. I didn't see anything that would have troubled a regular car, but perhaps it is a different story in the wet or extreme cold. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRyFHkRZztxWdwwMHtlp82zUSEcRUCAJa5oILL2v87V9HY4Y_9aHUDzM4IliV9wf7KKN6EiUNAwTPcrYYYkdqN9hHWQLnwqZC7yK_O4duKdWS6_7t38kS54AKDI8CyKFW-RyxSuj9gHnbYv4IiNWhweJ1ViMQSLkdAKd8Lg8_R7OXsHuROflhOXhuNSw/s4000/20230104_125050.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRyFHkRZztxWdwwMHtlp82zUSEcRUCAJa5oILL2v87V9HY4Y_9aHUDzM4IliV9wf7KKN6EiUNAwTPcrYYYkdqN9hHWQLnwqZC7yK_O4duKdWS6_7t38kS54AKDI8CyKFW-RyxSuj9gHnbYv4IiNWhweJ1ViMQSLkdAKd8Lg8_R7OXsHuROflhOXhuNSw/w400-h300/20230104_125050.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p style="text-align: left;">The road got hilly, but the surroundings were fantastic, and well worth the effort. At one point we had a fast descent onto a bridge, and I did feel a tad fortunate to survive the pot-hole minefield that lay immediately beyond. Fortunately, while I temporarily lost control of my eyeballs, I maintained command of my bicycle, as did Sarah her own.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8cPIO8MdO_zre_KNn5VXGVl6PCbsFVB4bU3LPCUTwaW7QU_sekBU3W_wJH5XKf665YCUTZpucEzNlyHI4aqsN_peEULPwaU-GprJYyUQ9YjjqwFH8B_aCnbWdfgwHrH5mZlFtXHQ8LypCxn8fwrt3Bf8iwrubqoSHYk296-RPvdmwDpTvYCGqKJfWdQ/s4000/20230104_130617.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8cPIO8MdO_zre_KNn5VXGVl6PCbsFVB4bU3LPCUTwaW7QU_sekBU3W_wJH5XKf665YCUTZpucEzNlyHI4aqsN_peEULPwaU-GprJYyUQ9YjjqwFH8B_aCnbWdfgwHrH5mZlFtXHQ8LypCxn8fwrt3Bf8iwrubqoSHYk296-RPvdmwDpTvYCGqKJfWdQ/w400-h300/20230104_130617.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p style="text-align: left;">Wielangta terminated at Bream Creek Road, and offered a multitude of options through to Dunalley. We turned left, and were treated to various fascinations en route. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmnfixorNI6Qmt8zyE7cU5SWJq8rylmFSYFOK0i8U1ugtGiqRURaHIVS49vi633MchviL2nmLCFIzbi9-6P0E07DPvdSyQ-V9Q6A-C1UQWYSY0ZzQhHo9PywkUgDsOTpqZa7svZ10WVfxXwL5I6dhwKWx_iSAi4yLtmCbSyYlBdcbDrAAiYD4SBlGB8g/s4000/20230104_144318.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmnfixorNI6Qmt8zyE7cU5SWJq8rylmFSYFOK0i8U1ugtGiqRURaHIVS49vi633MchviL2nmLCFIzbi9-6P0E07DPvdSyQ-V9Q6A-C1UQWYSY0ZzQhHo9PywkUgDsOTpqZa7svZ10WVfxXwL5I6dhwKWx_iSAi4yLtmCbSyYlBdcbDrAAiYD4SBlGB8g/w300-h400/20230104_144318.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The first "store-like" thing we'd passed in a couple of hours</td></tr></tbody></table><div><p><br /></p></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_zPBKqgfCMAuXlHxWMNeS7VgCJq3aAGEv1057Q9M9qv4nkQjkUDXgzlz-OTsmfrO1FOMWkMEgdc0w03c-9g41d_RzlVeTDxkPZCRfBoo9st8Lg7_1QswUWnUa_ztO2Xk-JGGARaGp-ga8ncQxMHXR79z4tORy4Bv90WBCFbcH8i81QHcCCwIci_4i4A/s4000/20230104_145551.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_zPBKqgfCMAuXlHxWMNeS7VgCJq3aAGEv1057Q9M9qv4nkQjkUDXgzlz-OTsmfrO1FOMWkMEgdc0w03c-9g41d_RzlVeTDxkPZCRfBoo9st8Lg7_1QswUWnUa_ztO2Xk-JGGARaGp-ga8ncQxMHXR79z4tORy4Bv90WBCFbcH8i81QHcCCwIci_4i4A/w400-h300/20230104_145551.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">e-scooter commuters</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;"> </span></div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrRhFirnzSKpyTiQ2Gu6kdX4m3xsP4LoXl4oeNdXC58vE7tEuoDDfRW5BlTAKKQCA7PTbc7IWhm1gkTjjGHT9VRb0STtvq7QJM6uvLFqf9AYBYuKvkQgDMaMVkPelMxt_WDhoGT3U_F-dvsz0IT-RKW3ODgOmBjryXW9H8G_cZFgoI731hMYUixmJtlg/s4000/20230104_150052.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrRhFirnzSKpyTiQ2Gu6kdX4m3xsP4LoXl4oeNdXC58vE7tEuoDDfRW5BlTAKKQCA7PTbc7IWhm1gkTjjGHT9VRb0STtvq7QJM6uvLFqf9AYBYuKvkQgDMaMVkPelMxt_WDhoGT3U_F-dvsz0IT-RKW3ODgOmBjryXW9H8G_cZFgoI731hMYUixmJtlg/w400-h300/20230104_150052.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Scallop harvesting?</td></tr></tbody></table><p style="text-align: left;">We were headed for the Tasman Peninsula, which has the curious feature of two very narrow points between it and the mainland. One is at Dunalley, where there's "the only purpose built sea canal in Australia", the Denison Canal, about 900m long. </p><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5v3kp2QA_xpL6CSLoH-stvIAdAxofm-oAo6wsdc-YG_MPSRyaAoETy93VR5Tez8CBOXLkHj7Q65AUOjftzlCe5r_orzrlVd8Duv4-2TbYT6ZWnw2jxziBDFpgBN3jKAichZujQbtdugiBtUB0j44G8Svkf3V3s5BMTFE-CyDHosMHJwPQ-eZpv9BpfQ/s4000/20230104_154602.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5v3kp2QA_xpL6CSLoH-stvIAdAxofm-oAo6wsdc-YG_MPSRyaAoETy93VR5Tez8CBOXLkHj7Q65AUOjftzlCe5r_orzrlVd8Duv4-2TbYT6ZWnw2jxziBDFpgBN3jKAichZujQbtdugiBtUB0j44G8Svkf3V3s5BMTFE-CyDHosMHJwPQ-eZpv9BpfQ/w400-h300/20230104_154602.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Denison Canal</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">After a wee break at the local bakery, we started our final push towards our destination, Eaglehawk Neck (the other pinchpoint, to the tune of about 100m wide at high tide). It was hottish, and the scenery fairly uninspiring, but I did get a tad scratchy at Sarah when she described the ride as boring! We saw more creative sign vandalism, and ... I'm speechless now as I was then... </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-pPuOqB8rnbVsf4TN5fLushpZD7W2Zqvbv_XxojbuJ5wNb-f38F-Z-6tn3dkA96--RBTgHs1cMHSCEVrLpLW3NgEelKBN03f8e-72itCGQi4ArF1WFGObtYsFAA2GWQdCcu2rgELUj_oeeOtiQjP1St2ZFneCJHQ9lrOujO3_2UWNDS-HkJ0bRYtzqg/s4000/20230104_155941.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-pPuOqB8rnbVsf4TN5fLushpZD7W2Zqvbv_XxojbuJ5wNb-f38F-Z-6tn3dkA96--RBTgHs1cMHSCEVrLpLW3NgEelKBN03f8e-72itCGQi4ArF1WFGObtYsFAA2GWQdCcu2rgELUj_oeeOtiQjP1St2ZFneCJHQ9lrOujO3_2UWNDS-HkJ0bRYtzqg/w300-h400/20230104_155941.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tasmanian Devil</td></tr></tbody></table><p style="text-align: left;">We had a lovely descent which had to be sharply curtailed so we didn't overshoot the driveway of our accommodation. Then began our familiar routine of unpacking, setting up the charging station, washing bodies, washing clothes, and eating. </p><p style="text-align: left;">While waiting for our dinner to settle, I was fascinated by a display in the lobby which showed how well and truly part of the Australian continent Tasmania is. </p><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIS-O-F0HB3ZyA3SSsgi58y21srCiAE15_-0AVNeZ52kNkiiuj-tMiFhQvCx7mOs_U3i5CGzQQzf8NPrcnz99gTjWyqgS5cLCaViXB_SBGfvmf41JbXe6sYw0d2aAwTnGZ7rLADAa7VD6wsVJQ-GaLaW0CXkzK2xMChTQCtbPJRJFwXN21UWZOs-wAhQ/s4000/20230104_185149.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIS-O-F0HB3ZyA3SSsgi58y21srCiAE15_-0AVNeZ52kNkiiuj-tMiFhQvCx7mOs_U3i5CGzQQzf8NPrcnz99gTjWyqgS5cLCaViXB_SBGfvmf41JbXe6sYw0d2aAwTnGZ7rLADAa7VD6wsVJQ-GaLaW0CXkzK2xMChTQCtbPJRJFwXN21UWZOs-wAhQ/w400-h300/20230104_185149.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p style="text-align: left;">Once ready, we headed across the road, to discover what on earth "Tessellated Pavement" was. I vaguely knew the mathematical term, tessellation, but still find it fascinating that the exposed rock shelf was described as pavement. It was also kind of weird to be free to walk all over it, but I guess there's little that walkers will do to it that wave action will not. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC6yU2dspge37l2F87QT-DeWQPjBgvsFjPPMtHIBLVrXR842yHfiXDNowUNxfKCamnPdgr06aJdpqWo-GSejM53XtEjgZa1Pi4NOvtNN_STlCrRgbltfxRgpaV6yHvzAoNck6BtMJDCogQuvtiOm1vz_sDe6J4SSPk0BKcN58aCfVvUWUMV-17UJjazQ/s4000/20230104_190628.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC6yU2dspge37l2F87QT-DeWQPjBgvsFjPPMtHIBLVrXR842yHfiXDNowUNxfKCamnPdgr06aJdpqWo-GSejM53XtEjgZa1Pi4NOvtNN_STlCrRgbltfxRgpaV6yHvzAoNck6BtMJDCogQuvtiOm1vz_sDe6J4SSPk0BKcN58aCfVvUWUMV-17UJjazQ/w400-h300/20230104_190628.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tessellated Pavement, Eaglehawk Neck, TAS</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><u>Stats</u>: one beautiful forest road, one bored and subsequently scolded Mongolian, <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/8334941786" target="_blank">107km ridden</a>, 1555m climbed, max temp 23 degrees.<br /><p><br /></p><h4 style="text-align: center;">Day 10 - Eaglehawk Neck to Port Arthur</h4><p style="text-align: left;">We had a short ride ahead when we set off from Eaglehawk Neck after breakfast. The direct route to Port Arthur would have been about 20km, but there were a couple of deviations I planned to take, keeping the shorter route for the return journey. We set off in lovely conditions, but about 10 minutes later, the jackets came out and went on.</p><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWH-_crwK7cXO6ww6b7VomSiOFDNfx6qFjQOwpAuJdi4UPNTkYiu-LE-SdJDPe9XsNe_yt7KftTMJqx9TJVop4505_w2_d19mTMXFN9ojNzKEF11_zkel7NYmvQLtPVCN0CFC2J8hX2MqXyPZ6nn1PzPfFm4vxVOlzOh2SUkKxXw6vbLem5tQoO6lq_Q/s4000/20230105_092505.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWH-_crwK7cXO6ww6b7VomSiOFDNfx6qFjQOwpAuJdi4UPNTkYiu-LE-SdJDPe9XsNe_yt7KftTMJqx9TJVop4505_w2_d19mTMXFN9ojNzKEF11_zkel7NYmvQLtPVCN0CFC2J8hX2MqXyPZ6nn1PzPfFm4vxVOlzOh2SUkKxXw6vbLem5tQoO6lq_Q/w400-h300/20230105_092505.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looking back at Eaglehawk Neck</td></tr></tbody></table><p style="text-align: left;">Pirates Road was signposted with "No Through Road", Australia's equivalent to NZ's "No Exit". We ignored that, but soon after, staring up a bit of a wall, at an adjacent "Road Closed Ahead" sign, and with rain starting to fall, we decided to pull the pin on deviation number one. </p>Back on the main drag, we soon reached Taranna, and turned off in the direction of Nubeena. At Koonya, we turned onto Nubeena Back Road, and unsealed gem, which looked like it might cut a little distance of the remaining ride, but surely at the expense of some climbing. <br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjho_9braDRe3K_933vPt2-oN-_doPxpoTnzqOx0YkuBu__0kRd8lSSfo6twqE9PY1Y0JwnRCEOp3HshEvP-_rfWAazA8dvlb0_A3Sq6NDFYMLclzpW_9SRx71BL0W7xywTts67OL-_EOVeKkFMKMDb9WlFx53g_8n2bQI8c8T66-bM9RWKkonzeeoNkQ/s4000/20230105_105132.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjho_9braDRe3K_933vPt2-oN-_doPxpoTnzqOx0YkuBu__0kRd8lSSfo6twqE9PY1Y0JwnRCEOp3HshEvP-_rfWAazA8dvlb0_A3Sq6NDFYMLclzpW_9SRx71BL0W7xywTts67OL-_EOVeKkFMKMDb9WlFx53g_8n2bQI8c8T66-bM9RWKkonzeeoNkQ/w400-h300/20230105_105132.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">Fortunately, the gradients were fairly mellow, and the surface lovely, and we were soon descending into Nubeena. There we stopped at a cafe for a couple of coffees, and I warmed up a bit. I was expecting a small town at Port Arthur, so was surprised to discover a strange setup, where a decent chunk of the "road network" on my map was actually part of the Port Arthur Historic Site, and fenced off. After coming upon one fence across the road, we then stumbled upon our Motel. Despite it being relatively early, we were given our key, a place to get changed, and were offered a secure space to leave our bikes in. Our room key worked in a nearby gate that took us into the historical site, which was kind of weird, as it then became a bit of a battle to get our pre-booked tickets figuratively clipped. </p><p style="text-align: left;">We spent a good few hours wandering around, and had a short boat trip around the harbour. I was glad not to have done any homework on the place, as it was chilling to read about the more recent grim history of the place, on top of having walked around the rather depressing "Separate Prison", named not for its location relative to the penitentiary ruins, but for the isolation of the prisoners from one another. Even the chapel had individual standing boxes. Oh the horrors mankind inflict on one another, and continue to do so...</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe2-02T-tpaRsirCB_5C7Y0giPQK8dOC4Ly1YilWHeYNjtsisxI0Xdn4pfOjN_88FMI23T4CdNQ5e_bx2nSz7tW4wpHPGytC-DqVa8_-c_uqQeDHBLOJve0EoEF_qjKS9Wup07IPA5qsgkpCFPtJdIRbWKL4qBEFXxGbNnrynfk-aSOQYsqAN0zRKIdg/s4000/20230105_152858.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe2-02T-tpaRsirCB_5C7Y0giPQK8dOC4Ly1YilWHeYNjtsisxI0Xdn4pfOjN_88FMI23T4CdNQ5e_bx2nSz7tW4wpHPGytC-DqVa8_-c_uqQeDHBLOJve0EoEF_qjKS9Wup07IPA5qsgkpCFPtJdIRbWKL4qBEFXxGbNnrynfk-aSOQYsqAN0zRKIdg/w400-h300/20230105_152858.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p><u>Stats</u>: roughly <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/8340193493" target="_blank">40km of riding</a>, followed by a 10km walk and boat ride combo</p><p><br /></p><h4 style="text-align: center;">Day 11 - Port Arthur to Hobart</h4><p style="text-align: left;">The Tasmanian Devil Unzoo back at Taranna was just the antidote for the Port Arthur site, and we were treated to some rather animated and close quarter devil viewing. I'd read some unduly harsh Tripadvisor reviews of the place the night before, but we really enjoyed our short visit. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvi1YpxEgeKB1BrNW9N74vPedMR12MexnagatYsPB0LaTzCh7YpuUl0k2THK8eYBFqHAn7W-S1otuCKfh2nbv33nYhQiJXjRhGVVa5WLJ7RtvdzkmQXOiurBQ6HXvHcMpOOiwePBZdUtwS4wzV9M3JRKg9t83Bue1yVMIAmm8_f6k76ZbtrGIinwAbXw/s4000/20230106_094642.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvi1YpxEgeKB1BrNW9N74vPedMR12MexnagatYsPB0LaTzCh7YpuUl0k2THK8eYBFqHAn7W-S1otuCKfh2nbv33nYhQiJXjRhGVVa5WLJ7RtvdzkmQXOiurBQ6HXvHcMpOOiwePBZdUtwS4wzV9M3JRKg9t83Bue1yVMIAmm8_f6k76ZbtrGIinwAbXw/w400-h300/20230106_094642.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Surprisingly, these cute wee fellas have only a 7-year lifespan, if not cut short by the Devil Facial Tumor Disease</td></tr></tbody></table><p style="text-align: left;">As well as the devils, we walked amongst some kangaroos chilling out, and enjoyed seeing some nice forest on an old TV set, sort of!</p><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9oHUAjfsjf1bkvetbXRY5NV5YZZ6_-vQfKrvfzu0s5ytSPh7DxmHJ4EzQpzVS2ZPlGDZULdD_wQLYa800qATyHke-RK6uiZDbjdNYrRS3h3w1TNWOcj79QCjDJWt1idK5HgfTGso3uSktkeN9KIn1bZeMIU7uLdyWEB1zVtKcE3knFo_npK--nwCJ1A/s4000/20230106_101016.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9oHUAjfsjf1bkvetbXRY5NV5YZZ6_-vQfKrvfzu0s5ytSPh7DxmHJ4EzQpzVS2ZPlGDZULdD_wQLYa800qATyHke-RK6uiZDbjdNYrRS3h3w1TNWOcj79QCjDJWt1idK5HgfTGso3uSktkeN9KIn1bZeMIU7uLdyWEB1zVtKcE3knFo_npK--nwCJ1A/w400-h300/20230106_101016.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">BUSH TV</td></tr></tbody></table><p style="text-align: left;">The climb out of Eaglehawk Neck was short but sharp, but the road back to Dunalley was surprisingly painless, particularly given the criticism it had elicited in the other direction. We revisited the bakery we'd stopped at the day before, and then ducked and dived our way back to Hobart. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9YMSoTkj1oCD5bhlphT7WxEr05MGXZyiE7vvjJHyFDiKKN44SAf5NAYJ7dGdB56KL3uoqma0muksdLr8KW2ECQIqPzId-17OwKzwDcxJTn7L_29wqaEIew_lPruVW_ZjFzdhGMoEtEgXczchrwyjzBjwvgXOgZNKMQpLBXbp0dmQsdyQwwIxbLFQXcg/s4000/20230106_125256.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9YMSoTkj1oCD5bhlphT7WxEr05MGXZyiE7vvjJHyFDiKKN44SAf5NAYJ7dGdB56KL3uoqma0muksdLr8KW2ECQIqPzId-17OwKzwDcxJTn7L_29wqaEIew_lPruVW_ZjFzdhGMoEtEgXczchrwyjzBjwvgXOgZNKMQpLBXbp0dmQsdyQwwIxbLFQXcg/w400-h300/20230106_125256.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Connelly's Marsh and the Tasman Peninsula in the rearview mirror<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p style="text-align: left;">I thought we might stumble on a nice beach to stop at - the temperature seemed to invite going for a dip somewhere - but it wasn't to be, which was odd. Perhaps we didn't look hard enough at the right times (Carlton Beach looks like it might have escaped our notice), but in any case, we didn't stop. </p><p style="text-align: left;">After a loo break in Sorell, cycle paths took us most of the way to the airport, where I popped in to explore the availability of bike boxes. A Qantas rep implied it would be pretty trivial to buy boxes from them when we flew a couple of days later, but warned us they'd be $40 apiece. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0N_lKtKxB6SMlvxZewAQdT0or20RKFgi2lqnGx-tgVFuEjG4wNgbzxjpvHAzddH4EGcxqv77bOLhtbf5-ChFer0YNz83miY2SsJHa3-DWl1HzR7MJK1mw_QXANi-YkRRasspB_4x2vNxTpP96YUCAERCT5CBQEEkT257wg6VUHsIVnOsNePomaeID4w/s4000/20230106_142150.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0N_lKtKxB6SMlvxZewAQdT0or20RKFgi2lqnGx-tgVFuEjG4wNgbzxjpvHAzddH4EGcxqv77bOLhtbf5-ChFer0YNz83miY2SsJHa3-DWl1HzR7MJK1mw_QXANi-YkRRasspB_4x2vNxTpP96YUCAERCT5CBQEEkT257wg6VUHsIVnOsNePomaeID4w/w400-h300/20230106_142150.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p>With that intel locked in, we continued on towards Hobart, albeit via a bit of tiki-touring which eventually elicited a bit of grizzling from my companion. By that stage we were fully committed though, and a fairly direct route hence took us to our motel for two nights near the Botanical Gardens, which took a bit of circumnavigating. </p><p>We walked to a nearby Indian restaurant, where we were very lucky to be fed, due to impending bookings. That's where our good fortune ended, kind of, and we went to bed without a dessert course. </p><p>Stats: four cute Tasmanian Devils seen, <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/8345457628" target="_blank">118km ridden</a> (about 20km more than the direct route), 1450m climbed. Max temp 30 degrees. </p><h3 style="text-align: left;"><br /></h3><h3 style="text-align: center;">Hobart tourist day</h3><p>We almost didn't do any riding on our final full day in Hobart, instead enjoying being driven around a few of the sights by our recent <a href="https://sifter-writes-bikes.blogspot.com/2022/11/sydney-to-canberra-credit-card-tour.html" target="_blank">Broulee and Canberra</a> hostess, Joanna. </p><p>Pretty much everyone we mentioned our upcoming Tasmania trip to had urged us to go to <a href="https://mona.net.au/" target="_blank">MONA</a>, and it lived up to the hype. (Digging out the link just now alerted me to a slight bit of good fortune that we didn't coincide with their days off on Tuesday and Wednesday!) My highlights were mostly of the New Art variety (including a computer controlled fountain that "wrote" words, and a machine that recreated the human disgestion system - we saw it being fed, but not the end product...). The museum in which the art was housed was a work of art in and of itself, too. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwqEUSLQvClotzb4mJqyPYazYBM58e9iSUYOofiVjuzztBQ2cKCGAHzaYknZsVinuxmPq7y10AhjurwPhejOvTH8XuYB8J0d6IUTJUpufZwdvs9E9PWZ9wTraOL1T1P08HipsHqSDFwSyen5gB1R2JlHuBgwiBMjNg4IbDlipjZaJl561laIJTV0j8Gg/s4000/20230107_115859.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwqEUSLQvClotzb4mJqyPYazYBM58e9iSUYOofiVjuzztBQ2cKCGAHzaYknZsVinuxmPq7y10AhjurwPhejOvTH8XuYB8J0d6IUTJUpufZwdvs9E9PWZ9wTraOL1T1P08HipsHqSDFwSyen5gB1R2JlHuBgwiBMjNg4IbDlipjZaJl561laIJTV0j8Gg/w400-h300/20230107_115859.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">After a visit to Jo's incredible 93-year-old Aunt Margie, where we also had the pleasure of meeting some of Jo's cousins, we finally managed to reconnect with Carsten, having missed him on the Tasman Peninsula. </p><p style="text-align: left;">Over a perfectly sized seafood platter, we made commitments to get in touch with one another when we were next in New Zealand and Europe respectively. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9FGxrfYypJv_1TleLH0rQEP8DEYo8gTXtAKpNXE02CqdQThIvTLWLKKrQbuo6aS_75ApleJQwTkXhgbaHn8H05UWDjT72kB6zke8bCQZuS7L-rheECv2tmJXvhXqZ_jBK1kbCmh_PrImgkLsrkcfLCPTgLUMre5aFBSiIbq-9STbI8YYWxFzEQa50gA/s2048/324075581_1314382482672903_89612885522615753_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9FGxrfYypJv_1TleLH0rQEP8DEYo8gTXtAKpNXE02CqdQThIvTLWLKKrQbuo6aS_75ApleJQwTkXhgbaHn8H05UWDjT72kB6zke8bCQZuS7L-rheECv2tmJXvhXqZ_jBK1kbCmh_PrImgkLsrkcfLCPTgLUMre5aFBSiIbq-9STbI8YYWxFzEQa50gA/w400-h300/324075581_1314382482672903_89612885522615753_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Great dinner and dinner companion!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><h4 style="text-align: center;">Airport drama</h4><p style="text-align: left;">After all the joy that using one's own bike in a distant place brings, last minute logistical headaches are such a drag. We turned up at the airport about 100 minutes before the bag drop closed, almost half of which were spent discovering relieving Qantas of their boxes was nowhere near as simple as we'd been led to believe it would be a couple of days prior. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDaMsiOr1VMVUS_Fnh6XIvvbI96PNB5eh582Z-VmOGV2wU2ejd2frYhiMYvqF0Mup2XAew8RYkawhJMGqnML1QRYIzZLhcmdx0Rq0r7OwB3TQnb641-KWaT6r-TQO-q7lvGi7qFpRlMZP0ABnZrdE57PmbkY04eQ9rVppZrQAJj9AEsZXjklDmrJ2E_g/s4000/20230108_094247.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDaMsiOr1VMVUS_Fnh6XIvvbI96PNB5eh582Z-VmOGV2wU2ejd2frYhiMYvqF0Mup2XAew8RYkawhJMGqnML1QRYIzZLhcmdx0Rq0r7OwB3TQnb641-KWaT6r-TQO-q7lvGi7qFpRlMZP0ABnZrdE57PmbkY04eQ9rVppZrQAJj9AEsZXjklDmrJ2E_g/w400-h300/20230108_094247.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The end of the easy part</td></tr></tbody></table><p style="text-align: left;">An Air New Zealand rep hadn't batted an eyelid when I approached her desk asking if they had boxes for sale. 10 minutes later I was standing next to a couple of Qantas boxes, and 10 minutes after that, I was being told that Qantas couldn't sell them to me as I wasn't their customer, and Air New Zealand couldn't sell them to me as they weren't theirs to sell. To the Air NZ staff member's credit, after giving me the "it is your responsibility to have your bikes properly packed, and we will not accept them if they are not" statement, she continued to try to negotiate a solution. Nothing seemed to be happening, and after helping a Qantas passenger lift her suitcase onto the scales, I kicked myself for letting her go without asking her to buy the boxes on my behalf. I accosted the next Qantas passengers, who seemed willing to take $80 cash from me to do just that, but no sooner had I secured that "out", the Air NZ rep seemed to get permission to sell me the boxes herself. After what seemed like an eternity feeding her credit card and other details, I declined to receive a receipt via email, and moments later was trotting down the terminal with a couple of boxes under my arm, feeling relieved that I still had time to pack them!</p><p style="text-align: left;">In any case, all's well that ends well, and we were soon admiring our hard-won handiwork as we made our way onto the plane. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTVl8zdPaFWrJQ4S4lX62etgtCXvDR3YgttmZpbBWz_LBbqGN6hQFO17g9Q98mI6eWdcBuHkFa9v32C0yDz3zNl51eNVSIKF5c7GvQ_otPPaHbxzJ5o99RAnKFqTlLHLnvynN_iAG7d64qBxHYVU6AS1Hse7u-c7CPzrV0x6WMtTvJPWh9QorqaAswLA/s4000/20230108_120432.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTVl8zdPaFWrJQ4S4lX62etgtCXvDR3YgttmZpbBWz_LBbqGN6hQFO17g9Q98mI6eWdcBuHkFa9v32C0yDz3zNl51eNVSIKF5c7GvQ_otPPaHbxzJ5o99RAnKFqTlLHLnvynN_iAG7d64qBxHYVU6AS1Hse7u-c7CPzrV0x6WMtTvJPWh9QorqaAswLA/w400-h300/20230108_120432.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p><u>Stats</u>: one bike packing drama to wrap up one great bike-packing trip, 1273km ridden, a few bullets well dodged. </p><p><br /></p><h4 style="text-align: center;">* * *</h4><p style="text-align: left;">Despite the stressful bookends, I really enjoyed my first visit to Tasmania, a spot that is begging for a rerun, perhaps with a mountain bike and campervan. </p></div><p style="text-align: left;">We saw way less wildlife than we expected - even the amount of road kill seemed less that what we'd seen between Sydney and Canberra, and that came as a real surprise. </p><p style="text-align: left;">Aside from the day when Sarah suffered in the heat (and nearly died, she's convinced), I was glad to bear the brunt of the bad luck on this trip. Thinking about it, had Sarah's battery and pedal both shat themselves, we might have quickly ended up in the same position, but anyway, it was nice to be able to overcome the pedal and battery issues. If anything, it was better that I was slightly hamstrung, as it enabled Sarah to ease into things slightly more gradually and overcome her knee tendonitis without it getting too bad. </p><p style="text-align: left;">For planning purposes, and while riding, I found a <a href="https://www.booktopia.com.au/tasmania-state-cities-map-719-9th-ed-waterproof--ubd-gregory-s/book/9780731932665.html?source=pla&gclid=CjwKCAiAk--dBhABEiwAchIwkeqbNilmEGWOsdMmLMhJP_OBZ1dvkoK2aN_2ZysEbUDhp2jkxBDC6xoCC5gQAvD_BwE" target="_blank">plastic Tasmania State & Cities map</a> a great pre-purchase. Andrew Bain's book had some useful tips, but isn't really a tour-planning tool. The Tasmania chapter in Lonely Planet's Cycling Australia book has suggestions not unlike what we ended up doing, though not identical, in the opposite direction, and with typically shorter days. </p><p style="text-align: left;">The Open U.P. (Unbeaten Path) rigs and Revelate bags are a fantastic package for this sort of thing, and one of these days we will have a niggle free trip. Were it not for the pedal and battery issues, I'd have been claiming we returned with a near perfect setup (especially with the nail clippers and anti-inflammatory spray safely stowed). We used a lot of the gear we carried, and the stuff we didn't touch (spare tubes, tyre boots and plugs, spare mini pump, arm warmers, gloves, Sarah's overtrou) are not things that could be left at home. </p><p style="text-align: left;">I didn't use the drone nearly enough, and upon seeing the quality of the two photos I did take, makes me realise I should be taking many more. As a camera with infinitely adjustable tripod goes, the DJI Mini 3 Pro and DJI RC controller fit easily within a Revelate Egress waterproof pocket (itself adding about 300grams, but additional useable space), and with a bit of additional packaging, weigh a mere 733 grams. MUST. USE. IT. MORE. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDPyWP142vCQLmhpNMkte4goE-2S0daxtc4VAXIIySDziaELaU2tNv-goGoZe4pQ-tpXODvDgwZL4BHjRPzt9AFG11Xq1-fedJyv1-QW4aVzEbmChy57-RAcUIcX93dMG7O0lagF1YpKViCRETzr8abMcEeK9rh32gJzg7GZVuKL3fc7nx6x_NC-52yw/s4000/20230110_174833.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDPyWP142vCQLmhpNMkte4goE-2S0daxtc4VAXIIySDziaELaU2tNv-goGoZe4pQ-tpXODvDgwZL4BHjRPzt9AFG11Xq1-fedJyv1-QW4aVzEbmChy57-RAcUIcX93dMG7O0lagF1YpKViCRETzr8abMcEeK9rh32gJzg7GZVuKL3fc7nx6x_NC-52yw/w400-h300/20230110_174833.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Packed weight: 733g. Mementoes: priceless</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">I keep writing how nice it is that my body copes with these trips without doing much riding in between, but I need to stop using that as an excuse for not doing much riding in between. I'm 49 years old, and should know better by now...!</p><p style="text-align: left;">2023 has some nice riding prospects ahead: at Easter we will be flying into Bangkok, and have enough time to do about a week's touring, either in Thailand alone, or perhaps from Cambodia back to Bangkok. In June, we have flights booked as far as Seoul, with a three week window during which time we'll visit Sarah's (and my) sister, niece and grand-nephew in Mongolia, and do some riding in both places. Closer to home, there are roads around Palmerston North and Dannevirke that I've not yet ridden, and many more further afield. Plus, the local roads that I've ridden countless times, but enjoy each time I actually do...</p><p style="text-align: left;">Wishing all my regulars a wonderful new year, and greetings to those that randomly stumble upon this post and miraculously get this far!</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTHg_-3q86B2VN8RdAQehnJ8L8j6qcIGyFzL_GY7hjTO6xvOD6D0ox9nxVIbE2bFDBWz9mRe8-mLT0_ozva_kojdaVay_oNb8Ssa9Os_QGdTJl51-rmVqBPbvIGP1ODk-RDZB-wner1ZDDYBcZrnS0wVaGd6gqLKehG-rA_0mTvkOcbclKn4Ws-u7wuw/s1348/tasmanian-devil-2022.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="965" data-original-width="1348" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTHg_-3q86B2VN8RdAQehnJ8L8j6qcIGyFzL_GY7hjTO6xvOD6D0ox9nxVIbE2bFDBWz9mRe8-mLT0_ozva_kojdaVay_oNb8Ssa9Os_QGdTJl51-rmVqBPbvIGP1ODk-RDZB-wner1ZDDYBcZrnS0wVaGd6gqLKehG-rA_0mTvkOcbclKn4Ws-u7wuw/w400-h286/tasmanian-devil-2022.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">John and Sarah's Tasmanian Devil Tour: 1273km, between 25 Dec 2022 and 8 Jan 2023</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p>sifterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15453244482461385029noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7894195099236501078.post-25088354607185551012022-11-13T15:21:00.005+13:002022-11-20T11:35:35.956+13:00Sydney to Canberra credit card tour<p>With the exception of the very first cycle tour I ever did - from Wanaka to Hokitika in my early 20s - I've favoured the "credit card" tour approach, namely travelling without camping gear. The benefits as I seem them are compelling, but not all equally obvious.</p><p></p><ol style="text-align: left;"><li>Cycling is nicer when you're not hauling too much luggage, and once you commit to camping, your gear list tends to explode (or your comfort levels suffer, or both). Not only shelter, but a sleeping bag, mat, and probably cooking gear as well. The list goes on...</li><li>Not only is the riding nicer without luggage, but it is hard to beat sleeping in a real bed. </li><li>Hygiene matters, and staying somewhere with shower, soap and a towel or two means a good wash for the body, and a decent wash for your riding shorts, if not other clothing. </li><li>Cell phone and navigation device are both critical, and having an overnight power source is ideal. Lights and if you're unlucky, Di2 battery might also need charging. </li><li>Finally, a hotel room or storage facility make for a relatively stress-free dinner outing, whereas camping you might want to find a spot well out of sight so that your rig is guaranteed to be where you left it when you went to bed. </li></ol><p></p><p>Despite all those good reasons to do it, and despite having zero regret at the many amazing credit card tours I've done, there's nonetheless part of me that doesn't feel like a "real" cycle tourist. </p><p>Well and truly back on the travel horse, Sarah and I accepted an invitation to visit the Canberra branch of our family - my father Geoff and his wife Joanna - in a 10 day period that would include Labour Weekend. The format? Credit card touring of course. </p><p><br /></p><h4 style="text-align: center;"><b>Day 1 (Thursday) - Sydney International Airport to Wollongong</b></h4><p style="text-align: left;">The holiday began in arduous fashion, with a 6:30am flight out of Wellington to Sydney. We considered a couple of options to ease things slightly, but in the end decided to sleep in Karori and put up with the drive across town in the wee hours. </p><p style="text-align: left;">Geoff and Jo had offered to meet us in Sydney, and they were waiting for us once we'd cleared customs. We found a spot to unpack the bikes and chatted away until we were ready to roll. Our bike bags went to Canberra in the back of G&J's car, but not before they'd caught up with some friends in the big smoke.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Originally their advice had been to catch the train away from the airport, but Strava's heat map showed there was plenty of cycling activity to or from the airport, and so it seemed worth at least trying to ride. Indeed, there was walking/cycling signage as we exited the terminal, and after heading up one level in the parking garage, we found ourselves very well catered for indeed. Wollongong, here we come!</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdpSY-1Jscb8LTHOX7BVgEcB-FhRrZzysOBOf7NtI3u-bNWLleZfcQsWMzJYQXakiIBsm1mIxDeA_fSHq-BYnuoBN3Yts0iDKpbMv09knd-kqhCoB68roGixFcMVDdazNh8lD-0mtvANkh85j0YVfIIT44A5efDFz6u5nTWyzfkHcAYVpsrZqMYAgWjg/s4000/20221020_121802.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdpSY-1Jscb8LTHOX7BVgEcB-FhRrZzysOBOf7NtI3u-bNWLleZfcQsWMzJYQXakiIBsm1mIxDeA_fSHq-BYnuoBN3Yts0iDKpbMv09knd-kqhCoB68roGixFcMVDdazNh8lD-0mtvANkh85j0YVfIIT44A5efDFz6u5nTWyzfkHcAYVpsrZqMYAgWjg/w300-h400/20221020_121802.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">10/10, Sydney International Airport</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">I'd mapped out a route to Cronulla and knew that we needed to get there by 11:30 to avoid a detour around Port Hacking. I'd used Strava's route builder for the first time, and had benefitted greatly from the overlay of the map <i>and</i> the heatmap, to the extent that there was little need to deviate when the "on the ground" options seemed better than what I'd selected during the mapping exercise. </p><p style="text-align: left;">Remarkably, almost the entire 20km ride to Cronulla was on off-road paths. Some were dedicated paths along waterways and well away from traffic (and for that matter, everything), while others were adjacent to roads. In any case, it was a surprise, and quite a treat. Initial impressions were that Australia is miles ahead of NZ in dedicated cycling infrastructure.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Aside from the cycle ways, there were a few other keen reminders that we were somewhere new - not least the birdlife, including several flocks of sulphur-crested cockatoos, grazing or a-wing. </p><p style="text-align: left;">We didn't stop much, and made <a href="https://cronullaferries.com.au/ferries-to-bundeena_old/bundeena-timetable/" target="_blank">the Bundeena ferry</a> with only a couple of minutes to spare, but without stress. Had we missed the 11:30 boat, the next wasn't until 1:30, and that would have been too much time to kill over lunch. Before leaving home, I'd found a couple of $20 bills which I thought might have been useful to pay for tickets, but the conductor seemed to assume we'd pay by payWave, and I went with the flow - a sign of things to come.</p><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNUPDgBu6SN6YzoWStTGTFGNId4ATzSSkebi-8rans-VKUO_xRsh7Q4hiDGH9Q77vlTMsr0BvWImmLtJ-lgVE7mltI5UwhmEZ2svj5M4QneNLrytotGmXqhZLifppxSS72NaeS3VednkYD36QtJGFEgEhEf4spSSPL9Cz0HuphI9q8Unjx4qdA3_2W5Q/s4000/20221020_132935.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNUPDgBu6SN6YzoWStTGTFGNId4ATzSSkebi-8rans-VKUO_xRsh7Q4hiDGH9Q77vlTMsr0BvWImmLtJ-lgVE7mltI5UwhmEZ2svj5M4QneNLrytotGmXqhZLifppxSS72NaeS3VednkYD36QtJGFEgEhEf4spSSPL9Cz0HuphI9q8Unjx4qdA3_2W5Q/w400-h300/20221020_132935.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sarah boarding the 11:30am Cronulla to Bundeena ferry</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">The ferry ride was lovely. It added a nice dimension to the morning's riding, but was also a nice sight-seeing activity and an opportunity to chill out for half an hour or so. At Bundeena, we had a couple of tasks which were both dealt to not a minute's ride from the wharf - lunch, and then a quick supermarket visit for some riding snacks. </p><p style="text-align: left;">One of the lovely things about planning a route is that is still leaves plenty of surprises, one of which was a hefty climb out of Bundeena. It felt very Australian, with plenty of gum trees although no conspicuous wild-life. The road was quiet and the occasional cars gave us plenty of space. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWFcUBrPPsIp9TeauRkmejLErqdtHelHWPrNlBdIBm78NB1ToS70lJPvFaKqN4p6An7lDJwD95kWy-0pq_lxUHwbmM_7g6znM4c4m1JWIhHgfh9jLJX1IttLdAHs6DHAbZEr4KD3e8zk8iYenct0O3vAvqKKCC9QToSoWZKYWtsO--v_0Fv0Rg4hInYw/s4000/20221020_152224.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWFcUBrPPsIp9TeauRkmejLErqdtHelHWPrNlBdIBm78NB1ToS70lJPvFaKqN4p6An7lDJwD95kWy-0pq_lxUHwbmM_7g6znM4c4m1JWIhHgfh9jLJX1IttLdAHs6DHAbZEr4KD3e8zk8iYenct0O3vAvqKKCC9QToSoWZKYWtsO--v_0Fv0Rg4hInYw/w400-h300/20221020_152224.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Royal National Park</td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">At the top of Bundeena Drive, we came to a major intersection and turned south. I'd recalled a gravel option from my planning phase, but had failed to associate that choice with missing the ferry (Lady Carrington Drive, along the Hacking River). On the other hand, it was nice not to be confronted with a difficult choice - at the last minute we'd packed our Opens, so were much more gravel-ready than we'd originally intended. On the other hand, it had been raining recently, and we were enjoying being clean and care-free. </p><p style="text-align: left;">The riding was nice, and occasionally we spotted interesting wildlife, including a black cockatoo, some sort of insect nest up in a tree, and a deer - the latter I'd originally thought (and hoped) was a kangaroo, but while the "face" was rather similar, the rest of it was not. Along the tops the bush was pretty scrappy, but for much of the ride we were amongst mature trees which felt much more worth of being in a national park.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Eventually we passed a small settlement, and soon after reached a lookout giving us great views down the coast, and in particular to Sea Cliff Bridge. We stopped for a few minutes to admire the sights and then got underway again. </p><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsZoJu4j4v4MVqd74wNFrDiDWX3S9v_n8srFnrm4oScsoBhRMaLbYGa_xrBbtSih39J4R11jgEKMqu4y7vAyOIwViqY95Kl1E-2yr06KUaVwmCIs-40x-K0XhPuqb15FaIO0q9ZCTUJuCY6Mb_9O4EOzRu75m0VQ6pkcgncUZN7zjEgp_m3Q04w6IZ4Q/s4000/20221020_161850.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsZoJu4j4v4MVqd74wNFrDiDWX3S9v_n8srFnrm4oScsoBhRMaLbYGa_xrBbtSih39J4R11jgEKMqu4y7vAyOIwViqY95Kl1E-2yr06KUaVwmCIs-40x-K0XhPuqb15FaIO0q9ZCTUJuCY6Mb_9O4EOzRu75m0VQ6pkcgncUZN7zjEgp_m3Q04w6IZ4Q/w400-h300/20221020_161850.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Glider landing zone in the foreground, and Sea Cliff Bridge in the distance</td></tr></tbody></table><br />Had I done my homework properly, I'd have known the next major intersection took us onto the main route of the World Road Championships that were recently hosted by Wollongong. Unlike most of the pro-tour, the viewing hours had been very friendly, and I had enjoyed watching a few of the races on TV. While we weren't going to deliberately go out of our way to experience the course, the ride through to the outskirts of Wollongong was that little bit more enjoyable because of the recent event. <br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP4C8cW1z-jiAQWJcnPCH5zvw6BNZccpjx9VOouPFxK2PR-RUHzWXRS6A1Xjn4Jepb3zaw98i3wqESx0uKLetDfuARVXLfGACDf6N5qTG7gllx5lrYDGHhl2_BEt8cRxj3sM8q8bu--hcv7ts9k0g1yx2UiQinFbaS5a9Vb96CJQ3pGjSz167QuWbb0Q/s4000/20221020_163855.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP4C8cW1z-jiAQWJcnPCH5zvw6BNZccpjx9VOouPFxK2PR-RUHzWXRS6A1Xjn4Jepb3zaw98i3wqESx0uKLetDfuARVXLfGACDf6N5qTG7gllx5lrYDGHhl2_BEt8cRxj3sM8q8bu--hcv7ts9k0g1yx2UiQinFbaS5a9Vb96CJQ3pGjSz167QuWbb0Q/w400-h300/20221020_163855.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sarah (illegally) on Sea Cliff Bridge</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">I vaguely recalled from the race commentary some mention of cyclists being unable to ride on the "footpath" at the rather magnificent bit of engineering that is the Sea Cliff Bridge. I imagine on a warm summer's weekend, the ban would make a lot of sense, but mid-week, the path was pretty much deserted, and even had we noticed the signage at the start, we'd have likely ignored it. On our way off the bridge, I did pay it more attention, and noted that we didn't meet any of the criteria (under 12, adult supervising someone under 12, under 18 being supervised by an adult responsible for a child rider). A nicer sign might have said "don't be a dick" and made do. Up until that point, we'd felt not only incredibly welcome, but also very well catered for!</p></div><p style="text-align: left;">The rest of the ride into Wollongong was enjoyable, and much of it on dedicated paths again. Our accommodation was near Flagstaff Point, and before checking in we made the most of our wheels to do a little bit of sightseeing. </p><div>Pleasingly, we were sent up to our room with our bikes, and after washing and putting our GPS units on to charge, went in search for dinner on foot. We had passed a few restaurants towards the end of our ride, and while it was surprising how far back they were, we were soon sitting down in a pizza joint and cashing in on their Thursday night special. Two pizzas were quickly dealt with (by them and us), and we chased them down with a great bit of tiramisu.</div><div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC3IayQ0CFCuE83Ul0gkAc2AoBZz8SnKA4LIwBxgjmGkdder24nkByDYjJ_t7kfsD6oIMbftf2doFq6uzjEUw9aEimYAHBzVqCThh5c79D69-_JET0Iu4YMzcZgtAeFFy7wKLa-Dewyg4TSRzIOQg3A69wEtLWX-fpcocN-YbfkBnI-dRKy1ARVJWYsg/s4000/20221020_192004.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC3IayQ0CFCuE83Ul0gkAc2AoBZz8SnKA4LIwBxgjmGkdder24nkByDYjJ_t7kfsD6oIMbftf2doFq6uzjEUw9aEimYAHBzVqCThh5c79D69-_JET0Iu4YMzcZgtAeFFy7wKLa-Dewyg4TSRzIOQg3A69wEtLWX-fpcocN-YbfkBnI-dRKy1ARVJWYsg/s320/20221020_192004.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">The walk back never seems as long as the walk there, and this was true to form. We even got to enjoy watching a pelican grooming itself off in the distance, and got back to our room without getting rained on. </p><p style="text-align: center;"></p><p style="text-align: left;"><u>Stats:</u> <span style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/7990758285" target="_blank">90km, mostly ridden</a></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p><h4><div style="text-align: center;"><b>Day 2 (Friday) - Wollongong to Vincentia</b></div></h4><p></p><div style="text-align: left;">The next morning, we decided to seek breakfast by bicycle, so packed and suited up before rolling out. After a bit of hunting, we finally found a cafe which not only had a bike-rack within view from a table, but also had some very inviting UCI rainbow bands on the front door. Sarah's meal was a little on the light side, so luckily my omelette was huge, and I was unusually willing to share.</div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAOk4SG_0aSxnqnJYbQCY9hS2xKPiWUj1vFe_oqkQ4U9v56hGM2UL95wYe150jPD2Re3Me9hpBgiPuf6Se0nTX8eV5X0dJpmsSOTEs6TGl7ASpD3TeM3-j9bvXYisF6UcH3-YCWpQWm-H650P8s7rfHUkBtsNQmEvaT8UDTZRGqAJgQRq6PPTi62jZzQ/s4000/20221021_105516.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAOk4SG_0aSxnqnJYbQCY9hS2xKPiWUj1vFe_oqkQ4U9v56hGM2UL95wYe150jPD2Re3Me9hpBgiPuf6Se0nTX8eV5X0dJpmsSOTEs6TGl7ASpD3TeM3-j9bvXYisF6UcH3-YCWpQWm-H650P8s7rfHUkBtsNQmEvaT8UDTZRGqAJgQRq6PPTi62jZzQ/w300-h400/20221021_105516.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Bike Friendly Business"</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">As fun as it might have been to check out a few of the worlds' climbs, we had a decent day's cycling ahead of us, and accommodation booked in Vincentia. We followed our noses around the heavy industrial area surrounding Port Kembla. While the scenery wasn't great, all indications were that we were on the right path.</p><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAnn_5llvaNoQrubKA6oBRjJF5i3oj78UzbhVXHdUxlYisSeZH7CdhOqjnhN_Tkbd02KOO_64IXIsaowuBbNWGoYNMZbB_gx9uRjamK1GdjZFHiipJKh2lIyttpEHmWaYAENcovHOOBiRz3eLkSjobtk9qjX5mY4nBpVUcg4HDbd_zcPWY-gCRRjx8DA/s4000/20221021_112226.jpg"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAnn_5llvaNoQrubKA6oBRjJF5i3oj78UzbhVXHdUxlYisSeZH7CdhOqjnhN_Tkbd02KOO_64IXIsaowuBbNWGoYNMZbB_gx9uRjamK1GdjZFHiipJKh2lIyttpEHmWaYAENcovHOOBiRz3eLkSjobtk9qjX5mY4nBpVUcg4HDbd_zcPWY-gCRRjx8DA/w400-h300/20221021_112226.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>The route became a bit obscure momentarily at the Port Kembla Eastern Breakwater. A little bit of judicious zooming on my GPS and scanning the carpark at what appeared to be a dead-end, soon revealed a path that connected us across to another dead-end road, and some more stress-free cycling through to Windang Bridge. We didn't see much of Lake Illawarra to our right, nor the ocean to our left, despite riding a fairly narrow strip of land between them. </div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxsJPB6Wv8d3a4kHOFSuq-nYHpDhZPgtnvl1_gR2c2LaRZuHKwIYI_V6nc2o5wKt6D-88NZAUl7jsVREUq7fLSrbNeHGG3KW_axpQvUfZUixJrj5F5Drs3C8dCbYmx5W0gXFNX-j7bi4FcOOkTpf05SbmubYopsKANVJQjiSutBe1QbaSGjzmTY7_Rzw/s4000/20221021_114244.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxsJPB6Wv8d3a4kHOFSuq-nYHpDhZPgtnvl1_gR2c2LaRZuHKwIYI_V6nc2o5wKt6D-88NZAUl7jsVREUq7fLSrbNeHGG3KW_axpQvUfZUixJrj5F5Drs3C8dCbYmx5W0gXFNX-j7bi4FcOOkTpf05SbmubYopsKANVJQjiSutBe1QbaSGjzmTY7_Rzw/w400-h300/20221021_114244.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pelicans at Coomaditchy Lagoon</td></tr></tbody></table><br />I had a few navigational issues at Shell Cove, but picked up some neat cycle ways through some very wet wetlands - we'd clearly missed a recent downpour. Not long afterwards, we came alongside the M1 Princes Highway. There was a great cycle path alternative but we soon discovered that much of it was underwater! It literally looked like we had no alternative but to proceed through the shin deep water, trying not to think too much about what was contributing to the colour! <br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWMNqjmKATM78oNZlJKughL5HCR3m5cHnIJg5-A_1Ry_HZnmb1S9iDqVRy8gwYfuD5p-KTlgdD1r5-YIvKNIgzS5JPEVQ_L4EhNx9V3BYM3E3OEx5DTE0N-zPa_JdAZIjVmw6ub1u-YHDTEANG3WBEusn1FMBZPm7-fokxhye6t75dl0gFWfufH62NrA/s4000/20221021_124933.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWMNqjmKATM78oNZlJKughL5HCR3m5cHnIJg5-A_1Ry_HZnmb1S9iDqVRy8gwYfuD5p-KTlgdD1r5-YIvKNIgzS5JPEVQ_L4EhNx9V3BYM3E3OEx5DTE0N-zPa_JdAZIjVmw6ub1u-YHDTEANG3WBEusn1FMBZPm7-fokxhye6t75dl0gFWfufH62NrA/w300-h400/20221021_124933.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dry land at the "Cyclist dismount" sign seemed to invite the opposite</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">The flooding was a bit of a drag, but aside from wet feet and a bit of a delay, it was soon a squelchy memory. </p><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOJ4eonyNUpxy0h9my3UC3CTqUCCBmllcei07qqG7gngPPrEE1_9HV83qAFfg31EPAczpHwIwBsguKZbrp_kiYa7da3szutYAHnqPmv_Uz7Jmm1kEzvZWir5gyxg7ef4EzV3ROrrNH-pfwkbb3TY9AVviXMMGGyThfp31_GnrpZSa3SW4OY5IA2I_8ig/s4000/20221021_130905.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOJ4eonyNUpxy0h9my3UC3CTqUCCBmllcei07qqG7gngPPrEE1_9HV83qAFfg31EPAczpHwIwBsguKZbrp_kiYa7da3szutYAHnqPmv_Uz7Jmm1kEzvZWir5gyxg7ef4EzV3ROrrNH-pfwkbb3TY9AVviXMMGGyThfp31_GnrpZSa3SW4OY5IA2I_8ig/w400-h300/20221021_130905.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Minnamurra lookout</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">The rest of the ride through to Kiama was a neat mix of quiet roads and paths through reserves. At Kiama, we stopped for coffee and a muffin, and then went to see the local blow-hole (marketed heavily from kilometres away along the Kiama Coast Walk). Sadly it was not at full noise given relatively light sea conditions. </p><p style="text-align: left;">The voyage of discovery took a confusing turn when we were drawn on to Princes Highway for the climb out of Kiama Heights. At this point it downgrades from M1 (a motorway, no bikes allowed) to A1, and it was somewhat reassuring to soon after see a bike-warning sign - surely redundant on a road that bikes shouldn't be on!</p><p style="text-align: left;">At Gerringong we were able to leave the main road for a while. I admired Sarah from about 50m back, while also wishing I was only 5m back so I could tell her I wanted to stop for a slash. </p><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTc-F22NEYlaBu5q73oTb0hPgp_J_K-st0wuYprHdRqGb4O7eBXeM2c3fyAXD2Oic1Sib4KDkaoEbKn2plCTTljiE8cJsSRcAvuvFI0Vyj_S8VHQxTdEJIQHbDRSlJka7nnmDJtZq1o1Oty62qjj7nMOyPXFcUNrXfW69-fXSquzHTHwJNlUMjx4JOSA/s4000/20221021_155106.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTc-F22NEYlaBu5q73oTb0hPgp_J_K-st0wuYprHdRqGb4O7eBXeM2c3fyAXD2Oic1Sib4KDkaoEbKn2plCTTljiE8cJsSRcAvuvFI0Vyj_S8VHQxTdEJIQHbDRSlJka7nnmDJtZq1o1Oty62qjj7nMOyPXFcUNrXfW69-fXSquzHTHwJNlUMjx4JOSA/w300-h400/20221021_155106.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Industry on the outskirts of Nowra</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">Neither of us felt the need for a stop in Nowra, which we passed through on paths alongside Princes Highway. The southern end of town seemed like an endless stream of "big box retailers" - a sight which is probably increasingly familiar to Aucklanders, but is still pretty novel through this Wellingtonian's eyes.</p><p style="text-align: left;">The highway had a fairly good shoulder, but after a day and a half's riding on mostly dedicated cycling infrastructure, it was a bit of a downer. We got shouted at by at least one passing passenger - "get off the fucking road" or similar. Fittingly, we passed a "beware cyclists" sign minutes afterwards, resolving any concern I had that I'd missed a turn off.<br /></p><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcolkC32Dtoy4gXRWlparEJ89mbDE4xUw-ksgytBbu7RhLfehVgkwKYZm9qWOjl-V4QSCsWgrBanKMBf0BhwE2M52R1pt-J1Tn4ngNS1tEbfJQt9kxaV-v15k6ueOBcdMsX_neOrTnkX_GBc76GkiBWqKXXh-qxc9mPX_vNK1_Sp1defZACuVwgmCG9g/s4000/20221021_162611.jpg"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcolkC32Dtoy4gXRWlparEJ89mbDE4xUw-ksgytBbu7RhLfehVgkwKYZm9qWOjl-V4QSCsWgrBanKMBf0BhwE2M52R1pt-J1Tn4ngNS1tEbfJQt9kxaV-v15k6ueOBcdMsX_neOrTnkX_GBc76GkiBWqKXXh-qxc9mPX_vNK1_Sp1defZACuVwgmCG9g/w400-h300/20221021_162611.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p style="text-align: left;">It was a pleasure to leave the main road about 20km from our destination, and have an hour's relatively peaceful riding to Vincentia. To cap the day off nicely, there was even a great gravel path for the final kilometres. Our legs felt well worn by the time we'd made our way up the hill to our Airbnb, not helped by a bit of navigational confusion.</p><p style="text-align: left;">After a wash, we trotted down the hill for dinner at a local Thai restaurant and a supermarket visit for the morning's breakfast supplies. We enjoyed a zombie movie on Netflix before sleeping solidly, as you tend to do after days like this...!</p><p style="text-align: left;"><u>Stats:</u> <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/7995413775" target="_blank">125km ridden</a></p><p style="text-align: left;"><u><br /></u></p><p style="text-align: left;"></p><h4 style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Day 3 (Saturday) - Vincentia to Broulee</span></h4><p style="text-align: left;">The destination for our third day was Geoff and Jo's home-away-from-home at Broulee Beach, just south of Bateman's Bay. </p><p style="text-align: left;">After about 15km of riding the the 'burbs, we rejoined Princes Highway, which we were stuck on for much of the day.</p><p style="text-align: left;">While birds had been in abundance throughout the trip so far, we hadn't seen much other wildlife save a handful of kangaroos behind a fence. There were clearly wombats around, because once an hour or so, we'd pass one which hadn't quite made it across the highway. One was impressively maggot-laden, and I made the foolish decision to linger to point it out to Sarah (she'd reported missing all others I'd seen to this point, but I really should have picked a nicer one to bring to her attention)!</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiZDMPyxFy6OjSJVi_m7f94xZfHIsuittxSdK_lclw5b2_dcHSAV9NtimQuiKNi55rQCP76FznAVIKAMliYY3-iTja_z78-RUbRpyOOlISUH5R9kh4evCNC6ASDovL8iWajVAvZlvV1LKGW6QzjORns5G5X7O3zIHi4gWAdQGktZ07iI1RgLtDLacwxA/s4000/20221022_122755.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiZDMPyxFy6OjSJVi_m7f94xZfHIsuittxSdK_lclw5b2_dcHSAV9NtimQuiKNi55rQCP76FznAVIKAMliYY3-iTja_z78-RUbRpyOOlISUH5R9kh4evCNC6ASDovL8iWajVAvZlvV1LKGW6QzjORns5G5X7O3zIHi4gWAdQGktZ07iI1RgLtDLacwxA/s320/20221022_122755.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Oh-Mah-Got!!!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">Heritage Bakery in Milton was well advertised, though from agonisingly far away for a cycle-tourist, who doesn't quite bash out the kilometres like a car can. The road got incredibly narrow on the last minutes into town, made worse by the fact that wombat remains had to be negotiated (somehow the spine was about 10 metres away from the rest of it, and both collections were in the way). </p><p style="text-align: left;">I was surprised to "arrive" in Milton, such as it was perched on the top of the hill - I can't think of any places in NZ that are built on hilltops. We eventually found the bakery at the far end of town - they proudly announce themselves to be "Australia's First Cashless Bakery". Up until that point, we'd literally not spent any cash (the opposite of quick, clean and accurate, apparently), but this really hammered home that at various times, we might not have had the choice.</p></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYNoIlvzTTKd8kcqtzQXP5jEUuXL-a7Uq_NCnozQwmnxgXKwCdu_zV8Eth35AAIOYGjnJ0RWpeYitwquyXgdngoMq6gcmAdw28whdDhQuU6eyNNYnnDF0QC8c-iR4pG73HxmpkPpDZ-dpH-4lWnDlMhOmZ9QK52QpZMvaLMlm6jqIe9RLsmMdXTN7xgg/s4000/20221022_133045.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYNoIlvzTTKd8kcqtzQXP5jEUuXL-a7Uq_NCnozQwmnxgXKwCdu_zV8Eth35AAIOYGjnJ0RWpeYitwquyXgdngoMq6gcmAdw28whdDhQuU6eyNNYnnDF0QC8c-iR4pG73HxmpkPpDZ-dpH-4lWnDlMhOmZ9QK52QpZMvaLMlm6jqIe9RLsmMdXTN7xgg/w300-h400/20221022_133045.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">Societal curiosities aside, the bakery served up some pretty tasty baked goods, and we rolled out again well sated. We took backroads that largely bypassed Ulladulla, but we were soon back on Princes Highway. I was preoccupied by one of my Achilles tendons, which felt a little funky - not sore, but it was stinging intermittently, like I'd scratched it and was getting sweat in it. I popped some nurofen and tried not to think about it. </p><p style="text-align: left;">After Ulladulla, an enticing bit of gravel singletrack running parallel with the road along a power line, gave us some further respite from the traffic, but it didn't last long, especially after skipping the first section or two. </p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj1MIVWcRolBdlKEkeULfUGIn-6BemQFyZuRypoOlMT3pRX0TuDmKbti8CsTEhLglc5BI93uvt5A2fw2E9Ti0-bHzTqZidA0I-ulbFHuM9l2VtlWhd2yC3BBOf6heCXK95nHJjukzesgSU_JlHKHrOfehFDeHovmi1cGsmZsOkO2InrA1mIoEO1KMo-A/s4000/20221022_142335.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj1MIVWcRolBdlKEkeULfUGIn-6BemQFyZuRypoOlMT3pRX0TuDmKbti8CsTEhLglc5BI93uvt5A2fw2E9Ti0-bHzTqZidA0I-ulbFHuM9l2VtlWhd2yC3BBOf6heCXK95nHJjukzesgSU_JlHKHrOfehFDeHovmi1cGsmZsOkO2InrA1mIoEO1KMo-A/w400-h300/20221022_142335.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">A service station at the turnoff to Bawley Point gave us an opportunity to have a cold drink and for me to look at some route options. The Old Princes Highway was very tempting, but despite its parallel bearing with the new highway, looked like it would add too much distance. I was still concerned about my tendon, though there was no obvious change in its status. </p><p style="text-align: left;">Up ahead we could see some very dark clouds, which had prompted a very kind local woman to stop her car and offer us shelter! We politely refused for all manner of reasons - a small car with two sweaty cyclists in and the windows up would quickly become unpleasant for all involved, and besides, we were there for the outdoor adventure. </p><p style="text-align: left;">The woman was prescient, though it took the best part of 10 minutes more riding before the heavens really opened. Most of the lightning strikes were a way off, but one happened unnervingly close given the volume of the thunder (incredibly loud) and the lack of delay between the thunderclap and the lightning flash! </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXtU-tdaDXG4ytRpB665W75rg7H2fGCxODhZB882h4JGQSuCZ4y69B6YE_AK9HQk4g6DLbtyNjsF2VJI96Suo-W93yd9c7iM_LjgaZY_tI_otM727BjumupUME6fiB3CEVC_a3LDes-e7qM5dY0R7EjVOEvDQR1ps-9UVt7o3E8DaJL3YvuTgf5JjnCg/s4000/20221022_154453.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXtU-tdaDXG4ytRpB665W75rg7H2fGCxODhZB882h4JGQSuCZ4y69B6YE_AK9HQk4g6DLbtyNjsF2VJI96Suo-W93yd9c7iM_LjgaZY_tI_otM727BjumupUME6fiB3CEVC_a3LDes-e7qM5dY0R7EjVOEvDQR1ps-9UVt7o3E8DaJL3YvuTgf5JjnCg/w300-h400/20221022_154453.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>It was still tipping down when a gas station came into view, but the adjacent cafe seemed too good a refuge to ignore. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwDM15HTN5R_THrOzGHuakkbopdPh1xD_YdFieBrDy8N4k7hbUzwlkAx97kwgHIz7NrP_ngQIUDh7woBXyK0a5IT5Qi5yrkZCGmRbwidpytP6OmjQSMwCDiwQhLew5-wlpCXvAHjcUXVGn67whbYrSNbB8DcfEI4BhjmFx8QuPYfrzWAK9ksq7pOBEBw/s4000/20221022_160450.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwDM15HTN5R_THrOzGHuakkbopdPh1xD_YdFieBrDy8N4k7hbUzwlkAx97kwgHIz7NrP_ngQIUDh7woBXyK0a5IT5Qi5yrkZCGmRbwidpytP6OmjQSMwCDiwQhLew5-wlpCXvAHjcUXVGn67whbYrSNbB8DcfEI4BhjmFx8QuPYfrzWAK9ksq7pOBEBw/w400-h300/20221022_160450.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><p style="text-align: left;">We ordered a couple of hot chocolates while trying to keep the dripping on the floor to a minimum. The cafe doubled as a museum (or vice versa) and there some old motorcycles and even a bicycle or two to admire while we enjoyed our drinks.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3_Ohx7hfFKqNmG6MV0rSzjSlkrAgJNFNPc9hVLPZZOCs6euCryU8FckOx_xqaNWY9rBtJIJ7Zx40AL0PU2NsRrlEjZ3DaGrYFCfg6r7YLCB0Yfyp5bfVK4lZORo141JzQPspgSVwSC3h8xcu7t7YQa36WY3VtEfix6EvyLlIgHpDV3tv14WtWoa5cgg/s4000/20221022_160908.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3_Ohx7hfFKqNmG6MV0rSzjSlkrAgJNFNPc9hVLPZZOCs6euCryU8FckOx_xqaNWY9rBtJIJ7Zx40AL0PU2NsRrlEjZ3DaGrYFCfg6r7YLCB0Yfyp5bfVK4lZORo141JzQPspgSVwSC3h8xcu7t7YQa36WY3VtEfix6EvyLlIgHpDV3tv14WtWoa5cgg/w300-h400/20221022_160908.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fuel East Lynne museum pieces</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">The rain hadn't fully abated when we headed off, but we were confident we wouldn't get any wetter than we already were! A little under an hour later, we were back onto cycle paths and crossing the very grand and relatively new bridge over the Clyde River into Bateman's Bay. </p><p style="text-align: left;">With Geoff and Jo's place not far away, we didn't stop, and instead cycled on under the (lousy) assumption that the last 20km would be a cruise. I navigated on the fly, at every opportunity comparing what we could see on the ground against the plotted route. That approach took us on a deviation through Denham's Beach, before bringing us to a major roundabout on George Bass Drive. All we could see ahead were hills, so we opted for the one that looked less savage. That didn't last, and around the first major bend, we found ourselves staring up a wall!</p></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk4Goy1oWpJdlO3fANqZWCBmURmdmI683m-sCJsEaJl2Vbzc8zSdmAciQkttqmTdAwUIvUkDx7gkYrhKeyqE-xyouVYh6C1gI4UQO66Fz-hHQDFa6aDT6QanepgdzoaQyxBNRXkFr4cfKqjbaMS81cC8N9dzNOMPNF8BxVhWKRgwLFN6FGkFv8tVV5UQ/s4000/20221022_171717.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk4Goy1oWpJdlO3fANqZWCBmURmdmI683m-sCJsEaJl2Vbzc8zSdmAciQkttqmTdAwUIvUkDx7gkYrhKeyqE-xyouVYh6C1gI4UQO66Fz-hHQDFa6aDT6QanepgdzoaQyxBNRXkFr4cfKqjbaMS81cC8N9dzNOMPNF8BxVhWKRgwLFN6FGkFv8tVV5UQ/w400-h300/20221022_171717.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">After what can only be described as a grovel, we picked up the rather lovely Dunn's Creek Road on which we peeled off all our hard-won elevation. This route (favoured by google) felt odd, but was partially explained the next day when we saw renovations of the Princes Highway from the vantage point of G&J's car, which had closed an off-ramp. After a bit of ducking and diving, we made the turnoff to Mossy Point, and soon after were being greeted by our hosts. </p><div>Stats: <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/7999713243" target="_blank">133km ridden</a></div><div><br /></div><h4 style="text-align: center;">Day 4 (Sunday) - Broulee</h4><p style="text-align: left;">The following day, we enjoyed being shown around the neighbourhood. This included a walk along the beach, scanning for whales from a headland, and seeing an actual live wombat at an animal park in Bateman's Bay. Sarah and Jo hired Stand-Up paddle boards while Geoff, the dog Sydney and I went for another walk.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Before dinner, we dusted off four bikes and went for a spin a wee bit further south. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ90CbDdZ4rVY5LvZJBj__pmCAFyHMofUWGv2NtSk-Lj31lhcKn2CtaMDY0SOjEVtKE7Vgbqgjd5KzeRjf1TYql7LqblDKnAqIxcQkAHPfmZk3SZINFv532V66paxSWSY6iY0zhN1VvUWtMcj0lRP38A1qdXaUGBjAKb-Hagl4k3GUSeUx3E_pwIoRcQ/s4000/20221023_185718.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ90CbDdZ4rVY5LvZJBj__pmCAFyHMofUWGv2NtSk-Lj31lhcKn2CtaMDY0SOjEVtKE7Vgbqgjd5KzeRjf1TYql7LqblDKnAqIxcQkAHPfmZk3SZINFv532V66paxSWSY6iY0zhN1VvUWtMcj0lRP38A1qdXaUGBjAKb-Hagl4k3GUSeUx3E_pwIoRcQ/w400-h300/20221023_185718.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Jo turned back once we got to the local airfield, while Geoff, Sarah and I continued a bit further to see the site of the Moruya quarry, from whence granite had been mined for the piers and pylons of the Sydney Harbour Bridge. The interesting parts were all fenced off, which necessitated far too much imagination to understand what had gone on.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtd54ecJrDa2Bq83wWOodjapYZthz53RnSdU4sKFnDK11Vwk94-FjRjJnlUvs4ijqcnpO4RISRXYQcc8hQM8iFKboViIB6-R5tyZTqyOSH7fZMqUDdb_H5AY_B5EmGuQZIOP-ZKnRKgXIH0w23RcVACmEZ9AYNrmZ8TTVLU9Y2Gn_cCAWa08NZNf8VFA/s4000/20221023_193242.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtd54ecJrDa2Bq83wWOodjapYZthz53RnSdU4sKFnDK11Vwk94-FjRjJnlUvs4ijqcnpO4RISRXYQcc8hQM8iFKboViIB6-R5tyZTqyOSH7fZMqUDdb_H5AY_B5EmGuQZIOP-ZKnRKgXIH0w23RcVACmEZ9AYNrmZ8TTVLU9Y2Gn_cCAWa08NZNf8VFA/w400-h300/20221023_193242.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">Having paid money to see Australian wildlife earlier in the day, it was slightly ironic to see a wild kangaroo in amongst the trees for the first time. I attempted to point it out to Sarah, but only Geoff understood my gesticulations. </p><p style="text-align: left;">Stats: <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/8005159041" target="_blank">20km, sedately ridden</a></p><h4 style="text-align: center;"><br /></h4><h4 style="text-align: center;">Day 5 (Monday) - Broulee to Braidwood</h4><p style="text-align: left;">Tendon diagnostics at various times on our lay day had suggested the slight discomfort on the ride to Broulee might remain a mystery, which suited me very well indeed. As a result, we were a well oiled family machine once we surfaced, with a clear plan of attack formulated the previous night.</p><p style="text-align: left;">G&J had to be back in Canberra by late morning, but were comfortable that they'd have enough time to drop our overnight gear at our accommodation in Braidwood - about half way between their two homes. That meant Sarah would be riding a bare bike for the day, while I had my handlebar bag with rain gear, plus tools and tubes etc. </p><p style="text-align: left;">Unfortunately, my preferred route, following the Deua River on Araluen Road, was out of action, having been closed by slips in early 2020. Had the weather been primo, I'd have put a bit of effort into identifying the feasibility of getting through by bike (despite the <a href="https://www.esc.nsw.gov.au/news-and-events/Roads-and-current-works/All-temporary-road-closures/araluen-road,-merricumbene2" target="_blank">formal closure notification</a>), but it had rained again overnight, and what with reports of heavy rain that we'd been seeing in the media over the last week, it seemed like a really dumb idea to try. Similarly, I ruled out another couple of shorter detours, and decided to keep things simple (and clean). </p><div>So, it was back to Bateman's Bay, and then onto the main road to Canberra - King's Highway - which we'd ride as far as Braidwood.</div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbZc8Bzz7ZnchoLfVhV-JXIG7ghLobPbUtErM_K9OCYl-0-bAKIjOiT6JHbfsqmkl9wNy5304YLznjCXlEnGWWONhr8Hg_v9PaMfqt298U48v-H_g2HD0Z6PGxhle-MuBuVFeIu7Z1-3vK2syIOe4OkgClKKp2Cuw0iHZTeAgOnzYI-yrKLg2A8CArzQ/s4000/20221024_105916.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbZc8Bzz7ZnchoLfVhV-JXIG7ghLobPbUtErM_K9OCYl-0-bAKIjOiT6JHbfsqmkl9wNy5304YLznjCXlEnGWWONhr8Hg_v9PaMfqt298U48v-H_g2HD0Z6PGxhle-MuBuVFeIu7Z1-3vK2syIOe4OkgClKKp2Cuw0iHZTeAgOnzYI-yrKLg2A8CArzQ/w400-h300/20221024_105916.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bridge over the River Clyde</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">Despite having had breakfast relatively recently, we shared a big plate of pancakes in Bateman's Bay, washed down by coffee. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7fgBoonb32LJLRYmxYyGPcG2GZkySfQNl93WVi4X2JePkLkYTi7DyP_9KsF97GDemv3CjbZMn3jee8SpclWFO2LenERWxL2eOpZdOj4w5e5XSzY5W1EVh6yu7JW0yAlFLRHc_Zj1bPDrFhrUmjVi10fyBlRuUgR6Du7J2xTXtXvs74kg_4ghP8SSmEA/s3648/20221024_111146.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2736" data-original-width="3648" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7fgBoonb32LJLRYmxYyGPcG2GZkySfQNl93WVi4X2JePkLkYTi7DyP_9KsF97GDemv3CjbZMn3jee8SpclWFO2LenERWxL2eOpZdOj4w5e5XSzY5W1EVh6yu7JW0yAlFLRHc_Zj1bPDrFhrUmjVi10fyBlRuUgR6Du7J2xTXtXvs74kg_4ghP8SSmEA/w400-h300/20221024_111146.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">As with the earlier days, conditions were warm enough to be riding in short-sleeved jerseys, but the odds of rain seemed high! There also seemed a fair chance that we wouldn't enjoy the main road much, but it was a Monday morning, and we hoped there wouldn't be too much extra traffic to trouble us on our climb up the Illawarra Escarpment - or "Scarp", as the locals sometimes refer to it.</p><p style="text-align: left;">While the King's Highway didn't cater directly for bikes, it was a perfectly pleasant road to be on - usually there was a decent shoulder, and besides, Australian drivers seemed much more bike-aware and bike-tolerant than their neighbours over the ditch. </p><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtlTkgw8JfoBliHewy_TkujJ9fq0Nue8GVhaasl70p-K73WhAmF4zNcHoM78eV-Vg-2B-nup_zKJN_rCigHRs9AkK347mKyyEraHhsTRTrAeipFLizBsyoz7SefQzEIW7d9qQBu-BROVcOoZSGbLnY4bjd2etPFQ5Eo2yaIdM3Dq_uZWYybPOf1guS3g/s4000/20221024_125210.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtlTkgw8JfoBliHewy_TkujJ9fq0Nue8GVhaasl70p-K73WhAmF4zNcHoM78eV-Vg-2B-nup_zKJN_rCigHRs9AkK347mKyyEraHhsTRTrAeipFLizBsyoz7SefQzEIW7d9qQBu-BROVcOoZSGbLnY4bjd2etPFQ5Eo2yaIdM3Dq_uZWYybPOf1guS3g/w400-h300/20221024_125210.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A sign eliciting thoughts of Oli (alive and well!) and my dear old cat, Misty (RIP)</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">Slowly but surely we chipped away at the ascent, from the coast to a highpoint of almost 800 metres above sea level. The road was under construction in a couple of places, and the stop-go system ensured we had intermittent car-free patches once we were past them. There were some seriously epic switchbacks where at least one of us was happy not to have any onlookers!</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpweZT8pc3XmGrasLhQ-_PtlQk1-hOyltpUfBgkxxomoSG2gzcAAAGXk2KeWrNJ0--EK5kNvR-hprQ6yLGAe3sLROdmNgJARuj8iEurUSa3etFb2422GTesKmfVgOsw-spEdzbb2Gbomy8LpEw7IKBFZ6K4T3vxVYqlp1sbJhPjwSKXv-gC1diLTOmJg/s4000/20221024_140033.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpweZT8pc3XmGrasLhQ-_PtlQk1-hOyltpUfBgkxxomoSG2gzcAAAGXk2KeWrNJ0--EK5kNvR-hprQ6yLGAe3sLROdmNgJARuj8iEurUSa3etFb2422GTesKmfVgOsw-spEdzbb2Gbomy8LpEw7IKBFZ6K4T3vxVYqlp1sbJhPjwSKXv-gC1diLTOmJg/w400-h300/20221024_140033.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sarah cresting the summit</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">After dealing to the climb, we had a 20km run into Braidwood - where we hoped to avail ourselves of a visit to Dojo Bread, highly recommended by G&J. Beating the 2pm closing time went down to the wire, and as with the Cronulla Ferry, we arrived with a few minutes to spare. The $10 pies were worth every cent, mine beef, and Sarah's lamb. Both delicious, and warming, all the better for being from the inside out. </p><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1RwkeG0PaENLE08O2jbH_bIllGk2TBlzoQzpcxkvO_g5o0zv1R8jI5JY_M8U9ki52nQPK7JFO6gREf6URZg-7Dnmo7nq7kWqt6-SE3197KVtrif83T7UzfP40Ee0hmKVCEH6K9MxU8gX0h1EJHr3i3gPRjZsWIvG-3LHCBD2f0RcNBuISQRUUCrDqPA/s4000/20221024_150540.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1RwkeG0PaENLE08O2jbH_bIllGk2TBlzoQzpcxkvO_g5o0zv1R8jI5JY_M8U9ki52nQPK7JFO6gREf6URZg-7Dnmo7nq7kWqt6-SE3197KVtrif83T7UzfP40Ee0hmKVCEH6K9MxU8gX0h1EJHr3i3gPRjZsWIvG-3LHCBD2f0RcNBuISQRUUCrDqPA/w400-h300/20221024_150540.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dojo Bread, Braidwood</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">Another advantage of arriving early enough to go to Dojo, was that we had the afternoon to chill out. First, we checked into our hotel, stashing our bikes in an alleyway under the back of the hotel - I was assured "there's no crime in Braidwood", a comment which we got a few giggles from when it became apparent that some baked goods that G&J had left with our luggage had vanished. </p><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJUPL60JdPTScJtMSoEWBOgR1QjKQIjpg2JBLPLFkknZmR5LVU1mM3-fQ3UqfwR8sOXfSDYa9vYqErxu_StDOoUgbWXzcECcFy6zJJYDxVfy-tKSWN40Kc-qjEEqe_Gu1wAB4UesPO60dtmDil26WN1cueeOzkfXroOoQmeT-NnH2fQNiJY_TnfFaaJQ/s4000/20221024_150823.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJUPL60JdPTScJtMSoEWBOgR1QjKQIjpg2JBLPLFkknZmR5LVU1mM3-fQ3UqfwR8sOXfSDYa9vYqErxu_StDOoUgbWXzcECcFy6zJJYDxVfy-tKSWN40Kc-qjEEqe_Gu1wAB4UesPO60dtmDil26WN1cueeOzkfXroOoQmeT-NnH2fQNiJY_TnfFaaJQ/w400-h300/20221024_150823.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Royal Mail Hotel, Braidwood</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">Once washed and in civvies, we headed out on foot, and explored the various stores on the main road (i.e. the town). It isn't something we often do, usually arriving closer to dinner time than lunch time, and eventually we settled down in an eclectic cafe-cum-bookstore-cum-eclectic-emporium. There we supped our hot drinks, and played on the internet a bit before mooching back to our room to put our feet up.</p><p style="text-align: left;">We ate dinner in the hotel restaurant, and then had a somewhat unsettled start to the night with rowdiness coming first from the pub, and then from our balcony! A couple of interventions eventually quietened things down, and we got some solid sleep. </p><p style="text-align: left;">Stats: <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/8010239259" target="_blank">87km ridden, including one whopping hill</a></p><h4 style="text-align: center;"><br /></h4><h4 style="text-align: center;">Day 6 (Tuesday) - Braidwood to Canberra</h4><p style="text-align: left;">Before suiting up, we chose another cafe for a good cooked breakfast. As I was paying, I asked the staff about the road through Captains Flat, which Jo had recommended we take. They both thought the "dirt road" - which started about 30km from Braidwood - would be really muddy, so I committed to continuing along King's Highway, at least as far as Bungendore.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD1-vFbdPXdmcFD7z2u18K6-h_qSQy5KTt6h1aaxrvqH2pDysa9P7VFoVtnQJSXF242vazQLcg-OnVaSaYqyJ-R_Wx--Ct139norkPRvmdvTNRWoYFO3gpWtJ1Pf30KAVwE-xJuapdwsWgWLPG2JmYPZvcZu3TIdMko1QY89SM51ARqsy2XU4RQHX6EA/s4000/20221025_113711.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD1-vFbdPXdmcFD7z2u18K6-h_qSQy5KTt6h1aaxrvqH2pDysa9P7VFoVtnQJSXF242vazQLcg-OnVaSaYqyJ-R_Wx--Ct139norkPRvmdvTNRWoYFO3gpWtJ1Pf30KAVwE-xJuapdwsWgWLPG2JmYPZvcZu3TIdMko1QY89SM51ARqsy2XU4RQHX6EA/w300-h400/20221025_113711.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ukraine on the minds of the people of Braidwood</td></tr></tbody></table><br />From time to time I dust off the old chestnut "Better to regret something you did, than something you didn't", and I reminded myself of this at pretty much every dirt road we passed - all looked in absolutely primo condition, and I lamented asking a barista and a shop assistant for advice, rather than popping into the gas station which might have been the source of more pertinent intel. Nothing for it but to enjoy the countryside though.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOYEYRJMrE70L-GdjVKO7Sj-ChXkn0G8C81cu9r9Lkxm9rvx7JR9SKhLVQRhsOpMvJO_TNN26oZk4skeNvLA3bbe6zt-k2dT3YD5_fSbpEgtUZpWE4jLqJ5-LA6mAAeX6kqne4aR9dlJm5DEkoDfK___xZIE2Kpa0ZMjbpcTKCEid_1PU_oL-xlyQY_g/s4000/20221025_133222.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOYEYRJMrE70L-GdjVKO7Sj-ChXkn0G8C81cu9r9Lkxm9rvx7JR9SKhLVQRhsOpMvJO_TNN26oZk4skeNvLA3bbe6zt-k2dT3YD5_fSbpEgtUZpWE4jLqJ5-LA6mAAeX6kqne4aR9dlJm5DEkoDfK___xZIE2Kpa0ZMjbpcTKCEid_1PU_oL-xlyQY_g/w400-h300/20221025_133222.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Occasional reminders of home, if you kept your eyes peeled</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">About half way to Bungendore the road turned due west, and so began a 20km stretch with a nasty headwind. At Bungendore we had a bite to eat, before picking up a back road that would cut out much of the highway riding through to Queanbeyan. It was nice to ride a quieter road, and with a direction change thrown in to mitigate the wind.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Towards the end of this leg I was relieved that a ford was passable - had it not been, we would have been looking at almost an hour's riding back to where we had lunch...!</p></div><div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEuPsRFXD8-3oIHb7GioWW6XcMge4nO1yx2CQspptAgmk2ub5S8o7uVROSoh0OHx8Mp1xGzkQbx8pe2RQg0Cs5v7lBmTnhD5s1kvbeKDF1xCfTIKab4RJWkq3QOYMMdSI8rkm-jJLtGGUx_wRNStBw4w-NSuJTURWYHilIY5Sd9dxLrZzwWuzfnbRr3w/s4000/20221025_151250.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEuPsRFXD8-3oIHb7GioWW6XcMge4nO1yx2CQspptAgmk2ub5S8o7uVROSoh0OHx8Mp1xGzkQbx8pe2RQg0Cs5v7lBmTnhD5s1kvbeKDF1xCfTIKab4RJWkq3QOYMMdSI8rkm-jJLtGGUx_wRNStBw4w-NSuJTURWYHilIY5Sd9dxLrZzwWuzfnbRr3w/w400-h300/20221025_151250.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Crossing the Molonglo River on Briars Sharrow Road</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">It wasn't too long before we started catching glimpses of Canberra off in the distance, including the Telstra Tower on Black Mountain, but also, more surprisingly, the fountain in Lake Burley Griffin!</p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipYV-9RGnb9JRbSJVylyx0S_MGmE1f5yesbhBJ0vXN4aR5yLuGhnxlX-aNJUQ5pbf9ylqHGD0taAsaUGjy2MrCeg0ApP5DaDY4vj0UCmWIjKZjIxQnntMoz7NsL5eAnxkoBZL0Ym87pGH2X18rbQVjTY4OlBVLzzDkaHSn6L12WX0wwpNX99-hYBwwkw/s4000/20221025_160059.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipYV-9RGnb9JRbSJVylyx0S_MGmE1f5yesbhBJ0vXN4aR5yLuGhnxlX-aNJUQ5pbf9ylqHGD0taAsaUGjy2MrCeg0ApP5DaDY4vj0UCmWIjKZjIxQnntMoz7NsL5eAnxkoBZL0Ym87pGH2X18rbQVjTY4OlBVLzzDkaHSn6L12WX0wwpNX99-hYBwwkw/w400-h300/20221025_160059.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>At Queanbeyan we discovered ourselves surrounded by dedicated cycling infrastructure once more. That said, not all of it was usable, and we had to resort to suburban streets to get around some very high waters on the Queanbeyan River - flooding that seemed really out of character with the day's general conditions.</div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmy1xYhYhFnaEt4aq9MWoHAxHXxSPyEuqz4sfY1jDg9K0FNbHyze1Rn5OquhAenMwM4DcqYPiOAie0YtqCvxdYkzCgG9LQRPSK5Xrwoi1ID-dlKXRE12CoQspJ-nxhWnat1AMP-W5aEVixi1WheiPgaKv1ZuEpnY_XMqF9fGAESZZSbOkXDk6FlTc5PA/s4000/20221025_160912.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmy1xYhYhFnaEt4aq9MWoHAxHXxSPyEuqz4sfY1jDg9K0FNbHyze1Rn5OquhAenMwM4DcqYPiOAie0YtqCvxdYkzCgG9LQRPSK5Xrwoi1ID-dlKXRE12CoQspJ-nxhWnat1AMP-W5aEVixi1WheiPgaKv1ZuEpnY_XMqF9fGAESZZSbOkXDk6FlTc5PA/w400-h300/20221025_160912.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Declined</td></tr></tbody></table><br />Once back on the cycleway we rode most of the way to G&J's home in Narrahbundah on paths, shared with some curious customers, including a boy with a petrol-powered bicycle. <br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihM0vorjeQmd46gWtyEFD8Vae0Yr5KfKdrznsn46eu4OijDd49yZZiAjkHkgknEck4tbipD9x__yi61iy7TUoKT7OFaEnOaPXlLZgyRbBg0KxueKT7XDuIPkYbW_okyiaMI_7clZV5TnIjsiJXxUazXZB0AvqXhvPMIvuFoTRQPA9TW9do94OposD0Yg/s4000/20221025_162039.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihM0vorjeQmd46gWtyEFD8Vae0Yr5KfKdrznsn46eu4OijDd49yZZiAjkHkgknEck4tbipD9x__yi61iy7TUoKT7OFaEnOaPXlLZgyRbBg0KxueKT7XDuIPkYbW_okyiaMI_7clZV5TnIjsiJXxUazXZB0AvqXhvPMIvuFoTRQPA9TW9do94OposD0Yg/w400-h300/20221025_162039.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">BRAAAAAAPPPP! He pulled a manual moments later</td></tr></tbody></table><p style="text-align: left;">We were warmly welcomed once again, bringing a close to the cycle-tour element of the trip. My original plan had been to spend a couple of nights in Canberra before touring back to Sydney, however, Plan B had been enacted, which consisted of a train booking. It meant less pressure on our hosts and ourselves, but also an opportunity to explore Canberra a bit more. </p><p style="text-align: left;">Stats: <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/8014997594" target="_blank">95km ridden</a></p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><h4 style="text-align: center;">Canberra ride (Thursday): Lake Burley Griffin</h4><p style="text-align: left;">The following day, we did a lap of Lake Burley Griffin together, virtually 100% on cycle ways. The ride had a bit of everything, and despite being a school day, there were plenty of other users on the lake-side path to keep us on our toes. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj54kaxuPcub9G88qypNByPjX4iwj8hZ9feZECPR1nxIDHqtjpPzU6oIMDp0WOkPSixuqda_gu0Pr17UUGQUwJeL2IcnT_4pVrx6vxGN69htFNN8kzVWXNvykwQ-s1kWeRdBmUuG8UnUhYiSUDdpHUydtAOjB7l-CcqOcFwDLUGgle0Od6KU8KDA-2vxw/s4000/20221027_123712.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj54kaxuPcub9G88qypNByPjX4iwj8hZ9feZECPR1nxIDHqtjpPzU6oIMDp0WOkPSixuqda_gu0Pr17UUGQUwJeL2IcnT_4pVrx6vxGN69htFNN8kzVWXNvykwQ-s1kWeRdBmUuG8UnUhYiSUDdpHUydtAOjB7l-CcqOcFwDLUGgle0Od6KU8KDA-2vxw/w400-h300/20221027_123712.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mongolian and New Zealand flags flying in close proximity</td></tr></tbody></table><br />I'd done the ride once before, from memory in the opposite (anti-clockwise) direction. My young sister Millie and I had visited in the mid-90s, and had done the ride together on a rented tandem. I dredged out memories of regular jolting as she tried to get her feet back on the pedals after losing her place! From memory I insisted she hang her legs away from the pedals, so at least the extra work was undisturbed! <br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2iVEer_uLYQI58tdmlBuk3U047zGt-nJObDxQ2eDxrMY7f2UcLSTYc2c_-_eM8Uz2heuyA5msLbpVZHTPNmxPJcerg8DoB7mXs5U-ZdoNTCBPd7KQtHWX7-CauWPP0E-VyyWCyJnWDdWliHHkrmdMUp5CZ8pMoYVVrHpgY_9Pvt0RuNZzlgRpm8HHOA/s4000/20221027_131139.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2iVEer_uLYQI58tdmlBuk3U047zGt-nJObDxQ2eDxrMY7f2UcLSTYc2c_-_eM8Uz2heuyA5msLbpVZHTPNmxPJcerg8DoB7mXs5U-ZdoNTCBPd7KQtHWX7-CauWPP0E-VyyWCyJnWDdWliHHkrmdMUp5CZ8pMoYVVrHpgY_9Pvt0RuNZzlgRpm8HHOA/w400-h300/20221027_131139.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Scrivener Dam</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">After crossing the Scrivener Dam at the bottom of the man-made lake, we soon were exploring the Australia National University campus, where Geoff had taken time out to complete a PhD late in his diplomatic career. </p><p style="text-align: left;">Someone's parked car showed signs of both a figurative and literal hammering, presumably courtesy of a weather event rather than a disgruntled neighbour. </p></div><div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmlbV3CYeC22RUS8mypB2SGeBpupiXvfqilXrbhb0V6yM4kn-mgCtSn2IWzE0_Q7VoiN-_iGzn8syq1RmYJqXl8ixJWWgFfhbrc3eYiLeW5wrE1yqclEwLMo0QZjZJJ1H9nw7wHcVQGLpyHJDrTUA1gCc-d4o0cXr63uTS6HRFAjAczSkHzaSnmbm7kg/s4000/20221027_140146.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmlbV3CYeC22RUS8mypB2SGeBpupiXvfqilXrbhb0V6yM4kn-mgCtSn2IWzE0_Q7VoiN-_iGzn8syq1RmYJqXl8ixJWWgFfhbrc3eYiLeW5wrE1yqclEwLMo0QZjZJJ1H9nw7wHcVQGLpyHJDrTUA1gCc-d4o0cXr63uTS6HRFAjAczSkHzaSnmbm7kg/w400-h300/20221027_140146.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>After a lunch break which fairly conveniently overlapped with a rain shower, we finished the loop off. This included passing the National Carillon, which had been played by my grandfather (John Randal, not to be confused with his grandfather John Randal who built the church at Upokongaro that has featured on this blog more than once!) at least once during his tenure as <a href="https://mch.govt.nz/pukeahu/park/national-war-memorial/carillon/carillonists" target="_blank">NZ's carillionist</a> until his death in 1983. </div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixHQBkZDVmD8WFKZnnO_lUZbdugqB4cefdj_5qeL4uhVB24j2TffsIWd5G94ETIgftFrCsZ659wzTEihYoTJ21uKQ_IOtevyQ3XMIGA3OadC-V9pcTqM8u1k1x53LknyHt0uYJ2n9mo7YSpQpu9dtfCDMBhftLXw5S4Wrbf0YcwRnjqCH1YgBtNz-jzg/s4000/20221027_152118.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixHQBkZDVmD8WFKZnnO_lUZbdugqB4cefdj_5qeL4uhVB24j2TffsIWd5G94ETIgftFrCsZ659wzTEihYoTJ21uKQ_IOtevyQ3XMIGA3OadC-V9pcTqM8u1k1x53LknyHt0uYJ2n9mo7YSpQpu9dtfCDMBhftLXw5S4Wrbf0YcwRnjqCH1YgBtNz-jzg/w300-h400/20221027_152118.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">National Carillon, Lake Burley Griffin, Canberra</td></tr></tbody></table><h4 style="text-align: left;"><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-weight: 400;">Between the Carillon and home we enjoyed a bit of retired roadway, and hid from another rain-shower in a conveniently located hide adjacent to wetlands. Just before leaving the lakefront for good, we were shown a curious sign which welcomed its readers in three languages, one of them te reo Māori.</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq7rzEC6e2kZ1iuKRz8TI0qx2w_IvA7aAXQyOkDmxEU7ZjuqjZFxbio_TFaRKj_fqh4mWftK1uID8cvcpjLGi3niro4CP7KsPoZRUg5EW3t3IsmfTSqhLopa-uwN3qjApw2FPMEEMxrAHIB5PBtURjPw16o_nPT8OAT4Q15oomNk-5otwEoCY2Tdx-Pw/s4032/IMG_1616.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq7rzEC6e2kZ1iuKRz8TI0qx2w_IvA7aAXQyOkDmxEU7ZjuqjZFxbio_TFaRKj_fqh4mWftK1uID8cvcpjLGi3niro4CP7KsPoZRUg5EW3t3IsmfTSqhLopa-uwN3qjApw2FPMEEMxrAHIB5PBtURjPw16o_nPT8OAT4Q15oomNk-5otwEoCY2Tdx-Pw/w400-h300/IMG_1616.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo: Joanna Adamson</td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Stats: </span><a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/8025320431" style="font-weight: normal;" target="_blank">40km ridden</a></p><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Canberra Ride (Friday) - Cotter Dam loop</div></h4><p style="text-align: left;">On Wednesday, we'd driven out to Tidbinbilla Nature Reserve - a route which was crying out for a repeat visit on our bicycles. Friday was my birthday, and it seemed fitting to spend the day riding with my dear wife, and despite it feeling slightly unadventurous, I was keen to re-tread familiar ground. </p><p style="text-align: left;">When we set out, the sun was shining, but fortunately it was cool enough that I grabbed my sleeveless vest. While that proved a god-send, at various times during the day I regretted leaving in haste, and without well enough flipping the mental switch between cycle touring and recreation. (Live and learn, and write about it to better let the lesson sink in.)</p><p style="text-align: left;">We were relatively well oriented, given the drive, but I was nonetheless mindful that knowing the way by car doesn't always translate into cycling directions, and particularly in a place not only rich with cycle paths, but also where the roads swoop this way and than in an endless sequence of curves. </p></div><div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQLuW2McwSERVCT9nb1qM_-NLzgphqsgo-NqkkLQ8z-UXUuY94PTSshLBS_-0rvH7uXnbISFCziVenoGcgCBNf4-u2Smie7fCrkfV0t6q8ZzLv0LUnwQLDmn6AgS0TZk0bO0rW7FIJ9cYxeRGyCo03PDiRTTbdOaxs3mNu7ndEiid50meJMXS8c--SHg/s4000/20221028_120330.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQLuW2McwSERVCT9nb1qM_-NLzgphqsgo-NqkkLQ8z-UXUuY94PTSshLBS_-0rvH7uXnbISFCziVenoGcgCBNf4-u2Smie7fCrkfV0t6q8ZzLv0LUnwQLDmn6AgS0TZk0bO0rW7FIJ9cYxeRGyCo03PDiRTTbdOaxs3mNu7ndEiid50meJMXS8c--SHg/w400-h300/20221028_120330.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cycle path alongside Cotter Road</td></tr></tbody></table><br />Sure enough, paths took us to the outskirts of Canberra and past the Stromlo Forest Park, laden with MTB trails (and on the list of future attractions to visit). From there, the route transformed into a rural road with little traffic on it. <br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvMehh71SN8rZuTS6xrLot2WULTsSq4cOXNRtu3o_p5wmMjx5IjfZvmP-_86S2vccNIIW8lB1G_kNfKMr5yr54peF53vUc9oxN61LdBgcliUVNMwLb5nZTVVDNrnqLCi3r1iQ3ZrsijiJBeu2UX24GggTVZs7UoVKtRaNStALbC0d1L37lv9O9nNxGaA/s4000/20221028_123154.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvMehh71SN8rZuTS6xrLot2WULTsSq4cOXNRtu3o_p5wmMjx5IjfZvmP-_86S2vccNIIW8lB1G_kNfKMr5yr54peF53vUc9oxN61LdBgcliUVNMwLb5nZTVVDNrnqLCi3r1iQ3ZrsijiJBeu2UX24GggTVZs7UoVKtRaNStALbC0d1L37lv9O9nNxGaA/w400-h300/20221028_123154.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Water supply from Cotter Dam towards Canberra</td></tr></tbody></table><br />Despite seeing the Cotter Dam from the car, I was nonetheless excited about it coming into view. The rectangular wall of white cascading water takes a bit of deciphering when you first see it in the distance. <br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5y8CYkfpyBkTKw1faxmtxTq52kaUykWtieABu0RuCR-lPyU5DueX0Cxm6VLmG68kiFEKuQXE7duITv3Ls86IKLeFaoN_pLhzcXGuGZ1ubXgE8rLX4eYwR77nLHXt99WRcoFXlzfW9Mk3lkckmy_8xaynxrDdZBV5iMw4ZVcjRiUg5IU3BEz-CG0d_gg/s4000/20221028_123521.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5y8CYkfpyBkTKw1faxmtxTq52kaUykWtieABu0RuCR-lPyU5DueX0Cxm6VLmG68kiFEKuQXE7duITv3Ls86IKLeFaoN_pLhzcXGuGZ1ubXgE8rLX4eYwR77nLHXt99WRcoFXlzfW9Mk3lkckmy_8xaynxrDdZBV5iMw4ZVcjRiUg5IU3BEz-CG0d_gg/w400-h300/20221028_123521.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>I managed to convince Sarah to join me on a side trip to see if we could access the dam from above. We couldn't, but not from the lack of trying - I suppose fences are far from the lake to maintain the water quality. On the way back down to rejoin our route, I chuckled at the sight of crumpled arm-co barrier at the end of a short straight with incredible views of the spillway - it seemed pretty obvious what the driver had - and hadn't - been concentrating on.</div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF-9djLeXXFlbdZicjJyGq6MgZRcEhvQd-7Na4uuvaRsJ5hVm96dSXNGfG3PtamMO6GJIH1EVhqa6JHMs11PLePEW905bgHojnisHOYoRJcuaVGj9TZjXVgtfw_Fr3CMkGFn8FVbCOLphHq3RCAa31RlJUlMiAiOPQjhaYXOpYmUQT1VtKQ46yMUQXnA/s4000/20221028_131213.jpg"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF-9djLeXXFlbdZicjJyGq6MgZRcEhvQd-7Na4uuvaRsJ5hVm96dSXNGfG3PtamMO6GJIH1EVhqa6JHMs11PLePEW905bgHojnisHOYoRJcuaVGj9TZjXVgtfw_Fr3CMkGFn8FVbCOLphHq3RCAa31RlJUlMiAiOPQjhaYXOpYmUQT1VtKQ46yMUQXnA/w400-h300/20221028_131213.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">After a quick re-hash of our drive into the base of the dam, we proceeded onwards towards Tidbinbilla. By this stage, Sarah had announced her Di2 battery was near flat - initially signalled by the front derailleur ceasing to work. I'd honestly thought we'd identified the problem, and had flown with the battery disconnected on both bikes. But, despite that precaution, it seems like the single-bike discharge mystery continues. To make matters more annoying, I kicked myself that the power bank and cable was stowed in our baggage already, and not in my frame bag.</p><p style="text-align: left;">That wasn't the only bit of kit I was regretting being without. The air was decidedly cold, and I knew I'd be much happier with arm warmers on at the very least, but more likely my Shakedry jacket. While trying to minimise gear shifts in solidarity with Sarah, preoccupation with gear shifting was soon overcome by weather concerns - I began wondering how bad the wind-driven rain was going to get, and hoping that it would miraculously clear. </p><p style="text-align: left;">Fortunately, the rain seemed to be hold off, so that only my windward side was wet (and very cold, not to mention very pink). Fortunately signage at the turnoff to the Canberra Deep Space Communication Complex signalled that the cafe was closed - it would have been a gamble, and a huge bummer to have gone there to find nowhere to hide from the rain (and we might have got wet in both directions, front and back). When we arrived at the nature reserve turnoff a few minutes later, the weather ahead looked to be perking up, so we agreed to keep moving, and to make hay while the proverbial sun shone. </p><p style="text-align: left;">We ignored the Point Hut Rd turnoff, and continued on to Tharwa, where we crossed the Murrumbidgee River and swung around towards Canberra. We re-enacted lunch at the Lanyon Homestead, before getting out into the cool air again. </p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwdrBFx1rJvvd4Up1IPemz89PstT0E3w_AssAhDiclfR0iUl78fGiaFLgI--xutAUBAHl7EzfcQM4hh6YZ1mPUbyDGcww-zUCOryEq8dknGVXvk1Og1e56crM8KGop_FFzSEO2Lu72vSrHiqtCufLTguhuW46PagSQGqK88Q5jyyBZWMGSLqjA6y3nQw/s4000/20221028_160459.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwdrBFx1rJvvd4Up1IPemz89PstT0E3w_AssAhDiclfR0iUl78fGiaFLgI--xutAUBAHl7EzfcQM4hh6YZ1mPUbyDGcww-zUCOryEq8dknGVXvk1Og1e56crM8KGop_FFzSEO2Lu72vSrHiqtCufLTguhuW46PagSQGqK88Q5jyyBZWMGSLqjA6y3nQw/w400-h300/20221028_160459.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Almost immediately after, we picked up our first cycle path of the afternoon, on which we'd stay to some extent or other, for the remaining 30km of the ride! We made one-side trip, to see the ford on Point Hut Rd. The Murrumbidgee had looked much more angry a couple of days earlier when we'd seen it near the Cotter Dam. Debris on this road reinforced how high the river had got, but it was now at a level that we could have easily (and safely) used the ford. The road was still officially closed though, despite the gate being an ineffective barrier for an inquisitive pair of cyclists. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrG3NoujctB9d7WIVvpah3537vY34XHGzyI3-txd1_42EkmtzLZO4t1IhTgJisapBKFAUwbkrV1QE2NwXL9P2bRzhK-_qXgygAWmbn-jiUys8lB29qqBEAg8RhuuoPvKfYIoa5zIzrWfv0-ikLnlzSlGp6aGDCqo020MZ9BRxsRcTLU3h-rCDZgqzfhw/s4000/20221028_162946.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrG3NoujctB9d7WIVvpah3537vY34XHGzyI3-txd1_42EkmtzLZO4t1IhTgJisapBKFAUwbkrV1QE2NwXL9P2bRzhK-_qXgygAWmbn-jiUys8lB29qqBEAg8RhuuoPvKfYIoa5zIzrWfv0-ikLnlzSlGp6aGDCqo020MZ9BRxsRcTLU3h-rCDZgqzfhw/w400-h300/20221028_162946.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>From there, we ducked and dived along dedicated paths, as I tried to find an effective route back to G&J's. Sarah had blown through her limited budget of gear changes, despite my warning that it might happen, so was now single-speeding. I was managing not to stress out about it too much, and instead was enjoying the vastness of the off-road path network. It seemed like much of it was built alongside water-courses, which had presumably been built wide enough to cope with once in decades flooding, leaving ample space for recreation or utility cycling at other times. </div><div><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJxCfnGnhwwoZSl2N3AWXLyNsDVbI2mXrS6BC_gj3NnK-3qz4llrZRVzOuwbzfHgKmJRDqdXc23GcJ2PMVjCmr_EjB90Feu6Bk9FdJ2DTHKbQ1sraPdSPzI267eo6wQLFtWOU3yF_Z1rtPAlhlwtlqfHRmvIgWMc5aqxWYCVvBdsAtUp7FcRguQrxhKw/s4000/20221028_172149.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJxCfnGnhwwoZSl2N3AWXLyNsDVbI2mXrS6BC_gj3NnK-3qz4llrZRVzOuwbzfHgKmJRDqdXc23GcJ2PMVjCmr_EjB90Feu6Bk9FdJ2DTHKbQ1sraPdSPzI267eo6wQLFtWOU3yF_Z1rtPAlhlwtlqfHRmvIgWMc5aqxWYCVvBdsAtUp7FcRguQrxhKw/w400-h300/20221028_172149.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">We eventually made it back to Geoff and Jo's, with a relatively enjoyable, if not trouble-free ride under our belts. It would have been a 5-star ride had we had the power bank and our jackets, but even without, it was a bloody good day on the bike. </p><p style="text-align: left;">Stats: <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/8030427837" target="_blank">109km ridden</a></p><h4 style="text-align: center;">(Saturday) Closing the loop</h4><p style="text-align: left;">Our final day in Canberra involved only a very short late-afternoon ride, to the railway station for our evening train to Sydney. </p><p style="text-align: left;">There we packed our bike bags, and confronted the slight possibility that our bags would be rejected. When I'd finally looked at the fine print in our train tickets the evening before, I discovered that I'd made dubious assumptions about how easy it would be to get our bikes on. The <a href="https://transportnsw.info/travel-info/using-public-transport/regional-booking-travel-information/luggage-on-nsw-trainlink" target="_blank">NSW Trainlink website</a> referred only to boxes, and while I'd spoken on the phone with someone the previous day who'd read a statement about "commercially produced bicycle bags" also being OK, she couldn't guarantee it. </p><p style="text-align: left;">To our great fortune and relief, there was no issue. Both my Scicon bag and Sarah's Torpedo7 knockoff easily clocked in under the hard limit of 20kg, and the clerk didn't bat an eyelid about their dimensions. Once more, the train journey seemed like a great solution for our return to Sydney. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwKUwFX1uEOTkTBJx4-Xr3vOAZnUnKQsUB9u2jvpCcYNyiCRpY2B9v5-krYBO3T8l3Y0qg1-hKL0ui_UC1AznQYZuCiNJcvOxumbNfx43Y8Sa9HfEPB_0GmkQPnNH9rpSjq5HOoCP2AcpSn_biifAUf1fJSNQvEquck9WIlgiPZyVDBVnguXaI5YnGUA/s4000/20221029_181858.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwKUwFX1uEOTkTBJx4-Xr3vOAZnUnKQsUB9u2jvpCcYNyiCRpY2B9v5-krYBO3T8l3Y0qg1-hKL0ui_UC1AznQYZuCiNJcvOxumbNfx43Y8Sa9HfEPB_0GmkQPnNH9rpSjq5HOoCP2AcpSn_biifAUf1fJSNQvEquck9WIlgiPZyVDBVnguXaI5YnGUA/w400-h300/20221029_181858.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p style="clear: both; text-align: left;">A few hours later, after a very pleasant and effortless journey, we were transferring onto the Airport train service at Sydney Central Station, and after an easy 10 minute walk from the Mascot stop, we were checked into a hotel for the night. </p><p style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The next morning, we had a trip milestone when paying for the shuttle to the airport. The $10 a-head fee was the first and last transaction of the trip made in cash...! The COVID-19 pandemic truly seems to have accelerated Australia's transformation into a cash-free economy. I'm still too scared to look at my visa statement, in fear of finding a hefty per-transaction fee...!</p><p style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></p><h4 style="clear: both; text-align: center;">* * *</h4><p style="clear: both; text-align: left;">This 10-day break in Australia was a lovely antidote to a stressful preceding period at work. The format was novel, and I don't recall ever mixing riding and non-riding activities to this extent. Geoff and Jo were not only wonderful hosts, but had also helpfully done some hard yards in terms of logistics, all of which we greatly appreciated. I'm certain we'll return to Canberra - I'd like to spend some time there exploring, and will be keeping my ear out for an announcement that the Araluen Road has been reopened. Perhaps the next trip will involve flying into Canberra, and looping through Broulee to the south. </p><p style="clear: both; text-align: left;">We got lucky with the weather. It was warm enough, but never hot. And we saw evidence of heavy downpours nearby, both in the media, and through occasional first-hand evidence, all the while without really being hit from above (with one notable exception)!</p><p style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Travelling with bikes remains a pain-in-the-arse, which is such a shame, as once in a place, there's little that beats bike riding. Our next trip is to Tasmania, over Christmas and New Year. I've already committed to boxing the bikes, so that we can ditch them at the airport and ride away. The advantage is not having to store our bags, offset by the multiple disadvantages of refitting the handlebar and seatpost, heightened risk of damage, and sourcing boxes at the far end of the trip. Swings and bloody roundabouts!!</p><p style="clear: both; text-align: left;">In all we rode about 700km while in Australia, which is almost double the proper riding I've logged since covering a similar distance <a href="http://sifter-writes-bikes.blogspot.com/2022/07/bula-fiji-queens-road-cycle-tour.html" target="_blank">in Fiji in June</a>. It is disappointing to have really gone off the boil in response to work pressures, and physical issues (especially lower back) which I seem determined not to address. I think to some extent I've become addicted to bike holidays and "burbing", and any other sort of riding, particularly in the face of my other excuses, seems to hold little appeal. I don't expect that declaring it will make much of a difference, but oh well. The upside is my body seems to have done enough riding to be able to knock out 100km days when needed, irrespective of the long dry spells. Fortunately Sarah seems to cope well too, despite significantly fewer years in her legs. </p><p style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Strava's Route Builder was a great trip-enhancer, and was used throughout to great effect. The phone app interface was awesome, particularly with the ability to see popular routes. I also appreciated whatever magic I'd enabled in the back ground which pumped my saved routes almost immediately to my Garmin. What a dream...</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJPVj4v2jxNAIW0iKUSPETxUNOIlRwWhKrt4Ba642PevSdsczSPoo3HzbIQZa1WnuwG9zcks5AE5J6lp_XpnSvJDTOG1lgCyiQlrBjwyYL68HW-6SfkUWlRNt06eEGbvrTvOM7YPfCrbBQy2Ng7fuC5OkNcF54sobczF9mlLhBOZHKS5AW0s2znIoelw/s2340/Screenshot_20221113_140504_Strava.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2340" data-original-width="1080" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJPVj4v2jxNAIW0iKUSPETxUNOIlRwWhKrt4Ba642PevSdsczSPoo3HzbIQZa1WnuwG9zcks5AE5J6lp_XpnSvJDTOG1lgCyiQlrBjwyYL68HW-6SfkUWlRNt06eEGbvrTvOM7YPfCrbBQy2Ng7fuC5OkNcF54sobczF9mlLhBOZHKS5AW0s2znIoelw/w185-h400/Screenshot_20221113_140504_Strava.jpg" width="185" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nice work, Strava</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Lastly, a tip of the hat to the Australian central and local governments, for their investment in extensive, high-quality cycling infrastructure. It is a bloody big country, and I guess that brought with it less original pressure on space. While perhaps retro-fitting paths hasn't been as difficult as it will be (hopefully) in New Zealand, they've nonetheless got on and done it. Chapeau, and thanks. </p></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">See you again in January (Australians and dear readers)!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">[19/11: <i>I've finally taken a look at my bank statement, and Kiwibank has charged 1.85% on every foreign transation, which is fairly trivial in the scheme of things, and definitely no impediment to a couple of service station ice-creams!</i>]</div>sifterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15453244482461385029noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7894195099236501078.post-1374689892835080602022-07-03T16:48:00.003+12:002022-07-03T17:17:57.321+12:00Bula Fiji! Queens Road cycle tour<p>After a veritable orgy of international travel in 2019, the limitations imposed by the pandemic have really starting to wear thin on Sarah and I. As the end of daylight savings approached in March, we started to see signs that restrictions were beginning to ease. Other than noises the government was making about fully opening our border, Air New Zealand scheduling seemed like as good a signal as any - they had so much financial stake in things, I assumed their decision making would surely reflect the best forecasting money could buy. </p><p>On 28 March we felt we'd waited long enough, booking not one, but two trips - the first of which was a week in Fiji in late June. We'd discussed a trip to Mongolia, but it still seemed sensible to avoid international transfers (even if there'd been a feasible route in). At the time of booking, there looked to be all sorts of hoops still to jump through - both in Fiji and returning home, some of them expensive - but I decided to completely ignore the rules until immediately before travelling. That strategy proved sound, as both Fiji and NZ ditched almost every requirement by the time we flew in the respective directions. </p><p>One curveball for me was the annoying recurrence of my lower back issues - I'd been trying to be proactive with regular massages and physio, but soon after returning from a lovely break in the <a href="http://sifter-writes-bikes.blogspot.com/2022/05/coromandel-road-trip.html" target="_blank">Coromandel Peninsula</a>, things pinged off (albeit mildly), which resulted in a seven week period in which I literally rode three times for a total of 50km. Right up until the week of departure, it was unclear whether I was planning for a riding holiday, or the sort of holiday in Fiji that "regular people have". Things had settled sufficiently that we were at least confident enough to take our matching <a href="https://blackseal.nz/pages/open-u-p" target="_blank">Open cycles</a> with us (Unbeaten Paths, here we come...).</p><p>Aside from the stress and uncertainty (and er, fitness and fatness - too much of one and too little of the other), another ill effect of the layoff was that I didn't discover my rear brake was grumpy after a post-Coro pads replacement until I was starting to pack the bikes. "Never leave first thing on a Monday" was what I told myself, but I probably should have been saying "Don't wait until the last minute to check...". Sunday was a bit stressful, but hurtling around trying to find a lost headphones case and seeing if MyRide could do anything about the brake certainly avoided any pre-holiday impatience. </p><p>Other prep went relatively smoothly - we had printed off our international vaccine certificates (which we needed a few times in Fiji - notably at the border, and again at at least one of our hotels), and had pre-booked RAT tests for the day after we arrived (with printed evidence of that, which we weren't asked for). </p><p>Otherwise, I discovered my tried-and-true method of downloading basemaps for my Garmin GPS had shut down. They had kindly supplied a re-direct to an alternative - <a href="https://garmin3.bbbike.org/" target="_blank">garmin3.bbbike.org</a> - though getting that site to work took multiple attempts, not to mention some cursing and swearing, and scouring the 'net for alternatives (testing it again now, when there's no sense of urgency, and it worked immediately - of course...). </p><p>We had a lovely final evening with Kaitlyn and Khulan, and decided at the last minute to launch from Karori rather than my parents' place in Strathmore, trading off a slightly better sleep against an earlier start time. </p><p><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b>Day 1: (NZ to) Nadi to Olosara</b></p><p>Airport logistics went fine, both in Wellington and Auckland, and even though the Dreamliner flight to Nadi was short, we still enjoyed the relative sparsity of the business class cabin, courtesy of our successful upgrade requests - Air NZ have very kindly extended our travel perks for another couple of years. From my vantage point on the starboard side of the cabin, I got a reasonable view of some of what we'd traverse later that day, though the finer details were lost on me. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP_M21zYT3nXadLimcleOh3n780aNWG5-VuNYeSU_8DaJ98zkNXCdN7H5RVTI1qI1BGgcxrPXwLgDJpuScwzOo2Ee_6TB-k3RQhbxd9VDed7pBzmbz2HMB-MZq7PfmJihAsx03mrqnmg8Y_LNYgEbg6pHLz1ZiXGgkQMl2Le5AkqEjG4xvJEMz65tVew/s4000/20220620_123552.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP_M21zYT3nXadLimcleOh3n780aNWG5-VuNYeSU_8DaJ98zkNXCdN7H5RVTI1qI1BGgcxrPXwLgDJpuScwzOo2Ee_6TB-k3RQhbxd9VDed7pBzmbz2HMB-MZq7PfmJihAsx03mrqnmg8Y_LNYgEbg6pHLz1ZiXGgkQMl2Le5AkqEjG4xvJEMz65tVew/w300-h400/20220620_123552.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looking East along the Coral Coast - unbeknownst to me at the time, our destination was just where the cloud is hitting the coast</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">The pilot had warned us it had been raining in Nadi, and we saw plenty of evidence of that as we disembarked. While our fat-tyred road bikes were gravel-ready, it wasn't clear how much of the network would be sealed - and besides, it was WARM and that makes all the difference when you get a bit wet!!! </p><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5hMKEebvr5aeArtF3y36G-ackoc4RQA0OXuluaxNu842pvW31OXfvKWjmIH6wvCLCA7ntkqsk9Flo4oiOSgKSNdjBmz3Lyhau8H1LPJL2ZT75g_PL4beohN1qLGznWGcPj7SvkI1KbWFRbCz753CqGSBpO1DxbjE_pK2QuHuUQaYLp_4EcWuB8qZm_w/s4000/20220620_125244.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5hMKEebvr5aeArtF3y36G-ackoc4RQA0OXuluaxNu842pvW31OXfvKWjmIH6wvCLCA7ntkqsk9Flo4oiOSgKSNdjBmz3Lyhau8H1LPJL2ZT75g_PL4beohN1qLGznWGcPj7SvkI1KbWFRbCz753CqGSBpO1DxbjE_pK2QuHuUQaYLp_4EcWuB8qZm_w/w400-h300/20220620_125244.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I don't expect to ever tire of seeing these magnificent machines up close, and in the open air is always a treat</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div>Once through customs, I scoped out the <a href="http://www.airportsfiji.com/lougagge_storage.php" target="_blank">Left Luggage</a> office in the Arrivals Hall, before heading outside to find somewhere to assemble the bikes. We didn't rush but soon enough were suited up and ready to roll. Last job was to pack one bike bag inside the other, whereby we paid for only a single bulky item for the week - worth every cent and a much appreciated service. </div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9N5JwiUHaw2DdMmw_C7369Pviqutjb9N1DXFlThBw-QIToQWwmF2yGPbglfGHD_VOlyLP85hHVBkNdlVPVDEh6jj5npXPVgTvTC4rnxdjFNmL2PUtHIMVXw-Qk69uDuPhY7GFt5C9Kv011HACgwoyuSdDRbhjI1p8e9Hl9Gxt6Jn32vJFnER8zdph8Q/s3648/20220620_135559.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2736" data-original-width="3648" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9N5JwiUHaw2DdMmw_C7369Pviqutjb9N1DXFlThBw-QIToQWwmF2yGPbglfGHD_VOlyLP85hHVBkNdlVPVDEh6jj5npXPVgTvTC4rnxdjFNmL2PUtHIMVXw-Qk69uDuPhY7GFt5C9Kv011HACgwoyuSdDRbhjI1p8e9Hl9Gxt6Jn32vJFnER8zdph8Q/w400-h300/20220620_135559.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ready to roll!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">Despite promising both my physio and Sarah that the first afternoon's ride would be pretty short, we'd ended up with accommodation over 70km away from the airport, and I knew that by trying to stay off the main road, there'd be a few on top of that. We initially took Nadi Back Road, which immediately felt like a bad idea - 80km speed limit (the maximum on the island) and narrow. Fortunately for us, the reasonably heavy traffic all gave us plenty of space. </p><p style="text-align: left;">About 10km in, we peeled off what was by then Queens Road - when paired with Kings Road in the north, you have a circular route around Fiji's main island Viti Levu. When we found the parallel road I'd scoped on the map was not only unsealed, but sodden, we headed back to the main route and stayed on it for another 20km. </p><p style="text-align: left;">We did take the turnoff to Momi Bay, this time on the seaward side of Queens Road, and a few kilometres later discovered we'd traded traffic for hills. At the top of one of the bigger climbs, we started to get the sense that we'd likely see more use of horses as transport than bicycles, and we weren't wrong!</p><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOHuIDiM7atOKgSvJDcXgrl3f7Hp8JL_uNQLUQpBT6kR3xmku-txHbDO9JCgmUjaqWdH4OQnzoY1fZvHaFFW34VC-9tcd28R_Arufj8LpUOPr9VojUjDAazME1ACPDuQLDvPH2W8chjZ_SytqR7otjycyEKcoKeuKMJFLfiC5AQfXOQOcg3ycywb4QGw/s4000/20220620_155957.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOHuIDiM7atOKgSvJDcXgrl3f7Hp8JL_uNQLUQpBT6kR3xmku-txHbDO9JCgmUjaqWdH4OQnzoY1fZvHaFFW34VC-9tcd28R_Arufj8LpUOPr9VojUjDAazME1ACPDuQLDvPH2W8chjZ_SytqR7otjycyEKcoKeuKMJFLfiC5AQfXOQOcg3ycywb4QGw/w300-h400/20220620_155957.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>I was surprised soon after when the seal abruptly ended - the side loop was relatively prominent on a <a href="https://www.mapsland.com/maps/oceania/fiji/large-detailed-tourist-map-of-viti-levu-island-fiji-with-other-marks.jpg" target="_blank">handy map I'd used as a planning tool</a>, so it was a surprise that it wasn't as "unsealed" as the map seemed to suggest. In any case, we were past the point of no return, and luckily, the surface was a tad drier than the road we'd rejected earlier. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIwLEv3UyUOsajN0SN51-OrFYj080FhuibkkXTCQZnk2nqz_T6eG3dP5ZZkQAnAa4pOQHq04grktrkx9M_0xZMKrBvkCWYpMl4FGw1hiIBfMgyyndR7fH2Azi8OR3s-7_JQO3-2wk8t3xRvpowqmPebbOu-Uux_EVMAyOTYCfZKfYr_t0jc0aEGJenjA/s4000/20220620_160804.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIwLEv3UyUOsajN0SN51-OrFYj080FhuibkkXTCQZnk2nqz_T6eG3dP5ZZkQAnAa4pOQHq04grktrkx9M_0xZMKrBvkCWYpMl4FGw1hiIBfMgyyndR7fH2Azi8OR3s-7_JQO3-2wk8t3xRvpowqmPebbOu-Uux_EVMAyOTYCfZKfYr_t0jc0aEGJenjA/s320/20220620_160804.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">Along the way we passed a bunch of children walking home from school. One barefoot young boy ran alongside me on the road for about 100 metres - I maintained my speed so as to test only his endurance. When he finally eased off, I focused on the road ahead and didn't notice if Sarah received similar company. Despite my body already beginning to chip away at rebuilding my handlebar callouses, I quietly lamented my soft city skin. </p><p style="text-align: left;">Just before we hit the Queens Road again, we stopped to briefly chat to a man tending to his roadside lawn. It was interesting to note that he introduced himself, and like a few others that we'd more briefly interacted with, was keen to know both where we were from, and where we were going to. It was never completely clear to me (from the question or the reaction to my answer) whether they were angling for "New Zealand" or the start point of the day's ride - I suppose I should have asked.</p><p style="text-align: left;">In total, we spent about 30km on the side road, during which time we heard and said "BULA" probably in excess of a hundred times apiece - we noticed that if we pre-emptively called out, the reply would often be "BULA BULA", but in any case, it was a real delight. </p><p style="text-align: left;">Not quite so delightful was that my rear brake had completely vanished somewhere between Karori and Viti Levu. The pads were closing up a tiny bit, but weren't creating enough friction to warm up, let alone slow me down. The resumption of the tar seal made life a little less hectic when gravity assisted. On the technical upside, I'd installed a new split pin in one of Sarah's brakes after hearing a scraping noise emanating from her bike and discovering the old one had vanished. And, when Sarah announced her front derailleur wasn't shifting, unlike <a href="http://sifter-writes-bikes.blogspot.com/2022/01/summer-tour-catching-up-with-southern.html" target="_blank">our recent summer trip</a> where we needed rescuing by Dr Fish and his friend Brad, I was fully prepared. Within minutes I'd unpacked the Di2 charger and a power bank, and within minutes she was rolling (and shifting with gay abandon) again. Some mistakes I'm good at not making a second time. </p><p style="text-align: left;">Between the 1pm arrival, immigration, bike assembly, detours and tinkering, the day had really marched on, and while we were treated to a beautiful sunset, it was a shame to be riding on the main road after dark. Fortunately, we had good lights, and the few drivers on the road gave as ample space. It really doesn't take long in a new place to appreciate how appalling the typical attitude towards cyclists is in NZ relative to... (so far) everywhere I've ever ridden. <br /></p><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDA-hhmKbB2gc2scQ-c-URC_g3C0nizp4U5hcIWdSMgQiZPIkfOapCy4WT4cty0lAjmn-ddMOoZcBlXFEnx6XVaC38jVJgdFmQLaAPz3Mx27b6Qs6DX4NnnRL_PTo03HeGD1qKEst7VmtsjWpUhKhOks_GYwPvPZ8w1Pi2SW4Y1xapoLUWVUXuGA3Tzw/s4000/20220620_174759.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDA-hhmKbB2gc2scQ-c-URC_g3C0nizp4U5hcIWdSMgQiZPIkfOapCy4WT4cty0lAjmn-ddMOoZcBlXFEnx6XVaC38jVJgdFmQLaAPz3Mx27b6Qs6DX4NnnRL_PTo03HeGD1qKEst7VmtsjWpUhKhOks_GYwPvPZ8w1Pi2SW4Y1xapoLUWVUXuGA3Tzw/w400-h300/20220620_174759.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My queen on Queens Road</td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;"><br /><p style="text-align: left;">It was properly dark by the time we reached Sigatoka, and though our accommodation was a few kilometres further, and purported to have a restaurant, we decided to grab something to eat in the town. Without too much of a survey, we settled on a small indian eatery, and had a very cheap meal which had little else going for it. I fared slightly better than Sarah - the lamb in her curry was mostly lamb bone, but I'd gone with a vegetarian option and it was pretty much as advertised. </p><p style="text-align: left;">Our modest "resort" was on a side road, and unfortunately the direct route wasn't a route at all - that added another few minutes to our ride, but worse was that Sarah managed to find a muddy bog somewhere along it requiring a solid bit of maintenance in the morning. </p></div><div style="text-align: left;"><u>Stats</u>: <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/7337931203" target="_blank">92km, 750vm, 24 degrees</a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><br /></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>Day 2: Olosara to Pacific Harbour</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Prior to the aforementioned bike cleaning, we enjoyed breakfast in an outdoor communal area which was across an empty paddock from the main road. During our meal, we enjoyed watching various good samaritans trying to control some wayward livestock. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCfUgmjoG-gQ4YZtYLG7fEtofGSaDmSl_b02a4PkIQ-2VDO0lmtrFNeJ6UUWgnhSLFWP35n0j-Zg8qEHoeqeolZdOnFJdEVlOHxpCwZePGCn6IEeM4C1cFq7X9EtTNutcLf-lYkYLIwkANeBvFnOym_QpUPTdKNvffxoES_XvfHRwSNOZ14JooweYPjw/s4000/20220624_091840.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCfUgmjoG-gQ4YZtYLG7fEtofGSaDmSl_b02a4PkIQ-2VDO0lmtrFNeJ6UUWgnhSLFWP35n0j-Zg8qEHoeqeolZdOnFJdEVlOHxpCwZePGCn6IEeM4C1cFq7X9EtTNutcLf-lYkYLIwkANeBvFnOym_QpUPTdKNvffxoES_XvfHRwSNOZ14JooweYPjw/w400-h300/20220624_091840.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Back from the future - a photo of our first stay, taken when we passed again a few days later</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><div>Our first night's accommodation was one of the first bookings I'd made, and when subsequently booking our within-48-hours-of-arrival RAT tests back in Sigatoka, it was too late to change it. Sadly, this meant the first 10km of riding after breakfast only got us back to where we'd started. Though, at least we'd fulfilled our duty, and pleasingly, passed both tests with flying colours. </div><div><br /></div></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidsXywkhnszxtA9XMsOvDCdsl65apM5BGJHy4hX5ktzr6pYjVT2vQ_ZU3US5v7cb0CPQhCm8Vw0l1GVAzX10DsinGU8szBBBrKlcGOAGKGMpt6Lbey8dzBFmstP3ZSClVMS-f-K0LjumOLBZnLCA0Rx2yIh-i9HeqLxAFp7lpm62ABma5BxJuAxmDqeg/s4000/20220621_094217.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidsXywkhnszxtA9XMsOvDCdsl65apM5BGJHy4hX5ktzr6pYjVT2vQ_ZU3US5v7cb0CPQhCm8Vw0l1GVAzX10DsinGU8szBBBrKlcGOAGKGMpt6Lbey8dzBFmstP3ZSClVMS-f-K0LjumOLBZnLCA0Rx2yIh-i9HeqLxAFp7lpm62ABma5BxJuAxmDqeg/w400-h300/20220621_094217.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>One advantage of the detour was that when we passed a fellow selling coconuts on the roadside, we'd been riding for more than a couple of minutes, and felt much better about stopping. It turned out the ones he had for sale were for cooking, but before too long, a family member had dislodged a couple of green coconuts from a nearby tree, and we were chowing into them. The $5 (about $4 NZD) we were asked for seemed paltry in comparison to the coconut we'd consumed and the mighty fine conversation we'd had, and everyone seemed delighted when I doubled it, not least Sarah. We'd been told that the locals referred to our destination - Pacific Harbour - as "Pac Harbour", and subsequently, so did we. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz6MNKDOrhEyHpV_34gKaIUSsTuEGENIp3TtokzWdU_FzqXbFveLKrCjIWR7fBgx_epuSd3AifelsGX8-nDHd9ntTShrtV1eO6yedJMRv0c3jCUEkJA2vvkbm6untsSHR20kvA0ivktYsOVvhPu0mlOkbYyi3V-s1LWFf_6oEmkCR5_E2yjoBsql_0dw/s4000/20220621_102301.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz6MNKDOrhEyHpV_34gKaIUSsTuEGENIp3TtokzWdU_FzqXbFveLKrCjIWR7fBgx_epuSd3AifelsGX8-nDHd9ntTShrtV1eO6yedJMRv0c3jCUEkJA2vvkbm6untsSHR20kvA0ivktYsOVvhPu0mlOkbYyi3V-s1LWFf_6oEmkCR5_E2yjoBsql_0dw/w300-h400/20220621_102301.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>It was an action packed stretch of road. Soon after, Sarah - hot on the tail of a grader - boosted through a Stop-Go sign in its Stop configuration, and I got a bit of a talking to on her behalf, despite stopping myself. We reconciled over a coffee and a lamington (for her) and a rather delicious chicken, corn and cheese pie (for him) not much further down the road. The food at least would have been outrageous without the Sigatoka leg, so it all was starting to feel like a good thing I'd not been better organised. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWJJSMASY3bbxVfPlXr7JQzZQhQC0W3bFLRzDHLu59EHFXF2lT71CUjt-RB7nXGJ3MYJb0mxzgOp5moMzNAxk1RRRsO89ouPI6ljLXpcs9gO_wYF-0W0zKvB2zWWofnOmBK1tecycVY0LkPfHj5TpeQYTd1ztlwvOxmCtyBPiKUmad2JrLxIF6bnc5qg/s4000/20220621_104610.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWJJSMASY3bbxVfPlXr7JQzZQhQC0W3bFLRzDHLu59EHFXF2lT71CUjt-RB7nXGJ3MYJb0mxzgOp5moMzNAxk1RRRsO89ouPI6ljLXpcs9gO_wYF-0W0zKvB2zWWofnOmBK1tecycVY0LkPfHj5TpeQYTd1ztlwvOxmCtyBPiKUmad2JrLxIF6bnc5qg/w400-h300/20220621_104610.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>I knew our ride to be shorter than what we'd squeezed into the previous afternoon, and that took ample pressure off when it came to stops. Not long after the coffee, I interpreted a cry from behind as one of bike trouble, but rather Sarah was alerting me of a mighty fine jetty she'd noticed. I'd being paying close attention to the various accommodation options along this part of the road (we'd be back here in three nights' time), but clearly hadn't been as attentive to the scenery.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdimIvYLQUQ5YUcRtpJ8nbqhTtkMgGan1v4C4bqRcQbL2mE4A18iq0bgvJblpEm5GniHIuJ1LyzSWzw4mbXcp56i2y5epqyyfvDBZf6He6Exsa_tZtGv2my_i1druHpE28EQx4Qv_uLU66GDxKJw_kdufV4F2rrmnzPM2wb_lQ9aMFTZoQ-to2T00Dbw/s4000/20220621_115526.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdimIvYLQUQ5YUcRtpJ8nbqhTtkMgGan1v4C4bqRcQbL2mE4A18iq0bgvJblpEm5GniHIuJ1LyzSWzw4mbXcp56i2y5epqyyfvDBZf6He6Exsa_tZtGv2my_i1druHpE28EQx4Qv_uLU66GDxKJw_kdufV4F2rrmnzPM2wb_lQ9aMFTZoQ-to2T00Dbw/w300-h400/20220621_115526.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">It was interesting to note the regular shops along the route - mini dairies with standardised signage and therefore pretty easy to spot. We mostly didn't bother with them, as between the full water bottles we'd left Sigatoka with and the coconut and coffee stops, we were well catered for. Nonetheless, Sarah pulled up at a stall to buy some bananas, and when she was required to buy the whole bunch, I had a flash back to our trip to <a href="http://sifter-writes-bikes.blogspot.com/2017/09/cycle-touring-new-caledonia.html" target="_blank">New Caledonia back in 2017</a> where I recall the same (awkward) thing happening. It looked like fruit-abuse bungeeing the bunch to the top of her saddle bag, but it was quite cool how she could just reach back and snap another one off whenever the desire took her.</p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">[<i>apparently unflattering photo removed at request of the subject!!!!</i>]</div><div><br /></div><div>Before finding our accommodation at Pac Harbour we treated ourselves to an icecream each, and not long after were washed and relaxing. I had kept the Magnum sticks, with designs to try to somehow use them to breath some life back into my rear brake, but once clean, didn't have the energy to (I think I was expecting the stick to be slightly thicker than the rotor, and was hoping that somehow that might help rearrange the hydraulic fluid in a useful way). </div><p style="text-align: left;">With the apartment's umbrella in tow in case the drizzle that had been threatening came to pass, we walked the kilometre or so back to the main road, and enjoyed an early but otherwise delicious dinner. The reduced pace gave us a good chance to marvel at some of the greenery, and made a nice change to riding. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitFvvym00m6bgBj5PyxdsVBrE1qE30gxc-yCuesdd-AZ4NavOKXKW5U6PpDOCoFBGADOvtq4Bx4qA7XkvUAbc7YSD1j5xi5ZInClzcgiNzy4qU17k_T1Epuqzp0i1mKvm9AJaCPIDE7OQJo5g7pISje-MR6N6Wim6dXgYUfszXIsSUebm3mIUqCKJfig/s4000/20220621_160706.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitFvvym00m6bgBj5PyxdsVBrE1qE30gxc-yCuesdd-AZ4NavOKXKW5U6PpDOCoFBGADOvtq4Bx4qA7XkvUAbc7YSD1j5xi5ZInClzcgiNzy4qU17k_T1Epuqzp0i1mKvm9AJaCPIDE7OQJo5g7pISje-MR6N6Wim6dXgYUfszXIsSUebm3mIUqCKJfig/w300-h400/20220621_160706.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br /><p style="clear: both; text-align: left;">That night before bed I booked a room on the outskirts of Suva, and the most appealing of the places we'd passed that morning. My back seemed to be holding up nicely, in large part due to the warmth we both thought, and so we felt able to be a bit more ambitious with the distances for the next few days - confidence I'd not had before leaving home. </p><p style="text-align: left;"><u>Stats</u>: <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/7342568310" target="_blank">84km, 750vm, 26 degrees</a></p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /><br /></p><div style="text-align: center;"><b>Day 3: Pac Harbour to Uduya Point</b></div><p></p><p style="text-align: left;">The apartment's fridge was stocked for a good breakfast, and with full bellies and a long ride ahead, we didn't feel inclined to stop for seconds when we passed the tourist centre not a few minutes into the ride. The lily-laden pond was worthy of a photo stop mind you.</p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguHY355_-Ar5Ud0pmFmU5NrwJWFm3Xgf-mHUH2Znl5lnL1bKB5kKMYy4xu6aeQWQqQG__3kEhW9tlrqWDGVcOU1vm2TtcfsgFixcXcAbc8ke9I6PLYqI1Ju6BJhr1jSYF4dUrL53UogLgmckcUKzE-mBPYIBS1YunPXpLk0VxVLCNVtPtSSAZaVdfjYQ/s4000/20220622_085355.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguHY355_-Ar5Ud0pmFmU5NrwJWFm3Xgf-mHUH2Znl5lnL1bKB5kKMYy4xu6aeQWQqQG__3kEhW9tlrqWDGVcOU1vm2TtcfsgFixcXcAbc8ke9I6PLYqI1Ju6BJhr1jSYF4dUrL53UogLgmckcUKzE-mBPYIBS1YunPXpLk0VxVLCNVtPtSSAZaVdfjYQ/w400-h300/20220622_085355.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">We skipped Navua also - it looked to be a fairly major town on the bank of a sizeable river. A few kilometres later, we stopped to attend to a torn contact lens - at least when cycle touring, there was no question that Sarah would have a spare set, and I was delighted to learn she'd over-catered. Despite being en route to Suva, Fiji's capital and its largest city, I knew Sarah's prescription was a rather exotic one, and didn't relish the thought of trying to get extras!</p><p style="text-align: left;">Our much anticipated turnoff came after about an hour's riding. No sooner had we left the main road, we were onto a dirt road, and it was very obvious that we had some serious hills ahead. While I now had no rear brake to speak of, Sarah's was making a horrible noise and to my horror I discovered that I'd done a lousy bit of replacing her split pin on day one - I hadn't taken the time to ensure the pads were seated properly and the pin had passed through neither of them. For a couple of days it hadn't mattered (apparently), but this morning they'd moved into a lousy position (hence the noise). This time I did the job properly, with some relief that all the necessary bits and pieces had stuck around. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh74CGL-uIisrDcWmWgR1g7Lq2gibcQa1RNV1ctVxdLLz0KcLyebd0bjr7cWkUt6Yzurpb2_CesAeNl9g53m8G66IZIH-IQmx7KWKNNfqQKu3PuLZPkKDunZiJ8FvkAFqWccnuWHFQFSpiEeIBBgbd3S9I8Aqs8Hx7k6heNbDnwXC2ckZyAF4LHk-PpJA/s4000/20220622_100137.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh74CGL-uIisrDcWmWgR1g7Lq2gibcQa1RNV1ctVxdLLz0KcLyebd0bjr7cWkUt6Yzurpb2_CesAeNl9g53m8G66IZIH-IQmx7KWKNNfqQKu3PuLZPkKDunZiJ8FvkAFqWccnuWHFQFSpiEeIBBgbd3S9I8Aqs8Hx7k6heNbDnwXC2ckZyAF4LHk-PpJA/s320/20220622_100137.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">We soon descended into a bit of a basin, where I decided to bust out our newest cycle touring accessory - a DJI Mini 3 Pro drone. We'd owned it a couple of months - while this blog has been for me a most reliable and enjoyable way to bake in memories for a lifetime, some of the scenery we've recently ridden through has been crying out for a better vantage point. The drone seemed to tick the bill, and if I can eventually convince Sarah to set up and then populate with content, a "Sarah Goes (Bike) Riding" youtube channel, all the better! </p><p style="text-align: left;">We'd had it long enough to get a bit of practice under our belts (pilot and model), so getting it up in the sky and capturing a short video and a couple of stills of Sarah riding added only 3 or 4 minutes to the ride. Bryce at <a href="https://www.cyclewerks.co.nz/" target="_blank">Cyclewerks</a> had supplied a Revelate Egress Pocket which marries to my Pronghorn nicely, and has perfect space for both the drone and its controller, not to mention passports!</p><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieg6XGKcj1Xaze3N8BSaTnfvh1GL3vZd1vdc5_zxISNP5AQ4sJDaMPXOG-LCAjUwu50Xce9FnIDy-sn-gq59dLGO5daMiZJFeRTDAnGitr9gnrO5m_Ptj9UT00YrP6034L89Xl4TL6SlD1MsJfUuMIG3pZuc98ZXYjrs7_6jlLdgDSws6lHESVzslqUQ/s4032/dji_export_1656733474247.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieg6XGKcj1Xaze3N8BSaTnfvh1GL3vZd1vdc5_zxISNP5AQ4sJDaMPXOG-LCAjUwu50Xce9FnIDy-sn-gq59dLGO5daMiZJFeRTDAnGitr9gnrO5m_Ptj9UT00YrP6034L89Xl4TL6SlD1MsJfUuMIG3pZuc98ZXYjrs7_6jlLdgDSws6lHESVzslqUQ/w400-h300/dji_export_1656733474247.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">We followed a river inland for a while longer, and just when the road seem poised to tip upwards for good, I suggested Sarah have a cooling dip in the river - which was running much cleaner than many we'd crossed on trip so far. I think she appreciated the suggestion, and maybe it scored me a few useful brownie points to make up for what was to come!</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP0RqCLANC4b-9DOHWaGVdjxLyWPhJUQSqFCWF2HBZrqmTBAZwr9Lb1cLMttYC786L3oDcgIk3PqrO5IGKBql_0frpoHdjvJgpTBRgVqfTUyaQL8a5xFDq_wK38pOyWO2tJTeFkxAQc8jVTKNV2oRAVBg4iH7egGdxxCRtuDrsvdcWtPpbBwY3p-laZQ/s4000/20220622_102601.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP0RqCLANC4b-9DOHWaGVdjxLyWPhJUQSqFCWF2HBZrqmTBAZwr9Lb1cLMttYC786L3oDcgIk3PqrO5IGKBql_0frpoHdjvJgpTBRgVqfTUyaQL8a5xFDq_wK38pOyWO2tJTeFkxAQc8jVTKNV2oRAVBg4iH7egGdxxCRtuDrsvdcWtPpbBwY3p-laZQ/w400-h300/20220622_102601.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">While the road surface was generally good, it quickly became apparent that the gradients were insane. I know from experience that a sustained 10% slope on the road is tough, and that any double-digit gradient on an unsealed surface is tougher again because it can be nigh on impossible to climb out of the saddle. Fijian engineers are seemingly quite happy with slopes in excess of 20% which make life really tough on even a lightly-laden cycle tourist! Tactical walks (sending love to Dave Sharpe for that nugget) weren't always necessary, but were definitely deployed, not always voluntarily! </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAQ7nKAt7lnbdJ9aUIXthmUlOR-eRxPVWJZCcxpafyNgNWtiHsNsPX-RBQXMAY-tbAk-lkDhdFfLzCGmefy6a3QaFg3YqeLJX_ZNASuUKIMnhDuN3MDzIbr57sqo9F7tFdgh0e5sdhCJEXysg3v3d08zrW7Q9JcLsLSiX5ZP3vCCJpXmREMyjIAGg8Dg/s4032/dji_export_1656733499697.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAQ7nKAt7lnbdJ9aUIXthmUlOR-eRxPVWJZCcxpafyNgNWtiHsNsPX-RBQXMAY-tbAk-lkDhdFfLzCGmefy6a3QaFg3YqeLJX_ZNASuUKIMnhDuN3MDzIbr57sqo9F7tFdgh0e5sdhCJEXysg3v3d08zrW7Q9JcLsLSiX5ZP3vCCJpXmREMyjIAGg8Dg/w400-h300/dji_export_1656733499697.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Drone-cam</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">After the first main climb was over, we descended into a concrete ford through which flowed the most beautifully clear water we saw on the trip. We stopped to mess around with the drone, and I subsequently regretted not taking a bit more time and having a swim. Aside from the refreshment, deferring the next 90 minutes in hell would have been wise. I held out some vain hope that this was the steep side of the mountain, and while I was able to peel off about 150vm on the other side mounted, I walked almost the entire main descent. The 1.88km @ -12.9% strava segment is aptly titled "<a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/7348752112/segments/2974576079326417072">Pray the brakes don't fai</a><a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/7348752112/segments/2974576079326417072" target="_blank">l</a>" but of course, one of mine already had, and I wasn't about to test the second!</p><p style="text-align: left;">I was relieved to finally be in the river valley, and hoped that we'd be following the river all the way to Suva. Unfortunately our path (at least in the vertical plane) wouldn't be quite so consistent as the water's - the roads had plenty left in store for my front brake and my nerve alike and I was getting used to a gently skidding front tyre. Given we'd haemorrhaged both time and energy getting to this point, I chose not to take a detour upriver to see Namosi, which in hindsight was a shame (it looks like a decent sized town on the satellite map). </p><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkIbpkMMEKTLl-HFbdTDy6IKlpHIYZHxiPej-_H-bWfd2V56tNzZ42Ew5Aq-8ETtZeJspYEz3uw2Tv54DQBswnQnyoVb9CiS-9kX-hCwVlepTH0wbSj1PzWnfMyUi8m1f4Vfo37yNf78ndVt_k-kKLVfeyA9z5fPOKG-fTlR6a1GzivhKaZkI0PCzeKQ/s4000/20220622_124959.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkIbpkMMEKTLl-HFbdTDy6IKlpHIYZHxiPej-_H-bWfd2V56tNzZ42Ew5Aq-8ETtZeJspYEz3uw2Tv54DQBswnQnyoVb9CiS-9kX-hCwVlepTH0wbSj1PzWnfMyUi8m1f4Vfo37yNf78ndVt_k-kKLVfeyA9z5fPOKG-fTlR6a1GzivhKaZkI0PCzeKQ/w400-h300/20220622_124959.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sarah (Pray the brakes don't fail QOM) waiting for me at the bottom, with Waidina village in the background (just downriver of Namosi).</td></tr></tbody></table><br />The paper map I'd printed had a least one placename marked on it, and there I hoped to find a shop (Namosi isn't, incidentally - indeed the map tends to name completely different places to what you see on Google Maps)! The first village we passed was on the other side of the river, accessed by a swing bridge (which we didn't take). </div><div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpV0TtUlpwAMC12nwUmbx7HNChokxOjEzV7s4xHgZGyelcXGFPt9dPPAhzU2F-lKLduAK6_S6jLN9Q8KJyifintiWC3pYMyq0_2xfAlw60PpQ1HawKYJghZ8ddPkFEN7zy8ay7-oVmIaQk7thskQEEKCXi12HFns-97s3LgvqM4BKLO3z5brutADNOPw/s4000/20220622_130113.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpV0TtUlpwAMC12nwUmbx7HNChokxOjEzV7s4xHgZGyelcXGFPt9dPPAhzU2F-lKLduAK6_S6jLN9Q8KJyifintiWC3pYMyq0_2xfAlw60PpQ1HawKYJghZ8ddPkFEN7zy8ay7-oVmIaQk7thskQEEKCXi12HFns-97s3LgvqM4BKLO3z5brutADNOPw/w400-h300/20220622_130113.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div>We'd occasionally see a car, or exchange "BULA" calls with someone on foot. I waited for Sarah at yet another ford, and watched a group of about eight people in the river below, beating the surface with sticks as they slowly moved upstream. Another onlooker confirmed they were driving fish up into a trap, from where they'd hopefully become a late lunch. </div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjskS7D4SPNhwaHI6_o-hXdwgSZTu9SCwFZVMg8uGKPmEsnx-cue_RemTrn8MQM-2HQI8W_-lBURQlo3SunKWquPx--7_FznxziscKg5wLtxd0I1wGqiUd9cQ_tiBaHQmelrjEobekKWDs9KxuaMAryz56DFQ0WHwXvMP41mpzhaffzGEu3a2RBRR8o5Q/s4000/20220622_134119.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjskS7D4SPNhwaHI6_o-hXdwgSZTu9SCwFZVMg8uGKPmEsnx-cue_RemTrn8MQM-2HQI8W_-lBURQlo3SunKWquPx--7_FznxziscKg5wLtxd0I1wGqiUd9cQ_tiBaHQmelrjEobekKWDs9KxuaMAryz56DFQ0WHwXvMP41mpzhaffzGEu3a2RBRR8o5Q/w400-h300/20220622_134119.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">We soon reached a village to find about 20 adults watching what looked to be a small school's worth of children playing sports. </p><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHLQnaS2LBlcFnvSt-dY4eVxqxjg8AyyTTLsySV29Us04t8dCWnfpnJJGH9oV_Xxj1pt7LFSfiKoODMxO4cxwZuyy-gfPJ7EJcx8NaAWRs9JPt_WqXccLx7q6WTaR0IhMBM8JScffBM7EJmbhSLQcWsC7jyYx9La9Igb-dgLK4032DihbA2WuTIYdwyw/s4000/20220622_143621.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHLQnaS2LBlcFnvSt-dY4eVxqxjg8AyyTTLsySV29Us04t8dCWnfpnJJGH9oV_Xxj1pt7LFSfiKoODMxO4cxwZuyy-gfPJ7EJcx8NaAWRs9JPt_WqXccLx7q6WTaR0IhMBM8JScffBM7EJmbhSLQcWsC7jyYx9La9Igb-dgLK4032DihbA2WuTIYdwyw/w400-h300/20220622_143621.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sports in Waimaro Village</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">We asked about a shop, and were directed to "the Canteen" about 15 metres up a side "street". This was a useful learning experience - we'd not heard that terminology before, so now knew to use it when asking for directions - and we'd certainly never have noticed this building was one, even had we been riding straight at it. We bought a bottle of the local cola, which the proprietor seemed very embarrassed to sell us. I've drunk so little Coke in my life, I'd honestly never have known this wasn't it, and it was soon all gone. </p></div><div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9zRkcg1ch6JYweBt03KMw-yy5NMLYuKVWf0fGrODClT82ucpLJ7bsLmX9_KppKXygMd3WfLjo2Lc0MG3O5QYCTXl7XgkYLfnfAKKrRzTm9Azxju_PymD9AjHQKjN0HRrxH1I1O5CFwCPL8eNwPj7KQRvlNz0D4RoyNlENLFUp0LaGdnvsEnCTpViFcw/s3648/20220622_144024.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2736" data-original-width="3648" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9zRkcg1ch6JYweBt03KMw-yy5NMLYuKVWf0fGrODClT82ucpLJ7bsLmX9_KppKXygMd3WfLjo2Lc0MG3O5QYCTXl7XgkYLfnfAKKrRzTm9Azxju_PymD9AjHQKjN0HRrxH1I1O5CFwCPL8eNwPj7KQRvlNz0D4RoyNlENLFUp0LaGdnvsEnCTpViFcw/w400-h300/20220622_144024.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Happy customers</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">After more steep but mercifully short hills, we met a major road, and turned away from the town we could see not far away - Naqali. On the outskirts of our next turnoff onto Princess Road, I was rushed at by a couple of dogs. They were intent on me, whereas they should have been concentrating on a truck that went barreling past. I felt a little sick to hear some of the barking turn to yelping, and when Sarah passed the same spot 30 seconds later, both dogs were alive, but completely silent. I hope they made it, but I hate to say it, there's a lesson in there somewhere. </p><p style="text-align: left;">At Princess Road, we started our final climb of the day. It was avoidable, but at the expense of considerable extra distance, and so we stuck with it. It wasn't steep, and was at times shaded - both features were much appreciated! The road design was interesting - it seemed deliberate that there were no road markings at all. There might have been enough room for four lanes in places, but the drivers seemed to be making conservative use of their own side of the road. Reminded me of what dicks we tend to become behind the wheel here in NZ. </p><p style="text-align: left;">Over the other side of the hill we entered into hill suburbs on the outskirts of Suva. No sooner had we done so, than the ubiquitous calls of "BULA" immediately ceased, only to resume the next morning as we left. Ah, city life...</p><div>Our accommodation wasn't actually in Suva, so we never saw much more than the couple of suburbs we rode through. Perhaps the big smoke would have been preferable to the bizarre experience we had when we arrived to check in. The place had promise, and the host seemed nice enough... </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipaY9xTP5g8uppLjFQz1Lz9HJiXbY3ikZsZw9_gvvaXTd0vmPoqkQPYpAaVqRS0OWs7U-xGsaMlhtG-0_X0dVR8ECNqRmif4zTJXHoyOlJyGAEOvWQFQVoy3vdKXQ27CabGlGl-m6FEquuoHPO4fEnsjVPKJgmoRuf9CYSMPG4tYCE5rVtscx-MnHLIA/s4000/20220622_173502.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipaY9xTP5g8uppLjFQz1Lz9HJiXbY3ikZsZw9_gvvaXTd0vmPoqkQPYpAaVqRS0OWs7U-xGsaMlhtG-0_X0dVR8ECNqRmif4zTJXHoyOlJyGAEOvWQFQVoy3vdKXQ27CabGlGl-m6FEquuoHPO4fEnsjVPKJgmoRuf9CYSMPG4tYCE5rVtscx-MnHLIA/w400-h300/20220622_173502.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>... but the place had been the scene of a party (or maybe a riot) and the owner hadn't brought himself to sanitise the place before our arrival. It was totally unacceptable, and had our room not been pristine, I'm sure we would have overcome our fatigue and left. As it was, it was still tempting to bail, but the headache seemed not worth it, despite the horrors we passed through a couple more times before leaving the place in the morning. Bad form, Suva Hideaway Villa.</div><div><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiKQyDre_99CE_UR21Xq1CIYDkT6noq5pFHunRb6qbjYUbvj8vvQae0dTbvzy5wfSiwz_5qTUHFOdOd3u4mvOGVl0KTpHuBoLs31dafNfKwUfj8NthY4o1C7ajRXDnHspifrzzkWmS5H3GMK77VgC5hFZY5h7iIyf_QYCjZFxstzheYRUhpD89eIlmFw/s4000/20220622_181844.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiKQyDre_99CE_UR21Xq1CIYDkT6noq5pFHunRb6qbjYUbvj8vvQae0dTbvzy5wfSiwz_5qTUHFOdOd3u4mvOGVl0KTpHuBoLs31dafNfKwUfj8NthY4o1C7ajRXDnHspifrzzkWmS5H3GMK77VgC5hFZY5h7iIyf_QYCjZFxstzheYRUhpD89eIlmFw/w400-h300/20220622_181844.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><u>Stats</u>: <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/7348752112" target="_blank">116km, 2245vm, 24 degrees</a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>Day 4: Uduya Point to Tagaqe</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">The next day we began heading back towards Nadi along Queens Road. While I really liked the look of the road crossing the island (between Naqali and Korovou), even from behind a desk in New Zealand it looked like a route that demanded full fitness and a fully functioning bicycle - neither of which I had. So, plan B was to head back along the coast towards Sigatoka. It would be new road until the previous day's turnoff (about 20km west), but the rest we'd seen, albeit in the opposite direction of travel. </p><p style="text-align: left;">Breakfast hadn't been great, but we figured (correctly) that we'd survive as far as Navua. There we easily found a coffee stop, and then managed to refresh our cash supply at a much more elusive ATM. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSAYr_b6mxX7Ug80mG4R-a4FkofWQZnrxgsBysCSxpz2Oy8Uxi8vKnXz9mcqeXbDBUKm1pyRjfaiyr1CPWIGhMkYBsqQphFYJupITT_WwLTnxFwRJz3FWe1ZmxLqEcRzxggmlHnUq-y10QwYrxfzIezu-HnTbtlcK24BM_Om2znR9_8qjQpSowsivw0g/s4000/20220623_105440.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSAYr_b6mxX7Ug80mG4R-a4FkofWQZnrxgsBysCSxpz2Oy8Uxi8vKnXz9mcqeXbDBUKm1pyRjfaiyr1CPWIGhMkYBsqQphFYJupITT_WwLTnxFwRJz3FWe1ZmxLqEcRzxggmlHnUq-y10QwYrxfzIezu-HnTbtlcK24BM_Om2znR9_8qjQpSowsivw0g/w300-h400/20220623_105440.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>After the previous day's ordeal - both on account of some hard riding and weird stress points - the sealed road was nice, but I was noticing the small hills and longer stretches between stores much more than I had on the earlier pass. </div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbWN6qShct3sEHfbse9rOdGF1gYns1QqQG6RqVBxiQTdfqW79K0qxeiIRb-MSWZoNCcZXzKOTMfQgnXQ2OsfD5UKm84GSNuM-yVrSaGHV0uZRyvX2rfifXqS8jORIU-oZkgcwLg4pSC2bN2x8kgo4BVGHJb_XUTs94eLTTtIimWbWnptY28Aqv5dnmVw/s4000/20220623_111912.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbWN6qShct3sEHfbse9rOdGF1gYns1QqQG6RqVBxiQTdfqW79K0qxeiIRb-MSWZoNCcZXzKOTMfQgnXQ2OsfD5UKm84GSNuM-yVrSaGHV0uZRyvX2rfifXqS8jORIU-oZkgcwLg4pSC2bN2x8kgo4BVGHJb_XUTs94eLTTtIimWbWnptY28Aqv5dnmVw/w300-h400/20220623_111912.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A spectacularly pendulous banana arrangement</td></tr></tbody></table><br />At Pac Harbour we settled on a sweet wee cafe, where Sarah ordered fish and chips (rather than Fish On Chips which were available down the road, according to the store's slightly amusing name). She raved about them while I quietly downed my breakfast burrito, feeling a touch envious!<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2B0aeHGW7t_XOtbi2QkikKkMWjDZgzn4Vu78x4su94nvo4ZZnPQ9iOZaWv_LICT3UmRq-taRZsTrvEPja-xYOecaw5iOeQwHLzykbi0qcOYPVjGd2moFfpzpJle4_sRfjGvIRCmmwDpHWCfvp_Hz7gqHayKn8rjllpJeyZUE038Ol2lu6GXOXFQBGQw/s4000/20220623_121553.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2B0aeHGW7t_XOtbi2QkikKkMWjDZgzn4Vu78x4su94nvo4ZZnPQ9iOZaWv_LICT3UmRq-taRZsTrvEPja-xYOecaw5iOeQwHLzykbi0qcOYPVjGd2moFfpzpJle4_sRfjGvIRCmmwDpHWCfvp_Hz7gqHayKn8rjllpJeyZUE038Ol2lu6GXOXFQBGQw/w400-h300/20220623_121553.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The "Harbour" inlet</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">I later regretted not filling my bottles up fully before leaving, and it wasn't until we were almost due to arrival at <a href="https://fijihideaway.com/" target="_blank">our resort</a> that there were all of a sudden stores in abundance. These are clearly what I'd remembered about this stretch, but not that they were all concentrated at one end. </p><p style="text-align: left;">I was relieved to find that the resort was just as lovely on the inside as it had appeared from the outside. A touch of luxury did not go amiss at all! I was deliberately trying to mix things up on that front, but hadn't anticipated one end of the extreme being quite so extreme. </p></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz6ytHjSIJ2UoLLicA01RPan-RDWME9rJD5dF24INoLsUKzrWTViRyIvoimyezGtJp6y4Jf575TJY7TKszw9MAqIZsd-RKVWia4WsSNnLMIeWkFenlYPWucO7rJXxTrpYRXNtQ1l9V6ggdda_-GrlieBqvycrgl281OmOcJxyqwqCfpO0S4bPTW0dkMQ/s4000/20220623_154848.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz6ytHjSIJ2UoLLicA01RPan-RDWME9rJD5dF24INoLsUKzrWTViRyIvoimyezGtJp6y4Jf575TJY7TKszw9MAqIZsd-RKVWia4WsSNnLMIeWkFenlYPWucO7rJXxTrpYRXNtQ1l9V6ggdda_-GrlieBqvycrgl281OmOcJxyqwqCfpO0S4bPTW0dkMQ/w400-h300/20220623_154848.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">Before dinner, Sarah had time for a quick snorkel, and I faffed around with a lemonade can which I cut in the shape of brake pads in order to pack out my own. Perhaps had I persisted with another half dozen layers it might have made a useful difference, but by now I had even less brake than when we arrived in Fiji. </p><p style="text-align: left;">Thursday happened to be when the weekly fire-walk happened, and we watched that before chowing into a buffet dinner, followed soon after by a deep sleep - little did we know how much we'd need it. </p><p style="text-align: left;"><u>Stats</u>: <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/7354112785" target="_blank">104km, 890vm, 24 degrees</a></p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b>Day 5: Tagaqe to Navala Village</b></p><p style="text-align: left;">Knowing it to be a big day of riding ahead, we ensured we were at the breakfast buffet when it opened. After eating a little more than was comfortable, we went back to our rooms and suited up into freshly laundered cycling kit. </p><p style="text-align: left;">We did stop in for a quick coffee at Baravi Handcrafts and Cafe, and upon recognising us, one of the staff, Poate, greeted us with "Kia ora". I could only faintly remember his name, but after a surreptitious glance at his name tag replied with "Bula Poate", and in return, brought a smile to his face. </p><p style="text-align: left;">It was a 20km ride into Sigatoka where we bought 4.5L of water - hopefully enough to see us through the day (perhaps supplemented by what we could buy en route to Navala). </p><p style="text-align: left;">Our destination was Navala Village, which makes Lonely Planet's Fiji Top 15, and is described as "<i>the best place in Fiji to witness authentic, age-old indigenous life up close... the country's last bastion of traditional architecture." </i>They also listed Bulou's Eco Lodge as nearby accommodation, and I'd had a lovely email exchange with a staff member who'd promised dinner, bed and breakfast, and had given tips on how to see the village the next morning before heading home. He'd said he was collecting some other guests in Sigatoka, and we'd packed slightly differently lest we had the opportunity to off-load some luggage into his vehicle. We were on the road before the time he'd indicated meeting those others, so felt sure we'd see him.</p><p style="text-align: left;">For the early part of the day, everyone we told of our destination looked at us like we were crazy. This included a policeman who'd stopped his vehicle and flagged us down. He told us to ring 112 if we needed rescuing, and somewhat implied we would need to. </p></div><div>Sigatoka sits near the mouth of the Sigatoka River, and for about 40km, we followed that river inland. There were very few vehicles on the road, but each one that passed us brought fleeting hope that our loads might be lightened!</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_hKfnUhltj1745adCFs0LqLsJGEp3csMj0--X8hdPqc8tq7E1O7m6762w90l7PryjyjHIbEpiD-T_WCSEH31a2_CcniLOvGWoEPVE5j-4cl49Z_k9nOd7df_AdMvTVphgKcWeLdgGtttyXnxrEVXa2uMI3GoTOIOcmY6x7HwQJcHqIVKf6woFXLkCBA/s4000/20220624_111839.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_hKfnUhltj1745adCFs0LqLsJGEp3csMj0--X8hdPqc8tq7E1O7m6762w90l7PryjyjHIbEpiD-T_WCSEH31a2_CcniLOvGWoEPVE5j-4cl49Z_k9nOd7df_AdMvTVphgKcWeLdgGtttyXnxrEVXa2uMI3GoTOIOcmY6x7HwQJcHqIVKf6woFXLkCBA/w400-h300/20220624_111839.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nabuavatu Kindergarten had the sweet sound of learning emanating from it as we passed</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">Much of Queens Road had an impressive ditch running alongside, typically containing flowering water lilies. Pac Harbour too had a pond laden with them, but these had nothing on what we saw just over 30km upriver from Sigatoka. A large pond full of pink and purple flowering plants demanded we fire the drone up. This brought a fair bit of attention from some local children, and feeling slightly uneasy (despite ensuring the drone was filming well away from any homes), I rushed a bit to get it all packed away again. </p><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1gL0WHyhLoe6mKBHC8QofL6dYVmUA2ZosTONrKwcQ1s48LHQMm6HNvVO89iAY2x_FwwioiTixxj3AWvJxce8vlFYAGp4oyzHYRxYmgYphtDCXzhmRPMnv423LjXf1J0UVtsGUtghxTJR3l0B8GXOG9teZzXexY2G5GnoXQukF4VyJ0WPNw8ajvI45CA/s4000/20220624_113311.jpg"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1gL0WHyhLoe6mKBHC8QofL6dYVmUA2ZosTONrKwcQ1s48LHQMm6HNvVO89iAY2x_FwwioiTixxj3AWvJxce8vlFYAGp4oyzHYRxYmgYphtDCXzhmRPMnv423LjXf1J0UVtsGUtghxTJR3l0B8GXOG9teZzXexY2G5GnoXQukF4VyJ0WPNw8ajvI45CA/w400-h300/20220624_113311.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p><br />Soon after that, we pulled into a wee store, and celebrated its existence with a Magnum each - ironically cheaper than we'd have found them anywhere in NZ. <br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0m_OiYAZzlfGsC0eOAXrdSV13AqtH3nOOYUegT5RrMyzWCxvOXGNWvJYo1euMxROYuBdP0yf8LI8BC4tGBZG0OD-nmL1Av54W65kyqzni-hgkje4JJD5dZ-E4lfN7Yo6PeZQEiIjyO85vgBBsoMf3cWICBIxa9IOyAZom_jbfK9yjkCVFNXxvw4Ww3g/s4000/20220624_114944.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0m_OiYAZzlfGsC0eOAXrdSV13AqtH3nOOYUegT5RrMyzWCxvOXGNWvJYo1euMxROYuBdP0yf8LI8BC4tGBZG0OD-nmL1Av54W65kyqzni-hgkje4JJD5dZ-E4lfN7Yo6PeZQEiIjyO85vgBBsoMf3cWICBIxa9IOyAZom_jbfK9yjkCVFNXxvw4Ww3g/w400-h300/20220624_114944.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />A building crew were enjoying smoko in the shade, and I moved around strangely in a prolonged attempt to protect them from the blown-out back of my bib-shorts, which Sarah had been gently ribbing me about (they didn't make the final pack, and are destined to a landfill somewhere in Nadi). <br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgELHCO_LFzOacFnZkpjZTlWa58zQSb_ZeSuzuQRupmZmnw6KhZNrKD9UIP0XenIfj9ZyUo-odXoHZMxKl3JGqY86Ko-bjP28pos10QxJaptiOP4GpN7M8SWk_MDN6Q1sB5Yx4cm4DDnYUzadSthy4KoQSjdcyQX7AUjrGSRlPJLlhsrMC8FJmTu5xUMg/s4000/20220624_114711.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgELHCO_LFzOacFnZkpjZTlWa58zQSb_ZeSuzuQRupmZmnw6KhZNrKD9UIP0XenIfj9ZyUo-odXoHZMxKl3JGqY86Ko-bjP28pos10QxJaptiOP4GpN7M8SWk_MDN6Q1sB5Yx4cm4DDnYUzadSthy4KoQSjdcyQX7AUjrGSRlPJLlhsrMC8FJmTu5xUMg/w400-h300/20220624_114711.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Sigatoka River</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">After checking out the river (from land), we got rolling again, and were soon making the northward turn that surely signaled the beginning of the serious climbing. The road downsized slightly, but the condition didn't deteriorate markedly. When Sigatoka Valley Road continued around to the right, it was nice to see a rare sign, one of whose sides was distinctly easier to read than the other.<br /></p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJWk4JEqWeLj_fUa7CQNykUH8MXaMI2Zcg2nuCC2O2l62Rt8DrAxaPCRPrS87WKqED5UPYFdGZ3WWQVFzk8okm1bnWcXyfuTkXgU9cldhTgdt9W9UHT6L_TZLgBNlRQnXinAHwEzJeAAcPhjZk7j9Xt5Yi9R1IxljV-OuCWwkGa5cWn30E9awf0BCU6w/s4000/20220624_124343.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJWk4JEqWeLj_fUa7CQNykUH8MXaMI2Zcg2nuCC2O2l62Rt8DrAxaPCRPrS87WKqED5UPYFdGZ3WWQVFzk8okm1bnWcXyfuTkXgU9cldhTgdt9W9UHT6L_TZLgBNlRQnXinAHwEzJeAAcPhjZk7j9Xt5Yi9R1IxljV-OuCWwkGa5cWn30E9awf0BCU6w/w400-h300/20220624_124343.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Exhibit 1</td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaLifp-C2j7LIq8MvjuZMR0PvkzRI6zjgvXCP1atEdtDHO_urerl1177jbMxldA3-ZgaRsAG8utXaMfKciTfBtqwwLxy5dVonVRfyAzTmW66YH_V5oWyyBXLmUC8PCQ-D4XH4joQGkpDDrAeEudCT2BKl5BXYeTCzk5kbGGIrw8jhCzO8wihGHujFWig/s4000/20220624_124333.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaLifp-C2j7LIq8MvjuZMR0PvkzRI6zjgvXCP1atEdtDHO_urerl1177jbMxldA3-ZgaRsAG8utXaMfKciTfBtqwwLxy5dVonVRfyAzTmW66YH_V5oWyyBXLmUC8PCQ-D4XH4joQGkpDDrAeEudCT2BKl5BXYeTCzk5kbGGIrw8jhCzO8wihGHujFWig/w400-h300/20220624_124333.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">... and the sunny side of the sign</td></tr></tbody></table><p style="text-align: left;">With the hills also came the effects of the sun, and I began keeping my eyes out for a likely swimming hole. At the bottom of a short but nerve-wrackingly loose descent I spied a culvert, and we both ended up in the water for the first time. After cooling down, we got ready to ride again, before discovering sealant bubbling from Sarah's rear tyre. The hole seemed large enough to require a plug, and within 3 or 4 further stops to add more air, things finally settled down and didn't need to be touched again for the duration of the trip. I'd first seen plugs at the <a href="http://sifter-writes-bikes.blogspot.com/2012/04/2012-absa-cape-epic.html" target="_blank">Cape Epic back in 2012</a>, and it took a few more years before they became ubiquitous in NZ - they're a must addition to any "gravel grinder's" toolkit for just this eventuality. </p><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKT840Z0PxVh-VJCunuP59ZpWcs66ciGbKHsGVvhg_Hrt3AvTLjIhGhugv4x2mYYEMKyLCvMfbdLDCgIT74I0-xkFSw_sdUcp9besShKjvEl0oqNZXRJEqbeM__T2usWZFij-lws6aUfZ2m9mfyq9B9EUsS33BvBUrtUmpNZX-35ahmHiJUIWlQkbDhQ/s4000/20220624_133429.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKT840Z0PxVh-VJCunuP59ZpWcs66ciGbKHsGVvhg_Hrt3AvTLjIhGhugv4x2mYYEMKyLCvMfbdLDCgIT74I0-xkFSw_sdUcp9besShKjvEl0oqNZXRJEqbeM__T2usWZFij-lws6aUfZ2m9mfyq9B9EUsS33BvBUrtUmpNZX-35ahmHiJUIWlQkbDhQ/w300-h400/20220624_133429.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A "bacon strip" tyre plug doing its business</td></tr></tbody></table><br />The main climb was about 350vm over 6km, but had some very steep sections indeed (more 20%+ gradients). It was hard work, but the steep sections tended to be shorter than the route a few days ago so the road was generally more rideable. Despite feeling well and truly "in the jungle", there were plenty of signs of life, even if the villages proper weren't obvious from the road. <br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1HMhNe5Q0xFjTNU9TS8i8f7E_cjDzOObFS89sqJHrOwZSp-lfaypF38XRASzYa5H3IOYnWfx6LR5FUcRCu5yuHF82f40F6bXxSqDNddmKx0I0wRa-OXiXCP_Ix3BwurC1G9_gw5vzBGOi48G-bFXVMoXD2mqxHmr8Tq5ro9Iknzi-rUtDniXSM5-uAA/s4000/20220624_144711.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1HMhNe5Q0xFjTNU9TS8i8f7E_cjDzOObFS89sqJHrOwZSp-lfaypF38XRASzYa5H3IOYnWfx6LR5FUcRCu5yuHF82f40F6bXxSqDNddmKx0I0wRa-OXiXCP_Ix3BwurC1G9_gw5vzBGOi48G-bFXVMoXD2mqxHmr8Tq5ro9Iknzi-rUtDniXSM5-uAA/w400-h300/20220624_144711.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">As we neared the top of the climb, we started to see kids heading home from school, and I stopped to talk to some uniformed high-schoolers. By now flashes of disbelief at mention of our destination had typically become looks of respect if not amazement. Mention or sight of Sarah typically cranked these up another notch - while we ourselves were impressed by the distances these guys were travelling on foot or horseback, active-transport from the Coral Coast was obviously outside their sense of what was possible. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifxUg3ZUqM5udTZ6Kdcpr5EwdJqNggHzskS0W6RmsYtYv4rxcfh4AUp5yIQUzOTaQMXEKti1hDdVm4s2boehfF0B0UvFvidedm65qoFAS8VBFBlQ3-JZp0Kpb9VhT4Y9lypz_fQaXZ8kBvUdYcClFrTS5Sch6M2Ih-i3R5Z_HvX-3x_UQQFGu7l6jK7g/s3648/20220624_153614.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2736" data-original-width="3648" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifxUg3ZUqM5udTZ6Kdcpr5EwdJqNggHzskS0W6RmsYtYv4rxcfh4AUp5yIQUzOTaQMXEKti1hDdVm4s2boehfF0B0UvFvidedm65qoFAS8VBFBlQ3-JZp0Kpb9VhT4Y9lypz_fQaXZ8kBvUdYcClFrTS5Sch6M2Ih-i3R5Z_HvX-3x_UQQFGu7l6jK7g/w400-h300/20220624_153614.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Upon seeing the school uniforms, my expectations of the village of Bukuya went way up, which I think explains my confusion at not finding a full-blown supermarket. Instead we were directed to one rudimentary canteen, at which we were able to buy a much needed 1.5L bottle of water, but no soft-drink. In hindsight we should have tried the other (which we'd apparently passed but not noticed). I got separated from Sarah briefly, only to double back and find her with with a jammed chain (soon successfully liberated).</div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEtFIEo_NE8o1Vqiwz4ukEqQ2gSFEwdnvelUUxiYFIZRxS5LJjlJ91sL4Ra5xuCOal3eJDpP0ln4IL0RhE5jFZHlzlHJfftEWgG_PYFR4cu0HwSj2cz0GyeMrL5ch4ke6cHxbMqPXVjSvdQ70PltQGLwVNjV8VKwIA4-R2Ipsy1eo35DPo2ZQ2jS8kcQ/s4000/20220624_155400.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEtFIEo_NE8o1Vqiwz4ukEqQ2gSFEwdnvelUUxiYFIZRxS5LJjlJ91sL4Ra5xuCOal3eJDpP0ln4IL0RhE5jFZHlzlHJfftEWgG_PYFR4cu0HwSj2cz0GyeMrL5ch4ke6cHxbMqPXVjSvdQ70PltQGLwVNjV8VKwIA4-R2Ipsy1eo35DPo2ZQ2jS8kcQ/w400-h300/20220624_155400.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Passing through Bukuya</td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">After a few minutes more climbing, we broke out into the open, and began our "descent" to Navala Village. Overall, we'd lose almost 400vm over 20km, but I made the mistake of ignoring the jaggedness of the profile which should have made clear we had plenty of climbing (and front-brake-only descending) left in store. </p><div style="text-align: left;">I fired the drone up one more time to capture the broader surroundings, before we put it away for good and resumed plugging away.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9f2JsIXn4GyytcCT_Kazwc46V6By1C20dJteCVaCvH-wjkThOmb70vb-okDljAkDY67Gxvv8tj0nmcsj4HFkQDttqBLRAaS1ItyWLyMYGVA6z7yLsSC0R-744mB3Asw6-Y2pozFwEbbN1rR6jc0YUWOMZ2JXwCzSHUnXo-GARMsi_b_K8OVDmVMovjA/s4032/dji_export_1656128965192.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9f2JsIXn4GyytcCT_Kazwc46V6By1C20dJteCVaCvH-wjkThOmb70vb-okDljAkDY67Gxvv8tj0nmcsj4HFkQDttqBLRAaS1ItyWLyMYGVA6z7yLsSC0R-744mB3Asw6-Y2pozFwEbbN1rR6jc0YUWOMZ2JXwCzSHUnXo-GARMsi_b_K8OVDmVMovjA/w400-h300/dji_export_1656128965192.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It's like an invisible 20m (plus) selfie-stick!<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br />The expansive views and minor road kept eliciting a sense that we were in the middle of nowhere, but we were constantly seeing people on the road. <br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCp4mCI-yFfg8MiwSzYbDSxlEdhWAl-gN1IjgplaknWtm4z_qn5k4S8vn3DQrMrXB-73NMLabTAthKQrpflC78vwHYcdVasLiW-CiZSJNQg4BBc7I745RvDbi-YdUeoxWFLsu-GqarXy6LsXfy-1Wutl4TDUGPfB2_knq9TlguyMKKY1P86bk4bghXjA/s4000/20220624_163919.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCp4mCI-yFfg8MiwSzYbDSxlEdhWAl-gN1IjgplaknWtm4z_qn5k4S8vn3DQrMrXB-73NMLabTAthKQrpflC78vwHYcdVasLiW-CiZSJNQg4BBc7I745RvDbi-YdUeoxWFLsu-GqarXy6LsXfy-1Wutl4TDUGPfB2_knq9TlguyMKKY1P86bk4bghXjA/w400-h300/20220624_163919.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We stopped briefly to acknowledge this group chilling out by a river</td></tr></tbody></table><br />Not only did the road continue going up and down, but the pitches remained steep, which, combined with our growing fatigue necessitated an increasing amount of walking, sometimes with "company". <br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaIC1ynzPGHKjaKPxTv28So6JB-Yogqq0423HcoliFdj7FhLB8_Y4aBbN1Fg3TZWLNbYGXkwPTqApLkKQP8eW0An191Nnuj0W37mQesLGEjrlxDp-hqOEw3RyoMSg5tKqf708FnZGsqHn95thWBmyL0O9O7LI7eHzbRM_LTcPXTY3NTXQ-4oNl-bsPqQ/s1757/walkers.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1318" data-original-width="1757" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaIC1ynzPGHKjaKPxTv28So6JB-Yogqq0423HcoliFdj7FhLB8_Y4aBbN1Fg3TZWLNbYGXkwPTqApLkKQP8eW0An191Nnuj0W37mQesLGEjrlxDp-hqOEw3RyoMSg5tKqf708FnZGsqHn95thWBmyL0O9O7LI7eHzbRM_LTcPXTY3NTXQ-4oNl-bsPqQ/w400-h300/walkers.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p style="text-align: left;">Between that, photography and generally conservative descending, the final 20km "downhill" took us over 2.5 hours and by the end of it, we were firing up our front lights. There was no sign of Bulou's Eco Lodge at it's location on Google Maps, so after asking directions on the outskirts of Navala itself, we doubled back - now in complete darkness. We found the gate which was chained and locked. Using my cell phone torch, I walked down the driveway only to find the lodge slowly being reclaimed by the jungle. It wasn't quite a lost cause, but it most certainly was not the welcoming place we'd been promised. There was nothing for it but to ride back towards the village. </p><p style="text-align: left;">I was tired, and now quite scared. Though, through the haze I had a conscious thought that generally does come to mind when things start going a little pear-shaped: "at least this will make an interesting story"...</p><p style="text-align: left;">Although we had little water left, that was the least of my concerns (we were in the hills, and surely many of the natural water courses would have been running clean). We'd been slowly but surely chipping away at our supplies of One Square Meals to the extent that we were down to only three unopened bars plus some scraps - better than nothing even if to cover two dinners and one breakfast. The town of Ba was 30km away, and as optimistic as I'd been about the downhill run to Navala, at this point I was willing to assume that continuing towards Ba would be just as gnarly and non-trivial (which turned out to be true, at least for half the distance). I concluded that riding out was out of the question, and to seal that deal, Sarah announced her light was out of juice. We only had an emergency bivy bag, and certainly no tent or sleeping bags. Even our overnight clothing was pretty minimal - I'd never go anywhere in NZ with so little, given the reasonable chance of experiencing winter conditions even at the height of summer. I guessed it was warm enough that we would survive an uncomfortable night in the open, but hoped it wouldn't come to that.</p><p></p><div style="text-align: left;">We stopped an elderly gentleman walking in the direction we'd just come from. He said he'd take us in, but seemed to imply it was a bit of a walk to his place. He also said to head onward to the village: "They'll take care of you." On further reflection, he ushered us towards the covered deck of the adjacent home, which he said belonged to the village pastor. He seemed convinced that this was the best option for us, so I forced $50 into his hand, thanked him, and then followed his advice. </div><p style="text-align: left;">We were greeted by Mrs Luisa Lotawa, wife of Pastor Dan. As we'd soon discover, she was a nurse, and was deeply committed to taking care of us. My brain was quite addled, but Sarah seemed much more relaxed about things - we were having a cultural experience much more part of the Mongolian landscape than anything within my frame of reference. </p><p style="text-align: left;">We polished off the food we had in our pockets, accepted the water we were given, and once changed out of our riding gear, were unable to turn down some chicken soup, steamed cassava, and salad prepared especially for us. </p><p style="text-align: left;">Conversation was equally generous, and the family seemed to coordinate to ensure there was always exactly one person talking with us - the moment someone new sat down, the other left. We discovered among them fascinating military experience. The oldest child was an accounting and economics student at a high school in Ba. His father spoke Hindi, and had traveled extensively, including peacekeeping in various hot-spots in the middle east. Luisa herself had recently returned from a year nursing in Israel. We were told the village (and the home we'd been welcomed into) were hooked to the electricity grid as recently as 2018. It has been easy to assume up until this point, that everyone we passed had little experience outside of their village. Silly me. </p><p style="text-align: left;">The fellow I'd been communicating with via the email address in the Lonely Planet is real, but the family were pretty careful not to throw him under the bus. They confirmed the lodge closed down at the beginning of the pandemic, but never quite stated that accommodation that night was never a realistic prospect. </p><p style="text-align: left;">I was so wiped out after eating that I excused myself and made for the bed they'd offered, sleeping in my clothes simply because I was too rooted to reorganise myself. All things considered, our sleep was amazing and it was clear that our misfortune had actually been a blessing in disguise. Had we known from the outset the lodge was closed, we'd never have come this way, never have gotten such a rich glimpse into Fijian culture, and never have experienced the kindness of strangers. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt9abKjAwuIEIcHeffccH5mdONDNj7VAOtQa4xUd4hcXcvsidRV1zarxf8cRwiHQF-fOWYJ9KlLcGO5eaRP_VveBDLkg0nCwZaQdKTtLA-CNzYW4bHD8Nn3JQR6b-lUoaFVGGbrocfOdery0SC_uube8IV3mGVc8HDf2jnRA-dkmHYGF-SGHcA4VQH_w/s4000/20220624_193854.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt9abKjAwuIEIcHeffccH5mdONDNj7VAOtQa4xUd4hcXcvsidRV1zarxf8cRwiHQF-fOWYJ9KlLcGO5eaRP_VveBDLkg0nCwZaQdKTtLA-CNzYW4bHD8Nn3JQR6b-lUoaFVGGbrocfOdery0SC_uube8IV3mGVc8HDf2jnRA-dkmHYGF-SGHcA4VQH_w/w400-h300/20220624_193854.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><u>Stats</u>: <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/7363624953" target="_blank">113km, 2240vm, 24 degrees</a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><p style="text-align: center;"><br /><b>Day 6: Navala Village to Lauwaki</b><b><br /></b></p><p style="text-align: left;">Mrs Lotawa had flagged she was heading into Ba on the 6am bus for a vaccination clinic, but most others were also gone from the home when we surfaced. Orders had clearly been left though, and we were ushered to the dining table and presented with pancakes and lemongrass tea to get us on the road. </p><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9py54uvdTb_bzptPgSyku1gi3w-uVEu65DiHgEXYqXaajHuhD0vcoba4cRGSB3n0b2rRYem25mdJyWEfbI9_a0BEGNgkhvRg2S4c7dCAH2jjFrQpW1hwMuWFbnk3AnmmlcG58M3BWrRv4oD6s33RtfAvm4hUkY7YLxokOmNy7QqW9S2IIopSL2xMuZw/s4000/20220625_072228.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9py54uvdTb_bzptPgSyku1gi3w-uVEu65DiHgEXYqXaajHuhD0vcoba4cRGSB3n0b2rRYem25mdJyWEfbI9_a0BEGNgkhvRg2S4c7dCAH2jjFrQpW1hwMuWFbnk3AnmmlcG58M3BWrRv4oD6s33RtfAvm4hUkY7YLxokOmNy7QqW9S2IIopSL2xMuZw/w300-h400/20220625_072228.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">I used the only bit of paper we had - the backside of our paper map of the island - to write a note for our saviours, and tucked the money we'd been expecting to spend at the lodge (the arrangement was to pay $180 cash for dinner, bed and breakfast - not as lucrative a scam as asking for credit card details) into the page before folding it up and passing it to one of the children.</p><p style="text-align: left;">We then suited up and left, circling back once I realised a departure photo would make a nice memento, and hadn't already been secured. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8-itILebcfsgES2rCLwqXHt7pEI-CvjKvirUmryPnIwzLtZtOHm5kZtHe4XY3KqUekxtXG8L1w2P58q0tW1Xbudy2216HTvxaZrB8F4D2yR9zhw-1bdk-wE7uEPTHVTYWqrS6BACDGIYk6b1Xax9x4xfsfGcBZuKbUeBuJyl8Mqv1lBlRy2_AXmdVkA/s4000/20220625_080341.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8-itILebcfsgES2rCLwqXHt7pEI-CvjKvirUmryPnIwzLtZtOHm5kZtHe4XY3KqUekxtXG8L1w2P58q0tW1Xbudy2216HTvxaZrB8F4D2yR9zhw-1bdk-wE7uEPTHVTYWqrS6BACDGIYk6b1Xax9x4xfsfGcBZuKbUeBuJyl8Mqv1lBlRy2_AXmdVkA/w400-h300/20220625_080341.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">A minute later we pulled up at the gate to Navala Village. There, a sign laid out the rules of engagement for tourists like us. I was inclined to press on, but Sarah rightfully insisted that we try to enlist a tour guide. There was a fairly large group of people observing us, including one elder and about a dozen children. The elder designated a fellow in his 40s to be our guide, and told us the fee, and stressed that didn't include a tip for our guide. </p><p style="text-align: left;">We were shown around for about 20 minutes, and learnt a bit more about the history of the village, and how it had been formed by five neighbouring tribes coming together to benefit from their combined scale (for schooling and the like). One bure we passed had been destroyed during 2016's Cyclone Winston, but gave us a better sense of how these impressive homes were constructed. </p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilTMgq1Qtk8ZMgRfta4a12OwJ8hghM7_vQeY2vS8azf_cgoQPiq2NnQHYGT5AQbbe4INUg4IVb5GgKFhOtVx1oNMNaEPb2sV3KbCjHYBjzBDbFOrgOdBruTOab_Ibfc8cH1x-T2VL25mScc8nfbQhDT1KNKdwXb5mI37o-6pXko9Zvu7u2tr0GKVm7Zg/s4000/20220625_082809.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilTMgq1Qtk8ZMgRfta4a12OwJ8hghM7_vQeY2vS8azf_cgoQPiq2NnQHYGT5AQbbe4INUg4IVb5GgKFhOtVx1oNMNaEPb2sV3KbCjHYBjzBDbFOrgOdBruTOab_Ibfc8cH1x-T2VL25mScc8nfbQhDT1KNKdwXb5mI37o-6pXko9Zvu7u2tr0GKVm7Zg/w400-h300/20220625_082809.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p style="text-align: left;">Our guide admitted the work to build a new home (hardwood poles, grass roof, bamboo walls) was slightly quicker these days with the use of power tools, and there were signs that some of the more recently constructed dwellings were of a non-traditional design. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgGRxY-wA9W_QLa8G_RYvjjWvzZDL58jLOmcK2h6qf6poSa38EZRzXAd4gmHBBdvyOZ9VN24Vvry-cicnRLPbmk_KQa6rD6x3igNsBbAuVFqUEytazb5v4TUj9wTR5xoYAigiBqup4UP9XLhyd8fFpiaepioJkGx-MW5x8OrNAZ6_wRScfmSHOahbuEA/s4000/20220625_082107.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgGRxY-wA9W_QLa8G_RYvjjWvzZDL58jLOmcK2h6qf6poSa38EZRzXAd4gmHBBdvyOZ9VN24Vvry-cicnRLPbmk_KQa6rD6x3igNsBbAuVFqUEytazb5v4TUj9wTR5xoYAigiBqup4UP9XLhyd8fFpiaepioJkGx-MW5x8OrNAZ6_wRScfmSHOahbuEA/w400-h300/20220625_082107.jpg" width="400" /></a></div></div><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;">Once back at our bikes, we readjusted into our immodest cycling clothing, before heading in the direction of Ba. The road was as expected, and progress was pretty slow. We did stop briefly to soak in a river, but otherwise probably ran to a similar schedule as the 2-hour bus service that Luisa would have been on earlier that morning. Bus and passengers alike would surely get a bit of a thrashing, as did we!</p><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGv-4x4oinn14VOjiL841-amnQkWI7l90sQCXT1s_PVXlBmnll1-bfnHyyxHa3LizJ9yRhFU3uQppTlcq6kJnTUAOw_fAtDUcCjkUr4T8xz9BACjCMdfeO9qiYa_025ux8cOMNQbQa9Ol66H2P2r_LMjDh_ZSI8knj9r4H6PulZ1ecBEO8MFHKuF0E2g/s4000/20220625_092053.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGv-4x4oinn14VOjiL841-amnQkWI7l90sQCXT1s_PVXlBmnll1-bfnHyyxHa3LizJ9yRhFU3uQppTlcq6kJnTUAOw_fAtDUcCjkUr4T8xz9BACjCMdfeO9qiYa_025ux8cOMNQbQa9Ol66H2P2r_LMjDh_ZSI8knj9r4H6PulZ1ecBEO8MFHKuF0E2g/w400-h300/20220625_092053.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">We passed plenty of sugar cane fields, and with little more than 10km on the clock crested a hill which gave us a view out across to Ba. It seemed slightly inconceivable that we were less than half way there, but it proved to be the case, distance-wise at least. </p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuFRQGrAfZUQtNO3j346HJxf3mV7M8oMT9RjJEzpd5wX62568K0vJ9Bp-W0sGvikpJlIekNfYvbrpCcZExmJLvdX7TI2YR2rreNX0ewpG6mjmX-uKylhUPd49Bqk90LHhMxDjkm6BdYe1m9DtSoxKRL9J79DPXbOsckoKJTihqilcLJsXrdgOZ0rbv2Q/s4000/20220625_095825.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuFRQGrAfZUQtNO3j346HJxf3mV7M8oMT9RjJEzpd5wX62568K0vJ9Bp-W0sGvikpJlIekNfYvbrpCcZExmJLvdX7TI2YR2rreNX0ewpG6mjmX-uKylhUPd49Bqk90LHhMxDjkm6BdYe1m9DtSoxKRL9J79DPXbOsckoKJTihqilcLJsXrdgOZ0rbv2Q/w400-h300/20220625_095825.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">We hadn't filled our bottles before we'd left Navala, and had been sipping at the remnants from the previous evening. One shop we passed was closed, but soon after we came to another, at which we bought an assortment of drinks (water, Fanta, chocolate milk) before consuming them in the shade of an adjacent building. It felt like the end of our (mis-)adventure, and a fitting celebration of our survival! </p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw_xLI4Gehlg4UYHalSGRm3UCU1KetREIIWoKWO93ie1EQlT_FRbSwgDHzHeSKnnBYZ_2lRwQasOW8YIgO02EbVYOwEzdFxg6EIJff1RZ-iF4XUkc4lTPrD69BEoFD5CiZfVG62Q0OrthIs6vD2tqF409uG5ZmOf2wWRC4NgcVULQvonAwG-TvtLPxWg/s4000/20220625_102942.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw_xLI4Gehlg4UYHalSGRm3UCU1KetREIIWoKWO93ie1EQlT_FRbSwgDHzHeSKnnBYZ_2lRwQasOW8YIgO02EbVYOwEzdFxg6EIJff1RZ-iF4XUkc4lTPrD69BEoFD5CiZfVG62Q0OrthIs6vD2tqF409uG5ZmOf2wWRC4NgcVULQvonAwG-TvtLPxWg/w400-h300/20220625_102942.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">Not far from the store, the road turned to seal, and we were soon in Ba. It took us a wee while to find somewhere to stop, but when we finally saw The Coffee Club, we realised it couldn't have been more obvious and wondered why we hadn't noticed it earlier. There, we were able to eat, drink and be merry. I'd used our Garmin inReach the previous evening to send a single "we're off the road" txt home, but here we were able to connect to the cell network, and spent a bit of time catching up on what everyone else had been up to, only hinting at our travails.</p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM8DP9cJ3PXtBFTh_8iK9hSW4MzxhhGvE3la2V0KrdaSHdD5RIcAr8NfCeD2hBQt-AQs4r8IS5Y9OEtUzIy_Eu1bOKv_lcA_3Z7d1Ya9fEsE97RYmto2YHa00ywYlr3NGudHMuwWOFeeYwYCWoftHU2mhQxvreUh7ZBuRb14HINVMYk78EY1w_DKPBCQ/s4000/20220625_115154.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM8DP9cJ3PXtBFTh_8iK9hSW4MzxhhGvE3la2V0KrdaSHdD5RIcAr8NfCeD2hBQt-AQs4r8IS5Y9OEtUzIy_Eu1bOKv_lcA_3Z7d1Ya9fEsE97RYmto2YHa00ywYlr3NGudHMuwWOFeeYwYCWoftHU2mhQxvreUh7ZBuRb14HINVMYk78EY1w_DKPBCQ/w300-h400/20220625_115154.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">Not far up the road, I had special accommodation booked, which seemed miraculously apt in contrast to Bulou's Derelict Lodge. It was about a third of the way between Lautoka and Nadi, and in between was some pretty uninspiring road bashing in hot conditions, and heavy (but otherwise well behaved) traffic. </p><p style="text-align: left;">We were on Kings Road for the run into Lautoka, and I didn't notice that there it switched to Queens Road (if Google Maps is to believed, there's a 5.5km discontinuity between them back in Suva, 200m of which is a terminal section of Princess Road). We stopped for an icecream on the approach to Lautoka, were we piqued the curiosity of some boys enjoying the Saturday morning away from school. As we left Lautoka, we stopped again, this time to knock back the liquid contents of a couple of coconuts!</p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjanioXgfTT3WGNdytuRi50lcW-Obt2ggTg9mBWsm5ZSb7DD43oOh1DvvBXttd1eSqy220nLb79YcAVCN5OVZLA-gyD9ylOqwZsMx5czIpvmDbLiJWphd8JMqwRH0NgUCM6q26E4R1ChJGZdXLfvmFBENkcrMveuQXOItmk0CRs3HgVerxHqc7yUsB1qg/s3648/20220625_140453.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2736" data-original-width="3648" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjanioXgfTT3WGNdytuRi50lcW-Obt2ggTg9mBWsm5ZSb7DD43oOh1DvvBXttd1eSqy220nLb79YcAVCN5OVZLA-gyD9ylOqwZsMx5czIpvmDbLiJWphd8JMqwRH0NgUCM6q26E4R1ChJGZdXLfvmFBENkcrMveuQXOItmk0CRs3HgVerxHqc7yUsB1qg/w400-h300/20220625_140453.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p style="text-align: left;">Our overnight stop was at the very lovely boutique resort: <a href="https://www.fijiorchid.com/" target="_blank">The Fiji Orchid</a>. As with the Hideaway resort on the Coral Coast, our late booking had been at a hefty discount, but even absent that, it would have been a fitting celebration of our survival, and worth every cent. </p><p style="text-align: left;">As might be expected, we were warmly welcomed, and had a very comfortable and chilled out evening, blessed temporarily with the company of the resident one-eyed cat. </p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5nQQrUNZZdf7qRbKCER8QlvetJVvoot2ps5j0bcZD26ITJDwprx_PNqs34ZALsgjsvWQRVthRbmACIMJukzYgH2Y6kZxGa8L1mKKNiwXDBMaIwDRJkbqenazTpK_jML-ZclBr3nCIFuvz_A9NsKn6rWfvP3sxOzDV1_UbHjQCcAE9SlsklfuPI4PIpQ/s4000/20220625_173858.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5nQQrUNZZdf7qRbKCER8QlvetJVvoot2ps5j0bcZD26ITJDwprx_PNqs34ZALsgjsvWQRVthRbmACIMJukzYgH2Y6kZxGa8L1mKKNiwXDBMaIwDRJkbqenazTpK_jML-ZclBr3nCIFuvz_A9NsKn6rWfvP3sxOzDV1_UbHjQCcAE9SlsklfuPI4PIpQ/w400-h300/20220625_173858.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><u>Stats</u>: <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/7363625064" target="_blank">76km, 1010vm, 22 degrees</a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>Day 7: Lauwaki to Nadi</b></div><p style="text-align: left;">The next morning signaled our gentle pivot from cycle tourists to tourist-tourists. Our overnight hotel was very close to the airport, and un-noticed at the time, had come within 500m of it when we set off a week earlier. </p><p style="text-align: left;">While we had enough time to ride to Port Denarau for our booked half-day outing with South Sea Cruises, for the sake of bike security, I thought it better to ride as far as the hotel, and catch a cab to the marina. We contemplated doing a side trip to the Garden of the Sleeping Giant, but slightly pressed for time, and in part because the Fiji Orchid resort had been set up by the same individual back in the day, we opted instead to skip it. </p><div style="text-align: left;">That gave us a wee bit of time checking out the souvenir shops before boarding our ferry. We passed "The Beast" out of Auckland as we set sail - while it isn't unusual to see a boat on a boat, the relative size differential seemed strangely small in this case. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRaDt5y0wrAr4hHzHBS_a0DIVV4semO8BdlILKw22z0rDL7bVw7w6yojKzHfExAhfbc1Te9fqBNlgsAXGmQz87X4mxK35YcrWTE9K0aWblcwQvZdDnsvZ0SkTq4E6QGsaS2YwIi4xaqC-pRSqVJOE6qc1TSJGEF_vOJxJO3XxGXi5-ROKAeC9cklrzdQ/s2310/the-beast.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1732" data-original-width="2310" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRaDt5y0wrAr4hHzHBS_a0DIVV4semO8BdlILKw22z0rDL7bVw7w6yojKzHfExAhfbc1Te9fqBNlgsAXGmQz87X4mxK35YcrWTE9K0aWblcwQvZdDnsvZ0SkTq4E6QGsaS2YwIi4xaqC-pRSqVJOE6qc1TSJGEF_vOJxJO3XxGXi5-ROKAeC9cklrzdQ/w400-h300/the-beast.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The cruise was short, and was followed by an even shorter transfer to a small island. </p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBwaD5kbkr8oGXVJJHWJllMKIt8OV0Ak9QhxAna4aFQ1mabbhjELCMQSrLGtfD7gxA9HcS96oqqH9r1XO4nFkpHhdyN_Cn2QyjbxKIzV1RzXhOWWYQvb0Rz_hR0xe8S069Wyv1asdZHS7qCvlvs5bPGJkcEj6qhCLd4LNrEkgEDCNG620kIRg9czs57g/s4000/20220626_124202.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBwaD5kbkr8oGXVJJHWJllMKIt8OV0Ak9QhxAna4aFQ1mabbhjELCMQSrLGtfD7gxA9HcS96oqqH9r1XO4nFkpHhdyN_Cn2QyjbxKIzV1RzXhOWWYQvb0Rz_hR0xe8S069Wyv1asdZHS7qCvlvs5bPGJkcEj6qhCLd4LNrEkgEDCNG620kIRg9czs57g/w400-h300/20220626_124202.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /><p style="text-align: left;">There we had some lunch before signing up to a for-novices scuba activity. Neither Sarah nor I had ever been, and this seemed like as good an opportunity as any. I enjoyed the briefing before we got anywhere near the water, and coped relatively well once we were submerged. Sarah was somewhat at the opposing end of the nervousness scale, but overcame her fears and was able to enjoy the experience.</p></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq0aL9Bqpw05SE-ic92UuPXZLsZSfk3KAdTlJMIGhjnLFAGeHGpXc3-29T0y_mMUdHDxHI3F7iN_qDj0RNkzkGlHWYq2peB9RUjpHpOGDOfaMpM9OycmHk-inJ6PFfHT-r9JtxQz8NY9_vfXK8xXpkdSNIlH1cBVXBbZ7rIsHxoHhulsRivuNXatdmCA/s4000/GOPR0453.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq0aL9Bqpw05SE-ic92UuPXZLsZSfk3KAdTlJMIGhjnLFAGeHGpXc3-29T0y_mMUdHDxHI3F7iN_qDj0RNkzkGlHWYq2peB9RUjpHpOGDOfaMpM9OycmHk-inJ6PFfHT-r9JtxQz8NY9_vfXK8xXpkdSNIlH1cBVXBbZ7rIsHxoHhulsRivuNXatdmCA/w400-h300/GOPR0453.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">Even before getting out of the water, I found myself deciding I would unlikely try this again. I really didn't enjoy how noisy it was - both the incessant racket of the forced inhalations, and also the constant stream of bubbles over my ears. To seal the deal, I felt horribly nauseous within a few seconds of being out of the water, despite that we'd not gone particularly deep. It wasn't until after a shower back at the hotel a few hours later that I started to feel human again. A previously unknown chink in my armour! In any case, far better to suffer from depth issues than altitude sickness, which really would have stuffed up some wonderful riding occasions. This, I can avoid!</p><u>Stats</u>: <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/7368517355" target="_blank">17km, 100vm, 24 degrees<br /></a><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>Day 8: Nadi sift<br /><br /></b></div><p style="text-align: left;">The next morning, I unceremoniously stuffed my bibs into the bathroom waste bin, before heading out for a short ride in regular shorts. Sarah's Kiwi-mum had lived in Nadi decades ago, and from her descriptions of the place and its surroundings, Sarah correctly identified the precise location of the home - internet sleuthing is one of her many talents!</p><p style="text-align: left;">After checking that out, we stopped into a market briefly. I watched the bikes, and also was intrigued to see a young male tourist figure the five-second rule did indeed apply to the freshly sliced mango he'd just dropped on the concrete floor. Perhaps if he'd seen me watching, he'd have noticed the look on my face which would have been betraying my view of his choice! I do love those fly on the wall moments.</p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7YL92utuDdKaf6ABLTUxUUkwuQtNi3n7OEKOsB1TUq-QcLhUnq-XH6-rN3G0LNAKSVNBPTPeDbVcSlPgQAWEe0Fvbw_SmcKaMByOjbuKvGDUZ44f52jTOW2q7ZGYSsJ_RFMDTmEjok9m0nQYayEOD-Q_nKWkPt_6_y_oXRvxhjRXjwP4b0NK852_EqA/s4000/20220627_095448.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7YL92utuDdKaf6ABLTUxUUkwuQtNi3n7OEKOsB1TUq-QcLhUnq-XH6-rN3G0LNAKSVNBPTPeDbVcSlPgQAWEe0Fvbw_SmcKaMByOjbuKvGDUZ44f52jTOW2q7ZGYSsJ_RFMDTmEjok9m0nQYayEOD-Q_nKWkPt_6_y_oXRvxhjRXjwP4b0NK852_EqA/w400-h300/20220627_095448.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">To chew up a bit more time, I thought we'd head into the centre of Nadi, but at Sarah's insistence, we instead opted for a nearby cafe. It turned out to be an excellent choice - we had good coffee out of their Rocket machine (the second we saw in two days - The Fiji Orchid also had one), and had a bit of a lark trying to secure an appropriate selfie with the nifty logo in shot. </p><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXWiMjeIL1mktweChRauYZn-c53rC3fHIvlZSoYFyAmtBB5nhEezAOTcMIh3oUyR7Y96RDp7jKEhXPi2u6fhEdulY3KGpiRy2wBDVReLUb9jIMQAY5dj6LkDGeRdFxpAqvZpQ1UrWP_ZHhI5Zsr2NZxZs6-AMMGhQtIeulGvEUpkVVWxw7N5GukMybKA/s3648/20220627_102930.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2736" data-original-width="3648" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXWiMjeIL1mktweChRauYZn-c53rC3fHIvlZSoYFyAmtBB5nhEezAOTcMIh3oUyR7Y96RDp7jKEhXPi2u6fhEdulY3KGpiRy2wBDVReLUb9jIMQAY5dj6LkDGeRdFxpAqvZpQ1UrWP_ZHhI5Zsr2NZxZs6-AMMGhQtIeulGvEUpkVVWxw7N5GukMybKA/w400-h300/20220627_102930.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of the final attempts, as I was trying to reclaim my phone!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">The route I took back to the airport left a lot to be desired, but it was otherwise effective enough, and we had time for the indirectness of it all. </p><p style="text-align: left;">Once at the terminal, we got a reminder that we'd taken our eye off the COVID-ball, and hadn't pre-submitted a <a href="https://www.travellerdeclaration.govt.nz/" target="_blank">New Zealand Traveller Declaration form</a> - one of the few remaining requirements. We had a slightly anxious wait to discover that these were approved almost instantly, and beyond that, the journey back to Karori went very smoothly, including our Day 0 RAT testing, thankfully. </p><p style="text-align: left;"><u>Stats</u>: <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/7375717838" target="_blank">13km, 70vm, 25 degrees</a></p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b>* * *</b></p><p style="text-align: left;">Our one week break in Fiji - or "one weak brake" as I began to think of it - was an absolute delight. It felt good to get back onto the international travel horse, and both our timing and the destination made it as easy as it could possibly have been.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Right from the outset, it was clear that the Fijian people are a delight to visit. One ratbag aside, our interactions were a treat. Especially a little off the beaten track, it is noteworthy that the sight of a person on a bicycle tends to bring a smile to the face of an onlooker, from small children all the way up to the elderly. People inherently know we're doing something worth smiling about, and while I couldn't agree with that sentiment more, I don't take it for granted, and do appreciate it.</p><p style="text-align: left;">As described, our bikes weren't flawless, but that was largely due to neglected maintenance rather than design issues! Both will be spending some time in Oli's workshop, and upon emerging, I expect them to be all set to take us on the next adventure. My sense is that Sarah's Di2 battery needs replacing - the two bikes are being charged at the same time, and are being used similarly, and that mine's holding charge while hers is not, signals she got a dud, and that needs to be rectified. </p><p style="text-align: left;">It is going to take a bit of time to get used to having the drone. As will come as no surprise, I love this written format, and so I think I'd be happy enough using it simply as a 1kg flying camera tripod! But, I do hope that we learn to use it consistently to capture video, supplemented by a little bit of GoPro interview, to yield another creative artefact from our rides together. Time will tell. </p><p style="text-align: left;">If it isn't already clear, I can't recommend Fiji highly enough as an interesting cycle touring or bike-packing destination. For a native speaker of English, communication is a breeze (unlike, e.g. in New Caledonia). Compared to the only other islands I've been to, New Cali (similarly sized) and Niue (tiny in comparison), both shops and accommodation options were more frequent and easier to access. Traffic was incredibly well behaved, and despite what you might read on the internet (e.g. <a href="https://fijipocketguide.com/can-you-cycle-around-fiji/" target="_blank">Can you cycle around Fiji?</a>: "<i>Leave the road cycle at home: the best roads for biking in Fiji are gravel roads and are best done with mountain bikes</i>"), our experience over a mixed 600km, was that the drivers were universally fantastic (at least relative to NZ), and that experienced cyclists (road or otherwise) should chose their own poison. </p><p style="text-align: left;">As ever, Sarah continues to be an inspiration to me. She did enquire at one point as to why we didn't have holidays like regular people (hence the oblique reference at the beginning of the post), but didn't take that as far as toy-throwing. There are times when we are clearly a very good team, pulling (or pushing) one another in directions that alone we would not take, yet greatly appreciate after the dust settles (even if not during...). </p><p style="text-align: left;">My back turned out to be a bit of a non-issue, so thanks to Chris Cheesmore at Capital Sports Medicine for a particularly apt bit of advice in the final weeks. Sadly, it didn't take overly kindly to the first steps out of the water with the weight belt and scuba tank (and gravity), so it is in the feeling-funky column for the time-being. </p><p style="text-align: left;">And, a final shout-out to the Lotawa family, currently of Navala Village. Thanks for showing us the very best of humanity. Whilst I know anyone reading this would have done exactly the same thing given that same situation, it was nonetheless a privilege to be the recipient of your generosity. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUP-aml0rMFzFSOdu8iHByS6J6APL3EIkY2h4k7RVnTAeuKL6a_oBVVEkYvx-gGuNnmyybZIGDPz00LsplkM4oYznoNbohQDy3IGGaAJnbgt4Og181fEsd1MPxJDy5Z8hhvK8oCviyet47b1ujyZ7F1nNS5jZqUDo68zA78u8FAfADOI_3R_QOU6Ilzg/s1628/route-map.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1114" data-original-width="1628" height="274" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUP-aml0rMFzFSOdu8iHByS6J6APL3EIkY2h4k7RVnTAeuKL6a_oBVVEkYvx-gGuNnmyybZIGDPz00LsplkM4oYznoNbohQDy3IGGaAJnbgt4Og181fEsd1MPxJDy5Z8hhvK8oCviyet47b1ujyZ7F1nNS5jZqUDo68zA78u8FAfADOI_3R_QOU6Ilzg/w400-h274/route-map.png" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p></div>sifterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15453244482461385029noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7894195099236501078.post-32028456163666381312022-05-01T18:11:00.001+12:002022-05-02T08:31:50.707+12:00Coromandel road trip<p>If the pandemic has had any silver linings for me, one has undoubtedly been ticking off a handful of domestic travel omissions, <a href="http://sifter-writes-bikes.blogspot.com/2020/11/the-four-corners-of-chatham-island.html" target="_blank">Chatham Island</a> and <a href="http://sifter-writes-bikes.blogspot.com/2021/02/milford-sound-go-now-thank-me-later.html" target="_blank">Milford Sound</a> being two of the more exotic destinations. </p><p>The 2021 Delta phase nipped a planned spring getaway to the Coromandel Peninsula in the bud, but it remained on my radar - aside from a single night in Whangamata in my early 20s, and slipping along one extreme between the Bay of Islands and Wellington <a href="http://sifter-writes-bikes.blogspot.com/2021/01/dont-leave-town-till-youve-seen-country.html" target="_blank">in late 2020</a> (which could be described as scraping the bottom of the Coromandel barrel), I'd never been. </p><p>My driving tolerance has never been particularly high, and nor am I ever not time-poor - the two days' in the car to get there and back has always been a bridge too far. However, this year's proximity of Easter to ANZAC Day opened the ideal opportunity - an 11-day break for the sake of three days' annual leave (bless the university system and its "Easter Tuesday" holiday...). </p><div style="text-align: center;"><b><br /></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>Easter Sunday - Walnuts</b></div><p>Sarah and I delayed our departure from Wellington until the morning of Easter Sunday, serving multiple purposes: we had house-guests, Geoff (my father) and Jo from Canberra; we'd give Wellingtonians a chance to flee and clear the roads out of town; and we'd give Aucklanders a chance to head back home <i>from Coromandel</i> at the tail end of the Easter break. </p><p>After packing and saying farewells to one set of parents, we enjoyed driving the full length of Transmission Gully for the first time, and then stopped into another set of parents at my brother's place in Waikanae. We found them in the early throes of a <a href="https://www.lego.com/en-us/product/minifigure-faces-1-000-piece-puzzle-5007070" target="_blank">fiendishly difficult jigsaw puzzle</a> which lengthened our stay by almost an hour, but with the side benefit of more of their company. </p><p>The roads were indeed pretty empty, and the driving was relaxed through to Taihape, where we decided to stop for the day. Unfortunately, I was thinking too much of a ride in the countryside, and not enough about the 2022 edition of Paris-Roubaix which would have been available to watch in at least one of the <i>other</i> motels in town. Live and learn, I suppose...</p><p>I'd strategically packed an AA map of the region, and scoped out an interesting loop to the east of town that appeared to be the right sort of length. It proved to be so, though throughout I wished I'd paid a bit more attention to the likely temperature range, and had dressed accordingly.</p><p>The area was fascinating, and we enjoyed a couple of gravel sections that took us even further off the beaten track than the sealed back-country roads we used. Sarah didn't seem to be enjoying herself that much, and so spectacular natural features were very welcome indeed.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbDFl42CWYNKZnmDHcHJKbWPU72-CoHQCwVDBWbHaJpQjWI2mBu6TF8KSfT5jKR71abC-8pIa4RYo0JwbrCvOXoZCbU3NrrvctroUHkv78pcC7Vnb8nrFeevzaxxPBYyqB6WrFwouqc7AdK_xkgPK6XuwVkRAiJiYaJmqMLJ2XefRzTQS1vbgzeY9lsA/s4000/20220417_155140.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbDFl42CWYNKZnmDHcHJKbWPU72-CoHQCwVDBWbHaJpQjWI2mBu6TF8KSfT5jKR71abC-8pIa4RYo0JwbrCvOXoZCbU3NrrvctroUHkv78pcC7Vnb8nrFeevzaxxPBYyqB6WrFwouqc7AdK_xkgPK6XuwVkRAiJiYaJmqMLJ2XefRzTQS1vbgzeY9lsA/w400-h300/20220417_155140.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Exhibit 1: the Moawhango River gorge</td></tr></tbody></table><br />I'd randomly chosen an anti-clockwise loop, but it turned out to be a stroke of luck. Part way through a long climb, we passed a walnut tree which had all but filled the gutter with ready-to-eat walnuts. Not only were they there in abundance, but they were also very easy to get into, and Sarah's roadside feast did wonders for her appreciation of the ride, and my eagle-eye bought me a helpful bit of credit too!<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiybE-WvBiTXAh3FDObd78OVXOPe4-hC0ndPl7X3Ltv_QYzLH9nJXSpvfXzXoVKI1NOI8gR8UUbsxHmzowuuV41tdqv_7bqVNOdVBe_dtV24keEQaJxpAsf2ud2SNX35sS-SyKoqjFbSnJnMUr5S1LkQxRtLbcDtzalKHxecZROa-HRwHcumPN2mmSmNA/s4000/20220417_162548.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiybE-WvBiTXAh3FDObd78OVXOPe4-hC0ndPl7X3Ltv_QYzLH9nJXSpvfXzXoVKI1NOI8gR8UUbsxHmzowuuV41tdqv_7bqVNOdVBe_dtV24keEQaJxpAsf2ud2SNX35sS-SyKoqjFbSnJnMUr5S1LkQxRtLbcDtzalKHxecZROa-HRwHcumPN2mmSmNA/w300-h400/20220417_162548.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bounty hunted</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div>Even if underdressed, we were well enough lit to cope with getting back to our motel after dusk. After stopping to admire Taihape's lush lancewood, we washed up, ate, and then I got to sulk for the rest of the evening at the thought of cycling on someone else's TV!</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwMz2KkVFBztDawgCs3S_nH9chWl9yn9Zyxga6vYNLqe-9jRQKTqMpBZMqZgL5r3Z8aPI3FaL-5OJp_OW3BlQ3UPrEKcbDT-pE7fKLfFm644cAy0Ia4cTJEkUcpcAgWcRmdFRritd9BwweocKUai4kgICwzkxgRGJZ7n42zC_G-pX3U8ii4EmZvB5QVQ/s4000/20220417_180636.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwMz2KkVFBztDawgCs3S_nH9chWl9yn9Zyxga6vYNLqe-9jRQKTqMpBZMqZgL5r3Z8aPI3FaL-5OJp_OW3BlQ3UPrEKcbDT-pE7fKLfFm644cAy0Ia4cTJEkUcpcAgWcRmdFRritd9BwweocKUai4kgICwzkxgRGJZ7n42zC_G-pX3U8ii4EmZvB5QVQ/w300-h400/20220417_180636.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><u>Stats</u>: <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/6994388377" target="_blank">68km ridden</a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>Easter Monday - Karangahake Gorge</b></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">Before leaving Taihape, we'd booked a night's stay in Waihi, and I planned to ride the Karangahake Gorge section of the <a href="https://haurakirailtrail.co.nz/" target="_blank">Hauraki Rail Trail</a> as a nice leg-loosener. When we arrived, the conditions were not ideal: wet, chilly, and windy. Fortunately, our B&B hosts were happy for us to check in early, which meant at least we set off knowing we could leap straight into a hot shower at the end of the ride. </p><p style="text-align: left;">After a quick coffee stop, we found the trail head, and got stuck in. Initially the trail design was bizarre - short, steep sections, and sharp turns, presumably necessary to navigate land access constraints. Those were soon a perplexing memory, and once we reached the old rail bench near Waikino, we were treated to some fascinating ruins from back in the gold-rush days.</p><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiE7-qKBQI1rbuEPHF3MZlWpeHSTLcmrtxAGj4tg3B42_p7E9oFNez1dCWJEgKizLZkf449FXMQJ3zX2yKyUo8l80TStcmDtUe5HNdv3iLyrFKWmU2LClgAxlQX5NS_HNax9y4l5gh0OSuQZs87vyAr35x8RDs-6IqMBS91u5Ot2zi7mJYjdKzcl-37w/s4000/20220418_143350.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiE7-qKBQI1rbuEPHF3MZlWpeHSTLcmrtxAGj4tg3B42_p7E9oFNez1dCWJEgKizLZkf449FXMQJ3zX2yKyUo8l80TStcmDtUe5HNdv3iLyrFKWmU2LClgAxlQX5NS_HNax9y4l5gh0OSuQZs87vyAr35x8RDs-6IqMBS91u5Ot2zi7mJYjdKzcl-37w/w400-h300/20220418_143350.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Victoria Battery remnants</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div><p style="text-align: left;">The weather was slowly deteriorating, and as such, the usual ride highlight - a 1.1km decommissioned railway tunnel - took on extra significance as a 1.1.km-long umbrella.</p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiryqLuED3txKmAqdGqiKeFRpUHqS-yaaQBpLFw2jGmpy5ctjsJnycAAA2389U8sK7cs0RLjukHLwxo0k3izifyoiDc_3gNZ3H4qrorIwjx14wVvTB4fpEgXA_sK4DpELa3QsMYQj9V13oEX7xuxcsLwrf8sbgdak26TRhFxnCjfu6rU5tcxho_s85CIw/s4000/20220418_145136.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiryqLuED3txKmAqdGqiKeFRpUHqS-yaaQBpLFw2jGmpy5ctjsJnycAAA2389U8sK7cs0RLjukHLwxo0k3izifyoiDc_3gNZ3H4qrorIwjx14wVvTB4fpEgXA_sK4DpELa3QsMYQj9V13oEX7xuxcsLwrf8sbgdak26TRhFxnCjfu6rU5tcxho_s85CIw/w400-h300/20220418_145136.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">We decided to ride all the way into Paeroa, and hope that we could find somewhere to have a coffee that would accept us in our wet and somewhat muddy state. </p><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGmRk3h9vVK94-BtZG_hDcutLDPuuuHudiVBf2FVBUR1mus9iGpxNaVbaZp_F8y1_iJ1-FReXE7NZ1NXGqj3M3FDC2NTvJJ77Z5JAnki7ndSDq8eiFbKHj7Ux0t2rCwiASs7bTuR1Y87asa7R3mjLQ0y_Z8WB0wx_X54qxYvcqo0-3qebiyXGlNtdGHg/s4000/20220418_151303.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGmRk3h9vVK94-BtZG_hDcutLDPuuuHudiVBf2FVBUR1mus9iGpxNaVbaZp_F8y1_iJ1-FReXE7NZ1NXGqj3M3FDC2NTvJJ77Z5JAnki7ndSDq8eiFbKHj7Ux0t2rCwiASs7bTuR1Y87asa7R3mjLQ0y_Z8WB0wx_X54qxYvcqo0-3qebiyXGlNtdGHg/w400-h300/20220418_151303.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fascinating flood-gates on the side-road into town</td></tr></tbody></table><br />We got lucky with the "Big Cafe and Bakery" - not only with the seating arrangements, but the quality of the custard squares. That they toppled Waipukurau's Angkor Wat off the top step required going back for seconds...<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjxiKO5lGAhsPsLUoEydYmG12QSqZFdAj-ntqthSR8x9059U05xt2lSAg9yjyjbDB9-Tv5IHEo7V02CeqMi285uaB18MUKeCnuKEf8_uH4arsYZFKx6VMf0WiWyRZ2hjcXmUKnPOiAmFJhjntfzJYeJ9MihDO2MUsfMGV_KdOdCNMCuMvoAgVI-hJcbQ/s4000/20220418_151959.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjxiKO5lGAhsPsLUoEydYmG12QSqZFdAj-ntqthSR8x9059U05xt2lSAg9yjyjbDB9-Tv5IHEo7V02CeqMi285uaB18MUKeCnuKEf8_uH4arsYZFKx6VMf0WiWyRZ2hjcXmUKnPOiAmFJhjntfzJYeJ9MihDO2MUsfMGV_KdOdCNMCuMvoAgVI-hJcbQ/w300-h400/20220418_151959.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Perfect!</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">On the way home, we had a stiff headwind to deal with, plus we were travelling up river. I rode the highway back as far as the bridge at Waitawheta Road, while Sarah preferred the muck coming up off her tyres over the traffic and rejoined the rail trail just in time to ride through the tunnel again. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJX-s2Rw4cJzSGncozIMAn90ITMDeG2N7UkuhI3IuYxzYfiWD7caZPYfH7U1V9hCcCVNw9gy2TNerAW_vBS1iYXTsYBRN5X9uB_LtCi_osFfpjccwf9lsRtyK2vcbfaNSPh4xIuhU9UmSh87Ma7YvE4lWWLKbm68bAu9dlAvmwR3P-IrsdAeKXnmTDTQ/s4000/20220418_155540.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJX-s2Rw4cJzSGncozIMAn90ITMDeG2N7UkuhI3IuYxzYfiWD7caZPYfH7U1V9hCcCVNw9gy2TNerAW_vBS1iYXTsYBRN5X9uB_LtCi_osFfpjccwf9lsRtyK2vcbfaNSPh4xIuhU9UmSh87Ma7YvE4lWWLKbm68bAu9dlAvmwR3P-IrsdAeKXnmTDTQ/w400-h300/20220418_155540.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sarah, having just emerged from the tunnel - which passes under the highway and straight onto a bridge</td></tr></tbody></table><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;">Once we regrouped, we briefly checked out a sign-posted waterfall, and then took a back road into Waihi, where true to form, a hot shower awaited.</p><div><u>Stats</u>: <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/6999540533" target="_blank">48km ridden</a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>Tuesday - Trampoline</b></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">We woke to rain, and rather than have our second wet ride in as many days, decided to go to see my sister in Auckland. Her two younguns were home, and we were treated to their great company (for the first time in over a year), scones, and access to a washing machine. It made a mighty fine alternative to whatever the Coromandel might have served up for the day.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUWIIW69Iz184FjJ9Bm4631j4TitUpaINRI9NHoBq7WeSm4DnCw5goLrU9NyHOSfokWpHXbN3pUzknC686r9Cr_DYL0L00j5h6NQbkW-WMgw1m60rADNEkG_w9QB2Z_0k86j6P4WGViyrJ62AulOQFW4NwDLtZv9dHSTAShRVirG5JlKBmWRrN5r2IqQ/s4000/20220419_132406.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUWIIW69Iz184FjJ9Bm4631j4TitUpaINRI9NHoBq7WeSm4DnCw5goLrU9NyHOSfokWpHXbN3pUzknC686r9Cr_DYL0L00j5h6NQbkW-WMgw1m60rADNEkG_w9QB2Z_0k86j6P4WGViyrJ62AulOQFW4NwDLtZv9dHSTAShRVirG5JlKBmWRrN5r2IqQ/w400-h300/20220419_132406.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">At a service station in the Bombay Hills we booked a room for two nights in Thames - riding holiday back on!</p><p style="text-align: left;"><u>Stats</u>: 0km ridden, many driven.</p><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>Wednesday - Many Bullets Dodged</b></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">The following morning we had breakfast in our room before suiting up and rolling out. Not far south out of Thames, we picked up another peripheral section of the Hauraki Rail Trail, and enjoyed the off-road route it provided into Kopu. </p><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjadmjjUEQfg3k_o7WlIEEF2HqvncxAZzlvMVPEttG_Bi7jdl553WhzFx9lqhKe9jpRyTXW6XJ2DBlyMst8UvAOvidit73vB1uoZaS29uFFTfqdKztf4iNj95Jkd6ADjyIgbaUtk2QZ4yXTxRsH0O9P7XWn8iBr0U_MNNyHKc0-J6YxVXfTMfgp3pAbDw/s4000/20220420_101504.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjadmjjUEQfg3k_o7WlIEEF2HqvncxAZzlvMVPEttG_Bi7jdl553WhzFx9lqhKe9jpRyTXW6XJ2DBlyMst8UvAOvidit73vB1uoZaS29uFFTfqdKztf4iNj95Jkd6ADjyIgbaUtk2QZ4yXTxRsH0O9P7XWn8iBr0U_MNNyHKc0-J6YxVXfTMfgp3pAbDw/w400-h300/20220420_101504.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A heron chilling on the handrail</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">After a quick coffee, we started on the Kopu-Hikuai Road (SH25A) that would take us across to the other side of the peninsula. </p><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu3q2YUk2Rq7XNZYkWCY08F_pFO0mCpFpXDH6VOwzEswCiJHC65tXO_OQVBTjC20M6JDhxkvubpGwy1Bfsa8LTkOa3cDCJ1jm5XU9RN9WRyJMgWr2aifdzn-AKkHMFrLpMIBybdLnjBgJznzLjz0qCk0v8dUNqlKX7rxW_OhwZy9F5sRjFmlwKb6NFjg/s4000/20220420_104020.jpg"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu3q2YUk2Rq7XNZYkWCY08F_pFO0mCpFpXDH6VOwzEswCiJHC65tXO_OQVBTjC20M6JDhxkvubpGwy1Bfsa8LTkOa3cDCJ1jm5XU9RN9WRyJMgWr2aifdzn-AKkHMFrLpMIBybdLnjBgJznzLjz0qCk0v8dUNqlKX7rxW_OhwZy9F5sRjFmlwKb6NFjg/w400-h300/20220420_104020.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p style="text-align: left;">A few kilometres in, and just as the main climb was starting, Sarah pulled over and asked me to take a look at one of her eyes - she could feel her contact lens was somewhere it didn't belong. After a minute or so, she successfully retrieved half the lens and seemed comfortably convinced that the other half was gone as well. </p><p style="text-align: left;">By this stage we'd been riding just over 11 kilometres, with another 110 or so to ride. While Sarah was capable of proceeding, a long day with just the one lens seemed far from ideal, and unfortunately she only (traditionally) packs spares on MTB rides. I made a call that spared us a day of second-guessing ourselves, and improved the likelihood that Sarah would enjoy the day. We agreed to meet up in Tairua, but not before a quick kiss, and a check that I had our motel key - which I'd need 11km later!</p><p style="text-align: left;">It took me about 50 minutes to return to the same spot, a couple of spare pairs of lenses tucked in the baggie with my KN95 mask - essential cycling kit these days! A couple of hours after that, I arrived at the bakery on the outskirts of Tairua and got stuck into lunch while Sarah gratefully sorted out her vision.</p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyc9bAbbBqVHg3KsGEgdRRFz_bNT00fDREWEhqnVkMfgqlchq5ef2OIT9viv-1dMs9FdZxp1bLiH4NqNwGkdvHFbAxMsUy3olCVCxCfXMBIc18X3p2GbIMa8Kt7ZHwzwovWKulF1tq-bsruy2SC7d7vji4zGhcuJOtEdBwxD_R_8W94wx5aQJiEYmBTQ/s4000/20220420_132300.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyc9bAbbBqVHg3KsGEgdRRFz_bNT00fDREWEhqnVkMfgqlchq5ef2OIT9viv-1dMs9FdZxp1bLiH4NqNwGkdvHFbAxMsUy3olCVCxCfXMBIc18X3p2GbIMa8Kt7ZHwzwovWKulF1tq-bsruy2SC7d7vji4zGhcuJOtEdBwxD_R_8W94wx5aQJiEYmBTQ/w400-h300/20220420_132300.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>After passing through a few rain showers, my chain was grizzling a bit, so I also took the opportunity to give both bikes a bit of a wipe down and some lube. While doing that I noticed that Sarah's front brake was rubbing horribly, which led me to discover that her pads needed urgent replacement. A set was sitting not a few metres from where I'd grabbed her contact lenses, but they were little use to us at the minute. I sorted the rubbing out at least, and asked that if possible, she use only the rear brake.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaZCOYq-1NHEHqJG3RwUNHcGg-mRhlXe0nmPji6YdcjtN_WWYaJOw1ZlYJRCGuUYZsBIC4gCjRHfIwqiFlioMxuexcgUeVScAI3vmeUAfR4hhOU4TGcFaNBtrV5N4en3wNp5UFraHVaMU6Cq9bGBuCGidArizYp5RHb8V7cZvpoRlXiYXGf1q654FOfA/s4000/20220420_134559.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaZCOYq-1NHEHqJG3RwUNHcGg-mRhlXe0nmPji6YdcjtN_WWYaJOw1ZlYJRCGuUYZsBIC4gCjRHfIwqiFlioMxuexcgUeVScAI3vmeUAfR4hhOU4TGcFaNBtrV5N4en3wNp5UFraHVaMU6Cq9bGBuCGidArizYp5RHb8V7cZvpoRlXiYXGf1q654FOfA/w400-h300/20220420_134559.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tairua "waterfront"</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">A few minutes after leaving the bakery, I was surprised to discover Tairua was a much bigger town than I'd first assumed. As we cruised along the main drag, I noticed a <a href="https://www.facebook.com/Spoke-Law-100195618390903/" target="_blank">wee bike shop</a> down an alley, and thought we might as well pop in to see if they had the requisite pads in stock. With luck, they did, and all but forced me to use their shop stand and tools to effect the replacement! It was a lovely interaction, and was the day's second major inconvenience averted.</p><p style="text-align: left;">After the best part of 30 kilometres more on sealed roads, we reached Coroglen, to discover both our turnoff, and a pub. The latter seemed worth a short visit, and after a cold drink each, we began the day's second crossing of the peninsula's mountainous spine - this time on gravel, and in the westward direction. It didn't take long for us to realise we'd struck gold!</p><div>Ironically, one of the many topics of conversation on the drive from Wellington had been nīkau palms - enjoyed immensely by both Sarah and I. She'd asked where one could see them in abundance, and the best spot I knew of was the Karamea end of the Heaphy Track - yet another place I've never been, but whose reputation for nīkau I know well. As we quickly realised, the answer could have been the Coroglen-Tapu Road in the Coromandel Peninsula, or the peninsula more generally. We must have passed literally thousands of them in the ensuing couple of hours, and photographed a few hundred between us! (As a side note, if anyone would like to see what the fuss is about, check out the half dozen planted outside my work in Bunny Street - thank goodness they survived our recent campus infestation...)</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaXLf_ffmKxlOAfQTgFgoOSGNFwZ0wUqx6m8410lLdn0AnR4MQ6VSeaf_9Fsj6qrvWX_F9FehhYvlXEch1dqJf0poHlp1pMBnJHxwlhcqTwLRhKSgt0VKegaAMdB85HAl8lb2G_1q8es-rHz19iGTHEcdM2OkPGeRFuM2XspMjtjVcX-esls7TG7-TsQ/s4000/20220420_154839.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaXLf_ffmKxlOAfQTgFgoOSGNFwZ0wUqx6m8410lLdn0AnR4MQ6VSeaf_9Fsj6qrvWX_F9FehhYvlXEch1dqJf0poHlp1pMBnJHxwlhcqTwLRhKSgt0VKegaAMdB85HAl8lb2G_1q8es-rHz19iGTHEcdM2OkPGeRFuM2XspMjtjVcX-esls7TG7-TsQ/w400-h300/20220420_154839.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">While the forest was freaking awesome, the road surface was less so. Fortunately, it never quite got as bad as it seemed poised to, and while wet and at times a bit churned up, our bikes never became inundated with mud. </p><p style="text-align: left;">On the upper reaches of the climb, which peaked out at just over 400 metres above sea level, we started passing mature kauri - some quite literally on the roadside.</p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjmj6MoWPRPogi5yZzajCSPBaLFVLhhXUJ77p2Zxj2zAJTf_HQAW1WvXYDW-irNBrIWEMr9Hba2-A-1_cdNR5zdOYJmqoo28IUXtI33vC9QzVHzSitON3WNgO46g-ZGCcTCQJtEu6wNTJBEYYlRI8hfzqdpm_GiXmChePl6xBK8mFEg2oFitDLVMJyIQ/s4000/20220420_162826.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjmj6MoWPRPogi5yZzajCSPBaLFVLhhXUJ77p2Zxj2zAJTf_HQAW1WvXYDW-irNBrIWEMr9Hba2-A-1_cdNR5zdOYJmqoo28IUXtI33vC9QzVHzSitON3WNgO46g-ZGCcTCQJtEu6wNTJBEYYlRI8hfzqdpm_GiXmChePl6xBK8mFEg2oFitDLVMJyIQ/w300-h400/20220420_162826.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>I was fearing the descent - had we been going in the opposite direction, we'd have been absolutely filthy by the bottom. Fortunately, the worst of the surface mud had been on the eastern side, and on the downhill there was not nearly so much muck for our tyres to shed up our backs and into our faces.</div><div><br /></div><div>There was one major attraction to look out for - the "<a href="https://www.doc.govt.nz/parks-and-recreation/places-to-go/coromandel/places/coromandel-forest-park/things-to-do/square-kauri-tree/" target="_blank">square kauri</a>". Whilst our focus on the road meant we didn't see the monster as we approached it, the DOC signage was obvious enough, and after stashing our bikes at the top of the first flight of steps, a few more minutes walking had us admiring what did appear to be the much-more-square-than-round trunk of a 1200 year old forest giant. "Mīharo", as one of the recent Air New Zealand safety videos <a href="https://youtu.be/IEnlEVLyD1s?t=217" target="_blank">has taught us to say</a> at moments like this...</div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimNXMuln-QUPrxYGGaiPO7d_XrlwX0-kp3u_HOqfX-xn152cRZ0SaHlKO5tWMdmc_bfynjds6SdNYU5SoXHs12nL1WYur0wGmVRU9i_OwNCWnNvfxveP_AIG6PfWnkQ-atllh5xqTz_X9I4F6D6SSKvXag-YuigZ2oeBghfuk2JFO9hBW0V9bXOQfKKw/s4000/20220420_170942.jpg"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimNXMuln-QUPrxYGGaiPO7d_XrlwX0-kp3u_HOqfX-xn152cRZ0SaHlKO5tWMdmc_bfynjds6SdNYU5SoXHs12nL1WYur0wGmVRU9i_OwNCWnNvfxveP_AIG6PfWnkQ-atllh5xqTz_X9I4F6D6SSKvXag-YuigZ2oeBghfuk2JFO9hBW0V9bXOQfKKw/w300-h400/20220420_170942.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Not long after, we hit Tapu, and were able to enjoy the relative cleanliness (and not to mention speed), for the remaining 20km run back to Thames. The upside of fading light was that once washed up, we could get straight into the hunt for dinner! We ate well, appreciative that none of the various curveballs we'd faced during the day had sullied what was an incredibly beautiful and star studded parcours. </div><div><br /></div><div><u>Stats</u>: <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/7010658560" target="_blank">144km ridden</a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: center;"><b>Thursday - Pigs</b></p><p style="text-align: left;">The following morning we drove further up the peninsula to Coromandel Township. After a mid-morning coffee, we drove to our booked bed-and-breakfast accommodation, where our hostess Lou kindly permitted us to leave the car for the day. </p><p style="text-align: left;">We unloaded the bikes and suited up, and not a minutes' riding from Lou's gate, began the sternest climb of the trip, up Whangapoua Rd to Maungataururu Lookout. Due to the double-digit gradients, even factoring in our cold legs, it didn't take long to get views back over Coromandel Township.</p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDbeTdz4lH-SWCE5HKYwzD7iaaY7KLkCFUfG07WC-5Ch0v855KfLLglbTikjNfIOqOuhXeAbbVy4s4vlYJbQRLsQuF4vbu5bVifuXzzljjLEZvsTfJQF6laH3GSe4Co_WdTlpsiW70ZmWvcCT6DZ7d0p9P4dkKOtDxwVPSbnLYijbw-1WvPwhpOm4Y6w/s4000/20220421_115524.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDbeTdz4lH-SWCE5HKYwzD7iaaY7KLkCFUfG07WC-5Ch0v855KfLLglbTikjNfIOqOuhXeAbbVy4s4vlYJbQRLsQuF4vbu5bVifuXzzljjLEZvsTfJQF6laH3GSe4Co_WdTlpsiW70ZmWvcCT6DZ7d0p9P4dkKOtDxwVPSbnLYijbw-1WvPwhpOm4Y6w/w400-h300/20220421_115524.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>I did the majority of the climb out of earshot, lest I cop any flack for the tough start (in my defense, it all looks so flat on the AA map...). After regrouping at the saddle, we snuck off just ahead of a truck, and consequently enjoyed the technical descent with a clear road.</div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIFao5ZEsxfHuj3bOJK3QV5rwwHswHv5BvFEDNBY7xix47YsumfUUtbg3ba3MEQ_tuA5cHu1AaaRwe5wKPkOtMRaPj_dBohVLiJL2ngo8Hb0-nPtwyzzo-cXaAe-otzBNU2txlk2PW4Jm5EyMhxfDSCxSccjSKG2ULDdHeAyTKr0nTyNjwmTdCtAzQ5g/s4000/20220421_121034.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIFao5ZEsxfHuj3bOJK3QV5rwwHswHv5BvFEDNBY7xix47YsumfUUtbg3ba3MEQ_tuA5cHu1AaaRwe5wKPkOtMRaPj_dBohVLiJL2ngo8Hb0-nPtwyzzo-cXaAe-otzBNU2txlk2PW4Jm5EyMhxfDSCxSccjSKG2ULDdHeAyTKr0nTyNjwmTdCtAzQ5g/w400-h300/20220421_121034.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'm likin' this sign!</td></tr></tbody></table><br />Between the morning's drive and the monster hill, time had marched on. Whangapoua itself was a significant detour, but not far down the road was the turnoff to Matarangi, which we took. There we found a fascinating seaside village which seems to be in a state of rapid expansion. It seems a world away from Auckland, but at less than three hours' driving, I guess that's the point!</div><div><br /></div><div>After a satisfying lunch at a local cafe, we did a short lap through the assortment of second-homes, before sneaking along the Bluff Road. Reassuringly, we weren't the only ones ignoring the closure signs - three trail bikes hooned passed us, and we saw a couple of groups on foot.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3t_18DDRWRfY15DOsID4BGnG7F84tTZBY-IuhUaqQHufT7sOYWsMlyuMYRP5ZBkDy3EiLVOY898FRnZR1ycbat2c-N-I6sPglGunbnOjoi4A3JSaL9CG70UH7fcsZ45JBGgDo8i1rfX6HxsVqvCbNmtQXXAlj3900SK95txubq0R1a_bwod4uuj2Fjg/s4000/20220421_134506.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3t_18DDRWRfY15DOsID4BGnG7F84tTZBY-IuhUaqQHufT7sOYWsMlyuMYRP5ZBkDy3EiLVOY898FRnZR1ycbat2c-N-I6sPglGunbnOjoi4A3JSaL9CG70UH7fcsZ45JBGgDo8i1rfX6HxsVqvCbNmtQXXAlj3900SK95txubq0R1a_bwod4uuj2Fjg/w400-h300/20220421_134506.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">It wasn't before the closure justification became evident - we didn't linger, and enjoyed the rest of the car-free road. A few dozen more holiday homes and a small hill later, we rejoined the main route, bound for Whitianga. </p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP-3sBrFXZsFHvsIphAGt6l6tL1w8T_HHPLm4SXIAmYtqVwpQCzlqfwnc77ZkF31ymrencIgeWcF4Kxg6Tu2_avyoKAih0RM7W4AH2Fo4HN6LeswOY3FUhRuF73e4-rbxI_Df6TpkvLlaA3oUyrXyKCtGz0uYKaKHOfKYPMQ8mrhMe5L26figCA7TuYw/s4000/20220421_134608.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP-3sBrFXZsFHvsIphAGt6l6tL1w8T_HHPLm4SXIAmYtqVwpQCzlqfwnc77ZkF31ymrencIgeWcF4Kxg6Tu2_avyoKAih0RM7W4AH2Fo4HN6LeswOY3FUhRuF73e4-rbxI_Df6TpkvLlaA3oUyrXyKCtGz0uYKaKHOfKYPMQ8mrhMe5L26figCA7TuYw/w400-h300/20220421_134608.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>It was another hour before we pulled up at the wharf, and before noticing the time, I was considering the merits of a detour - a short ferry ride would jazz up the ride a little bit, but at the expense of another hour's riding. Not only was our accommodation on the opposite side of the peninsula, but the day had really marched on - had I realised it was 3pm before I started faffing around with online route measuring tools, I wouldn't have bothered!</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmb-EirQYwUD_nqVWVJ7T8c2ncH43Om5PiZaU67FV-xjScAe7Pwmt5cG14uqBJhxR5lElrjsOnXwd6SAtXiCA6tzYD9SXw4OzK9zclXen5_C8ZI73xioX72sGi4vF_s3N8jRvWufAsAC599s9Oo6HPhG2ytQ1C3rA229VEtKAhczK650rDgtWis4sQVA/s4000/20220421_145733.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmb-EirQYwUD_nqVWVJ7T8c2ncH43Om5PiZaU67FV-xjScAe7Pwmt5cG14uqBJhxR5lElrjsOnXwd6SAtXiCA6tzYD9SXw4OzK9zclXen5_C8ZI73xioX72sGi4vF_s3N8jRvWufAsAC599s9Oo6HPhG2ytQ1C3rA229VEtKAhczK650rDgtWis4sQVA/w400-h300/20220421_145733.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p style="text-align: left;">A short highway bash took us through to the start of "309 Road". It took almost an hour for my hunch to be confirmed - that the road was named after its maximum elevation. While waiting for Sarah, I probably should have lifted my bike over my head to get my GPS to the requisite height - it was reading 308m above sea level wheels down.</p><p style="text-align: left;">While the weather was a slight improvement on the previous day's, the road and scenery were definitely a solid step down. The bush was nice enough, but didn't reach the lofty bar the Coroglen-Tapu Road had set. And, despite being drier, the road surface was rougher, and all in all, it just wasn't quite as enjoyable. </p><p style="text-align: left;">There was a short walk to see some kauri which we didn't do as we neither wanted to leave our bikes, nor did we feel comfortable taking them through the dieback disinfection station. On the upside, we did take a short track to see a little waterfall...</p><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFvwAOwdtUsP9HUlvUZRt9qRwv1hzmxs7Hgd0zovf3uwcAZ0-VvW4KH-FGL_bYZqxFWyUr-VU6z-9kzV5TffeyuUFB2Id5s59Q0hSxERB2xxqXdfzW4JhfTnmtXo9IU1cEB-iM_X2jSrE-FgbikwJ_95pbOz09OyRF3rml5g5BhIRvsW_UbA7-ujE_Kg/s4000/20220421_162127.jpg"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFvwAOwdtUsP9HUlvUZRt9qRwv1hzmxs7Hgd0zovf3uwcAZ0-VvW4KH-FGL_bYZqxFWyUr-VU6z-9kzV5TffeyuUFB2Id5s59Q0hSxERB2xxqXdfzW4JhfTnmtXo9IU1cEB-iM_X2jSrE-FgbikwJ_95pbOz09OyRF3rml5g5BhIRvsW_UbA7-ujE_Kg/w300-h400/20220421_162127.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>... and we made it through a weird pig farm which has <a href="https://www.rnz.co.nz/news/national/361042/coromandel-man-condemned-to-house-arrest-to-protect-pigs-from-torture" target="_blank">a hell of a back-story</a>. There were interesting signs all over the fences (not that the pigs were behing the fences - they were all over the road) that advised it being <a href="https://mpi.govt.nz/dmsdocument/3597-feeding-food-waste-to-pigs" target="_blank">illegal to feed them</a>. </div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMu6HwsqNRCeqYRMeIKna0c7D-bac-yOK7MrPJO4-RbwaisIkyb7GI_slqGTBx3SY3fOPqTkzBbYkpS9d84_ooNWKvxD2ZoqtWvvwW1uHkq9F2hTjX1U5bC3elC3IuFwwC0q3_o-_7xIMOmYIET8gC8kbf7qln51gV_8VVkljaU3PkCcZaXq7U628vEA/s4000/20220421_163314.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMu6HwsqNRCeqYRMeIKna0c7D-bac-yOK7MrPJO4-RbwaisIkyb7GI_slqGTBx3SY3fOPqTkzBbYkpS9d84_ooNWKvxD2ZoqtWvvwW1uHkq9F2hTjX1U5bC3elC3IuFwwC0q3_o-_7xIMOmYIET8gC8kbf7qln51gV_8VVkljaU3PkCcZaXq7U628vEA/w400-h300/20220421_163314.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Duly unfed</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div>The final highlight of the road was an intriguing "theme park" which seems to be highly rated by the AA. It wasn't open, so we remain none the wiser.</div><div><br /></div><div>This time the gravel road ended pretty close to the ride's terminus, and we were soon checking in with a relieved hostess - I'm not sure her notion of a bike ride extended to the elapsed 5.5 hours that we'd been away! On her recommendation we checked out the Star and Garter Hotel for dinner, and struck it lucky with $13 pizzas. Fittingly, one of those pizzas was named "The 309" which I ordered in honour of the day. The main ingredient was pulled-pork, which I've only just now connected to the roadside pigs... Good old kiwi humour - completely lost on me, I'm ashamed to say.</div><div><br /></div><div><u>Stats</u>: <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/7015792838" target="_blank">83km ridden</a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>Friday - Rain, what rain?</b></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">The day's forecast was not at all good, and the area was under a couple of Severe Weather Watches on the Metservice website, at least one of those for heavy rain. </p><p style="text-align: left;">I'd planned to do a loop around the top of the peninsula, with a few variants possible. While we hadn't woken to rain, the forecast was hard to ignore, and the best option seemed to be to drive together to Colville, and then set off north up the western coastline - pan-flat compared to the second half of the ride, but easier to bail on if the weather got as foul as predicted.</p><p style="text-align: left;">My rear shifting had been playing up the previous afternoon, somewhat out of the blue. I was delighted to discover that the bolt attaching my derailleur to the bike was loose - always best to have a clear explanation for a mystery problem. Once tightened, everything seemed in order, and for good measure, I gave both drive trains a nice wipe down and fresh lube for the day ahead.</p><p style="text-align: left;">We drove to Colville, and parked up across the road from a burger joint that we hoped would be open when we returned. After a few minutes on sealed road, we reached a T-intersection and the start of a long unsealed loop. </p><p style="text-align: left;">Our direction of travel was predominantly northwest, and the road was invariably right on the coastline. Up ahead, we could see rain over the Hauraki Gulf and ominous black clouds, but aside from a bit of light drizzle every now and then, it seemed to be holding off. In the meantime, the riding was delightful.</p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMQJMxr71yd5qa-sgRVXyDzK4q5my52iIttJF-5LEP5JwygslIlk0gb_syZKwptL1d6gCz5AnXAunuzlODOhV9ur0sPtVJ1rniQSy5jd7IIhSuHXjPHkghrcMpOiW7-aoBMZWGjvMBUuJwYwtvIkqez0Ts0aRvdIzx0b8N6Wvvy9iobJIjOyCByx2jyQ/s4000/20220422_121706.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMQJMxr71yd5qa-sgRVXyDzK4q5my52iIttJF-5LEP5JwygslIlk0gb_syZKwptL1d6gCz5AnXAunuzlODOhV9ur0sPtVJ1rniQSy5jd7IIhSuHXjPHkghrcMpOiW7-aoBMZWGjvMBUuJwYwtvIkqez0Ts0aRvdIzx0b8N6Wvvy9iobJIjOyCByx2jyQ/w400-h300/20220422_121706.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Because I knew the route basically hugged the coastline, I enjoyed being able to zoom my GPS map right out so the tip of the peninsula filled the majority of the screen, and to monitor progress relative to our starting point in Colville. Slowly but surely we began to swing around towards the east, and as we did so, the road veered away from the coast and tipped up. Over the other side of the first big hill, was the small settlement of Port Jackson.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrpciSkjL-8KwMtImDu7c6wcA-sUkiulaIGs-g45sDl_aYT4S5oIx6Xr_KuH590fTmrDCqZO-9O_y1WUyn_9de7tcre-pg3pJxgdgGUaJR32Rb1TcAlH4-lhgJSSX3xedtQq609g0xNxz6Um_eVIp8l8Oa8iw3t3ygvYWFE05wmnLZsTPsvWkrMO-EEg/s4000/20220422_122929.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrpciSkjL-8KwMtImDu7c6wcA-sUkiulaIGs-g45sDl_aYT4S5oIx6Xr_KuH590fTmrDCqZO-9O_y1WUyn_9de7tcre-pg3pJxgdgGUaJR32Rb1TcAlH4-lhgJSSX3xedtQq609g0xNxz6Um_eVIp8l8Oa8iw3t3ygvYWFE05wmnLZsTPsvWkrMO-EEg/w400-h300/20220422_122929.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p style="text-align: left;">The run into Port Jackson signalled we'd begun the second, hilly phase of the ride. Remarkably, we were wetter from sweat than we were from rain, and it seemed almost a shame to have to walk our bikes through a ford before the next major climb began.</p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIaiMlxFRKfJ7XlarWZRCyyvdEqKLRFlknhoWg9F39GXioqGfpaWBlAAyue67Ww92uo4AnmPSXEHqNSTjZeimCtrwnmfYPY_rdGWZTqtw63yj-xw3V2RSVlZDnXs2SkB8mi5t304jOCNk6LrOYdkjZO3B-oF9pluiNzf-tlb1onBK8_dSFZC72sE9vZg/s4000/20220422_124622.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIaiMlxFRKfJ7XlarWZRCyyvdEqKLRFlknhoWg9F39GXioqGfpaWBlAAyue67Ww92uo4AnmPSXEHqNSTjZeimCtrwnmfYPY_rdGWZTqtw63yj-xw3V2RSVlZDnXs2SkB8mi5t304jOCNk6LrOYdkjZO3B-oF9pluiNzf-tlb1onBK8_dSFZC72sE9vZg/w400-h300/20220422_124622.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">Once elevated, we could clearly make out Little Barrier Island to the northwest, and the sprawling Great Barrier Island to the north. (One day...) The road and its views made for great riding through to the road's terminus at Fletcher Bay.</p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjJs_AZTZ8_M6LY1qi7XzJgZ2RoTPwuBXwt--MRzLlSsB-yQJl7xeiJi2Jlexlxtb5O_bT4RXLC8D4I6vIaP_1npGDItl7ND8VvJlFhqvONSc8oI8oD2we79DjeLO4JvNVq6q2NsBeRE8bJwy9QhYzqlJ81YWVP-fO7ni_lm3Qs3m0aeGxhgaxEXihsQ/s4000/20220422_125957.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjJs_AZTZ8_M6LY1qi7XzJgZ2RoTPwuBXwt--MRzLlSsB-yQJl7xeiJi2Jlexlxtb5O_bT4RXLC8D4I6vIaP_1npGDItl7ND8VvJlFhqvONSc8oI8oD2we79DjeLO4JvNVq6q2NsBeRE8bJwy9QhYzqlJ81YWVP-fO7ni_lm3Qs3m0aeGxhgaxEXihsQ/w400-h300/20220422_125957.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">Without much of a pause, we picked up the walking/MTB track which would take us through to the next dead-end road at Stony Bay. It was a rough climb to start with, which we made no attempt to ride. After a short descent, we were going uphill again, and while it may have been possible to nurse our slick rear tyres up the steep slope, a tactical walk seemed wise.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpFMmK5sWUSZbPIsPn3CCV1mKYvNT87b9ecjw8Fd1SCHpz-PwQwU7GA6w4Y7U23OFXjIOLc-CuHDTgGGwSJFAzswjewqESEdh-BpzacHpFRDikLuJmPs4XCMR-vXJ1Y9XrsJrn7QBspUw0RyF3pdDqGwRXyAfqrhC8HfEkpTztxgb_PouohBM9bpVJtA/s4000/20220422_132700.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpFMmK5sWUSZbPIsPn3CCV1mKYvNT87b9ecjw8Fd1SCHpz-PwQwU7GA6w4Y7U23OFXjIOLc-CuHDTgGGwSJFAzswjewqESEdh-BpzacHpFRDikLuJmPs4XCMR-vXJ1Y9XrsJrn7QBspUw0RyF3pdDqGwRXyAfqrhC8HfEkpTztxgb_PouohBM9bpVJtA/w400-h300/20220422_132700.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Things got even worse when we had to navigate a few hundred metres of bog. We mostly carried our bikes so the tyres wouldn't pick up too much mud (heavy and likely to end up all over us when we got rolling again), and tried to keep our feet relatively clean by judicious route choice - easier said than done!</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib7M3tCKHh51cmXhWT34Xr8Yq_CawHE1RCvk9xji2S_40UgCUyDM_c5Fwa_pDol-LJgyI5FE3-tOkzGFlQjSqCzeTmMqQMh47vQpCgwl-nqPYNEB1CcubE9oQPO-Y_W1jdgFSaziswNWhQ7cIc8biVvtyKAzV3_4rXY9wCwi8ROI3YCoxn4_q_r3PKXw/s4000/20220422_133203.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib7M3tCKHh51cmXhWT34Xr8Yq_CawHE1RCvk9xji2S_40UgCUyDM_c5Fwa_pDol-LJgyI5FE3-tOkzGFlQjSqCzeTmMqQMh47vQpCgwl-nqPYNEB1CcubE9oQPO-Y_W1jdgFSaziswNWhQ7cIc8biVvtyKAzV3_4rXY9wCwi8ROI3YCoxn4_q_r3PKXw/w300-h400/20220422_133203.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">It was a blessed relief when we reached a stile, beyond which the track conditions improved sufficiently to do some actual riding.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Before long we were confronted by what the Kennett Bros describe as "quite the conundrum" (<i>Bikepacking Aotearoa</i>, Coromandel Peninsula route). Signage had warned us that the MTB route was slippery when wet, and not recommended in those conditions, so naturally we went with the alternative - not a conundrum at all...!</p><p style="text-align: left;">After the traverse of the farmland, pretty much anything would have seemed pretty nice, but even in absolute terms, most of the trail was very sweet indeed. There was one section which we didn't ride much of - a steep descent into a wee cove, followed by a steep grovel up and out of it. But the bush was stunning (plenty of nīkau again), and the state of the trail was awesome as well. It was almost as if it had been built with our fat-tyred road bikes in mind.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjak4s8COZsBpvzE_qCBEhaDTAe6Z13qj0ezUI0lvcPU-tcmh3svTYd8Phbcd9J2OUkSOjwBDgkDkCq_gCTecsb3M9TbKGf0AwGB4E9iAxSnJfWPvApF_ZlJY49CpnLYBcyCdCyqCMtItPugGyjZK2Kk9hdLTZx6hAFMdM7__I8LgEzi95RMrevhclJsg/s4000/20220422_142021.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjak4s8COZsBpvzE_qCBEhaDTAe6Z13qj0ezUI0lvcPU-tcmh3svTYd8Phbcd9J2OUkSOjwBDgkDkCq_gCTecsb3M9TbKGf0AwGB4E9iAxSnJfWPvApF_ZlJY49CpnLYBcyCdCyqCMtItPugGyjZK2Kk9hdLTZx6hAFMdM7__I8LgEzi95RMrevhclJsg/w400-h300/20220422_142021.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">We didn't rush, and took various opportunities to stop and admire our surroundings. Sitting on a particularly high-off-the-ground seat, I amused Sarah by swinging my legs in mid-air like a little boy. </p><p style="text-align: left;"> After a long period of riding high above the ocean, we dropped down to Stony Bay, to find a decent number of groups camping, and more arriving just as we were leaving. After another climb and a bit of undulation, we descended again, this time into Port Charles. There we saw four guys on motorbikes which looked more suited to urban commuting than remote gravel roads - they also had consecutive number plates which added to the intrigue.</p><p style="text-align: left;">From Port Charles, we turned inland, and soon after were pleasantly surprised to see signage for a cafe at the Tangiaro Kiwi Retreat Lodge. While the ice-creams we chose from the freezer were instantly gratifying, our coffees took an eternity to arrive - the poor barista was also trying to hold the fort at reception, and I guess the clients there were worth a few more bob than the two grubby cyclists...</p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbAM7pLePIfKOBY0E3u4NhGnfw35pCDBR1GWfIf6PyvcYMI2p8PHLcHGVX2NKgOK5hHva2OAoN6vWHNDiXyHHakwjRwRfehQauJPycXRdYtph2fjtehKqKqA7AEtfQW5vjcr2jB5zFPXJ_SC99jhiS2vhnHmikWjZHL8FpTQeTv0YxuPRe5FVQH--qCw/s4000/20220422_160058.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbAM7pLePIfKOBY0E3u4NhGnfw35pCDBR1GWfIf6PyvcYMI2p8PHLcHGVX2NKgOK5hHva2OAoN6vWHNDiXyHHakwjRwRfehQauJPycXRdYtph2fjtehKqKqA7AEtfQW5vjcr2jB5zFPXJ_SC99jhiS2vhnHmikWjZHL8FpTQeTv0YxuPRe5FVQH--qCw/w400-h300/20220422_160058.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">With a pick-me-up on board, the next three hills were dispatched with no trouble at all (also helped by each being successively smaller than the last), and we returned to Colville to find our car unmolested. Unfortunately both the burger joint and the convenience store were closed, but it was only a short drive back to Coromandel, showers and dinner.</p><p style="text-align: left;">On the drive we wondered how the weather forecasters could have got it so wrong, but as it turned out, they hadn't - the rain had passed south of us. Lou, our hostess, had tried to get to Whitianga on the road we'd ridden the previous day, but hadn't made it past Simpson's Beach due to a very swollen river, and a closed bridge. </p><div><u>Stats</u>: <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/7021080889" target="_blank">74km ridden</a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>Saturday - one Innie and one Outie</b></div><p style="text-align: left;">It was time for us to leave the peninsula. I had planned a walk the following day, and to set us up for that, I wanted to spend the night in Whakatane. En route, we'd planned to do a glass-bottomed boat ride out of Whitianga, but alas, that had been cancelled the previous evening due to forecasted swells. </p><p style="text-align: left;">The sea conditions when we reached Whitianga weren't much to speak of, so we checked whether indeed the cancellation was still in effect - it was (visibility would be lousy, we were told) - so we rang the competition and signed on for a shorter sightseeing hoon. We had to hustle to get to the departure point at Cooks Beach, and I was somewhat relieved to find a coffee cart there, and just enough time to enjoy it before our hour-long ride began.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMXbLrfzeu3da3WaSE24FRXe5-0QUPtZHRCkeb3-MYdgk8buPSEtb6XqgO3ZPWTNjj58_E_e6NS9DR-6iZWIW8A0mcK0MQgi-VS1VUnRf4nlr7GI39K2OBMukEN6PUMBSyNwhnSq0MAQ5vcZyPDpAObCFIyBK0XUIfGrp4BXAON0AXTvPUbgD-A6eCcQ/s4000/20220423_113154.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMXbLrfzeu3da3WaSE24FRXe5-0QUPtZHRCkeb3-MYdgk8buPSEtb6XqgO3ZPWTNjj58_E_e6NS9DR-6iZWIW8A0mcK0MQgi-VS1VUnRf4nlr7GI39K2OBMukEN6PUMBSyNwhnSq0MAQ5vcZyPDpAObCFIyBK0XUIfGrp4BXAON0AXTvPUbgD-A6eCcQ/w400-h300/20220423_113154.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cathedral Cove</td></tr></tbody></table><br />The shorter, earlier boat tour gave us an unexpected couple of hours back, so we enjoyed a bit of a walk on the beach at Whangamata before stopping next in Waihi. I'd never seen Martha Mine, but knew it was worth looking for. Even so, it was shocking to see this humungous hole in the ground, barely a few minutes walk from the main drag! We went back to the car to get the bikes, and did a 5km lap of the perimeter track in civvies. <br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyxw0-1ictJe11-r0bJeCgein2vDYF3v9G2AdcM-j41_SqnndbSOxuY7gwRuak4jmoo7X356ujk-8dzZlwAxOTZYCAu_S876sQMYkP8vjd3pvk0f0v8bEwi9swmgOG0gt8Ta9z9eIU0qLEMhq8Xx-l6h4obBqKS5FDZmj427kGTT1EynVtx21QAW-NIw/s4000/20220423_153025.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyxw0-1ictJe11-r0bJeCgein2vDYF3v9G2AdcM-j41_SqnndbSOxuY7gwRuak4jmoo7X356ujk-8dzZlwAxOTZYCAu_S876sQMYkP8vjd3pvk0f0v8bEwi9swmgOG0gt8Ta9z9eIU0qLEMhq8Xx-l6h4obBqKS5FDZmj427kGTT1EynVtx21QAW-NIw/w400-h300/20220423_153025.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Martha Mine</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">The ride was most enjoyable, both in terms of the remarkable mining infrastructure, but also that for the first time in the trip, it was neither cold nor wet!</p><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrtb7wBtf6SvWnfNmJ60LWrf7LjtyfbvYntPCVgNyb5Uw21Ze5JD8uRHu0eO08k_IVPxr6Bh2L4II43woz5UCZTYMw4kwaYXDYsROZLlheoCHPzFi8o0Zud3IbQp8tziEaOzSgyI7Z53SVr92R3o3IoUz1u7nsZE8cnhhMSoyv-FWunWdz1CisLQymCw/s4000/20220423_154214.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrtb7wBtf6SvWnfNmJ60LWrf7LjtyfbvYntPCVgNyb5Uw21Ze5JD8uRHu0eO08k_IVPxr6Bh2L4II43woz5UCZTYMw4kwaYXDYsROZLlheoCHPzFi8o0Zud3IbQp8tziEaOzSgyI7Z53SVr92R3o3IoUz1u7nsZE8cnhhMSoyv-FWunWdz1CisLQymCw/w400-h300/20220423_154214.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Approaching the old pump station</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">Once back in the car, I was transfixed on a single question, framed in terms of tummy buttons - would Mt Maunganui's outie fit into Martha Mine's innie?! Rather than resort to answering the question by a bit of internet research (which I'm <i>about </i>to do), it seemed like we'd get a decent sense of the answer by simply riding around the Mount. The Martha Mine pit rim track had been just under 5km, and so I'm guessing the pit edge itself might be more like 3.5-4km long.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Before long we were rolling again, and somewhat overcome by curiosity, I was less attentive to signage at Mauao (aka <i>The Mount</i>) than I should have been. About halfway around the mountain, having seen not a single cyclist, in began to dawn on me that we were riding the trail elicitly (albeit sensibly and courteously to walkers and runners). Soon after that alarm bell started to go off, we were advised by a couple of individuals that we shouldn't be riding, and duly walked the rest, feeling a bit sheepish. It had been a costly discovery, but the perimeter was just under 3.5km... It looks like a big hill, but so too did the mine look like a huge hole in the ground. The jury was still out.</p></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6NrgO0TDJBYEdIqANVKRnw_TeMMJc4JsSIfhxFQ0lMOf1A6AeM0qzzpRtL34lzUm2c4jYkOuvzzWliTOPmMAzhtnjNBjOsZGcbXB47TfoxO_xhYxrKkwtQ-F03lqFaS4KTNshNi00isbu7vfgUEicZb6ayub7jUgp6KTtAU2AWXPDmEDz-nUIyLBDtA/s4000/20220423_173256.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6NrgO0TDJBYEdIqANVKRnw_TeMMJc4JsSIfhxFQ0lMOf1A6AeM0qzzpRtL34lzUm2c4jYkOuvzzWliTOPmMAzhtnjNBjOsZGcbXB47TfoxO_xhYxrKkwtQ-F03lqFaS4KTNshNi00isbu7vfgUEicZb6ayub7jUgp6KTtAU2AWXPDmEDz-nUIyLBDtA/w400-h300/20220423_173256.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">Maybe I should have stuck to online research. According to Wikipedia, Mauao is 232m high, and while it isn't easy to find the depth of the open pit at Martha Mine, Strava's base map has contours suggesting it is only about 120m deep. How demotivating, and rather than getting stuck into some maths-geekery, I'm going to guess and answer my original question with "probably not". </p><p style="text-align: left;">Armed with the "maybe" that the perimeter track lengths were suggesting, I was able to suitably focus the night-time, pre-dinner drive to Whakatane. After check-in, we walked into town and eventually found a nice Turkish restaurant that would take us (and that was before he knew Sarah was his first ever Mongolian customer...)!</p><div><u>Stats</u>: <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/7025544448" target="_blank">10km ridden</a>, half of them illicitly...</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>Sunday - Underground River</b></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">While Sarah's pretty damn hopeless at keeping surprises an actual surprise, I'm good at it. So, she had no clue where we were headed, at least not until a few minutes beyond the i-SITE in Kawerau. Three consecutive turns in complete agreement with prominent "Tarawera Falls" signage later, the gig was up... Still, these falls have a unique aspect to them, so the suspense remained.</p><p style="text-align: left;">When I first read about this waterfall - in <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2022/jan/15/blasting-through-a-cliff-face-the-beauty-of-tarawera-falls-is-testimony-to-a-partners-grief" target="_blank">an article on The Guardian</a> of all places - I had to ask myself "how is this not more well-known?!" Despite that only being a few months ago, I've been looking for an opportunity to see the falls since, and the day had promptly arrived.</p><p style="text-align: left;">As I'd bought a permit online, a visit to the i-SITE was only necessary to test the waters regarding the "40 minute drive ... on unsealed road" mentioned in the article. The <a href="https://permits.maoriinvestments.co.nz/" target="_blank">permit application process</a> had seemed to rule out accessing the trail head by bicycle, but there had also been a mention of recreational access to the forest. The clerk at the info desk made it quite clear we were expected to go in by car (yes sir, even on a Sunday), and after the previous evening's stuff up, I had no inclination to disrespect yet another landowner's wishes. </p><p style="text-align: left;">The signage continued to be awesome all the way to the parking area (much less so on the way out of the forest, FYI). The falls itself was a short walk, along which were impressive natural features, including the crystal-clear river we'd soon see cascading down a cliff.</p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8H3yk0IwAt6R4jgJkIXseWBoBRbXqql60pvWkYqaZWydwCYbBae2zXQPj-RJYOKQtiAFecjPF5UVvS_7vPd8eTPQH1B5a0DsItSRsX3Ma4y-J3n1Ea8tIzp51TmoYG01ajqQj5368UQiHqYJyLaf_WHO6GiYW0gZSnL1T3uKrOMDiDDOzvrjGeNYuHQ/s4000/20220424_113946.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8H3yk0IwAt6R4jgJkIXseWBoBRbXqql60pvWkYqaZWydwCYbBae2zXQPj-RJYOKQtiAFecjPF5UVvS_7vPd8eTPQH1B5a0DsItSRsX3Ma4y-J3n1Ea8tIzp51TmoYG01ajqQj5368UQiHqYJyLaf_WHO6GiYW0gZSnL1T3uKrOMDiDDOzvrjGeNYuHQ/w400-h300/20220424_113946.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">When we reached the waterfall, it really was a stunning sight, not to mention unusual. </p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1-Hg_e-PF04ai8Fp_IXnV2bZtdbfL3YfwNttEJg9uJVDa7i4WrqAihzfy-9LPnAJUGJeA_z2KBvd_WTs8TyssNjMduNG7HqbGGF0Sf0-PcO4iOITKfX_olmE1SoFQUzdUaSo_4Sl6cIKabUGan1RNUJX4wqNNT5_98wumSzvV8jNdGC_aSkaZS2aVKA/s4000/20220424_114315.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1-Hg_e-PF04ai8Fp_IXnV2bZtdbfL3YfwNttEJg9uJVDa7i4WrqAihzfy-9LPnAJUGJeA_z2KBvd_WTs8TyssNjMduNG7HqbGGF0Sf0-PcO4iOITKfX_olmE1SoFQUzdUaSo_4Sl6cIKabUGan1RNUJX4wqNNT5_98wumSzvV8jNdGC_aSkaZS2aVKA/w300-h400/20220424_114315.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">After admiring the falls for a few minutes, we proceeded further along the track, which took us above the waterfall. It was incredible to hear gurgling coming from dry gullies, and to see flowing water simply vanish into the ground.</p><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8S8HSsSISVehLlZOBPCWudPQJuNb91ky2oXBR18acFaJcLDno-ESDSbO0jTz_xzlc_lJN87jJV6V_D1Avc3hU_WnSv3TJUiAYOKYwzU17IjB9saTjgZAjjlOy3KpWqt9-1m-4tSaLsJgJGV8-dShYOVrLKt64U-olQruyReP3EawCcWMXObjS8Ncmtw/s4000/20220424_115645.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8S8HSsSISVehLlZOBPCWudPQJuNb91ky2oXBR18acFaJcLDno-ESDSbO0jTz_xzlc_lJN87jJV6V_D1Avc3hU_WnSv3TJUiAYOKYwzU17IjB9saTjgZAjjlOy3KpWqt9-1m-4tSaLsJgJGV8-dShYOVrLKt64U-olQruyReP3EawCcWMXObjS8Ncmtw/w400-h300/20220424_115645.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">There one moment, gone the next</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">Given the nice conditions, and no pressing need to get back to the car, we decided to go all the way to the river's source, Lake Tarawera, to make an 11km round trip. We saw other people occasionally, but mostly the walk was all about the natural wonders.</p><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnBfn8a2BVgwBvkHLCIryQtxpyTp6p6H0neAI71VI0Be7T06hghM86oclic_4q-1sYWC2Y8YsTyGZTbam4Nm2i2ppHDLqexW1f-InGq_71Lko4f3FWdtevqj5cET13kyXJz14w2ewlINmXUF5uwXZpoQWYSnF6NcEYXrbkHXIT-EU0AFkYpsok8gzx4A/s4000/20220424_124907.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnBfn8a2BVgwBvkHLCIryQtxpyTp6p6H0neAI71VI0Be7T06hghM86oclic_4q-1sYWC2Y8YsTyGZTbam4Nm2i2ppHDLqexW1f-InGq_71Lko4f3FWdtevqj5cET13kyXJz14w2ewlINmXUF5uwXZpoQWYSnF6NcEYXrbkHXIT-EU0AFkYpsok8gzx4A/w400-h300/20220424_124907.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lake Tarawera Outlet ahoy</td></tr></tbody></table><br />Compared to the forests we'd been riding through on the peninsula, the trees here seemed less ancient, but the way they interacted with the landforms blew our minds from time to time.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpwD2vdBh5WxwHJm50XbqbRIBqtdPdeVor_Mu1gFtRgEoy6pYb-Z8GJxAFo4AD6gRQZ5tvG9qouHuqh_4Hcww0a85q0EcAcUMgUKZSWFE06m3hz8ufFtXp53A_SGjjTqC7CWQcuzuogrZJJ2D2_h58S9ynmYrVwWdqUntcvc-yAqcgjw_kgFK_Iu1f6Q/s4000/20220424_132336.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpwD2vdBh5WxwHJm50XbqbRIBqtdPdeVor_Mu1gFtRgEoy6pYb-Z8GJxAFo4AD6gRQZ5tvG9qouHuqh_4Hcww0a85q0EcAcUMgUKZSWFE06m3hz8ufFtXp53A_SGjjTqC7CWQcuzuogrZJJ2D2_h58S9ynmYrVwWdqUntcvc-yAqcgjw_kgFK_Iu1f6Q/w400-h300/20220424_132336.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">Once back at the car, we drove out of the forest, and found a local bakery for a late lunch. Next stop was an obscure swimming hole south of Rotorua which Jenifer Silva kindly introduced me to many years ago. It is always very nice to drop back in every couple of years, and particularly to find that it hasn't yet become a commercial venture!</p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcCIaKlrxlK_riVruYGHqgwaQfnYpUNVp5YOIMRMq2TysRelp67WliP7FjuGKa1EVr0ClEHii56tGeUxVWDYgn8hbhJ32jWEj0I3IPr5AKApPvLxdCI0-fj3kq0jMq0-sFIU4HeI_dk0s7GIJ6mB1NmmRF2RyriwOPhkHvoZCKve_M1d1NkwrC4bARvQ/s3648/20220424_162940.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2736" data-original-width="3648" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcCIaKlrxlK_riVruYGHqgwaQfnYpUNVp5YOIMRMq2TysRelp67WliP7FjuGKa1EVr0ClEHii56tGeUxVWDYgn8hbhJ32jWEj0I3IPr5AKApPvLxdCI0-fj3kq0jMq0-sFIU4HeI_dk0s7GIJ6mB1NmmRF2RyriwOPhkHvoZCKve_M1d1NkwrC4bARvQ/w400-h300/20220424_162940.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">We bypassed Taupō, and paused at Turangi to assess our overnight options. I didn't much feel like driving all the way back to Wellington, and knew that it would be dark by the time we got to the other end of the Desert Road. After much deliberation, we decided to pull the pin, and had a lovely restful evening as a result. </p><div><u>Stats</u>: <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/7031259735" target="_blank">11km walked</a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>ANZAC Monday - Doing > Viewing</b></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">After the Paris-Roubaix screw up, I'd wised up with the motel selections, so in theory, had the opportunity to watch <i>La Doyenne</i>, Liège–Bastogne–Liège, on Sunday night. In practice, the men's race started way past my bedtime, and so the morning replay seemed the better option. Unfortunately, it too had stiff competition, and in the end, rather than watch folk cycling on TV between 8 and 10am, these folk decided we'd be better to ride bikes ourselves.</p><p style="text-align: left;">After a few wrong turns, we found our way onto a lovely bit of single track alongside the Tongariro River. It seemed feasible that we could do the full 15km loop and make it back to our accommodation by the published check-out time, but just in case, I decided to leave the SH1 side of the river until last, lest we have to make a dash home.</p><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijPSsskMSBVR00XnAsomTW86FZZP0wdTBbSUUjkT0uemA0PiQI9P6fwEQn8j-3h2kD1ZCgGiYe1PXLOWSYYpiXc0ISJe16T6s0aHyhDqizYJItB2NkLOMuh3UnA-ETDIS_Rg7Z3ds6ygUtWT246hefLu4AEeyk84uIc6OOb33CRpkV51NEmiaICdQvDQ/s4000/20220425_090535.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijPSsskMSBVR00XnAsomTW86FZZP0wdTBbSUUjkT0uemA0PiQI9P6fwEQn8j-3h2kD1ZCgGiYe1PXLOWSYYpiXc0ISJe16T6s0aHyhDqizYJItB2NkLOMuh3UnA-ETDIS_Rg7Z3ds6ygUtWT246hefLu4AEeyk84uIc6OOb33CRpkV51NEmiaICdQvDQ/w400-h300/20220425_090535.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Turangi's autumn leaves</td></tr></tbody></table><br />The grade 2 trail was lovely, and our bikes were perfect for it. We didn't come across too many other users, so could travel fairly quickly, but nonetheless, I was conscious of plying on a bit of pressure to ride fast.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihy76x8ISIQHpl1MguKDeKneiv1rS0W31GVd_xZj5mE2ykdnk-Uqk2AS44uvJ_vejllwhgaq-VnyTW0FQCDeR6qVdJVddpOH_dnVVuP7FWr_t333R7FU3xPshY9L5HFgGAcKgOYHkI4Q4gqQZuA-oRtP3eC4a_9Ec4-c-00D3v6sdp419VRsYnf7v-pg/s4000/20220425_092001.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihy76x8ISIQHpl1MguKDeKneiv1rS0W31GVd_xZj5mE2ykdnk-Uqk2AS44uvJ_vejllwhgaq-VnyTW0FQCDeR6qVdJVddpOH_dnVVuP7FWr_t333R7FU3xPshY9L5HFgGAcKgOYHkI4Q4gqQZuA-oRtP3eC4a_9Ec4-c-00D3v6sdp419VRsYnf7v-pg/w300-h400/20220425_092001.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">Any concerns I might have had about Sarah's enjoyment of the morning ride were dispelled when we finally crossed the river. I pointed out we were going to be struggling to get back by the check-out time, and wondered out-loud about heading back on the road. "You're welcome to - I'll stay on the track" was the response! Given how content our motelier seemed when we returned a few minutes before 10am, we surely could have got away with riding the whole thing, but in the end we skipped the last couple of kilometres - a great excuse to stop in Turangi again!</p><p style="text-align: left;">The ride was just the thing to set us up for a relaxed drive back to Wellington, and we even hit Ōtaki early enough that we didn't spend too much time stationary.</p><p><u>Stats</u>: <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/7036097717" target="_blank">19km ridden</a></p><p><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b>* * *</b></p><p>I haven't done many cycling holidays in this format, and so it was a novelty. I know these things are blindingly obvious, but from the point of view of someone who's done a lot of point-to-point cycle tours recently, there's a lot to be said for the car as a means to haul extra gear (on the trip, the workstand and cleaning facilities were particularly useful), to lock stuff inside and/or to, and to travel further and in less time than you might achieve with a traditional cycle tour. Will trade again, almost surely.</p><p>We were both really happy with the routes we rode, including the distances, surface, and scenery. 450km over 9 days (only 7 of which we rode on) was plenty, and not too much. It gave us the chance to mix in more non-bike time than usual, including the visit to my sister, the walk, boat ride, and soak. Despite both of us being a little less in shape than in years past, we're gelling more than ever on and off the bike. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF6pk2vsjF2ayM0ui_2iwV41OcdN1NncQ4S9ynX_nDdGfdJzx7shS9JjveK8dwupT1zbMu72RLd_IuBFsMo_fjdULKDxzq_kzoN2bDxhKpYUeaGQDFj5zS8Lo-gVYhGwanefb7SQBa8CfDxrv2qMBQtDYb5aEQt7QRGQmzuQCPMrdcOS0qFA73qNVlPg/s1046/coro-trip-2022.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1046" data-original-width="616" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF6pk2vsjF2ayM0ui_2iwV41OcdN1NncQ4S9ynX_nDdGfdJzx7shS9JjveK8dwupT1zbMu72RLd_IuBFsMo_fjdULKDxzq_kzoN2bDxhKpYUeaGQDFj5zS8Lo-gVYhGwanefb7SQBa8CfDxrv2qMBQtDYb5aEQt7QRGQmzuQCPMrdcOS0qFA73qNVlPg/w235-h400/coro-trip-2022.png" width="235" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bottom to top: Karangahake Gorge, loop with Coroglen-Tapu crossing in the north, loop with 309 Rd in the south-west, Colville loop (and the "2020 grazing" also evident)</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>Having properly popped my Coromandel cherry, I'm keen to get back there. I highly suspect the next trip will involve multi-modal transport - flying to Auckland, shuttle to down-town, then ferry to Coromandel township (with bike bags left at an overnight hotel in Auckland perhaps). With an after-work flight to Auckland, the ferry timetable looks like you could do shorter rides post- and pre-ferry trip, with full-day rides in between, and Coromandel Township has plenty of nice loop options - combining both 309 Road and Coroglen-Tapu Rd in a single loop would be an absolute cracker, and there's the Colville-Kennedy Bay loop to do as well. The trick will be getting there when it is not slammed with Aucklanders (and foreign tourists soon enough, I suppose).</p><p>From time to time Sarah and I daydream about a retirement location. Based on what we experienced during our short visit, somewhere on the peninsula wouldn't be a terrible choice, particularly given that Auckland Airport isn't actually that far away... For now, it sits high on the domestic getaway list. </p></div>sifterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15453244482461385029noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7894195099236501078.post-37009715852474685692022-01-31T21:20:00.007+13:002022-01-31T21:46:10.476+13:00Summer Tour - Catching up with Southern friends<p>After a long hard year, a cycle tour with Sarah over our Christmas break was much anticipated, and very much needed. </p><p>Planning had begun not long after we'd got home from our previous tour - that one from the <a href="https://sifter-writes-bikes.blogspot.com/2021/01/dont-leave-town-till-youve-seen-country.html" target="_blank">Bay of Islands</a> back <a href="https://sifter-writes-bikes.blogspot.com/2021/01/dont-leave-town-till-youve-seen-country_19.html" target="_blank">to Wellington</a>. Broadly speaking, we'd take new roads between Kerikeri and Paeroa, before heading through the Karangahake Gorge and onwards through Waikaremoana. Forays during the year up through Hawke's Bay and as far as Gisborne always had me studying maps a little more closely to scope out a route home.</p><p>As with so many elements of our lives, the pandemic threatened to throw a spanner in the works. In particular, the Delta outbreak made it look fairly likely that we wouldn't be able to pass through Auckland at all, and at various times, flights only as far north as Hamilton or Tauranga were on the list of alternate plans.</p><p>In the meantime, Khulan was plotting her own summer escape, being able to take full advantage of her ability to work remotely. She had her sights set on Queenstown, and while she seemed hesitant to pull the trigger on flights, her most obvious uncertainty seemed to be whether to go with a season pass on the gondola, or a measly 100-uplifts. </p><p>Things all converged nicely when my parents announced they'd be up in Auckland for Christmas, and it suddenly dawned on me that the South Island came with literally none of the complexities of the north. As is often the case with me, the moment an elegant solution materialises, it gets locked in, and before long, flights and accommodation were booked.</p><p>The first leg of our journey was <a href="https://sifter-writes-bikes.blogspot.com/2022/01/summer-tour-training-camp.html" target="_blank">a lovely family week</a>, which was sprinkled with nice riding for Sarah and I. Not only were both elements incredibly good for the soul, the week created a bit of distance from recent work traumas, and gave us a few days to get our legs in order. It was a great success on all fronts. </p><p>As Christmas Day came to a close, Sarah and I hit the sack with a fairly locked-in plan for the first five days, and a very vague plan thereafter. As with our successful format a year ago, we'd try to keep sealed roads to a minimum, at least as far as Kaikōura, whereupon I was keen to ride SH1 north to Blenheim, perhaps in a misguided sense that there might never be as light traffic volumes again in my lifetime.</p><p><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b>Day 1 - Queenstown to Alexandra</b></p><p>Our first day "on the road" included one of my most anticipated sections: the relatively new Lake Dunstan Cycle Trail. It was meant to be open when Brendan and I passed through in the opposite direction <a href="https://sifter-writes-bikes.blogspot.com/2021/04/easter-tour-on-fat-tyred-roadie.html" target="_blank">back in April</a>, but delays had seen us riding the highway instead. It was plenty frustrating at the time, not least because we could see so much completed trail across the lake, and made worse by the plaudits the trail has received ever since it did finally open.</p><p>Before hitting the road, there were a few logistics to sort. After I'd dropped Khulie's gear to her new accommodation, I returned our rental car to the airport depot, retrieved my bike from the boot, and got ready to ride. Sarah rode there, and we rolled out together, eventually connecting with the Queenstown Trail at the Lake Hayes Estate and staying on it through to the Kawarau Gorge Suspension Bridge. The day showed every sign of becoming stinking hot, so we took a breather at the Bungy centre there, and got a bit more food and drink onboard. </p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiZfdcPSt483JIiUlp9ixjcXfI-6kzILmchyUeY8EQ8DpNHDIRYWB-kos6ADiWuZdxAXh10xAiEv7h7Zw4nWKDhG0Ny6tL_DnzYOMXy5gZOHPrmRhsfCydG9N421YPhjo_0eivoKbap4M-CrUKOltlwNYDpvA9-024NInHXDljT2Ug8N5LAbsjTd0atVA=s2880" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2880" data-original-width="2160" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiZfdcPSt483JIiUlp9ixjcXfI-6kzILmchyUeY8EQ8DpNHDIRYWB-kos6ADiWuZdxAXh10xAiEv7h7Zw4nWKDhG0Ny6tL_DnzYOMXy5gZOHPrmRhsfCydG9N421YPhjo_0eivoKbap4M-CrUKOltlwNYDpvA9-024NInHXDljT2Ug8N5LAbsjTd0atVA=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not the Kawarau Gorge Suspension Bridge, but rather a much newer one on the Arrow River Bridges Trail section</td></tr></tbody></table><p style="text-align: left;">The Boxing Day traffic along the highway through to Cromwell was not bad at all, and we were regularly the beneficiaries of great driving - plenty of patience and generous passing gaps. There are always uncomfortable moments, but it saddens me when I read of cyclists assuming the worst, and in many cases, talking themselves out of riding a section of road.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Unfortunately, the cafés in the Cromwell Heritage Precinct were all closed for the public holiday, so we made do with a bit of food and drink from a nearby convenience store, before doubling back to the Bannockburn bridge, and once across it, jumping onto the cycle trail for our rendezvous with Ashley and Steven at Cornish Point. Up until a couple of days earlier, we hadn't anticipated company, but were delighted to learn that this ride together fitted nicely with their rejigged Xmas/NY plans.</p><p style="text-align: left;">We hadn't kept them waiting too long, and we got rolling within a few minutes of arriving. This was Ash and Steve's second time on the trail, but by their accounts, couldn't have been more different from the first. By comparison, we had the trail to ourselves, and while we did meet oncoming groups from time to time, it was a far cry from the congestion they described. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhuGO2Dj9lQpXX-a8omjOv_S5KlWRk_pGslx8N2xmvG1IVXpVVlh0ZqexyUHP75k6bR_G5_vSYaEcnKnhr9DWcE8IZNVVVs5jxk3EKMtUHun4rGTZT3llGUb4uUJfEMBIp3xipqNxv9fWqK8f-p2sdAbpHXn9WWljlDmURdRGAylsgHvGJKJ-UKg56eIg=s2880" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2160" data-original-width="2880" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhuGO2Dj9lQpXX-a8omjOv_S5KlWRk_pGslx8N2xmvG1IVXpVVlh0ZqexyUHP75k6bR_G5_vSYaEcnKnhr9DWcE8IZNVVVs5jxk3EKMtUHun4rGTZT3llGUb4uUJfEMBIp3xipqNxv9fWqK8f-p2sdAbpHXn9WWljlDmURdRGAylsgHvGJKJ-UKg56eIg=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p style="text-align: left;">It wasn't long before we came to some of the most impressive features on the trail - a series of bridges bolted into cliff faces. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEga3y65MrJqOKnNY56Y3h10ObNdBYiVTlQU-00sRk1TCuyjvbBgMBAS_2uraadPK-_t5yOzyjRHzbVIioRLfSL2MRszcR0wrk66Qp9bSZxG00BhyIz36wsLRvDTbtXxUX3tg1uQkSUROZGXooqes9hV4PzWG8XClg4NVR4Ro7kRI1xZm-01PgPQ43aW4w=s2880" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2880" data-original-width="2160" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEga3y65MrJqOKnNY56Y3h10ObNdBYiVTlQU-00sRk1TCuyjvbBgMBAS_2uraadPK-_t5yOzyjRHzbVIioRLfSL2MRszcR0wrk66Qp9bSZxG00BhyIz36wsLRvDTbtXxUX3tg1uQkSUROZGXooqes9hV4PzWG8XClg4NVR4Ro7kRI1xZm-01PgPQ43aW4w=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The cantilevered bridges sitting above the lake surface were amazing</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Between spectacular bridges and a stonking tail wind, it was hard to believe the ride could get any better, and then we arrived at the mid-trail coffee cart! Its reputation had preceded it, but we had tempered our expectations due to the public holiday. The menu included a venison burger, which I didn't feel up to. Instead we ordered coffee, and switched to an iced variety upon hearing they'd had a power cut on one boat. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjMg-vB3u1dykojJZBNIx4iyYB_KVLHwUKK-_xFduFeztQCm99pXdW-DyDnGm_EElZvl1lnwk-URLgTHWBkZn7ggwJhhPs4p18BwHIjW4O_NaWcNEWctGm0pXSyCHnd3hpLhXeE_U3stoRV8M_NDEAruAkvFhq53wo3Yb-50d34bIQI8rM6xHZehfwISw=s2880" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2160" data-original-width="2880" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjMg-vB3u1dykojJZBNIx4iyYB_KVLHwUKK-_xFduFeztQCm99pXdW-DyDnGm_EElZvl1lnwk-URLgTHWBkZn7ggwJhhPs4p18BwHIjW4O_NaWcNEWctGm0pXSyCHnd3hpLhXeE_U3stoRV8M_NDEAruAkvFhq53wo3Yb-50d34bIQI8rM6xHZehfwISw=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not a bad spot for a trailside <span style="text-align: left;">café</span>!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">After ten minutes or so enjoying the sunshine <i>and</i> the novelty of mid-ride shopping, we jumped on our bikes and were straight into a climb. On the one hand I was lamenting the way my iced coffee was sitting in my gut, but on the other, I was greatly relieved not to be struggling to keep a burger down! </p><p style="text-align: left;">The climb afforded us great views back towards Cromwell, with some serious remediation evident above the trail (the <a href="https://teara.govt.nz/en/photograph/8798/cairnmuir-landslide" target="_blank">Cairnmuir landslide</a>, as it turns out...).</p><div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiSAFsyULndwnY0TfaI8g_86vgMFkONdyqZ0RnqQ8WOhNWMkibNHjJ2-tBiXl6WRlkOQYsrXJoRcKjP-PRkOWCd1DQN0z55-jTm3L79YjF0AKnLoX_L-yrNiYjf_bT-b5h2tF2drfexyyv6Lf7VXLFlwEmzhP9imYXOa9bvbTJwhaRne7DcAiV51_kqnQ=s2880" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2160" data-original-width="2880" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiSAFsyULndwnY0TfaI8g_86vgMFkONdyqZ0RnqQ8WOhNWMkibNHjJ2-tBiXl6WRlkOQYsrXJoRcKjP-PRkOWCd1DQN0z55-jTm3L79YjF0AKnLoX_L-yrNiYjf_bT-b5h2tF2drfexyyv6Lf7VXLFlwEmzhP9imYXOa9bvbTJwhaRne7DcAiV51_kqnQ=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">The trail lived up to the hype, and furthermore the width and non-technical nature of the surface afforded great opportunity to talk, admire the scenery, and enjoy the sight of three of my very favourite people in the world on board bicycles.</p><p style="text-align: left;">A beach shortly before the Clyde Dam contained considerably more people than we'd seen riding the trail, and it was a nice reminder that summer-time leisure comes in many forms. </p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh0htx8L7BIg_siLIeSAbj7M4GlSQ7VZC7KJnCGTSf6Ifpen9nA5AUbm81GQBY4bl5oFOcB1cnXvguRjOdKTB7XxMSrldkn2ju1hqxoLIkWfVDBT4gnWGYDIxBszAZocfscNKnzaAu5q1I_uw8XJW-FHxgeSVmsy6gdtZbKWO86e2vt2ZJ5u_8EZ-TgdA=s2880" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2160" data-original-width="2880" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh0htx8L7BIg_siLIeSAbj7M4GlSQ7VZC7KJnCGTSf6Ifpen9nA5AUbm81GQBY4bl5oFOcB1cnXvguRjOdKTB7XxMSrldkn2ju1hqxoLIkWfVDBT4gnWGYDIxBszAZocfscNKnzaAu5q1I_uw8XJW-FHxgeSVmsy6gdtZbKWO86e2vt2ZJ5u_8EZ-TgdA=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">The dam itself was admired while on the move, and like the water, we were then treated to a nifty descent. A trail alongside the river took us to an old single lane bridge, and once it was our turn we crossed and alighted at the first café that we reached.</p><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjURFr2MwPGDOiTnnTa5WqrKDBb0BYjBBYFwsY4sKd0VfDNw455IWC90JtrN1RhpdNYq-8KXrWjrE0tbS_fPnfoqjbwyM51qCdUcQZGpwJbrPNNrEUudOnEZNkC8N4LUeWSpCA4hW-pCFuAyey593s4FLida2k8DT2g_vq61IT4ND5bhAqqFLlbOHRVvw=s2880" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2160" data-original-width="2880" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjURFr2MwPGDOiTnnTa5WqrKDBb0BYjBBYFwsY4sKd0VfDNw455IWC90JtrN1RhpdNYq-8KXrWjrE0tbS_fPnfoqjbwyM51qCdUcQZGpwJbrPNNrEUudOnEZNkC8N4LUeWSpCA4hW-pCFuAyey593s4FLida2k8DT2g_vq61IT4ND5bhAqqFLlbOHRVvw=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Clyde Dam</td></tr></tbody></table><p style="text-align: left;">There, I tried to order a beer, and was disappointed (and slightly confused) when told they had none. Eventually I realised the source of my confusion - the establishment was called the "Recharge Bar". Instead we enjoyed juice and some cheese rolls (when in Rome, etc...) in the sun, during which time Steve replaced a punctured tube.</p><p style="text-align: left;">While we weren't necessarily done with conversation, Ash and Steve's return trip to their car was not going to be wind-assisted, and therefore not fast. Sarah and I too had a little further to ride. After a quick round of hugs and general appreciation for a lovely get-together, we made our way back over the river, Sarah and I looping under the bridge we'd just crossed and picking up the river trail again.</p><p style="text-align: left;">We still had the benefit of the wind, and also enjoyed a bit more shade as the path very often had tree cover. Our motel was back towards Clyde, so once over the river, we were able to survey the dinner and resupply options as we rode along Alexandra's main drag. Boxing Day meant we didn't have a lot of choice, but we didn't go hungry!</p><p style="text-align: left;">Stats: <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/6427530097" target="_blank">111km ridden</a>, hot and dry</p><p></p><p><b><br /></b></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b>Day 2 - Alexandra to Ranfurly</b></p><p>One of Ash's parting shots had been a breakfast recommendation, which we took her up on as a follow up to our go-to supermarket feed before leaving the motel (cereal, tinned fruit, yoghurt, milk). Our route to the Industry Lane Eatery was somewhat convoluted, but well worth the effort. We shared a couple of scones washed down with coffee.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgfYE616AHAJ522pTW6uf1JIbvDF8VoAfSUuZ83haQOwwQkvODPjF5ZUCJJn6-XSnCylDn49aa-sutOVpcWsdC1vksUPfEJM569Glw5-hZx5y8k4qF7BBOu4vgosUki0kOJJdUD1eZyAiGgWjroafH_h5qqcT7gDm-zlIWRIfQMQtIlcSdRphr3R4YPOg=s2880" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2160" data-original-width="2880" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgfYE616AHAJ522pTW6uf1JIbvDF8VoAfSUuZ83haQOwwQkvODPjF5ZUCJJn6-XSnCylDn49aa-sutOVpcWsdC1vksUPfEJM569Glw5-hZx5y8k4qF7BBOu4vgosUki0kOJJdUD1eZyAiGgWjroafH_h5qqcT7gDm-zlIWRIfQMQtIlcSdRphr3R4YPOg=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">We spent a few minutes on the highway out of town before turning off and before long picking up Crawford Hills Road. As always, a set of AA touring maps had been a primary planning tool, and while they're great for connecting dots, they don't give much insight into the terrain. Not to mention that I tend not to study them beyond the planning process, as I enjoy having my presumptions about what the day might bring shattered.</p><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj9aQGMGMmV29sNmzRuLP0jJ66LqLBZ0b0iigbJTxM7-FxTU4mn-SRwEWToW6XMvUtAX04SU_y-3FgG1r6lFbJrHUBQoJFttmDf26Iqe-FEr8jCLz-g0KNyEVL7kCGKO-LkimjI9P4S3E1IF0-HJDwyYGjO_uaCwV_uhDV-2iw2zxmhocRn7rcATzV1xw=s2880"><img border="0" data-original-height="2160" data-original-width="2880" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj9aQGMGMmV29sNmzRuLP0jJ66LqLBZ0b0iigbJTxM7-FxTU4mn-SRwEWToW6XMvUtAX04SU_y-3FgG1r6lFbJrHUBQoJFttmDf26Iqe-FEr8jCLz-g0KNyEVL7kCGKO-LkimjI9P4S3E1IF0-HJDwyYGjO_uaCwV_uhDV-2iw2zxmhocRn7rcATzV1xw=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">So it was that the ride over to Moa Creek wasn't at all what I expected, but thoroughly enjoyable in part because of it. We had a very mellow climb up the side of a ridge, which we duly crossed before descending into Ida Valley. After a few minutes on sealed road, we pulled up at the start of Old Dunstan Road. The building might have been a guesthouse, but in any case, the sofa outside made a great place to have morning tea.</p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhMJzNwSgkUd47Ro-19eTCk6PakDVx2pdYcN96RH2Ll0AvzYiKUlREkSfNNICB4cYEO8UTBApX_76jmKqnozOYyFNhr4k9oGjiM5B4f3O_RBgNRKirl-JkTlJJv39OrHPin38pVs1I29TkRVpi2VhCzXyHCHP_1-4kPqTkpbSNF2qhWkB4c1T0OyIof_A=s3264" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1592" data-original-width="3264" height="195" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhMJzNwSgkUd47Ro-19eTCk6PakDVx2pdYcN96RH2Ll0AvzYiKUlREkSfNNICB4cYEO8UTBApX_76jmKqnozOYyFNhr4k9oGjiM5B4f3O_RBgNRKirl-JkTlJJv39OrHPin38pVs1I29TkRVpi2VhCzXyHCHP_1-4kPqTkpbSNF2qhWkB4c1T0OyIof_A=w400-h195" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">We began climbing pretty much immediately, and would be going uphill for the next 20km or so, until we were adjacent to Poolburn Reservoir. The weather had remained gloomy, but the riding effort was mostly cutting through the chill. Other vehicles were occasional, and we stopped briefly to chat to another cycle tourist, who was en route to Alex.</p><p style="text-align: left;">The lake itself was fascinating, and in particular the sprinkling of "holiday homes" around the place. I'm sure on a sunny day, the choice to stay up here - whether in a building, motorhome, or tent - would have made perfect sense, but it all seemed incongruous with the cold and overcast day.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiSE7Jvlxt2VGhvThN0PS9H609iTmYG8-WWQ-55auI_dbNObyET4mVdzCVxkI80rghNYEOkOOePL41ckzk-t0buWfJwFVlN3T5cq28bX-DEPHXvgTJPpyCNMWFH1T6I89aui_JTUCAT-rljm39UW_ns5mvUTkfiFemuSCFPSHpkJb8UV-lBUy-MeKTpSQ=s9184" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2080" data-original-width="9184" height="90" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiSE7Jvlxt2VGhvThN0PS9H609iTmYG8-WWQ-55auI_dbNObyET4mVdzCVxkI80rghNYEOkOOePL41ckzk-t0buWfJwFVlN3T5cq28bX-DEPHXvgTJPpyCNMWFH1T6I89aui_JTUCAT-rljm39UW_ns5mvUTkfiFemuSCFPSHpkJb8UV-lBUy-MeKTpSQ=w400-h90" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Poolburn Dam panorama</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">The road dropped down sharply to cross the outlet stream before climbing up to lake level again. Unlike the massive Clyde Dam from yesterday, we could've taken a much closer look at this one (even crossed it), but chose to keep moving.</p><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh2Ka8smWnzEGHjW-9qZ73trKWVGKtqIkkLtHXlvn7S1itkiFS7HjoUznwR1c_hJOcp-Tr-n0PJDJENHDdMyGT3-NLpklKKqOjDRlwMCdbfImd-eJTUdyNMKDtYsv_fdy5ZDSSWQ5WRW2mx6fSrN857bR5NIGFsjaWM6zAp4dDEw-bTJIDn8Edi7B-ZrA=s2880" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2160" data-original-width="2880" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh2Ka8smWnzEGHjW-9qZ73trKWVGKtqIkkLtHXlvn7S1itkiFS7HjoUznwR1c_hJOcp-Tr-n0PJDJENHDdMyGT3-NLpklKKqOjDRlwMCdbfImd-eJTUdyNMKDtYsv_fdy5ZDSSWQ5WRW2mx6fSrN857bR5NIGFsjaWM6zAp4dDEw-bTJIDn8Edi7B-ZrA=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Poolburn Dam's actual dam</td></tr></tbody></table><br />The bleak semi-alpine environment was pretty cool, and from time to time I would reflect on the good decision that Brendan and I had made to take the long way around - there was very little shelter, and this wouldn't be a great place to be during a cold wet southerly storm. Not least because it would've been nigh on impossible to enjoy the remarkable landscape - spectacular Spaniards (a member of the carrot family, if the internet is to be believed!!!) were in abundance, and are a great enhancement. <br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgTtuKT958nc4nbXUO5kS342Zm5LQNDSWSquMOnjw250xDzioUlqjWj3QRfNI5aFa_9_ZJKkVKw8V5fV1ss9H2SNsmqSeASTYcvW7Qn1iSfkGeBKGr9kqWGTPU99eAmhJNQI9_TMO6gdL1XScaTEC869S-K2xtiBLK3Y6lcwFA6YWCbCJL0wGC83yZrHA=s2880" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2160" data-original-width="2880" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgTtuKT958nc4nbXUO5kS342Zm5LQNDSWSquMOnjw250xDzioUlqjWj3QRfNI5aFa_9_ZJKkVKw8V5fV1ss9H2SNsmqSeASTYcvW7Qn1iSfkGeBKGr9kqWGTPU99eAmhJNQI9_TMO6gdL1XScaTEC869S-K2xtiBLK3Y6lcwFA6YWCbCJL0wGC83yZrHA=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Enhancement... unless sat upon...</td></tr></tbody></table><br />The road had been very road-like since our break down at Moa Creek, so we both got quite nervous when the way ahead more closely resembled a muddy farm track. My GPS hadn't charged overnight, but Sarah's confirmed we were still on Old Dunstan Road, so we continued and soon after were able to relax a bit more as the surface improved again - never quite to the earlier quality, but enough to convince us that all would be well.</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Eventually we came to the final gate, and from there opted for the easiest route through The Maniototo Plain into Ranfurly. We were riding along the upper reaches of the Taieri River, and while there were countless gravel options, we'd been rained on, on and off, and conditions were hardly those that invited the spending more time out when there was a quicker option available. Consequently, we picked out the only sealed route and didn't give it a second thought!<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgmw0MUso9QihpSy2F7Gdd6L3_S4DggZexCl3iXOyza4-L-PLwR_W6YSSv57M4Ntv4VF0tsDcyXGF39pPSgfvbyMPbOH5DWdJTJ45Hn4b3VfydU4H2Udd24PhK2SgOBCpxlQb76sxhUk4ZDzzONkRRMMKaUBzmkeAwAGXu86KnhTSQlG_akYhXpfWnBKA=s2880" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2160" data-original-width="2880" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgmw0MUso9QihpSy2F7Gdd6L3_S4DggZexCl3iXOyza4-L-PLwR_W6YSSv57M4Ntv4VF0tsDcyXGF39pPSgfvbyMPbOH5DWdJTJ45Hn4b3VfydU4H2Udd24PhK2SgOBCpxlQb76sxhUk4ZDzzONkRRMMKaUBzmkeAwAGXu86KnhTSQlG_akYhXpfWnBKA=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p style="text-align: left;">Aside from occasional stops to adjust clothing, and a toilet and snack stop at Patearoa, progress was good, and we rolled into Ranfurly around 4pm. We managed to sneak in a hot drink at a café just as they were closing up, before making our way to the B&B we'd booked. Or, thought we'd booked... A screw-up at their end necessitated relocation to Hawkdun Lodge, where we had a very comfortable stay indeed, but we appreciated our anticipated host sorting that out for us, and covering the extra cost.</p><p style="text-align: left;">The evening was full of nice surprises really - the lodge had a free washing machine and dryer which was put to good use; the Ranfurly Hotel was open a day earlier than everyone expected and so we had a very nice roast dinner each instead of resorting to greasies, we enjoyed a private spa, and chuckled our way through <i>Don't Look Up</i> on Netflix once back in our room. Great success, all in all!</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjKofAIZxhBqSoYtGE1_WQqeiD45IVl-s7dewFTjMwyR12xtrzxnnXAydEMj7wE24TdFoxEMz0AdIVeYhcHsBN_N8Ihw5vba6auMBwnf05ckacJs8vm78U9LbnvGnhlnXo1vfYFGPlUD9M80KHtsHJr0nNYxIXXh2LWZHSfkq70nNdkmUMofHrzmfjHHQ=s3264" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1592" data-original-width="3264" height="195" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjKofAIZxhBqSoYtGE1_WQqeiD45IVl-s7dewFTjMwyR12xtrzxnnXAydEMj7wE24TdFoxEMz0AdIVeYhcHsBN_N8Ihw5vba6auMBwnf05ckacJs8vm78U9LbnvGnhlnXo1vfYFGPlUD9M80KHtsHJr0nNYxIXXh2LWZHSfkq70nNdkmUMofHrzmfjHHQ=w400-h195" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p style="text-align: left;">Stats: <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/6431961075" target="_blank">100km ridden</a>, not very summery.</p><p></p><p><b><br /></b></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b>Day 3 - Ranfurly to Kurow</b></p><p>The morning's conditions were a carbon copy of those 24 hours earlier - cool and cloudy - and after cereal at the lodge and seconds at the café, we set off for Naseby. There I was able to reminisce a bit, having spent a few weekends some 25 years ago with one of the few high school-mates that I've kept in touch with, Mike Tannock. I messaged him later in the today to share where we were, only to discover he was in Wellington looking at an art exhibition from Otago! As he so aptly put it - "a weird reversal".</p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhCbB2TshRazsWEkBqUBAs5bo08G6ZkhoRb4im-063C6BEB1KIdxa7SJlhvDfcpYvD2GNNSj06impGXYzTv4cKnNs1WAfJMY6vFZfnrugeAtBqgcW1Z2FeMCMBmcELxZZJyV3F3O7hiJcjizzt9XCy-XZJtpCyG6hjsLIrzAZAnnRy3zQJN7ro_BLfmOw=s2880" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2160" data-original-width="2880" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhCbB2TshRazsWEkBqUBAs5bo08G6ZkhoRb4im-063C6BEB1KIdxa7SJlhvDfcpYvD2GNNSj06impGXYzTv4cKnNs1WAfJMY6vFZfnrugeAtBqgcW1Z2FeMCMBmcELxZZJyV3F3O7hiJcjizzt9XCy-XZJtpCyG6hjsLIrzAZAnnRy3zQJN7ro_BLfmOw=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Amen to that</td></tr></tbody></table><b><br /></b><p style="text-align: left;">Sarah I had an inordinately long wait for a coffee, which had us questioning the merits of stopping for one, but our perch on the footpath and the duration of our stay gave us a chance to observe the ebb and flow of the place. It was clearly a summer holiday hotspot, but also the sort of small town where permanent residents haven't joined the masses in the modern throw-away society (and ain't that great).</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjl5uF3mVcIYXAGbURcKmgO15iHzX7aPOpqZOCiaEbgcfEwZB2OMbTPrmQCFWUjYY2ZWJBgzrcE2MUHNySrtFXKdYIAHQAai-3oMYgKAlimhApD966JZvvcDut1qAK9gS3RZJzyfkVF8goeZsT09DbudfYs4nOX0gtsnoL6-bMOIBzcLy07hm0a2NJsLw=s2880" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2160" data-original-width="2880" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjl5uF3mVcIYXAGbURcKmgO15iHzX7aPOpqZOCiaEbgcfEwZB2OMbTPrmQCFWUjYY2ZWJBgzrcE2MUHNySrtFXKdYIAHQAai-3oMYgKAlimhApD966JZvvcDut1qAK9gS3RZJzyfkVF8goeZsT09DbudfYs4nOX0gtsnoL6-bMOIBzcLy07hm0a2NJsLw=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A rare "white on black" numberplate, and AP no less</td></tr></tbody></table></div><br /><p style="text-align: left;">The 16km ride to the Dansey's Pass Hotel was probably shorter than the wait for the aforementioned coffee. Once there, we ordered a big bowl of fries and a beetroot and feta salad, not really because we were ready for lunch, but because it was the last chance to buy for a wee while. Upon checking our vaccine passes, the bar-tender (correctly) addressed Sarah as "Sara", which was enough for Sarah to (correctly) deduce that the woman was Russian. They had a jolly good natter in Russian, Sarah's second language - her home town in Mongolia, Darkhan, received extensive influx of money and people from the Soviet Union and she even went to a Russian secondary school.</p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p></p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi46_ppEEbahs92zVLg-7gmpU8XQDnDLOIlD5Du1pWk2kmWGjLUY9jkfzTTMSN2EilgZFPrRsfWCJgOyaoYDaD_KZ1aVakFQ_5Mpm7GlQqNQXSC-tQMlaFwTG1tblFEpNEw7R-pFis_LeJ9Aal0SnJ5qU_7VFOtaZ5oMYq00AJfuXEr95xnJRJ9JP1FMw=s2880" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2160" data-original-width="2880" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi46_ppEEbahs92zVLg-7gmpU8XQDnDLOIlD5Du1pWk2kmWGjLUY9jkfzTTMSN2EilgZFPrRsfWCJgOyaoYDaD_KZ1aVakFQ_5Mpm7GlQqNQXSC-tQMlaFwTG1tblFEpNEw7R-pFis_LeJ9Aal0SnJ5qU_7VFOtaZ5oMYq00AJfuXEr95xnJRJ9JP1FMw=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Leaving Dansey's Pass Hotel, bound for the pass itself</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">I really enjoyed the climb up to the pass - the gradient was very mellow, the gravel road had a good surface, and the scenery was fantastic. </p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEifOB4gXmmyocXvFF1NC6J7sOeVte0L2EB2JHkJY6OWYaUHXTOsVZ0cSL2gx0_-1hAvIMXwEhvW48vBXyb5QDtuiOyhs9lXyaE-rBOkrO5dt1UoKfdXfaNiFytUvbSN8VGiOLhWDYNMbWsLMTGO6AOu9-Ti970uVGbcHkV1mBtOUDLNNMKBxzuFvxL04Q=s2880" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2160" data-original-width="2880" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEifOB4gXmmyocXvFF1NC6J7sOeVte0L2EB2JHkJY6OWYaUHXTOsVZ0cSL2gx0_-1hAvIMXwEhvW48vBXyb5QDtuiOyhs9lXyaE-rBOkrO5dt1UoKfdXfaNiFytUvbSN8VGiOLhWDYNMbWsLMTGO6AOu9-Ti970uVGbcHkV1mBtOUDLNNMKBxzuFvxL04Q=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">Once over the highpoint, it became evident that we were riding this road in the better direction. We dropped steeply down into a valley before having another mellow climb, which in turn was followed by another fairly steep descent. </p><p style="text-align: left;">As we neared the Waitaki River at Duntroon, I saw occasional glimpses of the A2O (Alps to Ocean) cycle trail which was on the cards for a few days' time. It didn't look overly appealing in its current damp state, so we stayed on the road. <br /></p><div style="text-align: left;">After a quick coffee at the pub in Duntroon, we continued up-river as far as Kurow. En route we checked out the Takiroa Rock Art cave and its somewhat unimpressive drawings. I chuckled at the thought of some hunter-gatherers sheltering in the cave and playing a game of Pictionary while waiting for a storm to pass: "<i>Fuck bro - if you'd told me this was going to be a tourist attraction in a century's time, I'd have taken a bit more time over it...</i>"</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh4GMLvjGT3uH1uGL44V8fWTJhWJdoS6VogI401erasRA6E9vSLRbOnO1mpZz5Q0UcoTpLearze3cBAKCFwawkx6HE9rEV6dxfKEGL2qSwSgtlv5I10u3M64EQtyW4LZ3_PxHF8sWk506nDoh-a91EHIysmOP29zj2tcMF4KbSuosabvUHmB8h6ZNh4Qg=s2880" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2160" data-original-width="2880" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh4GMLvjGT3uH1uGL44V8fWTJhWJdoS6VogI401erasRA6E9vSLRbOnO1mpZz5Q0UcoTpLearze3cBAKCFwawkx6HE9rEV6dxfKEGL2qSwSgtlv5I10u3M64EQtyW4LZ3_PxHF8sWk506nDoh-a91EHIysmOP29zj2tcMF4KbSuosabvUHmB8h6ZNh4Qg=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p style="text-align: left;">I hadn't checked the precise location of our accommodation until arriving into Kurow, so it was a bit embarrassing to discover it was the guesthouse we'd passed five minutes out of town. Since it was after 5pm, we decided to have dinner at one of the pubs before doubling back. </p><p style="text-align: left;">There we were warmly welcomed, and had a comfortable evening before eventually retiring to bed.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Stats: <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/6436222440" target="_blank">106km ridden</a>, 10 degrees, more's the pity.</p><br /><p></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b>Day 4 - Kurow to Lake Tekapo</b></p><p>In the morning, we were treated to a banquet for breakfast, during which time our hosts also ascertained for us that we'd have no trouble crossing the various fords on the Hakataramea Pass Road - today's main event. The gravel road over the pass had been very eye-catching on the AA map, and it was one of the first definite sections at the planning stage. A subsequent realisation had been the option to connect to the A2O trail which would bring us back to Kurow, and after that we discovered the loop is written up as the <i>Alps 2 Hakataramea Loop</i> in the Kennett Bros' <a href="https://www.kennett.co.nz/product/bikepacking-aotearoa" target="_blank">Bikepacking Aotearoa</a> guidebook - might have been a good place to start!!</p><p>After a coffee in Kurow, we crossed the Waitaki River and then climbed up and over a knoll to drop into the Haka Valley, as the locals call it. The road was sealed for a good 40km or so, before turning to gravel at Cattle Creek. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhvIUd6Q9jlLD_Ka4_Z-rBXihtu_dYhsPEENBQ3xCH3ps7L1jqkJv0Vhu_mQTHpLgjreKuklKNhi3sh1E-Bh8sEpOJRsCx2UAn9nZ5eYk5zCYd6UzwjrVWOx3y5T5YPIVA7DrP_IQ7OQ2DC7-KvbHyjmOt4SGu3To6ivySI5PhIYh0u0EY5wLFrDHiGbw=s2880" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2160" data-original-width="2880" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhvIUd6Q9jlLD_Ka4_Z-rBXihtu_dYhsPEENBQ3xCH3ps7L1jqkJv0Vhu_mQTHpLgjreKuklKNhi3sh1E-Bh8sEpOJRsCx2UAn9nZ5eYk5zCYd6UzwjrVWOx3y5T5YPIVA7DrP_IQ7OQ2DC7-KvbHyjmOt4SGu3To6ivySI5PhIYh0u0EY5wLFrDHiGbw=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>From time to time there'd be a local farmer out running an errand, or the occasional vehicle that seemed more likely to belong to a tourist. We met one on-coming bikepacker, and briefly commiserated about the chilly conditions and occasional showers. </div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjAfKqt5VDfekHJ8aS1RUcvoyh1PZHfoJg3e8mHWgwKjEPrfDZo6hzcpeSBULGhbAlIWQjKCjgE5gLgjskcZ7-LjI3zs8N2J_2H8CYiVFtRWVYyTcoHMmODMBvwJgNnw61dfUGRpQAkavNBxjLdrIa3zvz3aKrOXpbLgW89d_M-qtHcNwGQMfK6Z7LGCA=s2880" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2160" data-original-width="2880" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjAfKqt5VDfekHJ8aS1RUcvoyh1PZHfoJg3e8mHWgwKjEPrfDZo6hzcpeSBULGhbAlIWQjKCjgE5gLgjskcZ7-LjI3zs8N2J_2H8CYiVFtRWVYyTcoHMmODMBvwJgNnw61dfUGRpQAkavNBxjLdrIa3zvz3aKrOXpbLgW89d_M-qtHcNwGQMfK6Z7LGCA=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Two cycle tourists</td></tr></tbody></table><p><br />One of the weirdest sights was a gigantic mushroon (bigger than my face) growing on the side of the road, but mostly eyes were off into the distance. <br /><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg3u-TRwMy7wOCFMc9PSsUD-RMw1p0G0gmfVjLlw0svrRmFB2TJO8DfhCn6eqQizrBk3pZGNSh43ChFh4w50GjlMTRCoW6AzPeuuSKia27rLXdVLrQ9pDeSizW_ZCeZiyT082sG39reGUnOXMhgPaoMq-V-Ja_edl6DdbOukfjunBJ1U7fiZQZRk7JCvA=s4000" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg3u-TRwMy7wOCFMc9PSsUD-RMw1p0G0gmfVjLlw0svrRmFB2TJO8DfhCn6eqQizrBk3pZGNSh43ChFh4w50GjlMTRCoW6AzPeuuSKia27rLXdVLrQ9pDeSizW_ZCeZiyT082sG39reGUnOXMhgPaoMq-V-Ja_edl6DdbOukfjunBJ1U7fiZQZRk7JCvA=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">See?!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><p style="text-align: left;">I was surprised when the road veered permanently away from the Hakataramea River, revealing that the "pass" I'd been assuming was ours, was not our target. As advertised, the various fords were all rideable, and we reached the summit without incident.</p></div><div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiNYQ4xNLMcAV3aRSV6qgWNZXoaVIsq2NBIcAIuwFKsbXPgVBq1kRWHqQlHuD2TO1jqd_DhTgk8atCvD6ZuYfcwMXwK3F4vLRKsDoGmxNmSGbaCqF9O3zzAygsRhCQNrYHBAqCPsPVO9_I3RynLf3WX6vtRr-ZXluNd1VL7TU5E2VIRx3MXh3qKkzYQwA=s2880" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2160" data-original-width="2880" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiNYQ4xNLMcAV3aRSV6qgWNZXoaVIsq2NBIcAIuwFKsbXPgVBq1kRWHqQlHuD2TO1jqd_DhTgk8atCvD6ZuYfcwMXwK3F4vLRKsDoGmxNmSGbaCqF9O3zzAygsRhCQNrYHBAqCPsPVO9_I3RynLf3WX6vtRr-ZXluNd1VL7TU5E2VIRx3MXh3qKkzYQwA=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">Conditions weren't conducive to lingering at the top, and after donning a windproof layer, we cracked into the 12km downhill - just the thing after climbing all morning. On the way down, for a few key seconds, I wasn't a very good cyclist...</p><p style="text-align: left;">I don't recall exactly where I'd been looking the precise moment I knew I was in trouble, but it hadn't been at the gravel "dune" sitting just off the riding line. I had a second or so to feel my front wheel sloshing around in it, waiting to be inevitably and unceremoniously tipped onto the ground. Sure enough, I went down fairly hard, and as I stood up, frantically running diagnostics while also signaling back to Sarah that there were a couple of hazards she needed to avoid (me and my bike, and the offending gravel pile). I knew for sure that the rain on my Gore Shakedry jacket (and bare leg) wouldn't have offered much if any protection, even before I looked to find both somewhat shredded.</p><p style="text-align: left;">That said, I'd seemed to have gotten off pretty lightly - not all my blood was on the inside, but at least both my sloppy shoulders were intact, and a few dents here and there (knee, hip, elbow, shoulder, <i>pride</i>) were the souvenirs I'd carry with me for the rest of the trip. Of course, my main fears then shifted to the state of my bike, but that too had fared well. Once I'd straightened my handlebars and brake lever, it was as if nothing had happened. As Brendan aptly noted upon hearing the story, at least the gravel had slowed me down somewhat before hurling me to the ground. Quite so, and thanks a fucking million.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Perhaps the rest of the ride would have been worse without the crash. The wind had really strengthened, and while it was never consistently in our faces, it wasn't wholly enjoyable. About 15km out from Lake Tekapo, we joined State Highway 8 at Dog Kennel Corner (without noticing a kennel). Between there and knocking off we were passed by more traffic than we'd seen in the last 350km or so since Cromwell! Fortunately for us, there wasn't much oncoming traffic, and so we were typically given plenty of space.</p><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhn2bkh0-lJ4Fyr2IbPw1Hz7JoZf7zKyosbhC-EfrePLnzmydhaz7mDIjVtPyA4q1rFmNiTKdMfDieZeJNS5rdvQvRsHEF4sYoa2wweIF3R2QpV-5zImwp6WK-QsvMt9VPjtCEfB_1q5Xa-X8Jy7dvbYhO71FFWF2E5Ixvy2BG7pEUBBVh9LJeplRph6A=s2880" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2160" data-original-width="2880" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhn2bkh0-lJ4Fyr2IbPw1Hz7JoZf7zKyosbhC-EfrePLnzmydhaz7mDIjVtPyA4q1rFmNiTKdMfDieZeJNS5rdvQvRsHEF4sYoa2wweIF3R2QpV-5zImwp6WK-QsvMt9VPjtCEfB_1q5Xa-X8Jy7dvbYhO71FFWF2E5Ixvy2BG7pEUBBVh9LJeplRph6A=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A few bucking the "no stopping for photos" request</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">At Lake Tekapo we took the opportunity to not only get off the highway, but also to get off the road when a lakeside path became apparent.</p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg5v7gKjAudod5CmjutFAgtfQZROplmttFANmxtEnB55GkUXwzM_6V664lBLu6yHBsFJUxiYScyP9Uo7T4ZrVVZDTqYYUp_IRAclbfK9TneBYJzkhMxQG3-XPhLjRacA7fpgegv-Xqg6Nih4aQ-vK1ay_jSoqKPTP97wL2SXSsLwkaZNPHdteLsOBrQRA=s2880" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2160" data-original-width="2880" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg5v7gKjAudod5CmjutFAgtfQZROplmttFANmxtEnB55GkUXwzM_6V664lBLu6yHBsFJUxiYScyP9Uo7T4ZrVVZDTqYYUp_IRAclbfK9TneBYJzkhMxQG3-XPhLjRacA7fpgegv-Xqg6Nih4aQ-vK1ay_jSoqKPTP97wL2SXSsLwkaZNPHdteLsOBrQRA=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p style="text-align: left;">Soon after we were checked into our accommodation and I was tending to my wounds. We had dinner at a Japanese restaurant, and enjoyed a very chilled out evening - the skies had cleared, but we didn't quite have the energy to stay up to see the stars fully come out to play - one of the few downsides of the latitude and resulting long days.</p><p style="text-align: left;"></p><p style="text-align: left;">Stats: <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/6440640571">111km ridden</a>, and one of them very poorly indeed by yours truly.</p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b>Day 5 - Lake Tekapo to Lake Ohau Lodge</b></p><p style="text-align: left;">We had our first full-bore café breakfast of the trip the next morning, and luckily were early enough that we dropped our coffee order before they ran out of beans (from Christchurch, apparently). For the duration of our meal, I grimaced every time they offered decaf alternative - as if folk were queuing up largely for the taste...</p><p style="text-align: left;">Once we were packed and rolling a coffee cart across the road seemed like the safest option for a second cup, before jumping onto the Alps 2 Ocean trail - on which we'd stay for at least the next two days. This is one of 22 "Great Rides" in the <a href="https://www.nzcycletrail.com/" target="_blank"><i>Ngā Haeranga</i> cycle trail network</a>, with the section we were about to ride being designated an "alternative start". </p><p style="text-align: left;">The "trail" took us through a small development of mini-McMansions before dropping down to the Tekapo Canal Road, which runs between the Tekapo A and B power stations. It was a fascinatingly complex area for the civil engineer in me that never was, with water moving this way and that - some spilling out of Lake Tekapo as overflow while other passing through turbines. And downstream some in the natural course of the Tekapo River bound for Lake Benmore and the Waitaki River, while the rest was in the man-made canal we'd be following en route to Lake Pukaki, taking the long way but donating a few more watts as it went.</p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgNkqCmgrzXmU5Cd6nxyhqPZ8bfPlTrVFh0rH71ndelY8ZjjFxBH3EEjTHXaBGvonjZWa8F5MWwyri-sR8auKsngXR990VecCHNP3LoCkDig0Qf-NJS5GoHjgLZ1SIvCwdByZjaXfUgnHHuNrqTKOshxMp3NkIlp4AMmVGGEiHfpo6kR7K-NNfNYfY1Og=s2880" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2160" data-original-width="2880" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgNkqCmgrzXmU5Cd6nxyhqPZ8bfPlTrVFh0rH71ndelY8ZjjFxBH3EEjTHXaBGvonjZWa8F5MWwyri-sR8auKsngXR990VecCHNP3LoCkDig0Qf-NJS5GoHjgLZ1SIvCwdByZjaXfUgnHHuNrqTKOshxMp3NkIlp4AMmVGGEiHfpo6kR7K-NNfNYfY1Og=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">What's left of the Tekapo River, spilling out of Scott's Pond</td></tr></tbody></table><p style="text-align: left;">For a long while we were riding on sealed road, despite a very appealing gravel path on the other side of the canal. At least the road gave us great views over the river, which was consistently dropping away on our left. Before long, we'd crossed the Fork Stream tributary which actually passed through a short culvert beneath both the canal and the road! Nifty. </p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhQxImV9tnNTqC3SZK8S1b148OKMnVKqjSKHKVa4NzgiIdbSAqGQKnt1yZubbmglMcvSkOCqwG2zGNjqkxd1PJuVlBzz_dTWxhZfpvvnd2YYgF62U4xMQPVYzlyjKkaVHFvhAKkV3BBNdtJoQWt4ZPZpL3a-TTLEc4XV8FwcVNqR7Brys7O_iUVXGH_7w=s2880" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2160" data-original-width="2880" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhQxImV9tnNTqC3SZK8S1b148OKMnVKqjSKHKVa4NzgiIdbSAqGQKnt1yZubbmglMcvSkOCqwG2zGNjqkxd1PJuVlBzz_dTWxhZfpvvnd2YYgF62U4xMQPVYzlyjKkaVHFvhAKkV3BBNdtJoQWt4ZPZpL3a-TTLEc4XV8FwcVNqR7Brys7O_iUVXGH_7w=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>The end of the public road heralded a pretty shitty stretch, as the surface deteriorated into what was probably the mashed remnants of a sealed road, and which was both aesthetically displeasing, and rough on the undercarriage. To make matters worse, the wind was in our faces, and the canal immediately to our right looked exactly the same as it had when we first joined it many kilometres ago - carefully built to spec with uniform width and nice straight lines...</div><div><br /></div><div>As the canal dragged on and on and on and on, at least I was able to admire the commitment, and enjoyed getting a sense of the long term value of diverting this water through an additional four power stations that it could otherwise bypass if flow through Tekapo A all continued down the Tekapo River course. There were also short moments of novelty - first when the canal crossed beneath SH8 (we had to wait for a gap in the cars), when we got our first glimpses of Lake Pukaki, and then at the salmon farm. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjmZ-pDrNaxrjjFl6OcKDxBsQLx-m4l4xVpsdSBtL90RIBuxZNmMfWxUEg0p3xtMMIVD9Kp6rhm61khH4O5lZ4DKspWlSSYC4YcEpELlGuB_zXb87gKAIq0CWCAx_8JIt8Eb2KEH-DWTe9xljjG6VFbiWAdQcCqoI5vhHqFsNDlygRe5TXdE-o5nYurvQ=s2880" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2160" data-original-width="2880" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjmZ-pDrNaxrjjFl6OcKDxBsQLx-m4l4xVpsdSBtL90RIBuxZNmMfWxUEg0p3xtMMIVD9Kp6rhm61khH4O5lZ4DKspWlSSYC4YcEpELlGuB_zXb87gKAIq0CWCAx_8JIt8Eb2KEH-DWTe9xljjG6VFbiWAdQcCqoI5vhHqFsNDlygRe5TXdE-o5nYurvQ=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>We celebrated this canal's terminus by having a bite to eat overlooking the massive Tekapo B penstocks and the lower reaches of Lake Pukaki. As fun as it might have been to straightline it, we doubled back to the road, and took the civilised way down the hill. </div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg5_66jkB9_UvZrkmyJW7uxww3am_sNY_OqsyyvpFYwXjvz6vxRaqvM576eYVxLannsr59_h-LbDJ2ZHEh5WTtRyNfEAiIJ2PMj47_7b0bHzLtNzY1DrcLKcOWqbiep77zy3nMLrNkYK_r-WCOBRlPyCEmzpH-3Nsej6y4m2vZhh91HnGjC59tejkErdQ=s2880" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2160" data-original-width="2880" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg5_66jkB9_UvZrkmyJW7uxww3am_sNY_OqsyyvpFYwXjvz6vxRaqvM576eYVxLannsr59_h-LbDJ2ZHEh5WTtRyNfEAiIJ2PMj47_7b0bHzLtNzY1DrcLKcOWqbiep77zy3nMLrNkYK_r-WCOBRlPyCEmzpH-3Nsej6y4m2vZhh91HnGjC59tejkErdQ=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Top</td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div><div><p style="text-align: left;">We took a short detour to check out the station, which I was glad of upon discovering that the interesting parts were all well and truly below the lake's surface. Good on them squeezing a bit more energy out of the water - it didn't cross my mind at the time, but now I wonder if it was built before the base was submerged by the lake. In any case, a top effort.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi9GgARu_xXUDBD0l7sxUnQPnVCHCWn8AMNVJU6kgxnBkRpDHMKbdrXy_UU2RQ3lS1K6vbzYt7PJtHJgtXNmLne9WMjCxNwA9X4FCu6lm8D3bKA1NhLBs4oEyQxnB4RdYWbVmGxUbl8epqJ4YCS1bZRQuBMBZAQoqqO0zrufe_C_ATPrTq71RqNUwFVMA=s2880" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2160" data-original-width="2880" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi9GgARu_xXUDBD0l7sxUnQPnVCHCWn8AMNVJU6kgxnBkRpDHMKbdrXy_UU2RQ3lS1K6vbzYt7PJtHJgtXNmLne9WMjCxNwA9X4FCu6lm8D3bKA1NhLBs4oEyQxnB4RdYWbVmGxUbl8epqJ4YCS1bZRQuBMBZAQoqqO0zrufe_C_ATPrTq71RqNUwFVMA=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tekapo B Power Station</td></tr></tbody></table><br />After a short bit of road riding, we enjoyed some lake-side single track which was part of the A2O-proper - alongside the canal, we'd been on the "alternative start" up until this point. Freshly harvested salmon was on offer before we crossed the highway again, and was duly consumed!<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjNuCeK5tcXOnMFxkolYfaJp29JgCqdGAkljaOrwOt2r8hpS3hSaY9vRLWP4ze6LDCQ19rHcowxQ2uadN3QYMqAyTqMi2mGORawPaa2m-B02hCXA-U1wi626ILbwoPJa9SM4YvB2PXmul1IbEPMOgKNvPHeExhm-3Z-BE4ZDDZZV74dr2i1JCjdzJzzdg=s2880" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2880" data-original-width="2160" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjNuCeK5tcXOnMFxkolYfaJp29JgCqdGAkljaOrwOt2r8hpS3hSaY9vRLWP4ze6LDCQ19rHcowxQ2uadN3QYMqAyTqMi2mGORawPaa2m-B02hCXA-U1wi626ILbwoPJa9SM4YvB2PXmul1IbEPMOgKNvPHeExhm-3Z-BE4ZDDZZV74dr2i1JCjdzJzzdg=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Matchy matchy</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">I really enjoyed the next section of trail which took us into Twizel - initially we descended through some conifers, and then had a long section out in the open through tussock. Despite being a relatively flat expanse and without notable natural features, the trail ducked and dived, and was rather fun. It is possible that the tedium of the canal had lowered my standards somewhat!</p><p style="text-align: left;">At Twizel, we stopped for a proper lunch at a café. Once underway, I got us a bit lost but eventually found the A2O trail again, and soon after that, realised we were heading back towards Tekapo. One U-turn later, we were on our way out of town, and soon to arrive at another godforsaken canal. It felt like we were alongside that one for yet another eternity, but it was actually only 10km of riding!</p><p style="text-align: left;">Initially we were travelling downstream, but after an intersection of two canals - the one we'd been following from Lake Pukaki, and the one we then took upstream towards Lake Ōhau. Once at the top of the canal, a gravel road took us to a weir, that if overflowing, would have necessitated a massive diversion to reach our final destination. No risk of that though, and we enjoyed blasting across the nifty structure.</p><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj04rsBJe_N3NgU7v8f8zmnD0uls8TvtTI215N4fg5TOr1eeqvI0W_hdu8WkxKXCsM_c5Z_mbeJDH4s29dLZPULAWNHMfVv38Kq4zHLr9SRIltr6s7pEfAiiXtuoZGmPb3T-31SDVDa9XqvINDNK2cY_w563aItg1fdIA6TTuCmYqBIZ2rBrN6w-k8_7w=s2880" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2160" data-original-width="2880" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj04rsBJe_N3NgU7v8f8zmnD0uls8TvtTI215N4fg5TOr1eeqvI0W_hdu8WkxKXCsM_c5Z_mbeJDH4s29dLZPULAWNHMfVv38Kq4zHLr9SRIltr6s7pEfAiiXtuoZGmPb3T-31SDVDa9XqvINDNK2cY_w563aItg1fdIA6TTuCmYqBIZ2rBrN6w-k8_7w=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Once safely across the outlet, we were treated to some charming track through scrappy bush. God-damn, it was good to be shy of those canals, and it was also nice to see a few e-bikers out and about. I guess had I read up about the route a bit more carefully, my expectations would have been better set, but I may never get used to the use of "Cycle Trail" to describe an on-road route.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiww_lf1ZTKwSOpiHLP8-zdRw1uo4YrZIncrV7An3GoECLItyNhSiuL7JQ-8-cY1svQxnMRLvsKt_LZcv6PN4K858Nws0qBE30-7Tn8OExzZJrIHtIbc92W6atmNkDlqR4nBxaiq7WT2lF68brAiqTSll24ynhwlnd37-wuEdiY0u90ca_cT76AcyDIUQ=s2880" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2160" data-original-width="2880" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiww_lf1ZTKwSOpiHLP8-zdRw1uo4YrZIncrV7An3GoECLItyNhSiuL7JQ-8-cY1svQxnMRLvsKt_LZcv6PN4K858Nws0qBE30-7Tn8OExzZJrIHtIbc92W6atmNkDlqR4nBxaiq7WT2lF68brAiqTSll24ynhwlnd37-wuEdiY0u90ca_cT76AcyDIUQ=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">Between the singletrack and our accommodation at Lake Ohau Lodge was some sealed road, but that passed quickly by. Just on the edge of the lodge's property I bumped into a colleague Amanda and her husband Mike. They were riding the trail also, but had started at Mount Cook Village and had stayed overnight in Twizel. </p><p style="text-align: left;">While the rendezvous with Amanda had been a surprise, not so to see Brendan and his partner Viv an hour later - a month or so ago we'd clicked we would be in the same neck of the woods (them doing a loop out of Timaru), and had organised to meet up here.</p><p style="text-align: left;">They'd had bike drama aplenty, and so we all had much to talk about over dinner. We shared a table with a family of four from Auckland, and so were not short of conversation.</p><div>Another highlight was when Aoraki / Mount Cook appeared in the late evening. Bathed in cloud earlier, we were treated to it off in the distance, and noted its unusual appearance when seen from this direction - the broad summit was one aspect, but also that it didn't look as prominent as some of the other, obviously closer, peaks.</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEinFBPCVs_vDxfBV4RFvv2Tv0ECeqIHZVG1v29-czzZbc4yE_pgf01DCAF-U4W-niuG6Ww6D4I3wWIqIVHCt6ZATxY6JRhe7NgiXVome5cOJTvkkEe9YrP0soDvLnQ_o0bNfjVTgi4QIWzZOG13QOLEjOte3I3bW4XHpbTOPtiYYrrgmqYOnR2UQasUfQ=s2880" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2160" data-original-width="2880" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEinFBPCVs_vDxfBV4RFvv2Tv0ECeqIHZVG1v29-czzZbc4yE_pgf01DCAF-U4W-niuG6Ww6D4I3wWIqIVHCt6ZATxY6JRhe7NgiXVome5cOJTvkkEe9YrP0soDvLnQ_o0bNfjVTgi4QIWzZOG13QOLEjOte3I3bW4XHpbTOPtiYYrrgmqYOnR2UQasUfQ=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Aoraki / Mount Cook catching the sunlight in centre shot</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">Stats: <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/6444953108" target="_blank">98km ridden</a>. Bleurgh (not something I often think when reflecting on a day in the saddle).<b><br /></b></p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;"></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b>Day 6 - Lake Ohau Lodge to Kurow</b></p><p style="text-align: left;">Dinner the previous night had been delicious, but given the market seemed mostly to be cycle tourists, was on the light side, energy-content-wise. Fortunately, I had no such complaints with respect to the cooked breakfast supplemented by buffet cereal. </p><p style="text-align: left;">Despite being among the few on self-powered bikes, we were the very last to leave, but not before being joined by Steven Fish, one of my team-mates from our <a href="http://sifter-writes-bikes.blogspot.com/2018/07/stage-1-2018-tour-de-france-one-day.html" target="_blank">2018 Tour de France</a>. He and his wife Hazel live in Waimate, and had been thinking about a few days away in their campervan when I got in touch from Ranfurly. He leapt at the chance to connect with us, and we'd been looking forward to his company since.</p><p style="text-align: left;">We had a final round of coffees with Brendan and Viv before wishing them a good ride to Lake Tekapo. Then, Sarah, Steve and I set off after the e-bikers...!</p><p style="text-align: left;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhoxKGgdKvnVnn5vJm6rJOZ2tHG-vOXgiAEfSYZPfzkrqd494moEsnNJbdxah13mTZ8BH67-dH9L14tPJp_QGeObxsOQsjoLBayQ2Nt4s5icHImaDQifU2lbOA5N7mPt16mePhQeqB0kxbiYWGRjm9IoYp3mEHJ1ideKBufjjg_spt42g51UQzWg9QVCw=s2880" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2880" data-original-width="2160" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhoxKGgdKvnVnn5vJm6rJOZ2tHG-vOXgiAEfSYZPfzkrqd494moEsnNJbdxah13mTZ8BH67-dH9L14tPJp_QGeObxsOQsjoLBayQ2Nt4s5icHImaDQifU2lbOA5N7mPt16mePhQeqB0kxbiYWGRjm9IoYp3mEHJ1ideKBufjjg_spt42g51UQzWg9QVCw=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A rare pocket of native bush!</td></tr></tbody></table><br />It was a bit of a novelty for me to be able to follow Sarah and Steve up the first hill. He and I had been yacking when Sarah went to the front and put the hammer down, relatively speaking. He glued himself to her wheel, and I yoyoed off the back in between fumbling around with my camera and fits of giggles.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhl9PuIB-ZLbhO5WhT3bOVO5pjqikrEdau5a9BI6VGBhZaeHl7AcIKczG8f4OGDjicTLKdKYvKSnTXnhgYQTh9iJZ6Yhml6mJpLP_Ei3AJ97kmLx9QqHV77XqnlkJYx1gmZ0MfON1d_iKMgPacpUGCRShGc55QwcB3C-bPgyxf8cFzEK904WZQln1G8Fg=s2880" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2160" data-original-width="2880" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhl9PuIB-ZLbhO5WhT3bOVO5pjqikrEdau5a9BI6VGBhZaeHl7AcIKczG8f4OGDjicTLKdKYvKSnTXnhgYQTh9iJZ6Yhml6mJpLP_Ei3AJ97kmLx9QqHV77XqnlkJYx1gmZ0MfON1d_iKMgPacpUGCRShGc55QwcB3C-bPgyxf8cFzEK904WZQln1G8Fg=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">As foreshadowed by Brendan and Viv, who'd been through in the opposite direction the previous afternoon, it got quite rocky for a spell, and I slowed a bit to ensure I could pick a line that would be easiest on my poor overloaded steed. Once the rock garden was over, next came a crazy section of parallel ruts through pasture. I remain surprised that the bike rental companies don't see fit to clean these up - I very much doubt their punters realise how treacherous these can be, and would be surprised to learn that there aren't fairly regular accidents through here.</p><p style="text-align: left;">That all said, we soon found a peloton of e-bikers stopped for a snack. All seemed intact, though one fellow was cursing and swearing the inadequacy of his rental pump, and his bad luck at having to use it. For all our relative prowess, my wounds from the other day had scabbed up nicely, and Sarah was nursing a bruised hand after a clumsy low-speed post-stop manoeuvre hadn't gone to plan. </p><p style="text-align: left;">We bade them farewell, and then quickly knocked out a gravel road section which took us most of the way into Omarama, during which time Dr Fish spontaneously said "<i>your wife's a fucking beast</i>". Normally that wouldn't go down so well, but when spoken to a cyclist, during a ride with said wife, it elicits a great sense of pride. "<i>Yep, she's a fucking beast alright</i>" I replied, with a great big smile on my face, that also betrayed my appreciation that he'd seen fit to notice and mention it. Even when not at peak fitness, Sarah's power and prowess on a bike is indeed impressive. </p><p style="text-align: left;">It was lunch time, and we settled on a place down a side road, and ordered food (with a side dish of nurofen for Sarah). While we were queuing, I noticed a map into which patrons were clearly welcome to contribute pins to. Not for the first time, Sarah's became the first pin emanating from Mongolia! </p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiwH9gpRN5B50peqWqonDAno8k0GvRJj5M32kY_BT015ncVxZq-S21JRCG-be2d3UEWRgbfBLE7_gLNLSORCAxElrBWqUgCHaGdltH3z3U3Ws6Ga8B6kIXO_0zans49_Y-rj1Xey7Z7XfHeFkEtOgWN5bLPet2RtCJKY8Ha0C9aTB9FxGIa9NmKz5WXqg=s2880" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2160" data-original-width="2880" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiwH9gpRN5B50peqWqonDAno8k0GvRJj5M32kY_BT015ncVxZq-S21JRCG-be2d3UEWRgbfBLE7_gLNLSORCAxElrBWqUgCHaGdltH3z3U3Ws6Ga8B6kIXO_0zans49_Y-rj1Xey7Z7XfHeFkEtOgWN5bLPet2RtCJKY8Ha0C9aTB9FxGIa9NmKz5WXqg=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Steve had ridden the trail through to Sailor's Cutting before, but the section between there and the Benmore Dam had only recently been opened. Damn it was sweet! It wouldn't surprise me if it had been built by the same crew that had installed the Lake Dunstan Cycle Trail - it had a very similar feel to it. While it was missing the cantilevered sections off the cliff faces, every other aspect of this was better, though I may have let myself forget about the frustratingly frequent gates...! (So, not <i>every</i> aspect...).</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgUVhduBdo6rVFBIDLSm79J9ZBnCabdGAzPKB8ntg4LD7wSVZ8Gy0UdZqhtnqpg7_j8W-UvFQHwZtabpSMgwkMk0OMmYMKM-bN8Bfp4eIoRtdWeecxPym93nTkBZddBNZMJkKqbEkCVC9SOFXxIuJuby3XxaHEnbUbgj2l-ysaqEa_f6Rqw2nMwScq2xg=s2880" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2160" data-original-width="2880" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgUVhduBdo6rVFBIDLSm79J9ZBnCabdGAzPKB8ntg4LD7wSVZ8Gy0UdZqhtnqpg7_j8W-UvFQHwZtabpSMgwkMk0OMmYMKM-bN8Bfp4eIoRtdWeecxPym93nTkBZddBNZMJkKqbEkCVC9SOFXxIuJuby3XxaHEnbUbgj2l-ysaqEa_f6Rqw2nMwScq2xg=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">MINT!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">Based on what, I'm not sure, but it did surprise me that we didn't overlook Benmore Dam sooner, but it eventually did come into sight after a neat few minutes which reminded me a lot of <a href="http://sifter-writes-bikes.blogspot.com/2012/09/catching-air-in-colorado.html" target="_blank">that one time I rode in Colorado</a>! Again, because I hadn't done my homework, I was surprised to see Lake Benmore sits behind a (no-doubt reinforced) pile of dirt. Well I'll be damned.</p></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg4ZwGn8NmhBlH1YWjOxEI62T2Y75j3Hz-2iKjDKC9_a2cUObcVA303zZbCBG-itJb9OVm1hfU0u_1CHHl6Ojse4Z_clwgwnoR8t-t6Qq6hrneVm_pRUgUHj5RwQqFRxL3HZBBYqt0hnMIPejxGdJr4HgKb9pwJg-ZQL-7_lr7BODP-2PJDbPX7EQHsaA=s2880" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2160" data-original-width="2880" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg4ZwGn8NmhBlH1YWjOxEI62T2Y75j3Hz-2iKjDKC9_a2cUObcVA303zZbCBG-itJb9OVm1hfU0u_1CHHl6Ojse4Z_clwgwnoR8t-t6Qq6hrneVm_pRUgUHj5RwQqFRxL3HZBBYqt0hnMIPejxGdJr4HgKb9pwJg-ZQL-7_lr7BODP-2PJDbPX7EQHsaA=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Benmore Dam</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">None of us felt compelled to take a side trip into Otematata, whose complete set of syllables I struggled then and now to retain, and spent some time over the duration of the ride trying to piece together. On the other hand, the wind was in our sails, and I had no such troubles dragging us all along Lake Aviemore. Even without chasing a local <i>too hard</i>, we knocked it out with an average speed in the low 30s.</p><p style="text-align: left;">When I wasn't focussing on my pedals, I was trying to get my head around the campers. I assumed most had left big sections on the flat, only to drive to a lakeside and cram themselves like sardines into a gravel layby. The "sites" seemed only to have the proximity to the lake going for them, unless you like neighbours a few feet away on all sides. I don't recall seeing much of this in the North Island, but maybe I've never looked in the right places!</p><p style="text-align: left;">We crossed over the Aviemore Dam, before the "trail" became an actual trail again. I thought we might be done with the hydro scheme, but soon it became apparent that there was yet another power station downstream to come. Before long we reached it, only to find Hazel, Steve's wife there. She'd been "dot-watching", namely following Steve's location online - he was riding with a Spot tracker dangling off the back of his saddle bag, which constantly updated his whereabouts online. Hazel told us we'd had a long lunch break, which was true!!!</p><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEilsdrhA84qQPL2SEen4hSnOkfNjuxEPRFHskdSqckD7tjPFYH_dsK8gOPpsyYXQsQ7VqtpsqCqdf0Yjc4AY6BrMz_W6gh4rPTE66QYw6gY-3dbDyA1ySKj_lEgwP-ob9I-E2pvUpXWmSrLNyqFkMJTMh5ohAOKVvhc4MdNH1E7WayCX10__-hyNr8KcA=s2880" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2160" data-original-width="2880" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEilsdrhA84qQPL2SEen4hSnOkfNjuxEPRFHskdSqckD7tjPFYH_dsK8gOPpsyYXQsQ7VqtpsqCqdf0Yjc4AY6BrMz_W6gh4rPTE66QYw6gY-3dbDyA1ySKj_lEgwP-ob9I-E2pvUpXWmSrLNyqFkMJTMh5ohAOKVvhc4MdNH1E7WayCX10__-hyNr8KcA=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Waves running out of road at the bottom end of Aviemore. Luckily we were able to make better use of the tail wind</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">We met Hazel again soon in Kurow, but not before enjoying some good wind and gravity assisted riding - the perfect combo. Once there, we had a celebratory drink and quick de-brief, and made a tentative plan to see Steve again the next day on the outskirts of Waimate. </p><p style="text-align: left;">After thanking and farewelling the Fishes, we headed for the other pub in Kurow, and had a jolly good feed. It was much quieter, but altogether a nicer environment to eat in ones lycra! Dinner finished, we had a familiar ride down the road to our B&B, where we got treated to some of the return-guest perks, namely a private spa and access to a table tennis table. It was a lovely way to cap off a great day's riding.</p></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiBJ9092RRFxDk03c7F-6EaXjZZ6umA1yCz1Ij9Bl-gVUR702AWfyXvQOK4QO1xUo1xB6t7g2FvtZIpaFCLuof6O1oxE9r90XN6Hw3o631wbqVwHAH28iAwH53MtHK7aMgQoz0LvGW1nOdzp4VG7s17eCfCobd4zn2utixZX-ByXZ3mNbADYi4sM2Hikw=s2880" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2160" data-original-width="2880" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiBJ9092RRFxDk03c7F-6EaXjZZ6umA1yCz1Ij9Bl-gVUR702AWfyXvQOK4QO1xUo1xB6t7g2FvtZIpaFCLuof6O1oxE9r90XN6Hw3o631wbqVwHAH28iAwH53MtHK7aMgQoz0LvGW1nOdzp4VG7s17eCfCobd4zn2utixZX-ByXZ3mNbADYi4sM2Hikw=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></div><br /><b><br /></b><p style="text-align: left;">Stats: <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/6449527403" target="_blank">111km ridden</a></p><p style="text-align: left;"></p><p style="text-align: left;"><b><br /></b></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b>Day 7 - Kurow to Timaru</b></p><p>The previous afternoon, Steve had made several suggestions about how to approach Waimate. The one that stuck was to ride over Meyer's Pass, which necessitated heading back up the Hakataramea Valley. Close inspection of the AA map threw up a surprising alternative to the sealed road we'd taken a few days earlier - a gravel road on the other side of the river. </p><p>After another great breakfast courtesy of our hosts at Western House B&B, we rolled across the road onto the A2O. Even though it involved the immediate prospect of wet feet, riding the short section on the highway for the fifth time was uninspiring.</p><p>I carried the two bikes through the stream, but encouraged Sarah to try to keep her feet dry. She made a great stab at the first metre or two, but stalled in mid air, and ended up just as wet as I was!</p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh653jCYbOR4Lv38-EDWgdzJrFLHfry8E9QSBL4nfg7XstQ5K5xJ2-3Ad6hdaI_i0xjccaMQA84wzlKapmmUso4rstsIlXY5xwbpCtd0rWH1Ok7joNcKVPfH2zCLh39ilRWib0_W0tLDVCY7nCAfGHLn2Ml7cCCHHlS-50_UrFPV2tUv-zg_V0NmltYDw=s2880" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2880" data-original-width="2160" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh653jCYbOR4Lv38-EDWgdzJrFLHfry8E9QSBL4nfg7XstQ5K5xJ2-3Ad6hdaI_i0xjccaMQA84wzlKapmmUso4rstsIlXY5xwbpCtd0rWH1Ok7joNcKVPfH2zCLh39ilRWib0_W0tLDVCY7nCAfGHLn2Ml7cCCHHlS-50_UrFPV2tUv-zg_V0NmltYDw=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">What a great start!</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">My GPS had inexplicably stopped a couple of kilometres from Kurow the previous afternoon, so I asked Sarah to sort a coffee order while I hooned back up the road to find my missing data. It took a little longer than anticipated, so after letting Dr Fish know we hadn't quite left as advertised, I duly sculled my coffee and got underway. </p><p style="text-align: left;">McHenry's Road proved to be a fantastic alternative, and a great way to cut out 13km of the sealed valley road, not to mention a short climb! I made a mental note to suggest to Jonathan Kennett that the next version of the Alps 2 Hakataramea Loop be amended to incorporate this (since done, and received with appreciation). </p><p style="text-align: left;">En route to Meyers Pass Road we passed through <a href="https://www.foverandeerpark.co.nz/" target="_blank">Foveran Deer Park</a>, which piqued our curiosity with its boundary gates, but gave little clue as to what the fuss was about. Soon after Wrights Crossing we turned away from the Haka River and started climbing more earnestly. </p><p style="text-align: left;">Boy did we feel slow, thanks to the triple whammy of a sluggish surface, sterner gradient and a headwind. On reflection, I realised that we'd also ridden over 700km in the preceding week, so we weren't exactly coming at it with fresh legs!</p><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhz14IBg-Y7wry82BmvW-ZfCSz2i5R577kljn3C6zSD7iNi8TMzBZ-6BzYiatOnEtkB7OVWsarnCBhsBsWaSW9orYikkeRuHK-WBOZIsZMztux8egt4UJkqepw0a4jUgm-9Iy0tpS2IOtPk4ZdvOxk2TDeYY80V4Pibxnlq5BW7PmvGVXjwtvFE93V3CQ=s2880" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2160" data-original-width="2880" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhz14IBg-Y7wry82BmvW-ZfCSz2i5R577kljn3C6zSD7iNi8TMzBZ-6BzYiatOnEtkB7OVWsarnCBhsBsWaSW9orYikkeRuHK-WBOZIsZMztux8egt4UJkqepw0a4jUgm-9Iy0tpS2IOtPk4ZdvOxk2TDeYY80V4Pibxnlq5BW7PmvGVXjwtvFE93V3CQ=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Public Road"</td></tr></tbody></table><br />Despite the required effort, the road was most enjoyable, and it was easy to feel a little more intrepid and even further off the beaten track than usual. I kept imagining Steven flying up the other side, and wondered if we'd eventually see him coming down towards us. In the meantime, there were other things to see, including a lovely old stone bridge.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh9SJfg7t9Pi6L1Vl_bxtf58nwI3OPhkfurVaaMvyW1Y13wn62teQLV-Jc3Pl-K9HST193Dwy8IgqkjxFyhws6_MNBBgWfORuOrU-v8r82EOt7n8BnLzymqLpM85EmbgMVMIl7jnClPIun3ZbS4drdRRCd1Az89FUplQ2YfJrOSfBwVPl7Jy6wr7xqUmw=s2880" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2160" data-original-width="2880" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh9SJfg7t9Pi6L1Vl_bxtf58nwI3OPhkfurVaaMvyW1Y13wn62teQLV-Jc3Pl-K9HST193Dwy8IgqkjxFyhws6_MNBBgWfORuOrU-v8r82EOt7n8BnLzymqLpM85EmbgMVMIl7jnClPIun3ZbS4drdRRCd1Az89FUplQ2YfJrOSfBwVPl7Jy6wr7xqUmw=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">Steve wasn't waiting for us at the top, and we ended up descending for quite a while before he came into view. As it turned out, we were not the only ones who'd made a slow start!</p><div>It was nice to zone out for a while as navigator, as we were treated to a guided tour all the way into Waimate. We stopped briefly outside the Waihao Forks Hotel to hear the sad story of "<a href="https://www.stuff.co.nz/timaru-herald/news/121908247/waimate-wwii-legend-ted-dauvergne-commemorated-in-bronze-statue" target="_blank">Ted's bottle</a>". </div><div><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgOrkbN2gVY-dZ4AgK3lXIi7ZZHrbkNVi1Cu-l5QS-hJDf3Xq7jcug5BMLUu2C2lSAAkKpDqA7lgEzHc-3qRANibAGMr-Q0rW0Xj91MmSSWEd2U2R0ewOAygBpAwhc3VkEqpOV-8p3KqDHoK_oX9BlEzSbQVfYqoABdVO7SCXUVvLdm38L2nL17GxUI7A=s2880" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2160" data-original-width="2880" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgOrkbN2gVY-dZ4AgK3lXIi7ZZHrbkNVi1Cu-l5QS-hJDf3Xq7jcug5BMLUu2C2lSAAkKpDqA7lgEzHc-3qRANibAGMr-Q0rW0Xj91MmSSWEd2U2R0ewOAygBpAwhc3VkEqpOV-8p3KqDHoK_oX9BlEzSbQVfYqoABdVO7SCXUVvLdm38L2nL17GxUI7A=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">When we reached Waimate itself, Steve took us past his general practice (he's a local doctor), and then to the velodrome for a hot lap. We then accelerated towards his home for a cuppa, until Sarah announced that she couldn't shift into her big ring...</p><p>Gear shifting had always been an Achilles' heel on our Opens, and during the year we took the plunge to convert both to electronic shifting. Since doing so, the bikes hadn't skipped a beat (or put another way, had skipped a specific beat each and every time we'd asked them to). As advertised, a single charge had lasted months, and to date, we'd not had any low-battery indication. Each bike had spent a full night on charge just before we left Wellington, and I assumed that would have been enough for a couple of laps of the south island, let alone a single passage. </p><p>You'd think I'd have learnt from <a href="http://sifter-writes-bikes.blogspot.com/2013/04/no-whining-at-graperide.html" target="_blank">an earlier episode</a>, but despite the modern charger being a much smaller unit than back when we first got Di2 for the tandem, I hadn't carried the charger with me. No matter, Steve was on the case!</p><p>Within minutes we were knocking on the door of one of his racing mates. He didn't have what we needed, but between the two of them, thought we should try Brad next. He lived round the corner, and not only was home, but didn't hesitate taking Sarah's bike inside and immediately firing it on the charger. The jug went straight on too, and we were treated to some amazing hospitality. (And yes, his racing bike lives inside the house, nice and close to the charger!)</p><p>Our destination for the day was Timaru, and after an hour or so of yakking, the battery had surely topped up enough to get us there. Brad insisted we take the charger north with us, lest we have further problems. Despite having had only a few minutes to freak out about the situation before it was being solved by those around us, it was so nice to have been helped in this way. I vowed to never leave home without the charger again, and with Brad's address copied onto my phone, we said our farewells with an overwhelming sense of gratitude.</p><p>That was the good news, the not so good was that we were still a fair distance from Timaru, and by this stage it was 3:30 in the afternoon! Making a beeline for SH1 would have been by far the quickest and shortest route (45km or so), but the route I'd planned using backroads would only add 15km, and would hopefully be sufficiently more pleasant to justify the extra distance. For a time that was probably true, but we couldn't quite sustain that frame of mind through to Timaru! (Well, at least not both of us!)</p><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiwuqad3kfvRhJ72-CN1IIFLxPnxkcdeKUN-oMKo3wpPnHzLAPS1ZZ32KNI3lc9mA3sjU-9H5JEQquEDQKz9OFoLp3_81CEGKaqpHJorcrsGrfTU50ZvQ0pYCSR_sJrzG0hvWhlQHTC8n6Iv-2zi6DFJwN2rULgLQt4Z2kxzZyi5epTEFW2ftE8LQ3E6Q=s3264" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1592" data-original-width="3264" height="195" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiwuqad3kfvRhJ72-CN1IIFLxPnxkcdeKUN-oMKo3wpPnHzLAPS1ZZ32KNI3lc9mA3sjU-9H5JEQquEDQKz9OFoLp3_81CEGKaqpHJorcrsGrfTU50ZvQ0pYCSR_sJrzG0hvWhlQHTC8n6Iv-2zi6DFJwN2rULgLQt4Z2kxzZyi5epTEFW2ftE8LQ3E6Q=w400-h195" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Recharging at St Mary's Church, Otaio</td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">The route was mostly unsealed, and at times rather convoluted. I was definitely surprised at the number of fords we had to cross, a few requiring us to walk through the water.</p><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiZNgyASz327QmE2UjWboUOV6OU52iNfCErqsXNZGg0MjcEbuaiVVfHKoUaUFl94CTuqhZzRP5ZG91Nh7SOZOZ1RMMdUes4JNOQFCIfsO5RG4tN6QOuLQrJLEcFLk6fQ3BS2rJFcylRO-fomU6sG2KG-HiJrW--n0rwh1-SGr_Seck7MQa-pThIZBw3LA=s2880" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2160" data-original-width="2880" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiZNgyASz327QmE2UjWboUOV6OU52iNfCErqsXNZGg0MjcEbuaiVVfHKoUaUFl94CTuqhZzRP5ZG91Nh7SOZOZ1RMMdUes4JNOQFCIfsO5RG4tN6QOuLQrJLEcFLk6fQ3BS2rJFcylRO-fomU6sG2KG-HiJrW--n0rwh1-SGr_Seck7MQa-pThIZBw3LA=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sarah fording the Otaio River on Church Hill "Road"</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">Eeeeeeventually, we arrived on the outskirts of Timaru. Sarah didn't notice "Rocky Hundreds Rd" which has to be one of the cooler street names I've seen, but the necessary pick-me-up for her was arriving at our overnight accommodation. </p><p style="text-align: left;">It was well equipped, and while a load of laundry was on (and the first bike on charge), I popped quickly to the nearby Countdown, managing to score breakfast supplies before it closed. That done, we had a late dinner at an Indian restaurant, and as we walked past the main police station which was just around the corner from our motel, knew that we'd get a good night's sleep. A hard ride and a good dose of stress will do that to you, even if the streets aren't uncharacteristically quiet!</p><p style="text-align: left;">Stats: <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/6454221821" target="_blank">142km ridden</a>, the longest day of our tour, and one bullet dodged.</p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b>Day 8 - Timaru to Methven</b></p><p>As it turned out, our troubles were not completely behind us, though they weren't of the battery charge variety.</p><p>Timaru was a ghost town when we rolled out, presumably the combination of it being both a Sunday morning, and the 2nd of January public holiday. Consequently a Wild Bean Café at the northern end of town seemed to be our first and best option for a coffee. </p><p>We'd arranged to meet up with Brendan for a ride through to Methven after he'd dropped Viv at the airport for her flight back to Wellington. Picking a decent route seemed like a bit of a lottery, but bridges over the various rivers we'd cross were few and far between, so we had some fixed points to plan around at least. We were aiming to meet him in Pleasant Point, and decided to go via the main road. As it turned out, there was a great cycle path along its length, which showed a weakness of planning off the AA maps (which tend to invite main road avoidance).</p><p>Brendan rang and I told him we'd just passed the Timaru Airport turnoff, revealing he was only a couple of minutes up the road. We were together soon after and cruised into Pleasant Point together. After admiring the local steam train, we settled on a hotel café for a coffee, and I spent the break experiencing serious food envy while watching Brendan enjoy a massive slice of cheesecake with his coffee!</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjyMCG2IVwXrH1xPbziEx3B3l6T_n7p0Vq0Wlllk0cepQnu5fd9QHbBqrq41dtfdcOXR4FHgiVRTnMwMU3WVfI87f3HZw4lAHWAIjauST5ZjcUfomeeie-YSEzv77W7qyoGuHf85JS9IlTrr0J66IBeXFXYDEhDiWLP80vifOlSFFS4H350qM7OU9WFSw=s2880" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2160" data-original-width="2880" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjyMCG2IVwXrH1xPbziEx3B3l6T_n7p0Vq0Wlllk0cepQnu5fd9QHbBqrq41dtfdcOXR4FHgiVRTnMwMU3WVfI87f3HZw4lAHWAIjauST5ZjcUfomeeie-YSEzv77W7qyoGuHf85JS9IlTrr0J66IBeXFXYDEhDiWLP80vifOlSFFS4H350qM7OU9WFSw=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">After debating various options, we finally settled on a route, but for the life of me, I couldn't get it uploaded to my Garmin. Fortunately, Brendan was having no such problems, and so we were able to rely on his gadget. </p><p style="text-align: left;">We had a good ride through to Geraldine, where we stopped for some cold drinks and food. By this stage, Brendan had committed to a massive day, wanting to carry on through to Springfield where his boy Fletcher would be spending the night with his mum's family. Balancing the competing merits of company and speed, we stuck together for a while longer. </p><p style="text-align: left;">After crossing the Rangitata River, we dove off the main drag onto a quieter road. The complex network was a bit of a hoot, not least when we found ourselves at a six-way intersection.</p><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj_VOgh3S8hrb2z-vVsXjfo-iuJwUxXvZ6uioibYRWNZMW3RF8wG4vuflvX88O9ybcBHjZSZofKO4WoNI8chi-BmvnUxe2ocJ58JOiUqr7AxJz-MWuZmmDcHLcV6eSDriUEqRO9SOam-Bzm5bUy70iVNsz067mD4cYDa_jDs6seqEfEYYgNN6xP3pX7Hw=s18928" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1904" data-original-width="18928" height="40" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj_VOgh3S8hrb2z-vVsXjfo-iuJwUxXvZ6uioibYRWNZMW3RF8wG4vuflvX88O9ybcBHjZSZofKO4WoNI8chi-BmvnUxe2ocJ58JOiUqr7AxJz-MWuZmmDcHLcV6eSDriUEqRO9SOam-Bzm5bUy70iVNsz067mD4cYDa_jDs6seqEfEYYgNN6xP3pX7Hw=w400-h40" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Intersection pano-madness</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">Trouble came by way of Sarah reporting pain in one of her Achilles tendons. I had nurofen handy and these were used to take the edge off, and soon after we sent Brendan on his way so we could button off a bit. The prospect of seeing his boy would keep Brendan adequately fueled for what would end up being a 200km-plus day.</p><p style="text-align: left;">With a little less pressure to keep moving, we made one attempt to access a river for a quick swim. That failed, but on our second attempt we made it down to the shore. Using the road bridge as cover, we did a bit of skinny dipping and when we did start riding again, both of us felt a bit better for the time in some cool water.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiwjoXeK9ONT21v5tYjwAP4rKNMHLTsEeQ6hTwwNRB0oHzwriLC4OQL5ZHvJ1uTVgnDwk6q0G_glxsVTV9YjpDQpjMju5HCmbv9WdmO299pFtHXhO1DqF4oxre5FVOB3iktIt7Ubg61RJoYrTnlgehq7Te-Yjc0RL-2YduaR1TmNk_upyyNVpyEhMMJ_A=s4000" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiwjoXeK9ONT21v5tYjwAP4rKNMHLTsEeQ6hTwwNRB0oHzwriLC4OQL5ZHvJ1uTVgnDwk6q0G_glxsVTV9YjpDQpjMju5HCmbv9WdmO299pFtHXhO1DqF4oxre5FVOB3iktIt7Ubg61RJoYrTnlgehq7Te-Yjc0RL-2YduaR1TmNk_upyyNVpyEhMMJ_A=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Time for a cheeky swim!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">The route into Methven had looked so benign on the map, but unfortunately the gravel surface was amongst the worst we'd encountered. Fortunately I gave up on reaching the track along water race path, but even that wasn't without its costs as Sarah lost her front wheel pulling a very low speed u-turn, to add injury to insult. She was OK, and when we crossed the path a while later it was a relief to see we'd avoided an unpleasant bit of riding.</p><p style="text-align: left;">At Methven finally, we bumped into Brendan who was just setting off after an early dinner. Once at our accommodation, we discovered visible bruising on Sarah's sore tendon - an issue which we would have to confront the next morning, but which didn't prevent us from having a nice meal and otherwise relaxing evening. It helped that Sarah was able to spend much of the break with her feet up (literally), and there was even an icepack in our room's freezer box which was put to good use!</p><p style="text-align: left;">Stats: <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/6458774455" target="_blank">125km ridden</a></p></div><div style="text-align: left;"><p style="text-align: left;"></p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b>Day 9 - Methven to Springfield</b></p><p>Overnight I took a careful look at Sarah's cleats, and adjusted the problematic side to bring her heel slightly closer into the bike. I also dropped her saddle 5mm in the hope that this would help. Beyond those things and the previous evening's R.I.C.E. treatment, it was a matter of taking it easy and hoping for the best.</p><p>Once we crossed the Rakaia River, we had a couple of route options for a relatively short day through to Springfield. Sticking with our booking and taking main roads would be about 70km, while a back route via Lake Coleridge would only add another 10km or so. We decided to give that a whirl. </p><p>Before leaving town, I bumped into a colleague (I thought I'd seen him the evening before, but we were both wearing masks and I hadn't been able to catch his Scottish accent then), and after a short conversation while consuming coffee, we got underway. Sarah and I parted ways briefly as I wanted to get off a (shorter) race route I'd ridden a few years ago, but we crossed the river together. </p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjw-Jj8BcF867EvhzRUTiKSQt07XQUmucf4wFKC3QJsfhZZ69eodi2YZOUhVOlViL6FVTw-sykOhkR8L07dmebjJmEPXNIT9Y3jYGOeGDAgWNuWKoDiJuYJBITk1rRXkQZfGCheOyUPFpwPBMA2sriNoe0qZnqtp7jIJhI0bkNzdkdL2oVMfoIJLa3vag=s2880" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2160" data-original-width="2880" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjw-Jj8BcF867EvhzRUTiKSQt07XQUmucf4wFKC3QJsfhZZ69eodi2YZOUhVOlViL6FVTw-sykOhkR8L07dmebjJmEPXNIT9Y3jYGOeGDAgWNuWKoDiJuYJBITk1rRXkQZfGCheOyUPFpwPBMA2sriNoe0qZnqtp7jIJhI0bkNzdkdL2oVMfoIJLa3vag=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Other riders were few and far between</td></tr></tbody></table><br />After admiring the old bridge, we took a chance on Zig Zag Road together. It started very gently indeed, but I fretted about Sarah's injury when the gradient kicked up, and despite the great views we got back over the river, wondered if I should have forced her to take the long way around.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgvJN-90fnrYyWfSYKIeWPHRHc3TrD98TjcnNQwXPfUwv5iQ250JRsWJ0J902bNXywcr7URtMmEfkr663yK_rKXRLDg3kgBFRvlsaVsGJevvUGIHCe4NpBUvIaiHNFhYZiRGJb4gEPwRSH6D9B-3RfO0i_QLxDeYlRBYFn5MWInhsZwvRj4wkau4tK5aw=s2880" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2160" data-original-width="2880" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgvJN-90fnrYyWfSYKIeWPHRHc3TrD98TjcnNQwXPfUwv5iQ250JRsWJ0J902bNXywcr7URtMmEfkr663yK_rKXRLDg3kgBFRvlsaVsGJevvUGIHCe4NpBUvIaiHNFhYZiRGJb4gEPwRSH6D9B-3RfO0i_QLxDeYlRBYFn5MWInhsZwvRj4wkau4tK5aw=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">For a moment I thought we were going to have a massive descent to connect with Coleridge Road, but fortunately we hadn't climbed in vain. We weren't anticipating access issues, but any doubt was removed by a prominent sign on the main road.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh4q7x5Ov-uW-Kg1bkT3Rb4gUuuaiN4H99dxPaWxClE_XtcUzrH66ovhO9ZMxddOeY94qR8To2lw5GhWbMlV5s9c3Ni7JfOwl0rkWcbY5m_ABsPlcYFemBydZRyzKuZhP72fwbj9uTSl0P4gMsE5Cvoosb7L25zfd6BZISvE9qJnODGqZPr3iDVXKSmgQ=s2880" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2160" data-original-width="2880" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh4q7x5Ov-uW-Kg1bkT3Rb4gUuuaiN4H99dxPaWxClE_XtcUzrH66ovhO9ZMxddOeY94qR8To2lw5GhWbMlV5s9c3Ni7JfOwl0rkWcbY5m_ABsPlcYFemBydZRyzKuZhP72fwbj9uTSl0P4gMsE5Cvoosb7L25zfd6BZISvE9qJnODGqZPr3iDVXKSmgQ=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">Aside from worrying about Sarah's tendon, the ride was also eliciting terrible memories of a Calder Stewart race I'd done on these roads. I'd been involved in a terrible crash - I wasn't hurt myself, but as I was passing a rider he'd looked over his other shoulder and swung into me, falling, and bringing a large number of others down, including my team-mate Lee who'd ended up being helicoptered to hospital with some serious injuries. Lee recovered, and people who'd seen the accident play out had assured me I'd done nothing wrong. But, I've carried a sense of guilt ever since which has contributed to my complete withdrawal from the road racing scene. I was hoping that the day's ride would bring me closer to closure.</p><p style="text-align: left;">The scenery was cathartic, and I would have sworn black and blue that I'd never been here before. Even with the context of the accident, I was surprised to have no recollection whatsoever of the valley. Just goes to show, you don't see much of the countryside when racing. What a waste!</p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg0fVTkOKwkPPxI7oT4qM1Lbxv_bMT2wRZtIqSz1Hti4sv27xqTDgXpBEcQEf307H2uVEPhu4l8LxTL9GwtTAbbnywaOmoTkwBZ3fUselSbsZh4yTnKkf0IThgcbJxZQk-fU94J0srrj3F2YUveukuYbva6Wd8eUM0NAOZT2CZFWCR6h3zumoU0lrySiA=s2880" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2160" data-original-width="2880" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg0fVTkOKwkPPxI7oT4qM1Lbxv_bMT2wRZtIqSz1Hti4sv27xqTDgXpBEcQEf307H2uVEPhu4l8LxTL9GwtTAbbnywaOmoTkwBZ3fUselSbsZh4yTnKkf0IThgcbJxZQk-fU94J0srrj3F2YUveukuYbva6Wd8eUM0NAOZT2CZFWCR6h3zumoU0lrySiA=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">We reached our turn off just short of the Lake Coleridge village. We climbed up the road, and for a while it seemed like we were going to completely miss seeing the lake. There was no obvious access when the road was closest to it, and once we were pulling away from it, didn't really want to be faffing around. After about 10 minutes climbing on Lyndon Road, it came into view behind us, which was nice.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgKArSW8l_wRaGwQSSbd2F0leaXT8zge5wkjM-SYX1K7nsGgF5ljOTGVEgC0C4QA3LAtE5Hd2YV7vHKTdvMu0w1D1cAXOU7uDQlrWXLPi2-GvK7V-xhCUJOOnyT-nPdOgi5-ExpaPx3WsSc-UBD-qK-XBUE-tGLdcu3AsjpEcb4RMUtLyDKc-jeuzQEVA=s2880" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2160" data-original-width="2880" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgKArSW8l_wRaGwQSSbd2F0leaXT8zge5wkjM-SYX1K7nsGgF5ljOTGVEgC0C4QA3LAtE5Hd2YV7vHKTdvMu0w1D1cAXOU7uDQlrWXLPi2-GvK7V-xhCUJOOnyT-nPdOgi5-ExpaPx3WsSc-UBD-qK-XBUE-tGLdcu3AsjpEcb4RMUtLyDKc-jeuzQEVA=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">The road was lovely, and while very occasional encounters with other users brought with it clouds of dust, that didn't distract too much from the stunning surroundings. I was also making good use of a backpack which I carry in case one of us needs to haul the other's luggage. </p><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEipWExtqpZOQIN-BP_tVJzo0zrh6hsr8hh4gca6mZw8ZYkeR8LdH5JJqoMgRG9dUSolro6HSjSfS6pzvU9FCSB2Tmgg3sFfs-eqjEPNTbhNnJSXUHdjKFXHAZ1MCkSKFU24ff2x0phuB_iGaZ6MDZm6bnXCUFRByFVBhbl2D6weOz0mio41Y1H9c4IwSw=s2880" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2880" data-original-width="2160" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEipWExtqpZOQIN-BP_tVJzo0zrh6hsr8hh4gca6mZw8ZYkeR8LdH5JJqoMgRG9dUSolro6HSjSfS6pzvU9FCSB2Tmgg3sFfs-eqjEPNTbhNnJSXUHdjKFXHAZ1MCkSKFU24ff2x0phuB_iGaZ6MDZm6bnXCUFRByFVBhbl2D6weOz0mio41Y1H9c4IwSw=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Both the mountain and Sarah pretending to cry</td></tr></tbody></table><br />Just short of Lake Lyndon, I spotted a lovely looking pool beneath the road, into which Sarah jumped. The water was beautiful and clear, but I was put off ever so slightly by some didymo-like snot around the edges, and not at all slightly by the temperature! I'm such a pussy.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEglV1otmj2nYB92PSJ2MOOrcQc-qXfEO88kMoZlaRDxiICwqyxxY4sbTjlMO1uRSMBpBkGQYHqRZcp93hrsBc-f2883klgwi96-ccaJ700mmNt273tAqh88uex5jwiFUZrBiRXPMynY6GTVdQ9d8XQbnNpqOqCXmWG7OOXI1WQvaS-5eyIj0VPAeaMXBw=s2880"><img border="0" data-original-height="2160" data-original-width="2880" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEglV1otmj2nYB92PSJ2MOOrcQc-qXfEO88kMoZlaRDxiICwqyxxY4sbTjlMO1uRSMBpBkGQYHqRZcp93hrsBc-f2883klgwi96-ccaJ700mmNt273tAqh88uex5jwiFUZrBiRXPMynY6GTVdQ9d8XQbnNpqOqCXmWG7OOXI1WQvaS-5eyIj0VPAeaMXBw=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">We found the lake a hive of activity, as was the main road from Christchurch to Arthur's Pass and the West Coast just beyond it, which we could see at the far end. </p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh3Qk_jFJU74w7oa1nTI9yDmg9coI2nJk-K_FBR0kZM2mXhm5lYdYy17Vm3NGyn-w3uTOr_HkPVK1raCKx3IMsCOQY9KW1Y6N8EWK514el4PXj7MztSBC2-bML6zMRR4RW-IMuE8_-IOFm14UXmuOuCoUDVIpaULU896FWxvFU3pcpBzI2O8vkMnQiMQw=s2880" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2880" data-original-width="2160" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh3Qk_jFJU74w7oa1nTI9yDmg9coI2nJk-K_FBR0kZM2mXhm5lYdYy17Vm3NGyn-w3uTOr_HkPVK1raCKx3IMsCOQY9KW1Y6N8EWK514el4PXj7MztSBC2-bML6zMRR4RW-IMuE8_-IOFm14UXmuOuCoUDVIpaULU896FWxvFU3pcpBzI2O8vkMnQiMQw=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">Once we got to the highway, we turned right, and quickly dealt to the short climb up to Porter's Pass, and then a near 20km-descent down to Springfield. Before checking into our overnight digs we enjoyed some food and drink, and made the somewhat weird call to order pizzas for our dinner despite needing to pick them up at 4:30 when the store closed (clearly targeting through traffic rather than locals)!</p></div><div style="text-align: left;">When I'd signed the guestbook at the motel, a couple of names above us I saw Brendan's, and lo and behold he'd left his bike to join Fletcher and co for a day's climbing up at Castle Hill. Bloody small world it is, and in between reception and our room, there he was to collect his bike! We enjoyed a 15-minute conversation with him and companions before they all headed off towards Christchurch.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">That evening "we" enjoyed foraging in the garden for fruits (to be clear, I enjoyed Sarah enjoying foraging)...</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjibW0KL_VDUQeMk1klP_ux2srf6jbsIX98qID4gTsr6OKQ8r0SXcYTVuHeiIt3MUYxDoeT2UXbtMc9qnb-woN6ZZI1OjjHH3aXlsZeMGlsgpcHXL0nHZ_pYLYCkkck_4ZRg-1zB2iC-5HRe6YGO82JJVqmbF0BMov1l9OlYM-UJJN6s0Ct8KcTLApekQ=s2880" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2880" data-original-width="2160" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjibW0KL_VDUQeMk1klP_ux2srf6jbsIX98qID4gTsr6OKQ8r0SXcYTVuHeiIt3MUYxDoeT2UXbtMc9qnb-woN6ZZI1OjjHH3aXlsZeMGlsgpcHXL0nHZ_pYLYCkkck_4ZRg-1zB2iC-5HRe6YGO82JJVqmbF0BMov1l9OlYM-UJJN6s0Ct8KcTLApekQ=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">... though I did get a kick out of the impressive and unusual Monkey Puzzle Tree.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgbeQZkLER2Mi8fAGiLtVijKkMY58EbNpoR82L48XGCxSXTMN7Zkbb5YPQ4YONxUueAp7x1GxTxZmmY8mdi4AYgj9FFOAI9S1MK3Ex-la7efFPqK-hdfqNXnvNKUZ7O5InWhCeuHgspblMv_z2t5B1DpPG4DRBY6jpDXnrKRoMHsGGQgEHcFyCRdlCl2A=s2880" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2880" data-original-width="2160" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgbeQZkLER2Mi8fAGiLtVijKkMY58EbNpoR82L48XGCxSXTMN7Zkbb5YPQ4YONxUueAp7x1GxTxZmmY8mdi4AYgj9FFOAI9S1MK3Ex-la7efFPqK-hdfqNXnvNKUZ7O5InWhCeuHgspblMv_z2t5B1DpPG4DRBY6jpDXnrKRoMHsGGQgEHcFyCRdlCl2A=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></div><br /><p style="text-align: left;">A couple of nights earlier, I'd reached out to Stu and Aaron - more <a href="https://vimeo.com/ondemand/onedayaheadfilm" target="_blank">One Day Ahead</a> vets - living in Christchurch and Rangiora respectively. While Stu was out of town until the following evening, Aaron was keen to ride with me the next day. Unfortunately, although Sarah had made it through the day's ride, her other tendon was also now visibly bruised. Aaron's wife Sonya was very happy to kill two birds with one stone - dropping Aaron off, and taking Sarah home with her! </p><p style="text-align: left;">Nonetheless, her tendons spent much of the evening on top of frozen peas, though we were thinking more about what might lie beyond Rangiora than before it.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Stats: <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/6464295185" target="_blank">81km, gently ridden</a></p></div><div style="text-align: left;"><p></p><p><b><br /></b></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b>Day 10 - Springfield to Rangiora</b></p><p>I'd been through the Wharfedale Track only once before, <a href="http://sifter-writes-bikes.blogspot.com/2010/02/kiwi-brevet-day-4.html" target="_blank">on day 4</a> of the inaugural Kiwi Brevet. Then it was part of an epic 260km day between Arthur's Pass and Culverden, but I still recall Tim Mulliner mentioning he'd done it as a loop from Oxford, and I'd stored that away for the 10 intervening years. Today my curiosity would be sated.</p><p>We hadn't bothered trying to scrape together breakfast ingredients at the service station, but instead were over at the café when it opened. I ordered a plate of pancakes in Simon's honour - not only as the architect of the brevet, but also because he'd recommended the café. I was enjoying the pancakes when the irony of taking a non-coffee-drinker's advice hit me. </p><p>Sonya and Aaron arrived before we'd finished our breaky, giving us a great excuse for a second round of coffees. That done, we went to get our gear and Aaron's bike was replaced by Sarah's in the back of their wagon. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjoOy7c9JN1BQxt_WuUgd3XURyl4vjek_yTIXJP2gKQZX7i9W_5QTCdemIZ9z_lXO4N4XT_QGvwR38mITZwuo_NVBcNKMUrLVig1RUuxezU9q6V7Y1zTOh6v8rTN6hDPXDFd04779P2CIezzOaxaY4N-4HYBI6X8mKjFiVMxFWM1iqmLM7dVRxjjg_rxA=s2880" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2160" data-original-width="2880" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjoOy7c9JN1BQxt_WuUgd3XURyl4vjek_yTIXJP2gKQZX7i9W_5QTCdemIZ9z_lXO4N4XT_QGvwR38mITZwuo_NVBcNKMUrLVig1RUuxezU9q6V7Y1zTOh6v8rTN6hDPXDFd04779P2CIezzOaxaY4N-4HYBI6X8mKjFiVMxFWM1iqmLM7dVRxjjg_rxA=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">I also took the opportunity to reconfigure my own bike slightly - the overnight gear in my saddlebag was replaced by bad weather contingencies, and my handlebar roll was removed entirely. </p><p style="text-align: left;">As it had been with Ashley and Steven, Dr Fish and Brendan, it was great to spend a bit of time catching up with Aaron, and the quiet gravel roads between Springfield and the Waimakariri Bridge were perfect as we could ride alongside one another. </p><p style="text-align: left;">The river was as spectacular as ever, and crossing it with Aaron was even better given he and it had a lot of history. He'd been paddling it regularly in preparation for the 2-day Coast to Coast, an event which has subsequently been overrun by the pandemic settings. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhepvWrvKDjBklAQcSpYKOTPf6B1EXk1jBg9Euwg52gMuNINV3xC2sk_vIKShNzwSHBCeg0tipuzMgRq95VXM4bJz3X8YJD0wVVhFciOtvmES2YwUF_IlYsXxZyqzadNxm_RFNmNcnVOSV1enz4UhcpJLvZIyqhzrnjynjf1sx8Y5rEFf-YJd8XqLQNMQ=s2880" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2160" data-original-width="2880" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhepvWrvKDjBklAQcSpYKOTPf6B1EXk1jBg9Euwg52gMuNINV3xC2sk_vIKShNzwSHBCeg0tipuzMgRq95VXM4bJz3X8YJD0wVVhFciOtvmES2YwUF_IlYsXxZyqzadNxm_RFNmNcnVOSV1enz4UhcpJLvZIyqhzrnjynjf1sx8Y5rEFf-YJd8XqLQNMQ=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I'd plotted a route to the start of the track, but decided it was wiser to follow the road signs when they clearly disagreed. A ford, a few gates and some sweet climbing later, we were at the trail head and expecting a bit of traffic, given the state of the carpark.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgYl6r8emMRMXfbrwZ-W9tjEpN_JaNvg6NNj-Y2OcLo_fFiaMttCJq74Siu7U_PIe1hp_AbqeOGyEcWwveaWukRHBjsGQRCOmYdje4xwdwpl2K6SRhwcNoxaHtJ9Yji3aCav4_b3cvxIQ-VvBTeXsB2A_3ZWRMrQmxvR5z7Mnr1v2iS9IvxbkKvxV3BwA=s2880" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2160" data-original-width="2880" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgYl6r8emMRMXfbrwZ-W9tjEpN_JaNvg6NNj-Y2OcLo_fFiaMttCJq74Siu7U_PIe1hp_AbqeOGyEcWwveaWukRHBjsGQRCOmYdje4xwdwpl2K6SRhwcNoxaHtJ9Yji3aCav4_b3cvxIQ-VvBTeXsB2A_3ZWRMrQmxvR5z7Mnr1v2iS9IvxbkKvxV3BwA=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">Aaron had mentioned a few times that he wasn't overly confident on the mountain-bike. In France, he'd really transformed on into a roadie - amazing what 3500km will do - but before and since, cycling had generally been part of a multisport event, or a simple leisure activity. I was glad he was on a fully, and hoped that my willingness to ride on a fat-tyred road bike was helping his nerves somewhat. </p><p style="text-align: left;">I rode behind throughout and nattered away, hoping to relax him. For my part, it was so nice to FINALLY be riding in some native bush. It had been such a frequent occurrence in last summer's tour, and while Otago's wide open spaces had been impressive initially, hundreds of kilometres without tree cover had done my head in.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Initially, the track was in great condition and 100% rideable, but as we got closer to the hut at the far end, we seemed to be getting on and off the bikes constantly. This has a fatiguing effect, but I've enough experience to not also fret about how it also tends to blow out the duration of the ride. One thing was clear though, it would have absolutely demolished Sarah's already compromised tendons, and it was a relief to know she was with Sonya.</p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgIJ4l1NgOJ76a_fg---J_C2LJcNhhDKR8fe0WBQ8OVqViDyB4uVYRlEhL04dW-Qk_034-lhQuBgunzNbr5nqYV8GPkXHgx_KI593WB7EW9G3O9QzljtjH8KLUr0StFRO6zpb7JUjNc4Sa6JWPL3oqLC4w6HQgYyLZjVZeykl26vOKJ07opVwNAnuktzA=s2880" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2880" data-original-width="2160" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgIJ4l1NgOJ76a_fg---J_C2LJcNhhDKR8fe0WBQ8OVqViDyB4uVYRlEhL04dW-Qk_034-lhQuBgunzNbr5nqYV8GPkXHgx_KI593WB7EW9G3O9QzljtjH8KLUr0StFRO6zpb7JUjNc4Sa6JWPL3oqLC4w6HQgYyLZjVZeykl26vOKJ07opVwNAnuktzA=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I hadn't re-read my notes from a decade earlier, but still remembered to refill bottles before we reached the Wharfedale Hut. Aaron was doing more than that, and we needed to coordinate slightly so that I didn't fill my bottles with his otherwise pristine bathwater!</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiMN6leoQVbj9JxX5ilDf0t2EzcpnulzLzryVJr3sd5u--mBr7JQ8G3I4r7ZU-u6v9FD-9Bnv9hyxvBzHByQrKTCevMK_vGYXikdtIra6Eioyqd1Qcc_la5tlzfDcIleCpfwf4nv_2Bkpml3qbwGLPIfQnKydmVIGtkaRbLoJ7j06blS6dPr1KgKpspCA=s2880" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2880" data-original-width="2160" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiMN6leoQVbj9JxX5ilDf0t2EzcpnulzLzryVJr3sd5u--mBr7JQ8G3I4r7ZU-u6v9FD-9Bnv9hyxvBzHByQrKTCevMK_vGYXikdtIra6Eioyqd1Qcc_la5tlzfDcIleCpfwf4nv_2Bkpml3qbwGLPIfQnKydmVIGtkaRbLoJ7j06blS6dPr1KgKpspCA=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">My memory beyond the hut was clearly very hazy, and I was surprised not only by how long it took us to get from the end of the singletrack to the Lees Valley Road intersection, but also by how arduous the route was - involving a number of river crossings and a bit of scrambling!</p><p style="text-align: left;">It all took its toll on Aaron, but luckily I had just the remedy. I'd bought a Garmin inReach mini almost a year earlier, but had not registered it until just before leaving Queenstown. I vaguely knew how to use it, and was hoping I wasn't about to let Aaron down. I fired it up and it paired with my phone, and via the Earthmate app I composed a <i>waambulance</i> message to Sonya. I hit send, and crossed my fingers.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Within a minute, I got a reply, indicating she'd meet us at the end of Lees Valley Rd. Great success, and particularly because there was no standard cell phone reception - the inReach works via satellite, and those are obviously not reliant on cell towers!</p><p style="text-align: left;">As it turned out, there were a couple of stern climbs between us and the rendezvous point. I was really enjoying the views, but Aaron was done. I was trying to cheer him up, while he was feeling stink about slowing me down. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj6QECk61MIuxd7a53-DyG-0-FBXlttVllfnl7tZpjFXdynsw_rs2iR-AlxpdOLyNuH3hkUq8yhlMWOkk2QvjHmZEkMbU3GKRfygSsQu__S0DqDWIX3ZQWAYkESs9GVZM6D1t6swyoSff0MkBmYJ1yzmtpsDiZzz6bYdjndCGE3xfvakJih1Kw0k0ZCuQ=s2880" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2880" data-original-width="2160" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj6QECk61MIuxd7a53-DyG-0-FBXlttVllfnl7tZpjFXdynsw_rs2iR-AlxpdOLyNuH3hkUq8yhlMWOkk2QvjHmZEkMbU3GKRfygSsQu__S0DqDWIX3ZQWAYkESs9GVZM6D1t6swyoSff0MkBmYJ1yzmtpsDiZzz6bYdjndCGE3xfvakJih1Kw0k0ZCuQ=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Highly recommended views!</td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">After a stonking descent to a concrete bridge over the river, I suggested we send another message to Sonya, and that he hunker down in the shade. That agreed, I pressed on alone up the next fairly solid climb, enjoying being solo for the first time in weeks, and having bugger all gear on the bike.</p><p style="text-align: left;">When I saw Sonya, I stopped to let her know where to find Aaron, and was told in return that she was running low on gas. That made me a little nervous, and I decided to do the delay my final descent until they came past. It was an incredible place to sit, with views across to Banks Peninsula. I had a nervous wait for them, but when they did appear, they were sure they'd make it into Oxford for petrol! I was glad not to be heading off to find a jerry can!</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjxNgcNO250av7AEzoPJe4Nw2PBDfMa-gBIezwkrg_2sbuevyMWbr_Wi_F-N45PNA707fLzg7sBE9jtWbspY10J1AVSyzOunB3JWNW8IdpElCKGURUgr7G18craCuQAMM1m_NpLTD9qkvaoz7DYiXW57by47mSZIu46ItiFVaVZKQFFLdu0UlllCiODLw=s2880" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2160" data-original-width="2880" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjxNgcNO250av7AEzoPJe4Nw2PBDfMa-gBIezwkrg_2sbuevyMWbr_Wi_F-N45PNA707fLzg7sBE9jtWbspY10J1AVSyzOunB3JWNW8IdpElCKGURUgr7G18craCuQAMM1m_NpLTD9qkvaoz7DYiXW57by47mSZIu46ItiFVaVZKQFFLdu0UlllCiODLw=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p style="text-align: left;">I had about 35km to ride back to their place in Rangiora, and it was not without its frustrations. For one I seemed to have chosen a route that went over the only hill in the whole area, necessitating some fun but ultimately successful navigating on the fly. More annoying was that my rear tyre kept losing air. I knew the issue was that the tubeless sealant must have run dry, but decided I'd rather top the pressure up every few kilometres than replace the tube. The latter would probably have been quicker, but I didn't want to get my hands all grimy, so put up with half a dozen stops.</p><p style="text-align: left;">That evening, alongside a fantastic dinner out, we brain-stormed various options for getting home. Sonya and Aaron were keen to help if they could, and we also contemplated a rental car (insanely expensive to leave at Picton), train (not running due to low demand during the pandemic), and riding (seemed foolish, given Sarah's condition).</p><p style="text-align: left;">As the decision became clearer, I also realised that I'd had my happy ending, riding wise. The route with Sarah through to Lake Lyndon had been one of the nicest days of the trip, and the Wharfedale and its stunning beech forest had also been wonderful. Ahead lay three days of predominantly paved roads, including a full day on SH1. If Sarah rode with me, I'd be constantly worried about her health, and if she weren't riding with me, I'd be constantly lamenting her absence.</p><p style="text-align: left;">From all the bad options emerged a good one - we'd overcome <i>all</i> our problems by flying home from Christchurch. We made a brunch date with Stu for the morning, and slept soundly in the knowledge that the only potential wrinkle was sourcing a couple of boxes at the airport. </p><p style="text-align: left;">Stats: <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/6469539456" target="_blank">116km ridden</a>, one new plan made.</p><p></p><p><b><br /></b></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b>Day 11 - Rangiora to Christchurch airport</b></p><p style="text-align: left;">The next morning, I popped a tube in my rear wheel before Stu picked us up. It was wonderful to catch up with him, and we undertook to be a bit more deliberate about catching up in '22.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Back at Sonya and Aaron's, we packed up, before saying our farewells to them and their magnificent (not to mention huge) Newfoundland dog, Hudson. </p><p style="text-align: left;">A few deserted gravel roads took us into the outskirts of Kaiapoi. It isn't often that I forgo the opportunity for a coffee stop, but on the slim chance we'd have to go in search of boxes, we kept moving.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjiycFkOn-OnDhhHuSmbbBQE5p8T_JpdavkUSbT0cIxRO7oi4J4xLAfdA1GFOQEw15zBk-oMWs0bOALZE3w03x0C-Gx55iBnZ_dqQ3UeLQwFCSiO-WSIc3twAy5TvNmEi4pQHosGkAOoEjEsSqJuYnA6_9ELZGGGpa_Khu9UXMFmI2kM3cwNWb__7dnOQ=s2880" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2160" data-original-width="2880" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjiycFkOn-OnDhhHuSmbbBQE5p8T_JpdavkUSbT0cIxRO7oi4J4xLAfdA1GFOQEw15zBk-oMWs0bOALZE3w03x0C-Gx55iBnZ_dqQ3UeLQwFCSiO-WSIc3twAy5TvNmEi4pQHosGkAOoEjEsSqJuYnA6_9ELZGGGpa_Khu9UXMFmI2kM3cwNWb__7dnOQ=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">From Kaiapoi, we were treated to a dedicated bridge across the Waimakariri, and then a separated cycle path almost the whole way to the airport.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiBSJOEGqVyBd4b1kHRXTt3_Ltuxgig9pyFqmvr2YGWhSP7JxWbDyMLvQ2nVFEHmE6hjnqrF7NsxeHEnMxTaNF9YmENdIHL-qreDL-Y1Vp9cwF_1wwhJUg5LyFOmYtW6ofDJoWjhycEL0R7E93n7sqbqNwtIrusaaiZaDYlQoOcQ0AOY4j-nEB5KUy7ag=s3264" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1592" data-original-width="3264" height="195" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiBSJOEGqVyBd4b1kHRXTt3_Ltuxgig9pyFqmvr2YGWhSP7JxWbDyMLvQ2nVFEHmE6hjnqrF7NsxeHEnMxTaNF9YmENdIHL-qreDL-Y1Vp9cwF_1wwhJUg5LyFOmYtW6ofDJoWjhycEL0R7E93n7sqbqNwtIrusaaiZaDYlQoOcQ0AOY4j-nEB5KUy7ag=w400-h195" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">There of course we found boxes were in abundance, and we packed up the bikes outside in the shade of the terminal. That done, we retired to the Air New Zealand lounge, until our flight was ready. </p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj6hM9JXL9Q0P6w9NjEQuyYL7-4Och9OdtcBDwqp0KjlRB-ek7bZbsIq7nrWrg8scfVPeKm8FjRjE2YSFttRSZjdBgkTP7Eys0e_xVtkK3uF4R80WsPWYV4vJ-uwVkci4es4mKkGB8Hw_iv_hfXyM8NuKgcBnxYJ8ue1LI-iGI-OWwUi1OArA0UcU7EYw=s2880" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2880" data-original-width="2160" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj6hM9JXL9Q0P6w9NjEQuyYL7-4Och9OdtcBDwqp0KjlRB-ek7bZbsIq7nrWrg8scfVPeKm8FjRjE2YSFttRSZjdBgkTP7Eys0e_xVtkK3uF4R80WsPWYV4vJ-uwVkci4es4mKkGB8Hw_iv_hfXyM8NuKgcBnxYJ8ue1LI-iGI-OWwUi1OArA0UcU7EYw=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></div><br /><p>Stats: <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/6474271792" target="_blank">30km ridden</a>, one plane to catch.</p><p><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b>* * *</b></p><p>Far from being an anti-climactic way to finish, in hindsight it was perfect. As I already mentioned, the last couple of days of riding were among my very favourites for the trip, and it was nice to end on them. In addition, getting home a few days earlier was a godsend and enabled us to catch up on various essential tasks before heading back to work.</p><p>What caused Sarah's battery to discharge and her tendons to inflame are still a mystery, or to be more precise, two mysteries. I'd also had shoe problems throughout, but especially on the hot days, so chances are we're both looking for new touring shoes (both have the perfect amount of flex in the sole relative to our stiffer earlier models, but mine a tad narrow perhaps, giving pain on the outside knuckles...). While the bikes are almost clean enough to eat off, I still haven't made sure the seat heights are correct.</p><p>Sarah had once again been a great companion - dependable, a great source of conversation, and physical form set to enhance any landscape. That was all completely expected.</p><p>As well, it had been lovely to have the company of others on half of our riding days - somewhat of a novelty these days, and totally unanticipated, which made it even better. Brendan and I don't see nearly as much of each other as we did when we were both racing, and we've missed regular dinner with Ash and Steve since they left Wellington a couple of years ago. Dr Fish, Aaron and Stu became like family while we rode in France, but living in different islands and having otherwise busy lives prevents more frequent reunions. It was so good to see all of them.</p><p>Since leaving Queenstown, Sarah and I covered almost exactly 1000km over 10 days, while I'd added another hundy with Aaron. I'd have preferred to do a better job coming off of Haka Pass (and not coming off my bike), and of course, it was unfortunate that Sarah's tendons flared up. Route-wise, I'm really happy with our choices, and both bikes and Revelate bags were perfect - the charging issue is on me, one way or the other.</p><p>It is hard to know what 2022 is going to bring. But I hope the key ingredients of this tour - cycling and dear friends - make regular appearance.</p><p>Happy New Year, and thanks if you made it this far!!</p><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiHYG7qoWQVP9ZcQ_ar-K2K6XKcOyNDkOOHAGjN66PtMMUmNQzuVQ22-jkrLLQ8lOg8aqgOuoopBrXG-dVKeM6QcC8AnpPw5zGH6bDVNiUFxHPd2B3KJcMsMjz0676xLQ4zWQ8aTf_JO4c67a1E4MY0inbxhgi160LHn4G4vDdW7nfUoW0oDc2izICyvw=s1024"><img border="0" data-original-height="883" data-original-width="1024" height="345" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiHYG7qoWQVP9ZcQ_ar-K2K6XKcOyNDkOOHAGjN66PtMMUmNQzuVQ22-jkrLLQ8lOg8aqgOuoopBrXG-dVKeM6QcC8AnpPw5zGH6bDVNiUFxHPd2B3KJcMsMjz0676xLQ4zWQ8aTf_JO4c67a1E4MY0inbxhgi160LHn4G4vDdW7nfUoW0oDc2izICyvw=w400-h345" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><br /></div></div>sifterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15453244482461385029noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7894195099236501078.post-13233215105795568712022-01-23T18:59:00.001+13:002022-01-24T10:25:07.810+13:00Summer Tour - training camp<p>I finished the working year as underdone (and probably overweight - I've been too scared to go near a set of scales) as I've been at any point in the last decade. </p><p>In terms of logged kilometres on strava, 2020 was a lean year - a "mere" 10,260km. I hadn't logged fewer miles since beginning to upload all but my shortest rides in 2015 (these typically being my direct 6km commute), and the total was a far cry from my 2018 record of 16,762km. </p><p>2021 was a step backwards though, despite pandemic life in Wellington closely resembling normal life for the vast majority of the year - only 8,565km logged, with an average of only two uploads per week (compared to an average of over five in 2016). </p><p>I put the drop down to a couple of factors: work and a "new kilometre" addiction. </p><p>The working year brought with it a significant milestone in the career of any academic, and indeed one which a sizable proportion of the workforce never experience - promotion to Professor. In my case, not a traditional professorial position, earned largely through extensive published research, but rather based on my commitment to teaching-practice and institutional leadership, on a new teaching-intensive academic career pathway at my university. That elevation, and the ongoing reinvention universities and their staff are undergoing due to COVID-19, meant my focus had to be, more than ever, at the office.</p><p>The other factor is the wonderful addition to the exercise landscape that is <a href="http://wandrer.earth">wandrer.earth</a>. This website sucks up GPS data, and reports against an underlying database - covering old ground isn't added to one's tally, and instead only "new kilometres" are rewarded. There are regional leaderboards, and to that extent accumulation is gamified, but the satisfaction for me comes through seeing my "Big Map" get filled in. It has been incredibly motivational, at least from the point of seeing new places. The unfortunate flipside is that my motivation to ride close to home has plummeted. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiRRIYvmSgtm503_bczG9BGBruI-K1J4yWwllMfpARWHOlMtfC5fXHkjTzIY5qrdWRmOg7oB1pyz5r-2uPOwUvc47ZRtemD_UQrYXMTCW2dGc9A8w_WFsjtZl-VeFnf78uSx3PKY5BY3OloU8yeY_w49I9TDVjvXtr11qdGpONjEU5uXJTwTXa2IdOjuw=s693" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="693" data-original-width="625" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiRRIYvmSgtm503_bczG9BGBruI-K1J4yWwllMfpARWHOlMtfC5fXHkjTzIY5qrdWRmOg7oB1pyz5r-2uPOwUvc47ZRtemD_UQrYXMTCW2dGc9A8w_WFsjtZl-VeFnf78uSx3PKY5BY3OloU8yeY_w49I9TDVjvXtr11qdGpONjEU5uXJTwTXa2IdOjuw=w361-h400" width="361" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">16% of the north island ridden, apparently</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>Sarah and I have been away for the last couple of Christmases: in 2020 we <a href="http://sifter-writes-bikes.blogspot.com/2020/01/a-christmas-trip-across-andes.html" target="_blank">rode across the Andes</a>, while last year we rode a less grand - but wonderful - route from the <a href="http://sifter-writes-bikes.blogspot.com/2021/01/dont-leave-town-till-youve-seen-country.html" target="_blank">Bay of Islands back to Wellington</a>. This year we were keen to be with Khulan and Kaitlyn (if they'd have us), and with my parents heading to Auckland to be with my sister and her family, the four of us ended up down in Queenstown for a week. Sarah and I had our bikes with us, since we planned to ride home afterwards, but we were committed to a family-focussed time while we were with the daughters.<div><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Somewhat ironically, the week turned out to be one of the heaviest riding weeks of the year...<br /><p style="text-align: center;"><b><br /></b></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b>Monday - <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/6405823227" target="_blank">Jack's Point</a></b></p><p>Sarah, Khulan and I had arrived together the previous day, and I collected Kaitlyn from the airport the following morning. We all drove out to Glenorchy after lunch, and once back in "Queenie", failed to escape from an Escape Room just before dinner. We ate relatively early, having latched onto <a href="http://firsttable.co.nz">firsttable.co.nz</a> and its heavily discounted early bookings, and once home, Sarah and I decided to leave the girls to catch up, and go out for a spin.</p><p>Our accommodation was on the hill overlooking the Frankton Arm, and we could see a section of the Queenstown Trail across the bay. As convenient as it would have been to follow it out to its terminus at Jack's Point, that would have left us with a road bash to finish. The opposite had more appeal, though we did struggle to find the (or should I say "a") trail-head. </p><p>Perhaps because of our initial fits and starts, we ended up on a fairly rough and at times very steep bit of single track - <a href="https://queenstowntrail.org.nz/maps-and-trails/full-day-trails/queenstown-to-jacks-point/" target="_blank">Jack's Point Track</a> - and it wasn't until we met up with the main route after some fairly challenging riding, that we understood why the trail was so technical. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgly2SxVawce60i-Pht8WaOrEMnQhn-nNykPLMJeFCviVBpbafvJMAMilwh_ZkcitUXHH6p9OK_s3PaKiyv8EY03UJuMrPuw7GkyviUd3QyaczSqHb5Mwii3KO0803RDbT8pd2vZis5ZGpSD4Abvgc53u0-R9wtc3eajt-SoXGg9m3YMT9IW5wDjiH0Pw=s2880" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2880" data-original-width="2160" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgly2SxVawce60i-Pht8WaOrEMnQhn-nNykPLMJeFCviVBpbafvJMAMilwh_ZkcitUXHH6p9OK_s3PaKiyv8EY03UJuMrPuw7GkyviUd3QyaczSqHb5Mwii3KO0803RDbT8pd2vZis5ZGpSD4Abvgc53u0-R9wtc3eajt-SoXGg9m3YMT9IW5wDjiH0Pw=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A tactical walk, with the Remarkables looming in the background</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>It wasn't all bad, and we'd been afforded some stunning views, but time had also marched on. Even with the incredibly late dusk (around 10pm), we had to skip the peninsula trail. When we were directly opposite our accommodation, I called Kaitlyn, and asked if she could make out my headtorch (she could), before blasting the final few kilometres home. </p><p>The ride had some "wow" moments, but also got us into a great pattern for the week.</p><p><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b>Tuesday - <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/6409682122" target="_blank">Lake Hayes</a></b></p><p>The day's weather forecast was for rain, so we thought if we were going to be cooped up inside, we might as well have some decent views. Despite the return drive being the best (or worst) part of 600km, I thought Milford Sound would fit the bill.</p><p>Months on, I maintain the ride Sarah and I did with Ash, from <a href="http://sifter-writes-bikes.blogspot.com/2021/02/milford-sound-go-now-thank-me-later.html" target="_blank">Te Anau to Milford Sound</a>, was one of the very best one-day rides I have ever done. We'd had stunning weather, but the cliff faces were predominantly dry - what better time to visit again than during rain.</p><p>True to form, the Upper Hollyford Valley was going off, and we stopped regularly to admire the dramatic surroundings. We had a picnic in a DOC shelter at the Marina before driving back to Queenstown. It was nice to pass through Mossburn, and to reminisce on the stonking tail wind Brendan and I had enjoyed when we <a href="http://sifter-writes-bikes.blogspot.com/2021/04/easter-tour-on-fat-tyred-roadie.html" target="_blank">passed through at Easter</a>. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhHilScCjTcJFscscOTvc3IRGWq6BhKQeQTtr0YxK0mRZBB-kS-PEi1OCF4xZ38TjfzNcDqHiDo4tM6tsS5VhJMYnrGErDKC_Tv3UD9f8cBfhQC_1Q4jVRKgxkJkl-yAyT4U8CN4TcPSWt8UYhNs7_b_L-tL4-dWoCvKv5rKyMOp4_OBieYYOiMxRns4Q=s2880" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2160" data-original-width="2880" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhHilScCjTcJFscscOTvc3IRGWq6BhKQeQTtr0YxK0mRZBB-kS-PEi1OCF4xZ38TjfzNcDqHiDo4tM6tsS5VhJMYnrGErDKC_Tv3UD9f8cBfhQC_1Q4jVRKgxkJkl-yAyT4U8CN4TcPSWt8UYhNs7_b_L-tL4-dWoCvKv5rKyMOp4_OBieYYOiMxRns4Q=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The girls celebrating life. Sarah not so much, her forgotten phone (and captive vaccine pass) were cramping her style...</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>After checking out potential summer accommodation for Khulan, we had another early meal, after which Sarah and I suited up for a lap of Lake Hayes - more of the Queenstown Trail network. There was a bit of a breeze up, so the classic reflections were non-existent, but we enjoyed the loop nonetheless. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgOAcLGi5H9GDBzG62C4DRFgctJUMqj2oBpO33OTDZWIeEhNlPLqvivYyzyIyO8vmVU2U2uFZDhCOPtNUq9gDotZpLJlROSOvM4xnMhUYcRNGKYHChgJLajencWmWGAzG7cTSUL0ioB0pBnWw20SW72ZxOzP4m2yvybU7RJmzUGRlDFtz1UvkMHKe-CdQ=s2880" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2160" data-original-width="2880" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgOAcLGi5H9GDBzG62C4DRFgctJUMqj2oBpO33OTDZWIeEhNlPLqvivYyzyIyO8vmVU2U2uFZDhCOPtNUq9gDotZpLJlROSOvM4xnMhUYcRNGKYHChgJLajencWmWGAzG7cTSUL0ioB0pBnWw20SW72ZxOzP4m2yvybU7RJmzUGRlDFtz1UvkMHKe-CdQ=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">The ride back home was a bit shit - first we were stymied by a figuratively-shit closure on the Kawarau River trail, and then to avoid a climb on the highway, we ended up on a track above the poo farm (aka sewerage treatment plant) - literally shit. As navigator, you win some, you lose some!</p><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: center;"><b>Wednesday - <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/6413272571" target="_blank">Queenstown Bike Park</a></b></p><div>Through the girls' teenage years, we'd had some lovely riding holidays, the last of which was <a href="http://sifter-writes-bikes.blogspot.com/2018/01/family-riding-native-forest-edition.html" target="_blank">at the end of 2017</a>. While Khulan has since clocked up more hours on the mountain bike than I've probably done in my lifetime, Kaitlyn hasn't chosen to fit riding into her incredibly busy tertiary-student lifestyle. </div><p style="text-align: left;">I'd hoped that the Skyline Gondola might overcome any concerns she might have about fitness, but in the end it was clear that pressing the issue of a family morning at Queenstown Bike Park was not on. We agreed to go alone, while Kaitlyn would enjoy the sunshine under her own steam and meet up with us after lunch. </p><p style="text-align: left;">Khulie had her own bike - afterall, the original motivation for the Queenstown destination had been her plan to spend a couple of months down here. Sarah and I rode to Vertigo Bikes, and swapped our Opens with some rental MTBs for a few hours. The rentals were very much of the point-and-shoot variety, and I actually really enjoyed hooning around for seven laps of the grade 3 and 4 descents. </p><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiAxxU6B9pEXTtLGwrQ52Ro7kn6K6JmNi6mTtOMWtEQGI6ncNmyHta-w7tVnEPli9URmlwr1pWPAS8Iy52LEW6b9Tn9UOAmsxBrdzaWbgyKuuHuHTPizmbTpF8QTL7bzxjES_T_6LhvRVM9g1X1ooOzuqvWzQPcHzZWIBrsY3cJST0Prdi0GLWkubTVPQ=s2880"><img border="0" data-original-height="2160" data-original-width="2880" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiAxxU6B9pEXTtLGwrQ52Ro7kn6K6JmNi6mTtOMWtEQGI6ncNmyHta-w7tVnEPli9URmlwr1pWPAS8Iy52LEW6b9Tn9UOAmsxBrdzaWbgyKuuHuHTPizmbTpF8QTL7bzxjES_T_6LhvRVM9g1X1ooOzuqvWzQPcHzZWIBrsY3cJST0Prdi0GLWkubTVPQ=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Following the ride, we caught the Earnslaw out to Walter Peak, before heading home for a well earned rest.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiIewGAaDSygjU2ewzoVsnyx9ogTg2Vo7auS-2Jzkngbu2qPGl2-CCQCukeRJku6ZzqEfdd3__9pVr1fCryDKUC1kaMvGf8tssznHbYuAvjyYJGXhnbeOPuUdU5PXnEXEtbtaKkjUjRzPu4iQ-5axq8lpqV5y5Y2S8O1BnOx10m9AjTsxvgHYJ5eF5mAQ=s2880" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2160" data-original-width="2880" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiIewGAaDSygjU2ewzoVsnyx9ogTg2Vo7auS-2Jzkngbu2qPGl2-CCQCukeRJku6ZzqEfdd3__9pVr1fCryDKUC1kaMvGf8tssznHbYuAvjyYJGXhnbeOPuUdU5PXnEXEtbtaKkjUjRzPu4iQ-5axq8lpqV5y5Y2S8O1BnOx10m9AjTsxvgHYJ5eF5mAQ=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: center;"><b>Thursday - <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/6417606536" target="_blank">Moke Lake</a></b></p><div>The next morning we enjoyed a cruisy day including some nice walking around Arrowtown. After another early dinner, Sarah and I were rolling shortly after 6pm, destination Moke Lake. (<i>Ed: I should note, it is much nicer to write about than speak of, since I'm not experiencing any pronunciation anxiety.</i>) </div><p>After a lumpy dozen kilometres in the direction of Glenorchy, during which time a burger was sitting very poorly in my stomach, we turned off onto Moke Lake Road, completely oblivious to a nice bit of singletrack that would've taken us up to the end of the seal. We climbed a little further on gravel, before being surprised by a 5km descent to Moke Lake itself. </p><p>Even though riding access was somewhat ambiguous, I'd seen ex-Wellingtonian Martin McCrudden do this loop a couple of months earlier, so confidently proceeded. Besides, the trail was well armoured, and very bike friendly, with no steps or other tell-tale signs of being walkers-only.</p><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjY8k0Lue-W7o-PzA7qaYpj6-0e7CSd-U9gmnzbBN0OYpGCvRHLvSW_uOTSRi56-9h2uUfbpelFUCX3FpzZZ6uuKMEHGTzX8T5rcwVFqX4mmdqdGTn3W3uTP2rJTBTFVw-N4G-lP0fL8H9OHsxDPvimV7zb9yxNTQyKaseq_e6ln9QUYgADNffu89gWzg=s2880" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2160" data-original-width="2880" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjY8k0Lue-W7o-PzA7qaYpj6-0e7CSd-U9gmnzbBN0OYpGCvRHLvSW_uOTSRi56-9h2uUfbpelFUCX3FpzZZ6uuKMEHGTzX8T5rcwVFqX4mmdqdGTn3W3uTP2rJTBTFVw-N4G-lP0fL8H9OHsxDPvimV7zb9yxNTQyKaseq_e6ln9QUYgADNffu89gWzg=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stunning!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">Once we'd left Moke Lake, the track followed a fenceline for a wee while, before dropping down to Lake Dispute. We chose to walk a short descent littered with boulders, but it was also steep, and we would likely have been on foot in the opposite direction. Beyond this second lake, the descent was fantastic, and included some sweet beech forest. </p><p style="text-align: left;">I threw in not one, but three extras on the way back, each increasingly unwelcomed by my companion. The 7-Mile Scenic Reserve MTB Park was tolerable, but once we emerged from that, we crossed the road and went straight onto the Gold Digger climb - at worst, I thought it might take take us in the wrong direction for a few minutes, but we ended up climbing for the best part of half an hour, to the aforementioned top of the sealed part of Lake Moke Rd!! </p></div><p style="text-align: left;">To add insult to injury, before reaching Queenstown, I turned off the main road to ride through Fernhill. I waited at the top of <i>that</i> climb for a few minutes, before concluding Sarah had given up in disgust. We failed to connect via phone, before converging on home within a few seconds of each other, almost out of daylight. Tired, but happy enough! </p><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: center;"><b>Friday - rest day</b></p><div>On Friday we farewelled Kaitlyn, but not before we had a lovely family stroll around Kelvin Peninsula. That afternoon at the airport, I rushed the check-in, which was a shame as it turned out the stuff we were sending home with Kaitlyn (a couple of bike bags, and some shoes and clothing) weighed more than 23kg. Fortunately, Air New Zealand didn't gouge us <i>too much</i> on the extra bag, so it was another travel lesson lightly learned.</div><div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiWysLUGzOLCFgnNPILvtPC6teRagGFQaAXI0lLK-J6ByXmrzgG2SL8im_DzX5CHAF8EZzu2oFlScjGWmU9AENmNIxLrOB0QTMmB_v0r83v5zkF776X3SZbqhrBFUY7JDH7de5Xol3y64Iao9Z3aLfSX82SeCwfxTwY5HLDkOZeHlRvT63hvZG44ZrRZA=s3264"><img border="0" data-original-height="1592" data-original-width="3264" height="195" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiWysLUGzOLCFgnNPILvtPC6teRagGFQaAXI0lLK-J6ByXmrzgG2SL8im_DzX5CHAF8EZzu2oFlScjGWmU9AENmNIxLrOB0QTMmB_v0r83v5zkF776X3SZbqhrBFUY7JDH7de5Xol3y64Iao9Z3aLfSX82SeCwfxTwY5HLDkOZeHlRvT63hvZG44ZrRZA=w400-h195" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p>That evening, Sarah and I drove to Wanaka and had a Christmas-Eve BBQ on with Mr and Mrs Peters, and Marilyn Northcott and her family. We enjoyed chatting with Shona Drake, who'd arrived on Kaitlyn's plane and had been intending to catch a bus to Wanaka to see David and Jennie (of <a href="https://www.sweetcheeksnz.co.nz/" target="_blank">Sweet Cheeks</a> Butt Butter fame). All that company was very lovely indeed, and was certainly worth the return trip over the Crown Range. </p><p><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b>Saturday - <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/6424374017" target="_blank">Skippers Canyon</a></b></p><p>The next morning, back in Queenstown, Sarah and I capped off our successful "training camp" with the main event - a ride with Khulan out to Skippers Canyon. Since noticing that rental car insurance does not apply on Skippers Road (as well as Ninety Mile Beach), I'd wanted to go there, and after 15-20 years, I was stoked to finally be doing it! Adding to its accolades, it also makes dangerousroads.org's "<a href="https://www.dangerousroads.org/around-the-world/our-lists/9733-most-dangerous-roads-in-the-world.html" target="_blank">Most dangerous roads in the world</a>" list. </p><p>We weren't the most bike-compatible trio, with Khulie's massive trail bike occasionally excelling, but our "fat-tyred road bikes" mostly being optimal. </p><p>After about 15km on the road, we jumped onto a neat bit of trail off Coronet Peak Station Road, which took us up to the start of Skippers Road. There, Ash had recommended an "occasionally spicy" bit of single track down into the valley. Here, Khulan was well and truly in her element, though a few short tactical walks aside, Sarah and I too had a lot of fun, and were pleasantly surprised at how capable our bikes had been. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgOhvCaFXhmY6vy3plZuxp-URGA3RWW-nh20X7Glah2RRkkjQCGCyBl-vdSlfy6jIb8jTTHBnsJ3HSuG1TWOmfd0B_Uehp8xDb81b_1iBbiaaY90BUFpW8O_vJtqBfCjmk9y_Gd5tBlU7OJLuoL0YVfWg2qXXCl9MalgY1LH3kSxLwwEHyL-3DdqWlW_w=s2880" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2880" data-original-width="2160" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgOhvCaFXhmY6vy3plZuxp-URGA3RWW-nh20X7Glah2RRkkjQCGCyBl-vdSlfy6jIb8jTTHBnsJ3HSuG1TWOmfd0B_Uehp8xDb81b_1iBbiaaY90BUFpW8O_vJtqBfCjmk9y_Gd5tBlU7OJLuoL0YVfWg2qXXCl9MalgY1LH3kSxLwwEHyL-3DdqWlW_w=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">The famous balcony section - where the road is merely a shelf in a massive rock face - was fantastic, as expected. More generally, the road was spectacular and a testament to the tenacity of the gold-rush engineers. </p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEheY5cKdle-9yYPQXA-PfFZjoYU5PxJIW3k8QwfgypwQenqAIjM_p0pIsWTIMSgBcqTXj89Hti2p4tgs-1Wqmx1VJNJNzlHAyKNrh0_9q7T7tnSeoNvvrcXcPwUE_AiDc7hrRLX0lcJqBFXGpc98iEgsv2go8I5k5lBk5i65FvOEZFEDy9gVZhhjQ6Vaw=s2880" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2160" data-original-width="2880" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEheY5cKdle-9yYPQXA-PfFZjoYU5PxJIW3k8QwfgypwQenqAIjM_p0pIsWTIMSgBcqTXj89Hti2p4tgs-1Wqmx1VJNJNzlHAyKNrh0_9q7T7tnSeoNvvrcXcPwUE_AiDc7hrRLX0lcJqBFXGpc98iEgsv2go8I5k5lBk5i65FvOEZFEDy9gVZhhjQ6Vaw=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>When the road dropped right down to river level, Sarah and Khulan stopped for a swim, while I pushed on for a bit longer. While I'd somewhat hoped to get to the road-end, that proved to be overly ambitious, and I turned around at Māori Point. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj6TLFnot5wqcvJvMipCJCNfhSMmecnVmhnLJF6zC4nMZOYk2bCResmsGOtiPyxFFnZt2ekjieUDgq_mqcnMEkU1MWdPO_x1LMdlIfRMAEbrEzi_s2hu8xW4_R29oY6u4hjoLrRChktWGfhXmWYJgzvMZrkeV1MlBZb9dVhDr8byl1foO5VN2J5Z2EUXA=s2880" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2160" data-original-width="2880" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj6TLFnot5wqcvJvMipCJCNfhSMmecnVmhnLJF6zC4nMZOYk2bCResmsGOtiPyxFFnZt2ekjieUDgq_mqcnMEkU1MWdPO_x1LMdlIfRMAEbrEzi_s2hu8xW4_R29oY6u4hjoLrRChktWGfhXmWYJgzvMZrkeV1MlBZb9dVhDr8byl1foO5VN2J5Z2EUXA=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>On the way back, I could see Skippers Bridge but couldn't work out how to access it, and connected with Sarah and Khulie just as they were giving up on the river (and its increasingly voracious sandflies)! After a quick glance at the makeshift jetty, I joined them on the return journey.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjqPhRiwI9MMDyrCkeBX-FTn5X10TEBPzJH6fvMPjIO4PVjsWnGwNB8Oc0E7LBk86QpAnlCPKKe216xEVz36WjG_aCkAFxM_JCopYiN0VtpCkL8N1VR4M3GYG-vaqF-2QkKq1V7SbR6FVg0C1-2SM3_xy26kT7wCwfmHDn8OpfuFOGQhJ5WbbQyAGOkbg=s2880" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2160" data-original-width="2880" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjqPhRiwI9MMDyrCkeBX-FTn5X10TEBPzJH6fvMPjIO4PVjsWnGwNB8Oc0E7LBk86QpAnlCPKKe216xEVz36WjG_aCkAFxM_JCopYiN0VtpCkL8N1VR4M3GYG-vaqF-2QkKq1V7SbR6FVg0C1-2SM3_xy26kT7wCwfmHDn8OpfuFOGQhJ5WbbQyAGOkbg=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>For a short while we were moving downstream, but soon the road veered away from the Shotover River, and we started the significant climb out of the valley. </div><p style="text-align: left;">I'd packed plenty of snacks, but Khulie had underestimated the ride somewhat, and hadn't availed herself of enough of them, despite being offered. Between that and her heavy MTB whose glory days on the techy descent from the Coronet Peak access road were a distant memory, she seemed not to be having fun any more. I employed a tried and true method that I've adopted many times when riding with Sarah - a sizable gap (<i>out of sight, out of mind</i>) - while sporadically trying to offload some of my food at photo stops.</p><p style="text-align: left;">The climb was fascinating, and made more so by our vantage point over the single track we'd ridden on the way in, across on the other side of the valley. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh6Ds2EGOghATjR0HIo9u0nhMOhO-9rKRWcIZkff5mEdk-fbCCc4msCoeFScgCJ6l7oHbYwlRmpmICjFf73S9rNab0F_AYVLe3-L6dv9_A1s_5qORj7She3OXBEVfOPCMJTVoz5gfzjPTLjdNSvOpOhgYNAwOwZEKho0o1TIiOuCPL8tadBvdAon65Zpg=s2880" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2160" data-original-width="2880" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh6Ds2EGOghATjR0HIo9u0nhMOhO-9rKRWcIZkff5mEdk-fbCCc4msCoeFScgCJ6l7oHbYwlRmpmICjFf73S9rNab0F_AYVLe3-L6dv9_A1s_5qORj7She3OXBEVfOPCMJTVoz5gfzjPTLjdNSvOpOhgYNAwOwZEKho0o1TIiOuCPL8tadBvdAon65Zpg=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our DH singletrack evident crossing the grassy face behind us</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">There were occasional vehicles to contend with, but the inevitable dust aside, they were all very courteous.</p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhYIyYWcDLHl5Qmw8qfHQg_2_hF_DRpCWi8LsJandGrgfGoNJQrEXVVtyV-kWJS8GX94UC-Qa1Y1PYLsenRdrtXdQKZd3eqTL8ekXmvcqhnZGPRMZ4-MZG74ke1FIJAUVGHJT5hi4WO_wtbHHvgxG0raa70ALphGk4_BITSqaLvZQvcCAQlWab4VCLvuA=s2880" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2880" data-original-width="2160" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhYIyYWcDLHl5Qmw8qfHQg_2_hF_DRpCWi8LsJandGrgfGoNJQrEXVVtyV-kWJS8GX94UC-Qa1Y1PYLsenRdrtXdQKZd3eqTL8ekXmvcqhnZGPRMZ4-MZG74ke1FIJAUVGHJT5hi4WO_wtbHHvgxG0raa70ALphGk4_BITSqaLvZQvcCAQlWab4VCLvuA=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Eventually, we reached a cattle stop at the high-point of the road, before a horribly corrugated descent marked the end of Skippers Road. While I was grimacing my way down, it didn't cross my mind that Khulie might finally be back in her element. We sent her off to find a singletrack DH we'd seen on our way up the hill, and arranged to meet at an intersection in 15 minutes or so. We hooned down the sealed road, before a strangely gruelling road above the river took us to our meeting point with Khulie.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiEG_7m_53wuVfpnIVpv3Snnt4xTcj-ZyP_ptBFCHI9VJY3bRI-rXTNAOShnFKVYcnwEpywx-mMrabR0hCXiw0Um-QdjqgE_flobXeJCzAMGKZQZz3oNJPHLueOmN2NX87N2Q2ao6Yz7oEiqR-W1dXEGxgSeYuuRDqhc-JbJBkRKmqzeb8jbPYVjbQVnA=s2880" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2880" data-original-width="2160" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiEG_7m_53wuVfpnIVpv3Snnt4xTcj-ZyP_ptBFCHI9VJY3bRI-rXTNAOShnFKVYcnwEpywx-mMrabR0hCXiw0Um-QdjqgE_flobXeJCzAMGKZQZz3oNJPHLueOmN2NX87N2Q2ao6Yz7oEiqR-W1dXEGxgSeYuuRDqhc-JbJBkRKmqzeb8jbPYVjbQVnA=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></div><br /><p>She beat us there by a minute, and we rode together back towards Queenstown. After crossing the Shotover River on the cycling and walking bridge, I took the riverside trail without stressing the shorter route home, and subsequently got growled at by an angry mother whose cub was went and truly over it. </p><p>All's well that ends (?!), and before too much longer, we were all home, showered, and ready to think about dinner. We hadn't shopped, so it was unusual Christmas fare for us - an Indian restaurant near the waterfront being one of the few eateries open. Either their version of "medium" is spicier than most, or my body was telling me (via my taste buds), that it had had enough for the day! Nonetheless, it was a nice way to bring our family week to a close.</p><p style="text-align: center;"><b>* * *</b></p><p>On reflection, it had been a lovely week. </p><p>Kaitlyn has been flatting since November 2020, and Khulan since last February. Consequently, it was the first decent period of time we've spent together in a long while. The evening rides both gave the girls a chance to hang out, and also enabled Sarah and I to get some exercise and see some of the sights. I was relieved to get some riding in, but similarly relieved that we managed to prevent it becoming a focus. </p><p>All up, we rode about 230km across the week. Both the bikes had run well, as had our bodies, and the various logistical challenges that you must suffer when travelling with bikes had been overcome smoothly enough. </p><p>The next morning, it would be time to hit the road. Destination - Picton (or so we thought). </p></div>sifterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15453244482461385029noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7894195099236501078.post-4952756368557524902021-06-06T19:53:00.000+12:002021-06-06T19:53:14.330+12:00Waiheke weekender<p>After bailing on my dear wife <a href="http://sifter-writes-bikes.blogspot.com/2021/04/easter-tour-on-fat-tyred-roadie.html">at Easter</a>, it seemed appropriate to follow up soon after with a weekend away together. </p><p>Sarah swooped me up from work on Thursday afternoon, and we had time to run a couple of errands in Kilbirnie before getting rid of our bikes at the oversize desk, and enjoying dinner at the Air NZ lounge. In our haste to leave to board our flight, I forgot to grab a handful of mints, and had to endure a tough hour masked up. </p><p>We caught a shuttle to our hotel at the top of Queen Street and left our bikes in the bags overnight. The next morning after breakfast, we assembled them out on the street, and after stowing the bike bags in the luggage room, rolled down the hill to the ferry terminal. The flow of commuters off the boat from Waiheke reminded us that today, Aucklanders would be going about their business, giving us hope we'd have the island's roads largely to ourselves.</p><p style="text-align: center;"><b>Friday</b></p><p>We got changed into our riding gear on the boat, and each carried a small backpack with civvies and a collection of extra riding wear which we were hoping not to need. In many ways, this is my favourite time of the year to ride - no need to lather sunscreen on, but nor is there need to faff around with highly functional, but otherwise pain-in-the-arse winter riding wear. </p><p>Our overnight accommodation was at a wee hostel in Ostend, and aside from a couple of stops to get some food for lunch, and coffee on board, we made our way straight there. Having dumped our bags, it was time to start bagging deadends!</p><p>Since my Karori caper back in 2014, I've become well and truly addicted to <a href="https://www.facebook.com/Burbing.cc">burbing</a>, as it is now known. It has its downsides, that's for sure - it is <i>very</i> constraining, and an enjoyable ride is very sensitive to careful boundary selection. Even after carving out an area, it is also difficult to estimate the distance you'll need to ride, so you tend to spend the entire ride second-guessing its feasibility. On the other hand, you truly do see a place, and there's not been a single ride among the dozens I've now done, where I didn't say "wow", in response to something that a regular ride would never take you past. </p><p>From Ostend, we headed along Sea View Road, before dropping down to Onetangi Beach en route to the start of the Man O' War Bay Road - surely a contender for the coolest road-name in the country. As per the brochure we'd grabbed from the ferry terminal (including map), it was unsealed from the intersection with Waiheke Road, but great quality, and initially at least, a mellow gradient. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-SnEJieVH6mM/YHuzZk_W-2I/AAAAAAAAMOw/J6_wwY9s6uob8AtFJx8sgPgiLkAyU1l2ACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210416_110244.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-SnEJieVH6mM/YHuzZk_W-2I/AAAAAAAAMOw/J6_wwY9s6uob8AtFJx8sgPgiLkAyU1l2ACLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20210416_110244.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Initially, at least...</td></tr></tbody></table><br />There were few cars on the road, and they were vastly outnumbered by the number of "Private Land" signs we saw, leaving no doubt that visitors were unwelcome. Even the gate at the end of Stony Batter Road, beyond which was pedestrian access to a WW2 Coastal Defence Fortress, signalled that only pedestrians were welcome. <div><br /></div><div>At Man O' War Bay, we rode across a foot bridge to a locked jetty, and smashed back a couple of BLT sandwiches each before continuing on our way.</div><div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-J5r9dk4YsMY/YHuzY0wWttI/AAAAAAAAMOo/nU9KWamlYR8hSRXnTzz7RN7P5TsQZqJqQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210416_113355.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-J5r9dk4YsMY/YHuzY0wWttI/AAAAAAAAMOo/nU9KWamlYR8hSRXnTzz7RN7P5TsQZqJqQCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20210416_113355.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>There was an open vineyard cafe in the bay, but we didn't go inside. Just beyond that was an old church which we were surprised to see was also off limits. </div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-nrXFZgVwmFY/YHuzZZAtHuI/AAAAAAAAMOs/clS_AIB1Gdc3dv44XAABKsNBTksFgXS4wCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210416_114511.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-nrXFZgVwmFY/YHuzZZAtHuI/AAAAAAAAMOs/clS_AIB1Gdc3dv44XAABKsNBTksFgXS4wCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20210416_114511.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Private...</td></tr></tbody></table><br />The climb out of the bay was steep, but there was some nice native bush to admire, and a few kererū hurtling about overhead in their usual glorious fashion. <br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-o4L_ALfXD54/YHuzb_F20VI/AAAAAAAAMO0/1MiI-Q4abFol4aaaphy42U0fcD5ohyjWgCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210416_115210.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-o4L_ALfXD54/YHuzb_F20VI/AAAAAAAAMO0/1MiI-Q4abFol4aaaphy42U0fcD5ohyjWgCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20210416_115210.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>The fast section that followed the climb not only was fun to ride, but also gave great views out towards the Coromandel peninsula. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-h9ThwBiXKjg/YHuzd4B9s1I/AAAAAAAAMO4/wAvGK1i9OlEctC4RQ8Pjby8iytiiKZhlgCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210416_121918.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-h9ThwBiXKjg/YHuzd4B9s1I/AAAAAAAAMO4/wAvGK1i9OlEctC4RQ8Pjby8iytiiKZhlgCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20210416_121918.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>We poked our noses down one of the rare side roads not marked as private, but while it was shown on the map, it never really felt like we were welcome, and for our nosiness, we were forced to grovel back up to the ridge. </div><div><br /></div><div>Soon after, the gravel ended, and we descended to sea level for a quick loop around the wee settlement of Orapiu. A nice little track above the coast enabled us to connect a couple of deadend roads. </div><div><br /></div><div>Two climbs later, we'd completed the big loop we'd started on the Man O' War Road. I'd been nursing a stroppy rear derailleur, and a couple of attempts to sort it out had been to no avail. Even though the rollers had been pretty mellow, and sealed to boot, my legs were feeling startlingly smashed - possibly related to compromising on the gear selection and shifting regularity.</div><div><br /></div><div>On the way down Awaawaroa Road, I noticed a walking track heading in the right direction, so after bagging the deadend, we took a closer look. There wasn't any "no bikes" signage, and despite the track being too steep to ride up, we thought we'd give it a whirl. One virtue of the steepness, was that we quickly got great views, and there were even occasional rideable sections. </div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xMJfaw1czqQ/YHuzfPA6pJI/AAAAAAAAMO8/HTpeLb98dLoiy3f8MMCu9r52AFBRz2REQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210416_134342.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xMJfaw1czqQ/YHuzfPA6pJI/AAAAAAAAMO8/HTpeLb98dLoiy3f8MMCu9r52AFBRz2REQCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20210416_134342.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looking down over the Awaawaroa Wetland Reserve</td></tr></tbody></table><br />Our hopes that we would be able to ride the downhill were very soon dashed, when we found ourselves staring down a fenceline that was insanely steep. In lieu of steps, a rope had been tied to the fence to support anyone foolish enough to come that way. Figuring backtracking would probably have required walking as well, we picked up our bikes, and started lowering ourselves down the track.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GHYZgCEMbLM/YHuzjYnAVrI/AAAAAAAAMPI/DpCJc6URRLsGsYJnY4HJc740JzeLwz-_gCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210416_135317.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GHYZgCEMbLM/YHuzjYnAVrI/AAAAAAAAMPI/DpCJc6URRLsGsYJnY4HJc740JzeLwz-_gCLcBGAsYHQ/w300-h400/20210416_135317.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>We made the bottom of the track intact, and while there was little riding, most of the time we could push the bikes rather than carry them.</div><div><br /></div><div>At the far end, we were reminded that the "route requires reasonable fitness"! Not the most user-friendly bit of signage, and quite the understatement. Even with the bikes, we'd busted it out in about half the suggested time (45 mins to their 1.5 hours), so that was a win, I suppose.</div><div><br /></div><div>The service station at Onetangi was a welcome recharge point, though when we resumed riding, we realised that only a sleep was going to help our legs recover from the abuse we'd subjected them to (or more accurately, that <i>I'd</i>...).</div><div><br /></div><div>I'd hoped to knock off the roads to Rocky Bay and the island's airfield, but the day had really marched on, and so I made do with cleaning up Ostend alone, before joining Sarah back at base. </div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qmrA-FomuX4/YHuzjdLHMnI/AAAAAAAAMPE/Qap8q9msCAEHvLelHPr4Y33O00tcrcS5QCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210416_161348.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qmrA-FomuX4/YHuzjdLHMnI/AAAAAAAAMPE/Qap8q9msCAEHvLelHPr4Y33O00tcrcS5QCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20210416_161348.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of many houseboats in Anzac Bay</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div><div>By the time we'd both showered, we were ready for dinner. Neither of us was inclined to ride any further, so we walked into Ostend for delicious pasta at La Dolce Vita. </div></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gimQd5ttjpg/YHuzjM_p2aI/AAAAAAAAMPA/hhaf2Bq6AEojBuB2Zmam251grnTPO4BOwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210416_180245.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gimQd5ttjpg/YHuzjM_p2aI/AAAAAAAAMPA/hhaf2Bq6AEojBuB2Zmam251grnTPO4BOwCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20210416_180245.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><div>After grabbing some breakfast supplies at Countdown, we enjoyed a sedate stroll back to the hostel, before firing up Netflix and a cup of tea.</div><div><br /></div><div>Stats: <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/5134680252" target="_blank">95km ridden</a> (plus a 23km ferry ride). 2550m climbed!! </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>Saturday</b></div></div><div><br /></div><div>There had been overnight rain, and the skies were still pretty grey when we rolled out towards Rocky Bay. Consequently, we stayed off the mountain bike tracks at the Onetangi Sports Park, though it was very cool to see that the signage being used there was for the same design that some Massey University students (led by Karl Kane and ably supported by Karl Yager) had made for Makara Peak MTB Park back when I was chairing the Supporters committee.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-JcEcGJFlOZc/YIUeI5wSH6I/AAAAAAAAMQo/dRiAB_w1APg7_8zIImQxqGEqABhqZ9JfACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210417_093835.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-JcEcGJFlOZc/YIUeI5wSH6I/AAAAAAAAMQo/dRiAB_w1APg7_8zIImQxqGEqABhqZ9JfACLcBGAsYHQ/w300-h400/20210417_093835.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div>The climb up to the airfield was pretty stern, although sealed, and we got hit by a few showers, in return for some spectacular rainbow action.</div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xFhUPIGE4dk/YHuzoL3UpfI/AAAAAAAAMPM/1YI9TgaidK8MW8TyOYI8PkCT6yK1qmbkgCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210417_095644%25280%2529.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xFhUPIGE4dk/YHuzoL3UpfI/AAAAAAAAMPM/1YI9TgaidK8MW8TyOYI8PkCT6yK1qmbkgCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20210417_095644%25280%2529.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My Pot of Gold and a rainbow</td></tr></tbody></table><br />On the return trip, we stopped at the airfield to adjust clothing (yet again), and while parked up, were treated to a great display by a helicopter coming in to land. Our timing and location could not have been better had we tried!<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-syrcBx-kISA/YHuzoEWHsYI/AAAAAAAAMPQ/gIdmTWDFzJ0QFwpW3p55cxhkR_A6OrxVACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210417_100721.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-syrcBx-kISA/YHuzoEWHsYI/AAAAAAAAMPQ/gIdmTWDFzJ0QFwpW3p55cxhkR_A6OrxVACLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20210417_100721.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>By the time we'd finished the long, mostly-unsealed deadend out to Woodside Bay, we both had a mud slick up our backsides. For a while, it seemed like we would get across to Omiha Bay on a bit of singletrack, but all the connections were marked "no bikes" and we were forced up and over the road. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Nj43IHtyGtE/YHuzooQ0VUI/AAAAAAAAMPU/GDxGHsNbU4g4RsFJbny4Q4F0jtijfXaXACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210417_103058.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Nj43IHtyGtE/YHuzooQ0VUI/AAAAAAAAMPU/GDxGHsNbU4g4RsFJbny4Q4F0jtijfXaXACLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20210417_103058.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>After a half-decent shortcut between Margaret Reeve and Vintage Lanes, I pushed our luck too far again, and we had a long walk between Te Whau Point and Omiha Bay. The small consolation was some great scenery, and the occasional bit of riding. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2iy5A8avRxs/YHuzuyckQJI/AAAAAAAAMPg/CIpqSBH1gjoryJ1T6dAKjrUwG627ZMBxgCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210417_115550.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2iy5A8avRxs/YHuzuyckQJI/AAAAAAAAMPg/CIpqSBH1gjoryJ1T6dAKjrUwG627ZMBxgCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20210417_115550.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>To our great delight, there was a makeshift cafe running out of the community hall in Omiha Bay, and we were able to scoff back a couple of toasted sandwiches, washed down by smoothies, and for me, a coffee. Afterwards, I mopped up the last of the roads on my own, netting a new "best letterbox". The individual on the Kapiti Coast using an old outboard motor is now in second place, behind the repurposed scuba tank on Valley Road - similar scores for novelty, but the effort involved in cutting this puppy deserves some kudos!</div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ShPuZsPpCNc/YHuzuxO29AI/AAAAAAAAMPk/C59ECpMmsYAFFjmbNQvqLSGlVbDezTwwgCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210417_133546.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ShPuZsPpCNc/YHuzuxO29AI/AAAAAAAAMPk/C59ECpMmsYAFFjmbNQvqLSGlVbDezTwwgCLcBGAsYHQ/w300-h400/20210417_133546.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Best letterbox in the country?!</td></tr></tbody></table><br />By the time we got back to the main road, we'd chewed up almost 4.5 hours, and it was somewhat laughable to think that I'd had some hope of knocking that part of the network off the afternoon prior. Even without the hike-a-bike, and the much-needed coffee stop, we'd have been lucky to crack it out in under 3 hours. </div><div><br /></div><div>The next point of interest was the vehicle ferry terminal at Kennedy Point. The locals occupying the adjacent beach were clearly not that keen on the proposed marina (though they've since settled with the developer). From there, we climbed up onto the ridge between Surfdale and Palm Beach, but on the descent, I lost track of Sarah, who as it turned out, had not followed me down a short dead-end. Thank goodness for cell phones! We celebrated our reunion with a spot of lunch, before ducking and diving for another few hours. </div><div><br /></div><div>Church Bay Road afforded us lovely views across to Auckland, but I started to get the sense that Sarah had had enough. Unfortunately, there was still a fair bit of road to go, so I suggested she pull the pin and hang out at a watering hole in Oneroa while I mopped up.</div><div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-F9Y_niZ5xW4/YHuzuWpnBRI/AAAAAAAAMPc/JnpW54DfOUErQnelu6dFgWtqVgSCreDQACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210417_163209.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-F9Y_niZ5xW4/YHuzuWpnBRI/AAAAAAAAMPc/JnpW54DfOUErQnelu6dFgWtqVgSCreDQACLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20210417_163209.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>She agreed and so I boosted away. I'd left a few roads between the ferry terminal and our accommodation, which turned out to be a bit of a nuisance, since Sarah decided to go back for the luggage. </div></div><div><br /></div><div>We kept in contact via txt, which was nice, as after dark I started to feel strangely isolated. Usually I enjoy riding in the dark, and similarly, riding alone. On the other hand, this unusual riding format sucks when you can't see - partly because it is difficult to keep track of where you have and haven't been, but also because you don't get to enjoy the surroundings. Anyway, I was brave, kept riding, and arrived at the ferry terminal about half an hour before the next sailing.</div><div><br /></div><div>There was another group of cyclists waiting for the boat - but the vast majority of those in the queue had clearly been drinking alcohol all day. As it turned out, there were at least two people in the crowd who'd been celebrating birthdays. For a somewhat excruciating 10 minutes, their respective friends took turns singing happy birthday to them, each time cranking up the volume ever so slightly from the previous rendition. As nice as it was to finally be invited to board, the end to the sing-comp was just as welcome.</div><div><br /></div><div>The sailing was very peaceful in contrast, and once berthed, we had a gentle ride back up Queen Street to our hotel. <br /><p>Stats: <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/5140012470" target="_blank">141km ridden</a>, and a whopping 3600 metres climbed</p><p><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b>* * *</b></p><p>Intotal, we covered about 160-unique-kilometres, which, according to wandrer.earth, is only 45% of the island's network. A good excuse to go back and explore some more of the off-road paths, I suppose!</p><p>The format worked surprisingly well - the shuttle to and from the airport dealt well with the bike-bag issue, and the ferry out to the island with a small overnight bag gave us two full days riding over there with a reasonably comfortable evening in between. </p><p>My shifting issue had plagued me throughout, and my legs felt even more wrecked than they would have anyway after 6000+ metres of climbing. Of course, Oli diagnosed the issue straightway but sorted it out before I had a chance to see the obvious problem that I'd missed - the excess rear derailleur cable had somehow got wedged beside one of the jockey-wheels and was causing issues in the top half of the cassette.</p><p>Unfortunately, that is precisely the half that the surprisingly brutal roads of Waiheke Island demand! The highest point we traversed was not even equivalent to Mt Vic, but in 260km of riding, my total climbing was enough for over 30 ascents of Wellington's quintessential hill. Don't let that put you off though, just be prepared!</p></div>sifterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15453244482461385029noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7894195099236501078.post-4891390535720230032021-04-14T21:59:00.003+12:002021-04-18T16:05:42.719+12:00Easter Tour on the fat-tyred roadie<p>Much to Sarah's chagrin, a couple of months ago, I booked an Easter flight to Dunedin with Brendan. He and I were meant to ride together down there about a year ago, and what better use of the Air NZ credit than to try again. It wasn't a straight replication though - my 7 day loop was shortened, and Brendan's one-way trip to Queenstown lengthened, to give us five full days' riding together. </p><p>We flew down independently, and once I got clear of my Thursday morning lecture, I headed to the airport early for a bit of a wind-down. Upon landing in Dunedin, I unpacked my bike before ditching the bag and my travelling clothes in the $5/day luggage room - a great service, and one which I'd love to see replicated everywhere. About an hour or so later, and a short leg-loosener on some pan-flat roads, I hooked up with Brendan on the main drag in Mosgiel. After a bite to eat, we headed to our overnight accommodation a few kilometres towards Outram. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-JhfnaVmW6cw/YG6mueBmZYI/AAAAAAAAMI8/iD0S44foK6ARojx09XbZLcABnwSdX5a6wCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210401_171623.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-JhfnaVmW6cw/YG6mueBmZYI/AAAAAAAAMI8/iD0S44foK6ARojx09XbZLcABnwSdX5a6wCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20210401_171623.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>Day 1 - Mosgiel to Alexandra</b></div><div><br /></div><div>We awoke fairly early on Good Friday - even though we were on holiday, the first day was planned to be our longest, and better to use available daylight on the bike than in bed. It was beautiful and warm while we ate, suited up, and packed. However, about five minutes before roll-out, we could literally feel the air temperature taking a dive as a southerly front passed through. There wasn't anything to do but rearrange clothing, and get out into it. </div><div><br /></div><div>It was a short ride to Outram, where we were hoping to find a second (and better) coffee. After one pass through town, we doubled-back past the closed café to the 4-Square. I decided on a pie for second-breakfast, washed down by a coffee. That done, it was time to get stuck into the sealed climb up to Clarks Junction. </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-UI1SmdfBkzA/YG6murzkdrI/AAAAAAAAMJE/LXV-r84qLVcaHJPK6IPoTM0-qYGNXMoGQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210402_085606.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-UI1SmdfBkzA/YG6murzkdrI/AAAAAAAAMJE/LXV-r84qLVcaHJPK6IPoTM0-qYGNXMoGQCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20210402_085606.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>We'd both ridden the first part of it, having each done a Dunedin round of the Calder Stewart series which finished just shy of our turn off. As we climbed, it got colder and colder, and we became more exposed to the wind. At our second stop to add more clothing, I put on my insulated Shake-dry jacket, and finally became comfortable. Despite the low speed and climbing effort, rain-(and wind)-proof overtrou and cap, gloves, and uninsulated jacket simply hadn't cut it.</div><div><br /></div><div>When we reached Clarks Junction, we turned onto Old Dunstan Road, and Brendan immediate pulled over to put some warmer clothing on. The spot he'd chosen was very exposed to the wind, and as I watched him walk through tall wet grass in search of some shelter, I could feel myself cooling, and went back to hide in the lee of an old pub. He joined me soon after, and was fortunate that in the interim, someone had emerged from the building and offered a room to get changed in. (We politely declined a seat by the fire, for fear that we would never be ready to leave.)</div><div><br /></div><div>It sounded like the change into dry gear had come too late for Brendan (he reported being "very cold"), and given my experience waiting in the wind, I feared that things might rapidly turn sour if we stuck to our original plan. The best option, as I saw it, was to head up the road to Middlemarch, where we would be able to get a hot drink before taking the long way around the Rock and Pillar Range. It would make for a long day, but at least we would be within cooee of help if we needed it. Brendan didn't take much convincing!</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0QoRvpOjmPI/YG6muYNpCKI/AAAAAAAAMJA/L4_NjPug_gM7BEX0TJymY4RlAV9h-3-sQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210402_113515.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0QoRvpOjmPI/YG6muYNpCKI/AAAAAAAAMJA/L4_NjPug_gM7BEX0TJymY4RlAV9h-3-sQCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20210402_113515.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Both the weather and our bodies had warmed up a tad by the time we made Middlemarch, and large coffees made the world of difference also. The café was busy, and I thought I recognised a cyclist who'd queued up near our table. The fella who looked a lot like my colleague Ronnie blanked me initially, but then we sorted things out (it <i>was </i>Ronnie) and had a quick catch up - he'd just finished a 5-day ride of the Rail Trail with friends and family, and I didn't have the heart to tell him we were planning to knock it out before bed time (with an action-packed 60km already under our belts).</div><div><br /></div><div>Even though the weather was showing signs of perking up, relitigating our earlier call was pointless, and besides, both Brendan and I seemed comfortable with what lay ahead. We made our way onto the Otago Central Rail Trail, and got underway. When we were moving, progress was rapid, courtesy of a great tail wind. But, said wind was still chilly, and we seemed to be constantly fiddling with our attire. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NjVMsZK8KNQ/YG6mvlwxcoI/AAAAAAAAMJI/6MtJQbCGl4o0NuTsBQkpcUo9wcDHYrwrwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210402_123432.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NjVMsZK8KNQ/YG6mvlwxcoI/AAAAAAAAMJI/6MtJQbCGl4o0NuTsBQkpcUo9wcDHYrwrwCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20210402_123432.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>I'd never ridden the rail trail, and was glad to be ticking it off. The design was elegant, and the low gradients and gentle curves were testament to the engineers' cunning and attention to detail. Despite it being the first day of the Easter period, we struck a large number of people nearing the end of their ride - most were on e-bikes, so were only looking despondent on account of the morning's rain, rather than the brisk headwind they were pushing into. </div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-WKvr_TDv6dI/YG6mwDvp1CI/AAAAAAAAMJM/b3oplSHWF70gCdhDKuJS72Dufn8Tex7fgCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210402_160042.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-WKvr_TDv6dI/YG6mwDvp1CI/AAAAAAAAMJM/b3oplSHWF70gCdhDKuJS72Dufn8Tex7fgCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20210402_160042.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of the weirder features of the trail, were regular "planets"</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div>Nearing Ranfurly, the trail started to turn westward, and as a consequence, we started battling the wind for the first time. I had a bit of a low-patch energy-wise, so was glad to be able to top the tanks up and have a bit of a break in the town. We would soon be turning fully into the wind, and our open question was to what extent the downhill gradient of the trail would take the edge off it. Only time would tell. </div><div><br /></div><div>The "summit" came soon after a road crossing at Wedderburn, and not long after that we began our push in a south-westerly direction, delighted to find that progress remained very good. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7workO1FDzc/YG6mwsxuOBI/AAAAAAAAMJQ/aMvZ5QDHKOs1Js0j6dYWWBcfTlpDFVgdgCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210402_161541.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7workO1FDzc/YG6mwsxuOBI/AAAAAAAAMJQ/aMvZ5QDHKOs1Js0j6dYWWBcfTlpDFVgdgCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20210402_161541.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>We passed the most interesting features of the route in the late afternoon, and it wasn't lost on us that most of the riders we'd seen seemed to be having their happy ending at the beginning of their ride. The area around the Poolburn Gorge - replete with a spectacular viaduct and tunnels - was a particular highlight.</div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-mnF2CZBf3-Y/YG6mwmgjmFI/AAAAAAAAMJU/_Ac39NSrm-glIBkyvUa_RFGY5MYP6-7jwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210402_174441.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-mnF2CZBf3-Y/YG6mwmgjmFI/AAAAAAAAMJU/_Ac39NSrm-glIBkyvUa_RFGY5MYP6-7jwCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20210402_174441.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Spectacular viaduct</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-laIOxITFpeQ/YG6mxJp4PTI/AAAAAAAAMJY/ofKVyykVPAkoaPMAAgir3XjUy9aa2tb_QCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210402_175124.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-laIOxITFpeQ/YG6mxJp4PTI/AAAAAAAAMJY/ofKVyykVPAkoaPMAAgir3XjUy9aa2tb_QCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20210402_175124.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tunnel</td></tr></tbody></table><br />The last 25km or so into Alexandra were a real treat, partly on account of the beautiful late-afternoon light. There was masterful design to negotiate the steep drop into Chatto Creek, and on the final kilometres into Alex, our energy levels were such that we weren't tempted off onto various more direct routes into town. <br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fwHpXBjDYZk/YHuuq5dvjbI/AAAAAAAAMOQ/j2LcCjh-wuQv0yZ9ENTd0KNLVFRsl_HDgCLcBGAsYHQ/s2549/IMG_1355.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1234" data-original-width="2549" height="194" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fwHpXBjDYZk/YHuuq5dvjbI/AAAAAAAAMOQ/j2LcCjh-wuQv0yZ9ENTd0KNLVFRsl_HDgCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h194/IMG_1355.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Reaching for a bidon on the rail trail. Photo: Brendan McGrath</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p>We knocked off for the day with just under 210km on the clock - about 60km longer than we'd planned, but better that than coming unstuck on the Old Dunstan Road. Even though we'd amassed about 2.5 hours of stops along the way, it was nice to arrive without needing lights, and before it got difficult to find dinner!!</p><p>Stats: <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/5053285906">209km ridden, one bullet dodged</a></p><p><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b>Day 2 - Alexandra to Queenstown</b></p><p>There was no need to rush in the morning, with a relatively short road ride through to Queenstown on the horizon. For a while, it looked like we may have been able to ride the new <a href="https://centralotagonz.com/tracks-and-trails/lake-dunstan-trail/" target="_blank">Lake Dunstan Trail</a>, but delays had pushed the opening out, unfortunately (now confirmed for Saturday 8 May). </p><p>It was very cold when we set out, and perhaps for that reason, we didn't go out of our way to ride the final 8km of the rail trail into Clyde, preferring to stick with the road. Half way along the stretch, I was frustrated to remember that we could have crossed the river to ride a second off-road trail between the towns. In any case, it wouldn't have cut out a decent climb on the highway to a lookout point above Clyde Dam, one of NZ's "Think Big" projects, which occurred around about the time Brendan and I were becoming news-aware. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/--RhIZWgagdc/YG6na4zXgZI/AAAAAAAAMJ8/wePdbNYqy34QjreYIEU-XT20M-cqHQhzwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210403_100127.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/--RhIZWgagdc/YG6na4zXgZI/AAAAAAAAMJ8/wePdbNYqy34QjreYIEU-XT20M-cqHQhzwCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20210403_100127.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Clyde Dam</td></tr></tbody></table><br />Despite being along a very flat lake, the highway to Cromwell was arduous, and afforded us frustratingly good views over the to the off-limits cycle trail. Never mind - it'll keep!<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FET9lXZUJzw/YG6nbMNd7HI/AAAAAAAAMKA/bS1YH5MiasUu9o9u4Pid-Q1m7l4TFgFqQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210403_104349.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FET9lXZUJzw/YG6nbMNd7HI/AAAAAAAAMKA/bS1YH5MiasUu9o9u4Pid-Q1m7l4TFgFqQCLcBGAsYHQ/w300-h400/20210403_104349.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>We stopped briefly above the confluence of the Clutha (Mata-au) River coming out of Lake Wanaka, and the Kawarau River draining from Lake Wakatipu. Signage indicated the old bridge into Cromwell was still in place, about 10m below the lake surface. We both tried to imagine what it must have been like for the townsfolk to watch their town's infrastructure disappear when the lake was finally formed. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-kkcMfO9bBSM/YG6na0oluuI/AAAAAAAAMJ4/Q29Tr4XgMIkly4Ua6RnFY1eakXV-L89lgCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210403_105539.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-kkcMfO9bBSM/YG6na0oluuI/AAAAAAAAMJ4/Q29Tr4XgMIkly4Ua6RnFY1eakXV-L89lgCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20210403_105539.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>After crossing the new bridge (several metres <i>above</i> the lake), we peeled off, and were soon ensconced in a lovely wee café in the Heritage Precinct. I had a couple of cheese rolls (when in Rome, etc...) and a quad-shot bowl flat white, which really did take the edge off the still-chilly air temperature when we got back out into it.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Pt0fqO93Dts/YG6nb25qw-I/AAAAAAAAMKE/8UA_aQLDdKIcP1Ged0MWNHS4mwv5BHWNwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210403_112341.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Pt0fqO93Dts/YG6nb25qw-I/AAAAAAAAMKE/8UA_aQLDdKIcP1Ged0MWNHS4mwv5BHWNwCLcBGAsYHQ/w300-h400/20210403_112341.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pRAIqTUEc7o/YG6ncEt4XhI/AAAAAAAAMKI/xrS8D0B4_RABfJX-ygUUogru_xa-wUNhwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210403_114553.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pRAIqTUEc7o/YG6ncEt4XhI/AAAAAAAAMKI/xrS8D0B4_RABfJX-ygUUogru_xa-wUNhwCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20210403_114553.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>We rode an off-road path (part of the Lake Dunstan Trail) through to the Bannockburn Rd bridge, before rejoining SH6 soon after. The Easter traffic volume wasn't notable, although the extent of (e-)bike-haulage definitely was. </div><div><br /></div><div>"Roaring Meg" was signposted a few kilometres out, and we stopped there to admire her - a small hydro scheme (the second of two being fed by a small man-made lake up in the hills). </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-EEFSMKtxke0/YG6ncR8s3UI/AAAAAAAAMKM/_ej_AxKVX9MWkmL0XJUhfFEYyTD29e4TQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210403_123228.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-EEFSMKtxke0/YG6ncR8s3UI/AAAAAAAAMKM/_ej_AxKVX9MWkmL0XJUhfFEYyTD29e4TQCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20210403_123228.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Even the occasional downhill stretches of the highway above the Kawarau River seemed like a lot of effort, and it was hard to know what to put that down to - perhaps the long day prior, or the nasty chip seal, or the cold air, or all of the above? </div><div><br /></div><div>At Gibbston, we were finally offered an opportunity to get off the road - onto the furthest extreme of the <a href="https://queenstowntrail.co.nz/">Queenstown Trail</a>. Even though we knew we were travelling slower on the unsealed surface, progress seemed better, and markedly so, prompting us to wonder whether it the effect could be solely psychological, </div><div><br /></div><div>Google had suggested we turn off onto Chard Road, just prior to the Kawarau bungy bridge. It seemed a bit counter-intuitive, but there was Queenstown Trail signage to Chard Farm, so we gave it a whirl, only to come to a locked gate 10 minutes or so later. Forced to back track, at least we got stunning views over the river for our troubles.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-BJREitOrFEA/YG6ndJnfvSI/AAAAAAAAMKU/eX6dz0mPodshsv2Aga1427hhUBtSZAsLgCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210403_140234.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-BJREitOrFEA/YG6ndJnfvSI/AAAAAAAAMKU/eX6dz0mPodshsv2Aga1427hhUBtSZAsLgCLcBGAsYHQ/w300-h400/20210403_140234.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>The lack of homework bit us again a short while later. The Queenstown Trail sounded so much like a single trail to Queenstown, and when I followed the route to Arrowtown, I didn't notice Queenstown dropping off the distance markers for a while. When Brendan alerted me to my mistake, I sensed he was a bit miffed, but we agreed to continue on to Arrowtown. </div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-sSfjIw4CPSw/YG6ndp5W-uI/AAAAAAAAMKY/nOj1wBpZ-6AcrKLe4xoYebPE5C0oKyvNwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210403_145223.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-sSfjIw4CPSw/YG6ndp5W-uI/AAAAAAAAMKY/nOj1wBpZ-6AcrKLe4xoYebPE5C0oKyvNwCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20210403_145223.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A bridge under a bridge, on the Arrow River Bridges Trail</td></tr></tbody></table><br />When we did finally arrive there, I organised a couple of chocolate shakes as pennance, and we sat in the sun for a while to partially recharge. <br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Azw_QuJOAaw/YG6nd7KQGlI/AAAAAAAAMKc/r2pgRKvDiHczZ9HADTqJN9REj_TXFLpLwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210403_154021.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Azw_QuJOAaw/YG6nd7KQGlI/AAAAAAAAMKc/r2pgRKvDiHczZ9HADTqJN9REj_TXFLpLwCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20210403_154021.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div>When we set off, I was keen to drop back down to the trail we should have been on, but Brendan advocated for the road through Arthur's Point. While I'd ridden this way before, a significant (and of course, unexpected) plus was that we bumped into Jonathan and Julie (organisers of the <a href="http://sifter-writes-bikes.blogspot.com/2018/07/stage-1-2018-tour-de-france-one-day.html" target="_blank">Tour de France</a> trip back in 2018). It was very lovely to see them, and funny that had I had my way, I would have been oblivious to them being in the neighbourhood.<div><br /></div><div>The ride finished wonderfully on that front, but also with a scorching descent into town (we agreed that every bike ride should finish like that)! We settled on an underground pizza joint for dinner. I deliberately ordered a massive pizza, and managed to avoid eating all of it. The leftover couple of pieces warranted purchase of a roll of tin-foil on the way back to base. While I was a bit anxious about having cold pizza against my lower back all morning, but that seemed like a small price to pay for real food for lunch. </div><div><br /></div><div>It was the last day of daylight savings, and of course we had a time-sensitive start in the morning - a vigorous debate ensued. It would have been quite hilarious to listen to two tired but otherwise well-educated, middle-aged men try to work out what exactly was going to happen, but we chased each other round in circles for a long while, pulling in such clues as "spring forward, fall back", an "n/a" for the 2-3am period in Metservice's weather forecast (is it because it doesn't exist, or because it is experienced twice?!), and how long our phones thought it was until the morning's alarms went off. We did sort it out eventually, but after a comically long discussion, and despite being fairly certain that our phones would sort it all out for us while we slept (they did, as they do every year).<br /><p>Stats: <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/5058815495">112 surprisingly arduous kilometres, and a couple of bad turns</a></p><p><br /></p><p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><b>Day 3 - Queenstown to Lumsden</b></div><p>The third day was the one I'd been looking forward to the most. The reason for all the angst, was that we had booked on the 9am staff boat out to Walter Peak Station - <a href="https://www.realjourneys.co.nz/en/destinations/queenstown/">Real Journeys</a> don't seem to advertise this, but at $40 a head (including bikes) it sets you up really well for a good day's riding on the Around the Mountains cycle trail. </p><p>After our meticulous evening's planning, of course we woke at the right time, and were able to get coffee before jumping aboard the boat. Next time, we'll have to budget time for a second round. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-nn3D7P7JZXg/YG6sqPZZpAI/AAAAAAAAMK4/j0u6fcviAoMfbK9eLApquV978k7JY_dkACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210404_084645.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-nn3D7P7JZXg/YG6sqPZZpAI/AAAAAAAAMK4/j0u6fcviAoMfbK9eLApquV978k7JY_dkACLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20210404_084645.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The TSS Earnslaw was not our boat - that's saved for properly paying customers</td></tr></tbody></table><br />Aboard the boat, we were joined aboard by a handful of staff, a couple who were e-biking the TA route and three of their family/friends who were joining them for a few days, and a young couple on MTBs who were going to be camping overnight at Mavora Lakes. </div><div><br /></div><div>The ferry ride was spectacular, and I spent most of it up top, enjoying the very fresh air, and fascinating views. </div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xNE6bguyrKI/YHuvOsKi0mI/AAAAAAAAMOY/ktIKBmK5BnEiiyZoJV6BMmpqFr2nW7j2ACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/IMG_1370.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1909" data-original-width="2048" height="373" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xNE6bguyrKI/YHuvOsKi0mI/AAAAAAAAMOY/ktIKBmK5BnEiiyZoJV6BMmpqFr2nW7j2ACLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h373/IMG_1370.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Helmet done up to keep my hat from flying off! Photo: Brendan McGrath</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div><br /></div><div>At our destination, I was amused by the parking mechanism, with the skipper simply running the boat aground alongside the jetty. Presumably without doing that, we would have been awkward to offload, and done carefully, surely was cheaper than extending the wharf!</div><div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3y55lvDPaZU/YG6sqateirI/AAAAAAAAMLA/inswozts15EqhQGBUnrekLtjYYGf3BP1wCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210404_092726.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3y55lvDPaZU/YG6sqateirI/AAAAAAAAMLA/inswozts15EqhQGBUnrekLtjYYGf3BP1wCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20210404_092726.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Arriving at Walter Peak Station</td></tr></tbody></table><br />A second coffee had evaded us in Queenstown, so when one was available at Walter Peak, we leapt at the chance, despite my suspicion that the coffee machine would need to be warmed up. There was indeed an agonisingly long wait, but when the coffees finally arrived. they were perfect sculling temperature, and were down the hatches before you could say "fuck, that was a long wait". </div><div><br />We had an initial battle with the wind, and soon caught the impatient one of the party of five. He'd given up on his coffee, and was keen to know if we'd had ours. I felt bad giving him the thumbs-up, but I'm sure he'd have found out from his friends a little later anyway. </div><div><br /></div><div>Brendan lost a camera case to the wind before we reached the turn inland at the Von River, but perhaps it was a sacrifice to the wind gods that set us up for a brilliant day. <br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_f2OZcW2YmE/YG6sqIK1-aI/AAAAAAAAMK8/VFRaoyyCLl0ADRWmLkdp6oZD-GDsn6ZNgCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210404_103500.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_f2OZcW2YmE/YG6sqIK1-aI/AAAAAAAAMK8/VFRaoyyCLl0ADRWmLkdp6oZD-GDsn6ZNgCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20210404_103500.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looking up Lake Wakatipu towards a wet Glenorchy</td></tr></tbody></table><br />Despite climbing up-valley, the howling westerly wind was now in our favour, and progress was fantastic. While we were relishing the tailwind, we saw some e-bikers heading towards us, no doubt glad they had pedal assist to help them get down the valley! <br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0Oo29OL-a8A/YG6srcpXZeI/AAAAAAAAMLE/88GiRCfolZEOo8fO1qMKdmgiuoiTl3wOQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210404_111615.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0Oo29OL-a8A/YG6srcpXZeI/AAAAAAAAMLE/88GiRCfolZEOo8fO1qMKdmgiuoiTl3wOQCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20210404_111615.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not a bad spot for an airbnb (unless you need to pop to the dairy)</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div>Eventually we arrived at the base of the only major climb of the day, and our first proper hill since leaving Outram on day 1. There, Brendan discovered he'd left his second drink bottle back at Walter Peak - while his remaining one has a sophisticated filter mechanism, it isn't designed to be used on the fly. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-IDDsvtKVpEg/YG6sr8eWqcI/AAAAAAAAMLI/Twb7A5FYOakrQ-gDpfupmsNJvtm7_5jKACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210404_115035.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-IDDsvtKVpEg/YG6sr8eWqcI/AAAAAAAAMLI/Twb7A5FYOakrQ-gDpfupmsNJvtm7_5jKACLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20210404_115035.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div>At the top of the climb, we had another stop for a bite to eat and some wardrobe adjustment, and when the road crossed a stream soon after, Brendan stopped again to fill his bottle. From there, we made our towards Mavora Lakes - the gentle climb was more than negated by the scorching tail wind, and about the only thing that slowed us down was the second of the day's fords. With care, we got through both without getting wet feet, which was welcome. </div><div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-v60fBVhaiGw/YG6ssP0nXfI/AAAAAAAAMLM/UH6UqHAnYKMavo3zd_7O28rreJXlM4BoACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210404_124006.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-v60fBVhaiGw/YG6ssP0nXfI/AAAAAAAAMLM/UH6UqHAnYKMavo3zd_7O28rreJXlM4BoACLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20210404_124006.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Near Mavora Lakes, we skirted around some impressive native forest, before finding a spot out of the wind for lunch - my pizza slid down very well indeed. Even with the time gained and effort saved by the wind, neither of us was sufficiently keen to ride the dead-end road up to the top lake (apparently a 16km return trip), and even the young couple heading up there didn't sway us. We all presumed Brendan and I had passed them while they were sitting in one of the many small shelters along the road. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-eJtTwZYl7HM/YG6ssWTlOCI/AAAAAAAAMLQ/VgmuOSYrO0kmLqQKHugBm4aWMZwXvhDmgCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210404_131811.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-eJtTwZYl7HM/YG6ssWTlOCI/AAAAAAAAMLQ/VgmuOSYrO0kmLqQKHugBm4aWMZwXvhDmgCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20210404_131811.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>After lunch, it was a gentle downhill through to our overnight stop at Lumsden. Factoring in the wind, it felt like we were descending off a mountain! </div><div><br /></div><div>We continued on the gravel road for about half the distance, before turning onto a purpose built section of the cycle trail. This followed a stream, and on occasion, we were treated to a short section into the wind - it was pretty insane, and was hard to imagine what the day would have been like in the opposite direction - we assumed nigh on impossible. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vwPZlxk-oq0/YG6stGZpXKI/AAAAAAAAMLU/IjfTHSxsNpM3PT_equhdGzs9SYqG3oiagCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210404_144916.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vwPZlxk-oq0/YG6stGZpXKI/AAAAAAAAMLU/IjfTHSxsNpM3PT_equhdGzs9SYqG3oiagCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20210404_144916.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>The ducking and diving began to wear a bit thin, so we were glad when we finally arrived in Mossburn. There, we stopped at a café for a pick-me-up, before embarking on the final stretch to Lumsden. For the most part, this consisted of a power-pole slalom adjacent to the main road. While it did seem preferable to riding on the road, the design was curious, to say the least!</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GzKEc-4QxPI/YG6stXiTL5I/AAAAAAAAMLY/y3W1scDxXawJTLDroKtjR7ncvVnk464tQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210404_155856.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GzKEc-4QxPI/YG6stXiTL5I/AAAAAAAAMLY/y3W1scDxXawJTLDroKtjR7ncvVnk464tQCLcBGAsYHQ/w300-h400/20210404_155856.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><div><br /></div>We were booked into the Lumsden Hotel, and we were glad to find they were serving dinner. I had a mighty fine bit of pork belly, washed down by an ice-cream that I'd cheekily procured from the 4-Square before it had closed at 7pm. </div><div><br /></div><div>The wind forecast for the next day was much the same, which was perfect, given that we were continuing eastward. <br /><p>Stats: <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/5065053357">127km ridden, plus a 12km boat ride</a></p><p><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b>Day 4 - Lumsden to Beaumont</b></p><p>The hotel provided a continental breakfast of sorts, and I supplemented this with some hot-cross buns from the supermarket. We were ready to roll by 9am, but didn't go far, since the café just down the road had opened up, and were glad to serve us coffee. There was most of a 1950s Dodge Kingsway inside, which seemed to be serving as the local post office desk, and had been chopped up after entering the building on its side - from the front right, it looked like a full car, but from the back left, it more closely resembled an L-shaped desk. </p><p>The AA map I'd been using for planning indicated a plethora of choice to get to Waikaia, beyond which our route was fairly simple. I'd randomly chosen roads which were shown as predominantly unsealed, and wouldn't involve too much ducking and diving, nor unnecessary distance. </p><p>After a few minutes on the main road towards Gore, we turned off onto the crunchy stuff for the first time. The wind was again in our favour, and vigorously so! </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FoKq1_t7MgE/YG6tQEQPvJI/AAAAAAAAMLs/UNlcqrw3m2sGNj9HXzosN4Lvec7Es1n3QCLcBGAsYHQ/s2539/20210405_095712.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1238" data-original-width="2539" height="195" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FoKq1_t7MgE/YG6tQEQPvJI/AAAAAAAAMLs/UNlcqrw3m2sGNj9HXzosN4Lvec7Es1n3QCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h195/20210405_095712.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>We skirted around Balfour, and a couple of times had crosswind sections which hammered home just how lucky we continued to be with the wind. We passed a burnt out tractor, which I hoped wasn't a symbolic reflection of how my day would turn out...</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pEEclx9G1O8/YG6tQF_DhgI/AAAAAAAAMLw/4ZZniO1jv3oIfbbiuFlWMGEatO3gwEzBgCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210405_104715.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pEEclx9G1O8/YG6tQF_DhgI/AAAAAAAAMLw/4ZZniO1jv3oIfbbiuFlWMGEatO3gwEzBgCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20210405_104715.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>On our last gravel section before Waikaia, we passed a number of quirky signs reading "Caution - Road Oiled". The purpose of the oil seemed obvious - to keep the dust down around houses - but the necessity of the warning seemed less obvious. I found it hard to imagine any passing motorist benefitting from the alert, but perhaps I was underestimating the local drivers. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VSQ-dmVnj_c/YG6tQoKSrxI/AAAAAAAAML0/1n2kjUeg18o_2INpepGf1-jiEPky-lHNgCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210405_110315.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VSQ-dmVnj_c/YG6tQoKSrxI/AAAAAAAAML0/1n2kjUeg18o_2INpepGf1-jiEPky-lHNgCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20210405_110315.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>We stopped in at <i>the </i>store in Waikaia - it seemed to be a bit of a one-stop-shop, and was suitably busy. I had a coffee, and another couple of cheese-rolls, but didn't grab any extra food for later - I already had a ham and egg sandwich precariously bungeed to my saddle bag, and plenty of other riding snacks (one-square-meals that I was hoping not to eat, some honey roasted peanuts, and a bag of froozeballs). </div><div><br /></div><div>We left Waikaia on Winding Creek Road, which almost instantly turned to gravel. There was a neat looking old church perched on a hilltop which I did a quick detour for before rejoining Brendan. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FtgXW4vOyI8/YG6tRslk1JI/AAAAAAAAML8/z2HXJBXSytsHuXa_UIeBd0iNBjqHajFywCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210405_122143.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FtgXW4vOyI8/YG6tRslk1JI/AAAAAAAAML8/z2HXJBXSytsHuXa_UIeBd0iNBjqHajFywCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20210405_122143.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>The road was lovely, and passed a couple of gold mining claims (according to the signage), and a nice tract of native bush - a rarity on our ride up to this point. The sun was in a lousy position for photographs of the bush, but that didn't stop me from enjoying the sight - simultaneously uplifting and depressing, the latter to think that the entire country would have been like that before people started hoeing into it.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6YcZVpxzpRE/YG6tRF7c07I/AAAAAAAAML4/8P6x4KWF6M05Uo3uLq00u_xalAt17NNwwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210405_123247.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6YcZVpxzpRE/YG6tRF7c07I/AAAAAAAAML4/8P6x4KWF6M05Uo3uLq00u_xalAt17NNwwCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20210405_123247.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>After a short climb, and an even shorter descent, we came to an intersection and our turnoff. </div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-As--y1syjPo/YG6tSOpFXkI/AAAAAAAAMMA/zbP9ZvuogtQkdwy8m2mDyjmcgBJ1fpL0gCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210405_125647.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-As--y1syjPo/YG6tSOpFXkI/AAAAAAAAMMA/zbP9ZvuogtQkdwy8m2mDyjmcgBJ1fpL0gCLcBGAsYHQ/w300-h400/20210405_125647.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">What could possibly go wrong?!?!</td></tr></tbody></table><br />After marvelling at the potential confusion that might arise at this particular intersection, we got out of the wind for a few minutes behind another local oddity - hay bales wrapped in a continuous length of plastic to create massive hay-sausages. We wondered what sort of machine created them, and imagined some grand contraption eating up hay bales and shitting out a great big plastic wrapped hay-poo. We may ride like grown men, but in some respects, the boys remain.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rZ_VsW7SRGo/YG6tSB0LxZI/AAAAAAAAMME/Pdb5v3-7nF0deCuMF3-k7D-Io4nyz6zUQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210405_130110.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rZ_VsW7SRGo/YG6tSB0LxZI/AAAAAAAAMME/Pdb5v3-7nF0deCuMF3-k7D-Io4nyz6zUQCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20210405_130110.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>After sharing the ham and egg sammy and otherwise recharging, we saddled up again, and after a relatively stern climb, enjoyed a lovely stretch of undulating road through to our next turnoff. While we stayed on Switzers Road, it became sealed, and not long after tipped up quite savagely. Once we'd recovered from that, the next unpleasantness was the cold wind up on the tops.</div><div><br /></div><div>The next section of road network was quite confusing, but givcn we'd mapped it out, it was a simple matter of trusting the GPS course, confident that it would all make sense eventually. Not that it needed to - so long as it got us there!</div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-wxskZ1ttgWk/YG6tSoknRRI/AAAAAAAAMMI/c9coguMXLZ0OpIAIlpG_fXPgiiPQCI6BwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210405_144742.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-wxskZ1ttgWk/YG6tSoknRRI/AAAAAAAAMMI/c9coguMXLZ0OpIAIlpG_fXPgiiPQCI6BwCLcBGAsYHQ/w300-h400/20210405_144742.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">An old church on the corner of Monument Road</td></tr></tbody></table><br />At Edievale, we turned onto a major road through to Raes Junction. We'd originally looked for accommodation there, before settling on Beaumont a few kilometres down the road. After a scorching descent, we discovered that the junction was merely that, and any hopes we'd had of a late coffee stop were dashed. <br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-BkiUk4D18Dk/YG6tTawt7hI/AAAAAAAAMMM/482AQczok7INwuFDu18GxpLKpSDdFw1JQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210405_150251.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-BkiUk4D18Dk/YG6tTawt7hI/AAAAAAAAMMM/482AQczok7INwuFDu18GxpLKpSDdFw1JQCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20210405_150251.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A road sign guaranteed to put a smile on any passing cyclist's face</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>We'd overestimated the scale of Beaumont too - crossing over the Clutha River, only to find the "town" was simply a collection of homes, and that the hotel we'd passed just before the neat one-lane bridge was all that was on offer. We grabbed a bit of afternoon tea there before checking in to our swanky Mata-au Lodge just down the way. I'd treated myself by hauling around my Allbirds slip-on shoes, so walked to the hotel for dinner, while Brendan rode. </p><p>I celebrated another great day's riding with a whitebait sammie and a seafood basket. I even treated myself to a small beer, which slid down very nicely, and satisfied my typical annual alcohol quota.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-YakJXWe1ZXU/YG6uTYC8OcI/AAAAAAAAMMg/nKTzOSq9slgLwavPdAFl2ZziwQ4CA7y4wCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210405_181955.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-YakJXWe1ZXU/YG6uTYC8OcI/AAAAAAAAMMg/nKTzOSq9slgLwavPdAFl2ZziwQ4CA7y4wCLcBGAsYHQ/w300-h400/20210405_181955.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Dessert was back at base, courtesy of a neat selection of pay-as-you-go goodies on offer there.</div><div><br /></div><div>Stats: <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/5071264684">120km, mostly wind assisted</a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>Day 5 - Beaumont to Mosgiel</b></div><div><br /></div><div>Beaumont lay about two-thirds of the way along the Clutha Gold Trail. While it looked like we'd missed out on a great section north of Beaumont, riding it would have required quite a detour from Raes Junction to get across the river. Another bit of local infrastructure that I look forward to returning to.</div><div><br /></div><div>Lawrence wasn't far away, so we didn't pop into the hotel for coffee, and instead made our way across the river and onto the trail. For quite a while it ran alongside the highway, but sans lampposts, fortunately. Eventually it drew away, and we passed through an old rail tunnel. Towards the middle, there was a shipping container that seemed to be protecting passers-by (passers-under?!) from a nasty looking rock sticking out of a hole in the ceiling. </div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hGNdAJp8gf8/YG6uTo39tUI/AAAAAAAAMMk/ClRvoIrLF_UqW45llJTlyc7qDa6W_FrggCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210406_095329.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hGNdAJp8gf8/YG6uTo39tUI/AAAAAAAAMMk/ClRvoIrLF_UqW45llJTlyc7qDa6W_FrggCLcBGAsYHQ/w300-h400/20210406_095329.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mind your head!</td></tr></tbody></table><br />We passed a family having an early picnic in the sun - they looked like they were having a ball, with parents' bikes loaded with gear and giving the relatively young kids a neat bikepacking experience. I regretted not stopping to tell them what an awesome sight they were.</div><div><br /></div><div>The trail didn't use the old railway bench often, but the last kilometres into Lawrence were a notable exception. There's something delightful about a railway lines gentle curves, and aside from being easy on the eye, and kind on the legs, the mathematician in me is full of respect for the talent that has gone into it.</div><div><br /></div><div>We pulled into the first café I'd seen, only to find that they were only serving counter-food. I'd already ordered by the time Brendan couldn't, but he made do. </div><div><br /></div><div>The day had warmed up nicely while we'd been inside, and a big climb soon after we left town ensured major wardrobe adjustments eventually occurred. Waipori Road was gravel, but big and wide, no doubt to accommodate the logging trucks servicing the significant pine forest we were passing through.</div><div><br /></div><div>Our overnight host had warned us about nasty corrugations, and for the most part, he was wrong. On the other hand, he could have mentioned a deep gully that the road dropped steeply into, before climbing just as sharply back out!<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6uvJ2NgKLHY/YG6uTv2ryII/AAAAAAAAMMo/E7sGQrf_mzoYC8Fh_OyJEBn2-_d8MhP6ACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210406_121319.jpg"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6uvJ2NgKLHY/YG6uTv2ryII/AAAAAAAAMMo/E7sGQrf_mzoYC8Fh_OyJEBn2-_d8MhP6ACLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20210406_121319.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Waipori Road took us up alongside Lake Mahinerangi - created over a century ago when the Waipori River was dammed. We'd scoped out a couple of options back to Mosgiel. One was to cross the lake at its midpoint, and ride through Lee Flat before taking a back road loop through Hindon to Outram. </div>Instead, we opted for the unsealed route through Waipori Falls. </div><div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-MncZTfm1YDM/YG6uUjwvJGI/AAAAAAAAMMs/bVbeVXzb52EVBICzD4BRUfUjD7ZG2LKhwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210406_123746.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-MncZTfm1YDM/YG6uUjwvJGI/AAAAAAAAMMs/bVbeVXzb52EVBICzD4BRUfUjD7ZG2LKhwCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20210406_123746.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The bridge we didn't take</td></tr></tbody></table><br />The lake wasn't done with us yet though, and before we started our long descent, we passed a pine block in the process of being logged, and had trucks to contend with for a while. We managed to avoid one by pulling off the road for a picnic beneath the bridge across the outlet of Loch Luella. <br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1kNGLzgV0AU/YG6uVQsQReI/AAAAAAAAMMw/dMIl9Fod5E0wUCJ4JcCy4zAiCSrauUONwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210406_125413.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1kNGLzgV0AU/YG6uVQsQReI/AAAAAAAAMMw/dMIl9Fod5E0wUCJ4JcCy4zAiCSrauUONwCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20210406_125413.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>The next truck was a different story, but at least we got plenty of warning, and could get off the road...</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-308O2y88A8s/YG6uVvCimII/AAAAAAAAMM0/8NCr3agwBX0-OxZJky3q7cPBrnCxevVwQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210406_132404.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-308O2y88A8s/YG6uVvCimII/AAAAAAAAMM0/8NCr3agwBX0-OxZJky3q7cPBrnCxevVwQCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20210406_132404.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>We'd independently mapped the route, and while Brendan's GPS wanted him to turn off down to the dam, mine took us through Waipori Falls "township", and that's the one we went with (while I was slightly disappointed not to have checked out the dam, it isn't completely clear that the through-route existed, or at least, was kosher). We ignored a turn to the right soon after, though suspected that the trucks were turning off there.</div><div><br /></div><div>The descent to Waipori Falls was steep, but it was wonderful to be riding through native bush. The township seemed to be on a loop road marked as private, and we respected the signage. The falls also were off limits, apparently due to earthquake risk. But, the detour gave us a great vantage over the first of three small power stations along the road. </div><div><br /></div><div>The native bush continued to be awesome, and we were both delighted we'd chosen to come this way. Strangely, the power stations seemed not to take the shine off the natural amenities, and we got to the bottom of the valley fizzing about the brilliant scenery.</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-45-v0cqL3Bk/YG6uV5CfyhI/AAAAAAAAMM4/e8_mn6aze2QfFO8bf_EADthhkxP6fpt1QCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210406_141246.jpg"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-45-v0cqL3Bk/YG6uV5CfyhI/AAAAAAAAMM4/e8_mn6aze2QfFO8bf_EADthhkxP6fpt1QCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20210406_141246.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Down on the Taieri Plains at Berwick, it was fascinating how lame the valley we'd just emerged from appeared, belying the beautiful bush and hydro-electric infrastructure that lay within. </div><div><br /></div><div>I advocated for a trip to the beach, and we were soon crossing both SH1 and the Taieri River. There, Brendan filled his bottle, before we tackled Christies Gully Road. It was absolutely brutal, but perversely, I absolutely loved it. While I did feel somewhat guilty about inflicting it on Brendan, there was something about muscling up an unsealed road at over 20% gradient! </div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-am6_AufcY2Y/YG6wjeGHaJI/AAAAAAAAMNk/VQ6I7vmjfucezmNYESgwPTa5AwHYGflngCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210407_110135.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-am6_AufcY2Y/YG6wjeGHaJI/AAAAAAAAMNk/VQ6I7vmjfucezmNYESgwPTa5AwHYGflngCLcBGAsYHQ/w300-h400/20210407_110135.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Christies Gully Road from the air, the following morning</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The savagery didn't last for ever, and what followed was a lovely roller-coaster, which invariably demanded considerable effort, but on which you could enjoy carrying momentum into most uphill sections. We were rewarded by great views over the ocean. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qHv59DRYn2I/YG6uWk7fVoI/AAAAAAAAMM8/twNN6VVT44Ipg-hBTigEAuTZYGBJ3BlyQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210406_153534.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qHv59DRYn2I/YG6uWk7fVoI/AAAAAAAAMM8/twNN6VVT44Ipg-hBTigEAuTZYGBJ3BlyQCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20210406_153534.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>While the Tuesday was a university holiday, we expected there to be a bit more signs of life in Brighton. A café there seemed to have just closed up, but Brendan was able to use the loo there while I waited for the coffees at the adjacent dairy. Alone, they might not have been worth the trip over the hill, but in combination with the great views of the swells rolling in, it felt like a good choice to come.</div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VqjOAAuaVIw/YHuv8zGBsfI/AAAAAAAAMOg/NsAbbxlh0p8_rJJKp3xikklTuD0Bo_wOwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/IMG_1395.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1328" data-original-width="2048" height="260" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VqjOAAuaVIw/YHuv8zGBsfI/AAAAAAAAMOg/NsAbbxlh0p8_rJJKp3xikklTuD0Bo_wOwCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h260/IMG_1395.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo: Brendan McGrath</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>On the other hand, we did scope out the best exit option, and it turned out to involve less climbing than the route I'd mapped. Less, but still plenty, and by the time we reached the top of McMaster Road, and got our first glimpse of Mosgiel, we were both ready to call it a day!</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-G3M19nygq-o/YG6uXLMUC9I/AAAAAAAAMNE/G2z28ywlf4M7QGxgRcy8FxMbz13N31XqACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210406_164058.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-G3M19nygq-o/YG6uXLMUC9I/AAAAAAAAMNE/G2z28ywlf4M7QGxgRcy8FxMbz13N31XqACLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20210406_164058.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div>That we did soon after, and within the nick of time for Brendan, who otherwise would have had to replace his rear tube on account of a whopping thorn he'd picked up on the descent. </div><div><br /></div><div>We were right on the edge of town, but there was a nice restaurant within walking distance - fitting to celebrate a tour well done. <br /><p>Stats: <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/5077272841">110-glorious-kilometres, and countless "wow" moments</a></p><p><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b>* * *</b></p><p>I was up and ready the next morning before Brendan had emerged from his room, so took a slightly convoluted route to the airport on my own. Brendan had left soon after but took a direct route, and was well underway with his bike-packing when I arrived. </p><p>Within the hour we were both taking full advantage of Air NZ's lounge buffet, and not long after that, jetting back to Wellington. We sat apart, which meant we were each independently able to start processing the five wonderful days of riding we'd shared. Just about everything had gone perfectly, and the few issues we'd had to resolve only served to make it feel like a real adventure. </p><p>We'd forged our friendship on race bikes, but I think we're both pretty happy to be doing this now. And, I expect we're far from done. </p></div>sifterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15453244482461385029noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7894195099236501078.post-74136710873359013492021-02-20T19:28:00.004+13:002023-11-05T16:23:38.404+13:00Milford Sound - go now, thank me later<p>One of the various cancelled trips in 2020 (contributing to an eye-watering amount of Air New Zealand credit) was a week-long ride out of Dunedin. The first half was going to be with Brendan through to Queenstown, and among the options I'd considered afterwards, was a ride out to Milford Sound - one of a few top-shelf tourist destinations in NZ that I've never been to. </p><p>Even before COVID intervened, I'd ruled it out - the 240km return trip out of Te Anau would either have chewed up too much of my available time, or I'd have to rush and risk a superficial visit. Neither appealed.</p><p>Some 12 months later, the border is still closed, and rather than griping too much about an inability to travel abroad, many Kiwis have sensibly thought about what to do at home. In my circles, the pondering has extended beyond "<i>what would I like to go and see</i>...", to include "...<i>while no overseas tourists are here doing the same thing?</i>" </p><p>Among my friends, Simon, and Karl at Ride Holidays, had both publicly noted that the traffic volumes on the Te Anau-Milford Highway (SH94) would be a fraction of their normal levels, and it was on my radar too. That said, the trip materialised out of the blue one evening while hosting ex-Wellingtonian and now Wanaka resident, Ashley, for dinner. An innocent "when are you going to visit again?" query turned into a flurry of calendar checking, web searches and online booking, and before she'd left for the evening, we were locked and loaded. Ironically, we'd booked at a near-perfect time - a couple of weeks into the school year, we could expect few tourists of any kind. </p><p>A little over three weeks later, Ash picked Sarah and I up from Queenstown Airport off an afterwork flight, with some slightly disappointing news. Her hubby, the handsome Park Ranger, was tied up with an emergency and wouldn't be able to join us. The slight upside was that the car loading 3D jigsaw was ever so slightly easier to complete. We had plenty to talk about, and the drive to Te Anau passed quickly. </p><p><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b>Friday - Te Anau to Milford</b></p><p>We woke to beautiful clear skies. I'd unpacked our bikes before going to bed, and it was pleasing to note that my recently replaced rear tyre was <i>finally</i> holding air. Despite Ash packing some breakfast supplies, we decided to head to a local cafe for a cooked breakfast. </p><p>Suitably fed and watered, it was time to hit the road. I made a quick dash across the road for some insect repellant, a few OSM bars, and some cash, and after brushing teeth, we were clipping in and rolling out. Sarah and I initially rode alone, with Ash knocking out the first 30km or so to Te Anau Downs in the car. </p><p>As per my usual approach to these things, I hadn't done any homework and knew little about the route. Sarah, on the other hand, had driven it twice, once with Khulan about a decade ago, and again with her sister Saruul more recently.</p><p>The road alongside Lake Te Anau was undulating, and it took us a wee while to get our clothing dialled. Aside from a few stops to re-adjust, the distance through to Ash's parking spot passed quickly. We didn't see her car at the Lodge there, and nor did I make it out at the effective Milford Track trailhead (where the walkers jump on a boat to take them up the lake).</p><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TzP7KPZxQBM/YC9agjvvsvI/AAAAAAAAMCY/sJ5d6HXmxYA80ZwjP00Qnx4rWMq0ICaBQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210212_100710.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TzP7KPZxQBM/YC9agjvvsvI/AAAAAAAAMCY/sJ5d6HXmxYA80ZwjP00Qnx4rWMq0ICaBQCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20210212_100710.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sarah climbing away from Lake Te Anau, with Middle Fiord over her left shoulder</td></tr></tbody></table><br />Ironically, once we got away from the lake, and started to ride up the Eglinton River valley, if anything the terrain mellowed. As expected, traffic was few and far between, and those vehicles that were on the road tended to give us plenty of space. Eglinton Flats seemed to be a popular stopping point for cars, though one of the regular "No Drones" signs along the road reminded them they needed to do their selfies themselves.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4Ydhe3O1N5k/YC9agq_duLI/AAAAAAAAMCc/yUV-A_H5RSk3EwXpZwbI3278eFv8bpE_ACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210212_111002.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4Ydhe3O1N5k/YC9agq_duLI/AAAAAAAAMCc/yUV-A_H5RSk3EwXpZwbI3278eFv8bpE_ACLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20210212_111002.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Eglinton Flats</td></tr></tbody></table><br />Not long after Eglinton Flats, we approached the Mirror Lakes. Despite Ash still being ahead of us, the weather was so fantastic Sarah and I had agreed to stop and take a look. Upon arrival, we found Ash's bike parked up, and consequently, we were able to enjoy the incredible effect without feeling the need to rush.<div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-oRvkFq8vics/YC9aiYm8N_I/AAAAAAAAMCg/R1s3PoAV4JkAwI1eTUEoSd6klPdaw8BEgCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210212_112425.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-oRvkFq8vics/YC9aiYm8N_I/AAAAAAAAMCg/R1s3PoAV4JkAwI1eTUEoSd6klPdaw8BEgCLcBGAsYHQ/w300-h400/20210212_112425.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Must've been a still day when these lakes were named!</td></tr></tbody></table><br />At the far end of the viewing boardwalk, not only did we find Ash, but also a very welcome coffee cart! The cash I'd withdrawn before leaving Te Anau had been an afterthought, but a fortuitous one, since there's no better thing to spend it on than a coffee in the middle-of-nowhere. The barista seemed very well set up, from his machine right through to the heavy coat and hat he was wearing.</div><div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Tu2ZPwAYc68/YC9airt5VeI/AAAAAAAAMCo/q0Ol3hweUOcTWZAGjsneo-97oENIk43cACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210212_113317.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Tu2ZPwAYc68/YC9airt5VeI/AAAAAAAAMCo/q0Ol3hweUOcTWZAGjsneo-97oENIk43cACLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20210212_113317.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Hot drinks demolished, the three of us set off together finally, and while Sarah and I had been moving a bit faster than Ash up to this point (while she was riding at least!!), there were no pace-related teething problems as we adjusted to riding as a trio. </div><div><br /></div><div>I was contemplating suggesting we stop at Lake Gunn for lunch - preceded by a short climb, it looks like it may have been formed by an ancient landslide blocking the river. Fortunately, we continued on further up the road to The Divide shelter, where unbeknownst to us at the time, the sand-flies aren't quite as voracious. The carpark there was a wee hive of activity, by virtue of it being the southern road end of the multi-day Routeburn Track, and a shorter walk or two. </div><div><br /></div><div>From what was displayed on my Garmin map screen, I couldn't quite get my head around the route ahead, having incorrectly assumed that the river valley we were about to descend into drained towards the coast. I soon discovered my error, and after admiring the Hollyford River from a couple of lookouts on the steep drop into the valley, we started climbing again, up-river towards the Homer Tunnel.</div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-EZzCi1aRRfc/YC9aiu1kzkI/AAAAAAAAMCk/tharNY3PVc46UhTIb_ZS8AR1B0sFFBevACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210212_132552.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-EZzCi1aRRfc/YC9aiu1kzkI/AAAAAAAAMCk/tharNY3PVc46UhTIb_ZS8AR1B0sFFBevACLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20210212_132552.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looking over the Hollyford River towards Lake Marian</td></tr></tbody></table><br />The Hollyford River valley was steeper than the Eglinton had been, but the gradient was still very mellow, and the riding conditions really couldn't have been better - it was warm but not hot, and whatever wind there was didn't register. <br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-mhCYp_r_hcQ/YC9ajmI2GjI/AAAAAAAAMCs/Idt17sat-mc2KUeLXQYb5YekoY0O2Z6cgCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210212_134301.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-mhCYp_r_hcQ/YC9ajmI2GjI/AAAAAAAAMCs/Idt17sat-mc2KUeLXQYb5YekoY0O2Z6cgCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20210212_134301.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I usually completely miss these, and this time, I just missed myself</td></tr></tbody></table><br />The valley was very impressive, with steep cliffs either side. There were plenty of small waterfalls above the road, and it clearly would be a sight to behold during, or immediately after, heavy rain. <br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-mjxC1IU4Ddo/YC9akIAdxLI/AAAAAAAAMCw/Y7w5yuTsD0ob6MQ8JpPehLDhja94zJfwACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210212_141458.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-mjxC1IU4Ddo/YC9akIAdxLI/AAAAAAAAMCw/Y7w5yuTsD0ob6MQ8JpPehLDhja94zJfwACLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20210212_141458.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mt Talbot, if my map reading is half decent</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div>About 3km short of the tunnel, we stopped and had a proper lunch by a stream. At about 900m above sea level, and a kind of random place to stop, we were unmolested by sand-flies, and were able to enjoy sitting in the sun. We filled our bottles from the stream and enjoyed the cool, fresh, and undoubtedly clean water. </div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ZNYEGZ7QVEY/YC9a05YleAI/AAAAAAAAMDI/5lbmK0zwuLkGjW25In3d0pk0e89HPhKUQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1024/IMG-20210219-WA0016.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="596" data-original-width="1024" height="233" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ZNYEGZ7QVEY/YC9a05YleAI/AAAAAAAAMDI/5lbmK0zwuLkGjW25In3d0pk0e89HPhKUQCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h233/IMG-20210219-WA0016.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A late lunch spot. Photo: Ashley Peters</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div>The last of the climb up to the tunnel was sweet, and sprinkled with distractions. There was a road crew quarrying rock out of the riverbed, and a trailhead for the Gertrude Valley which seemed popular. </div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-OzUd2u28dt0/YC9byKaazFI/AAAAAAAAMDQ/Peufjdr-la4AuD0HLo_dDzGDYqW1esNtgCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210212_145009.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-OzUd2u28dt0/YC9byKaazFI/AAAAAAAAMDQ/Peufjdr-la4AuD0HLo_dDzGDYqW1esNtgCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20210212_145009.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looking up towards Gertrude Saddle</td></tr></tbody></table><br />The tunnel didn't come into view until the last few hundred metres. After passing a phone box, we pulled up at a "wait here" sign. From a loudspeaker came a voice: "wave if you want to ride through the tunnel". We waved up at a surveillance camera, and were immediately told to go up to the portal, and wait for the next command! Once there, a few seconds later, we were told there were no cars coming, and that we could go through. <br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Nfb6kePYyf0/YC9byJ07poI/AAAAAAAAMDU/jUSBGlT3_zsE2BeVEAeuRRvMsuhG6-6fgCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210212_150309.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Nfb6kePYyf0/YC9byJ07poI/AAAAAAAAMDU/jUSBGlT3_zsE2BeVEAeuRRvMsuhG6-6fgCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20210212_150309.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The eastern portal of Homer Tunnel</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div>The tunnel was not at all what I was expecting. I'd imagined something like the single-lane Hataitai bus tunnel, or even the unlined Summit Tunnel on the Remutaka Incline. Instead, I found a sealed and well-lit tunnel with what seemed like almost enough space to have two lanes for much of its length. There was a crew working inside it, and between that distraction and the 10% downhill grade, the 1.2km seemed to pass by in no time at all, and with little time to fully observe the structure. No need to worry about that though, the uphill passage would surely be done at a more leisurely pace!</div><div><br /></div><div>The climb from Te Anau to Homer Tunnel happens over almost exactly 100km, whereas the full descent to Milford at sea level is only 20km. It starts with a few switchbacks, before joining the Cleddau River valley at the Chasm. We'd hoped to see the chasm ourselves, but the track was sufficiently well closed that we thought better of sneaking along it on foot.</div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ZSd5XCHaOW4/YC9b0Wo6CiI/AAAAAAAAMDg/eKsf1GAFCPUOnVmOoqpg9jV5pEfify0hQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210212_150655.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ZSd5XCHaOW4/YC9b0Wo6CiI/AAAAAAAAMDg/eKsf1GAFCPUOnVmOoqpg9jV5pEfify0hQCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20210212_150655.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looking down-valley from just below the Homer Tunnel</td></tr></tbody></table><br />Just above the crossings of the Gulliver and Donne Rivers, there was a random digit "2" painted on the road - I had just enough time to try to wonder what on earth it meant, before rounding a bend and riding over "SINGLE" "LANE" "BRIDGE" written in much quicker succession. </div><div><br /></div><div>A wee bit further down was a photogenic old suspension bridge over the Tutoko River, which we took, reserving the highway bridge for the return journey. <br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XjZTVqnYnss/YC9b0XRaRZI/AAAAAAAAMDk/c8cxvpqyWzgxZWIsTZhZaoFv_w9BWvgTgCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210212_153811.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XjZTVqnYnss/YC9b0XRaRZI/AAAAAAAAMDk/c8cxvpqyWzgxZWIsTZhZaoFv_w9BWvgTgCLcBGAsYHQ/w300-h400/20210212_153811.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Our accommodation, at the <a href="https://www.milfordlodge.com/" target="_blank">Milford Sound Lodge</a> was the next thing we reached, but given the lovely conditions, we agreed to stay on our bikes and explore the village. (We'd left Te Anau at 9am, and first passed the lodge just after 3:30pm.) That didn't take long, but included a visit to the marina at Deepwater Basin, the airfield, a board-walked foreshore loop track, and the grand but slightly grotesque (for my tastes) cruise terminal. Most of the residences were down a street marked as private, signage which we begrudgingly respected. </div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zNztIp6Jyvo/YC9b0BB6_MI/AAAAAAAAMDc/pasK_oLUp_EX0jp8cKl0NCZqoLRtS67egCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210212_155456.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zNztIp6Jyvo/YC9b0BB6_MI/AAAAAAAAMDc/pasK_oLUp_EX0jp8cKl0NCZqoLRtS67egCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20210212_155456.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looking down the airfield towards Mitre Peak</td></tr></tbody></table><br />We hit up a riverside path to get back to the lodge, only to discover it was a work in progress in places, necessitating a bit of walking. It was a bit of an inauspicious way to end a fantastic day's riding, but thankfully the scenery made up for the hike-a-bike, and there were no complaints from my hard-core companions!<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/--jZjO8Rb73U/YC9b1Zt59mI/AAAAAAAAMDo/YVafEzLMq-AEUpPg4LZsNeIJNjheHF3_wCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210212_162216.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/--jZjO8Rb73U/YC9b1Zt59mI/AAAAAAAAMDo/YVafEzLMq-AEUpPg4LZsNeIJNjheHF3_wCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20210212_162216.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>At check-in, we booked a table for dinner, and then retired to our rooms for unpacking, washing, and resting! </div><div><br /></div><div>Given we felt like beggars rather than choosers, we were all really impressed with the quality of the dinner. The alternative for Sarah and I was OSM bars, though it wouldn't have surprised me if Ash, world famous for the quality of her snacks, had something more delicious stashed in her frame-bag. </div><div><br /></div><div>The walk back to our chalets started badly - Ash had stopped inside, and while waiting for her, I found myself surrounded by sand-flies. Flapping of my arms and frenzied bug squashing didn't seem to be an effective strategy, so I resorted to running until I was safely inside our chalet. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>Saturday - Tourist Day</b></div><div><br /></div><div>The next day started with breakfast being delivered to our rooms, and beyond that, we whiled away a few hours waiting to hear back about an enquiry with a local helicopter company. Just as I'd never been to Milford Sound, nor had I been on a helicopter, and this seemed a perfect place to right that wrong.</div><div><br /></div><div>Eventually, the call came, and soon after a great lunch at the lodge restaurant, we were reporting to the office at the airfield. While low cloud was preventing us from landing at Tutoko Glacier - the option we'd originally requested - our pilot told us that the consolation trip we were doing up to the top of Sutherland Falls was, in his opinion, the better flight. </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vgCpj0D5wig/YC9eCoMyAKI/AAAAAAAAMEA/KbUpmskuaeQRRb2uMtLpuj3Zx-13Shn-ACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210213_135609.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vgCpj0D5wig/YC9eCoMyAKI/AAAAAAAAMEA/KbUpmskuaeQRRb2uMtLpuj3Zx-13Shn-ACLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20210213_135609.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Needless to say, the views were spectacular, and it was also fascinating to watch the machine being flown. We were subjected to one very hard clmbing turn where my brain really struggled to understand quite what was going on - no doubt the point of the manoeuvre!</div><div><br />After flying up the top section of Sutherland Falls, we landed for 10 minutes or so at Lake Quill, from which the falls drain. Then, it was back into the 'copter for the short trip back to the airfield. </div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QX4lh2cudbY/YC9eCqZ0JMI/AAAAAAAAMD8/Zv8a_jufWYY6xZpFcIoHXncZFvvdKE9fACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210213_140718%25280%2529.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QX4lh2cudbY/YC9eCqZ0JMI/AAAAAAAAMD8/Zv8a_jufWYY6xZpFcIoHXncZFvvdKE9fACLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20210213_140718%25280%2529.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lake Quill in the background, with Sutherland Falls below it</td></tr></tbody></table><br />From the airport, we headed slowly down to the cruise boat terminal, via the foreshore walk again, and the Information Centre cafe. Ash had booked us all on an overnight cruise aboard the <a href="https://www.realjourneys.co.nz/en/experiences/cruises/milford-mariner-overnight-cruises/" target="_blank">Milford Mariner</a>, and after stashing our bikes in their back office, we boarded (wearing most of our luggage!) and set sail. </div><div><br /></div><div>The format of the cruise was great - a "half cruise" of the fiord, before anchoring at Harrison Cove for the night. Once at anchor, we were presented with an option of kayaking, a blat in one of two "tenders", or neither! I'd left my board shorts and my riding gear with my bike, but FOMO prevailed, and I risked getting my evening-wear damp and joined the better prepared (and more keen) women. It was more fun than I expected, and as always, better to regret something you did, than something you didn't!<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-J6b_5IQRUYU/YC9eCvYurwI/AAAAAAAAMEE/4yERdP0rFUI6Xhhd70plSLN6BFDChSJVgCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210213_182617.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-J6b_5IQRUYU/YC9eCvYurwI/AAAAAAAAMEE/4yERdP0rFUI6Xhhd70plSLN6BFDChSJVgCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20210213_182617.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Returning to the Mariner - which even has a special hole in the hull to streamline the kayak loading</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div>After kayaking was a hefty buffet dinner, a good sleep, and breakfast fit for hungry cyclists about to ride back to Te Anau. Once we'd finished our early breakfast, the engines were fired up, and we briefly popped out to the Tasman Sea, being treated to a few Fiordland Crested Penguins ashore on the way out, and dolphins on the way back (swimming, naturally). Animals aside, there were wonderful cliffs, waterfalls, and forest in abundance. Great success!!</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7VDQykVI3p0/YC9eEKDEGZI/AAAAAAAAMEI/FPzY-LW30bEOXNjH5uq22wUlE3TEhlIqACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210214_091026.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7VDQykVI3p0/YC9eEKDEGZI/AAAAAAAAMEI/FPzY-LW30bEOXNjH5uq22wUlE3TEhlIqACLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20210214_091026.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>Sunday - Milford to Te Anau Downs</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>The beauty of leaving our cycling clothing onshore, was that by the time we'd got suited up to ride, the drivers on the boat had all returned to their cars and driven off, giving us the road pretty much to ourselves. </div><div><br /></div><div>Before we got stuck into the ride proper, I stopped by the airfield control tower. I'd happened to mention to our pilot the previous day that my uncle Colin's best mate had been an air traffic controller at Milford. I was somewhat stunned to learn that about 40 years on, Perry was still doing it! Unfortunately, Saturday and Sunday were his days off, so I was sad to be unable to say gidday, despite dreading having to admit that I haven't been in touch with Col for years. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-JtiHQddwuIc/YC9eaJ7VywI/AAAAAAAAMEY/2v6AIQWNyDMScH48Dw8H4U6eJBVFrvu_gCLcBGAsYHQ/s1024/IMG-20210219-WA0001.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="768" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-JtiHQddwuIc/YC9eaJ7VywI/AAAAAAAAMEY/2v6AIQWNyDMScH48Dw8H4U6eJBVFrvu_gCLcBGAsYHQ/w300-h400/IMG-20210219-WA0001.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>We knew the climb ahead was significant, but it turned out to be easily dispatched, well rested and fed as we were. Having so recently ridden it in the opposite direction, it was not completely unfamiliar, though it is often difficult to anticipate what a fast descent will feel like when ridden uphill.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TqyHzoO11PQ/YC9f8aTPhoI/AAAAAAAAMEg/IVjRRTQw9RUhhlyTQzPASMDtvSTs89S5gCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210214_094508.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TqyHzoO11PQ/YC9f8aTPhoI/AAAAAAAAMEg/IVjRRTQw9RUhhlyTQzPASMDtvSTs89S5gCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20210214_094508.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Unlike the other side, the tunnel was in view for a wee while before we reached it, by virtue of the switchbacks below it. You can't easily make out the tunnel itself, as the western portal is shrouded by an avalanche shelter, but the shelter sticks out like the proverbial. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ZlfTSIhGYUs/YC9f8THZJ0I/AAAAAAAAMEk/u_95lXRC3aoLabHJQVz7CMXUP8dka9H7wCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210214_110747.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ZlfTSIhGYUs/YC9f8THZJ0I/AAAAAAAAMEk/u_95lXRC3aoLabHJQVz7CMXUP8dka9H7wCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20210214_110747.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>We had a longer wait at the traffic control point, albeit with a countdown, courtesy of NZTA.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-836R_kP2jGo/YC9f8a-zUoI/AAAAAAAAMEo/yYKY52RsJn0I_XfLjm2Pb-pkwcNltj2vgCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210214_111357.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-836R_kP2jGo/YC9f8a-zUoI/AAAAAAAAMEo/yYKY52RsJn0I_XfLjm2Pb-pkwcNltj2vgCLcBGAsYHQ/w300-h400/20210214_111357.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>With about 30 seconds left on the clock, we were given the green light, and got to the shelter just as a queue of cars emerged from the tunnel. Our "guardian angel" on the loudspeaker was giving them a stern telling off as they passed - it seems that they'd ignored requests to wait and entered the tunnel under their own steam. Tsk tsk!</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9Iyym4T1CTQ/YC9f-XX4_bI/AAAAAAAAMEs/Nr365SAUI8UcTxbfZTfi4SyyU_CagzmDgCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210214_111803.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9Iyym4T1CTQ/YC9f-XX4_bI/AAAAAAAAMEs/Nr365SAUI8UcTxbfZTfi4SyyU_CagzmDgCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20210214_111803.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>True to form, it was much easier to observe the tunnel itself while climbing its 10% gradient. </div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qcFOqX-HNqs/YDBqvLSLdoI/AAAAAAAAMGw/zhC-nO1-41UZjYBGMFnj_lORPPvDwVc5QCLcBGAsYHQ/s1024/IMG-20210219-WA0008.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qcFOqX-HNqs/YDBqvLSLdoI/AAAAAAAAMGw/zhC-nO1-41UZjYBGMFnj_lORPPvDwVc5QCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/IMG-20210219-WA0008.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lined, just inside the entrance. Photo: Ashley Peters</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div>I was fascinated that my GPS didn't seem to be bleating that it had lost satellite coverage, and on the contrary, it seemed to know exactly where we were (well, apart from the adjective being used).</div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-B-xsxGwnXUY/YC9f-XFcTbI/AAAAAAAAMEw/J4xbQ_Zfw5AzJQYLFnLe3DBV8Ij_ZM6NwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210214_112001.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-B-xsxGwnXUY/YC9f-XFcTbI/AAAAAAAAMEw/J4xbQ_Zfw5AzJQYLFnLe3DBV8Ij_ZM6NwCLcBGAsYHQ/w300-h400/20210214_112001.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not quite, Garmin, but close!</td></tr></tbody></table><br />Wholly sealed, but not entirely lined, the tunnel had regular signage indicating progress. There was a fair bit of water in it, and around the midway mark was a shroud whose role seemed to be diverting water from the ceiling down into the gutters. <br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3fjUpW57W0U/YC9f-c-FiII/AAAAAAAAME0/NXd-KbVp9YcX10sgtU7_KyHfIEFU5lJHQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210214_112036.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3fjUpW57W0U/YC9f-c-FiII/AAAAAAAAME0/NXd-KbVp9YcX10sgtU7_KyHfIEFU5lJHQCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20210214_112036.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Unlined, 1000m still to ride!</td></tr></tbody></table><br />In the opposite direction, we'd had the tunnel to ourselves, but given our relatively low speed, it wasn't that surprising that oncoming cars were let through. That said, bikes are wonderfully narrow, and it wouldn't have surprised me to learn that the cars had been warned of our presence. Despite how long it might have actually been, even 1.2km at 10% goes fast when it is along such a fascinating stretch of road (the <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Homer_Tunnel" target="_blank">Wikipedia page</a> is well worth a read). <br /><br />What goes up, must come down, and upon emerging from Homer Tunnel, we were treated to a very enjoyable gravity-assisted recovery. I stopped to fill my bottles at the tried and true stream we'd drank from two days earlier, before using my superior mass to good effect and passing Sarah and Ash before we bottomed out at the Lower Hollyford Road turnoff.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TqEB6pwclwQ/YC9iELs77HI/AAAAAAAAMFU/jfqydAmLaT0AtRjdDYaQEVMbX7LMoUWsQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210214_114036.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TqEB6pwclwQ/YC9iELs77HI/AAAAAAAAMFU/jfqydAmLaT0AtRjdDYaQEVMbX7LMoUWsQCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20210214_114036.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>I'd earlier gauged interest in checking out the dead-end, and between times had slightly cooled on the idea myself. After initially ignoring the turnoff, I got told I was silly, and turned back with Sarah in tow!</div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2egpsoc67h8/YC9iEBrR_jI/AAAAAAAAMFc/rzxvI6OP66U68MatuhTlw4xZRFuNYwnswCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210214_115114.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2egpsoc67h8/YC9iEBrR_jI/AAAAAAAAMFc/rzxvI6OP66U68MatuhTlw4xZRFuNYwnswCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20210214_115114.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sarah and Ash about to cross the Falls Creek tributary</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div>The road turned to gravel about a minute from the intersection. The surface was really good, though in one place was wet, and we got a bit covered in lime spray, which was annoying. We passed through Gunn's Camp, but deferred a stop until the return trip. </div><div><br /></div><div>A few kilometres short of the road's end, and the start of the Hollyford (tramping) Track, we came to a closure. Judging by the many vehicles parked up, the track was still accessible on foot, but we chose not to proceed beyond the gate. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-JvKoanQslvA/YC9iEG_R24I/AAAAAAAAMFY/yf7H85WQrqMVOkar2lCGmmG5c-6XkiFxQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210214_122613.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-JvKoanQslvA/YC9iEG_R24I/AAAAAAAAMFY/yf7H85WQrqMVOkar2lCGmmG5c-6XkiFxQCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20210214_122613.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Prior to reaching Gunn's Camp, about half way back along the 13km section of road, we were treated to sweet native bush, occasional fat kererū, and altogether very pleasant riding despite that we were now travelling upstream.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bj0sc8no5SY/YC9iFXRMXAI/AAAAAAAAMFg/iSvXk4YUGlUccVqrptAnhP9pWUNjhKzBQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210214_123541.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bj0sc8no5SY/YC9iFXRMXAI/AAAAAAAAMFg/iSvXk4YUGlUccVqrptAnhP9pWUNjhKzBQCLcBGAsYHQ/w300-h400/20210214_123541.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>When we reached Gunn's Camp, it was a little unclear what had happened. It was pretty obvious a landslide had come through, but when the road had been cleared, rubble had been piled up rather than removed, so it was a slightly confusing scene. </div><div><br /></div><div>While we were having a bit of a look around, we were accosted by a road-worker, who we engaged in conversation. His disdain for our ignorance was clear as he explained the tragic events surrounding the closure of the camp, but in many ways, it was a fair tone to take. He seemed to warm to us slightly as we listened to his <a href="https://www.stuff.co.nz/national/124053303/damaged-fiordland-camp-unlikely-to-be-rebuilt-but-its-story-will-live-on" target="_blank">history lesson</a>, but frustration and anger at the events he was describing remained apparent. In any case, the storm the locals endured <a href="https://www.stuff.co.nz/national/119224989/tourists-trapped-at-milford-sound-because-of-flooding" target="_blank">back in February 2020</a> looks to have been a harrowing experience, and with the pandemic sweeping in not long after, it is no wonder that the community is feeling a bit neglected and overwhelmed. If the stories he told about theft and vandalism at this site were true, his bitterness seemed well placed, but it was still annoying to be tarred with the same brush as the ratbags, and we seemed on a hiding to nothing - judged for having the ability to come in and put a bit of money into the local economy, rather than thanked for it (as had been the attitudes of the various operators in the sound). </div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-m2qyXdevTUY/YC9iFk44nKI/AAAAAAAAMFk/RH5bQZrSdkUBTRyIWzaTY8Cv42NILDepwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210214_124913.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-m2qyXdevTUY/YC9iFk44nKI/AAAAAAAAMFk/RH5bQZrSdkUBTRyIWzaTY8Cv42NILDepwCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20210214_124913.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">An old marine buoy, disguised as an "H-Bomb". In better days, it read: "<i>Property of the USA Government. Deactivated by the New Zealand Prime Minister</i>"</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div>As we rode away, it took me a little while to come to terms with the conversation, but in the end, it was easy to empathise with the fellow whose community had been given the rough end of the stick, both by mother nature and their fellow man.</div><div><br /></div><div>Before too long, we were back at SH94 and had knocked out the climb to The Divide. Although we knew Ash would be waaaaay up the road by now, we pulled off at the far end of Lake Gunn, as I wanted to quickly check out the outlet. </div><div><br /></div><div>The first loop we rode was great fun - nicely manicured singletrack through beech forest - but a second track wasn't maintained for the types of bikes we were on. It came with a just reward though, in the form of two musicians, who'd set up a recording studio of sorts, and were playing sweet, sweet music. We stopped to listen for a bit, and I couldn't resist giving them $20 (the smallest currency I had!). Ironically, we didn't hang around for the end of their second tune, given that the local sand-flies had become aware of our presence. </div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-R3f4aib7JSc/YC9iFyIpl5I/AAAAAAAAMFo/OPcAUTsKCm4XeBd8o_Y5Xi8ehBoQHpLJwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210214_143135.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-R3f4aib7JSc/YC9iFyIpl5I/AAAAAAAAMFo/OPcAUTsKCm4XeBd8o_Y5Xi8ehBoQHpLJwCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20210214_143135.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not what you expect to find when you're riding in the bush!</td></tr></tbody></table><br />It was strange trying to play memories of Friday's ride backwards to work out what came next. Strangely, I had absolutely no recollection of the accommodation at Knobs Flat, but when we passed the Deer Flat campsite moments later, knew that the Mirror Lakes were imminent. The big question on my mind was whether or not the coffee guy would be there!!</div><div><br /></div><div>HUZZAH! His flag was flying, and not only was he there, but so too was Ash. Fortunately, the buskers hadn't got my last twenty, so an order went in, and before it was delivered, we'd lathered ourselves with insect repellant. It was surprisingly oily, which was frustrating in its own right, but made worse when I spilt a little bit of oil from our tuna-lunch sachet, and then couldn't work out which oil I should be wiping off, and which I should be rubbing in.</div><div><br /></div><div>Before leaving, Sarah and I did a quick pass of the lakes, only to find that between a bit of breeze and a duck paddling around, the effect that we'd witnessed a couple of days earlier had ben completely ruined. </div><div><br /></div><div>Unfortunately for us, not only did that annoying breeze hang around, it intensified, and was in our faces for the rest of the ride. While I did a good job pushing into it up front, Sarah and Ash did a good job in the back, and between us we made acceptable progress to the unmolested car at Te Anau Downs. </div><div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-x9YG7M8SyN0/YC9iGquh9-I/AAAAAAAAMFs/agIooRTgGpQdJIfGZtpZxhyuYgdKjf9uwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2539/20210214_155024.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1238" data-original-width="2539" height="195" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-x9YG7M8SyN0/YC9iGquh9-I/AAAAAAAAMFs/agIooRTgGpQdJIfGZtpZxhyuYgdKjf9uwCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h195/20210214_155024.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Neither Sarah nor I had any appetite to continue, and were glad to be able to put our bikes on the car and change out of our riding kit!</div><div><br /></div><div>What with Steven back in Wanaka, we'd suggested to Ash that she have dinner with us in Queenstown, before continuing home, a plan she endorsed. En route to Queenstown, when not distracted by yet another sign to the Round the Mountains cycleway, I booked a room at the Sherwood. After chowing down a rather large pizza at Sal's in Frankton, Ash dropped us there and we began the series of farewell hugs.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-SosmloExeIs/YC9iG35Va7I/AAAAAAAAMFw/pD-3Znn3wbkhD087ksthljE4iaKef8YxACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210214_194402.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-SosmloExeIs/YC9iG35Va7I/AAAAAAAAMFw/pD-3Znn3wbkhD087ksthljE4iaKef8YxACLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20210214_194402.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>Monday - fun day</b></div><div><br /></div><div>Our flight back to Wellington wasn't until 4pm, so a decent ride was definitely possible. My first suggestion was Skippers Canyon, but Ash hadn't thought we would have enough time to do it, so after breakfast, instead we headed towards Glenorchy. In theory, we had plenty of time to get there and back (about 100km return from Queenstown, with six hours to play with). </div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ICNd1xZZxvo/YC9iHJcN7sI/AAAAAAAAMF0/RLyqp5r6Xw8KClLevKidXgnxXy9PUqzfACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210215_082406.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ICNd1xZZxvo/YC9iHJcN7sI/AAAAAAAAMF0/RLyqp5r6Xw8KClLevKidXgnxXy9PUqzfACLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20210215_082406.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gravel path around Queenstown Gardens</td></tr></tbody></table><br />The first few "off-road" paths we took were great - slightly slower than being on the road, but fast travel nonetheless. That all changed on the Sunshine Bay track, and between that and the Seven Mile Track that took us unexpectedly into a mountain bike park, we started to haemorrhage both time and energy. Sarah was in no mood to rush, and I was in no mood to worry about being late.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-63gXCVNtmgc/YC9iH29Na_I/AAAAAAAAMF4/B01Qv5--hgIjK2G_UJmQZBEs0K3W9w4EgCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210215_091636.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-63gXCVNtmgc/YC9iH29Na_I/AAAAAAAAMF4/B01Qv5--hgIjK2G_UJmQZBEs0K3W9w4EgCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20210215_091636.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sunshine Bay</td></tr></tbody></table><br />I should have known better than to assume a lake-side road would be flat, and as we neared the dog-leg in Lake Wakatipu, it was clear getting to Glenorchy and back would be unduly stressful. I had a bit of a look at my Garmin map, and we checked out a potential loop past Moke Lake. One access track seemed to be someone's driveway, and another was walkers-only, so we continued towards Glenorchy for a while longer. At Bennett's Bluff, a crew were working on a parking area, and after checking out an old track to a lookout, we decided this would be a perfect place to turn around.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-eq1hpdVnL0Y/YC9iIT-M53I/AAAAAAAAMGA/qid8ltT6Rt83y3y1qt9YxT14wPPXVmOiQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210215_101547.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-eq1hpdVnL0Y/YC9iIT-M53I/AAAAAAAAMGA/qid8ltT6Rt83y3y1qt9YxT14wPPXVmOiQCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20210215_101547.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looking towards Glenorchy from Bennett's Bluff</td></tr></tbody></table><br />The relatively early call gave us an opportunity to ride a few of the side-tracks we'd skipped after the mountainbike park. Without the time pressure, the views across the lake and our more immediate surroundings were even sweeter.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/--SNEzwClyjs/YC9iIRughNI/AAAAAAAAMF8/NfcpVqXOH1wfCKBRSiY4okELn38ZPc8ogCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210215_105041.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/--SNEzwClyjs/YC9iIRughNI/AAAAAAAAMF8/NfcpVqXOH1wfCKBRSiY4okELn38ZPc8ogCLcBGAsYHQ/w300-h400/20210215_105041.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sarah on the jetty at Bob's Cove</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-WvK_muFmILk/YC9iJu7_z_I/AAAAAAAAMGE/6PO0l9l9Mx0GFpQOfim8GJ5kCzirlNJyQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210215_105633.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-WvK_muFmILk/YC9iJu7_z_I/AAAAAAAAMGE/6PO0l9l9Mx0GFpQOfim8GJ5kCzirlNJyQCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20210215_105633.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">An old stone ruin</td></tr></tbody></table><br />We grabbed lunch on the Queenstown waterfront before riding back to the Sherwood. My plan was to collect a couple of small bags with a change of clothes each, and ride to the airport, before getting changed and going back to pick up the bike bags in a cab. Sarah didn't think much of my route to the motel - nor did I, to be fair - it was shockingly steep, but at least came with cracking views up the lake!<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-cH34CXXUE2Y/YC9iJkvdGTI/AAAAAAAAMGI/MfrJVXQevEEbZF4SNVh3UC4qS_b3M5xMwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210215_123926.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-cH34CXXUE2Y/YC9iJkvdGTI/AAAAAAAAMGI/MfrJVXQevEEbZF4SNVh3UC4qS_b3M5xMwCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20210215_123926.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p>While I was getting our backpacks out, I happened to engage a woman standing nearby in conversation. In response to a grumble about what a hassle it is to travel with bikes (while of course noting how wonderful it is to ride them!), she said she was about to drive to the airport, and offered to ferry our bike bags!!! That offer kindly accepted, our arrival at the Air New Zealand lounge was half an hour earlier than it otherwise would have been. While the buffet was closed due to a COVID level increase, at least our flight wasn't canned, as it might have been had we been going to Auckland. </p><p><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b>* * *</b></p><p>It is always lovely to see Ashley, and while we'd missed also seeing Steven, we were all still able to enjoy the (long) weekend's activities. </p><p>I've been privileged to spend some pretty incredible days on the bike in places that are just off-the-scale - Taroko Gorge in Taiwan (Day 6, <a href="https://sifter-writes-bikes.blogspot.com/2019/06/taiwan-cyclist-tourists-paradise.html">here</a>) would probably sit at the top of the list; Las Cuevas to Los Andes (switchback doping on Day 3, <a href="https://sifter-writes-bikes.blogspot.com/2020/01/a-christmas-trip-across-andes.html">here</a>) was almost as incredible and a close second; any day in the Pyrenees or Alps in France from the 2013 trip; New Caledonia <a href="http://sifter-writes-bikes.blogspot.com/2017/09/cycle-touring-new-caledonia.html">had some crackers</a>, from which it would be hard to pick a favourite; <i>The Road to Hana</i> <a href="http://sifter-writes-bikes.blogspot.com/2016/07/hawaiian-honeymoon.html" target="_blank">on Maui</a>, was good enough to make number two on Sarah's all-time list (she also picks Taroko Gorge at #1). </p><p>Reflecting on the ride from Te Anau to Milford, I'd be hard pressed to nominate a more spectacular one- day ride in New Zealand, and I'd not hesistate to place it in amongst the fine company above. SH94 was amazing, and unlike those international highlights, it was surprisingly benign. For the distance, and remoteness, you get incredible bang for your buck. The way the scenery unfolds, and its quality, give you constant reward for your effort. The tunnel is a nice bonus for those of us who get a kick out of engineering projects (or simply are glad not to have to climb over the top of whatever it takes you through). The happy ending - a descent where you barely have to turn the pedals if you don't want to - is a nice way to add the final 20km to the ledger. And the destination itself is something to behold (provided you're suitably lathered up with insect repellant). </p><p>I've no doubt my experience was improved by the clement weather and the mighty company, but even absent those, I imagine this road would deliver. Even if a trip there is not possible before the hordes return, I'd highly recommend both the ride, and the format we adopted. </p><p>Until such time as the borders reopen, I feel very lucky to live in a country which happens to have managed itself so well through this pandemic, granting us access to fantastic locations like Milford Sound. I feel lucky to have such fantastic riding companions, and lucky to enjoy one of the best sight-seeing modes of transport there is. And, I'm glad I'm taking advantage of all of that.</p><p><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b>Footnote</b></p><p>NZTA publish <a href="https://www.nzta.govt.nz/resources/state-highway-traffic-volumes/" target="_blank">State Highway Traffic Volumes online</a>, and the data tables there make interesting reading. Historically, traffic along SH94 peaks during the summer, at around 2500 vehicles per day, an order of magnitude less than typical Wellington commuter traffic, and less than half the traffic you might expect on the much tighter Remutaka Hill. Short version: even when it is busy, it ain't that busy...</p><p><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-ad3E4mlvYno/YDAugViSmvI/AAAAAAAAMGo/mw6Kl_UUrNA12Pt1y2pGldfwRLCKDJz1ACLcBGAsYHQ/image.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="425" data-original-width="728" height="234" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-ad3E4mlvYno/YDAugViSmvI/AAAAAAAAMGo/mw6Kl_UUrNA12Pt1y2pGldfwRLCKDJz1ACLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h234/image.png" width="400" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p></div>sifterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15453244482461385029noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7894195099236501078.post-10657172111066276642021-01-19T21:05:00.007+13:002022-12-03T14:19:04.002+13:00Don't leave town till you've seen the country: North Island back-country tour (Part 2)<p>(<i>Continues from <a href="https://sifter-writes-bikes.blogspot.com/2021/01/dont-leave-town-till-youve-seen-country.html" target="_blank">Part 1</a>...</i>)</p><p>Our route through to Raglan had taken us through parts of the country that I'd never seen, by bike, or in many cases, even by car. On the other hand, between Raglan and Wellington lay untold fond memories. In the north, rides with Simon <a href="https://sifter-writes-bikes.blogspot.com/2012/11/fantastic-figure-eight.html" target="_blank">in 2012</a> and Brendan <a href="https://sifter-writes-bikes.blogspot.com/2020/08/a-late-winter-bromantic-getaway.html" target="_blank">only a few months prior</a>; and around the Whanganui catchment, the two Tāwhio o Whanganui events (<a href="http://sifter-writes-bikes.blogspot.com/2011/02/te-tawhio-o-whanganui.html" target="_blank">2011 </a>and <a href="http://sifter-writes-bikes.blogspot.com/2015/04/two-dogs-on-tawhio-o-whanganui.html" target="_blank">2013</a>) among others. </p><p>I'd avoided pinning down the route for a few reasons. Firstly, I wanted it to be informed by how we'd been enjoying things in the first half - if we were well and truly over remote gravel routes, various entirely sealed options were available, with the likely one being SH3 through New Plymouth. Secondly, I felt less need to get organised when at home with a big computer screen, paper maps, and route mapping tools, figuring experience would help with planning on the fly. Finally, I was torn between showing Sarah parts of these areas that I'd loved, and feeding my addiction for new roads, made worse by <a href="https://wandrer.earth/athletes/4136/earth">wandrer.earth</a>'s running tally.</p><p>Whatever the cause of our flexibility, I was becoming very good at using Garmin Connect's course tool on my phone, aided by the AA map segments I'd photocopied prior to leaving home, and wasn't regretting the spontaneity of it all.</p><p><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b>Day 7: Raglan to Otorohanga</b></p><p style="text-align: left;">After the previous day's chance encounter with Matt and Amy Dewes, I'd looked with interest at their route to Otorohanga, and was surprised to find upon reconciling it against the route I'd taken with Simon, that almost all of the "new" second half wasn't going to be new at all. Out came the mapping tool again!</p><p style="text-align: left;">After suiting up in freshly laundered kit, and thanking the Tolley's profusely for their hospitality, we got underway. Not five minutes later, we'd doubled back as far as the bike shop to request a quick investigation of Sarah's front derailleur tuning. We left soon after with it fully functional, but none the wiser as to the cause of the problem. </p><p style="text-align: left;">We finally left town on Te Hutewai Road. I was 99% sure Simon and I had arrived in Raglan via this route, and had in my mind's eye a particular section of road that didn't seem to exist (or at least wasn't apparent heading in the other direction). </p><p style="text-align: left;">I was getting bogged down mentally - fretting about Sarah's bike despite it now being fully operational, trying pointlessly to re-engineer almost decade-old memories which weren't aligning with up to date data, and also being frustrated that my GPS unit hadn't held charge overnight so was riding cold-turkey from the real-time information I usually enjoy consuming. </p><p style="text-align: left;">I was nonetheless excited about Sarah seeing the incredible Bridal Veil Falls, and it didn't disappoint. We admired it from the top two lookout points, and I got down on my knee and asked my wife to marry me, which was well received! </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Y5iC_kMVE5g/X_VtU4SIpzI/AAAAAAAAL5U/j_m3-TDQ0mwbd4-jYOkD_pLdxjxPfkDoQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20201230_115416.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Y5iC_kMVE5g/X_VtU4SIpzI/AAAAAAAAL5U/j_m3-TDQ0mwbd4-jYOkD_pLdxjxPfkDoQCLcBGAsYHQ/w300-h400/20201230_115416.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ZlhmVqmc7So/X_VtU9GA52I/AAAAAAAAL5M/OHFH8losKAoX6gLsCGXyEZ-xuK-rIahxgCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20201230_120257.jpg"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ZlhmVqmc7So/X_VtU9GA52I/AAAAAAAAL5M/OHFH8losKAoX6gLsCGXyEZ-xuK-rIahxgCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20201230_120257.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>The road climbed for what seemed an interminably long time, but eventually we began our descent of Kawhia Road, still inexplicably signposted as closed. </div><div><br /></div><div>We stopped and I pointed out to Sarah a strange-looking basin that I thought had some significance. Despite having a reasonable historical record of this spot when I first saw it ("<i>The guy had also told us to keep an eye out for a disappearing lake, that vanishes at the height of summer"</i>), I was again trying to tap into memories that had already proved themselves unreliable. Such a shame, as a fascinating comparison was only a couple of clicks away. </div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-dB4UWT42M9Q/X_VtU-OpLPI/AAAAAAAAL5Q/VTmwILnFn4I58q4bg3_A9sFQIbK2gmT4ACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20201230_122321.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-dB4UWT42M9Q/X_VtU-OpLPI/AAAAAAAAL5Q/VTmwILnFn4I58q4bg3_A9sFQIbK2gmT4ACLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20201230_122321.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lake_Disappear" target="_blank">Lake Disappear</a>, Summer 2020</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-QhiFPXHmYdk/YANmrrRcqwI/AAAAAAAAL-o/UEFrVFGiG8kq2fHpJMlN3-aw5JRYz88FgCLcBGAsYHQ/image.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="800" height="225" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-QhiFPXHmYdk/YANmrrRcqwI/AAAAAAAAL-o/UEFrVFGiG8kq2fHpJMlN3-aw5JRYz88FgCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h225/image.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">File photo: Spring, 2012</td></tr></tbody></table><br />The descent would have been very enjoyable had it not been for a couple of locals on motorbikes. They sped past us a couple of times, having taken a side road in between passages, before doubling back and accelerating towards us. One howled at us menacingly, in what was the only overt aggression we experienced on the trip, let alone the day. I was glad to be taking the turn off towards Kawhia a minute or two later, hopefully reducing even further the chance that we'd be further harrassed by these two.<div><br /></div><div>While we didn't see them again, we were passed by a posse of mild mannered motorcycle tourists on the undulating gravel road through to the sealed route out to Kawhia (SH31). There, we stopped for a bite to eat in the shade, and chased that down about 8km later at the Oparau Roadhouse. </div><div><div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1_lZtBiNzxc/X_VtV51OmgI/AAAAAAAAL5Y/VjL19x5aVQs1XHn1ADE7r2fHlfnkDb3hACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20201230_135542.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1_lZtBiNzxc/X_VtV51OmgI/AAAAAAAAL5Y/VjL19x5aVQs1XHn1ADE7r2fHlfnkDb3hACLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20201230_135542.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Approaching our first truly mid-ride shop since Paeroa!</td></tr></tbody></table><br />Before leaving, we spoke to a woman on her smoko break, who was interested in our ride, particularly given we were going to be heading past her place on a "windy gravel road". For the first time in the day, we were spoilt with choice, but I'd selected Pirongia West Road as the ascent with most appeal (Okupata Rd, Kaimango Rd, SH31 being the three obvious alternatives). </div><div><br /></div><div>As we started our ascent, I felt myself immediately relax. I enjoyed taking the piss out of myself by telling Sarah that the false memories, bike troubles and unruly locals had just been a ruse - all this time I was actually just stewing over re-riding old territory. The occasional quirky gem also helped lighten the mood.</div><div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-aUhPaZaQQw0/X_VtWHvMH-I/AAAAAAAAL5c/tvqXoefsfJU5YwuUZIc6ltsfY4-D0LsagCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20201230_142253.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-aUhPaZaQQw0/X_VtWHvMH-I/AAAAAAAAL5c/tvqXoefsfJU5YwuUZIc6ltsfY4-D0LsagCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20201230_142253.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cows chilling out in between races...</td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div><div>The climb was on the whole an absolute cracker, and what's more, it was an actual climb - a 500m ascent spread over 17 glorious kilometres. While the lack of native bush on the road itself was slightly disappointing, the uninterrupted views over Kawhia Harbour were welcome. <br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-oC1I0P0A-7Q/X_VtWVz33PI/AAAAAAAAL5g/vjahX0RFHGMvR5oUMPfEhf5k4wKQ1H8WgCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20201230_152301.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-oC1I0P0A-7Q/X_VtWVz33PI/AAAAAAAAL5g/vjahX0RFHGMvR5oUMPfEhf5k4wKQ1H8WgCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20201230_152301.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>We could occasionally see across to Okupata Road on a parallel ridge, and I knew it would converge with our route at a crossroads that Simon and I had visited (despite using neither of these roads). Without the feedback from my GPS unit, I was surprised how long the intersection took to come, though this didn't overly distract me from the lovely surrounding bush that we'd finally found. </div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-F4kJSG8laNs/X_VtW6Zkn4I/AAAAAAAAL5k/7YEobYUhipQvy-njJOktC9EqwSs6XoAnQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20201230_154649.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-F4kJSG8laNs/X_VtW6Zkn4I/AAAAAAAAL5k/7YEobYUhipQvy-njJOktC9EqwSs6XoAnQCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20201230_154649.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our first views East over the King Country</td></tr></tbody></table><br />From the crossroads, a sealed descent took us to Ngutunui School, which I now realise I'd confounded with Otamauri School (a Hawke's Bay stopping point with Simon on a <a href="http://sifter-writes-bikes.blogspot.com/2010/09/triangle-trip-credit-card-touring-on.html">wholly different trip</a>...). From there, we dropped down to SH31 through to its merger with SH39, both of which led to Otorohanga. Given the traffic volumes we experienced in the few minutes we rode along it, a slight detour onto back roads seemed worthwhile. </div><div><br /></div><div>Our arrival into Otorohanga was a bit messy - in hindsight the 20% residual charge in my GPS would have been more than enough to assist with the location of our overnight stop, but instead I relied on my phone. Sarah and I separated - me to go grab some post-ride supplies while she attempted to check in at the wrong campground. After a bit of the two of us riding around in circles, we reunited, and were soon ensconced at our digs. </div><div><p>Stats: <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/4537319734">130km ridden</a>, and to my great surprise, almost exactly half of it previously unridden. </p><p><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b>Day 8: Otorohanga to Te Kuiti</b></p><p>I'd lamented the booking at Otorohanga a few times upon discovering that Te Kuiti was a mere 20km down the road, even without taking the highway. I'm sure we would have coped with that extra distance the day before, especially with a decent afternoon tea stop on offer!</p><p>I don't generally experience the "accommodation anxiety" which comes with credit-card cycle touring. Rather, I do enjoy not having camping gear, relishing in the lighter load, enhanced hygiene and comfort, and eased logistics (like security and charging facilities) that having a fixed overnight target brings. </p><p>However, one downside is that occasionally, the viable options for an overnight stop are constraining. This was one such instance, though mapping out a point-to-point ride in the countryside where the points happen to be much closer together than the length of the ride turned out to be both pleasurable and fun to enact.</p><p>We headed out of town on Rangiatea Road, on the north bank of the Waipa River. As we'd come to realise, the road on the south bank was only a stone's throw away (not quite literally, but close), but bridges across the river are few and far between. In fact, we'd cross the Waipa at the first available bridge, about 20km upstream, having ridden a 35km loop to travel about 400m between Rangiatea and Otewa Roads. </p><p>Other than that particular constraint, the route was entirely arbitrary, making it ever more satisfying that the roads were quiet and interesting, and that the scenery was solid. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-yPb5ZCOX8Yw/X_VuOnMxAxI/AAAAAAAAL6E/qRI2b-X7MaYBHxtFAgY5alcCj1UYY-7YwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20201231_100317.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-yPb5ZCOX8Yw/X_VuOnMxAxI/AAAAAAAAL6E/qRI2b-X7MaYBHxtFAgY5alcCj1UYY-7YwCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20201231_100317.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>After ducking and diving a wee bit on sealed roads, we turned off onto Hoddle Road. I was pleased not to attract too much of Sarah's ire, as this truly was an added extra - two sides of a triangle in which we were forgoing a sealed road for a solid unsealed climb followed by a unsealed descent. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-48Xx5nLcFck/X_VuOrThy-I/AAAAAAAAL6A/igDtk0G2-f46_x3cW91_uRE9iJcq7kwAwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20201231_105014.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-48Xx5nLcFck/X_VuOrThy-I/AAAAAAAAL6A/igDtk0G2-f46_x3cW91_uRE9iJcq7kwAwCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20201231_105014.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Back on the primary loop road, we were soon crossing the Waipa River at Toa Bridge, and riding down the river valley with steep cliffs on both sides. On our left shoulders was an impressive bush-clad ridge, which in another quirky feature of the ride, we'd climb back up - this time 5km down the river and 5km up the ridge had us travel about 500m as the crow flies. </div><div><br /></div><div>The climb itself was nice, and once we got up high and into open farmland, gave us good views to the north west where we knew Raglan sat behind the impressive Pirongia Forest Park, around whose boundary we'd skirted the previous day. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-usoRFKGbtxQ/X_VuO77CjHI/AAAAAAAAL6I/eK8fgkNLtvwXUz1oS3BHQAkgqOWoqtSnQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20201231_115952.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-usoRFKGbtxQ/X_VuO77CjHI/AAAAAAAAL6I/eK8fgkNLtvwXUz1oS3BHQAkgqOWoqtSnQCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20201231_115952.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>I couldn't resist a diversion onto Bush Road, which was a glorious gravel descent to pick up a valley road which we'd ignored about almost an hour's climbing ago. </div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-cJzn6Pn4UKg/X_VuP5E-_zI/AAAAAAAAL6M/aDYPPCfWAKwUMcBp29ItBzmyg7be-IYbQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20201231_124314%25280%2529.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-cJzn6Pn4UKg/X_VuP5E-_zI/AAAAAAAAL6M/aDYPPCfWAKwUMcBp29ItBzmyg7be-IYbQCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20201231_124314%25280%2529.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The bush on Bush Road was not entirely unexpected</td></tr></tbody></table><br />Rather than take the gravel road through to its terminus, we turned off onto Walker Road, and enjoyed a gradual paved climb which set us up to bomb down into Te Kuiti. I'd booked a motel room half way up the next morning's first climb, which we dispatched after half an hour chilling out at the BP station cafe. </div><div><br /></div><div>The walk down to find dinner in an eerily quiet town on New Year's Eve was not as bad as it seemed it might be, and fortunately, the overnight traffic on SH3 didn't necessitate use of the earplugs that we found on our bedside tables!<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-M_i-pp2S9oI/X_VuQW6SDiI/AAAAAAAAL6Q/nMGcm0oKzIgRZD5nwd9MxnHl8utWRJhngCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20201231_164333.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-M_i-pp2S9oI/X_VuQW6SDiI/AAAAAAAAL6Q/nMGcm0oKzIgRZD5nwd9MxnHl8utWRJhngCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20201231_164333.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p>Stats: <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/4541936936">80km ridden</a>, most of them optional yet strangely necessary given quirks of the road network!</p><p><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b>Day 9: Te Kuiti to Taumarunui</b></p><p>For a long while I anticipated replicating the stunning third day of <a href="http://sifter-writes-bikes.blogspot.com/2020/08/a-late-winter-bromantic-getaway.html" target="_blank">my recent cycle tour with Brendan</a>, but I was reminded of a comment I'd made to him during our mind-blowingly good ride that day: "there's no way we just happen to have stumbled upon the best roads in NZ - these are probably everywhere." Confident in the truth of it, I figured Sarah and I would try a route slightly west of that which Brendan and I had taken, albeit with the same destination.</p><p>As we made our final preparations to leave the motel, my kind offer to do a coffee run down the hill was (also very kindly) declined, so we bombed down the hill together to the BP for a pair of flat whites to see in the New Year and to grab some lunch supplies. Then, it was back up the hill to fully load the bikes, and say farewell to Te Kuiti for good. </p><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-t9m6vc48zvY/X_VvCaUsCWI/AAAAAAAAL6g/04BWYVJX_WQzuhJNxx1fBNOXIDt_UrAPACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210101_090446.jpg"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-t9m6vc48zvY/X_VvCaUsCWI/AAAAAAAAL6g/04BWYVJX_WQzuhJNxx1fBNOXIDt_UrAPACLcBGAsYHQ/w300-h400/20210101_090446.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>We stuck with SH3 for just over 20km through to Piopio - our longest stretch on a major road in the entire tour. We were well cared for by what little traffic there was - I've been cycling in and around traffic for three decades now, and it really does feel like the e-bike era has ushered in a new-found tolerance for cyclists. A long way to go to get to European levels of empathy and care, but it has to start somewhere, and I believe it has. On the other hand, we were forced to ride past a Trump placard, though at least with the recent crushing defeat at the polls, the last laugh was on us.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-i2jUbSuqQBc/X_VvClHfRdI/AAAAAAAAL6k/wru72U6v4UstmpAdn0k7KUi3wEhKa8-pACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210101_102121.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-i2jUbSuqQBc/X_VvClHfRdI/AAAAAAAAL6k/wru72U6v4UstmpAdn0k7KUi3wEhKa8-pACLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20210101_102121.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Just before Piopio we hummed and harred about stopping at a berry-picking place to see what we might be able to purchase other than berries, but it was on the other side of the road, and besides, there was still a bit of life left in the morning's toothpaste remnants. Unfortunately, there was nothing open to stop at in Piopio a few kilometres later, and by that time we were both regretting forgoing whatever we'd missed. </div><div><br /></div><div>We turned off towards Aria, and I did a bit of route reconfiguration on the fly so that we didn't actually pass through Aria itself. We joined Ohura Road, and came to within 2 or 3km of the Aria-Matiere Road that Brendan and I had taken. </div><div><br /></div><div>This soon turned to gravel, and not long after that when we reached the intersection with Waitewhena Rd (which I'd originally planned to emerge from), where we had a short break on a one-lane bridge - highly recommended as rest stops, given the comfortable seating arrangement the standard design offers. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bObKTlwgHOI/X_VvCu1wanI/AAAAAAAAL6o/wHjtXbnADL8JbJWxOyzpO6nqAzIn-DjqQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210101_115026.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bObKTlwgHOI/X_VvCu1wanI/AAAAAAAAL6o/wHjtXbnADL8JbJWxOyzpO6nqAzIn-DjqQCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20210101_115026.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Then began a 30-odd-kilometre run south to Ohura (ironically, no longer on Ohura Road)! About half way along we stopped to chat to a young farmer and his posse of dogs. We told him we were headed for Taumarunui, to which he responded that it was a good hour in the car, seemingly incredulous at our itinerary!</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FwB7n_mb-w4/X_VvDQ6HUdI/AAAAAAAAL6s/cFSghYMIWTcmznpXMNNMLld_gK0jGDPoACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210101_130046.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FwB7n_mb-w4/X_VvDQ6HUdI/AAAAAAAAL6s/cFSghYMIWTcmznpXMNNMLld_gK0jGDPoACLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20210101_130046.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Mirroring my last passage through Ohura, I was very keen to make use of the public facilities there. My relief was such that disappointment to discover that Fiesta Fare wasn't open for a coffee (or what's more, the pork burrito that'd been on offer last time) hardly registered. </div><div><br /></div><div>I'd never actually ridden the 10km section between Ohura and the Forgotten Highway (SH43), and it had been over a decade since the single time I'd ridden the entire length of SH43 itself. What I'd remembered (rather than read) was that it had been gruelling, and my intent was to bypass most of it using Kururau Road. </div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-d2prjjd33eM/X_VvD8HPYiI/AAAAAAAAL6w/8ca6s5n0ACw8pCUJZAE1TRJlXQgb8853ACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210101_143451.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-d2prjjd33eM/X_VvD8HPYiI/AAAAAAAAL6w/8ca6s5n0ACw8pCUJZAE1TRJlXQgb8853ACLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20210101_143451.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Such a strange position for this sign, when a left turn towards Taumarunui would see you there within 40km</td></tr></tbody></table><br />It was a crying shame to miss the shop at Lauren's Lavender Farm by a few minutes, because that surely would have been the highlight of our 40km sampling of the Forgotten Highway. After about 1000km of really lovely riding, this much-hyped stretch of road was not one I enjoyed. Partly it was due to an insufficient lunch - the wraps we'd bought at the BP were delicious, but in hindsight I was mindful that it is the bread in a sandwich that typically gets you up the hills - the filling just makes it easier to swallow!!! (Wraps are hereby banned as a riding snack!) The primary reason for my dissatisfaction though was the almost complete absence of native bush - with one DOC reserve as a notable exception. </div><div><br />Despite not enjoying the road much, it was nice to be on a relatively smooth and predictable surface, so in the end we stuck with it all the way into Taumarunui. Had it been a head-to-head competition with <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/3947613414" target="_blank">my previous Te Kuiti to Taumarunui route choice</a>, this day was definitely the loser. If Sarah and I experienced elation at all, it was to stop, in contrast to the wonderment that the ride elicited for Brendan and I. That said, it is better to regret something you did than something you didn't, and besides, this had hardly been a complete dud - it just had great competition. <br /><p>Stats: <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/4547049199">132km ridden</a>, with too few calories ingested. Only a single (long) gravel sector. </p><p><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b>Day 10: Taumarunui to Raetihi</b></p><p>We dragged ourselves out of bed much earlier than usual on the 2nd of January, by virtue of rain in the forecast. We were on the road by 7am (9am or even later had been typical), with plans A, B and C formulated and declared. </p><p>All going well, we'd enjoy riding the Kaiwhakauka Track from Whakahoro before the trail, notoriously bad when wet, became so. If rain had set in before the intersection of Oio and Upper Retaruke Roads, we'd peel off and ride up the latter and Fisher's Track to National Park, and if it was pissing down for the duration, we'd stick with SH4 and save ourselves a lot of climbing!</p><p>First things first though, and we started the day with a backroad loop which took us over half way to Owhango. It included 20 minutes or so on gravel, before we gained some decent elevation on SH4. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Sq7ukY4E_OY/X_VwJc4SbaI/AAAAAAAAL7I/PneK9Q8-j_YbMZLNogLFi8A93LTcsiUHgCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210102_080237.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Sq7ukY4E_OY/X_VwJc4SbaI/AAAAAAAAL7I/PneK9Q8-j_YbMZLNogLFi8A93LTcsiUHgCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20210102_080237.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Overlooking the North Island Main Trunk Line and the Whanganui River, towards Kakahi</td></tr></tbody></table><br />We turned off just before we reached Owhango - anything which might have been open later in the day would surely have been closed now - taking Otapouri Road to connect with a stunning, and almost 40-kilometre-long, descent to Whakahoro. <br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7FnKW-rp1PI/X_VwJSsfvNI/AAAAAAAAL7M/Hm0NWbNai-sFJjwHFGDLApmO4YqaPh94QCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210102_091207.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7FnKW-rp1PI/X_VwJSsfvNI/AAAAAAAAL7M/Hm0NWbNai-sFJjwHFGDLApmO4YqaPh94QCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20210102_091207.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Awesome sediment layers in road cuttings in these parts</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div>Plan A was still looking promising when we reached Oio Road, but the road became increasingly damp, and there was light rain in the surrounding hills. When we reached Whakahoro, we were definitely wet, and the long descent had me feeling a bit chilly. I didn't like the idea of getting colder, and nor would lingering improve the state of what lay ahead. So, rather than find and then knock on the door of Blue Duck Lodge for track intel and potentially a hot drink, we charged ahead, nervous but hoping for the best.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bAodnn1R2ow/YAO-cPS4DLI/AAAAAAAAL-w/vuxGfvbX4SYPlxV-sjGD4F3VxCwS2FrfwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210102_101903.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bAodnn1R2ow/YAO-cPS4DLI/AAAAAAAAL-w/vuxGfvbX4SYPlxV-sjGD4F3VxCwS2FrfwCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/20210102_101903.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div>I'd never experienced Papa mud first hand, but knew of its M.O. and wasn't relishing the thought of riding through it. We had heard that DOC had been doing some "upgrading" of the track, but Simon had thought it was incomplete. I didn't know much else about the track, so when we hit our first patch of wet papa, it was very hard to know if this was going to be the exception or the rule. </div><div><br /></div><div>I estimate our wheels clogged up in the space of less than 15 seconds, from completely clean, to so caked with grey clay that the space between the tyre and the bike frame and fork was suddenly full. We stopped, too late of course, and then began the cleaning up process. Relatively speaking, this was a fairly simple affair by virtue of the profile of our tyres. Basically, we shaved all the mud off by turning the wheel through our hands - because the tyres were pretty smooth, that removed almost all the mud, an impossible task had we been running knobbly mountain bike tyres. We then set to getting rid of as much muck as possible from around the bottom bracket area, off the drive train, and brakes. We sacrificed a couple of water bottles to aid with that task, refilling them at a conveniently located creek until the bikes were looking (and sounding) adequately clean. </div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9qShdaxtpeA/YA0s0Kyg5bI/AAAAAAAAMBI/g3GbzZnERuAwx7zYEIwWdD5iAVNFv2-ZwCLcBGAsYHQ/s960/facebook-papa.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9qShdaxtpeA/YA0s0Kyg5bI/AAAAAAAAMBI/g3GbzZnERuAwx7zYEIwWdD5iAVNFv2-ZwCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/facebook-papa.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">To get a sense of how bad it <i>could have been</i>, here's a photo posted by another rider who rode this track a fortnight later. Believe it or not, there's a mountainbike hidden in here somewhere! Photo: John Carman</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div><br /></div><div>We then continued into the unknown, with Sarah under marching orders to ride super conservatively both with safety and component longevity in mind. We really were in the middle of nowhere, and if we had issues that made one or both bikes unrideable, it was going to be a long and stressful walk out. </div><div><br /></div><div>From the DOC brochure and occasional track signage, we knew we had a 17km climb to the intersection with the Mangapurua Track, which would be at least a couple of hours - our moving speed seemed to be sitting at around 7km/h by virtue of a mix of cautious riding and walking. I wasn't troubled by this, knowing that we'd had a good run to the start of the track, plenty of daylight (and lights if necessary), food supplies, and a warm bed waiting for us in Raetihi. I regularly encouraged Sarah to nurse her bike and to walk if necessary, advice she seemed to heed. </div><div><br /></div><div>Following that strategy, we made consistent progress, and the track was actually mostly rideable. The surface was wet, but we hadn't experienced any proper rain overhead, and there were no obvious signs that it was going to get worse (i.e. no thunder reverberating in the hills). It was a shame the sun wasn't out, as there were a few spots where it would have been really nice to stop had it been warm, but on the odd occasion we did pause, the cool air soon started to creep in and forced us onwards. </div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-imCcGcvofuI/X_VwJWOMxcI/AAAAAAAAL7E/RCIZK6gZNtQfVkRyJaxdVr195ECQ68AjACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210102_123356.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-imCcGcvofuI/X_VwJWOMxcI/AAAAAAAAL7E/RCIZK6gZNtQfVkRyJaxdVr195ECQ68AjACLcBGAsYHQ/w300-h400/20210102_123356.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We didn't linger long in Mosley's shelter</td></tr></tbody></table><br />For the most part, the trail climbed consistently through native bush, with frequent bridges and the occasional short walk up or down a slippery and/or steep section. When the track reached a section of private land, it opened up into pasture, and beyond that, followed a 4WD track which served as vehicle access for the landowner. Occasionally it looked like we might have another papa clay issue, but we only carried our bikes briefly, keen to avoid a repeat of our first experience, and nothing came of it. <br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-mkdVdsOmBPA/X_VwKUTNl3I/AAAAAAAAL7Q/9wm5ApeWpV0Pw0JIMHLIzCOB4DDtBX3CwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210102_130444.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-mkdVdsOmBPA/X_VwKUTNl3I/AAAAAAAAL7Q/9wm5ApeWpV0Pw0JIMHLIzCOB4DDtBX3CwCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20210102_130444.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Passing through the Cootes' property</td></tr></tbody></table><br />About 3 hours after leaving Whakahoro, we reached the junction with the Mangapurua Track, a place Sarah and I had passed before, en route <a href="http://sifter-writes-bikes.blogspot.com/2014/01/french-kissing-and-usa.html" target="_blank">to the Bridge to Nowhere</a> with our beautiful daughters, and Simon and Miro. <br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-DAm1aRi0djg/X_VwKyacPFI/AAAAAAAAL7U/sw3-6ihn6eQLbTKUpnBFuWCeRypqRF6mQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210102_134850.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-DAm1aRi0djg/X_VwKyacPFI/AAAAAAAAL7U/sw3-6ihn6eQLbTKUpnBFuWCeRypqRF6mQCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20210102_134850.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>As we rode on, I had strangely conflicting recollections before realising I'd actually been to the bridge twice. The sun briefly came out, and we celebrated by having a picnic - I located a couple of suitable blocks of papa which served nicely as seats, and we enjoyed our sandwiches (not wraps!) in the sunshine. </div><div><br /></div><div>Shortly after getting going again we stopped to talk to a cycle tourist who was planning to camp before catching a jetboat the next day. He had more gear than the two of us put together, but seemed to be enjoying himself. He was also one of only a handful of cyclists we bumped into the whole tour. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tebSBwfxoG4/X_VwKxh5kxI/AAAAAAAAL7Y/78RH19_-xuc0FtknmInXSz3TXnzhu3_6wCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210102_142003.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tebSBwfxoG4/X_VwKxh5kxI/AAAAAAAAL7Y/78RH19_-xuc0FtknmInXSz3TXnzhu3_6wCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20210102_142003.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>The descent to Ruatiti Road was fine, and in fact, our bikes had passed this impromptu adventure with flying colours! We didn't linger at the roadend, and carried on up the valley, both quietly looking forward to the sealed road that awaited at the midpoint of the remaining ride. </div><div><br /></div><div>The day wasn't done with us just yet, however, and the heavens opened during the sealed climb up to SH4. That didn't stop me taking yet another photo of the "historic horse watering trough" near the top of the climb, but did prevent Sarah from noticing it! </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gusfQdVWBg4/X_VwLgf99ZI/AAAAAAAAL7c/12cBlam9fIokH7C3efeDi__6H9Fz6GNPQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210102_163210.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gusfQdVWBg4/X_VwLgf99ZI/AAAAAAAAL7c/12cBlam9fIokH7C3efeDi__6H9Fz6GNPQCLcBGAsYHQ/w300-h400/20210102_163210.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>We rolled into Raetihi after a few trouble-free minutes on yet another near-deserted "main road", and headed for the Four Square for a pick-me-up. Before getting there, I noticed a gentleman walking down the road, raincoat hood up and carrying a large camera. Such was the novelty of seeing a person, my brain was obviously running a quick database search, and came up with a hit: "Gordon?!" He too then went through the same process, grappling not only with our location, but presumably also my attire. I was delighted to hear: "Jane's over there in the car."</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Dbm2ES_hl-8/X_5aDBs2jNI/AAAAAAAAL-E/61M0E4np7wE35gJ4vnir2ViN-PEPVhnbgCLcBGAsYHQ/s4029/DSC07809%2B%25282%2529.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2019" data-original-width="4029" height="200" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Dbm2ES_hl-8/X_5aDBs2jNI/AAAAAAAAL-E/61M0E4np7wE35gJ4vnir2ViN-PEPVhnbgCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h200/DSC07809%2B%25282%2529.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Reenacting arrival into Raetihi, sans Ruapehu in the background. Photo: Prof Gordon Anderson</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div>She was indeed, and as our conversation got underway, the statistical improbability of our meeting began to register. Jane and I had clocked up untold Zoom hours during lockdown, to the point that she, Prof Karen Smith and I would occasionally refer to ourselves as the three musketeers. I'm glad I had the wherewithal to address Jane as "Professor Bryson", a title which had taken effect just the previous day - that elicited a laugh as both she and Gordon had sufficiently parked work-related issues to have overlooked the significance of the date, despite the promotion one of the most sought after academic accolades. </div><div><br /></div><div>Aside from that connection, I'd been on secondment when Jane officially became Acting Dean of my faculty, so when we both returned to the office, she would be my manager! It wasn't lost on any of us that had Sarah and I rolled into town a couple of minutes earlier or later, or if the rain had been a touch more intense, we'd have completely missed one another. It just happened that their holiday drive across the island intersected with our ride down the island at the only moment our routes would intersect, and that I'd had bothered to look directly at Gordon.</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-k5ABuOleK_M/X_VwMFe72hI/AAAAAAAAL7g/qzr46ADlFCwaIuaB4fZ_mTNorAZBbY9CACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210102_170046.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-k5ABuOleK_M/X_VwMFe72hI/AAAAAAAAL7g/qzr46ADlFCwaIuaB4fZ_mTNorAZBbY9CACLcBGAsYHQ/w300-h400/20210102_170046.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My two bosses, briefly catching up on the main drag of Raetihi</td></tr></tbody></table><br />Our accommodation for the evening was a delightful Bed and Breakfast on Ranfurly Terrace. Our hosts were very welcoming, and it was fantastic to be able to launder our clothes and clean up more generally. Some of our gear got a good rinsing off with the hose, though giving the bikes a once over was deferred until the morning, when, true to form, the mud had dried and cleaned off easily with a dry brush. <br /><p>Stats: <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/4551960407">132km ridden</a>, and it felt like one bullet dodged. Occurrence of a chance encounter with a vanishingly small probability. </p><p><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b>Day 11: Raetihi to Hunterville</b></p><p>After a solid breakfast and the aforementioned bike cleaning, we set off in damp shoes but otherwise clement conditions. We didn't get too far before our first stop - the local petrol station for a quick coffee. </p><p>After just over 10km on SH4 towards Whanganui, we peeled off onto Oruakukuru Road, which was initially sealed, but soon turned to gravel. This took us past some truly magnificent trees, and regularly teased us with views towards Ruapehu, which remained largely obscured by clouds. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_HJRQkt8pdU/X_Vw3oKndWI/AAAAAAAAL78/xuVVqLkcWJQUlIPkm5978TF0EpqH9yiCwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210103_104852.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_HJRQkt8pdU/X_Vw3oKndWI/AAAAAAAAL78/xuVVqLkcWJQUlIPkm5978TF0EpqH9yiCwCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20210103_104852.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>We had a brief spell at the intersection with the now-deadend Old Fields Track, before doing a complete 180 and riding the (current) Fields Track away from the elusive mountain.</div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-RWy6wv3cTh0/X_Vw32u2KjI/AAAAAAAAL8E/0Mqcsy7c94EPv68zWR11Gz6p4voGUlkZQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210103_111127.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-RWy6wv3cTh0/X_Vw32u2KjI/AAAAAAAAL8E/0Mqcsy7c94EPv68zWR11Gz6p4voGUlkZQCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20210103_111127.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We never saw much more of Ruapehu than this...</td></tr></tbody></table><br />The two roads were separated by the Whangaehu River, which we could have followed for the rest of the day. Instead, we admired it from above before taking yet another side road which connected with the Turakina Valley Road. <br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Hf9c8PjSMks/X_Vw3s2RFqI/AAAAAAAAL8A/mS4qGDe0n0AuMUUq1oiHY56eDgZ3xe1qACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210103_114557.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Hf9c8PjSMks/X_Vw3s2RFqI/AAAAAAAAL8A/mS4qGDe0n0AuMUUq1oiHY56eDgZ3xe1qACLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20210103_114557.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Unlike the Whangaehu, which Sarah and I had ridden northwards with Brendan and Viv a few months earlier, I'd never been down the Turakina, despite years of missed opportunities. Back when Simon and (his) Sarah had summer access to a place in Rangataua, on the last day of their holiday, Simon would typically ride to Hunterville down this valley before jumping in the car for the rest of the trip home. I'd had the pleasure of visiting them on a number of occasions, but had never been in a position to join Simon on this leg. </div><div><br /></div><div>For the first quarter or so, I was wondering what all the fuss was about - perhaps I had unreasonable expectations, but the road certainly wasn't living up to them. I should have known better than to question Simon's taste in dirt roads, and indeed, by the time I'd given up on it, the scenery really came to life.</div><div><br /></div><div>I happened to be just behind Sarah when she asked what "that big white bird was". I hadn't made it out, but needn't have worried. It settled on a dead tree, alongside a mate, enabling us to identify them as sulphur crested cockatoos. We'd seen a flock of about a dozen <a href="https://sifter-writes-bikes.blogspot.com/2018/06/queens-birthday-endurance-boost.html" target="_blank">a couple of years earlier</a>, but maybe 25km downstream - and if to give us further evidence of their range, one of the two birds was visible on-and-off for the next hour or so of riding. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-dlU7sHoknKY/X_Vw42JxpGI/AAAAAAAAL8I/6BbrfK1n3o8vx7qfWDL7zSTKnqUIGzjEQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210103_131031.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-dlU7sHoknKY/X_Vw42JxpGI/AAAAAAAAL8I/6BbrfK1n3o8vx7qfWDL7zSTKnqUIGzjEQCLcBGAsYHQ/w300-h400/20210103_131031.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>By the time we stopped to briefly admire a handsome waterfall, I was feeling like a real dick for ever doubting Simon and this mighty fine road. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-dwd8oWewIpk/X_Vw5QdTpAI/AAAAAAAAL8Q/1mmmcAmI5RskePkvYltmaPGLHrjyw3_2ACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210103_143516.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-dwd8oWewIpk/X_Vw5QdTpAI/AAAAAAAAL8Q/1mmmcAmI5RskePkvYltmaPGLHrjyw3_2ACLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20210103_143516.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Soon after the road became sealed, we passed an intersection which I assumed was where Sarah and I had emerged from en route from Whanganui, but I couldn't for the life of me remember the climb that started soon after. I was expecting a pine forest, and sure enough, it was there, but after a subsequent intersection with the road we'd actually been on a couple of years earlier. </div><div><br /></div><div>We got a little damp prior to arrival in Hunterville, but not so wet that we couldn't enjoy some afternoon tea at our first shop since we'd left Raetihi. It took an interminable time to cross SH1 to go to the supermarket - this was Sunday afternoon, and there was a seemingly endless queue of cars heading back to Wellington, presumably with at least one occupant dreading a return to work the next day. </div><div><br /></div><div>Our accommodation was about 10km south, and I'd originally intended to ride 6km on the highway. I wasn't keen to backtrack to take the loop west of the main road, and nor was I keen to be stuck with the traffic. Fortunately, there was an alternative which looked like it might add only a few kilometres, and while we'd have to ride on SH1 briefly, it would be northbound, and shouldn't have the same traffic issues.</div><div><br /></div><div>The road looked so flat on the map, but just far enough out of town to feel committed, we found ourselves at the bottom of a wall! I was ahead, and figured I'd ride out of earshot for the duration, a strategy that seemed wise given the unexpected and unwelcome mountain before us. </div><div><br /></div><div>We regrouped at the top, and dropped down into the Rangitikei River basin. There, I became even less popular, courtesy of a torrential downpour. Running the math, it didn't seem likely that we'd have stayed dry if we'd braved SH1, but there was enough doubt to make my route choice very contentious. </div><div><br /></div><div>We cowered in a wee bus shelter for long enough to demolish our post ride snacks - pringles chips and kombucha for her, and chocolate milk for yours truly - but not long enough for the deluge to stop. In the end, there was nothing for it but to get out there and continue.</div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-iy_ELccGzM4/X_Vw5TkaEAI/AAAAAAAAL8M/TAG3nZqzYAwhmh1aYhr0Q-idFDZ8Nx_qACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210103_171017.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-iy_ELccGzM4/X_Vw5TkaEAI/AAAAAAAAL8M/TAG3nZqzYAwhmh1aYhr0Q-idFDZ8Nx_qACLcBGAsYHQ/w300-h400/20210103_171017.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hard to make out the raindrops, but rest assured, they were there in abundance</td></tr></tbody></table><br />The rest of the loop was flat at least, and we got across the main road easily, finding our turn off soon after. We were soon climbing again, this time unavoidably, but it did not improve the mood of a very wet and pissed off Mongolian! </div><div><br />Fortunately, our overnight accommodation was the sort of place that would cheer anyone up. The <a href="https://www.maungaraupi.co.nz/" target="_blank">Maungaraupi Country Estate</a> was a grand old homestead, and almost 115 years old. We had the massive place to ourselves, but our hostess Andra had kindly supplied a chicken casserole for dinner, as well as ample breakfast supplies. What's more, there was even streaming TV so we could catch up on a couple of episodes of a show we'd been watching while our riding gear hung near the heater. <br /><p>Stats: <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/4557907108">138km ridden</a>, most (but not all) of them harmoniously. </p><p><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b>Day 12: Hunterville to Levin</b></p><p>We were both relieved to wake to dry conditions. After breakfast, I gave the bikes a once over. In addition to lubing both chains and topping up the tyre pressures, I noticed my rear brake pads were very worn, and replaced those. That done, miraculously dry riding gear was donned, decidedly damp seat bags remounted to the bikes, and we said our farewells to this gem of a place. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fclpte2xlR0/X_VxcWFB2yI/AAAAAAAAL8w/42aHrbBo_08QchrJBpPAlyshimH3PktmwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210104_091247.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fclpte2xlR0/X_VxcWFB2yI/AAAAAAAAL8w/42aHrbBo_08QchrJBpPAlyshimH3PktmwCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20210104_091247.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>I hadn't photocopied the AA maps beyond Hunterville, and so route selection was a bit of a lottery. I really rate the free-for-members maps for planning purposes - outside of the towns they show pretty much everything that's there, but also indicate the surface (sealed or not), and whether or not the road is major or minor. The online maps I've tried aren't great for route planning - if I'm zoomed in enough to even see the minor roads, I struggle to keep track of the big picture, and often end up in the wrong place, if not completely lost. </div><div><br /></div><div>This lack of planning showed, and we ended up on one of the main routes into Feilding. Nonetheless, we got there without coming to grief, and celebrated this with a coffee and muffin each. It seemed like forever since we'd had mid-ride supply options, and we intended to take full advantage of it today.</div><div><br /></div><div>After a bit more ducking and diving, we hit a southbound road, west of, but parallel to SH1, I was starting to feel a bit sore in my lower back, and I also needed a slash. Sarah drifted off in front of me, and rather than call out or push through my discomfort and chase, I laboured on, trying not to stop, but desperately wanting to. In the end, I did take a quick break to both stretch and wee, and didn't see Sarah again until the very end of the road. </div><div><br /></div><div>After crossing SH1, we rode towards Himatangi Beach but turned south again before we got there. We were slightly more tempted to go to Foxton Beach, but in the end extra kilometres had no appeal. A great Foxton toasted sandwich each later, riding enthusiasm had been somewhat restored.</div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-RyaueYcir3g/X_VxcaBM_mI/AAAAAAAAL8o/oF-9hmn56zYTXmRHZYrHbQ6g6Jin38DuACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210104_140716.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-RyaueYcir3g/X_VxcaBM_mI/AAAAAAAAL8o/oF-9hmn56zYTXmRHZYrHbQ6g6Jin38DuACLcBGAsYHQ/w300-h400/20210104_140716.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">De Molen - part of the Foxton skyline since 2003</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div>We crossed SH1 yet again to take a back road into Shannon. Up until this point the roads had been sealed, and so it was a bit of a treat to have a short gravel sector. When we crossed the disgusting-looking Manawatu River, I couldn't help but think about our "100% Pure New Zealand" branding, and what a bloody crock it is. </div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-g7gNegroit4/X_VxcbdM-sI/AAAAAAAAL8s/rIW6qcfEteg6ul5IFuVzK1Wd8sW5pwkswCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210104_144944.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-g7gNegroit4/X_VxcbdM-sI/AAAAAAAAL8s/rIW6qcfEteg6ul5IFuVzK1Wd8sW5pwkswCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20210104_144944.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><strike>Clean green</strike> NZ...</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div>I'm usually very deliberate about buying something whenever possible while touring, but we passed through Shannon so soon after our break in Foxton, and so close to our final destination, we had no appetite for another stop. </div><div><br /></div><div>After a nifty little gravel loop that cut out a few minutes on the main back-route between Palmy and Levin, we only had to endure the traffic for 10km or so, before taking a road on the outskirts of Levin that cut back across to SH1. It was alarmingly un-flat, but happened to have an ice-cream shop at the far end, so seemed like a great idea eventually. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ffmUcXkV7PA/X_VxdfK3IFI/AAAAAAAAL80/QXUjcJp8bisx6bjDP_cTgCQTOBzgv0fHwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2539/20210104_155609.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1238" data-original-width="2539" height="195" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ffmUcXkV7PA/X_VxdfK3IFI/AAAAAAAAL80/QXUjcJp8bisx6bjDP_cTgCQTOBzgv0fHwCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h195/20210104_155609.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div>Having celebrated the end of the ride accordingly, we checked into our motel, and then went to the movies! A couple of times we'd considered evening entertainment, only to find that the nearest cinema was a town or two away. <i>Wonder Woman 1984</i> was a strange film, but wasn't a terrible way to pass a couple of hours. That said, it would have been had we emerged to find the Kaffir Lime Thai restaurant closed, but we did manage to sneak in a pad thai before getting breakfast supplies from the supermarket and knocking off for the day.<br /><p>Stats: <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/4563918943">135km ridden</a>, three mid-ride shops, and only one day to go!</p><p><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b>Day 13: Levin to Karori</b></p><p>Through to Levin, a touch over 80% of the thousand miles I'd ridden had been sight unseen (the rides chronicled in Part 1 were up over 90%). I spent the morning poring over my "Big Map" on <a href="https://wandrer.earth/athletes/4136/north-island">wandrer.earth</a> to see if I'd missed anything between Levin and home during my various forays to ride every street in the region. The verdict was that if I stuck to the roads, I'd have ridden every inch previously. So - best not to stick to the roads!</p><p>After our final motel breakfast: a box of cereal, can of boysenberries (for her) and fruit salad (for him), yoghurt, and plunger coffee if we could muster it, we loaded our saddlebags for the final time, and rolled out under blue skies. </p><p>We stayed off SH1 as much as we could, and survived the Ohau bridges, the second of which I was planning to cross under (on foot over the railway line, before crossing the two lanes of traffic to get back onto the left side of the road), but we reached it at a break in the traffic. </p><p>The Waitohu Valley Road back route into Otaki was sweet, and it dawned on me that it was the first time I'd ridden it fresh - the last couple of times I'd been through there was at the tail end of 200km-plus rides! I have to say I much prefer it with rested legs!</p><p>We didn't stop in Otaki, and once over the bridge, I gauged Sarah's interest in crossing the highway to get onto a trail along the river. She indulged my curiosity and quest for novelty, and I was relieved to find that the path was a pleasure to ride!</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-BLbdF_wO5j4/X_Vx6f37aoI/AAAAAAAAL9Q/J9xfAtrEDGY3TIGWCvIwsSUePlnwJHPZQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210105_103641.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-BLbdF_wO5j4/X_Vx6f37aoI/AAAAAAAAL9Q/J9xfAtrEDGY3TIGWCvIwsSUePlnwJHPZQCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20210105_103641.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>...until we came to a gate and a sign indicating private property. We were faced with a few options - ignore the signs and continue, double back as far as a wee access track onto Te Waka Road, or try to find an alternative route. Neither of the first two options appealed, but we were close to the river and the ocean, and what little I know about the "Queen's Chain" suggested legal access might exist. </div><div><br /></div><div>We made decent progress on a worn path through the scrub, and then started walking down the beach. Eventually, the best strategy seemed to involve wet feet, but that seemed like a small price to pay to rejoin the vehicle track at the opposite end of the private land. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-djv038M4PkQ/X_Vx6IkYnfI/AAAAAAAAL9I/Ucc_p5ubGacNGwaZ9E0NLfuK6_SI3q9kwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210105_110108.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-djv038M4PkQ/X_Vx6IkYnfI/AAAAAAAAL9I/Ucc_p5ubGacNGwaZ9E0NLfuK6_SI3q9kwCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20210105_110108.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>After a few minutes on a fun bit of 4WD track, we struck the end of Sims Road, and were able to follow back roads through to SH1 just north of the Peka Peka Beach turnoff. </div><div><br /></div><div>There we were faced with another awkward decision. Cross two lanes of fast moving SH1 traffic, or skirt around a fence onto a pristine cycle path, which looked poised for an official opening. The latter seemed the wise choice, but unfortunately, every driveway the path crossed had a pair of fences that also needed bypassing, each of which made us feel a little bit worse about daring to use this amazing off -road facility, Our outrageous behaviour did not go unnoticed, and just before we joined the legit access to Peka Peka Beach, we got hollered at by a passing contractor. Fair call, I suppose.</div><div><br /></div><div>At Waikanae Beach we dropped in to see my brother and his family, who had some delicious lunch ready, and were fantastic company for an hour or so. We'd run a wee bit late due my route misadventures, so unfortunately our flat whites were long gone, but it was the thought that counted!</div><div><br /></div><div>Dave gave us some suggestions for a route south, which we followed, crossing the Waikanae River on a foot bridge that connected two sweet bits of off-road path.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-eb6eVPoK-wM/X_Vx6PsVtPI/AAAAAAAAL9M/Zu9fih7-aAUf1qJyHHnaX7Am3Oxy91fhwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210105_133807.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-eb6eVPoK-wM/X_Vx6PsVtPI/AAAAAAAAL9M/Zu9fih7-aAUf1qJyHHnaX7Am3Oxy91fhwCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20210105_133807.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>We quickly dispatched Paraparaumu and Raumati, and took a sealed trail through QE2 Park which I didn't recognise, but must have ridden before it was sealed. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LK48Rehfy10/X_Vx7vpnO3I/AAAAAAAAL9Y/IDC0mZqmxY8ABUUcWsajM6XU6ff1RRoagCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210105_142855.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LK48Rehfy10/X_Vx7vpnO3I/AAAAAAAAL9Y/IDC0mZqmxY8ABUUcWsajM6XU6ff1RRoagCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20210105_142855.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>We rode on the footpath through to Pukerua Bay, and then the cycle path along the Taupo Swamp. In fact, by the time we'd got to Middleton Road just south of Tawa, the majority of the time between there and Otaki we'd been on half decent cycleways - the councils and/or NZTA would do well to sort those few pinch points at Ohau, which would make the access to Wellington a hell of a lot safer for cycle tourists.</div><div><br /></div><div>We didn't head straight home - I felt a great need to start the next day with a decent coffee, and for that we needed fresh beans. Usually I'd drop down Ngaio Gorge to get to the city, but instead chose Onslow Road for the wonderful views we'd get of Wellington. What better way to be welcomed home! </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NFSro7QROCI/X_Vx7tvKMnI/AAAAAAAAL9c/lcUrCbC0iEMfcokj82eW-60CSJElMOCoQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210105_163555.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NFSro7QROCI/X_Vx7tvKMnI/AAAAAAAAL9c/lcUrCbC0iEMfcokj82eW-60CSJElMOCoQCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20210105_163555.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Various sets of traffic lights weren't in our favour, and it seemed to take an eternity to get to Havana. As it was, we made it with only a couple of minutes to spare, and the lovely young woman behind the counter was impressed that we'd ridden so far to buy some beans from them, and flying Havana logos no less! (I wasn't bold enough to ask for a discount on the beans!)</div><div><br /></div><div>I may have cheekily suggested we take a MTB trail up from Aro Valley, but instead we took the road - I've had a soft spot for Raroa Road even before I did <a href="http://sifter-writes-bikes.blogspot.com/2016/06/attempting-everest-why-i-think-i-was.html" target="_blank">an Everest</a> on it, and it is one of those climbs that I'm quite happy to do at the end of a long day. </div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-RdQVD8B9YAU/X_Vx7mEw91I/AAAAAAAAL9U/Mn2ohFl6b9EnQ3Fz6yMAH4vNx5J8sUu5QCLcBGAsYHQ/s2539/20210105_172641.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1238" data-original-width="2539" height="195" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-RdQVD8B9YAU/X_Vx7mEw91I/AAAAAAAAL9U/Mn2ohFl6b9EnQ3Fz6yMAH4vNx5J8sUu5QCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h195/20210105_172641.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Two minutes from home - a good cause for celebration!</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Khulie and Kaitlyn were at home when we arrived, and after 15 nights away, it was both wonderful to see them, and to put on a fresh set of clothes!</p><p>Stats: <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/4569096051">123km ridden</a>, but I managed to sneak in 11.5 new kilometres. 500 grams of X-Blend beans hauled up the hill to prime the Rocket for the morning.</p><p><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b>* * *</b></p><p>I hadn't really considered this before setting off, but this was the second longest cycle tour I'd done after <a href="http://sifter-writes-bikes.blogspot.com/2013/05/le-cycle-tour-de-france.html" target="_blank">Le Cycle-Tour de France</a> (third if you count the fully supported 2018 TdF). My total distance was 1750km all up, with Sarah skipping about 100km, clearly surpassing our one-week, <a href="http://sifter-writes-bikes.blogspot.com/2019/01/sarahs-first-1000km-week.html" target="_blank">1000km tour up the West Coast</a> a couple of years ago. As she has pointed out, our ride this time was probably close to half unsealed (timewise, if not by distance), and so it was a big step up. She handled it with class, as anyone who has followed her riding prowess over recent years will have anticipated. </p><p>I'm really pleased with how the route took shape, and the only thing I felt I'd dropped the ball on had been the route into Feilding - I'm sure we could have done better there. We passed plenty of majestic forest, a few of NZ's nicest waterfalls, and had the roads pretty much to ourselves the vast majority of the time. Our daily distance seemed about right - a couple around the 150km mark, with the majority around 120-130km. We barely had to dip into our OSM stash, and the absent shops weren't particularly missed. The flights at the beginning were fun, and it was great not having to repack the bikes at any point in order to get them home. </p><p>The bikes were fantastic - we're yet to take them to Oli for some stem-to-stern lovin' - but there's a short list of things which need particular attention: Sarah's rear derailleur cable, diagnosis of the cause of the front going out of whack, and remedying what sounds like a loose ball bearing in her bottom bracket (an issue which arose in the last couple of hours of the trip, fortunately). My Open ran like a dream, though the headset feels a little stiff now, and one of the front brake pistons feels a bit gummed up. That said, the beauty of a once over by Oli is that it the feel of the bike will improve in all manner of ways, such is his care and attention to detail. </p><p>I had no complaints on the luggage front. The Revelate bags are perfect, both in terms of capacity and function. That said, we did post Sarah's top tube bag home - she'd rubbed one knee a bit raw, and when I took it off I noticed that even a sticker on the narrower top tube had been rubbed during riding. I haven't been in the habit of carrying jandals, but they were a great thing to have to mince around in at the end of the day, particularly on those three days we finished with wet feet. Our tool kit and emergency supplies were barely tested - we didn't even have any punctures to fix. </p><p>Sarah's companionship was amazing. </p><p>Riding with her is quite a different experience for me than riding with Brendan or Simon, and I regularly have brief moments of acute concern, triggered by all manner of things - from sharp looking rocks, potholes, vehicles, and even in response to strange sounds emanating from her bike. One thing that was bloody obvious throughout this entire ride though, was that much of that concern is unnecessary - she's handling her machine incredibly well, and little (and occasional large) accidents that were commonplace in the early years, are few and far between now (touch wood...). </p><p>It is no surprise to me how much <i>I </i>enjoyed it. The riding. The scenery. The serenity which I ought to be able to feel in the throes of normal adult life, but is an experience I'm more inclined to have literally in the middle of nowhere, with nothing but my legs and bicycle between me and dire straits. The sense of excitement at not knowing what's around the next corner. And then the excitement at finding out. The gratitude for being able to do this at all. And the pride at executing a well made plan, day after day. I finish envigorated, and ready for more. And the stark contrast at the crushing fatigue I feel after a few hours sitting on my arse at work is not lost on me. </p><p>This gig really is my happy place, and while it is special in and of itself, being able to share it with Sarah makes it that much sweeter. I know her motivations and experience of it are not identical to mine, and I'm really grateful for the sacrifices she makes to partake. Ditto our beautiful daughters, who've put up with absent parents two Christmases in a row now. </p><p>Speaking of which, Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to you all. </p><p>I hope you've enjoyed the tale. Rest assured, there will be another before long.</p><p><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-dodE7E0q-Vw/X_V17bQk8HI/AAAAAAAAL90/q5mSqVLLsCE2FirDBzTDaZVoPrcMsuPIgCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/Screenshot%2B2021-01-06%2B213225.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1564" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-dodE7E0q-Vw/X_V17bQk8HI/AAAAAAAAL90/q5mSqVLLsCE2FirDBzTDaZVoPrcMsuPIgCLcBGAsYHQ/w305-h400/Screenshot%2B2021-01-06%2B213225.png" width="305" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kerikeri to Karori, 1750km in 15 days</td></tr></tbody></table><p><br /></p></div></div>sifterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15453244482461385029noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7894195099236501078.post-30881441340167186122021-01-10T16:56:00.002+13:002022-12-03T13:49:54.268+13:00Don't leave town till you've seen the country: North Island back-country tour (Part 1)<p>If the "don't leave home till you've seen the country" jingle <a href="https://www.ngataonga.org.nz/set/item/173">from the early-80s</a> is not one of my earliest memories, it must be pretty damn close, and my hat's off to whoever came up with it. Last year's summer break was a feast of off-shore riding, with a stunning <a href="http://sifter-writes-bikes.blogspot.com/2020/01/a-christmas-trip-across-andes.html">crossing of the Andes</a> to see out 2019, and a <a href="http://sifter-writes-bikes.blogspot.com/2020/04/niue-gets-a-grade-but-i-dont.html">family holiday in Niue</a> to see in the beginning of a year none of us ever imagined. With international travel well and truly off the cards at the end of 2020, what better time to follow some decades-old advice, and sample our own backyard. </p><p>Even before concluding <a href="http://sifter-writes-bikes.blogspot.com/2020/08/a-late-winter-bromantic-getaway.html">my most recent cycle tour</a> through a stunning region of New Zealand - the near empty lands lying between Stratford in the south, and Te Kuiti in the north - I'd vowed to return with Sarah. We'd tentatively planned to do the North Island leg of the <a href="http://www.touraotearoa.nz/p/home.html">Tour Aotearoa bike-packing route</a>, but my ride with Brendan, coupled with a discovery that the vast majority of the TA route we haven't done is on sealed roads, led to a "choose your own adventure"-type getaway instead. </p><p>Our flights to Kerikeri in the Bay of Islands were still going to be of great use, but instead of persisting with the logistical challenge of getting up to Cape Reinga, we would immediately head south. Before leaving Wellington, I'd mapped out a week's riding through to Raglan, which, aside from our pass through Auckland, would be completely unfamiliar. South of Raglan, I'd be in more familiar territory, and planned to make it up on the fly. How to get around Mt Taranaki and/or the Whanganui River might as well be informed by how much we were enjoying the remote gravel roads we would sample in the first half of the ride. </p><p>We had three weeks up our sleeves - our flights were on Monday 21 December, and neither of us was due back at work until 11 January. In all likelihood, our tour's duration would be closer to two weeks than the full three, but again, we could tweak depending on how much fun we were having! </p><p>Prep was a relatively smooth process. Both our Open U.P.s had been getting regular weekend thrashings, so were ready to roll. Gear would be stowed in a selection of <a href="https://www.cyclewerks.co.nz/shop-online/tag/revelate-designs">Revelate Designs</a> bags - bolt-on top tube bags (for bars, hand sanitiser, some bog roll, and a multitool), a Viscacha seat bag for me and a slightly smaller Pika for Sarah (for overnight gear), a Pronghorn handlebar bag (for wet weather / warm riding gear), and a Tangle half-frame bag (for tubes, suncream, <a href="https://www.sweetcheeksnz.co.nz/shop-2/buttbutter">Sweet Cheeks butt butter</a>, chain lube, spare brake pads, a bunch of other bike-related bits we hoped not to need, and a travel floor pump). My <a href="http://sifter-writes-bikes.blogspot.com/2013/01/gear.html">gear-list</a> could probably do with a minor refresh, but it is tried and true, and I always run through it before leaving home. </p><p><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b>Day 0: Wellington to Kerikeri</b></p><p>Due to a long layover in Auckland, we'd spend much of the 21st travelling up to Kerikeri. At check in, our bike boxes weighed about 19kg apiece, by virtue of me putting some of my luggage in Sarah's box. Light-and-fast is unapologetically my cycle-touring motto!</p><p>We had a nice time chilling out in the Air New Zealand lounge, before being issued with disposable masks for our first of two flights. Given the worsening situation in most of the world, it is remarkable that this was one of the few pandemic-related impositions we experienced during the whole trip.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4TLgjY5UG0Y/X_U5SnztbDI/AAAAAAAAL0Q/pUUGtku2ThsrOnBWBBSw9V6nd7PX08M-gCLcBGAsYHQ/s2539/20201221_155704.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1238" data-original-width="2539" height="195" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4TLgjY5UG0Y/X_U5SnztbDI/AAAAAAAAL0Q/pUUGtku2ThsrOnBWBBSw9V6nd7PX08M-gCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h195/20201221_155704.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Upon arrival in Kerikeri, we found a spot in the shade outside the terminal, and assembled our bikes. It was great to have the bigger pump, and while I wondered whether we'd use it again, it did regularly come in handy during the tour, and consequently, I wouldn't hesitate to carry it again for anything over a week's duration. </div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-i1P_IMT47-Q/X_U5SsK7q5I/AAAAAAAAL0U/Ly4Vn20d6jwlqo5qLIpfX0dbp-Z6QPMwQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20201221_172741.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-i1P_IMT47-Q/X_U5SsK7q5I/AAAAAAAAL0U/Ly4Vn20d6jwlqo5qLIpfX0dbp-Z6QPMwQCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20201221_172741.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ready to roll!</td></tr></tbody></table><br />I hadn't anticipated the ride to our first motel to be anything other than leisurely, so we rode in our casual gear. We headed around the back of the airport, and I couldn't resist jumping onto Te Araroa when we crossed it on a fairly busy road. For the next hour or so, we painstakingly made our way closer to our destination, constantly flirting with an unacceptable riding experience! There was plenty of walking, and climbing over styles and other obstacles, but this was tempered by the excitement of being underway, and pretty decent scenery!<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6IhzspJIgw4/X_U5TPKv2HI/AAAAAAAAL0Y/pnOtlqOltR0oE2BrGb_UlHgtovle9ZlvwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20201221_181944.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6IhzspJIgw4/X_U5TPKv2HI/AAAAAAAAL0Y/pnOtlqOltR0oE2BrGb_UlHgtovle9ZlvwCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20201221_181944.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Alongside the Kerikeri River</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div>We may have inadvertently strayed onto a walking-only section near the end, but were nonetheless rewarded with a beautiful sight, courtesy of the Rainbow Falls.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qO2XaQ5fPEw/X_U5TmgDtNI/AAAAAAAAL0c/NvFthsjurhQGHdtmAZCMWanbJdSA4YeZwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20201221_182639%25280%2529.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qO2XaQ5fPEw/X_U5TmgDtNI/AAAAAAAAL0c/NvFthsjurhQGHdtmAZCMWanbJdSA4YeZwCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20201221_182639%25280%2529.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p>After checking into our room, we celebrated by having a roast dinner, re-enacting the conclusion of a <a href="http://sifter-writes-bikes.blogspot.com/2016/02/family-fun-in-far-north.html">family 3-day-tour</a> into Kerikeri a few years prior.</p><p>Stats: <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/4498848758">15km ridden</a>, and time-wise, almost as much walking as riding!</p><p><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b>Day 1: Kerikeri to Whangarei</b></p><p>We demolished a box of cereal together in our motel room before rolling out, en route to the Te Wairoa Road entrance to Waitangi Forest. This forestry road not only helped us immediately feel more adventurous, but also kept us off the main road from Kerikeri to Paihia, which undoubtedly would have had traffic on it.</p><p>The route I'd pre-mapped coincided nicely with revised Te Araroa directions (due to some logging), however at the intersection of Skyline and Te Puke Roads, large signs suggested we had no option but to jump onto some singletrack. It took about half an hour of fun MTB trail riding to bypass about 100m of forest road, and for good measure we rode a third track out to the park hub, before finally leaving the forest for good. The loaded bikes handled remarkably well on the flowy singletrack, but we had a long day ahead of us, and it chewed up a fair bit of time. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-k0P43X70c_U/X_U6sT7UTxI/AAAAAAAAL0w/IWUcQrr5bbw-zra78w421ZrGpHiE1jscgCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20201222_101615.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-k0P43X70c_U/X_U6sT7UTxI/AAAAAAAAL0w/IWUcQrr5bbw-zra78w421ZrGpHiE1jscgCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20201222_101615.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A nifty trail feature in the Waitangi Mountain Bike Park</td></tr></tbody></table><br />At Paihia, we met Dr Rissa Ota, a good friend who'd driven up from Wellington to explore the area on foot. After a good long chat and some morning tea, we went across the road to see which of the two ferries we'd be taking across the Waikare Inlet. <br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-MyUtb7M8ZYA/X_U6sbkaOQI/AAAAAAAAL00/EL7KJ8yAS24ps_0n9ktXDxmNRTrnmIWvACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20201222_111300.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-MyUtb7M8ZYA/X_U6sbkaOQI/AAAAAAAAL00/EL7KJ8yAS24ps_0n9ktXDxmNRTrnmIWvACLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20201222_111300.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>As it turned out, bikes (and their riders) were welcome on the passenger ferry from Paihia to Russell, so we didn't have to resort to the vehicle ferry between Opua and Okiato.</div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rgSOoUNsW1o/X_U6sHACqMI/AAAAAAAAL0s/o2H47Ya5zYA3bm8hxBNkzIkgHKJ0SdmjQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20201222_120632.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rgSOoUNsW1o/X_U6sHACqMI/AAAAAAAAL0s/o2H47Ya5zYA3bm8hxBNkzIkgHKJ0SdmjQCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20201222_120632.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Impressive intuition by Sarah's GPS</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div>Having just enjoyed Rissa's company, there seemed little point in stopping in Russell, but our passage through such a beautiful (and historic) wee spot seemed obscenely quick nonetheless. </div><div><br /></div><div>While our mapped route had us hugging the coast through to Helena Bay, we had the good fortune to take a gravel short cut on the Russell Whakapara Road. Aside from the more arduous surface, this also came bundled with a hefty 250m climb. On the plus side though, it took us through a kauri forest, and offered cycling within metres of these incredible forest giants. In many respects, it was the most spectacular piece of road of the whole trip, and so it remains slightly embarrassing that I'd planned for us to bypass it!</div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vG1rDuZW6ng/X_U6tYrEFsI/AAAAAAAAL08/wXebTutP6PkTt_yZD3oSXWaYJUO-ZKthwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20201222_132419.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vG1rDuZW6ng/X_U6tYrEFsI/AAAAAAAAL08/wXebTutP6PkTt_yZD3oSXWaYJUO-ZKthwCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20201222_132419.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sarah passing one of many kauri on the Russell Whakapara Road</td></tr></tbody></table><br />We had a picnic at the summit, before descending down to rejoin the sealed route. There, my body started requesting a stop of another kind, and it was some relief to take one of our only out-and-back detours of the entire trip, to the small seaside village of Oakura, and its assorted facilities!<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Rkto6m-qAPE/X_U6tmgAPXI/AAAAAAAAL1A/f0esBofkPPMiEvstubOa6PxCzeYbCqxagCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20201222_145229.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Rkto6m-qAPE/X_U6tmgAPXI/AAAAAAAAL1A/f0esBofkPPMiEvstubOa6PxCzeYbCqxagCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20201222_145229.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Soon after, we began a series of gravel sections enabling us to continue moving south without needing to use SH1. The first included another significant climb, after which we were rewarded with expansive views to the north.</div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-S-hwMUQ_uGk/X_U6t1_BMnI/AAAAAAAAL1E/CTHhw5C8_64EnqiudoBdDXpk-HACTcAEwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20201222_153628.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-S-hwMUQ_uGk/X_U6t1_BMnI/AAAAAAAAL1E/CTHhw5C8_64EnqiudoBdDXpk-HACTcAEwCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20201222_153628.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looking north from Kaikanui Road</td></tr></tbody></table><br />We were discovering that the traffic on these roads was all but non-existent, and when we did see a vehicle, more often than not it was a source of light entertainment.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ixlh5s1Ur5E/X_U6vNQlrGI/AAAAAAAAL1I/vbjhvwyaRbErTK3Jq0LgUNyjnzbK7vZ8QCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20201222_155728.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ixlh5s1Ur5E/X_U6vNQlrGI/AAAAAAAAL1I/vbjhvwyaRbErTK3Jq0LgUNyjnzbK7vZ8QCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20201222_155728.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>At the top of Kaiatea Road, it was slightly frustrating to ignore a <a href="https://bikenorthland.co.nz/ngunguru-old-coach-road/">cycle trail sign</a>, but it would have taken us in the opposite direction to where we were heading. I was still rueing this when a second opportunity arose, and we turned off the sealed descent onto Old Kaiatea Road. After climbing for a wee while, we entered the cycle trail itself, replete with some dirt jumps (which we safely ignored!). </div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-YxQ13dMLW2Q/X_U6vuOqGqI/AAAAAAAAL1M/Ic2Ibz-y5WUVZs5xOCGlOpZOINR4OQ6TwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20201222_180105.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-YxQ13dMLW2Q/X_U6vuOqGqI/AAAAAAAAL1M/Ic2Ibz-y5WUVZs5xOCGlOpZOINR4OQ6TwCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20201222_180105.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dirt jumps on the Ngunguru Old Coach Road</td></tr></tbody></table><br />We were within spitting distance of Whangarei, our day's destination, when the heavens opened. That not only led to a frustrating period of indecision about whether or not to get the raincoats out, but also made navigating to our accommodation a bit tricky, due to phone and GPS screens not being overly happy in heavy rain. Despite aiming for the wrong end of the very long Kamo Road, we eventually reached our accommodation, and the rain eased in time for us to get dinner and groceries without another drenching!<br /><p>Stats: <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/4502605505">148km covered</a> on a mix of forest roads, singletrack, gravel roads and pavement. One front brake caliper reset, a couple of mid-ride shops, and very many magnificent kauri admired. </p><p><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b>Day 2: Whangarei to Leigh</b></p><p>It undoubtedly would have been possible to leave Whangarei without riding along SH1, but in the end we stuck with the direct route to our turnoff at Springfield Road, and arrived there very grateful for the quality of driving we'd encountered during the 11km stretch.</p><p>As soon as we turned off, the traffic volume dropped to pretty much zero, and it stayed very light through to our re-crossing of the highway into Waipu. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-wlJZ6386Bzw/X_U7prnIYgI/AAAAAAAAL1k/oUMvqnvl6lMbGS0gg2T17mPoWICLcufrwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20201223_104222.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-wlJZ6386Bzw/X_U7prnIYgI/AAAAAAAAL1k/oUMvqnvl6lMbGS0gg2T17mPoWICLcufrwCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20201223_104222.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sarah cresting Ormiston Road</td></tr></tbody></table><br />We had an early lunch at Waipu, and were able to ride out of town on a section of gravel cycle trail adjacent to the main road. When it ended, the traffic on the road was heavy relative to what we'd been treated to on the trip so far, but minor relative to commuting in Wellington. <div><br /></div><div>After a drink stop at Mangawhai Heads, we deviated onto a complex gravel network which would take us through to Pakiri. We stopped briefly to talk to a mountain-biker who was emerging from a forestry road. His description of the route through the forest oscillated from encouraging to discouraging, and in the end we stuck with the hot and dusty roads. <br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fu7VbFyVwmc/X_U7pi89nBI/AAAAAAAAL1o/58a7EU6R8dgnxVoqo80LioFxgn7pP7A-wCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20201223_143116.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fu7VbFyVwmc/X_U7pi89nBI/AAAAAAAAL1o/58a7EU6R8dgnxVoqo80LioFxgn7pP7A-wCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20201223_143116.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>It was some relief when we arrived at Pakiri, even though there were no shops open. Without being able to pinpoint why, the riding since Mangawhai was my least favourite of the trip. </div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tlzJiyUx_h4/X_U7qqZSkNI/AAAAAAAAL1w/rntBKVGKxEcxYVAQpv_1_PnGUOndeVM2gCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20201223_152655.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tlzJiyUx_h4/X_U7qqZSkNI/AAAAAAAAL1w/rntBKVGKxEcxYVAQpv_1_PnGUOndeVM2gCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20201223_152655.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of these steeds is not like the others...</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>From Pakihi, we had a single (big) climb, which was unsealed for its steepest sections. I had a few minutes wait for Sarah at the top, during which I was able to enjoy the views down over Omaha Bay. The day had marched on, as had our energy levels, so even had Sarah noticed the turnoff to Goat Island when she passed it, I doubt she would have suggested a swim!</div><div><br /></div><div>While pretty tiny, Leigh had all we needed in terms of our evening and pre-departure activities. Namely, a convenience store for after-ride snacks and breakfast supplies, and a pub serving dinner. </div><div><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3sQdayvvEmw/X_U7qnCKGzI/AAAAAAAAL10/oztHDM_6pRAujbOZuZs3ObIxRQ1PiuAGgCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20201223_163603.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3sQdayvvEmw/X_U7qnCKGzI/AAAAAAAAL10/oztHDM_6pRAujbOZuZs3ObIxRQ1PiuAGgCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20201223_163603.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p>Stats: <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/4506719948">117km ridden</a>, about half on gravel roads. Two supply stops. 25 degrees and no rain.</p><p><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b>Day 3: Leigh to Takapuna</b></p><p>I was somewhat nervous about our ride into Auckland, assuming that we'd end up with stressful encounters with traffic. I'd spent a lot of time studying the AA map, and stalked a few Aucklanders on strava for inspiration, to no avail. </p><p>After a light breakfast in our cabin, we rode in drizzly conditions through to Matakana, where we topped up our bellies in a cafe. It was dry when we resumed riding, and while the road into Warkworth was narrow and much busier than we'd become accustomed to, the only cause for alarm was a very squirmy rear tyre on the descent into Warkworth itself. </p><p>After topping the air pressure up, we headed straight through the major intersection across SH1, and continued along a road which seemed major initially, but by its end, had featured a single-lane ford across a stream! </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XNc10Ya4maE/X_U8Ib7U9RI/AAAAAAAAL2M/Cf0pFoNoPgApvYe57y4yG1vcUBMWV_9XACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20201224_105219.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XNc10Ya4maE/X_U8Ib7U9RI/AAAAAAAAL2M/Cf0pFoNoPgApvYe57y4yG1vcUBMWV_9XACLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20201224_105219.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My favourite section of sealed road on the trip: Falls Rd, Warkworth</td></tr></tbody></table><br />Despite being on a fairly major sealed road, and the direct route between Warkworth and Helensville, traffic was virtually non-existent. Maybe this was simply good luck, but perhaps that it was Christmas Eve had contributed. Nearing the intersection with SH16, we turned onto the unsealed Wech Access Road, and enjoyed a coats on-again/off-again ride through to our western-most point of the day, at Makarau. <br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CRfLZfLI-I0/X_U8IbUcVWI/AAAAAAAAL2E/iMXW6IGHYqA3yADw2fS1pA6fWCvjkuB6gCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20201224_123459.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CRfLZfLI-I0/X_U8IbUcVWI/AAAAAAAAL2E/iMXW6IGHYqA3yADw2fS1pA6fWCvjkuB6gCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20201224_123459.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>After a bit of ducking and diving, we eventually emerged at Dairy Flat, which provided a welcome bakery stop. While devouring a pie and custard square, I identified a better route than the one I'd mapped - forgoing the major Dairy Flat Highway for a quiet road past an airfield. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-SKOhGh6Ntxw/X_U8IWVsS5I/AAAAAAAAL2I/VwK52DFbd9U-U8riE5AG7qqoWIEPsl8cgCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20201224_141156.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-SKOhGh6Ntxw/X_U8IWVsS5I/AAAAAAAAL2I/VwK52DFbd9U-U8riE5AG7qqoWIEPsl8cgCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20201224_141156.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>As we dropped into Albany, I expected the end of pleasant riding for the day, but some wonderful cycling infrastructure along the length of the Albany Highway took us to a point above Northcote, where we turned off towards my sister's place in Takapuna.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-szi3paSdfJ8/X_U8JRLufDI/AAAAAAAAL2Q/S6QV6phWzYMD-REV7FABv9Iw4zgROJbRQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2539/20201224_150209.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1238" data-original-width="2539" height="195" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-szi3paSdfJ8/X_U8JRLufDI/AAAAAAAAL2Q/S6QV6phWzYMD-REV7FABv9Iw4zgROJbRQCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h195/20201224_150209.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Three days in, I was having problems with both sides of my hands. I'd done very little riding through November and December due to a secondment at work. Consequently, my cycling callouses were non-existent and I had a bit of tenderness which I thought gloves might help with. The tops of my hands were also unusually sunburnt. For years I've been getting away with a single morning application of <a href="https://pharmacyonweb.co.nz/sunsense-clear-gel-spf30-125ml.html">Sunsense Clear Gel</a> and never burning. It dawned on me that the point of difference on this trip was all the COVID-related handwashing that I'd been doing at our fairly regular cafe and convenience store stops. After visiting no fewer than four bike stores on the outskirts of Takapuna, horrible memories of fingers that looked nicotine-stained at the end of my 2013 Cycle-Tour de France ensured I left empty-handed, something I didn't regret, due to a combination of physical and behavioural adaptation.<br /><p>Stats: <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/4510558254">106km ridden</a>, and (unexpectedly), zero regrets about the route choice. One rear light purchased for Sarah's bike. </p><p><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b>Day 4: Takapuna to Miranda</b></p><p>We spent much of Christmas Day with my Great Aunt and her whanau, and the evening with a Mongolian family who'd moved to New Zealand around the same time Sarah had, almost 20 years ago. </p><p>The day off had been nice, and so too was it nice to climb into laundered riding gear for our short ride down to the Devonport ferry terminal. About a minute after arriving at the wharf, we were joining the tail end of a boarding queue onto a ferry which minutes later had us disembarking in Auckland.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Vz3U7DULDlg/X_U82O3tIBI/AAAAAAAAL2k/xcr7vn1AfmQe6hjsm_8t1NNZf0dJup4lACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20201226_102318.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Vz3U7DULDlg/X_U82O3tIBI/AAAAAAAAL2k/xcr7vn1AfmQe6hjsm_8t1NNZf0dJup4lACLcBGAsYHQ/w300-h400/20201226_102318.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>We popped down to do a lap of my cousin's waterfront art installation, <a href="https://www.aucklandcouncil.govt.nz/arts-culture-heritage/arts/public-art-waterfront/Pages/lighthouse.aspx">The Lighthouse</a>, before taking advantage of more of Auckland's fantastic cycle ways. We soon passed Vector Arena, eliciting fond memories of February's Tool concert - an incredible gig in its own right, but also one that could easily have got away, in that a few weeks later the border was closed and we were in lockdown.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6qfoNOeJh7U/X_U82Fv9NxI/AAAAAAAAL2s/No6mnk6KegU_0HcltENNnCFQQnC2V7wxwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20201226_103958.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6qfoNOeJh7U/X_U82Fv9NxI/AAAAAAAAL2s/No6mnk6KegU_0HcltENNnCFQQnC2V7wxwCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20201226_103958.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>The riding was simple and pleasant through to Pakuranga, but we probably made a mistake not doing a loop through Howick, and instead ended up on a major thoroughfare and had to resort to riding on the footpath. We had lunch in a shopping precinct in Botany, and after a few more minutes cycling, rounded a bend to discover we'd reached a southern extreme of NZ's largest city.</div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-w5D_hHhD0Ks/X_U82OgVu2I/AAAAAAAAL2o/FL1Pz0tet4EAUwqpljFTCU_t8Vu5ftg0gCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20201226_125128.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-w5D_hHhD0Ks/X_U82OgVu2I/AAAAAAAAL2o/FL1Pz0tet4EAUwqpljFTCU_t8Vu5ftg0gCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20201226_125128.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Countryside ahoy!</td></tr></tbody></table><br />The rest of the ride followed the coastline as closely as possible from Whitford through to Clevedon, and then onto Kaiaua, both of which we stopped at for something cold. We passed very many family picnics still in progress, and didn't have much traffic to contend with at all. <br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-yKWKnFm1C0k/X_U83MOVLBI/AAAAAAAAL2w/xrdA7cHMpg0eZKPC06rhS3ziubmBuyAnACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20201226_134908.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-yKWKnFm1C0k/X_U83MOVLBI/AAAAAAAAL2w/xrdA7cHMpg0eZKPC06rhS3ziubmBuyAnACLcBGAsYHQ/w300-h400/20201226_134908.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sarah paddling while I phoned home</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div>We had views across to Waiheke Island initially, and then the Coromandel Peninsula, and between those vistas and occasional surprises in adjacent paddocks, our minds were distracted from the stiff headwinds.</div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3kIMOWHIzqY/X_U83cGzbbI/AAAAAAAAL20/thX-i3zXc6whvjOuLPoBHG2vO9oOJkkMgCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20201226_140958.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3kIMOWHIzqY/X_U83cGzbbI/AAAAAAAAL20/thX-i3zXc6whvjOuLPoBHG2vO9oOJkkMgCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20201226_140958.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The rarely spotted Hunua Water Buffalo</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div>Had I done my homework better, we might have stopped for dinner at Kaiaua - the local fish'n'chip shop seemed to have a decent market nearby in the form of dozens of campers lined up along the shore in one of the few zones that permitted overnight stays, and was open for business. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pXoG_QAXL48/X_U831ECVbI/AAAAAAAAL24/ftxmfuD4m2IuFCOsyPYBrNGDToophncowCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20201226_172559.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pXoG_QAXL48/X_U831ECVbI/AAAAAAAAL24/ftxmfuD4m2IuFCOsyPYBrNGDToophncowCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20201226_172559.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>We stopped for a drink, but without realising the risks, pedalled on, and soon discovered that the cafe at Miranda, and the fast food caravan at the Miranda Springs campground were both closed. Our B&B hostess kindly offered to drive us back to Kaiaua, but instead I rode onwards to the major intersection at Waitakaruru, closer by a fair few kilometres, and offering a tailwind home. The burger joint there was closed, but I managed to get an assortment of delights at the convenience store, which actually amounted to a fairly enjoyable meal, all things considered (flavoured tuna and crackers, instant noodles, corn chips, kombucha, and icecreams). </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-SfpOxwTIhwk/X_U84lOTkdI/AAAAAAAAL28/QCDgCYdRLcsN0PBKva44SGNAcb6Yz7_HgCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20201226_185809.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-SfpOxwTIhwk/X_U84lOTkdI/AAAAAAAAL28/QCDgCYdRLcsN0PBKva44SGNAcb6Yz7_HgCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20201226_185809.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p>Stats: <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/4517876512">137km ridden</a>, plus 9km for the dinner run. Zero gravel sectors, and zero One Square Meal bars eaten for dinner (thankfully). </p><p><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b>Day 5: Miranda to Huntly</b></p><p>After a good sleep and a solid breakfast, we quickly dispatched the first few on-road kilometres, before jumping onto the Hauraki Rail Trail at Waitakaruru. We'd stayed off it up until this point, being somewhat uninspired by the surface (it looked like loose shells, for the most part), and that much of the time, it was really just a glorified footpath and immediately adjacent to the road. The delay proved a good idea, and we found ourselves on a mint off-road path, cruising alongside a fascinating mangrove swamp. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FaL7j2fmfgU/X_U92is2ppI/AAAAAAAAL3Y/MtJAkWUGkVA0VFjushdFrYRrda4nyeVEACLcBGAsYHQ/s2880/20201227_102918.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2160" data-original-width="2880" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FaL7j2fmfgU/X_U92is2ppI/AAAAAAAAL3Y/MtJAkWUGkVA0VFjushdFrYRrda4nyeVEACLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20201227_102918.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>At the Piako River, the trail headed inland, and we had to cross the main road twice in order to avail ourselves of a coffee and scone at the Bugger Cafe. Given we had to wait a full couple of minutes to get across, we realised the trail was a godsend - riding the road would have been a miserable, if not downright dangerous, experience. It was narrow, and Auckland was heading to the Coromandel for New Years...</div><div><br /></div><div>There was no need to stop at Kopu for further goodies, and no inclination to do a 10km-plus side trip into Thames, so we stayed on the rail trail and continued onward towards Paeroa. It was a nice setup, tucked between the Waihou River and SH26, though after spending about 50km on it, I think both of us were glad when it finally delivered us into Paeroa. </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-EjsbarBIymA/X_U92cDoKWI/AAAAAAAAL3c/xHki1qFlCnkyxKdsYj2eanMLfLVRw4hQwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2880/20201227_111209.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2160" data-original-width="2880" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-EjsbarBIymA/X_U92cDoKWI/AAAAAAAAL3c/xHki1qFlCnkyxKdsYj2eanMLfLVRw4hQwCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20201227_111209.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>We parked up at a Subway and headed in for lunch. Sitting contemplating the merits of an after-meal coffee, the deal was sealed when an almighty thunderclap hit over our heads, and the heavens opened. The downpour lasted longer than the coffee, and it was still raining lightly when we decided to head out. Too wet to seek out the famous L&P bottle, but not wet enough to keep us cowering indoors. </div><div><br /></div><div>As we rolled out of Paeroa, a large fire intensified a few kilometres off to our left. We weren't the only ones to suspect that it had been <a href="https://www.stuff.co.nz/waikato-times/news/123824618/lightning-strike-possible-cause-of-scrub-fire-near-paeroa">caused by a lightning strike</a>!</div><div><br /></div><div>I'd originally planned to loop around the base of the Hapuakohe Range, but at lunch had spotted a gravel road crossing the range - the only downside was that our route to it would take us to within about 20km of our previous beds (by which time we'd have about 90km on the clock)! It could have been a lot worse, when one of our back roads took us to the Piako River with no bridge in sight. Luckily, one was tucked only a kilometre downstream, and Sarah was none the wiser. </div><div><br /></div><div>The heavens opened again just before we got off the plains, and we hid in someone's mailbox for a wee while. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-JCQgJQZoU1I/X_U92enOMkI/AAAAAAAAL3g/voyCwCQxmswQ30bDpoPH6VuySTX4jFinACLcBGAsYHQ/s2880/20201227_140644.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2880" data-original-width="2160" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-JCQgJQZoU1I/X_U92enOMkI/AAAAAAAAL3g/voyCwCQxmswQ30bDpoPH6VuySTX4jFinACLcBGAsYHQ/w300-h400/20201227_140644.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><div>A couple of minutes on SH27 delivered us to Ohinewai Road, which was a stunning gravel section up and over a 300m high saddle. As if the native forest wasn't delightful enough, we did the full climb with thunder overhead, and at least one hailstorm, which had me fishing out my warm gloves both for protection against the cold air, and the impact!</div><div><br /></div></div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-69XH6V2q4I4/X_U93iWRe9I/AAAAAAAAL3k/KMDddsRO9osNuZlXtr28ggvt_YNKXcHnwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2880/20201227_144917.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2160" data-original-width="2880" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-69XH6V2q4I4/X_U93iWRe9I/AAAAAAAAL3k/KMDddsRO9osNuZlXtr28ggvt_YNKXcHnwCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20201227_144917.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Two minutes from the summit, lingering hail, and a wet camera lens!</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>As we reached the saddle, we also rode out of the bad weather, and as we started our descent, the drying out process began in earnest. Nearing our overnight stop in Huntly, the skies started rumbling again, and while our post-ride snacks got a bit wet between their store and our digs, we were able to walk into a slightly depressed centre of town for dinner without further drenching. We'd crossed over the recently opened SH1 diversion which now bypasses Huntly entirely, and it is sadly ironic that getting rid of a major road passing literally through the centre of town has had such an ill effect on the local economy. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hgHwkhsTf5g/X_U94bnUAjI/AAAAAAAAL3o/wWtOjHncapoTRy-mQNgh4Re5BURk6TuBwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2880/20201227_161112%25280%2529.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2160" data-original-width="2880" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hgHwkhsTf5g/X_U94bnUAjI/AAAAAAAAL3o/wWtOjHncapoTRy-mQNgh4Re5BURk6TuBwCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20201227_161112%25280%2529.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p>Stats: <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/4522631863">133km ridden</a>, joining only 13 other strava users on a westward traversal of one of the sweetest bits of gravel road I've ridden.</p><p><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b>Day 6: Huntly to Raglan</b></p><p>For a wee while, a second night in Huntly was on the cards, which would've facilitated a round trip out to Port Waikato, However, our bed with the Tolleys in Raglan freed up earlier than expected, and we chose to head "directly" there on the 28th.</p><p>The Huntly Power Station looms large over the town, and like the old SH1 once did, presumably feels like a necessary evil to keep the town ticking over. After an incredibly rare visit to Maccas for coffee and pancakes, we crossed the mighty Waikato River, rode past the power station, and began a lovely foray into another strangely empty part of the country.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-iwi5KxbfHac/X_VKWW-bOkI/AAAAAAAAL4E/V2zBpm14DnoZ4VjtNMcZdXcYqJ4beXNVgCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20201228_095359.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-iwi5KxbfHac/X_VKWW-bOkI/AAAAAAAAL4E/V2zBpm14DnoZ4VjtNMcZdXcYqJ4beXNVgCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20201228_095359.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">From the Tainui Bridge</td></tr></tbody></table><br />The first 40km or so were sealed, but rarely flat. Following Sarah into the intersection with the road known to Garmin as "Old State Highway 22" (SH22 is now only 12.7km long, with this section revoked in the early 90s), I heard some nasty scraping come from one of her brakes, and we stopped to investigate under the shade of a tree. Sure enough, her rear pads needed replacing, which I managed to do without getting my (now much recovered) hands overly filthy. </div><div><br /></div><div>Yet again, traffic was nearly non-existent, and there was little scope for it to get lighter when we began our long, largely unsealed loop, starting with Wainui Valley Road.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HJRKyPk-xpc/X_VKWQXhh0I/AAAAAAAAL4I/z-RQ0Pc8ANARkjAX7qgEMXdMzQ_yjdS_wCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20201228_115949.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HJRKyPk-xpc/X_VKWQXhh0I/AAAAAAAAL4I/z-RQ0Pc8ANARkjAX7qgEMXdMzQ_yjdS_wCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20201228_115949.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>We peeled off most of our elevation before the gravel began, but continued down-valley through farming country with occasional sweet pockets of native bush. Having observed Sarah on many rides in rural Wairarapa, I knew from her body language the effect the sight of horses running has on her Mongol sensibilities, well before she described it to me. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tZtIaezZjoE/X_VKWdvOoII/AAAAAAAAL4M/KEVIJK8DGW4jD6vEajXB9taD4AgXq6t1wCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20201228_122954.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tZtIaezZjoE/X_VKWdvOoII/AAAAAAAAL4M/KEVIJK8DGW4jD6vEajXB9taD4AgXq6t1wCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20201228_122954.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>A decent climb took us up to an intersection, where, had we been more organised (and less inclined to ride than I was), we could have dropped down to Te Akau Wharf. There, we would have been about a kilometre (as the dinghy blats) from the Tolley's place across Raglan Harbour, rather than a hilly 40km ride away. We hadn't prearranged a ferry though, so the dead-end road down to the wharf would have necessitated a long climb back out the same way. From the fact that no fewer than three "No Exit" signs were visible from the intersection, it seemed that more than a few drivers had taken a wrong turning here in the past. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gEyBlpNF1zk/X_VKXb2dWXI/AAAAAAAAL4Q/i-WCVy_-vPMl2UfxQGZQD5IFvRPdURJfgCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20201228_133645.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gEyBlpNF1zk/X_VKXb2dWXI/AAAAAAAAL4Q/i-WCVy_-vPMl2UfxQGZQD5IFvRPdURJfgCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20201228_133645.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>We turned inland, and some of the vegetation around left no illusions as to which way the prevailing wind typically blew! It was kind of nice not to be experiencing it, since the tailwind section would have been the shortest part of the ride.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jXO8xslI7h4/X_VKXhIqVOI/AAAAAAAAL4U/9p7d4jDO5nUi69vQL9BSF1bC9ARXEK5FACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20201228_135808.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jXO8xslI7h4/X_VKXhIqVOI/AAAAAAAAL4U/9p7d4jDO5nUi69vQL9BSF1bC9ARXEK5FACLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20201228_135808.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>The road was sealed again by the time we rejoined the old highway, and we got a short taste of the real SH23 just before Te Uku. I'd passed through this spot once before, with Simon back in 2012. I hadn't reviewed <a href="http://sifter-writes-bikes.blogspot.com/2012/11/fantastic-figure-eight.html">my blog</a>, but had I done so, I would have recalled my disappointment that the Te Uku Roast Office (presumably once a post office, but now a coffee shop with a very cool name) had been closed. As it was, I did remember being disappointed about something, but I had no need to fear a repeat, and while Sarah sensibly had a cold drink, I enjoyed a late afternoon coffee! </div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zk-aKaocoYg/X_VKXww3FuI/AAAAAAAAL4Y/1s1BoVcO0SIMmblmZlM2GWUU3g-PwT-RwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20201228_151209.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zk-aKaocoYg/X_VKXww3FuI/AAAAAAAAL4Y/1s1BoVcO0SIMmblmZlM2GWUU3g-PwT-RwCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20201228_151209.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Te Uku Roast Office, open for business</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div>I attracted my wife's ire with a deviation along Okete Road, which was not only hilly but also unsealed for a time. If I'd been better prepared, I could have told her that not only had it much less traffic than the main road, but also less climbing, and needn't have fibbed about it being the same distance (what's 500m between spouses?!). </div><div><br /></div><div>Luckily, we arrived with friends soon after, and all was soon forgotten!<br /><p>Stats: <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/4527641449">106km ridden</a>, almost exactly double the most direct route between the two towns. </p><p><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b>Rest Day</b></p><p>The plan for the 29th had always been for Sarah to take a day off, but it turned out to be necessary. Over the last day or two she'd been having trouble getting into the biggest sprocket of her cassette, and on the way into Raglan, another tell-tale sign of a fraying rear derailleur cable was loss of the smallest sprockets too. Fortunately, a local bike store was open, and keen to help. </p><p>With that weight off my mind, I set out to do a variation on the Karioi Classic race route, namely, a figure-eight including a circumnavigation of Mount Karioi. </p><p>I deviated from the course immediately, choosing to leave on the state highway, before using the stunning Maungatawhiri Road to climb away from town. That was gravel until it intersected with the main road through Te Mata, which I stayed with down to Aotea Harbour and the turnoff to Kawhia. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vEY3iuK0t8g/X_VK9x8Vk6I/AAAAAAAAL4w/RJ2DMVCDnl8BUJvGUdbSGfHDyk76aRrvwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20201229_101016.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vEY3iuK0t8g/X_VK9x8Vk6I/AAAAAAAAL4w/RJ2DMVCDnl8BUJvGUdbSGfHDyk76aRrvwCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20201229_101016.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Great views over Raglan from Maungatawhiri Rd</td></tr></tbody></table><br />I'd chosen to do the southern loop anticlockwise, rather than clockwise as per the event, since Sarah and I would ride part of it in the opposite direction the next day. Aside from the variety it afforded me, it also meant I bumped into a pair of Wellingtonians coming down Kawhia Road, Matt and Amy Dewes. I'd been given a heads up they were in the area by a mutual friend, so it was nice to see them so randomly!<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-wjWOHaVJfDo/X_VK979_54I/AAAAAAAAL40/tIP3xB-p-HcCTDY_rGdr4oBrq_URYB3RgCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20201229_112201.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-wjWOHaVJfDo/X_VK979_54I/AAAAAAAAL40/tIP3xB-p-HcCTDY_rGdr4oBrq_URYB3RgCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20201229_112201.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>After bidding Matt and Amy farewell, I completed the climb, but not before giving serious consideration to the Pipiwharauroa Trail through the Te Uku Wind Farm - at 18km for the return trip, it felt like a bit too much to add in to my day. I had a snack at the Bridal Veil Falls trailhead, and while the ride to see it was considerably shorter, it was on tomorrow's menu, so also ignored.</div><div><br /></div><div>Southern loop done, I turned onto the gravel Waimaori Road. By the end of it, I was feeling pretty weary, and wondering if I'd overdone it early in the ride, embracing my solitude and the absence of my luggage. </div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9wvrcu9B7iI/X_VK9qQehbI/AAAAAAAAL4s/-RAUe7nngpcCD39yT9-bdMGOo1eZUad1gCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20201229_125053.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9wvrcu9B7iI/X_VK9qQehbI/AAAAAAAAL4s/-RAUe7nngpcCD39yT9-bdMGOo1eZUad1gCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20201229_125053.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Through my sunnies, the red of this pohutukawa was stunningly vivid</td></tr></tbody></table><br />Despite my fatigue, I did a side trip down Ruapuke Beach Road, but bailed on the walking track to the beach when it became too sandy to ride, so didn't quite make it to the ocean. </div><div><br /></div><div>The road was tiring, but loaded with great views out to sea, and pockets of native bush to admire. I'd see a car every 10 minutes or so too, to keep me on my toes. The Te Toto Gorge trailhead carpark was chokka, explaining at least some of the traffic, but rather than take my bike for a walk, I made a mental note to come back one day, and pressed on. </div><div><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-uVg_66b6mU0/X_VK-07qa9I/AAAAAAAAL44/7Y0YDbFXpxsYvTMVutWEt1Vqs2mDFychACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20201229_141229.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-uVg_66b6mU0/X_VK-07qa9I/AAAAAAAAL44/7Y0YDbFXpxsYvTMVutWEt1Vqs2mDFychACLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20201229_141229.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Overlooking Te Toto Gorge</td></tr></tbody></table><br />It was nice to hit the seal as I approached Raglan, but being a sucker for punishment, thought I'd give a walking track shown on my GPS a whirl. That turned out to be a mistake - access to the track was through a camp ground, and it was unclear whether or not it was public. Then the track came to a gate, through which was an airfield! Faced with a choice between a runway and a beach, I decided the lesser of three evils was another pass through the camp ground!</div><div><br /></div><div>When I <i>finally</i> got back to the Tolley's place, I was delighted to see Sarah's bike back and fully operational. The mechanic had given up on the internal cabling, but had ziptied a full-length cable outer to the frame, which was less beautiful, but suitably functional!</div><div><br /></div><div>Further good fortune meant we could celebrate the day's end at Raglan's Evening Eats event - a collection of food trucks and good vibes which runs periodically through the year. <br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KPnUCXg6kgM/X_VK_MHvS9I/AAAAAAAAL48/BAjz_LXEMsg0RJo3ytZNfdVK2od8VYuBQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20201229_172353.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KPnUCXg6kgM/X_VK_MHvS9I/AAAAAAAAL48/BAjz_LXEMsg0RJo3ytZNfdVK2od8VYuBQCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20201229_172353.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p>We had plenty to celebrate - just shy of 800km covered for Sarah, with an extra hundred in my legs. We'd had very few problems to deal with, and the only potentially catastrophic issue had reared its head at the perfect time. We'd had great weather, by and large, and a route virtually 100% unfamiliar to us both, dishing up plenty of jaw-dropping scenery, and very little unpleasantness (including traffic). </p><p>Between us and Wellington now lay areas in which I'd done a fair bit of riding. When we hit the sack at the end of our Raglan rest day, we had only the following night's accommodation booked in Otorohanga, and while I'd managed to extract Wednesday 6 January as an absolute deadline for getting home, how we'd use those eight days was still up in the air. </p><p>My rest day stats: <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/4532186968">93km ridden</a>, solo and unloaded.</p><p>Continued: <a href="https://sifter-writes-bikes.blogspot.com/2021/01/dont-leave-town-till-youve-seen-country_19.html" target="_blank">Part 2</a></p></div>sifterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15453244482461385029noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7894195099236501078.post-37636247868123897582020-11-18T20:16:00.004+13:002020-11-18T20:26:46.091+13:00The four corners of Chatham Island<p>As New Zealand's Level 4 lockdown rolled along, it became increasingly clear that overseas travel was going to be off the cards for a long while to come. While Sarah and I had two trips booked (Northern Italy, and Japan), it was easy to keep things in perspective, given the hell much of the world was going through, and it was nice that the cancellations were out of our hands. </p><p>Having travelled our guts out over the last couple of years, we were nonetheless motivated to travel domestically when we could. One evening on a whim, I spent a bit of time on Air Chathams' website, and while it would be a few months before we'd pull the trigger on tickets, the seed had been well and truly sown. </p><p>Mum and Dad had been booked to go to Italy with us, and having gauged their response to our booking news, another couple of tickets were immediately secured. In all, we'd spend 5 nights on the island, and by virtue of these straddling Labour weekend, Sarah and I only had to take a couple of days off work.</p><p>By the time our dates rolled around, we had not one, but two <a href="https://blackseal.nz/pages/open-u-p" target="_blank">Open U.P.s</a> in the family. I'd first used mine to <a href="http://sifter-writes-bikes.blogspot.com/2020/04/niue-gets-a-grade-but-i-dont.html" target="_blank">explore Niue</a>, before doing a <a href="http://sifter-writes-bikes.blogspot.com/2020/04/peaks-challenge-falls-creek.html" target="_blank">200km road gran fondo</a> on it, and am so in love with it, that I've barely ridden another bike since. Securing one for Sarah both enabled her to see what all my fuss was about, and would ensure we'd be completely compatible on the unbeaten path. </p><p>On travel day, I dropped Sarah and the bike bags at the airport, then drove to Mum and Dad's before returning with them to the airport in a cab. At check in, Sarah had been informed that the plane was full of freight, but we were promised our bikes would arrive at lunchtime the next day. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QjUYm-x70sE/X68PVSDe1YI/AAAAAAAALqY/pPAK-r6QrYo0SShDiRDb_A-nZTh3DuaHACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20201023_122845.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QjUYm-x70sE/X68PVSDe1YI/AAAAAAAALqY/pPAK-r6QrYo0SShDiRDb_A-nZTh3DuaHACLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20201023_122845.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Travel day is always exciting!<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br />The flight path out of Wellington was awesome - we took off to the north, and then headed east over Wainuiomata, and South Wairarapa. We were on the right-hand side of the plane, so were able to look down the various valleys towards the south coast. The islands are about 800km east of the mainland, so for a long while it was just ocean out the window, until we started our descent, and the view out the window started getting interesting again. <div><div><br /></div><div>We flew just north of the narrowest point of Chatham Island - from Petre Bay in the west, to Hanson Bay in the east. Out the window, we could see Lake Huro and the southern part of Te Whanga Lagoon, as well as North Road. We did a 180-degree turn over the ocean before coming into land at Tuuta Airport (CHT for the Av-geeks). </div><div><br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-d2gocj_DhtU/X68PU1TdgmI/AAAAAAAALqQ/DTqRECNoVH84Yl-XjkmHHK-h9oNETPIOACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20201023_165051.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-d2gocj_DhtU/X68PU1TdgmI/AAAAAAAALqQ/DTqRECNoVH84Yl-XjkmHHK-h9oNETPIOACLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20201023_165051.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looking south over (L-R): Te Whanga Lagoon, Lake Huro, Petre Bay. North Rd in the foreground</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /></div><div>Fresh off an impressive result in the previous weekend's election, local MP Paul Eagle was on the plane - flying from one end of his Rongotai electorate to the other. We had a short chat to him, during which he recommended a café (though without stressing that it was open only once a week!!). </div><div><br /></div><div>We were staying at one of many accommodation options run by <a href="https://www.hotelchatham.co.nz/" target="_blank">Hotel Chatham</a>, and had organised a shuttle from the airport to our two rooms in the "Lookout" complex. It was kind of nice not to have our bikes, and by the time we'd got oriented and unpacked, it was time for the five minute stroll down to the restaurant. </div><div><br /></div><div>En route we passed the city council building, the police station, and the Waitangi Cafe - luckily not the one we were after, since it had a sign just inside the locked door, reading: "CLOSED - Low on Kai - SORRY".</div><div><br /></div><div>Fortunately, there was no such issue at the hotel restaurant, and we all enjoyed our first dinner of one of the island's mainstays, blue cod. De-lish!</div><div><br /></div><div>Once we got home, we had a bit of an online search for the café Paul Eagle had recommended, and eventually stumbled upon the <a href="https://www.facebook.com/Food-Story-at-the-River-Onion-103586471362460/" target="_blank">River Onion's facebook page</a>. It was just as well we did - scrolling back over the recent activity in their feed, an important pattern was immediately evident - they only opened on Saturday mornings, and only stayed so until "11:30ish", i.e., until the food ran out. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>South-West</b></div><div><br /></div><div>First order of business was a walk to the River Onion. It took about 15 minutes, and after an enjoyable poke around their garden, we were second in the queue when they opened just before 9am. The food and coffee were great, as we'd been promised. </div><div><br /></div><div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-AFvPRK4FP0Y/X68gA3vtOPI/AAAAAAAALvI/o7nqr8JAMQMAyqBbbL5oeGI_91JWQW4jwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/IMG_20201024_081437.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-AFvPRK4FP0Y/X68gA3vtOPI/AAAAAAAALvI/o7nqr8JAMQMAyqBbbL5oeGI_91JWQW4jwCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/IMG_20201024_081437.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Given how the queue had grown behind us, it was very tough not to go berserk...</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div><br /></div><div>Feeling nicely sated, we scoped out the two grocery stores, and then headed to the hotel to enquire about collecting the bikes from the airport. My companions saved me from a melt-down, upon being told that we might not get the bikes until Tuesday morning - it was Saturday, but there was an open day at the airfield, Sunday everything was closed, and Monday was a public holiday. </div><div><br /></div><div>Given we would be flying home on the Wednesday morning, I was not at all excited about the prospect of a riding holiday with at most a single ride. In the end, it seemed that the best (and really, only) thing to do was hire a car, and go for a drive (in "Weka" - most of the rentals are named after birds). </div><div><br /></div><div>We started the drive by visiting the Air Chathams freight office in Te One, and spoke to a staff member. She warmed to the idea of us getting our bikes once she realised they were checked baggage rather than freight, and told us to come back at 5pm, by which time the clean-up from the open day should have been done. </div><div><br /></div><div>Feeling a little bit more positive, we had a lovely drive around Lake Huro, which involved a fair bit of gate opening, and passing through a large paddock full of cows, sheep and emus (!!), past the island's power station, en route to the wharf in the tiny community of Owenga. Our timing was great, and we were able to watch a fishing boat being hauled out of the ocean in very slick fashion. Not more than a few minutes elapsed between a bloke jumping off the boat onto the jetty, and the tractor engine being switched off! </div><div><br /></div><div>It was a few more minutes drive out to the road end to see a statue of Tommy Solomon - the last full-blooded Moriori. We sat and watched two very large seabirds behaving strangely, and Sarah narrowly avoided being gobbled up by a sunbathing seal. After the bike-related stress, it was very nice to be able to relax in the sunshine with my nearest and dearest.</div><div><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-IS8YXNhkFak/X68PWW2nxpI/AAAAAAAALqc/aITZqkXfVaoGbtxCCVpn7RRk2WFciX9sgCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20201024_120928.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-IS8YXNhkFak/X68PWW2nxpI/AAAAAAAALqc/aITZqkXfVaoGbtxCCVpn7RRk2WFciX9sgCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20201024_120928.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>On a whim, we took a short detour back past the freight office. It was only 2pm, but lo and behold, our bike bags were sitting forlornly under the verandah. Even had the airline known the value of the bikes, I'm sure they still would have left them out front - Chatham Island doesn't strike me as the sort of place where bike theft is an issue,</div><div><br /></div><div>The previous evening, Tom Paulin (a cycling buddy living in Singapore, who had lived just across the road from mum and dad as a boy) had got in touch with GPS coordinates of a beach on the lagoon, at which he'd found a fossilised shark-tooth. I suggested the others go check it out while I built up the bikes. They returned about 10 minutes after I'd finished my work, with nothing but a telling-off for their troubles! The island is entirely private land, and someone had given them an earful for straying 20-metres off the airport road to the lagoon's edge. </div><div><br /></div><div>Sarah and I rode the 5km back to our Lookout, while Mum and Dad drove the bike bags. There, we cyclists suited (and helmeted) up, and struck out for the first of the island's "four corners", the one we were closest to, in the South-West.</div><div><br /></div><div>The road turned to gravel almost immediately, and we climbed out of Waitangi past what looked like an old government radio station. I suspected this is where Upper Hutt (and ex Commonwealth Games) cyclist, Tony Graham, worked for a year in the early 80s. Initially, the scenery was a lot like we'd already seen - low lying farmland, with some massive patches of gorse!</div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xOA93ZHIzd8/X68PW4mkpaI/AAAAAAAALqg/6zQuu-pU0f0_truTLXgZf05Q_Ajz7xtKQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20201024_153950.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xOA93ZHIzd8/X68PW4mkpaI/AAAAAAAALqg/6zQuu-pU0f0_truTLXgZf05Q_Ajz7xtKQCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20201024_153950.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Low lying farm land and a massive patch of gorse!!! (Told you so)<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br />Every 5 minutes or so, we'd pass a farm house, and were surprised to see a radome off in the distance. </div><div><br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7DyVkRe5a24/X68PW9ToesI/AAAAAAAALqk/nTWhYpq5D3kUPUb29vqqUtsn0PP8ObTJQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20201024_160310.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7DyVkRe5a24/X68PW9ToesI/AAAAAAAALqk/nTWhYpq5D3kUPUb29vqqUtsn0PP8ObTJQCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20201024_160310.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">You're not on Hawkins Hill now, Dr Randal<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br />Even more surprising, was that the landscape looked more and more like Mongolia (ignoring the ocean, of course) - in particular, the lush green pastures, absence of fences, and free-range cows and sheep. It was very cool indeed, and not at all what we were expecting. <br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VJ5YIfUYCcY/X68PXlbuKjI/AAAAAAAALqo/9b_8GZQWKLIUjC7eWrSdZD-4pJLOF4jzwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20201024_160745.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VJ5YIfUYCcY/X68PXlbuKjI/AAAAAAAALqo/9b_8GZQWKLIUjC7eWrSdZD-4pJLOF4jzwCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20201024_160745.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-iI3N8Gs0foA/X68PYNjUp4I/AAAAAAAALqs/loJKHtmDu20fmoBmL0RVwCYBYn_XPGgogCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20201024_161420.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-iI3N8Gs0foA/X68PYNjUp4I/AAAAAAAALqs/loJKHtmDu20fmoBmL0RVwCYBYn_XPGgogCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20201024_161420.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>There hadn't been much in the way of bush, but near the road end was a conservation area, and with it came some natives at long last.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jAO42TastzQ/X68PYV_PD6I/AAAAAAAALqw/Wt4eDDCxl_Qy4kBoKhrKCgoe3pRHVv45gCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20201024_162403.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jAO42TastzQ/X68PYV_PD6I/AAAAAAAALqw/Wt4eDDCxl_Qy4kBoKhrKCgoe3pRHVv45gCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20201024_162403.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Soon, we came to a locked gate. We debated the merits of continuing, but a council sign just inside the gate, warning that the road was unmaintained, seemed to imply it was fair game. Besides, there was a bicycle friendly track around the gate, which we took. </div><div><br /></div><div>While we had lights, we had also told the grandparents we'd be only a couple of hours. We could see the road stretching off into the distance, and it didn't look like a dead end was going to force us back any time soon. </div><div><br /></div><div>Instead, nature stepped in, and in the most wonderful way possible. I startled a couple of large birds which I instantly identified as parea - the Chatham Island pigeon - a cousin of my favourite bird, the kererū. They didn't fly far and settled beside the road. I stopped, and signalled for Sarah to do the same. We walked as close as we dared, and realised there were not two but four of them, behaving very much like common pigeons, browsing on the ground (something I've never seen kererū do). </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6Gc9HgL22HQ/X68PYzxr6yI/AAAAAAAALq0/atDbfAH-QGIJmraiKczv1oPhguRc65WbACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20201024_163732.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6Gc9HgL22HQ/X68PYzxr6yI/AAAAAAAALq0/atDbfAH-QGIJmraiKczv1oPhguRc65WbACLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20201024_163732.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">We admired them for five minutes or so, and then decided this was an auspicious point to start retracing our steps - it seemed very unlikely we could have ridden past the magnificent birds without ruining their meal. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Our just reward was yet another parea, again on the ground. This one I approached slowly, snapping photos as I did so. What a treat!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NvDOK2rDGUI/X68gT9f7bCI/AAAAAAAALvQ/ufuz_P9np5orDwfidTy0Sym_USd8FZKbQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/IMG_20201024_155947.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NvDOK2rDGUI/X68gT9f7bCI/AAAAAAAALvQ/ufuz_P9np5orDwfidTy0Sym_USd8FZKbQCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/IMG_20201024_155947.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The ride back to Waitangi passed quickly, interrupted only by a short conversation with some locals. We told them we thought it looked like Mongolia, and turned down their kind offer of a lift back to town!</div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-YNYRnSLR6U8/X68QlUWTTaI/AAAAAAAALrU/aOTJHXKkXkMlgqCo4A9jXNOBi3dNhWs3wCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20201024_170405.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-YNYRnSLR6U8/X68QlUWTTaI/AAAAAAAALrU/aOTJHXKkXkMlgqCo4A9jXNOBi3dNhWs3wCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20201024_170405.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Many of the trees betrayed the battering they get from the wind<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br />Ma and Pa were either pretending to be relaxed about our lateness, or they actually were, and after a quick shower, we joined them down at the hotel for dinner. Afterwards, we drove up the nearest hill, and went for a short walk to a lookout giving a view of the fairly new wharf.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bVEFfhC8qSw/X68QlUIBzzI/AAAAAAAALrc/-0Xfcm7jwkwOlCS3dYrnUgFdNifitqAvwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20201024_192027.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bVEFfhC8qSw/X68QlUIBzzI/AAAAAAAALrc/-0Xfcm7jwkwOlCS3dYrnUgFdNifitqAvwCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20201024_192027.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>The interpretation panel at the lookout had a quote on it that stuck with me - something along the lines of "god made the Chatham Islands last - he used whatever he had leftover in his wheelbarrow." The first day's explorations had indeed been surprisingly full of variety, and there was more yet to come. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lpyXcbB8uCI/X68QlfGwALI/AAAAAAAALrY/WNNxJ54gOgUkf15j08U-0OEzOWVcLG9pgCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20201024_192428.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lpyXcbB8uCI/X68QlfGwALI/AAAAAAAALrY/WNNxJ54gOgUkf15j08U-0OEzOWVcLG9pgCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20201024_192428.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Stats: <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/4235061186">38km ridden</a>, 0% sealed</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>North-East</b></div><div><br /></div><div>The next day, Mum and Dad were booked on a tour, while Sarah and I were striking out for what looked to be the most remote corner, in the north east of the island. </div><div><br /></div><div>The hotelier, Toni Croon, had been a bit nervous about us riding on North Road beyond the sealed section (which ended just beyond the Air Chathams office at Te One). We figured if we could survive "the <a href="https://sifter-writes-bikes.blogspot.com/2019/06/taiwan-cyclist-tourists-paradise.html">notorious Suhua Highway</a>", we'd cope with whatever the Chathams served up, but it was probably not a bad thing that it was a Sunday - there shouldn't be any trucks on the road, and there would be no airport traffic. As it was, we only saw a couple of vehicles in the first hour of riding, and it never really picked up!</div><div> </div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qJ_GGk7Tf_w/X68Qmtjl5vI/AAAAAAAALrg/S3vd1P8ZyIwgVQulaL5v5LlAwnN4pHnmgCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20201025_092549.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qJ_GGk7Tf_w/X68Qmtjl5vI/AAAAAAAALrg/S3vd1P8ZyIwgVQulaL5v5LlAwnN4pHnmgCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20201025_092549.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Heading north, on ... North Road<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br />We had a pretty big day ahead of us, so we didn't add in the dead end road to the airport, and we similarly ignored the next day's turnoff towards Port Hutt. We'd discovered that our presence got any nearby cattle in a tizz, and so were often spending minutes at a time with a herd stampeding just ahead of us. Invariably, they'd go crashing over a fence at some point, causing us to cringe even more. </div><div><br /></div><div>North Road hugged the shore of Te Whanga Lagoon for a wee while, and we noted many black swans on it. Just prior to turning off the main road, we had a short nosey at a schist mine, one of a few we passed during our visit. <br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3Qo_xHeTSgE/X68QnHLYJbI/AAAAAAAALrk/DXPVKEtMRCgYx5vamImKYxH_24QxLg9uQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20201025_100918.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3Qo_xHeTSgE/X68QnHLYJbI/AAAAAAAALrk/DXPVKEtMRCgYx5vamImKYxH_24QxLg9uQCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20201025_100918.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Wharekauri Road took us up over a ridge from which we got great views of some of the distinct hills in the area. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NADTwhxaagk/X68QnbAcXMI/AAAAAAAALro/sNETqHKbAikZjM2tCGtaAJcnStIVFFSjQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20201025_101651.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NADTwhxaagk/X68QnbAcXMI/AAAAAAAALro/sNETqHKbAikZjM2tCGtaAJcnStIVFFSjQCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20201025_101651.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Over the top of the ridge, the road went through a stand of pine trees, and when we emerged out the other end, we had great views down to the northern coast. The colours of the ocean were stunning, and there was a lovely turquoise strip along the shallows. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8Cr1vSjB2_k/X68QoBsx5gI/AAAAAAAALrs/W4mgHva8gqYiKrm2lirFmrS1QbgTsRVGwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20201025_103031.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8Cr1vSjB2_k/X68QoBsx5gI/AAAAAAAALrs/W4mgHva8gqYiKrm2lirFmrS1QbgTsRVGwCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20201025_103031.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>At the road end, we met some locals driving. They told us that we'd been on private land for a fair while, but didn't seem overly fussed about it. We warned them that Sarah had dropped a couple of muesli bars on the descent and asked them not to run them over! As we set off back up the road, a van-load of tourists was heading through a farm (off to to see Splatter Rock), and we wondered if amongst them were the grandparents. Giving the residents the benefit of the doubt, it must have been the van that had run over one of the two bars!</div><div><br /></div><div>Back on the main road, we started to ride in a more easterly direction, with sand dunes on our left, and the lagoon on our right. There were some lovely pockets of native bush, which made a change from the gorse, open pasture, or tussock. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-H9Xaa9zcRRY/X68QovZjMwI/AAAAAAAALrw/lpJ9Tw74CCQy797VHZzAf-Xr19q3QvhRACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20201025_113411.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-H9Xaa9zcRRY/X68QovZjMwI/AAAAAAAALrw/lpJ9Tw74CCQy797VHZzAf-Xr19q3QvhRACLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20201025_113411.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>While we'd forgone a few extras up to this point, at the Ocean Mail Scenic Reserve we decided to do the full Lake Loop (overlooking that the MTB symbol in the <a href="https://www.doc.govt.nz/globalassets/documents/parks-and-recreation/tracks-and-walks/chatham-islands/chatham-island-walks.pdf" target="_blank">DOC Brochure</a> only applied to the very first part of the track). There was a wee bit of walking involved, and it was frustrating at times to be making very slow progress, but after the best part of an hour, we were back on the gravel road. </div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-F7hau3HjRXg/X68Qo0te8rI/AAAAAAAALr0/3CTs3q9cHGML-eiroMeCh0n5-8iUjkF0ACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20201025_115332.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-F7hau3HjRXg/X68Qo0te8rI/AAAAAAAALr0/3CTs3q9cHGML-eiroMeCh0n5-8iUjkF0ACLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20201025_115332.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Aster Walk, Ocean Mail Scenic Reserve<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br />Soon after, we entered Kaingaroa Station, and turned right at the first intersection, down a road terminating at the JM Barker (Hāpūpū) National Historic Reserve. There was a tour group just inside the reserve, but between them and us was a sign indicating we shouldn't enter without a guide. Had we been a bit more prepared, we might have been able to see ancient Moriori dendroglyphs (tree carvings). <br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-nWI6x9F9TZY/X68QpV2CAcI/AAAAAAAALr4/48iitP7rzFAiaDwtquAGnI_Hh4MNtdXswCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20201025_125326.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-nWI6x9F9TZY/X68QpV2CAcI/AAAAAAAALr4/48iitP7rzFAiaDwtquAGnI_Hh4MNtdXswCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20201025_125326.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A spot of R&R<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br />Back on the bikes, we had a stiff headwind to tackle through to the intersection, before continuing past the turnoff to Kaingaroa village, and on to the gate of Muirson Station, through which we'd pass to reach Point Munning. At the gate, it suggested that we should stop at the farm house, since we hadn't pre-arranged access. No-one answered the door, so we rode on.</div><div><br /></div><div>There were a couple of attractions on the station, the first of which were the remnants of a German missionary settlement.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-SMhLNg0xW5o/X68QqLr4oYI/AAAAAAAALr8/ytZSrXTlHQMSfiUG6J5q2Eaiytqmy_ibgCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20201025_135427.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-SMhLNg0xW5o/X68QqLr4oYI/AAAAAAAALr8/ytZSrXTlHQMSfiUG6J5q2Eaiytqmy_ibgCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20201025_135427.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>After another few gates, we reached the Point Munning conservation covenant, and rode along a lawn-mower-wide path until its end. We sat for 5 minutes and watched dozens of seals playing in the ocean (and a few sunbathing on rocks). I spotted one penguin in the water too, but it vanished, never to be seen again!<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-SR1FaoyapMg/X68g3t2pgxI/AAAAAAAALvg/NyzFi-R8mrI2xcVz9yMkAuxqcWUWTQbzQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/IMG_20201025_133421%2B%25282%2529.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1537" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-SR1FaoyapMg/X68g3t2pgxI/AAAAAAAALvg/NyzFi-R8mrI2xcVz9yMkAuxqcWUWTQbzQCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/IMG_20201025_133421%2B%25282%2529.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Admiring the Point Munning seal colony<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br />We tried again at the farm house on the way back, but still no answer. We then tried a second home, and were told it was no problem to go visit the seal colony (phew). Unfortunately, I didn't ask about the Sunderland Flying Boat remains, which unbeknownst to me were inside a massive shed not 50 metres away, but we did see the remains of a Fokker Friendship lying in the garden.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VpewdyNauBk/X68Qq2dIKuI/AAAAAAAALsE/uaFomVX0IKQ2Vymw4awwfa22yZe90kOrQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20201025_145010.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VpewdyNauBk/X68Qq2dIKuI/AAAAAAAALsE/uaFomVX0IKQ2Vymw4awwfa22yZe90kOrQCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20201025_145010.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Sightseeing done, it was time to return to Waitangi, some 55km away. On the way back, we ducked into the wee fishing village of Kaingaroa. It had a jetty, a primary school (the other on the island being at Te One), and picture-postcard beaches. </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-o_lu4Hj9rH0/X68QrQF_7FI/AAAAAAAALsI/PCaBDGeAkAw5NBrmBKh1W-TxSBr1R6VHwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20201025_151223.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-o_lu4Hj9rH0/X68QrQF_7FI/AAAAAAAALsI/PCaBDGeAkAw5NBrmBKh1W-TxSBr1R6VHwCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20201025_151223.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>About 20km later, we reached the point that North Road turned south, and we'd have a stonking tailwind back to Waitangi. Before we got there, we were hailed by two guys in a ute, who just happened to be the brothers we'd spoken to the evening before at the opposite end of the island! They offered us a lift again, which we declined (again)!</div><div><br /></div><div>Despite feeling a touch weary, I couldn't resist checking out the short "MTB" loop in the Nikau Bush Conservation Area. Sarah's self control was much better than mine, so she continued south alone. The loop had its moments, and better to regret something you did, than something you didn't...</div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Fo1uLrS-pwY/X68Qr2zHmSI/AAAAAAAALsM/vm4iGIs-Cg8D3f808uvKJiUrgPaKMAZ0wCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20201025_170011.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Fo1uLrS-pwY/X68Qr2zHmSI/AAAAAAAALsM/vm4iGIs-Cg8D3f808uvKJiUrgPaKMAZ0wCLcBGAsYHQ/w300-h400/20201025_170011.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Deep in the Nikau Bush<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div>My legs seemed up for a bit of a downwind smash-fest once back on the road, until soon after, they weren't. The MTB trail was short, but had been pretty slow, and it seemed very unlikely that I'd catch up to Sarah, even though I had the best part of 25km to get to Waitangi. </div><div><br /></div><div>Once there, I headed straight to our unit. It was no surprise to find it deserted, since I still had the bloody key in my pocket. I had a quick shower and headed down to the hotel to join the family, and inhale a much needed dinner - Sunday roast, of course. </div><div><br /></div><div>We'd seen the bus-load of tourists at JM Barker Reserve, and again on our way out of Point Munning. They'd passed me after my Nikau Bush excursion, and Sarah some time later up the road. I got more than one gentle ribbing in the buffet queue that I hadn't been able to keep up with my wife...! Apparently the bus had been divided as to why I was so far behind. </div><div><br /></div><div>Mum and Dad had enjoyed their tour, and had made some friends (as well as seeing some sights - Splatter Rock included, though later in the day than the group we'd seen heading there). </div><div><br /></div><div>Stats: <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/4239621474">156km ridden</a>, approx 10% sealed</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>North-West</b></div><div><br /></div><div>My organisational skills peaked on Day 3. Mum and Dad were happy to drive our route, with a view to connecting at a couple of the main sights and also hauling some food and drink around. I suggested that Sarah skip the first 45 minutes of the ride, keeping out of the wind rather than joining me as I grovelled along the same stretch we'd started on the previous day.</div><div><br /></div><div>This time, I did go down to the airport, where there were three planes on the apron - a couple of older turboprops, and a brand-new (to the airline) ATR 72 (which we'd flown in on). </div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0Q6ZjI77SWU/X68RY0ARRsI/AAAAAAAALss/67pkEMfXwesd17kej1air5ZRY6tfG_w-ACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20201026_100250.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0Q6ZjI77SWU/X68RY0ARRsI/AAAAAAAALss/67pkEMfXwesd17kej1air5ZRY6tfG_w-ACLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20201026_100250.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The older stalwarts of the fleet</td></tr></tbody></table><br />"Weka" had passed me early in the ride, bound for a beach along North Road, where its passengers hoped to find some fossilised shark teeth. My progress since I'd seen them had felt slow, yet I wasn't sure who'd be waiting for whom. As it turned out, they'd had time to find a couple of teeth, and get back to our designated meeting point a few minutes before I arrived. </div><div><br /></div><div>Once Sarah's bike was out of the car and I'd inhaled a couple of cookies, it was time to continue battling into the wind. Sarah was well rested, but my legs were warm, and it took a while to get our pacing sorted. <br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xO1OUi9XRGE/X68RZANFKRI/AAAAAAAALs0/9w5vH0uLfu4qPwFKD8VGTbLaunktzt2SQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20201026_110623.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xO1OUi9XRGE/X68RZANFKRI/AAAAAAAALs0/9w5vH0uLfu4qPwFKD8VGTbLaunktzt2SQCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20201026_110623.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>The road was constantly undulating, and was much more like the first day's ride than the second. On the other hand, the vegetation was very different, reminding me of the Desert Road in the Central Plateau of the North Island!</div><div><br /></div><div>Our first tourist stop was a cracker. Toni had given us a gate key, and a farm track took us down to the coast, where Sarah finally discovered what "basalt columns" are. The mini giant's causeway consisted of a number of really impressive outcrops, over a 300m stretch of coastline. The "wheelbarrow" parable was making more and more sense. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QseYL7P834U/X68RZDdhQLI/AAAAAAAALsw/WbdX2HA_mf8VFFUzHc75y_9tyoxNudgbgCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20201026_112820.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QseYL7P834U/X68RZDdhQLI/AAAAAAAALsw/WbdX2HA_mf8VFFUzHc75y_9tyoxNudgbgCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20201026_112820.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-z_P3VblPxrg/X68RaJcn-sI/AAAAAAAALs4/oZVQPxMG8xUyYvAaLIcQW4BDkcJvpe3TwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20201026_114409.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-z_P3VblPxrg/X68RaJcn-sI/AAAAAAAALs4/oZVQPxMG8xUyYvAaLIcQW4BDkcJvpe3TwCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20201026_114409.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>After about 15 minutes admiring this incredible feature, we headed off the private property and back into the headwind. It was fascinating feeling like we were riding through an alpine environment, but in a haze due presumably, to sea spray kicked up from heavy seas pounding the northern coastline. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/--AVetPS3kpA/X68Ral54lFI/AAAAAAAALs8/1VzXRpVtixYRYiy1uyhxRqHmSPjEotk7ACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20201026_122323%25280%2529.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/--AVetPS3kpA/X68Ral54lFI/AAAAAAAALs8/1VzXRpVtixYRYiy1uyhxRqHmSPjEotk7ACLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20201026_122323%25280%2529.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>We hadn't seen the parents since the basalt columns, but they were waiting for us at a farm gate, through which was the Maunganui Stone Cottage, built in the 1860s by German missionaries. We followed the vehicle tracks to another gate, and from there, walked, accompanied by a loud but otherwise friendly dog. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-R6vsUEQPHoE/X68RapUjobI/AAAAAAAALtA/meP-qgBbeF4LwIpjM-Amzj44ofBcnSvvQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20201026_125855.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-R6vsUEQPHoE/X68RapUjobI/AAAAAAAALtA/meP-qgBbeF4LwIpjM-Amzj44ofBcnSvvQCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20201026_125855.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Toni had rung ahead and let the cottage's inhabitant, Helen Bint, know we were coming. She's a bit of <a href="https://thisnzlife.co.nz/from-city-life-to-the-chathams-islands-why-helen-bint-chose-a-life-of-isolation-in-remote-new-zealand/" target="_blank">a celebrity</a>, and told us all about her fascinating life off-grid (the generator was "too noisy"). Despite not being overly keen on dogs, Helen's dog seemed keen on me, and opened up a bit of freshly healed skin on my knee with a gnarly claw, much to my disgust. That said, it was a small price to pay for an interesting spell out of the wind! </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-afcfHXnKJXk/X68Rbc2qNJI/AAAAAAAALtE/ffiWYQRUbuEya4a8PI78dPwQ16y9ldWEwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20201026_131304.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-afcfHXnKJXk/X68Rbc2qNJI/AAAAAAAALtE/ffiWYQRUbuEya4a8PI78dPwQ16y9ldWEwCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20201026_131304.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Another party arrived, and we soon excused ourselves. </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-WVWDaKpi1QI/X68fE9rRpSI/AAAAAAAALuw/YgK2HBDnwyoJjjtPgFWSHgq4MJYYhnxNwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/IMG_9123.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-WVWDaKpi1QI/X68fE9rRpSI/AAAAAAAALuw/YgK2HBDnwyoJjjtPgFWSHgq4MJYYhnxNwCLcBGAsYHQ/w300-h400/IMG_9123.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br /><div>Back at the road, we all continued to the Waitangi West roadend, the parents continuing a little further than I would have, by passing through someone's closed gate. On reflection, much of their previous day's tour would have been through closed gates, and it wasn't always easy to know how to interpret them. </div><div><br /></div><div>It was a lot of fun seeing the sights this way, and we regrouped again at Port Hutt. We didn't go right to the end of the road, but far enough to see the wreck of the Thomas Currell in the harbour. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Jm3GYdKmYqc/X68RcUZlTqI/AAAAAAAALtI/p1PVqjxR9V0x_PztEzP-lzcWHO6vwmsuQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20201026_151312.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Jm3GYdKmYqc/X68RcUZlTqI/AAAAAAAALtI/p1PVqjxR9V0x_PztEzP-lzcWHO6vwmsuQCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20201026_151312.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>From Port Hutt, the road was just as up and down as it had been in the outbound direction, but this time the wind was much more favourable and it passed quickly. Sarah and I didn't talk much, but I was constantly pinging off photos of her as she approached and then disappeared off into the distance!</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-nJmZKcBVV9Q/X68RcSmOiFI/AAAAAAAALtM/FNv0PtKTZSEzj3lWr-Slkp-nUdgh1oUFQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20201026_153436.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-nJmZKcBVV9Q/X68RcSmOiFI/AAAAAAAALtM/FNv0PtKTZSEzj3lWr-Slkp-nUdgh1oUFQCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20201026_153436.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Just short of the intersection with North Road, Mum and Dad had sorted out a tour of Admiral Garden (owned by our hotelier's parents). There, we heard a whole lot of interesting things about island life, including that the high-school aged kids all go off to college "in New Zealand". </div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tXFfyVTSzCk/X68RdKjG85I/AAAAAAAALtQ/infVvO0pkzkc4Ba4RIp21k3Q_-lDMZpnQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20201026_163629.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tXFfyVTSzCk/X68RdKjG85I/AAAAAAAALtQ/infVvO0pkzkc4Ba4RIp21k3Q_-lDMZpnQCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20201026_163629.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chatham Island Forget-me-nots. In situ.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br />Over the span of about 20 years, the Croons had transformed a paddock into a very lovely home and garden, and it was a treat to be shown around. </div><div><br /></div><div>From there, Sarah and I bade Weka farewell - we planned to take a long cut around Lake Huro - the only loop road on the whole island. While the emus had been in full view a couple of days earlier when we'd driven through, unfortunately we only saw one, and it wasn't particularly close. <br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-JIIhcev-ygE/X68Rd-Wg-3I/AAAAAAAALtU/Q-D-mtq7fS4BXgFNJaygcofuK8L1v7Z8wCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20201026_174448.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-JIIhcev-ygE/X68Rd-Wg-3I/AAAAAAAALtU/Q-D-mtq7fS4BXgFNJaygcofuK8L1v7Z8wCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20201026_174448.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wind battered akeake (Chatham Island tree daisy)<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br />After 10km or so, and a bunch of farm gates, we joined the main road between Owenga and Waitangi, just up the road from the power station. <br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-V0rmOtWVGME/X68Rdx2KECI/AAAAAAAALtY/rI7Fx2EnYUsfGi5H5o05iKhemrIlFNLKgCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20201026_175951.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-V0rmOtWVGME/X68Rdx2KECI/AAAAAAAALtY/rI7Fx2EnYUsfGi5H5o05iKhemrIlFNLKgCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20201026_175951.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Island's power station<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>A downside of the detour was that we faced the headwind once more, but the most exposed section was downhill, and by then we were almost done. With just one short ride ahead, it was time to dial back on the calorie intake... </div><div><br /></div><div>Stats: <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/4244585407">119km ridden</a>, approx 6% sealed</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>South-East</b></div><div><br /></div><div>We'd been very lucky with the weather, but that luck ran out on the last day. It was wet when we woke, and the forecast didn't suggest things would change. Nonetheless, it seemed sensible to delay the ride on the off chance things would dry out, and what better way to do so that to check out the local museum.</div><div><br /></div><div>We had to wait for a wee while due to a COVID-related limit on the number of people who could be in the museum at a single time. In the waiting room was a topo map of the island, and I was amazed to see that Te Whanga Lagoon has a useable ford across it (from the airfield to near the JM Barker Reserve), which appears to be several kilometres long! I'm not sure that it counts as a "tourist attraction", but it definitely goes on my "ones that got away" list...!</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-au76hPC4mzM/X68RyLgeObI/AAAAAAAALt0/M2pBWLci3Z012QuukaYWPMMgan5c7_zGQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20201027_101206.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-au76hPC4mzM/X68RyLgeObI/AAAAAAAALt0/M2pBWLci3Z012QuukaYWPMMgan5c7_zGQCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20201027_101206.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>The museum had some fascinating exhibits, but the highlight was watching Sarah place the very first pin into Mongolia, on the "places in the world visitors to the Chatham Islands have come from" map. We'd conjectured that she was likely the very first Mongolian to set foot here, and while not exactly proof, this suggested we were quite possibly correct!</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NyEf-PyKdcY/X68RyQT5U-I/AAAAAAAALt8/KeYlzxnMFiQPs5MRls11ZtwKvV0uDNIDwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20201027_110312.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NyEf-PyKdcY/X68RyQT5U-I/AAAAAAAALt8/KeYlzxnMFiQPs5MRls11ZtwKvV0uDNIDwCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20201027_110312.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>After a bit of lunch, the weather had shown little improvement, so it was time to harden up and get out there - we were very close to our goal of riding all the public roads, and our first day's drive out to Owenga didn't count. </div><div><br /></div><div>Speaking of driving out to Owenga, we didn't have to work to convince Pop to drive us both out there. Without Mum in the car, we had plenty of space for both bikes, and it was very nice to set off from the road-end temporarily clean and dry.</div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NJYtguLL8T8/X68RyVQXhxI/AAAAAAAALt4/TUpShaRNpIoH7iS2do6vC6haLik33eaLQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20201027_123941.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NJYtguLL8T8/X68RyVQXhxI/AAAAAAAALt4/TUpShaRNpIoH7iS2do6vC6haLik33eaLQCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20201027_123941.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Site of Tommy Solomon's statue<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br />As tempting as it was to make a beeline for a shower, we rode a couple of side roads, including one down to the Owenga jetty. It was much quieter than it had been on our first visit. <br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-icHwZGKaiXQ/X68Rzd1yfkI/AAAAAAAALuA/Hs2q0_pSC_kPTwUgBJB852WJpEvgBQXCwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20201027_125325.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-icHwZGKaiXQ/X68Rzd1yfkI/AAAAAAAALuA/Hs2q0_pSC_kPTwUgBJB852WJpEvgBQXCwCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20201027_125325.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>My back was feeling a bit funky, and I was worried about it causing problems and had asked Pops to hang around for 10 mins or so. With no cell reception, it would have been a bit of a nightmare to coordinate a rescue! Confident that I'd be able to nurse it home, we sent him off. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-EpmRbXMqezA/X68Rz4sKeDI/AAAAAAAALuI/N7N16DbrZ6AosYzau_VomCni6Gi8PyRdwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20201027_140633.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-EpmRbXMqezA/X68Rz4sKeDI/AAAAAAAALuI/N7N16DbrZ6AosYzau_VomCni6Gi8PyRdwCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20201027_140633.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>I'd noticed Sarah had lost a tube from under her saddle, and when she failed to appear at the hilltop overlooking Waitangi, I started to get worried that she'd punctured, or worse, come to grief. Eventually I turned back, only for her to immediately appear, explaining that she'd gone up the driveway to Kōpinga Marae, assuming I'd done the same. </div><div><br /></div><div>Despite being filthy and with bikes groaning for the lack of lubricant and otherwise clean surfaces, we added 15 minutes or so to the end of the ride diving down the various deadends in Waitangi itself. Back at base, we cleaned the bikes as best we could, and ourselves, and headed down to hotel for our final meal of blue cod! Across the five nights, I'd had it four ways: battered, baked, smoked, and in a mighty fine chowder!</div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ytg7l3iliJA/X68RzkwQi6I/AAAAAAAALuE/wqGk4IsjnrMH6jQZ5eOwvDuC1dKHssnZgCLcBGAsYHQ/s2539/20201027_181205.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1238" data-original-width="2539" height="195" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ytg7l3iliJA/X68RzkwQi6I/AAAAAAAALuE/wqGk4IsjnrMH6jQZ5eOwvDuC1dKHssnZgCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h195/20201027_181205.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Family holiday, great success!<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Stats: <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/4248167730">35-filthy-wet-km ridden</a>, 10% sealed</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>Debrief</b></div><div><br /></div><div>The next morning, we loaded both bike bags in the back of Weka, and went down to the hotel to check out. Sarah I drove to the airport, and Mum and Dad went in the hotel mini-van. Both petrol pumps were out of service, so we left the key and a bit of cash in the car at the airport carpark! </div><div><br /></div><div>As we climbed away from Tuuta Airfield, we got our last views over the island, and before too long we were enjoying the brief but still-fascinating vantage down over Wainuiomata that this unusual flight path affords.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VG0jcI6Zg9Y/X68R0c8ry4I/AAAAAAAALuM/5-X__B6s1O027VmoB1w3OGkeMarOKoA5QCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20201028_110417.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VG0jcI6Zg9Y/X68R0c8ry4I/AAAAAAAALuM/5-X__B6s1O027VmoB1w3OGkeMarOKoA5QCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20201028_110417.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>While our bikes were aboard this time, the ATR was similarly loaded to the outbound journey - each of the seats in the first 14 rows had freight on it, this time, apparently, a couple of crates of crayfish each! </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Xu7xhnrONl0/X68R0g8EqkI/AAAAAAAALuQ/74h0wJkwpmIBklIK2ZoxGq9gcfQuQ_J4wCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20201028_111654.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Xu7xhnrONl0/X68R0g8EqkI/AAAAAAAALuQ/74h0wJkwpmIBklIK2ZoxGq9gcfQuQ_J4wCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20201028_111654.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>We were all really thrilled with how our short holiday had gone - the format was great, and we all really enjoyed one another's company. Too boot, Mum and Dad had made some new friends courtesy of their day tour, and that the hotel restaurant was the only game in town. </div><div><br /></div><div>Tempting to say "in hindsight", but actually it is so obvious, no hindsight is needed - we could have seen a few more things had we been more organised, and I dare say Sarah and I could have ridden a few more farm tracks with Toni Croon's help. </div><div><br /></div><div>We would all highly recommend a visit to this fascinating place. Coffee addicts should know that while the rooms likely have a coffee plunger, there's only instant coffee on sale in the two stores. It is easy enough to make do for breakfast and lunch supplies, but if you're fussy, it would be worth taking a few things with you.</div><div><br /></div><div>From a riding point of view, this place is perfect, especially given that the cycling world is in the early stages of a "gravel bike" phase. We were rolling on 650b wheels with 47mm tyres (three WTB Venture and one Byway between us). These were pretty much perfect, and there were only a few short stretches where the gravel was worth hating. And, if you're going to run those tyres on anything, there's no better platform than the <a href="https://opencycle.com/UP">Open Cycle Unbeaten Path</a>.</div><div><br /></div><div>For the most part, it was very enjoyable and stress-free cycling. There are no shops anywhere other than Waitangi, and even there, hours are pretty limited. Our format of out-and-back-and-down-everything was fine in terms of the distances involved, but in the height of summer, water might be an issue (I'm sure Toni could hook you up with a friendly and strategically placed local though). The hills are much to speak of, but the wind can make up for what gravity doesn't. On the longest day, you have to keep moving to get the riding and the sightseeing done. </div><div><br /></div><div>According to <a href="http://wandrer.earth">wandrer.earth</a>, I rode 165.7 unique kilometres on the island, and the total ride distance was just over double, i.e. 348km. They were some mighty fine kilometres, I'm glad to say! <br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2fR6YRaPzhM/X7DkJHMuycI/AAAAAAAALvw/fTSZwV3fDt0H3PtOP0C7lcLOHXTESgFMACLcBGAsYHQ/s1916/chatham-wandrer.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1916" data-original-width="1722" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2fR6YRaPzhM/X7DkJHMuycI/AAAAAAAALvw/fTSZwV3fDt0H3PtOP0C7lcLOHXTESgFMACLcBGAsYHQ/w360-h400/chatham-wandrer.png" width="360" /></a></div><br /><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b>Postscript</b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">It is a bit of a hoot to have recently been to a place that has gained some notoriety in the world media, as "<a href="https://edition.cnn.com/travel/article/chatham-islands-new-zealand-overtourism-intl-hnk/index.html" target="_blank">the only place in the world experiencing overtourism right now</a>". I'd suggest you book accommodation before pulling the trigger on flights, or, be prepared to take a tent!</div></div></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div>sifterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15453244482461385029noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7894195099236501078.post-37379851993817049252020-08-30T09:31:00.669+12:002020-08-31T22:22:05.917+12:00A late winter bromantic getaway<p> Following a successful long weekend in Whanganui with the WAGs, Brendan and I seized on a five day gap I had in my meeting schedule in late-August, and began to plan a spot of credit card touring. Inspired by the successful pattern Simon and I established, I advocated for as short a drive as possible, followed by some heavenly back roads. </p><p>Brendan made a couple of suggestions which sounded a lot like <a href="http://sifter-writes-bikes.blogspot.com/2010/09/triangle-trip-credit-card-touring-on.html" target="_blank">The Triangle Trip</a> I'd done with Simon, mashed up with a ride Sarah and I had done from <a href="http://sifter-writes-bikes.blogspot.com/2015/08/training-and-cycle-touring-with-sarah.html" target="_blank">National Park to Featherston</a>, ten and five years ago, respectively. I countered with a loop out of Stratford, and eventually my powers of persuasion won out. </p><p>As work pressures mounted and the days started to show signs of lengthening, the wait grew increasingly agonising, but it did give me an opportunity to get a bit of kit from <a href="https://www.cyclewerks.co.nz/" target="_blank">Bryce at Cyclewerks</a> - a bolt-on "Gas Tank" top tube bag for my Open, and a Pronghorn handlebar bag, both from Revelate Designs. I've had a fantastic experience with various Revelate seat bags, and these additions were as well thought out as I'd come to expect. </p><p>Bryce had also supplied some Teravail Sparwood tyres, but I ran out of time to replace my pretty worn WTB Byway rear tyre. Not very pro, and I left home with my fingers crossed that it would survive another 600km or so.</p><p>My tried and true <a href="http://sifter-writes-bikes.blogspot.com/2013/01/gear.html" target="_blank">gear list</a> is always worth a glance at, though could probably do with an update to reflect the few tweaks I've made over the last few years. I stowed tools, chain oil, toilet paper and some hand sanitiser in the Gas Tank, overnight stuff in my trusted Revelate Viscacha, and storm-wear in the Pronghorn. Packed up, the bike felt very nicely balanced, and ready for its shake-down tour. </p><p>We managed to sneak away from a wet Wellington at about 2pm on the Wednesday afternoon, and the drive to Stratford passed easily, helped along by coffee in Levin, and some Pad Thai in Hawera. </p><p><br /></p><h4 style="text-align: center;">Day 1 - Stratford to Mokau</h4><p>Mt Taranaki was looking majestic when we woke up, though it set horribly unrealistic expectations for the day's riding ahead. </p><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jKjk8Pgxna8/X0naB1TWW2I/AAAAAAAALhw/rdTuDr528Rwg94tgELOpwpgueD4Qep7CQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20200820_065839.jpg"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="384" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jKjk8Pgxna8/X0naB1TWW2I/AAAAAAAALhw/rdTuDr528Rwg94tgELOpwpgueD4Qep7CQCLcBGAsYHQ/w512-h384/20200820_065839.jpg" width="512" /></a></div><br />We managed to stay dry for the 5 minute ride into Stratford-central, but by the time we'd finished breakfast, ridden 5km on the main drag down to Midhurst, and jumped onto our first back roads, the weather had become pretty grim - wet, and about 8 degrees with a cold wind blowing.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-dwo9ivk9Bhk/X0naCDIGIaI/AAAAAAAALh0/Rn8r79k8lxAo6X7peHYV8-bbjrqAaQPrQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20200820_091524.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="384" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-dwo9ivk9Bhk/X0naCDIGIaI/AAAAAAAALh0/Rn8r79k8lxAo6X7peHYV8-bbjrqAaQPrQCLcBGAsYHQ/w512-h384/20200820_091524.jpg" width="512" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Between the weather, a somewhat confusing road network, and my Garmin's unwillingness to show any roads on the map screen when the scale was any more than 300m per centimetre, I ended up taking us on a detour past Lake Ratapiko. The lake itself was mighty scenic, and there looked to be a wee island with a homestead on it, but sadly the unnecessary 10km or so were probably not worth it. Brendan was paying more attention to the wind direction than I, and detected we'd gone wrong soon enough to prevent us riding in a full circle.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rfE9q0YfkeI/X0naCSsQzFI/AAAAAAAALh4/WkOiADfWK30cM7bWH4xJHsHJDN5HO1JFACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20200820_101500.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="384" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rfE9q0YfkeI/X0naCSsQzFI/AAAAAAAALh4/WkOiADfWK30cM7bWH4xJHsHJDN5HO1JFACLcBGAsYHQ/w512-h384/20200820_101500.jpg" width="512" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Brendan had done a number of Tours of Taranaki over the years (typically a time trial plus three road stages), and soon after we turned onto Otaraoa Road alongside the Waitara River, he realised he would soon be passing through a hand-cut tunnel that he'd raced through years ago, and had never been able to work out where it had been. It was a nice moment for him, I think, and fun to observe. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-EMC2RDn0E7k/X0naDZ7PCfI/AAAAAAAALh8/dOqal1-VcjAPYLh4PxM0U59Qs7LS5crkgCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20200820_110926.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="512" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-EMC2RDn0E7k/X0naDZ7PCfI/AAAAAAAALh8/dOqal1-VcjAPYLh4PxM0U59Qs7LS5crkgCLcBGAsYHQ/w384-h512/20200820_110926.jpg" width="384" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>After a bit of ducking and diving, we rejoined SH3 just before Urenui. There, we had a number of cafes to choose from, and fortunately picked the one that had an open fire cranking (note to self: look for smoke emitting chimneys when choosing a stop on a cold day...). Since this was the only guaranteed mid-ride shop we would pass on our entire route, we made the most of it, and left feeling quite sated.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-d27kku6Xp2E/X0naDn3ZrQI/AAAAAAAALiA/TIVtL6KOZxg7vfhXjOo5JxOyAQhMhcStACLcBGAsYHQ/s2539/20200820_123402.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1238" data-original-width="2539" height="250" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-d27kku6Xp2E/X0naDn3ZrQI/AAAAAAAALiA/TIVtL6KOZxg7vfhXjOo5JxOyAQhMhcStACLcBGAsYHQ/w512-h250/20200820_123402.jpg" width="512" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Once underway again, we had only a few minutes on the main drag before turning inland onto Okoki Road. The seal lasted a short while, but soon we were onto gravel, and not long after that my drive train starting groaning. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-r7qLT5qjSkE/X0naD0XMxtI/AAAAAAAALiE/zdIhZuBFtnIa3cMrxFe4LU65ULcfOK30QCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20200820_135638.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="384" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-r7qLT5qjSkE/X0naD0XMxtI/AAAAAAAALiE/zdIhZuBFtnIa3cMrxFe4LU65ULcfOK30QCLcBGAsYHQ/w512-h384/20200820_135638.jpg" width="512" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>We stopped at the intersection with Uruti Road and a rinse with some of my drinking water and some fresh lube seemed to quieten my chain down a lot. This happened to be where we got onto a section of road I'd ridden on day two of the <a href="http://sifter-writes-bikes.blogspot.com/2015/04/two-dogs-on-tawhio-o-whanganui.html" target="_blank">second Tāwhio o Whanganui</a>. Uruti Tunnel was definitely familiar - who could forget it!</div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-F_IG9pozR1k/X0naFOMADWI/AAAAAAAALiI/_2sHBLJV4dgoEkaObPy5bTqlsS9GdjGiQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20200820_142249.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="512" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-F_IG9pozR1k/X0naFOMADWI/AAAAAAAALiI/_2sHBLJV4dgoEkaObPy5bTqlsS9GdjGiQCLcBGAsYHQ/w384-h512/20200820_142249.jpg" width="384" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Uruti Tunnel</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /><div>Out on the other side, a cheeky motorist had spun one of two speed limits around, but it was hard to tell which.<br /><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jx4F-aPIrw4/X0naFOip2KI/AAAAAAAALiM/N14eOgn594AwnPN73VEkMZT6zpGuaa_iwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20200820_142529.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="384" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jx4F-aPIrw4/X0naFOip2KI/AAAAAAAALiM/N14eOgn594AwnPN73VEkMZT6zpGuaa_iwCLcBGAsYHQ/w512-h384/20200820_142529.jpg" width="512" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Our third tunnel of the day was the Moki Road tunnel...</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-IkmpgIVfsas/X0naFWoOPpI/AAAAAAAALiQ/OCycjZ-r3wM41ibnC8jFIXacyfS1x8vwACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20200820_150334.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="512" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-IkmpgIVfsas/X0naFWoOPpI/AAAAAAAALiQ/OCycjZ-r3wM41ibnC8jFIXacyfS1x8vwACLcBGAsYHQ/w384-h512/20200820_150334.jpg" width="384" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>... but it wasn't our last. Part way along the gravelled Kiwi Road, we stopped to chat to a guy in a car. He'd driven from Whanganui, via the River Road up to Raetihi, and then through Taumarunui, and on to the middle of nowhere. While we were doing a very similar thing, it surprised us to think that someone would bother doing it alone, and in a city car. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Vec1oJo7HbQ/X0nayXXl5SI/AAAAAAAALis/krdIdp464jU8Z8dRkwrep-YR5ByBu_85QCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20200820_160307.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="384" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Vec1oJo7HbQ/X0nayXXl5SI/AAAAAAAALis/krdIdp464jU8Z8dRkwrep-YR5ByBu_85QCLcBGAsYHQ/w512-h384/20200820_160307.jpg" width="512" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>A sign near the beginning of Kiwi Road had understated the distance to SH3 by about 10km, but I'd found the riding otherwise great. When we hit the sealed Okau Road, we turned left - the last time I'd been at this intersection, I'd turned right en route to Ohura. That time, I'd been disappointed to miss out on the Okau Road tunnel, and while it was still cool to ride a bridge straight into a tunnel, in the intervening years, the road up <a href="https://sifter-writes-bikes.blogspot.com/2019/06/taiwan-cyclist-tourists-paradise.html" target="_blank">Taroko Gorge in Taiwan</a> had really upped the ante, and as a result, this was a bit of a let down...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QgYWSFjftQo/X0nayqB3Q9I/AAAAAAAALiw/dR-TT2eBapIbLglucYL8oBkXptdDK97OgCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20200820_163539.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="384" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QgYWSFjftQo/X0nayqB3Q9I/AAAAAAAALiw/dR-TT2eBapIbLglucYL8oBkXptdDK97OgCLcBGAsYHQ/w512-h384/20200820_163539.jpg" width="512" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>We were feeling a tad weary when we reached SH3, and unfortunately, we had a nasty headwind for about 20km into Mokau. By the time we reached our accommodation, the very lovely <a href="https://www.mokaumotels.co.nz/" target="_blank">Mokau Motel</a>, I was feeling pretty shot. I was delighted to find the room came with a mini-bar of sorts, and I smashed back a choccy bar and can of coke that I could have done with 20km earlier, before jumping in the shower.</div><div><br /></div><div>The Awakino Hotel sent a courtesy shuttle for us, which made for a very nice dinner, all the better to ride a long way the following day! Had there been no shuttle, I'd have rather gone hungry than ridden my bike any further! </div><div><br /></div><div>Stats: <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/3939059134" target="_blank">163km ridden</a>. Almost as many tunnels as cars off of SH3. </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b>Day 2 - Mokau to Te Kuiti</b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The next morning, our priorities were food and bike cleaning. Our moteliers kindly donated an old t-shirt to assist with the latter task, while the convenience store at the bottom of the driveway had a more-than-capable coffee machine to help take the edge off the morning. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">After demolishing a big breakfast, I bought a couple of sandwiches for lunch further down the line. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6XZFy3LCsnQ/X0na03UVxOI/AAAAAAAALjI/hlu49nxrxnQudtw3E1l4cmdm3sXchd4eACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20200821_081922.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="384" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6XZFy3LCsnQ/X0na03UVxOI/AAAAAAAALjI/hlu49nxrxnQudtw3E1l4cmdm3sXchd4eACLcBGAsYHQ/w512-h384/20200821_081922.jpg" width="512" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>The road to Awakino passed by quickly, and a few kilometres up river, we turned left off SH3 onto Manganui Road. Almost immediately we passed an intersection I'd been through before - Simon and I had dropped down to this point on a stunning bit of gravel road <a href="http://sifter-writes-bikes.blogspot.com/2012/11/fantastic-figure-eight.html" target="_blank">back in 2012</a>. My memories of the next 40 kilometres of road turned out to be very patchy, but I remember the quality of the company vividly. </div><div><br /></div><div>Notable highlights were the near complete absence of traffic, a quarry which looked to be systematically dismantling an entire hill, and sweet pockets of native bush. Despite our overnight host's encouragement, and the apparently flat terrain out to Waikawau Beach and its resident (and intriguing) "stock tunnel", we weren't willing to add 10km to our day. It gives a bloody good reason to go back, I suppose!</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TIpli3N7GN8/X0na1gNmrnI/AAAAAAAALjM/hwvC_I9xMBUfW4XbwDCxEv1B4czySWgggCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20200821_103139.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="384" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TIpli3N7GN8/X0na1gNmrnI/AAAAAAAALjM/hwvC_I9xMBUfW4XbwDCxEv1B4czySWgggCLcBGAsYHQ/w512-h384/20200821_103139.jpg" width="512" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>I'd completely forgotten the two saddles en route to our turn off onto Pomorangai Road, the point at which we deviated from Simon's and my parcours. The road was briefly sealed, and after a quick stop to top up bottles, we were underway.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2sHgVpYcdc4/X0na2UdKbaI/AAAAAAAALjQ/kUuBEwqHpd0utP6drwsB0Y3ZKvaiwJzggCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20200821_120531.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="384" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2sHgVpYcdc4/X0na2UdKbaI/AAAAAAAALjQ/kUuBEwqHpd0utP6drwsB0Y3ZKvaiwJzggCLcBGAsYHQ/w512-h384/20200821_120531.jpg" width="512" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>The road conditions were very slow going, and as we got further and further up the climb, they increasingly worsened. It was clear someone was in the process of laying fresh gravel, and it seemed like the laden truck going up and down was the only form of compaction being undertaken. Consequently, the surface got softer and softer, and it was a blessed relief to finally out-ride their effort. Mercifully, the slop didn't seem to adhere to our tyres, so at least our bikes were relatively clean and unscathed. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-kdx1cne7OUU/X0na2x75EFI/AAAAAAAALjY/c3TSYs1EuBcCF6KBYWfoCV089RUrZ0_bACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20200821_123844.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="384" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-kdx1cne7OUU/X0na2x75EFI/AAAAAAAALjY/c3TSYs1EuBcCF6KBYWfoCV089RUrZ0_bACLcBGAsYHQ/w513-h384/20200821_123844.jpg" width="513" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>After some much faster travel, the road broke out of the native bush cover, and we had great views out to the north-east. While we stood and admired them, a postie pulled up and made the most of the human interaction we provided. His 6-hour daily route covered a very-remote 200km, and we suspected he had very little opportunity to chat to anyone while working. </div><div><br /></div><div>After a fun 10km descent, we stopped for a bite to eat, and soon after getting moving again were cowering in a wee shelter at the end of someone's driveway. No sooner had we left there than the heavens really opened, replete with a very impressive thunder-clap which sounded like a train moving off into the the distance. The sound effect was either a very unusual illusion, or indicated a very long and fast moving discharge up above. </div><div><br /></div><div>The road turned to seal around about the time we had a flurry of traffic, which, given the hour, Brendan suggested they were likely parents on a school-pickup run. The conditions either side of the road changed too, and we passed many natural amphitheatres and cool rock outcrops. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-RVK-vcU4-4I/X0na2ghFTQI/AAAAAAAALjU/lapgRORyl9Ipn-VIByOj-imjpVgrbHTMACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20200821_144532.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="384" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-RVK-vcU4-4I/X0na2ghFTQI/AAAAAAAALjU/lapgRORyl9Ipn-VIByOj-imjpVgrbHTMACLcBGAsYHQ/w512-h384/20200821_144532.jpg" width="512" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Oparure Road was lumpy as it took us across to SH3, just north of Te Kuiti. After 500m on the main drag, we peeled off to connect with a back road which took us all the way into town, the centrepiece of which seems to be a massive railway yard. </div><div><br /></div><div>Stats: <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/3943631465" target="_blank">110km ridden</a>, about as many feral goats startled. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>Day 3 - Te Tuiti to Taumarunui</b></div><div><br /></div><div>The Te Kuiti locals have a slow start on a Saturday morning, or at least their cafes do. Nonetheless, we managed to get a decent breakfast at the large BP station, from which we quickly knocked out our final main-road kilometres of the trip. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-35AoeM2-nIM/X0na3uQDv_I/AAAAAAAALjc/XzD5wlk481sl8DJ7INYdI3XeDfC9JwuoACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20200822_093151.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="384" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-35AoeM2-nIM/X0na3uQDv_I/AAAAAAAALjc/XzD5wlk481sl8DJ7INYdI3XeDfC9JwuoACLcBGAsYHQ/w512-h384/20200822_093151.jpg" width="512" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>About 12km from Te Kuiti, we turned off SH3 onto SH4, and a couple of minutes later left that to begin one of the finest back-road sequences I've had the pleasure to ride. The network was initially complex, but guided by the AA map, and some lucky choices, we navigated through to our main target, the Aria-Matiere Road. </div><div><br /></div><div>Aside from a few sealed kilometres on Tikitiki Road, we were treated to a really nice gravel surface, making for fast and stress-free riding. The scenery was fantastic, and the gradients were incredibly mellow too - a 40km stretch was about as flat as you're likely to find in NZ, despite the road being surrounded by hills. </div><div><br /></div><div>We passed hundreds of turkeys, which typically gobbled at us as we rode past. There were also occasional pheasants, who had this neat trick of gliding mid-flight, temporarily looking like an inanimate projectile. Kererū were also pretty common, but the countryside definitely seemed to have been taken over by exotic birds. </div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-BnKs8NuigUc/X0na4bMtiQI/AAAAAAAALjg/oAYmfY3UU28SwBqix3T4M9ZqOl20qDzZwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20200822_112633.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="384" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-BnKs8NuigUc/X0na4bMtiQI/AAAAAAAALjg/oAYmfY3UU28SwBqix3T4M9ZqOl20qDzZwCLcBGAsYHQ/w513-h384/20200822_112633.jpg" width="513" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Morning tea at a saddle before dropping down to cross Mokauiti Rd<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br />Eventually the road tipped up, and over the other side of a 5km climb, we stopped for lunch at a one-lane bridge. Not only did the concrete curb make for a fine seat, but it was also bathed in sunshine, necessitating shedding of the knee warmers, one of the first times in months that I've ridden without them. <br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6OhAd2gKmf8/X0rPXKOoYfI/AAAAAAAALmA/sBBksZX4izY88Y6NaSFWXYpYSn4F4yYLQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20200822_130350.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="384" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6OhAd2gKmf8/X0rPXKOoYfI/AAAAAAAALmA/sBBksZX4izY88Y6NaSFWXYpYSn4F4yYLQCLcBGAsYHQ/w512-h384/20200822_130350.jpg" width="512" /></a></div><div><br /></div>Nearing Matiere, we opted not to cut across to Mangapapa Road, and instead took a chance with a longer route. As a north-American might say, we "lucked out", and contrary to the apparent negative connotation, it was more of the same, glorious, easy-riding that we'd become accustomed to. I'd been keen to prolong the gravel riding a bit longer, and we were both bloody glad that's exactly what we'd done. <br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-dTLbQkwuTJI/X0na5wK0tvI/AAAAAAAALjw/Svd350OpVGM-U1DNSqztLeZ6KGaoJGPngCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20200822_134317.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="512" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-dTLbQkwuTJI/X0na5wK0tvI/AAAAAAAALjw/Svd350OpVGM-U1DNSqztLeZ6KGaoJGPngCLcBGAsYHQ/w384-h512/20200822_134317.jpg" width="384" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Matiere looked like a reasonably sized settlement, sitting on the main route to Ohura from the north. Dave Sharpe and I had passed through here on Day 3 of the <a href="http://sifter-writes-bikes.blogspot.com/2015/04/two-dogs-on-tawhio-o-whanganui.html" target="_blank">2013 Tāwhio</a>, though the riding conditions then were a far cry from those Brendan and I were being treated to.</div><div><br /></div><div>A few minutes up the Okahukura Saddle Road, we passed a wee turnoff marked Otahu Road. I think what made me stop and consult the map was that it didn't have "No Exit" showing. My excitement grew when I noticed that despite the AA map not featuring the turn off we were at, it did have a short section of Otahu Road coming off Opotiki Road way above us, and I managed to convince Brendan to indulge my inquisitiveness.</div><div><br /></div><div>A short way up the road we passed under the railway line, and not long after that the road shown on my GPS unit stopped. We didn't though, until we came to a farm gate a few minutes later. Access rights were unclear, but we had cell phone reception, allowing a spot of research. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5kHn5tkXMm8/X0na5980TtI/AAAAAAAALjs/Vwzq9EukQyQp-TlCYkPHmUMkuQrXfyJ_QCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20200822_150125.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="512" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5kHn5tkXMm8/X0na5980TtI/AAAAAAAALjs/Vwzq9EukQyQp-TlCYkPHmUMkuQrXfyJ_QCLcBGAsYHQ/w384-h512/20200822_150125.jpg" width="384" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Determined to feel OK about pushing on, my internet research led me to <a href="https://maps.walkingaccess.govt.nz/OurMaps/">walkingaccess.govt.nz</a>, and a search in the "Public Access Areas Map" for Otahu Road, yielded the legal route we were hoping to find.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-IqQx3SnJpEU/X0rg82DImUI/AAAAAAAALmI/2aKBRsrXn4oV_A8Pc8wN6E-a3W9LT2awgCLcBGAsYHQ/s1850/Annotation%2B2020-08-30%2B111158.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1594" data-original-width="1850" height="353" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-IqQx3SnJpEU/X0rg82DImUI/AAAAAAAALmI/2aKBRsrXn4oV_A8Pc8wN6E-a3W9LT2awgCLcBGAsYHQ/w410-h353/Annotation%2B2020-08-30%2B111158.png" width="410" /></a></div><br /><div>We made our way through the gate, but were soon staring up a steep fenceline and an unridable farm track, laughing at the warning we'd both seen on the walking access site: "<i>Please note that legal access is not necessarily practical to use.</i>" All told, we lost about half an hour on this fool's errand, but the warm conditions, and unanimously pulling the pin before things got overly ridiculous helped avoid strife!</div><div><br /></div><div>Our return to the "main" road signalled the permanent end of the day's gravel riding, but the climb dished out at least one reminder that the route we were taking had been around since long before the automobile, and tarmac. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-v5RMSOBIKe4/X0na6kmirSI/AAAAAAAALj0/ORP1RbqPdpUYrBBIXv9QPb6yQFl7J9t6QCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20200822_154054.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="384" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-v5RMSOBIKe4/X0na6kmirSI/AAAAAAAALj0/ORP1RbqPdpUYrBBIXv9QPb6yQFl7J9t6QCLcBGAsYHQ/w513-h384/20200822_154054.jpg" width="513" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Once over the saddle, the descent took us down to SH4, and while Dave and I had ridden the highway into Taumarunui, I can only surmise the foul weather had discouraged us from crossing straight onto Ongarue Back Road, via a neat road/rail bridge. (Warning to trains, while you can get over the river OK, someone has flogged the next bridge that used to get you over the highway.) </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ep4m3aouCoA/X0na7MVtK3I/AAAAAAAALj4/YHNIeqMs9-gcaePZwyn88WnSE8EHi6ZnACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20200822_155748.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="384" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ep4m3aouCoA/X0na7MVtK3I/AAAAAAAALj4/YHNIeqMs9-gcaePZwyn88WnSE8EHi6ZnACLcBGAsYHQ/w512-h384/20200822_155748.jpg" width="512" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Our sense of acceptable traffic volumes was completely out of whack, after a four-hour stretch with about a vehicle per hour. On the "back road", we saw about a vehicle per minute or two, but nonetheless made it unscathed to our digs at the Forgotten World Motel, both fizzing on the back of a brilliant day of riding. </div><div><br /></div><div>Stats: <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/3947613414" target="_blank">116 glorious kilometres</a>, and more degrees than cars. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>Day 4 - Taumarunui to Whangamomona</b></div><div><br /></div><div>Overnight, Brendan broached the issue of separating en route to Whangamomona. I'd ridden "The Forgotten World Highway" direct route a couple of times, westwards on the first <a href="http://sifter-writes-bikes.blogspot.com/2011/02/te-tawhio-o-whanganui.html" target="_blank">first Tāwhio</a>, and eastwards with Simon a couple of years earlier on a cycle tour <a href="http://sifter-writes-bikes.blogspot.com/2009/01/2009-fat-tyre-tour-new-plymouth-to.html" target="_blank">between New Plymouth and National Park</a>. Given that both times I'd been on a mountainbike, I was shocked to notice how many unsealed through routes there were off SH43, and was keen to check a few of them out. Brendan, on the other hand, had a much heavier load, and wanted to make some use of the camera and tripod he'd been hauling, without frustrating me. I wasn't hard to convince!</div><div><br /></div><div>We'd availed ourselves of the New World across the road for breakfast supplies, and the well stocked kitchenette in our room to eat in, though after admiring the couple of dozen tuis gorging on a nearby tree, we went for second coffees in Maccas. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vq_XN7XQuK4/X0na7VWopRI/AAAAAAAALj8/wHjB73Y27qIGY4gTngzRA5k0IKroTZ82ACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20200823_081529.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="384" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vq_XN7XQuK4/X0na7VWopRI/AAAAAAAALj8/wHjB73Y27qIGY4gTngzRA5k0IKroTZ82ACLcBGAsYHQ/w512-h384/20200823_081529.jpg" width="512" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>After climbing out of Taumarunui on SH43, we dived off together onto Kururau Road, which didn't appear to add any distance to the main route to Whangamomona, definitely added to quality of the experience. The road almost immediately turned to gravel and tipped up, affording us a lovely 30 minute climb to get the legs warm. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XZed4cz03zM/X0nbaEybnJI/AAAAAAAALkc/zX7ifTJIENYWzozMqZc9HCHDnfuJ911_wCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20200823_094401.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="384" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XZed4cz03zM/X0nbaEybnJI/AAAAAAAALkc/zX7ifTJIENYWzozMqZc9HCHDnfuJ911_wCLcBGAsYHQ/w512-h384/20200823_094401.jpg" width="512" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Goats were yet again in abundance, and while I didn't stop to assist one whose short horns and poor technique were had its head trapped through a wire fence, Brendan reported doing so on his subsequent way past. </div><div><br /></div><div>What goes up, must come down, and as with the climb, the descent to the intersection with Whakamaro Road was wonderful. After a few minutes on sealed road, we continued together on Kururao Road. The surface deteriorated for a while, but soon we passed a grader sitting in a clearing, and beyond that travel became more enjoyable again. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LlEQ1jVIoZk/X0nbaSvbNkI/AAAAAAAALkk/vm7XQ3mua3gt6Zh9QfSV68FHKdpVKwe5gCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20200823_102241.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="384" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LlEQ1jVIoZk/X0nbaSvbNkI/AAAAAAAALkk/vm7XQ3mua3gt6Zh9QfSV68FHKdpVKwe5gCLcBGAsYHQ/w512-h384/20200823_102241.jpg" width="512" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>As we neared the terminus of Kururau Road on SH43, I heard sealant escaping from my rear tyre, and stopped to investigate, I turned the bike upside down to find a hole just off centre on the fairly worn centreline of the smooth-by-design WTB Byway - time to use a tyre plug in anger for the first time. </div><div><br /></div><div>I'd thrown a <a href="https://www.cyclewerks.co.nz/product/genuine-innovations-tubeless-tackle-tyre-repair-kit" target="_blank">Genuine Innovations repair kit</a> into my Cyclewerks order at the last moment, and while I had never installed a tyre plug, understood the basic principle. As I used the tool to push a "bacon strip" through the puncture, there was a gush of air signalling I'd made a small hole bigger, and I held my breath hoping that the combination of the plug and Stan's sealant would work their magic. They seemed to be doing so as I trimmed off the excess plug as closely as I could to the tyre, using my Leatherman Squirt. To be honest, I was sceptical that this would work, given that the plug would hit the ground on every single rotation of the wheel, but it seemed sensible to give it a whirl.</div><div><br /></div><div>When I said goodbye to Brendan not 5 minutes later, initial signs were positive, albeit hardly a guarantee of ongoing success. As the minutes and kilometres passed on Roto Road, my anxiety levels decreased. I had three tubes and some old road racing tyre which I could use to reinforce the damaged part, but, there seemed to be a good chance it would be unnecessary. Go the bacon strip!</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-RT0BOWt5Ifc/X0nbadtnK8I/AAAAAAAALkg/Ca6LfZF79y0l428qz35j4TMldQUhlVv-wCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20200823_113254.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="384" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-RT0BOWt5Ifc/X0nbadtnK8I/AAAAAAAALkg/Ca6LfZF79y0l428qz35j4TMldQUhlVv-wCLcBGAsYHQ/w512-h384/20200823_113254.jpg" width="512" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>I hadn't seen a vehicle since Taumarunui, and wondered if a woman going for a blat on a horse in an adjacent paddock counted as "oncoming traffic"?! Another woman was walking her dogs on outskirts of Ohura. Otherwise, the roads were deserted.</div><div><br /></div><div>I was hoping to find two things in Ohura, and I wasn't disappointed. The public loo even had its own NZ COVID Tracer QR code, and after availing myself of it, I returned to Fiesta Fare for a coffee and scone with jam and cream. I lamented having hauled a couple of service station sandwiches this far, made worse when the fella after me ordered a pulled pork burrito!!</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tZtwwpn08iA/X0nbbeecctI/AAAAAAAALko/dC8Kd5PUagIdDuQeEYPg7D_gCe4lABf1gCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20200823_122649.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="384" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tZtwwpn08iA/X0nbbeecctI/AAAAAAAALko/dC8Kd5PUagIdDuQeEYPg7D_gCe4lABf1gCLcBGAsYHQ/w512-h384/20200823_122649.jpg" width="512" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>This was the "tyre's playing up" bail out point, whereupon I could have ridden sealed road most of the way to Whangamomona. But, my tyre wasn't playing up at all, and both weather and legs were also behaving. So, I set off over the "Waitangaas", as per the local parlance (minding my head as I went).<br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PAD63sKyqIk/X0nbbwKJ2LI/AAAAAAAALks/vIFwUieDveY2ZCfa4MBnws-6WPR-2jjLACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20200823_123932.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="384" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PAD63sKyqIk/X0nbbwKJ2LI/AAAAAAAALks/vIFwUieDveY2ZCfa4MBnws-6WPR-2jjLACLcBGAsYHQ/w512-h384/20200823_123932.jpg" width="512" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>This was another bit of road I'd previously ridden, though in the opposite direction and some years ago. Consequently, it wasn't overly familiar, and I enjoyed not knowing what was to come. Once the main climb was over, I had about 20km of easy riding on great gravel before a stunning sealed descent. Not long after that, I made my left turn onto Okau Road, not 4km upstream from where Brendan and I had emerged from Kiwi Road, a couple of days earlier. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-YKilR99KwS4/X0nbbzWd83I/AAAAAAAALkw/bJ80Vq03nMwWccTw7PkdaLdJtbQO6QGDQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20200823_141358.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="384" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-YKilR99KwS4/X0nbbzWd83I/AAAAAAAALkw/bJ80Vq03nMwWccTw7PkdaLdJtbQO6QGDQCLcBGAsYHQ/w512-h384/20200823_141358.jpg" width="512" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>A signpost told me I had about 29km to ride to Tahora, a few kilometres beyond the intersection with SH43. Initially, the gradient was very mellow, and followed a stream up the valley. After curving around an escarpment, I could see ahead a tight switchback, and once around that all hell broke loose, and I had to muster all my reserves to stay on the bike. The 1.3km long stretch of sealed road was a consistent gradient, but at 14% average, it still took me over 11 minutes to get up it!!</div><div><br /></div><div>I bumped into a DOC ranger a couple of minutes later, which was a great excuse to stop and regather myself. He recommended I take a short detour to see Mt Damper Falls, and when I got there, I bumped into a quartet of Sutherlands: Diana, Linda, Scott and Phil (brother of Chris) who recognised me. While Brendan and I had been able to natter away on much of days 1-3, it was somewhat ironic to me that I'd had so many conversations while riding solo, in the middle of nowhere!</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-mDMlqLAdXho/X0nbcnEEO8I/AAAAAAAALk0/6bO46zmCqSEOD4Xh4ImHx-kuQMkuaS0MwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20200823_152038.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="384" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-mDMlqLAdXho/X0nbcnEEO8I/AAAAAAAALk0/6bO46zmCqSEOD4Xh4ImHx-kuQMkuaS0MwCLcBGAsYHQ/w513-h384/20200823_152038.jpg" width="513" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Mt Damper Falls was indeed worth the side trip, and I was really glad that I'd taken some time out. They weren't quite as impressive as Bridal Veil Falls (about 210 kilometres ride north, visited with Simon), but still pretty majestic.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-72RaSAGpxAw/X0nbdOcLxtI/AAAAAAAALk4/hnDb_i82GOAzQCCtph2YkQn7eApeugF3wCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20200823_152900.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="512" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-72RaSAGpxAw/X0nbdOcLxtI/AAAAAAAALk4/hnDb_i82GOAzQCCtph2YkQn7eApeugF3wCLcBGAsYHQ/w384-h512/20200823_152900.jpg" width="384" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Sightseeing done, it was a fairly easy ride down to SH43, during which time I passed the other end of Moki Road, a spot that I'd almost visited about 20 years ago with Mike Lowrie, when we mountainbiked the "Mythical Moki" and Rerekapa Tracks (see Classic New Zealand Mountain Bike Rides, editions 1-9).</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-OSr2sIeIoME/X0nbdQLaA_I/AAAAAAAALk8/yhRdYHDAqAoax_cQzrreYednkIXchudyACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20200823_155309.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="384" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-OSr2sIeIoME/X0nbdQLaA_I/AAAAAAAALk8/yhRdYHDAqAoax_cQzrreYednkIXchudyACLcBGAsYHQ/w513-h384/20200823_155309.jpg" width="513" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Once on SH43 itself, the remainder of the route was not only sealed, but covered fairly benign terrain, and it took me a little under an hour to reach the <a href="https://whangamomonahotel.co.nz/" target="_blank">Whangamomona Hotel</a>, where I found Brendan ensconced. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1AWFIAS2rd8/X0nbeOlur3I/AAAAAAAALlA/Draf38izOiMBQ7sR2UW1PV3e3IRKBPHegCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20200823_161854.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="512" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1AWFIAS2rd8/X0nbeOlur3I/AAAAAAAALlA/Draf38izOiMBQ7sR2UW1PV3e3IRKBPHegCLcBGAsYHQ/w384-h512/20200823_161854.jpg" width="384" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>While anticipating my arrival, he'd obviously told those in the pub which way I was coming, and I got a few respectful smiles, and a couple of thumbs up. Before heading upstairs to shower, I celebrated my arrival with a beer and a mocha, and once cleaned up, a pulled pork burger.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NJY-VTyJeIY/X0nbeecWfSI/AAAAAAAALlE/tRZcGwy0eg0ZInbiJXcCOP12Lp_HzMvIQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20200823_172130.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="512" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NJY-VTyJeIY/X0nbeecWfSI/AAAAAAAALlE/tRZcGwy0eg0ZInbiJXcCOP12Lp_HzMvIQCLcBGAsYHQ/w384-h512/20200823_172130.jpg" width="384" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>We got to talking with the publicans and some locals after our meal, and got distracted from the dessert menu. It was interesting to hear about the way of life well off the beaten track, and to hear that I'd ridden past a honey outfit that produces to the tune of 100 tonnes of honey a year from manuka and other natives downstream of Mt Damper Falls. </div><div><br /></div><div>Stats: <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/3953568903" target="_blank">131km ridden</a>. More conversations than you could shake a stick at!</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>Day 5 - Whangamomona to Stratford</b></div><div><br /></div><div>Two hunters had been in the bar the previous evening while we'd eaten, notable by their choice of drink - what looked like strawberry milk, but apparently laced with gin shots. In any case, their handiwork was apparent when we went to collect our bikes in the morning. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-dvqsXHePHPU/X0nbeu1IY1I/AAAAAAAALlI/jC72VoLEQS4aln1ocFhlrIzVF27xt_brwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20200824_091632.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="512" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-dvqsXHePHPU/X0nbeu1IY1I/AAAAAAAALlI/jC72VoLEQS4aln1ocFhlrIzVF27xt_brwCLcBGAsYHQ/w384-h512/20200824_091632.jpg" width="384" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>After two days of fine-weather riding, it was a shame to see the temperature had dropped again, and that wet shoes were certain. Brendan had expressed a desire to get back to the car relatively quickly. It was stressful to discover my legs had stayed in bed, and in hindsight, I had heavily dialled back the calorie intake after a long hard ride. As we rolled out of Whangamomona, and I yoyoed off the back, I realised my brain was starting to get bogged down in the circumstances.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HD55V7Ndg8Q/X0nbfW00v8I/AAAAAAAALlM/_BbgkPBRkhQdcZ6elfUSt1jr6f8TUuIAwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20200824_093208.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="384" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HD55V7Ndg8Q/X0nbfW00v8I/AAAAAAAALlM/_BbgkPBRkhQdcZ6elfUSt1jr6f8TUuIAwCLcBGAsYHQ/w512-h384/20200824_093208.jpg" width="512" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>On the other hand, one of the upsides of wet shoes was one of the lowest altitude rainbows I've ever seen. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CsQzVkScQRk/X0nbfnd7AhI/AAAAAAAALlQ/Lr2JgX5E6C4ha3HOPFFXVUtzbY443Vl3QCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20200824_093357.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="384" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CsQzVkScQRk/X0nbfnd7AhI/AAAAAAAALlQ/Lr2JgX5E6C4ha3HOPFFXVUtzbY443Vl3QCLcBGAsYHQ/w512-h384/20200824_093357.jpg" width="512" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>We had a couple of short climbs, both sealed, and at the top of the second was the only diversion we'd not ruled out. I was delighted that Brendan seemed keen, if only in the hope that getting a bit more gravel in might snap me out of my fretting. Indeed it did, and after a bit more climbing, we bombed down to our turn onto Matai Road. I was fairly certain I'd been through this intersection before, with Simon, Dave and Andrew McLellan en route to Ohura. When we reached Kiore Tunnel not long afterwards, I knew for sure. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PpIEi80u2eU/X0nbgHPyWCI/AAAAAAAALlU/69bmZBXQNKocF8hcf6go4-bqH5r93yhBgCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20200824_111632.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="384" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PpIEi80u2eU/X0nbgHPyWCI/AAAAAAAALlU/69bmZBXQNKocF8hcf6go4-bqH5r93yhBgCLcBGAsYHQ/w512-h384/20200824_111632.jpg" width="512" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>We ignored a couple of roads that would have taken us back onto SH43. and as we neared Stratford, both the elements and the terrain seemed out to get us. I felt a lot better once I'd put on my Ground Effect rain pants - even though my legs weren't feeling particularly cold, keeping the wind off them helped everything else warm up a bit. The rain hadn't set in, and for a few moments we thought we might get a complete glimpse of Mount Taranaki, but alas, it wasn't to be.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/--10wW1w-IsU/X0nbgXTKaeI/AAAAAAAALlY/_wHHAykp5Dwisys2HP7hgg20QeAvvriMwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20200824_121149.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="384" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/--10wW1w-IsU/X0nbgXTKaeI/AAAAAAAALlY/_wHHAykp5Dwisys2HP7hgg20QeAvvriMwCLcBGAsYHQ/w512-h384/20200824_121149.jpg" width="512" /></a></div><br /><p>We did eventually join The Forgotten World Highway a few miserable kilometres from Stratford. As Brendan pointed out, we were essentially climbing a mountain, and in that respect, the horrible false flat made sense. Still, it was a pretty shit way to finish an otherwise fantastic five day ride.</p><p>Stats: <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/3957153744" target="_blank">72km ridden</a>, fifth best ride of the 592km total. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-iq5f0MAPQCU/X0wJ7rtjNLI/AAAAAAAALmo/dp2MvQjSeaEOH596AYRmlNfnirjKIkYhQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/winter-tour.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1563" height="512" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-iq5f0MAPQCU/X0wJ7rtjNLI/AAAAAAAALmo/dp2MvQjSeaEOH596AYRmlNfnirjKIkYhQCLcBGAsYHQ/w390-h512/winter-tour.png" width="390" /></a></div><br /><p style="text-align: center;"><b><br />* * *</b></p><p>It was great to get away with Brendan, following our very enjoyable <a href="http://sifter-writes-bikes.blogspot.com/2019/06/a-quick-lap-of-east-cape.html" target="_blank">East Cape Tour</a> of 2019, and particularly since a planned multi-day ride out of Dunedin at Easter had been scuppered by COVID. We both agreed that the third day had been one for the books, with some great supporting acts either side. Given our different preferences for Day 4, the split had been an easy call, and we were surely each better for it when we met up that evening. </p><p>I was really pleased with the route - for a ride almost 600km long, we'd managed about 30km on SH3 on Day 1, 5km on Day 2, another dozen on Day 3, and about 500m on Day 5 - less than 50km in total. The remaining roads had been gloriously remote, but had brought us to convenient and sufficiently well equipped overnight stops to better make the next day's ride well fuelled and enjoyable. </p><p>We have very different approaches to packing. Brendan's loaded bike was pretty hefty, with a couple of panniers and a handlebar bag, while my Open and gear probably didn't weigh any more than his burlier Trek 920 adventure touring bike and racks. Nonetheless, we both seemed happy enough. </p><p>My rig ran like a dream, and it was great that the tyre plug got me home without any fuss - the tyre's been binned now though. It really is the bike of my dreams, and I can see myself clocking up some serious back country miles on it. I read somewhere today an opinion that 50-34 compact road gearing is no good for gravel bikepacking, but I found it perfect, and never had to resort to a tactical walk. The WTB Venture/Byway combo were pretty sweet too, and once the world gets back to stocking bike parts, I'll be ensuring I have a couple of spares. </p><p>Sarah and I had a Christmas plan to ride the North Island route of the Tour Aotearoa, but having reviewed the course, and in particular the amount of sealed road riding, I'm inclined to stay west south of Auckland, and show Sarah some of these magnificent back-country roads. </p><p>Bring it on. </p></div>sifterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15453244482461385029noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7894195099236501078.post-32876011722426166572020-04-18T18:34:00.001+12:002020-04-19T10:04:00.869+12:00Niue gets an A-grade, but I don't<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
The 2019 calendar year was one packed with adventure, for Sarah and I at least. An Air NZ "Islands on Sale" promotion provided an opportunity to start 2020 with a more inclusive holiday, and one on which our blended family of four could have a chance to relax together. Scanning down the list, Niue grabbed - and held - our attention, and got the nod.<br />
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I knew next to nothing about "the Rock", and as the trip drew nearer, researching the holiday side of things netted various reports with a theme: "the most incredible place you've probably never heard of." We booked a couple of rooms at the Turtle Lodge in Makefu, and a car with Tropicana.<br />
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While my cobbers were prepping for snorkelling a-plenty, I had my eye on a couple of riding challenges. I downloaded a <a href="https://www.linz.govt.nz/land/maps/pacific-region-maps">topo map of the island</a>, and spent a bit of time identifying which marked (and unmarked) tracks might be rideable, using <a href="https://www.strava.com/heatmap#12.29/-169.86661/-19.05363/hot/all">Strava's global heatmap</a>, and the "Highlight unridden roads" feature on <a href="http://wandrer.earth/">wandrer.earth</a>. I was readying myself for two big rides: I wanted to ride every road and track on the island in a day, and, I wanted to try to complete an Everest challenge on the island.<br />
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I regarded the two ideas as somewhat quirky, and anticipated both would be difficult, if not beyond me. The island is just over 260 square-kilometres, almost four times the size of Rarotonga, and about one-seventieth the size of <a href="http://sifter-writes-bikes.blogspot.com/2017/09/cycle-touring-new-caledonia.html">New Caledonia</a>. The topo map has a couple of 60-metre contours on it, but the vast majority of the island sits between 25 and 45 metres above sea-level.<br />
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The road around the island is about 60km long, and I saw various reports about the total road distance which suggested doing the lot in a day would be a stretch. On the other hand, at least the riding would be virtually flat, which had implications for the second challenge. The topo map suggested that at best, I'd be repeating an ascent of not much more than 40 metres. I figured the doing the Everest second would have me fully informed about which bit of road to try - the first challenge would be a comprehensive recce ride if ever there was one...<br />
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As the date grew nearer, a bike project progressively met all necessary deadlines, though each by a whisker. After several years of not quite having the right bike for the task, some <a href="http://sifter-writes-bikes.blogspot.com/2019/11/doctors-randal-at-whaka-100.html">post-Whaka100</a> shopping for Sarah from the fine folks at Yeti NZ, put a stunning Open U.P. into my own hands. That in turn necessitated my first Oli Brooke-White wheel build in ages, a pair of Stan's Flow Mk3 on Hope RS4 hubs, which will no doubt be bombproof, as with every other pair of wheels he's ever built me.<br />
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No sooner had Sarah and I arrived back from our <a href="http://sifter-writes-bikes.blogspot.com/2020/01/a-christmas-trip-across-andes.html">quick scoot across the Andes</a> (a perfect ride for the not-quite-ready Open if ever there was one), than we were packing up again for our week in Niue. Sarah's Cannondale would be coming with, and didn't leave the bike bag between times. I picked up the Open from Oli, and managed to squeeze in one shakedown ride and a bike-fit with Paul at Capital Cycles.<br />
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The international flight between Auckland and Niue is relatively short, but you end up crossing the date line, so we got to do the 6th of January all over again. As it turns out, Air New Zealand is the only airline that goes there, and runs two return trips out of Auckland per week. Owner of one of Niue's cafes, Ex-Wellington mayor Mark Blumsky, told us that the limiting factor is the number of tourist beds on the island - if more people were brought in, there'd be nowhere for them to sleep.<br />
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I assembled bikes at the airport upon arrival, and while Sarah drove Kaitlyn and our bags to Makefu, Khulan and I rode. Despite being only 10km from the airport, we got to experience a few of the island's road hazards, namely potholes and dogs, but on the other hand, were treated with utmost respect and care by the few motorised vehicles we saw on the road.<br />
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The next morning, Sarah and I set out relatively early to do a lap of the island. The road quality was mixed, but definitely worse on the eastern side of the island, and necessitated a fair bit of pothole slalom, and occasional refuge on the unsealed road shoulder. We stopped for a coffee in Alofi which was well worth the cost of getting hit by a rain shower on the final kilometres home.<br />
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The rest of the day's family activities had me questioning the merits of a full-day ride, but in the end, I decided to eat a big dinner and go for broke on day three.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The opportunity cost</td></tr>
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Colouring in the map isn't as clever as it seems, and is much more brute force than anything. Nonetheless, a bit of strategising helps reduce the risk of unnecessary duplication, and the planning process also provides additional entertainment. I'd settled on initially pushing east across the island from Makefu, before circling back around the northern perimeter for a big lunch back at base. After lunch, I would do the same for the southern half of the island.<br />
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I rolled out just before 6:30am, and after a few seconds on familiar road, I hung a left onto Makefu Bush Road, one of a few marked cycle routes on the island. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The aptly named Makefu Bush Road</td></tr>
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I'd printed an A3 copy of the topo map, and had marked it up with what was showing on the Strava heatmap. My handlebar mounted GPS unit also had the Niue basemap installed, and with the combination, I felt pretty comfortable ducking and diving around in the bush. While I didn't expect expansive views at any point, there were nonetheless surprising treats to be seen.<br />
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The riding was very pleasant, for the most part, though the format wasn't without its irritations. Many tracks were overgrown, and overnight rain meant the encroaching vegetation was typically loaded with water. It was also at times unclear whether I was welcome, with a few "roads" abruptly ending in someone's backyard.<br />
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When I wasn't in the forest, I was typically riding past crops, none of which I could identify, but I assumed taro, yams and cassava - the locally grown root vegetables. We'd already discovered that there's no fresh dairy on the island, with all the milk in the supermarket being of the UHT variety. So, no cows, but occasional chickens and once or twice, the sound of something bigger crashing through the undergrowth. <br />
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I stopped regularly to check the paper map, which I was colouring in in my head. The brief pauses were a good opportunity to reorient myself, and to make sure that I wasn't about to miss something out. One stop was both abrupt and unintended...<br />
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Fortunately, I didn't fall on anything sharp, and only my pride was bruised. Up until that point, and beyond it, the 47mm WTB Byway tyres I was running front and rear had hooked up nicely, but something had clearly gone amiss. Operator error, no doubt.<br />
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I pushed out to the sealed ring road a number of times, figuring it would be potentially more difficult to find the bush tracks from the main road. That said, I was always on the lookout for an opportunity to form a loop, preferring duplication on the road rather than the rough dirt tracks. Eventually, I'd knocked all the northern interior off, and thought things would be a bit easier on the sealed route back to lunch.<br />
<br />
Oh, how wrong I was.<br />
<br />
The paper map had been pretty good, with just about every track shown, and the GPS had been a fantastic backup. Nonetheless, I missed a coastal track, and by the time I realised I'd overshot it, I decided to ride a walking track shown on the map which would take me back to the dirt road I'd missed. First, an uneventful plummet down to the ocean on a steep driveway north of Mutalao.<br />
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<br />
The singletrack was hard riding, but a little over a kilometre long before it ended abruptly. Faced with doubling back, not only on the track, but then again on the tarseal to find the road I'd missed, I made the foolish choice to leave the singletrack and strike out on foot. Based on the GPS and paper map combo, I only had to bush bash for 100m or so, before I would surely find a 4WD track crossing in front of me. I was approaching perpendicular to it, so all I had to do was plow forward, and I couldn't miss it.<br />
<br />
Um yeah, about that.<br />
<br />
It took about 15 minutes before I knew I'd made a bad mistake. For some of that quarter hour I'd been able to move quickly, but my route had been sufficiently complex, that it was far from certain that I'd be able to locate the original track. My GPS unit was struggling in the jungle, and so too was I. My pedals and handlebars were constantly hooking up on vines, and while I considered hanging the bike in a tree and striking out on foot, the thought of losing my bike (as well as myself) in the bush was worse than my current predicament.<br />
<br />
I could hear what I thought might be feral pigs, and while I didn't fear getting attacked, for good measure, I got stung on the chest by an angry wasp. I sincerely hoped there were no locals within earshot to hear my complaint! <br />
<br />
Through trial and error, perserverance and a bit of brute force, I eventually found what may have been the remnants of the "road" I was looking for - or, it may well have been 20 metres south, across that impenetrable wall of plant matter. Fark...<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-oullm0uX4vg/XpKRyr759lI/AAAAAAAALRw/CzyPWbensroc0wFwchgpeShUl4el0FdnwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/20200109_123500.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="781" data-original-width="1600" height="195" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-oullm0uX4vg/XpKRyr759lI/AAAAAAAALRw/CzyPWbensroc0wFwchgpeShUl4el0FdnwCLcBGAsYHQ/s400/20200109_123500.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is NOT fun. And, it is YOUR fault!</td></tr>
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Finally, after about an hour's huffing and puffing and sweating and swearing, I popped back out on the main road. I was so disgusted, I didn't even bother going back for the track I'd missed earlier, assuming it was as non existent as the one parallel with it that I'd just been on.<br />
<br />
I'd haemorrhaged both time and energy, but once I got back on my bike, I felt OK, and I anticipated easy riding all the way back to Makefu.<br />
<br />
Um yeah, about that!<br />
<br />
I popped to the end of a sea track just before Toi, and on my retreat, felt an incredibly sharp pain in my right ankle. My best expletives rang out once more, both at the three wasps that had simultaneously nailed me, and at the world more generally.<br />
<br />
At Toi, I filled my now-empty bottles from a tap on the side of one of the buildings, and sculled a whole bottle down. I hoped the water wasn't bad, but I hadn't budgeted on being lost in the bush for an hour, and was feeling parched.<br />
<br />
For the time being, I stuck with the plan, and looped through Hikutavake, only to stumble upon an open bar!!! A can of coke and an ice-cream-on-a-stick were welcome, and while the kindly bartender didn't have change for my $50 note, he was more happy for me to owe him, than for him to owe me, and I left with the money in my pocket, promising to return the next day if not before.<br />
<br />
Despite those pick-me-ups, when I reached Makefu, I was done. I'd been riding just over 8 hours, covering <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/2994732141">a mere 122km</a>. The bush bashing had robbed me of precious time, energy, and inclination to continue, and the wasp stings had further eroded my enthusiasm. The nail in the coffin was the easy out. At 2:30 in the afternoon, I pulled the pin, without even trying to estimate whether or not completing my challenge was going to be possible in what was left of the day.<br />
<br />
A shower, and the company of my wife and daughters were as wonderful as they were tempting, and I had no regrets at stopping. While the thrill of the chase generates its own fun, I ride a bike inherently because I enjoy doing so, and while from time to time I'll willingly flog myself, this was not to be one of them.<br />
<br />
That night, we went for dinner at the Matavai Resort with a lovely young couple who were at Turtle Lodge with us. They'd been to Togo Chasm, and had raved about it, so the next morning after breakfast, we out to see it. A rough fifteen minute bush walk ended with a ladder down into a wee spot of paradise.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1KLWYKtOT54/XpKR63If6kI/AAAAAAAALR8/8MubtCnPAZkJp0o_bYBiquvkkFf3T0sOQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/20200110_100408.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1KLWYKtOT54/XpKR63If6kI/AAAAAAAALR8/8MubtCnPAZkJp0o_bYBiquvkkFf3T0sOQCLcBGAsYHQ/s400/20200110_100408.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Togo Chasm's sandy beach - a rare sight on Niue</td></tr>
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<br />
The ocean was accessed via an impressive cave, and when we were out admiring the swell coming in, Kaitlyn dropped her sunglasses at an inopportune moment. They looked tantalisingly retrievable for a few seconds, but the next wave pounded in, and with that, they were gone.<br />
<br />
That was a bummer, but what really took the shine off the walk for me was growing discomfort in my ankle. By the time we got back to base, it was swollen and sore, and having previously had <a href="http://sifter-writes-bikes.blogspot.com/2017/10/processing-old-film-club-nationals-time.html">a bad experience experience with cellulitis</a> following a bee sting through my sock, Sarah and I decided a trip to A&E was in order.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Angry ankle</td></tr>
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The staff at the hospital were amazing, and it was very cute how apologetic they were about our 20 minute wait to be seen. The total cost included a non-local consultation fee and the prescribed antihistamines and antibiotics, and was trivial despite apologies for that too. It was a great relief to have been seen at all, and I spent the next 48 hours or so on the couch in the lounge, since elevation seemed to have the most positive effect on the swelling.<br />
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<br />
After a couple of days' rest, things seemed to have settled down quite a bit, so I chanced a gentle ride with Sarah. While there was no obvious swelling, the pedalling motion generated a strange sensation - almost like I had a bag of fluid under my skin that was wobbling about as my foot spun. Other than that, things felt OK, and we managed to get across the island and back.<br />
<br />
It was a good thing that we didn't spend too much time on the ring road, since the island was celebrating the <i>takai</i> drive-day, whereby every village decorates vehicles old and new, and drives slowly en masse around the whole island, tooting horns and throwing lollies the entire way! Apparently it is the only day of the year where inebriated drivers are tolerated, perhaps because at least everyone is headed in the same direction (and at a snail's pace).<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-WmzJU7WLLfk/XpKR_TxR5LI/AAAAAAAALSI/MD8cpbQEAsgc01h_OPdAFBb5SQ68hnNnACLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/20200112_134136%25280%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-WmzJU7WLLfk/XpKR_TxR5LI/AAAAAAAALSI/MD8cpbQEAsgc01h_OPdAFBb5SQ68hnNnACLcBGAsYHQ/s400/20200112_134136%25280%2529.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of a whole fleet of "cars" which appear to be kept running just for this annual event!</td></tr>
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<br />
<br />
As well as being a test ride, it was also an opportunity to do some more colouring in. We passed the island's power station, which consisted of a large shed with a bunch of generators lying idle. We imagined there was currently very low electricity demand on account of the parade, and presumed that the large solar panel array we'd seen by the hospital was providing sufficient oomph.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Interior of the Tuila Power Station</td></tr>
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<br />
After a short off road loop behind the power station, we headed back to Makefu, but not before doing a quick lap of the wharf, where the monthly cargo ship unloads by barge (the next one was due soon, which had the locals looking forward to replenishment of the potato supply). It was only out of sympathy for my drive-train that I didn't celebrate the successful <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/3003268563">70km ride</a> with a bomb into the ocean.<br />
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<br />
Before knocking off, we popped by the Hio Cafe, and in conversation, was told that I should have pissed on my ankle to prevent it from getting angry. What fascinated me about that advice was that it was exactly what Sarah had told me when I got home a few days earlier. It struck me as remarkable that two cultures that really couldn't have been more different and distinct, Mongolian and Niuean, nonetheless had the same traditional strategy for dealing with wasp stings.<br />
<br />
With three days left on the island, and still a chance of the ankle flaring up, I decided there was no chance of mounting a half-successful Everest challenge, let alone a full one! Nor was I able to go back in time, but I was still keen to colour in as much of the island as I could.<br />
<br />
From what I could tell, I'd done everything I could in the top two-thirds of the island, bar a couple of sea tracks that I'd missed at least twice, and guessed were probably overgrown. Sarah was keen to join me for the leftovers, so we headed for the south eastern corner of the island.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FF5BzpPWeD4/XpKTPDTDbmI/AAAAAAAALSs/8vasG_gt5DUgCNIl-SV-oqxV3szBLCeLQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/20200113_073701.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FF5BzpPWeD4/XpKTPDTDbmI/AAAAAAAALSs/8vasG_gt5DUgCNIl-SV-oqxV3szBLCeLQCLcBGAsYHQ/s400/20200113_073701.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stumbling upon another large solar array</td></tr>
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While it was nice to have Sarah's company, it did change my experience considerably. Because we'd done the ring road together, much of what was left was unsealed, and I fretted that she wasn't enjoying riding off-road on the bike she had. We were also both nervous about wasps, and sure enough, Sarah got nailed by one on her upper arm.<br />
<br />
Luckily, the necessary natural remedy was available (and this time, well known), and I felt like a proud husband being able to produce some urine on demand. Sarah did the splashing on the site of the sting (pissing straight onto it would have upped the weirdness level far too much), and as advertised, it didn't bother her for the rest of the ride.<br />
<br />
I'm used to the ridiculous format of riding down every bloody dead-end bothering Sarah whenever she accompanies me, but was surprised to find I began to lose patience with it too. The sea tracks were hard, since the routes were not well used, were rough and occasionally steep, and the perceived risk of getting stung again was high. On the up side, the views at the end were spectacular...<br />
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<br />
... even if the retreat was hard won.<br />
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<br />
I didn't bother heading out to one track which was way out on its own, and Sarah sat out a couple of dead-ends. After a connecting track didn't connect, Sarah had had enough of the silliness, and we split up for the final run home. I bailed on another short (but surely wasp-laden) track, but otherwise enjoyed blasting down the Makefu Bush Track to arrive a couple of minutes before Sarah with a successful <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/3006462446">80km logged</a>.<br />
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We celebrated our last night on the island with a traditional banquet, courtesy of the Hio Cafe, joined again by our lovely housemates, Hannah and Jarrod. We had some ceviche, and tried <i>uga </i>for the first time (coconut crab), but my favourite was the <i>takihi</i> - layered papaya and taro, baked in coconut cream. Delicious, but probably not good for the waistline!<br />
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I set off on my own the next morning, just before 6:30am to do a lap of the airport, and more importantly, pick off the various deadends in the vicinity. The island doesn't appear to have many strava segments, but there was one from Makefu into Alofi, and so I gave it as much of a nudge as I was willing to, given my porridge was still settling and my legs were cold.<br />
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At the northern end of the airfield was the island's quarry, and I dropped down a rough track as far as the ring road before riding and walking back up.<br />
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The weather was a bit dreary, with light rain on and off. I'd marked on my map a few bits of track I'd missed, but found in all cases, I'd missed them for good reason - there was no sign of them on the ground. Nonetheless, it was fun poking around the airfield<br />
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The ride was fun, and as usual, I found myself noticing stuff which had escaped my attention at the wheel of the car.<br />
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A loop in the bush later, <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/3008894529">the 54km ride</a> was done, bringing my total riding on the island to almost precisely 400km. It was time to quickly clean the bike and pack it up for our return to NZ. Our landlord Dave offered to put the bike bags on the back of his ute, but it was pissing down by this stage, so we tried successfully to squeeze them into the back of the station wagon.<br />
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My pipe dream of seeing 100% on the <a href="https://wandrer.earth/a/niue">wandrer.earth Nuie leaderboard</a> was not realised, with the tracking website notifying that I'd ridden only 216.5 of the 247.8 unique kilometres in its database. Of the 30km that eluded me, I'm certain that at least half of it is overgrown, and am equally certain that I could have scored at least 90% with a bit more care! Maybe a good excuse to go back to Nuie.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Red = unridden</td></tr>
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An Everest attempt on Niue would be bloody hard. I thought there were three candidates: a 44m ascent over 600m up to Hikutavake village in the north, the climb from the ring road south of the airport ascending 39m over 670m, or the first 670m on the Alofi-Liku Road, ascending 34m. The first and steepest would be a tough 240km ride, while the other two would be 300km and 350km respectively. The road surface in each case would be lousy, and I'm not convinced Strava has got the vital statistics correct (the gradients seem too low, to me). Probably just as well I got stung...!!!!<br />
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Despite not pulling off either challenge, I had great time riding in Niue. The full week gave ample time to explore, both on and off the bike. There were swimming opportunities aplenty, and while I didn't sample as many spots as Sarah, Kaitlyn and Khulan did, the ones I saw were absolutely stunning.<br />
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What we saw of island life was inspiring. Dave told us we could leave our bikes leaning up against the lodge ("they'll be safe there"), and I'm sure he was absolutely right. We never locked anything, and every person we interacted with was lovely.<br />
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Prices were interesting: petrol was about 50c per litre more expensive than in the big smoke, and there were some things you simply couldn't buy (e.g. fresh milk), but by and large, we weren't paying too much extra to cook at home. We survived with the local WiFi setup, though chewed through an outlandish amount of data between the four of us (which didn't come cheap), despite only having connectivity at Turtle Lodge. The <i><a href="https://www.niueisland.com/go-niue-app">Go! Niue</a></i> app was fantastic, and didn't require you to be online.<br />
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Travelling with our beautiful adult children was a nice change, though interesting to observe the need to snap out of our traditional roles a bit more. It is always such a delight watching Kaitlyn and Khulan together, and when they interact with others. Family holidays will get tougher to fit in as their lives complexify, but hopefully we can keep finding opportunities.<br />
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I'm baffled that Niue doesn't have a better reputation as a holiday destination, especially for couples and families with older kids. And while I wouldn't describe Niue as a riding destination (unlike the few other Pacific Islands Sarah and I have been to: <a href="http://sifter-writes-bikes.blogspot.com/2017/09/cycle-touring-new-caledonia.html">New Caledonia</a>, <a href="http://sifter-writes-bikes.blogspot.com/2016/07/hawaiian-honeymoon.html">Maui </a>or <a href="https://sifter-writes-bikes.blogspot.com/2019/06/taiwan-cyclist-tourists-paradise.html">Taiwan</a>), I'd encourage any cyclist travelling there on account of the laid back vibe and incredible interface between land and ocean, to take an off-road capable bike with you (something like an <a href="https://blackseal.nz/pages/open-u-p">Open U.P.</a> would be perfect!).<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Photo by NASA!</td></tr>
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Thanks for the memories, Niue! I may yet see you again.<br />
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sifterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15453244482461385029noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7894195099236501078.post-82512857384473964832020-04-11T16:59:00.001+12:002020-04-16T10:25:12.820+12:00Peaks Challenge Falls Creek<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Despite my memories of the daily grind of the 2018 Tour de France fading, I've been fascinated that my desire to see my team-mates has not - on the contrary, I regularly find myself pining for their company.<br />
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Some six months ago, Bruce posted on Facebook that he'd be going back for a third crack at <a href="https://www.bicyclenetwork.com.au/rides-and-events/peaks-challenge/">Peaks Challenge, Falls Creek</a>. I knew little to nothing about the event, but for one thing - Bruce was in. A couple of days later, I had flights booked myself...!<br />
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I had grand ideas about a training rendezvous to have a second tilt at <a href="http://sifter-writes-bikes.blogspot.com/2013/03/raid-ruapehu.html">Raid Ruapehu</a>, but in the end training, both grand and not-so-grand, fell by the wayside. A week or so out, Bruce and I joked that at least we'd be grovelling together.<br />
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Training wasn't the only thing I'd neglected. My logistics planning hadn't been great either, though at least I had an excellent accommodation option courtesy of the fine folks at <a href="https://www.rideholidays.co.nz/">Ride Holidays</a>. Due to work constraints, I wasn't on their full-blown tour, and would be getting myself to and from the venue (close to Melbourne, when you haven't got the map at a sensible scale).<br />
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To better feed my Air New Zealand status points addiction, I flew via Auckland, with the side benefit that I scored an upgrade to a business class seat for the leg into Melbourne. That was nice, but the highlight of the flight was discovering that the loo had a window, not something I recall seeing before. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Room with a view!</td></tr>
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Being early March, the world was still in the early stages of the COVID-19 pandemic. The immigration process into Australia had been tweaked only slightly, and I had to declare that I hadn't been in China, Iran or Italy in the last 14 days. I presumed that had I been, I would have been sent straight back to whence I came.<br />
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On the long drive to Falls Creek, I listened to local radio at various times, discovering that there was quite a run on toilet paper in Australia. As a public health guy said with a bemused tone, half the world doesn't use toilet paper, so people will probably manage without if need be...<br />
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The solo drive afforded me a much needed opportunity to de-stress a bit, and while it took the best part of five hours (including a couple of comfort breaks), it wasn't too arduous. Once I'd arrived at Falls Creek, I soon found Bruce, and our room-mates for the next couple of nights, Todd and Ian. After a suitably awesome hug, I got my bike sorted (brake rotors back on the wheels, tyres pumped up, and rear derailleur remounted), and then it was upstairs for dinner and to meet the other Ride Holidayers. Dinner was freaking awesome, and it was nice to meet the other riders and the crew, ably led by Chris and Dean.<br />
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The next morning, we rode as a group over the final 45 kilometres of the race, between Falls Creek to Anglers Rest. There was a major point of difference though - the next day we'd be doing them in the harder direction, i.e. uphill.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Almost ready to roll out</td></tr>
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Falls Creek sits at about 1700m, and in the second half of the ride, we peeled off about 1000 of those. Initially, the road was relatively flat, and wound around the Rocky Valley Storage lake, which was in particularly fine form with a neat morning mist hanging over the lake and road.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Rocky Valley Dam sitting in front of the reservoir</td></tr>
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It felt like the first time in ages I'd ridden in a bunch, and it was nice to chat with people throughout. In true kiwi form, in many cases there were only a couple of degrees of separation. It turned out Anna's son is in one of my classes at university, and James was the brother of Steve, who is a Calder Stewart team-mate of my dear friend (and team-mate from France), Stu. I'd already made the connection with Ian, who I taught in a statistics course as far back as 1997!!! <br />
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At Anglers Rest, we got changed and piled into the vans to retrace our steps. Between the downhill ride and the uphill drive, it was hard to work out what the finale of the next day's event would be like. Despite knowing I'd under-prepared, I was able to avoid becoming overly intimidated by it all. The shake-down ride has also been useful - in particular, I'd discovered the cleats in my race shoes were completely flogged. While that was terribly disorganised of me, at least I'd anticipated it, and had packed a second pair of shoes.<br />
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After washing up, Bruce, Todd, Ian and I strolled through the alpine village to a cafe, and after 10 minutes of indecision, settled on a proper sit-down lunch (and coffee, of course). After that, we were able to register, and I stopped for a nice chat to Chris and Dean - it was really interesting to hear first hand about the Ride Holidays philosophy and style. That done, it was off for a bit of quiet time back in the room, before venturing out again a bit later for the event briefing.<br />
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While the pandemic was front of mind elsewhere in the world, the briefing was sobering for another reason. Falls Creek and the surrounding communities were still reeling from a terrible bush-fire season, which had been prominent in the media throughout the summer. We'd seen some evidence of it on the way to and from Anglers Rest, and were warned there'd be more on the full route.<br />
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Afterwards, I hooked up with my cousin Rion, who I'd met only a few times before, most recently when I was a teenager! He's been living in Sydney for years now, and had only been cycling in the last few years. The air was a touch chilly, but we talked for as long as we dared, before wishing each other well for the next day.<br />
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That evening, I spent a lot of time stressing about gear. The event provided a valet service whereby you could send food out to three aid stations. In addition, you could send clothing to the second of these, and whatever you took off there would be brought back to the finish for you. In the end, I chose not to send anything, partly because my Monday flight necessitated me to jump in the car not long after the race had finished - I didn't want to have to hang around for my gear, and nor did I want to impose on Bruce to bring a festering pile of riding gear back to NZ with him!<br />
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It was an early alarm the next morning, by virtue of the pre-7am start time. I'd grabbed some rolled oats and pineapple from the superette the previous evening, and was glad to slot into a somewhat regular morning routine (<i>sans </i>espresso...).<br />
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For an hour or so post breakfast, I continued fretting about what to wear, and what to take. We'd been told to expect cold temperatures on the tops, and up to 20-degrees down in the valleys. In the end, I settled on some warming oil on my legs in lieu of leg warmers, a regular lycra jersey, arm warmers, a gilet, and my invaluable Gore Shakedry jacket. On my head I decided to go with my buff (exposing my ears seems to do the trick when the air warms up), as well as a Castelli cap (in Gabba fabric) for emergencies. I chose the lightest of the three pairs of gloves I had. The final indecision was reserved for my Ground Effect overtrou and larger saddlebag. In the end, I decided to harden up and go without, largely because it was still dry when we rolled out. Taking Bruce's lead, I did line my stomach and chest with one of my unused plastic valet bags, which seemed like a sensible precaution (and felt very pro). <br />
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The start area was about a minute away, and the Ride Holidays crew were on hand to retrieve warm clothing from us. It didn't feel overly cold, which was a relief, since we were standing around for 20 minutes or so, wondering if we'd made any terrible decisions!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">0620 - waiting for the start</td></tr>
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Eventually it was our turn to leave. I almost immediately lost touch with Bruce, though at least knew he was ahead of me. I was feeling pretty nervous about the descent - about the cold on the one hand, but also the crowd. Bruce and the others had ridden this descent two days earlier, and upon hearing their descriptions, had talked myself into believing I had the skills of a novice. I was pleased to realise a few minutes into the descent, that I'm actually quite a capable bike rider, only gently rebuking myself that I'd conveniently forgotten about the tens of thousands of relatively incident-free cycling under my belt.<br />
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The descent wasn't completely without incident, mind you. Not a minute from the start line, I genuinely thought I was going to witness some carnage. I found myself about 15 metres away from a guy whose front wheel was flapping about in a sickening way. I slowed and kept my eye on him, lest he start pulling people down, and was astonished to see that no sooner had he successfully brought the thing to a near halt, then he was letting off the brakes as if it wouldn't immediately start again. I shouted at him to stop before he killed himself, then was glad to slip away.<br />
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The road was closed to traffic, and it was a lot of fun bombing down towards Mount Beauty, a descent which lasted about 40 minutes! I caught up with Bruce about half way through the descent, which was awesome.<br />
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At Mount Beauty, we'd been invited to "donate" unwanted clothing to a local charity. Here, people were discarding old riding gear or even casual clothes they'd put on over the riding kit to keep a bit warmer on the descent. I peeled off my shakedry jacket and stowed it in a pocket, but hadn't planned on discarding anything, so didn't.<br />
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It was cool to see many locals lining the road, and encouraging us as we passed. The event had been going since 2010, and was obviously a welcome boost to the local area, despite the constraining nature of the road closures. <br />
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After climbing gently out of the town, we soon turned left onto the road up to Tawonga Gap, a beautiful 500vm Cat 2 climb.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View from just below the Tawonga Gap summit</td></tr>
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Bruce and I nattered away for much of it, nearer the top debating whether or not to stop to put coats on in response to the light rain.<br />
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Despite the road being wet, the descent was enjoyable, and during it we connected with another from our group, Shelley from Christchurch. At the bottom, we turned left towards Harrietville. For the first half of the 20-or-so-kilometres, I enjoyed sitting on or near the front of a growing bunch. The pace was nice and smooth, and it was dry and relatively stress-free at the front (and the additional effort was a good warmer...). Eventually though, the bunch became too big, and various hammer-heads went to the front and started pulling like crazy (despite having just been caught, WTF).<br />
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I drifted back to where Bruce and Shelley were, and seriously considered completely extricating myself from the group. Thankfully, we arrived into Harrietville not long afterwards, and between the rest station (which Bruce and I ignored), and the start of the 30km climb (with 1300vm) up Mount Hotham, the unpleasant bunch dynamics fell by the wayside.<br />
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I'd been quietly celebrating a "new bike day", loosely speaking. Towards the end of 2019, I scored a lovely <a href="https://opencycle.com/UP">Open Cycle U.P.</a> (Unbeaten Path), a brand that Cape Epic sponsor Kashi Leuchs had been bringing in, in addition to Yeti. I was riding it for pretty much the first time in its "road race bike" guise. I'd had at least one compliment on it by an eagle-eyed fellow competitor, and not long into the Mt Hotham climb was passed by another. While I'm yet to experience it in "<i>unstoppable on very tough terrain yet much faster on pavement than you'd expect thanks to the road position</i>" mode (650b with MTB tyres), I can attest to its prowess as "<i>a go-anywhere bike perfect for mixed surface rides and most gravel routes</i>" and now, as "<i>a very fast road bike</i>". Amazing what versatility a well designed frame and judicious wheel and tyre choice can achieve. (Also amazing what people on bikes tend to notice...!)<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">On the left, another Open. Why I noticed, I'm not sure.</td></tr>
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As the Hotham climb went on, I really started to labour, to the point that I got the sense that Bruce had slowed down for me. Aside from the first 20 minutes or so, the temperature had been in the 8-12 degrees range, but on the climb it dropped to below five. That affected me, but so too had the frenzy down in the valley - I thought I'd been careful not to overdo it when I'd led the bunch, but it really seemed like I'd expended far too much energy.<br />
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We pulled in briefly at an aid station about half way up. I filled my bottles with water, and Bruce jammed into my pocket some bars and jellies (which I hadn't noticed on a table at the station, despite searching for them). Then it was back into the climb.<br />
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As we got nearer the top, the wind picked up and it all got a tad unpleasant. While Bruce had donated his gloves down at Mount Beauty, I put mine back on at the summit, and didn't see Bruce again until the next aid station at Dinner Plain.<br />
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The descent was quite something, and I was stunned to see how underdressed some people were. I was pretty bloody cold myself, though between my jacket and cap, was not overly worried about survival! I couldn't say the same for some of the riders I passed though... To add insult to injury, in addition to the temperature and wind-chill, we had to ride through a couple of sets of roadworks which resulted in a light coating of (cold) mud. Luckily the bike didn't get too filthy, though I did later make use of the bottle of lube stowed in my top-tube bag.<br />
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At Dinner Plain, we did a loop through a wee roadside complex, and en route to the lunch table, I noted a cafe. Bruce had arrived a good few minutes ahead of me, but had been helping Todd change into some dry clothes - Todd had been unable to undo his shoes to put some dry socks on, his hands were so cold!<br />
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Half in jest, I asked Bruce if he fancied a coffee stop, and to my surprise and delight, he said he'd meet me there!!! We went in, and both ordered quad-shot coffees. As we sat and waited for them to be delivered to our table, I made no attempt to control my shivering - my body knew what it was trying to achieve, and I figured I might as well give it a chance to do so...!!!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0uFhtzBpNKI/Xmc_HVkHi-I/AAAAAAAALOw/br66DWYy2iYNArjmGIyoYjbl1xeZgareQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/20200308_120733.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0uFhtzBpNKI/Xmc_HVkHi-I/AAAAAAAALOw/br66DWYy2iYNArjmGIyoYjbl1xeZgareQCLcBGAsYHQ/s400/20200308_120733.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hand and belly warmer!</td></tr>
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Eventually we'd emptied our cups and pulled as much residual heat out of the empty vessels as we could - there was nothing else for it but to head back outside. We later agreed that if we missed out on the special sub 10-hour finisher's jersey on account of this 30-odd-minute stop, it would have been completely worth it!!! Snappier service probably could have halved the time, but neither of us were too fussed about that (one of the many reasons I love riding with Bruce is that we seem to have a similar outlook on such things).<br />
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The conditions that awaited us back on the road were initially not much better, but at least we had the coffees on board. The road demanded a bit more effort too, so between that, the lower altitude, and a general improvement in the weather, things actually become nice for a wee while. I suspected some would not have been able to enjoy it though, having cooled down way too much dropping off Mt Hotham, though perhaps their saviour would have been the motorcycle marshalls who were carrying long rolls of plastic which presumably would be used like a large garbage bag with armholes.<br />
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From time to time, Bruce and I would ride in company for a while, but our coffee break had dropped us back through the field quite a bit, and consequently we were riding faster than the riders around us. One such rider was Mandy, well visible in her pink and blue Ride Holidays kit for a few minutes as we drew near her.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3Bd-JdgzewU/Xmc_fm0aoYI/AAAAAAAALPI/73MRVPT3J30tFe5MC7M93S_ptNpSNbdTQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/20200308_131634.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3Bd-JdgzewU/Xmc_fm0aoYI/AAAAAAAALPI/73MRVPT3J30tFe5MC7M93S_ptNpSNbdTQCLcBGAsYHQ/s400/20200308_131634.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mandy and Bruce riding through a bit of burnt out bush</td></tr>
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We stopped for some refreshments at Omeo, beyond which was some really lovely riding. I enjoyed not only the relative warmth, but my legs had recovered from their low on Mt Hotham, and the terrain and surrounding bush was perfect.<br />
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As we passed people, we would tend to offer a few words of encouragement and/or solidarity. One recipient was a woman who not only appeared to be in her 80s, but was also climbing in her big chain-ring. My cheery greeting didn't seem to be overly welcome, and once she was out of earshot, I joked that she was too disgusted to answer someone pedalling in such a soft gear.<br />
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There was a truly glorious bit of road that took us into Anglers Rest - reasonably flat and fast, but sinuous and a treat to ride. We'd gathered up a bit of a posse, including Anna, aka Captain Quinn, and I enjoyed swapping turns on the front with another dude who appreciated the value of a smooth pull.<br />
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We had a momentary stop at Anglers Rest, and after safely negotiating the "Bike Eating Bridge", I found myself riding with just Bruce and Anna through to the base of the final climb.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bike Eating Bridge at Angler's Rest</td></tr>
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As we turned and started climbing, I could hear Bruce hollering at me from behind. I turned and couldn't see him, but decided not to investigate further. Much is made of "WTF Corner", which is about 200m into the climb, and is appropriately steep given its name. The dude dressed as the Grim Reaper was silent as Anna and I passed by.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It wasn't Anna's time - heading for WTF corner</td></tr>
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Safely around the corner, I wished Anna well, and then eased away from her, soon after passing another from our group, Jenny. The climb is a genuine HC beast, ascending 1000vm over 22km, but with the first 8km averaging about 10%. My Open is set up with a compact crankset, so I had a 1:1 gear handy when I needed it. It was definitely the sort of road you're better off riding at whatever pace you can manage!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Birthday girl, Jenny - steaming away from WTF corner - with Anna and I down below</td></tr>
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My legs seemed to have coped well enough with the 200km already covered, and every 5 to 10 minutes I'd pass another rider. From the recce the day before, I knew the climb profile in a broad sense, and was looking forward to the aid station at Trapyard Gap which would signal the end of the sustained climbing. There, I quickly chugged a can of coke, and pressed on, trying (but failing) to remember Mike O'Neill's words of wisdom about the pointy end of this event.<br />
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There was a little over 20km back to Falls Creek, and I knew I'd still be gaining altitude for about half of that. Once I hit the lake, it would flatten, and I'd be done before I knew it. My energy levels seemed OK, and my legs were still working, but the 10-hour time was really hanging in the balance.<br />
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The irony of a conversation I'd had with Shelley in the van back from Anglers Rest wasn't lost on me. I'd described the time I'd missed - by a measly three minutes - finishing in my target time of 10-hours for <a href="http://sifter-writes-bikes.blogspot.com/2011/12/enduring-stormy-taupo.html">the Taupo Enduro</a>, and the arithmetic I'd been trying to do to gauge progress after my GPS had switched into miles. Here I was, not a day later trying to work out the speed I needed to hold to meet this (also arbitrary) 10-hour target.<br />
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It was out of reach long before I acknowledged that fact, and while I never completely switched off, I made two stops which might have been forgone if I'd not mentally pulled the pin on the chase. Between Anglers Rest and the summit, the temperature had dropped from about 14 degrees to 3 degrees, and I wasn't prepared to endure it just for the hell of it. I stopped to put my jacket on, and then again a minute later to add gloves and cap. Even then, the damage was done, and I never quite got comfortable. <br />
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I don't recall feeling a sense of elation at getting to the finish, but I was damn happy to stop nonetheless. My finish time was agonisingly close to the 10-hour mark (10:06, to be precise), but as Bruce and I had agreed after Anglers Rest, the coffee stop was totally worth the delay. Who knows, without it, the wheels may have fallen off anyway, and we might have haemorrhaged time elsewhere on the course. In any case, I had absolutely no regrets!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CYqxhOXVgdQ/XmdGoDsAUOI/AAAAAAAALPs/Hw2Dfq4G5s4_OhFWhAQ_JX0IzjabD_RSACLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/finishline.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1067" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CYqxhOXVgdQ/XmdGoDsAUOI/AAAAAAAALPs/Hw2Dfq4G5s4_OhFWhAQ_JX0IzjabD_RSACLcBGAsYHQ/s400/finishline.jpg" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Grinning at the grimness of it all</td></tr>
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After receiving a commemorative jersey (of the sub-13 variety), I shot back to base, and made my second bowl of porridge for the day. I felt a bit stink not staying outside to watch my dear friend finish, but my day wasn't over yet, and I needed to build my strength for a long drive.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pro (and Hard) as nails, one of the many reasons I love him!</td></tr>
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Bruce soon joined Todd and I in the room, and the debrief continued while I packed up (not well, overlooking a drawer full of spare riding gear). Within an hour of finishing, I was repeating the first descent of the event, though this time in a car, and on the correct side of the road throughout...!<br />
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I got as far as Seymour that evening, and had a stress-free conclusion to the drive the next morning, reaching the airport in ample time for my noon flight back to NZ. The day was one of transition, from escape-mode back to surreality.<br />
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As a cycling challenge, Peaks was a cracker. The distance was solid, so too was the climbing, but the conditions really made it what it was. I'm always irked when I hear someone refer to themselves "suffering" on a bike - even when it is tough, I try to be conscious that riding is a choice and a privilege, and don't like the implicit comparison the word elicits. That all said, the conditions on Mt Hotham and into the finish had the word on the tip of my own tongue, to the extent that I still can't quite believe that photo of Bruce finishing without gloves, hat or jacket. Thanks to Karl, Chris and Dean from <a href="http://rideholidays.co.nz/">Ride Holidays</a> for helping me sneak on board, and I look forward to joining you again.<br />
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Of course, life has been bizarre ever since - the trip triggered a couple of days of self-isolation, enacted retrospectively on any overseas travellers. A few days after that, the whole country was put into lock-down mode. All of a sudden, reminiscing over a bike ride hasn't seemed that important.<br />
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As I sit and write, I can see suburbs out the window that are currently off limits to me. At another extreme, Sarah and I have already been notified that the flights for our June trip to northern Italy have been cancelled, though we still have valid tickets to Japan for late August - it remains to be seen whether or not that trip will be possible, let alone wise. I'm not finding it hard to keep things in perspective, and to be honest, am just glad to be in a country that seems to have managed its pandemic response well. Our sacrifices to stay local are really no sacrifices at all, in the giant scheme of things.<br />
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Looking back on this trip, I realise the strengthening of an existing friendship was the highlight, but also the opportunity to make new connections. And while that happens naturally through a shared experience (particularly when said experience is unusually arduous), riding side by side in a foreign land is not a necessary condition for that. Nonetheless, I still find myself yearning for the combination, and am hoping that doesn't make me a bad person.<br />
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sifterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15453244482461385029noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7894195099236501078.post-57889289287751410372020-01-03T08:58:00.000+13:002020-01-03T09:08:08.260+13:00A Christmas trip across the Andes<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I can be a slow learner, it seems, but it has finally got through my thick skull that short biking holidays do me the world of good.<br />
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Ever since Sarah flagged to me the Lacets de Montvernier entry on the site, dangerousroads.org has been a source of inspiration. It has various lists, including <a href="https://www.dangerousroads.org/around-the-world/our-lists/4935-the-most-famous-hairpin-turns-roads.html">the world's most famous hairpinned roads</a>, the first entry of which is the <a href="https://www.dangerousroads.org/south-america/chile/77-paso-de-los-caracoles-chile.html">Paso de los Libertadores</a>. While clearly written for drivers, the images on the site have had this cyclist mesmerised on many occasions. So much so, that Sarah and I booked late-December return flights on Air New Zealand to Buenos Aires, Argentina, so to go check out the road ourselves.<br />
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The trip would be relatively short, given the distance we were travelling, and that neither of us had ever been to South America - only about 2 weeks away from New Zealand. My goal as planner was to not let the riding completely dominate the trip.<br />
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We set sail from home the moment work shut up shop, arriving in Buenos Aires on the morning of the 18th (it was a very long day, with two cracks at it!). We had overnight bus tickets booked for the 20th to Mendoza, Argentina (approx 1500-dead-straight-kilometres inland from Buenos Aires, and in the foothills of the Andes), a flight from Santiago, Chile back to Buenos Aires on the 29th, and the first few touring nights' accommodation booked. The rest we were going to do on the fly.<br />
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<b>South American preamble</b></div>
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We arrived in Buenos Aires in great shape, thanks in no small part to original Premium Economy bookings, and successful Air NZ Elite Airpoints Dollar upgrades to Business - a not insignificant perk of all the travel in the last year or so, and a bit of brand loyalty.<br />
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We had two nights booked in Buenos Aires, and in between, did a <a href="https://rentalbikeargentina.com/">great guided bike tour</a> of the city centre to loosen the legs, and to get a better sense of the place.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Passing through the Reserva Ecológica Costanera Sur</td></tr>
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Our accommodation was deliberately booked within walking distance of the bus station. Our own bikes were still in their cardboard boxes (those soon destined for a recycling bin in Mendoza), and while I was confident I could drag them to the bus, didn't really want to be doing more walking than necessary and so swung by the bus station after dinner to get the lay of the land.<br />
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That turned out to be a critical save, since once there, we were told that under no circumstances would we be able to take the boxed bikes on our bus - it was fully booked, and it was anticipated that the cargo hold would be full of christmas presents. The language barrier added to the stress, and we were farewelled from an otherwise unhelpful cargo place with a hug each, and a suggestion that we try flying...<br />
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By another great stroke of luck, we managed to book two seats on a domestic flight to Mendoza the following day, and crucially, some space in the hold! After disembarking, we headed to the baggage claim to find that our boxes had been put on the conveyor belt first, and were in the process of failing to make the sharp left turn at the end. I neglected my blog-writing duties, and instead of reaching for my camera, went to help the fellow who was desperately hauling bags off the belt before all of them ended up in a massive pile behind our boxes!<br />
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We headed outside, and found a rare shady spot to unpack the bikes. I took my time reinstalling handlebars and front wheels, but by 3:30pm, a couple of hours before our scheduled bus departure, we were ready to roll out from Mendoza airport, wondering why we'd not planned this mode of transport all along...!<br />
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While it had been slightly stressful, the emergency tweak to our plans meant we had a full day to enjoy Mendoza. After breakfast, we did <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/2947518874">a lap of the city outskirts</a>. It was a nice ride in its own right, but also useful to discover I hadn't tightened my left crank properly after replacing the chainrings, and also that while Sarah's GPS basemap had transferred nicely, mine was corrupted (despite being the exact same file) and so my GPS was only going to be useful as a recorder. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Heading up to see the Cerro de la Gloria monument</td></tr>
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<b>Day 1 - Mendoza to Uspallata</b></div>
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Mendoza sits at about 750 metres above sea level. Our first day on the road would take us through the "Pre Andes" and up to the town of Uspallata, at just over 2000m elevation.<br />
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The riding part of getting out of Mendoza was a breeze, thanks to an incredible network of cycle paths... At times they were busy, and I even saw an oncoming cyclist wearing an NZ cap. (Alas, too late to say gidday.)<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-i5bfOPMdEgM/XgwoYuMhjMI/AAAAAAAALDY/pC8Q8fLyqG47auLHwyx-NMaXNfMoIl3KwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/20191222_103627.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-i5bfOPMdEgM/XgwoYuMhjMI/AAAAAAAALDY/pC8Q8fLyqG47auLHwyx-NMaXNfMoIl3KwCLcBGAsYHQ/s400/20191222_103627.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Exhibit 1</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Exhibit 2</td></tr>
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On the other hand, the cafe that supplied our "free breakfast" hadn't opened at the promised time, and further to that, Sarah's GPS had hung on an update. After waiting about 15 minutes, we had no alternative but to force a reboot, and cross our fingers that we hadn't just bricked it. Fortunately, it rebooted fine, and after choosing "Later" when offered the update, we were off. The various delays saw us stopping for a second breakfast at 11am before even leaving the city limits, with a mere 9km on the clock!<br />
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When we finally did leave town on Route 82, it was a relief to feel like we were properly underway. This was also a rare opportunity to ride on a back-road, with much of the route for the first three days having no alternative to the route all the trucks would be on.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-H70umL348Sw/XgwoYd9UzuI/AAAAAAAALDQ/fcgiK9ao6W8HLAv9G6cfTsi5Cbcf3AqVACLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/20191222_123207.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-H70umL348Sw/XgwoYd9UzuI/AAAAAAAALDQ/fcgiK9ao6W8HLAv9G6cfTsi5Cbcf3AqVACLcBGAsYHQ/s400/20191222_123207.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A beach park, set up on the banks of the Rio Mendoza</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The road was popular with cyclists, and we regularly passed riders travelling in either direction. It was pleasing to note that food and drink opportunities were also in abundance - some formal by way of cafes or restaurants, but also plenty of informal road-side stalls.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GmZa3BdUkDw/Xg0NvUaA1YI/AAAAAAAALKE/Erl2_7OEAL4vl558lXbBtt8jdz6rpQJAgCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/20191222_124551.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GmZa3BdUkDw/Xg0NvUaA1YI/AAAAAAAALKE/Erl2_7OEAL4vl558lXbBtt8jdz6rpQJAgCLcBGAsYHQ/s400/20191222_124551.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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After about 30km, the road entered a river gorge, and after a stop for some gassy water ("agua con gas"), and a quick tootle around Cacheuta, Sarah was in great need of a cool down. A decent climb was on the immediate horizon, and the air temperature was in the high 30s. While it was a far cry from the humid conditions of Taiwan or Malaysia, and much more pleasant as a result, Sarah nonetheless intensely dislikes the heat (unfortunately I seem to revel in it...!).<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xelWTmwPkdA/XgwojUBBtsI/AAAAAAAALDg/Ktoh5LR4F40Cpffav-imfbvWm81osa8DQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/20191222_132525.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xelWTmwPkdA/XgwojUBBtsI/AAAAAAAALDg/Ktoh5LR4F40Cpffav-imfbvWm81osa8DQCLcBGAsYHQ/s400/20191222_132525.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Old rail and swing-bridges at Cacheuta</td></tr>
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Cacheuta had another touristy "beach" set up, but with bike security in mind (not to mention avoiding the need to communicate with anyone), we joined some of the locals at a layby just up-river. The rest area was lined on one side with trees, and every available spot beneath them was taken up with one family picnic scene or other. I watched while Sarah had a quick dip in the river, not inclined to go in myself.<br />
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That done, she set off in better spirits, while I was barely containing my excitement about the shape of the road above us.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HywJR68fpXw/XgwopYETbeI/AAAAAAAALDw/gVum2gvkcWQlzlC5RoIc-q-etei805CmQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/20191222_134231.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HywJR68fpXw/XgwopYETbeI/AAAAAAAALDw/gVum2gvkcWQlzlC5RoIc-q-etei805CmQCLcBGAsYHQ/s400/20191222_134231.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dique Potrerillos on the right</td></tr>
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<br />
The road did not disappoint, and I clambered up onto the roadside barrier with a sense of childish glee at the sight below me.<br />
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A short tunnel obviated the need for further switchbacks, and at the far end we emerged into the bright sunlight to a view over the Embalse Potrerillos de Mendoza - an artificial lake on the Rio Mendoza.<br />
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It was a popular destination for the city folk, and also seemed to be the turn around point for the cyclists (or beyond it, at least).<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-L167wdyxNNE/Xgwpv8NLi9I/AAAAAAAALEI/tX58GXun714JibaGn7_F3IBU9oYzilyFACLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/20191222_135847.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-L167wdyxNNE/Xgwpv8NLi9I/AAAAAAAALEI/tX58GXun714JibaGn7_F3IBU9oYzilyFACLcBGAsYHQ/s400/20191222_135847.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Food stall, dam and tunnel portal</td></tr>
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<br />
We grabbed some snacks and water at the gas station at Potrerillos, which was just as well. Here, RP 82 merged with RN 7 (Ruta Nacional vs Ruta Provincial), and signalled a dramatic end to the food and drink provision. From opportunities every few minutes, we didn't have a single chance to spend money until the outskirts of Uspallata, literally half the ride later.<br />
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Aside from that very obvious difference, the only other major change was the traffic composition. Cars were swapped out for trucks, though the volumes didn't change appreciably.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-dyNt2Xfxokg/XgwpwqBM1ZI/AAAAAAAALEQ/Wad6p2rOhUgIM8PUDN0n51WKM5CcmsM5QCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/20191222_150326.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-dyNt2Xfxokg/XgwpwqBM1ZI/AAAAAAAALEQ/Wad6p2rOhUgIM8PUDN0n51WKM5CcmsM5QCLcBGAsYHQ/s400/20191222_150326.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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The lake had broken up what was otherwise a fairly linear climb. During the day, we ascended about 1300m over 110km, and for the most part it was a barely perceptible false flat. It didn't make for particularly fast travel, but it wasn't tough riding either.<br />
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While the colours of the land were fairly uniform, the scenery was increasingly spectacular, and unlike Sarah, I wasn't letting the heat distract me from the incredible landscape. There was very little vegetation, so the colour variation was mostly coming from the earth, and the direction of the sun.<br />
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One strange blight on said landscape was a pile of hundreds if not thousands of water bottles. Our American Buenos Aires cycle-tour companions had commented on this, and it turns out these roadside shrines are to <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Difunta_Correa">La Difunta Correa</a>, and are common in this part of the world.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-g82ndJTOt8k/Xgwp6-Eq5vI/AAAAAAAALEc/n5Gw3WzqqAEQQfrkzRaSyIWmMDCn2cr3gCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/20191222_163953.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-g82ndJTOt8k/Xgwp6-Eq5vI/AAAAAAAALEc/n5Gw3WzqqAEQQfrkzRaSyIWmMDCn2cr3gCLcBGAsYHQ/s400/20191222_163953.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Offerings "to calm her eternal thirst" - beautiful sentiment, but otherwise hideous</td></tr>
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After about 100km of riding, we emerged from the relatively narrow river valley into a much wider valley, with the Andes proper on our left sides, and actual, green trees giving the impression of an oasis in the desert. We stopped soon after at a gas station on the outskirts of Uspallata - the first in about 50km - and soon after rolled through town. There, we found a growing queue of trucks, plenty of nervous looking police, and a large group of protesters on the roadside. Everything seemed fairly calm, if not entirely jovial.<br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0UfHJ04OySY/Xgwp5zkEeBI/AAAAAAAALEU/T1byU_aTfZYwl0AL2wamlCFIqctRZsMQQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/20191222_173739.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0UfHJ04OySY/Xgwp5zkEeBI/AAAAAAAALEU/T1byU_aTfZYwl0AL2wamlCFIqctRZsMQQCLcBGAsYHQ/s400/20191222_173739.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Our accommodation was a few kilometres out of town, and we decided to head there before returning to do some breakfast shopping and to have dinner. There, we found a queue of about 20 trucks behind the protestors, who were now fully blocking the road. Sarah's friend Rissa helped to translate some of the signs Sarah surreptitiously photographed, and from the other side of the world, told us that the blockade was to protest mining activity in the region. If that is to blame for the river quality, its no wonder the locals are pissed!!<br />
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After dinner, I realised I'd likely left my EFT-POS card hanging out of an ATM. It was amazingly easy to place a temporary hold, then a permanent one, and order a new card, all via the bank's app. I'd have preferred to have found the card, but luckily Sarah had hers (and I had a backup from another account), so we remained liquid for the duration of the trip.<br />
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<u>Stats</u>: <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/2950080599">112km ridden</a>, 1670m climbed, max temp 42, average 34 degrees<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>Day 2 - Uspallata to Las Cuevas</b></div>
<br />
We both slept solidly, and woke to a stunning day, with not a cloud in the sky.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5FW7PC9HlyI/Xgwp6U-YQ8I/AAAAAAAALEY/E7SUi8ofFckwe4LM6KZcQPmHoGQzwgxCQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/20191223_093229.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5FW7PC9HlyI/Xgwp6U-YQ8I/AAAAAAAALEY/E7SUi8ofFckwe4LM6KZcQPmHoGQzwgxCQCLcBGAsYHQ/s400/20191223_093229.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Aside from the rough, unsealed driveway, this cabin made for a glorious stop</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The cereal, yoghurt, and eggs we'd bought from the supermarket the night before slipped down well, and then we suited and packed up, and rode into town for some coffee.<br />
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The protesters were still there, and again had the road blocked off. I felt a strange sense of urgency to get past them, when I should really have been loading my pockets with food. We approached the cordon on foot, and made a gesture to a chap leaning on a 44 gallon drum which ended in a question mark. He correctly interpreted our gesture, and smiled and waved us on. We stayed on foot until after we'd passed the last of the assembled locals (some of whom were enjoying a game of football on the otherwise unused bit of highway).<br />
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Beyond them, for 15 minutes or so, we enjoyed being the only ones on the road, though we soon passed a truck depot after which commenced a slow trickle of vehicle traffic. These were mostly trucks, and they just about always passed us entirely on the other side of the road, bless them. In NZ, I expect they would have taken out any delay-induced frustrations on us...<br />
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We were soon back alongside the Rio Mendoza, whose far bank was impressively sheer. In fact, our entire surroundings were impressive, from the blue sky all the way down to the road's edge.<br />
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Sarah had corresponded overnight with Esteban, a Mendoza native living in Wellington, who she'd randomly met MTBing in Polhill a few weeks ago. He had recommended a few things we should check out during our ride, the first of which was Puente de Picheuta. It wasn't clear whether it was the original bridge (built 1812) or a replica, but if it was original, in the intervening couple of centuries, the Rio Picheuta's course had altered so to make the bridge redundant.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-nmaAJC0k3Vo/XgwrOl6EaBI/AAAAAAAALFA/W1sw1Nd6F3cGyUJNB6xRP58cCiJQfOWkwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/20191223_111116.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-nmaAJC0k3Vo/XgwrOl6EaBI/AAAAAAAALFA/W1sw1Nd6F3cGyUJNB6xRP58cCiJQfOWkwCLcBGAsYHQ/s400/20191223_111116.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Puente de Picheuta, entirely on the true left, these days</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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The next highlight (for me, at least) was an old bit of road consisting of a couple of tunnels and a bridge, which had since been bypassed.<br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_I2F0o_p_gQ/XgwrNrA58aI/AAAAAAAALE4/FE_WhZwiAe4JpIPWyUYr5wLK6dQOKtxjgCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/20191223_114539.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_I2F0o_p_gQ/XgwrNrA58aI/AAAAAAAALE4/FE_WhZwiAe4JpIPWyUYr5wLK6dQOKtxjgCLcBGAsYHQ/s400/20191223_114539.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Sarah didn't stop to check it out, but I was keen to take a look, and doubled back. The far tunnel was the only time I used my front light on the trip, and came to an abrupt end at a pile of rocks that had no doubt been tipped in when the new road was built.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/--b_cRbN6yA4/XgwrYm8vH-I/AAAAAAAALFE/pW_iRemhZCggICD6qGodz-u9xOSlM9njgCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/20191223_115106.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/--b_cRbN6yA4/XgwrYm8vH-I/AAAAAAAALFE/pW_iRemhZCggICD6qGodz-u9xOSlM9njgCLcBGAsYHQ/s400/20191223_115106.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We saw at least a dozen of these Cristal trucks, often driving in convoy</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
By the time we reached Polvaredas, we were both looking forward to some refreshments. Alas, the couple of stores we could make out were deserted, and after looking in vain for signs of life, we had no choice but to dip into our One Square Meal stash, and proceed onwards.<br />
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As we'd been riding, we were often able to see remnants of an old railway line. A lot of it was covered by fallen rock, in various quantities, so, it came as a surprise to see a pristine rail bridge over the river just before Punta del Vacas. It was in such good condition it was hard to believe that the <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Transandine_Railway">Transandine Railway</a> hadn't been in recent use (closed since 1984, apparently).<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tTnVrX7N-80/XgwraXiXQoI/AAAAAAAALFI/8zsEqTcCG545gpwTUskeenPX-h5pPMLewCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/20191223_130203.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tTnVrX7N-80/XgwraXiXQoI/AAAAAAAALFI/8zsEqTcCG545gpwTUskeenPX-h5pPMLewCLcBGAsYHQ/s400/20191223_130203.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Old and new</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
There was a vehicle checkpoint at Punta del Vacas, but the police there had no interest in us. Again, the few buildings there were deserted, so we didn't linger.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-nEr0r5NsN5U/XgwrakWvZOI/AAAAAAAALFM/TkZDqpU-q_4NxsdJ-qtitf2rjKozT5MRwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/20191223_131514.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-nEr0r5NsN5U/XgwrakWvZOI/AAAAAAAALFM/TkZDqpU-q_4NxsdJ-qtitf2rjKozT5MRwCLcBGAsYHQ/s400/20191223_131514.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">About to recross the Rio Mendoza, with a police barracks at Punta del Vacas sitting between the road sign and our right turn to follow the river home</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
A few minutes upstream was the intersection of two valleys, and the where the Rio Tupungato joined the Rio Mendoza. Sadly, we followed the latter, and were immediately confronted with a headwind, that even Wellingtonians would describe as nasty. Up until that moment, we'd had a favourable breeze (if any), so it was quite an unpleasant surprise, and really changed things.<br />
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I'd already taken Sarah's gear out of her saddlebag and was carrying it in an otherwise redundant backpack. We soldiered on for a wee while, me trying to get my pace right so that Sarah could shelter on my wheel, but not succeeding. Just before reaching Los Penitentes, saw the Refugio de Montaña Mundo Perdido, an aptly named opportunity for some food.<br />
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We turned into the gate, and an alarm started blaring - it took us by surprise, but at least it guaranteed the owner appearing. He spoke great English, and his welcomed us into his wee hostel. We asked if he had any food for sale, and leapt at his offer of some ravioli. He showed us where we could fill our bottles, and we sat at a dining table until he reappeared 20 minutes or so later with a couple of bowls of pasta. The rest was great, and so too was the meal he'd whipped up for us!<br />
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We resumed our battle into the wind, and soon reached Los Penitentes, not by virtue of our speed, but because it was very close to where we'd stopped. It was visually gross, with a couple of ugly apartment blocks, sitting vacant until the ski season, no doubt. There was a restaurant there adjacent to another hostel, which appeared to be a staging post for an imminent climbing trip, and across the road a wee minimart being run out of someone's shed. There we found ice-creams, and hoed into them.<br />
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My legs were feeling fine, but weren't up to pushing Sarah into the wind - alongside, I got two headwinds for the price of one! I foolishly grabbed an inner tube out of my frame-bag, and attached it to my saddle bag. On our second attempt, we got going, and for a couple of minutes made good progress. Then, Sarah started yelling, and luckily I came to a halt before my derailleur was torn off. The tube was a write off though, having wound itself around the cassette a couple of times.<br />
<br />
We barely had time to get going again, when we reached Puente del Inca, complete with shops set up for visitors to the ancient natural arch over the Rio Mendoza.<br />
<br />
Despite two recent stops, we cooled off in one of the open cafes. I ordered a couple of empanadas and a coffee (singular, or so I thought). There appeared to be a typical cafe coffee machine, though it wasn't all it seemed - the heating mechanism was a gas hob of some sort, judging by the lit match being fed into its bowels! After 20 minutes or so, sufficient pressure had built up in the machine, and we eventually got not one, but two, coffees. The language barrier was proving tricky.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-b2aPHVs8qp8/Xgwrl0IVZ3I/AAAAAAAALFg/-Nc10m2eztwaqNb2rC7XWDkfjKtUR_DUgCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/20191223_160407.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-b2aPHVs8qp8/Xgwrl0IVZ3I/AAAAAAAALFg/-Nc10m2eztwaqNb2rC7XWDkfjKtUR_DUgCLcBGAsYHQ/s400/20191223_160407.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Puente del Inca, and abandoned spa</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Before hitting the road again, we took a look at the bridge - well worth the fuss - and a few of the local craft stalls. Then it was back into the heinous headwind.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zLNUoUONzvY/Xgwrsi2o9OI/AAAAAAAALFs/maUk1sEHOssOcXXQZVBiG3lpRwnESo1FACLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/20191223_163059.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zLNUoUONzvY/Xgwrsi2o9OI/AAAAAAAALFs/maUk1sEHOssOcXXQZVBiG3lpRwnESo1FACLcBGAsYHQ/s400/20191223_163059.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looking up at Aconcagua, the highest mountain outside of the Himalayas</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The road steepened a wee bit, and I rode ahead of Sarah, occasionally stopping to photograph her. She was about the only point of reference for scale of this magnificent valley.<br />
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After passing through a wee gorge (which appeared to have chocolate milk running down it, instead of water), we reached a short tunnel, and at the far end of that, we found our destination, Las Cuevas.<br />
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We were both relieved to arrive, not least Sarah!<br />
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<br />
We found our accommodation, and the first order of business was to overcome our lack of cash. We made have set off from Uspallata with enough, but the ravioli, ice-creams, empanadas and coffee had chipped away at it, and we had been relying on paying by credit card.<br />
<br />
Luckily, our host Pablo, a <a href="http://www.madnessexpeditions.com/index.html">mountain guide</a> cum hostel manager, was incredibly helpful. Sarah's experience in the Mongolian bank sector was also useful, and within the hour, we'd managed to make a transfer using the owner's bank's SWIFT code. We were 3200m above sea level, in the middle of a mountain range, yet a combination of WiFi and cell reception (for the confirmation SMS code), and a lot of patience on behalf of Pablo who was getting the requisite details via WhatsApp from Mendoza, eventually solved the problem. Oh, the marvels of modern technology.<br />
<br />
We washed up, and were soon tucking into some spaghetti bolognese that Pablo had whipped up for us and the only other guest at the hostel. The owner had a sideline in home brew beer (craft, these days, I suppose), and since one of the varieties had a cyclist on the label, we couldn't refuse. After dinner, Sarah and I went for a short walk - the only time we used our puffer jackets! Despite the altitude, we were both feeling fine, breathing-wise, but the air temperature and wind combination was a bit chilly!<br />
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<u>Stats</u>: <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/2952138834">92km ridden</a> (30 into a heinous headwind), 1700m ascended, max temp 42 degrees, average 31 degrees.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>Day 3 - Las Cuevas to Los Andes</b></div>
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The third day's ride was the one I'd been looking forward to for months. After a solid breakfast, we spent about 30 seconds riding on the sealed road, before turning onto the dirt for an 18km stretch that would allow us to bypass the main route through a 3km tunnel connecting Argentina and Chile.<br />
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We passed through a neat archway, and then zig-zagged our way slowly up the 600 vertical metre ascent. I counted the switchbacks out loud, and took plenty of photos of my wife (and the road)!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qOSlk5dXNVQ/XgwtIpcLIgI/AAAAAAAALGY/jcTbl4Lk8oECsPXj1a-tSlQ7W12zEXgvQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/20191224_102257.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qOSlk5dXNVQ/XgwtIpcLIgI/AAAAAAAALGY/jcTbl4Lk8oECsPXj1a-tSlQ7W12zEXgvQCLcBGAsYHQ/s400/20191224_102257.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looking up the Rio Mendoza valley, Las Cuevas just out of shot on the right</td></tr>
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Despite being over 3800m above sea level by the top, the only time I noticed the altitude was when Sarah put a bit of a dig in near the very top. I chased after her, quickly caught her, and then had to ease back significantly to let my oxygen consumption catch up with the effort. It was a remarkably different experience to the grovel at the top of Mauna Kea. This road certainly wasn't as steep as Mauna Kea had been. Perhaps hitting the highest reaches with fresh legs helped, or maybe it was slight acclimatisation after sleeping at 2000m and 3200m for the last two nights, respectively. Whatever, it was welcome. <br />
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Just before the top, we'd been passed by a couple from the Netherlands in a rental car. We had a brief chat to them, in between checking out the fascinating border complex. First and foremost, as someone from an island nation, I do find land borders incredibly exciting, and it was a real treat to be at one! Then there was the monument - Cristo Redentor de los Andes was built back in 1904 and is equally impressive today. There were a few also a few buildings, most of which seemed to have been there for some time, and with all but one deserted. And, there were a couple of flags on the ground, made from coloured stones - Argentina beating Chile for the "best dressed" prize - though if the border genuinely followed the ridge, it was entirely possible that each flag was half in and half out.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-uwggxN9pDfA/XgwtH2wNcrI/AAAAAAAALGQ/vZSbwpfg9sQukbYxzIeIepFCPexEeo3mgCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/20191224_105450.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-uwggxN9pDfA/XgwtH2wNcrI/AAAAAAAALGQ/vZSbwpfg9sQukbYxzIeIepFCPexEeo3mgCLcBGAsYHQ/s400/20191224_105450.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Of the few borders I've crossed on land, this one takes the cake</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
After donning my overtrou, jacket and buff, it was time to start the descent. While the switchbacks on the Argentina side had been relatively few (eleven, to be precise) and with stretches up to a kilometre in between, the Chilean side was jam-packed with them, and they made for quite a sight.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ck9wpa3d9io/XgwtPzMvRAI/AAAAAAAALGc/EAk2cAx1OPMoOEshfkOYrRHlJMeS1nodgCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/20191224_110303.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ck9wpa3d9io/XgwtPzMvRAI/AAAAAAAALGc/EAk2cAx1OPMoOEshfkOYrRHlJMeS1nodgCLcBGAsYHQ/s400/20191224_110303.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Switchbacks 5, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12 in shot</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-UqwlE2piNiM/XgwtQ8HbGwI/AAAAAAAALGg/Y0qjXROY5_odQPQjV1JxkYvdvihqcwbQgCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/20191224_111123.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-UqwlE2piNiM/XgwtQ8HbGwI/AAAAAAAALGg/Y0qjXROY5_odQPQjV1JxkYvdvihqcwbQgCLcBGAsYHQ/s400/20191224_111123.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">If I'm not mistaken, corners 21 (just above Sarah), 24, 26, 28, 29, 30, 31, 32, 33, 34</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qyb0PJAnbOc/XgwtSuBOFVI/AAAAAAAALGk/_D831WkIVZIYjaFYF8jpLa5okDLbOEWMQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/20191224_113412.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qyb0PJAnbOc/XgwtSuBOFVI/AAAAAAAALGk/_D831WkIVZIYjaFYF8jpLa5okDLbOEWMQCLcBGAsYHQ/s400/20191224_113412.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Corners 46, 48, and 50, and the Chilean portal of the tunnel</td></tr>
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I stayed above Sarah for the most part, and enjoyed snapping pictures and counting the switchbacks outloud, all the way down to 51 just before we hit the sealed main road. Not only was the road stunning, but it was pleasing that our tyre choice had been up to the task. The road surface hadn't troubled either of us - both running 40mm Maxxis Refuse tyres (tubeless) up front, and Sarah with a 38mm Vittoria Terreno Dry and me a 35mm Continental Speed King CX in the rear (neither tubeless). There'd been the odd sandy patch, and plenty of loose rock and ruts to keep an eye out for, but no harm, no foul.<br />
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I'd been expecting to check out of Argentina before actually leaving Argentina, and was similarly surprised to find no sign of border control at this end of the tunnel either. A maintenance man told us we'd find it 6km down the road, and so off we rolled!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ZFt5bwfkPXs/XgwtaGXj5jI/AAAAAAAALGw/LeMQ-BmLZho0zaVbQMQ0iwYJFIHHdmulACLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/20191224_114422.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ZFt5bwfkPXs/XgwtaGXj5jI/AAAAAAAALGw/LeMQ-BmLZho0zaVbQMQ0iwYJFIHHdmulACLcBGAsYHQ/s400/20191224_114422.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Got to Chile and all I found was this bloody sign!</td></tr>
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For a long while we had a B-road to ourselves, with the main route inside an avalanche shelter tunnel, alongside.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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As promised, we soon arrived at a huge border complex. Trucks were ushered one way, and buses another. We climbed up a steep ramp designated for cars, and once inside, pulled into one of half a dozen or so lanes. There, a single agent simultaneously stamped our passports out of Argentina and into Chile. Ten metres or so later, a colleague of his felt up our saddlebags for the tell-tale squish of fruit, and without further checking, we were sent on our way.<br />
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We gave the ski resort at Portillo the swerve (it was a couple of minutes down the road), and were soon admiring the third and final set of switchbacks for the day!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-AqF9LJlGkfc/XgwtnGlqCzI/AAAAAAAALHA/m6ekdUlsAIkivkF3IFn9V8P-OmXrvs0ggCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/20191224_121604.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-AqF9LJlGkfc/XgwtnGlqCzI/AAAAAAAALHA/m6ekdUlsAIkivkF3IFn9V8P-OmXrvs0ggCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/20191224_121604.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The numbering's a tad unclear near the top, but I reckon these are #21,22,23 from the bottom</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tMkiB1IlVsY/XgwtnUzZ2uI/AAAAAAAALHI/efTjpsTMifk1LPeGJ6GQ57dRHayea2-zACLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/20191224_122333.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tMkiB1IlVsY/XgwtnUzZ2uI/AAAAAAAALHI/efTjpsTMifk1LPeGJ6GQ57dRHayea2-zACLcBGAsYHQ/s320/20191224_122333.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">From the bottom: #1-15, all visible from #17</td></tr>
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By the end of the 26-corner sequence, I was grinning like a Cheshire cat, and in all had counted 88 in total for the morning: 11 up to the border, 51 down to the seal, and a further 26 in the last section. That's some seriously committed road building, and an absolute delight to ride.<br />
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Having eaten our dessert, it was now time to get stuck into the veges, consisting of a down valley push into a hot headwind. It was time to shed my extra gear, which may not have been entirely necessary, but not unpleasant to have had on up until this point.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-eEQ56c6ueNQ/XgwtnSpc4mI/AAAAAAAALHE/ciCsvnAlxlI4n-_lutCEZkWXWZ4JyP5KQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/20191224_124216.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-eEQ56c6ueNQ/XgwtnSpc4mI/AAAAAAAALHE/ciCsvnAlxlI4n-_lutCEZkWXWZ4JyP5KQCLcBGAsYHQ/s400/20191224_124216.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Los Andes, where we'd knock off for the day, followed by Valparaiso the next. Santiago, our final destination</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
After 20 minutes or so, we pulled into Ventisquero Guardia Vieja for a spot of lunch. We ordered five empanadas between us, only to discover that the Chilean versions were at least three times the size of the Argentinian ones we'd been eating to date! We didn't bother seeing if they'd accept Argentinian pesos, and hadn't yet seen a Chilean ATM, so plonked them on the visa!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-x8yU8qlqG-4/XgwtumPFA5I/AAAAAAAALHc/KyhsmYDK5xYGpuzJ6HPX5vPu310lUXn4gCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/20191224_131813.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-x8yU8qlqG-4/XgwtumPFA5I/AAAAAAAALHc/KyhsmYDK5xYGpuzJ6HPX5vPu310lUXn4gCLcBGAsYHQ/s400/20191224_131813.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Out of the shade of the brolly, Sarah's GPS recorded 51-degrees!</td></tr>
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<br />
We were well fuelled for the remaining slog to Los Andes. The road was fairly unremarkable, with similar bland scenery to what we'd been riding through on the other side.<br />
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That said, it wasn't necessarily a bad thing that the scenery wasn't commanding attention, since there were fairly regular holes in the road surface to content with. Many were where concrete pads met, and ran perpendicular to the direction travel. The few we couldn't dodge or bunny hop seemed not to trouble our hefty tyres.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HlVhDPaVhg4/Xgwtukr5G8I/AAAAAAAALHY/gmlcFd09MX8VKBjTSgmgJKX0LM97H9JaACLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/20191224_144022.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HlVhDPaVhg4/Xgwtukr5G8I/AAAAAAAALHY/gmlcFd09MX8VKBjTSgmgJKX0LM97H9JaACLcBGAsYHQ/s400/20191224_144022.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">On the outskirts of Los Andes, with los Andes in the rearview mirror</td></tr>
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We were staying across the river from the main centre of Los Andes, but did need some cash, motivating a detour into the centre of town. A loop of the city square revealed plenty of banks, but with the exception of the one with every window smashed, they were "boarded up", mostly with sheets of heavy steel. Despite the rest of the scene being your typical Christmas-eve downtown bustle, it made me felt quite nervous given the current social unrest in Chile, and so we high-tailed it out of there.<br />
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Just before crossing the river, we stopped at a large supermarket. Fortunately, there was an ATM inside, and I withdrew the maximum amount offered, only to later discover it was about $450NZD worth. I had to chuckle, since we'd had to withdraw a similar amount in about 3 withdrawals in Buenos Aires, and had struggled to find an ATM since then that would give us more than $60 worth!<br />
<br />
Soon after, we were checked into our overnight accommodation, all washed up, and in our evening wear. The inn-keep was pessimistic about our restaurant chances - a combination perhaps of being illiterate gringos, and that it was Christmas Eve. We made do with a short trip back to the supermarket for some deli empanadas (deli, not being short for delicious in this case). They were calorie-laden at least, and were nicely chased down with by ice-cream on sticks.<br />
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This was the last of our pre-booked accommodation. I'd tentatively planned to spend one night at Valparaíso on the coast, before doubling back to Santiago, giving us a few days to explore the city and more importantly, source a couple of bike boxes for the trip home. After reading a little more about Valparaíso (all I really new about it was that it has long been home to an awesome <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jO0VLouJFNQ">urban downhill</a> race, and that my bro had visited even furthre back in 2004), we booked a couple of nights at a nice-looking hotel, though one at a time, with a little bit of mind-changing in between!<br />
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Following the previous days' pattern of minor logistical dramas, this evening's was our 4-port USB charger giving up the ghost. Our host kindly gave us a single phone charger plug in the morning, and from then, we made do with that and judicious rotation of our GPS units and phones.<br />
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<u>Stats</u>: <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/2954147844">90km ridden</a>, 820m climbed, max temp 49 degrees, minimum 7.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>Day 4 - Los Andes to </b><span style="text-align: left;"><b>Valparaíso</b></span></div>
<br />
We had a bit of Christmas morning stress, when we read about a large fire on the outskirts of our destination, Valparaíso. One headline was particularly alarming: "Fire engulfs port city", and triggered a call to our hotel. The guy who answered the phone clearly thought I was an idiot for asking if we'd be able to reach them, so it was game back on.<br />
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As anticipated, the roads were initially very quiet, and when we crossed over the motorway at San Filipe, it was absolutely deserted!<br />
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We were on Route 60 which had a main-road feel but had been superseded by a new motorway (which Strava's base map doesn't appear to have). The riding was a mix of on-road and separated cycle path. It was fantastic, until it seemed like we had no option but to join the motorway. We doubled back and took a side road which had a promising "Warning, cyclists" sign on it, but soon turned into a very narrow gravel road. At one point the road was down to a single narrow lane, and we had to squeeze past a stationary truck, but at least we were pointed in the right direction, and we were soon crossing both the motorway and the river at Chagres.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-B1qYWpPppOs/XgwuTjZIS9I/AAAAAAAALH4/FtFznYi4204hdRrmts8w9opjG5m77Y0fgCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/20191225_095233.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-B1qYWpPppOs/XgwuTjZIS9I/AAAAAAAALH4/FtFznYi4204hdRrmts8w9opjG5m77Y0fgCLcBGAsYHQ/s400/20191225_095233.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Exploring"!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
From there, we followed the route I'd mapped at home as far as Colmo. While our immediate surroundings en route were the familiar browns of partially cooked vegetation, it was nice to have views into a fairly lush river valley.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Did you see the flower?" "Yep" "Really?" "Yep" "That one?" "OMG!!!!!"<br />
A sentry plant, doing its once in a lifetime bloom</td></tr>
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It seemed to be a day of flora and fauna, and when I stopped to show Sarah the snake lying on the road, we were lucky it was already dead, since she came to a halt directly on it, with her ankle only a few centimetres from its wee fangs!<br />
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At Colmo we deviated from the route I planned, by continuing down the river to Concon. There, we stopped for a very late lunch. While we were waiting for our empanadas, Sarah added some churros to our order. A bit of communication breakdown saw them delivered a few minutes later, and after watching them cool for a few minutes, we decided we'd better eat them before they got completely cold. Non-standard order of consumption, but a great meal nonetheless.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-EMqUHUTuU_Q/XgwwS3vsFvI/AAAAAAAALIE/vbjYt4pQWyE_MHuXGv3aGafKWnjMrykowCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/20191225_150350.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-EMqUHUTuU_Q/XgwwS3vsFvI/AAAAAAAALIE/vbjYt4pQWyE_MHuXGv3aGafKWnjMrykowCLcBGAsYHQ/s400/20191225_150350.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Empanada size lesson learnt, this order was more modest!</td></tr>
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Once we'd broken out of the restaurant zone, we were treated to great views of the packed beach, and then noticed a couple of pelicans in the ocean. <br />
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When riding around the point, one flew overhead, and I went a bit crazy with my camera, only to discover that these were not a rare sight at all. We had fun watching some locals attempt to unsuccessfully feed a sea lion - it was no match for the pelicans and gulls who invariable snatched up the morsels before the main attraction even got close.<br />
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After Concon was Viña del Mar - a collection of large condos, and a single surviving sand dune which hopefully never gets developed.<br />
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As we neared Valparaíso, we were mostly able to ride off road, though competing with pedestrians really slowed us down. So too did the occasional treats, like seeing a dozen sea lions basking in the sun on the lower deck of a concrete pile protruding from the sea, with pelicans taking the top deck. We could see the site of the fire, by virtue of a wee bit of smoky haze hanging in the hill above it. It was very localised, and not at all the image that "engulf" had conjured up.<br />
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Finding the hotel was slightly challenging, given the map we were consulting was flat, and the city is anything but. After a few minutes scratching our heads, we found our hotel exactly where it was shown on google maps, though perched well above the street we were looking for it on.<br />
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On the short ride up to the hotel, we were treated to some of the wonderful street art the city is famed for, making us immediately glad that we'd booked two nights here.<br />
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After cleaning up, we had a short walk to a nearby restaurant, and treated ourselves to a lovely three-course Christmas dinner. Not traditional fare, but fittingly special.<br />
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<u>Stats</u>: <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/2956108116">156km ridden</a> (much to Sarah's dismay), 630m climbed, max temp 34 degrees, average 26.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>Day 5 - Valparaíso to Santiago</b></div>
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We were very glad to have booked the extra night in <span style="text-align: center;">Valparaíso, and joined two "<a href="http://tours4tips.com/">Tours 4 Tips</a>" walking tours on our day off, both led by young Argentinians, and greatly enjoyable and informative. </span><br />
<span style="text-align: center;"><br /></span>
<span style="text-align: center;">The next day, after a hearty buffet breakfast, we got ready to leave for Santiago. I tried to get some advice from the guy at reception on how best to ride out of the city, but didn't find his advice particularly confidence inspiring. Nonetheless, we made our way towards the route he'd suggested.</span><br />
<span style="text-align: center;"><br /></span>
<span style="text-align: center;">Once there, we found a sign saying "Alternative Route to Santiago", which seemed like the sort of offer cyclists should heed, and we began climbing.</span><br />
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We'd been unlucky, and our on-the-fly choices put us in an uncomfortable situation when, in time, we found ourselves riding through the burnt-out neighbourhood of San Roque. The people we did see were in clean-up mode, and aside from throwing us the odd quizzical look ("what the hell are you doing here?!"), paid us no attention. I was very glad to finally leave the city limits, feeling really disappointed that we'd inadvertently intruded on this grieving neighbourhood.<br />
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I stewed on that for a while, but was feeling a little better by the time stopped to talk briefly to Lisa, a cycle tourist from Germany. She said she was doing the Ruta del Mar, which presumably is a route along the coast of the country, and lamented that her load wasn't more like ours! It wasn't lost on any of us that all our gear probably would have fitted into one of her five large bags! We wished her well, before zipping off (as you can, when you don't have an insanely loaded bike).<br />
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It was another hot, dry day, and I think playing tourists the previous day had made Sarah wish for less cycling. The lay-day had the opposite effect on me, and I'd craved the relative simplicity of life on the road, where relatively speaking, there are very few decisions to be made.<br />
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We took back roads all the way into Casablanca, where we stopped at a cafe for a drink. Then, we were treated to what seemed to be a brand new road, which was a delight to ride on - virtually traffic free, and a lovely smooth surface, part of which had been painted bright blue and appeared destined to become a cycle zone.<br />
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We passed through a number of small rural communities, and took most opportunities to stop for something cold. Again, GPS units left out in the sun were hitting 50-degrees!<br />
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The cycling infrastructure in this area was really impressive, particularly as it wasn't obvious who it was for. Perhaps we were on a school route, but in any case, it was appreciated. When we pulled into a supermarket at Maria Pinto, two armed police headed off on their team-issue mountain bikes.<br />
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Sarah really wasn't enjoying herself, so when I saw a relatively clean creek, suggested she stop and cool herself down a bit, hoping that that would make a genuine difference.<br />
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Soon after, we were poised to start the last climb of the tour, another lovely looking set of switchbacks on which we would ascend about 800m. Before that, iceblocks, and for Sarah, a dip in the wee paddling pool out the back of the front-yard-shop.<br />
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At the bottom of the climb, I took out the backpack, and again into it put all of Sarah's luggage. On the lower slopes I helped her a lot by pushing her, but even those gestures didn't seem to put in her in a space where she could enjoy the climb. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Why yes, I do believe she's flipping me the bird!</td></tr>
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Her lack of enjoyment started to wear me down, and I struggled to enjoy the ride myself. Near the top, a steep bit of road (up which I couldn't push her comfortably) gave me the opportunity to clear out, and I waited for her just beyond the summit.<br />
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Unfortunately, we didn't get a great view of Santiago, despite our proximity to it, and the elevation. Neither the shape of the land, nor the air quality were conducive to the typical <a href="https://www.lonelyplanet.com/chile/santiago">photo you see in the guidebooks</a>! So, I made do with watching Sarah on the descent, before plummeting after her.<br />
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The finale into our final hotel of the trip summed the day up nicely - it was pretty horrible, and consisted of many failed attempts to avoid riding on the motorway. We were both very glad when we finally arrived to the hotel, for different reasons.<br />
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Stats: <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/2960974405">153km ridden</a>, 1850m climbed, max temp 50 degrees, average 32.<br />
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<b>Conclusion</b></div>
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I'd been fretting for weeks (if not months) about finding boxes in Santiago to get the bikes home, due both to the time of year (28/29 December), and the civil unrest in Chile. As it turned out, ALL the bike stores were open, and it was a simple matter of going in, one by one, until we eventually found one that had, and was keen to get rid of, a couple of large bike boxes. I'd initially planned to book a hotel near the bike shops, but in the end opted to one very near the airport (about 15km from the city centre). In the end, I took an uber to the hotel and back, with the boxes folded in the back seat, and with that, all our problems were sorted, and we had a day free to chill out.<br />
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Of course, I felt completely out of sorts on that final day, overwhelmed by the available choice, and feeling like I didn't have enough information with which to make good decisions.<br />
<br />
Cycle touring really is my favourite bike riding format. I enjoy the speed at which you see, hear and feel a place, and love the pure simplicity of it. The decision to keep pedalling is no decision at all. You choose what to photograph, when and where to stop to eat, or rest, or soak in the surroundings. But not much else.<br />
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I realise I'm virtually never fearful (though I was while riding through San Roque), and have a deep confidence in my own ability to ride myself out of trouble, should I find myself in some.<br />
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I always bristle when I hear someone describing themself "suffering" on a bike. For me, the stresses and strains of adult life cause this, but riding a bike, even in the most gruelling conditions (be it heat or lack thereof, gradient, wind, thin air, whatever), is a privilege and a treat. I guess I'm lucky that my body has so much history on a bike, that the physical element tends to take care of itself. And, also that I have found the perfect mindset, which enables me to enjoy myself despite the sometimes monotonous nature of riding long distances.<br />
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I love being able to share my passion with Sarah. But, I realise she has a very different experience to my own. Doubts and fear are omnipresent, and her body is more wired to cope with a minus-40-degree Mongolian winter, than hot weather. I guess there's a tradeoff to be found - a parcours that minimises concerns she might have about conditions and length, but gives me sufficient saddle time to feel like I've had a break from life.<br />
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While the tour ended on a bit of a sour note, and to be fair, the scenic highlights were very much front-loaded, I think we both still had a wonderful time, and were glad to have gone. We've gained great memories, and further useful insight on what to do in the future.<br />
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Roll on 2020.<br />
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sifterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15453244482461385029noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7894195099236501078.post-86615233681768396592019-11-17T21:53:00.002+13:002019-11-18T07:33:37.545+13:00Doctors Randal at the Whaka 100<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Email time-stamps confirm that about a week after publishing my <a href="http://sifter-writes-bikes.blogspot.com/2019/08/10th-anniversary-mongolia-bike-challenge.html">Mongolia Bike Challenge</a> write-up, and the day after being invited to ride the <a href="http://sifter-writes-bikes.blogspot.com/2019/10/no-stacks-on-queen-charlotte-track.html">Queen Charlotte Track</a> by Simon, I entered Sarah and I as a team in the 2019 Whaka100. As a hat-tip to our academic qualifications, and our surnames, we chose a team-name of Drs Randal.<br />
<br />
This would be my third "all you can eat" 100km MTB extravaganza in the forest on the edge of Rotorua, having last done <a href="http://sifter-writes-bikes.blogspot.com/2015/10/holy-whaka-100.html">it in 2015</a>. I'd done a fair bit of riding in Mongolia on my own, and the discounted team entry seemed like a good way for us both to take part in the event, and for me to support Sarah in her first attempt at anything of this nature. While I've not done much off-road riding to speak of, she'd been regularly commuting via the Polhill tracks, and had been really enjoying the variety. <br />
<br />
Once again, the event was during the 3-day Labour Weekend. The daughters were both keen to come with us, and while Kaitlyn had an exam on the Friday afternoon and Khulan one on the Saturday morning, we managed to sort the necessary logistics to get everyone to Rotorua for most of the long weekend.<br />
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The race itself was on Sunday, and after over-nighting in Taihape, and an early lunch, Sarah, Kaitlyn and I unloaded three of the four bikes on the back of the car for a cruise at Craters of the Moon, just north of Taupō. It is one of the few places in NZ you need to pay to ride, but followed the rules and bought passes at the cafe near one of the trailheads.<br />
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I'm fairly certain we didn't sample the best the forest had to offer, but nonetheless had a nice spin. It was Kaitlyn's first ride in a long time, and the only advice we had on which trails to do were the "loop suggestions" on the map. I found navigation a bit of a drag, and must have refolded the map a few dozen times! In any case, it was a good opportunity for me to get the shock and fork pressures on my aging but still awesome Yeti ASR5C sorted, to test out the hand-me-down Light-Bicycle/Roadworks carbon wheels (that had gone from Khulan's Merida to Kaitlyn's Yeti, and now to the only remaining 26"-wheeled bike in the family),, and to loosen the legs a bit.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sarah and Kaitlyn at Deb's Seat</td></tr>
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We uplifted Khulan from Rotorua airport that evening, and had a lovely dinner together - one of those where it seemed wise to keep shovelling food in well after the point that the stomach says "that'll do...".<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"What I love most about my home is who I share it with" - never a truer word spoken</td></tr>
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Aside from putting race numbers on the bikes, I had a couple of things to try to sort, and they tested both my skills and patience. Sarah's headset seemed on its last legs, and tightening the stem cap bolt only a few degrees took it from too loose to too tight. Also, my brakes weren't functioning quite the way wanted them to, but I managed to improve them slightly, and was satisfied I'd be able to stop if needed!!!<br />
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Unlike '15, the race day weather forecast was great, and when Sarah and I rode down to the event HQ the next morning, we were only wearing Gore Shakedry jackets over lycra jerseys. I was using the Revelate Vole to carry spare tubes and tools (as well as our jackets), so just had a pump and food in my pockets. It was a delight not to be carrying a back pack!<br />
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We dropped off a couple of bags which would later be available to us at the 50km aid station, and said gidday to a few friends from Wellington. Then it was time to line up at the back of the first start wave - unfortunately, the Teams weren't seeded by predicted finish time, unlike the rest of the field. Looking back to see the likes of Andy Hagan on the front row of the next start wave had me figuring it wouldn't be too long before we were getting in the way.<br />
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It was a wee while before we hit singletrack for the first time, at which point I decided just to follow Sarah. Everything seemed to be going fine, but I was still second guessing my choice to follow her after she'd taken a nana-line on Creek, and again when we started getting swamped by the lead riders from the second start wave. <br />
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We stopped several times to let people past, so it was doubly frustrating when we got stuck behind a rider for about 5 minutes on a torturous bit of track. From my vantage point, things seemed to be going fine, and we were moving along well, but then out of the blue, Sarah hit the deck for the first time.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-y3eFZ18_5wE/XbfxIB47ELI/AAAAAAAAK6g/Zpb87acbPZgO74QcYAS8Q6orbA_CCCicQCEwYBhgL/s1600/74601331_1465417480278967_5123284337835376640_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="1024" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-y3eFZ18_5wE/XbfxIB47ELI/AAAAAAAAK6g/Zpb87acbPZgO74QcYAS8Q6orbA_CCCicQCEwYBhgL/s400/74601331_1465417480278967_5123284337835376640_o.jpg" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo: <a href="https://www.facebook.com/redstarnz/">Redstar Images</a></td></tr>
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She quickly dusted herself off, and got moving again, I heard some hollering from a rider that had got between us, and rounded the next bend to see Sarah lying on the track trying to disentangle herself from her bike.<br />
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During the crash she'd burped her front tyre, which was good, because it gave me a chance to settle things down a bit. I took the bike off the track, and forced her to sit down and have something to eat. Luckily, I was able to re-seat the tubeless tyre again, and after a five-minute spell, we set off again. I hoped that would be the last of our troubles.<br />
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Alas, it wasn't to be, and after a couple more silly crashes, I started to threaten withdrawal if she hit the deck again. She was quite belligerent, and I spent a long while wondering how on earth this was going to go - perhaps I was overreacting, but I was fearful that she'd eventually hurt herself badly or damage her bike. I didn't like the close up view I was getting of all this carnage.<br />
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I was getting really worked up, and may have shouted "USE YOUR FUCKING DROPPER" as she resumed riding down Tukonohi after yet another crash, - again with her seatpost at full extension, making life harder than it needed to be. We were only about a quarter of the way through the event, and in very different ways (but with the same cause) neither of us was having any fun.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Halfway up Hill Road</td></tr>
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Fortunately, we now had an epic climb ahead of us, and with all the crashes, the "race" element had at least gone. It was now a matter of survival, as it should have been from the very start.<br />
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Back at the top of Tukonohi, we saw Shane Wetzel, whose voice I hadn't recognised when he'd cheered us on our way into the track.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo: Shane Wetzel</td></tr>
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I hadn't done any homework on the route, so didn't know what to expect after Frontal Lobotomy. As it turned out, we were off down Billy T, which went mostly OK. There was at least one silly spill in front of me, but it looked more like indecisiveness was the cause, rather than the operator being on the ropes, and we proceeded with caution.<br />
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After Billy T we had a bit more climbing to do, before heading off down Kung Fu Walrus - a much better prospect in the dry than it had been for me four years earlier in the wet. Below that was a new bit of track - Te Kotukutuku - which suited us down to the ground given our current state - wide, and a nice smooth surface. </div>
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After a bit of riding in amongst some massive redwoods, we did an anticlockwise loop through Mossy Trail, the course crossing itself in the process. Soon after that, we reached the half-way point, and an opportunity to refill bottles and pockets, and empty bladders. Sarah even received a bit of first aid on her multiple-times-gouged knee, and it was a nice opportunity for both of us to relax a bit. </div>
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We were able to ease back into things with a warm up on gravel roads before the climb up to the top of No Brains. On the way up, we met a school teacher from Christchurch who sounded like she dabbled in all manner of sports, and doing a great job on the day despite, by all accounts, not doing much mountain biking. </div>
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After making it safely down, we had a long, and at-times very steep, climb ahead. It was the biggest single elevation gain of the course, at about 500m, and took us almost 40 minutes. My legs were feeling OK, and I glad to be managing to stay on top of the fairly unhelpful granny gear in my 2x10 setup (hot tip: beware when an ex-pro MTBer specs your bike...!!!).</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Body language not screaming "fresh"</td></tr>
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The long climb took us to the top of the new Split Enz, which I hated my way down. Sarah was riding suitably conservatively, yet at about 25kg heavier, and not inhibited by any crashes, I wanted to carry a bit more speed than I was able to. Consequently, I was glad when we were done with it - aside from the "spectating", it was the section I least enjoyed.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">40 to go!!!</td></tr>
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While I was no longer terrified about my wife axing herself, I was starting to tire of the riding. The singletrack that took us to the bottom of the Direct Road climb was taxing, and while the climb itself was fine, a stressful descent took us onto Be Rude Not To, a trail which was glorious in its early days but is now pretty horrid (or at least is, 80km into an event).<br />
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Even though I didn't familiarise myself with the course, I had some sense of what was remaining to get us back to base. In particular, I knew there'd be more than was welcome.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Still power in those legs, despite all they'd been through</td></tr>
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Sure enough, even though we were tantalisingly close to the finish, the course seemed determined to take unexpected turns, each time adding in a bit more climbing and a few extra minutes on singletrack. But, eventually the inevitable conclusion drew near.<br />
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I took the lead into Rosebank, but was shouted after when one of Sarah's tyres randomly lost pressure - just riding along, apparently. Unfortunately, I'd resumed my position keeping watch from behind when Sarah - ever the trooper - thought to ride through the bog which would prove to be one hurdle too many. In slow motion, she wrapped herself around the log bridge I was prepping myself to walk over. Bloody knee and drenched, but with a lovely smile on her face nonetheless.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo: Whaka100</td></tr>
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That was to prove the last problem, and we made it safely through the last minute or so, crossing the line together, and greeted by our two beautiful daughters.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo: Ryan Hunt</td></tr>
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<br />
We were both pretty stunned, and didn't celebrate overly much - I'm not sure we even embraced. Sarah went off to the first aid tent to get cleaned up, while I enjoyed the temporary space to recover a wee bit.<br />
<br />
I wouldn't have been surprised if Sarah had asked me to go back to the accommodation to pick up the car. That turned out to be unnecessary though, and all four of us rode the couple of kilometres back to base. I was happy to ride ahead, and it warmed the cockles of my heart seeing the three of them approaching from my vantage point above the track.<br />
<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jxHOIKGfwRw/XbfzziGQ3rI/AAAAAAAAK7Y/VgNMg79ilUQRfMGM84QC0_lnh2LzUlSPgCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/20191027_180933.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jxHOIKGfwRw/XbfzziGQ3rI/AAAAAAAAK7Y/VgNMg79ilUQRfMGM84QC0_lnh2LzUlSPgCLcBGAsYHQ/s400/20191027_180933.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
After a good clean up, it was time for some dinner. All the way from Victoria, British Columbia came the suggestion of Lone Star, and we were very happy to take Rich's advice. It was a lovely family occasion, and I was so grateful for the company - that the girls had both wanted to come up to Rotorua despite that the parents would be racing the whole day, and that Sarah was in a fit state to dine!!<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ZXhrGXCFx-E/Xbfzygy2v7I/AAAAAAAAK7U/99I1Dr1vljwQZKH3oMPFNREERof_JCtvACLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/20191027_201313.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ZXhrGXCFx-E/Xbfzygy2v7I/AAAAAAAAK7U/99I1Dr1vljwQZKH3oMPFNREERof_JCtvACLcBGAsYHQ/s400/20191027_201313.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo inspiration: Richard Martin!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
It took Sarah a week or so to bounce back after her bruising encounter with the Whaka 100. The emotional scars were obvious, and it was sad to see her feeling so humbled. The downside of being tough as nails, and as incredibly physically capable as she is, is that sometimes she sets her expectations a bit too high - and in this case she didn't live up to her own lofty standards.<br />
<br />
She should (and I hope does) feel proud of completing what is surely one of the hardest one day MTB races in the country. It was remarkable to see the recovery she made after a terrible start - not only to overcome the physical costs of crashing so many times, but also to successfully endure the associated emotional roller coaster. <br />
<br />
I hope that my presence was more useful than just to carry a bit of spare gear. I may have been overly hysterical at times, but I was genuinely becoming scared of the consequences of continuing. That said, perhaps even that added drama served a purpose, and enabled things to converge onto a sustainable path through to the finish.<br />
<br />
I'm ever so proud of Sarah - actually, I think more than I would have been had the race gone less badly. I knew she was tough, but this event really drew out her inner strength, and over the space of <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/2819800421">almost 10 hours</a> (less the first couple), I was able to hang out on her wheel in admiration. What a day!<br />
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sifterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15453244482461385029noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7894195099236501078.post-87298657455508129222019-11-11T19:27:00.000+13:002019-11-11T19:30:15.714+13:00Everywhere has roads<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
International travel is one of the "perks" of an academic's role, but it is not something I have typically enjoyed. My introverted nature makes me feel quite uncomfortable in a conference setting, and trips as an administrator in recent years have consisted of virtually zero exercise, and abundant cheap and delicious food.<br />
<br />
It has only recently registered through my thick skull that travel is good for me - perhaps not the environment, but having ridden my bike to school virtually every day in the last 30 years, I feel like I can justify burning a bit of gas. My job is stressful and easily imposes on my leisure time, and holidays help make it all feel worth while, before, during and after.<br />
<br />
Recent indulgences - to <a href="https://sifter-writes-bikes.blogspot.com/2018/06/10-june-2013.html">France</a>, <a href="http://sifter-writes-bikes.blogspot.com/2017/09/cycle-touring-new-caledonia.html">New Caledonia</a> and <a href="https://sifter-writes-bikes.blogspot.com/2019/06/taiwan-cyclist-tourists-paradise.html">Taiwan</a> - have been specifically chosen because of the reputation those places have for quality riding. But, as I once noted to Matthew, a colleague in the International arm of the university, "everywhere has roads". So, when a last minute opportunity came up to visit Melaka (the 9th largest city in Malaysia, according to Wikipedia) for a few days, despite it having <i>no reputation</i> as a cycling mecca, I decided to pack my bike, and request a meeting schedule that would accommodate a bit of R&R.<br />
<br />
My hotel was on the outskirts of the city, and with three afternoons and one full day to play with, the extent of my planning was to try to head in a different direction each day. I had zero expectations, nor any specific targets - the sole purpose was to be pedalling, a goal which I figured would easily be achieved.<br />
<br />
The extent of my planning had been to download a base map from <a href="http://garmin.openstreetmap.nl/">http://garmin.openstreetmap.nl/</a> and load it onto my GPS. Getting my bike ready was a cinch, and consisted only of remounting the rear derailleur and wheels, and pumping up the tyres (the former by virtue of my Scicon bag which doesn't require the handle bar to be removed, and the latter aided by a nifty Topeak <a href="https://www.topeak.com/global/en/products/mini-pumps/337-mega-morph-">travel pump</a>).<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>Day 1 - West</b></div>
<br />
I was clear of work and ready to roll out at 2pm the day after arrival into Melaka. I figured the best shake-down ride would be to cruise into the old part of the city via the outskirts and coastal road.<br />
<br />
The beauty of having no fixed agenda was immediately apparent, and with no riding companion, I was free to duck and dive as I chose. I had the map screen up on my GPS, and used both a suitable level of zoom, a general sense of the direction I wanted to go in, and the colour-coded roads, to identify a likely route - albeit one subject to last-minute change.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Q1t9vwWtmoY/XceIBo8DvzI/AAAAAAAAK8w/g4FvR7WDuucvJLwRrSLqcOfRKJW-d2XuwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/20191106_145500.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Q1t9vwWtmoY/XceIBo8DvzI/AAAAAAAAK8w/g4FvR7WDuucvJLwRrSLqcOfRKJW-d2XuwCLcBGAsYHQ/s400/20191106_145500.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of the first gems of the ride!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
My legs felt surprisingly good - I'd been on a daytime flight between Auckland and Singapore, so had moved around a lot, and between times was seated in relative luxury by virtue of an Air NZ elite airpoints dollar upgrade to premium economy. When I arrived at the intersection I'd been gunning for, I stayed on the main road rather than turn left - the Melaka waterfront would have to wait.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hJH9-WrGHJw/XceIBFvGTUI/AAAAAAAAK8s/8jK6ynbLHz4UyPyYsPRtFRtKl9ri1yQBACLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/20191106_150807.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hJH9-WrGHJw/XceIBFvGTUI/AAAAAAAAK8s/8jK6ynbLHz4UyPyYsPRtFRtKl9ri1yQBACLcBGAsYHQ/s400/20191106_150807.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
On the way out to Masjid Hanan, I toyed with various small loops, before settling on a less convoluted loop back to Acer Keroh on the outskirts of Melaka.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0t8L0X7kEsk/XceH_kwgYxI/AAAAAAAAK8o/Vo_3RYunI3cODbduC48e3J1c11W6cOXLgCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/20191106_155617.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0t8L0X7kEsk/XceH_kwgYxI/AAAAAAAAK8o/Vo_3RYunI3cODbduC48e3J1c11W6cOXLgCLcBGAsYHQ/s400/20191106_155617.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The mosque the town was named after</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I was struck by how nice the roads were - a great surface mostly, and plenty of space, due either to a complete lack of traffic, or the sort of courtesy you rarely get on New Zealand roads.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XNpnCtQdCWQ/XceIJ_8Fb9I/AAAAAAAAK84/HDITXiuHJ3MFm4Vfd0m4FrI_CWfunfPswCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/20191106_161958.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XNpnCtQdCWQ/XceIJ_8Fb9I/AAAAAAAAK84/HDITXiuHJ3MFm4Vfd0m4FrI_CWfunfPswCLcBGAsYHQ/s400/20191106_161958.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not atypical road conditions!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Rounding one corner, there was one hell of a commotion on the left side of the road, and it was clear that I startled something. Three macaque monkeys lingered long enough for me to snap a photo of them, before also disappearing into the jungle.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-X_1Z4FM8kbQ/XceILIhJJrI/AAAAAAAAK88/_ZEL-NXkRrElxD5ldVF5iQG_njjdjIBmgCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/20191106_163306.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-X_1Z4FM8kbQ/XceILIhJJrI/AAAAAAAAK88/_ZEL-NXkRrElxD5ldVF5iQG_njjdjIBmgCLcBGAsYHQ/s400/20191106_163306.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
On the homeward leg, I had only a single navigational blunder (to add to a few earlier in the ride). A likely looking road was actually the E2 freeway, and I wasn't welcome there.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ZjLJJUioijY/XceIQOdMNII/AAAAAAAAK9I/dMj_HQuURJguLA2FPHBzYLyvavYtDKRBwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/20191106_172919.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ZjLJJUioijY/XceIQOdMNII/AAAAAAAAK9I/dMj_HQuURJguLA2FPHBzYLyvavYtDKRBwCLcBGAsYHQ/s400/20191106_172919.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Almost home, but not before a quick stop to admire this temple</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
By the time I rolled into my hotel lobby, I'd been out 4 hours, a far cry from the couple that I'd been expecting. I'd really enjoyed the heat, and the format, and was very pleasantly surprised at how well my legs had travelled.<br />
<br />
<u>Stats</u>: <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/2844878167">103km at 27km/h, max temp 33 degrees</a><br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>Day 2 - East</b></div>
<br />
After the previous day's cracker, I planned to head in the opposite direction as far as Muar, about 50km along the coast towards Singapore. I headed inland initially, saving the relatively straight coastal run for the homeward leg.<br />
<br />
No sooner had I got underway, than I realised that it was going to be a warm one. While I love the heat, a humid 40-degrees was pushing the comfort zone a little!<br />
<div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9YJFpK_c5Mo/XceIPru-inI/AAAAAAAAK9A/I78qKLE-oz4yZ19pkqndUZ1k2xtzXmlCgCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/20191107_144639.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9YJFpK_c5Mo/XceIPru-inI/AAAAAAAAK9A/I78qKLE-oz4yZ19pkqndUZ1k2xtzXmlCgCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/20191107_144639.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
The outbound journey was great fun, again making it up as I went along. There were long stretches in the countryside, but also time spent passing through small towns...<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ml1Yvjg7G7c/XceIVJ7Y6oI/AAAAAAAAK9M/DEm194_lneQw2R4W7RK-xeRvCJSFIucVwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/20191107_154308.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ml1Yvjg7G7c/XceIVJ7Y6oI/AAAAAAAAK9M/DEm194_lneQw2R4W7RK-xeRvCJSFIucVwCLcBGAsYHQ/s400/20191107_154308.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
... with the occasional deadend, at least one of which I managed to avoid doubling back on.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LXrSnc-G1zE/XceIc51ff0I/AAAAAAAAK9c/gyZa5wrYX_Ir2aYMvvRjktCQ9eaOJ_ZeACLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/20191107_154513.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LXrSnc-G1zE/XceIc51ff0I/AAAAAAAAK9c/gyZa5wrYX_Ir2aYMvvRjktCQ9eaOJ_ZeACLcBGAsYHQ/s400/20191107_154513.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">100m or so of this, and I was back on the pavement</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Nearing Muar, the back road I was on was so sweet...<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GEJwzl1E54o/XceIbfXwaDI/AAAAAAAAK9Y/so5EJOg0dhMqGl2nf8aKlKZ6zivxP4GPACLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/20191107_155727.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GEJwzl1E54o/XceIbfXwaDI/AAAAAAAAK9Y/so5EJOg0dhMqGl2nf8aKlKZ6zivxP4GPACLcBGAsYHQ/s400/20191107_155727.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
... it was a shame to dive off it, but the tiny wee road I spent the next 10 minutes on was totally worth it.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lWIYQtXJJNM/XceIgt7ONSI/AAAAAAAAK9k/MBJ3fjNkDmUm7VKvO3QBibdbo83rX2wjwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/20191107_160815.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lWIYQtXJJNM/XceIgt7ONSI/AAAAAAAAK9k/MBJ3fjNkDmUm7VKvO3QBibdbo83rX2wjwCLcBGAsYHQ/s400/20191107_160815.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
My route got a bit messy just before Muar, and I decided not to venture over the river. Instead, I admired the town from afar for a couple of minutes, before circling around and picking up the back road between the main highway and the coast.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jWRSvr8fml0/XceIihyjn5I/AAAAAAAAK9s/fFotIllculw27M0UdurwckxjKP6Y4c5vQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/20191107_171155.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jWRSvr8fml0/XceIihyjn5I/AAAAAAAAK9s/fFotIllculw27M0UdurwckxjKP6Y4c5vQCLcBGAsYHQ/s400/20191107_171155.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mwah, Muar.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The old legs started to tire a bit, and both sundown and dinner time were approaching. Luckily, there was no shortage of places to buy drinks, and cracking scenery kept me going!<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QCBzT9EFoSA/XceIpIZvNHI/AAAAAAAAK90/aMP-hpfjl1o15KIUvoWfuRaiDl_yHwNBwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/20191107_182947.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QCBzT9EFoSA/XceIpIZvNHI/AAAAAAAAK90/aMP-hpfjl1o15KIUvoWfuRaiDl_yHwNBwCLcBGAsYHQ/s400/20191107_182947.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Probably the "worst" road surface of the trip - I'd take this over NZ's standard chip seal any time. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
On the edge of Melaka, I turned away from the coast, saying farewell to the occasional ocean view and marina.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-59JL3B8I_kA/XceIpXtQSCI/AAAAAAAAK94/HhQfaJXvJLgvRXrMZRiOqrWI-ZgD_wsrwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/20191107_183330.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-59JL3B8I_kA/XceIpXtQSCI/AAAAAAAAK94/HhQfaJXvJLgvRXrMZRiOqrWI-ZgD_wsrwCLcBGAsYHQ/s400/20191107_183330.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mmmm, boats</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
About 10 minutes from the hotel, I decided to stop for dinner, and spent all of $5 on a delicious chicken murtabak and roti, washed down with 100-plus and teh tarik. It was dark by the time I got back to the hotel, but I wouldn't have had it any other way! Another great success, albeit a bit more energy sapping than the previous day's ride.<br />
<br />
<u>Stats</u>: <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/2847490989">124km at 26.4km/h average, max temp 39 degrees</a><br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>Day 3 - South</b></div>
<br />
I had a 3pm catch up with a former colleague, so didn't roll out until just before 5pm, with a view to doing the ride I probably should have started with - a loop through the Melaka city centre.<br />
<br />
I was becoming pretty good at following my nose, and managed to pick out some great wee lanes to kick off with.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Zkz4AAAGA-g/XceIrL1BGrI/AAAAAAAAK98/Mg6MN4cVmz47QM9FhQ9cujBFPoVI5bxpQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/20191108_172631.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Zkz4AAAGA-g/XceIrL1BGrI/AAAAAAAAK98/Mg6MN4cVmz47QM9FhQ9cujBFPoVI5bxpQCLcBGAsYHQ/s400/20191108_172631.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Give. Me. More!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8WwfQlQQmIw/XceIyzYaeFI/AAAAAAAAK-Q/EkV8AOqctjQZCMm0AeFA71GzRjYJoncjQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/20191108_173405.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8WwfQlQQmIw/XceIyzYaeFI/AAAAAAAAK-Q/EkV8AOqctjQZCMm0AeFA71GzRjYJoncjQCLcBGAsYHQ/s400/20191108_173405.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Primo!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I hadn't been right to the coast on my earlier rides, so it was nice to finally do so.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-s3_ao_pAr74/XceIxKVFf4I/AAAAAAAAK-E/xn_rqJpAbvU-df_JsaChjnkVCQx-rgKiACLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/20191108_173658.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-s3_ao_pAr74/XceIxKVFf4I/AAAAAAAAK-E/xn_rqJpAbvU-df_JsaChjnkVCQx-rgKiACLcBGAsYHQ/s400/20191108_173658.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Straits of Malacca, with Indonesia off in the hazy distance</td></tr>
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I was keen to try to find a "chinese pillow box" for my dear wife, but my loops through the Jonker district and a bit of walking through various markets were unsuccessful.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-crLPOQ3YrxA/XceI0YPuJWI/AAAAAAAAK-U/GSh7PvQXkYojoAK7Ec4Cjm6piOvME3UjQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/20191108_182931.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-crLPOQ3YrxA/XceI0YPuJWI/AAAAAAAAK-U/GSh7PvQXkYojoAK7Ec4Cjm6piOvME3UjQCLcBGAsYHQ/s400/20191108_182931.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Malacca centre is full of garish rickshaws! </td></tr>
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It was dark by the time I pulled the pin, but I felt very safe on the roads nonetheless. I'd packed my lights, and the traffic seemed very mindful of my presence on the road.<br />
<br />
I'd have been screwed without my GPS - the streets rarely go anywhere in a straight line, and the constant direction changes, particularly after dark, were hard to keep track of. <br />
<br />
There's no shortage of road-side dining in Malaysia, and so I grabbed a few bucks worth of deep fried goodies at a stall a few kilometres from home, a big bottle of water from the servo, and then back to the hotel for a bloody good wash and a rest.<br />
<br />
<u>Stats</u>: <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/2849714683">60km at 20km/h average, max temp 31 degrees</a><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>Day 4 - North</b></div>
<br />
My final day was the first time I'd literally have the whole day to ride, and having headed up and down the coast, and to "the beach", today was the day for a foray inland.<br />
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First port of call was to head past the Durian Tunggal reservoir, which presumably is a water source for Melaka.<br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-INbOcoygU3Q/XceI5yKTrKI/AAAAAAAAK-c/PHYwJ4ep9zUXPBxpGL7wSnG3WlV5tqu5ACLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/20191109_094404.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-INbOcoygU3Q/XceI5yKTrKI/AAAAAAAAK-c/PHYwJ4ep9zUXPBxpGL7wSnG3WlV5tqu5ACLcBGAsYHQ/s400/20191109_094404.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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I'd ridden through a lot of palm plantations, and seen plenty of rubber trees (complete with their diagonal scars and small buckets collecting the latex), but also various fruit crops.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/--jEEUD4BK0E/XceI94sOU8I/AAAAAAAAK-g/cFtpolGV118RNyxBDfP126HmyE9kYDh_gCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/20191109_100027.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/--jEEUD4BK0E/XceI94sOU8I/AAAAAAAAK-g/cFtpolGV118RNyxBDfP126HmyE9kYDh_gCLcBGAsYHQ/s400/20191109_100027.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fruits! (Don't ask me which)</td></tr>
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I eventually settled on Tampin as a target, and managed to find some nifty wee back roads to get there.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bpQmm4GpUzY/XceI-xmSusI/AAAAAAAAK-k/qqn1yIXRT2Ew0MUiaWJMvmYligusGyIaQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/20191109_102303.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bpQmm4GpUzY/XceI-xmSusI/AAAAAAAAK-k/qqn1yIXRT2Ew0MUiaWJMvmYligusGyIaQCLcBGAsYHQ/s400/20191109_102303.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not the rail underpass, but very close to one!</td></tr>
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My legs were feeling pretty tired, which seemed odd after the relatively easy ride the day before. But, progress seemed fine, and I was even up for doubling back to record a stunning array of mushrooms for sale in someone's front yard.<br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-u7xvPqYYHcs/XceJCtOjaEI/AAAAAAAAK-s/rismj8bzedcTtGPpC98TsqOPhYV95m7NgCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/20191109_103051.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-u7xvPqYYHcs/XceJCtOjaEI/AAAAAAAAK-s/rismj8bzedcTtGPpC98TsqOPhYV95m7NgCLcBGAsYHQ/s400/20191109_103051.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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I was getting pretty peckish by the time I reached the outskirts of Tampin, and stopped to remedy my hunger. Teh tarik and a couple of plain roti slid down so well, I had to order a second round of each. As I made my way through the last of it, I realised they were packing up, and I was reminded that the time of day you <i>can't</i> typically buy roti is at lunchtime (seems very counter-intuitive to this westerner)! These roti were great, and it would have been a crying shame to miss them. The whole meal cost less than $2.<br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-w7JdVAdpweE/XceJETzSt5I/AAAAAAAAK-4/q_Dqu0vL-_U8cPwyxN8DAQ1MDaeyv4C3ACLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/20191109_110410.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-w7JdVAdpweE/XceJETzSt5I/AAAAAAAAK-4/q_Dqu0vL-_U8cPwyxN8DAQ1MDaeyv4C3ACLcBGAsYHQ/s400/20191109_110410.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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I filled my bottle at the other end of town, and managed to avoid too much time on the main road towards Rembau.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jkjLyVGrhEc/XceJG0W3XMI/AAAAAAAAK-8/BCxdpRr7YOUOUlFs1Fo3abMf1rO4Z6vqgCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/20191109_114806.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jkjLyVGrhEc/XceJG0W3XMI/AAAAAAAAK-8/BCxdpRr7YOUOUlFs1Fo3abMf1rO4Z6vqgCLcBGAsYHQ/s400/20191109_114806.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Transmission lines getting a bit of a tickle up</td></tr>
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<br />
I was skirting around the back of a conservation area, and took a wonderful shortcut between two bits of highway. The wee roads through the villages were an absolute highlight of these rides.<br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-wmZjqEPpQ7c/XceJO9ZoqpI/AAAAAAAAK_M/S1Lw09_DAPYZxf8q9Qo5sDnjI2qUIIxyQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/20191109_122627.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-wmZjqEPpQ7c/XceJO9ZoqpI/AAAAAAAAK_M/S1Lw09_DAPYZxf8q9Qo5sDnjI2qUIIxyQCLcBGAsYHQ/s400/20191109_122627.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Back on the highway, I got into the only major climb of the four days, and my timing could not have been worse. It was a rampy 2km ascent, averaging 10%, but peaking at over 20% in one stretch. As if the gradient wasn't bad enough, the temperature shot up, and I saw 40.3 degrees on my GPS just after the summit!<br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-t-6At7ZzazY/XceJM0l-nhI/AAAAAAAAK_E/Ad7gxARaZRsZrCZH7SMvIGyNw65HdKvggCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/20191109_124149.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-t-6At7ZzazY/XceJM0l-nhI/AAAAAAAAK_E/Ad7gxARaZRsZrCZH7SMvIGyNw65HdKvggCLcBGAsYHQ/s400/20191109_124149.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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At least things cooled down a bit on the other side, and I had almost 30km of gradual descending to do. My single 900mL bottle was empty, and while I'd had plenty of stops (during which I'd usually skull a can of 100-plus, and empty a 1.5L bottle of water into my bidon and stomach), there had been no resupply since well before the climb had started. But, sure enough, it wasn't long before I spotted a store and pulled in for some drink (and an ice-cream on a stick).<br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-RHqQLmccmYo/XceJOm_vS1I/AAAAAAAAK_I/nWhonp6hN5QaS7kD6t9dI9euwcsqI6u8ACLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/20191109_132310.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-RHqQLmccmYo/XceJOm_vS1I/AAAAAAAAK_I/nWhonp6hN5QaS7kD6t9dI9euwcsqI6u8ACLcBGAsYHQ/s400/20191109_132310.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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The locals were enjoying <i>nasi lemak</i> - rice with sambal, eaten with fingers on one hand, in a fascinating motion which I'm certain it would take months to perfect. One fella asked if he could have a selfie with me, and I obliged. I guess they don't see too many cyclists passing through, and certainly not gringos like me.<br />
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I made the symbolic turn for home just before the 100km mark. While I was keen to avoid the main roads if I could, it was hard to imagine I was going to take on too many more optional extras from here on!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-o1RaDR91kcw/XceJSKTKGYI/AAAAAAAAK_Q/W0uW-g8bDJQBvNmbSuhlQEl0AzbLWiIXACLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/20191109_134921.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-o1RaDR91kcw/XceJSKTKGYI/AAAAAAAAK_Q/W0uW-g8bDJQBvNmbSuhlQEl0AzbLWiIXACLcBGAsYHQ/s400/20191109_134921.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I don't think this was a shooting range</td></tr>
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I had a couple more stops for fuel before riding through the UTeM campus and dropping down to the hotel in Acer Keroh. Luckily, I still had a wee bit of energy, and was able to pack the bike for the next day's flights back to NZ. <br />
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Stats: <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/2851386327">154km at 26km/h average, max temp 40 degrees</a><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>Conclusion</b></div>
<br />
I'm so glad I took my bike with me, and am somewhat bemused by the quality of the riding in and around Melaka. The road surface was fantastic, the sights and sounds were fascinating, distances between shops were never too great, and the drivers were incredibly courteous. <br />
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As a single data point, it is hard to know how unusual this might be, but my temptation is to think that I could have had a comparable experience on the outskirts of any of Malaysia's cities, but perhaps in South-East Asia more generally.<br />
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Most of my bike-travel has been of the point-to-point variety, a format I love, but which is not without considerable logistical challenges. This alternative, riding each day from home base was no less satisfying, and is something I'll definitely look to do more of.<br />
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I'm back at home now, and feel so much better (both physically and mentally) having been active while away. Not to mention that I was out doing my favourite thing. 440km of riding in celebration of the fact that Melaka is surrounded by not just any old roads, but great ones!</div>
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sifterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15453244482461385029noreply@blogger.com2