Category Archives: vehicles

bikepacking, bikes, event, friends, NZ, travel, vehicles

To and from Great Southern Brevet 2021

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When Guy casually asked when riding down his way two months ago if I was doing the Great Southern Brevet (of course I was, I’ve been waiting two years to repeat the toughest, and arguably best, bikepacking event I’ve done), little did I expect the offer of transport direct to Tekapo. With commercial flights already booked and paid for, I wasn’t about to turn down the opportunity for my first flight in a light plane – not to mention the convenience of not having hours of driving between airports and Tekapo. As it happens, it’s much easier to get flights refunded these days. Yet another bonus was not having to disassemble and pack my bike up – such a time and effort saver!
So that is how I came to be waiting for Guy one Friday afternoon, at the very airfield where Dad learnt to fly forty-plus years ago (we later worked out that the same instructor taught both of them, thirty-odd years apart). I had plenty of time to wander around and pose my bike against one of its more unusual backdrops. It was not hard to work out which plane was Guy’s – it already had a bikepacking stead in the back, and had a bit of genuine farm coating on the wings.

Two classic Cessna 185s, Guy’s at front (1964).

Having spent most of its life around Mt Cook, ZK-CHL was well recognised around the southern airstrips we landed at.

Guy arrived, my bike was loaded, lifejackets were alarmingly donned (water, what?!) and in no time we were in the air heading southwest.

So much to see out the window and observe in the cockpit as Guy went about routines – endlessly fascinating. Suddenly handed the controls as Guy ate and we approached the Tararuas, I was hardly a natural. But we didn’t hit the ranges, so I’m taking that. Over the course of the flights, I had a few more attempts at handling the plane, which often just flew itself in calm conditions, and enjoyed getting a bit more of a feel for it.

Tararua District

Kapiti Island

Down south now, Molesworth.

Castle Hill area.

A bit of aerial Tour Te Waipounamu scouting.

Lake Tekapo

Two hours and forty minutes later, we were landing at Tekapo, clearing a bit of junk away and tying the plane down out of the wind. Just a few kilometres to roll down the hill to dinner and we were there for the Great Southern Brevet.

After a fantastic week bikepacking all over lands south, the return trip carried on south for a night in Alexandra before the three hours back north.

Different bikepacking bike-packing.

We did see a lot of Mt Cook from a distance on the trip home, on consecutive days.

A different perspective on parts of the GSB route was also fun – Flanagan’s Pass looking much easier here than the long hike-a-bike, although I do note the lack of a visible track.

We rode around the bottom of Lake Ohau a week previously, from right to left and back.

Sunday’s campsite beside the Lindis.

The route down from Thompson’s Gorge. A lot less windy this day.

Heading towards the Clyde Dam down Lake Dunstan, all the while checking out the new cycle trail on the true right that will connect Clyde and Cromwell.

The last section to be connected, the engineering going into the trail is quite remarkable and I look forward to riding it the next time I’m in Central Otago for a holiday.

The drop off the tough Hawksburn Rd to Clyde.

A trying view while spending the night at Mark and Paula’s house – thanks.

Time to go again.

Over the Ida Valley to the Hawkduns.

The climb up Thompsons Gorge, Ida Valley behind.

Little Omarama Saddle, and Mt Cook again.

Manuherika River and the Hawkduns again, on the left.

Hawkduns, St Marys and Kakanuis (distant).

Flying itself on a calm day.

Lake Benmore, Benmore Dam, Otematata and beyond.

No prizes.

Canterbury Plains patchwork.

Suddenly, puppies. Labraspoodles I’m told. We stopped for lunch at Guy’s sister’s in Rangiora.

Fetching lifejackets, I must say! I could get used to Hawke’s Bay Bikepacking trips like this.

Crossing the coastline at Kaikoura, Guy explained some of the earthquake damage (gosh, that’s over four years ago now). You’d think it would be Kaikoura, but it was just off the coast of Wairarapa in Cook Strait, that Guy spotted a big sperm whale. Suddenly we were banking down steeply (in my limited experience) to two hundred feet to get a closer look. I think that is the first whale I’ve seen in the wild; an unexpected bonus to memorable and engaging trips to and from the GSB.

Drying off down the bottom of the North Island by now.

Can’t thank Guy enough for the flights, so enjoyable – near perfect flying weather certainly helped! What bookends to an exceptional week – it’s hard to determine whether the riding or flying comes out on top, twas all that spectacular!

around home, city, history, NZ, vehicles

Art Deco Weekend 2017

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Having missed out on Napier’s renowned Art Deco Festival last year, being off riding the length of New Zealand for a couple of weeks, I was not going to let the same thing occur two years on the trot. So I bought a secondhand three-piece suit, pulled my fedora out from the wardrobe, snapped on some braces and rustled up a stripy bow-tie and prepared to check it all out.

Now in its twenty-ninth year, the festival celebrates Napier’s Art Deco heritage (much of the city was rebuilt in the style after a devastating earthquake, and fire, in 1931) with what seems to be a five-day long dress-up party – the twenties and thirties being the theme. Downtown is crowded with people in all sorts of elaborate outfits, there are vintage cars everywhere, and pages & pages worth of events & parties and more besides.

Thankfully for Hawke’s Bay’s countryside, the drought that was setting in broke heavily with over a hundred millimetres of rain in three days. This did however coincide with the height of the celebrations – most unfortunate. Countless events were moved inside and many cancelled – including the most renowned: all three vintage plane flight shows were done for as the planes couldn’t make it here. But the show did go on, and on it went in spectacular (if a little soggy) style.

Most of the public events centre around Marine Parade and the sound shell – opposite the wonderful Masonic, where many gathered.

Cars weren’t the only historic vehicles out and about.

Saturday afternoon’s vintage car parade was well attended by umbrellas. The Bentley club was in town from all over, impressive.

Beautiful cars, and many of them – those in open-topped ones looked decidedly damp.

There was plenty of opportunity to admire the vehicles afterwards.

This number plate caught my eye.

A few of the cars were originally from Napier.

Bikes even got a look in.

More Bentleys.

Apart from looking at cars, there were plenty of other interesting street scenes.

OK, there may have been more looking at cars.

I bumped into many people from work over the weekend – this time an American visitor, Jody, who I managed to get this photo (and the better ones in this post) from.

Sunday morning was finally dry and the Soap Box Derby went ahead. A pretty tame course down Tennyson St, the pushers had five metres to get their racers up to speed before letting gravity and momentum do the rest. Most of the soap boxes were elaborate and some made multiple appearances as different siblings from the same family raced in various age categories.

Yes, more cars – particularly struck by the body work on this one.

This was probably the oldest car around.

Sunday continued to warm, and was very humid. After a brief walk showing Jody some of the sights around Napier Hill and some lunch, it was time to get the town bike out for a little pootle. I’d foregone the organised bike ride Saturday morning on account of the persistent rain.

I did manage to get another photo of myself from an obliging passerby.

The Gatsby Picnic got moved off the soggy lawn it is always on, most picnicers went down the main street of town – this couple set up near Tom Parker Fountain and seemed to spend more time posing for photos than eating.

A most excellent weekend of fun and history – even if it was somewhat curtailed by the weather. I’m really looking forward participating more in next year’s celebrations.

bikes, family, NZ, vehicles

Cape Palliser – Bottom of the North Island

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With not a lot planned for Christmas (mainly due to not having enough spare annual leave to make the trip south worthwhile), I was pleased to get an invite to my uncle & aunt’s down in Martinborough. My cousins were also due to be there from Wellington & Sydney it was a great opportunity for catching up with all – especially to see Sasha & Blair who have had two sons since I last saw them (they left London & returned to NZ around the time I moved to Canada in 2010, I think).

After a day or two of festivities, warm sunshine, relaxing and generally having a good time I was itching for a little bike ride. Funnily enough, I’d come prepared with a bike in the car and a route in mind. In the depths of my mind I knew Cape Palliser was the southern-most point of the North Island, but I’d never had any reason to go there – until the day after Boxing Day.

Trying to beat the heat, I set off before the rest of the house was up – the road towards the coast is pretty straight and flat so the going was easy with a light tail breeze. Hitting the coast about two hours in and over the only hill worth mentioning on the whole ride, the breeze was different – a cooling, but hindering, southerly. As I expected, from my ride around the coast a little further west earlier in the year (Bikepacking from Wellington to Martinborough), the coast was reasonably rugged here too. But on such a nice day, remarkably beautiful too.

This memorial testified as to how dangerous this coast could be for passing ships.

Like that previous ride, I expected this remote stretch of coast to be pretty deserted. But there were many more genuine Kiwi baches down here than I expected. Being prime holiday season, this meant there was more traffic on the road than is almost certainly normal – but not enough to be a problem. Pleasingly in amongst the baches (a bach being Kiwi slang for a small holiday house – traditionally quite small and cobbled together at low cost) I struggled to spot any pretentious holiday homes; the one or two newer houses I saw blended in pretty well.

Also, there was less gravel road than I thought – only the last seven kilometres past Ngawi to the cape. Of course, rounding the cape the headwind strengthened – and the gravel was quite corrugated, annoyingly so as the speed I was capable of into the wind seemed to match the frequency of the corrugations in a most horrible way. Nonetheless, I was at the bottom of the island for the first time – in about the three hours I expected. Such a rocky promontory, of course, deserves a lighthouse.

My legs were thrilled to find that the beacon was at the top of the longest straight staircase I’m pretty sure I’ve ever seen – 254 steps straight up. Still, I didn’t ride all this way to not get the view – so I clip-clopped up in my bike shoes.

Ngawi seems to be where bulldozers come to retire to a life of occasionally launching small fishing boats out to see on large cradles – & then retrieving them later, one presumes. There were dozens of them in various states of repair. It was all rather curious.

Apparently, this one would be called Byron; I’m a little glad that I had to look that up.

At least going back on the gravel road the wind was at my back – so the bumps in the gravel were less noticeable. As I left the stunning coast, the wind was back to the nor-easter coming down the valley – which managed to sap most of my energy five kilometres from home. Pleased with a nice six hours on the bike finding yet another part of NZ I’ve not been to before.

After refuelling and cleaning up a bit, we popped down for a drink on the square in the centre of town. Looking quite of place (I suppose they/we usually do), three fully loaded bikepackers rolled in and stopped at the adjacent cafe (on Surly Krampii if anyone is interested). I couldn’t resist going & chatting to them – they were nearing the end of a week-long reconnaissance of the lower half of the North Island part of the Tour Aotearoa route. So it was interesting to hear of the beauty of the ride I hope I’m doing in two months’ time.

With (cousin) Chris having to get an early train the following morning to start the journey back to Sydney and the considerable amount of catering Antoinette & David had done the previous days, it was somewhat appropriate that we went out for a delicious Thai meal that night. That is because I figure the last time I had Christmas with my cousins was when David was a diplomat in Thailand and we went over for a Christmas-time visit. A bit of rather irrelevant Pheasant history there; hopefully it’s not so long between drinks (Christmases) next time – as I really enjoyed my weekend away. Although, I hear there’s a family wedding next year – so that should be fun.

Unfortunately, this weekend’s bikepacking adventures were put on ice as the New Year’s weather forecast was horrendous up towards Rotorua and I’ve been unusually ill – which is rather tedious, but hopefully next weekend works out.

history, NZ, roadtrip, vehicles

A quicker trip through Canterbury

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It had been a while since a Pheasant road-trip around the South Island and even longer since I’d accompanied Dad to one of his work farm-visits. So Mum, Dad & I set off north to visit Adele in her new home near Westport – stopping overnight as Dad had some of his last farm visits. While Dad visited clients near Cust, Mum and I popped into Oxford – disappointing. But I’d had my eye on the map and was keen to go exploring the Ashley Gorge a bit.

I wanted to see this end of the Ashley River as on the Kiwi Brevet this year we ended up further up the Ashley River in a part of the country I previously had no idea about. But we turned away from the river at the bottom of Lees Valley on to a off-road route and so I never saw the road through the Ashley Gorge.

After driving half an hour up the road, I was glad that the Brevet route didn’t go through there. I was expecting a nice winding road carving through the hills at close to river-level. It definitely was not. As the road left the tarseal/tarmac/asphalt it climbed steeply, working the car’s engine hard and wound its way high above the river as we gazed over the precipitous drop below us. After half an hour of steady, but by no means quick, progress we were left look at this:

I realise just how isolated Lees Valley is now – and am quite glad we got into it on the Brevet through MacDonald Downs Station. Mindful of the time remaining to return to pick Dad up, and Mum’s desire to buy chestnuts from a roadside stall, there was no point in descending to the river to turn around right away. Having collected Dad, it was off again north to Culverden.

Near Culverden are Keith and Jenny, who are in the middle of trying to organise the finer points of moving on from their farm that they’ve had over the last twenty years – there’s an awful lot to do and many things to be moved or disposed of. They must be some of Dad’s oldest clients, of about forty years, so there’s a little history there and I was amused to stumble upon a photo of Dad standing around an open fire near the beach where we lived thirty-odd years ago.

Apart from my fleeting Brevet ride past, it must be about fifteen years since my last visit – so it was good to see Keith & Jenny and hear of their plans for retirement and of some of their travels. While Keith & Dad were out together looking over the farm one last time, I was intrigued by all the things that there were to get rid of after twenty years – naturally I went and poked around through various sheds. I found a few new things, but a lot things that remind me the eighties and nineties – & some that predated my memory.

A good flying visit, no doubt more of Keith & Jenny to be seen as they move much further south. Strangely for Culverden, it was pretty damp – so as we drove on there was a lot of cloud and mist to see, particularly over the Lewis Pass. With a few more stretches of the Brevet route much more easily driven than ridden, it was through the tortuous Buller Gorge to turn up at Adele’s home-for-a-year-or-so at Carters Beach.