With only a hundred kilometres to go and all day to get there, I was in no rush to leave Mark and Jenny’s good company and lovely home. Delaying until ten o’clock, I rolled off with a large and tasty-looking sandwich to tide me through to distant shops. Mark’s tip of a gravel alternative to Little Wanganui was a boon – flat and deserted.

Not that the main road was exactly busy, I could certainly get used to the complete lack of traffic. A another fine day, layers were soon shed and the main climb of the day meandered on. I enjoyed stopping to read the history boards of long-since gone settlements, they mostly seemed to have sprung up for putting the road through. Little wonder they’re now gone.

Still a bit of low snow close to the coast after the storm earlier in the week.

Somewhere along the way I remembered the Charming Creek Walkway and that I could add some trail and gravel riding into an otherwise flat coastal remainder of the route into town. Having whizzed down off the road over the bluffs and across the Mokihinui River and briefly found a headwind, I turned left and headed for Seddonville. NZ Cycle Trail signs encouraged me that this route would go through. However, after some concerted gravel climbing and passing some of the ubiquitous West Coast coal just sitting there in the bank on the roadside, I reached the trailhead to find a sign telling that the walkway was blocked by a very large slip at the other end and impassable. Some earlier signage would have been useful before embarking on a fruitless twenty-five kilometre deadend.

Into Seddonville, these hills enough to tell me there would still be plenty of snow on the Old Ghost Rd.

With fifty flat and coastal kilometres to Westport I still had plenty of daylight to take it rather leisurely; I never did find a shop – so that sandwich and yesterday’s accumulated snacks came in handy. Unfortunately I seemed to have timed my ride past with shift change at Stockton Mine, so the traffic got much larger and heavier for a while – but it was not a worry. Serendipitously, I crossed paths with Nina riding to work as I entered town. I tagged along a bit chatting, while trying to remember the lay of the land from five years before.

Quite a nice evening really.

After first dinner, I found home for the next few days and, after all arrived home from work, planning for the next few days commenced. To my delight I learned that the new Paparoa Track had reopened for the first time since lockdown that very day; more importantly, Nina and Rachel wanted to ride it in both directions over the weekend. I could hardly say no to that – considering it was on my vague plan for the following week. Friday was a restful day with an excellent little MTB loop up on the Denniston Plateau and tasting some of the local delicacies – I may have had a large pie each time we drove through Waimangaroa, the first two of many pie-lights of the West Coast.

The storm only intensified overnight, I woke often to hear rain lashing and wind buffeting my little cabin. Climbing a thousand metres above sea level in such weather didn’t promise many new sights, so I rolled over and dozed throughout the morning. With a break in the torrential rain, I dragged myself out and allowed the wind to push me around to Pohara – where I promptly stopped at the first cafe I found.

There was another likely-Six Corners bike in the rack, so I went to find the rider. We were soon joined by two more and a large and long lunch commenced. Tales of much bigger and stronger riders being buffeted and blown off their bikes were enough to have me reaching for another cup of tea. It’s always good to hear others’ bikepacking stories and pick up little tips; at the start of a two week tour, I took the advice to ride just a little further around the coast.

It looks nice, shortly after I was blown across a lane of traffic battling through a wind-funnel of a cutting.

Down to Ligar Bay from Abel Tasman monument.

I battled back to my little cabin and pored over forecasts as I was planning to ride the Heaphy Track to the West Coast the next day. It was fifty-fifty, and it didn’t look like the snow would get down much below the highest point (900+ m) – still “blizzard conditions with gale westerly on the tops”. So I prepared to leave the following morning, when hopefully the wind wouldn’t quite be gale force.

Waking early, the forecast had deteriorated further and the snow was due much lower. As the day dawned, I could see snow on the hills behind Takaka (basically coastal) down to 300 m. The wind continued to howl, so it seemed prudent to wait it out. I went for breakfast downtown, checking out of my airbnb and finding another cabin at the campground – cooking facilities would give me something to do and remove the need to eat out for every meal.

Heavy rain blew through and I couldn’t just sit around for two days. When the sun appeared I set off for another corner – Totaranui. I’d continue past the monument and a couple more bays before climbing a few hundred metres into Abel Tasman National Park and dropping to Totaranui on the other side.

Wainui Inlet

The wind pushed me gently east, and it only started to rain after finding the gravel and starting the climb. A convoy passed me, many teenagers and their instructors heading to start hiking the Abel Tasman Walkway. A soaking descent to sea level, I looked around briefly, had the wind blow my parked bike over (cracking the visor on my helmet), and chatted to some hikers before turning back.

Without it, I quickly found just how much I use the visor on my helmet to keep driving rain out of my face – a lot, that is. The wind was picking up almightily by this stage. Back down to sea level, I turned briefly south and was fair blown towards the Wainui Valley. That didn’t bode well as I cut west, crossed the river and turned north to head up the other side of the inlet. Progress was slow.

Suddenly I was blown fair across both lanes of the road and narrowly avoided being thrown into a fence. Rather startled, it was time to again start pushing my bike along a flat road. Rain continuing to drive into me, at least it wasn’t quite cold. The twenty kilometres left may take some time. When a couple pulled up beside me and offered a lift, I had no hesitation in accepting – no point in putting myself at risk of being blown into traffic. I lived to ride another day, or as it was the following day – sit it out and watch the snow come down the hills behind town and retreat whenever the sun returned. I was itching to get moving again, thankfully the next day looked a pearler so I prepared for a big day on the Heaphy.