I’d long given up the plan/hope of reaching the first jet boat down the Whanganui at eight o’clock. So I could afford a bit of a sleep-in as the forecast rain fell – I set off into the pre-dawn gloom at six. The rugged walking trail that I gave up riding the previous night didn’t last long. Instead the valley opened up a bit and flattened out into grass, that was being lightly grazed. Route finding in the semi-light and through the long wet grass wasn’t the easiest, but the GPS track meant I couldn’t go too wrong.

Leaving the valley floor, the route was now on a decades old-road and much easier riding. The rain strengthened and weakened with enough regularity to make layering & delayering a bit of a nuisance – it was too hot & muggy to keep the wet weather gear on if it wasn’t raining. It’s always a little disappointing to miss out on seeing as much as normal when the clouds are so low, I was curious to know what was out there. But the conditions helped to add to the feeling of isolation and remoteness – that people came to live up here seemed improbable at best. But more of that later in the next valley.

Found this where the track met the road/track in from Raetihi. Bike looking very lightly loaded as I’m wearing all my wet-weather gear.

Two hours after setting off, I had crested the highest point and was on the long downhill to the Bridge to Nowhere. As the old double-track descended further into the Mangapurua Valley, clearings now slowly being reclaimed by the bush became more numerous and larger.

This valley was one of the places around the country that servicemen returning from World War One were given marginal land to farm. Marginal is of course a complete understatement – as I was seeing, this land was extremely rugged and very isolated. I was astonished that a few families managed to labour here for over twenty years before the settlement was abandoned – and they had nothing to show for their toils. What a reward for surviving the trenches.

Every so often there would be some sort of introduced flowering plant still surviving – the contrast was stark. Still quite a few non-native pines growing strongly.

There were also many small signs with surnames displayed – remembering the families that had those particular plots.  This simple method of memorial was quite poignant – as there really is very little left showing forty-odd families lived here.

Across the valley – there are many ferns there reclaiming the grassland.

The riding was pretty easy, still heading down. There were quite a few bits where riders were advised to walk – but as they had nothing on the Old Ghost Road, I rode most of them.

There were many rather skinny bridges on the route – it got a little tedious regularly upending one’s loaded bike & wheeling it through on its back wheel.  Finally, I was at the Bridge to Nowhere!  A place that had held almost-mythical status in my mind since I’d first heard of it at the age of ten or so.  It really is a substantial concrete feat of engineering in the middle of nowhere.  Rather bizarre – it wouldn’t be out of place in many big cities (it reminds me a bit of Grafton Rd bridge in Auckland), here it is linking two sides of a valley covered in ferns.

It was built to give better access for the families described above – to save them clambering up & down the valley walls. But by the time it was built they had the road (that I’d just ridden in on from the north) for access – so it was of little use and therefore little used as river access was no longer important.

But river access was now important to me. After savouring my time at the Bridge, it was a short ride down to the Whanganui River and the landing to meet the jet boat. There was a big rock on the side of the river and not much else. Ten-thirty rolled around and no jet boat. The rain continued to roll in waves. Quite alone with no other riders, and most importantly no boat – this was most definitely the most vulnerable and not-in-control I felt on the whole tour. Which was a bit silly as of course there were plenty of riders somewhere behind me, but I’d not seen any all day and it was rather wet and miserable.

My bike, a rock and quite a river.

Eventually a jet boat appeared around the corner and zoomed up the river merrily ignoring me. Just as I traipsed a bit back up the trail to a shelter, other riders started to arrive and the rain stopped. Things were looking up. They had a boat booked at one o’clock, I was confident I’d be able to blag a seat on it. So there was a couple of hours to kill – spent chatting, cleaning bikes, snacking and enjoying the non-rain.

So it happened that I did get a ride on this boat – I think we had ten bikes and riders. I was pleased my bike didn’t go on a rack projecting out from the stern.

Still a bit miffed that the boat that was supposed to pick me up never arrived (apparently they ran one at about nine o’clock) – don’t use Bridge to Nowhere if you want a jet boat on the Whanganui, go with Whanganui River Adventures – they were great. It did make my decision to ride into the night before look even less sensible than it already did. In the end I made that two or three hours lost over the following couple of days.

In one of the more surreal moments of my Tour, one of the other riders was carrying a ukelele the length of the country. Someone else got hold of it and there we were sitting on a jet boat waiting to cast off listening to a rather stilted rendition of Cows with Guns.

I realised that I’d never been on a commercial jet boat ride in NZ before – so I soaked up a quintessential NZ tourist experience. It was magnificent – the dense native forest coming right down to the river, steep cliffs and numerous waterfalls after the morning’s rain. Wonderful.

Our third boat ride of the Tour over, most of us went up to the company’s base to stock up on what ever food we could and clean our bikes of the morning’s mud. It was now sunny and warm. I set off for Whanganui – the largest place we’d been since Auckland. It was mostly undulating road, a mixture of gravel and seal, near the river with a couple of larger climbs to keep us honest. I was intrigued to cycle past Jerusalem on the Whanganui River after studying James K. Baxter way back in sixth form.

Number plate shed caught my eye.

Just before dark I was in town and as there were no campgrounds near the route, I booked a comfortable room in a backpackers. Apart from the jet boat not turning up, another excellent day. I had made it through what I considered would be the most remote and challenging section of the course and was rather pleased with that and excited by what I’d seen – although I still want to see it all again at a more relaxed pace and in better weather. Only just over a hundred kilometres for the day had me back on average to make it back to work on time – but I wasn’t worried as I knew the route would get a lot faster than the previous two days. Tomorrow there would be more new roads, I was looking forward to seeing parts of Manawatu that I’d never seen the four years I lived there.