Sore Bottoms and Happy Hearts

Having just had the fantastic opportunity to get to know the West Coast of New Zealand's South Island at very close range (by moving over it at about 13 kilometers per hour on a dreamy titanium-frame bicycle), several words come immediately to mind to describe it. Hilly might come in at number one. But also: lush; wild; craggy; peaceful; unique; astounding; gorgeous. Some days, the individual components of the landscape were not all that novel; fields with sheep and cows grazing that could have been in Wisconsin, an untouched coast similar to Oregon, dense green forest, distant rocky mountains. But what was astonishing was the fact that all of these components were to be found right in the same frame. The rainforest came right down to the pastures, and on the other side of the street, across another small field, lay the mountain-framed coast. Spending hour after hour riding in the midst of this landscape was sometimes a transcendent experience. As we got further down the West Coast, the landscape became even more extraordinary. Glaciers became visible on some of the distant and not-so-distant peaks, and on one glorious day these mountains and others were reflected perfectly by the slate-colored face of the tannin-filled glacial lakes by whose sides we got to spend many hours. Our views were, by great luck, enhanced by a string of marvelously sunny (but not too hot) days-- in one of the wettest places on earth, we only got rained on sporadically on our first two days of riding, and got ideal riding conditions after that.

Of course, not even spectacular scenery could prevent completely some of the un-pretty sides of cycling from catching up with us, and we were all plenty afflicted with saddle sore and muscle fatigue from time to time. But our Backroads guide, Michael, did everything possible (short of butt massages) to keep those concerns to a minimum. Every morning there was a groaning snack table at our disposal (basically so we could restock on m&m's and whatever other chocolate he'd put out; we never seemed to reach the bottom of the nuts and raisins in our bags...), and the van was always available to shuttle us if we needed it, which we were all quite grateful for during a couple of particularly trying hill series. On a trip that usually runs with 16-24 people, we somehow ended up being the only members of our group, meaning that we got to set our own pace and preferences to an almost outrageous degree. It also gave us the freedom to eat at little places instead of in the hotels-- an opportunity Michael took full advantage of, bringing us to some high-quality little cafes with great local wine lists. Besides being an avid foodie and oenophile, Michael was also very knowledgable about New Zealand flora, fauna, history, and culture, and very easy and fun to talk to.

The distances between towns along the coast means that, for cyclists, there aren't many choices about where you're going to stay on a given night, but finding ourselves in several isolated, non-touristy places was a really cool aspect of the trip. There was Greymouth, a coal-mining and fishing town that has turned a floodwall into a walkway down to the harbor; Hari Hari, which has a population of around 50, all of whom seemed to be in the one pub, enjoying giant servings of chips and televised rugby on a Friday night (we were also treated to a slideshow by a local nature-lover and former park ranger, who's been doing the same show for almost 20 years); Inangahua Junction, pop. 100, where we stopped for lunch at a convenience store that has been run by the same couple (and possibly carrying some of the same stock) for 25 years, and where a country music festival attracting 4000 people is now held. (The local police took advantage of last year's festival to ticket every car parked along the street-- despite there being no other parking in town-- leading the festival's organizer to offer to pay for everyone's tickets.) Intermixed with these quirky, character-filled towns were the basic tour-bus stops, with fancy-sounding, overpriced (but occassionally very good) food and rows of shops selling greenstone jewelry, wool sweaters, kiwi toys, and the like. These were always enjoyable enough to spend a little time in, but the real flavor of the coast seemed to lie much more in the less glamourous places.

We did have a couple days off our bikes, in more touristy towns, and got to do some amazing (and butt-resting) activities there. In Fox, we took a helicopter ride landing on the Fox Glacier (one of the only advancing glaciers in the world currently), and then did a guided hike with crampons around the glacier before being picked up again. I found it terrifying, but everyone else seemed to love it; the turquoise-colored ice in the caves and crevasses was definitely cool. From Wanaka, an Aspen-30-years-ago type town on the shores of a phenomenally gorgeous mountain-ringed lake, we took a flightseeing trip over several mountain ranges to the fjord known popularly as Milford Sound. On a day that our pilot, Theresa, described as once-a-year perfect in terms of weather, we got a bird's-eye view of Mount Cook (New Zealand's tallest), as well as close-up encounters with the variety of craggy mountains through which multi-day walking tracks wend and off which adrenaline-crazy Kiwis ski after being dropped off by helicopters. We had a couple hours on a boat cruising around the fjord before, including a dousing under one of the many 100+ foot waterfalls cascading down the rocks into it, before flapping back off to Wanaka with Theresa in our flying machine. Awesome as those off-day activities were in themselves, they were greatly amplified by the sense of knowing the country, even if just fleetingly, that we had from our days of riding. Chafed cheeks and all, I'll stick to this mantra: It's always better to see somewhere from a bike.