Abel Tasman and Queen Charlotte

To Abel Tasman National Park and back



This morning I did some shopping and then collected my bike. From the docks in Nelson I caught a catamaran water-taxi to Pohara, the other side of the Golden Bay Park. Like Milford Sound only one road goes out to Abel Tasman National Park and back and I thought I could avoid riding it both ways by going by boat on the outward journey. I was the only passenger on a trip which took four hours. Mostly we had parcels to deliver. At Pohara the camp-site was only minutes away. I was greeted by extremely inquisitive ducks and during the night, when it was raining, my tent was visited by a hedgehog who made a hell of a racket rummaging around my rubbish bag in the tent foyer.



The next day it rained on and off all day. All I managed was a short fifteen mile ride to Takaka where I did some shopping and watched some cricket in the pub. It was also a very dreary drizzly evening.



At last the sun came out and I had a chance to dry the tent. I continued my ride along the northern coast of South Island and found another camp-site on the sea. After setting up I continued by ride, without panniers, to Farewell Spit the westernmost point on this coast. I also travelled a bit south on an unmade road to Whanganui Inlet. This was very isolated. In the afternoon I sunbathed and walked along the beach. It was a beautiful and hazy evening.







Today was another perfect and cloudless day. My ride was back along the way I'd come to Takaka, with a side-trip to Collingwood. At the base of Takaka Hill I stopped at the Rat Trap Inn and had a beer whilst watching some cricket. It then took me an hour to ride the five miles to the top of the hill. Definitely the steepest climb yet. After that it was an exhilarating downhill ride until I discovered one more hill to climb before reaching the camp-site. I had a couple of beers in the Paradise Cafe that evening.

Marlborough, Vineyards and Queen Charlotte Drive

The ride to Mapua was a short one of about two hours. Once again I spent the afternoon in the sun and walking around the beaches. This is a very antiquated place with a fifties feel.



The following days ride took me through Nelson and then over two steep climbs to Pelorus Bridge. The camp-site was peaceful and quiet, apart from the sound of rutting deer. I took some nature walks through the forest.

The next day was also a short ride to Havelock, but after setting up camp I rode further on to Renwick and visited several vineyards. It was a bit of a struggle cycling back.

My final days ride in the south Island took me along the Queen Charlotte Drive into Picton. The road itself was atrocious but the views were very picturesque over the sounds. I found a motel in town and booked in for the week-end as Jo was coming over from Wellington.

Arrival in the South Island, NZ

In the Beginning Was Vic

 On the morning of the 3rd of February 1993 I rose at 6.30am in an attempt to catch the 8am inter--island ferry from Wellington to Picton. All the panniers had been packed the night before, but this was the first time out on a fully loaded bike. The descent to Wellington City was precarious, and I got lost wandering about the dock-side area. I feared missing the boat but made it just in time. It looked as if I was the last cyclist on board, as a pile of bikes were already stashed and roped on the car-deck. Feeling rather dapper in my cycling clothes, but knowing I was probably seriously out of shape I wandered onto the decks and watched the city disappear as we pulled out of the bay and followed the coast around the Wellington hillside suburbs. I thought I recognised Island Bay, which is where I'd been staying with Jo. The weather was perfect for the crossing; clear blue skies and a calm sea. This made a change as my previous ten days in Wellington had been accompanied by some indifferent and changeable weather, and the Cook Straits are notorious for rough passage.




The crossing takes three hours, so after watching the North Island disappear from view I went downstairs for a huge breakfast, and a wander around the decks and gangways. When the ship entered the sounds of the South Island I ventured back on deck to marvel at the greenery and the rugged coastline. Not much sign of civilisation until we turned a dog-leg into Picton Harbour. After a brief chat with the other cyclists milling around on the car-deck, especially three blokes of about sixty, I rode straight off into the country.




The road was gently undulating, the weather was warm, and I had a pretty good idea of how far I was riding. It was still relatively early, with all day to do the riding. At my first stop I took a photograph of my pristine bike, before waving at the old-timers as they passed me. I wasn't to see them again. When I reached my intended destination for the day I decided that I still had time to travel a little further. One stiff climb, a double decker bridge, shared by the railway and fifteen miles later brought me to Ward at about 4.40pm. As I checked in I noticed only one other camper. He also had exactly the same bicycle as me, a '93 Cannondale T700. This was such a coincidence that we chatted, and went for dinner at a fish and chip cafe in the village. His name was Vic, originally from Lancashire, recently of Nelson NZ, but now living in Brisbane, Australia. We were to ride together for the next five days.