2000 Biking New Zealand

Day 09, 16 December 2000, Saturday
Franz Josef Glacier – Ross; 113km @ 17kph, Empire Hotel, $40

What a day! For the first time ever the kind of distance we achieved today has not left me totally shattered. Tired, yes. Sore, yes. But not exhausted and in real pain. Partially, I guess, because the road here was on the whole a real pleasure ie cycle-friendly. But also, I suspect, because I am getting stronger. And because we set up specific rest stops and took proper breaks and ate regularly. And we had a bit of a rest yesterday. And, mainly perhaps, because I made a decision to enjoy the day and the distance.

We arose to a beautiful day, breakfasted on muesli and bananas, packed our freshly-washed clothes and got on the bikes intending to head straight for Ross. But the sight of the mountains we had caught only mist-enshrouded glimpses of the previous evening, glistening white and lovely in the morning sunshine, suddenly inspired us to cycle out and see Franz Josef glacier after all. So back the way we had come yesterday, over the bridge spanning the cement-coloured milky-looking Waiho River, and left onto a dirt road for the 4km to the glacier car park. And the 30 minute walk through native forest to a viewpoint. From which we decided there was no point in going closer – we had seen what we came for and still had a long day ahead.

So back through town and onto a really cycle-friendly road to our first quick break (for homemade rolls and cheese) at Lake Mapourika. Our first real break was later at Whataroa. Where I visited a Maori gallery while awaiting Charl’s arrival (he was struggling today). The only items of real appeal to me were the Maori fish hooks carved from bone or greenstone. Apparently a good fisherman would wear a replica of the fish hook with which he usually caught fish – believing that it brought luck. The proprietor told me that fish hooks were often carved in human bone in the past, but not any more. I was quite enjoying his company until he complained that whales washed up on shore, the proceeds of which can be harvested by the local Maori tribe, did not bring in very much. An adult man seemingly whining about the inadequacy of a bonsella!

The Maori arrived in New Zealand by canoe from 800AD or 1 000AD – bringing with them dogs, fowls, rats and pigs from Southeast Asia and the Pacific islands from which they originated, and kumara (sweet potato) from South America. And changed the face of New Zealand forever. Abel Tasman, the Dutch explorer, visited the west coast briefly and unsuccessfully – several of his crew were killed and eaten – in 1642. It was he who named New Zealand (after a province in Holland). James Cook, the British navigator / explorer, arrived in 1769 – changing forever the Maori way of life.

We refreshed ourselves at the local Whataroa tearooms – cokes and chips – and chatted there to a young Canadian cycling south. When we hit the road again we had to cycle slooowly past several horseback riders on their way out of town.

Mt Hercules had to be conquered soon after this – quite tough in the increasing heat of the day – and after this we undulated through forest on a road less enclosed by mountains than before with more human-size mountains in the distance.

Our next break was 33km beyond Whataroa at the Hari Hari tearooms where we had toasted sarmies sitting under an umbrella outdoors. Hari Hari is a strange little town stretched long on either side of the road. Dead shops and factories at the south end; a thriving motel, the obviously successful tearooms, and a small craft shop in an old pioneer house at the north end. We discussed how best to revitalise such a town, how best to cause the small stream of tourists to stop. And came to the conclusion it was probably possible, but would require a concerted effort – assuming the locals wanted to revitalise the town.

Our third longish break was at tiny Pukekura – consisting essentially of a warehouse of crafts with a giant sandfly hovering outside the top story, and a great pub where the interior walls had been made up from the moss-covered and weathered exterior walls of an old barn. The chap – who runs both the craft place and the pub – chatted to us over our beer / coke telling us he was pleased people were leaving the west coast – the quieter the better, he said.

On two separate occasions today we were held up by cattle crossing the road – the farmer sitting relaxed on a fat-tyred scooter vehicle while his dog/s rounded and herded the cattle from one field to t’other. We also had a couple of cooling and welcome one-minute rains during the course of the day. And enjoyed particularly the small deadly packages densely woven by industrious spiders and tightly-wrapped around the tips of thousands of roadside bushes.

Our hotel was right at the other end of Ross from where we entered the flat strung-out town. En route here Charl fell into conversation with a gang of friendly inquisitive kids, but I cycled on eager for my shower and dinner. He also saw a Father Xmas climbing up a chimney and one sitting on a stoep – he always seems to see more than I! We are staying in a pretty basic backpacker cabin alongside and part of the old and quite charming Empire Hotel. The bar in which we have been well fed is very busy indeed with Saturday trade. There are people playing pool and a stuffed bucklet on the piano! A drunk man told Charl he is employed in the recently revitalised Ross gold industry. Charl asked how many people are employed in the industry. Twelve, was the response!

We had popped into the neighbouring superette for breakfast and other supplies and saw a plan for revitalising the town lying on the table there – complete with ideas for a cherry festival and so on. Good for Ross.