Chronic Negress

The cycle trip is off to a great start. After a walk by the Pacific and a quick beer seaside, we took the gondola to the top of Christchurch fora meal overlooking the city and a Time Tunnel ride. It was back to the Pavilions motel, with twin beds for a night’s sleep.

Up early to get out of town Sunday morning to Oamaru, a small town on the ocean which has preserved a lot of the early limestone buildings from the past. We had lunch by the water, and a terrific salad whipped up by Bas, our guide and the Salad God. After lunch, we drove to Weston to start cycling. Kathryn and I got a head start on the others, who were fast and fit. I rode about 10 kms before heeding the sensible warning not to overdo it. We passed by limestone walls, lots of sheep (1400 per New Zealander). I’m writing this in the town ofKurow

and would be sending this now but the local Internet station owners are mucking about on the roof trying to hook up their connection. Bas is keeping an eye out for Kathryn, who is pretty much deconditioned and myself, who could be in better shape but between the kitchen and various distractions, neglected to train as much as I should have.

But none of this is a worry. We’re surrounded by beauty and five other riders (Bob, Mary Jo, Linda, Rebecca and John). More about them later but I can say from just observing this first day’s riding that Mary Jo is a monster.

I just got some assistance from a friendly Black Lab in writing this entry. Attention must be paid.

Terrain so far has been what I expected, some rollers a couple of daunting uphills that I merely observed and some nice downhills with a few switchbacks. I’m feeling more psyched about some things I forgot about the Speedplays and hope to ride more tomorrow.

Morning dawned early at the only motel in Otematata as The Magnificent Seven (well, Bas and Lyneke are the Magnificent Guides so that will do) made their way to the morning ride aroundLake

Aviemore

from dam to dam. I got two bus assists to be the Rosie Ruiz of the group. After lunch at a lovely campground by a river, the more hardy took off on the Dansey’s Pass climb. The climb was on gravel road with some switchbacks and tricky downhills (control on gravel is key). Bob, Linda and the Perry sisters sat it out (hey, we helped make and set up lunch), but Mary Jo, Rebecca (who will probably be guiding soon herself), John and Bas rolled much of the way.

Some notes about the Pass: most of the bridges are one way, and the pass is surrounded by deep glacial cut land. Sheep, deer and cattle abound and we ran into one cattleman on his horse who was watching over a neighboring herd. Having had a couple of nasty encounters with gravel on the Walter Peake sheep station road the last time I was down here, I wisely choose to sit this ride out.

I also need to get over some very poor dinner choices. The chicken tortilla at the Gondola dinner was a leathery, fiery mess with edited highlights of chicken. At the Otematata motel, I ordered a pasta dish with chicken, bacon and mushrooms that arrived with nearly a quarter-pound of Parmesan cheese swimming in cream sauce with some fusilli on life support under-girding the whole mess.

Now, as far as sampling the local beers, that’s gone a lot better. Speight’s is pretty good and the Mac Gold is light and more like American beers. I have wisely avoided the traditional pints since I am a slow beer drinker. The 12 – which I assume means 12 ounces – seems to work out very well for me.

I am writing this as we have reached what we’re going to call Decision Point. There’s a massively steep but short climb to the top followed by an insane downhill. We’re parked here to give the tough kids a chance to make a decision – keep riding to the summit and then hurtle downhill like a fiery projectile, or call it quits here. As we wait, several campers have stopped to chat. Mary Jo, who has some serious uphill chops, may be joining us on the bus right now. John, a lovely old guy who is also Rebecca’s dad, seems to be planning to press on. He’s put in his pub order.

‘ve been home now for about a week and still am not sure whether my body and brain are working in concert. But any account of this trip would be incomplete without sketches of some of the people we met.

First, Kathryn and the women of Rakaia Gorge smoking and chatting about American political foibles. Best overheard new nickname: Condescending Rice.

Claire at the Dunstan House in Clyde, cheerful and enraptured recalling a trip she andher daughter won to NYC : “The Steam really does come out of the streets.”

Linda’s shock upon realizing that testosterone would not have an immediate effect on her cycling. Linda was one of our hardy group of seven.

Rebecca’s ministrations to Lieneke’s aching back, her superior cycling prowess and her great curly red hair.

John, Rebecca’s Dad, who is a fitness role model even though he has 20 years on me. I can still see the old Queensland fire fighter tearing up as he recounted his joy in sharing his vacation with his daughter.

Bas, Lieneke’s partner in guiding and in life, who always put me on the right road. Give the pair props for respectfully arguing in Dutch in front of the rest of us, giving us an incentive to take up the study of Dutch.

Bob and Mary Jo, a couple to admire for their fitness and their ease with each other. Mary Jo took delight in much and reminded me to do the same. Bob, I hope you have been reunited with your camera.

There was one couple I kept running into on the rail trail and off who seemed to be having almost a good a time as we were.

I also salute the woman who let me clean up my road rash with some of her water. The Kiwis are the best.