Was cycling along today when the thought struck me in a striking manner that it was June 24th. As I arrived in New Zealand on Christmas Eve, I calculated in a calculating fashion that I had been in this Land-of-the-Long-White-Cloud-and-Never-Ending-Rain a long 6 months.
So, you may ask, and if you don’t I shall then ask myself, what do I think of New Zealand so far?
North Cape
WEATHER:
couldn’t be wetter if it tried but then I have landed up here in the wettest, windiest, coldest, most floodiest etc etc summer on record.
TIP: bring clipless welly boots, a floating tent and a set of 16 small anchors in place of tent pegs complete with buoys to facilitate location in the morning.
Kiwi
WIND:
strong and galeforce from every direction but always against you.
TIP: hoist the mizzen and tack hard on wide roads to ease your journey. (Method not recommended in close proximity to 50-ton logging trucks).
ADDED EXTRA:
Fold down wing mirrors to reduce wind resistance, close mouth and tape back ears.
Maori Meeting House
ROAD SURFACE:
METALLED ROADS chippings vary from fist to saucer-size resulting in an energy-sapping tyre-munching ride. Otherwise laaa-vely.
UNMETALLED ROADS varies from lung-choking dust to hub-sinking mud and from loch-sized water-filled potholes to super slinky smooth.
VOLUME OF VEHICULAR TRAFFIC:
Far from a cyclist’s paradise in this department. For a country reputedly full of sheep there’s an awful lot of cars and volumes vary from constant flow to sporadic flurries based on ferry timetables or rugged remoteness of road.
ATTITUDES & SKILL (OR NOT) OF DRIVERS:
Diabolical! Worst ever experienced! The majority seem convinced that the only place for a cyclist is in the ditch and if you’re not in it, they will soon put you there. In essence, Kiwis drive too fast, too close and oncoming vehicles love overtaking directly into your path. Poo Bah to them, I say!
* WARNING: Fat-exhaust boy racers abound, as do drink drivers. (Age drivers can drive: 15. Result: lots crashes, lots boy racers, lots of madness.
Native Fern
GENERAL STANDARD OF CAMPGROUNDS:
Top notch. Most have kitchens with fridges / freezers / ovens / hobs / microwaves / gas barbeques and instant boiling water ‘zip’ machines which saves a lot on ye olde camp fuel.
WILD CAMPING:
Find a bit of ‘bush’, look this way, look that way, make sure no-one else is looking or lurking, then dive on in.
EVOCATIVE SOUNDS OF BUSH CAMPING:
Squabbling possums hissing, morepork owls moreporking, heavy rain, heavy wind, howling rain, howling wind, crash of falling branches, gushing rivers rising, distant squeal of boy-racers (yes, they get everywhere).
PEOPLE:
In a general generalising sort of way, of course: frank, ‘matey’ and to use one of their oft-used expressions ‘good as gold’. (That’s before they get behind the wheel).
DOWNFALL:
They think that anyone who rides a loaded bike around their wildly mountainous land: nuts! (How wrong could they be?)
The Mountain
QUIRK No. 1:
A fetish for sporting short welly boots (often white) which they remove before entering country stores / garages / pubs etc.
QUIRK No. 2:
If they’re not welly-booted they’re bare-footed – even in the middle of winter in the middle of the street in the middle of the rain. Must be a back-to-nature mother-earth sort of thing.
GENERAL UNPLEASANTRIES AND ANNOYANCES:
Possums; boy racers; unrollable toilet paper dispensers in public lavs; sandflies.
GENERAL COUNTRYSIDE QUIRK:
For a land reputedly full of sheep there’s an awful lot of cows.
0 Comments until now.
Comment!