This text was read by OCR from a scanned newsletter and has not been proofread yet, so expect odd characters and mistakes.
2-5 April (Easter) 1999
Wairau Valley from Picton to the Rainbow turnoff, A bike parked at the roadside showed where to stop. Phil, Anne and Alice, in the middle of their Cape Reinga to Bluff marathon, were camped here under the beech trees. We hoped they'd have the billy on for a cup of tea after our long trip from Wellington, but all we got from their tent was a few grunts. Good Friday dawned fair. The tea situation now turned out to be even more serious than we at first thought. This campsite had no water! (And these people call themselves English?) Those who were in most need biked up the road to a stream for breakfast. Then we carried on up the Wairau and through its gorge, leaving trees behind as we entered the dry interior of Marlborough. Island Saddle at 1370m was our high point for the day and for the trip. Phil and Anne, oozing fitness, led the way. Grant stayed at the back to keep watch over the weak and defenceless, and protect them from attack by mountain lions. Harry and John thought longingly of Lake Tennyson and its tea-making potential. In gathering cloud we swooped down to the lake, forded the youthful Clarence River at the outlet, and wheeled the bikes to a patch of sheltering beech on the western side. Harry and John tried to convert the entire contents of the lake to tea. Alice couldn’t wait for the addition of the leaves or for the water to boil: or even, for that matter, for the billy to be filled. She just jumped in. At dinner time, we looked on in disbelief at the size of the meal consumed by the End-to-Enders. Saturday was gloriously sunny. Grant said we didn’t have far to go, so we ambled down the Clarence till we met Shane coming in from Hanmer. He turned and came with us. Below Jacks Pass (or maybe it was Jollies) we relaxed in the shade and drank tea. Then below Jollies Pass (or maybe it was Jacks) we farewelled the three of huge appetite. We went on to the old accommodation house at the Acheron/Clarence confluence for more tea and a walk before dinner. Easter Sunday, again fine, saw us away early for Molesworth. On the assault of Wards Pass, Grant left the tail-enders to their own devices and hit the front, taking the King of the Mountains jersey.
i cyclists went by minibus and trailer up the
John Rhodes
It being lunch-time, we now debated whether or not we had enough water for a brew on the pass. “Yes”, was the answer. John lit his primus, put-on the small amount of water he had, and looked around for more. Shane passed him a bottle. Funny, thought John, why does Shane carry his water in a fuel bottle? John tipped the contents of the bottle into the billy on the primus. A sheet of flame erupted. John did an imitation of a Cossack dance, slapping at burning fuel on his legs. Meanwhile, a thoughtful person turned the primus off. When the excitement died down, John reflected that Shane certainly doesn’t carry his water in a fuel bottle (kind of obvious, when you think about it). And he now had smooth hairless legs, just like a gun bike racer. That night an extra Easter egg was to be awarded for the stupidest deed on the trip. There was no contest. We camped a bit past Upcot Saddle. A friendly farmer let us use his land. As soon as he was out of sight, Harry lit a fire for another brew. Monday brought a steady tailwind. Jim’s knee, which had caused problems, came right in the anticipation of Picton. Just after we hit Highway One, Grant’s parents came past on their way back to Christchurch and gave us a bottle of Sprite. This was spurned by the serious tea drinkers, who made their brew away from the traffic down a side road. With Grant in front we then powered all the way to the ferry like the Tour de France peloton in full flight.
Tour de France? Grant and Shane had been talking about their coming French bike tour, and Harry musthave been listening. Some seeds must have been planted in Harry’s mind. Harry must have been thinking: I wonder if my brother would mind lending me his bike again? It is, after all, a Peugeot. The back tyre’s a bit smooth, but I wonder if I could get a few more thousand kilometres out of it? I wonder how much leg room there is on the aeroplane? I wonder if the Col d’Iséram is much harder than Island Saddle? And I wonder what the French is for “Yes thanks I don’t mind if I do have another cup...” WT@MC June/July 1999
Rath Lo eMC a
Trip Reports
~ The team: Grant Newton (leader), Harry Smith, Debbie and Suli Niulala, Erin Roberts, Jim Ribeiro, Phil Young, John Rhodes, Shane Connolly, Anne Kempster, Phil Kendon, and Alice.
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