A proper road trip needs some introduction, some lead in and some antecedents.  I find unsatisfactory the idea of merely starting out without careful preparation and more than a little anticipation.  For example, you wouldn’t simply climb on a plane at a whim and, finding yourself in South Africa, head north to see where it took you.  Much of the enjoyment of the trip is derived from the planning, guessing, researching and preparing.

So it was that we looked forward for some time to the ‘Third Time Lucky’ (TTL) trip to Central Otago.  Some may remember that we had previously planned and executed forays into that estimable region, only to be sent packing in somewhat unceremonious circumstances – on more than one occasion.  First came the attempt at the Otago Rail Trail, circumvented by our beloved (by some) leader who decided that, although we were exactly half way through, we needed to return home and prepare for the March 2020 lockdown.  Our second attempt early this year was successful, insofar as the Rail Trail was concerned, but again we were sent home by the untimely demise of my sister and major medical event of a brother-in-law.  And, of course, there was the most unfortunate and very unforgettable other event late in 2020, and again in Central Otago, when our caravan decided to go its own way and parted company from the tow vehicle, resulting in its own demise.  I have to add we are more than a little cautious of wind these days while towing.

The TTL trip was planned to coincide with a special event in Westport at Labour Weekend and a week in a timeshare at Queenstown early in November, which events were to be followed by more cycling in the Central region including a look at the Dunstan track and more of the Clutha Gold trail.  The return journey was to include as much of the East Coast as we could manage instead of our usual return route of Highway 72 through Twizel and Geraldine.  In all, we planned to be away for up to five weeks.

And that’s a quick summary of both antecedents and planning.  So, with caravan attached and a full tank of diesel, we headed south on Thursday 21 October bound for Westport.  Backing a 7 metre caravan into the front yard of our Carters Beach bach proved interesting but, with some practice and the patience of passing motorists, it was a task completed to my satisfaction by mid-afternoon.  I might add that admiration and approbation were observed from at least one passing motorist who applauded as he drove past.  We love our hideaway down there and we soon had the bikes off the back of the caravan ready to head into town to catch up with family at the earliest opportunity.  First come the chores when you arrive at a bach and it was She who took the truck into town to do the catching up while my catching took the form of grass clippings in a catcher on the back of a mower.  The lawn looked pretty good after an hour or so and I had the place set up for habitation by the time of her return.

Friday was the day of preparation as some of the family began arriving that night.  Number two daughter, also a shareholder in the bach, arrived with number one granddaughter that evening and Saturday saw the arrival of numbers one and three daughters with numbers two and three granddaughters arriving on Sunday.  Sunday was the day of my birthday and it was celebrated by all with a splendid cooked breakfast and a late afternoon barbeque that included a fillet of beef and a butterfly of lamb, both of which were superbly cooked.  In the spirit of the occasion I can promise I lifted not one finger to assist in the cooking of said victuals.  Accompanying salads and other dishes were all deliciously prepared and presented and I felt truly blessed to be honoured in the midst of my whole family.

With everyone heading away to real life on Monday it was back to normal at the bach and we settled into a very relaxing pattern of biking, visiting, reading and resting which lasted until the next weekend when we attended a ‘memorial’ birthday celebration for a Westport brother who would have turned 71 on the Saturday, had he lived a few more weeks.  Her brother, Neil, was a legend and fondly remembered for his many acts of generosity to countless people and organisations.  He had requested there be no funeral so it was an opportunity to gather and remember him over a shared lunch.  While sombre in nature, there were happy reminiscences and the odd tear, some from laughter in recollection of Neil’s stunts. 

We remained until Monday 1 November when we loaded up the caravan and extricated it from its resting place.  As the songs goes,

“Another tank of gas and

Back on the road again.”

The Coast Road (between Westport and Greymouth) has to be one of the prettiest there is and it was in sparkling form as we lugged our load south.  Stopping in Greymouth to visit friends in hospital, we spent some time under a tree in the new hospital grounds before proceeding on to our youngest daughter’s place just out of Hokitika.  It is always a treat to see your offspring succeed and she has made a great job of her property.  In addition to the already completed recladding and new windows, which we had seen, she had overseen the installation of a new kitchen.  With verdant surrounds and sheep grazing in her three paddocks, this little property is heaven for her and a credit to her stewardship and oversight.

The bikes stayed on the back of the caravan as we spent the next day visiting rellies and pottering around with our daughter at her place.  Coincidentally, she had been given a couple of days off work so we delighted in spending Tuesday with her, watching as she repainted some of the new cladding and helping with simple tasks like weeding.  We offered to assist with painting but she insisted on us merely supervising, in deference to our lack of suitable clothing.  It was a beautiful day and one we enjoyed immensely.

Wednesday morning we were on the road in good time, headed for Haast.  Apart from a stop at Harihari for a coffee and another at Franz Joseph village for lunch, we made good time, arriving in Haast at a respectable time to set up the caravan in one of the nicest camp grounds we have come across.  Someone had kindly distracted most of the sandflies away to another location so it was altogether a most pleasant stay and one we would recommend to any similarly equipped traveller.  A good meal at the Hard Antler tavern was followed by a satisfactory sleep and we were singing our song again.

Last time we traversed the Haast Pass it was from the other direction and sans trailer brakes.  I’m ashamed to admit that I towed our previous van around the South Island the first time without brakes but fortunately also without mishap.  It was after that trip that I made enquiries of the local brake specialist about checking them as I was concerned they seemed ineffectual.  He asked where the controller was in my tow vehicle.  My stunned mullet response of “what controller?” evoked a similar stunned mullet response from him.  Needless to say the tow vehicle very shortly thereafter acquired a controller unit and brakes on both caravans worked well subsequently.  There’s an old but true saying:  “We don’t know what we don’t know”.

Because we had never been into the township of Hawea, the caravan got an escorted tour of the town, with us as escorts – the blind leading the blind.  Well, at least the caravan had blinds. Having decided there was little to see, we managed to find a turning point and retraced our wheeltracks back to SH6 and on to Wanaka.  I hate to admit it but we got sucked in to negotiating the exhaustive speed humps along the front of Wanaka shopping centre and each one extracted a little more rubber from the caravan’s jockey wheel, captive as it is at the front of the drawbar.  However, with a little manoeuvring, we found a park within walking distance of the centre and made our way to our favourite café for a coffee.  Nothing much has changed in the town since we were last there so we moved on and, after a false start that had us heading straight for Cardrona and the Crown Range, we backtracked to the appropriate road taking us the long way around to Cromwell and, ultimately, Queenstown.

I have a couple of cousins in the area, one from my mother’s side of the family and one from my father’s.  Rachel and John live in the Lake Hayes Estate subdivision and agreed to us parking up our caravan there for a week while we stayed at the timeshare.  We spent Thursday night with them and moved such essential equipment as we needed to the timeshare in Queenstown on Friday.  During the day we made contact with the manager of the Arvida village just along the road from my cousin’s house and he gave us a conducted tour of the very impressive Country Club village that started life as a Sanderson initiative before being bought out by Arvida.  While it is in a similar stage of development to our own village it is quite different in many respects.  The outcome of the visit was that he introduced us to John and Irene who had asked him that morning of he knew anyone in Nelson who wanted to do a house swap early next year.  We left after spending half an hour with them discussing the details of how we would achieve a month’s swap in February/March.

The other cousin is Hugh and he and Maureen run the hot air balloon business in Queenstown.  Yes, the same one that suffered a mishap earlier in the year.  We visited them and they told us how the lack of tourists had deflated (intentional pun, sorry) their business.  I think he said they had been able to fly only twice since the last lockdown, such was the paucity of pundits.  Resilience is an admirable quality and I was amazed to learn how he had been able to redeploy staff to ensure their livelihoods, drawing on the local neighbourhood enterprises and assisting them to increase their productivity through availability of staff.  Such stories impress and encourage me.

Our time at Queenstown Mews was most enjoyable.  We took up residence Friday afternoon and were joined on Saturday night be friends from Christchurch.  They came equipped with bikes so on Sunday we explored some of the new shopping areas around Frankton.  On Monday we decided to be a little more adventurous and headed again to Frankton but swung around the bottom of the lake and over the old traffic bridge, now a bike and pedestrian facility, before heading along the side of the lake to Kelvin Heights and the golf course.  After coffee we debated the wisdom or otherwise of continuing around the head of the peninsula before heading back around the side of the lake, the way we came.  The steepness of the grade going back down to the lakeside track made up our minds so it was a simple downhill glide to rejoin the track along which we had come.

All was going well until we were almost home when a sudden loud noise near the track distracted our friend Sus and, after a momentary lapse of attention, she found herself flung from her bike as it hit a ditch eating into the side of the track.  She bravely got up and dusted herself off and proceeded to bike the rest of the way back to base but when we looked at her injuries and, remembering the plight of another friend who suffered a similar spill, we advised her husband to have her checked out by a medical person of some sort.  The outcome was that she spent two days and nights in hospital and had to fly home on Thursday, having suffered a severe haematoma as well as scrapes and bruises.  The swelling on her thigh became distended as it filled up with blood from a ruptured minor artery and there was some talk of having her transferred to Invercargill or Dunedin to have it drained. 

That put a damper on biking activities for a couple of days as Chris spent time at the hospital with Sus but after they left we made a foray around Lake Hayes and became the first to visit people from Nelson who had, the day before, moved into a new house in a retirement village at Arrowtown.  Then it was time to begin packing up the timeshare in preparation for our transfer back to the caravan on Friday.  We bid my cousin goodbye and headed to Cromwell where we learned the forecast for the next week was for wet weather.  Our plan had been to park up in a camping ground and begin the biking in earnest but the prospect of a week of wet weather was less than inspiring.  We made contact with Nelson friends already there and with whom we had planned to do some riding and agreed to meet in Alexandra.

While they preferred the freedom camping facilities of an NZMCA camp, we headed to the holiday park and registered for an initial two nights, hoping to see if the weather was going to change its mind.  We spent an enjoyable evening over drinks and a meal with our friends and retired to our respective vans to refresh for possible activity the following day.  When it arrived sullen and damp, we met up for a coffee and learned they were heading south to meet up with family members before preparing to do the Hump Ridge walking track from Tuatapere.  We decided to stay the extra night to give it one more chance and went exploring as far away as Clyde, in the rain.

With unsettled weather the following morning and threats of heavier rain coming from the south west, we packed up and headed for Timaru.  Therein is another of our favourite camping grounds and we managed to get set up before the heavy rain set in.  It had followed us fairly closely across the island and we realised we made the right decision.  Next morning we caught up with friends from Timaru and headed north up SH1.  We visited a sister-in-law in Ashburton and arrived in Christchurch to stay with Chris and Sus mid-afternoon.  I wasn’t sure about parking our behemoth rig on the side of the road in their salubrious neighbourhood but they assured us the hillbilly outfit would be okay parked up for a couple of days without getting moved on by locals.  The more we looked around their neighbourhood, the less sure I was. There are some seriously tasty properties scattered around.

We enjoyed a couple of rides, walks and drives around the city over a couple of days and the ferocious nor’westerly of Tuesday died down to a more acceptable breeze on Wednesday.  Thursday we were singing our song again and arrived in Kaikoura around lunchtime.  We went straight to the new NZMCA park at the end of Beach Road and got set up before making our way out onto the peninsula to spend the afternoon and evening with our friends who live there.  We always enjoy a warm welcome there and were able to repay some of the longstanding hospitality with a feed of fresh Westport whitebait which She prepared in true West Coast fashion.  Lots of eggs and no flour.  Of course you have to have it with mint sauce – but that may be an acquired taste.

I was quite impressed by the camp site and we left next morning with the anticipation of homecoming and a rising nor’easterly breeze.  I may have mentioned we are a little nervous around wind while towing our caravan and there were some concerned looks as the wind rose.  However, we made it through to Renwick where we refilled both tank and tummy and made the rest of the journey back to Richmond without incident.

On reflection it would be fair to say that our TTL trip was not entirely successful if judged on anticipated outcomes.  However, we were not disappointed as we came away from Central Otago with the knowledge we will be returning there for a full month next year and will have ample time to try some of the bike tracks we missed this time.  As the saying goes, “If at first you don’t succeed, skydiving wasn’t for you.”