MOTORCYCLE NEW ZEALAND - ON A BUDGET
(PART 3)

Missed Part Two? Fear thee not, here's a link - Part Two

So in last week's instalment we explored the South Island, rafted in Queenstown and made away across the Southern Alps to the town of Haast. New Zealand was proving to be a motorcycle Mecca and we still had the rest of the west coast to do ...


Part 3 - Haast back to Auckland

Thursday 24th December (Haast - Franz Joseph)

Back to the beginning and the west coast of the South Island.

The west coast of the South Island is renowned for grey days and lots of rain. Unfortunate really, since the coastal road offers magnificent views of the ocean on one side and rain forest encrusted mountains on the other. It was a pleasant surprise when we awoke to glorious cloudless skies.

Our goal for today was an easy 130 km north, again up Highway 6, to the Franz Joseph Glacier. As with some so called 'coastal' roads, the road only ran ‘close’ to the coast and so ocean views weren’t always ideal. Having said that, the first 20 km or so of Highway 6 delivered driftwood strewn beaches to the left, and wind shaped rain forest to the right. Following was a short, but most welcomed twisty bit, before a relatively long (and tad tedious) straightish section for the remaining 60 km to Fox Glacier (which is about 30 km south of the Franz Joseph).

The most interesting fact between the two glaciers is the ‘way cool’ twisty, windy, up and downy stretch of asphalt paradise that connects them. Does it sound like all the roads in N.Z. are to die for? Not all, but most were - but I guess my standards were becoming quite high.

Anyway, I digress. Franz Joseph was reached by midday - our goal.

Descending the icy staircase of the Franz Joseph Glacier.

The FJ is noted for its closeness to the sea. One, if not the closest in the world, apparently. What this meant to us is that within half an hour we were climbing up slippery steps carved into the terminal face of the glacier, with only a pair of hobnail boots for traction. It's a weird sensation having the summer sun beating down on you from above as you hike up an icy staircase, over 100 meters thick.

Unfortunately for us, we got stuck behind the much renowned stereotypical American tourist family (sorry U.S. readers, but each nation has its stereotypes and occasional they actually exist), who bitched and whined about safety, not enough ropes to hold on to, etc., etc. Thankfully, NZ seems still relatively void of the evil North American law suit mentality that spawns a dull and ultra restrictive society.

Sometimes you sign a basic waiver outlining that life, by its very nature, involves unforeseen risks, and then its real, don't be an ass or you'll die adrenaline time. Shit, I bet even McDonald's serves their coffee scalding hot here ...


Friday 25th December (Franz Joseph/Fox Glacier)

View of the Fox Glacier from the distance of the "Do not pass ropes" point.

Christmas day. It’s hot and sunny and I’m going for a ride. This is an odd occurrence for a Canadian-Englishman. And what better way to celebrate Christmas than to redo that lurvely bit of twisty to the Fox Glacier again. One glacier is just never enough!

Actually, if you’re short on time, then it is, because the terminal face of the Fox is very much like that of the Franz Joseph ... except for the "Danger - ice fall hazard - do not pass ropes". This indicated the end of the lookout point for the glacier and was annoyingly quite far away from the glacier’s face.

Never one to blindly accept authority, I tracked onwards to a point where I could actually feel the icy breath of the Fox. A quick calculation of how far a falling three story block of ice could reach, placed me just on the edge of the melt water river - about 30 meters from the face.

You've gotta click for the larger image here. Big slab falling, red hats running ...

I could watch this scene for hours. There was a large, ice-arched cavern at the face, where a river of icy melt water rushed out and down the valley. The glacier was cracked and bunched up from where it squeezed through tight valley walls.

Another group of more extreme, ‘authority doubting’ tourists, donning red Santa hats, made their way dangerously closer to the glacier’s arch.

Small chunks of ice would fall off the main face, with a deep, but subtle "crack" sound. I’m feeling a bit close now as I reassess my three stories of crashing ice calculations. I decide to add an additional 10 meter safety distance and sit down to gawk once more.

Christmas smorgasbord at the Franz Joseph backpackers.

As I argue with Daniela about the wisdom of ignoring the warning signs, a thunderous "craaaackkk" sounds out as a three-story, mother slab of ice falls away and directly towards the group of shocked Christmas tourists.

Everything became surreal at this point and kind of moved slo-mo. The ice block was like an old tower being demolished by dynamite.

The tower falls out and across the front of the icy arch. Frantic red Christmas hats zigzag furiously, like ants from a rolling foot.

ŌKerrsplashhhhhhĶ. The tower shatters as it slaps into the melt water river, red hats just meters in front of its reach. The splash is more melt water than fractured ice, the result being a large grey freezing wave that douses the adrenaline filled bodies of our Christmas ants. Holy shit, that was unbelievable Batman. It was as if old man Fox was demanding more respect from these squidgy little humans.

Christmas evening was spent back at the hostel in Franz Joseph, with forty other travellers enjoying a smorgasbord Christmas dinner with all the beer you could drink for a mere $25. White Christmas? Bah, humbug!


Saturday 26th December (Franz Joseph - Westport)

Glorious roads!

We’d been lucky so far with the weather on the west coast. Wettest part of New Zealand they reckon. Oddly, today my body was acting kinda slow. Just maybe, it was due to the excesses of the night before, endless beer and all.

We resumed onto Highway 6 north, which took a slightly inland route along the base of the coastal mountains. A mix between mild twisties and patches of straight took us the 70 km or so to where the highway rejoined the coast. The road never really did much of interest up until the city of Greymouth.

However, north of there, the road decided to go mental. Once more, mountains came right up to the coast and the road had no option but to climb, fall and weave. I don’t think coastal roads get much better than this - the kind of stuff you see in car commercials.

A brief mid afternoon rest was taken at Pancake Rocks, to observe (along with a million other tourists) some weird cliff formations and associated blow holes.

Why not save money and share a road bridge with the trains? The key is to take a good look ahead and then cross as fast as possible.

Tourist duties done and over, it was time to get back to the glorious coastal roads ... Barrpp, barrpp, barrrrhh ... hhh ... bb ... b ... oh no, we’re on reserve.

Just how long can an F650 go on reserve? The worst reserve I’d ever experienced was 20 Km on a Triumph Trophy. But BMW wouldn’t do that would they? No, not the ultra efficient Germans (mind you, they’d probably never end up on reserve anyway, that wouldn’t be good planning). Was even 20 km wishful thinking?

15 Km later we pulled over at a pub and asked how far it was to the next gas station.

"Twenty five kilometres, mate. At Westport".

Hmmmhhh. 15 plus 25 equals 40. Do the Germans account for stupid non - Germans? They must do, otherwise that in itself would be bad planning. Ultimately, it didn’t really matter anyway, we had no choice.

The remaining trip to Westport was at a steady 4,500 rpm uphill (assuming that’s where max fuel economy is on a 650 single), and a silent 0 rpm coast on the downhills.

After much panic, the Westport sign finally appeared. Houses dotted the sides of the road and a big beautiful ‘BP’ gas sign lit up the whole town.

Danke BMW, danke.


Sunday 27th December (Westport (SI) - Paekakariki (NI))

Yes, they cut the road right into the cliff face. V. cool.

I’m running out of adjectives to describe this place. It was bloody sunny, and bloody hot. We carried on Highway 6 (now heading across the South Island in a north easterly direction) and as usual, it was bloody lovely. The road hugged along the side of the Buller river which is ... beautiful ... excellent ... gorgeous, yes, gorgeous, that’s it. Wide and shallow, with crystal-clear water flowing gently over the rocky bottom. As the valley gets more gorge-like, the road narrows in sections to a single lane, with some of the sections actually cut into the side of the cliffs!

By the time we passed the gorge section and hit the more open road over the tops, I had been spoiled for all other roads. Nothing could possibly top this.

The rest of Highway 6 to Nelson seemed average in comparison. Amazing scenery and constant left, right, left bends just seemed ... well, ho hum! How could I ever ride along the flat, grid-roads of Ontario ever again? The thought of the seven hour, 100 Km/h slog, down a pin-straight multilane highway (the 401 from Toronto to Montreal) made me ill.

As amazing as the road to Picton turned out to be, you always had to be prepared for what was around the next corner.

Then the unimaginable happened. About 20 km west of Picton (where our ferry was to depart), the main highway took an odd 60 km diversion due south, then due east and then due north again to Picton. Oddly, the map showed a direct (and paved) road directly to Picton. Hmmmm.

For the next 20 km, there wasn’t a single bit of straight road. It was hairpin bend to hairpin bend, with stunning views of the Marlborough Sounds every time you dared take your eyes of the road for a quick gander.

Then the unimaginable. I was actually finding this hard work. I’d overdosed on biker’s heaven. I had simply burnt out. My adrenaline gland had given up and joined my appendix as another useless body part. Maybe I actually do need a dose of 401 Toronto to Montreal after all! Perspective, and all that.

I hate to admit it, but it was with some relief that we finally arrived in Picton and boarded the ferry.


Monday 28th/Tuesday 29th December (Paekakariki - Auckland)

And I thought how cool it would be if I walked through the steam ... Extremely hot actually and you can't see a thing for a few seconds.
Now I know how a lobster feels.

With a couple of days to go before our flight back to Canada, we rode hard through the North Island, stopping for the night at Taupo, in the thermal area.

There, we not only got to check out steaming holes in the ground and bubbling mud pools, but we also met up with a guy named Nick Pedeley, who entertained us with tales of his planned trip to the Isle of Man to compete in the famous TT.

I didn't actually think that he'd do it, but he and the 'Flying Kiwi's' did go, did finish and did rather well to boot. In fact he sent in a summary of their exploits to CMG. If you want to check it out click here to link through.

Their triumph, to me, summed up the Kiwi spirit of "everything is possible" - that some risk is an inherent part of life, and you simply can’t have the best of one without the other.

That makes New Zealand stand out, as far as western countries go, as one of THE places to ride a motorcycle. If you’ve got some cash burning a hole in your pocket, skip the new lawn furniture and buy the motorcycling trip of a lifetime.

Two weeks is just enough ... for the South Island anyway.

Rob Harris


RIDING TIPS FOR NEW ZEALAND:

LAWS

Ride on the left: A lot of people from North American and mainland Europe get very stressed over this, and with good reason. Unlike a car, a motorcycle has no design differences between LHS and RHS drive. If you're used to driving a car on the RHS and then drive a car from a LHS drive country, the steering wheel is on the other side. This acts as a constant reminder that something is very different. Unfortunately, a bike does not incorporate this handy reminder!

Having said all that, I personally find it relatively easy to switch sides BUT there was always one or two occasions that I forgot and reverted to autopilot! Usually early in the morning and/or outside urban areas, where there is no other traffic to remind you of what side you should be on.

Obviously, this can, and has, proved fatal in the past. The unobvious element is that although you might adapt very well, that bozo in the fat bastard camper van with bone-crushing Bull-Bars, coming around the bend, may not be so with it. Unlikely, and not much you can do about it, but at least keep yourself on the left side as much as possible.

Give way to traffic turning from the right: A bit odd this one, but if you're at a junction, the oncoming vehicle has the right of way if they're about to turn in front of you.

Speed limits: Maxes out at 100Km/h and that applies to the open road as well as the highway. I generally found that if you kept it below 120 Km/h you'll be all right.

No left turn on a red: If you're North American and not from Quebec, then you're not allowed to do that handy turn on a red light.

Helmets: Gotta have 'em, gotta wear 'em.

DISTRACTIONS

Scenery is a big one. There's just so much to gawp at that if you don't keep one eye on the road, you may find yourself grabbing air over the edge of a cliff.

Wildlife is another one, although thankfully there's nothing poisonous. Still, beware of one of the plentiful sheep finding there way onto a road.

CONTACTS:

New Zealand High Commission in Canada - www.nzhcottawa.org. 613-238-5991

Tourism New Zealand - www.purenz.com, 1-800-978-7369

Lonely Planet Guide Books - www.lonelyplanet.com. Excellent guide book for the cheap bastard.

Driving in New Zealand - www.ltsa.govt.nz/international/index.html. Detailed web site on everything you have to know about driving/riding in New Zealand.

New Zealand Motorcycle Rentals - www.nzbike.com. I have nothing but good things to say about these guys.

Kiwi Tour - www.motorcycle-accessory.ab.ca. Phil Boucher from Motorcycle Accessories in Calgary is organising a tour there this year, departing 25th October. If you're interested, click on the web link and then "2001 Kiwi Tour" for more info.