Day 18 (Updated)

Too busy working to sharpen the saw.

I just blitzed into Pelorus Bridge in 3 hrs 15 mins -52 kms. I came over on the Blue Bridge the day before yesterday after staying with my sister Carolyn and niece Lucy in Brooklyn Wellington. Yesterday was repairs and shopping. Bikes and Scooters in Redwoodtown was a miraculous discovery and catered to me like I was a king. The front steering was wanting to snap back into the centre and it was a battle controlling things. First thing in the morning I went to the other bike shops. I'm on the TA, can you help me out. Nah. The shop was 'slaughtered' because someone was away. I felt like doing a bit of slaughtering of my own. I moved to the next shop the panic rising.

"It's stuffed" they said after a rattle of the handlebars.

"Need parts."

"When?"

"Couple of days, delivery issues with couriers."

"What can you do for me?"

"We could pack it full of grease."

"How long would that last? I've got 1500 kms to go?"

"How long is a piece of string?" he replied.

Now I may look like a lunatic after not shaving for two weeks, wearing daggy shorts and a bike with a bird's nest of sticks on it, but I know when I'm being patronized. Bloody inscrutable Zen loans. I've thrown a few of them at half-witted students who ask you exactly what you told them, to recognize one.

The panic and frustration was riding and I tried, really hard to sound sane.

"Well you are supposed to be the cycle mechanic. Give me your best, educated (huh) guess?"

He shrugged.

I was already gone round the corner to Blenheim's only 5 star accommodation. I burst in to reception. The receptionist asked me if I had an appointment with Fay as she quietly handed me a mask. "No, she's my sister." I blurted.

Fay appeared looking very calm and professional and found the Bikes and Scooters address. I had biked into town but I grabbed her car and tore up to Redwoodtown.

Merrick and Chris Lamb were both there. I wasn't sure if Merrick worked there because he was leaning on a bike and discussing where he was going for a ride. He grabbed some spanners, whipped the stem off, fiddled around and put it together. I was trying to listen to Chris who was mildly surprised (appalled) at the lack of lubrication. Rodney had told me not to oil it because I would only get dirty hands fixing it. It was crusted sea salt, volcanic pumice, dead leaves in wool and other filth all through it. When he said it would be 3-4 kms faster with a good clean and wax I started listening. Meanwhile Merrick was gazing out the window. The bikes terminal - he doesn't know how to break it to me. I asked what did he think? Fearing the worst. It's fixed. What? I couldn't process that. He looked offended. I tested the steering and felt like falling on my knees and offering thanks.

Chris offered to do my service gratis because he saw my cause, Arthritis NZ on my back. I insisted on paying and will be eternally grateful.

If you don't want to end up buying a new bike head up to Redwoodtown town for some honest, polite, informed service.

I went and said hello to my parents at the Fairhall Cemetery not too far from The Barracks up the end of the road up the valley on the left where they settled after marrying when dad got home from the war in 1945.

They are buried together in the Soldiers part

D. H. (Don)Arnold 

Tpr 58934   died 14.10.1980 aged 68 2nd NZEF Armoured Corps 

Bessie May Arnold died 30.10.2016 aged 96

It is peaceful and looks eastwood down over the valley; Rows and rows of grapevines, brix levels steadily rising, the wind sighing through the poplars at their backs.

That night we invited an older cousin, Anne for dinner. She was one of dad's older sisters children and remembered dad arriving home from the war. He had gone farming in a joint property with her father Percy Fenwick and I had questions to ask her. The gates were open when I drove past our old home so I wandered in to ask if I could look around. I had left from that front porch 50 years ago, farewelled by my parents on the front porch and had never been back to the house. I wandered in but no one was home. I took some pictures and left.

Later that night I got lost trying to find Anne's home down a long ROW two streets away. She rang me to ask what was taking so long just as I dialled her for help. She exploded at my stupidity. (I had only been to her home once before I pleaded.) Later when she quizzed me about going to her hotel I thought she was going to burst a blood vessel when she found out that I had forgotten my mask. She still loves me though, cooked me bacon and eggs, tailgated a truck all the way to Picton, patted me on the head and sent me on my merry way, as the sun crept up this morning.

Day 18 continued...

I thrashed to Pelorus Bridge via Queen Charlotte then Pelorus Sound, through Havelock, to Pelorus where I had a big lunch and did some blog. It was all gravel road then the Maungatapu track. The scene in LOTR where the hobbits escaped from the dwarves in beer barrels was filmed up here in the river.

A few years ago I hiked through to the Pelorus from Nelson. I started late because of my flight and it poured with rain and I got to a full hut in the dark filled with overseas visitors who were either on their mobiles or snuggled up in bed. Noone spoke to me. I left on dawn. The Pelorus river was in full flood and I had a moment on a swing bridge where everything was spinning. I hung on, and crawled off up a nasty slippery bank. A day later I had a walk out down the valley road after walking out of the bush. The river had dropped to normal. It was about 16 kms down the hot road and I was looking forward to a swim in the river at the famous bridge. A few kms before the bridge there is a dairy farm and dozens of cows were standing in the stream cooling off and doing what cows do. It looked disgusting and dozens of people were swimming. I am pleased to report to the streams have been fenced off from the cows and the banks planted in with flaxes and trees to restore the land and prevent sewage runoff.

The track wound steadily up out of pine and native forest into open scrub. I took a breather under the last remaining shade and looked up. Power pylons snaked up and out of sight. We all struggled on ever upwards. By days end I had climbed a total of 1717 metres, it got to 34 degrees Celsius and my heart maxed out, hammering like a steam piston a 138 BPM (I am ,67,) details thanks to Dylan's Garmin watch.

It was a poor excuse for a road. It was the route the gold prospectors took to Canvastown in the early days and hadn't been maintained since. Clear communication had made it work for there was orange tape sticking out of the ground off and on for miles. Rocks and potholes assumed gigantic proportions. I tried rowing my bike pushing my arms full out then holding the brakes on then shuffling my feet forward to avoid slipping back. This went on for sometime but noone complained because that was a useless waste of energy.

We finally reached the top, snapped the obligatory photo then started the ascent.
It was worse. I resorted to stitching back and forth to maintain some semblance of control. I stopped for a drink and breather and some daredevils passed me riding.The rear of the bike was trying to pass them. One's brakes were shot and screaming like a banshee, another burnt his fingers touching them to see how hot they were. Any idiot should know when the discs are glowing crimson hot they will be hot but in his defence he was tired. One's bike bucked in the air and nearly toppled end over end, he caught it and ungainly dismounted but stayed upright and tippy toed off the track and halfway up a steep bank, then had to avoid killing himself bounding downhill onto the goat track again.

I finally got off the track and down the beautiful Matai Valley. People were walking dogs and swimming in the river and fooling about on bikes blissfully unaware of the high drama that had been played a few thousand metres above them. I found Collingwood and fell into the welcoming arms of my cousin Paula, glad to be alive.