Day 21 Murchison to Reefton

 Day 21 Murchison to Reefton

I'm 30 kms in up the Matakitaki Valley with a 280m rise to the saddle to look forward to next. Riverside was quiet when I left at 7, geese calling, a chopper chopping and in middle of Murch a lady, jandals slapping, walking down the middle of Faifax St carrying a box. We exchange greetings.

Milking Before Dawn.

Ruth Dallas

The cows in the yard are as black and wet and shiny, 

The shed is an island of light,

The rattle of hours and monotonous gasp of hooves,

Let the man in the city sleep.

A cow cocky shuts a gate where the cows have crossed the road. He mounts his farmbike and plunges his hand into a huge pair of gloves permanently attached to the handlebars.

If you see a pile of brown stuff across the road it is probably cow doo doo. Drive slowly as I did, I have no front mudguard and it dries hard and nasty.

If that pile of doo doos or black pellets is going along the road, slow down, you could be about to run into cows or sheep.

Neil from the Waikato on an electric bike has passed me and is winking his way along in the last photo.

I rolled into Reefton at 6.20pm. 124 kms, 12 plus hours, 1666 metres of climbing and very pleased to arrive. I had told Sam I may be sleeping in the bush but made good time especially on the downhills. The last 34 kms were basically downhill. I did 20 kms in an hour over the summit and down.

This bush track was an easy ride, well maintained and reminiscent of my youth. I recalled going to Korere once with my parents and a tree had toppled over on the road. It was snowing, and dark. They got out but couldn't budge it. I got out to but got back in smartly it was freezing. We had to retrace our steps then go through Nelson. I visited my Uncle Noels old home in the Maruia Valley, Derek Aubrey and Michelle live in the house which has been improved since the 60's when I was last there. He was a Korean War veteran and a rascal. I remember one morning his mates brought him home after a trout fishing expedition. They wheeled him into the house in a wheelbarrow. There was another lady besides Aunty Ivy there. They gathered all us kids up and we went into the bush until all the men disappeared. I remember the green tree frogs on the trees. I remember the rain falling in great curtains across the valley. Derek said they had 7 metres of rain since May but now it was drought.

I took the Newman's coach as a kid and was dropped at my grandparents. Aunty Ivy and family moved to Tasmania. 

Once when Noel had been visiting Mum and Dad, dad and him took the day to drive from Blenheim to Maruia to check on his dogs, a 400 km round trip, maybe more. The road was blocked up the Wairau so they spent the day in a little hotel just over the Waihopai Bridge instead.

Dave Graham remembered my father fondly. Dad had loaned him 100 pounds to help buy it. It was in a residential area on Alabama Road. Behind it was a dairy farm. I remember going there with them once. There was head high gorse at the back of the section and Dave was worried about how to get rid of it. In those days safety matches hadn't been invented. Dad struck a wax match on his trousers and tossed it into the scrub. " Don't worry Dave, The red fury will fix it." They cleared out before the neighbors started complaining. Chasing fires was a recreational pursuit. If the siren rang in town us kids would jump in the car and dad would follow the sound of the siren.

Perhaps Dad was a bit of a larrakin too.

Uncle Noel and Auntie Ivie's old farm

My front derailleur cable broke at the beginning of the forest uphill. I tried to fix it at the end as it is had to to walk the uphill sections because of it. 

I had taken a photo of Anna and Craig in their sun hats earlier and their chaperone Ian the father turned up a few minutes later. At the road end Ian and his wife helped me make running repairs with a cable tie so I could use the middle drive gear. I left but later when they caught up with their son by car they came miles back to help me to help me fix it. The kindness of strangers.

I had been off course again. A group of riders appeared from a different road and joined in behind me as we rode to Springs Junction. I was leading, the yellow jersey. There was a huge tail wind. I pulled out of all the stops and flew down the road, they tucked in behind me. No one overtook me! At the service station they yawned and got off their bikes. I was exhausting panting for breath but triumphant. I was last into the store still panting for breath. I bought the last pie and a fancy blue bottle of the stuff super athletes quaff by the gallon. It was my first and tasted horrible, I should have stuck with my frozen 2 litre. They lay around and relaxed like they had just tarred the roof of Shawshank Prison. One lay on the ground in the forecourt. They were in no hurry. 

Here they are - thoroughbred cyclists at Springs Junction.

When it came time to leave they stretched and limbered like thoroughbreds in the bird cage before the Melbourne Cup. I ventured to ask how long they thought the next 44kms would take. They consulted fancy Garmin equipment. 4 hours. I was thinking sometime before midnight or sleeping in the bush. 

They left struggling up the hill knowing I would have to walk the steep uphills because of my gears. Around a couple of corners one had dropped a banana which I dearly wanted to eat but couldn't muster the energy to stop. I struggled on. They were Nick Ian Andrew Sooz and Geoff.