Trip Day 17
59 miles (Ferry)
33.26 miles (Bike)
My peaceful slumber that night was disturbed by what sounded like the wrath of a God of Storms outside the window. Howling winds and fierce rain battered the house in which I slept. My mind of course turned to my ferry crossing. I checked my watch. 3am. Only 5 hours until I was due to set sail for the South. Perhaps the man in the bike shop would be proved to be right after all and perhaps my ferry would be cancelled.
The next time I awoke it was at 6:30am. I rubbed my eyes, turned off my alarm and began to get ready for the trip. In all the nervousness about making the crossing I hadn't even considered that I had to make a 5 mile cycle from Island Bay to Wellington ferry port. And the rain was only getting heavier. I wolfed down a hot breakfast, got dressed ("please don't fail me now, brand new waterproof oversocks") and said my goodbyes. I was ready to tackle the untamed beauty of the South Island. What better introduction than to cycle through a tempestuous downtown Wellington on a cold Thursday morning?
I won't elaborate on my journey from Island Bay to Wellington but suffice to say that I was soaked through by the time I got into town. I had been brave enough to tackle the main road in the 30mph winds but had moved onto the pavement as the roads got busier and the winds great stronger. I hate to think how many laws I ended up breaking on that mad dash but at that time I simply did not care. The horizontal rain lashed down more heavy than ever as I staggered, half-drowned into the ferry terminal. My slow progress through the storm had meant I arrived half an hour later than I should. Fortunately for me the ferry was delayed by over an hour as it had trouble berthing in the high wind. Fair enough. No arguments here. I struggled to cross the road in this wind, let alone reversing a vehicle ferry into a stormy port... I had just enough time to partially dry off and check in before boarding was announced. It was a short distance to the ferry from the terminal and the other passengers were hurried into minibuses to be driven directly onto the ferry. I knew already that my bike wasn't going to fit onto the bus. With that, I was walked out into the rain towards the ferry. Another 10 minutes in the rain wasn't going to do me any more damage was it?
The ferry was a modern affair with plenty of seating, on board restaurant and free WiFi (and yes this will all be going verbatim into my TripAdvisor review...) I heard a few tourists sat next to me complain about the rain and how they had gotten damp running between the bus and ferry terminal. I bit my tongue and squelched to the toilets to dry my clothing in the hand driers... The crossing was quite pleasant and nowhere near as rough as I was expecting. Within an hour or so the weather had cleared up to the point where I was able to get out onto the front deck and watch us sail through the Cook Strait. It was a welcome relief to have dry skies and I was foolishly optimistic that this surely must be an omen for the weather ahead (spoiler alert: it did not remain this dry). Soon enough it was time to get out of my damp seat and retrieve my bike. We were docking soon. My bike had to be lashed to the handrails of the lower deck of the ferry; something I did with great enthusiasm. I was happy the bike had not become entangled or damaged during the choppy departure from Wellington; my recurrent and neurotic fears of a cracked frame or bent spoke were once again proved unnecessary. The ferry docked and then I was wheeling down the ramp and onto the South Island for the first time. Exciting and challenging times laid ahead and I was keen to get pedalling.
As ever though, my schedule was dictated by my stomach and I cycled the short distance to grab some groceries and a quick lunch of fish pie & caramel slice. Nice. Full up and satisfied I pushed on my way. I was ready to put some serious miles in. My daily mileage up to this point was nowhere near where I wanted it to be and so I had some ground to make up. There would be no train journeys to bail me out this time. I would make the journey west through the island and down the West Coast, through the lakes and down the South lands and all by bike. Bring it on!
I had lost half the day to a delayed departure and the subsequent ferry crossing so I had only planned a 30 mile journey to a government campsite at at place called Pelorus Bridge. The suggested route would be to take my old nemesis SH1 south to Blenheim before cutting west and then back north (essentially making a "U" shape). I however had planned to take the direct, if slightly more mountainous, route along Queen Charlotte Drive. The route would climb rather dramatically through the northern cliffs westwards. There would be a fair bit of ascending but with unparalleled views over the Marlborough Sounds I would be and fool not to take this route. The climbs were not too steep but took a fair bit of time to ascend as they snaked through the cliffs. Despite going at roughly 5mph for the ascents I was happy to drop to my lowest gear and sweat it out. The road was busy with tourists and so it certainly wasn't alone for the next few miles. But with music in my ears and the stunning landscape of the north coast, what more could I possibly need?
Sadly the road could not navigate through the hills forever and I quickly found myself descending back inland and through flat farmland. I was instantly hit with an antisocial headwind as I made my way through inland. I have to say that I was happy to be back in the saddle but did not welcome the headwinds back with any enthusiasm.
After only a few hours in the saddle I had rolled into Pelorus Bridge and my campsite for the evening. Caked in sweat and still damp from the Wellington downpour I proceeded to strip down to only my shorts once I had found a campsite. Big mistake. I was quick to discover that one of the biggest conspiracies spun by the New Zealand tourist board is their failure to inform tourists of the sandfly. Sandflies are a small swarming insects, not much larger than mosquitoes and similar in appearance to midges back home. They are also a voracious blood-sucker with a taste for pale tourists and their sweetened blood. They had a tenancy to go for legs first. These little bastards are the bane for campers, hikers, fishermen and hunters in the South Island. Many a picnic or hike has been ruined by the fuckers and I was due to be travelling through their territory for the next few weeks. No sooner had I stripped off to cool in intense afternoon sun, then I was covered in them. Before long I was running around like a man set ablaze, slapping my bare skin and desperately putting all my clothing back on. I must have looked a right twat. But I had a tent to put up and so I went full ninja, long trousers, hoodie, balaclava and sunglasses to ensure the flies didn't have a patch of skin on which to feast.
Before long I had the tent set up and played the fun game of "attempt to get all your gear in the tent without letting the sandflies in"; a game that sadly I would have plenty of practise in before I finished the trip. The trick with sandflies is to keep moving; they're not very quick so as long as you keep walking in circles you'll be fine. This made eating dinner rather difficult and sunbathing nigh on impossible.
No matter; I had made it to the South Island! I had survived the Wellingtonian tempest! I had made the crossing and now had the entirety of the South to get across. It was also forecast to be sunny for a few days at least. I had plenty of reason to optimistic as I settled down to sleep; the sandflies smacking against the outside of the tent like a bloody Egyptian plague. Come on then South Island; what else can you throw at me?
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