Ride Up Mt. Coot-tha

After a few days of doing not much more than turning pages of a book – I am reading Three Worlds Gone Mad by Robert Young Pelton – I am getting really restless. The weather isn’t all that great, but I will have to go outside and do something.

So I hop on my bike and head toward Mt. Coot-tha, a hill just west of the city center. It’s a good climb to the top at about three hundred meters in elevation. I breeze through the familiar bike path along the Brisbane River, go through a couple of suburbs, and start the steady climb at the six-kilometer mark, according to my cycling computer. The climb isn’t that steep, just enough to make you aware that you are doing a good cardio workout. After six kilometers and a three-hundred meter climb, I reach the observation point with a nice view of Brisbane and the surrounding suburbs.

This is what the city of Brisbane looks like today:

This is what it looked like in February, 2003, when I came to Brisbane as a backpacker:

That’s quite a few more tall buildings just in the span of five years.

All that hard work to come up only means an exhilarating coast back down. The road, devoid of any cars, is all mine. I lean forward with hands just touching the brakes, and let gravity pull me along the surface of the road at speeds up to 55 kmph. In just a couple of minutes, I am at the bottom of the hill, back to where I started. And I continue on my leisurely ride home along the river.

What a good work out. Now that I’ve worked up an appetite, I can’t wait for dinner.

Tonight’s dinner: that old standby during my college days - rice, black beans, and salsa. Except this time, the rice is not instant rice, the beans are cooked and not out of a can, and the salsa is not from a jar – I made that yesterday.

A Day To Straddie

As the alarm clock goes off at 5:30 a.m., I jump out of bed, eat a filling breakfast of muesli, and get ready for a full day ahead. Today my mate James and I are going to ride my bike to North Stradbroke Island, just off the coast from Brisbane’s eastern suburbs. It’s the southernmost of the chain of sand islands along the Queensland coast and the closest one to Brisbane. It will be a one-hundred-kilometer ride, roundtrip. I haven’t had a chance to do any serious riding since New Zealand back in January. The only riding I have been doing since then are the short commutes to and from the hospital and into the city, nothing more than a half-hour away, so this trip will be a good opportunity to give my legs a serious workout.

Google view of the ride from middle of Brisbane to Point Lookout on North Stradbroke Island

The ride starts near the hospital where I did the last couple of rotations. James and I start pedaling down the road just as the day breaks. The sky is veiled in a thin layer of clouds, the temperature cool enough to allow me a comfortable ride without breaking into a big sweat. Rush hour traffic on the other side of the road whizzes by toward the city. Following the thin line on the road that’s the designated cycling “lane,” we follow the undulating road from one suburb to the next. The thirty-kilometer ride to the ferry terminal in Cleveland is almost all on city road, save for a section in the middle where we manage to go on a parallel side road with less traffic.

Directions: from the corner of Ipswich Rd and O’Keefe St, go east on O’Keefe and continue onto Old Cleveland Rd. In Camp Hill, turn left on Wiles St, then right on Stanley Rd. At the T junction, take a right on Creek Rd, then immediately left on Meadowlands Rd. At the T junction, turn right on Belmont Rd, at the roundabout, turn left on Grassdale Rd. At the T junction, turn right on New Cleveland Rd, which ends on Old Cleveland Rd. Turn left and continue onto Finucane Rd. Finucane turns into Shore St West. Turn right on Passage St, then left on Middle St and the ferry terminal is straight ahead.

We arrive at the ferry terminal for the 8:00 a.m. barge with minutes to spare. The sun has burned away all the clouds in the sky. We sit on the upper deck, enjoying the warmth of the sun and the salty and cool breeze from the sea. The vehicle barge takes less than an hour to cross the calm water. As it docks at Dunwich, the tiny settlement on the western shore of North Stradbroke Island, we ride off the barge and head straight toward Point Lookout, twenty kilometers at the northeastern corner of the island. The road, narrow in parts, gently winds through the forest. In an hour, we arrive at Cylinder Beach.

The vehicle barge navigates the shallow channel to Straddie just ahead.


James takes in the view from the upper deck.


Waiting to disembark at Dunwich

Straddie is popular with Brisbanites on weekends and during school holidays, but being a weekday, the beach is deserted except for a few other groups of people. Still, a lifeguard has set up his yellow-and-red flags and is patrolling that section of the beach. After throwing a football around and jumping into the shallow water for a swim, we break out cooking kit for lunch. Doing this on the cheap, we brought our food for the day. After a nice feed, we go back on the beach. Lying down on the soft sand, I shield my face from the stinging sun with my cycling shirt. I don’t even remember when was the last time I spent a day at the beach doing nothing. What a great feeling! Soon I descend into a postprandial coma.

When I wake up, I look up to find ominous clouds blowing in from the north. The sun disappears, the whole beach becomes gray, and the air chills considerably. Looks like it’s nature’s way of telling us that it’s time to go. With legs properly rested, we hop back on our bikes and retrace our route back to Dunwich for the 4:30 p.m. ferry back to Cleveland.

Clouds start to roll in over Cylinder Beach.

By the time we get off the ferry, it’s almost completely dark. We put on the blinkers and pedal into the busy road. Although we are going against the rush hour traffic again, it’s not much fun riding in the dark. Some parts with no streetlights are dicey as cars pass within inches, while on the quieter roads we have to hope that there are no potholes to send us airborne. As we get closer to the city, my legs are starting to beg for mercy. Unrelenting, I push forward steadily at a slower pace. Back at where we started this morning, James and I head our separate ways.

At home, I cook up a dinner for four and eat it all by myself. After a nice hot shower, I crawl into bed, feeling every fiber of my legs screaming. Oh, it hurts, but it hurts so good; and not a bad way to spend a mid winter day.

Airport Snooze

I don’t know what I would have done if I were in the pre-internet age. All travel agencies were closed for the weekend in Christchurch. Thanks to the internet, it didn’t take long for me to book a reasonably-priced flight to Brisbane for Tuesday. Of course, cheap flights usually mean weird hours. My flight leaves Christchurch at 6:15 a.m. tomorrow morning.

After spending a day moping around the city, I get a box from a bike shop, pack up my bike, and take the bus to the airport. I am going to sleep on the floor at the airport so I can wake up early enough to make the flight. Earlier in the day I consulted the website Sleeping in Airports to see what they have to say about the prospect of sleeping in the Christchurch airport. Apparently it’s quite the standard practice there. From the way people described their experience there, I would almost expect the airport staff to bring me a pillow.

With this information in tow, I get off the bus and lug my stuff straight into the international arrival hall. As I survey the area for a good place to lay down my sleeping bag, an airport employee comes up and gives me advice for a good spot. I plop down my box and panniers next to the row of telephones by the arrival gate, thus claiming my piece of territory for the next eight hours or so. A little later, a few other groups of people start to arrive, all are spending the night. After shooting the breeze with them a little, I decide to turn in for the night. To make sure I get some semi-quality sleep, I am going all out: inflatable mattress, blow-up pillow, sleeping bag, blinder, and alarm clock – I am a tent away from totally camping out.

So I sleep undisturbed other than by the noise from passengers arriving on late flights. At quarter to five, my alarm jolts me up from a deep sleep; and I start the process of jumping through the series of familiar but tedious hoops to get on my plane. So long, New Zealand. I didn’t get a proper look at you this time. But just you wait, someday I’ll come even more prepared to experience the mountains, the lakes, the glaciers, the wind, the rain, and even the famous sandflies. I’ll just consider this truncated trip a “taster”. New Zealand, I’ll be back!

Adventure, Interrupted

Before heading out of town, I decide to check my email. And lucky that I did. My medical school has emailed to tell me that I have to take a supplementary exam for the medicine rotation in ten days!

So I really did that badly back in November?! A million things go through my mind. I have not been studying at all in December. I can’t take this supplementary exam cold. I have to turn around and fly back to Brisbane as soon as I can to prepare for the exam! So just like that, my adventure in New Zealand comes to an abrupt end. James will have to continue the trip on his own.

I head to the town information center to book a bus back to Christchurch. As if the interruption to my trip isn’t enough, it turns out that there is no bus from Hokitika to Christchurch. The closest one goes from Kumara Junction twenty kilometers away. The helpful lady at the desk gets on the phone. She tells me the bus from Kumara Junction is full. I will have to get to Greymouth – forty kilometers away – for the 1:45 p.m. bus to Christchurch and I have just missed the shuttle bus going to Greymouth. I look at my watch: 11:40 a.m. I have two hours. Without hesitation, I reserve the bus ticket, and then get on my bike and starting pedaling north to Greymouth, while keeping a close eye on my cycling computer. The race is on – I need to be going at least 20 kmph if I want to make it to Greymouth on time for the bus.

Thankfully, the flat terrain and the slight tailwind make going 20 kmph not an overly demanding proposition. I push through with only a five-minute quick break half way. As I pedal into the Greymouth Information Center, I see the bus pulling away. Quickly, I run into the building and tell the lady at the counter my situation. She gets on the phone, talks to a couple of people, then tells me, “The driver is turning around to come back.” Yes, I am saved!

As the driver opens the door to the luggage compartment, she expresses her displeasure at having to turn the bus around. I apologize and thank her profusely. Two minutes later, we are back on the road to Christchurch. The road winds its way up the mountain and soon rejoins the road we rode on just a few days ago. Watching the scenery flashing by on high speed in reverse, I am soon lulled to sleep by the rhythmic rocking of the bus.

In the late afternoon, the bus pulls into the center of Christchurch. As the bus comes to a stop at Cathedral Square, I step off to collect my bike and panniers. Okay, now that I am back in Christchurch, I need to find a place to stay for the night and figure out a way to get back to Brisbane as soon as I can.

Hokitika Rest Day

I wake up in the morning with my calves and quads tight and stiff. James is apparently in the same predicament. So even though the sun is out – a perfect day for cycling – we will take the day off to relax and restock our food supplies. Hokitika has the last supermarker for the next 450 kilometers. After here, food will most likely be expensive and of the canned variety.

Town clock tower

Mouth of the Hokitika River after sunset

We spend the day going to the supermarket and various outdoor gear shops. I pick up an inflatable single mattress to put inside the hammock. There won’t be cold nights anymore!

A White-Knuckling Experience

We are being rather ambitious today: going all the way to Hokitika one hundred kilometers away on the west coast. One factor working in our favor: it should be mostly downhill; one factor working against us: the constant headwind.

Clouds roll in as we go over Arthur's Pass

The ride out of the village to the actual Arthur’s Pass is an easy climb, mostly because our legs are still fresh at this point. A couple of kilometers after the Pass, a sign announces a 16% grade descent. Then, like a roller coaster that has just rounded the top of the first climb, my bike brings me hurtling down the steep descent. I stand up on the pedals, backside just off the seat, thighs squeezing the seat so my weight can help keep the balance, my back hunched down almost to the handlebar so my center of gravity is kept low, my hands giving the brakes ever-so-gentle squeezes to control the speed, my eyes looking about ten meters ahead and constantly scanning the road for potholes and cracks to avoid, and at the same time hoping cars won’t pass too close to me.

This photo doesn't do justice to the steepness of the road

With my whole body and mind concentrating on not getting myself killed, I am not looking at the amazing scenery of the Otira Gorge. So at a scenic lookout, we pull over to enjoy it a bit before getting back on the road for another kilometer of white-knuckling experience.

Looking back at Otira Gorge after the hair-raising descent

The rest of the way, we are buffeted by a constant and strong headwind, which makes the ride exhausting, even at downhill sections. The wind brings a few strong showers, but luckily we only catch a few drops. In no time, the only moisture in my shirt is from my own perspiration.

James crosses one of many one-lane bridges

zzzzz

At Kumara Junction, the road rounds a bend and the Tasman Sea comes into full view – we have finally arrived on the west coast! From here, we turn south and head towards the town of Hokitika. Although the headwind here is not as strong as that in the mountains, it is strong enough to make the last twenty kilometers of the day that much tougher.

fern, maybe silver fern, the symbol of NZ

Stop and smell the flowers

Suddenly, with no warning, my fuel gauge hits “empty” – I have hit the bonk – my legs feel like putty and all the energy has drained from me. We look for the first thing that gives a little protection from the wind, and find it next to the railroad tracks. We cook up some rice and canned beef stroganoff on the railroad ties – I know, not the smartest thing to do, but trains in this part of the country are far and few in between. In the unlikely event one does come, this stretch of the tracks is so straight, we would see it coming miles away.

track-side picnic

With my gas tank all filled up, we push the rest of the fifteen kilometers into Hokitika. Needing some creature comfort, we check into a hotel – a pub that also provides accommodation – for the night.

Tomorrow is probably going to be a rest day.

Stats:

Distance: 101.9 km
Time: 5h 15m
Max speed: 48.7 kmph
Average speed: 19.3 kmph
Odometer: 254.6 km

Chilling on the Roof of NZ

Today is an easy day as far as cycling is concerned. We only have to ride the ten kilometers or so to Arthur’s Pass Village. We will then do a day hike to one of the peaks nearby.

The ten kilometers of gradual climb to Arthur’s Pass Village seems like nothing compared to yesterday’s monster hills. In no time, we arrive at the tiny village.

Arthur’s Pass Village sits in a canyon at an elevation of eight hundred meters flanked by 1800+ meter peaks on either side. It has trail heads to an extensive network of backcountry trails and is popular with hikers. We don’t have the equipment to do an overnight hike, so a day hike would have to do.

After setting up camp at the public campground, we start our hike to Avalanche Peak. As soon as we find the trail, it leads us straight up the mountain. Forget about switchbacks, this is more like scrambling up rocks for an hour until the tree line at about 1200 meters elevation. Then it’s a walk along the ridgeline and a scramble up to 1836 meters elevation, the top of Avalanche Peak.

View of Arthur's Pass Village ten minutes into the hike

A precipitous drop along the trail at the tree line

James walks along the ridgeline

View of the whole valley from above the tree line

Going farther up still

Just below summit

Last scramble up loose rocks

Passing by remnants of snow from the previous winter

Standing at the top, we are being buffeted by the chilly Southwesterly and warmed by the strong sun. All around us are the other 1800+ meter peaks. With the village now turned into a collection of small dots below, I feel like I am standing on a shingle of the Roof of New Zealand. Only two days ago we were riding through very English-like countryside; now we are standing on a peak in a very Swiss-like place!

Standing on the shoulders of giants

Panoramic view from the summit of Avalanche Peak

We sit and chill at the peak, enjoying the perfect weather and the awesome scenery until the sun lowering in the sky signals that we should return to the valley before it gets dark.

At night, we cook our meal with things we bought at the village “convenience store.” Trying to conserve money, we cook all of our meals. Sometimes supplies are hard to find in small places, so we have to be inventive and create our own “Kwik-E-Mart cuisine.” Tonight’s meal: mystery meat sausages simmered in canned chopped tomatoes, served on basmati rice. Tasty stuff!

Stats:

Distance: 11.46 km
Time: 47h 14m
Max speed: 43.0 kmph
Average speed: 14.5 kmph
Odometer: 152.7 km

Wind-Swept and Sun-Dried

And that’s just my face! What a day!

After a night of no sleep, we still decide to tackle the numerous hills in store on the way to Arthur’s Pass.

Sunrise at Springfield campground (that's frost on the grass)

The ride out of Springfield is easy enough. There is a elevation gain of five hundred meters over the first twenty kilometers, with a very steep climb in the last three kilometers. We keep up a good clip. I stop occasionally to take a few photos while James powers ahead.

Happy cows make good cheese

In contrast to yesterday’s flat plains, today’s scenery consists entirely of mountains and hills of various sizes, most of which are surprisingly barren. It actually reminds me a bit of the barren eastern Sierra Nevada in California. Some look like giant piles of gravel – very unusually to see at this elevation of between four hundred meters to maybe two thousand meters.

As the road takes a hairpin turn, the serious climb starts. Soon I am down to the lowest gear, huffing and puffing, feeling the burning sensation from yesterday in my thighs. The road has a very narrow shoulder, some section none at all, so some cars pass by going to the opposite lane, some just whiz by with inches to spare.

With just six hundred meters left to the top of Porter’s Pass, my legs give out. I limp off the bike and start walking it up. When I get to the top, James is already waiting for me. We snap a few photos, soak in the scenery a bit, and start peddling toward the heart of the Southern Alps.

After parking my bike, my legs snap in half

Porter's Pass - 939m - is that all you got?

After getting to the west side of Porter’s Pass, we are met with the stiff Southwesterly wind the South Island is famous for. Blowing in from Antarctica, the wind gets up to the Roaring Forties in which the South Island lies, and dumps a prodigious amount of rain. But at this part of the Southern Alps, much like the eastern Sierra Nevada in California, the air is bone dry.

As I ride up and down the rolling, and sometimes steep hills, the sun beams down mercilessly from the cloudless sky. Combined with the constant dry headwind, it makes the ride feel like being in a convection oven. Arthur’s Pass, a mere eighty-four kilometers from Springfield, seems a galaxy away.

Looking back after hauling ass up yet another hill

James finds out the hard way that the fence next to this part of Lake Pearson is electrified

Gotta break after hitting the bonk half way up this innocuous-looking hill

After numerous breaks to give my screaming legs a rest and to refuel, progress is slow in the making. Towards the end of the day, with Arthur’s Pass still ten kilometers away, we roll towards the Beasley Hotel, which sits like an oasis in the middle of the Sahara. Parched, exhausted, and famished, we decide to get a “backpackers’ special” room for the night. A nice hot shower and a solid meal are high luxury to us at this point.

The view that makes me go weak in the knees, the mountains and trees are not bad-looking either

Looking out the kitchen window at the backpacker's hostel

James and I finish the day with some fine local brews on offer at the bar. The first sip is like the first rain after a long drought. I may have fallen off the wagon, but a beer like that is the perfect ending to a grueling day like this. Cheers! I can feel my inner Masochist smiling already.

Stats:

Distance: 76.1 km
Max speed: 53.8 kmph
Average speed: 13.4 kmph
Odometer: 141.3 km

Traversing Canterbury

After waking up at eight, James and I have a leisurely morning start. Today’s ride will take us across the Canterbury plains and finish in Springfield at the foothill of the Southern Alps.

The road quickly takes us out of Christchurch. After turning off the main highway onto the Old West Coast Road, shops and suburban houses on either side of the road are replaced by pine trees, hiding behind which are estates of the wealthy, by the looks of it. With an overcast sky and the scent of pine blowing in the air, the setting has quite an English character to it. Gradually, the pine trees disappear, sheep and cattle farms have now become the major scenery. With very little traffic and perfectly flat, this road is great for cycling.

At around lunch time, we stop at a cherry farm to buy some expensive but freshly picked and delicious cherries. Sitting down at the whitewashed wrought iron table and chairs under a tree at the farm’s garden, we brew some tea and have avocado and tuna sandwiches for lunch. The whole setting is just a little too prim and proper for two guys like us.

James setting up for lunch

For the rest of the afternoon, the scenery remains the same: farms for as far as the eye can see. The quietness is occasionally punctuated by cars passing, sheep bleeting, and cows mooing.

Freshly-shorn sheep having a staring contest with me

The last ten kilometers of the ride is gently ascending – only a gain of two hundred meters in elevation – so gentle is the gradient that it is visually imperceptible. But as a sign of my legs being out of shape, my legs are burning with every stroke of the ride. Soon my thighs feel as if they are dissolving in the lactic acid built-up in them. Finally, with my last ounce of strength, I follow James to the campground just outside of the town of Springfield.

The tiny Sheffield has a 24-hour petrol station

James hanging out by the toilets

Summer days in the South Island are long. The sun comes up at six a.m. but does not set until 9:30 p.m. We cook dinner, shower, and get ready for bed. Both James and I are sleeping in hammocks. They are not the mesh hammocks found everywhere in the tropic islands. Instead, they are especially made for camping. When you get into it, you are completely enclosed inside. A rain fly over it keeps you dry in case it rains.

Our hammocks all set up

Cooking dinner

View of the mountains from the campground

In the middle of the night, I wake up and find that I have become a popsicle. Because the hammock is set up off the ground, cold air from below can suck your body heat away quite efficiently. Not prepared for nights this cold, I get up and put on most of my clothes. Still, the part of my body in contact with the bottom of the hammock is cold even when the rest of me is warm enough. I drift in and out of consciousness, constantly shifting to prevent my toes from falling off or my shoulder or back from turning into ice blocks.

At six o’clock, the sun is rising. I give up trying to sleep and get up. James has had a similarly awful night. We will have to find a way to solve this problem.

Stats:

Distance: 65.1 km
Time: 3h 20m
Max speed: 33.7 kmph
Average speed: 19.5 kmph

NZ Bound

Wow, the last month went by so fast, it felt like a week. At first I thought, “What am I going to do for a month in Fresno? I’m going to be bored out of my mind!” As it turned out, between spending time with family, visiting friends, and getting ready for my cycling trip to New Zealand, there was hardly time to get bored.

A week was taken up by going to Washington, DC, where I had lived for seven years and still have friends around. The hectic life and horrendous traffic of DC really made me appreciate the much more laid-back lifestyle of Brisbane. Give me an overgrown country town any day; I can do without the constant rush to the next place.

The rest of the time, I spent catching up with my extended family, high school friends who are now high power lawyers and movers and shakers in the tech world, and playing with my nephew and watching him grow. After learning to crawl the day before Thanksgiving, my nephew can now walk a few steps while holding on to the edge of the couch. I am sure in no time he is going to be able to walk on his own and start to be a menace to the whole family because then, the whole house will have to be childproofed.

There is always a level of sadness whenever I leave my family; it is especially so this time. Maybe it is because I am now thirty-one and no longer have to assert my independence. Maybe when your age starts with the number “3,” things start to change: life becomes less about rebellion and exploration and pushing boundaries and family becomes important again.

With this thought in mind, I gave my mother and sister a hug and boarded the flight from Los Angeles to Auckland, New Zealand. On my way back to Australia, I am first going to have a little adventure in New Zealand. My good mate James and I are going to ride out bicycles around the South Island for eighteen days. Not a bad way to ring in the New Year and have one last hurrah before putting our noses to the grindstone again for our final year of medical school.

I sleep fitfully on the plane through the twelve-hour flight. Upon landing, I reassure the customs officer that I am not intending to stay in New Zealand illegally and head to the carousel for my luggage. I am relieved to find my bike box stacked neatly with other oversized bags. After the fiasco with my bike on my way to California a month earlier, I really don’t want it lost again. I collect my bags and head to the domestic terminal for my connecting flight to Christchurch in the South Island.

View of the Southern Alps from the air

The bus drops me off at Cathedral Square where I am supposed to meet up with James. As I am more than an hour early, I start to take my bike out of the box and assemble it under the shadows of the magnificent cathedral. An hour later, James walks up. Awesome! Everything is working according to plans.

Playing chess in front of the Christchurch Cathedral

We find accommodation for the night at a caravan park. We will sleep in luxury – in beds – because camping is in store for the next seventeen days.