… We’re On the Road Again

Monday 15th

With some real sadness, our time has arrived to leave John, Pip & Danny and the rest of the Jones’ family – the whole of which we truly feel that we have become a part of over the last few days.

You must understand that from September last year, my good friend John Jones, with Pip’s wholehearted support, has been my guiding compass and sturdy, steadying rock – right the way through – right since the very start of this dream adventure trip-of-a-lifetime was still only very much in its infancy. Maybe I wouldn’t even have made it here at all without them … who knows?

But at the end of the day, there’s nothing quite like being out on the open road; Ellen and I are looking forward to getting our arses back in the saddle again – after all, that’s just what we’re here to do.

So we therefore say our farewells to the Waitiki Valley; and the village of Otematata; and the Jones family in particular – With a fair wind, we’ll see you all again soon, we hope.

We then make our way in a southwesterly direction, in glorious weather, broadly retracing our steps from last Saturday’s ride out.

After a couple of hours of pleasant riding we’re back in the township of Wanaka and park-up for a respite under the shade of a lakeside tree …

… with the Southern Alps as our backdrop

Ellen decides it’s time for a swim in the unusually warm Southern Alpine fresh water …

… before we make our way, for the second time, back-and-over the top of the Crown Range; but this time from the opposite direction.

To remind you – this was last Saturday’s view from the very same spot …

Must be another picture ‘Spot the Difference’ competition!

The ride down the winding hillside road was much more fun than last Saturday afternoon’s ascent. I comment to Ellen that I think I’ve finally mastered the subtle art of negotiating downhill switchbacks (U-turn bends), as we glide effortlessly around each and every single one with the grace of a ballet dancer – and I’m smiling all the way as a result :o)

Our stopover destination, Queenstown, comes into view as we continue twisting and turning.

Three ‘o’clock arrives and we’re checking-in to our next motel. Not a budget one by any means, but it is located right in the heart of the town. There is no cheap accommodation to be had in this ‘chic’.. ‘café culture-type township in any case.

A beautiful, but as I say, very expensive place to stopover, which is now widely regarded as the ‘Adventure Activity’ capital of the world. It reminds me very much of the Alpine township of Chamonix, in Western Europe, where the French, Swiss and Italian borders meet.

Chamonix has its Mont Blanc and glacier; Queenstown has its lake. Apart from these obvious differences, the two townships could be one and the same – albeit this place has no real historical culture.





I take this opportunity to grab my very first ever foreign haircut. The hairdresser offers to trim my new whiskers – and I nervously agree ..

“Ya know mate,” she says to me looking at my reflection in the wall salon’s mirror (yunno, as hairdresser do!) “… now I was brought up on a sheep faarm – an’ I hef to tell-ya, this is the closest chance I git nowadays to sheerin’ – so wouldja be loikin’ a close Number One, or a Number Two?”

Gawd!

“KHE-RI-HI-HI-HYST [eek!!] … lemme outta here .. somebody .. HELP ME!”

Then I lay back – and think of England