I cycled out of Sumner, through Christchurch, then out on the Old West Coast Road. It can still get cold at this time if year, so I caved in and broke out the knee warmers. The road is straight, flat, and the dreary weather ensured there was little to see en route. The famous Sheffield pie shop provided brief respite, and Springfield was selected as the last settlement before attempting to cross the alpine pass. There are no other distinguishing features.
Springfield to Otira, 97km
It's here where the serious hills begin. The weather cleared to reveal clear sight of the southern Alps and the first task was to crank up to Porters pass. It was brutal getting up the first incline, but rather than dwell on fighting hills with steely determination, or reflections about the sometimes masochistic nature of this enterprise, I just want to mention the majestic mountains and surrounds.
If art is how we decorate space, and music how we decorate time; cycling through this boldly beautiful panorama to the tune of bird song and wind whistling past your ears, must be the progenitor of both. Mindfulness be damned, I felt so connected I could have hugged a tree.
I relaxed upon the stones of Castle Hill, stopped off for a pie at Porters village, then headed down the steep descent to Otira. The very quirky stagecoach hotel is already a cult classic in my book - ran and frequented by some entertaining and eccentric souls. Otira gorge, where the town resides, is a narrow and vertiginous mountain affair, where sunlight is kept at bay and a constant supply of rain funneled up the valley. You would have forgiven the locals a pallid and dank demeanour but the rhythm of the train yard must have sufficiently lifted spirits until each decides it's time to leave. Bruce let me have a go on his penny farthing, but I was not prepared for a full time swap.
Otira to Greymouth, 103km
I love the West Coast and make no bones about it. People, scenery, ambience; the rugged beauty; the elemental cut and thrust of it all.
I cycled through hills, past farms and around lake Brunner to make it to 9 Mile, just in time...
Jonesy - Good to see you communing with nature and having some real time on the road to think, obviously leading to some high-brow self-reflection..... I think the big question to be asked of oneself in such periods of contemplation, though, is what is the current state of the single pair of underpants I packed for the whole trip? Those of us following in a more vicarious vein would much appreciate some update on a matter close to all our hearts (and much closer to your arse)... Cheers, Bill
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