The Melting Billy
It is quiet
in the country;
the crescent moon,
the stars.
Cattle make
strange moans
in the night;
mournful cries.
-A.S. 13.5.24 -Ongarue
Grazing country. Pentax MX, Cinestill 400, May 2024
Pastures and trees. Pentax MX, Cinestill 400, May 2024
Sheep grazing on hillock. Pentax MX, Cinestill 400, May 2024.
The grass
The cattle
The wind
The sun
The stars
The river
The frost
The dew
The flies
The shade
The endless days
of freedom.
-A.S. Acheron River, Molesworth Station, NZ.
At 1800 square kilometres, Molesworth Station is the largest farm in NZ and is located in the North-East highlands. The private road that travels through this property is open from Christmas to Easter, outside of these times the landowner’s permission is required to pass through the locked gates. Pentax MX, 50mm, Ektar 100, April 2024.
Molesworth is one of the coldest and driest places in NZ. It receives an annual rainfall of about 750mm and there is a frost 255 nights of the year. Pentax MX, 50mm, Ektar 100, April 2024.
Awatere River. A lot of the country around Molesworth has been overgrazed, and there is huge erosion on the mountainsides. Apparently it used to be worse than it is now, but some hills have no vegetation at all. Just dirt. Pentax MX, 50mm, Ektar 100, April 2024.
Molesworth station is a remote and beautiful part of the country! Pentax MX, 50mm, Ektar 100, April 2024.
Is it possible to think nothing at all?
Grey ocean around Greymouth. Pentax MX, Cinestill 50, Apr 2024.
Even on a bike touring trip, where I have all day in the saddle to not think about everything, I find myself thinking about everything, or rather, a small number of things, over and over again. Things I have said and done wrong, things that are yet to be done, or need doing, things that have no consequence at all, worrying about things I have no control over. To think nothing at all appears to be a rather difficult exercise indeed.
Sea bluffs around Cape Foulwind. Pentax MX, Cinestill 50, April 2024.
It’s our de facto state, to be in thought land.
Imagining a world without thought is to discard Descartes' ‘I think therefore I am’.
But what if Descartes had said, ‘ I am, therefore I am.”?
What if thoughts are just there to distract us from being? Our busy mental babble is eternally occupying our consciousness. What are we missing on observing in the here and now, when we are trying to remember the third item on our shopping list? Was it eggs? No there are still some left in the fridge. How about bread? No, there is still half a loaf. Oh, how about, nothing? Yes, that’s right, the third item on the list was nothing at all.
West Coast haze. Pentax MX, Cinestill 50, April 2024.
I met this fella at a holiday park in Foxton Beach, North Island. He wore round glasses, had some hair left on the top of his head, and he was a man of philosophy and a practitioner of meditation. After some careful questioning he revealed that the current philosophy that he follows is by an Indian fella who teaches that no mantra, no master, no technique, no religion, no god will ever lead to enlightenment. The only thing that can possibly work is nothing at all. Big fat zero. Clearing out the mind from thought altogether, abandoning the old habit of thinking and thought; that’s what needs to be done.
And it was to this cause that my friend at Foxton Beach was set on devoting the rest of his life. To absolutely nothing at all. But while he was at it he bought me a cup of coffee and we sat on the verandah of the Little White Rabbit’ in Foxon and we talked about life.
Cape Foulwind. Te Weipounamu, Pentax MX, Cinestill 50, April 2024.
Those on the highway do not want to be on the highway. They want to be on the other end, at their destination. The highway is the thing that stands in the way.
Leaning shed. Te Waipounamu. Pentax MX, Cinestill 50, April 2024.
First Law
Speed is the first law of the highway. Vehicles with greater speed have right of way.
Shining paddocks. Te Waipounamu. Pentax MX, Cinestill 50, April 2024.
Second Law
Mass is the second law of the highway. Vehicles with greater mass have right of way.
Magenta evening on the pastures. Te Waipounamu. Pentax MX, Cinestill 50, April 2024.
Third Law
Survival is the third law of the highway. Applies to those who obey the first and the second laws.
Country road with broken lines. Te Waipounamu. Pentax MX, Cinestill 50, April 2024.
There is always time
for a cup of tea,
to sit still in the sun
and forget our chores.
Slow down
all you people
in a mad rush
to your destruction.
Slow down,
and have
a cup of tea.
-A.S. 22/4/24. Inangahua, NZ
Rimu stand. Pentax MX, Cinestill BWXX, April 2024.
Cabbage Tree. Pentax MX, Cinestill BWXX, April 2024.
Rimu trees and cabbage trees. Pentax MX, Cinestill BWXX, April 2024.
More cabbage trees. Pentax MX, Cinestill BWXX, April 2024.
Rimu tree. Pentax MX, Cinestill BWXX, April 2024.
To be open to adventure, we have to be willing to keep our mind open to possibilities we did not expect.
-A.S, 18/4/24, Harihari, NZ
Falling water through the trees. Pentax MX, Cinestill BWXX, April 2024.
River valley. West Coast, NZ. Pentax MX, Cinestill BWXX, April 2024.
Fresh rain, more waterfalls! West Coast NZ. Pentax MX, Cinestill BWXX, April 2024.
Does it ever stop raining around here? Pentax MX, Cinestill BWXX, April 2024.
Clearing raing in the West Coast hills, NZ. Pentax MX, Cinestill BWXX, April 2024.
Bike touring is a bit like life; some days feel dreamy and effortless, while other days feel like hard work. There are a lot of factors at play here: how far we’ve gone the day before, whether we’ve had appropriate nutrition, the number of hills we’ve had to climb, the weight of the gear we carry, and perhaps most importantly, the working order of the bicycle we are riding. A mechanical issue will stop a cyclist quicker than running out of food or water!
Looking back at Arrowtown. Pentax MX, Cinestill BWXX, April 2024.
A bicycle is a finely tuned machine. When it’s in good working order, it is quiet, efficient and an absolute joy to ride (especially downhill). But if even the tiniest component is slightly out of alignment, it will result in clunkiness, and create problems that will persist until addressed. The solution to a mechanical problem can be simple and minimal, and herein lies the art of bicycle maintenance. More often than not, we just need to tighten up a bolt, take in a cable, pump up the tube a bit. The trick or the art is in knowing what miniscule action will lead to a favorable outcome. As easy as it is to set things right, it is just as easy to cause things to fall out of alignment if our actions are not guided by the appropriate knowledge.
Personally, I’m a reluctant mechanic. It’s only recently that I’ve started meddling with what I’ve always thought to be a bit of a dark art, and only out of necessity. If my bike is not working the way I want it to, that’s generally the only reason I will take up the tools. If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it, right?
My approach for this tour of New Zealand was to ensure I have the essential tools and spare parts that if the most likely things broke down, I’d have the means to fix it. When it came to it, I figured that I’d simply figure out how, when I really needed to. A few items in my repair kit, but not limited to were: multi tool, spare tube, patch kit, tyre leavers, pump, spare cables, spare spokes, lube, grease, rags, quick links, cable ties, super glue, tape, spoke key, adjustable spanner. I mean you can always take more gear but as it was the repair kit weighed about 1.5kg so I figured what I had would have to do.
Looking back from the Crown Range towards Lake Wakatipu. Pentax MX, Cinestill BWXX, April 2024.
After my first week cycle touring the South Island of New Zealand, Te Waipounamu, I couldn’t help but notice that the brand new tyre I had put on my front wheel had a wobble, a slight kink in it. With every revolution of the wheel, this would give the front wheel a slight kick to the side. Not a huge issue really, but when we are talking about a long journey where efficiency is the key to longevity, it is rather annoying. I tried reseating the tyre, to no avail. It was a wonky tyre and it had to go. I picked up a new tyre in Queenstown after my side trip to Milford Sound, and voila, the wobble was gone. Joy, joy, joy! Smooth rolling from here on!
Then I measured my chain to see how much it has stretched. Somehow, I managed to wear the new chain out in 500km! The trouble with a stretched chain is that it will wear the cassette (the cogs on the back wheel) a lot quicker, then the cassette will need replacing too. So it’s better to change the chain earlier and save the cassette. Now the chain and the cassette kind of get ‘used to each other’ after a while. Changing either component is bound to affect the overall result. And sure enough, after I had a new chain put on in Queenstown the chain started skipping randomly. I popped into the bike shop in Arrowtown on my way through to Wanaka and that mechanic said there is absolutely nothing you can do about it! He said the new chain will just have to get used to the old cassette. And sure enough, after the first 100kms the chain stopped skipping! A few bumps at the start of that particular relationship and things got ironed out thankfully.
Then I got a puncture in the rear tube a week or so later. Easy fix, right? Should only take 20 minutes! Two hours later I had the bike back together and working again. Somehow the rim tape had slipped to one side and the rim had punctured the tube. So I re-seated the rim tape before I put it all back together. I also cleaned the bike up a bit because she was getting real dirty and gritty. A gritty chain will also wear a lot quicker.
100km down the track, same thing happened. Another puncture, in the same place! The rim tape had slipped again. It was time to replace the rim tape. I learnt the hard way that most rim tapes these days don’t actually have an adhesive on them. They have to be stretched over the rim, starting from the valve. Luckily I was only a 100m from a bike shop and the mechanic there was able to show me how to do it. There was a little trick where he ran a very thin screwdriver beneath the tape all the way around the wheel to make sure it was seated in the centre. Without this mechanic’s help, I would have been on the side of the road for a good while longer!
One has to be vigilant. Always on the lookout for things not being right. Just yesterday, I went to lock up my bike and as I fastened the chain around the rear wheel, I noticed that a couple of my spokes were really loose. Lucky I had a spoke key! So I turned my bike upside down there and then and had to tighten up just about every spoke on one side of the rear wheel. I matched the tension to the front wheel’s spokes which seemed to be all fine. The rear wheel was a reasonably new wheel so I figure that’s why those spokes have loosened up. Afterward I had to fiddle a bit to true the wheel and to line up the break calipers since adjusting the spoke tension pulls the wheel right and left a bit. Again a few slight adjustments, and the wheel was good to go!
That tree in Wanaka. Pentax MX, Cinestill BWXX, April 2024.
And so the art of bicycle maintenance is about solving little problems, as they pop up. A stitch in time saves nine. Being prepared and fixing issues early saves us bigger problems down the track. Often it takes a little bit of trial and error and a bit of perseverance to figure out the right course of action. Just like life, ey bru?
Flax, native birds. Pentax MX, Cinestill BWXX, April 2024.
I met a Japanese bike tourer in Haast on the West Coast who had been touring for three years! He didn’t speak much English, but the words I did manage to get out of him were this ‘So tired, every day.’ He had an incredible amount of gear. Two spare tyres, and his rack on the rear was loaded to the brim. But he had ridden across northern Australia and was doing effectively what was a world tour. It was nice to see that there was someone out there who had even more gear than me and was able to keep going for such a long time. Even if he was knackered all the time!
Endless enthusiasm, despite the hardships, that’s the spirit! Pentax MX, Cinestill BWXX, April 2024.
Why do we do it? Why all the hard work, the endless hills, sorting out of problems, the pain and suffering? Because the good days on the bike are worth it. The days when there is a tailwind helping us and the riding feels effortless, when we are on the road but we feel like we are actually flying. When life is simple, and the only thing we need to think about is our next source of water, food and a flat spot to pitch our tent. When the long, wide, open road is ahead of us, calling, with an immensity of possibilities. All of a sudden, our dwindling bank account matters not, and we only want one thing; to keep riding, around the Earth if that’s where we’re destined to go.
Hills above Arrowtown, NS, Pentax MX, Cinestill BWXX, April 2024.
White crowned mountains, rising out of the sea. This was my first vision of New Zealand, the place I’ve dreamt of visiting for so many years. I was sitting on an aeroplane, looking at ‘the Mirage of the Ocean’, Kā Tiritiri o te Moana, also known as the Southern Alps.
The Southern Alps, Kā Tiritiri o te Moana. Pentax MX, 50mm, Kodak Image Pro 100. April 2024.
The first people, the Māori, came to New Zealand from Polynesia using canoes and navigated by the currents, wind, clouds and stars. Aotearoa was the name they gave to the North Island, which they discovered and settled first, and this means ‘land of the long white cloud’. It was a practical name that helped these early explorers of the ocean find their way to this island. Later, after European settlement, Aotearoa became the collective name for both North and South islands together. Today, the Māori name given to the North Island is Te Ika-a-Māui (the fish of Māui) and for the South Island it is Te Waipounamou (waters of the greenstone).
Pebbles on the shore of Lake Te Anau. Pentax MX, 50mm, Kodak Image Pro 100. April 2024.
To follow through with my aim of cycling the length of New Zealand in the least direct route possible, I figured I’d kick off my trip with a six day side trip from Queenstown to Milford Sound, Piopiotahi. I was blessed to have a place to stay upon my arrival in the busy tourist town of Queenstown, in the lovely household of a bunch of mad keen mountain bikers, who lived on a rather large hill in Fernhill. Their place gave me a good base to commence my NZ operations from. With a bit of beta from Annie, Dan and Brook, I had booked my spot on the Earnslaw, a vintage steamship that travels the length of Lake Wakatipu, and I got dropped off at the high country cattle station of Walter Peak, from where I could take the quiet back-country road towards Mavora Lakes, then onto the highway towards Te Anau and eventually to Milford Sound.
View from the the Earnslaw, a steamship built in 1912. Pentax MX, 50mm, Kodak Image Pro 100. April 2024.
The 110km stretch of road from Te Anau to Milford Sound is the only sealed road into Fiordland National Park, and it’s the road that’s taken by thousands of visitors every day, in and then back out. There is very limited overnight accommodation at the Sound itself, so most people will camp along the road then do a day trip in, with the traffic often congesting around the Homer tunnel. I was no different; I chose to camp at the last available Department of Conservation (DOC) campsite, then did a day trip to Milford Sound, riding about 84 kilometres there and back, with about 1800m elevation gained and lost. I left Cascade Creek campsite at 7:15am to beat the traffic, and it was a bit chilly on the fingertips and the toes.
Eglington Valley. Pentax MX, 50mm, Kodak Image Pro 100. April 2024.
South-West New Zealand (Te Wahipounamou- ‘land of the greenstone’) is a heavily glaciated landscape; steep mountains rising up from wide, U- shaped valleys, with thick beech forest and sub alpine scrub blanketing the near vertical slopes. As I rode along this road, I felt as if time itself towered over me. Long, thin waterfalls cascaded down the mountainsides; there was just so much water around, and it hadn’t really rained for about a week. I had a dream the night before about a giant boulder rolling down a steep hill, leaving a path of destruction in its path. Riding along the road the next day, I saw a mountainside that had an entire stripe cleared from it as if a giant boulder had rolled downhill there. It was an uncanny coincidence, and made me wonder whether the landscape was talking to me through my dreams, whether certain features of this place were calling me to it.
Landslide or giant boulder rolling downhill? April 2024, Pentax MX, 50mm, Kodak Image Pro 100.
Let’s talk about the Keas. This near mythical bird seems to feature heavily in most people’s NZ stories. What we know of them is that they are very beautiful, with bright orange feathers that are only revealed on the underside of their wings while in flight, that they have a long hooked beak, also that they are very clever and that they are very annoying. I have heard countless stories of theft, destruction, chaos and mayhem caused by these birds. I was equally looking forward to my first Kea encounter as I was dreading it. Will they shred my tent? Will they try to take the tyres off my bike? Will they steal my flint or another essential item?
Doing what the Keas do best. Pentax MX, 50mm, Kodak Image Pro 100. April 2024.
And so my first Kea encounter was no surprise, even somewhat stereotypical. I was waiting outside the Homer Tunnel on my way out to Milford Sound, and there was a Kea, on top of a campervan, trying to pull the rubber seal off the van’s window. Meanwhile, the tourist inside was taking a video on her phone. Classic Fiordland moment. I partook by taking the obligatory photo of the Kea doing what they do best.
Mitre Peak, rising up from Milford Sound. Pentax MX, 50mm, Kodak Image Pro 100. April 2024.
I descended the long hill from Homer tunnel down to the sea with much joy and elation; although I did get miserably cold on the descent. Upon getting to Milford Sound I figured I’d just find somewhere peaceful to sit and appreciate the landscape. Except there wasn’t anywhere! It’s an absolute zoo out there! There are the boats, the planes, the helicopters, the buses, and thousands of bustling tourists seeking their experience. In the end I did find a bench right out at the end of the jetty, where I sat and ate my snacks and waited for the sun to climb over the hill, but in the end I got too cold and decided it was time to ride back up the hill. I was left wondering about that line of balance between development and preservation and whether this place had crossed that line long ago.
Upper Eglington Valley, Pentax MX, 50mm, Kodak Image Pro 100, April 2024.
The crux of the day trip to Milford Sound was negotiating the Homer tunnel on the return. This tunnel was completed in the 1950s and cuts through the Darran Mountains beneath Homer saddle. It is 1.2km long, and has a steep gradient. It is also one lane, which means there is an automatic timer and traffic lights to ensure one way traffic. On the way in I had no trouble, for the downward slope meant I could easily keep to the speed limit of 30km/h. But on the return, I would only have a few minutes to get back through before vehicles started coming the other way!
In the end, I befriended a French backpacker while we were waiting for the lights at the tunnel entrance and he agreed to give me a tow. So I held on to the side of his car (with his passenger window rolled down), locked in my right arm and steered the bike with the left and got a free ride through the tunnel. It might seem like the easy way through but I can tell you, my right arm got so pumped about halfway up from holding on that I had to fight to hang on! It was a good trick however, and it worked: I didn’t hold up the traffic and I didn’t have to deal with oncoming traffic inside the tunnel.
The touring rig (without panniers) at Cascade Creek campsite, after day ride to Milford Sound, Piopiotahi. Pentax MX, 50mm, Kodak Image Pro 100. April 2024.
The other highlight from my first week in Aotearoa was discovering a new podcast (Huberman Lab) on the recommendation of my host in Queenstown, Annie Ford. There was a passage from this podcast that stood out, and it went along something like this: ‘When you do something you don’t want to do, a part of your brain, called the anterior mid-cingulate cortex gets bigger… People who are athletes, people who have overcome hardships, people who live long, this part of the brain is quite big. Scientists are starting to think of the anterior mid-cingulate cortex not just as one of the seats of willpower, but perhaps as the seat of the will to live’.
Gondwanan rainforest near Milford Sound. Pentax MX, 50mm, Kodak Image Pro 100. April 2024.
Here was an idea I could mull over during my endless hours of riding solo across New Zealand. When I was suffering on my bike and doing the thing I really didn’t want to do, riding through the rain, riding up the endless hills, hungry and unwashed, I could console myself through knowing that I was actually strengthening my will to live!
The Hollyford River. Pentax MX, 50mm, Kodak Image Pro 100. April 2024.
Often there is a threshold which we have to push ourselves through to unlock a new level of performance. There is something to be said for pushing beyond fatigue. Ride a bike till you feel you cannot ride anymore, and then ride another fifty kilometres. At some point, our body and our brain switch over and we go from being exhausted to feeling fine to keep going. This is when we know we have reached and crossed a threshold, the boundary between what we think is possible and what is actually possible.
Walter Peak Station. Pentax MX, 50mm, Kodak Image Pro 100. April 2024.
-A.S. Wanaka, 11/4/2024
Things don’t always go how we expect them to go.
The arch at Stackys Bight, Flinders Island, Pentax MX, Portra 800, Jan 2024.
I was so convinced that my final week of preparation in the lead up to my trip to New Zealand would be relaxed, leisurely. For once, the few days leading up to a big trip would not be a stressful bottleneck that left me wishing I was in the jaws of a giant anaconda instead. For once, things would go to plan and there would be no rush, no chaos, no dramas.
But it doesn’t take much to go from being in a state of total control to total chaos. In the space of 48 hours, I had stuffed up a big bank transfer, then my car broke down, and then my bike I was planning to take to NZ was also out of action. Stress, panic, chaos!
And here I thought I’d be spending my final week before my bike touring trip to New Zealand sipping hot chocolates, resting and catching up with my friends. Instead my entire week became a divine comedy of errors, and the cruisy week I anticipated became the opposite.
Instead of building my reserves, I had lost two kilos by the end of the week. But the main thing was accomplished; my bike was fixed, and then it was in a box, ready to fly. I even managed to charge all of my batteries. My car was still at the mechanic and I would have to call the ATO from New Zealand, but they are minor details in the scheme of the big picture.
Castle rock, but I think it should be called happy whale rock. Flinders Island. Pentax MX, Portra 800, Jan 2024.
All of these little hiccups were exactly that, minuscule mistakes, errors that a reasonable level of resourcefulness and a bit of help from your friends can sort out. My housemate Kelsey has my eternal gratitude for lending me her van while my car was broken down so I could go to work, and also for driving me to the airport at the completely unreasonable hour of 3:40AM on Easter Monday.
And so I stepped on a plane to fly to New Zealand. My bike was coming with me and I had two months to cycle from Queenstown to Auckland. My plan? Cycle the least direct route possible.
-A.S. - Te Anau, NZ, 6/4/24
Marshall Bay, Flinders Island. Pentax MX, Portra 800, Jan 2024.
“A reanimated world is one in which spirit and matter are not just equally regarded but recognized as mutually dependent. The great task of this late modern era is thus to bring together what the spiritual preoccupations of the old world and the material focus of the new world have torn apart. The psyche shows us this dependency whenever a person or group attempts to embrace one without the other, in the way the neglected side begins to rule the unconscious… But the earth process itself suggests we rediscover nature as spirit as well as understand it as matter — nature as presence, intelligence, and root source of inspiration and imagination… Both mind and earth are calling for perspectives capable of marrying these dimensions of reality.” - Carl Jung
Western Arthurs skyline, Pentax MX, 50mm, Portra 800. Feb 2024.
Misty morning in the Arthurs. Pentax MX, 50mm, Portra 800. Feb 2024.
Swirling mist. Pentax MX, 50mm, Portra 800. Feb 2024.
