Getting away from it all

Well, hello. It's been a while.

I've dabbled recently with writing for publication. The resoundingly silent response suggests that I should stick to my knitting. So, another travel blog it is.

We're in Bill as I write this, parked up for lunch in Lawrence, a stone's throw from historic Gabriel's Gully in the deep South. The persistent rain and wintry temperatures are what you'd expect this time of the year but we have been blessed with blue skies in recent days while riding the Otago Central Rail Trail.

Chatto Creek pub

This is the grandaddy of all of New Zealand's cycle trails. It opened for business at the turn of the millennium, 2000 (Remember the Bug?) thanks to the foresight of DOC and a few locals. Here's a link to the rail trail's history

We've cycled stretches of it over the years. But now was the time to knock it off, from go to whoa.

There was a certain romantic notion, I admit, of pedalling through Central Otago in the middle of winter. Blue skies, I thought. Crisp, frosty mornings. Rest stops in photogenic hamlets involving great coffee, date scones and congenial chats with others of the lycra ilk.

Scenery just keeps coming at you

Well, two out of three. The weather gods smiled fondly on us. We splashed through frozen puddles. But. There were no people.

Oh wait. On day one, we exchanged greetings with two chaps walking the length of Te Araroa. And on day two, we crossed paths with another couple of cyclists, though only waves were exchanged this time.

During the season, which peaks in April when autumn colours abound, up to 20,000 people cycle or walk the entire trail, with many, many more completing short sections. Crazy busy.

And then, it's not. The tour operators, shuttle drivers, café owners, accommodation providers, lycra launderers, baristas, scone makers, bedmakers all need a break. So off they go - to Rarotonga maybe, or Hawaii,  or the Gold Coast. Anywhere but Central. Anywhere warm, understandably.

This seasonal shutdown, along with a lack of planning on our part, provided some challenges. We needed to start and end each day in Bill.  And we did, thanks to the laid-back approach of a couple of shuttle drivers who must have missed the flight to Rarotonga. Fletch went out of her way (literally - she had to drive back to Lauder) to pick Bruce up at the end of the first day, then gave him Terry's phone number. Terry rearranged his baggage pick-up the following day, told us our bikes would be "as safe as a church" at the Ranfurly station, and delivered us back to Bill.

And the owners of the Lauder pub, where I waited on the verandah in the chilly dark for Bruce and Bill to return. They weren't open for customers that evening but were concerned enough to keep checking on me for the hour or so until the cavalry arrived.

Comfy couches for long waits

Riding this trail in winter was not the experience I had imagined. The scenery was stunning, of course.

 But thanks to Nobby*, Fletch, and Terry, (names have NOT been changed), it was quite the experience.

But isn't that the way?  We may seek grand landscapes when setting forth on great adventures but it is the people we remember.

He tāngata, he tāngata, he tāngata.

Speaking of grand landscapes . . .