Alps to Ocean: Part One

As we went to bed on our last night in Akaroa the wind hit the side of the house with such a loud roar I thought a plane had landed on the deck. It lasted all night, the gale accompanied by rain and we woke to, as Neil said: ‘A fire hose aimed at the house’. The view wasn’t so much obscured as obliterated, an occasional lifting and lightening to reveal grey sea and wind-whipped waves.

The rain kindly pauses to allow us to load the car without drowning, returning with vengeance as we leave, driving into the windscreen and racing across the forested slopes like smoke from a raging fire. The road curves in and out of small bays and over low hills into cloud that mixes with mist, masking trees in the valley as we descend. We’re on the way to Twizel and seven days of cycling on the Alps to Ocean Trail with our friends Julie and Paul and I’m relieved that we aren’t starting it today.

In Twizel the rain has stopped, although the wind is frigid. The next morning the sun rises in a clear sky and the temperature hovers just above freezing. The air bites my cheeks as we ride the few hundred metres to the shuttle that will take us to Tekapo and the start of the trail. I’m glad the journey is an hour or so, hopeful that the sun will have fought off the chill by the time we get there. I’ve just about defrosted when we have to start riding and my fingers are the only part of me still cold as we descend to the side of the canal.

The ride alongside the Tekapo Canal is easy, a mix of gravel road with some tarmac sections, the only vehicles rare and carrying fishermen. The sun on our backs and a steady pace mean we soon warm up. The water is a ribbon of vivid blue-sky-reflection against the dry tawny grass and grey road, straight and stretching ahead on our right, meandering through the flat below to the left. Dark green dots of trees are scattered amongst the tussock. Distant hills mark the horizon in each direction, the ones to the north, across the canal, giving way to the snowy tops of the Alps, the peak of Aoraki shining white. The Mackenzie district is big sky and big land country, reminiscent of the area from where many of the early settlers originated, place names reflecting their Scottish heritage.

The relaxed riding means my attention and gaze can wander, roaming the scenery without the risk of a crash. The Tekapo canal becomes the Pukaki canal and metal cages of salmon farms fill the water, an opportunistic heron lifting off empty-clawed as I approach. At the end of the canal the land drops away and the road descends to the shores of Lake Pukaki, the water shimmering like blue silk. We pause on the pebbled shore for lunch, the temperature still cool enough that we don’t need to seek shade.

The track roughens and narrows as it winds around the bottom of the lake, turning often and climbing small hillocks. My legs are tiring and I’m glad to see the salmon farm shop is still open for a caffeine hit, the picnic area full of Asian tourists munching on sashimi that was probably swimming yesterday. If we hadn’t still got 10km to ride I’d join them. After a steep (and, for me, somewhat challenging) downhill through pine trees the trail pops out to the tussock grasslands of the Pukaki Flats and a wide gravel track. I surprise myself with my speed, enjoying the rolling undulations. Neil disappears into the distance towards Twizel and the final stretch alongside the road into town. My ride app shows we’ve ridden 56km, more than I’ve done on a bike in a few years. My legs and bum certainly know about it!

Day 2 begins as clear and cold as yesterday and we shiver as we walk to breakfast. My hope that the sun will have done its job again isn’t rewarded and cloud covers the sky when we grab our bikes and set off. My hands are numb and I worry that I should have invested in some full-fingered gloves. We rejoin the Pukaki Canal as the sun beats the clouds and the cold. Despite padded shorts and a gel seat, my bum protests at the monotony of sitting in one position and I have to stop often to give it some respite. We pick up the Ohau Canal – and another salmon farm – that leads us to Lake Ohau, an expanse of glittering blue opening in front of us as we ride the slight rise over the canal gate. The Ohau Range rises behind the lake, our more challenging route for tomorrow. I push that thought aside and concentrate on today.

The road becomes track, more testing for me as I negotiate uneven gravel and rough sections. The weir (impassable if it is overflowing – thankfully today it isn’t) separates the flat calm of the lake from the tumbling bubble of the river, blue sparkling against grey stone. We trace the bottom edge of the lake, twisting around sharp-thorned bushes, and I need to focus – downhill with a steep drop to the side and a sharp turn at the bottom is not my idea of fun. After a while I find my rhythm, although I can’t look at the view without pausing, but it’s more interesting riding and the constant shift of weight and direction is easier on my body.

The final stretch is on the road the Lake Ohau Lodge and despite that we haven’t ridden anywhere near the distance we rode yesterday my legs are feeling it. I resist the urge to turn the battery power up, grit my teeth and try to focus on the beauty around me. Still I’m glad to see the turn-off for the lodge, cursing the unfairness of a final push up a steep drive as my legs cry mutiny after 36km of riding. A shorter day means it’s only mid-afternoon and we can relax with a cup of tea and the stunning view from our window, Aoraki rising far behind the Ben Ohau Range at the top of the lake.

Two days down and I haven’t fallen off yet. Always a thing to celebrate!