We’d been warned that against expectations most people put on weight at the plentiful stops and abundant feeding stations but that wasn’t going to stop us having a late morning tea in picturesque Alexandra despite only 12km under the belt.
By chance we bumped into Paul Dodgshun, an old mate of our travelling companions Gary and Mary Hope. Paul used to live in Gisborne and now dwells near Alexandra.
He told us of his pecan and pistachio plantings on their small lifestyle block. They are just beginning to crop. I planted both species 35 years ago and they have steadfastly refused to give me a single nut. Paul thought it might be lack of pollinators. Despite only having 300mm last year he has access to irrigation water which he needs to put on when the nuts are filling out.
We saddled up and with the prospect of a late lunch changed direction from southeast to northeast and hit the rail trail proper.
We steadily worked our way up Tiger Hill with a gradient no more than one-in-50 to suit the trains from a bygone era but a decent workout all the same.
Now we felt like we’d earned our late lunch and fell into the Chatto Creek Hotel. Conscious I needed to keep my fluids up I had a second beer, which turned out to be a mistake because I soon had an overwhelming desire to hop off the bike and have a snooze in the grass on the side of the trail. I didn’t but vowed to limit the intake to just one beer at each of the pubs along the way if there was any more cycling to be done.
Finally, we reached Omakau but travelled the extra few minutes so we could stay in Ophir at the famous Pitches Store, which, just by chance, has excellent food and no shortage of beverages. Certainly, the calorie intake was a little more than that being burnt off cycling but we were happy.
Next morning Gary and I cycled to meet Sam Leask, who religiously takes the weather readings at the NIWA weather station on his lawn at 8am every day.
Sam gets a bit of media interest because Ophir recorded minus 21.6C during the 1995 winter, which is the coldest temperature recorded in New Zealand in the modern era though recently recovered old records show Ranfurly shivering through minus 25.6C in 1903. However, Ophir, with no thermometer then, could have been just as frigid.
We watched as Sam read several thermometers, recorded cloud cover and other observations. Later Gary and I watched him march proudly in his fireman’s uniform in the Anzac parade in Omakau.
Quite a few cyclists attended and some of the children were invited to be part of the ceremony and laid flowers as the men’s names who died in 1918, the final year of that terrible war were read out.
We were intercepted by Robert Gardyne at Ida Valley and he gave Gary and I a great tour up to a high vantage point on his farm from where we could see the whole of the valley. I gazed at his Glammie-winning lambs and pastures and smacked my lips at the prospect of dinner.
Finally, we reached Wedderburn and I had a good chat with Stu and Lorraine Duncan who farm there and have used the opportunity of the rail trail to build a decent ecotourism operation. Their cottages were chock full. I had time to cycle to the Wedderburn Hotel for a cheeky cider.
We stayed in Naesby so we could give curling a go. Sam Inder was our excellent driver and host and gave us a tour of this historic township.
We did our curling in the indoor rink and after instruction were surprisingly dreadful. But it was great fun.
Gary couldn’t get his over the foul line and mine all thudded into the back. The girls got ahead but male competitiveness wasn’t going to put up with this and we got in front and by our last end all looked pretty good.
I asked Sam if Gary and I could enter a North Island team in the next bonspiel but he doubted it would happen. If any of the organisers are reading this, take this to be an official challenge.
The next day’s ride took us through Ranfurly with an obligatory stop at the pub for lunch and just the one beer then a delightful cider at the Waipiata Hotel and onto Kokonga.
Mark Button, the Waipiata publican, came and picked us up and returned us to the accommodation he and wife Nikki run.
Later he showed excellent up-selling skills by talking me into a bottle of expensive pinot over one of their great meals.
The final day was a ride through Hyde and a visit to the scene of the derailing that cost 21 folk their lives and triumphantly into Middlemarch, Jane’s home town. We cycled around her old haunts and visited the excellent museum, complete with a submarine of all things, needing funds to be restored.
Jane found the little building that was once the Straith Taieri Rabbit Board where her father and his mates planned the destruction of this pest.
Of course, I felt compelled to visit the Middlemarch Hotel to raise a toast to Bruce before getting on the train that runs past their old farm and as we entered the Taieri Gorge the first rain fell for the week.
