Jane and I hired a car out of Christchurch so we could make that epic drive down through the Mckenzie Country, which we hadn’t done for a decade or more.
We hadn’t been up to Mount John where the observatory is and with a perfect day the visibility and views were outstanding over the Tekapo surrounds.
As we closed in on Central Otago, being late April, the colours of the deciduous trees became more and more vivid.
The Lombardi poplars were a blaze of golden yellow where ours at home are a pale imitation. Mind you, in recent years after 40 years of the onslaught of the rust, it’s almost as if they have gained some level of resistance because they have definitely improved with their autumn colours.
At the same time, the rust-resistant clones bred in the 1970s appear to have become susceptible to the rusts and are not putting on as decent a show as they have in the past, which makes me wonder if the rust virus has mutated since its 1960s introduction from Australia.
The hills around Queenstown and Arrowtown were highlighted by the yellows of the sycamores and reds from the maples and rowans. All introduced and invasive species but who could argue at their presence at this time of the year?
Even the willows down there were resplendent in glorious yellows. The one species we seem to have an edge on are the liquid ambers, which, perhaps, prefer our lime-based soils.
We had a great hike around the edge of Ben Lomond Station and looked down from a good height at the Shotover River and the industrious jet boats far below as they whisked their excited and enthusiastic guests up and down the river.
At last we washed up in Clyde, for us the start of the rail trail. I walked up to the lookout point and gazed across historic Clyde and surrounds then down to the dam, remembering vaguely the distant past arguments over whether it should be a low dam as the officials argued or a high dam as Muldoon preferred. Muldoon won and for better or worse that is what was built.
Ironically, the next morning in a town that generates a decent amount of the nation’s electricity, we had a power cut.
We met up with out mates and went down to the old Clyde railway station to meet our steads that would be our transportation for the following few days.
I’d fully intended to spend quite a bit of time in the prior months getting bike-fit as I’d not ridden a bike since my student days nearly 40 years earlier but other than two brief bursts a couple of weeks earlier, it hadn’t happened because of work commitments. Now I was tapering off.
Jane was more confident in her preparation as she’d been taken under the wing of a group of elderly misfits who cycled locally under the name of The Wobblers.
We rode excitedly around the streets of Clyde and I felt the same enthusiasm for a bicycle our young sons had felt as the trainer wheels came off and suddenly one had the freedom to cover distances at speeds that Shank’s Pony just could not offer.
Jane directed us to the school where she once had been dental nurse then we repaired to an establishment for Coronas, a fine meal and plans for the days ahead of us.
