Category Archives: highlights

I was up early this morning, making porrige in the Lodge’s self-catering kitchen. Mandy and I were chatting, when…

“Would you like to borrow a canoe?” Mandy asked with a tone of motherly concern.

There was not much arm-twisting required to get me to accept. When Joe heard of the plan however, “What? You can’t pull out now!” he said with a grin. “You have to finish the mission as you planned!” he jested. Or perhaps he was serious. Perhaps I was just wimping out. Perhaps I should just stick to the mighty rubber KonTiki.

“What will the foreign tourists think that saw you yesterday? They’ll think you couldn’t handle it,” he continued in his mocking tone.

“Either that or they will think I am smart,” I replied.

That seemed to please him enough to relent. “Meet me down at the water in a few minutes,” he said.

Mandy, upon hearing of my lack of food, piled me up with enough to last a week, and sent me on my way.

At the river, there was a two person Canadian canoe waiting for me. I donated the rubber KonTiki to the Lodge, and transfered the bike and gear to the canoe.

I couldn’t help but think that I was going from rags to riches. Low on food and on a crappy slow rubber tube raft to loads of food and a decent water craft (complete with lifejacket). Joe and Mandy, you guys are legends. Thank you so much.

On the canoe, I was free to enjoy the spectacular gorge scenery on the Whanganui River. Gliding smoothly and effortlessly along with the current, with pulse-raising rapids every now and then, the ride was awesome. What would have taken at least two days on the raft took 4 hours in the canoe.

Joe was scheduled to be at Pipiriki at 2pm that afternoon to pick up some guests for the lodge in the jet boat. I met him there, where the canoe was transfered to the jetboat, and I was on my own with the bike again. Stoked. On firm ground again. Thanks again to Joe and Mandy at The Bridge To Nowhere for all their awesome help!

The road from Pipiriki to Wanganui is mostly gravel, and winds along beside the Whanganui River all the way. For the rest of the afternoon I cycled, enjoying moving faster than only just faster than walking pace.

Jerusalem was a fascinating stop. An historical convent with nuns still living there, with a rich Maori heritage. The photo below is of a carving at the front of the church. A ‘Maori Jesus’. A refreshing depiction indeed.

The church itself is pretty, with Maori motifs all around.

I pushed on past the convent and ended up sleeping under the veranda of a closed campground near the river.

The Bridge To Nowhere in the Whanganui National Park is indeed an anomoly of crazy land development planning. It does indeed go nowhere. Such a beautiful bridge. To nowhere.

I camped last night on the bridge.

Birdsong in the morning was awesome. Just awesome. Sounds that I have never heard before in the South Island of New Zealand.

An increasingly concerning issue for me during this wee detour into the Whanganui National Park, was my food supply. I was already a day later than I had expected, and I knew that I would not be able to strech my food for more than another two days. I just hoped that it would only take two days at the absolute most to float down the river.

From The Bridge To Nowhere, it was a short ride along nice smooth tracks to the Mangapurua Landing. People who canoe the Whanganui Journey along the Whanganui River will stop at the Landing and visit the Bridge, or tourists will get a jet boat ride up the river from Pipiriki to visit the Bridge (see www.bridgetonowhere.co.nz for details). This means that the track to and from the Bridge to the River is well worn. In stark contrast to the rest of the track.

When I got to the landing, I started work on the raft. First thing, pumping up the tubes. Using a foot pump given to me by Bruce from a few days ago each tube took 15 minutes to inflate. I had to repair a few small punctures (due to falls on the bike during the last few days on the track).

Punctures fixed, tubes tied, and I was ready to depart.

I was feeling pretty cool on my raft and felt pretty smug as mere mortal tourists cruised by in canoes and oooohed and ahhhed at my ingenuity and hardcoreness.

After four hours on the river however, I was not feeling quite as cool. Those canoeists had already arrived at their campsites, and I was still trying to paddle with a growingly painful headache. My legs were surprisingly warm, despite hanging in the water for the entire time. It wasn’t until I pulled to the bank for a break after four hours that I realised that they were just numb. I could hardly walk for 5 minutes as I regained feeling.

The river is not always as tranquil as in the photos above. There are regular rapids (1 to 1.5 grade) that require some paddling skills. Certainly fast enough to get my pulse pumping.

At one stage, I spent 30 minutes floating around and around in circles, caught in a massive eddy. If not for the help from Joe from the Ramanui Lodge (Bridge To Nowhere Lodge), who was upstream in his jet-powered barge checking on his horses, I may have still been circling a week later. He came to the rescue and gave me a tow out using his jet boat.

After the ‘rescue’ the headwind started. It was an agonsing two hours to cover the remaining few kilometers to the Lodge. At this rate, I was definitely going to run out of food before getting to Pipiriki; the next road that I planned to cycle out of the park on.

Due to the ‘rescue’ my fame went ahead of me to the lodge. Across the river from the lodge is the DOC campsite, but I didn’t realise this, and ended up on the Bridge To Nowhere Lodge side of the river. THe river was swift at this point, and there was not much chance of me getting across to the DOC site for some free camping. I sucked it up and made the trek up to the lodge, ready to try to talk my way into being able to camp on their property for free.

Joe and Mandy, the owners of the Lodge were having nothing of it. “You’re a madman!” Joe spouted as he shook my hand with a vice-like grip. “But good on you!”

They took pity on me, and I was shown to the bathrooms for a warm shower, they fed me, and I was mercifully spared from having to camp in the back yard with ‘the zoo’ (ponies, llamas, peacocks, chickens, dogs), and I was able to set my tent up on the front lawn with an amazing view of the river below.

The Bridge To Nowhere Lodge is amazing luxury accommodation in the middle of Whanganui National Park, accessable only by jet boat or canoe. Just incredible.

As I sat in the taxi, being driven through Shanghai to the train that would take me to Pudong Airport, I felt a tinge of sadness. As much as I had become frustrated at trying to understand the ways of the Chinese, I was going to miss this place, I thought.

As I watched through the glass, I noticed small things. The tangled mess of telephone wires and powerlines. The small stinking, mysterious alleyways. The mayhem of millions of discontented building bricks that made up the overbearing mass of skyscrapers. Small shacks cowering under the shadows of the ever reproducing highrise apartments.

Chaos has it’s appeal, I decided. And leaving it left a tension in my gut. Finally I had what I wanted. I was going home. But really, I mean, really…is this really what I want?

I felt the same way as I sat on the Maglev uber-super express train from Shanghai to the Pudong International Airport. The super high-tech German train has a top speed of 431km/h. No part of the train touches the platform above which it floats. At this speed, small things raced away into oblivion. I watched from the super expensive double glazed strengthened windows as development and progress spun by in a blur. Massive wide streets, some newly completed, some older ones under a half-hearted attack from weeds. The streets waited patiently for their coming glory. For now, they are alone in wastelands on the outskirts of Shanghai. Come back in less than 5 years, and those roads will be bustling. Highrise apartments will line the streets, and will stand at attention, crammed into the confines of the grid of those wide roads.

While I am finished with China for now, China will not stop. Progress there is not a grinding wheel. It is a floating super express train, equipped with bullbars and battering rams, charging towards the future at 431km/h.

I was early for my flight. NZ88 from Shanghai (China) to Auckland (New Zealand), departing at 2:15pm from Gate 87. I bought a mexican beef wrap at a waiting lounge cafe. It cost me a ridiculous 5 Euro, and I was dismayed at how light the takeaway package felt. Welcome to the ‘real world’ I thought as I glanced inside the paper bag at the pathetic flop of tortilla and beef. I sat down on the floor next to Gate 87 and chewed on my Mexican Beef Wrap that cost me the equivalent of five days travelling budget in China.

On the plane, I was instantly transported to a comfortable cabin environment where familiar sounds and sights began to ease their way into my psyche. A flight attendant speaking with a New Zealand accent. Burt Monroe and his Flying Indian was on the inflight movie selection. I had a glass of Marlborough white wine with my smoked salmon and potato salad at the inflight meal. Ready or not, I had begun my transition home.

The flight was direct to Aukland. 11 hours of tolerable airtime, made easier by plenty of films to choose from. I naturally gravitated to the New Zealand selection; Scarfies and The World’s Fastest Indian.

The flight was an overnighter, and we approached Auckland just after dawn. Looking out the plane window, my feeling was neutral. What I saw below me was not home. It was another big city. It was as unfamiliar as any of the multitude of cities that I have seen during my travels. I was about to arrive in New Zealand, but I was not yet arriving home.

Plane on the ground, I walked towards immigration. “Welcome to New Zealand…” the PA system spouted. Wow. I’m actually in New Zealand. I really am, I thought. I felt a surge of euphoria funnel up inside me. I was walking on air. Almost two and a half years, I had never been back. And here I am.

I proudly presented my worn and tattered passport to the immigration officer. “How long have you been away?” she asked.

“Two and a half years,” I said with satisfaction. “I’ve been traveling for that whole time.”

“You’ve worked a little here and there? How have you supported yourself?” she asked, to my great joy.

With suppressed pride I explained my self-chosen path of poverty for the best part of those two and a half years. She was not particularly impressed or un-impressed. “Welcome home,” se said blandly, and I was allowed through.

“Well would you believe it?” I muttered under my breath. “In New Zealand at last.”

I collected my luggage from the rack. My longboard and trailer were safely cocooned in layers of cardboard and cling wrap. I declared my tent and wooden longboard to customs, and they checked them carefully for any trace of biological threat to the New Zealand environment. I did not resent the 20 minutes it took to unpack and repack the longboards and tent. Stringent biosecurity measures are what keeps New Zealand the way it is; green, clean, and beautiful.

My parents and my cousin Rachel were there a the arrivals gate when I finally got through biosecurity. The emotion that I felt as I embraced my Mum and Dad took me by surprise. I sobbed into my parents’ shoulders, tears flowing. There were times during the journey when, in the back of my mind, I thought that there was a slight possibility that I would not make it to New Zealand alive. I was never fearful of my personal safety in regards to people or environment. The open roads however were a life-threatening hazard that I did not underestimate. Especially on the longboard, there was an inherent risk in what I had been doing. To finally feel the embrace of my parents meant that I was finally safe.

Thanks to my cousin Rach for being there and capturing the moment.

A national TV crew was also there to capture the moment, and you can see the story here:

TV3 National News – Kiwi Skateboarder Arrives Home

My first meal after arriving home was lunch at a local canteen. Quite obviously catering for the labour working crowd, the food was quintessential New Zealand. Chips, bacon, eggs, roast chicken. Sweet custard squares and cream filled buns. Bread rolls with more salad and meat filling than bread. And of course MEAT PIES.

I naturally gravitated to the meat pies. Mince and cheese was my choice. “You’re just like Chris (my brother),” my Mum said. “When ever he comes back from Australia, he always has a pie and a custard square!”

Chris, you’re a legend. I would have forgotten about the custard square had it not been for you. So I got myself a custard square too. Such great New Zealand fast food wonder. It was bliss.

The afternoon was spent chatting about family. Went into central Auckland and all agreed how horrible it must be to have to commute into the city every day. Had takeaway curry for tea (dinner) and Rach and I shared a beer as we waited for the curry to arrive. It was good to ponder life together.