1/30/2009 - Reliving Old Memories at Quinney's

Wake early this morning - no emergency consults overnight, so I have to assume that the Chilean woman is doing all right. On the road for the easy 35 mile trip to Quinney's Bush Camp.

Did I say easy? Actually, the entire way there is uphill, sort of a "death by a thousand cuts" kind of thing because it's not steep, just constant. Knee is doing all right, I am pre-loaded today with 800mg of ibuprofen (AKA, "Vitamin I"). The terrain is very nice as well, with mountains on either side and lots of forest interspaced with fields.

Lots of green, including the water.

I am really dragging today for some reason. I think the long, slow uphill is contributing, but just no energy. Stop for some lunch around noon, and then off again.

A bit 'o' lunch. The undergrowth here is almost creepy thick, with vines climbing on vines.

Soon enough, however, I hit the main road, and my energy comes back as I read the sign for "Quinney's Bush Camp".

Back when we last bicycled New Zealand, I was more interested in whether Optimus Prime would defeat Megatron rather than whether the US would defeat the USSR in the cold war. Given that age, Quinney's Bush Camp was the source of many of my fondest New Zealand memories.

As I remember it, it was a big campground with little paths through it going between these nifty flying foxes (ziplines), tire swings, and other playground equipment that was much cooler than I had seen before. There was also a river that you could swim in.

But none of that measured up to the best thing that Quinney's had to offer. Mr. Quinney, elderly even back then, used to attach a horizontal plank to the back of his tractor, tie a bunch of ropes to the plank, and attach burlap sacks to the ropes. He would then drive around the field with kids sitting on the burlap sacks. It was, in a word, awesome.

The sack ride back in '85. The guy on the left is Mitsuru, a Japanese student who we became friends with. This became, really, one of the big things we would point to as a cool thing in New Zealand - you KNOW this could never have happened in the US without someone getting sued.

Mr. Quinney surrounded by kids. That kid on the right has started her morose teenage years a bit early. I remember Mr. Quinney as a really lovable old man. Two kiwis I talked to about Quinney's Bush Camp the few days before mentioned it with as much enthusiasm as I did.

Pulling up to Quinney's now is a bit different - there is a main office with a chain not allowing cars through until they've paid. The lady at the front is very friendly, and also had a great time at Quinney's back when she was a kid. Alas, however, Mr. Quinney died back in 1996. His son has taken over the business and has even expanded the park, she says.

They don't do the tractor pull for the kids anymore, though, due to government regulation. Sad.

But it is great biking back into the park. It is a lot more open, with much of the underbrush now removed and turned into tent sites. It is crowded, as well, full of happy, yelling kids ranging in age from 2 to 16. Dirt bikes are the preferred mode of transportation. All of the play equipment is in use, and there is a BMX dirt bike track as well as a new skate park which are heavily in use.

I camp in a nice spot right next to a hammock. Not bad, not bad at all.

Taking a little rest after biking. I seem to be developing a knack for finding hammocks lately, and that is not a bad thing.

I decide that, once and for all, I am going to find the leak in my sleeping pad. I grab it and head down to the river.

The river, now with a big dredged pool, a slide, and a rope swing. Fancy!

The river back in 1985. No, your eyes do not deceive you, those ARE rainbow swimming trunks. The Queer Eye guys would approve.

Alas, after 20 minutes of folding and submersing, no major leak can be found. As it's wet already, sounds like a great time to just float a bit.

Not only do I get to float on my air mattress, but I am also washing my bike shorts and t-shirt. I will stop short before claiming I was getting a shower. Bonus for efficiency!

Back up to the main campground to explore a bit.

The field, now. Full of barley rather than tractor and burlap sack tracks.

The same field, then. Being dragged by the tractor and looking out for rocks.

The BIG flying fox now, with new waterslide. . .

. . . and then, with no major enhancements.

The hot water boiler now. . .

And the very similar hot water boiler then (that's my mom looking very interested in the hot water boiler).

I am proud to say that I am such a good swinger that this kid came over and asked me to show him how to properly swing. (Is there a way to write that that doesn't sound pornographic?)

Probably the biggest tire swing in the world. For some reason, the adolescents all seemed to meet here.

Met up with some very nice people who are here with their children and kindly took a picture of me on one of the flying foxes. Note the inner 5-year old is back out again.

After a long day, I creep into the tent and attempt to go to sleep. It's a big climb tomorrow going over Hope Saddle and I will need the rest. Alas, the local children have no such concerns and the laughing, screaming, and yelling continues despite me OBVIOUSLY going in my tent to sleep. No problem - I find my noise-canceling headphones and am soon out like a light.

Mr. Quinney will be missed, but his legacy definitely lives on.

1/29/2009 - Some Seriously Small World Stuff

Planned on being up at a shocking 6:30, but this stretched to a comfortable 7AM wakeup. The first thing I noticed was a complete lack of padding under me - I was hoping that I was dreaming when I pumped it up sometime during the night. My repairs have done nothing - I am missing a bigger leak somewhere. Ah, well - I will test it in the river at Quinney's Bush Camp, if I can.

A leisurely breakfast. I'm wondering which way my right knee is going to go. Feels better today, but it has been resting. Start out with a nice test - about 200 feet over a rise to get to the coast again as I head for Motueka. I can feel it, but it's not bad, certainly not going to limit me in any way. Excellent.

I am preoccupied and watching the GPS too much. It has definitely picked the right way to Motueka, but for a car, not a bike. Suddenly, I go from being on a nice (if busy) two-lane road to a full-blown motorway. I'm pretty sure that bikes are not allowed here. Just about 40 feet to my right is an idyllic-looking, purpose-made bike path with the occasional relaxed-looking cyclist, but blocking my way are four lanes of traffic and a barrier. I suck it up and just go.

Luckily, no police cars pass, and after 10km or so, things calm back down again as I turn toward Motueka. The road parallels the bay and looks back toward Nelson.

The beach is rockier than Bush's presidency. Isn't topical humor fun? I guess we could go further and say he was also often "stumped" by unrehearsed questions. . . But no, that's just too much.

So I have formed an opinion about puncture-resistant tubes. Dad felt that they just add weight. I have been leaning the other way as I have traveled - I blew out one puncture-resistant tire (which also shredded the tire itself), but have had no actual punctures. Until today - the first day after going to a regular tube. Sure enough, the funny shudder I felt just as I was starting down a hill was the sudden loss of pressure in the rear tire. A tiny puncture was the culprit, easily fixed but putting me behind by about 45 minutes by the time everything was back on the bike and I was rolling again. Ah, well. Next chance I get, I am going bulletproof again.

This also cemented my thought about stopping in Motueka rather than going the full 65 miles to Quinney's Bush Camp. Figure allowing the knee to heal is worth the extra day, as I should have plenty of time to make these final 700 or so miles to the southern tip of New Zealand. Therefore, it is only a 30 mile day. Funny that a 30-mile day was difficult a month and a half ago.

Water on both sides of the road - there are a series of pipes that allow the tidal waters to flow under the road and fill the adjacent lagoons. The lagoons seem to serve a purpose as the final resting place for tires and random garbage.

Quirky artists are fun. This is the lagoon at low tide, and either STDs in this country have grown with a vengeance, or this artist has done a very nice job of sculpting crabs and placing them into the lagoon.

OK, really? This is further along down the road. ET is phoning home wondering why he is standing in this random New Zealand backyard. I feel like I have just missed the judging of a quirky competition.

As I come into Motueka, figure it would be a good time to figure out where I am going to sleep for the night. I pull off into a little park just before the city and find that there is a Top 10 Campground at the other end of town. There is a hostel, too, but I just need a tent site.

A young guy walks up to me at the rest area and we start talking. His name is Bert and is Dutch - he has rented a car and is making his way around NZ. However, he is planning on bicycling around 6,000km in Australia as soon as he is done in NZ, so we have a lot to talk about. Great guy. At the end of our conversation, he volunteers some info: "The Happy Apple hostel is great - it's clean and the people are really nice. You can stay there for just $14 if you are tent camping." Done and done - this would be cheaper than the Top 10 Campground. Plus, it's only about 200 meters away. Bonus.

As I pull up to the Happy Apple, I read the sign and the names of the hosts.

The Happy Apple sign.

No way.

Here I have to take the Wayback Machine again to 1985. We were taken in around Rotorua by a really nice family, the Waldins. We ended up staying with them for 2 or 3 days, riding the motorcycle, learning about sheep shearing (they raised sheep), and generally enjoying the area with them. I had looked them up while in Rotorua, but could not find them.

Their names (Janne and Wayne) were on that sign.

Excitedly, I head in and talk to the person up front. Alas, I have actually missed them by a measly 6 weeks - they ran the Happy Apple for many years but just sold out to the new owners (who are also very nice). However, I DO get contact information for them as they are now retired and traveling in a camper set up. Excellent!

Anyway, after that initial excitement I set up camp in the backyard of the Happy Apple and go exploring a bit. Find a little walk that takes me to the ocean again.

Purpose-made track for walking through the swampy area down by the sea. I am the only person on it - at first, this is shocking to me (don't people around here walk?), and then I realize that sometimes people perform so-called "jobs" that allow them to have "income" and provide "food" for their "families" rather than "being a total bum at 3:00PM on a weekday."

Head back to the hostel and bike over to pick up food from the downtown area. Also stop by the library, great source of free wireless internet.

View of the mountains from just outside town. It's funny, one of the first things that runs through my head every time I see mountains now is "Do I have to cycle over those?"

Back at the hostel, make up some dinner and relax in one of the deep hammock-chairs and chatting with a few people.

Just chillin' in my personal hammock at the Happy Apple. I could have slept here.

Another fantastic sunset. Nothing like playing Ping Pong while watching it.

Head to bed around 9PM, but soon after someone approaches the tent. "Ryan?" It's one of the guys who I met, and there is a problem. A young woman from Chile is having right lower quadrant abdominal pain, getting a bit worse, and he wonders if I can see what I think. "No problem, let me just throw on some clothes."

The young lady is very nice, alas her English (though MUCH better than my Spanish) is not quite enough to get a really good history. Apparently the pain has been off and on for 2-3 days, but since noon today has been pretty constant. I ask a series of questions and do a makeshift exam on a bench in the backyard (it is dark by this time, so no problems with patient confidentiality). Pain isn't bad, but still concerning enough that I tell her to stop by the local clinic in the morning (I suspect a urinary tract infection) and that she is to get to the Nelson hospital if the pain gets much worse (remembering my training in the ER - the first three diagnoses on the differential for a young woman with pelvic pain are ectopic, ectopic, and ectopic). She is to wake me if things get a lot worse overnight. I talk to her boyfriend whom she is traveling with as well to be sure the plan is in place.

Anyway, off to bed - hope she does OK!

1/28/2009 - Nelson is Sunny, After All

An excellent morning for sleeping in as my bike is being worked on. I make it as long as 8:30AM, even though my sleeping pad has deflated completely. This has been a fairly recent development, but an irksome one. The chiropractic positions my back was forced into by the under-tent root this morning was not, I think, officially used by any chiropractor other than a sadistic one.

It is a relaxing morning. I don't have to be at the bike shop until noon. It's a very nice day, not clear blue skies but broken clouds. After breakfast, I wander down the mile and a half to the downtown, just to check it out more fully.

Like I mentioned, Nelson seems to radiate "happy" and "bustling" in a quaint way. I can't explain it much better than this - it is clean, well-kempt, has nifty brick crosswalks, and there are lots of people milling around. A plethora of accents adorn the air. Part of the street is blocked off completely for cars, and a guy belt out some reggae with his electric guitar at higher decibel levels than are probably necessary. This clashes style-wise with the two guys pounding out a beautiful, haunting sort of oil drum style instrument just two blocks away. It is leisurely.

Downtown Nelson. Somehow, I have cleverly managed to make this bustling town look ghost-town deserted. The actual cool vibe goes for multiple blocks in every direction.

Randomly come across the local tug-or-war championships in the street. After all, it is Wednesday.

I head to the I-Site to see what, if anything, I am missing. As it turns out, the good beaches are a ways away, so I can't work on my Welsh tan (as I like to call it, freckle pointillism). There are any number of full and half day cruises around the bay, but I am not ready to drop the cash - I'll be bicycling up toward some of those destinations anyway.

I wander back to the bike shop. The wheel has been replaced, no problems. I sell my old wheel for NZ$50, no doubt less than it's worth, but a lot more than I thought I would get. Excellent. Roll down on the bike and lock it up to wander the town some more.

The old wheel with the broken spoke duct-taped to the next spoke.

And the new heavy-duty wheel (emphasis on the "heavy"), now making this bike approximately 80% new. This trip has been hard on it.

As it happens, the One Ring from the Lord of the Rings was made here in Nelson by one of the jewelers. That just demands a stop. The store itself is tiny, but definitely lets you know that their jewelry was worn by the glamourous people, meaning, apparently, hobbits.

A replica ring is definitely for sale (So much for "one ring to rule them all"). This particular version of the One Ring was apparently sized for a guy with a serious pituitary disorder. I could probably turn this into a choker collar.

They also were selling lots more gaudy jewelry that loudly declares, with distinctive quality, "I probably still live with my mom".

An incredible find - the ABBA gift book, "Your Favorite Group!" If you are a twenty through forty-something who thinks you are a dancing queen. This book store was pretty incredible, though. They seemed to live by the motto, "If it's in your grandmother's attic, it's probably here." Nothing like learning Tai-Chi from a book where the guy on the front cover rolls with a mullet. From 1965.

Head back and grab some lunch, read the paper (New Zealand is having a bit of a spat with Fiji right now), and hop on the bike. Have to grab some food for dinner.

I make it about two blocks when the rear tire explodes. Luckily, I am only three or four blocks from the bike shop, and so carry it there for them to figure out (as they put it together and pumped up the tube).

The guy that was working on the wheel is still in the learning stage, and had forgotten to put the inner tape around the inside of the hub, which led to the tube being pushed through the little holes for the spokes and causing the blowout. The tube is not repairable, which is too bad as it was my last puncture-resistant one. They replace it free with a "slime" one (just as good as puncture-resistant, the slime on the inside of the tire seals any small punctures). As the new guy pumps it up, it, too, explodes in a shower of green goo.

"That's the second one I've had do that today," he comments ruefully. "I've still got tinnitus from the first one."

Alas, that is the last tube that has any puncture-resistant ability that they have in stock. He puts a regular tube in instead. Everything is ready to go when I notice that he has put the tire on backwards (it is meant to rotate in only one direction). Looking as deflated as the recent tire and with green goo still decorating his face and shirt, he starts over again, and this time all is well.

To make it up to me, they give me a free bike evaluation (to check that the geometries are set up properly for touring) - the guy who does this is very knowledgeable and helps me adjust my pedals to hopefully improve my knee pain. He recommends putting the seat back by about a centimeter or two as well, but my weirdo moon saddle won't accommodate that much movement. Will keep it in mind - would have to buy a whole new seatpost. At last, I am off.

After all that, I do some internetting and head back to camp. I have a mission to repair my sleeping pad.

After about an hour of soaking the mat and putting it underwater with only a sink to work with, I identify 6 tiny punctures. Let it dry out and patch them with a little adhesive. That should do it.

Cook up some pasta/tuna surprise, and finally turn in. Planning on either Motueka (30mi)or Quinney's Bush Camp (65 miles) tomorrow. My knee will tell.