艾娃·加德纳可能有也可能没有,当她说was in New Zealand it appeared to be closed, but I can come, er, close to that. The two tracks I recently hoped—nay, intended—to ride were both closed when I got there on my borrowed V-Strom 650. And not for the usual reason, this being too much rain which occasionally turns them into impassable mud. I had chosen my time to avoid rain as much as possible. No, they were closed because it was too dry, instead. There was fear that the grass along the Molesworth and Tophouse tracks might catch fire from a passing vehicle.
Yes, New Zealand was closed when I was there, just as it was for Ava. Photo: The Bear
Pointlessly, and knowing that it was pointless but reluctant to just turn back, I told the woman in the Hanmer Springs tourist office that I had come all the way from Australia to ride these tracks. She managed, with the employment of just one eyebrow, to let me know, eh, that not only did she not care, but that Australians, eh, were a pain in the behind anyway. Eh.
I couldn’t really blame her. She was no doubt right. Australians do make a habit of patronizing Kiwis, which activity never goes down well with them. And while Australia may have its problems with introduced wildlife, so does New Zealand—with wildlife introduced from Australia. Possums are a constant reminder that it would have been a better place for motorcyclists before they arrived, brought over from the West Island for their fur. The flat huntsman and redback and several other spiders were introduced from Australia too, not deliberately in this case. I hope. Did you know that the little humped spider crushes its victims to death because it doesn’t have any venom? You do now.
You better watch out, you better not cry, you better not pout I’m telling you why: the road is shut, eh. Photo: The Bear
Australians are not the only guilty party. New Zealand didn’t have any mammals, either placental or marsupial, before the Māori came and brought the kurī (dog) and kiore (Polynesian rat). Neither of these are much of a worry on the road, unlike some of the pakeha introductions like the deer – by the English.
The Karamea pub welcomes motorcyclists. Photo: The Bear
With both the Molesworth and Tophouse tracks closed, my movements were restricted: I couldn’t go north or west, at least on gravel, or shingle as the Kiwis call it. No point in moping, so I got the map out and started looking for somewhere I hadn’t been. Despite the fact that I’ve explored the South Island fairly comprehensively, one destination jumped out. I had never been to Karamea because… well, why had I never been to Karamea?
New Zealand’s Commons are community-owned and run campsites. Photo: The Bear
Karamea is on the west coast of the South Island, north of Westport. It would be a dead end except that there is a track that continues north to Kohaihai, and that is very definitely a dead end if you are traveling by powered conveyance. One of Unzud’s most famous walking tracks, the Heaphy, continues north and east of here. But I was quite happy getting to Karamea, because I could find accommodation and a pub there—neither of which is available in Kohaihai.
The road into Karamea. Photo: The Bear
The town reminded me of Cicely, in the TV seriesNorthern Exposure. Not because there was a cute bush pilot hanging around, but because of its remoteness and the idiosyncratic local radio station. It is a pleasantly relaxed kind of place with a pub that welcomes motorcyclists, a Domain (the unique and common community-run Kiwi campground), a motel and the Last Resort Café & Bar. That’s where I stayed, in a flash kind of hut with an ensuite. Good meals and draft beer, too, and exceptionally good value.
Gravel – or shingle – continues north, but there is little at the end. Photo: The Bear
Pleasant as Karamea is, though, it is the road that leads there from Westport to which it should owe its fame among motorcyclists. The 40 kilometers from Westport to the surf spot of Mokihinui pretty much just follow the coast, almost on the beach for some of the time. It’s still a nice ride because it is very open, which means you can see other traffic (spelled “highway patrol”) a long way away and can therefore ride without your eye constantly on the speedo. Not that I am suggesting any… unwise throttle activity. After that, for the 35 kilometres over Karamea Bluff and through the foothills of the Radiant Range to Little Wanganui, is about as much fun as could possibly be legally allowed. Corner after corner, up and down on generally excellent tar, through subtropical forest the road just begs to be ridden more than once. The last 20 kilometres are a little less exciting but still genuinely enjoyable.
I haven’t had that much fun since the last time the Wallabies beat the All Blacks.
(My thanks to te Waipounamu Motorcycle Tours & Rentals for lending me the Suzuki.)
