MotoNZ 2025 is now in full swing, and what a ride it has been. This morning, as I pulled open the hotel room shades, I was met with the same jaw-dropping view that had left me in awe the night before. If the lodging the rest of the trip was in the ballpark of this place, it would be fantastic! I still can’t get over the grandeur of Mount Cook. No matter which angle you view it from, it commands the landscape like a king watching over his domain.
I’m getting used to the standard New Zealand Breakfast – eggs, meat (the bacon is different in ways that I can’t describe other than it’s thicker and softer than we often serve in the US. An mmmm the New Zealanders know how to fry potatoes.
Mount Cook marks the end of New Zealand’s Highway 80—a 50-kilometer road in, and the same distance back out. A random tidbit about me? I have an odd connection to the number 80. Interstate 80 stretches across the United States, and I happen to live near its western terminus. During my cross-country ride, I found myself at the far eastern end of the historic U.S. Highway 80, a road that once ran from San Diego, California, to Tybee Island, Georgia. And now, here I am, at the farthest reach of New Zealand’s Highway 80. I don’t have any goal to seek out highways with the number 80 actively, but I find the serendipity curious.
Flipping through the ride outfitter’s maps before the trip, I spotted a stunning photo of Mount Cook. I had a hunch I passed by the very spot on my way in yesterday, but time was short so, I flagged it in my mind as a place to stop today. The picture in the literature was too small—I wanted my own high-resolution shot to take home. The Lake Pukaki Lookout, about a third of the way in from Highway 8, promised the perfect vantage point. If the view was anything like today’s, it would be worth every second of the stop.
Today’s ride was set to carve its way along some of New Zealand’s major state highways—8, 6, and 94. This isn’t California. Major state highways have light traffic, nice views, and lovely high speed sweepers. As I cruised down Highway 8, a BMW S1000RR suddenly appeared in my mirrors. I passed him. He passed me. The game of leapfrog continued for several kilometers until, with a quick wave, he gestured for me to follow. I took the bait. What followed was pure riding bliss—leaning into curves, feeling the road disappear beneath me, and keeping pace with someone who clearly knew these roads (and where the police might be hiding) like the back of his hand. Eventually, he led me into a local coffee shop in Omarama called The Wrinkly Rams When I walked up to introduce myself, he grinned and invited me to join him and his wife for coffee. A few minutes later, I returned the favor and bought him a cup. As we chatted, he raved about the local meat pies—so, naturally, I had to try one. In the end, I bought three, one for each of us.
One thing I’ve learned from traveling is that sometimes the world meets you where you are, and other times, you meet the world where it is. Today, I was more than happy to put down the price of a coffee and a pie as a ticket to whatever adventure lay ahead. It turned out my new motorcycle friend was a tour guide himself. He’d ridden across New Zealand (of course), a good chunk of North America, and much of Europe. He and his wife were fantastic company, and we covered everything from the best riding routes to the quirks of New Zealand politics—because let’s be real, no matter where you go, politics always finds its way into conversation.
Then came the unexpected invitation. “Come over to our place,” they said. And just like that, I was following them, GPS forgotten, simply riding wherever the road led.
The journey took us through Lindis Pass, a stretch of Highway 8 that connects the Otago and Canterbury regions. Though the pass itself sits at a relatively modest 3,200 feet, the towering peaks surrounding it create a striking contrast. We wound through stunning alpine landscapes, and before I knew it, we had reached Wānaka—a place that instantly gave me the feeling of I could live here. The crisp mountain air, the scent of pine, and the golden sunlight filtering through—it all reminded me of the Sierras back home.
We stopped at the shores of Lake Wānaka for a quick photo, its deep blue waters shimmering in the afternoon light. From there, it was back to their place for another round of coffee and tea. As we sat and talked, they joked, “We’re moving—anyone want to buy our house?” For a split second, my heart skipped. I laughed it off, but the thought lingered. With a technical background, I could move here. The question was… was this just the thrill of vacation talking, or something deeper? Either way, it was an afternoon well spent, and a coffee and pie well invested.
Then reality hit. I glanced at my watch—3 p.m. Time to get moving. Te Anau wasn’t getting any closer. It wasn’t until I climbed back onto my bike and fired up the GPS that I realized just how much talking I’d done today—nearly 300 kilometers was still ahead of me. There were two choices: take the Crown Range for a more technical, twisty ride or stick to the planned route through the Kawarau Gorge for easier miles. I opted for the gorge—more distance, but faster.
As the day stretched on, I rolled through Queenstown, careful not to get caught in its dinner-hour chaos. The road along Lake Wakatipu was mesmerizing, a journey I chose to keep as a memory rather than stopping for more photos. As dusk approached, I fueled up in Kingston and realized a hard truth—Te Anau wasn’t exactly overflowing with late-night dining options. I needed to eat here. The only available meal? A gas station chicken burger. Let’s just say… I’ve had better.
Dinner was a chicken burger, which amounted to a really big chicken nugget, coleslaw with a sweet sauce, a lot of mayonnaise, a big bun, and plenty of fries. They didn’t have anything sugar-free other than a giant jug of Gatorade Zero. This time, I’m really striking out on food. It was definitely editable, but barely. I’ve got to start getting in earlier so that dinner options are more plentiful. New Zealanders do roll up the sidewalks earlier than I’m used to. This is a very hard learning for me as I love riding the sunset hours.
Kingston sits at the southern border of Otago. With a quick flip of the throttle, I am now in Southland – the most southern state of New Zealand. It is home to the majestic Fiordland National Park, steep mountainsides, rolling hills, and wide open fields. In my mind, Southland is frontier-like. I love finding my way to “end of the earth places.” Tomorrow’s destination is Milford Sound – the self-proclaimed eighth wonder of the world.
With a quick throttle twist, I crossed into Southland, New Zealand’s southernmost region, home to Fiordland National Park. It’s the kind of place that feels like the edge of the world—rugged, untamed, and breathtakingly vast. Tomorrow, I’d be heading to Milford Sound, a place many call the eighth wonder of the world. It wasn’t originally part of my itinerary, but after seeing it in the ride outfitter’s guide, I knew I had to make it happen. Getting to Milford Sound placed a mileage tax on the rest of the days. It wasn’t originally in the plan, but it looked so fantastic in the literature that I wanted to push the ride outfitter to find a way to get there.
About 50 km into the final stretch, I realized my GPS’s maps were out of date. The signs on the side of the road point towards Highway 97, whereas the GPS keeps telling me to stay on Highway Six to meet Highway 94. It’s a small detail that definitely threw me off course for a bit. Google Maps confirmed 97 was the right direction and even saved me about 10 km!
I rolled into Te Anau at about 8:30 p.m. It was a bigger city than I had expected, with multiple restaurants still serving what I assume is a heavy tourist crowd. Other than Queenstown, Te Anau was the last city to find lodging (or anything) before Milford Sound. Adventure runs deep in the blood here with many outfitters offering helicopter and small plane rides over Fiordland National Park.
The ride outfitter was very particular that I be on the road no later than 7:45 a.m. tomorrow morning to catch the ferry at 10:45 a.m. He noted that other travelers had missed the boat. I want to heed his warning and be on the road by seven as I know I like to stop and photograph things in the morning light. Oh, wait, me :-)?
Tomorrow, the road to Milford Sound awaits.
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