Day 5: New Zealand’s wet, western coast

Of all my travel days, this one gave me the most heartburn. With over 300,000 km (186,000 miles) of seat time on two wheels, I can count on one hand the amount of times I’ve ridden in the rain. California makes it too easy to find sunny days, so why ride when it’s raining? It’s not a skill I’ve practiced during my riding career. I spent a lot of yesterday looking over web pages and YouTube videos about wet weather riding. All the major weather bureaus pointed in the same direction: rain. Ugh.

This morning, I looked out the window– it was overcast, but the roads were dry. In the electric vehicle community, there is a saying, “Always follow your ABCs: always be charging.“ I will slightly adapt this ride – always be riding when it’s not raining. I was on the road efficiently after breakfast. The kickstand was up just before 9 AM. After a few moments of getting out of town, I can see the sun– that big ball of yellow in the blue sky far off in the distance. Wholly shift! Maybe the rain gods don’t have it out for me, lol!

Today’s ride continued the northern trajectory of the island. Rather than take the Gorge Highway, I’m crossing the Crown Range. My friend noted that this way is fewer miles than the canyon, but the Gorge Highway flows significantly faster. He wasn’t wrong. Crown Range Road is a nice technical workout over the highest sealed road in New Zealand. I still can’t grok how low the passes are here. I’m so used to going up to 10,000 feet – fully expecting some winter operations as there are significant glaciers here. Crown Range Road tops out at XXX feet – but the turns are a great workout just after breakfast.

The backside of Crown Range Road is a notch less technical as it snakes its way across a more expansive valley between ridges. The tour operator suggested I stop at the Cardrona Hotel. If you blink, you might miss it. While somewhat plain looking at the front, The grounds in the back are wonderfully manicured and a lovely place for a coffee on a morning ride (or Coke Zero for this guy). I ran into eight locals for a day ride on the way out. One of them was on a V-Strom. I noted he had a great bike. I remarked that all he had to do was do the essential maintenance to get 200,000 km out of that bike. He asked, “You got how many kilometers out of that motorcycle?” We all laughed at the moment. The female rider of the group asked me to take a photo of their cadre, and I certainly obliged. She then did the same for me, and we headed our separate ways.

Road construction is generally good here, but the Kiwis often leave gravel on the road longer than most street motorcyclists might like. I can often hear the clink, clink, clink gravel flinging from the road all over the motorcycle.

Pushing further into the lakes region, I see a sign of “increased motorcycle crashes next 20 km.” I’m learning that New Zealanders have a straightforward culture, unlike us Americans. As I pass that sign, I can see clouds brewing in the direction I’m steering. I will get wet at some point. It’s just a matter of when. Can I hold off in the motorcycle crash zone, please?

On Monday, when Graham showed me around the town, I fell in love with Wānaka. The town and its lake reminded me much of Lake Tahoe’s deep blue waters across the shoreline. Coming back here, all of the same emotions came flooding back. There’s something about an adventure mountain town that checks boxes for me.

I made one last stop at the lake and saw a German couple I’d been trading parking spaces with for most of today’s ride. I noticed he had an SLR camera, and I wanted to take advantage of the fact that he could probably actually take a picture. He agreed to snap a quick photo, for which I am thankful, as it’s surprisingly hard to get a good picture of yourself out on the road.

I linger too long in these mountain towns, and sometimes, the day gets away from me. This is one of those days. I must get over Haast Pass and start riding up the coast earnestly. The anticipation is building as I’m starting to get sprinkles knocking on my helmet. The sky is darkening, and I know the wet weather will eventually get me. Now the question is—how much?

By the time I reached the top of the pass, the change in foliage was significant. The eastern side of New Zealand’s South Island is relatively arid, whereas the western side is rainforest. The foliage was so thick at the top of the pass you could see plants growing on plants. The moss blanketing the trees was the real deal!

Descending Haast Pass is where the skies started to talk to me. It was raining in earnest – and I could do nothing about it. This was the moment of the ride that was wet. Continuing down the mountain, I began to think rain isn’t a monolith. In California, the weather generally comes and sits. If it’s raining for one day, it will likely rain for three. It never rains enough to clean the pavement, making it slippery. But here, there’s all kinds of rain—gentle, heavy, sideways, warm, cold, and even sprinkles. Whatever happens, today doesn’t always have to be the worst-case scenario.

I wondered why riding in the rain bothered me so much. Was it just that it was unfamiliar? Was it that I was going to get cold? Was it that my shield and helmet might fog up? Was it the fear of losing traction on the pavement? Tire technology is outstanding, and the tires are way better riders than I would ever be. Millions of people ride motorcycles billions of miles in the rain to just fine. What is bothering me so much about this?

When I got to Haast, I was ready for lunch at 3:30. I instantly felt at home When I walked into the Antler Café. New Zealand is the land of venison, and the Antler Café has everything except deer fur. Antlers have adorned the walls and rafters from previous kills with a bit of a bush vibe in the restaurant. Of course, I ordered the venison burger, which was perfectly cooked on receipt. None of the common gripes about venison showed up here. The burger was well cooked, wasn’t dry, not overly gamey, and completely flavorful.

Sometimes, on these long motorcycle trips, I face hard truths. The one that showed up today somehow in this restaurant –how I talk to myself matters. I kept tearing myself down about the rain. I wasn’t skilled enough. What if something terrible happened? What if I found out I wasn’t good enough? The mental games were worse than the actual reality– I got wet.

But the bigger reality is I’m winning. I’m halfway around the world doing a motorcycle ride I’ve dreamed of for 10 years in one of the most beautiful places on the planet. Take the win, dammit, Dan. You’re winning; don’t let your inner critic take that away from you.

The tour guide also suggested doing the Blue Lakes hike. I could handle a 20-minute hike with motorcycle gear. Upon arrival in the parking lot, I heard people saying that the bridge to the lakes was closed, but there was an advanced way to get there. Given that I was in full motorcycle gear, in a foreign country, crossing swollen rivers with the rain – the Blue Lakes didn’t seem to be in my cards this trip. They look beautiful in pictures but likely will not be crystal clear on such a rainy day.

New Zealand has a plethora of “one lane bridges” – something I’ve not seen in the States or in Australia. The idea is that one direction of the road yields to the other, saving NZ Transport the cost of building a second lane of bridge. Take this bridge – you can see that the left arrow is smaller meaning I’ve got to yield to traffic coming the other direction.

Sometimes the bridges are so long they have turnouts in the bridges. How these bridges work is something I’m glad the tour guide went over as I would have completely missed how this worked.

I didn’t know what to expect as Highway Six turned north to become the coast road. I thought it might hug the shoreline, much like California’s Highway One, but I only saw the ocean three times during a two-hour ride. It was vital for me to stand on the beach. I wanted to face the sea and take in that moment.

It wasn’t until I got to Bruce Bay that I fully experienced the ocean. I parked the bike and walked out onto the beach. In true New Zealand fashion, the beach showed some of its volcanic heritage with white and black sands intermixed. The ocean was brewing because of the storms in the area. What impressed me was the driftwood string about the beach – unlike I have seen in the United States, as I learned on Monday, the Tasman Sea is one of the roughest bodies of water. Today’s walk on the beach didn’t discredit that. Rip currents are real on New Zealand‘s western shore, so I don’t dare brave the ocean alone.

As the beach highway wandered north, it became the Glacier Highway. With the wet weather and heavy clouds cover, seeing the glaciers, this trip was impossible. The town of Fox Glacier had all the makings of an alpine adventure sports town. Helicopter and plane tours were a dime a dozen along the strip.

I was staying in Franz Joseph, the next town North. It was a wet, technical 20 kilometers between these two towns, and the 6 o’clock hour brought a temperature in the mid-50s. I was getting cold. I wasn’t cold enough to get all the heated gear out, but I knew it was time to get my kickstand down at the hotel. Slow and steady won that ride. Somewhat damp and somewhat wet, I pulled into the hotel, accomplished for the day.

Another rider on a BMW GS 1200 pulled up as I left the registration desk. He and I started chatting, and he quickly asked if I was an American. “Why yes?” I thought, thinking, “Am I that obvious?” Yes, it’s that obvious. For one, I don’t have an accent. He was from the Southeast, wandering around on a digital nomad visa and spending many months in New Zealand. It’s definitely something to look into.

Then, right as I finished my walk to dinner, the heavens opened up, and Noah sailed by. I’m glad I was checked in before putting the motorcycle on a boat!