If the first three days of our bike ride were like a carefree journey through the undulating plains of Hobbiton, the next one felt like tackling that mountain, Caradhras, where the hobbits were almost buried in snow and barely survived.
When we woke after our rest day in Naseby, it was 1° outside, tiny flakes of snow were falling, and the forecast predicted uninterrupted rain and sleet, with no rise in temperature.
The forecast was spot on, for the rain was indeed constant and the cold unrelenting during the whole ride. The gravel track swiftly became wet and soggy, so that our bicycle wheels splattered us with mud and water from below even while we were being pounded with rain from above.
Eight kilometres from our starting point at Ranfurly, we enjoyed a brief and heartening reprieve at Waipiata Hotel. By then, we were already uncomfortably wet, but it was toasty inside and we hung our gloves, shoes, hats and scarves by the roaring wood stove fire, which radiated heat on three sides. It was like a friendly furnace. While we waited for our things to dry, we ordered ourselves one each of the famous Waipiata pies, which are chock full of real chunks of tasty meat.
Fortified, we set off on the last 25 kilometres with renewed optimism. It was unfounded.
For the first two thirds of this stage, I diverted myself by listening to political podcasts and a German audiobook, but about eight kilometres from the end, I couldn’t even summon the energy to do that anymore. There was no respite from the rain; the surrounding hills were white with snow. The scenery was starkly beautiful, but I could no longer appreciate it. I began to count one for every fourth pedal stroke, then look at the odometer following each hundred. But there seemed to be so many hundreds.
While my chest and back were protected by my trusty little Rainbird raincoat over my puffer, my shoes had filled with icy water and my feet were freezing. Oddly enough, although my knitted gloves were soaked through, they still provided some protection from the cold.
The cruellest part was that, when we arrived at Hyde, I realised with a sinking heart that our accommodation was a full kilometre further on. I had been nursing my dying battery (which evidently drains faster in extremely cold weather) and it gave out completely with 300 metres to go. I didn’t care because I could see the sanctuary in the distance by then. The thought of warmth propelled me on. It was more powerful than mere electricity.
The blood vessels in our feet may have constricted to protect us from the cold, because in the heat of the shower, we both felt our feet prickle and go red, presumably as the blood vessels dilated again. (The earlier phenomenon may be called vaso-constriction, but I am happy to be corrected.)
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It took me a full hour after the shower to feel as though I was definitely going to survive. Somehow I doubt that I would be well suited to an Antarctic expedition.
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The next day, for our final stage, the rain had passed and the ground had largely dried out. So it was actually a lovely ride, though I felt slightly suspicious of the clouds and it did begin to drizzle in Middlemarch.
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As we surrendered our bikes to our kindly tour operators, another group of cyclists came in. “How did you cope with the weather yesterday?” they were asked. A woman in perfect wilderness clothing replied with a tinkling laugh that it was actually very beautiful and they had taken some wonderful photos.
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I looked at her with hatred. Taking photos during that last 25 km ride into Hyde had felt like an extreme sport. I had had to take off my sodden gloves, peer through my speckled glasses, try to operate my slimy phone screen with my numb hands, and point the thing in the right direction while the elements were blasting me from every angle.
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We discovered through probing questioning that the group had actually stayed at Waipiata, so they had missed that last 25 kilometres. Those weaklings in their fancy outfits—no wonder they were so nauseatingly cheerful and bumptious. Pah!
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Despite the Day 4 ordeal, the Rail Trail was memorable and delightful. We loved the little shops in remote villages, the cafes with “pizza scones” and other Kiwi inventions, the friendly hosts and drivers, the historic towns, and the sweeping landscapes. I could do it all again, as long as I could bleep over Day 4.
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Rosi ❄️
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NB Several other cyclists were “rescued” by tour operators during that fourth leg, so in retrospect we felt as though we did quite well to survive it with all our toes intact.
Essential Links
- Curling at Naseby: We had a great time, but realised, after about 4 ends, that this was a far more complicated and skilful sport than it had seemed at first.
- The Waipiata Pie Company: They even do vegan; they certainly do meat.
- Otago Central Rail Trail: The region, its history, and the details of the trail
- Big Sky Bike Adventures: Our highly recommended tour operator
