Giant Steps Are What You Take
I think the most remarkable thing about this trip is the way New Zealand has unfolded day by day in front of me. Each time I have travelled further south fresh wonders assail my eyes and most of the time I’m there just gaping at it, fully deserving the nickname I briefly earned at school, ‘Gormo’. Either that or I’m trying to take a picture of it as I cycle along, perhaps not the most sensible thing. The cycle down from Wanaka to Cromwell was a lesson in point: Wanaka stands at the northerly-most tip of Otago and also has the most northerly vines along the shores of the lake, a winery called Rippon. As you head down the Wanaka Road toward Lake Dunstan and Cromwell this amazing vista unfolds. It is as barren as the West Coast was verdant. As I said to Gareth King, the viticulturalist at Felton Road, some parts look like the surface of the moon. Slashing through these are vibrant green swathes of Elm and emerald Pine. The road itself was gentle but long, sloping downward for most parts with the occasional climb. Alongside you runs the Kawarau River, and the valley gradually opens up in front of you. Soon the river is cutting a meandering gorge there, like a mini-grand canyon and in front of you, in the distance you begin to see your first vineyards across the valley, cuts of white on the hillsides beyond. White because the grapes are shrouded in netting to protect them. I assume these were the vineyards of the Bendigo region of Otago, the more northerly part of the Cromwell basin and one of the hotter subregions. A bit further on I saw the sign for Central Otago itself and started seeing vineyards on either side of the road and I got a similar excitement to that first day in the South Island, cycling to Blenheim and into Marlborough. It gave renewed energy to tiring legs.
But yet again, despite the Kiwi’s predilection for road-side signs, as I flagged toward the end I had no idea how far I had left to go. This is despite the fact that every stream is named and marked (Sheep Skin Creek, 1 Mile Culvert, 2 Mile Culvert, Lui Lui Burn, even simply No. 4 Creek) and every bridge over said streams numbered (I’m somewhere up in the 9000s at the last) there are simply no distance signs betweens towns. So I read the one as I leave Wanaka: 53clicks. Ok I tell myself, that about 35miles, 3 hours in the saddle with a break for lunch. Except despite 2 towns being marked on the map, once I got past the first one, Luggate, there was nowhere to stop, no shops to buy drink or fuel so I was denied my planned break. This was further hampered by the fact my map, bought that first day in Picton, choose to go walkabout from my panniers at some point along the way. I came to a lake and seemed to see a town some distance away at the end, but I was bushed, so pulled up, ate some apples, drained the last of my water and did what I usually do in these situations: skimmed stones. I rested about half-an-hour before continuing but there wasn’t much left in the legs. I had been riding for 2-and-a-half hours so I estimated myself still some 10-15clicks shy of Cromwell, but vowed to camp the next opportunity. I passed more vineyards on my right, those of the Lowburn valley and eventually came to the town. Which was Cromwell. I had stopped for my apples some 2 or 3clicks short of my goal. It was a fist-in-the-air kind of moment, but I resisted the urge: even with the stop it was the longest bit of sustained riding I had managed this trip with backpack and panniers and despite the forgiving road I definately felt no small degree of personal triumph. James is the King. If I had the map I would have know this was Lake Dunstan the town was Cromwell and may well have continued on and done the whole bally lot in one go.
After camping I sampled some local Pinot Noir, ‘The Wooing Tree’ which is an estate on the shores of Lake Dunstand, right next to the town, and I passed it as I rode in. My notes say it is a wine to be despatched rather than savoured, the nose being of burnt jam, like the smell of an apple and blackberry crumble when you take it from the oven. I expect that from a Barossa shiraz, but not from the more subtle and complex Pinot, and I didn’t expect the wopping 14.5 degrees of alcohol. I little stewed I thought, but maybe it wasn’t the wines fault, but the storage. But I did buy it at a shop a stone’s throw away.
The next day I phoned up Gareth King and then rode the short hop (8clicks) to Bannockburn, turning right along the road the Estate is named for. Mt. Difficulty was the first up: I had tried some of their Riesling earlier in the trip and it was divine, but their Pinot’s commanded a huge price and were too rich for my blood. Hopefully I may get the opportunity to sample for free. On my left then came the Calvert vineyard of Felton Road, each row of vines ending in yellow roses. I stopped to take a photo. Then eventually I came the Felton Road itself, a beautiful couple of villas nestling in the heart of the Elms vineyard. I stopped to take a photo of heavy red grapes on my left. These turned out to be the Pinot Noirs of Felton’s famous Block 3. Yummy.
And then meeting with Gareth, the aforementioned viticulturalist. Very friendly, as they all are down here and we had a good general chat about cycling, grapes and the nature of beauty. Ok I made the last bit up but it was very exciting to be there. When I mentioned my taste for Riesling, he bought out the 2008 off-dry Riesling (the way to distinguish the two is Felton’s dry Riesling calls itself dry, the off-dry is simply labelled Riesling) and oh my god it was perfect. Like a finely balanced spatlese it had delicious sweet fruit matched with an amzing rasp of acidity, but the levels of complexity were much greater than other’s I had tried (Mt. Difficulty, Valli, Three Miners to name a few). I immediately labelled it the best of the trip. He then introduced me to the recently bottled 2008 Pinot Noir, which was young and bit green but showed immense promise, with a wonderful prune and fig finish. Then, the real treat, a sample of the 2007 Block 5 Pinot Noir, which was like raspberry velvet in a glass. Scrumptious.
There’s a real joy to tasting good wine. I love going to the big supplier tastings in London. After several hours yes your head may be slightly woozey despite all the spitting, but your palatte just sings, as your senses are stimulated by drop after drop of amazing wine. Hours after you can still taste echoes of them. And here again I felt my hand moving and twitching, in time with my mind flicking the pages of sensory reference books, looking for sympathetic flavours and smells. And to be there, with the viticulturalist drinking his wines, surrounded by those vines, after the journey I had just experienced of coming this far south, it felt like I had made it, it felt like home.
And then the next day I had to set off to Alexandra to get my work permit, down this amazing valley with a river-cum-lake called Clutha, thanks to the dam at Clyde. Alexandra was 35clicks away but I felt dog-tired. I made it easily enough but to my shame decided to take the bus back. I had a guilt dream last night where my sister told me I wasn’t riding anough, that I should be doing a 1000 miles a day. I gasped in indignation and tried to claim 100clicks a day was good, but knew I was lying and doing short of that. Anyway I digress. Instead I’ll give you some trivia: in Alexandra there is a Wool Shop, called ‘The Wool Shop’. In the window it has a sign: ‘Support Wool Farmers: Buy Wool’. I think this a great slogan and a wonderful marketing tool. I can see it now: ‘Help Support Crack Dealers: Buy Crack’. I like the directness. In my next shop I’m just gonna put a sign outside and say ‘Spend money here, the more the better’. The other thing is near my tent there is a bird that sounds like George Lucas recorded it and used it to voice R2-D2, or else Keyop from Battle of the Planets, with loads of discordant whistles, bleeps and clicks. Name please.
