Back To Big Walking

Monday morning we thought we would have an easy day, after two very hard ones. We hopped on the bikes and rode from Ranfurly to Wedderburn, which is getting near to the highest point on the Rail Trail, before it descends all the way to Clyde.

Bit of a wind against, and a slight climb almost all the way to Wedderburn (13 kms). So it was going to be very easy coming back, and only 26 kms in total. We remembered the hotelier at Wedderburn not being the most welcoming, but we were prepared for him this time. A waste of good preparation because we arrived at 10 am and the place was not open until 11. No cup of tea then. A bit surprising that he was not putting himself out to open for early riders – the Rail Trail has been a huge boon for businesses along the way, but presumably only those that open their doors. The trail opened in 2000 and now hundreds of people cycle it every week. The average age is mid-50s, and the average spend (accommodation, food, drink, bike hire, souvenirs) is $100 per day - “Recession? What recession?” is the cry round here.

Cycling back was not as easy as we expected. The wind seemed to have reversed direction and strengthened. A bit of a work-out, but being downhill and only 13 kms, nothing like so arduous as Sunday or especially Saturday.

We had already checked out of the cabin, but had left the car there. We loaded the bikes onto the rack, had a drink at a cafe in the “art deco” township of Ranfurly, then drove to Alexandra. Here we shall be doing alternate days of cycling and walking. I don't think we shall bother going back to Wedderburn to ensure we cover every inch of the Rail Trail. We have done that before. Also, in the past 3 days, with doing several sections twice, back and forth, we have already cycled 140 kms on a trail of which the total length is 152 kms.

We have also walked some of it this morning. We covered the same 26 kms circuit I was doing, every day for two weeks, at the end of February. They have had another go at the kilometre posts along the river bank and seem to have got it right at the third attempt.

Vic's Little Bike Ride

House Arrest

What do you do next, if you have had the book thrown at you in hospital, with no end result? If you have been told that, if it happens again, you should go to the nearest hospital pretty damn quick? In other words, you should not go to any remote areas. And you should probably rest.

You should probably not do what we had planned, which is to cycle the 150 kms Central Otago Rail Trail in 3 sections. For each section, Gay or myself would drive the car, with one bike, to one end of the section and cycle back to where the other one had started. We would cross in the middle, and cyclist number two would then bring hir bike back, with the car, to the start point.
Gay pointed out that, as I am under medical “house arrest”, it is not advisable for me to go off on my own cycling in remote countryside for 5 hours at a time, in an area where cell phones frequently do not work. My jailer and I would have to cycle together.

So having spent the few days since Tuesday's trauma walking cautiously around Christchurch, we drove to Ranfurly on Friday. Quite a long drive, but we saw little of the threatened rain. Weather forecasting is just as much of an inexact science in New Zealand as it is in the rest of the world, but I have never been to another place where the forecast is spread out, in dribs and drabs, over the full hour of the evening news. The first teaser comes before the news headlines, then the forecaster pops up a couple of times during the program to talk interminably and boringly about what has happened, weather-wise, in the country during the day (but never comparing this with what was often a completely inaccurate forecast given the previous evening. Near the very end of the program, the forecaster is droning on again, giving extremely brief next-day forecasts for the various regions, then wandering off to talk about Australia, then the Pacific Islands, before returning, when you are well hypnotised, asleep or even brain-dead, to give a snapshot of the following few days in New Zealand. The most boring and time-wasting weather forecasts I have ever seen. I used to be involved in weather forecasting myself, in a small way, and I even have an award from the Director General of the Meteorological Office. If this lot have any awards, they should send them back immediately. Rant, rant.

But back to Ranfurly. On Saturday morning we cycled on the Rail Trail to Hyde, 32 kms of spectacular scenery, mostly downhill. A quick nibble and coffee there and we made the return journey. However, just before we got to Hyde, the very strong westerly wind arrived, the wind which had been forecast for the south coast. This was directly against us for the whole return trip, which was like cycling vertically up a wall. It took us half as long again, and them some, as the trip out. I didn't know house arrest could be so arduous. I was, as Terry Wogan would say, absolutely banjaxed.

This morning we were going to drive to Hyde and cycle to Middlemarch, which is at one end of the trail – the rail line is still in use from Middlemarch to Dunedin. The westerly wind was still with us, although not quite as strong, so we wisely decided to do the hard bit first. We drove to Middlemarch, cycled uphill and against the wind to Hyde, which was very hard work. Then, again after refreshments, we turned round and whizzed along with the wind behind us. Splendid.
The second round trip was 54 kms, so for the two days we have done 118 kms. The whole Rail Trail is 152 kms, which most people do in 3 days, although many take 6 days, with their bags being moved on for them, refreshments provided along the way. So our way is not quite taking it easy, which I think is what I am supposed to be doing at the moment. I suppose we could say that, the CT scan and everything else not having found a medical culprit, I am adding some stress tests. So far, everything seems to be in working order.

Through The Stargate

Well, Tuesday was a funny day. The training plan was, first, a walk into Christchurch centre for various errands and tasks, followed by some strenuous walking round the immense Hagley Park. This could have added up to a good 20 kms for the day.

That was the plan. The reality was that your bemused correspondent spent most of the day in hospital. The above is a picture of him undergoing today's portion of the training for VBW.

What a trip this is turning out to be, medically. For the first time since our mid-January arrival in New Zealand, we both seem to be free of coughs, colds and 'flu. In a couple of days we are supposed to be heading down to the south of South Island to conquer the Rail Trail again on our bikes and also do some strenuous walking to the tune of 30 or more kilometres per day.

Instead, we popped over the road from the Annabelle Motel, to the Ground Floor Cafe, where I had, once again, one of their world-beating date scones and a latte for breakfast. We returned to the motel for a few minutes before heading into the town centre. We were talking to Jo, who together with her husband Tracey, run the motel, just outside our door. I walked through the door and – whammo! - a startling pain in the area of my right kidney. Thinking this would go away, we walked across Hagley Park in the direction of the town centre, which, as it turns out, is fortunately also in the direction of the hospital. As we walked across the park the pain became so excruciating that I wondered whether I would make it to the other gate, and became convinced that the hospital was a better destination – if I could make it.

As I walked into the hospital the pain disappeared. I then spent all day being prodded and poked, giving blood samples, having my blood pressure, urine and pulse tested, having my blood sugar tested, and eventually having an X-Ray and CT scan (this was just like going through the Stargate) of my abdomen (the latter confirming what a doctor told me some time ago, that my liver and intestines are in the wrong place).

Although I went through the Stargate, I did not arrive in a different galaxy; neither did the doctors arrive at a conclusion. The outcome was bafflement on behalf of all parties about what had happened. Microscopic blood in my urine and various other indications that I may have had a kidney stone or possibly an attack of pancreatitis. I was given the option of staying in overnight so that the surgeons (this sounded very ominous!) could further observe me, or be released with strict instructions to get back to a hospital pretty damn quick if anything like this happened again. I took the latter option.

Murder Scene

Bit of a funny exercise weekend. As I said, we are concentrating on cycling at the moment. It's good for the body to have a change but to keep exercising; also we need to become somewhat accustomed to life in the saddle before we make the sudden onslaught on the Central Otago Rail Trail next weekend.

Friday we went for our usual walk into Oxford for internetting at the library, a coffee, and back. That is exactly 5 kms. The plan for the afternoon was to cycle the “back” road to Cust , including a coffee (do you spot a theme here) at the cafe and amazing Emporium there. This ride is about 45 kms, including a very loose gravel road to be covered twice, some hills, and some long, flat, straight roads which will probably be produced in evidence by some crackpot writing a book to prove the Romans were here before the Maori or the Chinese. I also planned to do another 5 kms walk after the bike ride.

Everything went a bit awry on the return leg from Cust. My back tyre received several punctures in an area where, a couple of days before, we had seen a farmer cutting his thorn hedges. At this stage we were about 15 or 16 kms from base. I decided to walk on while Gay cycled “home” to Oxford to retrieve the car and then retrieve me and the bike. I avoided the gravel road and continued down the long, straight German Road (it's called that to confuse us about the Romans). During the 70 minutes I was walking, only four cars passed me. Excellent setting for an uninterrupted murder.

Having been rescued by Gay. I mended one puncture, then another, then another. There was still air coming from the inner tube so I fitted a new tube and consigned the old one to other duties (they are excellent for holding bikes onto car cycle racks). I didn't go for the planned second walk for obvious reasons.

Saturday was cold and wet so we contented ourselves with a walk into town and back.

Sunday the wind had turned to southerly, which has the effect in New Zealand of opening the freezer door. That and laziness combined to restrict us to the morning walk and a wallow with the weekend papers.

No Sweat - 100% Inspiration

Every now and then I hear about somebody undertaking – whether they succeed or not is irrelevant – something which makes my own challenge seem insignificant. Rosie Swale Pope's run around the world, which I mentioned a few months ago, was one such thing.

Less often, I actually meet somebody who has set hirself such a target, or who has achieved it. A few years ago, we met a man, who called himself The Blindstone Cowboy, who was busking outside the library in Takaka. As his name suggests, he is totally blind and yet, in addition to playing the guitar and singing country songs (and this was nowhere near his home in the Buller Gorge so there was obviously a transport achievement in there somewhere as well), he told us of his recent adventure. He had walked the length of New Zealand, on the verges of State Highway One, and other busy roads (something regular readers of this blog will realise I am trying to avoid wherever possible, and I am fully sighted) with only a dog,a packhorse and a guitar for company. He told us there was a book about this, but we have failed to find it.

Last week in Hanmer we met Mark Inglis, whose story is really inspirational. Just one fact will knock your socks off. Mark has stood on the summit of Mount Everest, and yet both his legs are amputated below the knee. The Everest triumph came after he lost his legs as a result of being trapped in bad weather near the summit of Aoraki Mount Cook (nearly 4000 metres) for a week.

Since his double amputation Mark has also:

Been a research scientist
Made medal-winning wines
Won a silver medal cycling at the Sydney Paralympic Games
Stepped onto the summit of Mount Cook again.
Passed his pilot's licence
Become an author and motivational speaker.

He says the key to all his successes is Challenge – always setting yourself new goals.
He also, on the evidence of our limited acquaintance, seems to be a very pleasant person, unlike some others I have met, who, as the result of life “dealing them another blow”, have become very bitter instead of moving on to what can be done.

I show here the cover of one of Mark's books, which are published only in New Zealand. This is a great shame, because his story would be an inspiration to people anywhere. His writing style is informative and humorous. The books should be published in UK, Europe and USA, but they are not, as yet. A saving grace is that they are available on Amazon. Just search under the name Mark Inglis.

Suddenly In The Saddle

We are majoring on cycling this week in Oxford, because we hope to be cycling the Central Otago Rail Trail (150 kms of spectacular scenery) again next week. So we are averaging 10 kms a day walking. We have not been on our bikes since last September or so; no doubt that is the reason that our first ride, yesterday, of 45 kms, was such hard work. Maybe we should have started with a ride which was a little flatter. This morning we did an extremely undulating 20 kms, which was quite enough.

We are meeting Robyn and John Davies for a spot of lunch at Cafe 51, the best cafe/restaurant in Oxford (much better than the hyped Seagars, which gets its publicity because it is owned by Jo Seagar, a NZ "celebrity" chef, but which is sadly lacking, especially in the area of service). After lunch we shall be going for a stroll with R&J. We "did" the Rail Trail with them last year. Today's effort started out as a plan to climb Mt. Oxford together, but has gradually come down to a slow walk and a plea to us to do something more strenuous this morning. Which we have duly done.