Not All Who Wander Are Lost

My initial plan had been to fly down to New Zealand September 1, then spend a week or so in Auckland to acclimate to the time change. Then I’d hitch a ride up to Cape Reinga, about-face, and start riding south. I have no idea how many days this ride will take me. I am a draft horse, not a racehorse, and bikepacking isn’t bike touring. It’s slow. I’m riding 2.6” tires—that’s 66mm to you metric sophisticates—and I’m shlepping 30+ pounds of gear. So, 1,800 miles? People do it in thirty days. I’m shooting for more like sixty.

OK, I’m not that slow. 30 miles a day is a sluggardly pace. But I’ll average that because of days off. After all, Hobbiton is on the way. So is Rivendell. So is Mt. Doom. So are a bunch of hot springs. And Mt. Tongariro, said to be NZ’s most beautiful hike and therefore one of the most beautiful on the planet. I am a drafthorse with a love for photography and all things Tolkien, plus I’m in not in a rush.

But then time got a little tighter. Wholly by accident, I learned that one critical leg of the ride doesn’t open until October 1. It’s called the Bridge to Nowhere, and the downhill is a doozy when it’s wet. The Department of Conservation won’t even let you attempt it in the winter. (Hence the October unlocking of the bridge.)

YOU SHALL NOT PASS!

But I’m not going to change my ticket now. I mean, that would be reasonable. I could swim in my pool another month, and September is Summer II in Ohio. (August is weirdly autumnal here.) No, I’m going to fly down there on schedule, having accidentally earned myself a month of wandering around like Aragorn in the wilds of the North Island. No hardship there.

Then I wondered, are there any other closures I should know about? So I called the DOC and asked. They told me the Tour Aotearoa officially opens October 22, and even that is months before most riders attempt it. The traditional start time is in January, the height of summer. Well, I certainly can’t wait until January, because that’s when that pesky job of mine taps me on the shoulder and says hey, you better show up and do some teaching again. So now I’ve got seven weeks to kill in NZ and seven fewer to ride the TA.

Again, no biggie. I never told you I was going to finish the route. I only said I’m going to attempt it. And seven weeks in one of the most beautiful countries on the planet is the bougiest problem ever. Plus, you know, Australia. It’s right next door. In fact, I was hoping to hop over there anyway because that’s my seventh continent. So instead of starting the TA in September, I’m now slated to hang out in Auckland for a week or so, logging a bunch of uninterrupted writing hours. Perfect. Then I figure I’ll pop over to Australia.

Which is really fucking far, by the way. 1,400 miles, 2,250km, whatever floats your boat. So I book my flight from Auckland to Hobart, and because this whole adventure was originally conceived as a bikepacking trip, I’ll head straight for the Tasmanian Trail. Originally it was a 289-mile horse trail bisecting—you guessed it—Tasmania. I’ve got seven weeks to kill, so why not? I’ll spend a couple on Tassie, then catch the ferry to Melbourne so I can set foot on continent number seven.

Ten seconds after clicking Confirm Purchase, I wonder, what’s the weather like in southern Tasmania in September?

See, if you’re going to ride the TA in the spring, there’s a really good reason to start as far north as you can get: it’s warmer. Tasmania, not so much. The next thing south of Tasmania is Antarctica. So what’s Tassie weather like in September? Wet. With snow in the high country. Does this route traverse the high country? Yes. For like a hundred miles or something. Are there rivers to ford? Yes, several. By summer they all have time to dry up, but I’m not going in summer. I’m going right when I’m not supposed to go, when they’re deep.

Which I’m okay with, because you know what else you get in Australia when it’s cold and wet? Sleepy snakes. Much better than wakeful snakes, since everything in Australia is built to kill you. Let those little bastards hibernate, and I’ll find a way across these rivers on my own.

Hm. Maybe I better write the DOC to see if Tasmanian snakes can swim.