The Rider of Rohan [29th Dec 06]

My first task of the day was to find the Quartzville 4x4 track which links back onto the Nevis Rd. Extending out of Bannockburn, south of Cromwell for just over 25kms, it proved the hardest, most gruelling track I have ridden.


A brilliant challenge, I stood on the pegs for the whole ascent, allowing extra flexibility and weight shifting as the heavy Honda was constantly made to pick its way through large ruts and up over rocks protruding the hard pack dry mud. Huge lumps of quartz littered the innumerable outcroppings of rock.


I was joined by two local riders on nimble motorcross bikes. We stopped for a few pictures and a chat about riding. On discussing how some bike riders disrespect horse riders by not slowing down and giving too little space, one of the fellows quite seriously remarked “It’s not that they’re ignorant, they just lack knowledge.” Well said.

I let them zoom on and soaked in the view before proceeding to the Hawksburn descent into Alexandra and then out to Galloway and into the Moa Creek area. The ride into Rohan would be via the Old Dunstan Rd by the Poolburn Reservoir, whose surrounding plains and hills were used as LOTR locations for the Rohirrim Village and the massive battle on the Plains of Rohan. It was only 4pm but the weather turned wet fast, so I stopped at a the Poolburn hotel for shelter and a coffee.

The barman/owner was Larry, who had just opened for the evening. Being 5km from the nearest dwelling, with no main road to bring regular passing trade, I was the only person in the bar. We talked for a few moments and I asked Larry how business was going. I rather suspect he detected my unintended tone of scepticism. He smiled tentatively with circumspect raised eyebrows whereupon he explained about being a school teacher in Alexandra who is taking a foray into a second trade.

This is typical of the current economic climate and of Kiwi initiative which shows the business ingenuity and bravery I admire. I am hoping it will rub off on me. A significant proportion of Kiwis have a sideline business. I’ve seen a few that will surely end up in the 2 out of 3 small businesses that fail. However, there is no stigma attached to the failure, just congratulations for giving something a go. The American dream might be to go from nothing to vast riches with as much gusto as possible; the Kiwi dream is simply to moderately succeed. Which somehow speaks of the modest hardworking ethos of the country.

Ironically, the anticipated trickle of local customers turned into a torrent with the arrival of 2 minibus loads of stag day revellers.
At half past four in the afternoon they were already in the advanced stages of inebriation. Drinking challenges ensued for the selected members, all dressed in aviator shades and tight trousers. I spent the next two hours keeping my head down, whilst the revellers ‘skulled’ drinks in the designated style (Gazelle- left hand only. Wilderbeest: both hands together. Penalties incurred for drinking out of fashion). I just wanted a quiet coffee until the rain abated. Then the stag’s task for this leg of the tour was issued. “Wearing the cunning camouflage provided, infiltrate the neighbouring field and capture a sheep.”

Needless to say, the wolf in sheep’s clothing had no chance.

They soon departed, leaving a number of unfinished jugs of beer and the faint impression of there having been a riot in the bar. I finished the crossword, ‘skulled’ my coffee and headed to Rohan. The sky had brightened. The southerly wind, fresh off the Antarctic, made the ride through the Rohirrim road more of an endurance exercise than anticipated.

The scenery was great, despite the overcast sky. Rolling hills with an enormous amount of outcroppings of the most fascinating rock formations. I made it through to the otherside with no problems. I was assured that I could find lodging in Paerau, but after searching for what turned out to be an invisible village, I headed up to Ranfurly, low on fuel, freezing cold and concerned I might not find a solution to either of these problems before dark.

The backpackers was full. I could get self-service fuel but it was getting too late to expect to reach the next town and find any accommodation still open. Fortunately the backpackers manager phoned around to find the last remaining room in the Lion Hotel. I got a twin room en-suite for half price, plus they opened up the kitchen for a round of toasted ‘sammies’ (sarnies). The place was very Fawlty Towers but I wasn’t complaining.