Worst case scenario.

The light was fading fast. I was still some way from the first river. Then as I rounded a curve in the rough rutted track I saw them blocking the path and hit my brakes. It felt too close for comfort. At least 5 heiffers with calves were guarded by at least 3 bulls. The herd had become alarmed by the engine noise and were moving away down the track as the horned males stood their ground. Their snort noises put fear into me like I have never known. My mind raced. I killed the engine and put the bike on the sidestand. Instinctively I looked around for a defensive place to run if necessary. I might only have a few seconds. The surrounding rocks were high enough but the brush surrounding them might hinder my egress. I got off the bike and moved behind it. It was clear to me that if I was perceived as a threat to the young calves then I could expect a charge. I looked again at that high rock.

I went into contingency planning mode. If they stayed on the track, then I would be stuck. I dared not approach them. My worse case scenario of having to stay out on the hillside was turning into a new worse case scenario of being gored by a bull and having to walk out too injured to ride.

I recalled the brief conversation with Jeep man five hours earlier as I was looking out over Queenstown from a lookout point on the Cardrona Valley road. The interesting route he recommended was about to escalate into an overnight survival exercise. The Jeep man was sponsored by Chrysler and turned out to be their off road expert, employed to train people to use a jeep properly. He assured me that the Coal Pit Road was a good ride. The locked gate 11km into the route could be got around and then the road links to the Nevis Rd. I’d been there already. It sounded as good a ride as any. I hardly expected to be cornered by bulls and contemplating sleeping rough.

It all started when I decided to cross the river. The first 11 km was easy. The river looked easy to cross. I walked through it to check the riverbed surface and then wandered to the gate. It was indeed locked. The only way around would be to ford the river lower down. The water was a little deeper but I had done worse.

I walked through the water at the lower crossing. The current was quick. The entry was a little steep. There was a bit of shale but not too much. If I reduced the weight of the bike by removing the luggage I’d probably be okay. I thought it through many times. Would it be worth crossing just to find another locked gate where it meets the Nevis Rd? Should I be crossing into that land at all? Jeep man sounded like he knew what he was talking about. It’s not far to the Nevis Rd from here. My map doesn’t show any more of the track but I can’t possibly get lost, can I? A hint of regret at not knowing what was beyond suddenly tipped the balance of reasoning. “I’ll do it.” I said out loud.

I was hot from walking around checking the river. I had drunk half of my water bottle. But I knew it wasn’t far to the Nevis Rd and I could get back to the highway soon. Worse case scenario: I’d be thirsty for an hour or two. Don’t want to drink the river water even though it is crystal clear. I went for a dip in my pants to cool off. Very liberating and very cold. I removed a few larger rocks from the river bed and before dressing, I carried the luggage over and returned to dry and change back into leather trousers, boots and the helmet.

I lined the bike up with the route through the water that I had cleared. It sailed through until the front was in the shallows about 2 feet from the opposite edge. The rear wheel began to dig in. The front sank and wedged by a big rock. I was off course and buried to my sprockets.

I got off, holding it with one hand as I bent down and scooped shale from around the wheel. I tried placing rocks underneath. I tried putting the side stand down and using it as a pivot. Eventually I dragged it clear and revved it out, walking by the side. After 12 minutes of wrestling, I was out.

I hoped that the route would lead quickly to the Nevis Rd. I didn’t want to do that again. I don’t wear a watch and my phone was dead, so I had no idea of the time. I later looked at the time code on my photos. It was in fact 5:45pm.

The track went up to the peak of the valley, rougher, muddier than before. Off road cars had made huge ruts 2 feet deep in places. My route through these was treacherous. Numerous times I got caught out, the front wheel falling into a rut as I was trying to pass over the mound. Mostly I would follow the rut and waddle through it. This kind if riding works up a sweat. I had one mouthful of water left.

I came across a small river and a bridge which was sturdy but had a sign BRIDGE CLOSED TO ALL VEHICLES. It crossed into mud and tyre tracks. I went on. I found two disused farm buildings on the other side. No water supply. I was now heading other side of another valley. This must be the top which leads to the Nevis Rd. From the summit, I could see the state highway and the very obvious bend which told me my approximate position. Which river of the three rivers I had just crossed I was not sure, but the track seemed to go down and away to the highway. I followed it and it split a couple of times. Some routes were too steep to try and there was no telling what was at the bottom. I took the ones which went gently round the hill. Worse case scenario: I would have to turn round, but I would just see where this route went. I had plenty of fuel.

After some pretty steep, loose rocky descents, I came across another river at the bottom of the route which was now winding away from the highway and up towards an electricity station of some sort. It could easily lead nowhere. The river here was deeper than before and I was almost certainly likely to get stuck in the shale again. It was time to abort. There was not a lot of time left. I wouldn’t want to have to make my way out in the dark. It was now a race against time.

I finished the last dribble of water. I was still gasping. I had no choice but to fill my bottle from the river. It was beautifully clear. I drank deeply and then refilled the bottle. If it made me ill, I’d deal with it when that happened.

I turned the bike, retracing my steps and looking for my tyre tread I made on the way. The steep bits were hard going back. I was rushing, making mistakes, going too fast for the surface. I had to beat the dusk. The ruts would make it too dangerous to ride in the dark. If I crashed the bike I would have to walk at least 25km back to the road. I began thinking through the contingency of staying out all night if the light went. Fortunately I had not dropped my luggage at a hostel as I had originally intended. Therefore I had my clothes and the sleeping bag. I would be fine, even without a tent. Worse case scenario: If it rained I would get wet so I planned to wear all necessary clothes but keep the leather dry in the boxes so I could ride away dry at first light. At this point it was 8pm.

I contemplated re-fording that river. I could not afford to get stuck again. I would have to cut the fence and then put tape across to keep animals out and then leave a note of apology to the farmer. I had all my tools, the pliers would do it. It was definitely getting late.

My contingency planning diverted my attention from the track surface. Suddenly I was approaching deep ruts. I tried to stay up in the middle but the front wheel slid left. The back did not follow. I stopped. Tried to drag the back round. No way. I tried to roll the bike back. The front rolled but the rear remained and I was suddenly 90 degrees perpendicular to the track. I could let go of the bike without it falling, as it sat obscenely stuck on the mound between the ruts.

I went in to my fix it routine of removing the boxes, shifting them up the slope and then manhandling the Honda. I eventually got it straight, rolled back and approached again. I got out and reattached the bags. I estimated I must have a couple of hours of light left. In fact at this point it was 8.16pm

The sun had gone behind the hills. I realised my estimation was wrong, it could actually set within 45 minutes. I was still not at the first river. I looked at the grass, wondering how comfortable it would be…

It was at this point that I encountered the cows. 8:35pm. After my initial fears subsided and the distance between us increased, I settled for the only option which was to wait until the herd moved off the road. I let them move out of sight. After a few minutes I re-started the bike and carried on. I did this 3 times, each time gaining only 300 metres. It was definitely dusk now. The worse case scenario became a reality. I’d have to stay on the hillside.

I don’t usually carry food but I had 20 crackers, about the same number of biscuits and the water from the river. I would be fine. Suddenly, all in a microsecond, I experienced some profound emotions. A glimpse of abandonment and solitude caused me a wave of anguish that might start tears. All I wanted to do was be at home.

It passed immediately as I focused on the herd again. The bulls seemed to be moving around the herd like secret service agents around a celebrity, looking narrow eyed at the potential threats all around. I am sure I saw one talk into his cuff while pressing his ear. They were definitely tactical.

The cows seemed to be moving off the track. I felt like David Bellamy - watching, waiting. I even began a hushed commentary. They stayed on the track. It was 9.07pm.

Suddenly they moved away into the grass, far enough for me to pass and feel safe. I knew the first river was close, I could hear the rushing water. In moments I was back where I got stuck the first time. Then it dawned on me that if I cut the fence I would still have to cross the river.

9:18pm. I got there and quickly spotted the fence posts would lift out. I took down four posts and laid my Kevlar leather jacket over the barbed wire and drove over it to protect the tyres. A puncture now would definitely keep me here.

9:25pm. I am crossing the river with the boxes again.
9:31pm The bike crosses with little effort through the shallow water. The rear wheel begins to dig in again but I feathered the revs and it ploughed through. (If only I had realised the fence would come down when I first arrived).

The evening is drawing in. The headlight casts shadows on the lumps and bumps giving a false impression of the surface. I turn off the lights. It is still just about safe to ride. I am taking it very carefully.

9:53. Amazing pink remnants of the sunset.


10:06pm back at the first gate and onto the road. Any delay since the river would have meant nightfall too soon.

The wind was getting up and it was getting cold. I zoomed into Queenstown to find the hostel I used before. Nowhere would be taking bookings now. I would have to find the guy I know there. I got let in, but there were no staff on duty so I found an empty room and aimed to settle up with them in the morning.

I'd had some strife in the soft ground, but nothing that would have posed a problem if I'd had the backup of a riding partner. A lighter bike would have eliminated all the getting stuck. That aside I would only have had the cows to contend with. I might even have got through the other river. Suddenly my resolve to solo-ride across Australia was challenged, let alone my ideas of riding through India, Pakistan, Iran and Turkey. I went on an unmapped track and only accidentally had gear to survive over night if it didn’t rain. Much to reflect on. Though I was never in any acute danger.

For that moment I had had enough. I couldn’t leave the hostel without a door key so I feasted on my crackers and biscuits, thankful for the spongey mattress and surprisingly good shower and fell asleep wondering what the cows were doing for a bed.