My wife and I rode 2,500 miles around both islands of New Zealand for our honeymoon. We camped 93% of the time. In less than one week into the tour, my unwitting self wrote my first letter/email home. At the time I had no idea just how epic this trip would be. (And by the way New Zealanders or Kiwis do not throw shrimps on the barbie, that is Australians) Please enjoy the letters from New Zealand.

08/09/06

Well hello lovely people!
It has been quite intense thus far. Serious weather was on the menu for the first several days. It seems that New Zealand is uphill in whatever direction you go. But that is OK, we like the challenge. We can feel our bodies getting stronger everyday. The Kiwis are kind of like the Irish, except nice. Really folks, we could feel the love right when we got off the plane. People have told us repeatedly how keen we are for biking around the islands. They have shown a genuine interest in our endeavours and adventures. In fact just today, the pedal on my bicycle blew out. Snapped right off it did, in the middle of nowhere. If you ever tried biking with one pedal, you know it is impossible. Within in seconds of the malfunction, someone pulled over and offered us a lift….then a tasty beverage………then a place to stay……and now we are eating tacos with a view of the ocean. Sweet! We will get the bike fixed up tomorrow and be on our way. In the mean time, the hospitality was a real lifesaver because, I’ll tell you what, we were out in woop-woop when the bicycle ceased to function. If the Kiwis had not come to our aid, we would still be out there wandering a cold, foggy, and lonely highway, Terra incognito. ——–well, it is time to throw another shrimp on the barbie—-surfs up!———–merlin

08/15/06

The storm has finally broken, about five minutes ago. Really kids, it has been a cold slog thus far, but a delicious slog. You cannot believe the sheer amount of calories it takes to bike around New Zealand. We been going through butter like hotcakes. Well, once again the kindness of the Kiwis came through for us. No, my pedal did not snap off this time. It was a good old fashioned flat tire. Exhausted, and on a deserted dirt road, steep as hell, we decided to call it a day as the sun was setting and just camp in a nice mud puddle we found off the side of the road, believe it or not, it looked pretty comfortable. Moment later a formidable SUV rolled up on us and offered hot tea, a hot shower and a shower of hot tea (not really) and of course, a real live mattress. We looked at one another and said we would be fools not to accept. When we got to their place, it was sweet. The water that supplied the home was the most delicious spring water and we chugged copius amounts of it with delight. The man who picked us up (Wayne) was of Scottish or English origin, His wife, was pure Maori. There kids were just darling. They were blessed with triplets. They had us to their dinner table and said a prayer in the Maori language, very interesting. The walls were adorned in Tikis to ward off evil spirts. As far as I could tell it was working because the whole place had a lovely vibe to it. Well, right now we have made to the far north. We are in the town of Pahia, in the region known as the bay of islands. It is gorgeous. The hills to get here were steep and numerous. There was one so steep we could almost reach out and touch it. Climbing gave us some wild food cravings, like hotcakes and butter, lots of butter. Tommorow, we will take a ferry across the bay, to an old town that is the New Zealand equivalent of Tombstone, Arizona—-yeehah!!—-much love y’all—-Merlin and Sandra

08/18/06

Well kids just like the other emails, this is a timed Internet portal so, I will be have to be succinct. We have reached the northern extremity of the island so it is time to turn around and head back south. The weather is starting to warm up as spring takes hold and winter lets go. We will be headed to Lake Taupo and then on to Mount Taranaki. The cycling through will make what we have done look like child’s play. But that’s all good, our legs are becoming as strong a tree trunks anyway. The Ocean is still a bit on the chilly side as far as swimming is concerned, but it makes for a gorgeous view. For the last couple of days we have been doing some farming. We are staying at a place called Kerikeri Organics. We tilled a huge potato field this morning. We wore fulls coveralls and farming boots, sporting pitchforks, the works. It is too bad this terminal has no exposed USB connections otherwise we would send some photos, perhaps next time. The others who work there are very nice folks. Most of them are Japanese, so communication with them tends to comical at times, but it all works out in the end. On our way back south we plan to stop and see the Giant Kauri Forest. These are some truly massive, fairy tale sized trees. Hopefully we can gather some photographic evidence of them for you. We will certainly try. Right now, the bicycles are in the shop, getting some much needed first aid. We will also picked up some spare bike tubes, as to avoid flat tire issues out in the middle of nowhere. Well, we love you all and miss you to!————-Sandra and Merlin

08/22/06

Hello from down under! One thing that is really neat about being in the southern hemisphere is that when you look up at the night sky, not one of the stars or constellations are familiar. The Southern cross is especially striking, sort of like our big dipper. Truly gorgeous.
Well, we ended up having a really nice time staying on that organic farm. Like I said before, we labored really hard, working and tilling the earth. It was truly humbling. One thing that was very wonderful was the richness of the soil. Almost black it was, and it smelled good. Hints of coffee, leather, and pipe tobacco emanated from it when you would work it. Another very nice experience we had while we were staying on the farm was being a part of a play. The was a chap who lived next door. A very proper, almost archetypal English fellow. The type you would run into at a haberdashery on High Street if you know what I mean. He had written a play based on a real occurrence that had transpired in New Zealand during WWII. Apparently a con artist had contacted the New Zealand equivalent of the CIA and had told them that he had been contacted by “terrorists” who were planing to blowing up bridges, buildings and the such to help pave the way for the imminent Japanese/German invasion. The New Zealand secret service believed this guy, and gave him carte blanche. They provided to him cash, sports cars, fancy hotel rooms, the works baby. Meanwhile this guy is making the whole thing up. In his play he used the verbatim speech that Prime Minister of New Zealand gave, declaring to the citizens of NZ that marshall law might have to be declared because of the presence of these so called “terrorists”. Wow. As you can imagine this English chap spiced the play of a little bit, and the whole thing was very cheeky. We all had to read a part, and I was one of the CIA agents and Sandra played a the wife of another duped intelligence agent We were short one girl, so the extra cheeky secretary character, Mrs Wagtail, had to played by this big Maori dude. He was way into it, happily typing on his imaginary typewriter, winking and smiling, it was so damn funny. Also, since it was during the war, the threat was of course from the Japanese and the Germans, and hilariously enough, some of the people reading the more sardonic parts were in fact Japanese and German. Oh the irony, a smashing good time folks, just brilliant. I think I need to audition for some more plays, for everyone told me I did very well. OK then, Sandra and I are about to climb the biggest hill we have ever climbed and are procrastinating it by surfing the web. It is time to eat and huge piece of dark chocolate and then climb into the sky. We love you all so much————————–Merlin and Sandra

08/30/06

So far, everywhere we have camped has had that fuzzy fairy forest feel, forgive Fangorn forest. It was super spooky scary. You see, we rode all day, hard. We fell short of the target town on our maps. Relentless and unforgiving up and down terrain saw to that. So as the sun was setting on us, out in the middle of woop-woop again, we decided to turn off the main road onto an anonymous gravel road and look for “camp”. We rolled down the path and begn to notice that the farmhouses peppered into the hillsides seemed different than the typical New Zealand farmhouses we had encountered prior. Instead of that happy hobbit feel, they seemed curiously abandoned. Rusted screen doors attached to spooky lopsided houses flapped and slammed into peeling paint door frames as the winds made it all creek in unison. Shattered windows had been replaced by spider webs instead of new clean panes of glass. Drooling dogs growled and hissed from behind corroded barbwire as we hastily rode by. Finally, we found a gentle creek rolling through a small canyon. We climbed down into it and made food, devoured it promptly and retired to the tent. Sleep, even though we were genuinely exhausted, did not come easily. For, all night we found ourselves analyzing the array of unnerving noises we heard swirling around the tent. Such as hobbed nailed boots crunching around us as it cirlced the tent like a shark, growling prowling hounds in seriously close proximity, and distant cackling laughter made me think I was about to leave a Blair-Witch style message on the camera for all y’all. Damn, my skin crawled and my hair stood on end and I am not one to get spooked in the woods, in fact it usually feels like the front living room to me, but this time I was glad the sun came up, so we could get the heck outta there. Life was extra lucid that day, as I was just glad to have have a chance to alive and breating. That’s right, a chance to be……… alive and breathing.————————————————————much love ——Merlin Brandon Grant

P.S Just an sort of interesting side note we were forced to noticed: Before NZ, we thought that cows simply made one noise, that being the monotone drone of just plain old “moooo” . But the other night we found out that is simply not true. These particular cows were going off. It was as if some big guys in white coats went down and got that poor guy in Plato’s cave and rechained in the middle of the field near us. Then he heard some Kiwi english the distance and was tyring to mimic it. It was really weird, these howling/ singing cows were trying to talk to us. We could have used them that night in Fangorn Forest, because it would have fit right in and simutaneously provided some much needed comic relief. Phew!

09/15/06

So, we are back from the dark side of the moon. The East Cape was big, fearsomely steep and definitely remote. As we set out on our initially journey onto the cape, the rain picked up and came down us. A day or two of cold driving rain proved to be too much for any rain gear. We were soaked to our chattering bones.
Being cold like that again, made it so that could not help but to think of an instance that happened when we first arrived in NZ. We were in a small town, refueling and stocking up on provisions. The weather was nasty. Sideways sleet, fog, wind, rain, ya know, that old chestnut, and as we emerged from the store and we preparing to saddle up, and old grandma with brillo pad hair and horned rimmed glasses came up to us and said to us in an over coddled English grandma voice, “I don’t think I’d rather like to be riding my bicycle today.” I was thinking “shut up, shut up, do not remind me.” But then an instant later another monty python-esque English granny came up us and exuberantly said “congratulations on what your doing!” Phew, we needed that, weather like that can be so demoralizing.
Meanwhile, back here on the East Cape, we were cold again and watching the sun set fast. We rounded the corner and descended from the catwalk like road, which was carved sky high into sheer, massive, towering, sea cliffs with the Pacific lapping dizzyingly far below us. With heavy bicycles fully loaded with gear, the screaming descent was a bit dicey on the wet windy road . Speed wobbles, or the bikes reverberating from velocity is a constant threat during descent, not a lot of room for error there. We sped back down to sea level, and the air was noticeably thicker. We found ourselves at the mouth of a huge bay known as Hawai bay. There was one small campground, and it occupied the only flat ground for miles. It was dark and silent with a few caravans peppering the periphery of the grounds. I wandered about calling out, “hello, helloooo”, to no response. Then a little Kiwi man emerged from the fog. I immediately asked him if we could set up our tent under those trees over there for a rain cover and some much needed rest. He said, ” oh, no way, i won’t have it, it is far to miserable for you stay outside. I won’t hear of it. My daughter away in Sydney, you will stay in her caravan”. “Yeah!!” I thought. The kindness of the Kiwis has spared from sleeping in a nice comfy mud puddle yet again. Super cool people.
We cleaned up and put on our driest clothes and drank hot tea until it steeped our cold bones in warmth and relaxed our chattering jaws, phew! We started to make some dinner when another Kiwi came to greet us. He was very keen, he reminded me of cross between Anthony Hopkins and Crocodile Hunter. (god bless him) He led me to he big gorgeous vegetable garden where he proceeded to pull up all manner of wonderful produce until my arms were brimming with food. He also went to his kitchen and then came back with two big Snapper fillets he had caught, from the near bay, himself. We worked with that. The uber-fresh creamy fish contrasting with the crisp bed of frisse it was served over, was all brought together by a perfect hollandaise, a pinch of paprika, and a smattering of cracked pepper. That was enough to make our eyes roll back and purrrrrr. Much needed calories here
Like I said before it takes a lot of calories, I mean a LOT of calories to do this kind of exploring. Somewhere in the neighborhood of 4000-5000 a day people. It’s like, hey, it OK to eat a whole cube of butter at breakfast, just lay down. Just ate whole yard of sausage? Lay down for a bit. Just ate a whole bunch of bananas and drank a quart of heavy cream, I’ve got your number, just lay yer’ bod down son. Then of course don’t forget to get up, once your vision returns to normal, and ride your bicycle on mountains all day long.
So anyhow, much to our delight the next day was bright and sunny, absolutely blue and beautiful. We joyfully rode on, feeling well rested and strong. We rode for about half the day and stopped in a tiny Maori village named Torere (tow-ray-ray) We got to talking to some of the locals and they were quite fascinated with were we had been and where we were going. One of the young girls, could have not been more the eight years old, and was listening intently to our stories. It quickly became clear to her the magnitude of our endeavour. She realized that days and days could go by before we would hit civilization and therefore soap. She looked straight at us and in a very proper English sounding accent asked us horrified, “Do you wash?!?—how do you wash? my word” We told her that the rain had a cleansing affect on us. She was absolutely horrified with us. But the elders thought we were quite daring. So after “talking story” for a bit with the locals in Torere, we bid them goodbye and biked on and on and on and on and on.
After a lot a of tenacious pedaling , we were getting near the end of the East Cape, maybe 100 miles left until the end, (Gisborne) and then civilization, and with civilization come beautiful beautiful soap and water. We could not wait. We were dreaming of hanging out in a nice steamy laundromat, being hypnotized by our duds twirling round in heavily soaped up front loader. But we still had a couple of mountains to climb before that dream became a reality.
The sun was setting on us yet again and it was time to find and make camp. We crossed a lonely bridge that spanned a dry, serpentine, alluvial plain. It looked good. We hopped down into it and walked along the riverbed. We found a good groves of trees and settled in on it. Later a figure appeared downriver from us. It was walking through the trees with a pack of dogs. He did not sense us, but his dogs certainly did. They barked and charged at us. As they closed in on us, we realized the dogs were in fact sheep dog puppies that greeted us with kisses. The man, Harry, said “where your camped doesn’t look to comfortable at all. How about a hot shower and some tea?” “Thank you we said”, as we nodded and followed. We climbed up the side of the riverbed and crested at the edge of his farm. It was so beautiful. Rolling emerald green pastures dotted with sheep and horses, big flower gardens, and a perfect white farmhouse. He had a little guesthouse in the back that he showed us to. In the back of the guesthouse there was wonderful hot shower and, low and behold, washer and dryer. Our wish had come true early. It had been nearly two weeks since we changed our clothes or ” washed”. My socks peeled off like old band-aids. Seriously, it was gnarly. But the ensuing shower and set of lemony fresh clothes made me feel like a prince. Thank you Harry and Nina for inviting us into their cozy home, so we could get our wits about us before head back out “there”. Truly a blessing—-this Kiwi kindness. New Zealand is place that time forgot. (aren’t they lucky)–Merlin

9/27/06

hey kids, so I was just actually reading some of the emails I have sent on home to y’all, and they were riddled with all kinds of grammatical errors. I would like to apologize for that. You see, the internet cafes are few and far in between and busy. So, I apologize for not having more time to edit the flow of the letter. I hope that everyone is still able to gleen out the core meaning of what I am trying to convey home. When I get home, i will go through all my emails, my journal, my camera, and my brain and share them in clear and cogent manner that would make any English teacher very happy.————-M

Hey kids, greetings from down under.

Some of you have been curious as to what exactly is in the saddle bags of our Mt. bikes. Well, here is the breakdown of all the gear we brought to NZ.

2 collapsible backcountry stoves—- for hot “cuppa” and the end of the day
2 refillable fuel cells—these stoves are cool, they’ll run on just about any liquid fuel, even diseil
1 small handheld water purifier—– just to be safe
1 bombproof tent—to keep elements at bay
2 spares tubes and bicycle pump–of course, were not amateurs
2 handlebar mounted light and red safety light—-so we are not invisible while night riding
2 pairs of gloves—-comfort and it will save your skin if you were to have a spill
1 shortwave radio——for news and weather when we are way out in woop-woop
2 lexan plates, cups, and assorted cutlery —-lexan is an seriously strong shatterproof lightweight plastic
3 stainless steel backcountry cooking pots,— they fit into one another like a kookla doll
2 camelbacks—–for hands free hydration
2 nalgene h20 bottles—emergency backup agua juice
1 swiss army knife with all the little gadgets–gotta have one
1 four inch gerber hunting knife—razor sharp for delicately julienning scallions or orcs
2 helmets ——aka brain buckets
2 silk coocon liners —— this one is nice it fits inside the sleeping bag and add about 10 degrees of warmth to the bags temrature rating. One of them is now codenamed/nicknamed mister pickles (mine) you see a mishap involving an unsound pickle jar help it acquire that moniker. It was terrible, it reeked of pickles and the next laundromat was 100 miles away, but it was way too cold to not actually use Mr. Pickles. Oh dear. Filter a couple high fiber meals through Mr. Pickles and its enough to make a skunk’s nose wrinkle and flee in terror.
2 toasty yet lighweight sleeping bags
2 thermarest sleeping pads with camp chair adaptor——- This is key, you have to get a good nights rest and those little matresses are indeed cushy
one cable lock for security (is there really such a thing)
2 pairs of joe cool sunglasses
1 GPS ———–for leaving a trail of digital breadcrumbs, to find the way home
1 3rd gen 20gb ipod for music
1 6th gen 60gb ipod for photo storage
1 flagship 8 megapixel Canon Digital camera ———– thank you Santa!
1 socket and voltage adaptors to charge up all the bling
2 passports—when we look like the photos in them we’ll know its time to come home
1 serious first aid kit—-brought with the hopes that we never need
2 small camp pillows—–zzzzzzzzzz
13 or so small shatterproof jars filled with an array of spices–that backcountry spice rack can rescue any bland meal
2 toothbrushes
1 small hairbrush
aromatic oil such lavender oil or tea tree oil———-lets call it skunk amnesty
2 cycling jerseys
2 very serious storm pants and jackets
1 pair of gaiters— to keep the bugs out of my shoes. They have heaps of sandflies here, and they make mozzies (mosquitoes) seem nice
2 pairs sandals (have yet to use them, but it is slowly getting warmer)
2 quick drying pack towel,——–like a chamois, but for people
1 pair polartech fleece super-hero tights (because crime sleeps in)
1 J Peterman raw silk sweater (this is some gratuitous luxury here people)
2 pairs padded cycling shorts (no explanation needed here people)
1 pairs of full body silk thermal——- for next to skin comfort whilst cycling all day
1 map of New Zealand
2 bikes
2 people nuts enough to try this—check—–much love–Merlin and Sandra

10/03/06

So, it is my birthday today, (tommorow in the US) and after two solid months and 3000 kilometers of very hilly, wet and cold cycling, we used my b-day to justify checking into a hotel like normal spoiled human beings Zowie baby! (delaying instant gratification makes it so sweet) You should see our swank hotel room. It looks like an outdoor store after an earthquake. Gear is splayed everywhere. We have used the oppourtunity to repair and service everything; integral shredded tech wear is at the tailor being fixed, all other intact clothing was lovingly washed and rewashed, (especially Mr. Pickles) the tent was mended and re-waterproofed, the camp stoves cleared and are white hot, ready to go, the backcountry spice rack has been keened up at the local market bazzar , nails trimmed, wheels straightened, brakes tuned, fresh ink in pens, new maps, batteries charged, chains have been cleaned & lubed , camp pillows fluffed, sunglasses shined, backs cracked, knives sharpened, & laces on our boots have been replaced and tied up tight. Tickets for the boat to cross Cook’s Straight have been procured. Apparently there is no one on the South Island of NZ, ——and we thought the North Island felt remote. The boat ride should prove to be rough. It crosses something known as the roaring forties. Essentailly that means we leave the 40th parallel of south latitude way behind. The deep undersea ocean currents flow against one another there, due to the rotation of the earth. It should make for a very choppy ride across the Tasman there. ( I think I see dramamine in Sandra’s future, or perhaps some ginger) From there, our adventure really start to begin kids, everything up till now has been a sort of on the job training, a sort of athletic rehab. meow——S & M

10/04/06

Well kids, we are still in Wellington. Yesterday the combination of gale force winds and twenty foot sea swells forced the boat to cancel its journey across the Cook Strait. I guess they the did not want the boat to uh well, sink.
Wellington is considered to be NZ’s most international or cosmopolitan city. I thought that maybe here we would be able to experience some of the comforts that Americans are used to, like free ketchup. Nope! Or what about free refills, nada! I’ve come to realize that Americans are used to and enjoy big things. Big Mountains, big cars, big game, big skies, big portions, big butts, big gulps. You know, when I order a large soda I expect a chicken bucket with a straw the size of a garden hose, but not here. Its like a normal respectable portion, or a small soda by our proportions. When we get back, I’m taking you all out to breakfast at the Triple T Truck Stop for I-10 Belly Busters. Now that’s living! —-Well, the sea has calmed down and we depart shortly for a 3 hour tour across the strait to middle earth, sweet—-Merlin and Sandra

10/09/06

Hello everyone! So, the boat, after some delay, did decide to attempt the voyage across the strait. It was supposed to be a three hour tour, that’s right, three hour tour. But it ended up being a seven and a half hour tour. It was epic. The factors of the Tasman Sea meeting the Pacific, coupled with the ripping undersea currents of the 40th latitudes, on top of a the fact that there was a pounding southerly storm blowing up from the Antartic, made the sea into a sort of roiling hellbroth. At first it was a little bumpy when we left harbor. And mind this is not a tiny boat. It can hold about 100 cars down below and 500 people up top. It had two cafes, a movie area, and a big lounge. As we approached the bottleneck of Wellington harbor, that’s when things really started rocking. Huge 20 foot sea swells slammed into the boat from all sides. Sickening noises of creaking and buckling metal started to fill the air. I know now why the term sea legs exists. It really was quite difficult to walk a straight line, or not to get knocked down for that matter, with the boat rocking from port to bow, aft to stern. The captain was walking around the ship comforting truly frightened passengers. He was basically attending a nursery of crying adults. I watched as people faces went bruise green due to sea sickness. I watched as people meandered and curved down the hallways, crash into walls in an futile attempt to make it to bathroom on time. I put a little folded paper sailor’s hat on Sandra, to take a photo, as she batted my hand out of the way and sprinted a wavy line towards the bathroom. I was one of the lucky ones, I felt no seasickness, it was fun Jack Sparrow! savvy? The bathrooms got gross quick, as the sway of the ship made the toilets moving targets. One passenger became very ill, she was not strong to begin with and the journey proved to much. She died. They tried to send a chopper out to pick her up because she fading fast in the unrelenting seas. But the sea spray and the gale force winds proved to be too much. It was physically impossible to land a chopper in seas that fierce. We turned the boat back to Wellington, but it was too late. We dropped her and her family off, and set out again, back through the roughest part of the journey, the heads of Wellington harbor for round two. I went up to the lounge to ordered myself a tasty beverage and sandra, a barf bag. There were some hard looking blokes hanging in the lounge, looking totally unphased by the trip. They all resembled the guy on the Gordon’s fish sticks box, oilskins, peacoats, and yellow slickers, all around. aaaaaar matie! We did finally make to the South Island, phew! We are really glad to be here, it is start to get this “ends of the earth” feeling. Very wild kids——Love you all—-Merlin and Sandra

10/17/06

So, as with most or all outdoor situations, the higher the magnitude of beauty the higher the danger. We are almost through the Canterbury plains—thank you. This area is notorious for its icy winds. We crossed the longest bridge in New Zealand yesterday. The crosswind had the nefarious tendency to push you out in front of Mack Trucks. That coupled with hail pelting in the face made us question the wisdom of biking through that storm. Over hot drinks in a quaint little tea room we decided to give in and get a little cabin. Phew. If pain builds character than a I am Winston freakin Churchill by now and that is enough. It felt good to hear the storm rush over the timbers of the cabin while we were safe and warm inside of it. Today, the storm has passsed and it is sunny and beautiful. time to saddle up and roll out. Take advantage, because it is a beautiful day—-we will write more from the Scottish town of Dunedin—–ALOHA–Merlin and Sandra

10/20/06

The wind scoured Canterbury plains are, at last behind us. The winds there made basic communication difficult, as it sounded like thunder in your ears. Sandra and I were reduced to yelling simple logistics to one another at times. The wind literally blew the words you were speaking away forever. It was a beautiful morning the last time I sent a letter, but as the day wore on, the notorious Canterbury winds descended upon us yet again, and reduced our progress to a slow groping crawl. About 30 miles into our ride that day, I looked up above my helmet visor, far down down the road, to see that a pick up truck had stopped and two fellows had stopped and were chilling angainst their tailgate. I looked behind to check for traffic, as to veer around and continue on. But they flagged me over to stop. “What are doing? You are missing the best parts, this road is bloody windy. How about you come back to the farm with us and we’ll look at some maps and we’ll help show the real New Zealand.” Well, that was a no-brainer. We hopped on board immediately. We rode with them up into the low mountains valleys where they were back at their childhood home helping there mum with the farm, seeing that their father has passed on fairly recently. Adam and Mike were their names and they were nothing short of awesome. They got out some old highly detailed maps, made a photocopy of it and drew in new routes for us. I am so glad they did because their insight has made for some serious off the beaten path scenery. Just amazing. We ended up staying with them for a couple of days. They took us way up into the mountains. We saw glaciers capped peaks and the exact valley that the Rohan scenes were filmed for Lord of the Rings. We also went to a perfectly intact yet abandoned schoolhouse way up in the mountains that used to teach the children of some alpine dairy farms that just don’t exist anymore, as the modern world knocks on New Zealands door, these artisan crafts dissappear. We got to learn a bunch about what it entails to run a full fledge farm in New Zealand. We had a grand time with them. I was even able to deftly scoop up and capture a rogue baby lamb that had somehow manged to escape the perimeter fence of the farm. No small task. Even Adam and Mike were impressed. And these kids are not easily impressed being the renaissance men that they were, they had all kinds of “skills.” So, the path and destination of our trip has been, yet again, radically altered by the kindness of the Kiwis. —–love you all
—————–Merlin and Sandra

10/27/06

We have made it to the extreme southern terminus of our trip and are heading back north, for this is end of the island, there is no more. Way back in the day the Maori tribe called this area “the land where the sky glows”. Obviously a result of the Southern Lights. This far southern latitude makes for trees giving way to tundra and then to glaciers at surprisingly low altitudes. Several days ago we made camp in the Ahuriri valley next to a roaring glacially fed river. When we awoke then next morning the mountains around us were coated in a layer of snow. It was way cold and unfortunately we did not pack a sled dog team. That day we intended to get out of the tundra. The way out was through Lindis Pass. A slow steady grinding climb led up to the top of the pass where a family had pulled their climate controlled car over. The kids were throwing slushy snowballs at each other. We were shivering like nervous chiauauas and if complainng about the cold made it warmer we would be in Aruba. We paused for one photos and were outta there. We descended out of the clouds, back down into the tundra, and then finally back into trees. It was by no means warm there but we had left that icy icy bite back behind us up in the mountains. The size and majesty of teh mountains here on the South Island are nothing short of stunning. They soar from the ocean shore inot teh sky. The Fox and Franz Jozef glacier’s terminal moraine (that is the end of it) almost pour directly into the Tasman Sea. Here is the only place in the world where glaciers and temparate rain forests are direct neighbors. It makes for some interesting wildlife. Like the Kea for example. It is the world’s only alpine parrot. It is odd to see parrot’s frolicking in the snow. About 8 days ago we camped on the shores of lake Tekapo and the then the next night at lake Pukaki. The waters there are absolutely turquoise blue. The relentless grinding of enormous glaciers pulverize minerals so small that they suspend themselves in the glacial melt water turning it impossibly blue. Reflected on these waters, on rare occasions, is Mt’ Cook. The highest point in NZ. Sometimes it sheds its froaen shroud of clouds and reveals its fearsome summit. This is the mountain that New Zealander Sir Edmund Hillary trained before he became the first man to summit Everest and live to tell about it. (don’t forget his Sherpa, Tensing Norgay—i’m the Sherpa on this trip) Mt Cook, did reveal itself to us at sunset as a pretty brutal storm cleared off, much to our relief. And we would have never seen it without the help of our newest Kiwi friends, Adam and MIke. They reset our course and steered us in the right direction. I We are fortunate to have crossed their path. Kiwis really are an enormously friendly people. IN fact on their version of American Idol (NZ Idol) the judges aren’t even mean to the (s)karoke fodder. They’re just like “you’ve come a long way mate, good on ya” I know I’m wicked but it is just a riot.
Another aspect of the trip that I fell fortunate about is that there has benn a minimum of logistical complications. The trip hads benn thrills, chilly chills, and thanklfully no spilly spills. I mean we had had some flats and some gear failure. But all of it was field manageable. Although one cannot be to careful. For example, when it is truly cold, we wear every single piece of tech wear we brought with, half a dozen layers wrapped in a wind proof shell. It is strange because previously stuffed bags become spookily spacious when the cold kicks in. If ANY of the warm gear were to be lost or compromised, we’d end up a corpse-sicle on the side of LIndis Pass. In fact one night when we camped out on the back of the Hurunui RIver, a 300 foot wide monster famous for its wild salmon, gear was almost lost. A couple jacket that had benn drenched with sweat ealier that day were hanging in the trees drying in a light night wind. The wind picked up to a gale and almost cast them into the river. I was on that cat. Woke up and saved them. You might say, well couldn’t you just replace them? We’ll not exactly, there are outdoors store, which have all you need, if you are an old timey duck hunter. That is a bit of an exaggeration. Some of the larger cities do have the type of outddor store that stock that sleek Matrix-esque outdoor tech gear and clothing, but not exactly like back in the US of A. Beside clothing tends to be rather expensive in the Matrix. So, by keeping our wits keen through the storm we have managed to remain unscarred by trial. I think the main trick is to keep eating. Here is NZ there is a triumvirate of packaged food producers. Wattie’s up on the to shelf, Pam’s in the middle and down there, Budget. If one reads the fine print I think that they are all made in the same factory. We were thinking of naming our first kids after them. It would be like “Wattie, did you finish your homework? How was your day Pam? Oh, hi Budget, you again, get back under the stairs” he-he We thought that was just hilarious. Maybe we have been biking 2000 miles too long. Regardless, we have started to head north again, back towards home.

—-Merlin and Sandra

11/09/06

New Zealand is most definitely a long list of amazing superlatives.
One of those superlatives exists within Fiordland National Park at the
Milford Sound. That being the road to it is the most alvalanche prone

road in the world (picture ponderous piles of precipitation [snow]
perched precariously, poised to pummel pedestians and pedallers alike)
No cyclists are allowed on the road to Milford Sound. The road
clings to face the sound and zig-zags down over and over and over

making you feel microscopic in the looming shadows of the gigantic
walls. Uncountable vertical rivers and booming falls create a
dendritic net of whitewater, increasing in intensity as the sun shines
on the snopacks that sit far aloft. Upon drving the road it became

very apparent as to why no bicycles are allowed It is narrow,
dangerous and an alvalanche would take you out in an instant. At
least a vehicle would provide some semblence of protection. There is
a team that operates 24/7/365 in a vain attempt to keep the road open

under the same parameters. We really wanted to go down there so we
rented a car for the day. Since we had been cycling for so long, we
relished the heater in the car and marvelled at the water, wind and
weather protection the car provided. We took note of every large hill

and enjoyed how effortlessly we could climb it in a car. Upon
returning from the sound we resumed cycling. Heading north we had to
get over another pass in the Southern Alps, that being Haast Pass.
All above us were jagged white peaks , below us, massive lakes

mirroring those peaks. After clearing the pass we camped out in what
we later learned to be known as the flood forests. Here the melting
glaciers and snow soak the mountains forest below Turning them into
essentially alpine swamps. Way back in the day the Maori tribes said

this area was where the god of the sea and the god of land basically
conflicted. I can see why, because the ratio of dirt to water is
about one to one, turning it into and oozy peat bog where the trees
leans in all directions and everything is coated in green fuzz. It is

the kind of forest where you’d expect Yoda to emerge from the fog.
“mmmm, crazy you are to be biking here young jedis, yes” as he
proceed to curiously empty all the gizmos from our bag onto the
ground. As we got closer to the coast the ground became more solid

again. We found a gorgeous deserted beach where swarms of little
biting winged demons clouded around us. Sandflies, evil and painful.
But they tend to go home once the sun has set. From there we made
our way to Fox Glacier. Truly amazing. Large pieces were cracking

and snapping off, crashing to the ground. The glacier moves couple
feet a day. One would not want to get to close to terminal moraine of
it, for a chunk of ice or the boulders suspended within can break free
with little or no warning. The pieces that fall are huge and you

would surely be killed. All you need is to see one piece fall and no
further warnings are necessary. It commands reverence from the wise
and foolish alike. Yesterday, in a town we biked away from awhile
back, apple size hail fell from the sky and it stormed ferociously

where we were. Yikes, am I so gald to see the sun today, it is the
first time we have seen it for awhile. yeah!

also here is some kiwi english for y’all that we read from a kiwi dictionary–

have fun, make your own kiwi sentences; Those concessions have been
in the long drop for yonks.

ankle biters–bad kids
chippie–potato chips
chilly bin–cooler
clucky–wanting children
dinkum—fair

en zedder–New Zealanders
flea taxi—sheep dog
godzone—short for god’s own country
hosed off—-fed up
loopies—tourist
jagged–tired hikers
malt sandwich–beer
quizzy–nosey
ropeable–angry

snarf/hoover–gobble food
tiffin—2nd breakfast
heaps/whips—plenty of
vegemite–good kids
long drop–outhouse
crib—vacation house
concessions—-senior citizens
cruisy–mellow, no worries
cuppa—-tea

dag—good guy, joker also sheep balls
dairy–conveinence store
domain–park
entree—appetizer
flash—-nice, snazzy
hoon—slob, jerk
lemonade–sprite, 7-up
metal road–gravel road
no joy–back luck

pot plants—houseplants
push bike–bicycle
rattle your dags–hurry up
on a menu: with salad– beetroot, cucumber and carrot on your
sandwich, not an actual side salad. definitely a source of
confusion, i can’t tell you how many times with thought the kiwis

were trying to pass off a single leaf of iceburg and sprig of parsley
as an excuse for a salad
for yonks–forever
scroggins–trail mix
brekkie–breakfast
skull–to chug
suss out–figure out
serviette–napkin

napkin–tampon
tinny–lucky
tea–dinner (come in for tea)
snog–to kiss
chockablock–crowded
queue–the line
skivvies–t-neck sweater
nappies–diapers
shout– to buy for someone

11/18/06

Well, we recently sailed away from the South Island. Prior to our departure on the ship, we spent some time in the Marlborough Sounds. These labrynthine sounds are an uncountable array of islets, bays, and narrow walled waterways. The tranquil protection afforded by these sounds is a stark contrast to the fury that awaits just beyond, in the roiling hellbroth that is the Cook Strait. It is so easy to fill a kayak with chocolate bars and set into these calm blue waters, then simply paddle to an isolated shore, beach the kayak, and have the whole world to yourself. Wildlife abounds above and below the water. Just an amazing place, one could spend years exploring just the Marlborough Sounds. We ended staying for extra time there, because it was just too remarkable to tear ourselves away from. It was just as well because beyond the sounds, a furious gale was ripping off the roofs of Kiwi homes and scattering debris that ending up killing someone. (not the best time to board the ship people) Sandra was praying that the strait would be much calmer on our way back, she was not asking much, because the shipping company regretted sending us out the last time, seeing that it was epically rough and a passenger died and all. So, after Sandra took enough sea-sickness pills to begin hallucinating, we got on board. From the rear deck of the ship I watched the fog enshrouded harbor wane and dissappear. It was as if I was holding still and the South Island was moving away from me. The open sea was eerily smooth, like glass. It was the calm after the storm. It was a rare and pleasent surprise, especially for Sandra. When we got back to the North Island we realized that the South Island had spoiled us rotten. For the mellowness of the North Islands had become a frenetic chaos relative to that of the South Island, and the North Island is by no means frenetic, or chaotic. Everything is relative. Without obstacles like huge moutains or drenching downpours we can cover a lot of ground. We will complete our circuit ahead of schedule and although we feel fabulously fit, we also feel like someone beat us with a stick. So, instead of coming home looking like bedraggled refugess and kissing the tarmac upon arrival, we opted for layover in the beautiful, quiet, remote, Cook Islands. (a nine day layover people) 4000 cycling kilometers later, we could use a little tropical beach time, warm blue surf, hot sand underfoot, tasty bevarages served in a coconut shell, and tan that is really a tan and not just dirt. Well kids , it has been quite the adventure, and all of the Kiwis here agree with us, in fact when we describe the scope of what we have done to the locals, they say we are bloody crazy. And that’s saying something from a culture that has daily bungy jumping off their high rises downtown. woo-hoo!—–much love—-merlin and sandra

12/05/06

Sun-Sand-Swim-Surf-Smoothie-Sushi-Sleep- rinse and repeat—

The Cook Islands were a very good idea, much needed