Wanganui River Road
Last updated: Sun, 02 May 2010 05:23:00 GMT
With sis-in-law providing free, long-term babysitting services for a limited time only, the missus wanted a dirty weekend away. Well, a dirt-bikey weekend away, at least. We settled on a little dual-sport jaunt up the Wanganui River Road.
My initial plan was to make an attempt on the 42 Traverse but, the wife reminded me, she hasn't done a lot of riding since she got her learner's permit. And she's done no riding off tarmac. And it's a long way. It really is a long way -- a good four hours in The Mighty Uterus before we hit the overloadedly-named town of National Park, and then we've got some interesting riding, including river crossings.
Not the best idea, I thought. Not if you want her to want to do this again. And I do. One of my long-term dreams is for her to join me on a grand adventure, like The Mobius Trip. She's not gonna do that if I scare her off first time out.
So, something closer to home. Something a little more approachable. Start easy, set a realistic goal, have fun. I settled on the Wanganui River Road.
"But were the whuck is the Wanganui River Road?" you ask. I didn't know either. And what resources I found were contradictory and not much use. It wasn't particularly clear to me how paved the road was, what the conditions were. But if people are driving tourists up it in minivans, it can't be bad. Having been there, I can confidently tell you that it's not, and it's here:
You can have a copy of this track in GPX or KMZ formats for your GPSing or Google-Earthing pleasure. I'd have put this up on Google maps, but I got sick of trying to stop it dividing the track up into false segments, and decided to use the pretty damned nifty and equally free GPS Visualizer instead.
So, early on a sunny Saturday morning, we kissed the kids goobye and loaded the Little Doctor and Big Doctor up onto the back of the Mighty Uterus, for the two hour drive north to Wanganui.
The drive north was pleasant and uneventful, although we got a little detoured into Wanganui proper by roadworks. We found our way out and drove north along the east bank of the river, found a nice spot next to the boat club to unload and suit up. A quick confidence-inspiring safety briefing for the missus and we were off. Narrowly avoiding being murdered by the inevitable impatient shithead driver, we left the main road 500m too early. We soon realised our mistake, righted ourselves, and were naturally overjoyed when we found the road to Pipiriki.
The road is well-worn chipseal, and winds through trees, turning back, and back, and back again through tree cover until the view is suddenly and satisfyingly revealed. A friendly crop-spraying pilot is here with his wife, who's geocaching fossil finds. We chat for a while, admire the view, and then depart with a confusing warning about not leaving my bike alone, because the rock-monkeys round here have light fingers.
The road twists along by the river, the sun is high, we stop for lunch and I finally work out what he means by "rock monkeys". Ah, casual racism, you make me sad. These thoughts sit uncomfortably with the beauty I'm seeing; natural, mechanical, or human.
As if to fit my mood, the cloud cover starts to blow in from the Tasman in the west. We pass through a series of old-worldly named settlements. Athens. Corinth. Jerusalem. London. Missionary names. We're here to civilise you, savages. But our spirits are high when we see the sign I've been waiting for all along. The wife less so.
"GRAVEL ROAD"
Despite her reservations, the wife does us proud. Concentration is high, but she seems to be enjoying herself immensely. Gravel, clay, and heavily-waffled corners covered in fist-sized rocks, all in her stride. No problem. At every settlement, and sometimes in the middle of nowhere, we transition back to chipseal. But it doesn't last long, and I give a hearty thumbs up every time we see another gravel sign, imagining the swearing inside the missus' lid.
We hit Pipiriki, and stop for a coffee. There's a small coffee shack, which claims to be open, but there's no-one around. Ah, well. Off we go again, climbing all the time, on the road out to Raetihi. This is obviously a logging road, though we've seen no traffic at all since we first left tarmac. We climb, we twist and turn, we slip and slide as we keep up a good pace, and eventually we turn one final corner and the forest has ended. The plateau is revealed, ta-da!
Starting to get cold now, and we're both ready for some civilisation. A spirited run along sweeping rural roads, still largely empty, and we're very suddenly in the centre of Raetihi, such as it is.
Hmm. Our hopes of a nice night out, involving country pubs and restaurant food are cruelly dashed.
But our accomodation more than makes up for that. Oh, yes.
Completely blind, I'd booked us a night's stay in a B&B called The Log Lodge.
Wow! B&B in principle, but in practice we had half a ski lodge. A well-furnished and well-appointed ski lodge at that: leather sofas, TV, pool table and log fire. To top that, views of Mt Ruapehu, and some thoroughly interesting and entertaining hosts. Great breakfast, too, and all for B&B prices.
We got ourselves settled in, chatted amiably with Bob and Jan for a spell, then took a tour of Raetihi to see if our passing impression had been wrong. Nope. Poor town by summer, ski town by winter. We took in what sights there were, then went shopping for provisions. Wine, dark chocolate for dessert, a crappy magazine for the wife. Then picked up some thoroughly mediocre fish and chips and wandered back to our sumblime log sanctuary to settle in for a cosy night.
Cosy indeed, and we woke to a cracking autumn view of Ruapheu, to go along with a hearty cooked breakfast -- seriously, we were full.
And then, do it all again, the other way around. The morning air was cold, but the sun bright and warming. Turning autumn leaves casting golden light along the road, it was pretty damned fantastic. Everything looked good this morning.
The Pipiriki coffee shack was still closed, still declaring itself open. Their loss.
We arrived back in Wanganui to find that no-one had seen fit to steal The Mighty Uterus, and lay in the grass trading tall trail tales while the bikes cooled enough for us to lift them onto the back. And then home.
This was just the right ride at the right time. As an intro to gravel, a catchup on road, and a reminder of the fantastic country NZ has to offer us, right on our doorstep, it was perfect. Great scenery, a road just the right length. By distance we got 2/3rds chipseal sweeping curves. The remainder a mix of packed clay and gravel, making for interesting but not technical riding. I'm sure plenty could blast along it a fair clip, but be assured that it's not that kind of road. Plenty of livestock, more than enough of it on the road. It's a ride to enjoy at leisure.
I spent some time congratulating myself on not forcing the wife to ride the 42 Traverse, but in reality it's her that deserves any praise. She handled this with aplomb, not a hair out of place. I reckon she'll be ready for the Traverse next time some sucker volunteers to look after the kids for a weekend.
Done right, we could even overnight at the Log Lodge again, and that would be nice.