Back to the classics

Off to Milford Sound and another ride down a couple of different memory lanes…

My luck was holding out and the normally rainy area was filled with puffy white clouds and warm sunlight.  This, of course, meant plenty of tourist buses, cars, and caravans on the road.  All things that tend act as fun vacuums on bike, but on this road there was enough straight sections to make the short time spent sucking bus fumes nothing more than a reminder of how bad it could be- and how wonderful it was.

Classic mountain/lake views reminded me of places from around the world while

the local ducks who insisted on swimming through the water and disrupting the refection reminded me of many others of their kind I’d have much preferred to see on a plate instead of the wild!

Adding to the friendly familiarity, I met up with a German couple riding two-up on a bike who were just starting a trip of riding from NZ to Germany.  We decided to ride together for the day down to Milford and once again I was on the road with other two-wheeled travelers oogling the views.

Yes, those views…  though I do have to admit that I’ve found that a woman in bulky riding gear with the slightly unwashed appearance of the road is most alluring!

We finished the day in the great little campsite of a lodge.

Where we proceeded to annoy the granola backpackers by riding our bikes into the walk-in area (with lodge permission) and spending a long night telling stories of our lives between long draughts of excellent New Zealand Pinot Noir.  Those who go on trips like this always seem to have had wonderfully varied histories that lead addictively from one story to the next.  Needless to say, the next morning we got up too late for them to make the early morning kayak trips, so we headed back down the road for another day of blissful riding and my next glimpse of a memory.

Passing through a tunnel and then having this view and splendid snake of a road laid out before us brought me back to Norway and its Fjord region.

All too soon, the day was almost over and with history repeating itself once again, we went on our separate ways.

And so, with a night spent under the watchful eye of a disused bridge that had once opened up the region to settlers,

I went to bed the most happy of campers.


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