Back in Auckland

I visited Auckland briefly in late 2014. I had just enough time to buy a bicycle and set it up before pedaling south. I finished the ride five weeks later in Christchurch where I flew to visit Austalia for the first time. Now in late 2019 I am visiting a taking the time to see the city.

I left Sydney last night and arrived at 1am at the Auckland International airport. Buses and trains to the city didn't start running until 5am so I slept on a bench while one obnoxious fly kept crawling up my pant leg. At 4:30am I went to look for the bus station and along the way found (strategically placed I'm sure) a Sky Bus; a relatively inexpensive direct ride to the city that runs 24 hours a day. Lucky me. I was the only person on the bus so the driver offered to let me know which stop in the city to get off at. We drove the bus circuit through the CBD and picked up several airport-bound passengers. As we were getting on the highway heading back to the airport I realized I missed something. The driver was very apologetic and even though I told her how much I enjoyed the tour of the city she gave me a voucher for my return trip to the airport next week. I disembarked at my stop over two hours after boarding.

I found the hostel where I was staying, crawled into a top bunk in my shared room, and slept for a few hours.

As my first day playing tourist in Auckland I took myself to the New Zealand Maritime Museum. The exhibits were set up roughly chronologically beginning with early South Pacific canoes and ending with a modern racing yacht  that only fit into the building because more than half the mast had snapped off. I noticed about 100 years of history was missing from the timeline. Roughtly 1775-1860. Colonization was in full swing I know, but in the next few days I'd like to find a reliable account of the specifics.

There was one boat that I fell in love with. I took several pictures then came back and took more. She's called the Rewa.

Queenstown, Tasmania

I rode into Queenstown from Tullah on Friday, November 8th. The weather has been cold and wet and with my hiking reservation for the Overland Track getting closer I decided to skip Rosebery, Zeehan, and Strahan. I'm a bit bummed because I haven't actually gotten to the west coast of Tasmania yet, but priorities were set long ago.

Alex is planning on meeting me at Lake Saint Clair to hike the 65-kilometer Overland Track. Nasty weather is consistent across the state so we're preparing for everything cold and wet.

I grew up in the Cold so I can manage that. The Wet is my Achilles heel. The ride from Tullah was undertaken with full knowledge that I'd likely encounter snow. I could see the snow line above me on the hill sides as I approched the alpine Lake Plimsoll. I wore all my waterproof layers and used the mantra of "Keep Moving to Keep Warm." I stopped for brief snack and water breaks,  but never for more than a few minutes. At the highest altitude of riding through the hills I was pelted by hail for two hours. Most traffic stopped and I passed them by as the road slowly disappeared under a layer of tiny ice balls. The hail fell so hard that my nose was chafed and my bike bell kept ringing from the constant pelting. My hands and feet were numb for most of the day. I could move them enough to pedal and change gears.

Two cars stopped to offer me a ride and two more coming from the opposite direction stopped to warn me of large semi trucks moving up the pass. In my experience the greatest danger of travel is solitude. Even when everything is going to hell, if people are around there's hope and help.

In Queenstown I stopped by the Information Center and was directed to a nearby hotel with backpacker accommodation. While waiting for a room I stood in front of the only heater in the hotel pub and drank a cider while the feeling in my feet slowly returned.

After stripping for a warm shower I realized that my rain coat had a few leaks. The zipper and all the seem let in moisture,  plus water wicked up my sleeve from my gloves. My sweater was drenched,  but my under layer, a marino wool shirt from a second hand store in Sydney, was warm and dry. A few more hours of riding and my inner layers may have gotten wet.

By chance I came across a store in Q-town that sold ponchos. I bought the most visible which was red. As I was buying it the clerk called me "Red Riding Hood." Appropriate.

Chasing Rain

Weather has been rainy, windy, and cold. Lightning appears overhead a few times each day and snow showed up last night on the mountain tops around Tullah, Tasmania.

I rode 45 miles from Devonport to Wynyard on the first day and had a very cold night in my tent. I bought a pink wool blanket from a second hand shop and decided to avoid the questionable dirt roads of the west coast and ride south instead. After a couple days of riding and a couple more cold nights I'm in Tullah, replanning again. In the land of the Roaring 40's, weather is unpredictable. This morning had a lightning storm and this afternoon had hail. Tomorrow more snow is predicted. I originally thought to ride through Rosebery, Zeehan, and Strahan, but tomorrow I may make a dash to Queenstown and hunker down for a couple more days instead.

This really isn't going well. 

Lord Buckethead

Australia!

On the evening of October 30th I boarded a train from Sydney to Melbourne with Alex's bicycle packed into a box in the luggage carriage. The train seats were smelly, hard, and reclined uncomfortably.  The trip was twelve hours of trying to find a sleepable position that kept my face from getting too close to the seat or from the man sitting next to me who wore a pristine white suit shirt, but overlooked deodorant.

When unpacking and reassembling the bike on the platform in Melbourne the tire mysteriously deflated. I patched the hole and repressurized the tube. It didn't hold so I found and patched a second hole. After that I rolled out of the platform dragging the giant cardboard box behind. I found a new home for the box and before I was to the door of the train station my handlebar bag ripped. I tried to use its own clips to hold it together, but the main clasp shattered so I repacked and threw away the bag.

I almost made it to the first stoplight when the rear rack holding both panniers and all my camping gear began to bend and wobble precariously. I walked along the river front and came across a bike rental shop. All of their bikes had robust racks and I asked if they had a spare. They did! I bought a new rack and switched it out right there.

Onward across the city of Melbourne! For about a kilometre. Under pressure and under weight the rear tire blew like a fire cracker while crossing over a metal grate. I sat in the shade to fix flat number three. The tube wouldn't hold pressure until I found puncture number four! I made it about three blocks when the tire blew for the fifth time. I was so frustrated and since I hadn't filled my water bottles yet I was hot and thirsty. I was still a few blocks from my friend Jen's house so I pushed the bike the rest of the way and let myself in for water and air conditioning. It took four and a half hours to cover the mile and a half from the train station to Jen's.

Jen was out for the afternoon and I decided to dash off and buy new tires, tubes, and more patches. Two hours later all was replaced and Jen was home. I had enough time for a cup of tea and a short chat before I rode off to the water front to catch the ferry.

I rode aboard with the cars and had my own special bike parking spot on the lowest deck. Sleep deprived, dehydrated, and very sweaty, I was self conscious about potentially sitting next to someone in their finest traveling garb, so I pulled out spare clothes and changed. In my rush I didn't notice that I forgot socks until I pulled off my shoes in the ladies loo. It had been over 24 hours since putting on my hiking boots and the addition of cycling through the midday heat of Melbourne drenched my feet, socks, and boots. Ew. I stayed in there until I thought everything was dry enough to pass in public.

Dinner on the ferry was a buffet of delicious foods! I don't realize until then that it had been over 24 hours since I last ate. I went back for seconds on dinner, dessert, and tea. I had a recliner reserved which was in a lounge facing windows out the rear of the ferry. It was significantly more comfortable than the night before.

At 0630 this morning we docked in Devonport, Tasmania and I spent the today getting ready to ride off tomorrow. I'll head west tomorrow morning and hopefully have lunch in a town called "Penguin." Apparently they have a statue.

Earlier this year I had my hair cut fairly short to make maintenance easier while on the sailboat. I've been told I look like a mop and after yesterday's misadventures I stated calling the bike "Lord Buckethead." So these are the New Adventures of Mop and Bucket! 

Engine, meet Village Girl

Saturday  22 June 2019
Comox, British Columbia
0630: 5.6 kilometer walk from Comox to designated parking lot in Courtney to catch shuttle from Courtney/Comox to Nanaimo.
0840: Boarded shuttle
1045: Ferry from Nanaimo to Horse Shoe Bay, north of Vancouver
1230: Number 257 bus to downtown Vancouver. Allowed on by driver despite having incorrect and insufficient change.
1300: Decended underground in central Vancouver to catch a train to the airport.
1400: After having ridden the wrong line for a stop and at long last finding the correct line the airport appeared.
1530: After taking with four airport employees, waking the length of both the domestic and international terminals, and one over-priced taxi the Alaska Airlines cargo office is found. It was cleverly disguised as a Swissport office about a quarter mile from the airport. I was handed customs paperwork and told that the office only handles perishables on weekends,  but I should try to have the paperwork signed off anyways.
1600: Back at the international terminal in the airport customs office with papers and passport in hand.  With the explanation of the race, getting blown out of Johnstone Strait, landing in Comox, and the sincere promise that the engine will be taken immediately out of the country again I emerged from the perishables customs office, blue-stamped papers in hand.
1700: With help from the crew in the cargo office I collected the engine, restrapped it since its rainbow luggage strap went missing in transit, loaded it on the hand trolley I bought in Campbell River and began the long, slow, teetering roll back to the train station. The cargo office helped me carry the engine and its wooden crate down the stairs and sent me off with prefect directions for finding the bus back to Horse Shoe Bay. By this time I was aware that I might be spending the night on the mainland.
1800: The perfect directions got me to the exact intersection and side of the street to catch bus 257 back north. The bus sat there loading evening commuters as I trundled up with my 70+ pound box. At first the driver looked as though he weren't going to let me on. A taxi would have cost over $60 and that didn't appeal. Reluctantly and likely because I looked like I had good control of my giant wooden crate I was allowed on and even given preferential seating with the condition that I keep control of the box at all times.
1830: The hard part done!  The final bus ride was my only concern and I was relived as a fellow passenger helped lift the box out of the bus. I declared my "dangerous goods" at the ferry terminal, bought my ticket, and rolled onto the ferry on the same level as the bicycles and cars.
1915: Ferry from HSB to Nanaimo. I was disappointed to realized that the BC Ferries don't sell alcohol on board. Sigh.
2100: Arrived in Nanaimo, found hotel, took taxi, checked in, and for the first time in 11 hours ate. The restaurant next to the hotel offered a discount to hotel guests. I was so hungry I even finished the complementary salad. Chicken burger, 20-ounce local lager and a bloody Mary for dessert.
2230: Sleep

Sunday 23 June
Nanaimo
0800: Alarm. My first thought was,  "Alex didn't wake me. Am I suppose to be on watch?" I slept soundly and woke confused. All cleared soon.
0900: Waffles at continental breakfast!
0945: I called the same taxi company as the night before and explained the giant box situation. They sent their wheelchair accessible van and I rolled the whole shebang right into the back. Easiest manoeuvre in two days!
1045: After having booked a "bicycle box" for the shuttle there was plenty of space to load up.
1215: Arrived in Courtney/Comox, called taxi with the request for a big car and was dropped off at the Comox fisherman's wharf with Alex waiting to help unload and roll the box down the dock to  Village Girl.
1300: Engine mounted and tank filled, Gerry jugs filled, and VG ready to leave any time. The trolly driver requested refreshment and was treated by the fearless captain Whitworth to a pint.
Arms bruised, belly filled,  and the adventure continues.
Our friend Carla said that after the race having our engine will look like the Mona Lisa. We've since dubbed our Yamaha 2.5hp "Mota Lisa."

Home again with Mota Lisa

R2AK 2019 Wingnuts Out

Alex and I  tried again, made it farther,  and dropped out with dignity intact. We sat in Otter Cove at the north end of Discovery Passage for three days making runs around the corner into Johnstone Strait. Trial one gave us 15 knots and lumpy seas with the expectation of it building fast. We about-faced and ducked back into shelter. We tried again later under calmer winds only to have missed the tide and had difficulty making headway. Number three made the decision for us. With 25 knots of headwind and the full force of the current with us we ploughed through a series of standing waves which dumped water into the cockpit. We turned around to run with the 25 knots, but against the current and met another series of standing waves. We fell sideways off a face and landed on our side in the trough.  We both stayed in the boat and we sailed carefully and very slowly against the full force of the Inside Passage to the first dock we saw. We landed and clung on. It was a private dock,  but the caretaker was happy to see it being used and gave us permission to stay.

Our track of the three runs

Most everything was secured and stayed in place down below. A few loose books and my toothbrush were found opposite where they usually lived. That night we were slammed against the dock by swells coming down from the north and we were awake all night adjusting lines and fenders to keep the floating dock from landing on top of Village Girl.

By morning Team R2Ache passed us going north and Team Angry Beaver who won the race a week before sailed past us going south. We did the math and realized that the winds would need to work with us perfectly for the following 12 days in order to beat the Grim Sweeper (sweeper boat whose job it is to catch and disqualify.) We wouldn't be able to make the mileage so we bowed out for a second time.

The morning of Sunday June 16 we caught a south-flowing current and made it into Brown Bay with the help of a tug boat captain named Lundquist. Minutes after leaving the rollercoaster dock that morning we crossed paths with Team You Do Stuff or You Don't, the last boat in the fleet. It was an open gaff-rigger with one crew member. A few hours after our crossing he was pulled safely from the water by a local fishing boat. It is unknown whether his boat was lost after the swamping. Alex and I suspect he met the same standing waves which  send us running for safety.

Similarly Team Holopuni in a Hawaiian style canoe was rescued by the Canadian Coast Guard early this morning in Dickson Entrance near Ketchikan. They abandon their boat, but from their latest update the tracker is still working and they are planning a salvage.

Teams Wingnuts and Holopuni at the start in Port Townsend

Wingnuts ringing the bell in Victoria after stage 1

Bobbles and Village Girl

Alex and I dropped out the Race to Alaska in 2018 because we snapped the rudder off of Bobbles in Georgia strait during 25 knot winds and 5-foot following swells. It was an annoyance. Wayne Gorrie a previous winner of the coveted steak knives stood on the dock back in Nanaimo as we arrived under tow asking,  "What do you need? " We were rudderless and taking on water. Within 30 minutes Wayne had arranged for a boat lift and Bobbles hung suspended in a sling as we tried to find the source of the leak and survey the rudder damage.

The rudder was irrepairable and we found the leak to be a hairline fracture in the centerboard case which flexed open whenever the centerboard twisted letting water slip in. Tom a local shipwright who worked nearby saw our problem and in about two hours had made a new rudder out of a solid piece of yellow cedar.

The crack was a bigger problem. The centerboard itself was waterlogged, delaminated, and mushy. We unbolted it and the two of us left it by the dumpster as it was too heavy to lift in. Over the next few days we worked to convert the centerboard case to house a daggerboard which could be lifted out from the top. I fiberglassed the case inside and out while Alex made the new daggerboard from a slab of red cedar.

When all was done we gave our thanks to Wayne, Tom, and John the manager of the boat yard. We launched and sailed off the dock at sunrise  to take the scenic route back to Port Townsend.

Bobbles snuggled between the big boats in Friday harbor