Monday morning I set my alarm but no longer for work. I get up, board the Bluebridge ferry and arrive in Picton around 4pm. By 4.30 I am hooked by the South Island. Tight and twisty roads with blind corners kept me occupied but the scenery was stunning. My route took me from Picton around the Queen Charlotte road to Nelson and through to a clear-weather sunset near Motueka. Coming up to a school I see two forlorn hitchikers. The sun is setting and they are stranded on a road with no traffic. Unable to give them a lift I arrange with my sister for them to stay at her house with me. They are Peter and Dre from Belgium, trying to make their way to hike the Nelson lakes. They are interesting guys but I am tired and can’t make great conversation. Dre refuses to rap. A heavy night’s sleep ensues.

Tuesday was Takaka. Rising late, we made loose plans for the day and set off via my sister’s organic store in Motueka. The Takaka Hill is surely designed with motorcyclists in mind. Tight challenging corners introduced my pillion to the angles a motorcycle can run and at the peak and descent offered stunning views of the bay and pasture that makes up the area. It is known as a haven for hippies and socialists and I was curious to see what the reality was. Driving down the main street I was surprised to see what amounted to a fairly normal small town; a couple of hardware stores, a bank. There clearly was a bohemian element but it added to the relaxed feel of a beautiful area. The Southern Alps extend through to here, surrendering it’s height in staggered steps petering out into the Cook Strait in the distance. Further on from Takaka is the Mussel Inn (recommended), a local bar that brews it’s own great beers. Unfortunately I could only have one. Given the choice my trip could have ended there. A trip through Golden Bay wouldn’t be complete without a walk on the beach. We coast 500 metres down a gravel road. I am nervous for the bike. Stopping and making our way down to the beach we follow an estuary to a yacht beached by low tide. A wharf stood here once - all that remains are rusted beams rapidly being consumed by the sea. Collingwood and Farewell Spit extend in the haze.

On the return trip, we stop by the Riwaka Resurgence. The Riwaka river emerges from under the Takaka hill. The local geology consists of much limestone and quartz. The limestone in the hill acts as a natural filter for rainwater which emerges from a cave as icy, pure water. I look at the beautiful bush around, wash my face, walk around but know there’s no avoiding jumping in. After all, I may never have the chance to come here again. I jump in, and everything feels clean. I shriek like a little girl but feel great. There really is something special about the water. Tara says the maori women in times past would give birth to their children by this river.

 Wednesday I am up and trying to pack my bike with a bizarre assortment of straps, bungees and leads. By 8.30 all is secured (sort of) and I hit the road. The South Island curves seduce me quickly and I give all thought of the speed limit away. The day is warm and the sky is blue and I’m bounding through the Buller Gorge where at one bluff the have literally carved the road into rockface. At Murchison I stop for fuel and a couple asks me about the bike. They explain that they are motorcyclists themselves and were considering touring the country by bike. They are Mexicans. Such a small world, I give them my details and promise to call them in Mexico City. Travelling by motorbike, even in New Zealand interests people. I push on to Westport but decide not to travel through the town, turning south to the seal colony. A five minute walk and you can definitely smell seals.. I look at my odometer. The meter reads 49890. I decide that my next stop will be wherever 50000 lands me. I ride through the exhilirating roads to Punakaiki where sheer cliffs dwarf me and the teal sea swells over the rocks. I eventually stop 10 minutes before Greymouth overlooking a point and a golden beach with thick scrub growing on the beach. A fine place for lunch.

I set off again but am becoming tired. I am not enjoying the corners as much as they deserve to be enjoyed so I stop in Hokitika in search of coffee. I follow the road down to the beach and have a drop turning in the loose sand. I am embarrassed. I knew I was tired and this is the proof. I take my time in Hokitika, and after half an hour don my helmet and head down to Franz Josef. I turn to the glacier to have a look and pass 2 guys walking the road. I realise in passing them that they are the Belgians. Such a small world. They are camping behind a local backpackers brimming with other nationalities. I pitch my tent and head for the bar.

A fine few days in Aotearoa.