No, it's fine, I'll just walk...

There are sunny days, and there are rainy days; basic weather and life fact.  Sunday, that was a rainy day.  I saw the wall of rain moving West down the lake towards me, and I knew my day of riding would be cut short - way short actually, as the road up to an overlook I wanted to climb to was closed to the public; probably should have sorted that out before riding four miles over to the base of the hill.  Just another learning experience.  The lame-ness of the day doesn't quite stop there though: upon returning home, the rain furiously licking the side of the house, and nothing good on TV, I decided to head downtown to see if there was some better way to spend my evening.

They asked nicely at least...

Appropriately suited up (raincoat and crocs), I meandered up to the bus stop, ten minutes ahead of schedule, because the buses are notoriously unpredictable here and I figured I'd just get on with waiting...but lo!  What did I see there when I arrived?  T'was the bus, stationary and with the door open - what great timing!  So, I threw up my hand, and walked the few paces of distance to the bus.  I made sure to make eye contact with the driver, as is appropriate, and in doing so, watched him reach over, flip the switch and quite literally shut the door in my face as I stood on the threshold of the bus.  He drove off before the doors had even set in their fully-close position.
The ensuing rage and blue streak of expletives that emanated from my rage-contorted face don't need to be rewritten here, just know I'm pretty sure the paint started peeling off the bus as I spit venom in the direction of the then departed bus.  This would not stand, and I was hellbent on reparations for this injustice.  The guy who had stepped off the bus moments before I was brusquely barred from entering, stood before me as I turned around, a knowing smile on his face - he too agreed that the particular bus driver was of poor repute and lacked desirable character traits typical to a good person.  This was not the first instance of exceptionally bad service either of us had received from this particular driver.  We parted ways and I threw a thumb out for a ride.  Not two cars later I found myself zooming down the road not in a bus, and passing the bus of ire as it appeared to have had a change of heart, and decided to stop/do it's duty as a bus [driver] for some other person. 
I disembarked at the mall, and exchanged pleasant farewells with my temporary driver.  I found the ticket master and voiced my complaints to him - and he was quite nonplussed by the tale, as he is regaled with an unending torrent of complaints no doubt (Connectabus is not known for running a good business here in town, and has had several dedicated threads of conversation online recently).  With the rain drops hissing as they landed upon my fuming brow, I moved on with my evening in an attempt to regain some sort of positive stance on the whole day (spoiler: it didn't happen).
On Tuesday, after appropriately contributing to the many threads of online discourse regarding the terrible bus service, I addressed the issue with the ticket master of that day.  His reaction?  Muted understanding/feigned surprise, at which point he grabbed his phone and called his manager (without prompting I might add).  He relayed an abridged version of my grievances; "...a customer is here with complaints of a 'poor' experience with a bus/driver the other day..." - very understated, the English Empire's touch upon eNZed is wholly apparent.  
After a lengthy, one-sided "conversation" with the manager (whom I couldn't understand in the least), I gave my contact info to the helpful ticket master and got on with my day.  I wasn't sure if there would be any follow-up, but I felt a smidgen bit better knowing that I at least spoke to a real person in charge of real things (even if he sounded more nervous than a teenage boy "meeting the parents" for the first time).  I as stood around cooking lunch on Wednesday, I received a phone call; the manager!  He uttered some more excuses, a lot of unintelligible other things - a basic summation of the things would be thus:  The driver [PAUL, WE NOW KNOW YOU'RE NAME, YOU ARE A SCOURGE UPON HUMANITY!!!!!] was reprimanded and showed no remorse for his actions, and so a profile was being established to monitor his behavior [I WILL SEE TO YOUR UNDOING YOU UNNCONCIONABLE NIMROD].  I was given compensation for my troubles in the amount of a free week's bus pass - passable as a peace offering, what else could I really get as just compensation?  Works for me.  And the manager also express his "thanks" to me for actually following up in the matter and being constructive in my approach to finding a resolution.  He did admit to reading my post online on Sunday (it helps you can tag public pages in posts on facebook), and while he found it curious he couldn't address it due to it's vague nature.  So, he seemed somewhat pleased that I actually managed to see this matter through.  
In the end, what is the moral here?  Well, in part, bus drivers hate the passengers - partially reasonable if you think about it; and, if you complain in a constructive/less offensive manner, people are likely to hear your case and doing something about it.  Bureaucracy fails most of the time, but occasionally that blind squirrel finds a nut.  But, the real ending is that I'm buying a moped.  The End.

The Traveling Circus Comes To (Queens)Town!

First off, this is the first post written from my laptop since my first week here in eNZed - this might be a short-lived trend, we'll see if this machine has fixed itself or not!

At any rate, to get back to it, I don't have a new tale of adventure or the like this week, just some fun little tidbits of fun things that have happened:

The idea was to land going straight again... Sam and Brook muscled their way out of these whips.

I had my first couple of photos published online at VitalMTB.com from a wicked gathering/ "Whip Off" contest put on by Vertigo Bikes and Atlas (bike shop and bar).  It was like a mini World Cup event mixed with local heroes.  A wild time, with a lot of wild moments - the whole gallery of photos will show you what it was all about!  What makes this a funny story: I wasn't using my own camera.  Legendary photographer Sven Martin decided to trust me with his cameras, and the first sequence shot was taken with his money-maker, a Canon 1D with a 70-200 1.4fL lens - it was like being handed the keys to a race car having only ever driven a decently fast street car.  To get the shot, I had to stand in the apex of the corner the riders kept crashing in/into following their bold attempts to get as sideways as possible.  I initially thought against standing in this Corner Of Doom, until Sven saw me milling about trying to find an angle and shouted down, "You're just gonna have to man up and stand in that corner..." 10-4 Sven, I'll get right to it.  Moments later, I was thoroughly roosted with rocks and dust thanks to Brook MacDonald, the trailing rider in the sequence - good show!  Though I nearly got run over several times, and avoided being a crash pad a few more times, both the equipment and I made it out unscathed; for which the same cannot be said about several riders and bikes...ouch.  It was a great way to spend a Saturday, catching up with friends from around the World, whom I had previously seen in the Catskill Mountains of New York, just six months prior.  It's still a little crazy to me that I can travel to the other side of the Globe and catch up with people I know. 

One of the local dudes hanging it all out.

Other news that I am particularly excited about was finally receiving a new mattress I had ordered.  Never before has something so trivial been so hotly awaited - this week, my back didn't hurt for the first time in a month and a half - I feel like a new person!  We spend 30 years of our lives sleeping, so to me, a comfortable bed is money well-spent, not to mention that I now sleep through the night and wake up at a reasonable hour again!  No more noon-time rising, no more day-half-gone drama! 
I don't want to jinx it, but I've made it this far while typing with no issues from my computer, so I'm going to try and edit some photos from my camera and get them up on here...stay tuned! 

Bored? Go Play Outside!

  When most people are bored, they read, surf online, watch TV, or something simple and mindless.  As this blog has established, I am not most people.  On Wednesday, I was feeling motivated with little to do, so I gear up, and started pedaling.  I was shooting for Authors Point, just a little ways down the road from me, and I was seeking out the trail head for Moonlight Track, a hiking/riding route that circumnavigates Ben Lomond.  I'd been told that the initial part of the trail makes for a nice out-and-back ride, and once I got out there, I certainly agreed.  The view was excellent, and the riding itself wasn't too technical - though it was very unnerving because for the first 30 or so minutes, there was the trail, which was anywhere from 6 to 18 inches wide, and then a cliff or exceedingly steep hillside to the right.  Steady riding and a looking wayyyyy ahead was the name of the game [DON'T LOOK DOWN].  The traverse across the mountain followed the course of the Shotover River for a ways, which lead up to a very large canyon swing.  This is worth noting because for about 15 minutes, every couple of minutes there would be the comical fading scream as someone jumped from the platform.

Rounding the corner onto the North side of Ben Lomond, looking out into the Southern Alps.

  As I rounded onto the back side of the mountain, another riding and I crossed paths.  We had a nice chat about the day and the ride, and when I inquired as to how far I was from Moke Lake (roughly the half-way point for the length of the whole trail, also a previous center point for a previous blog post), he said it was only about an hour away.  I then decided that the out-and-back was instead going to be the full traverse of the Moonlight Track, because what else was I going to do that afternoon?  I had a snack, snapchatted, took some panoramic photos, and set out to continue on my way.  A quick side note:  the astute reader will notice a trend in these adventures of mine, where I have a vague plan, and then end up riding for half a day.  Well, this is no different.  The one piece of information I should have taken into account but didn't, was the fact that I was setting out to ride in the heat of the afternoon, and would be chasing the sun the whole way, being caned unrelentingly by the rays.  It was a slow ride to say the least.  After what seemed like an eternity, I finally caught sight of Moke Lake, and I sighed a breath of relief.

Moke Lake, just ahead! 

  The camp ground at the lake was all I thought about for the better part of the ride until I arrived  - it meant water and shade, both much-needed.  I decided to ride over to the Camp Warden's bus (yes, he lives in an old converted bus) to have a chat and inquire about water.  He had a tap right out of the ground, which was exceptionally convenient (and cold, and refreshing).  Now, most people think a Camp Warden would look like a Park Ranger back in the States, or something resembling an authority; this was not the case.  He goes by "Bear" ["An American Sheila called me that once, and the name stuck!  I wonder why..."], and he looks like one too.  Six-foot-two, 350lbs, he is an imposing sight.  His giant unkept, scraggly beard, and is lengthy ponytail told a tale of a man with no cares and a free spirit.  A gentle giant, he and I joked about his wild youth, affinity for American Classic Rock (he's a big fan of Johnny Cash, Willie Nelson, and Pete Seeger), motorcycles, and how "...me old lady was the one who tamed me, settled me down."  Classic.  A born and bred South Island Kiwi, he joked, "I went to the North Island once, but no one knew me, so I came back here and haven't been back since."  Whether he was spinning a yarn or not, he also told me he was cast as an extra in the third Hobbit movie, and then produced a big walking stick he found, which he claimed Gandalf's staff is modeled after.  Personally, I believe him.  He looks like Hagrid from Harry Potter, and would fit right into the world of Middle Earth.  Hanging out with Bear for the bit of time I did, I can say that, that alone would have been worth the ride - you don't get to meet people like that every day; a true champion of life!
  I disembarked from The Bear Cave, and made my way onto the second leg of the ride, out to Lake Dispute, into Closeburn, and then back out into Queenstown (and then home, barely).  The second half of the ride was much more pleasant i.e. shaded and of a rolling grade, with some fun descents.  One descent was indeed almost too much fun, as the loose rocks blasted my water bottle off the bike (I was unable to recover/find it), and I also got a flat tire.  It has been probably a decade or so since the last time I got a flat tire out on a ride, not to mention that I was very much in the middle of nowhere.  I am a prepared man though, and I was able to repair the problem and continue trekking towards home.  The rest of the ride was uneventful, if not just shy of boring.  I was gassed and struggled the last 13 miles home, but I made it (and treated myself to some bakery goods in town).  All told, the ride was 32.3 miles, with about 5,000 feet of elevation gain.  Just another casual Hump Day here in eNZed.

Keepsake

On holiday, people spend to the moon.  No expense is too great, it's worth it; "Once in a lifetime!".  When it comes to creating new memories, I think this is a fair mantra, but when I see people shopping in boutiques or silly souvenir shops, I can't help but think that there are better ways to go about procuring physical momentos from one's jounrneys.  I personally refrain from taking items from nature because I heard a saying once, and to paraphrase, "If all visitors took [the item], there would be none left for others to enjoy", so I tend to go the route of locally-made art or tools, regionally-oriented clothing, or something along those lines - anything that has a more specific relevance to the trip than just another consumable.  

January 1st was a beautiful start to 2015.

Thankfully, there is a local art market here every Saturday, which I had forgotten about until I stumbled into it this weekend.  The level of craftsmanship was very impressive, and equally diverse.  From animal hides, to hand-made textitles and jewelry, there was something for everyone.  It provided me with a neat glimps into the lives of local artists and craftspersons, as I was fortunate enough to chat with a few of them in particular; Roger is a third-generation stone-carver, working with materials sources locally by his father; John is a local potter who chases the sun and clay between New Zealand and Sweden each year; I didn't get the name of the man who works with hides, but he still keeps a dying art alive with is various cow, deer, sheep, and possum hides-turned-pillows/throws/hangings/etc. 

Last night I lost the one momento I had purchased, an eNZed made knife from Svord.  I'm bummed that this happened, both because it was money well-spent and because now I have to try to find another one like it (harder than it may seem).  I enjoy finding items that speak to the charater of the person crafting, as well as being able to address my interests and needs.  Those who know me will not be surprised that I've chosen to find a knife as my keep-sake, as I have developed a penchant for niché blades.  Perhaps it will turn up, but I have a feeling that it has now passed into the hands of someone else as a momento of their trip to Queenstown, the cool knife they found on the street.