WANAKA
TO HAAST
The ride from Wanaka to Haast remains
one of the greatest highlights of my life...
I penned this on my phone at the time,
“Holy hell, I have just been driving the
greatest motorcycling roads in the country.
And I just cannot stop! From Queenstown
To Makorora and Haast was utterly
sublime. I really have no words to specify
the joy. But travelling alongside mirrored
navy blue lakes, vast mountains and alpine
meadows, just after dawn, is worth every
piece of crap one lives through. I was
melting into the roads and corners, and
then at one point after a long bush beech-
canopied section I burst out beside the
misty, emerald waters, mirror smooth and
dimpled, of the Haast river. At that exact
moment Hendrix’s Voodoo Chile came
through loud in my helmet headset, and
I just screamed - at the sheer magicality
of it. I’m almost in tears describing how
happy it has made me, and even riding
with a wet crotch (from the rain...) has not
dimmed the experience. I will continue
on and stop where sense dictates. Wow.
Fucking wow.”
Over the last couple of hundred metres
as I entered the tiny township of Haast,
it was pissing down. But nothing could
dampen my spirits, so I rode on. And on.
In bucketing west Coast rain, and with
some caution, as visibility shortened to
a few bike lengths. Nevertheless those
exceptional roads up the Coast wended
and unwound with alacrity. I was in my
own world, happy - wet as a shag from
the waist down, and not in the least
concerned. I had no plans, nowhere to
stay, - I was just there, once again, in the
moment.
I passed through town and village, bridge
and picnic viewing area, and saw only what
was ahead of, and immediately beside me.
It didn’t matter. It was the West Coast, I
was as wet as I was going to be, and I had
not a care in the world.