I got bad news for you, mate

And then something like "That's a tough bike ride" or "You can't get there on a bike, mate" . It's a joke I hear every time I tell a Kiwi I'm biking to Stewart Island. 

I regretfully leave my hotel before they start serving breakfast as I want as much time as possible for headwinds and rain delays. 

I run into both. It's just enough rain/cold to make me stop and put on my waterproof pants. I stop a couple of times to take them off when the heavy rain never materializes. 

I pass one perfect photo opportunity after another, though I know with current weather conditions and only a cheap phone they won't be captured correctly. I snap a selfie and notice I am gaunt. 

The ocean comes into view. Based on the signs, I believe the land mass is Monkey Island. Based on the signs, I believe Monkey Island is really a peninsula. Based on my knowledge of New Zealand wildlife, I believe there are no monkeys on Monkey Island. It's a detour I don't take, so I could be wrong on both counts.

Karina and Mathew from South Africa and Auckland, respectively are headed in the opposite direction: Cape Reinga...on foot. 

Clearly there are people crazier than me in this world. She recommends I stop at the Crepe Cafe in Riverton. I guess I don't speak South African, either as she actually said Crib Cafe. This is the cutest cafe I've seen this trip and the long black is the best I've had. 

My plan is to ignore my Garmin routes and stick to the highway unless it's much busier than it has been he first half of my day. 

I ride along the highway, which although part of the Southern Scenic Drive isn't very scenic. Or maybe I'm just bored of bicycling. I watch the route in the Garmin that I'm supposed to be riding and wonder if I'd be happier over there. Probably, but I'm also pretty happy getting to Invercargill 45 minutes earlier. I had wanted to stop at the Invercargill Brewery, but I can't tell if it exists anymore. I instead find the Tuatara Cafe, which serves as the tasting room for a different local brewery. I have 30 km left to ride and settle on coffee and a lamb pasty.

I find a bike shop and pump up my tyres a little. I pass a record store, but it's closed Sundays. I remember there's a Burt Munro museum and wander in.

A couple of old women approach me as I'm getting ready to ride to Bluff telling me they were watching my bike while I was in the restaurant and anyone could have walked off with it. I thank them and the lecture goes on longer than comfortable. Every other town I felt stupid locking the bike up; in Invercargill I have my eyes on it nearly 98% of the time, but don't use my lock. Noted. 

I ride down Highway 1. Google Maps has an alternate route that's a few km longer, but I can't hold my phone and ride. I'll scope out better for the return. A couple of cars intentionally swerve/lunge toward me. This hasn't happened before. There's a paved bike lane most of the way, but it's covered with debris. Something that looks like broken pottery but is probably stray rocks from chip sealing the road. I try to ride in it, but I'm more worried about wrecking my tyres than a car hitting me. I'll use it on the way back when a tow to Invercargill is in the right direction.

Bluff is run down and much smaller than anticipated for a South Island town I've heard of. I ask the fork lift driver at the ferry if he has any recs for Bluff Oysters. It's the only thing I know about Bluff. I'm too late for Bluff Oysters. I bike to Sterling Point as the restaurants in town are either fast food or closed. I enjoy an overpriced pint and an overpriced bowl of pumpkin soup while enjoying the view of my bike.

A woman who says she lives 20 minutes away but never comes here offers to take my picture in front of the sign. I look for Hawaii, but don't see it.

The check in agent at the ferry makes me take everything off the bike. Carrying around water bottles, a helmet, and six bags is a pain.

I ride to my lodging, which was my second choice as there was a booking problem at the place with the pub. I quickly shower as I'm afraid the restaurant will close and I'm beyond starving. It's quiz night and super crowded. The quiz is hard and I'm glad I'm not playing. I sit down with a pint of Emerson's 1812 in what I was hoping was the world's most southern bar. It might be third.

I have done everything I wanted to accomplish (except getting back to Queenstown, but that's a straight 200 km. I may feel differently in a couple of days when I'm riding it.) As I was planning this trip, looking at map, I thought it would be super cool to pedal the southern coast.

Strava says 72 miles, 1890 feet climbing.