Day off

I have nothing planned today, so decide maybe I'll do laundry while I wait for the cafes to open. Odelay is supposed to be the best in Frankton and it's conveniently a one minute ride from the laundromat.

On the way back, I follow a few mountain bikers on the path in front of the hotel. Some of it is under a few inches of water. I had been meaning to bike in this direction, so I try to keep up. This trail is even more beautiful than the one to Queenstown. It is also far more challenging. 

One of the cyclists tells me to continue riding around the golf course, or I can connect with the Jack's Point trail--except that's technical single track. I thought I was already on technical single track...

I am scolded more on this bike path (by walkers) than I've ever been in my life. This is the expensive part of Queenstown and I suspect the walkers are 95% residents as the path isn't close to anything and the cyclists are all tourists.

Queenstown is impossibly beautiful.

I get to a sign that says experienced cyclists only and decide to ride back on the road. 

My 2 km laundry run has turned into a 17 mile ride.

I drop my laundry off at the hotel as there's no point in weighing an extra 6 pounds and then head out to breakfast. Kiwi passive aggressiveness is very different from Maui passive aggressiveness. The hostess seems to want to talk me out of waiting 25 minutes for a table for one. Bitch, I'm from Los Angeles. I stand in line just to stand in line. 

Flat white #2 and Turkish eggs. I catch up on blogging, but the poor Wi-Fi results in my post deleting. Sorry, the original was a masterpiece and this is all you get.

Over breakfast, which is pretty close to lunch, I decide I'll take a cycling brewery tour of Queenstown. I've already been to Altitude, which is in the same parking space as the Boat Shed. Canyon is the furthest and Google tells me the ride mostly flat. Google lies. I'm biking on a busy road and while I'm getting better at the left side riding, I think about turning around. But then I'm rewarded with a rare sealed bike path. [This photo was taken on the way down as I didn't feel like shooting while climbing.]

Canyon is overlooking the Shotover River and has a corporate feel.

On to Searchlight, which is downhill to Queenstown.

British 80s music is playing. I ask the bartender if these are oldies to him. He says no, he grew up with it. I'm about to ask a follow up question when he volunteers "My parents listened to it." 

There's no food aside from peanuts so I start searching for Fish and Chips. Queenstown's best are in Fernhill, which I want to check out because it's the inexpensive side of Queenstown. Google tells me I'll be biking up a very steep hill. Google did not lie this time. I'm going to take them down to the lake, but making everything in my bag smell like fish and chips after I've just done laundry leads me to eating at their table. The view would be acceptable if that ute would move. I'm starving so forgive me if they're not as excellent as I thought they were. I could have fed the whole family for what they cost when we lived in the NZ.

Headimg back to the hoteI I stop at Altitude again to complete the trilogy. Big day tomorrow. Back to the hotel to pack.[This last photo is AI enhanced an arguably worse than the one I took.]

Looks like 41 miles and just under 2300 feet on the day.

Glenorchy or Bust

The forecast looks considerably worse than yesterday, which turns out to be a good thing since I've forgotten to wear sunscreen. I try to stop for photos as there's not much in Glenorchy (for me at least, if I wasn't on a bicycle and wanted to sky dive, or something there's all kinds of things to do); today's ride is about the journey. 

I stop at Bennett's Bluff just ahead of a bus filled with Chinese tourists, and then another bus filled with Chinese tourists. They beat me to the top while I am catching up on burned calories. One by one, they venture past the barrier while a tour guide takes Instagram worthy photos. People are the same all over. I am afraid of the 150 meter drop into that lake so my picture isn't as good.

The kilometers are ticking by so slowly. I limit my stops, but these are the first sheep I've seen.

I see more of Glenorchy than I've seen before, which isn't saying much. 

All I remember from the last time I was here is lunch at what I thought was a Speight's Ale House, but was probably the Glenorchy Hotel. The coffee options are limited, but I appear to have wandered into the best in Glenorchy. I talk to the Canadian barista as he makes my espresso (sorry, no photo).

It's drizzling and even colder when I walk outside. I contemplate hitchhiking back, but put on my jacket and start pedaling. A light rain falls for two hours, but it's never hard enough for the waterproof pants.

The ride home goes faster in spite of the rain and my lack of physical preparation for this ride. The last-ish hill before Queenstown surprises me and I am disappointed to pull off onto a non-scenic turnout. Then I turn around and look behind me.

I scoot back to the hotel to catch most of World Series game 7. I stop watching after the 8th inning to catch the water taxi. The closest pub to the dock has the game on. 

I quickly realize I'm in the wrong pub. It's full of Canadians and San Franciscans.

I wait in line at Fergburger, then fend off sparrows trying to eat my onion rings.

I catch the water taxi back to the hotel. It's warmer on the hotel side of the lake and I sit down on a piece of public art. My phone says it's 41 degrees and I consider if I'm suffering from tuberculosis. 

Strava says 68 miles and 5361 feet. I meant to convert to metric, but haven't yet. 

Business first

Of course I have forgotten that kiwi hotel rooms are unlikely to have coffee makers [electric kettles, tea, and instant coffee are standard amenities]. And of course I'm up at 4:30 in the morning and I haven't assembled the bicycle. Wait it out or drink instant? 

Bike assembled and after opening the balcony door for a quick photo, I decided I needed more layers.

After riding about 4 minutes, I immediately decided I needed to put on some of those additional layers. The stop marked a good opportunity for a photo.

The trail from the hotel to Queenstown is immensely beautiful and I'm tempted to spend the next few days doing nothing but ride back and forth. But I still haven't had coffee so there are no more photos at present.

Flat white number 1 at Vudu Coffee. My barista was from Los Feliz, yet another reminder that Queenstown is full of Americans. I elected to sit outside for a view of Lake Wakatipu and immediately began shivering.

Back to the hotel for the World Series. I was going to try to find a bar showing it but 1) most sports bars in New Zealand are gambling venues (this is probably not the case in Queenstown as Queenstown is full of Americans) and 2) it's a little early here and I'm trying to postpone happy hour until later so I won't wake up 3 hours before coffee is available again. 

I can't stand watching the cyclists on the bike path outside my hotel room any longer (notice the path is partially submerged due to a storm last week), so I skip the 9th inning to bike back to town. I'm rushing because I'm starving. I keep reminding myself to slow down and not miss anything.

And onto my favorite place in the world. I wandered in here 2 years ago to the day (in bike clothes) after feeling out of place at my first two stops. There are bicycles hanging from the ceiling and I made a couple of cycling kiwi friends. Too many pints. I play my new game of guess where the Americans next to me are from. I fail badly.

The cold lake breeze and the cold beer is making me shiver, even inside. I hear a kiwi woman complaining about how warm it is as I walk outside. I stroll around town and happen upon Cookie Time during cookie happy hour and buy way too many cookies. I've started making plans for tomorrow's ride and it sounds better with cookies.

I start to think I have become a creature of habit, having only visited places I've previously frequented. I sit at a bench by the lake and eat cookies regretting that I rode here in only shorts/short sleeve. I put my arm and leg warmers on and am happy to see they work. 

It's not quite dark (and I brought lights) so I stop for a wee pint at what might be Queenstown's busiest brewery. I'm not sure if there are any others. It's near my hotel and I'm hungry and there are food trucks.

Zeus Skis in Jeans, it ranks as my third favorite beer I've had today. Since I'm almost back to the hotel, let's call Day 1 of riding 36 km with almost no elevation. 

But first the minutia

The bike bag ended up a little overweight so I attempted to redistribute to my carryon. The bike remained heavy, but (and I don't want to this to get out there or everyone might start doing it) bikes weigh less if they're not entirely on the airport scale when checking in. But then the mean ticket agent wanted to weigh my carry on and it's 5 kg over. The nice ticket agent tells me to move some stuff into the bike bag and she'll let me have a couple of over. I do a little of that. I put on my cycling shoes. I stuff my backpack with everything heavy. 

Only 1 kg over on the carryon. I get an approved tag, then promptly re-redistribute because cycling shoes are uncomfortable (I had to walk 2 miles through the airport to get to Dunkin Donuts) and my backpack is too heavy to carry. I've got one more flight to check in for, hopefully they don't weigh me again.

So I've been awake for nearly 8 hours by the time breakfast is served. Behind the breakfast cart, they're pushing a drink cart with a full bar. I order a screwdriver. The flight attendant has never heard of a screwdriver, but assumes it's a drink. Is this a Kiwi thing or an age thing. Nobody else on the flight is drinking and they may have cut me off already.

The rest of the day is a haze. Breezed through electronic immigration in Auckland. Once again nobody welcomed me home. Went through the nothing to declare line at customs/biohazard. Not sure if that was correct, but I clearly had a bicycle. Hopefully nobody will come looking for me to take soil samples of my tires. Arrived in Queenstown after dark. Google maps showed a 1.8 km walk from where I stood in baggage claim. The thought of squeezing everything into a Kiwi Uber and paying $25 for a one mile ride was giving me palpitations. Off I set into the cold, breezy night. I made a couple of wrong turns and had a moment where I thought I, or one or more pieces of luggage would end up in the lake.

I used to be a wine snob

But since purchasing my retirement espresso machine [read: a machine that takes so long to make coffee, it is incompatible with working], I have found myself unable to drink "regular" espresso. 

Upon waking up in Boston at 5 AM, I discovered Boston is not New York. Coffee places not in my hotel [read: Starbucks] do not open until 7 AM. My slow walk took me past public art, the Greenway, and to the edge of China Town.

Finally, I arrived at my destination, Gracenote Coffee. If the Internet is to be believed, the home of Boston's best espresso. It's hard to judge coffee when one is jetlagged, sleep deprived, and caffeine deprived...but this was definitely a drinkable espresso.

Boston Coffee stop #2 seemed to be better set up for pourover. I'm not a huge fan of pourover coffee as it's never hot enough. After an 8 or 9 minute wait, I received a very delicious cup (and carafe) of coffee. It was  warm when I received it and quickly degraded to luke warm. I vowed to stick to espresso going forward.

Monday found me in a similar situation on the West Coast. Except with no walkable coffee places I was forced to choose between driving coffeeless in a now foreign city or drinking hotel coffee. I chose wisely and didn't crash on the way to Portora Coffee. Oh, they had donuts.

Finally on Tuesday I ventured to the sort of hard to find Stereoscope Coffee. They will validate parking, but I took the opportunity to take a walk through a short stretch of Back Bay.

Thngs that make flying much, much worse

1) Catching the last flight out of Maui. I keep swearing off red eyes, but if your destination is somewhere other than the West Coast, overnight flights are sometimes the only sensible option. 

2) Flying about as far as possible without leaving the country. My Eastern Seaboard geography isn't great, but Boston has to be about as far from Hawaii as physics allows. 

3) Give all of your legroom to your feline travelling companion. My neighbors needed help transplanting their 3 cats (apparently airlines only allow one cat per passenger). Aside from a moment of pure terror when I thought TSA was going to make me carry the cat through the metal detector (cats require a strip search and pat down to get through security), the lost foot space was my only cat complaint.

Keeping track of total travel time proved difficult with all the time zone crossings, but it was somewhere in the neighborhood of 12 hours (airport to airport).