Do you remember the happy, gravelly voice of Satchmo singing a song, "What a wonderful world?" Of course you do. The more I get around this world the more convinced I am that he had it just right. We do live in a wonderful world. Admittedly, there is crime and there are wars, and hunger does exist in many areas, but there is so much about the world that is fine and beautiful. We read in the newspapers and see on television a continual litany of rapes, robberies and arson, but we don’t see or hear much about the good side of life. It just doesn’t make news.

My trip anticipated my bicycling both islands of New Zealand and an undetermined distance in Australia. I was not wedded to the idea that I had to pedal every inch of the way on this tour. It had to be fun or else; I was not out to prove anything. Accordingly, I took busses and tours at the times when going by bicycle would have limited me too much or if there was nowhere within reasonable biking distance to lay my head for the night.

In New Zealand’s north island, I landed in Auckland a day later than I expected. I had lost Wednesday of that week because of crossing the International Date Line east of New Zealand. Once I got under way, I bicycled south and east past Kawakawa Bay in the Firth of Thames to the Pacific Ocean at Waihi, south to Tauranga, Rotarua, Taupo and Turangi, west to Tongariro National Park and New Plymouth, south past Mount Egmont to Stratford and to Patea on the southern coast, southeast to Wanganui and south to Wellington. I took the ferry across Cook Strait to Picton. My route on the south island started at the ferry and took me south to Nelson. Nearby, I backpacked the Abel Tasman Track and continued bicycling southeast across the Spooner and Hope ranges to Murchison, west to Westport, south to Punakaiki, Greymouth, Franz Josef Glacier, Fox Glacier, Wanaka, and across the Crown Range to Queenstown and Arrowtown, west to Milford Sound, back to Queenstown, north to Mount Cook and northeast to Christ Church, from whence I flew to Sydney to clear customs and continued on to Adelaide where my Australian bicycling began.

My bicycle adventure in Australia traveled southeast from Adelaide, through Strathalbyn and Wellington and south following the Coorong Peninsula, to Meningie, Robe, Beachport and Mount Gambier (spent two nights in a cell of a former jail there). The route then went east to Warrnambool and south to Portland, Port Campbell and Apollo Bay. It continued east/northeast along the Great Ocean Road to Geelong. At that juncture, because of highway construction and dangerous bicycling conditions, I was advised by the bicycle shops to go the next short distance to Melbourne by train. I didn’t realize it at the time, but that was the end of my bicycle tour. I gradually learned of more places that I wanted to see while in Australia, and I’d never get to do that if I continued on my bicycle. So, my good buddy was put in storage while I was off having fun without it. I felt guilty.

There is so much that I could share; it’s difficult to know how much you are willing to read. I could go on for hours and probably will. Tune me out when you’ve had enough. First, getting back to the bicycling aspect of the tour, I found that I could not make as much distance each day as I assumed, with a range of 30 to 70 miles per day. Speaking of miles, before I left home I set my bike’s computer to register in kilometers to agree with distance measurement in that part of the world. I liked that. It always made me feel like I bicycled faster and farther than I actually had.

My bicycle and gear weighed 110 #, and at times it was difficult to keep moving as fast as I would have preferred. Of course, the fact that I’m getting older had nothing to do with it. Even in the comparatively flat north island, I found serious hills to climb, roller coaster roads that seemed never to end, and head winds that drained me. The south island has many more hills, and when I climbed over the Crown Range on my way to Queenstown/Arrowtown, it was tough enough climbing the north side of the mountain, but the descent was even worse; it was unpaved - gravel. I couldn’t let the bicycle roll freely or I would lose control and had to squeeze the brake levers hard - stopped four times to let my hands rest. I had been forced to take the route over the Crown Range because the main route to Queenstown was blocked by a mudslide. Instead of grumbling about the road’s not being paved, I should have been counting my blessings, because two days later that gravel was covered with snow. I’d have had to walk my heavy green friend all the way down - at least a two hour ordeal.

In New Zealand, around the larger cities, I saw a number of bicycling races in progress. All riders had state of the art bicycles and wore trendy, colorful jerseys. These riders were serious - never returned a wave. As it turned out, racing bicyclists were the only unfriendly people on the entire trip. During my five plus weeks in New Zealand, I only came across one person who was touring by bicycle, a young woman in Westport. Her planned tour was more modest than mine, but she was going about it more aggressively - ah youth! In Australia, I met a total of six bicyclists at various times who were touring, some around the periphery of Australia and two who were bicycling around the world. It was humbling to talk with them. Incidentally, in New Zealand and Australia, they refer to a bicycle as a "push bike." I knew what they meant when I was on the south island.

While I’m dealing with bicycling conditions, I often complain that if there’s wind, its invariably a head wind. However, on the afternoon of the first day of bicycling in Australia, the wind was blowing furiously - a tail wind if you please. I was flying at 40 kilometers (24 miles) per hour, well beyond my ability level, even when I’m not carrying loaded panniers and other gear. I arrived at my 6:00 p.m. destination in Wellington at 2:30. That advantage abandoned me the following day with a headwind so strong that I couldn’t ride beyond Meningie at noon (Had no where else to stay short of my original destination that I was too bushed to reach.). Gave me time for a long walk and to take care of some overdue E-mails.

On two occasions, bicyclists complained that the Australian roads were wearing out their tires prematurely, contrary to my perceived experience. Owing to fenders and low hanging rear panniers, I could only see my front tire easily, but it looked as good as new. I had installed new high quality tires just before leaving the USA. Accordingly, it never occurred to me to check my back tire. I attributed short tire life to their buying tires that were inferior to mine. How smug can one get. A day or two after the second discussion about tire life, I had my comeuppance. At Port Campbell, after I unloaded it at the YHA, I turned my bike upside down to check the alignment of my derailleur. Then, wow! I could see my rear tire. It was worn through, not just to the fabric, but with holes clearly through it. And I had just screamed down a hill into Port Campbell. I shuddered at the thought. Why hadn’t the tire blown out? Why, because I had installed Mister Tuffy thick vinyl liners between the tubes and the tires to reduce the likelihood of punctures. It never occurred to me that they would help in this way. I lost a day waiting for a new tire to be shipped to me from Warrnambool, but I wasn’t in the hospital from a bicycling accident. I felt mighty fortunate.

Part of what influenced my timing and distance was the weather. I had queried several people about when the best time would be to leave the USA for such a trip. I believe they simply agreed with my timing proposals rather than to question them or to suggest alternate times. I knew that New Zealand was just concluding Winter and soon would go into Spring. I knew, also, that I have done cold weather biking in the past, but what I didn’t realize was that it’s also New Zealand’s rainy season. So, I had to deal with days of heavy, cold rain and wind. I was prepared for it with good rain protection for both my person and my gear, but all day rains psych me out. I had seven of the nastiest days of bicycling I’ve ever had in my lifetime, plus a half day of hard wind and wet snow blowing directly into my face. While I carried all the trappings necessary to camp throughout the tour, as a matter of fact, I only tented on three nights. I found that the cost of hostels and backpackers (like hostels, but a bit more business-like) and cabins at campgrounds were very little more expensive than campsites. Moreover, the weather was not conducive to camping. I felt like a wimp, but a dry wimp. I don’t enjoy setting up a tent in cold rain and wind and like even less taking it down soaking wet. So, the wimp slept indoors.

While I’m dealing with weather related matters, I want to comment on the hardiness of the Kiwis (as New Zealanders refer to themselves). They like fresh air --- year around. As cold as it was each evening when I checked in at my accommodations, the windows were open. There was no central heating anywhere, but they often supplied a small electric room heater and occasionally offered electric blankets (can’t exactly call that roughing it). One backpacker that I stayed at in Inangahua Junction was an operating cattle and sheep farm having two houses. The farm family lived in one house and used the other for travelers’ accommodations. Upon arrival, I immediately shut the windows. I recall trying to write my trip notes that evening. The proprietress made a coal fire in the kitchen range. Regrettably, it may have been adequate for cooking food, but it didn’t warm the kitchen appreciably. I put on my rain pants for warmth, then my jacket, then my hat, then my neck warmer and finally my gloves. I was still uncomfortable. I tried to ignore the probability that it would be much colder in the morning. I awoke to a heavy blanket of frost on the fields. On the plus side, however, in the bright sunlight all the frost covered weeds and shrubs glowed like incandescent lights. Gorgeous. As I mentioned, cold is better than rain; I was warmer bicycling than making breakfast.

When I flew over to Adelaide, I counted on dry weather. South Australia only averages 1.7 inches of rain during the entire month of October. What a happy prospect. Wishful thinking, not happy prospect. I got at least 1.7 inches of rain in one 24 hour period and lots more along the way. Locals told me they hadn’t seen so much rain in October over the past twenty years. I couldn’t help but wonder if I’d brought it with me from New Zealand. As the season wore on, though, the rain diminished, and I had more nice sunny days to enjoy. By the time I got to Cairns, it was hot, as well it should be, that much closer to the equator

I was astonished at the modernity of Auckland and Wellington. I had heard somewhere that New Zealand was the equivalent of the USA fifty years ago. That’s true to a limited extent in the hinterland. However, Auckland is a large business oriented city with everything I would expect to see in a large city anywhere - large department stores, an I-Max theater, skyscraper office buildings, and a space needle type tower from which to view the city.

Wellington is even more interesting to me. It, too, has tall office buildings, a very extensive shopping district, opera and symphony halls, lots of bicycle shops, a cable car to take you up to a mountain ridge that overlooks the city, and you can walk down to an arboretum with the most beautiful flowers -- that I ever forgot the names of. There are great museums also, especially the Te Papa, where they have the most informative and extensive treatment of volcanic action and earthquakes that I’ve ever seen. They even have a small room engineered to simulate the sensation one would experience in an earthquake. In addition to all this, they have flower beds sprinkled around the city that enhance its appeal. Wellington’s a grand city.

Christ Church is also a pleasant city with beautiful parks, but definitely different from Auckland and Wellington. Whereas the latter cities are more like ones you might find in the USA, Christ Church is more like a city you would find in England. Its architecture is strikingly different - much more ornate.

Getting back to mention of the larger cities in New Zealand and Australia, with the exception of vehicles traveling on the left side of the highway, tourists might think that they were in America. So many of our familiar businesses flourish there. Shell, BP and Mobil service stations look identical to those we see in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. Similarly, Mc Donalds, Pizza Hut and Burgher King have the same appearance and business practices as here, except that some of the Burgher Kings are called "Hungry Jack." Blockbuster Video and other businesses are equally similar there and here.

Australia, of course, has many more large cities, and I can’t describe them or the length of this narrative would get totally out of hand. I will say that Adelaide is a beautiful city, much like Christ Church; perhaps that’s because both were laid out by the same architect. Melbourne (must pronounce it Melbun) is a large city, a mixture of the old and new. It has skyscrapers that seem to reach to the moon, but it has old, that is, old but well maintained, buildings with architecture such as I haven’t seen anywhere else, even in Christ Church. Again, as to old, their urban transportation system, albeit very efficient, employs street cars (called trolleys) of the vintage we saw in Pittsburgh in the late 1930s. As to new, they have a cultural center that I never got to visit, but it has modern buildings and appears impressive - did enjoy Melbourne. I was struck by the formality of business dress there. Both men and women office workers dress in black. Suits and ties; skirts or slacks and jackets, all very conservative. They surely haven’t adopted the casual work garb that has become common in America.

Sydney, of course, is the showplace of Australia. It has a large business district with tall modern buildings, a sky tower, a beautiful harbor, a great botanic garden and, not to be overlooked, the unique Sydney Opera House. I had been looking forward to seeing it ever since it was finished in 1973.

Canberra, the capitol, is unusual in that 42 % of its area is green space - planned that way. Across from the new parliament building is a ramshackle structure with crude signs all over it protesting some alleged governmental shortcoming in regard to the Aborigines.

On our way north, we drove through Brisbane (pronounced Brisbun) but didn’t spend any time there; so, I can’t comment other than that it, too, seems to be a modern city. I stayed overnight in a number of the smaller cities along the coast. They all cater to tourism and the use of their beaches and off shore islands. One attractive city, Townsville, has the only aquarium in the world that has been able to keep coral alive. It’s a real treat to see all its color and vitality, to say nothing about seeing the sharks and colorful small fish.

Cairns (pronounced Canns), my northernmost destination, is a smallish city and very touristy. It’s a portal for visits to the Great Barrier Reef, and its ships get beau coups business.

What an advantage I enjoyed in connection with currency exchange rates. A New Zealand dollar was worth about $.42 in US currency, less than half as much as our dollar. On top of that, most goods and services are reasonably priced, even in Kiwi dollars. As a result, I quit being concerned about what anything cost. Almost without exception, everything was a bargain. At times I could buy an excellent evening meal for $8. I can’t remember how long it has been since I was able to have such a meal for that price in the States. Then, to make the value even more poignant, considering the exchange rate, it only cost me $3.21, and no tipping is expected. Australia was a good deal as well at about $.54 in US money to $1.00 in Australian dollars, a little over half the value of an American dollar. Expenses tend to be a bit higher, also, in that fine restaurant servers in Australia expect a tip in the larger cities. Be assured, I didn’t squander much money that way.

I mentioned how at times I felt like I was in the USA because of the multitude of familiar businesses. That familiarity fell apart when it came to vehicles. I saw virtually no Chrysler vehicles. There are General Motors vehicles, but they bear the name, "Holden" and look different from our GMs. Ford vehicles were abundant, but they, too, look different from ours. I never quite got used to that. The preponderance of vehicles are of Japanese manufacture. It seems that Japan dumps their used cars in New Zealand at distress prices and the Kiwis gobble them up. Petrol (gasoline) prices are high, and the Nippon "rice burners,"(as my sons who stress buying US made products refer to them) are very fuel efficient. Used car prices in general seemed very low to me. For example, in Christ Church I came across a dark green English Jaguar sedan on a dealer’s lot. I couldn’t tell what year it was, but they all look alike and it was perfect inside and out with only 43,000 kilometers (about 24,000 miles) showing on the odometer (assuming for the moment that it was an honest reading). I can’t imagine how much a dealer would charge for it in Pittsburgh, but they were asking only $NZ 21,000. In US currency that would amount to $8600. If it hadn’t been for the right hand drive, I’d have asked a lot of questions and possibly bought it (despite my sons’ attitudes on the matter). Even with duties, shipping charges and the installation of pollution control devices, it would still have been a bargain. I don’t buy used cars, but --- a low priced Jaguar, hmm.

Flora in both New Zealand and Australia was a continual treat to me. In New Zealand, Spring is much like Spring in Pennsylvania - lots of the same plants in bloom such as tulips, daffodils and forsythia. The flowering fruit trees made me feel like I was back at home. One flower that fascinated me was the arum Lilly, a large single white blossom with a yellow center. I’m accustomed to seeing it in expensive funeral tributes, but in New Zealand it grows wild - entire fields covered by it. It also grows in Australia, but not so profusely. Much of the vegetation in New Zealand is tropical rain forest-type trees and shrubs. In both New Zealand and the parts of Australia that I toured, palm trees and other tropical shrubs are very common. It was later in the season when I toured Australia, plus heading north towards the equator, which resulted in many more flowering vines and trees like bougainvillea and Poinciana. South Australia and Victoria had aster-like flowers growing alongside the highways, only they were much larger and prettier than our asters.

In Australia, eucalyptus trees predominate. However, I was fascinated by a stand of single spired trees that I found near the Great Ocean Road in Victoria. They were about twelve feet tall with thick grassy like leaves at the base, a stock about four feet high and five inches in diameter and crowned by a tall spire that reminds me of a large pipe cleaner. I sent an E-mail to a botanical group in Canberra who told me their identity is simply "grass tree." Trees, especially in Australia, really captured my attention. They might spread for 150 feet or more and had trunks that could rival our sequoias. Different species, too, not just many trees of the same kind. There was just too much in the way of tree, flower and plant life to note in one trip to these interesting geographical areas. The yellow acacias that seemed to grow everywhere I traveled in Australia are huge shrub/trees that can grow up to twenty feet tall and may stretch laterally for thirty or more feet. As I mentioned above, bougainvillea, such as is common in southern USA, is often seen in Australia. Poinciana grows to about twenty feet high with a spread about as wide as it is tall with beautiful red flowers throughout its thick branches. There is much that’s beautiful to see and enjoy in the land down under.

In New Zealand an all too common shrub is called "gorse." The English used it to create hedge rows to separate fields and thought that it would adapt well in New Zealand. Adapt? It thrived, spread and became a beautiful yellow nuisance. It virtually can’t be killed and overruns farm fields. You can see it climbing up mountain sides, everywhere. It grows about six feet tall and has thick, wooded, and thorny branches. Thickets of gorse are impenetrable. Its seeds drop into the soil, lie dormant for decades and then can spring back into life. Even burning doesn’t eradicate them. The seeds manage to survive the heat and flames. They come back to life only too soon. Another misguided scenic delight that the English brought to New Zealand is a type of willow tree that looks picturesque along both sides of streams. From a distance, you can trace the course of a waterway by observing the path of the willow trees. Very pretty. However, this type of willow sends out sturdy roots that cross the streams and impede water flow. At times of flooding, they cause massive dams of debris that farmers have to remove to sustain the water flow that they need. If not, the water would spill over the stream banks into their crop fields. The British seemed never to do the right thing when it comes to plant and animal life.

Another scenic delight in Australia, one we can’t blame on the English, is a flower about 14 inches tall that literally covers entire fields and hillsides, called "purple peril." It looks beautiful, but it kills livestock if eaten. In the Barasso Valley, my friends chuckled when they saw tourists with bunches of purple peril in their hands.

Fauna was something even more unusual - in Australia, everything that you might expect, but not so in New Zealand. There were virtually no mammals in New Zealand before mankind inhabited the land and brought animals with it. Here again, the Brits came to the rescue with rabbits from England and brown tailed opossums from Australia. Both found the climate to be perfect, soon overran the land and became absolute nuisances. In Australia, the Brits’ contribution to the local wildlife population was the red fox. They were needed in order to introduce the sport of fox hunting. "Must continue our traditions, you know, old chap." Foxes also like the climate in Australia and have become pests of the first order.

 I also saw a red fox and a few dingoes (like wild dogs). As to reptiles, I saw two venomous red bellied black snakes, a blue tongued lizard, a large 30 inch lizard (that raced off the road so that I didn’t get a close look at it) and a smaller lizard that was essentially shiny black with white and yellow patches. It is a type which Australian reference books denote as "dragons," about 20 inches long and about 2 ½ inches thick with a diamond shaped head. It was at my feet and remained motionless, giving me a good chance to take its picture.

I saw a number of other animals and birds in a sort of wildlife hospital. It was a place where babies were taken if the mother was killed by a vehicle, likewise adults that suffered injury. They didn’t destroy these unfortunates. They nursed them back to health and gradually phased them into the wild. Some of what I saw in this "hospital" were Tasmanian devils (docile, but vicious if cornered - not aggressive, but "don’t mess with them" is the guiding principle). They have the most powerful jaws in relation to their size of any known animal. The hospital also has bandicoots (marsupials, somewhat like, but larger than rats), qualls ( a cousin of the Tasmanian devil), eagles and a variety of colorful birds. In the Johnston River Crocodile Farm, I watched them feed salt water and fresh water crocodiles ranging from small to humongous. Their lengthy, powerful jaws open and snap shut in the blink of an eye. Some of their teeth point forward and others backward to both hold and chew their prey. They have many other types of captive "wildlife" including a rare bird called (I believe) a castleberry (a large one like an emu but having a blue upper neck with white and red accents and plumage) with a quarrelsome disposition. The attendant herded it from a distance with a leaf rake..

Considering the many types of fauna that I did see, there were others that I never came across. Parrots were common in places, as were rosellas (crow sized birds with a scarlet body and grey-blue wings). Crows as we know them were everywhere, and magpies (crow-like birds with white on their fuselages [ahem] and wings) were also very common. Magpies gave me living fits at times. They would dive bomb me from the rear as I bicycled along and attack my helmet, giving it a solid peck at each dive. I have significant holes on one side of my helmet caused when on two occasions I turned my head coincidentally as a magpie was swooping down, aiming at the rear of my helmet. It seems that when magpies are nesting, they are overly protective and aggressive. They, however, are cowards and will never fly at you if you are looking their way. So, local runners and bicyclists wear hats or helmet covers with eyes painted on the back of them. The magpies then believe you can see them and don’t attack. Crazy, no? As much as I objected to their assaults, I enjoyed seeing these ubiquitous birds. They have a number of calls. One that the magpies sing early in the morning is especially melodious. Aussies refer to it as "caroling," an apt description.

In New Zealand, the kea birds are a different form of nuisance. Again, about the size of a crow, the keas are green, parrot-like birds that are friendly but very destructive. They can do a great deal of harm to a vehicle parked out overnight if they are in the mood. In one night they can damage or even destroy the vehicle’s rubber window weather-stripping as well as engine compartment hoses. Had I been able to backpack in the area, I would have done just the opposite from backpacking at home. Here, I would hang my food up in a tree. There, I would have to take the food bag into my tent with me (no bears in New Zealand) or the keas would have it in shreds in no time at all. To complete an account of the questionable birds, I saw and heard kookaburra birds laughing at me from time to time. I remember one taunting me as I fumed while fixing a flat rear tire (spelled, "tyre" in that part of the world). It seemed to enjoy my misfortune. I saw hawks, but no vultures, and all manners of long legged water fowl. I could go on forever in this vein.

Earlier I alluded to the friendliness of the people I encountered on the trip. That was the greatest reward for making the tour. For example, on the first morning of bicycling in New Zealand, I discovered both my brakes were hanging up. That I didn’t need. It’s hard enough for me to make that heavy bicycle move, let along having the brakes activated. After doing as much as I could to free them, I came into a little town with an unpronounceable name, and there to greet me was a shop named, "Doctor Bike." As Lucy’s sign would state, "The doctor was in." He sensed the urgency of my discomfiture and took me right away. When I told him that my ailment was a pain in my brakes, he scratched his chin and made his diagnosis. "No brake trouble." He elevated the position of my handlebar bag and voila, no brake drag. The handlebar bag had been pressing on the brake cables. When he learned that I didn’t have bicycle medical insurance, he decided not to charge me anything; so, I bought a pair of bicycling gloves to give him a little profit and ease my conscience. Then, he asked me where I was heading and by what route. "All wrong. Go this way." Whereupon, he and his wife drew me a map with all the numerous turns identified by route numbers or road names. When they were finished, his wife commented, "Glenn can never reach anywhere to stay for the night. We live along the way, why not let him stay at our place?" With that I had an invitation to set up my tent in their orange grove. They let me eat ripe oranges from their trees and use their bathroom. They even invited me in for a few beers after driving me all around to show me the local sights. That was my first introduction to the friendliness and hospitality of the Kiwis.

In another case, at a small bakery, where I got milk and a sandwich for lunch, the proprietor must have felt sorry for me. The day was cold, and I had been struggling against a strong head wind. As I left his shop, he handed me a bag with a couple large and very delicious muffins.

There were many examples of unnecessary kindness shown to me, but let me mention just a few more. When I hiked across England last summer, I met Linda Brown and David Cantwell, a couple Kiwis with whom I became friends very quickly. I had mentioned that I would be bicycling their south island of New Zealand the following year, whereupon they immediately gave me their E-mail address. We corresponded from then on. When I reached their home outside of Arrowtown, they welcomed me, and I stayed with them and used their place as a base camp so to speak, but what a base camp. They live in Millbrook, a resort at a private golf club. They took me all over the Arrowtown / Queenstown area to see its beauty and to tend to my needs. I even participated in a gourmet dinner party that they had previously planned for a friend. Sumptuous. I had them E-mail the menu to my daughter in Florida who enjoys preparing gourmet meals. How lucky can one man get.

Alma Worthington, who bicycles with my group in Pittsburgh, contacted her husband, Roy’s, brother, Ralph, about my coming to Adelaide. When I arrived, he and his wife, Jill, met me at my hostel and spent the entire afternoon showing me all around the city and the view from its hills - would have done far more if I had let them.

Another example. On a day in New Zealand when I was especially tired (the second of two successive days of serious head winds and mountains), I pulled in to a picnic area for lunch. Shortly thereafter a campervan entered occupied by Wendy and David Woollard. We began talking, and they convinced me to continue to Murchison, my planned destination, despite my weariness. It should not be a tough forty kilometers (twenty-four miles), they explained. The longer we talked the more comfortable we were with each other, and they invited me to phone them when I got to Adelaide, South Australia, their home. We exchanged E-mail addresses and kept in touch. When I reached Adelaide, I phoned expecting that we might get together for dinner and that would be the end of it. Not so. They did take me out to dinner at a restaurant high in Adelaide Hills overlooking the city lights. However, they also picked up my green steed and me at the hostel the next morning and took me all over the Barasso Valley where there are numerous vineyards and wineries. Needless to say, we sampled a bit of their output. That evening, they invited their daughter and her family to meet me and remain for dinner. Most enjoyable. I stayed with them that night. Enough? No. In the morning, David got out Wendy’s bicycle with a child carrier, and he and Callum, his grandson, bicycled with me the first 12 kilometers of my Australian route - much of the distance in the rain. How’s that for friendliness and hospitality.

To reiterate, none of the people who befriended me had anything to gain by it. Doesn’t that do something for one’s feeling that it’s a wonderful world.

Even other people who were touring (not by bicycle) went out of their ways to be helpful. In one instance near Mount Cook in New Zealand, when I got off a bus at the hostel, I off loaded my bicycle and all my gear. I wheeled my bike to the office to register and left my gear temporarily on the sidewalk. During the time it took me to register, a young Taiwanese girl went out and carried all my heavy panniers and duffle bag onto the hostel’s porch. Again, at the hostel in Punakaiki, a Japanese woman of indeterminate age was fascinated with my tour and wanted to help me carry out my gear to see how it is attached to the bicycle. I didn’t notice that she had overlooked my toiletries kit. About a half hour down the road she appeared in a borrowed car with my kit in hand. Lots of considerate, nice people in this world.

Scenery, the reason for the tour

Up to this point, I’ve said little about the scenery on the tour. Wow, what scenery! Hardly know how to limit the length of this aspect of the narrative. On the north island of New Zealand, I enjoyed looking over the Pacific Ocean, but this time looking east. Despite the long flight to reach New Zealand, it was still difficult to grasp the fact that I was on the other side of the world and in a different hemisphere as well. Looking east helped to put that into perspective. At Rotarua, I enjoyed seeing its thermal area, like a mini Yellowstone Park. In the same area there was a replica of a Maori (pronounced Mowry) village, where I attended a concert of their singing and dancing. Next, Lake Taupo, an enormous volcanic crater, thirty miles long, should have been very scenic were it not for the driving rain I bicycled in all along its shores. The sky was angry, and the choppy water was an ugly gray to match the sky’s mood. At the city of Taupo, again the Craters of the Moon thermal area would have been better on a warm, dry day. The pervasive steam concealed much of its beauty. Nearby, is the Wairakei Geothermal Power Project that produces electricity from steam generated by the underground heat in the area. My bicycle climb to the top of the hill to its overlook is one I’ll not forget in a hurry. However, the best scenery in the area was last, that of Huka Falls. The falls itself drops only about thirty feet, but the intense rainfall of recent days resulted in a heavy flow. It was awesome to watch the water’s fury as it thundered down that canyon. On a clear day its water is a beautiful turquoise color. The sky was improving as I reached it, and the color was a pretty, light blue. It was well worth the ride down into and the climb back out of its canyon.

I had hoped to hike the Tongariro Crossing at Tongariro National Park, and the mountain peaks there look great in pictures, but the Crossing was closed because of avalanche threat, and the mountain peaks were well hidden in clouds. I did get to hike to Taranaki Falls, a surprisingly good falls of about 90 feet, cutting through igneous rock. The trail to and from it is in excellent condition. I agonized that I couldn’t do the Crossing, but the prospects were not good for the foreseeable future and I moved on.

It hardly seems possible that I’d include a city park in my writings, but I visited Pukekura Park in New Plymouth. Perhaps it was the rare sunny day that made it so beautiful. On the other hand, maybe it stands out in my memory because it’s the only place I’ve ever been where you throw a switch and a waterfalls commences to flow vigorously for about five minutes. Moreover, at another station, you can push a button and see a super fountain spurt up in a pond and run through its bag of tricks. Later, that same day, I bicycled past Mount Egmont (Mt Taranaki). The sun shone fully on its snow covered peak, reflected in Lake Mangamahoe. It was such a treat after so many days of cold rain and wind. The mountain is so huge that its peak seemed to stay in the same general position for miles.

IThe occasional views to the shoreline are fabulous. At one place when the trail followed the beach, (above)  I missed a badly marked trail turn into the rainforest. So did a number of others who appeared as I was searching for the trail. We elected to follow the beach. That should have been a good idea for it certainly led to our destination. I say "should have been" because we encountered a rocky area that is very hard to cross, especially wearing a heavy backpack that includes your food, your tent and all your other survival gear. I had a difficult time crawling down from the most westerly of the rocks. My legs just were not long enough to find toe holds. I finally had to lower myself down by arm strength in the hope that I could locate firm footing. That was an eerie sensation, not being sure of what was down there. Would I then just drop and hope that I didn’t sprain an ankle in the process? Pleased to report that I didn’t have to drop.

To hike this trail you have to be aware of the tides and plan your starting times in the mornings so that you are on time to cross the estuaries when the tide is out. That generally worked out okay except for the afternoon of the second day on the trail. There was a second tidal plain crossing. To start at the proper time for the first crossing automatically made you late for the second crossing. When I reached it, there were several men and women waiting until the tide receded. I thought about the timing and realized that we’d never make the shelter before dark if we waited for the tide. Accordingly, I took off my boots and hiking shorts and crossed in my underpants. That was no time for modesty. The others agreed with me and did the same. Predictably, the shelter appeared just before dusk. We reached the visitors’ center at Totaranui by noon the following day. The others returned to Marahau by water taxi, whereas I took a bus back to Nelson, where my bicycle was waiting, impatient to get back on the road.

Next came the scenery of the "Southern Alps" as I made my way south and west. They aren’t high enough to challenge North America’s ranges, but they are scenic with long expansive views of the countryside below. On a bicycle, they really were high. When crossing the Spooner Range, for example, I had pedaled long and hard with considerable elevation gain when the road became even steeper, forcing me, my sore backside and my tired legs to get off and push the bike. To humor my curiosity and because I had little else to do, I counted my paces - 5,500 of them. Pedaling up such a climb is tough, but pushing a heavily loaded bike isn’t all that easy either.

The west coast of the south island is a mini-version of the Pacific Northwest of the USA with sea stacks much like ours that pop up imposingly. I was particularly astonished to see the enormity of the coastal waves - at least 20 feet high (The cold water from Antarctica arm wrestles with the warmer water of the Tasman Sea, causing intense wind that in turn churns huge ocean swells.). The waves become iridescent splashes of white in the sunlight as they crash against the rocks. Near the village of Punakaiki, there is a quarter of a mile or so of cliff side stone called, "Pancake Rocks." The area’s stone cliffs appear like enormous stacks of pancakes, layer upon layer of rock that looks to have been deposited in ancient seas on a regular schedule. The strata are uniform in thickness and repetition throughout and rise hundreds of feet from the shore line. Unusual geological locations intrigue me and must do so to others as well; they draw large crowds of visitors.

Let me drop down to the Queenstown area. Large lakes and snow covered mountain ranges delight the senses. However, the snow melts in Summer; so, the scenes are not of glaciers, although, as I mentioned above, there are glaciers in the Southern Alps, notably the Franz Josef and Fox Glaciers. (I wasn’t permitted to walk out on them because the heavy rain made them very slippery. Suffice it to say that the weather was too foul for the commercial tours to run when I was in that area).

My big attraction in the Queenstown area was visiting my friends as mentioned above, with a trip to Milford Sound a close second. I had wanted to backpack hike the world renowned Milford Track and to see Milford Sound. A bonus would be to backtrack the Routeburn Track as well. I was prepared with all I needed except for a large backpack. My friends could have loaned me that. As it turned out, borrowing a backpack was academic. I wasn’t permitted to hike either the Milford or Routeburn Tracks. The Milford Track’s bridges hadn’t been replaced yet for the season and the streams were violent. The Routeburn Track was off limits because of avalanches, lots of them. A fall back would have been the Caples/Greenstone Loop, but the heavy rains were causing flooding on the trail, and I was advised not to try that track as well. So much for hiking there.

I took a bus over to Milford Sound, which was in itself an adventure. Snow. The bus driver had to stop and attach chains to his wheels so that he could get over the mountain. We stopped to see waterfalls along the way and got friendly with the mischievous kea birds that I mentioned earlier. Rain poured at the lower elevations. When we reached Milford Sound and our ship, The Wanderer, it was cold and still raining hard. We were assigned our cabins and soon were underway. The rain continued so hard that there were waterfalls about every one hundred yards descending from the mountains towering steeply above us. The ship’s captain maneuvered the craft so that we got very close to some of the larger waterfalls. Later in the evening we moored in a cove and had dinner. Then, they broke out a dingy and we went off in the rain to see penguins. Well, as it turns out, it was singular. We only saw one penguin. It was preening; so, there must have been another in the area for which it was attempting to look handsome. On the way back to Queenstown, the bus driver stopped to let us out to walk in the snow. It was nine inches deep, and none of us had adequate boots for snow. As a practical matter, most of the tourists on the bus had never seen snow up close, let alone walk in it. They were ecstatic. For a Pennsylvanian, it could be taken in stride. However, it was interesting for me to see avalanches falling. The conditions were right, but none was of devastating proportions. Matters worsened later that day forcing the authorities to close the highway for two days. Hope no one was stranded at Milford Sound. Other than by a long ocean cruise, hiking during dangerous conditions or by aircraft, there is no other way to leave the Sound.

I’ll skip the remainder of the New Zealand tour because, except for my time in Christ Church, it rained or snowed, and usually beautiful sights like Mount Cook were enshrouded and obscure.

My first introduction to Australia’s scenery was in flying over Sydney on our landing approach. I had to stop there and go through customs before traveling on to Adelaide, from whence I started my bicycle tour in Australia. Rich blue Sydney Harbor was beautiful that day; it complemented the large business district. Even the Sydney Opera House was very visible, standing out proudly in the harbor.

Once at Adelaide, I toured the Barasso Valley as I mentioned earlier. At Mount Gambier, I marveled at the deep blue color of the waters in the calderas of extinct ancient volcanoes. The next really outstanding scenery occurred on The Great Ocean Road where I saw sea stacks (huge offshore rocks) the likes of which I had never seen before. An area called "The Crags" introduced me to the ruggedness of the coastal scenery. They are very jagged rock outcroppings well worth a detour to see. I tried not to miss any of the recognizable side roads that led to ocean scenery. Bay of Islands came next, huge land masses orphaned by erosion. They are, I would guess, 200 to 400 feet in height, the same height above sea level as the land from which I observed them. Wind, rain and wave erosion separated them from the mainland, and there they stand majestically guarding the mainland west of Port Campbell. The offshore scenery had just begun.

As I continued east to Port Campbell, I came across a tunnel through mainland stone, known as "The Grotto." When you get all the way to the bottom and view the waves crashing beyond it, you do get a feeling as though you are in the grotto of a church and are looking through an open doorway to the sea. Uncommon! It was one of my favorite geological areas. Next came The Arch, a large tunnel through a promontory, and London Bridge, a promontory that at one time had two immense caves so that the formation resembled a bridge. I say "at one time" because the overburden of the first cave, the one nearer the mainland, collapsed in 1990, and now there is no connection with the land mass. It no longer looks like a bridge. Such is the power of erosion - even in the short term. When that span of the bridge collapsed there were two people on the remaining span who became stranded. They had to be rescued by helicopter.

Beyond the town of Port Campbell, that is, in Port Campbell National Park, you see Mutton Bird Island where thousands of these birds spend their Summer nights. I’m told that seeing the huge cloud of these birds returning in the evening is unforgettable. Their return is an area special event. The blowhole is another interesting sight. However, to me the most overwhelming area of seacoast scenery is that known as "Loch Ard Gorge." Virtually every seacoast phenomenon imaginable seems to occur there. There are monolithic sea stacks, land masses separated from the mainland by only a few hundred yards. The churning wave action operating between them is an attention getter. Erosion in action. There are tunnels (caves) through frontal stone, behind which are cavernous areas which erosion has carved out of the mainland to form lagoons. Ocean waves rush through these tunnels, plow across the lagoons and crash into the mainland cliffside, only to rush back out again through the tunnels. While it is coursing through the lagoon, the water becomes frothy and strong winds pick up the froth and cover you if you happen to be in the wrong place at the right time - cold and wet. Loch Ard Gorge had been the scene of a terrible ship wreck; I could write about this place for an hour, but I’ll resist the temptation. Suffice it to say that it is the most impressive seaside scenery that I have ever seen anywhere, including the west coast of the USA.

I could spend considerable time writing further about Melbourne, but its scenery is that of a modern city such as I’ve described before. The farther I bicycled, the more I learned of interesting things to see in Australia, and it became clear by then that I would not see enough if I continued the tour by bicycle. So, I elected to take a tour of Tasmania.

Next came the fourteen hour ferry ride across the Bass Strait (between the Southern Ocean and the Tasman Sea/South Pacific Ocean) to Tasmania. The first event that captured my curiosity was noticing a number of Porsche sports cars being driven onto the ship. More came and still others, more than I had ever seen, 169 in all. Vintage to new. What a wealth of machinery they represented. I learned that they had assembled from all over Australia to take part in a driving event in Tasmania. It was obvious that their owners were not at starvation’s door. They lived lavishly on the ferry. I was assigned to a cabin along with three other men. Never were in the cabin (and awake) at the same time; so, I didn’t get to know my fellow travelers. I did meet interesting people in the lounges and enjoyed their company during meals. It was a smooth, well ordered sailing, and we arrived at Devonport right on time.

I had made reservations to take part in a five day tour of Tasmania with the Under Down Under Company. Not long after disembarking, the Under Down Under bus appeared to pick up two oriental girls and myself. The bus was a 21 passenger vehicle, but only six people had registered for this tour. It worked out advantageously because we all got to know each other well and had ample room for our luggage and comfort. I sat up front so that I could hassle Janelle Payne, the bus driver/tour leader, with endless questions. She is a super person for the job, and I learned a great deal about Tasmania from her. She’s an extensive traveler and a compulsive history buff about her island state. Moreover, she’s a long distance bicyclist and ran a backpacking guide company with twelve employees for six years. She has great skill at getting everyone to participate in the tour’s activities - even was able to draw out the four shy oriental women to sing songs in their native languages using the bus’s microphone. Only after all of us passengers had performed did she consent to sing. She has an angelic voice and, in addition to other songs, sang all the verses of Waltzing Matilda. Not only that, she related the origin of the song. Most interesting.

I’ll spare you a blow by blow account of each day’s comings and goings and simply say that we visited and hiked in brooding dark and damp rain forests of moss and subtropical vegetation such as fern trees (In case you hadn’t guessed, they are trees that look like giant ferns.). We also climbed a mountain trail on the Frecinet Peninsula to see the beautiful, tropical Wineglass Bay, and in the World Heritage Area (one of the few remaining large, roadless wildernesses in the world) we climbed a mountain trail to see a rock formation atop a mountain range, called Frenchman’s Cap. This was a clear day; it seemed that we could see eternity from this mountain. At other times, we hiked in to see forceful waterfalls, enjoyable, even in the rain. My favorite is St.Columba Falls that I estimate to be a 300 foot drop, striking rock outcroppings and rooster tailing in all directions. The recent heavy rains made it a special treat, compensating us for having to see it in the rain. In contrast, we visited the ruins of the infamous prison at Port Arthur to which England sent prisoners when they had insufficient room in their jails. As part of the tour, we also took a ghost walk to hear about eerie unexplainable happenings in and around the prison’s support buildings. I listened politely, despite my skepticism about such things. One woman, on the ghost walk, was actually terrified and became increasingly more frightened as it progressed. It was puzzling as to why she didn’t abort the ghost walk. Masochism ??

We also went to the Tasman Peninsula where the ocean and high cliffs meet. We got to hike several miles along the cliffs and were met by the bus at the far end. We also got to hike down to see a remarkable cave bearing that precise name, "Remarkable Cave." Waves pound through the opening and course into the mainland through a long, narrow ravine. Back on the bus, there was so little traffic as we traveled that we stopped alongside the highway any time we saw wildlife. Near the minuscule village of Strahan, we took pictures of the sunset from a beach that overlooks the longest stretch of open water in the world. This stretch is reportedly some 22,000 kilometers (over 13,000 miles) in distance as it looks westward, beneath Africa to South America. When I checked a globe, the distance appeared to be more like 10-11,000 miles, but not too shabby a distance even by my calculations.

We spent a night in Hobart, the capitol of Tasmania and drove to the top of 4,000 foot Mount Wellington that overlooks the city and its surroundings. I’ll never forget how cold I was that evening - would not have believed the temperature could be so different with only a 4,000 foot altitude gain. However, the strong breeze and its wind chill factor was partly to blame.

All in all, the tour far exceeded anything I had hoped for. Janelle was even interested in my recipe for hot buttered rum, which I E-mailed to her upon my return home. Before leaving Tasmania, I visited a museum of Aborigine artifacts and memorabilia. They had been nomadic people who adapted well to the climate and food sources. I fully enjoyed Tasmania, the tour and the others with whom I spent those memorable five days. A pleasant finale - I had two of the tour participants as companions on the ferry ride back to Melbourne.

I was pleased in Wellington that there was an opera being performed while I was there. My good fortune continued, because I was able to attend and to get a good seat as well on such short notice. In case there’s anyone reading this who might possibly be interested, the opera was Johann Strauss’s "Die Fledermaus"-- sung in English instead of German. Most enjoyable.

Another musical treat took place in Melbourne. I heard a large chorus sing Benjamin Britten’s oratorio, "The War Requiem." I had never before heard that performed, and it was certainly worthwhile.

As to activity in more of a physical vein, I took a ship from Cairns about 27 miles into the Coral Sea to the outermost of the Great Barrier Reefs. We snorkeled and saw the coral, giant clams (about 20 by 30 inches) and beautiful fish. That satisfied a long standing curiosity. I had traveled from Sydney over 2700 kilometers (1650 miles) essentially to see this "eighth" natural wonder of the world.

They have another attraction a few miles outside Cairns, far up the side of a high hill - a bungee jump facility. The Oz tour bus stopped there on the way to Cairns. I mustered all the courage I had at my disposal and tried it on for size - a 142 foot high size. That was my first bungee jump ever, a super sensation - one more experience before I get too old to do things like that. It drew a bit of attention. As the scenario unfolded, the seventy or so onlookers didn’t believe a senior citizen would attempt it. The place exploded with cheers as I began my descent. It would be more correct to say "as we descended" because I jumped in tandem with Tanya Hilder, our vivacious bus driver/tour guide. (I know what you are thinking - now comes the real reason he wanted to make the jump.) Some from our tour chickened out as they looked down from the platform, but twelve of the 32 passengers made the leap into eternity. Everyone found it to be exhilarating and adrenalin raged the rest of the afternoon.

I can think of other areas to elaborate on, but I won’t. This much should help you to realize some of what I sensed about how special the people are and to be aware of the impressive scenery in New Zealand and Australia. Moreover, if you haven’t been to these places yet, it might serve as a nudge to prod you into taking the long trip to enjoy them. You can learn for yourself about how interesting and beautiful it is there. In the process you’ll come in contact with the warm, friendly and relaxed people in that unique part of the world. You’ll know first hand how New Zealand and Australia fit into this wonderful world in which we live. G’day mates.

Trail Review by Glenn Oster  (posted 3/20/01) 
(Pictures added 04/13/01)

[Ridden by Glenn Oster August 2000 to December 2000]

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