The bike ride with everything: the Sounds to Sounds
An unforgettable bike ride: Sounds to Sounds, South Island, New Zealand
23 February - 13 March 2025
Over the past two decades New Zealand’s produced a series of world-class mountain bike trails, including The Otago Rail Trail, The Timber Trail, The Mountains to the Sea, the 42 Traverse, Queen Charlotte Track and many others. But there’s one ride that stands out head and shoulders above the rest for distance, scenery, and the effort required to complete its 1500km length. That distance – almost the entire length of the South Island – incorporates 16,500m of vertical climbing and four high alpine passes. It requires fitness, stamina and commitment to complete, and that’s regardless of the weather and whether you’re on a regular push bike or an e-bike.
It’s the Sounds to Sounds (S2S) ride that was popularised by the high-profile Kennett Brothers (Jonathan, Simon and Paul) who organised a ride there in 2022, during lockdown. They invited 100 friends and colleagues with a focus on gender equity and a good spread of ages. The Kennetts produced a 119-page book about the ride, and an official guide. Two of my friends were on that ride in 2022 – septuagenarians Dave Bamford and John Wild. I caught their enthusiasm and the idea never left me. But you need a plan and, I decided, a small group of committed cyclist chums.
Although the Kennetts’ original idea of the S2S was to start in Ship Cove, in the Marlborough Sounds (Captain James Cook’s favourite base during voyages to New Zealand) and to spend two days traversing the Queen Charlotte Walkway, we opted to leave this section for later. Because Picton lies at the southern end of Marlborough Sounds, starting from there didn’t rule out our use of S2S as the description of our ride. As for accommodation, we pre-booked some and organised the rest en route.
Day 1 (2pm February 23, 28km). Picton to Blenheim.
After leaving the ferry, we had a leisurely pre-packed lunch beside Picton marina. Before long, it was time to get under way. After rushing around trying to locate various objects, I was on my trusty second-hand Scott mountain-bike, upgraded and retuned just for this trip. I love this bike but it did feel small. I pinched myself: “We’re under way!”. I cut myself short; there was an intersection immediately ahead and I had vowed – after a serious accident a year ago that put me in hospital with concussion – that never again would I allow myself to get distracted while biking (on or off-road).
The ride from Picton to Blenheim proved uneventful. We’d worried initially about cars and trucks speeding north to the next sailing but were pleased to see a bike path under construction from the top of the first hill just outside Picton, headed south. It ended eventually about two-thirds of the way to Blenheim and we had to ride with the traffic, which we did somewhat nervously, in our high-viz jackets. Philippa spotted Jonathan Kennett, a former neighbour of hers, waving to us as he sprinted towards the ferry in the other direction. Apparently, he’d been checking out part of the route. Whatever, I took his presence as a good omen; our ride following in the Kennetts’ tyre tracks would be just as momentous, as indeed it was.
After a pleasant night in a Blenheim motel we set off, guidebook in hand, for a short-cut to the Awatere Valley, over Taylor Pass. Fortunately, one of us happened to hear in a local bike shop around 8am that this route was temporarily closed during working hours due to logging. Instead, we followed State Highway One from Blenheim until Redwood Pass Road comes in on the left. We followed this latter road, with few cars around, until we met SH1, at Dashwood. We crossed the highway carefully, joining Awatere Valley Road for the rest of the day. We ate lunch under a tree before beginning the real slog up the valley under a hot sun towards Camden Cookshop – a shearers’ quarters with accommodation 76.6km from Blenheim. We arrived late afternoon and found a room where we could sleep. The farmer appeared with horse and dogs later, welcoming us from a distance. He too appeared to have had a long, hot and dusty day.
Day 3 (February 25, 50km). Camden Cookshop to DOC Molesworth campsite.
In what quickly became a daily routine, after waking up at 6:30am, Philippa and I would launch straight into making door-stopper sandwiches – one each – for lunch, using bread, boiled eggs, salad ingredients, spreads, relish and whatever else came to hand. After this ritual – which made lunch both appetising and filling – breakfast was a welcome chance to sit down and enjoy tucking into a large bowl of porridge, topped with muesli, fruit and yogurt and, finally, milk, downed with strong coffee or tea.
Then it was time to pack the Prado and get back on the bikes, around 9am. Today, Upcot Saddle (825m altitude) was one of our main challenges, and it was steep. I pushed my bike part way – something I was to do often. We were lucky to have the Prado with us; not only did it offer the flexibility to take side trips, but it also made the days easier. I noticed that some other riders, both e and non-e, also had support cars.
Day 4, (Feb 26. 81.5km). Molesworth to Hanmer Springs.
It’s said among S2S riders that the first three days are the hardest, and after that you’re bound to be fit enough. That’s what happened to us, certainly to me. Suddenly the hills aren’t quite so hard, even if you do find yourself pushing the bike occasionally. Today, Wards Pass, at 1145m altitude, was tough but the team managed it in good time. I was first to drive on this day. I drove over the pass slowly – I was never in a hurry – and sat on the other side of the picturesque Acheron River awaiting my team. I marvelled at how the frail-looking bridge had managed to withstand the battering it clearly endured during heavy rain and high river flows.
By now we felt we knew the other cyclists we’d met on the route, and I chatted with them as they cycled by; we knew we’d see a lot more of each other over coming weeks. One, Joseph, became a friend. We stopped for lunch further down the valley next to a decommissioned swing bridge, en route to the Clarence River. It was easy cycling in a subdued, late-afternoon light. Before long we faced the decision – to take Jollies or Jack’s Pass for the route into Hanmer. We chose the latter; the steep descent to Hanmer Springs was gripping.
Day 5, (Feb 27. 79km). Hanmer Springs to Hawarden.
We awoke to a cool but beautiful morning in Hanmer, resuming our lunch-making routine, breakfast and packing. It wasn’t until we’d locked up and begun cycling along State Highway 7 towards Culverden and Hurunui that I realised with incredulity that I’d forgotten about my long-held plan to soak in the Hanmer hot springs. Never mind, Hawarden beckoned. I’d never heard of this small, north Canterbury farming town (population 231) before, but it was one of the many surprises of the trip. Coincidentally, while texting our daughters in Britain about our progress, we heard that our London-based son-in-law Alex was to be best man at a wedding in Hawarden the day after we got there. Who would have guessed? We thought the domain, where we planned to pitch our tents, could be full with the tents of wedding goers. A phone call or two later, I was assured that there would be plenty of room at the domain. And, when we pitched our tentswe were the only campers, along with a couple of caravans.
A short walk to the busy 4-Square was a highlight. I bought a packet of the biggest gingernuts I’ve ever seen and sampled one immediately, to a backdrop of lawnmowers humming and sprinklers whirling ahead of what looked to be a big day for locals.
Day 6, (Feb 28. 90km). Hawarden to Rolleston, near Christchurch.
We left smartly, as usual, by 9am. First stop was Amberley, which was even busier than normal. We sat in a local park, eating our sandwiches out of the wind and downloading a locator app, so we could see where each of us was at any time. We didn’t want to waste time by losing touch, which actually never happened. (We’d already downloaded the NZ Topo50 app, and seeing our daily progress on this proved both useful and addictive). We headed towards Kaiapoi, skirting Christchurch, saving what we’d heard was an excellent bike route through the city for later. Instead, we “clocked out” of the S2S temporarily and spent the night with a good friend in a stunning setting in Corsair Bay, Banks Peninsula.
Day 7, (March 1. 69.5km). Rolleston to Rakaia Gorge.
It was hard to drag ourselves away from the setting, the company and the views, but we had work to do. We drove back to Rolleston on the southern limit of urban Christchurch and resumed our ride. This day passed effortlessly; I noticed that I was increasingly relaxed. We were now quite fit. More to the point, reaching Christchurch was a mental milestone; I now knew we had the ability to reach Milford. The weather was the only question mark. Meantime, ahead lay an exhilarating ride down a steep hill into Rakaia Gorge in the mid-afternoon of a warm summer’s day. The campsite looked full to overflowing but there was room for us to pitch our tents. Then we headed to the river, as everyone else was doing, and swam, enjoying being carried effortlessly downstream by the strong current.
Day 8, (March 2. 90.6km). Rakaia gorge to Geraldine.
South Island hospitality wasn’t something I’d given any thought to prior to the trip. However, we experienced it in spades, and this was to be one of those times. We stayed at Geraldine with friends of Philippa’s in a beautifully renovated old homestead with an equally stunning garden where we ate dinner. Stories were shared until dark and we could delay sleep no longer.
We’d only had one mechanical issue so far – an apparently noisy crank on Tim’s bike – which my Nelson-based cyclist brother Niel (a veteran of solo rides around the world) suggested by phone might be fixed, at least temporarily, by substituting different pedals. Tim had a pair on hand, and this was achieved. It was the bearings in the pedal that had failed and, mercifully, not the main drive crank. A simple and cheap fix . Prior to the advice from Niel, we’d arranged to meet a bike mechanic in Geraldine at 8am the next day – a Sunday. He was waiting. His time was not wasted; we made sure of that.
Day 9 (March 3. 56.4km). Geraldine to Shear-Vue Farmstay near Fairlie.
We were humming along now, mentally, physically and as a team. Little did we know, though, that the real challenges were still ahead: Omarama Saddle followed by Duffers and Nevis saddles. Any thought about a rest day was long gone, by mutual agreement, but now we faced persistent rain and the cold that comes with being outside in sodden clothes for hours. It was great to see a part of the country we’d never seen before, but as the southerly front with rain persisted, we retreated to a barn, eating our sandwiches under shelter before pushing on up Rockwood Road into the mist for seemingly ages. By the time we reached the Shear-Vue Farmstay in Cricklewood Road (near Fairlie) late in the day, we were wet, tired and bedraggled. “Come in!”, ordered our hostess, Julie Dobbs, totally unfazed and cheerful to boot. We left our shoes on the doorstep. Inside the wood-burner was well alight and Julie instructed us to leave any wet clothes on the fireguard. We felt not only welcome but at home, as we ate a roast dinner followed by pudding, and sat chatting until once again our eyes would stay open no longer. It was a memorable evening, and we were halfway to Milford Sound.
Day 10 (March 4. 60.5km). Shear-Vue to Lake Tekapo.
We awoke at Shear-Vue to a hearty breakfast. The rain had stopped though it was still cool with a persistent southerly air stream. It was time to leave. We were headed to Mackenzie Pass along back roads that I never knew existed. There was no one around. Before long we were climbing but it was gradual. Tim and Philippa spotted a wallaby. I missed it but focussed on pedalling patiently upwards, eyeing the spot – Mackenzie Pass - where Tony was waiting in the Prado.
We stopped here to appreciate what we could see of the valley we’d just ridden up, to don another layer, and to delay a thrilling 3km ride down. Once under way, I was excited and wobbled as I miscalculated the depth of gravel. SLOW THE HELL DOWN! I scolded myself.
Near the bottom we stopped to study a monument to Scottish sheep rustler and outlaw James 'Jock' Mackenzie. It was picturesque and special; Mackenzie was apprehended for stealing sheep from a large sheep run and driving them through the pass. He escaped initially, overnight, but was later recaptured and imprisoned, his only concern apparently being the wellbeing of his dog. He received an unconditional pardon on 11 January 1856 after spending nine months in prison. I marvelled at the perfect route that Mackenzie had chosen for his exploits: a broad, low pass with a relatively gentle approach. But, unable to endure the chilly temperature any longer, we remounted our bikes and headed down into the vast Mackenzie Basin sprawling open around us.
We ate lunch sitting on boulders beside the junction with Haldon Road. Meantime, aware we lacked accommodation the following night, Philippa rang around, securing the last cabin at Dunstan Downs Sheep Station. Then we knuckled down, biking stoically into the wind towards the junction of Haldon and SH8, with its welcome cycleway alongside. By now we knew how to “coast” or ride as close as possible to the rear wheel of the rider in front, in their slip stream, to shield oneself from the headwind.
It was great to reach the Tekapo backpackers’ hostel where we had our own room with fresh linen, soft beds, and the luxury of a shower across the hallway. We cooked dinner in the large, well-equipped kitchen, alongside others from Asia and the USA. We felt like cycle pros but had no idea of the challenges ahead. And thank goodness for that!
Day 11 (March 5. 104km). Lake Tekapo to Dunstan Downs near Omarama.
Our route today was largely off-road, following a cycle path next to a canal between lakes Tekapo and Pukaki, then around the latter lake and on to Twizel where we had lunch. The sun was warm and the clear views of the summits of Mts Cook, Tasman and Sefton mesmerising. The place was humming with tourists who all clearly felt the same magic.
We continued on, eating lunch at a park bench in Twizel before resuming our ride west around the southern end of Lake Ohau. Tim and I had been to Lake Ohau Lodge already on an Alps to Ocean ride with friends a few years ago. For that reason, and the extra time involved, we all opted to rejoin SH8 headed directly towards Omarama. The highway was busy with scant room for cyclists. We bunched together. From there it wasn’t too far to our cabin at Dunstan Downs Sheep Station, which also was full of friendly tourists plus a few Kiwis.
Day 12 (March 6. 40km). Dunstan Downs to Boundary Creek, West Manuherikia Valley.
Finally, the climb that had loomed large: Omarama Saddle. I hadn’t expected this, but the climb of 1,160m up rough gravel to the saddle, at 1,250m, was far from easy. I for one walked most of it. The approach was gentle, but before long a creek needed to be crossed, as the sole access-way to the dirt track leading upwards. It was shallow but there was a sharp rise from the creek to the track, which was hard to surmount by pedal power alone. The onward upward gradient added to the difficulty, which was no major obstacle to those on e-bikes, we heard later.
Boundary Creek Hut as the sun set.
Day 13 (March 7. 71km). Boundary Creek to Omakau.
We spent a splendid late-summer morning following the Manuherikia River West Branch down towards Oturehua – a ride that involved innumerable river crossings in water that was ankle-to-shin-deep, and riding along heavily rutted hard-earth tracks.
To our left the Hawkdun Range with its consistently flat summit surface – the result of a peneplain - was a constant companion. Later we locked our bikes together and jumped in the Prado to visit nearby St Bathan's on a top summer's day. Then it was back in the saddle and pushing towards the main landmark in Oturehua – the grocery and all-purpose shop – near the Otago Rail Trail. On that trail later, Philippa, Tony and I found ourselves without the headlamps we needed for the tunnels but had inadvertently left in the car. We got through in the pitch-black gloom inside two tunnels, stumbling along stoically until a beam of light gleamed from the far end. That night we all slept in a small cabin at a motor camp at Omakau, where the hot showers were to die for.
Day 14 (March 8. 78.6km). Omakau to Bannockburn.
Today we rode to a friend’s crib at Bannockburn, via Clyde and the stunning Lake Dunstan Trail, which opened in 2021. I’ve ridden it before and marvelled yet again at the audacious and adventurous engineering that went into constructing the wooden cycle paths that in places are cantilevered over Lake Dunstan below.
The cycle trail linking Clyde with Cromwell is busier each time I visit, mainly with e-bikes, unsurprisingly. Not busy enough, unfortunately, to enable the café on a moored boat to be retained; it was on the market .
Too late for afternoon tea.
The crib at Bannockburn was a welcome sight, crammed with walls of books. We would have liked a rest day there, had it not been for the next challenge immediately ahead.
Day 15 (March 9. 74.1km): Bannockburn to Garston Ski Club Hut.
I often did the first driving stint in the day. We differed over whether this was an advantage or not. I suspected the former, as I’d noticed that several days had begun with a hill ie Rakaia Gorge. Tim maintained, though, that it meant I ended up doing more cycling stints in a row, whereas for the others these were broken up by driving.
That aside, early this morning, on the approach to Duffers Saddle, on yet another glorious day, I stopped on a wide bend, having done my apportioned distance, but really because I wanted to check out the view. Below, I could see the other three slogging up the winding, gravel, into the full glare of the sun. We swapped drivers and pushed on, none of us yet aware of just how long this day would be. All four of us drove a section before we reached the summit, at 1,670m, where we stopped next to the “highest road in New Zealand sign”. A young man was sitting eating his lunch next to the sign. He was clearly a cyclist (non-e) like us and kindly agreed to take our photo.
It turned out that he was an Australian lawyer, on the brevet – non-e-bike riders who attempt the S2S from Ship Cove in heats, in a race to complete the ride. He told us he was number eight in his heat, yet seemed in no particular hurry, although it has to be said that he took off on the steep downhill to the Nevis Valley faster than lightning. I for one clung onto my brakes with both hands heading down to the Nevis River bridge (where I alone contemplated a swim). We remained focussed, however, pedalling on into the remote valley, stopping finally for lunch - our usual sandwiches while sitting on a grass verge, backs against the Prado in whatever relief we could find from the sun.
We didn’t linger, but continued on as the road began climbing steeply above the river. I was driving now and paused. The route was essentially one-way, with some flexibility, but occasionally a large ute would come in the other direction. I wondered if Tony was happy for me to continue driving or would prefer to take over, as he tended to do in particularly challenging situations. When he arrived with Tim and Philippa, he dismissed this option but did flick a gear setting on the Prado, which I hadn’t noticed, to low, then very low. Then he handed the task of driving back to me. We boxed on, all four of us fully engaged by the rugged terrain, which included our deepest stream ford yet, for both cyclists and Prado. Luckily, Philippa drove it.
Late in the afternoon, as I began my third driving stint for the day – a very long day – I realised there was yet another climb ahead before we would reach the Garston Ski Club Hut, built by the Southland Ski Club in 1934. Naturally, being in the Prado meant I arrived there first. As I stood wondering how the others might feel about the basic nature of the historic hut - two rooms with an outdoor toilet and water supply - they arrived, walking in with broad grins on their faces. Pleased to get off their bikes no doubt. We agreed later that crossing Duffers and Nevis saddles and riding the Nevis Valley, made this the standout day of the whole S2S trip, a trip not yet over of course.
We cooked dinner on the primus and crawled into our sleeping bags, not long after sunset. Tim opted for a back room in the hut while the rest of us took the only available bunks with mattresses in the main area. Somewhere in what felt like the middle of the night – Tim says it was around 3 or 4am – a noise in the other room woke me up. Concerned that something was amiss with Tim, I went in, scantily dressed, to check whether he was OK. There was a dark shape in the middle of the room, which I assumed was Tim, as when I’d gone to bed, he was the only one in that room. But no! I and the apparition were face to face when I realised this was definitely not Tim; too tall and dressed for the out-of-doors, for a start. I turned around immediately and retraced my steps to the other room, keen to put the somewhat embarrassing faux pas behind me. Tim had heard it all unfold of course.
It turned out that the man I’d confronted was part of a brevet, with his cycling mate who was also in the room at the time. They’d arrived non-stop from Omarama. Where or when they ate, I have no idea. Next morning they politely declined Tim’s offer of a cup of tea before busying themselves on urgent matters such as re-applying dry lube to their thirsty bike chains. I discussed this task with them, as I was the self-appointed chain-lube expert in our team.
Meetings with the brevet cyclists was one of the highs of the S2S, but strictly for the daytime! We heard later that this Brevet pair had ridden in one day what had taken us three days. They confided that they’d crossed Duffers Saddle at dusk and ridden the whole of the Nevis Valley in the dark. As Tim said later, that was something we’d never have contemplated, even had we had the energy; we wanted to see the stunning New Zealand back-country.
Day 16 (March 10. 60.3km). Garston Ski Club Hut to Mossburn.
We had a puncture on the Prado early today, which we fixed. No punctures on any of our bikes the entire trip. Soon we mounted our bikes and headed down through the cloud layer hanging just below us towards the lower Nevis, Garston and the Mataura River. Apart from ordering takeaway coffees at an exceedingly busy mobile café in Garston, alongside the affable local policeman, highway 6 was uneventful. The cyclists battled nasty northwest headwinds on the last section into Mossburn, but by then I was at the Mossburn Railway Hotel, checking into our accommodation, which did not disappoint.
Day 17 (March 11. 88km). Mossburn to Te Anau.
We set off today in deteriorating weather. It was windy and the sky threatening
Tony was diving as the rain set in. The rest of us toiled on. Before long we opted for a breather in the car and ate our sandwiches in silence. I was on the brink of nodding off in the back seat when someone remarked that the sun was coming out. Great! Time to get back on the bikes. I drove the last section into Te Anau missing, I was informed later by the others, a beautiful section of bike trail on the outskirts of the town. Never mind, the Lakefront Backpackers proved a delightful spot in which to sit, directly across the road from Lake Te Anau, watching a serious southerly wind blasting across the lake, sending boats straining against their moorings as they bounced up and down.
I for one found it hard to believe that we were poised, just one day away from fulfilling our dream. Tomorrow we’d bike almost 103km to Homer Hutt, near the entrance to Homer Tunnel. The following morning we’d reach Milford Sound.
Day 18 (March 12. 102.7km) Te Anau to Homer Hut.
Staying safe was the thought uppermost in our minds today. I’d researched the number of tour buses expected to take Route 94 from Te Anau north along the eastern shores of Lake Te Anau towards Mackay Creek; the Avenue of [the] Disappearing Mountain; Deer Flat; Eglinton Valley; Cascade Creek, Lake Gunn and The Divide. As those names suggest, the scenery on all sides becomes increasingly outstanding as the day unfolds.
The only distraction, and it’s a big one, is the tourist traffic, with up to 6,000 visitors a day, many arriving in the tourist coaches that travel towards Milford all morning, one after the other in an apparently never-ending line. I gave up counting. We wore our most visible clothing and kept in a close line of our own. I concentrated on the white line at the road edge so much for so many hours that I can still see it in my mind’s eye. The upside: the drivers must have been accustomed to cyclists; there were no close calls.
Towards the afternoon the traffic eased. We ate lunch and continued on, biking through native forest, with the stunningly beautiful bush and hanging valleys of Fiordland National Park to our left. It was one of those days you'll remember forever. Shortly after The Divide we asked our bikes near a viewing platform and and mountain lookout (below), a spot we shared with many other tourists. We're trampers and climbers from way back, but the mountain vista before us was especially awesome, I suspected, because we'd worked so hard to get there.
Grandstand view.
My enduring impression late this penultimate day of pedalling, however, was of the mountains closing in around me – a black wall in front, to the right and the left. Just one white patch of snow high above, clinging on. Of course, I knew the wall was not impenetrable, that there was tunnel through it. Nevertheless, suddenly rock dominated, after so many days of greenery. Mordor, I joked out loud to myself, revelling in my Lord Of The Rings obsession at secondary school a lifetime ago.
8:30am. Final day (March 13. 20km). Homer Hut to Milford Sound.
The New Zealand Alpine Club’s Homer Hut is situated at 900m in the Upper Hollyford Valley. It’s well-known in climbing circles because of the climbs done from there since it was built in 1965. We enjoyed our overnight stay but were fully primed for the descent into Milford from the tunnel close by.
None of us knew quite what to expect in terms of bikes in the tunnel – with cars presumably. But no. I was number two behind Tim in the line we took to the entrance, having said a brief goodbye to Tony who was driving. Suddenly, out of the blue a voice called out from a tall pole near me: “Cyclists keep moving forward.” I yelled these words out loud to Tim and Philippa in case they hadn’t heard them. Then I rode hard straight forward into the tunnel, up a small incline before the descent down on immaculate tarseal – not a rock or pebble to be seen. Around were layers of bright lights: yellow, white, red. Not a single vehicle, just we three gleeful cyclists roaring down in single file towards Milford Sound and the end of the adventure of our lives. Once outside again, we waited on a wide bend for Tony who arrived and swapped the driving with Philippa.
Then we continued down. By this time the Milford-bound traffic had all gone past us. We were alone (car traffic in both directions came in groups, not individually. We had the most glorious road all to ourselves, the reward for all the climbing since Picton! I fought the urge to let rip, realising I would have to pass Tim if I wanted to speed. He was being cautious and I found out later that he had seriously cold hands, even with gloves on. Indeed, the further down we rode – many kilometres – the colder we all got. We dispensed with a plan to move the car into a suitable spot (there were none) and all bike into Milford together, before biking back up to retrieve it. We just needed to reach Milford, we agreed, now.
We did just that. It was early morning in Milford Sound and tourists were rushing to get onto their booked cruise on the Sound. One kind couple with young children kindly paused to take our photo.
The sun hadn't yet bathed the town in light and warmth. We had coffee and a muffin in rather ordinary-looking premises. Outside, though, it was everything it’s cracked up to be. We wandered around, savouring the moment, drinking it in.
Eventually, we strapped our bikes back onto the Prado and left, at the end of an adventure none of us will ever forget. (It cost each of us $1300, which covered the Interisland ferry to and from Wellington; diesel for the Prado; and road user charges.) We all agreed that having car support was a major plus in terms of not having to push a heavily laden bike into the predominant southerly wind, and for the flexibility it offered.
I felt as proud as I’ve ever felt to be a New Zealander – the beauty of the backcountry; the facilities, whether accommodation, advice or assistance; and the people, including the farmer who, seeing us slogging towards him late one morning along a gravel road, veered off to one side up a low grassy bank, to avoid engulfing us in dust. Thanks mate.
What a fantastic experience - I'm envious. I've covered some of that ground myself, but a long time ago.
ReplyDeleteHi Karl, Thank for your comment. I was amazed at how good it was, and that I/we actually did it. Now scratching my head for another idea!
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