Guide – Page 10 – Solo Female Cycling Around The World

Moo moo on a midget! (May 2 ’09)

How do I get out of this town? I have been through more roundabouts or circular galaxies of confusion then I can keep track of. I am starting to think the powers at be are playing a really good joke on my sense of direction. I finally stopped Pandemic my magic bicycle and asked a construction worker how I head up the coast of Wales. I didn’t mention that the roundabouts were about to make me start crying out of frustration. Keeping the ocean on my left really shouldn’t be that hard should it? The ocean is huge, a person of average intelligence with a college degree should really be able to follow something that big. Granted my degree is in sociology which is just a really good excuse to daydream for 4 years about visiting other world cultures but still following an ocean really shouldn’t be this hard. Should it? The construction worker I asked for directions looked at my bewildered frozen face and loaded down bicycle and said I would have to go through 5 roundabouts, take three left and then head through five used to be lights now sign posts and that would be put me on the main coast road. Ok, I thought laughing to myself at how ridiculous it sounded, 5 roundabouts, 3 lefts and 5 used to be lights now signs posts. Got it, thanks! And so I peddled around the cute little town one more time.

I started thinking I might just be spending the rest of day circling around this cute little town. The next person I found to ask for directions was Noel Fitzpatrick, a Irish man living in Wales working as an engineer for local parks. I told him I was trying to cycle to Ireland, he didn’t think I should be heading all that way without a reflective vest so he gave me his vest, right off of his back. Noel, a big hearted Irish man and I joked that I looked dazzling in a reflective dress. Noel’s vest is size x-large men’s and since I more of a xx-small female it drapes over me like a moo moo on a midget heading down the red carpet. I am grateful that Noel was so thoughtful to have gifted me with such a fine reflective dress, complete with a piece of string to fashion as a belt. That’s twice the amount of reflective material for the motorists to see, that’s double fashionably safe.

After admiring my newly acquired safety inspired garment I mentioned to Noel that I was having a little trouble with the roundabouts. And as much as I do enjoy circles, I talk in circles, think in circles and even built a circular house back in Alaska, I still could not quite figure out how to cycle out of town. That’s cycle not circle out of town. Noel laughed and bellowed out peddle like hell and follow me. He then hoped in his truck, Pandemic the magic bicycle and I peddled behind. We drove over a large grassy residential green area crossed a road and through another residential park. We stopped at a tall wooden fence and then Noel jumped out of his truck and picked up my heavy loaded bicycle lifted it over the fence and onto the busy road. He then pointed to the roundabout sign and said follow that road. Ahh, I felt a deep grateful sigh of relief that the roundabouts that had been consuming my world all morning were rapidly coming to an end. I peddled towards the roundabout sign, a beacon of hope and possibility, the world’s best sign, the sign of all signs, the mackdaddy of the signs and off I peddled out of town in my safety dress. By the end of the day I was following the bluest rockiest northern Atlantic coast line I have ever seen. And I was exquisitely dressed for the occasion to bout.

The coast of Wales is described as one of the most beautiful in the world. And this time around they weren’t just talking. It is completely true. It is late winter early spring, there are very few folks outside in the weather and there is a constant trickle of freezing rain which doesn’t matter because each rain drop reflects off of the ocean like a crystal prism of freedom. A beautiful sense of freedom that can be obtained from cycling for 100km(66miles) a day,6 days a week north towards Fishguard, Wales through the freezing rain in a sexy safety dress.

Cheers! Archive Post 4/30/09

I feel like an arthritic old lady at the moldy age of 37 with a humped back from years of calcium deprivation and hard work in the fields. Hard work in the fields would of conditioned me a bit better for this voyage. With every push of the peddle, I am reminded that peddling a bicycle is nothing like reading about it. My neck is conditioned to being propped up by pillows a sufficient position for reading. The same great reading neck is freaking out with the new found angle of grinning ear to ear over Pandemic’s bicycles handle bars as I head north into the icy breeze. The throbbing of my neck and shoulders is occasionally replaced by the late winter icy temperature of the ocean air. The freezing rain might have bothered me if I wasn’t so intent on making it across the big old bridge I have been grinning at for the last 2 hours.

I hadn’t realized there are two bridges to Wales. A fact I might of realized if I had of stopped smiling long enough to buy a map of the area. The old bridge is 40km or 23 miles further down the potholed latent neighborhood road. Bicycles are not allowed over the new bridge, I was to find out on approach. It is a good thing there is a rich history of bicycle travel in England because everyone within sweating distance seemed to already know that I was not going to be able to cycle over the new bridge. I am told by the sweat soaked helpful crowd to continue on another 40km/23 miles. My throbbing neck doesn’t like this idea but my frozen smiling face peddled on, head strong into the freezing wind and rain towards the Old Bridge.

As the wind blows me backwards instead of forward over the long bridge to Wales my thoughts are replaced by the sense of accomplished that I had actually cycled to Wales. Despite the seemingly gale force winds blowing me the wrong direction over the bridge, overwhelmed, I couldn’t help but pause and while holding down my hat in the wind, peer through tears at the ocean view from on top of the bridge and know that what lie ahead would be worthy of proverbial toast.

The toast may be that I had actually made it Wales or that my favorite adventure cycling book no longer had any appeal or more importantly that I could no longer remember the aching feeling of being 4 1/2 months into my final dark cold isolating winter of Alaska. I had peddled out of England across a huge international bridge, through freezing rain and a seemingly near gale force head wind. The Pandemic, my magic bicycle and I have made it to Wales.

Rain Snot Dirt

Another rain drenched frozen booger splatters me in the face as I splash down the hill. I am dodging snot, dirt and freezing rain pellets. The late autumn rain is so intense it has gotten ridiculous. So ridiculous and cold it is humorous to try to be out here. So this is what the shop keeper meant this morning when he said the weather was coming in. The locals are laughing AT me until I start laughing and then they laugh with me. Some cars just honk and give the thumbs up others just laugh as they pass by. I try to avoid such fun interactions only because if I stop peddling my body shivers into a deep freeze. The only thing stopping me from carrying on is that I can’t see through the rain, snot and dirt. The triplets of inclement weather are interfering with my visibility and lady like appearance. This is my new definition of inclement.

I finally call it a day and cycle into a campground.I feel like a used wet Kleenex tissue tattered and torn from over use, the kind you can only find in the rubbish.On top of being really disgusting, wet and cold I am hungry.7 huge tacos, a bag of popcorn, a chocolate bar, 1.5 litres of orange flavored water and then 2 lamb chops, a bowl of green beans and a plate of rice later I lift my drooling floppy mouth, breath, sigh,breath and think ok what can I eat next?

3 more tacos,2 cups of hot chocolate, ice cream, a cheese roll (grilled cheese sandwich), a handful of cashews and raisons, some yogurt and some cookies I breath, sigh, breath. I may be the first person in the history of cycling in the Catlins, New Zealand to become morbidly obese while cycling into the oncoming rainy winter. Until I pop a tire or split my pant zipper I don’t think I will worry too much about it. More rain is predicted for tomorrow and a hole lot more eating my way to the morbidly obese benchmark! After all it is important to have goals!

Perverted for Penguins

Notice the one in the back singing and playing the tuba

I have temporarily renamed Pandemic my magic bicycle, Regatta the magic bicycle after the great sailing conditions the Otago peninsula is producing today. I am hoping that the wind shifts once again and sails Regatta the magic bicycle up this 70 kilometer cascading hill. The wind sounds like I am at the opera and harmonizes with each new bend in the hill I peddle. The musical westerly, easterly and northerly winds blend into a bellowing rhythmic percussion that insists on chilling my frosty ears. I peddle and thrash at dawn through the icy windy song on schedule.

I have an important appointment to keep. I notified the yellow eyed penguins yesterday that I would be coming. But just in case they didn’t receive my message, I have brought along three tins of sardines. I figure it couldn’t hurt to smell like fish while I hideout and wait in the tall grasses at Sand Fly Bay beach. The stealth bomber hideout and hope to see penguins, while looking up for albatross, mission has begun.

The yellow eyed penguins are shy little ocean critters that prefer a lot of privacy. They can’t waddle that fast so they are a bit self conscience of their figures. They are quite selective of when, how and if they will come to shore to their nests. They always have to have it their way, that figures. However, I let them know ahead of time that I thought being 21inches (1.9 feet) tall, sporting black and white feathers and possessing yellow banded demonic eyes made them pretty damn cute so they need not to worry about being so self conscience. And, they could feel free to waddle about their business free of judgment or criticism. My only trepidation about the first meeting is that they might think I am some kind of voyeuristic pervert lurking in the tall beach grass salivating to pitch a look.

It has been three days now. The tall grass that engulfs my little green tent is bending over in defeated boredom. The stealth bomber hideout and hope to see penguins while looking up for albatross mission has been …….. oh wait…..is that a tuba I hear…….no……it’s them….here they come. Marching out from the ocean like a St Patrick’s Day parade, in full waddle and dressed in their Sunday’s best plumage on a mission of their own to climb the grassy embankment to find their nests. They don’t seem to see me or smell my rotted 3 day old sardine stench. This is a spectacular sight even for a perverted for penguins cyclist who has been patiently waiting in the tall grasses to catch a glimpse of the yellowed eyed penguin colony and all their waddling glamour. I will continue looking up for albatross as I cycle on into the southern tip of the south Island.

As I sail back down the 70 kilometer hill with wind power and satisfaction at my back I grin through the cold winter air over Regatta the magic bicycles handlebars. I am bubbling over with the overwhelming gratitude of a mission complete. The stealth bomber hideout and hope to see yellowed eyed penguins while looking up for albatross mission has been a success.

I Have a Candy Problem!

I am running down the streets of Dunedin like a lunatic at a Spanish bull run. The metal on the bottom of my cycling shoes is clamoring like church bells against the sidewalk. I am on a timer, I have 60 seconds to get to the bank machine and then back to the computer head set that in my hustle I left dangling in the internet café. I shouted to the internet café employee please don’t touch that computer, I will explain later, I will be back in sixty seconds and ran out the door. He looked at me as if to say is this some kind of game show?

I wish I had been elected for a game show but I haven’t. I wish I had a great cycling story to share full of triumph and glory but I don’t. However, while I was cycling through the mountains in central Otago some fraudulent hooligan stole my debit card numbers and went shopping at Walmart in Alabama. The thieves made out with $250 worth of stolen goods and I don’t even like Walmart. The fraud department caught on quick and put a hold on my bank card and it stopped working sometime last week.

I called the bank and used up the rest of my skyppe online phone credit. I convinced women number one from the fraud department to push her magic computer button and open my card for 60 seconds so I could run to the bank machine and withdraw money. I hit the maximum amount allowed and then the card was shut down for good and I said goodbye to all access to money.

I am in Dunedin, New Zealand camped by the beach waiting for a bank card to arrive from Alaska. Pandemic my magic bicycle is perched by a picnic table and enjoying the ocean air acting awfully patient under the circumstances. After talking to a dozen or so bank officials I think they have sent me a new bank card. Women number six wasn’t sure if they had received my signed fax and special request to express mail me a new card in New Zealand. And after having spoke to the entire office and their entire office women number twelve simply picked the phone up and said, are you the women trying to get a bank card sent to New Zealand? I believe she made about 4 more phone calls and I am now fairly confident a new bank card will be on it’s way to New Zealand in 3-5 business days.

When this adventure started 9 countries ago I was convinced the fraud department at my bank was opposed to this idea of me cycling around the world. Every country border I peddled a crossed they would put a hold on my bankcard and I would have to figure out how to call them. At the time, I didn’t have my online skyppe phone number so I would have to figure out how to make a phone call from various phone booths, a remarkably difficult task, which proved to be far more time consuming and exhausting then cycling up a mountain. I have now decided that the fraud department at my bank is very supportive of the adventure because $250 isn’t all that much considering the damage they could of done. Besides all the goods that the fraudulent hooligans made off with are from Walmart so the goods will break soon.

Dunedin is a great place to be poor. The city’s famous tourist attraction is the albatross colony and the yellow eyed penguin colony. I will be cycling out to the tip of the Otago peninsula, an easy day ride, to hide out on the beach and wait for the yellow eyed penguins while looking up and watching for albatross. There is an expensive tourist viewing center for both bird colonies but planning and scheming a stealth hide out mission is more within my budget right now and more fun. The campground during the last couple of days has been great. It has free hot showers so I am superclean, the kind of clean that even sparkling military white gloves would approve of. The camping park is designed for families on a holiday so the camp store has the most extensive selection of penny candy I have ever seen and a Henderson can stay pretty happy and go pretty far on a daily dose of candy. As long as my teeth hold up waiting for a new bank card has been pretty sweet.

Nice Earrings Buddy!

The numbered earrings are a medallion warn proudly for how many cyclists she has taken out!

They have even built themselves bovine mobile carts so they can keep up. They were feeling a bit jealous of all the speedy cyclists!

Holy Cow!!! I mean who stands in the road and doesn’t move when there is a bicycle bombing down a hill straight at you? The answer to that is cows do. In South East Asia chickens, pigs and cows team up and block the roads to cyclists trying to pass. But you can’t really blame the animal folk in South East Asia, with the language barrier and all it is to be expected. The farm animals of SE Asia don’t believe in birth control so there are a lot of baby farm animals blocking the road to cyclists in that part of the world.

I have never really felt that bad for eating cows. In fact I had steak for dinner tonight. After all New Zealand beef is world renowned for it’s quality due to the free range farming practices. However, after cycling through an obstacle course of free range cows on a rural road on my way to the coastal city of Dunedin today cow seems to be heavily on my mind. I can’t say I understand cows; I am not so sure there is all that much going on upstairs. If you look really deep in their eyes I don’t think they all that bright. I guess that’s why people eat them. I am generally skived out thinking about eating dog or horse because they are animals of great intelligence. But a lot of people don’t mind eating cows because they are a few flanks short of a kabob.

The trucks on the north Island of New Zealand proved to be quite the obstacle on my cycle south from the Auckland airport and were freely given the right of way. No cyclist in their right mind is going to take on a triple length logging truck. But having to push my magic bicycle through cows because they don’t quite get it is something I wasn’t expecting. At first I just carried on and peddled through the bovine crowd but the problem with that is they get spooked and try to run into you. I swear they are saying to each other you go left and I’ll go right that’ll get her to push the bicycle and slow down. I also tried mooing at them and making fun of their earrings but they just looked at me like I was weird or something. So steak it was for dinner tonight in the coastal city of Dunedin, home of the yellowed eye penguins. A delicious steak dinner, a peace keeping and safety measure for cyclists around the world!

Insecticide and The Great Famine

I have been eating a lot of bugs today while cycling into the wind. It feels like I was peddling through a asteroid bug field. I wonder what the caloric value of insects is? I have been losing weight lately. Bug eating is something I have developed quite the palette for. Today’s diet consisted of mostly sand flies. Although, a giant bumble bee collided into my sunglasses, he looked kind of fuzzy and I bet if I had tasted him he would have had a weird texture to him. On the plus side he was a lot bigger then the sand flies which might of made him more filling. Back in Alaska eating mosquitoes was often unavoidable, they are known as Alaska’s state bird because there are so many of them flying around. But don’t tell Loretta The Chicken that, her feathers would be ruffled to be compared to such a little insect.

In Thailand insects are a delicacy. They look like cockroaches and are served either boiled or fried. In an attempt to be socialable with a new Thai friend I had met in the market we split a kilo of crunchy fried bugs. With my eyes closed they tasted like popcorn and have a certain salty pop when I crunched them within my teeth. I didn’t really want to think about it or open my eyes but I think the crunch must have been their little insect backs. Umm umm good!

I was peddling my way into the wind and through the insect show into the small town of Otematata when the bug eating began. The Town of Otematata when pronounced sounds like the song from the movie the Lion King, Hakuna Matata. I have been singing the song Hakuna Matata in my head over and over all day while peddling through picturesque rolling hills. The Lion King’s hit song, well hit song in my head that is, means no worries…. for the rest of your days, a worry free philosophy…. After having song the song in my head on repeat for 90km (60 miles), I am now thoroughly convinced that the village of Otematata will provide a “no worries” cycling experience. I know there will be plenty of snacks involved, that’s for sure. Hakuna Matata!

Tomorrow I cycle out towards the coast to camp out and look for penguins. I have been told that the stout little fellas are very hesitant to come to shore if they see any movement. They can’t waddle very fast so they are a bit shy about being on the center stage out of the water. Tomorrow while peddling I will have to cook up a stealth camouflaging plan in order to hide out and wait for the penguins to waddle in from the ocean. Thinking up a master camouflaging plan should be a great way to replace the song Hakuna Matata from waddling around in my head. Hakuna Matata!

Dyslexic Wonderland!

Down under in New Zealand in the lower hemisphere, the stars sparkle with a gesturing ass over tea kettle come hither. After having spent 9 years in Alaska, the land of darkness and minimum pollution, I have become accustomed to looking up at the clear stars. Looking up at the stars here is like looking down from on top of them. They are upside down. For instance, the North American big dipper that normally looks like a big dipping spoon looks like a hat, the kind of hat that Davey Crochet would wear, furry with a long beavers tail. The little dipper looks like Davey Crochet’s raccoon hat smaller twin sister. The stars are so bright in NZ that they spread their internal glow the same proximity as a freshly squashed road killed carcass.

The brightest planets are the deeply colored stars which can mostly be found in the left hand part of the sky in North America.In the lower hemisphere they are located in the right hand part of the sky.When the new moon looks like a tiny slice of cheese, the section showing is to the left not to the right as in the northern hemisphere.I met a very jovial man last week who was visiting New Zealand from Alaska.He was convinced after drinking too much New Zealand wine and perhaps smoking who knows what that while looking up at the sky he was looking at a different galaxy.It is the same galaxy down under but completely flipped ass over tea kettle, tangled up into a dyslexic wonderland.

When flushing the toilet due to the gravitational pull the water circles downward to the left counter clockwise and not the right. Sometimes I flush the toilet 5 times like a toddler just to watch it swirl again and again or until someone else enters the public washroom and reminds me that New Zealand is a country that believes in the conservation of water. Flushing the toilet never seems to get old and it is always nice to procrastinate getting back to cycling.

Today after dismounting the magic bicycle after a 103 km (67 mile) beautiful bicycle ride I walked through Geraldine, the village in the foothills of the Southern Alps mountain range, the range that runs down the center of the South Island of New Zealand. Crossing the colloquial street on foot is an activity that requires a helmet. Looking left then right and not right then left is something I have been taking for granted for far too long. That or perhaps I have developed dyslexia and it is flaring up all of a sudden.

The car steering wheels are on the right hand side of the car, the motorists drive on the left hand side of the road and exit the vehicle to the left as well. It makes it interesting when cycling by parked cars and often there is a near ass over kettle incident of me and the magic bicycle getting nailed by a opening car door. Prior to garnishing my helmet to cross the street on foot, the closest near miss while cycling was today. I quickly swerved the magic bicycle around a parked car and avoided the projectile of a car door and started laughing. The woman was so startled she hopped back into the driver seat of her car. I apologized and waived but she still looked a little frazzled. I was laughing because no one got hurt and because perhaps we should all be wearing helmets at all times on a day like today.

Blow Me!

I think there might be something wrong with me or with my kind magic bicycle. I have been peddling like a fly caught in a spider’s web. Pulling into camp after dark and barely making it. I may have turned into a moldy old lady in the past few days. That was my original thought.

My second thought came to me as a beautiful old man started teasing me about the wind. Apparently it is blowing with a vengeance right now. I knew the wind may have been slowing me down but unbeknownst to me I didn’t realize that most local folks on their bicycles call it quits on a windy day. I am a hearty Henderson and do have a tendency to take things a wee bit far some times. I am from a family of hearty weathered Canadians in which weather just doesn’t become a factor. Some people cancel on birthday parties and x-mas due to a snow storm or any other inclement weather. Not my family, we truck on no matter what without much thought or concern, a handy family trait I am grateful for at times.

I have been figuring that as long as the bicycle and me are going forward things are ok, until last night when I almost lost the tent. I staked my little tent to the ground and then weighted the inside down with the bicycles bags(panniers) and other gear. I went for a walk to find some water. On the way back with the water I noticed my green little tent taking a tumble through the grass on its way to the beach. It is not the first time I have witnessed a tent become a kite but it is the first time I have chased a tent loaded with gear, through the wind, barefoot, at top speed over rocks and grass. Ouch!

After some research I have learned that New Zealand is smack dab in the middle of “the roaring fourties”, an area between latitudes 40° and 50° south in the Southern Hemisphere, where the prevailing winds blow persistently from the west. The roaring forties have strong, often gale-force winds throughout the year. They were named by the sailors who first entered these latitudes. Basically if you draw a line around the earth at that latitude the entire area on either side of the line becomes more like a wind tunnel of variable winds. It explains a lot about my turtling pace and also why a few days ago while practicing my new hobby of bombing down hills as fast as possible, I was able to clock myself at a whopping 63km(40mph). Bombing down the hills of the Southern Alps mountain range of the South Island of New Zealand is great fun especially with a little extra wind power at your back. That’s the same speed as an old motor home, ok maybe not that fast.

However at times I peddle as fast as possible down a hill and barely go anywhere and at other times the wind pushes me along. The wind makes for some tricky bridge crossings. In which the wind pretty much just launches me and the bicycle sideways and hopefully not into traffic. My hands are a bit raw at the moment from squeezing the wobbly handle bars so tight on the breezy bridges.

When this business of cycling the world began 9 countries and a year ago I found myself contemplating the best vehicle for travel. I was almost sold on the idea of a sailboat and in fact cycled around Ireland boat shopping. The bicycle is my beloved vehicle of choice although my brain often drifts to how to rig a sail to this bicycle. Kite boarding and kite surfing are all the rage at the moment and perhaps kit biking is next. Dare to dream of the next adventure sport to hit the market, the Roaring Forties Kite Biking Company. At least I know of one customer who will be standing in line.

Loretta Henderson The Chicken

I would like to introduce Loretta The Chicken. This is her debut. She is an accomplished athlete. She is a triathelete she swims, runs and bikes. She is an ambitious bird with lofty goals and she mentioned that she would like to be the official bike around the world mascot. She is a successful bird that Shiny the character in the following story would be very proud of. A special thanks to Jeff Henderson for the photo of his heroic bird Loretta Henderson The Chicken.

As I sit listening to the river cascading over sand white rocks into a crystal blue pool of reflection I smile and wonder if this day really happened. Last night I met Marc a local mountain biker and after visiting over a map we decided come early this morning to head out of town together then Marc would circle back into town after about 10km(6.6miles) and I would carry on. We peddle out of town, opened a farmer’s gate and headed to a road known only to locals, a manageable rocky dirt track that climbs for 50 km(33miles) towards a saddle. I was unsure what exactly a saddle was but was soon to find out it means peddling through three river crossings and carrying your bike and belongings over a rickety metal suspension bridge that stretches over a very deep canyon. The suspension bridge is narrow and weathered and really shouldn’t be navigated by anything bigger than an anorexic chicken. The path then continues on descending down a dirt road over many rocks through a long old growth beech forest and emerges many hours later in a mountain pass back on the main road.

After having spent the morning navigating the saddle I emerged on the main road and began peddling for the rest of the day to my final destination of some hidden river hot spring pools. I am grateful to Marc for adding beautiful backcountry adventure roads throughout my hand drawn South Island map. It will be dirt farmer’s roads and swing bridges when I can find them from here on in.

Up ahead on the road as I peddled into the late afternoon I notice a small pickup truck has stopped. As I approached a man bounces out of the truck and I am greeted by a shining toothless grin and a very loud hi y’a. I suspected that this man was short on hearing and teeth although large on heart and innocence. The shine and energy from the man’s grinning toothless face had enough wattage to illuminate a stadium. Turns out Shiny, my loud talk’in new visitor had been driving for hours, hadn’t seen much traffic, was a wee bit lonesome and wanted to chat.

I have been travelling without a book to read for some time and I have never been one to pass up a good hearted character so I parked the bicycle and fastened my seat belt to enjoy his story. Shiny was concerned about the relationship between our birds cats, dogs. Shiny feared that because birds don’t make any money that our planet would be fresh out of birds in the next 100 years. And that it was a sad fact that if you don’t make any money on this planet nobody cares about you. Too many cats and dogs and how much people care about them were compounding the bird problem. Nobody caring about birds and caring of only cats and dogs had Shiny noticeably worried. The threatened extinction of the entire bird population due to their lack of purposeful employment had definitely been on Shiny’s mind for some time.

At some point while Shiny was humorously babbling his way to Babylon, Shiny took a look over into an expansive empty field. He then told me he believed in home killed meats because they taste better. Killing at home is less stressful for the animal. The animal produces less adrenalin and therefore makes for a better tasting meal. He pointed towards a bloody carcass of some sort that was hanging upside down from the raised rusty bucket of a front end loader. Freshly killed, skinned and richly dripping of bloody humanity. Umm, umm good!

Shiny chatted on about New Zealand being a peaceful land without any predators. He told me there are no bears, alligators, crocodiles, poisonous snakes and very few spiders. The livestock animals are not native species and have been imported. The first flock of sheep was imported in 1800. White tail and black tail deer and a couple of Moose and elk from Canada were brought here after that. Shiny thought that there may have been a predator in the early years of settlement that ate a human once but it was a giant dinosaur bird that was now extinct.

Shiny continued that the rivers are clean of pollutants, drinkable and the people are as kind and trusting as people get. The national symbol is a bird, The Kiwi. The Kiwi can’t fly and is rare and protected throughout the country. A bird is an appropriate symbol for a country that has more species of birds then anything other critter or creature.

It was nice to see Shiny the man concerned about the birds glow with such pride of his national bird, the Kiwi, purposefully employed holding the very dignified position of national symbol. The sun began to set and there wasn’t a chance that I was going to find the hot springs today but it doesn’t matter because Shiny and his illuminated tale was much more refreshing then a mineral bath.