We woke up to find ourselves ensconced in a thick misty cloud --which did not bode well for the day of hiking we had planned. We decided to postpone any decision as to what we'd do with our day until after breakfast, however. Downstairs in the dining room, the same tape we had heard last night was playing --classical music's greatest hits\-- and this influenced our decision to ride. Charming as the once-elegant Grand Chateau hotel was, did we really want to be trapped up here another night, inside of a cloud, listening to Pavarotti sing \"Nessun Dorma\"? Within what seemed like minutes, we were flying down the long hill towards a crossroads called National Park.
Rather than abating in lower altitude, the mist grew worse here, occasionally thickening into something classifiable as genuine rain. It was a nice change of pace to be whooshing downhill, though, so I didn't mind a bit. Climbing out of a deeply cut gorge, we caught up with a pair of our cyclist brethren, Cathy and Gordon from northern England. We stopped to talk to the older couple by the roadside under the intermittent drizzle, and were struck by their gumption. Pressing on to our goal --where we knew we could catch a train to Wellington in time for Saturday night---we raced down a long, almost imperceptible descent, with what must have been a pretty strong tailwind.
After half an hour of this pedaling bliss, we turned off to the left into gorgeous sheep-filled scenery at the foot of the North Island's tallest mountain (shrouded in clouds). Ohakune surprised us by being easily the most charming country town we'd passed through in this country. It had a frontier, old-West look and feel to it. We stopped at Visitor Information to get the dope on the train and learned that Okahune's landmark, a giant plaster carrot, lay just down the road. I insisted we bike there for a photo before lunch in a trendy café, where we ate bagels and ran into Gordon and Cathy once again.
They were done cycling for the day, and we envied them staying in such a beautiful place. Fred proposed several times that we do the same, but since the train didn't run the next day (NZ basically shuts down on Sundays), we thought it best to stick with plan A --or was it plan B? The train station was a ways out of town and absolutely deserted. We were the only passengers to get on or off when the dinky rattling old iron horse hissed to a stop. An officious woman told us we'd have to take our bags off our bikes before loading them, then recanted when we said we'd lift them up ourselves.
The same woman sold us our tickets, served us tea and provided a running commentary throughout the bumpy 5-hour journey. For all we knew she was driving the train, too. The day before had destroyed me. Every bone in my body had ached, so I felt no shame in arriving to Wellington by train. We did feel some shame and panic when we realized that every accommodation in the entire town was booked. Except for the kindness of a woman at the train station we'd have never found a place to stay. As it was we ended up out by the airport the first day.
We managed a place in the center of Wellington the next day. There we developed a feel for the city, which is decidedly quirky. It felt as though a weird little city like Santa Cruz, California, with all of its hippies and odd-balls, had been declared a capital. Complicating matters, the International Dragon Boat Competition was being held along side the National Maori Cultural Festival. The amazing tourist attraction of Wellington is their new national showcase museum, Te Papa. It is truly the \"papa\" of all museums. Its edifice is like an airport terminal in stature, floating out by the harbor, its massive halls filled with geologic, historic, cultural, natural and technologic exhibits.
Perhaps one of the more amazing museums I've ever seen. Like the town of Wellington, many of the exhibits were quirky and strangely curated. My favorite was the sheep and wool exhibit that explored the history and uses of sheep in New Zealand. One of the best bargains of the trip, after the free trip to Te Papa was the repair of my damaged bag. When the Dutchman and I collided it tore the buckle off one of my front panniers. It cost only \$3.50 for the buckle and sewing it on.