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Tough Kiwis It didn't take long to warm up in the morning. After French toast, we grunted up a killer climb with major ribbon-like switchbacks. Not satisfied with the splendid view at the picnic area, I climbed Rodel mountain and breathed-in a complete dramatic overview. I blinked at the treacherous switchbacks we had vanquished, deep valley, turquoise Roldal Lake and snowcapped mountains in the distance. There was even a tunnel for the river. It was an enchanted land of beauty. Sharon huffed, "It would have been easier to just buy the damn postcard!" Sharon and I opted to take the bypass roads over the numerous tunnels on our route. Much safer than being in a coal black tunnel with freight trucks barreling up our backsides. Better scenery too, than the inside of an inky stinky tunnel. Sharon thought it was very considerate of the engineers to build tunnels to hide the cars in so we cyclists could enjoy the views unhindered by their presence. Snow patches enveloped us. They melted into strange shapes; one looked like New Zealand. Arran and Rebecca, not having climbed Rodel mountain, already had water boiling by the time we arrived at the lunch stop. We hunkered down between some boulders to cut the wind, sipping scalding tea with a generous allotment of sugar. We were on top of the mountain. Goat bells donged below us. Rebecca wore a balaclava to help cut the cold wind. She looked ready to pull a goat heist. In town*, a tourist from Arizona spotted Arran's New Zealand flag sewn onto his pannier. "We were in New Zealand last year," he bragged. "Great place. Friendly people. It's just like Holland." Arran retorted, "Yep, every time I think of Holland, it reminds me exactly of New Zealand." Arran never lost a chance to poke fun at Americans. At the pump, Arran filled his fuel container, taking a whopping half-a-liter. When he paid, the gas attendant admonished him, "Next time, remember it's a five liter minimum." Arran grinned and said , "Next time, I'll bring a bigger container." "That would last five weeks," I laughed. "That would last the whole trip," he cringed. "Fill up first. Pay later, is my motto." I asked the attendant if he was busy. "No." he replied. "Summer's over. Everyone is back at work. It was four degrees Celsius last night." Yikes! No wonder we had to zip the tent doors closed to keep in some warmth. Rebecca wanted to know what road we were looking for. Arran predicted, "Any one that goes up." We chose a small road to Lake Totok. Sure enough, it soon lurched upward. We skirted the back side of the lake, following a sign that read "Private Veg." Sharon found a good spot by a little island. If I knelt down just right behind a clump of bushes, I could hardly notice the monster power station across the lake. The lake looked inviting, but it was ice cold. Those Kiwi's were tough, damn tough. Not only had they chosen Norway to retrain after nine months off their bikes but they bathed in frigid water as well. Sharon stuck her feet in. They turned blue. Arran and Rebecca were completely in there, washing their hair and clothes--the works. It made me numb just to watch. |
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