Pick any one of those three to characterize my ambition to ride dirt, rocks and roots with a semi-loaded bike and skinny slicks for tires. I had some idea of what I was getting into, but a cracked rib on the first day wasn't part of the plan. Yes, a mountain bike trail should be left to mountain bikes, not touring ones. I'll note that for future rides. I actually was able to ride a surprising amount of the Queen Charlotte Track, say 85% of the 51km. The other 15% was either spent pushing, pulling or lugging my bike up the unavoidable and unridable hills or laying on the ground after I ate the good stuff. That being said, I survived and am only a little worse for wear. More damaging that what my body suffered was my childhood vision of Ol' St. Nick. I've always been told he existed, but when I ran across two of them, my faith in the guy was truly shattered. Anyhow, I'm back in Picton, again, and will take an early ferry tomorrow for the north island. It'll be nice to be on the pavement again, at least for the first few miles. Then I'll be having thoughts as to when the next break from the bike will be. Happy New Year's to all of you.
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