Already bored of the damp British Autumn? Take a dream ride along New Zealand’s Road to Paradise
Searching for motorcycling nirvana, Simon Weir went to New Zealand and found some genuinely heavenly riding
For a moment, I hesitate. It seems so close… yet still so hard to reach. I look at the sign again, then at my rental bike: a tidy Honda Crossrunner with a full set of Givi luggage and road tyres. Just the job for exploring the flowing tarmac of New Zealand. Then I look at the road: it’s not tarmac… it’s gravel. I look back to the sign for the third time and decide, to hell with it. I have to try to get there. The sign reads: Paradise 7km.
I’d started my ride from Kingston in New Zealand, a small village at the foot of Lake Wakatipu. This is a huge S-shaped body of water ringed by white-tipped peaks, less than a hundred miles inland from the southern edge of the South Island. I’d had the full range of Kiwi spring weather on the way here – rain, hail, fog and so on – but today had dawned bright and clear.
I admit, I was slightly nervous about the ride. After two months crossing the United States I’d learnt to moderate my optimism: so many of the roads I’d expected to be great had turned out to be pretty average (the amazing roads were usually the ones I’d never heard of before). Despite this, ever since booking my flight to New Zealand I’d been waiting for this ride like a kid waits for Christmas. I’d heard it was one of the most scenic, most rewarding biking roads in the world. But could it possibly live up to the hype? Finishing my coffee and setting off… I wasn’t actually sure. It was a nice enough road: broad and fairly well-surfaced, long-ish straights rising and falling gently between the mirror-bright lake and the steep hills. It was the kind of road you could probably ride at an extremely cheeky pace, but I’d heard so many stories about speed-sensitive traffic cops waiting to ambush the unwary that I kept things steady. I can’t tell you how relieved (smug) I felt when I spotted a marked police car lurking in a lakeside stopping place.
The Devil’s Staircase
I might have been heading to Paradise, but my first stop was lower down the lake – and at the other end of the divine scale. The Devil’s Staircase is a ridge of steeply stepped rocks that drop from the heights down to the waters. As the road approached, the shore narrowed and I began to climb in ever tighter turns, getting the best from the surprisingly agile Crossrunner. I stopped at a parking point where the cliffs beside the road were highest and the drop down to the waters of the lake was greatest.
I’d been admiring the scenery as I rode along, so I knew it was great. But really, I was concentrating on so many other things when riding – reading the road, checking the surface, keeping an eye on what little traffic is out there, making sure I’m not going fast enough to pick up a fine – that I’d had an impression of the landscape, not a proper look at it. Now I was off the bike, it was like being hit in the face with a scenery hammer. This wasn’t “great” – it was staggering. The high line of peaks on the far side of the water, the blue sky…. the invitingly serpentine road heading north to Queenstown. Back on the Crossrunner, I set off again. I decided to risk feeding the Honda 800 a few more revs – with one parked up a few miles back, how many more policemen could there be around here, anyway? I wasn’t going crazy, but a happier throttle really brought the ride to life. After the twistier section descending from the Devil’s Staircase, Highway 6 settled down to be mostly long straights linked by gently sweeping corners again. Good riding… but not the kind of thing you’d cross the globe for. Still, it did get me quickly across the 16 miles to Queenstown.
This is one of the biggest tourist
‘It felt like being hit in the face with a scenery hammer’
hubs in New Zealand – a small town with a huge presence. Queenstown sits on one of the bends in Lake Wakatipu, with fabulous views across the water. In winter it’s the gateway to the skiing in the nearby mountains; in summer people come for the hiking, for watersports on the lake, and bikers come to ride the road to Glenorchy. The road that leads to Paradise. I’m here in spring and it’s relatively quiet, but there’s still a bustle of traffic as I skirt the town. Thankfully, not much traffic followed me out of town. I’d been wanting to ride the road from Queenstown to Glenorchy since my friend Alistair MacFarlane told me it was one of the best roads he’d ever ridden – and coming from the man who set up MCi Tours, that was enough of a recommendation to nail this to the top of my bucket list. And now I’d reached it.
Along the lake
The road started innocently enough: the hotels and houses of Queenstown gradually faded into the forest, then disappeared as the road climbed over a headland and dropped down to Wilson Bay. A compact parking area at the water’s edge let me get a pic of the bike at lake-level, but it wasn’t a tourist town. There were some expensive-looking houses set back from the road, but no bars or shops. I set off through the strungout settlement with its low limit, but after a few miles the road dipped
inland slightly and I was able to pick up the pace.
As the road headed into the forest again, I let the V4 Crossrunner stretch its legs a little. After a steeper climb, the corners sweeping through the trees, I emerged to run along a scrubby hillside with with the lake playing peek-a-boo behind the greenery to my left. One second I’d get a glimpse of sparkling water reflecting the mountains, the next it was lost behind the bushes. Then the road swept round once more there and the lake appeared, dead ahead, as the road dropped in inviting sequence of left-right jinks.
This was more like it! The road reminded me of the best bits of my favourite in Scotland, the A87… only on a slightly grander scale, getting grander all the time. When the road had climbed up to Bennetts Bluff, high above the water, I had to stop again to get a picture. As the view down the lake opened up, the landscape was simply mindblowing. The mountains ahead were carrying more snow than those at the Kingston end of the lake, the hills beside the water were a lush green and, snaking through them, the road looked spectacular.
It was. I didn’t go bananas, but keeping the VTEC engine in four-valve operation had the bike singing through the corners and me grinning from ear to ear. Besides, I still had half an eye on the landscape, as the road swooped down past a pair of large islands in the lake. The corners came thicker and faster now – not Cat & Fiddle tight, but a relentless stream of smooth, flowing turns feeding one into another.
There was a little traffic to deal with: a sportscar and, further down the road, a minibus. They were easily passed without looking like a hooligan. I daresay in the height of summer there might be a little more but I was lucky and essentially had the road to myself.
It was a truly fabulous ride, all the way past the compact heliport and into Glenorchy. I paused at the village’s general store to get a coffee and a cake. Suitably fortified, I pressed on – to see if I could find my way to Paradise.
Intensive care
There are a couple of problems now I’ve reached the point where the tarmac road turns left and the track to Paradise continues straight on, in all its beige-stone glory. The first is obviously that I’m on a rental bike with road tyres and a substantial deposit… and I’m not meant to take it off-road. The second is that, after a crash on a gravel road in South Africa put me in intensive care earlier in the year, I’d promised my girlfriend Ali that I would keep this trip strictly on the tarmac. And the third is that, frankly, though I hate to admit it, after the crash I’ve lost my bottle a bit on the loose stuff.
But here I am. If I want to get to Paradise, I’ll have to face my demons. To say I set off steadily would be putting it mildly. A Toyota
Hiace van blasts past and it’s only then that I have a word with myself. Gravel isn’t that difficult anyway – and frankly this almost doesn’t count. Large stretches are just bare, hard-packed dirt, though there’s a bit more of the loose stuff in the bends. The Crossrunner is a bit small for me to ride standing on the pegs (I’m 6ft 5in) but even sitting down, it’s completely manageable. What was I worrying about? I settle in, rattling comfortably across the final few kilometres.
When I get to Paradise it is… quiet. Lovely. Lush grass, mountains, trees. Pretty, but frankly not the prettiest place I’ve been today. Plus I can’t actually see anything to do, though maybe I’m here too soon for any stalls selling “I went to Paradise” stickers or even coffees to travellers. So I turn back and gingerly retrace my steps, feeling relieved when my wheels meet the tarmac again.
I head back to Glenorchy and down to the lake. It’s beautiful – a small, well-tended park and a huge pier projecting into the still, clear waters. There are a few other tourists around, but when they move off I have a moment to myself – and it is heaven. And as close to Paradise as anyone on a road bike needs to get. And then I realise very the best thing about being here. The only way out is back to Queenstown, down that amazing road. What am I waiting for?
‘Like the finest Scottish roads but on a grander scale’
‘The only way back is to ride that amazing road once again’