There were lots of cows, tiny bridges, and long sightlines of the road snaking through the valley floor. Sam and I were happy to have returned to the desolate roads and it was great to have our wolfpack increased by one. We hit a nice rhythm of the lead rider pulling to the side and taking shots of the other two as they leapfrogged past. The rolling hills were shadowed by clouds and then basked in sunlight as the weather had trouble making up its mind. We kept our fingers crossed that the sunshine would prevail so we could fully enjoy the boat tour of Milford Sound.
The Pig ready to roll.
Frankenbike plowing through a shallow stream crossing.
We realized we were starting to run late and since we didn’t want to ride all the way out to Milford Sound and miss our boat, we rode faster. At one point as I was in the lead spot, the gravel shifted to a loose pack and it sent me into a “death wobble.” I knew braking only increases the instability so I tried to accelerate out of it. When the wobbly seemed to be drifting me to the left side of the road, where telephone poles and a fence awaited, I decided to bail and laid my bike down. The huge panniers acted as a kickstand that kept my bike at an upright angle instead of pinning my leg to the gravel road. I was able to shift myself towards the topside of the bike and surfed it to a stop. I had a few wipeouts under my belt on this trip already but this was by far the scariest since telephone poles have no give and I was riding pretty fast. Sam and Nick stopped to help me bash the pannier back into a box-shape and were impressed that I didn’t have a scratch from the crash.
Frank picked up and recovering. Sam using a rock to bash the pannier back into shape.
My surf-marks in the gravel.
I was happy when we finally reached sealed tarmac again and we could resume our race to Milford Sound. Brian and Ann were waiting at the gas station meeting spot and wasted no time in joining our quickened pace. We hit the Homer Tunnel, a 3/4 mile long tube drilled straight through the Darren Mountain range, and had to wait for the opposing one-way traffic to clear. We took the opportunity to gaze at the massive surrounding cliff faces and how small and insignificant they made us feel. Sam fixed his bike enough to run but the electrics were still screwy and his headlight did not work which is not ideal for riding through a dark tunnel. He rode next to me to borrow some of Frankenbike’s high-lumen headlight and we were greeted on the other side by massive tree-covered cliffs. It looked like we warped into Jurassic Park scenery which was a stunning backdrop as we tore 2,700 feet down the winding road to the docks.
The steep Darren Mountains.
Homer Tunnel.
We made it with minutes to spare!