A trip in the South Island can feel like a lifetime when you share them with twenty-odd motorcyclists and a ribbon of open road that never seems to end. From the first start of engines in the cool morning air, there was a sense that this was more than just a ride. It was a gathering of stories, experience and horsepower, stitched together by catching up with old friends and the promise of adventure. Three thousand kilometers on the map does not look like much. A thin ribbon of ink curling across the lower half of the world. But ride it with twenty-odd motorcyclists through the vast theatre of New Zealand’s South Island and it becomes something larger. The first stretch was smooth and sweeping, and it didn’t take long before the wheel stands began. Endless, effortless lifts of the front wheel as throttles cracked open on empty straights. Among us were visiting ex–world champions and many seasoned ex-racers, men whose names had once echoed across international circuits. Watching them ride our back roads was something special — precise, playful, and impossibly smooth. They made it look easy, drifting past with a nod, lifting the front wheel as if gravity were merely a suggestion.
Not every day was blue skies and postcard views. Some days pushed past 500 kilometers, and the South Island reminded us who was really in charge. Rain swept in without warning, turning corners slick and uncertain. There were stretches where we were sliding more than riding, tyres searching for grip on glistening asphalt. Water pooled in ruts, visors fogged, gloves soaked through. Yet no one complained. If anything, the shared experience tightened the bond. There’s a particular camaraderie that comes from riding through cold rain with twenty others, each trusting the rider ahead.
Evenings became their own adventure. Wet gear hung to dry in motel rooms and over balcony rails while we gathered at great little restaurants tucked into small towns. Plates arrived heavy with southern fare, and more than a few ales followed. The table filled with noise and appetite is always a highlight of the day. Laughter bounces off timber walls as stories grew taller with each retelling. Strangers at the bar, or nearby tables were bought into the conversations and treated like old friends. This is the South Island way The champions were just riders again, swapping tales and teasing like the rest of us. There was something grounding about that — legends reduced to mates over dinner.
Not every moment was light. One rider went down, a sudden reminder that romance and risk share the same road. In an instant the jokes quieted and the group tightened. People became organized, transport arranged, calls made. There is a particular kind of loyalty forged in shared kilometers. Getting him sorted while he waited in hospital became the mission, and when it was sorted, the relief was as warm as any fire.
All too soon, the great loop curved back toward its beginning. For me there was an exact spot on the Springs Creek round about, the point where I turned right to head over to the West Coast on my way down to meet up with everyone. It was 7 days later I rode that exact spot heading back north. 7 days of memories, friendships, and riding. We turned the bikes homeward, throttles steady, hearts tugged in two directions. The South Island unfolded behind us, magnificent and indifferent. At the final meeting point we idled together one last time. Helmets came off. Handshakes, back slaps, promises of the next ride. Then engines fired and the lads scattered, each rider choosing a different line on the compass.
There was sadness in that moment, the kind that follows something truly good. The ride was over. The South Island receded in mirrors. Yet beneath it sat a steady contentment. We were tired, damp, sunburned, and grinning. A question was asked "How many more of these do we have in us?" But for now we are looking forward to our own beds, our own sheds, and the familiar hum of home — already knowing that the next ride was only a matter of time.
Till then.
Never ever seen the West Coast waters this calm. Flat like lake Taupo on a calm day
The south Island never fails to deliver
They are serving our beer all the way down here.
Great pub fare. A plate of ribs, some big fries and a salad to make you feel alright about your dietary habits when away riding
My first TS 250 was this exact colour. First time I've ever seen another
Which Way?
Are you starting to see why service costs are so high?
Well that's all for now. Off to Motofest tomorrow, so that will be great to catch up with a lot of old friends and see some glorious motorcycles heading around the track. Ciao.
