Day one: Discover Richard Pearse Memorial on a Scenic Ride

And about time too!

Have you ever woken to a morning you’ve been hanging out for so long you reckoned it might never actually show? And then it does.

No drama. Just quietly there.

There’s a bite in the air, that proper South Island chill that wakes you up faster than any coffee. The kind that rolls down off the plains and settles in your chest. The sky’s clear in that big, open way you only get down here, and everything feels sharper—cleaner—like the land’s had a good rinse overnight.

You stand there for a bit, taking it all in. No wind. No traffic. Just you, the bike, and a road heading south with your name on it.

Bloody hell. This is it.

This was that morning. It was Saturday, April 11th, and it was 7:30 in the morning.

I had spent all week packing the motorcycle, unpacking it, and repacking it. I was now happy. It had been more than three years since my last ride out with this group of friends. The reason for the long absence is for another day. Suffice to say, I was so excited. I just wanted to get going. The sun rose into a pale French Blue sky. It had been a fairly calm and balmy night. No wet roads, no frost and no looming rain clouds. Yet. The scarlet oak tree out front looked as if aflame in the morning light.

I set off from home for our rendezvous point in Rolleston, south of Christchurch. The bike thermometer read 7 °C. It had been a while since I had ridden the bike with both side panniers and the top box fitted and loaded. The first few kilometres were spent just getting used to the little bit of extra weight on the bike. Taking time to make sure all was well with myself and the bike, for there were going to be a fair few kilometres added to both of us in the coming couple of days. Now was the time to ensure all was well. I passed through Oxford and Darfield and arrived in Rolleston to find most of the others were already there waiting for me.

I was beaming to see all my old riding buddies. This was like the last 3 years had never really happened, and it was business as usual. We talked bikes, weather, ailments (we are all of a certain age) and other nonsense before deciding it was time to head south.

Rolling out of Rolleston, the world still feels half-asleep. State Highway 1 stretches out ahead, long and straight, easing you into the day. It’s not the most thrilling bit of road, but that’s not the point—not yet. This is the warm-up. The chance to settle into the rhythm, feel the bike beneath you, and let the noise of everyday life drop away behind you somewhere north of Christchurch.

By the time you peel off at Temuka, things start to feel a bit more like a ride and less like a commute. The traffic thins, the pace changes, and the roads begin to wind just enough to keep things interesting.

I mentioned to Brian I wanted to visit the Richard Pearse Memorial. After all, it was not far off our planned route, and it would add some interest. Who? said some of my fellow riders, and they were New Zealanders. Right says I, we have to do this.

A Flying Start (Almost)

So, not long into the journey, we turned off SH1 onto the Waitohi Road and pulled over at the Richard Pearse Memorial—a fitting tribute to one of New Zealand’s more eccentric pioneers of flight. Click the link for more. Standing there, looking at the replica of Pearse’s rather… optimistic aircraft, it’s hard not to admire the sheer audacity of the man. Did he beat the Wright Brothers? Who knows. The history books would say not, but……

There’s something comforting about stopping for a break here. You stand there for a minute, looking out over the same flat land he would’ve known. It’s a good reminder that big ideas don’t always come from big places. A reminder that bold ideas—whether building flying machines or heading off on a long ride with no particular rush—are worth pursuing, even if they don’t always go perfectly to plan.

It has to be said that New Zealand is pretty awful at showing off what it’s got. Richard Pearse was a farmer who, I reckon, contributed to changing the world. No Smithsonian Institute fanfare for him. No replica hung from a lofty ceiling of what could be the world’s first powered flight. Nope. A replica stuck up a pole on a nondescript back road on the Canterbury plains is all he gets. And somehow that’s New Zealand. It punches way above its weight and expects nothing much in return. It just moves on to the next thing.

The Long Sweep Inland

From there, the road began to stretch its legs.

On through Pleasant Point and into Cave—roads that feel properly local now. Less polished, more character. You start to notice the details: the way the light hits the hills, the smell of farmland, the odd dog giving you a half-hearted chase from a driveway. It’s proper South Island riding—nothing fancy, just honest. South Canterbury unfolded in wide, golden strokes—farmland seamlessly transitioning to the stunning, expansive beauty of the Mackenzie Basin, adorned with vibrant cypress trees showcasing their autumnal colours. The traffic lightened, the curves invitingly opened up, and the exhilarating joy of riding took over, making everything else fade away. Lake Tekapo sparkled to our right, while the township buzzed with the excitement of a road cycle race. We then transitioned to quieter roads, where Lake Pukaki gleamed a beautiful blue as it often does. The sun radiated splendidly off the snowy peak of Aoraki, Mount Cook, inspiring us to pause for a refreshing break, stretch our legs, and soak in the breathtaking view.

Brians BMW sits in front of Lake Pukaki and Aoraki, Mount Cook in the distance. The cloud had started to roll in turning the lake from a vivid blue to a cold grey.

Omarama is one of those places that feels like it exists purely for travellers—good coffee, easy parking, and a steady stream of fellow road wanderers swapping stories over lunch.

Helmets came off, jackets unzipped, and the usual conversation followed:
“How good is that road?”
“Did you see that view back there?”
“Should we stay longer?” We didn’t. But it was tempting.

By the time we rolled into Omarama, the bikes (and riders) were eager for a well-deserved break. I felt a bit saddle sore, having not enjoyed such a ride in a while, but the thought of refuelling with a hot cup of tea and some delicious sustenance lifted my spirits. That 30-minute break was just what we needed! A few stretches worked wonders on my shoulder blades, and a quick check around the bike reassured me that everything was in excellent shape. We excitedly headed east on Highway 83, turning off at Otematata to take the scenic road that led us to the impressive hydro dam at Benmore. Otematata, by the way, was a charming little town built to host the dedicated construction workers who brought the dam to life.

The South Island of New Zealand is dotted with hydro dams generating power for the grid. Benmore Dam is one of them and riding along the top of it affords outstanding views from a lofty perch. The stop at Benmore Dam is one of those moments where you have to pull over, whether you planned to or not. It’s big. Properly big. The kind of place that makes you feel small in the best possible way. The water stretched out behind it, the scale of the structure—it’s worth taking a few minutes just to stand there and take it in.

There’s something oddly mesmerising about the scale of the place—the massive wall of concrete holding back a lake dominated by lofty peaks behind it. It’s a different kind of scenic stop; less postcard, more “wow, humans built this?”

The road around the lake is a fun ride as well.

From Benmore, the road began to wind its way back towards the coast, twisting its way along the north shore of Lake Aviemore, the landscape softening again as the high country gave way to greener pastures. By this point, the light had started to mellow—the kind of late-afternoon glow that makes everything look just a little bit better.

And then, tucked away where you almost feel like you’ve earned it, is the Waihao Forks Hotel.

The kind you remember for a long time. The Waihao Forks Hotel isn’t trying to be anything other than what it is—and that’s exactly why it works. The hosts are warm and welcoming people. It’s not flashy. A proper country pub, sitting quietly at the end of a great day’s ride. The kind of place where the gravel crunches under your tyres as you roll in, and you know straight away you’ve made the right call.

Helmet off. Jacket unzipped. A cold drink in hand.

You look back on the road you’ve just ridden—the plains, the backroads, the high country, the dam—and it all adds up to something more than just kilometres.

Not every ride needs to be epic. But now and then, everything lines up—the weather, the road, the stops along the way—and you get one of those days.

Cold drinks, hearty food, a bit of local chatter, and that unmistakable feeling that you’ve properly arrived somewhere. It’s the kind of place that rewards the effort it takes to get there, especially on two wheels. Brians Overnighter has been coming here for 20 years. For good reason.

This days ride has a bit of everything:

History (and a touch of Kiwi ingenuity)
Wide-open riding through classic South Island landscapes
Proper small-town stops that feel authentic
And a destination that’s worth the miles

It’s not just about getting from A to B—it’s about the stops in between, the conversations, and those fleeting moments on the road where everything just clicks. If you’re looking for a ride that balances scenery, character, and just the right amount of distance, this one’s hard to beat.

And like all good rides… it’s even better the second time around.