Contributor.

Southern Cross, Volume 2, Issue 15, 14 July 1894, Page 7

Contributor.

THROUGH THE OTAGO GOLDHELDS ON A BICYCLE.

(By Roadster.)

The autumn having broken into ■winter and there being a prospect of . little else but interminable rain for the next month or two in this busy but over-moist Southland, I determined to put into execution a project I had often contemplated of spending a month or so among the higher latitudes of Central Otago, where, although the thermometer often reads exceedingly low, still the ah' is clear and dry, the sun shines a portion of , every day, and life is more enjoyable and worth living than in this sodden Southland winter climate. Accordingly I consigned my steel and rubber horse to the morning train, took a ticket for Kingston, with a benediction on the Railway Commissioners (the recipients of so many maledictions) who carried my “ bike ” free of cost, and by four p.m. was safely landed in Queenstown, THE STARTING POINT of my journey. “ What make was the machine?” asks the interested bikophile. Well, never mind the make ; let not rival vendors quarrel even to advertising over the make of the machine which carried me safely and well over the hills and mountains of Otago. Suffice it to say it was a good and faithful machine, and stood every test which ’could ordinarily be expected from a well-mannered bicycle. And I was no bounding bicyclist burning to BREAK A RECORD at every opportunity, and spending my energies until perspiration reeked at every pore. No, experience had taught me how to regulate my speed to that minimum where exercise was enjoyable and perspiration avoided, and I was not averse to dismounting at the foot of a hill rather than screwing and straining to the top in a Quixotic resolve not to be beaten. The first day or so was spent about Queenstown in enjoyment of its scenery, and in renewing old associations with its exceedingly hospitable inhabitants. The appearance of AN HP - TO - DATE PNEUMATIC naturally attracted a good deal of attention among the athletically inclined. The local show in the way of machines was represented by a solid tire which, at the time, was not available, hut the roads in the township being very even a friendly rider unearthed a “good old has been ” with which to give me a spin. Such a bike ! truly halt and maimed, wheezy and rheumatic, but still a bike, and together we spun round the township until my friend’s heated appearance disclosed the fact that what was good fun for me on my pneumatic was hard grafting for him. Next day I essayed to enter THE LAND OF GOLD, and took my way from Queenstown through the Gorge. The last two miles was good going—down hill — then the heavy nature of the road, silt, dust in summer, and heavy cutup ruts in the winter, obliged me to dismount and walk, A short stretch of level road tempted me’to mount again, and there, I got the first and only cropper of the journey. Falling into a deep rut on the edge of the road, OVER WENT MACHINE AND RIDER for some six feet down the bank until brought up by a matagauri bush. On collecting my senses the first concern was for any dreaded puncture. A hasty examination revealed no damage to either “ horse ” or man, and forward was the word again. A stiff push up the Shotover Hill and I looked down on the Shotover Beach where the SEW HOY DREDGES were working to the tune of 1450z5. per week, and lining the shareholders’ pockets with tardy though acceptable threepenny dividends. A couple of

miles of up and down work and I - descended into Miller’s Flat, and settled down to a bit of easier riding On the level. Recent rain had made the roads wet in some places and heavy in others, and the sun having set behind the hills the frost asserted itself in knobby lumps, making riding somewhat unpleasant. However, I was nearing Arrowtown, with pleasant visions of a cordial greeting and substantial fare from my friends, when a turn in the road disclosed a fourhorse team and waggon in full career towards me, having escaped from the driver’s control. To dismount, plump the machine into a ditch, and leap the wire fence was the work of a moment, and another of the multifarious dangers to which the bicyclist is exposed was past. In a few minutes I was

•IN ARROWTOWN. Here the cycling element was represented by two cushion-tyre machines ridden by a local tradesman and his wife —the latter, I was told,

IN RATIONAL COSTUME. I had been to Christchurch, 1 had seen the photograph of the famous rational (!) wedding, nay, I knew personally some of the originals iri the group in bygone days, but I „had never yet seen the living exposition of rational dress reform. Nor was any curiosity I might have on the subject gratified during my stay in Arrow, for although I heard frequently that the lady moved freely through the community in her rational dress, I had not the good fortune to set eyes upon her. Still, if the dress gave freedom to the wearer and permitted her to enjoy the exhilarating exercise of the cycle, why we must be loyal and say —“ More power to her,”

I intended to start next morning for Cromwell, but a heavy shower put all idea of moving out of the question by making the clay roads moist and sticky. So I settled down to spend the day in Arrow. The sun did not surmount the hills until 10.30 a.m., and discreetly retired about 3 p.m., when the frost, which had reluctantly given way for an hour or two, set in with renewed vigour, nnd drove us indoors to the congenial shelter of Host Jopp’s commercial room and a good fire. Here the long evening passed away pleasantly in the company of other travellers halting for the night, and discussing almost every subject under heaven, “ shop ” only being excluded. The local men are always, however, allowed free grace on the subject of gold-mining, and many a thrilling story of gold-discovery in the days of thirty years ago, is detailed and listened to with open mouth, especially when the principal actors are still to be found among the local identities. On this particular occasion we received a graphic and amusing account of the life and expeaiences of THE GOLDFIELDS EABBITER. “ The ways that are dark and tricks that are vain ” are not confined to the Heathen Chinee, and some of the rabbit inspectors employed by our paternal Government would have been much edified at hearing the ways in which Mr Rabbiter farms the rabbit industry for his own particular benefit. (To be continued.)