Stoked up on steamed cauliflower with herbed olive oil, apples, and cheese, one a NZ sheep milk haloumi.
The track wends its way across a working farm. You're advised to follow the signs and leave gates as you found them. Once you set out, the track is fairly clear, and occasional sign posts point the way.
Remembering the minced lamb with lemon, garlic, onion, and chard we had for dinner last night, sensing accusatory stares.
True or false: this is a jigsaw puzzle.
The path changes character over hill and dale.
Give way to horse riders.
Your horse is beautiful, I called out. I'm very proud of her, she said.
In the distance, Tasman Bay.
I spotted this sign and wondered about it. Just then, a friendly woman from the property came down the drive with her pup and told me all about it. The NZ Motor Caravan Association is a group you can join and then have access to members' properties, the ones who sign up to welcome caravans on their land. No services, just free camping.
Sorry sideways. The apple and pear trees are burgeoning. Vineyards here too. And the sky is original color.
We walked the last piece of our trek together, discussing life on the road. She and her husband lived for 15 months in their caravan.
At the intersection, our lunch destination, Jester House Cafe and the TAME EELS. Next time...