We woke up early the next day, completely oblivious to what day it was, only knowing that it was horseback riding day. We drove out to Cardrona, where we went riding with Backcountry Saddle Tours. I should explain that T and I often try to go horseback riding when we’re traveling and it’s almost always a disappointment. Not because of the scenery or the horses, but because we want to canter the whole time and we never get to do it.

This time, sadly, was no different. The scenery was perfect, don’t get me wrong. We walked up into the mountains, overlooking Lake Hawea and the surrounding hills. There were pink and lilac lupines scattered about, and lovely little streams running through the hills. There was even a little dog that led the way, running through the fields and lying in the streams to refresh herself as she waited for us to catch up.

Again, the problem was that it was kind of boring. We walked for Ages and trotted far more than I would have liked (especially because I was on the last horse, who was considerably lazier than the others, so we kept having to trot to catch up). The first two times we cantered, the girl who was second in line didn’t know how to do it, so we trotted and trotted. The third one was good, but was too short, and the fourth time, the horses got all out of order and mine charged past T and the second girl and jumped the queue.

It was nice to be outside, though, and it was a beautiful, beautiful day. On our way back to Wanaka, we saw an example of typical New Zealand scenery:

After the riding, we picnicked in town, overlooking the water and decided to do the Rob Roy glacier walk. It was a “must do” in our book, and the girl at the campsite said it only took 3-4 hours. Even I could hike for 3-4 hours.

Things that should be mentioned in the guidebooks that tell you something is a “must-do”: the road to the Rob Roy glacier is at the end of 25km of unsealed road. The book said it took an hour to get there, so we figured it was no problem. Then we came to the end of the paved road and spent about an hour and a half bumping along the dirt road at 30km an hour, until we came to a ford. We gots a rental van! We ain’t going to cross no ford!

And so we climbed out, figuring that hell, we’d been driving for over an hour on the godforsaken unsealed road and how much further could the frigging glacier be? We soon found out. A car passed us as we were walking, and the driver slowed down, yelling “Woo hoo!” I thought he was just being a weiner and giving us a hard time because we were walking. It turns out he was a Red Sox fan (I should have guessed) and was applauding our hats. Helpful Sox fan informed us that the glacier was a 20-minute DRIVE from where we were. And so, back to the van. We were crossing the ford.

When T went to get the van, he spoke to two English girls who were about to make the same decision we did. He told them he’d drive them to the glacier, and we ended up taking Becca and Clara, two lovely girls from London, with us.

Helpful Sox fan wasn’t kidding about the road. However, by the time we returned to the van, T had had enough of this road and decided to fight back. And so we skidded and bumped our way to the glacier at much higher speeds than before. We crossed EIGHT FORDS on the way to the glacier (again, it might have been useful if that had been mentioned in ANY of the guidebooks—the English girls had a Lonely Planet which didn’t mention it either).

When we arrived, we made a deal with the girls that we would go first and if we decided to turn back, we’d pass them and we’d drive them back to the car. Unfortunately, as only T and I can do, we got lost immediately, and ended up in a field full of startled cows, jumping over a wire fence. In the distance, we could see the girls, and we followed them back to the correct path.

This hike was a real bitch. Sure, three to four hours! No problem! What I had forgotten was that I hate hiking and that it was also about 85 degrees with blistering sun. Hiking + sun = TERRIBLE IDEA. Also, we had been riding that morning and my calves were in a shameful state. So we climbed. Up, up, up. We passed dozens of people climbing down. “Oh, it’s beautiful,” they said. “Oh, it’s worth it,” they promised. I made a mental note to hunt each of them down and kill them slowly if they were wrong.

Finally, after T had to help me stretch my calves (I was literally about to cry with pain), a couple passed us. “20 minutes more!” they cried. Is it worth it? we asked. “Yes, yes,” promised the husband. “If it’s not, you can find me later.” Oh, I will, brother. I will.

Finally, sweaty and dirty and pissy, we saw the girls at what we thought was the end of the road. It turns out they had been climbing at record speeds trying to catch up with us, and since I had told them I am a slow hiker, they were most confused. And we still weren’t at the end of the bloody trail.

We reached it about 5 minutes later. I guess it was worth it. The glacier was spectacular. It was covered with pristine, virginal snow (not like that dirty Franz Josef), and there were waterfalls all over. We stopped to rest for a while, and then began the descent down. Going down the mountain is much easier than going up, can I just say? It was lovely and cool in the forest on the way down, and the four of us talked the entire way (well, mostly the girls. As usual, T listened).

We got back into the car, all disgustingly stinky and starving, and we decided to gun it back to Wanaka. On the way back, T was driving at least 70km/h and the girls were right behind. Unfortunately, on the way back, all the local animals decided it was dinnertime and began to venture into the road in front of us. Let me tell you: sheep and cows are dumber than rocks. The would get in the road in front of our car, and then freak out and just run down the road IN FRONT OF US, instead of getting off the road. T started ruminating about having some fresh lamb for dinner, and I was in full agreement.

We got back to the campsite in one hour. From the glacier. It took about two hours to get there, but only an hour to get back. I am sorry to report that T’s bird count is now 3-0. He was moaning about “suicidal birds” and swerved to miss one, and another one RICOCHETED OFF THE WINDSCREEN. It was the funniest thing I have ever seen. He is now officially The Slayer. Please note that I have killed no animals in New Zealand.

When we got back to the campsite, we sprinted for the hot tub and the sauna. Then we fell into a long, deep sleep.

Postscript to the founding members of the Giant Thigh Fan Club: Fear not! There is still plenty of thigh to be found, both right and left.