Two hours from Christchurch, through low, grass-covered hills, we swing around a bend. The road stretches out across a massive plain of grass and flowers and sparse trees, sliced in two by the grey road — a straight shot that stretches out until it disappears at the base of the Southern Alps.
Another from the swamp in Edgewood, about a half hour north of Baltimore. It should be worth returning in a few months amidst the snow and frozen water.