A late summer's morning in the Maitai Valley on Nelson's southeastern side. The sun is already high above the ridge. The pine-clad hillsides are steaming with the humid fragrance of conifer and clay. The cicadas are in deafening chorus.
And just to my left the native golf balls are in full flight down the valley floor at the Waahi Taakaro Golf Course.One ball has just whizzed past to land in the next paddock a few metres away.
It inspires the thought to speed up before less accurate playing partners arrive. "Aucklander knocked off bike near 15th fairway" isn't a local headline I want to help write. .
But there's only so much acceleration on offer. This is a Sunday morning ride on a rented two-wheeler. It's started out gently uphill, but it's also my first time riding a dual suspension mountain bike which is much flasher than the partly hydraulic "hardtail" I left at home.
But all that extra spring is designed for going down hills, not up them. Working against the slope feels like jumping a pogo-stick upstairs. Soon, the insect white noise is drowned out by the sound of hard puff. It's on up to the Tantragee Saddle, only 180m above and 3km from downtown Nelson, but I'm already feeling like oxygen might be required.
My sights are set on the track of the old Dun Mountain Railway, a track which follows the path of New Zealand's first train line to the old copper and chromium mine which ran up here in the mid 19th century. It's part of the mineral belt in the hills behind the city. A few horizontal kilometres and a few hundred vertical metres later, the temperature has dropped and my breath is steaming underneath the damp forest canopy.
But any sense of wilderness achievement is soon undermined when I round a bend to find a park bench put there by the Nelson City Council for any of its hard-thighed citizens who fancy a scenic break on their constitutionals.
I have maps of the many tracks around the hills which have made Nelson something of a mountain biking mecca. But really, I should have brought the Navigator. Instead, she's opted for a wander through the Nelson Provincial Museum ["brilliant" ] before meeting up for lunch. We had gone to Nelson with a plan: Ride bike. Eat well. Buy junk. And if possible, avoid the art.
Yes, yes, we should embrace the art of an area to get the soul of a place. But there's just so much of it around here. They ran out of places to stick it on the walls, so they started wearing it. Now that's a gallery in itself. You walk around a corner and there's someone blowing glass in a front room. Every second painting on the walls of every second eatery has a price tag. It's daunting.
Too much of it, of course, is high-class hippie tourist tat. But to get interested in the better art of the Nelson region, you'll need rather more time than a weekend - and a large and extremely disposable income.
There is much of that tat at the Nelson Saturday Market, our first excursion after checking into our very nice room at the vastly-more-stylish-than-it-sounds Trailways Motor Inn, on the banks of the Maitai river just south of Nelson's CBD.
The weekly market, in a rugby field-sized carpark in the middle of town, is a giant bazaar of food, woodwork and jewellery - it seems a fair bit of whatever copper is left up in the Mineral Belt has been recycled to become buckles and wrist bands and other really useful copper-coloured things.
Of course, the rings for the Lord of the Rings films came from the local jewellery family, the Hansens. By the looks of the market, you could interior decorate and outfit your very own Hobbiton with its many woody wares. But we weren't after tourist tat but old tat, which is always more fun.
Nelson has a fine range of secondhand shops, some of which we had discovered on a previous visit, some of which we found on the Nelson Antique Trail leaflet. Three of the best shops sit next to each other at the beginning of Waimea Rd just southwest of the CBD.
In one I ended up paying roughly 2000 per cent more for a Star Trek torch raygun than the original 1970s price tag. It's a fine addition to the raygun collection at home (more than three is a collection, isn't it?).
Down the road at another fine establishment, another score for $30 - a 1960s vinyl-covered hard case for LPs, just perfect for those resthome DJ residencies.
We had shopped well. Eventually, it was time to to eat well, too.
Unable to get a reservation at the allegedly iconic Nelson eatery, The Boat Shed Cafe, we wandered down the cafe and bar-festooned Hardy St.
First stop was the intimate Nelson Oyster Bar for a drink and perhaps a local shellfish or six. Except, sorry, no oysters tonight due to seasonal fluctuations or something.
Still, the sushi entree prepared by fleet-fingered chef Michael quickly made up for the lack of bivalve.
With too many Indian, Thai, and Chinese places to choose from, we opted for a geographical compromise - Malaysian, at the friendly, unfussy and reasonably priced Spices, also in Hardy St.
The next day, having worked off the carbo-loading of the previous night, lunch was out at the Waimea Estate, one of many local vineyards with fine nosh on offer.
Though the best meal of the weekend was the following night at the aforementioned Boat Shed. Its prices might make one pine for home, but it's a restaurant which happily defies the usual great-view-bad-food rule.
Sitting out on its deck above the water after the meal, parts of me still ached from the biking earlier that day.
Well not so much the biking, but the final descent which didn't involve much bike at all ...
In my efforts to get as far up the Dun Mountain Railway track as possible before turning back to town, I am soon running out of time.
Turning back down the hill, I spot a short-cut on the map - a firebreak straight down the hill marked in black as "extremely difficult".
Down I go, bouncing like someone about to discover what "extremely difficult" or indeed "broken collar bone" actually means, until ... well the firebreak is no more.
I stop. Either I've misread the map, or taken a wrong turn. But now I'm stuck in bush and facing another headline "Navigationally challenged Aucklander found lost in bush 3km from city".
The only way to go is down. I can't be bothered carrying the bike all the way back up.
Some minutes, too many gorse bushes and a few bike-tosses-over-fences later, I am in someone's back paddock.
I prepare an "aw shucks, dumb Jafa, sorry for trespassing" speech for the farmer as I knock on the farmhouse front door.
But thankfully no one is home. And this isn't only a farm and a way out to town. It's also the studio of a prominent local painter.
You can't avoid the art stuff in Nelson. Even when you're lost in them thar hills.
Checklist
NELSON
Getting There
For details of Air NZ's direct flights to Nelson see link below.
Activities
Bike hire - Stewarts Cycle City, (03) 548 1666
Accommodation
Trailways Motor Inn, (03) 548 7049
Eating
Waimea Estate, Appelby Highway, Hope, (03) 544 4963
Nelson Oyster Bar, 115 Hardy St, (03) 545 8955
Spices (Malaysian), 227-229 Hardy St, (03) 539 4917
The Boat Shed Cafe, 350 Wakefield Quay, (03) 546 9783
Antique/Secondhand Shops
Tula & Niles (for vintage clothing), 28 Nile St
Style Junkies, 2 Waimea Rd
Jimpy's Antiques, 4 Waimea Rd
Vintage Antiques and Collectables, 50 Vanguard St
Soucheby's Antiques, 75 Gladstone Rd, Richmond
* Russell Baillie flew to Nelson courtesy of Air New Zealand and was hosted by Lattitude Nelson
A simple wrong turn and the pressure of traffic forced us to carry on down the road, looking for an exit. But then, through a set of traffic lights, we were there.
"This is it," I shouted. "Look, this is it."
I drove on as slowly as the urgent traffic would allow, and we looked around at the slow dip and curve of the road, so recognisable from that famous piece of footage we have been seeing for fortysomething years.
This was the place. So I hooked a left, circled around for a couple of blocks and cautiously made our way back. We pulled over and got out of the car. There it was, the Texas School Book Depository, the famous grassy knoll, the Dealey Plaza ...
As much by chance as intent I have been to any number of slightly ghoulish places.
I have seen where River Phoenix died outside the Viper Room in LA (they've taken away the plaque now) and stood at Elvis' grave a couple of times.
I have been to the modest plaque over Buddy Holly in his hometown of Lubbock, Texas; stumbled on Jim Morrison's graffiti-covered grave in Pere La Chaise in Paris; and have twice been to the last resting place of Jimi Hendrix outside Seattle, first when it was a simple grave which allowed for quiet contemplation, second after they moved him and built a hideous memorial.
But there is something unique about the place in Dallas where John F. Kennedy was assassinated in November 1962 - it is so familiar from those endless (and endlessly, sickly fascinating) replays of the grainy 8mm footage shot by Abraham Zapruder. And the jury of popular opinion is still out on who shot Kennedy, and from where.
The Texas School Book Depository - and who knew Texas needed such a huge building in which to store old books? - is on the corner of Elm and Houston streets in downtown Dallas. It is a magnet for curious tourists, nutcases, historians, the sceptical and the slightly Kennedy-obsessed, and any number of conspiracy theorists.
For the latter there is more research to be undertaken at the Conspiracy Museum about a two blocks away.
I guess if you think Lyndon Baines Johnson had Kennedy killed so he could become President then you are just as likely to believe that Nazis killed the Lindbergh baby.
Around the grassy knoll, men with blazing eyes sell magazines which trace bullet trajectories and have graphic autopsy photographs of Kennedy's shattered brain.
But if you are in Dallas it is impossible not to feel the attraction of the Sixth Floor Museum in the Texas School Book Depository, because there you can hear about Kennedy's life - lots of promises but little achieved seems a fair verdict on his short presidency - and consider the angle of fire that Lee Harvey Oswald would have needed to get off those rapid shots at a moving motorcade below.
You can't actually stand where Oswald stood - that area is sealed off by glass panels - but you can stand at a window nearby. And you look down. And you look back at where Oswald stood and think of the angle. And you look again at the road below, and back to where Oswald would have stood ... I don't know.
All I know is that if Oswald did it, then he was an exceptionally fine marksman.
And that's pretty much what the guy next to me thought too, although the other guy who laughed and said, "Aww man, no way" seemed to be more certain of his opinion.
It's a place where you have to make up your own mind.
It might not be the most pleasant day out, but in the gift shop below you can buy Sixth Floor Museum T-shirts, postcards and kitschy Kennedy memorabilia.
I've got the museum ballpoint pen next to the plaster bust of Ho Chi Minh that I bought in Hanoi after going to see his mummified corpse.
But that's another story.
Don't let worries about the tough new security requirements put you off holidaying in the United States.That is the overwhelming advice from readers who have been there recently.
Some have horror stories which confirm that the security rules can cause real difficulties in a minority of cases, but feedback on last week's article indicates that for most New Zealanders, the visa-waiver scheme for tourists still works fine.
Typical of the happy, visa-free holidaymakers are Rob and Ann Bleakley who entered the US twice, initially via San Francisco and later through Tijuana, and were treated courteously.
"On arrival at San Francisco we were processed by a polite young woman [who] asked us how we were going to spend our holiday, commented on some places we should see and wished us an enjoyable journey."
As far as visas go, corporate travel executive Celia Snedden has been to the US several times over the past four years and reckons there's no problem working out if you need one.
Nor is she bothered by the security checks. "Really, getting your finger photographed while your passport is being inspected is not a big deal."
But she does advise travellers to be polite and to treat the security requirements seriously. "Kiwis can be a little clever sometimes with immigration officials. I would advise travellers to answer them politely and not try to be smart or get cross when it is taking a bit of time ... That is when people can get into trouble."
Many other readers have encouraging stories to tell about friendly officials and smooth entry procedures. But, unfortunately, those rosy experiences aren't the whole picture. The unlucky minority with tales of woe fall into three categories.
First are those singled out for special attention on arrival in the US - which some find very upsetting - though that is an irritant rather than a serious problem.
Second are travellers who arrive in the US to discover there is adverse information about them in the immigration computer system, because of long forgotten minor misdemeanours, confusion over names, or the incorrect recording of previous departures.
In one such case, Stephen Arnerich missed out on a holiday in Honolulu because he apparently overstayed his visa by six days 10 years ago, although he claims, "nothing was mentioned to me on my departure back in 1996".
Arnerich was taken to the Federal Detention Centre, photographed, fingerprinted, strip-searched, dressed in an orange jumpsuit, injected to test for tuberculosis, given a psychiatric check and escorted to the plane home in handcuffs.
"Another Kiwi girl was brought down and put in the van with me," he says. "She had lived in the States 13 years ago and after she left, her boyfriend was busted for selling steroids. Unbeknown to her, he implicated her in the crime. She was sent back to New Zealand that night."
The only way to resolve such problems is to apply for a visa.
The third category of difficulty involves travellers who theoretically do not require a visa but on arrival strike an immigration official with a stricter-than-usual view of the rules about what constitutes work.
If you are not receiving remuneration, you should not require a visa, but people such as journalists who in a sense could be working even when on holiday, and sometimes professionals attending a conference, business people dropping in on contacts, or speakers having their expenses reimbursed have been sent packing.
So the average person taking a holiday in the US should not need a visa and should have no problems. But if you suspect the immigration computer system has adverse information or if there is any possibility you could be thought to be doing some sort of work during your visit then check with the US Consulate in Auckland to see if you need a visa.
But be aware this service is not free. Roger Hall reports, "After your article we thought we should ring the consulate in Auckland to make sure we didn't need one for a forthcoming visit. Received the following message: 'It costs $3.45 a minute for all visa enquiries'. Maybe that's something else Condoleezza Rice could look into."