Cradled in green hills, themselves cradled in the mountains, that old Sun shines down on us and hundreds of athletes on bikes, in wet suits and just plain old running shoes from day break. In an assortment of hybrid triathlon events the gifted amateurs and the stubborn wanakabees all mix together as taking part is the main thing except for a handful. The volunteer stewards, are on their feet all day in the baking Sunshine, handing out water and pointing participants to towards the second lap funnel and not into the finish funnel. I fear I briefly left the straight and narrow (badly signed) path and trod between the markers and then deservedly received a tongue lashing from their number one Rottweiler. How could any one be as stupid as me? Their other duties are to clap as people run past them. This must be where 'running like the clappers' comes from, except the clappers are not running.

One of the photos from yesterday shows how ziggy the road was yesterday. Perhaps we have one more dose of ziggyness tomorrow. But our time with the car is running out, although we do not leave NZ for five more days a train and our feet will replace it. The car has been a blessing, looking after us for so long.

Nearly four hours later a young lady crosses the finish line in a most serious event. Great to see the youngsters following in the last few yards and after a few deep breaths she can give an interview.

Early evening we hired a couple of Frisbee each (driver and putter) and tried one of Wanaka's courses. We both improved rapidly but... this is a , this is a ... Man's world and there should be some lady's tees.

Super hard, difficult and frustrating at times it is and I am only talking about finding the next tee. If you are good at spotting animal tracks and so on, you have a better chance. Occasionally the way to the next tee can be deduced by these signs. Or, as we discovered much later, by looking at the top of the target which has an arrow on it. Liz took this brilliant photo of me and you can see the silver Frisbee in flight, starting to curve left around the dog-leg. Or actually directly into a tree.