Martinborough, a charming little town in South Wairarapa, is known for its sunny vineyards, tasty wines, and quiet roads. It’s a place where tourists pedal between wineries on quirky four-seater bikes, soaking up the good vibes. Locals call it the Golden Mile—a stretch of paradise where life feels slow and sweet. But on February 13, 2025, that golden glow turned dark. A horrific crash changed everything, leaving one person dead, three injured, and a community asking tough questions. Was it just bad luck, or could it have been stopped? Let’s dig into what happened, mixing the real story with whispers of scandal that’ve got tongues wagging.
It was a bright Thursday morning, around 10:45, when tragedy struck on Puruatanga Road. A group of British tourists—two couples enjoying a holiday—had hired a four-seater bike from Indi Bikes Martinborough. These “Crocodile bikes,” as some call them, are big, bright, and hard to miss. They’re perfect for a laugh and a leisurely ride between vineyards. The group set off happy, pedalling along, likely chatting about the next glass of pinot noir. Then, out of nowhere, a car smashed into them. One woman, a Brit who’d once lived in New Zealand, died at the scene. Her three mates were rushed to hospital with serious injuries—broken bones, cuts, and a long road to recovery ahead.
Police say it happened fast. The car hit the bike head-on, flipping the golden day into a nightmare. The woman who died was named later—a UK resident with ties to New Zealand, though her name’s been kept quiet for now. Her sister, Amanda, emailed South Wairarapa Deputy Mayor Melissa Sadler-Futter a few days later, saying how “humbling” the community’s support was. “She wrote about the pain, the injuries, and the tough times ahead,” Melissa shared on Facebook. It hit hard—four Brits caught in a split-second disaster, far from home.
But here’s where the story gets messy. Word around Martinborough is that the driver was a local—a reckless type, drunk as a skunk, high on drugs, behind the wheel of a beat-up car with no warrant or rego. That’s the rumour, anyway. Police haven’t confirmed it—they’re still investigating, and no charges have been laid as of March 12, 2025. All we know for sure is the driver was a 64-year-old from Carterton, not far away. Was he off his face, or just not paying attention? Locals are split. Some reckon he was a menace; others say it’s too soon to judge. Either way, that crash killed a “beautiful person”—that’s what people are calling her—and left three others fighting to heal.
The road itself, Puruatanga Road, is a hot topic now. It’s got a 100k speed limit—way too fast, say some, for a spot where tourists on bikes mix with cars. For years, locals and businesses have begged South Wairarapa Council to lower it. Back in 2018, they pushed hard—vineyard owners, bike hire folks, even regular punters—saying 100k was mad with all the visitors pedalling about. But the council dragged its feet. South Wairarapa Mayor Martin Connelly told Newstalk ZB on February 14 that the speed limit “seemed fine” to him. He reckoned there’d never been a crash like this before, so why change it? That’s got people fuming. “He’s lying through his teeth,” one resident told me off the record. “We’ve been screaming for a slower speed forever, and he’s acting like it’s news to him.”
The real kicker? Puruatanga Road was on a list for a speed review last year, but it didn’t make the cut. Too many other roads to fix, they said. Now, after a British tourist’s death, the mayor’s words sound hollow. Fran Wilde, a mayoral hopeful, jumped in quick, saying the limit should drop to 50k—right now, no excuses. “It’s a no-brainer,” she told the NZ Herald. “People are on bikes, walking, enjoying the place—100k is asking for trouble.” Hospitality NZ agrees, suggesting a shared path for bikes and walkers could stop this happening again. But who’d pay for it? That’s the fight brewing.
Wayde Mines, the bloke who owns Indi Bikes, was gutted. He told Stuff he’d rented the Crocodile bike to the Brits that morning. “They went off happy,” he said. “It was a beautiful day in Martinborough that ended badly.” His bikes are bright yellow, built to be seen, and in 10 years of running them, he’d never had a crash like this. “It’s a tragedy,” he said, voice cracking. Wayde rushed to the scene when he heard, but it was too late. The wreckage was grim—twisted metal, blood on the road, and a community in shock.
Locals feel it deep. John Golter, a Martinborough resident, told Newstalk ZB the town was “horrifically sad.” It’s a tight-knit place—only about 2000 people—and something like this cuts through everyone. “There’s a dark cloud over us,” he said. On social media, Wellingtonians chimed in with dark humour—“First Aussie spiders, now British bikes—Martinborough’s cursed!”—but the jokes hide real hurt. The Golden Mile, that dreamy stretch of wine and sunshine, feels dead to some now. One winery worker muttered, “It’s not golden anymore—it’s tarnished.”
So, what’s the truth behind the crash? Was it a drunk driver tearing through in a junk car, like the rumours say? Or just a awful fluke—a sober guy who didn’t see the bike in time? Police are tight-lipped, still talking to the three survivors in hospital—two women and a man, all stable but banged up. The British High Commission’s helping out, offering support to the families. The driver’s been questioned, but no word on booze or drugs yet. Without hard facts, the gossip’s running wild—some even reckon the mayor’s covering up to dodge blame.
Let’s step back and look at Martinborough itself. It’s a tourist gem, 65k east of Wellington, famous for its wines and laid-back charm. People come from all over—Kiwis, Aussies, Brits—to sip and cycle. The Crocodile bikes are a big draw—four seats, pedal-powered, a bit wobbly but heaps of fun. They’re not fast, mind you—maybe 10k an hour if you’re lucky—so when a car’s flying at 100k, it’s no contest. That’s why the speed limit fight’s so loud now. Locals say it’s not just this crash—drivers rip through all the time, eyes half-closed, while tourists weave around clueless.
Could this have been stopped? If the council had listened in 2018 and dropped the speed to 50k—or even 80k—would that British woman still be alive? Maybe. Slower cars give more time to brake, more chance to spot a bright yellow bike. But Martin Connelly’s sticking to his guns. “We’re open to advice,” he told Morning Report, sounding calm while the town boiled. Critics call it too little, too late. “He’s had years to fix this,” one local snapped. “Now someone’s dead, and he’s still waffling.”
The survivors’ story adds more weight. Three Brits, battered but alive, stuck in hospital beds. Their mate’s gone, and they’re facing months of physio and grief. Amanda’s email to the deputy mayor painted a picture—physical pain, yes, but the emotional stuff’s worse. Imagine losing your sister or wife in a flash, on a holiday meant for joy. The community’s rallied—flowers at the crash site, kind words online—but it doesn’t bring her back.
What’s next for Martinborough? Some want a total rethink—lower speeds, bike lanes, better signs. Others say it’s a one-off, no need to panic. The police investigation will tell us more—was it drink, drugs, or just bad driving? If the driver’s charged, it’ll fuel the fire against the council. If he’s cleared, the speed limit debate still won’t die. Climate’s not the issue here—it’s not spiders sneaking in from Australia—but human choices. A car at 100k versus a bike at 10k—it’s physics, and it’s brutal.
For now, the Golden Mile’s a ghost of itself. Puruatanga Road’s quiet, save for the odd car creeping past where it happened. Wineries are open, but the mood’s off. Tourists might think twice about those Crocodile bikes—sales could dip, and Wayde’s business might feel it. The town’s got a scar, and it’s not healing fast. “We’ve lost something,” John Golter said. “That innocence, that safety—it’s gone.”
Picture a future where this isn’t a fluke. If speeds don’t drop, could another bike get hit? Another family torn apart? Fran Wilde’s pushing hard—50k now, she says, or we’re asking for trouble. Hospitality NZ’s shared path idea could work—keep bikes off the road, let cars do their thing. But cash is tight, and councils love to argue. Meanwhile, the mayor’s dodging blame, locals are raging, and three Brits are piecing their lives back together.
The Martinborough Crocodile bike murder—that’s what some call it, half-joking, half-serious—won’t fade quick. It’s a tale of beauty wrecked by chaos, of a golden dream snuffed out. Was it a drunk fool in a junk car? A mayor too stubborn to listen? Or just fate kicking a sleepy town in the guts? We’ll know more when police spill the beans. Till then, it’s a wound that’s still bleeding—right through the heart of South Wairarapa.