WEEK FOUR
Stage two: Picton to Bluff, completed.
I am sitting in another cafe! This time I’m in Invercargill, about 30 kilometres north of the bottom of New Zealand, Bluff. I feel tired but mentally energised and recharged after this week. What an incredible six rides.
When I write these, I usually have an Americano with extra hot water so it lasts a little longer and I have a good reason to be sat taking up space for far longer than I should probably do in a cafe. I have my laptop (Matt this morning: “you’ve been carrying a laptop?! I don’t even have deodorant”), with a word doc and Strava open so I can flick between them to remember what I’ve done and where I’ve been.
I learnt a lot from week three and a calmer, happier version of myself reappeared and I was grateful for a less tumultuous week.
This is a really long post, sorry, no pressure to read it all lol. I couldn’t find a part worth cutting, more so for myself when I read these back in a few months!
On Tuesday, I rode from Franz Josef to Haast and it became my favourite ride ever. Then Thursday’s ride into Wanaka topped that. Then setting off in the dark on Friday to reach the iconic Cardrona Hotel for breakfast before tackling the Crown Range climb blew them both out the water. Never have I regretted not having a good camera more than these three days.
We agreed on Monday night, watching rain lash down onto the wall of windows in the hostel, to set off early to make it to Haast, about 150 kilometres away. I mentally split the whole thing into two rides, Franz Josef to Fox Glacier, and then Fox Glacier to Haast. I did this because the first ride, on paper, looked pretty hard as a non-natural-climber with a very heavy bike. It involved three back to back climbs and descents, 650 metres of ascent in 14 kilometres.
It was cold. The skin that was showing was bright red, I could see my breath and my feet were painful in the cold (not helped that my shoes were wet because I accidently left them outside in the storm). When I got to the top of a climb I would consider putting my waterproof on to block the wind, but the thought of having to stash it and miss out on the free 100 metres of the next climb you get with the speed of the descent, it didn’t seem worth it.
Sara, Kirsten and I congregated in Fox and all pretty much said the same thing, along the lines of: “that wasn’t as bad as I thought!”. It’s amazing that the brain can forget pain so quickly, it’s like childbirth or something.
Then the second ride began, Fox to Haast, the sun came out and dried off my shoes and thawed me out a bit. The clouds cleared off the top of the snow capped mountains as we entered flatter territories. When the road was clear, I would turn my head to stare at the grandeur of the peaks and ridgelines I was riding away from.
The ride was due to hug the coastline at one point. I always feel very calm by the sea so I was looking forward to that part of the ride. A couple of kilometres away from Bruce Bay, where the ride was due to reach the sea, there was what looked like rain being thrown from west to east across the road. I realised it was already sea spray- the wind was crazy!
A guy in the hostel the morning before told me there were penguins at Bruce Bay. I’d spent all morning looking forward to seeing them. No penguins were seen at Bruce Bay that afternoon, but the false promise had still provided good morale to get there in the first place. I sat on one of the rocks blocking the sea from the road and stared out at the sea, resting my head on my arms. The wind was intense and chilling but the feeling I had was peace.
Fast forward 81 kilometres, I parked my bike up against the wall of Haast’s only pub. Gemma told me a while ago that there’s a research paper that shows (one?) pint can be as hydrating as water post exercise. I haven’t seen it myself but I trust the source, so with priorities truly engaged, I marched to the bar and got myself a beer. I sat outside in the early evening sun and waited for Kirsten and Sara to get in.
We hadn’t spoken about where to meet in Haast, but we seem to have developed a herd mentality, as they both followed suit and plonked down on the table with an equal level of tiredness from battling the wind the coastline was dishing out.
The next three days into Wanaka and Queenstown were looking smooth, short, and like a chance to rest a bit. First though, we had to get over Haast pass. When you ask someone who has climbed Haast pass, you’re often met with that all too familiar facial expression of ‘oh god, yeah that’s a tough one’. Hasst pass came about 50 kilometres into Wednesday’s ride.
I spent every single one of those 50 kilometres almost feeling ill with anticipation (to reiterate, I am not, and will never be, a natural climber). My legs felt empty, my stomach felt unsettled and my head was not in it. At one point, again, I sat on the side of the road and let my ‘I want to cycle’ batteries recharge a little. Kirsten and Sara sailed past and my mentality dropped further, because I didn’t yet want to get back on my bike but I also wanted to do the climb knowing we were all doing it together.
I had some words with myself, ate some food, and eventually got back on. Just before the climb, there’s a little area called ‘Pleasant Flat’. I was overjoyed to see my favourite two high- vis donning cyclists sitting eating their lunch on a bench at the DOC campsite there. I wasn’t too late! I ate some peanuts, and set off knowing they were a few minutes behind. I find a lot of satisfaction knowing there’s mutual support and suffering in these things.
Haast pass was genuinely a joy. The incline started a little tough, then I rode over a bridge called “The Gate of Haast” which could just have easily been named “The Gate of Hell” because you turn round the corner to your left and are faced with a vertical wall of road.
The vertical-ness continued for about two kilometres and then levelled off, where we were treated with a bit of descent mid climb to spin out lactate and then the climb continued at a gorgeous gradient. I didn’t have music or a podcast on, as I find climbing to be the best time to truly take in my surroundings because of the forced slower pace.
I spent the climb grinning, even on the really steep bit. I loved the challenge and was pleasantly surprised with how I managed it.
I waited at the top for Sara, and then Kirsten to arrive and cheered as they did so. We left our bikes on the side of the road and walked up a trekking path to Haast Pass viewpoint to take it all in. The start of the descent was the kind where you could freewheel the whole thing and sit at 50mph and then worry you didn’t get health insurance and how much emergency health care would cost if you hit a pothole… ha ha.
Blue skies and a delightful tailwind greeted us on Thursday, a mornings ride that would take us past Lake Wanaka, Lake Hāwea and into Wanaka. I wish the photos I took did this ride justice. The section of road that takes you from one lake to another is a climb called ‘The Neck’ and there were two British cyclists headed the opposite way to me. One called out “I really hope you’re enjoying the tailwind” as he was zig-zagging up the road, and I replied, feeling a little guilty, “Loving it!”. There were a few little short steep climbs but when you can feel the wind pushing you up them, you can’t really complain.
Lake Hāwea was the most incredible turquoise blue and sat in the shadows of dark grey mountains. It was all very dramatic and a bit surreal to ride through. The temptation to dive into the lake was topped only by the reality that it was still pretty cold.
My front tire was deflating quicker than I would’ve liked, and the lack of bike shops for 450 kilometres between Greymouth and Wanaka meant precious minutes of sleep were sacrificed to the activity of working my arm muscles and getting it to a reasonable pressure so it didn’t resemble a pancake.
The problem was a lack of fresh sealant, and I’m not carrying the tools to insert sealant through the valve, so it would’ve meant unseating my tyre and pouring it in and then attempting to reseat my tyre against my wheel. Something that without the emergency provisions of a proper pump, I wasn’t willing to risk.
Hence, my first activity when I got to Wanaka was to find a bike mechanic with a pump. I headed into a bike shop and had a nice chat with a British mechanic (I don’t know how there are any English people left in England, they all seem to be here?) and left with two very inflated tyres and cafe recommendations, feeling good for not delaying the job.
There’s a tree in Wanaka that has grown in the lake and it’s very iconic and regularly photographed. The photographs make it look really grand and like it could be the eighth wonder of the world. After some food, Sara set off to find a patch to patch up her tent after a mouse had let itself in the night before, and Kirsten and I set off to see the tree. She’s seen it before and gave me a warning “it’s sort of underwhelming”. I thought, “how can it be underwhelming?! Have you seen the photos!”.
A pile of twigs with waves lapping up at the trunk came into view and I said to her “no way, is that it?” and laughed. It was really underwhelming. Then I had a quick nap and did some life admin and we obviously came back together in a pub.
I went to sleep that night laughably excited for Friday’s ride over the Crown Range to Queenstown. I’d messaged the girls saying it felt like Christmas Eve. Maybe that was overkill, but I was set on riding out of Wanaka in the dark to experience sunrise over the hills and was just so excited to experience the tranquillity you experience early morning when the rest of the world hasn’t woken up yet.
The morning really did deliver all my expectations. The air was crisp, and so cold. I climbed out of Wanaka, absorbed in the peaceful isolation that the roads winding through sandy hills provided. I watched as the red light creeped over the peaks to my left and was eager for it to reach the road I was pedalling on, to put some feeling back into my feet.
After 25 kilometres, I reached the Cardrona Hotel and was so relieved when I saw a huge sofa positioned next to a fireplace. I ordered breakfast and a coffee and sat with my feet basically in the flames, desperate to warm up.
I was aware I was making the return to the outside harder with every minute I was sitting next to the heat, but I couldn’t tear myself away.
One of the official breveteers sat opposite and did the same thing and we had the same copy-and-paste (still uber-fulfilling) conversation you have with most cyclists doing the route. He managed to tear himself away from the warmth a lot more convincingly than I did.
When I eventually did so, the sun had reached the road and it wasn’t cold anymore. What a win!
The climb continued at the easy gradients it started with, and then the last couple of kilometres ramped up a bit. It has become my favourite climb I’ve ever done.
The road was dropped in between hills and you never saw more than 200 metres ahead of you. I’d turned off the route on my computer so I had no idea how much further I had to go, or what percentage grades were coming up. I’ve found that not having any idea of what’s coming is much nicer than having the data, colour-coded from green (<5% gradients) to dark maroon (>15% gradients) staring me down.
I crested the last steep section and saw a few camper vans parked up and laughed out loud- I’d done it! I know it’s the baby cousin of the cols in Europe but the elevation profile made it look like a bit of a beast of a climb, in reality it was pretty breezy but I was still proud I’d made it up with ease.
The clunking sound that had made an appearance in week two had returned on my way out of Wanaka, but faced with a 3 hour wait until bike shops open, I’d chosen to ignore it and utilise some praying to the cycling gods that I’d make it through.
I had a feel of my spokes at the summit and was filled with dread when I realised how loose a few of them were. I knew I shouldn’t be riding on them. I knew I really should not have been riding on them with the weight of my kit sitting directly on top of the wheel. I knew I absolutely should not have been riding on them with the weight of my kit, at 60 kph + down a mountain. I didn’t really have another choice.
I grimaced at every tiny indent I hit on the road. I was ready to emergency eject myself into the soft verge at any point, I was hyper aware of vans getting too close behind, and threw every temptation to go for speed away I had. I hit a small pothole and heard a clunk. I came to a stop and turned around to see one spoke bent. Eeeek.
By the time I got to Queenstown, I was a bit shaken. The bike mechanic asked, “you haven’t just descended the Crown Range with this have you?”. I nodded. He looked at me like I was completely mad. “You might want to start carrying a spoke tool”.
Have I bought one? Of course not, nothing bad happened, I haven’t learnt a lesson really.
That night, we were faced with saying goodbye to Sara, as she was finishing her ride in Queenstown to relax for a few days before riding over to Dunedin on another trail.
It was a sad reality. We went out for dinner to an Asian fusion restaurant to celebrate with Kirsten’s boyfriend Ruben, and I ate some of the best food I’ve ever tasted. Apparently, duck pancakes aren’t a thing in South Africa because the dinner included a lesson on how to assemble them.
Then we went for ice cream and a quiet, slow stroll around Queenstown. We sat on the wall by the lake and got our last team photo.
There was a man playing the piano in D minor key and it all felt very emotive. Then a car honked its horn and disrupted the movie-esque moment.
The end of a three-and-a-bit week era as the TA trio. We hugged goodbye and promised we’d reconvene in Colorado, Sara’s home turf.
I’m about to type some things about having big feelings and I think it’s an important thing to do. I ummed and ahhed about doing so and feel a bit silly for writing them but if you’re still reading into week four then you’re probably a friend and we all experience emotions and I’m a big advocate for feeling things and talking about them, this might be an overshare, I’m not sure, but here we go:
Day 23 of riding arrived. I had my sights set on a place called Winton, just over 100 miles away. There was a brutal, brutal headwind at the start of the ride. I had left relatively early to get the miles in and not have to worry about slow going.
About 40 kilometres in, I realised it was Saturday 9th of March. My mum’s birthday.
As the realisation hit me, I said aloud to myself “No. Don’t think about that”. I was terrified it would overwhelm me.
When I realised a couple of weeks out of Bluff that I was due to get there this weekend, of all weekends, I had mixed feelings.
March 9th, mum’s birthday. March 10th, Mother’s day. Bit of a double whammy.
Potentially, a really hard weekend. Would reaching the small goal of Bluff be a distraction? Would feelings overwhelm me and force me into resting, and getting to Bluff a couple of days ‘late’? I had no idea. You never know how these days are going to hit until you’re experiencing them.
In a case of good timing, I had been listening to Maisie Williams’ Diary of a CEO podcast through my realisation. They had been speaking about how she had big feelings growing up, faced with a difficult upbringing, and always felt a bit different because of her feelings and emotions. I related to feeling a little different because of my emotions. I can feel things very deeply and sometimes I feel a bit alienated because of it.
I almost feel embarrassed writing that, but I know I shouldn’t. It’s not to say others don’t similarly feel things deeply, I know they do, but it is rarely spoken about so it’s easy to feel alone with it.
She then spoke about the learning process she went through to realise she didn’t have to apologise for having them. I felt so heard and a little less alone.
I’ve spent the last couple of years feeling like I have had to apologise for having big feelings, to the point it is now completely ingrained.
I’m doing a lot of work to remove the inner stigma I’ve built through that.
Part of the reason I’m on this trip is to give myself the space to do some work on things; to learn more about how I function and deal with things, to learn how to feel confident and content with being alone, and to learn that being in my own head for hours on end isn’t as scary as it has been in the past.
And it’s not. It’s nowhere near as scary as it once was. Which is awesome, and so liberating.
The realisation it was the 9th of March didn’t cripple me. It sat a little heavy on my chest and I was conscious of brewing tears, but I kept pedalling. At one point, I kept pedalling because if I stopped and let myself stew, then there was a possibility it would cripple me.
The initial “don’t think about that” became “okay, you can think about it a little”. I even messaged Kirsten telling her what day it was, and that I was scared to stop pedalling. I would never have told someone that a few months ago.
She told me to let it out, that there was no one to see. It felt good to share the feeling. It made it feel a little less uncontrollable. A tiny step forward!
I think the idea of doing the whole 220 kilometres in one was initially born out of the fear of stopping. I started drinking and eating as if I was going to ride that far but didn’t put any pressure on doing so.
I had a plan: I would get to Winton first, then if I felt good, I’d get to Invercargill, then, if I felt like doing so, I would continue to Bluff.
But the motivation for doing so evolved, and became less fear-based and more “Why not see if I am physically capable of riding that far solo?”. It became an exciting challenge rather than a necessity to outrun feelings, which again, was cool to experience, and I became filled with drive to see what I was capable of.
I got to Winton, ate a footlong subway, drank 750mL of chocolate milk, and put my gloves back on. I was off to Invercargill.
I got to the Invercargill sign, and sent a photo to Sara and Kirsten with the label ‘Send it to Bluff?’, the first time I’d told them of my plan. I had their backing and dipped into a PAK’nSAVE to grab emergency rations, and I started to put some pace on the pedals as I watched an orange sphere dip past the horizon.
It was happening, I was about to get to the south of the South Island. Fitting for the day and the event, there was a beautiful sunset and I said “Hi mum!” as I hit Highway One, the one road in, and out of Bluff. Everything felt right.
I think this was my first experience of riding into the night, and I loved it. What an adventure! I could see the bright lights of the industrial shipping port and gas plants in the distance, massive triple length lorries were giving me huge distances of space as they overtook me and I felt unstoppable. My legs were feeling great, I almost wish there was more distance to cover to see how far I could’ve gone.
The grim headwind had turned into a roaring tailwind, and I sailed the last 30 kilometres to Stirling Point, the place where the famous yellow sign sits.
I felt achieved, yet a little underwhelmed when I got there, probably because I didn’t feel like I’d pushed the limits I thought I was going to, and it was dark, and cold. I snapped a photo of the sign, and began racing the cold to set up my tent and crawl into my sleeping bag to warm up.
The next day, I hung around Bluff and waited for Kirsten to finish her ride. I chatted to hikers who set off from Cape Reinga mid-November and indulged in the elated atmosphere, created by a community of amazing people who had just finished huge adventures. I drank beer and ate cake and listened to wild stories and got all excited for the next potential big adventure (PCT anyone?…).
After the celebrations, it was time to head back to Invercargill, my first ride up to Cape Reinga. My second ride totally solo, the first being my first day.
Kirsten and Ruben drove past and beeped their horn and cheered and it hit me, Kirsten and Sara weren’t behind me anymore.
Time to learn how to do this whole bikepacking thing on my own!
Thanks for reading if you stuck it out to this point 🙂