WEEK THREE
I’ve been opening and closing this Word document all day now in between other activities and I’m trying to figure out if I plough on and write out a half-arsed post or skip week three entirely. It’s been a long week, with big ups and downs and when I try to reflect on it, the days seem to merge into one.
I’m sitting in Franz Josef waiting out a storm; the rain last night was like none other I’ve heard before. I woke up in the early hours this morning and went into the common area of the hostel to experience the complete contentment of being warm, indoors and deliriously tired whilst listening to the torrential downpour and watching as lightning briefly lit up the outlines of the towering mountains engulfing this small town.
Basically, I’m very tired and it’s dulling the enthusiasm to write I’ve previously had; but I’ve promised people an entry now so here we go.
Week three was a full seven days of riding, and the first week I would have tested my ‘what to do if things go a bit south’ plan, if I had one.
I’d spent a bit of time in the first two weeks wondering what building blocks to put in place when things inevitably started to get testing. Perhaps if my bike broke, if I got too tired, ill or [insert any negative event]. Naturally, I never ended up putting these blocks in place and a problem arrived before I had a chance to.
A sleepless Sunday night didn’t set me up well for the impending big week and threw my appetite out of whack.
Setting off at sunrise on Monday morning with a tired headache, I climbed out of Picton with a fire-orange sky lighting up the hills that the bay sits in.
My mum was an artist.
I’m not a spiritual person at all, but I see her in the kind of sunrises and sunsets that make you stop and appreciate the beauty of this planet. I like to think she paints them into the sky as a reminder she’s there with me when things get hard, and she was that morning.
I spent the morning descending into, and climbing out of settlements perched on the side of inlets of the sea, feeling a little refreshed by the sea air.
I was following the main road out of Picton to Nelson, so was expecting waves of lorries and campervans to come and go throughout the day, aligning with ferry arrival times- but thankfully, it never got too nasty.
As is becoming tradition, I stopped off in Havelock for a morning coffee at the same time Troy from Texas arrived, and we chatted for a while about the ride so far. I find it funny how outside of this setting, I wouldn’t have much to say to 90% of the people I’ve ridden with, but the mutual activity and glaringly obvious shared interest makes conversation pretty easy.
I left that chat feeling predictably revitalised and ready to tackle two big, steep, sweaty road climbs. With the remoteness of the roads here, you can hear traffic from a while away and it felt a little ominous hearing the low groans and clunking of logging trucks changing gear, struggling more than I was to get up the monster gradients.
The whole ‘I’ve done some planning’ thing I wrote in my last entry went out the window at approximately 2pm, whilst basking in the sun in a park in Nelson listening to Sara and Kirsten discuss which pub we should spend the rest of the afternoon in; having decided we could just do the extra 10 miles in the morning. Once decided, we set off in convoy and put the world to rights for the afternoon.
I reluctantly got out of bed the following morning and was ready to head out at 0630 for a big day down to Lake Rotoroa. I’d been packing my bits up whilst Sara, who had been up since 0500 looking for alternate routes, (the original route was shut due to forest fires), was sitting discussing all the positives of stopping 60km short of originally planned: “there’s a cool bridge!”. Sold, I got back into bed for two hours.
We Facetimed Kirsten, who had checked herself into a hostel, (she offered me $50 one morning to take her tent down) to inform her of the new plan. She arrived at the campsite a few minutes later, happy to follow suit and commit to getting to Greymouth over five days rather than four. We set off in dribs and drabs and agreed to meet at a bakery an hour down the road.
The day remained largely uneventful, it was the first day the sandflies were at large and the first day I realised I enjoy gravel climbs. Probably because they’re “not as steep as road climbs”- someone along the way has explained this phenomenon as a design feature so that the gravel doesn’t slide off…
After lunch, we individually stumbled into a donate-as-you-please coffee and tea shed dumped alongside a gravel road. The three of us were sitting drinking tea, being eaten alive by sandflies, and just before we left, we realised three out of four of the bottles of suncream in front of us were insect repellent.
On Wednesday morning, I rode out of Taumarunui, through rolling farmland and hop fields with George who is “winning” the official brevet event (it’s not a race so you can’t technically win it), and chatted to him for a while about how he was managing the long days. His secret was chocolate milk and camembert.
It was his first long distance cycling event and we spoke about ultra races, Lachlan Morton, and about the potential of getting into the ultra racing scene one day; he was set on the Tour Divide (sort of the Tour de France of ultra cycling) in a few years. We hit a gravel section and, conscious I was about to slow him down, I let him pedal off into the hills and tried to get some food down.
I hadn’t yet managed to revitalise my appetite and I was hyper aware of the impact it was having on my riding, my motivation, my mood and my sleep.
Once George had left, I was stuck in a cycle of attempting to engage with my surroundings, and being dragged back into my head, when Ben, who is “coming second” pulled up behind me, and we had a similar conversation about ultra cycling, with side chats about bib shorts and bivvies.
He had asked about how I got into bikepacking (thanks Josh) and shared his own story alongside the answers of others he’d asked the same question to further up the field. It provoked thoughts about why and how I’ve started anything in life. It’s an interesting thing to think about and I disappeared down quite a few rabbit holes of thought that afternoon, tracing the origins of various choices in my life back.
I was grateful for the company the two had provided that morning, and felt very inspired by their huge days and how grounded they both seemed to be in their journeys. I’ve been enjoying the social side of doing a set route at the right time of year. I haven’t yet had a day where I haven’t met and chatted to a fellow TA’er (something Kirsten can’t get to grips with- her mum has suggested: “maybe work on your social skills”).
The other two caught up and we raced to get food down as sandflies attacked, looking out over Lake Rotoroa, some of the clearest water I’ve ever seen. Sara took a plunge and with the heat of the afternoon sun, dried out before we summited the climb out of the lakeside.
The descent was harsh corrugated gravel and our feet got soaked as we plunged through fords. The gravel turned into smooth tarmac and we were in Murchison before I realised the end of the ride had arrived.
I set up my tent and the most welcome feeling arrived- hunger. I ate a lot of food that night, finishing mine and Kirsten’s, and bought extra rations for the next day’s ride and it felt great. A good night’s sleep, a much better day of riding and a clearer happier headspace followed.
Thursday! Next stop- Reefton.
I couldn’t be bothered to brew my own coffee that morning so a quick pit stop at a trucker cafe was due. I sat inside in slightly damp shorts that I accidentally left on top of my tent, intently watching four lorry drivers standing with an eclectic mix of having their arms crossed, posed on their chins and occasionally pointing at things on my bike. I found it entertaining that they were so oblivious to my observation.
They wandered in and spotted me, sat in my helmet, put two and two together and one marched over to tell me they were admiring my set-up. The usual questions followed, and I headed out, riding into thick fog, thinking about how despite trucks and bikes often being mortal enemies on the road, step out/off the ‘vehicle’ and you become a human again.
The hunger continued into that day along with a much brighter outlook. I arrived in Reefton and pitched my tent that night after a big feed, and more chats with TA riders, including one doing it in reverse. I was looking forward to a half day of easy riding into Greymouth the following day.
Sara parked her bike up that evening where Kirsten and I were sitting eating fish and chips looking pretty unhappy. She’d been stung by a couple of bumble bees and I remembered a bright yellow road sign I’d stopped at and was swarmed by golf ball-sized bees and very quickly took my banana to be eaten elsewhere.
I think she can laugh about it now, but we’ve learnt you shouldn’t ride around as a walking talking flower meadow if you want bees to keep away.
Obviously, because I expected it to be, the ride into Greymouth wasn’t easy. Harsh wind, grey clouds and long stretches of not the most interesting scenery led to a re-dampening of my headspace and I was one unhappy bunny that morning.
I ignored the hunger too early on, figuring it was a short enough ride to just eat when I arrived and it backfired massively.
I crawled into Greymouth, having sat on the side of a road in despair for an hour five kilometres out. I literally could’ve walked it and still got there at the same time. (See image for post-ride feels, it’s good to laugh about now.)
That evening, the Tour Aotearoa trio were sitting in Monteith’s brewery in Greymouth, faced with the prospect of splitting up over the next couple of days due to a difference in priorities.
Kirsten read my horoscope and it said to listen to my body’s tempo. Again, I’m not spiritual or horoscope focussed, but it was enough for me to scrap the plan of doing the mtb trail the next day, and take the road to our destination with the goal to mentally and physically reset.
Despite the aggressive rain, and the half an hour stood with rain dripping off me, shivering, as I taped up a tear in Kirsten’s tyre and put a new tube in, it worked.
I succumbed to a nap that afternoon when I got to the shipping container that was bed for the night, and felt nothing but peace with where I am and what I’m doing.
I’ve been intermittently watching Lachlan Morton’s Tour Divide film this week when I’ve had a moment and wifi, for motivation and perspective. He said something towards the end that I liked a lot:
“Any time you get to push yourself past something you thought you couldn’t, that’s the gift”
It is a gift and a privilege to test my limits and boundaries and learn what works and what doesn’t work. I’ve not faced anything big yet but it’s been a good week to learn what helps and what doesn’t when I’m not feeling 100%.
This week, I’ve learnt how much of an impact low sleep and low food intake can have on your mental state. I’ve learnt that speaking to friends back home works. I’ve learnt that bottling things up doesn’t work. I’ve learnt to let myself lean on Sara and Kirsten and go with their plans to charge my decision-making batteries. I’ve confirmed that planning anything in advance doesn’t work for me, so I probably won’t try that again. I’ve found the joy of listening to podcasts rather than music when you want a little less thinking time.
Sunday, and the seventh ride, was incredible. People have spoken about the West Coast of the South being a highlight of the trip and I’ve been excited for it. It’s nothing like what I imagined it to be.
Yesterday, I climbed up hairpins in dense rainforest, and descended into flat farmland sitting on the side of the sea.
I battled headwinds and side winds and was so happy to be doing so. I exclaimed “woaaah!” out loud as I rode round a corner and snow-capped mountains came into view. I started the day in black cloud, and ended with a shine of sweat on my forearms and the sun warming my back.
Last night, Kirsten crawled into Franz Josef late, having set off after midday after locating a new tyre. Sara had cooked us up a feast and we drank beer called ‘Ride or Die’, and its description read “You better pedal fast if you want to make it. Well deserved”. Which is ironic, because she pulled in at 2002 and Foursquare shut at 2000.
We ate and babbled about how beautiful and amazing the ride was. Sleep enveloped me heavily and everything felt right.
I’m currently sitting writing this very chaotic and non-flowy post, buried in a beanbag in Sara’s hostel. I’ve not re-read it so I hope it makes sense.
She’s sitting in front of me under a blanket reading, and Kirsten is sitting to my right scrolling.
I’ve had time this week to think about what it’s going to feel like to reach Bluff next weekend with these two, only to face the longer, less certain journey back North solo. In my tired state, it feels slightly daunting.
But I can also see the bigger picture and there’s a lot of excitement for what shape that chapter of the adventure will take.
Next stop, Bluff.