new zealand …uphill

The end of one road. The start of another.

May 7, 2009 on 2:33 pm | In Notes from the bike | 6 Comments

I honestly can’t believe it. I have cycled the length of the South Island on my journey to go from bottom of New Zealand to top solo, and I have done it in just over two weeks. 14 days on the bike to be exact.

Less than a week ago, I had just hit Christchurch, exhausted. I rested well. I collapsed in a heap actually. Christchurch was a rest day for me so I got to see a bit of the sights. I wandered around the city for hours, walking is such a pleasure and I am not sure if it because it is NOT pedalling, or because my legs are now so energetic. I also timed my arrival quite well for a Tweet-up, a gathering of people you know on Twitter. With my new exercise regime, having a beer or two has slightly different results as to when I had 20kg of extra body fat hanging around the middle of me. Slightly swaying I was able to put faces to names, and got to talk to real people at length about my ride.

I stayed at the Hotel SO, courtesy of travelbug.co.nz who kindly gifted me a fantastic room for two nights. The hotel, I am absolutely positive, is built in what used to be the Christchurch Inland Revenue office. Seriously, I used to support some computer systems for IRD nationally in one of my previous lives, and it involved a regular trip around New Zealand visiting all the regional offices and sitting in air con frozen computer rooms, installing and upgrading software, usually at obscene hours of the morning or night. And this building was the one I frequented regularly on my trips to Christchurch. I couldn’t find the sever room thankfully, but I took great pleasure in resting in my king sized bed in complete comfort, all night, with the air con off.

I could have stayed in Christchurch for more than one night, but having a whole country to ride, and having had it pretty good with weather so far, I needed to keep making hay while the sun shone. Plus I had some other engagements further up the line. Also I knew the bad weather will most likely catch up with me later. So on Saturday I was off again, up the road to Waipara where I was to be hosted by @benkepes and the boys Yonni (9) and Omri (7). I first took a side trip to Rangiora to visit my cousie-in-law for a bit of a surprise. The surprise was she wasn’t home and so I sat on her door step for an hour. She luckily come home just as I was preparing myself for the onward journey, and I enjoyed a quick lunch, burping of babies followed by a gigantic milky vomit all over me. I have kids so am plenty used to such explosions and I didn’t mind as it helped disguise the strange odours that emanated from my week old clothes. Off again I made it to Waipara just before dusk, and with only getting a little lost before Yonni and Omri came to my rescue as I wandered up and down a rural gravel road looking for their house.

Ben and the kids welcomed with a fire place and a showed me to a hot shower and the two smiling boys who wanted to hear all about my bike and ride. I cleaned and ate and talked, probably too much. Ben and I sat up late solving the worlds problems, ben draped with two boys who just wanted to sit up all night despite the will of their eyelids. Mum was away for the weekend, so it was a boys weekend!

I bid farewell to my fantastic hosts then next day, and made tracks for Cheviot on the way towards the coast. There was not much eventful on the way, mostly SH1 and sheep and sheep trucks. I just kept spinning my pedals, something I was getting very good at now. Now I must point out again that I am by no means a bike geek. Before deciding to embark on my insane expedition I had not been on a bike for almost 20 years. My technique on the bike could be considered non-existent. I wasn’t even sure if I was pedalling the thing right. @ninefish gave me some pointers when I caught up with him over coffee in Christchurch and I had made a few adjustments to my seat height and position. Should I pump up and down, go in circles, stand when going up hills, sit? Who knows, I just make it up as I go depending on what feels right. I have tried a variety of techniques, as I have plenty of time on my hands and being keen to get any optimisation I can. Aside from the actual technique there are some other really useful things I have discovered. Here is one. Riding on the verge sucks.

On the verge you are as far away from cars and trucks as you can possibly be without going cross country, but it really sucks. The road is usually rough, and at times the verge evaporates. Riding on the white line or in a lane has the smoothest surface. On a quieter road this is fairly safe, as cars will just pull out and go around you. I pull into the verge when there is oncoming traffic so there is plenty of room for everyone. Riding on a smoother surface gives you so much less resistance and is far more enjoyable. It would be nicer if more consideration was given to the users of the verge when the roads are being resurfaced.

Back to my ride and I made it to Cheviot, a town where there is a disproportionate number of coffee and craft shops. The trees were all sporting their Autumn outfits, accessorised with mist and frost in the mornings. After an early night I was up early crunching through the iced up grass looking for any of the cafes that had smoke billowing from its fireplace chimney. One thing I really enjoy about the South Island is everyone has time and inclination for a good chat. You need no excuse or topic, the weather does just fine. A chat and a coffee later I headed for Kaikoura. A route that would take me over some hills, and I was just getting accustomed to the flats of Canterbury.

I had the hills all mapped out in my mind, my guide book has elevations of all my routes and I commit the peaks and troughs to memory each day. The first hill that day I didn’t even notice. Well I remembered going up hill a little, but after being concerned I was falling behind schedule I stopped and consulted my map to find I had powered over the hill 10 minutes ago. “Hah” I quietly chuffed to myself, and kept going. The next hill, twice the elevation, I noticed but pretty much powered up it. My legs were, well, happy. They were loving it. And instead of just quietly grinding out the hill at a reasonable pace, my legs wanted to power up them. So I let them. And the next hill and the next. It felt awesome. Then to top it off there she was again. The coastline.

Riding up the coastline towards Kaikoura was one of my favourite rides (with the bonus of powering over some hills). The spray from the sea created a fine mist, and the smell of the ocean heavenly. Huge waves pounded the rocks as I went and I stopped often just to close my eyes and absorb the sound of the surf and feel the salt on my skin. The toi toi waving in the breeze and the smoky smell wafting from the chimneys of the seaside cribs. I contemplated just stopping and staying there forever.

Kaikoura itself was also magnificent. I slept near the shore and drifted off to the sound of the pounding surf, dreaming of seafood. Again hosted by friendly South Islanders “Where did you come from luv?” is the usual question when they see the bike and this guarantees a good fifteen minutes of chatting. The inhabitants of the south are obviously madly in love with life.
“Looks like it will be another good day” I usually state, as each day seems as good as the last.
“Every day is a good one when your breathing” is more often the response, as if this was something they learnt to say at school, part of every South Island schools motto. The first time I heard someone say it, I though perhaps it was just a little sad to think that tomorrow you might not be breathing, and if all you were thankful of was to be alive then surely you must be missing out. Eventually I realised that I was missing the point. Every day IS a good day waiting to happen. The breathing bit lets you make it happen.

Breathing even deeper and fully the next day I was eager to get back to cycling up the coast. I knew it would not last and I would be soon heading inland yet again. I waved to the seals basking in the sun as I went and slowly the coast drifted away from me. I was climbing again and the day was getting away from me, again. The sun disappears behind the mountains early on the east coast and I had still a lot of ground to cover. I wanted to make it as far as Ward, a small pub and gas station town on the way to Blenheim. If I could make it that far then I was in good stead to catch the Thursday morning ferry to Wellington, some thing that was very important. Being away from my family for a few weeks is very hard. My wife Mel would fortunately be in Palmerston North on Thursday night attending a block course for her teaching degree. This would be the closest together geographically we would be for a long time. If I could make it to Wellington Thursday day, then I could rent a car and see her but I had to get to Picton by Thursday morning or my plan would fall apart. I would drive to Palmerston North, have dinner with my wife and then drive back to Wellington to resume my trek the next day. It was now about the time of day I usually stopped cycling and I was as far as Kekerengu. I had the option to stop there for the night, and I could set out before dawn the next day and do a big 90km day to Picton. I decided to push on now as the weather looked to deteriorate the next day and 90km in a day is long. 10km up the road in failing light I got my first puncture.

I was both excited and pissed off at the same time. I had gone almost the whole of the South Island without a single flat. I knew why I got it, that morning I said the ‘P’ word. For the whole trip I had avoided talking about punctures. I knew if at any point I made the comment that I hadn’t had one that would be it. I am not overly superstitious, but I was very careful about this one thing. I got too comfortable and after the mornings “every day is a good day” when I was asked if I had any punctures so far “Ha no I have been pretty lucky. To do the whole South Island with out one is pretty good.” I stupidly responded. I got what was coming to me.

So there I was on the side of the road dusk rapidly approaching. I hadn’t changed a tyre since I was 15 and then it involved two spoons, a couple of spanners and 60 minutes of fumbling. I set to work. I had the wheel off and the inner tube out in a minute. There was a gaping hole both in the tire and tube. I dug into the bottom of my packs to find one of my spare inner tubes, and had it on the rim in another minute. The tyre was back on and and back into the rim without the need of any spoons. My pump was out and I was inflating. I was amazed. I was back on the road in five minutes. Things have changed a lot since I was 15.

I was quickly back in the saddle and heading for Ward. I made it just on dusk and again went through my usual nightly routine. “Where did you come from luv”, Shower, change, eat, prep the bags for the next day then sleep. Living out of bike bags is not very exciting, and after all day riding I tend to fall asleep by 9pm, if I am in a bed or not.

Wednesday. Another big day of cycling to get to Picton. Again I had the option to stop at Blenhiem, but again it would mean an early start the next day to catch the morning ferry. The weather looked okay and I had a bit of a tail wind. I pushed off and kept my head down. More big hills to cover and I had to keep ahead of the bad weather that was coming in from the south. The weather inevitably caught up with me before I was even half way. I was quickly drenched through but I had one big climb and then rolling hills to get to Picton. I could do it, it would not be fun but I could do it. I was focused, a little too focused.

The last major hill before Blenhiem had quite a considerable drop to descend rather quickly. I went down like I usually did, gripping the handlebars tight, one finger on each of the breaks, and slowing suitably for the corners. Everything went fine, until about halfway down. There was some road works being conducted to fix a part of the road that had become very uneven. Coming around a corner I was confronted by a series of cones and large holes on the verge of the road that were in the process of being filled with bichumen. Regular traffic was little affected, but it meant my verge was no longer. I slowed considerably and hit the first lump of bichumen and I hung on for the rest of the rough patch. Unfortunately one of my panniers couldn’t. One of the clips holding it on gave up and I heard a thud followed by a skidding noise. Having lost the weight from one side of the back I veered to the left slightly. Looking at the quick route down the hill getting closer on my left I rapidly eased on both sets of breaks. The line of my path was pretty much locked in now and all I had to do was stop before the corner. I left the erratically sealed road and was now skidding on gravel. “Cool” I though as a barb wire fence appeared to be the only thing between me and the quick drop to my left. The bike had almost stopped with little room for manoeuvring for me, and I paused in space and time for a split second, perfectly balanced. I had the choice to fall off the bike to my right, into the lane of traffic, or to the left, into a barb wire fence. Momentum kinda had me going the fences way so as I slid past a post I managed to grab it, and by wedging my legs into the frame and grasping the post I came to a stop leaning over a rather weakly constructed barb wire and looking down a steep drop. One of the work crew, who were busily making fixing the potholes, gave me a hand and I pulled myself free. I quickly rescued my bag from the centre of the highway as another guy whisked my bike to the safety of the other shoulder of the road.
“That was a bit of an adventure” I said to the guy who pulled me off the fence.
“Too right mate, are you okay?” He asked in reply. I was. Not a single scratch to me, or the bike. My pannier was obviously a little worse for wear, but after some quick repairs with some cable ties it was secured back to the bike. I took the rest of the hill very cautiously. It turned out it was another good day, I was still breathing.

I had been pretty luck so far, but now I was worried my luck was quickly evaporating. If bad things were to come in threes, I just wanted the third to arrive so I could get on with things. The rain was falling harder still. I decided I could fear the worst of I could keep going. I kept going. Blenheim arrived and went. 27km left to get to Picton. I checked my bags on regular intervals to make sure they were still hanging in there and pushed thorough the wet. Then with one hill to go I realised this was it. Halfway. One last hill stood between me and the end of the South Island. I was so determined to make it, I realised I completely overlooked the significance of where I was and what I was about to do. Just over two weeks ago I was standing on Stewart Island, next to my bike, wondering what the hell I was about to do. Would I make it? Would I be able to cover the distances I wanted to cover daily? Would I be in pain? Would I go insane? And here I was, at the top of the South Island with 1,100km under my belt.

This was the end of the road for one part of my journey. SH1 doesn’t go any further. In a day or two I would start the next part of my journey in the North Island, on a new road.

“Thank you South Island hills, I will miss you” I said out loud as I push off down the last of them. I was so cold I wasn’t sure I would be able to loosen my grip on the handlebars at the bottom, but my eyes welled up and I laughed the whole way down, right to my accommodation for the night.
“Where have you come from luv” Asked the lady at reception.
“All the way from the bottom” I replied.