new zealand …uphill

Taking the highs and the lows

May 18, 2009 on 9:25 am | In Notes from the bike | 2 Comments

Having conquered an entire island I was sitting on the ferry to Wellington reflecting on where I have been. I was pretty happy about it all I must say. Considering when I started I wasn’t even sure I would get from Invercargill to the start line in Stewart Island when I first started. What an adventure so far it has been. I had been keeping some mental stats on things as I went. 1,100 km cycled. 24 road kill avoided. 2 punctures. 14 days cycling. 46 great South Islanders I have chatted with. 3 days of rain. 12 times I felt like giving up. 20 times I yelled for joy because I felt really great.

In Wellington I took three days out to relax, the longest time off the bike so far, but considering I was halfway I thought it was well deserved. My first duty on my days off was to rent a car and drive to Palmerston North to see my wife Mel. Mel is studying to be a teacher, and had flown to Palmerston North to attend a two day block course. I was on route to see her for the first time in three weeks. This was the longest time we had been apart since we were married, even before then, since we both left the security of our jobs in 2000 and ventured overseas together through South East Asia, the Middle East, the UK and Europe. Leaving on my OE back then was the last time I had a feeling like I was feeling now. That feeling of awe and excitement. Back then I shared the journey with Mel, this time I was alone.

Being behind the wheel of a car was a strange experience after three weeks on a bike. In a way it felt dirty. Decadent. Cheating. Each hill was painless, each kilometre so quick. I was driving somewhere in just under two hours that in a couple of days would take me two full days to cycle back to again. I found myself driving incredibly slow, I just could not get used to my new found speed. So my journey to Palmerston North took a little longer than expected. I shared with Mel my adventures so far, and we talked and talked and talked. Talking at great length was something I missed dearly. The next day I returned back to my temporary other life away from my family, back to the solitude of cycling alone, back down the road to Wellington.

On foot I became a tourist around Wellington for a day or two. I walked the foreshore, frequented cafes, went to a movie and visited Te Papa, our national museum. I had been gifted a ticket to the Monet exhibition at Te Papa by the museum through Twitter so on a day when the weather was not so nice, I wandered on down, in my dirty riding trousers and cycling jacket keeping out of the rain as much as possible, but failing. Getting wet standing at a intersection waiting for the crossing light to turn green I was surprised when suddenly an umbrella was hoisted over my head and a smiling lady asked “are you getting wet”. I thanked her for the kind shelter and as as we crossed the road I jokingly asked, “where are you heading, perhaps I might follow you?”
“Te Papa” she replied.
“Really? Me too, I am going to check out the Money exhibition. I was given a free ticket!”
“That’s great, I work there, at the exhibition.”
So she shared her umbrella with me all the way to Te Papa. The kindness of strangers never ceases to amaze me as does the realisation that it really is a small small world we live in.

At Te Papa I first had to check out the giant squid they had on display, woah and it was awesome. Visiting a museum by myself, although missing my wife and kids desperately, meant I could go see all the things I wanted to see, and nothing else. It was a strange pleasure I had not experienced in almost 10 years. So I saw the squid, stood in the earthquake simulator, watch all the movies and played with all the interactive displays. I hung out and watched people. On visiting the Monet exhibition I queued with what looked to be half of Wellington, and finally found myself at the front of the queue where I was greeted, once again, by the owner of the umbrella that sheltered me earlier.

“Hello again” she greeted me “Seeing as you are doing such a great thing with your ride, here, have an audio guide on me”. She presented me a giant cellphone like device that talked to me as I walked around the museum. I stood in front of paintings and admired art, listening to the history and meaning behind what I was looking sat. This was something I would never usually do, but today it was a welcome pleasure to be a little cultured.

Eventually my time as a tourist came to an end, and I had to yet again don Lycra and thermals. For the ride out of Wellington I was to be joined by Rowan and Lance, on condition (defined my Lance) that only if the weather was good, it was not too far and there were no hills. It was hailing, our route would take us out over the Akatarawa Saddle, a steep 440m climb, and the destination for the days ride was Otaki, some 90km away. Despite all that both Rowan and Lance were on the day still eager to be my wing men on the ride. It was set to be a challenging day. I don’t mind riding in the rain at all, as long as you keep warm. Once you are wet, you are wet. I had been lucky with the conditions so far, and only had three wet days out of 14. I was not too worried about the wet. The climb however bothered me, and that’s because all hills bother me. I have an unhealthy obsession with hills, and my bike, a touring bike, is not exactly built for speed and liked to go up hills at it’s own pace. Going up and up and up, grinding out each and every meter was a challenge. Rowan and Lance disappeared up ahead moving much quicker. With a kilometre to go to the top, Rowan reappeared, returning back after reaching the top to cycle with me. Over the last few weeks I had conditioned myself for stamina. Riding each and every day you discover you need to keep at a steady pace or else you burn yourself out. On my first days cycle from Bluff to Gore, with beginners enthusiasm I cycled 100km uphill pretty quick. A feat I found I could not replicate easily afterwards. So I slowly, ever so slowly ground out the last kilometre of the hill, one pedal at a time with Rowan counting me down in 100 meter increments. For me that was one mean climb. From the top, the three of us stood, tweeting with iPhones in hand, and looked down across the Kapiti Coast towards the last leg of our journey that day.

We raced down the other side and pushed on up to Otaki where we warmed ourselves with hot drinks and parted ways. I was thrilled to have covered so far, over such a steep climb and quicker than I would normally have done it. Something I would not have been able to do by myself so speedily.

The next day I began the journey inland and towards the central plateau. Bulls was my next stop. A town where they seem to be a little obsessed with the word “bull”. The local police station had a sign stating “Consta-bull”. A block of flats had a sign out front stating “Renta-bull”. The library “Memora-bull”. Every business seemed to have a witty bull connection in some shape of form, there was even a Trojan Bull out side the local council office, the use of which I can only imagine.

I proceeded on to Taihape, the quintessential New Zealand rural town, famous for gum-boot throwing, as well as other rural sporting endeavours. The rain had still not let up so each day was developing into a regular routine. Get wet, get somewhere, find somewhere to stay, dry my clothes, get fed, sleep then start again. The schedule was starting to take its toll on me. The next day I knew I had to climb up onto the central plateau, again in what looked to be less than ideal conditions. I was wet and looking for some accommodation. The only place in town available was the old pub hotel. I paid at the bar what was the cheapest accommodation on my trip so far and then made my way upstairs to my private room with a bed of springs that ate you alive, a space heater that took two weeks to heat up, and a small bathroom ensuite. I really needed a shower to warm up and in my brain frozen state I stood looking into the bathroom staring. “Damn it there is no shower” I said to myself out loud, for there was in fact no shower, just a big old deep and long bath tub. What was I going to do. Then all of a sudden my brain realised the significance of this discovery. For everywhere I have been, after every cold wet days cycling I have always sought out a place with a bath to soak in but had not had much success. And here I was, cursing the lack of shower when what I had was a big tub of nirvana. I soaked for over an hour then wrestled with the springs and fell away into a deep deep sleep.

Each day is its own little challenge in a way. Being alone on a bike for 5-6 hours a day can do some funny things to you. Once I was through the first 10 days my body was starting to be well adjusted to the daily challenge, but each day was still a mental challenge. Keeping sane doing the same thing every day when your body and mind would probably rather be somewhere else is tough. I have started talking to myself and singing as I go, which to observe must look like I have failed the sanity challenge, but each verse of each made up song, sung badly out of key, keeps me a little bit sane. It is one of my many techniques I have developed to keep me going, every single day. Another is my Sergeant Major, him I discovered on the climb up on the plateau. The forecast was for the weather to deteriorate before it got any better, and for it to be colder too. I knew I had to get up and over the highest part of my journey just incase the weather got really nasty. The day going up was wet, as usual, and a strong gusty head wind was waiting for me. That day heading out of Taihape and up to Ohakune was the lowest point of my trip.

It was uphill all the way to Waiouru, a climb up to an altitude of around 800 meters and the climb seemed to never end. Plus each gust of wind would literally stop me dead in my tracks. It was tough going and I felt like I was fighting a loosing battle, but I knew as long as I was making progress I would eventually get there, I hoped. The rain pelted, and the wind blew not just straight at me but from left to right as the trucks roared past me. I was buffeted around like a plastic bag in the wind. I started yelling at the wind. “Just piss off would you you bastard” I hollered into the sky. Half way up, I hit what they call The Wall. I was beaten. The sadistic wind had beaten me into submission, and the pelting rain did everything it could to freeze me. I stopped. I was ready to give up. Really really give up. Even walking the bike was uphill seemed like an impossible task in the wind. There just seemed so far to go. Then I don’t know what happened. My anger built up inside me, I knew there was no way quitting was an option and I climbed back on the bike and pedalled. A had a new voice in my head, it was Sergeant Major, and he just said ‘Left, right, left, right, left, right, left”. And that was it. I ever so slowly pedalled left then right then left and up and up and up. When I wanted to quit again my Sergeant Major would say “What, are you a quitter boy? Get pedalling” and I did. The day was getting on but I finally reached the top and I felt like I was the king of the world. Down below me I could see the landscape below from where I had come. The cows and bulls looked like ants. I don’t know if Sergeant Major was somehow connected to being so close to Waiouru, which is pretty much just one big army training camp, but I was glad he came.

I kept pushing on out of Waiouru, past the tanks on display, past the Army museum, past the big signs asking you to keep to the road or face being exploded in some exercise. I needed to get to Ohakune. The rain was getting heavy and cold and the wind was still trying to drive me backwards, but strangely just I laughed and I kept going. Looking back I think I probably was suffering from temporary insanity. I began to revelle in all the adversity at the time and I was on such a high, and natural high. Cheap and legal. I happily rolled into the Top 10 holiday park where I had a free nights accommodation in a cabin. Top 10 had a few days earlier offered me free stays in all their parks for the remainder of my trip. Yet another offer of great kindness from kiwis. After wrestling with the technology of the heat pump to dry my clothes I showered and slept listening to the sound of the river running past the camp. Bliss.

The next day was much the same, uphill, wet and windy, and I did it again but this time I decided on half the distance. I didn’t think it was healthy to meet with Sergeant Major on a daily basis, and the weather was still horrendous. With shorter days perhaps the rain might lift and I would get an opportunity to enjoy the scenery and catch a glance of Mount Ruapehu. I was really looking forward to this part of my trip, riding high in the tundra surrounded by a vista of peaks and snow. Instead I was surrounded by grey of varying shades. When I reached National Park for the next night, I could only see 50 meters down the road in the mist of grey. The next day was the same until finally I was climbing no longer. I was at the highest point of my trip. 950 meters, almost a kilometre up. I was lucky in a way for the rain as it was warm, and I was not having to deal with snow. But what I had planned as three days of exciting scenery turned out to be a miserable wet climb. I felt a little cheated but you cant have it all your way. One benefit that could not be robbed from me by the rain was that now I had to go down. The days ride from National Park was pretty much just that all the way down to Turangi. The rain and wind still tried their best to dampen my spirits, the wind blew and the rain stung my eyes as I hurtled down the mountain at 50+ kilometres per hour. The weather was no match for gravity. I didn’t sing that day and had no run-ins with Sergeant Major, I just went “Wheeeeeeee, splutter splutter, wheeeee” all day long.

Having made good time to Turangi I found some accommodation and continued my daily routine of showering, drying my clothes, finding food, and hitting the sack. Then up again the next day to cycle one last day before a break in Taupo. One hill to go till 3/4 of the way done. I felt a little sad thinking that soon I would only have a quarter of the way to go. It wasn’t like I would miss the rain and hills, but I wondered if I was achieving all I wanted to achieve out of the ride so far. I had achieved a lot. I had by now definitely proved that I can do the complete cycle, barring a major disaster like my bike exploding or one of my legs falling off. The fund raising had been going OK. We had raised close to $5,000 dollars, which was fantastic when at the start we thought even $50 would be something. But had I got everything out of the trip that I wanted to? What was it I wanted in the first place? I knew I wanted to complete the challenge, lose weight and improve my fitness. I wanted to inspire at least one other person to pick something from their impossible list and to do it. But I also wanted a lot of time to think. Think about stuff. Nothing in particular, but to think, you know, process random thoughts. I knew I was doing a lot of thinking, but wasn’t really sure I had come to any conclusions about any one thing in particular. Had I made any life changing decisions? I don’t know. I would say I have, but each one small and gradual as I have cycled through the k’s. Some thoughts have been reversed by other thoughts. Some forgotten. I wont really know what the final outcome will be until I have cycled around the lighthouse at Cape Reinga. I didn’t have an agenda to start with so what ever I would take away from the trip would be what it is.

On the way into Taupo I was joined by Carl, who had picked up on my cycle on Twitter and hearing that I would be passing thought Taupo had kindly organised some accommodation for me at the beautiful Beechtree Motel, where he and his wife used to manage, and offered food and company on the ride into town. He left Taupo to meet me the same time I left Turangi and it was no surprise to me to see him coming the other way after only a third of the way into Taupo. Now at a slower pace Carl kept me company on the return trip for him, and we shot the breeze. This was the third time I had been joined by someone else on the cycle, and it really makes things easier. You push yourself harder in a way but the company and conversation makes it so much more enjoyable.

And so with little fan fare, I was at the 3/4 mark. I had a quite party with a few beers, a pizza and Sky TV and was hosted by Carl for a roast dinner the next night. I also met up with Troy and George, two guys in chairs living in Taupo and whom TASC had helped out. Troy tragically fell while rock climbing, a simple miscommunication with his climbing partner who thought Troy wanted to abseil back down the face, let the rope loose and Troy fell. George injured his spinal cord while putting on his shoes. A ruptured disk that pierced his spinal cord. You will be surprised at how many people get spinal injuries doing some very common everyday things. Trampolines, falling from ladders, playing rugby. It was good to meet some of the types of people that the money raised would go towards helping.

I was pretty excited about the coming weeks. Next week I would be in Auckland where I would catch up with a lot of friends and family, and most importantly, see my two daughters who probably have forgotten what their dad looks like. Then after Auckland it would be the final stretch. I had been through a lot of highs and lows so far. Some physical, some geographical and some emotional. I knew that nothing would compare to the final high of reaching the lighthouse, getting off my bike and knowing that I did it. That was still just over two weeks away and I would have some more highs and lows between now and then. I am hoping the highs outnumber the lows, especially in meteorological terms. I am sick of rain.