new zealand …uphill

Feeling the looooove

June 2, 2009 on 11:58 am | In Notes from the bike | 3 Comments

After having a week in the wet, cold cold wet, I was hoping the coming few weeks would be dryer and more enjoyable. Being wet on a bike in the cold is just not that much fun. For one, you are pretty much alone out there as every other sane bastard is inside keeping warm. I was feeling very unloved by the weather indeed. I rolled on out of Taupo. While there I had some fine hospitality supplied by @travelmonkee and family for a Sunday roast. @travelmonkee had joined me for the ride into Taupo and had taken very good care of me while I stayed. As did Top 10 Holiday parks once again, as well as Birchtree Motel. I shared tales of my journey and had a few laughs. The weather ahead didn’t look too bad so I was ready for a couple more hills then descending down onto the flats all the way pretty much to Auckland. I was starting to get my sense of humour back again.

I had decided on a slightly longer route north, but one that would take me away from Highway 1 and the trucks and noise. I would head east more through some of the more quieter towns and quieter roads. I first had to get uphill through to Tokoroa and then it would be downhill all the way pretty much to Matamata. I was now heading into an area I knew well, as it was an area I frequented often as a kid. We had an uncle and aunt, and cousins that lived in Tokoroa, and it was common for our family to head south from Auckland to Tokoroa for Christmas, Easter, or to visit lake Ohakuri for a camping holiday. This was an area full of memories from my youth, a time that seems so very very long ago. Seeing all the familiar landmarks took my mind off of the hills and the infrequent shower. Coming into Tokoroa, I knew a good friend of the family, Liz was working at the golf course that day, so I popped by for a cup of tea and a chat before heading into town to find my Uncle who was hosting me for the night. Finding him was something which turned out to be pretty easy as I was barely in town when a grinning head, leaning out of a car window, began shadowing me waving. I followed my Uncle back to his house and caught up on things, rested well and then resumed the cycle. As I was getting closer to home my social schedule was starting to fill up, and there were beginning to be plenty of excuses to stop somewhere to catch up and have a cup of tea.

Tirau next for a coffee, then on to Matamata on the quest for Hobbits, without much luck. I decided to continue on to Te Aroha, a place that’s name translates to “The Love” in Maori. Just what I needed, some more good vibes to go with the improving weather. I was off of the main highways, following a network of linking side roads. On these roads you really get to appreciate the ride a lot more. Instead of being bombarded by the constant whizz and roar of traffic clearly in a hurry to get somewhere with little care for a cyclist sharing their road, you for the most of the time have the road to yourself. Zigzagging through the dotted centre line, talking to the cows and hearing the bird song as you pedal. This is what I had imagines the ride up New Zealand should be like all the way, and I seek it out wherever possible. Diverting off the main highways may add extra distance to your journey but that is very easily tradable for some peace. I was yet again making pretty good time, and the rain sometimes threatened but always passed by a couple of kilometres away as a grey blotch smudging on the distant landscape. Te Aroha is an old spa town, a place to go to relax and to be pampered. It is nestled into the side of the hills and as I got closer and closer I could feel a calming influence wash over me. Ahhaaa I was going to relax tonight. I had never been to Te Aroha, in fact I didn’t even know the place existed prior to a few days ago when I saw it on my map, so I was very excited to visit somewhere new, especially a place that bestowed magical love over everyone who vistited.

The main street was very pretty and retained a lot of its old world charm. The inhabitants seemed cheery, and as I passed by they smiled and waved. Things were feeling pretty good. The rain finally caught up with me, just lightly, not really much to even bother a moth, and as I cruised down the streets I was surrounded by smiling waving people clearly in love with life. I was feeling like I was in a surreal musical. The light rain queued the song “Raindrops Keep Falling on My Head” in my head as I rode. It seemed everyone else was hearing the same music and were too humming, if not singing, along. “duh duh da de da de da”. The mother pushing a pram smiled and waved and skipped off in step to the music down the road. The little birds were cheeping in tune and flying in formation above my head. A small dog did back-flips in a yard as I smiled and passed by. A young couple sat on a park bench gazing into each others eyes deeply in love, and the mechanics at the workshop were singing into their spanners. The young guy with dreadlocks in a V8 Holden waiting at the intersection stop sign smiled at me, head to one side as if to say “Isn’t life grand”. I smiled back, as I turned across the road and into the main street in front of him as if to say “You betcha buddy, it rocks”. The music continued “…no one ever stopped the rain by complaining…” . The music stopped. Suddenly the guy with dreadlocks had lurched out of the intersection in his grunting V8 and had screeched to a stopped only centimetres away from me. His smiling musical persona had suddenly metamorphosed into an evil demon and after nearly running me down, he was now disappearing down the road with tyres squealing. “That was odd” I thought as I cycled on, trying to restart the music. I only had 300 meters to go till my accommodation for the night. “Duh duh da de da… oh good the music is back…” then suddenly screeching from the side road beside me, and the demon was back, swerving a couple of meters in front of me. With tyres smoking, he disappeared off into a cloud of burning ego. This guy was clearly no longer feeling “The Love” that Te Aroha infected its inhabitants with. Perhaps after years of girlie love, spontaneous street dancing and musicals, mine rolling through town was the last straw. No amounts of magical mineral water spewing from the earth could cleans this guy, even with a all day anal enema. I checked into my accommodation and promptly hid my bike. That night a ventured out to town after dark, lurking in the shadows keeping a watchful eye out for any other repressed teenage angst struggling to break free of the love and kisses of Te Aroha.

The next day I snuck out of town, with no music, on the back roads with the goal of getting to Miranda, via Paeroa, where there are hot springs, a holiday park and not that much more, but that was fine with me as I wanted a soak in hot hot pools and to reintroduce some more calm. I had more flat roads, again mostly to myself and I was really enjoyed myself again. The rain followed me but always a few kilometres inland. We only crossed paths once, as I was coming into a small town, which allowed me to stop for lunch and coffee as I waited out the passing downpour. After more chatting to stranger and a few more tales, I made it into Miranda, and back to the coastline again, where I was reunited with water and waves. I got there in good time and promptly dunked myself in the hot thermal waters and generally floated about making “ahhhhh” sounds for hours.

I was now only two short days ride out of Auckland, and I was pretty excited. Auckland was yet another milestone, and I would be able to catch up with friends and family and most importantly my two daughters, who had come down to Auckland for the week to stay with my wife’s parents. It had been a whole month since I had seen my daughters last and I wasn’t sure they would even remember what I looked like. Being both under five, their perspective on time is somewhat, well out of whack. When I left home over a month a go, I said good bye to the girls and told them I would be back home in 7 weeks. I was expecting tears and carry-on, but they both just said “Bye Dad” and with a cursory wave resumed playing dolls. They were both used to me going away for a few days, perhaps a week at a time for work, but never for longer than five or six days, so for them this was just another one of those trips Dad made for work. Two weeks into my cycle I got the phone call from my eldest, Holly, in tears wanting me to come home. Being away from my girls had been pretty tough for me and them and seeing them again was going to be magic. But first I had to navigate the east coast heading into Auckland, the last day accompanied by a television film crew.

TV3 wanted to interview me for Campbell Live, doing a piece of my ride and how it had changed my life so far. I was staying at the Top 10 Holiday Park at Orere Point, and the crew joined me early Friday morning. Helen Vaughan, my interviewer, was going to cycle into Clevedon with me and interview me as we rode. I thought this was a grand idea, and pre warned her that my bike doesn’t like to go too fast, with all my bags on the back, so not to expect a race. They had scoped out the route into Clevedon and had found what they thought was a great stretch of road to conduct the interview. And so we were off, on our way into Clevedon, up hill, and the questions started. I was grunting and puffing up the hills and trying to answer as many question coherently. I told Helen that expecting me to multitask was a big ask, and doing three things, pedalling, thinking and talking all at the same time was impossible and doing it uphill doubly so, so she might have to settle for just pedalling and talking. We rode for over an hour answering questions, which all had to be condensed later into a few minutes. I wasn’t sure I was answering the questions well and as we left the hills behind the interview was over and I bid the crew farewell at Clevedon, where I refuelled my body and continued on. I only had a couple more hours left and I was desperate to get to Auckland to see my mother, who lived there, and my waiting girls.

I crawled into the suburbs. The rolling countryside was now suburban plaster palaces and three lanes of traffic. I had four days of rest ahead and I was going to spend as much of the time with my girls. I visited my mum, for coffee and long chats, and then we both went over to my wife’s parents house for dinner with my daughters and for all of us to watch the interview on TV that night. I was a little anxious about seeing my girls, what if they weren’t interested in me? What if they had forgotten me? As soon as I walked though the door I developed a couple of large lumps on my both my legs. Two girl shaped limpets had attached themselves to me, firmly, and didn’t detach for hours. They did remember who their daddy was. They told me all about everything they had been up to for the last month and that night we watched their dad on TV, laughing at my groaning and puffing. For the rest of the weekend I was smothered with cuddles. I rested my legs and tried to resume a normal life hanging out with my girls. We visited Kelly Tarlton’s, an underwater aquarium, went shopping and visiting and we generally, no, absolutely had a blast.

On the Sunday, there was a protest being organised as part of the 50 year anniversary of the Auckland Harbour Bridge, by a group who have for some time been campaigning for pedestrian and cycle access across the harbour. There is currently no way in Auckland to cycle or walk to or from the North Shore. As well as supporting the cause, a ride over the harbour bridge would be the perfect addition to my route though Auckland, which without would mean having to catch a ferry across. I cycled down to the bridge through the eastern bays on a beautiful beautiful Autumns day watching kayakers paddle the smooth waters harbour waters under a blue blue sky. Arriving at the base of the bridge a thousand protesters also congregated and we waited, smiling and excited. The Transport Authority was not going to let the protesters on the bridge, they couldn’t feel the love and their single representative there that day looked a little stressed and grumpy and clearly did not like us being there. This was not a random even ant the organisers of the protest had signalled their intentions to all the appropriate authorities. The police said they would be there to ensure the safety of the protesters and the public, but Transport Authority was not keen to engage with the organisers. So we didn’t really know if we would be let on across the bridge. The original plan was to close off two of the four northbound lanes for the protesters to use to cross the bridge, this way at 9:30am on a Sunday morning there would be little disturbance to traffic for two hours with it all over before midday. And so we waited and waited and then the answer was given by the single stressed and grumpy representative from Transport Authority. “No” was all he said. He even had to borrow a megaphone to say it. He didn’t say sorry, or that it would be nice to cross but unfortunately due to x and y… he didn’t handle things very well at all. They, being Transport Authority, had arranged to have the area fenced off days in advance, with fairly comprehensive, concreted in wire mesh fences, to keep the protesters off the bridge. There was a single gate, barricaded by six of seven police who looked fairly disinterested to be there on a Sunday morning, and this one guy from Transport Authority with his borrowed megaphone. They hadn’t completely fenced off an area of trees and dense foliage, and a few cyclists had found their way through, mounted cycles in disgust a couple of hundred meters up the motorway and defiantly cycled across the bridge, waving to the halted protesters as they passed. Can you guess what happened next? The protesters wanted on, and on they got. The police were never interested in preventing the thousand protesters from accessing the bridge, but was more interested in keeping everyone safe, and so after a few for show attempts to halt the swarm, they stepped aside, halted the traffic and ensured everyone was safe as the let the protesters cross. Carefully and civilly we all entered the motorway and began to cross the bridge. There were mums pushing prams, cyclists on unicycles, walkers and cyclists of all ages all with grins from ear to ear, celebrating, with just a little bit of civil disobedience, the 50 year anniversary of the Auckland Harbour Bridge, and with the vain hope that one day there would be a permanent pedestrian/cycle path for everyone to enjoy every day of the year. Just like a lot of my ride up the country, I got to see a stretch of road I had seen many times at high speed in a car, but at a more leisurely pace, soaking up the sights of Auckland City, which has a very beautiful cityscape, by a very beautiful harbour. I crossed the bridge feeling ecstatic. I was hoping this would not be a once in a lifetime experience.

Leaving Auckland and my girls again for two weeks, I wanted to escape the clutches of the city and reach Leigh to catch up with some more friends and supporters of my ride. It was going to be a long 80km day, with a few hills thrown in for good measure. After a coffee with @bwagy and caught up with my sister in-law on the way through the northern suburbs, I had lunch with some of the members of the charity, TASC, I am raising money for. It was a lot of social engagements to cram into an already long day. But nothing is impossible. But as I coffee’d and rode, I had something playing on my mind that worried me. There was one hill, a very evil hill, that has been haunting me the whole journey up the country. This hill was Frank’s deformed evil bastard cousin who had severe anti social tendancies. He was the hill that none of the other hills played with as a kid. This was a hill I had driven over one hundred times or more and it was the hill I had been using as the benchmark for rating all mad dangerous suicidal hills. Each time I planned a route and there appeared to be a windy, steep, busy and dangerous hill, going up or down, Frank’s bastard cousin appeared in my mind wheezing a coughing an evil evil deformed laugh, and hoped the hill was nothing like it. What made it so evil? This hill was steep, but I had done steep hills before. It was windy, that too I had done. But it also had no verge to cycle on, so I would be in the traffic. It also had a passing lane going up, that ended on a blind hairpin corner with a sheer drop. Lastly it was the first slow hill after the end of the end of the Auckland motorway, and everyone raced up it passing each other 8 cars at a time. I wondered if I was playing up the evilness of Franks cousin in my mind, and turned to my cycling guide book for their suggested route and advice on this route. Perhaps there was a safe passage. Where usually the guide book would have a three or four paragraphs of information, elevation charts detailing all the hills and route and details on points of interest, the book had one sentence. “Windy, busy, hilly, narrow and definitely not to be attempted by … sane cyclists.” My choice was to risk it, take a major detour inland 40-50 km to avoid the hill or to get over this dangerous piece of road by some other means. I wanted to ride up through Leigh and around the coast, so to take the detour I would have to double back considerably and add two days to my route. My wife was due to meet me in Whangarei for the weekend so I would miss her, and instead of stopping off in Kerikeri at home for a day, I would need to push on straight to the top. I clearly wanted to make it to Whangarei and having lunch in Silverdale with some of the chair bound members of the charity, I had my mind made up for me. Why would I risk winding up in a wheelchair, or worse, dead, for a few kilometres of treacherous road? I was kindly offered to be picked up in a vehicle before the hill for safe passage over and I decided not to take a risk I didn’t need to. When it came to crossing the hill later that day, as I sat in a car looking out the window I sighed a huge sigh of relief as, just like every other day, a mass of screaming metal boxes screamed up the hill in some make believe race, and as I looked out and down to the side of the car to the road beside, I couldn’t help see myself rather messily compacted onto the side of the road. It was a good call. I added 20km on to my overall route to cover off the ride up the hill and then some. I happily pulled the bike out of the back of the car and resumed my cycle, and pushed on to Leigh with the day quickly evaporating.

I escaped Highway 1 and the Auckland traffic turning off at Warkworth and headed for Matakana and on to Leigh. That night I was hosted by @gnat and the rest of Team Torkington to be fed and wined and to talk the evening away. We were joined by other Leigh area locals, including @stevemadefromnz and sat talking complete crap with a good dollop of intelligent conversation thrown in. It was a good laugh. As usual I began to fade at my regular time of 8:30pm but managed to go the distance but crashed and slept well that night.

The next day I cycled over to Mangawhai Heads, via a windy and somewhat hilly route. But first I had an appointment with the kids at Leigh school to talk to them about my bike ride. The kids asked me a hundred, all very good, questions and I gave them a tour of the bike and had a quick photo with the kids I was off again. I headed out of town and over what was referred to as “The” hill that took me to the coast and onwards. The hill was pretty mean. I ground it out, and had to shed a few layers as the day was a cracker and the sun beamed down on me. Under a heaven of blue skies, at the top I had fantastic views of the area and coast. I then descended onto gravel roads that lead me through a complicated network of back roads to find my way to Mangawhai. I was hoping to be able to go right through to Waipu Cove that night, and I followed a route on my map that led me to believe a small road would continue on to connect with the main road leading into Mangawhai. I rode over a high ridge and came to an intersection and continued on for ten minutes before realising I was heading for the sea when I should be heading inland. I must have made a bad turn so I turned around to return to the last intersection which must have been the intersection I needed to turn left at. Back at the intersection, the sign for the road which was the road I should have taken clearly stated “No exit”. I consulted the map. This definitely was the road that the map was telling me I should be taking, just a short two kilometres and it would join onto the main road. The map was wrong. I had two choices, continue on towards the coast through hills and through an increasingly complicated network of other roads that some more could actually turn out to be no exit roads also, or turn around and head back to a major intersection six or seven kilometres back and reconsider a new route. As much as going backwards hurts, it was the best option. Adding another 15km to the days ride I rode back up and over some hills that I didn’t need to rode, let alone twice. Well behind schedule now I decided to stop at Mangawhai Heads, where luck would have it I had been kindly offered the use of a holiday home and a comfy bed for the night.

I stopped by the local Four Square for my usual supplies, some milk, some bread and something to whip up for dinner that night, and as I paid I chatted to the lady at the register about my ride. She quickly said to me “I have someone you have to meet.” and abandoning the till, and the other customers still waiting in queue, and she lead me out to the back of the store. “Wont be a second guys” she called back over her shoulder to the waiting customers. Out the back she introduced to the store manager whom had walked the length of New Zealand, from the bottom to the top, almost ten years ago. We sat and had tea and biscuits and It was fascinating to talk to someone else who had done what was in most way a very similar thing to what I was doing. As he talked I kept saying “me too” and “I did that too”. The same highs and the same lows. He kindly offered to sort me out for some accommodation that night, but I already had a bed kindly offered to me. As we said good bye he said that he would like to do a similar trip again perhaps on a bike.

Friday morning, and I was heading for Whangarei. It was another cracker of a day and the start of the long weekend so I wanted to get into Whangarei before the mad holiday weekend rush hit the roads. I got up early and cycled out of town and over the Mangawhai heads, and back yet again to the beautiful coastline at Langs Beach. I wandered on up to Waipu and stopped for breakfast. Sitting in a cafe I was soon surrounded by a swarm of ladies having a regular Friday coffee get together, when one of them said “Your the guy cycling up New Zealand aren’t you?”. I joined their group and chattered away for what was probably an hour about the ride and the people I have met and why I was doing it. Rosemary, one of the ladies, bought me my coffee and I was given a donation by another. They gave me an alternate route that avoids Highway 1 for a while and buoyed by meeting more great people I was off with revived springs in my legs, pushing for Whangarei. The route they gave me took my through the quiet back roads but I eventually had to rejoin the highway. It was flat for most of the way into Whangarei and I made really very good time. I was full of energy and excitement, especially to see my wife who was driving down to see me. Then as I arrived in town, I pulled up to a set of traffic lights waiting to turn off the highway and to ride down towards the port. This was the route used my all the heavy vehicles, but was generally much quieter. I waited just a couple of meters in front of a truck also waiting, and I glanced around and smiled at the dirver, just to make sure he knows I am there and not to race off on the green light straight over me. He smiled back and revved the truck engine a couple of blasts as if to say “watch out” and he laughed. Just then the light went green and I took off, giving a cheeky glance back as if to say, “go on then”, and he did. The truck was off after me in hot pursuit. With a grin ear to ear, I knew I only had a few more kilometres to go so I gave it all I had, powering away from the lights and down a slight hill. I could hear the truck grunting a short ways behind me catching up, the truck being slow off the mark. I was having so much fun I was now laughing uncontrollably and tried to go faster, and faster and faster. The hulk of the truck ever so slowly came up beside me, toying with me, and we rode side by side for a while. The truck tooted its horn as we went, neck to neck. I had a little bit more left in my legs so I pedalled harder and took off again, laughing hysterically. The truck grunted, and inevitably he eventually caught up and passed me a few hundred metres down the road, horn going again as he disappeared off in front of me. Just another typical encounter with another typical kiwi character and I smiled all the way to my stop for the day.

I have found that kindness comes in many forms, whether it is a donation to the charity, a bed for a night, coffee bought by strangers, a chance to shoot the breeze on the side of the road, a race with a truck, or a lift over a dangerous stretch of road. Too often people get caught up in life, work and monotony and they forget one simple thing in life. The vast majority of people are good, decent and kind people who all enjoy the same things. A chat, a laugh and making each other feel good. That’s what life all really boils down to in the end. And laughter and a smile is all 100% free. All I have is a bike and a goal, and I have found that the most valuable reward every day is the chance to smile, and be reminded that it is each other that makes this life worthwhile.