I’m sitting in the sunshine on a bench outside New World supermarket in Winton eating and taking a moment. The 69km from Mossburn have been into a headwind and not fun. I’ve already ridden 130km and have 75 to the end. I’m in my head doing calculations of my average speed, distance, potential stops (for more food) trying to figure out when I might finish. Beside me are two older ladies collecting for a children’s cancer charity. They seem to know everyone coming and going and decide they should know me too. It is a little annoying but I’m being polite and courteous as they ask questions and tell me stories that are punctuated by interactions with the people coming or going from the supermarket. Then something in me switches and it is a really rejuvenating 15 minutes or so. They get me out of my head, enjoying the sunshine and the custard stuffed croissant I’m now tucking into.

I’m back into it and in the wind. It is pushing on my face, grabbing at my clothes, snatching my warmth, and nudging my bike. Today it is a bully. The other day it was a friend pushing me towards Lake Hawea at an effortless 30km an hour. Today every km has to be pedalled. I can’t stop otherwise I will stop too. It is robbing what I expected to be a celebratory procession into Sterling Point. I guess it is a ticket-tape parade of sorts as leaves and small bits of foliage come down the road towards me. The occasional insect smacks into my face making me recoil mostly in shock.

As I get close to the end it is a lovely evening and the wind begins to calm a little. Maybe it realises the only thing that is going to stop be is the end of road. Maybe it has finally had enough of me. I had had enough of the wind well before Winton!

My phone has come to life and is pinging with messages. I don’t want to look as it will slow me down and perhaps even stop me. They pop up on the screen of my bike computer and mostly I dismiss them without looking. It isn’t that I don’t appreciate them and seeing the names of people who have been following this ride is a little overwhelming. One arrives from Nikki who has been messaging lots and I’m always looking at. It makes me cry as I keep pedaling.

I’m in the final countdown and it is a little surreal. It is a perfect evening and I managed to smile as I keep moving to the end of the road. It is a little unbelievable that 20 days ago I was at the very top of the country at Cape Reinga. It is odd thinking that my bike has held everything I’ve needed to make the journey. It holds my tent, my cooker, some spare clothes, bits and pieces. It has held 3 or 4 meals when there was a couple of hundred kilometres between resupply points.

I’ve had health problems, bike problems and equipment problems but kept going. The weather has literally rained on my parade, left me with cold extremities, and wet from perspiration or precipitation. I’ve put my tent up in the middle of nowhere, been flooded, stayed in motels and cabins before getting up each morning and starting riding again.

Aotearoa is a country of incredible natural beauty and contrast. These are marked by humanity as if we are tagging the world to let others know we’ve been here. The roads, the earthworks, the bridges, and the towns. These are the markings of our existence. For me I’ve left a few tyre tracks and a patch or 2 of flattened grass as I made my way through.

I’m just a visitor to this planet and made for somewhere else. Being here and experiencing it is a gift and I’m grateful and fortunate I can experience a trip like this. What a world it is, complex, delicate, and finely balanced. For me it is far too intricate to have happened by accident, explosion, or gradual evolution. Everything about it suggests it was intelligently designed by someone and a ride like this leaves me puzzled at the possibility this planet happened by chance.

I’m sitting in the sun on the Queenstown waterfront with an hour to spare before my crossing in the Earnslaw. I even lost an hour and a half in a bike shop sorting out my rear wheel that has been giving me grief the entire South Island. I’m eating a sandwich and smiling because barring another catastrophe I’ll be finishing tomorrow.

It was cold as I left and started the climb from Wanaka to the top of the Crown Range. It isn’t a difficult climb, well not at first, but the last 3km or so make you fight to conquer them. I stopped halfway up at the Cardrona Hotel for a 2nd breakfast. It is a charming old building that is decorated in a style that compliments the old building. I’m surprised to see they have a fire burning but gladly let the couch near it embrace me.

I wrestle free from the comfort and sit up, still enjoying the couch but now eating bacon, eggs and toast. I wash it down with a coffee and as the mouthfuls go in pieces of clothes come off. The sun is out and I know I’ll get warm on the rest of the climb. 

When I arrive at the top the Crown Range I take a moment. This is the highest point of the route at 1076m and is the penultimate climb. The wind keeps snatching all the warmth I picked up on the climb and I start zipping up my layers. With them all fully zippered I take a couple of pedals then stop. With my bike pointing downhill I’m picking up speed quickly. The computer can’t keep up counting in 10ths of kilometres like it did in the way up and is jumping up like it is learning is 8 times table. The wind has taken all my warmth now and I’m cold as I race downwards. The speed recommendations on bends are suddenly meaningful as I lean the bike over and corner above the recommendation. There are cars in front and I’m catching them. There is a couple of hundred metres clear space that is in a rapid countdown. Not as fast as my acceleration and perhaps just the 5 times table. I catch them then sit in behind them, cold but grinning.

The Earnslaw will take me across Lake Whakatipu and to Walter Peak Station. From there is just 240km to the end at Sterling Point, Bluff. I’ve stocked up on food and fluid so I can ride a couple of hours extra tonight. There is one final hill, the Vonn Hill from where it is essentially all downhill to the end. I hope I will get over that tonight and then camp at one of the DOC shelters or Mavora Lakes. At just over 50km it is possible. I guess I will find out soon as the Earnslaw is arriving. It gracefully glides through the water line a royal entering the room. She turns elegantly and gently comes near the dock where people gracefully take her hand and secure her in place ready for me and dozens of others to share a moment with her.

I made the call last night to contact my cousin in Wanaka. It is a little over 150km from Haast and while I want to press on it seems like a smart decision given the 208km ridden that day. It will set me up well for the rest of the ride and a finish on Saturday.

The shop doesn’t open until 8am so I’m going to have a late start. I’m ready to go and walking into the shop at 8am along with another rider and a couple of locals. I know what I’m there for and head straight to those sections once I find them. All supermarkets have different layouts, even the same franchises and it is frustrating when you’re focused. I realize I’m looking at the right shelves because they’re empty. I guess it should be expected given a couple of hundred riders have already passed through. Disappointed with my choices I ride off on a grey and moody morning.

The mountains loom around me and no longer only flank me on one side. They stand up straight and look down on me. Actually I don’t know if they’re looking down on me because their heads are in the clouds. They might be whispering to each other about me as I pedal up the valley. I guess they’re laughing at me thinking I don’t know what is coming.

The Haast Pass is 10km of up hill. Actually, I’ve been riding uphill for 40km to the start of the climb. It is gentle and had some roll to it. This is nice because I tick along comfortably at 20km, then the road leans down a little and I coast. This goes well and then you cross a long single lane bridge and start riding up. The thing is, this isn’t the climb proper yet. You have to get to another single lane bridge with the sign, Gates of Haast. Over this bridge and a left turn and then it gets serious for 2 or 3km. I mean I’m in 1st gear and working hard. It is relentless and you can’t stop pedaling. If you did, you would stop.

When I’m riding up hills like this I prefer to not stop. It is too difficult to start again and makes me feel like the hill got them better of me. I want those mountains to stop laughing at me. I want to tame these wild animals and have them curl up and my feet. I stop. I stop to remove some clothing as I’m far too hot. If I was to remove my helmet I think you would see steam rise.

At the top the West Coast ends and Otago starts. Immediately there is a change in the landscape. You roll over the summit and start the descent and you’re in a different land. It is like those mountains are different to the ones in Otago and refuse to mingle. The West Coast dense with incredible forest like a hairy man with a full head of hair and full face beard.  Otago is a little more like a young person with their head shaved and patchy stubble. The mountains are rocky with some golden tussock grass blowing in the breeze.

I know it will change again as I enter Southland. That is just a little less dramatic as the mountains run out like an unfit kid in a 400m running race. They start with pace and energy and vigor. Then gradually slow into a lethargic canter.

It is darker than I was expecting again at 7:15am when I get moving from Harihari. This morning I’m waiting for the shop to open to restock before the 79km over the Haast Pass. My second cup of coffee is cradled gently in my hand and I’m lovingly sipping while light slowly creeps over the town, later than I expected.

I am surprised at how talkative other cyclists are and figure they’re mostly extroverts struggling with limited people interactions on the road. I passed one the other day and they started talking to me, and were still talking when I was out of earshot. 5 minutes up the road I stopped at a toilet and when I got back to my bike they were there blabbing away at me.

They never introduce themselves and just start telling stories from the road. Typically it starts with a question, did you do Big River? but before you can begin answering they’re telling you their story. They don’t take a breath as they then after rambling on about what happened to them on the Maungatapu, the food they had in Murchison and how they’ve been riding with <insert name> and had I seen them. I don’t even know their name much less who the others are.

Last night I was in a shared room and tucked in with a towel hanging from the bunk above to provide some privacy. I had my earphones in and was happy in my own world. Then my roommate comes in and starts talking. He switched the light off (good sign) and gets into bed. He keeps talking. These riders seem a lot like toddlers who talk constantly, ask hundreds of questions, but keep saying stuff so you can’t reply. Periodically I add to this cacophony of words with, uh huh, oh no, yep, and other things so he believes I’m attentive. Really though I’m in my own world processing the day and preparing for tomorrow.

As an introvert I’ve really been enjoying riding solo. I enjoy it with friends too and would have cherished the moral support when things kept going wrong. However, it is just too much for me sometimes.

I wake up warm and comfortable a little before 6 and decide to start moving. I don’t want to be on the road before 7 when it is light but figure I can have 2 coffees before I get underway. I check my bike and the tyre is still properly inflated. Excited I return to the bathroom where I’ve had my clean, machine washed clothes, hanging with the heater and extractor fan gently humming all night. They’re fresh and dry. Giddy with excitement I use the jug in the kitchen up make the first coffee. It was a 12 pack I purchased and I want to lighten my load a little. Then I have a shower. I know I’ll be getting grimy and messy but I’m feeling civilized and refined with my clean cycling kit and want to preserve it as long as possible.

It is a cold morning and my bike computer reports it as 7° as I continue on the West Coast Wilderness Trail. This section from Kumara to Hokitika is postcard scenery with a top class track through it. You weave through trees like a skilled tapestry artist quickly loops their stitches. It flows effortlessly the way a world class song writer combined eloquent phrases with beautiful melody. It is intoxicating and for a while I forget I’m losing dexterity in my hands with the cold and my feet are more like bricks than 26 bones, 33 joints, and more than a hundred muscles, tendons, and ligaments!

I come off the West Coast Wilderness Trail and onto the road up to the highway and I’m feeling good. I think I’ll skip Ross (400m off the track) and just carry onto Harihari. There is a shop, cat and pub there so I’m hopeful I’ll make good time, eat something there, then press on. Before the corner I moan. I whine like a toddler boy getting the cookie they want. I’m losing air in my rear tyre. I forgo the turn off and ride up to Ross. I know there are toilets there with some shelter for me to sort this puncture.

I make short work of it then head to the shop to see if they have puncture repair kits as I’m now out of patches. As I coast the 20m to the shop I hear a rubbing. It is like a groan from my back wheel every 3/4’s of a revolution. I wonder what is wrong as I ask for puncture repair kits. They have them and offer me the use of their track pump. I grab a drink and Snickers and head out to investigate. I’m thinking that perhaps I haven’t got the tyre on correctly so by letting it down and reseating it I’ll fix the problem. It is a good, rational thought so I get to work. It doesn’t solve the problem. I put some more air in wondering if that might put enough pressure on the tyre to straighten it. Nope. I let air out to see if less pressure helps. Nope.

Out of ideas I take my wheel off and look at it. I’m hoping for a genie to appear or for me to notice something like a stick in the spokes. Wondering what my options are I look at the axle on the wheel. Older bikes had nuts holding them tight but mine doesn’t. I grab the ends and twist. They turn and I wonder if they’re loose so trust them hand tight then pop the wheel back in the bike and spin it. Just the clicking of the freehub sounds with no groaning from the tyre or frame as they’re no longer bumping into each other.

Pleased I can continue I ride off, into a headwind. It only lasts for half of the 45k through to Harihari. There is a pub with accommodation so I decided if they have a room I’ll stop. It is after 6pm when I roll in and 5 minutes later I’m in a hot shower. 20 minutes later I’m fresh and ordering a burger and fries.

I’m in a bubble of ride, eat, sleep at the moment and the rest of the world is something disconnected from me. I love hearing from family (especially Nikki and the boys), but I don’t really know what is happening. Given I’m in this bubble and wanting to get up and ride it is frustrating that nothing in Reefton opens before 8am.

Supermarkets have become another area of hyper focus. I enter with a list repeating in my head. I’m recurring what I need as I scan the aisles looking for what I need. Typically it is something to eat now, lunch or dinner, and snacks. Today it is breakfast I’m hunting and I want hot cross buns. No particular reason, they’re just delicious and I can eat 3 or 4 then carry the rest easily. Storage is limited on the bike so I’m only ever buying single serve packs which is a shame because I’m eating 3 times as much as normal.

I find little coffee bags which I’ve been enjoying. It isn’t the one I’ve bought previously with just 8 in the box, this one has 12. I hold the box and stare at it wondering if I’ll be able to squeeze them in or will I be back in my cabin having 4 coffees so I don’t have to leave any behind. Disappointingly I don’t find hot cross buns so settle for spicy fruit muffins. I’m not sure why I think I’m settling as they’re just as good. Everything is good when you’re on a bike trip like this. Instant pasta or rice meals taste so good after all day riding. I can’t find anything smaller than a normal sized butter. I grab it wondering what I’ll do as I won’t be using it all. 4 muffins later it is in the bag with the remaining muffins. Breakfast tomorrow sorted.

I head to the bike shop in Reefton to meet the guy at 8:30. This is disappointing as I seem to have been on the road around 7am when I’m not staying with someone. That being said I’m pleased to get the bike looked at. I’ve never had problems when on these kind of adventures previously. In fact, I’ve ridden the length of the country, then the width (Gisborne to Egmont Cape), then down the South Island from Queen Charlotte Sounds to Milford Sounds and only had 1 flat tyre. This time the North Island was good but it seems that everyday of the South Island has thrown something gear related at me.

It is an old guy at the store and he happily gets busy inviting me out the back of the shop. The front of the shop is pretty standard for a small town sports shop. There is equipment for most sports. Lots of fishing equipment, hunting items (guns and knives), tramping boots, camping gear. Bits of everything jammed in while still allowing customers to wander. I’m not sure a wheelchair would easily manoeuver around but it is just a delightfully engaging store. A child would have little chance of complying with a look don’t touch parental request. It reminds me of the movies where there is a shop of curiosities. There are boxes in an organized, chaotic, beautiful bedlam. You can see the order when you look but the initial impression has you step back, take a breath, and prepare yourself.

His work stand is literally a hundred years old and so cool. It is on plain wooden floor boards that have absorbed a thousand drips of oil and grease that fell from a bicycle being assembled or fixed. There are sudden boxes with the different tools he uses with smooth edges from the decades of being grabbed and then put back. Wheels and tyres hang from the ceiling and other bikes are stored behind the stand. I don’t know if they’re his work for today or just being stored. I decided not to ask and he gets the bike up on the grand old stand then gets to work quickly cleaning the chain. It is filthy, so filthy he degreasers it a second time after deciding the first time didn’t quite bring the desired result. Then he is trying to tighten my crank. He doesn’t have a torque wrench but does have better tools than I’m carrying and does a good job. He doesn’t want to charge me for anything except a little degreaser saying, I never charge labour to you crazy guys racing down the country. I buy something from the counter to try and make it worth his while.

I’m off and everything is working well. Today was going to be Big River which is an off road mountain bike track, followed by a tracking track that requires you to pay your bike up a creek, then a down that just keeps getting better and better. It is an absolute gem and a highlight from the 2021 South Island leg. It has been raining here and the forecast today is fairly bleak. Now the bike is running sweet again I decide against taking it.

I question myself as I ride along the highway. Highways are probably my least favorite place to ride. The rain kicks in properly and it is so heavy I wonder if animals will start lining up in pairs on the side of the road. The road spray from my wheels means my shoes have as much water in them as if I had started in a puddle, and started there. My helmet can absorb a decent amount of water but that was decided it is at capacity and streams of water start to trickle down my neck and under my jacket. My jersey is at capacity soon after and water makes its way down my back the way water laid laps over the edge of the pool when someone has jumped in.

I’m feeling good and like Hokitika will be easily in reach for dinner and accommodation tonight. It is easy to get ahead of myself though and misread the terrain then take longer to get to the next place. Greymouth should be lunch around 1 or 1:30pm. I’m making good time when I notice my left crank is a little loose again. It doesn’t seem bad and I keep riding believing I’ll be able to get it sorted in Greymouth which is now only 30km away.

I’m wrong. Not on the timing, I would have been there as predicted. However, I’m not. I’m walking along the road pushing my bike as the crank is completely useless now. I ring Nikki to report the situation, get some sympathy and a little pep talk. The guide book tells me there are 2 bike shops in Greymouth. Rather than choose I just ring the first one. They can help. In fact, they can drive the 8km I am out of Greymouth and pick me up. This quickens my pace, I’m not sure why, but sitting on the side of the road in the rain feels a little like defeat.

I leave the bike at the shop and wander a couple of hundred meters down to a supermarket for lunch. I grab some hot chicken tenders, coleslaw, and a tin of pineapple and eat as I head back. I don’t expect them to be done as he had some customers coming in to pickup rental bikes but figure it will be a nicer place to eat than the supermarket. Besides that, I’ll need my spork which is on my bike. The chicken is finished before I’m back and when I arrive they tell me my bike is finished too! Tumeke.

I head off and find my navigation isn’t working again. It doesn’t matter because I’m on the West Coast Wilderness trail which is well signed and I won’t finish today. I should still be able to make it to Hokitika and despite the weather, it is raining again, I’m in good spirits and feeling like the distance will be easy. I plan to get to Kumara (30km from Greymouth) then ring ahead to book a cabin. I’m wet through and even while everything is dry in my bags I don’t really fancy putting up my tent in what will likely be rain.

Then my rear wheel gets a little wiggly around a bend. It doesn’t throw me but I’m looking down wondering what is going on. Bother! It is a little soft, I must have a puncture. I ride on hoping it is a slow one and I’ll be able to the 3 remaining kilometres to Kumara. I manage just 1 before I have to pull over. Given it isn’t completely flat and just leaking slowly I decided to try and just pump it up so I can get to Kumara. I can’t. The tube I got in Nelson has a short valve and while the floor pump Andrew has worked fine, my hand pump just isn’t connecting and I’m managing to let out more air than I’m putting in.

As deflated as my tyre I pull the wheel off and swap tubes with my only remaining spare. It takes a while as my temperature is dropping in the rain and my hands aren’t working very well. Eventually I’m riding those last few k’s to Kumara where I pause to assess my options. It is now later than I had thought and even if nothing goes wrong I may miss the supermarket being open in Hokitika. There isn’t much in Kumara, just a wanna be cafe that has a few things so it can also pretend to be a mini supermarket. Actually, that is generous. There are no fruit or veggies, just noodles, dried pasta and little else. There is a pub though and it has accommodation. I lucked out on getting a room at Lake Rotoroa but I can hear my Mum voicing one of her life mottos, those who don’t ask don’t get. I typically remind her that those who do so don’t get too. Right now I’m wanting her to be right and me to be a whiney kid who asked to have ice cream for dinner, after they’ve been at a birthday party.

And so it is I’m in a warm bed with riding kit that has been through a washing machine drying in the bathroom. I’ve fixed my tube, eaten 2 dinners, and am looking at the possibilities of destination for tomorrow. Given the last few days I don’t want to get ahead of myself so will take it as it comes. Surely I’m due to have a mechanical free day? I can cope with more rain (although the forecast is clearing), I just want a day where all I do is ride, eat, then sleep.

I wake up with cold feet which is unusual. More unusual though is the eventual realisation that they’re cold because they’re wet!! I ignore this, roll over, and go back to sleep. When I next stir the cold, and wet, is up my calves. I look at my watch and as it is after 6 decide to get up and look. There is a centremetre of water in my tent! Fortunately I’m not on flat ground so it is only at my feet. Unfortunately, everything seems to be wet. My riding clothes that were dry and now dripping. My shoes, everything.

I make breakfast, pack everything up, eat and get moving. I’ll need to dry things out later. First stop is Murchison and I ring ahead and secure a cabin in Reefton. I’d like to go further but everything was really wet. So wet that when I arrive I use the heater in the cabin to sort it out. Even with that it takes a couple of hours.

When you’re riding you feel the road, smell the surroundings and hear the land. A branch falls from a tree to my right. The temperature drops precipitously as I begin a descent in the shade. The birds call to me. A hawk is startled by me rounding a bend at speed and startles me is 3m in front of me it emerges from the grass beating his large wings. I can hear them flap and feel the wind being disturbed as it goes up and away from me.

In a car you’re protected from all this. Air-conditioning means you don’t notice the changes in temperature. Suspension and comfortable seats mean you feel the bumps as soft and smooth. I feel them in my teeth sometimes. It takes no effort on a car to go up a hill and there is little appreciation of a downhill that requires no pedaling.

In a car you’re experiencing everything through a screen and like a movie screen can’t give you all the nuanced smells, feel of the breeze cooling your body, or sounds of the surroundings. Rather it is a sanitised, child friendly experience.

My gears aren’t working very well which isn’t surprising given how many kilometres I’ve done without normal cleaning. I also think I may have worn my left pedal or cleat as it is loose. That is what I thought but it gets worse and I notice my left crank is loose! I do roadside maintenance with my mini tool to get me through the day but know it will need more attention.

As I’m stopping early to dry kit, I find the number of the local bike shop and make contact. They’re willing to come down early to help me out. So it will be another later start as I see them at 8:30am. I hope the supermarket is open earlier, there is a toaster in my cabin and I like the idea of hot cross buns for breakfast.

A great meal, brilliant dessert, conversation, and great sleep mean I wake up ready to go. I’m going to need a new tube from a bike shop and they don’t open until 9. I plan to leave at 8:15 and go to a supermarket first. I’m loading the bike when one of my dry bags pulls apart. I just look at the piece on my hand wondering what to do. There is no way to reattach it without comprising the strength or waterproofness. Those are 2 key components of this bag and I’m wondering how to handle this setback.

Andrew puts me in his car and we’re off to the supermarket and a bike shop. The supermarket is a success and I’m sorted for dinner and snacks through the day. I’ve also got mosquito repellent ready for Lake Rotoroa and the West Coast. The only success at the bike shop is a tube. Well 2! I’m not sure why but he sells me 2 and I don’t realise that has happened until after I’ve paid! We drive onto a 2nd bike shop that is closed and not open until Monday.

The 3rd shop has options. I could replace my failed piece of kit but am questioning whether that is a good idea. I liked it, it worked, and had some good features and I was particularly fond of the Paracord webbing I would use to dry my laundry or store my jersey / jacket. But it was fairly new and I had only used it a couple of times before this trip. I make a snap decision, save $100 and purchase something different. A lightweight rack made for trips like I’m on (just like the broken bag I’m still holding onto)!

I’ll need a dry bag for it so we head to the Warehouse. No luck! This is turning into a day off shopping and we head into Kmart hoping for success. And I find it for just $12. It is larger than I really want, but this will get me on the road again. Well, once we’re home, I’ve fitted it, sorted the tube and packed.

That all happens quicky enough that it is just 10:20 when I ride away. Andrew, Saskia and Noodle join me on the 24km through to Wakefield and a bakery. It helps settle my mind and stupid i me trying to race ahead and catch up time. The bakery provides plenty of calories and more that I stash on the bike for later. The normal route is closed from here due to extreme fire risk. That means an additional 27km to go around the area. Then I add another km to head to the Taparewa Store and get something to drink. I make good time and pull into Lake Rotoroa in daylight. There are no showers so I take a dip in the lake to freshen up. Then I pitch the tent while heating up my dinner of rice and tuna. Once ready I jump into the tent with them to escape the sandflies. They’re as hungry as I am but it number me by around a billion!!

Sleep is nagging me while I eat. Then I manage to silence her for another 5 minutes by going to the toilet and brushing my teeth. It is no use though, also is bullying me and I’m cornered so surrender as the rain falls on my tent making a rhythmic, percussive and gentle beat. It is a beat I imagine is the soundtrack for counting sheep.

I’m so fortunate to have such great parents and my Dad drops me to the ferry at 7am (a late start for him). I ate something at home and have bought extra food for the crossing. However, I still decided I need more so get some fries. It is 11 o’clock and I’ve eaten almost as much as I would on a normal day.

It is difficult getting started so late in the morning and I’m straight into a climb as I stay off the main highway and take the quieter and much more scenic road around the Queen Charlotte Sounds. I have a really big climb ahead and I know it. The shop at Pelorus Bridge is closed and I knew that too. I still stop and ask, I’m procrastinating knowing what is coming. It is hot but I’ve got plenty of fluid and I bought an extra pastry at lunch for the top. I have to walk parts of the Maungatapu because it is steep, rough and loose. I marvel at how this was once the connection between Nelson and Picton. No wonder people didn’t travel much!

The descent is the same. Steep, rough and loose. It is like my bike has become a bucking bronco and I’m a cowboy hanging as I get thrown left, then right, and plenty of up and down! I’m doing good and this would be a gold medal run if it was at a rodeo. But it isn’t. I’m on a bike pointed downhill and I’m bouncing between rocks. One attacks and hits my frame with a ping. Others are thrown from my wheel violently as if there is an explosion happening at my rear wheel.

Then there is an explosion. Air and sealant are ejected like a fighter pilot from a plane about to crash. I grab the brakes and stop as quickly as I can. One look at the centimetre gash in the tyre and I know I’ll need to put a tube in. I sigh as I had stopped briefly yesterday at the bike shop to add some more sealant. The gash is bad enough I add a tyre boot so the tube won’t burst through the split sidewall. Then tired and disappointed I set off again. This time I’m not the triumphant cowboy enjoying every moment.

It gets worse, the tube isn’t holding air so I have to stop and pump it up again. This will mean a late start in the morning so I can get it sorted. That is probably a good thing because I’m staying with Kym and Andrew so don’t really want to racing off while they’re still asleep!

All my energy has gone and the great cycle lanes in Nelson are wasted on me. I’m going so slow if I was on the footpath pedestrians would be at no risk. They either likely pass me. I arrive at Kym and Andrew’s done. If I was a piece of supermarket fruit I would be left alone in the box with nobody wanting something so far past its best.