Originally I had thought I might ride back through Mt Nicholas and Walter Peak station then catch the Earnslaw to Queenstown. With a pretty ordinary forecast (rain all day) I booked a shuttle, had dinner with a few other riders and a good sleep. I woke up feeling good and rang to check details of the shuttle (bags on/off the bike etc) and was told my booking read cancelled!! Apparently they have limited capacity to carry bikes and the 11am shuttle couldn’t take me and my bike. The offered to transfer me to the afternoon shuttle service would have worked with my timeline. Then they said I could go but my bike wouldn’t!! So I hurriedly got changed and put things in their right place on the bike then loaded a route for Walter Peak station.

The app suggested a ride time of just under 5 and a half hours which meant I could sabras in a lunch break and make it. Happy with this I set off feeling pretty good and in the sunshine (the rain had cleared). About 12km into the ride I doubted my route choice as the road sign said no exit. I guessed – or perhaps hoped – this simply meant there was a walking trail ahead. A friendly farmer in a 4WD waved me down and asked where I was heading. I hoped I would hear about what was ahead and did. Ahead was a private farm track that I couldn’t ride down!! Apparently somebody snuck through once and marked it as a road on Google (which I wasn’t using) and now they get plenty of people like me trying to pass through. Turned around I headed back to the no exit sign and looked at options. After 23km of unnecessary gravel I was back on the highway (boo) and eventually back on track.

I started to wonder if I would make it and tried to up the tempo. This wasn’t smart because I was riding into a headwind, again! The rain came and went and I came to the conclusion I wouldn’t be eating lunch! I hadn’t stocked up before leaving Te Anau as I had a tin of peaches, myself bars, an almost full bag of mixed nuts, half a jar of peanut butter and a dehydrated meal. I had anticipated stopping, boiling water for the meal and maybe a coffee but this had turned into a race. Mercifully I swung around a bend and the wind was now coming at my shoulder not my face. Then another bend marking the spot I had pulled in when riding TA for lunch near the Mavora Lakes. This one gave me a tailwind and I started to hope I would make the Earnslaw.

As I approached the top of the Vonn Hill I refilled my drink bottle and ditched the extra water I had. It wouldn’t have weighed much but I needed every sliver of hope I could find. I was beginning to think I’d make it but was flagging faster than a toddler overdue for their nap. Coming down the Vonn Hill was like I was riding a curved waterslide. It wasn’t the smoothest descent of the ride but it wasn’t rough enough to slow me down and I was watching the time tick away at the same tempo as the km left to Walter Peak. It was going to be close so I didn’t want to slow down. I did a couple of times though as I met TA cyclists going the other way (the way I’m going today is definitely more fun – a proper descent and climb at 20km an hour, well 16km by the time I neared the top)! It was a yin and yang moment as we crossed paths with me whooping and yipping in delight coming down faster than a rock dropped from a bridge as they huffed and puffed like old stream trains up the gradient.

I pulled into Walter Peak station with enough time to buy my ticket – after a nervous 3 minutes while they checked availability – use the toilet and ask for some hot water so I could finally eat that dehydrated meal 3 hours after I needed it and 4 hours after I wanted it!

Once in Queenstown I had an easy as possible 20km ride to the hotel near the airport, checked in and stripped off most of my heart, boiled the jug to make a luxury hot chocolate (that is what the packet said and that is how it tasted), then collapsed in a chair for 40 minutes. I think I was cooked physically and mentally and needed a moment to catch-up with everything. The shower was beckoning from the other side of the room and promised to be the best one ever, but I just started vacantly at the walls for another 20 minutes. It was hunger that got me to the shower and out the door for dinner before sleep leapt from the glowing TV and dragged me under its warm embrace until an urgent warning sign from my bladder had me surface.

I don’t set an alarm as I know I’ll wake early and I’m laying awake in my tent at 5:20am. There is no reason not to get up and go except the darkness so I put on a podcast and end up dozing for an hour! Then I’m up and moving getting ready to roll and start rolling within an hour.

As I ride I think about this and the previous day riding solo. Suddenly I’m aware that I’m not constantly thinking about what I’m doing or not doing. With others on the ride I’m continuously thinking, and I up to early? Am I taking too long to pack up? Have I packed up too quickly and are they going to panic? Am I riding too fast? Too slow? Do they want to stop? Do I want to stop? I’d like to end here today. I want to ride another hour today. We should get up and over this pass tonight before the weather.

Riding by myself I’m not having this train of thought on a circular loop running all day in my head. Rather I’m riding at my own pace (very dictated by the headwinds I’ve had), stopping when I want and pulling in for the night without needing consensus. I’m also perfectly happy in my own company. Yes I’m a little different to most, but I embrace that now and revel in my quirkiness and almost flaunt my peculiarities.

I arrived into Te Anau around 4pm which is a bad time to get somewhere. It is a little early for dinner and too early to stop. This is complicated by having booked accommodation here for the next two nights. I go find a supermarket to stock up on supplies for tomorrow and also drop into Subway for a footlong as part of my food. Only when I have all this food jammed on and around my bike with surplus bits in my small collapsible backpack do I think the best idea will be to use the cabin I’ve booked, get a good night sleep (in a proper bed as opposed to a tent) and get away early.

“I’m pulling the pin” are almost the first words of it Keith’s mouth. I’m puzzled and disbelieving at first, before starting to ask, “why?” He hasn’t been feeling well and has woken up feeling even worse. In fairness to him, he does look pretty terrible. And I’m not talking about the normal morning hair, squishy face kind of terrible either! Like a pair of dottery old ladies we worry about each other. Keith, concerned that him not continuing will impact our friendship. And me worrying if he needs help getting himself sorted to get home. After all, this is Alexandra, hardly a metropolis of New Zealand. And so it is I’m cycling alone.

There is only one stop for food on the intended route today and that is at the 60km mark. It is a cafe and I have a Coke and cheese scone as I prepare myself for the 1000 m climb coming up. The climb is monumental in my world and while I manage to ride it all I do take a couple of stops. At one point my bike computer tells me it is 22.3% gradient. It is David vs Goliath and I try to be smart as I spin my legs as easy as the weight of my bike and that nasty gradient will allow. It is a steady but gradual victory unlike David’s although I’m not sure if he had to announce for a gale wind when he slung his slingshot. At the summit I pause, eat and put another layer of clothing on. The wind is chilly and I’m about to descend. It is an absolute ripper and I’m blasting downhill at who knows what speed? I’m not willing to look and definitely aren’t going to pull out the GoPro to film anything. All I know is that I’m coming down at such a rate my ears pop.

Now I’m in the Nevis Valley and slowly rolling towards the final climb. The headwind is harassing me and nobody seems to want to take my complaint. The terrain is rough again and there are plenty more river crossings. What did I expect though? I wanted an adventure, I wanted wilderness and I wanted a challenge. I’m getting all three over and advice expectations as I ride through this valley of nothing but stark and rugged movement. The grass bends to the will of the wind unlike me. The hills surrounding the valley gently coddle the land like a loving mother. And the mountains in the distance shoot skyward, jagged and foreboding. I keep pedaling with wet feet – that aren’t cold today – counting down the kilometres until the climb.

The plan is to finish the climb and then stop 2km into the descent at an old ski hutt that is now DOC accommodation. As I climb up this final challenge of the day, I start thinking about dinner and bed. I’ll have a better mattress in the DOC hut (but saying much) than my inflatable one, but be in my sleeping bag that is like sleeping with a boa constrictor. It is warm and I’m enjoying the adventure and the challenge, but beginning to wane as the afternoon sun dips lower in the sky.

The descent begins and the valley below is stunning. The road snakes ahead and I slither down it leaning into the bends and attempting to soar like the hawks I spotted earlier in the day. And then the ski hut is in front of me. I skid to a halt and check the time, just after 5pm. Looking at my guide book I see this brilliant descent continues all the way to Garston, then 11km further along the flat is a campground. I hurriedly pull my jersey on, keen to continue this incredible descent. There is nobody watching or getting to see just how much fun this is for me except the sun now low in the sky. I expect that if I was traveling at a speed conducive to looking up, it would be a sun like I remember drawing as a kid – in the corner of the page with a beaming smile.

The day starts well with a full cooked breakfast. Then we leave in the rain, cold, and strong headwind. It is 30km to the top and while I’m not enjoying myself yet, I’m feeling pretty good. Quickly we’re on country roads and then quickly they’re gravel roads. The wind is strong, cold, and a headwind. Not ideal riding conditions. Despite the hills hiding from us behind dark heavy grey blankets, I know there are hills I can’t see there too. There is a sliver of blue ahead that promises sunlight and no rain. We pedal on in the wind and rain.

It is boarding on gale force before we start the climb properly and 3 cyclists have already turned around. We continue fighting the gradient, the surface, and the wind. If it were just one, maybe two of those three I think I would have ridden it, but all the made it too difficult. I rode maybe 2/3rds as it is a losing battle and I walk, pushing my bike up the pass. Nearer the top the sun comes out which means the rain has played hide and seek but the wind still wants to play catch and kiss.

The down begins and it is rough. However, I’m charging towards a hut a couple of km down the pass. I plan to make coffee and take a moment to warm myself. All is going well until the last 400m. I stop and examine the situation, it isn’t looking good for me. Between me and the hut are not one, but two river crossings. The water is icy and immediately chill my feet. I cycle out and on towards the hut and the gale southerly snatches the feeling from my toes. The cabin is out of the wind but not warm. As I make a coffee I pointlessly remove my shoes and socks. I don’t realise the futility of this yet, but I will about 100m after riding onwards.

What follows are 39 river crossings. I didn’t count them, rather, somebody told me. They take a toll on my temperature, my body (bouncing over rocks is hard work), and my morale. I’m still battling the wind and while I wanted an adventure, this is one with some testing elements included. While the sun is warm, I don’t ever get toasty and spend most the day somewhere between “just right” and “maybe I need another layer.” I comfort myself with the thought of hot food once I finish this section.

It ends in a small store with an empty pie warmer and no other hot food options. The man incident senses my disappointment and desperation and offers to defrost and microwave something for me. I’m grateful, but decline knowing that there is a cabin waiting for me 60km down the Otago rail trail. The wind does it’s best to stop me but all it can do now is cool me off and slow me a little. The scenery is incredible after the wilderness of the day and it is like I’m riding through the movie set for the animated movie cars.

Arriving in Alexandra I head to a supermarket first. I want a curry tonight but the day continues to disappoint as they don’t have any from the line I want. I get a danish from the bakery, chocolate milk, and a family pack of sausage rolls for the morning then head to the campground. Pizza is ordered to be delivered, washing out through the machine and a shower had before a great sleep in a tiny, but proper bed.

Yesterday ended and I wasn’t feeling particularly good on the bike. Dinner read fish and chips which was probably a poor choice but there was some peer pressure. I slept better in the tent, but still not great so was pleased to have chocolate milk for my coffee in the morning. We purchased a loaf of Vogels bread and a hat of peanut butter which I spread 5+mm thick. There was pretty much the same thickness of bread and there was peanut butter. Then for good measure to ate a tablespoon of the peanut butter before offering the remaining bread and peanut butter to the other riders at the campground. We all left the camp happy.

Very quickly the ride went to gravel today but it was different gravel to what we rode yesterday. At times yesterday half the road was smooth, dry, fast dirt and the other half thick, slow gravel. It made me think of a half bald man with a comb over. One side of the road was blissfully unaware that the other didn’t have a single piece of gravel on it. Well, there were a few rather lonely stones.

After a short drop it is like I’m in a bowl. The mountains rise up all around me and like a dropped peanut I’m rolling across the bottom of the bowl. There is brown grass waving as I roll on and scattered around are baby pine trees. It is almost as though they’re the remnants of a coming mixture left on the sides of the bowl and I’m the little kids finger dragging along the bowl ready to be licked.

We come to Lake Ohau and the track gets more fun. Rather than pedaling beside a canal with a swirling wind, we’re now winding our way around the lake edge. The track is smooth dirt with grass edges like a fur collar. Then there are bushes lining both sides like spectators at the Tour de France. None wave flags or run alongside us but they do seem to exhort us to ride faster. It is windy and windy – I had to write that because the English language is stupid but makes sense. The wind whines and the track winds.

We exit the lake trail and pickup a country road for 5km. It is tarseal, has no markings, and is narrow enough that cars can’t really pass without slowing significantly, a bonus in my mind! The wind is strong and while I’m feeling physically good today, mentally I’m being beaten. We pull into the Lake Ohau lodge for a short break and some food. I have a can of drink and the biggest cookie I’ve ever seen. Then I return to my bike for the scone I had stashed and some other bits and pieces.

With just 43k to the destination we set off on a 10k climb. It isn’t particularly steep and the wind is now behind us pushing us towards the summit. We catch and pass half a dozen other cyclists and pause to compare stories and journeys. They’re not doing Sounds to Sounds and ride unladen bikes 50-70km a day with their bags and them being shuttled to the start and end of the tracks. We can see all the way back around the lake to the canal we had been cruising beside several hours earlier. Then we started the descent.

I wasn’t expecting such a glorious downhill. Mostly the track was smooth but sections were pretty bumpy. But this didn’t stop me. Rather it almost taunted me to go faster. Like a brother getting you to jump from higher I respond and are screaming down the track. I pass another half dozen cyclists calling out merrily that I’m coming on their left and they can keep going. With the wind, our speed, and the sound generated by bikes rolling downhill I’m not sure they hear me. I end that section with a grin and mix up a new bottle of drink while awaiting Keith. He arrives smiling ahead of all the other cyclists we had both passed. And then, 30k to town. And it was fast! Like I think I only took 45 mins to cover the 33km blasting down the gravel road close to 50km, then pedaling at 50km on the road to Omarama and a cabin.

It bothers me when people say, “I can’t” at their first response to something. I’m hearing it a lot when random people ask where we’ve come from and where we’re going. “I couldn’t do that” is the standard response. I’ve got three responses; First one is, “of course you can. 10 years ago I rode the 20km into work, took over an hour, and couldn’t walk or ride for the next week.”  The second response is my more typical one, “you might surprise yourself, I certainly did.” The third, which I haven’t used but it runs through my mind is much more of an existential one about the universe, eternity, and a creator.

I remain startled at what I’m capable of in terms of riding. This is my third big bike trip and the numbers each day are amazing considering I’m not fast, or skilled on the bike. Rather I just enjoy the adventure, exploring the country, and discovering what is possible. Turns out one amazing day can be followed by another. Then one more. And then more still! “I can’t” should be, “I don’t want to” just like, “I’m too busy” should be, “I didn’t make it a priority.”

It is cold as we ride out from the supermarket having stocked up on food for the ~120km through to Tekapo and the next supplies. I struggle to find a speed fast enough that I can warmup, yet slow enough the wind doesn’t snatch the warmth before my body can enjoy it. There isn’t and wind other than what I’m generating, but I can’t find a place that strikes the balance. The sky is like a painters canvas that began being covered in blue. Then in some experimental or impressionist style I don’t understand there is a steak of white cloud like they stood back with a tin of white paint and threw it the length of the canvas. Now the blue sky has some white streaks and the sun promises to warm me as the day goes on.

There is a detour because of a road closure which messes with our calculations because our devices show the way but nothing matches what is in the book. I use the book so I know distances to towns, climbs, and rough altitude indications. Eventually we work things out and discover we’ve ridden an additional 10km to what is in the book. The bonus of this was a cafe stop in Pleasant Point. That is the 2nd consecutive morning with a cafe stop. The previous morning was an early lunch in a proper town, and tomorrow looks like it will be the same.

Mackenzie Pass isn’t too bad despite one big kick up. Watching my altitude gradually close in on 780m altitude which is the summit. I’m expecting a sign to announce this but it is simply a bend in the road. You can look both ways and be impressed at the landscape unravels whichever way I look. I can tear down where I road up and disappear into the country, or rip down the otherwise and be swallowed by wilderness.

The final drag into Tekapo is a drag. I’m struggling and guess it is the culmination of the previous days catching up. A good dinner and reasonable sleep (in the tent) should short me out.

We’re zigging and zagging our way out of Christchurch. Left, then right, then right again as we navigate the marvelous cycle paths. If you were watching from above it must look like the jagged hemline of a school sewing project. Leaving suburbia we track the motorway (still on a cycle path) randomly crossing sides. This continues all the way to Rolleston like the straight line and excited child would draw when drawing for their grandparent.

The weather can’t decide what to do. To the right of me is rain, and to the left more rain. I’m riding through the middle feeling a little like Moses walking through the parted Red Sea. Occasionally I get spits but it never amounts to anything. Looking around, it’s as if there’s an undone jacket. The left and the right of me are brooding dark clouds holding lots of moisture. Then suddenly rolling thunder claps and travels alongside me like an audible Mexican wave. Occasionally the zip of the jacket is done up and the two sides of rain come together making me a little wet. Then the jacket is unzipped as if the raid had decided it is too warm for a jacket and I’m in sunshine again.

As I swing around a been to begin the drop to the Rakaia Gorge a hail storm commences. I’m racing downhill getting attacked by tiny projectile missiles that sting when they make contact. Like kamikaze pilots they melt on impact then my speed and physics leave them unable to hold on. I pause at the gorge to take in the descent and prepare for the climb when the sun comes out. The day is not done though, and I will need my rain jacket before I stop for the night in Geraldine.

The light is stunning as we gently roll out of Hurunui. The pace is lumbering and somewhat stop-motion’esque. Enjoying the peace we say little as the birds call out to us the cows and calves talk among themselves.

My ears are tuned to the sound of vehicles approaching on quiet country roads and I hold my line as they approach then move in hoping they’re giving me lots of space. As I’m about to move in a voice calls out,”jump on the train!” It is a group of five riders that appear to be on the same schedule. They’re keen to ride the roads faster than we have but when you’re tucked in behind it is fine. We take turns through to Hawarden where my plan is to get a bacon & egg pie or sausage roll. We’re 12 minutes before opening time but listen to our stomachs and wait. Disappointment. There is no hot food so I mope around not sure what to do now.

The country is gentle and rolling here without mini climbs to text the body. Coming around a bend. There are two rather large hills where the road snakes between. It makes me think of a giant piece of cake cut in two large slices by a child. The trees look like the icing is dripping down the side which makes me longingly reminisce about my earlier loss. The reality is most of the country here is more like an unbaked apple pie sitting on the bench. Soft lumpy no great rises or peaks. The latticed pastry hugs the form of the apples gradually rising and falling like the road although it is not straight. Much like an uncooked pie, it is rather flat like the rippled of sand beneath the high water mark on the beach.

The train has separated at the first shop but stays in touch until the hills. Just like that pie will puff up in the oven this is what we head into. Our body temperatures rise as if it is us in the oven and the train blows apart. Some appear to be fighting to be the caboose. Not sure if they want to, or don’t want to, I ride my own pace before sitting up and relaxing on the down to Amberley. Here, part of the train (Marty and Brandon) catch me. They seem to want to push harder on the road than I naturally do but I jump on the back and we race away. At a corner we stop to chat while we wait for our respective groups. All together again the train pulls out and we ride in the mid-thirties through to Amberley. It is a pace I would be pleased to commute at and here I am on a fully loaded bike having ridden 400km in the 3 previous days.

Amberley was supposed to be lunch done tone after 12:30 but we’re here and eating at 11am. I’ve come through the hills of Canterbury I never knew. I always just knew the plains and in the distance three mountains. I didn’t realize there was such rolling and remote roads on what I thought were the sprawling Canterbury Plains. One hillside has boulders just popping up through the surface. It is like they’re laying in bed still dozing and thinking about whether they will get up. It reminds me of a kindergarten at nap time with parts of bodies protruding from a tightly gripped blanket.

Days like today it feels like I could ride forever. The climbing was little and much of the ride went gradually down. I feel like a clockwork wind up toy pedaling away occasionally slowing before the tail wind winds me up perpetually allowing me to move without running out of energy.

The day ends early at 3:30pm after I have pulled off the route and made my way to Shaun & Michelle, Aria and Honor’s. I’d normally want to push on but am looking forward to an evening with them before heading onwards in the morning.

It is cold and for the first time ever while on a bikepacking trip I use my thermals. I even keep the merino hat on under my helmet despite starting with a climb. I’d forgotten that I’m a slow starter and it takes a decent climb, a descent, then a long stretch of flat before I start taking layers off.

The landscape is crazy and appears to have black freckles. They’re just cows dotted over a mottled complexion on the face of mother earth. I look ahead and notice I’m surrounded by jagged mountains like grumpy old men and rolling hills like gentle, soft spoken grandmothers. The mountains have scree slopes that look like a scar running down the head of a bald man and the occasional scattered growth of fauna give the appearance of a grandfather without much hair who let is 4 year old niece give him a haircut.

On this half of the Molesworth the terrain is rough. Water ruts and corrugations make it feel like I’m in a can of paint on the mixing machine at times. You can’t hold your speed and the brakes get used a lot more. For the first time ever I use them as I approach a vehicle, it is rather unusual though. It isn’t the motorbike with a sidecar, nor is it the geriatric could in a proper 4×4 motorhome. Rather it is a unimog. Carrying horses! They stand up top 3 or 4 abreast jostling for position to see the cyclists coming their way.

The descent into Hanmer is fast and furious. The steepness demands I hold my brakes as I bounce my way down the track losing more than 400m from the final pass before riding into town and direct to a rubbish bin. I can’t believe that since Blenheim I’ve ended up with my food bag now half full with rubbish! I guess the packs from the two freeze dry dinners, wrappers from 3 McDonald’s Chicken and Bacon muffins, an empty packet of biscuits, breakfast this morning, empty chocolate milk bottle, electrolyte drink mix and a fair amount of additional papers from the census! It remains empty momentarily as I’m straight into the supermarket for some lunch and more snacks. The next few days we’re in and out of towns so I should be able to carry less food and ditch rubbish more regularly.

The ride from Hanmer to Culverdon is fast and I mostly ride at 32km thanks to a trail wind and a gradual decline. I pull in and look to see my average speed, 28km on a fully loaded bike. Remembering I didn’t get soap in Hanmer I quickly grab a new bar here. Last night I was robbed while cleaning up in the creek. The current snatched my soap then ran away faster than I was willing to chase given my pants were around my ankles at the moment of the crime.

Continuing I have my first trail angel encounter on Sounds to Sounds a sign announces chocolates and water are waiting but it is the shade the beckons. I grab a chocolate and await for Keith who was getting picked on by a headwind when a school bus pulls up. The lady hops out to chat and mentions the insane cyclists she saw the other day who are riding from Marlborough Sounds to Milford Sounds. She laughs at me and herself and takes a moment to tell me about her new bus and the kids she drives.

Then we press on and let the gentle downhill pull me towards Hurunui. The wind jobs in this game and gently pushes me as if wanting me to clean myself up before eating an enormous burger, a full plate of fries and some onion rings on the side. Other cyclists arrive and we compare plans between mouthfuls, then tell stories from our ride on the track, washing them down with our drinks.