Dawn creeped slowly up the hill like a tired mountaineer. I watched the inky darkness slowly washed into silhouettes of a dramatic landscape. The coffee went down easy, as it always does and before it was entirely sipped the dark shapes of the landscape gave way to the jaw dropping beauty of this country.

The reality of the decision last night to abandon the ride was creeping up on me as the level of coffee in my cup went down. It wasn’t easy or simple, and there was far more involved than just my desire and lust for adventure. Beyond that was the reality that campsites were being shutdown and public transport stopped. There was also the example I would be setting as a Father around being a good citizen and responsible parent.

To go forward would be to put more distance between myself and any possible exit route. It would be a couple of days before the next town major enough to support a quick extraction.

So we turned left onto Highway 63 and began the ride back towards Picton and the ferry that would take me home. The first 30km was a gentle climb as if the road was questioning the decision to abandon. After morning tea at St Arnaud everything changed and the road ran downhill with a tail wind as if it was helping me get home faster.

So it is I’m at a friend’s in-laws in Blenheim before cycling onto Picton tomorrow for the ferry home. The good news? TA organisers have advised we should abandon and can continue from where we were whenever we are ready. Of course, I think I’ll want to return and start again, just probably back at Cape Reinga!

Dawn came without the added extra of last night. Blue sky and sunshine meant the only dampness was what was left in my shoes and socks. The brightness and promise of the day was literally and figurative as I raced through breakfast, coffee and preparations so I could get riding.

There was cycle paths for most of the day, but leaving Nelson they were just from another world. Being separated is brilliant, but following the coastline made it just magical. I can only imagine the mystique that would have surrounded me had departure not been hampered by the late arrival.

Despite the promise of the morning, the weather just can’t make up it’s mind. Like a child who hasn’t decided what their favorite meal is trying to order at MacDonald’s, it wants to be clear, overcast, and raining all at the same time yet doesn’t do anything. The weather threatens all day. First a burning day with blue skies, then another downpour as moody clouds bully the horizon.

Mountains marshall me between hills. They’re different to the North Island, more menacing and tough. The faraway peaks are like celebrities and the foothills bodyguards employed to look like you don’t want to mess with them. Mercifully we never reach these thugs slowly picking up altitude along gentle country roads.

When I’m on the road it mostly seems like I’m going to ride it to the very end. It starts out wide and smooth with markings and berms. Then there berms disappear and there is just a centre line. The road narrows further and the line disappears. Just a thin black line running ahead as if trying to lose me. But I’m chasing her down and eventually she gives up and stops. I’m on gravel now and even that begins to fade. Less gravel, more dirt and narrowing still. Then darkness!

The road never ends, it just keeps on going. But the Tour? That may have been torpedoed by the Covid-19 virus. Sleep first though and a breakfast meeting will make the decision.

Arriving into Picton am hour and a half late was always going to make the day a challenge. Ahead was a lazy ride around part of the Queen Charlotte Sound to Havelock, then onto Pelorus Bridge. On paper that was easy and on the road it was too. In places there we hills that were forestry with parts cleared. It made the hillside look like the head someone whose older brother had ordered to shave their head. Parts were bald, others had a short amount of growth while still another had long flowing hair.

Ahead were similar clouds to previous days. Threatening just to look at, but previously mellow when they spoke. Today was different though and from Havelock we had drizzle, that turned to rain by Pelorus Bridge, and became torrential with freezing winds on the Maungatapu. Initially everything was fine in the rain and with pedaling up hill my internal furnace was burning hot. However the final 3km was difficult to ride given the surface of rocks and gravel. The rocks were big and difficult to continue tiding straight over, but there was no way around them. So in the final few km there was walking

The saddle was the coldest part and the descent sketchy. Then the light disappeared in the first few hundred metres and so began the story of the longest slowest descent. Cold enveloped me quickly as there was no pedaling on the down. But when we hit the tarmac our legs spun fast and we teleported into Nelson where we find a bed and hot shower without needing to setup tents in the rain.

What is it about the first day that had things not go to plan?