Yesterday, as I cycled the 68km north from Auckland to Warkworth, I experienced a moment of epiphany. I was cycling up yet another hill, this one both longer and with a steeper gradient than the others I had already encountered. What occurred to me was nothing, if it was not the most blindingly obvious fact that I had subconsciously known all along. In a split second moment of comprehension, that thought became a living reality. I do not have a choice, I must keep going.
In the morning, shortly after 10am, I began my journey. It seemed that everyone in the apartment hotel was trying to leave at exactly the same time and I had waited patiently as the doors of each elevator pinged open, revealing an already full compartment, with no chance of taking my fully loaded bike and I down to the lobby, so that I could check out. After five or six full elevators had trundled down from the upper floors, each one seemingly more full than the one before, I hit upon a canny idea and pressed the up button. I figured that elevators coming up were more likely to be empty - I was right.
It was all down hill from the hotel to the ferry terminal and a good job too. Not only did I have my full panniers, I also needed to carry a large pack on my back containing those items that I would not be taking on my tour, which I was to drop off at the bike shop on my way through. The rain and strong winds that had gusted the day before had thankfully abated and I freewheeled downhill under broken cloud and blue skies. From the back of the ferry, I watched Auckland recede into the distance and I said a quiet goodbye. How would I be feeling the next time I came this way? Pack dropped off with Megan at Auckland Cycles and after some ribbing from her and her assistant about the amount of weight I was carrying ("but I need my laptop"), I wheeled the bike out of the ferry terminal building, straddled the crossbar, slipped my right foot inside of its toeclip, and pushed off with my left leg. My trip had begun in earnest.
Twenty five minutes later and feeling like the kid who had dropped a quarter and found twenty dollars, I was sitting having a coffee in Takapuna. Everything had been easy, the bike felt good, well balanced and I was feeling ecstatic, almost giddy with the happiness of being on the road at last. I wanted to take this first day easy and although I had maintained a good level of general fitness, I was not in the best physical conditioning for cycling long distances. A late morning, congratulatory coffee seemed the order of the day, and sitting outside on the pavement in the warm sunshine, I called my parents to test my Skype connection on my newly acquired smartphone, and to share in my moment of joy.
Pushing on, I began to leave the suburbs of northern Auckland behind and the road opened up. This was what it was all about! I was afforded stunning vistas across the water and out to Waiheke Island. Up and down rises and falls in the road I pedalled and I felt energised and electric. Each time I came to an uphill section, I worried that my legs were going to give out, but they didn't. In fact, they felt strong and I began to give thanks for the gym work I had put in over the Christmas period back in England, and for the hours of riding under severe heat and humidity, up the sharp inclines of the coastal roads in Costa Rica. I could not help myself from smiling and, with each new incredible view of the New Zealand scenery, I broke out into a beaming grin and laughed. I was doing it. I was living my dream.
At a distance of around 30km, I stopped for lunch and a coffee refuelling in Orewa, a lovely beach town, bustling with locals and tourists, all out enjoying the sun, that had now become quite hot. I had forgotten the intensity of the New Zealand sunshine. It is one thing to be out in 35C temperatures and sun in Costa Rica, but quite another to feel the sun in New Zealand, even at low temperatures. It burns. Or rather, it shines and you burn. I could feel it on my arms a little and on my upper lip that was beginning to dry out. No matter, I had no choice but to continue and to push on for Warkworth, which I was sure lay only a further 10 or 20kms up the road at most. I leaned over to the cafe table next to me and asked them. "Ah yeah, 30 or 40k's I'd say." What? Surely not, couldn't be. I felt a little crest fallen. I could feel myself tiring slightly and the thought of another 40kms in this heat was a lot. Not the easy first day I had envisaged at all.
Think of New Zealand and you possibly picture the stunning mountain scenery, that gave such an incredible and beautiful natural backdrop to the Lord of the Rings and Hobbit movies. That's all down in the south, on South Island. I was heading north, towards the upper tip of the north island. I had figured it was fairly flat this way. Out of Orewa, the more serious hills began. After I crested each one, I hoped to spy Warkworth laying down at the bottom, and each time I was wrong. I sat on the saddle and I pumped and I pushed. On one hill, about half way up, I pushed the level to drop down a gear, so that I could spin the pedals more easily. With a gut wrenching feeling of dismay, almost bordering on panic, I realised I had no where to go. It was either this gear or get off and walk. I never walk. Not ever. I dug in, turned the pedals, found a rhythm, 1-2-3-4, 1-2-3-4, 1-2-3-4, over and over. That rhythm consumed me, it needed to. It kept me going and as the road began to level out towards the top, I looked up and turned my head to the side. I smiled. I had been so caught up in getting over the hill, I had forgotten why I was doing this. The views were great reward for my efforts. Of course, if you go up, logic says that you must go down again and on the seat of a bicycle, arms and legs tucked in, butt pushed backwards, head down low over the bars, you not only go down, you fly. I hit speeds of over 60km/h as I rocketed down, sweeping around bends, staying in the middle of the road, going as fast as the cars behind me. Exhilaration and joy supreme.
But I did begin to fear that I could not make too many more of these ascents. Not on my first day. Perhaps I had bitten off more than I could chew? Perhaps I had been over ambitious with my plans and distances? I was worried that through the night (assuming I ever reached Warkworth), my legs would stiffen terribly and I would be in some difficulties the next day. I was now on flat road, close to the coastline, winding around bend after bend. I stared at my cycle computer 65km covered, 66, 67, and then it came into view and I felt a sense of accomplishment and a huge sense of relief. Warkworth. I had finally made it. Day one was over, I was on my way.
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I decided to spend an extra day in Warkworth and take a look around. It's a very picturesque town and I feel I owe it to myself as a reward. One point to note is that on waking this morning, there is no stiffness in my legs, no aches, no pains, no nothing. Quite remarkably, they feel good. Tomorrow I'll test them out again, as I continue my journey north.
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