A Dream Or A Memory - The Choice Is Yours To Make

The sun beat down on an already parched land. The wind blew across the fields of brown and withered grass, bending stalks, creating the illusion of a wave running across an ocean. To the east, the ocean itself, its waters a beautiful and rich azure, that deepened and darkened away from the shore. Across to the west, majestic and towering, the mountain peaks, snow clinging to the northern slopes, even now, resisting the days of high summer. Ahead, the road snaked on and on, writhing and twisting its way around the coastline. This was the coast road that linked the towns of Blenheim and Kaikoura, on the South Island of New Zealand. Along this road, I now cycled.

Parched and dry land

How can I explain the feelings that I experienced yesterday? How do I explain the childish grin that erupted across my face, the wild, untamed laughter and the beating of my chest and the punching of my fist in the air, as I uttered a cry of pure and utter, unabated joy? It sounds like a madness and it is. It is the madness that comes from following your heart, from going in pursuit of your dream, and from the moment of realisation. That here you are, dream and reality are inseparable, each melding into one, no longer able to distinguish where dream ends and reality begins, the dream is no longer only a dream, it is now, it is here, it is reality, and soon it will be a memory. A memory that exists from an actual experience. No longer the thought of what might be, no longer the wonder of how it would be.

The reward after a long, hard climb

Since the first time I drove this road in 2004, I have thought of it. For me, it is one of the most beautiful, scenic and stunning roads that exists on this planet. It reminds me of State Highway 1, the Pacific Coast Highway, that runs the coastline of California, particularly the section from Los Angeles up to San Francisco, through the Big Sur. Kaikoura itself is also a very special place. I came here for the first time in the New Zealand winter of 2004.

I'd driven all day, coming up from Queenstown in the south, after I'd scared myself witless making my first (and last) bungy jump from the Kawarau Bridge, the home of the first commercially operated bungy in the world. I'd driven into the night through heavy rain, so that I would be in Kaikoura in time to go whale watching the following day, something I certainly did not want to miss. I'd never known nor suspected what would await me the next morning, and I think it was all the more special because of that. It came as a complete surprise. From the first moment that I pulled open the curtains on my motel room and stood in jaw-dropping awe, my eyes taking in the crescent of beach that arced around to the north, the water glittering and sparkling, as the sun shone out of a perfect clear blue sky, and the mountains to the north, standing tall and mighty, blanketed in snow, I was in love. From that moment, Kaikoura was special to me.

Ocean and mountains

Dream or memory? Both live within our thoughts and our consciousness. Each is nothing more than some form of mysterious electrical pulse that exists within the matter of our brains. Some dreams are so vivid that on waking, it seems that they exist in memory, as real moments that were actually experienced. But they were not. Dreams are good. Without a dream in the heart, it is not possible to push yourself, to strive to be more than you are, to seek out the unknown. A dream must not stay in the heart forever. In the heart, caged like a prisoner, the dream will eventually wither and die. As the dream dies, so too does a little piece of the soul – of your very own soul. Each dream that dies, means that you are one step closer to the end, to the inevitable darkness that must consume us all.

Turning a dream into a memory, that is the key that will unlock the universe. A dream that becomes a memory is never dead. It has been been given life and it has transmuted into a memory. And as a memory, it will happily live on forever more. A dream that is a memory is your companion for the rest of your days. It is there to be recalled, to be looked upon and to be relived. In so doing, you will feel the joy and the happiness as you felt them in the moment that you first realised the dream and you will know in that moment one very important thing – that you lived your life and that you followed your heart.

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A Home For the Homeless

120 km.  That's how far I had cycled the previous day, now I was only 69 km from Wellington.  For the most part the road was flat, my dear old adversary, the wind, was from the side and perhaps slightly from behind, helping me towards my goal on what I knew would be a special day.  The sky was clear and blue, the sun beat down and I had a joy in my heart.  I would be in Wellington by early afternoon, but how was I going to feel about returning to the city that I loved, that held so many fond memories for me?

After spending more than three years living, studying and working in Wellington, I had left in April 2010 to pursue other dreams of my heart.  At the time I left, I questioned my motives, I considered if I was doing the right thing, I wondered if I would ever regret leaving.  I had my reasons for going, at least, I made them my reasons, the spur I needed to push me forward, to move me on to new experiences and places.  There had been a loss of a dear friend, taken prematurely, way before his time.  There was love and the hope for a future.  And of course, as always, there was the sense of adventure and the unknown.  My feet were itchy, I needed to move on before I became more permanently entrenched in my life in the city.

The cycling was easy and the kilometres ticked down.  My bike may have been heavy but there was a lightness in my soul that helped me along the road.  As I came down SH1, that runs along the western Kapiti coast, I was afforded views out across the ocean, to Kapiti Island itself.  Finally, after more than 1,500km in the saddle, pushing those pedals around and around, I was coming into places that I knew.  Almost without effort, at least it seemed that way after the previous few days of riding in which I had covered 440km in five days, suffering spells of a cold and biting wind that brought penetrating rain, I reached the suburbs of outer Wellington.  I had been forced off the main highway and onto minor roads, as SH1 is designated motorway and bicycles are not allow for a section of the road.  All that remained and separated me from the city itself was one last, steep hill to climb.

Was Wellington drawing me in?  It felt that way.  On the other side of the hill, I was able to rejoin SH1 and the road dropped down to the sea.  My speed picked up and I watched the numbers on my cycle computer as they increased. 60km/h... 65km/h... 70km/h... I topped out at 74km/h feeling exhilarated, occupying the centre of the lane, keeping up with the other traffic around me.  I was now into the city itself, coming past the docks, the ferry terminals, the Westpac Stadium, where I had watched the All Blacks play Australia in a rugby union test (the All Blacks thrashed the Aussies) and England play the Black Caps in a one day cricket international (England were dismal and were annihilated).  Here I was then, back in Wellington and how did I feel about it?

I could not stop smiling. There was nothing that I could do about it.  It was a smile that began in my heart, buried deep in the very fabric of my soul, and erupted onto my face.  I must have looked a little crazy cycling along like that, giddy with happiness, on the verge of laughter, happy as I was feeling.  I had reached the waterfront and there I stopped to drink in the view.  Wellington, dear Wellington, you did not disappoint.

My first glimpse of Wellington from the waterfront

This was a picture postcard day in Wellington.  Little to no wind, clear, blue skies and a hot sun beaming down from overhead.  I do not think there is any place I'd rather be in all the world than Wellington on a day like this.  I had to pinch myself to make sure I was not dreaming, to make sure that I was actually here.  I could feel the emotion inside of me, threatening to erupt and to spill its tears of lava down my cheeks.  I was almost unable to take it all in.  I had returned to a place that I had called home, a city that meant so much to me, that had helped move me on in my life, that held so many great memories.  I felt nothing other than pleasure at being back.  There was no sense of regret, rather the feeling of gladness for the time that I had spent here.

Bathers at Oriental Bay

I cycled slowly around the waterfront, noting the small and almost imperceptible changes that had occurred in my absence.  Changes for the better, I noted.  I zigzagged my way slowly through the throngs of people, all enjoying a Sunday afternoon in the capital, making my way to Oriental Bay, the beach of Wellington.  Here, the crowds were most dense, here, the young and the hip came to strut their stuff, and all the while the surf life guards patrolled, keeping a careful eye over everything and giving out free sun block.  And here, as I hoped it might be, was the little mobile coffee van, where I used to regularly purchase my coffee.  I was chuffed to pieces that the owners recognised me after all this time and remembered my drink.

Downtown Wellington

I sat on the sea wall, sipping at my coffee, taking in the views of the bay, the mountains across the water and the high rises of downtown.  I was back in Wellington.  My heart was glad of it, I could feel its soft purring, I could sense its happiness.  As I sat there, I wondered whether this was my home, the place of which I have been looking.  I realised that actually, it did not matter.  All that mattered was that I was back and that I was happy. Everything else will take care of itself when the time is right.  That is how I have always known it would be for me.  And so my search goes on.

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Flying On Two Wheels And Skinny Dipping

The water was clear, blue and inviting. The sun, which only put in an occasional appearance was hot when it did, lighting up the landscape, transforming it, giving it life and a glow. At a bend in the river, the water slowed and deepened and there were smooth, rounded, polished rocks that made a natural set of steps down to the edge. This was the place, I knew it would be, I felt it inside. It was now or never. To take the plunge or to let the chance pass me by forever...

Today, I finally set off from Taupo, after spending two full days there. That had never been the plan. The plan was for one rest day but yesterday, when I awoke, I could scarcely find the energy to move, let alone pack up the bike and head off down the road. I knew that I would not make it, I knew that I did not want to make it, perhaps that was more the thing, so I planned for another day in Taupo.

It is the Waikato River that crashes and tumbles its way through the narrow gorge of the Huka Falls, a most spectacular sight, where I had spent a couple of hours the previous day. I had seen the falls on my first visit to New Zealand ten years ago, but I did not remember them being quite as impressive as I found it to be now. Perhaps that has much to do with my rebirth, by the discovery of my true self and the subsequent way in which I now see the world around me. I stood mesmerised by the water and the natural power that was on show, and by the constant roar of fury, almost as if the water was angered by the constriction set upon it by the hard rock of the narrow gorge, through which it must flow. Once through, the river broadens and slows and returns to peaceful tranquility, as if the tumultousness of what had just occurred had never been. Now that I recall it, as I had stood on the bridge across Huka Falls, I could feel myself drawn to the water below. Despite the obvious danger and risk to life, I wanted to be in that water, to be part of it, perhaps forever.

My road today was again State Highway 1 (SH1), that ran alongside the lake, affording me considerable views across the great expanse of water. I was under the misguided impression that there would be ample places to stop for a coffee break once underway, on that I was utterly wrong. As it happened, it did not matter. My legs felt strong and I pushed along at a great rate. Even the one big hill of the day, coming at 12km, was no problem and I went up and over with barely a second thought about it. On the other side, with the wind behind me, I maintained speeds in excess of 50km/h for a few kilometres. I could not contain myself and I screamed out and punched the air as I rocketed down hill. My two wheels may have been on the road but my heart and soul were flying, my spirit had been set free. This truly was freedom, this was exultation, this was love. I thought once about stopping and at 35km, I pulled in to a gas station and cafe, but I reasoned that by then, I was only a further 15km from Turangi itself and at the rate I was cycling and the way I was feeling, this was no problem at all.

I made it to Turangi within two hours of setting off from Taupo. 50km in two hours with a fully loaded touring bike. That showed me exactly what could be done when the wind was not in your face all day. I had been tempted to make a lunch stop then push on through fro Turangi and continue along the Desert Road south, as I felt as if I could cycle all day this day. But as I had entered Turangi, a cold drizzle had begun to fall and the thought of going past, knowing that the road ahead held little in the way of stopping points, I quickly went off the idea. Instead, I booked into a backpackers (even the thought of pitching the tent had lost all appeal in the grey dampness) and I decided to stay in Turangi as I had originally planned.

With an afternoon free, I took advantage of a walk along the Tongariro River and as I did, the sun broke through the cloud, bringing light and warmth. The thought of taking a dip in the river came to my mind, all I needed to do was to find the right place. I had no togs (bathing suit) with me, so it would need to be a skinny dip, in underwear at the very least. I found the perfect spot and for a minute I contemplated whether I should take the plunge. I knew it was a now or never moment, a once in a lifetime moment that decides your fate and alters the course of the future. I stared at the water with a longing, I could feel the urging of my heart. I remembered a similar time, a long time ago in South Africa, when, after a day hike with a friend, a plunge pool presented itself. Then, as now, it was hard to resist temptation. Before I knew it, I was stripping off my t-shirt, Converse, socks and jeans and taking the plunge. I always thought it would be cold and it was, but I was glad of the refreshment. I didn't stay in the water more than perhaps a minute, the cold was already seeping down into my bones. It really was too cold and the current downstream quite swift, so I swam back to the rocks and exited promptly, drying and warming again under the rays of the afternoon sun.

Tongariro River - scene of a skinny dip

This morning I grew wings and flew and in the afternoon I plunged into the cold, clear water of a river. How many other days can offer opportunities such as these? This is why it is necessary to walk the path and to stay true to yourself and your dreams. There will come a time when I remember such a day and the memory of it will burn bright and bring a smile to my lips. I will know that when I had the chance, I chose to live my life in a way that was deliberate and in the way that suited me. I will know that I followed my heart and for that, I will be forever grateful for the chances I have been given. But more than that, I will be forever grateful for my heart.

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Back In Auckland Where The Real Adventure Begins

Today, returning to Auckland left me with an odd feeling. It felt like the end of my trip and in a way, I suppose it was an end. As I caught a glimpse of the Auckland Sky Tower again it felt a little like a home coming. But this was no home coming. This is not even the end. My return to Auckland marks only the beginning of the real adventure.

My tour of Northland, the most northerly region of New Zealand was never my intended route. It was rather forced on me by circumstances and events beyond my control (Broken Promises and a Change of Plans). That said, it has proven a fantastic opportunity to become acquainted with the rigours of cycle touring and I am happy to have had the experience. I now realise that this was a blessing in disguise. A much needed short introduction into the world of cycling long distances, carrying all of your belongings with you.

During these two weeks, I have cycled some 700km (411 miles), I've visited some of the most historical places in all of New Zealand, I've met some incredible and wonderful people, I've heard some fascinating life stories, I've made new friends, I became trapped by the tail end of a cyclonic weather system, and I've been woken in the dead of night by the wailing of a tsunami warning siren. It feels special and it is special. Even though I have a lot further to cycle, in fact, I have only touched the tip of the iceberg so far, I have learned much about what it takes to cycle tour and I have learned much about myself in the process.  Even if I were to stop now, I would see these two weeks as an achievement, but I do not want to stop now.  This is still only the beginning.

Not everything has been as I would have hoped and there have been difficult days and moments. My ride from Ruakaka up to Russell (Headwind, Hills and a Town Too Far), a distance of some 136km stands out. That day taught me much, not least that I am only human, that I am far from being perfect, and that I am not invincible.  Although I reached my destination, it was a day that frightened me, that left me shaken and broken, and wondering whether I could actually accomplish my dream. I needed that day. It was a learning day and it allowed me to set more sensible and realistic goals. It is also not as easy to free camp (pitching your tent in unofficial places) as I had thought. I haven't managed to free camp once so far and to be honest, I haven't felt the need. It remains on my to do list and until I do it, I will not feel as though I have experienced the adventure that I came here seeking.

I've experienced one near miss with traffic so far, which happened today on my way back down to Auckland. I was in good rhythm and speed when a car decided to cut left across the cycle lane, pull into a gas station right in front of me and I had no option other than to make a sudden swerve around the car, out into the road.  Unsighted by the car and unbeknown to me, the cycle lane ended abruptly on the other side of the gas station entrance. As I cut back in to what I thought would be the cycle lane once again, I had no time to react as I bumped heavily into a kerb (curb) stone. My front wheel bore the impact and both of my front panniers were bumped off, one of them ending up in the road, the other on the pavement. I stayed upright and stopped to recover my things before any passing cars could flatten the contents of the pannier. It's always amazing how the people who create these incidents remain completely oblivious to what is going on around them, either that or they choose to stare straight ahead, in the hope that what they do not see, cannot really be happening. With this one exception, I've enjoyed some good days on the road among heavy traffic, even finding that the notorious State Highway 1 and the logging trucks that use it, is actually not as bad as I had read, and had been led to believe.

Two weeks down, ten more weeks to come. I know that I have much to learn and to discover on this trip. If there was one thing I knew, that has now become a certainty in my mind, it is this: I love New Zealand. I did from the moment I first arrived here as a green, solo traveller in June 2004 and ever since then, it has remained deeply and firmly rooted in my heart. This trip, my third time in New Zealand (I was a student here for three years between 2007 and 2010) has so far done nothing to change my opinion and has only cemented my feelings.

What then, will the next ten weeks hold for me? Other than a lot of kilometres and miles sat on the saddle of my bicycle, I do not know. And that is the very thing that I came here to find. I came here to find all that I did not know, and that is the adventure. This is what frees the heart and allows the soul to grow. This is what allows the light to shine forth. This is not just a cycle tour, this is a journey and a story of love.  I am giving myself the ultimate gift, by pursuing my dream and following my heart.

The road goes ever on. All that we can do is to choose the manner of our walking.

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Headwind, Hills and a Town Too Far

"Take a break bro'", came a call from the side of the road.  I turned to see that the shout had come from a Maori, who was leaning casually against the side of his car, taking in the view of the bay and ocean below.  There were no such pleasures for me.  I was tired.  In fact, I was pretty much finished and I guessed it must have been apparent, as I struggled to keep the pedals turning as I reached the crest of yet another hill.  How much longer could I keep this going and how many more kilometres did my legs have in them?  I was about to find out, but all I wanted to do at that moment was to get off the bike and lie down to rest.  The only problem?  This was not an option.

What had started out as a pleasant day of cycling had quickly degenerated into an afternoon of pain, despair and desperation.  I had broken camp and hit the road out of Ruakaka around 9:30am, knowing that I had around 28km to roll along State Highway 1, up to Whangerei.  With the exception of the occasional articulated logging trucks that thundered past me, so close that they threatened to blow me off the road on the left, or to suck me under their wheels to the right, everything went easily.  My legs felt strong and I pounded out the kilometres in easy rhythm, taking the hills in my stride and whizzing down the other side with a huge grin, that threatened to rip my face in two.

Whangerei came and went with a brief stop at an i-Site (tourist information) to book myself into a campsite in the historic town of Russell, which was to be my destination for the day, and an obligatory coffee stop, which ended up wasting time since I cycled around the city in search of a suitable cafe.  It's not that I am particularly fussy about my coffee, it was that I needed a cafe where I could lock the bike up right outside on the pavement, so it was in view and easy keep an eye on.

By my calculations and the use of Google maps, I believed Russell to be a further 60km up the road and the way I was feeling, this was easily achievable, despite setting a total of 90km riding distance for myself.  That would be the furthest I had ever cycled in a single day and I felt it to be ambitious, especially as this was to be only my third day on the road.  But I had ridden 85km from Warkworth to Ruakaka fairly easily, so I felt comfortable that this ride to Russell was within my ability.  About 8km north out from Whangerei, after a couple of stops to check my map and ask directions, I turned right off State Highway 1 and headed east, onto Old Russell Road.

At first it was good to be away from the heavy and fast moving traffic and I enjoyed a ride through a valley, alongside a small river, that wound its way by the side of the road.  I started to notice that the wind, which had hardly been evident so far, began to gust into my face and would not let up.  As any cyclist will tell you, wind is both the biggest blessing and the most evil of curses on a ride, depending on whether it is at your back, or blowing into your front.  With the panniers sticking out the sides of my bike, and the bike frame being a little small for me, it was not easy to find any suitable aerodynamic position to minimise the affects of the wind.  At this point, I still felt comfortable, strong enough to deal with the wind and happy to be rolling along through some beautiful and wild countryside and nature.

Shortly though, as I approached the coast, the terrain changed and became hilly.  I commenced a series of hot uphill rides, as the relentless sun beat down upon me, followed by short, fast descents, with the incessant headwind ever present in my face.  I was headed to the coast at Helena Bay and from there, I would follow the coastal road around the beaches and bays of the upper north island.  I firmly believed that this coastal road would be fairly flat and would hold to sea level for most of the way.  On the map, Helena Bay seemed like a good spot to stop for lunch and perhaps a coffee/snack refuel and I eagerly looked forward to it.

At the top of Helena Bay hill sits a cafe, aptly named The Gallery and Cafe Helena Bay Hill.  I pulled into the gravel driveway and stopped.  The driveway was steep and with the deep gravel, I felt it was not suitable for a heavily laden touring bicycle and I did not want to get off the push the bike down and then back up again, so I decided to pass this cafe by and to stop at the next one, that was sure to be down the bottom of the hill, in the bay itself.  I set off again and enjoyed some glorious, high speed descending down Helena Bay hill, on a road that twisted and turned.  This was exhilarating riding and of course, for me, I was the lone break away rider, leading the stage, descending one of the Hors category French Alps, in a mountain stage of the Tour de France.  I don't know what the car behind me thought, as I swept around the bends at high speed, leaning the bike over this way and that, cutting across the road, looking ahead and around bends for on-coming cars, but I did not care.  This was wild, this was freedom and this is what living was all about.

At the bottom of the hill my smile faded quickly.  Helena Bay was no more than a collection of a few private houses and the bay and beach itself.  No cafe, no shop, no ice-cream van, nothing.  My water was dangerously low and I needed to refill my drinks bottles.  I decided to have lunch anyway, and I enjoyed my sandwiches, sitting on a picnic table, looking out across the ocean.  Behind me, I spied a family in their living room, so I knocked on the door and asked for water, which they were more than happy to provide.

I set off again and the coast road was not how I had imagined it to be at all.  It was one short, steep hill after another.  If you cycle, you will know that the amount of energy spent going uphill cannot be recovered in a short down hill that follows.  You need time between hills to recover, for the muscles in the legs to work themselves out and for the oxygen to replenish them again.  I could get no respite.  There was no flat road.  It was simply up, down, then up again.  And all the while, when I began a downhill section, the incessant headwind blew into my face, slowing me down, sapping my energy reserves further.  I quickly began to suffer.  This was no longer pleasant riding.  I was head down, focused solely on keeping going.  What views there were this day went largely unnoticed.  If my Maori friend had not shouted from the side of the road, I would not have seen him.  It needed to be all about the cycling, I had to get to Russell because I now knew that between where I was and Russell, there was nothing else, there would be no place to replenish and rest.

All the while I was cycling, I would glance at my cycle computer and count down the kilometres.  Each kilometre cycled meant one less ahead of me and soon, despite the tough conditions, I began to close in on my estimate of the distance and I began to feel a sense of relief.  Russell should have been within 15km and it was now that I was to experience the first of a series of bad moments.  As I came past a junction with a minor road, I read the signpost that pointed in the direction of Russell.  Written there, in white letters, it stated Russell 46km.  This could not be.  That would make my ride 136km rather than the 90km I had planned.  This was devastating news and my morale dropped.  Shortly after this, I ran out of water for a second time.  With no chance of cafes or shops, this was perhaps the most dangerous thing to happen.  Not only did I still have some distance to cover, it was a hot day too and with that ever present wind, I knew I would dehydrate rapidly.  That was a worrying prospect.  Water is literally life.

As if these things were not bad enough, soon afterwards I hit what is known as the 'wall', the feeling that occurs when your body can do no more.  It happened to me as I began my ascent of yet another hill.  It was not only a physical wall that I hit, it was a mental one as well, seeing another hill before me, in the exhausted state I was in, was demoralising.  My spirits dropped and I was left with no other option than to pull over on the side of the road, climb off the bike and to push.  It was only day three on the road and I was pushing the bike already.  This was not how it was supposed to be, this was not the dream that I had cooked up in my imagination.  Now I felt not only the true weight of my bike, I also felt the real heaviness of my attempt to cycle around New Zealand.  I began to feel desperate, that I needed to get to Russell at all costs.  I could feel an emotion building inside, not quite panic, but something that I was not used to feeling.  I didn't want to admit to it, I couldn't admit to it, but I was close to being out of control and I am never out of control.  Here I was though, out of my depth and alone on the road.

As I pushed my bike up that first hill, struggling with the weight the wanted to roll backwards downhill, an elderly man came walking down towards me.  We both stopped to exchange some words and it transpired that he was 76 years of age and was New Zealand national champion at distance running for his age group, and had been out making sure he kept in shape.  I asked him about my chances for obtaining water and how the road ahead was likely to be?  "Your best bet around here is rain water, but I don't know where you'd find some", he said.  "There's winery a bit further up the road you might try.  You could come to my house, but its 6km back the way you've come and I don't think you'll be wanting to do that."  Too right I didn't.  And the road ahead?  "There's a few more hills to come I'm afraid.  At least two or three more as steep as this one and some others too."  I tried not to show it, but this was not what I wanted to hear.  We said our goodbyes and continued in our own directions.  I felt deflated and I knew I was in real trouble.  Even if I wanted to stop and make camp for the night, with no water, that was just not an option I could contemplate.  I had to push on.

Luck was a little on my side and soon enough, I chanced upon a private residence where I was again able to ask for water. Good job too since I eventually came by the winery and it was closed.  With water, I rationalised that even if I were to walk the last 20km to Russell, I could still make it.  Sure, it would take me a long time, but it was at least an option.  Each time I came to a hill, I had to climb off the bike and push.  I felt as though I had let myself down, that I had been foolish to even think that I could achieve this tour of New Zealand.  At the top of each hill, I swung back into the saddle and let myself roll down, not even having the strength nor energy to push on the pedals.  I would roll along any flat sections before getting off again to push up yet another hill.  In this way, I kept going.  Slowly but surely the kilometres ticked off.  When I hit 130km for the day, I felt reinvigorated in spirit.  That was some achievement.  When I considered the weight of the bike, my lack of any serious training for this adventure, the headwind and the hills, then it was quite remarkable that I had been able to cycle that kind of distance.

And then I was rolling into Russell.  With some great joy and relief, I found my campsite and I hurried pitched the tent before I would even consider stopping to rest.  My spirits lifted and my tiredness evaporated.  Later that evening, I reflected on my day.  Sure, it had been tough, but it had taught me a valuable lesson, that I needed to understand my route in more detail and that I needed to know that I could obtain or carry enough water for each section that I rode.  But one thing stood out more than any other to me.  I had cycled 136km with a heavily loaded touring bicycle in hard conditions.  I was a little shaken by my experience but there remained a thought that would not escape me.  Maybe, just maybe I can actually do this.

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It Was Never Meant To Rain

When I came up with the idea of cycle touring New Zealand, I painted a perfect, idyllic picture in my mind.  It was one where I cycled easily and with carefree abandon, along flat roads, lined with beautiful and stunning scenery.  I would meet other cyclists, swap stories and snippets of information.  We'd share some of the road, a coffee or beer, and all the while, overhead, a blue sky and a golden sun.  It was never meant to rain.

Yesterday had been a free day.  I had decided that I wanted to give myself the chance to recover from day one on the road and also to allow my head cold an improved chance of leaving me.  The cold is not heavy by any means, but as I toil up hill, becoming short of breath, I can feel its energy sapping affect.  If I have the next three months on the road, taking one extra day to shift this annoying ailment was surely worthwhile.  I used the day to my advantage, visiting the i-Site (official New Zealand tourist information) and clarifying that the coastal route that I had planned to take was actually not possible, due to the long sections of unsealed road.  The woman at the desk advised me against it.  That means that for now at least, I am stuck with the state highway (SH1N) and the heavy and fast traffic that uses it.  Not ideal at all, but there is no other option, at least not on the section from Warkworth to Wellsford.  At Wellsford, I have an option to take a right turn off the highway and head onto the quieter sealed back roads through to Waipu and beyond to Whangarei, and it is an option I will happily take.

Boats nestled at Sandspit

I spent a few hours in the morning making the short ride out to Matakana, a small village a few kilometres from Warkworth, where I stopped off at the Black Dog Cafe, which was doing a great trade on all of the Sunday day trippers out for a ride.  One coffee later and I headed on over to check out Sandspit, on my loop back to Warkworth.  Sandspit was stunning.  My jaw dropped open on rounding the bend and seeing it for the first time.  Crystal clear water, lined with golden sand beaches and dense, lush, green bush all around.  This moment defined perfectly the reason I chose to come back to New Zealand.  I cycled out onto the spit and marvelled at my surroundings.  I felt alive, at peace, and I felt a giddy sense of happiness that plainly showed, as a beaming smile spread across my face.

900 year old Kauri tree

In the afternoon, I took a short bike ride out to the Warkworth and District Museum, so that I could go and check out the 900 year old Kauri tree that grows there.  Kauri trees are the largest native tree that grow in New Zealand and they were once found in great abundance.  Unfortunately, since the arrival of European settlers in the 19th century, they were felled in great numbers for use as timber in building and ship construction.  Not as large as its North American cousin, the Giant Sequioa, the sight of a Kauri tree still makes an impressive sight in its own right.  I laid a hand on the bark of the trunk and I attempted to listen to its pulse of life, to what it might have to say.  I offered my own thanks to the tree, and gave a thank you to nature also.

There is a free bush walk through the native bush at the museum and I took the opportunity to submerge myself under the canopy of the foliage and into the gloom of cool, dense forest, emerging after some thirty minutes of strolling, back into the bright late afternoon sun.

And so to this morning.  Rising with the alarm, I made good my preparations for departure.  Shower, breakfast, coffee, surf the web, and dress.  I looked out the window to grey skies and they pleased me.  My forearms are still a little sore from the sunburn incurred on my first day on the road, and I was grateful for some cooler temperatures and respite from the blazing sun.  I packed everything away into my panniers before opening the front door of my unit, so that I could wheel out the bike and load it outside.  But what was that I could hear on the corrugated roof of the veranda?  Pitter-patter, pitter-patter.  Much to my horror, I discovered that a light rain was falling.  This was not in the plan.  Certainly not on the day when I was determined to pitch my tent and make camp for the first time.

I went to find Carol and Dave, the British ex-pat couple that managed the motel.  "She's set in for the day", said Dave, "it's the cyclone that been affecting the islands (Pacific islands) and it's coming down from the north.  Supposed to get worse before it gets better."  This was not good.  I looked at the surface of the swimming pool as droplets of rain dive bombed into it, making hundreds of tiny splashes and sending rings racing outwards.  I did not want to spend another day in Warkworth.  Yesterday had already been a luxury and I had only managed one day of cycling, and now here I was, confronted with taking two days off from the road.  This was hardly the glorious start I had imagined.  But I am also a pragmatic person and I knew that to head north from Warkworth would take me into a rural area before I arrived at Whangarei.  Whangarei itself was too far to try, my aim had been to head for the coastal settlement of Waipu, and if I felt up to it, then on as far a Ruakaka.  Each of these places had a campsite I could try for the night.  Away from there, there would be very little in the way of motels and guesthouses, and I was also aware that this was peak holiday season.  Did I want to try to pitch my tent outside for the first time with the threat of a cyclonic weather system on top of me?  Did I want to cycle wet all day, this early in my journey?  No.  No way, no chance, no how.

Perhaps what I discovered today is that I am a comfort adventurer.  I prefer to think of it in those terms, rather than to think that I am a coward, that I don't have the backbone for this adventurous larking about.  I'm here after all, I'm already in an adventure, which ever way I look at it.  Why make it any harder or more difficult than it needs to be, especially so early on?  I figured that there was still plenty of time for hardships on the road, it was just that today did not need to be one.  So, one day of cycling, two days off.  That's a luxury I cannot afford.  Tomorrow, I'm determined to be on the road, I'm going to make that happen.  For now though, I'll take a short stroll down town and find me a nice cafe, where I can sit and read Treasure Island and dream of adventure from the comfort of a snug armchair.

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Hills, Smiles, Sunburn And The Leg's Are Good

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.

~ ~ ~

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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Tomorrow Is Just Another Day

Tomorrow is just another day.  That's how it always is, that's how it's always going to be.  But occasionally there are some days that are different, when something special occurs.  For me, tomorrow is going to be that day.  Tomorrow is bringing with it the excitement of beginning a new adventure and with that, comes the inescapable daunting prospect of living for the next three months with everything I need strapped to a bicycle, as I pedal my way around the incredible scenic beauty, that is New Zealand.

I've been here for five days already.  Forget the first two, they were wiped out by an overpowering dose of jet lag and the lack of sleep that comes from flying half way around the world.  Not to mention the emotional turmoils of leaving family and friends behind once more.  It doesn't matter how many times I do it, that part never gets any easier.  During the last few days of any stay back in England, I go through a number of goodbyes with various people, each one gets harder, until there comes the finality of that last goodbye, the toughest one of all.  Flying is good for the soul though.  From the moment that I begin to head through departures and I step through the first passport and boarding pass inspection point, my head readjusts, I shake off the emotion, I enter a new frame of mind.  The goodbyes are now over and in their place comes the new and the always present sense of excitement that comes from travelling.  From looking back, I now turn forward, to the present and to the future and the hope of what might be, and the thought of what the unknown may bring.

On Wednesday morning, I strolled the short walk through downtown Auckland and caught the Devonport ferry across the harbour.  From out on the water, I was awarded glorious views of New Zealand's largest and most cosmopolitan city.  I'd never seen it from this vantage point before and it is one I recommend heartily to any traveller to these shores.  For the small fee of $11 NZD return, it is money surely well spent, as is a morning exploring and having a coffee in Devonport.  For me, Devonport was my destination as I was heading there to collect my rental bicycle from Auckland Cycles.  I cannot say why, but I found myself to be nervous about doing this and I think I gave Megan, the owner, the impression that I was a bumbling fool, a veritable Mr Bean.

The bike I have for the first part of my tour is an Avanti Circa.  It's a sport bike that has been fitted with racks and panniers to convert it into a touring model.  I'll have it for three weeks before I swap it in for a proper Cannondale touring bike.  It is my hope that the Avanti will see me through my tour of Northland and all the way up to Cape Reinga, before returning to Auckland on 3 February.  The frame is a little on the small side for me and if my cranks are in the horizontal position, the front wheel knocks against my feet if I turn it too sharply.  Still, that's not exactly a major problem, as long as I remember to shift my pedal position before making any sharp turns.  The bike came with panniers on the front and back, tool kit under the seat, two water bottle cages, a lock, and a helmet, as the wearing of cycle helmets is compulsory here in New Zealand.

I've used this week to pick up essential small bits and pieces that I think I will need for the trip.  I pretty much had everything covered but I decided I would prefer to eat and drink out of lightweight plastic, rather than the metallic of my cooking pots.  One item that I have not purchased is specialised shoes for cycling.  I have debated that around and around with myself, and I was going to opt for a pair of robust walking shoes that I could utilise both on and off the bike.  But after looking around for something suitable, I decided that I would cycle the way I cycled in Costa Rica, in my Converse sneakers.  For sure, Converse shoes are not ideal for cycling, but I'm used to them and I like them.  I figured a little bit of style could go a long way when accompanied by a pair of Lycra shorts.

One other item of note that I have been trying to figure out was how to carry additional water for cooking and washing.  I can only carry 1.5 litres on the bike (I rejected purchasing specialist water bottles in favour of a reusable mineral water bottle and saved heaps in the bargain) and this amount is just not enough for making overnight wild camps away from water supplies.  The idea I came up with was to purchase a Platypus style bladder and store that in a small backpack on the bike.  When it gets to mid to late afternoon, I plan on filling up the bladder and carrying it on my back inside of the backpack.  The beauty of this solution is A) that when not in use there is very little size to worry about and hardly any additional weight to carry, and B) I am able to carry up to 3 litres of additional water.  Having a small backpack with me is also useful for shopping and other expeditions I might need to make.  I have no idea how practical this is going to be until I am able to road test it, so I might yet be looking for an alternative.

Today, I've finalised the packing into the panniers and tested out securing the tent.  In incredibly gusty winds, more akin to being down in Wellington, I headed out in the early evening to test run the fully loaded bike.  A short five minute ride way was the Auckland Domain, and it was to there that I headed, some what nervously, as I exited the hotel apartments for the first time.  Once on the road, even in the gusting winds that threatened to push me under the wheels of one of the many buses that overtook me, I felt stable and at ease.  The balance of the bike felt pretty good, as I had ensured as much as possible by hand and guess work, that each one of the left and right pannier sets weighed approximately the same.  I was even able to stand on the pedals and sway the bike from left to right for assisting with spinning the pedals, something I had thought not possible on a fully loaded touring bike.  

Everything was set and ready.  All that remained was to pack the last few items into the panniers the next morning (wash kit, laptop, food essentials), get a good nights sleep, and then in the morning, it would begin.  The bike was ready, but how ready was I to begin this adventure?

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The Purpose Of My Life?

It's another hot, humid and sunny afternoon in Costa Rica.  I'm out on my bike, pedalling along the quiet roads, enjoying the rhythm of the ride, going no where in particular, content to be sitting on the saddle and to feel the cooling wind that tries to resist my passing.  I'm smiling, feeling carefree and happy, knowing that life at this moment is good.  A thought creeps into my mind. What if I were to do this everyday, to cycle from one place to another, my life on the bike and on the road?  To cycle and to travel, a long held dream that has reawakened in my heart.  Could I do that?

That was a day during October 2013.  I can remember the moment well, but not the date on which it occurred.  I was on the road between the village of Brasilito and the town of Huacas.  Three months later and I'm on the other side of the Pacific Ocean, sitting inside a rented apartment in Auckland, strewn across the living room floor are cycle clothing and camping equipment, and downstairs in the garage, hanging on a bike rack on the wall, is my rented touring bicycle.  That vague idea which had come to me, that resurgence of a once held dream, that longing to travel and to carry my life with me, the need for adventure and to push myself into the unknown, it has all become a waking reality.  It has become my purpose in life.

I get asked often about my life. What I am doing?  What I am going to do?  Why I do what I do?  I have attempted to explain it the best that I can.  I've attempted and I've failed.  After all, it makes no rational nor logical sense does it?  In the last eight years, my journey has taken me all around the world and I have experienced many things, the like of which I thought I could experience only in a book or on film.  I've tried my hand at certain things: I learned to dive and became a dive master; I worked as a project co-ordinator in telecommunications; I walked the streets as a funds collector for a charity; I enrolled at university and became a full-time student; I became a scuba diving instructor; I self published a couple of books.  My journey has taken me through seventeen different countries, in some of which I have enjoyed extended stays and called home for a while.  And now, I am beginning a bicycle tour.  What is going on?

Let me come back to something I wrote in an earlier paragraph: my purpose in life.  I don't have one.  At least, that is, I don't have one in the conventional sense.  As a man, it is my firm belief that my purpose in life is to become a husband, a father, and to raise my own family.  Due to circumstances, this has never happened for me and I drifted through my life searching for something that would fill the void that fatherhood left.  My career filled that gap for many years and I put all my effort and much of my free time into it.  If I was busy at work, then I could never have any time to think about the vacuum that existed away from it.  To be brutally honest, my life outside of work was empty of meaning.  What I did and who I was at the office came to define me.

But there was always something else lurking there.  A vagueness that was almost discernible through the foggy haze but not quite.  As if each time I reached out a hand to grasp hold of it, it pulled back and way from my outstretched fingers.  I thought it was elusive and I believed this until a chance meeting with a colleague (now a dear friend) who forced me to confront my true feelings.  Even then, I was reluctant to give credence to my thinking.  Like so many other people who have held similar thoughts, I shied away from it because it just didn't seem the right way, it wasn't the way that we are taught is correct, it went against conventional thinking and wisdom.

I was searching for some type of purpose in my life and I was not finding that purpose in what I did.  No amount of numbers on a spreadsheet, no amount of promotions at work, no matter what my salary, these gave me no sense of who I truly was as a person.  My life was bereft of meaning.  The epiphany moment occurred around the time of my thirty fifth birthday.  It was then that I came to the realisation that I was living the life of a married man, a family man, and that I was still single.  Why then, did I need to live that life, a life that could not give me my true purpose?  It no longer made any sense to me.  Instead, it seemed to me that the best thing I could do, was to do something different, and to seek a purpose in life for myself.  To go out into the unknown and to look for meaning in the life around me.  And if I was not to discover that purpose in my life, then at least I would have experienced something more, at least I would have taken a chance on life, and not lived out my existence sitting at a desk in front of a laptop screen, and always wondering if there was something more.

     

To answer the question of why do I do what I do, there would seem to be one clear answer - it gives me a purpose in life.  I must continue to live out my dreams until such time that I find the other purpose that I seek.  I truly believe that one day I will find that other elusive part of my life, but until then, I cannot sit and wait for it to come to me.  I must strive to fulfill my dreams, I must write a destiny for myself and if it comes to it, I want to know that when I look back upon my days, when I revisit the history of my life, that I did not sit idly by waiting.  I want to smile and to know that I stood up, that I walked out onto my path, and that I went in search of my purpose.  To try is all that truly matters.

~ ~ ~

It was not my intention to write this post today.  That is often how it happens though.  I set out with an idea of what I want to write and the moment that I let myself go, in the instant that my soul opens itself up, the real need to express myself comes to life.  This is why I enjoy writing and find it so very therapeutic.  I write for myself and in doing so, it is my absolute hope that my readers find something for themselves nestled within the words ~ Andy.

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Forced Changes Bring New Light

I've been spending the last few days working intensively on my plans for the New Zealand bike tour.  Time is passing very quickly and, as is usual, the closer a date nears, the faster it seems that time propels you towards it.  My aim has been to ensure that the majority of the planning phase was completed before I head back to England in early December.  I have never planned for an adventure of this nature and magnitude before and although I have made a great deal of research and progress with my own plans, there is one nagging question that is a constant companion to me: what have I missed? 

Planning for an adventure is not easy.  That is how I wish to think of this latest chapter in my life story, an adventure.  It is the adventure that I have longed for all of my life.  When I think on it, it reminds me of my first foray into travelling and backpacking.  Eight years ago (is it really so long ago already?), when I headed off to Thailand with my partner, I had no idea what I was doing.  Due to various physical and psychological reasons, I had not prepared for the trip as I should have done and as a consequence, and I stumbled blindly in the dark, feeling afraid, overwhelmed and lost for the first two or three weeks, until I began to find my feet and come to terms with it all.  It was a truly horrible and daunting experience, and not one that I ever wish to repeat.  Preparation is key and cannot be underestimated. 

Despite having to deal with the aftermath of the 'bomb' that was dropped on me (please see my previous post entitled Broken Promises and a Change of Plans) and all that went with it, I have made some great progress in my planning endeavours.  The ripples of that shock spread far and wide and affected almost all of my entire planning.  The only part of the planning left unscathed was my route plan for the South Island.   I have been extremely fortunate though and despite this setback, I have managed to rectify everything.  I've see it as rather fortuitous in some ways.  I am now able to begin my cycle tour nineteen days earlier, which means I'll be cycling for a greater part of the New Zealand summer, which more importantly means that I'll now avoid the need for cycling in the midst of a Kiwi autumn.  The bottom line: more sun, more warmth, and in theory at least, less rain.

The on-coming autumn was the major factor in my decision to begin my original tour route in the South Island, starting at Picton, and to finishing in the north in Auckland.  I designed it in this way to ensure that I would complete the most southerly part of the ride before the cold Antarctic winds began sweeping up from the south, bringing their icy blasts.  As I am picking up my rental bike in Auckland, this meant jumping on a train with the bike and panniers, heading straight down to Wellington, and making the ferry crossing of the Cook Strait, over to Picton.  This is now avoided and I'll begin my tour, by pedalling away from Auckland.

This South Island first plan was far from ideal as it meant heading back up from Wellington to Auckland, with huge zigzags cutting across the country, so that I could take in all of the places that I wish to see.  With the revised route, I'll cycle down the west side of North Island to Wellington, and then after my South Island section is complete, I'll head back up mostly on the east side to finish in Auckland.

Not everything has been as I would have wished though.  With the new start date forced on me, I contacted Cycle Auckland to see if I could rent the Cannondale 2 earlier.  The medium frame Cannondale was not available until 3 February at the earliest.  Despite the dropped bomb, I actually saw this as my first major stumbling block - funny how the mind works.  In its place, they were able to offer a Scott Sportster, but I knew from my research, that this was not a true touring bike.  Then those great people at Cycle Auckland came up with another suggestion.  They would hold both a Scott Sportster (medium) and a Cannondale 2 (large) for me and I could take which ever of the two suited me best.  They also suggested that I make a short tour of the Northland area first, so that I could switch over to the medium Cannondale on my way back through Auckland before I headed south.  Initially, I was not too keen on this plan but I could see nothing else for it.

I had always envisioned myself beginning my tour by pedalling away from civilisation and out on to the open roads, where I would find myself and discover just exactly what cycle touring is all about.  Now, I would have to leave Auckland only to return again, effectively breaking up my tour.  But, after some thought, I made this work for me.  The North Land region of New Zealand is home to the Bay of Islands, a place I have only previously seen in photographs and not visited.  And the Bay of Islands is the jump of point for scuba diving the Poor Knight Islands, one of the greatest dive sites of the world's oceans (Jacques Cousteau had it in his top ten).  Why then not build in a few days stop at Paihia, dive the Poor Knights and tick off one of the places from my personal bucket list of dive locations?  Perfect.  There is always a silver lining, the trick to finding it is to stop focusing on what is past and has gone wrong, and, with a mind clear of negativity, to look at what is and what will be.

The Bay of Islands (Lonely Planet images)

I've also spent these last days researching tents. Who knew how time consuming and complicated that was going to be!  It is my plan to spend as much time sleeping in a tent as is possible.  For a trip of three months, it is not financially viable for me to spend each night in a hostel, motel, or hotel bed.  The tent will more than pay for itself.  The nature of cycle touring New Zealand means that I will find myself in some very rural areas where locating accommodation would not be possible.  Even with all of the best planning, something will inevitably go wrong, and I could find myself stuck in the middle of nowhere as night begins to fall.  I must have a contingency plan for this possibility. Perhaps though, the main reason why I am taking a tent, is to make this a real adventure.  It has to be this way.  It was always going to be this way.  Wherever I am able, I plan on some wild camping, that is unofficial tent pitching on public or private land that has not been designated an official camping site.  I know that partly this will be out of necessity, but also, there is this voice inside of me that has always yearned for adventure and for the chance to roam free.

I have decided to write a separate post about the range of tents on offer and how I narrowed down the choices and made my selection.  It is quite bewildering how many types, manufacturers and differing opinions are out there.  I am also giving some thought to whether I begin a separate blog site for my cycle tour (Cycling The One True Path) or I continue to write here.  This blog is about life on the path and I do not wish to dilute it with posts about more mundane matters such as bicycles and tents.  But the path is the path, right?  The jury is still out on this one.

What I have learned over the last weeks is that setbacks will always occur, they are inevitable.  When we hold a vision for our future, a dream in our minds, and something goes wrong, this is an opportunity.  Here is a chance to test your mettle and your resolve.  A dream formed in the heart with strands from the fibres of your soul, that's a dream that can never die.  From each setback, we learn.  When we learn, we grow.  As we grow, so too do we evolve.  As we evolve, then we walk the path, our one true path, the path that takes us to the light of ourselves.  And that is the light of love.   

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Sorry Lance, It Really Is About The Bike

The bike.  That's pretty important, right?  How can a cycle tour go ahead without a bike?  I don't have one.  That is to say, I don't own one, not right now, and I don't plan on buying one for my cycle tour of New Zealand.  I found some very good people who do have bikes though, and they are willing to let me have one - in exchange for a small fee of course.

Rental.  That's the way I've decided to go.  At least for New Zealand.  Why?  The major factor in the rent or buy decision is that I have never before in my life made a cycle tour.  I have some idea of what to expect, gleaned from the books that I have read by other cyclists that have made around the world (Mark Beaumont) and cross continental trips.  I am also a keen and experienced cyclist in my own right, I am extremely comfortable on a bicycle, I've never been fazed by traffic, and I have thousands of miles of road and trails under my wheels.  None of my experience qualifies me to judge how I am going to be feeling when I spend my first night alone by the side of the road, spend an entire day cycling in rain or a niggling head wind, or how I will feel when something goes wrong and I am miles away from the nearest help.  A day trip does not pose the same kind of problems.  Taking everything with me, heading down isolated roads (which is an absolute must in my opinion if I am to truly experience a place), being alone, just me, the bike, and the constant whirring of the wheels as they spin under me.  I am prepared for the possibility that this will not be for me, that I will cut short the tour and head back to Auckland early, with tail between my legs.  I have to be prepared for that, which is why renting the bike makes imminent sense.

A secondary factor is my transitory lifestyle.  This means that I have a need to keep ownership of possessions to a minimum.  I move around - a lot - and I have no permanent physical residence.  Whenever I go to a new place, almost everything that I own comes with me.  The only thing I leave behind is one smallish suitcase that I store in my parents attic, and which contains my most sentimental treasures, those items from which I am unable to part.  If I were to purchase a bike in New Zealand, the question arises of what I would do with it once I reach the end of my trip?  Unless the cycle tour bug grabs me, I will have no choice but to sell it.  It would not be practical to take it with me, onwards to my next destination because that could mean an island in the middle of the ocean, where there are no paved roads.  Not only that, but getting off and on public transport with a bike, a bag of scuba diving equipment and a backpack would not be feasible.  Then there is the transportation of the bike of which to think.  That could cost me additional baggage fees with the airlines, not to mention the need to package the bike each time for transportation.  It really makes no sense to purchase a bike, not unless I decide that cycle touring is going to become my next big adventure, and in which case, then I would purchase only after I complete my tour of New Zealand

I decided I would rent a Cannondale Touring 2 bike from the guys at Cycle Auckland.  I read some reviews of the Cannondale and it seems to be a good and solid, mid-level bike, that should do the job just fine.

Cannondale Touring 2

My chosen ride

I'll be pretty much utilising sealed (tarmac) road surfaces, so this level of bike should be cope adequately.  I selected Cycle Auckland because I immediately liked their response to my initial enquiry, which gave me a good feeling.  I've since been e-mailing back and forth, asking what I am sure are pretty annoying and obvious questions, and they have been amazing to deal with.  After I decided to go ahead and make the rental, I hit a snag when my credit card payment failed to process due to security issues, because I am currently outside of the UK where my card was issued.  The guys at Cycle Auckland said no problem, we'll hold the bike until you get back to the UK (which will be in another month).  That's a brilliant service which gave me complete peace of mind. 

I'll need to rent a full set of panniers, both front and back, which Cycle Auckland will also supply.  The panniers they provide are waterproof, but I'll not take any chances and I'll make sure that I also take some dry bags to slip inside the panniers.  Another decision to be made is which type of shoe/pedal combination to use.  I've used both the ski type snap in, where the special cycle shoe has a cleat on the bottom that snaps into the pedal, and I have used traditional toe clips.  From a cycling perspective, there is no question that the cleat style is preferable, but again, I have to consider whether I wish to purchase special shoes whose only purpose is for a cycle tour.  But then again 4,800 miles, 76 days...  Wait a sec.  If my calculations are correct (average 85 RPM x 60 minutes x 5 hours x 76 days), that equates to around 2 million turns of the pedals!  I think the speak shoe and clip in is the way to go here.

Now that the bike is organised and the route planned out, my focus shifts to clothing options (sexy lycra!) and the other pieces of equipment I'll need to take with me.  The plan is to camp as much as possible, which means I'll need to carry a tent, a stove and cooking utensils, a sleeping bag and a ground mat.  Water is another big consideration.  The bike comes with three bottle racks but I'll need an extra supply for cooking and emergencies.  There is certainly a lot to think about! 

This is why New Zealand makes a great place to begin my first major tour. It is a modern, civilised and English speaking country, and a country with which I am already familiar.  Although some sections of my ride will be very rural and isolated, I am sure I can find someone to assist me in any sticky situations that may arise.  And if not?  I guess that's all part of the adventure.  Right..?

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The Great New Zealand Cycle Tour - North Island

Today, I finalised my cycle route around the North Island of New Zealand.  It's another 38 legs of cycling (I might wish that I had 38 legs rather than only my two by the end of all this) and adds a further 4,050km (2,500 miles) of cycling and brings the total trip distance to 7,720km (4,800 miles).  That's a scary number.  It's a lot of cycling. Heck! That would be a lot of driving in a car, and it's about 8 hours of flying time.

I am beginning to wonder what is it that I am getting myself involved in?  It's not too late.  I could back out.  It is a solo project after all.  I would be letting no one down, no one is dependent on me completing this ride, I have a responsibility to no one.  Except that is, to myself and that is the most important factor for me.  This ride, this adventure, it represents something very significant in my life.  It is an adventure of which I have long dreamed and as such, I have imagined many times how it will feel to be on the road, pedalling along, spinning the cranks, legs moving up and down in a  perfect rhythm, the dance of man and bike.

My route for the North Island was not so easy to decide on.  In the South Island, I begin at the north of the island, in Picton, and generally cycle a clockwise route, finishing back in Picton.  The North Island represents more of a challenge route wise because I will begin in the south of the island in Wellington and finish in the north at Auckland.  It is my wish to see as much of New Zealand as is possible, so this means some zig-zagging across the county, from east to west and west to east.  As the North Island is more densely populated, this also means more cities and town and the infrastructure that is necessary to support them.  This means that the roads will be larger and busier than in the South Island.  I'll finesse the route a little more, so that I make use of as many minor roads as possible.

One of the problems of this kind of tour in New Zealand is the relative sparseness of major population centres.  I'll need to ensure that I have adequate food and water for my journey, so my plan is to pass through one major population centre every day or every other day, so that I can stock up at a grocery store or supermarket.  In terms of ensuring adequate water supplies, in the event of emergencies, I will call in on farms and any houses that I spot along the way and ask for a top up from the kitchen tap.  If I'm honest, one of my main criteria for passing through towns will be to stop for a coffee at a cafe, catch some internet access, and perhaps a bit of chat with the locals.

This is my route for the North Island as it now stands.  As before, the route is marked in blue and the red numbers indicate each leg of the tour.

 Andy's Great New Zealand Cycle Tour - North Island

There we have it.  Route planning is now complete.  Now I need to focus on what clothes I will require, what equipment is needed, to think about nutrition on the road, about the practicalities of camping and cycling, what type of shoe/pedal combination I should wear for the ride, should I take a laptop or just an iPhone..? I am sure there are a host of other items that I need to cover before I embark on this journey.  The most important thing though, is that I do begin it, because once I begin, I know that I will see it through to the end.

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