Bike day 5
Trip day 8
41.24 miles
I always knew that this journey would come with its challenges. I had already managed to plan the trip, pack up and transport a bike halfway across the world. All I had to do was pedal and have a good time right? The past three days had taught me a great deal of humility and to respect the landscape I had planned to blast through. Not that the trip to this point had been disastrous by any means; I was really enjoying the trip and didn't want to burn out before I had even reached the South Island.
Today I would reach Rotorua. I promised myself that I would get through the 50+ miles uphill to my destination. I was ready to get into town and do some pulse-pounding activities. I loved the last few days of camping but I was ready to sleep somewhere with a roof and get the adrenaline raised (without having to cycle up SH26 again...).
I managed to pack down the tent in record time (I was getting good at this!) and had promised myself a slap-up breakfast at a roadside cafe before I left. I had been left disappointed by the lack of kitchen facilities in the campsite and the resulting cold soup dinner. I was ready for something hot for brekkie. I struggled to even get my legs working to get me up the hills of my campsite. Didn't bode well.
Out onto the highway and only a few kilometers downhill to my spot for breakfast. Eggs benedict with salmon and a coke. Started chatting to the lovely lady behind the counter who retrospectively informed me that SH26 is not a good road to ride up. Go figure. I asked if there was an easy way to get to Rotorua that did not involve busy roads. The answer I received was not particularly helpful and she reiterated what I already knew: that I had climbed the Coromamdel Range for no reason. I had essentially wasted the day before all in pursuit of a decent campsite. I felt low.
The breakfast did not do much to raise my spirits. I felt bloated and slighrly sickly. Not ideal for an uphill trek all the way to Rotorua. This would be one of the low points of the trip as I stared blankly at my empty plate and contemplated what to do. Eventually I roused myself enough to leave the restaurant and hop back on the bike.
It's funny how fate has a way of helping you out in times of personal crisis. A few miles down the road I was cruising along when I noticed a fellow cyclist over my shoulder. Mountain bike, high vis vest, backpack; this guy was obviously a commuter. As he got closer we both reached an uphill section of the road and I imagined he would soon overtake me with his lighter bike and faster legs. Instead he pulled up beside me and asked where I was going to. When I said to Rotorua he told me I wasn't going the best way and that I should follow him. I did.
He ended up taking me off of the highway and down through a new build. I nearly stacked it going down a small gravel hill but appreciated the change in surface nonetheless. I chatted to him about his work, his bike and how different is was to cycle in New Zealand rather than South London. Steven dropped me off on the other side of a new housing development and wished me the best. I'm not a big believer in fate but this man had clearly dropped in to raise my spirits and see me on the right path. Steven, many thanks.
That had done the job and I was ready to tackle the hilly road to Rotorua. A brief stop at a gas station (complete with v pretty Canadian girl behind the counter) and I was ready to tackle the first of the slow accents South-bound. Steven had told me to expect two big climbs on the road complete with a pair of gorges thrown in for good measure. Straight out of the gas station I hit the slow ascent. 10km of steady uphill. I repressed my inner road-racer and resisted the urge to get out of my saddle. Earphones in. Low gear. Keep pedalling. Breath.
An average speed of 7mph up the incline and before I knew it, I was at the top of my first big climb. And I wasn't too sweaty and exhausted. That was lucky - I still had 35 miles to do. I started to hit some of sweet downhills; for the first time allowing the bike to freewheel without breaking. Until this point I was too paranoid to travel at high speeds with the weight on the back of the bike. Since I had reassembled my bike in Auckland I had visions of cruising downhill, a poorly-fitted screw coming loose and being propelled face-first into the tarmac. By this point I didn't care and allowed myself to speed to 30mph downhill. What a rush. But of course, every downhill was met with an even tougher uphill section.
I finally met the first gorge. A very steep road downhill as I weaved around the steep granite walls of the initial quarry. With this many blinds corners, and with the traffic picking up, I now had my hands firmly gripped around the brakes. I got halfway down the gorge road and decided to stop on the verge for a quick photo opportunity. The go pro was plucked from my handlebar bag, ready to shoot, when my front wheel rolled slightly in front of me meet straight through the holes of a drain grate. The bike lurched forward as the tyre fell into the gap and I was thrown sideways as the heavy bike toppled over. I fell sideways, mercifully avoiding the road and without cracking my camera. I had cut my knee open and scared myself silly. I couldn't make that kind of mistake again. Stupid Josh.
With my knee patched up but still aching I made my way out of the gorge, sadly having to don my bright red waterproof as I had to push the bike up the other side of this deep ravine. A little humiliating to have the motor homes and trucks carefully overtake you but there you go.
But after this incident the road continued to get better. It was still busy with traffic but I was making much better progress in terms of my speed. The roads were gradually getting more scenic as I left the farmlands of Waikato and hit the hills of the Bay of Plenty. Stopped briefly for lunch on the side of the road; proper glamorous locale but the food was a delightful vegetable salad purchased from Eggs Benedict Cafe. Lunch finished, 20 miles to go. Game on.
The second gorge came about and I wasn't going to allow myself to be beaten. Screw you gorge; you're not better than me. Up the other side. Sweat pouring down the face. Bike computer counting down the miles. Downhill for the last few corners. I look up and suddenly I get my first glance at the lake. My first NZ lake and I was at the opposite end to Rotorua. Never mind. It's an easy 8 mile downhill all the way into town.
I rolled into town and was greeted with something I had not witnessed since Auckland. A traffic light. I have to stop here and wait? Boring. I rolled into town and hit up the info centre, all the while looking like a lycra-clad, sunburnt madman, and booked myself into a local hostel. I had done three nights of camping and I loved it....but I needed to wash my clothes, charge my electronics and feel like a real person again.
Checked into my room; a comfortable affair with twin beds, simple desk and views over the communal swimming pool. Classy. Managed to head into Rotorua as it got dark and had my first pint (or three) since arriving in NZ. With the amber nectar flowing my veins I decided to call it a night and head back to the hostel. I had planned to stay in town for two days and get up to some fun and spend some time off the bike. I was here to cycle and see the country but I was also here to enjoy myself. It was a vacation, not an endurance race.
I remembered what the girl from Nottingham at the camlsite back in Huntly had said to me:
"What's the point in doing an endurance race in a country where there is so much to do?"
"That's a very good point" I thought to myself and promised to head back to the tourist info site first thing in the morning.
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