Tongariro to Wellington

There is one positive thing that I can say without hesitation when it comes to camping on damp ground: it's pretty comfortable to sleep on. The sleeping mat I had borrowed for the trip turned out to be affected with a rather nasty rip at the valve end, rendering email bastard thing useless. As such I was sleeping in the tent, sans-mat. Fortunately for me, the heavy rainfall the night before had created a soft pitching area so I slept surprisingly well. More importantly, I was dry.

The train was due at 1pm that afternoon. I didn't really know what to expect. The last train I was on was into Pukekohe and it just felt like a suburban service, whereas this one was scaling the whole country. I imagined it to be a rather busy service as it only ran a few times a week. Would they allow my bike? Would I be have to deconstruct it before boarding? A familiar feeling came over me; I was completely clueless. But I was also hungry. And the latter was infinitely more important than the former so I packed the tent down and made the 6 mile journey downhill to the small village of National Park and the train station. The landscape was infinitely more appealing today, the sun shone brightly and dried the roads out nicely. The views over the mountains was glorious and I was once again reminded what an immense privilege to was to be doing what I was doing.

I was around an hour and a half early for the train as I free wheeled off the main highway and down the station road, stopping briefly at a gas station to pick up supplies. As I got closer to the station I recognised the black touring bike and its owner, my fellow cycle tourer and hiking buddy Julie. She had managed to buy her train tickets the day she left Tongariro. Even though the train was her idea it was I who had booked my tickets first. I would have felt awful if I had reserved the final cycle space on the train and she had been unable to travel. My neurotic fears were put to rest and I set to the first order of business: breakfast. I wandered into the station cafe and ordered my now-traditional breakfast of Eggs Benedict and patiently waited for the train.

I was fortunate enough to have already sorted my accommodation for Wellington. My cousin had hooked me up to stay with a friend who lived just outside of town (thanks Em!). We had chatted briefly over FB and I had arranged to come along once my train had got into Wellington. I was excited to be meeting up with a real genuine kiwi; my meetings with fellow tourists and adventurers had been exciting but I was keen to chat to some locals about their beautiful country. Plus Georgia, my host, had informed me that she had a very friendly dog. That may have helped fuel my excitement as well....!

I had planned two days in Wellington before taking a ferry to the South Island. This would give me just under 4 weeks on the South Island and I hoped this was enough time to get to the end of my trip. Plus I had to think about getting back to Auckland for my flight home. But I hated to worry about something so far in the future. It was only 16th January and I had much to do before packing up and leaving.

Julie and I made our way to the platform with the train due to scoop us up in the next 20 minutes or so. My London-inspired neuroses with train travel began to flare as I noticed a distinct lack of service board or staff at the station. I guess this is the way transport works in the middle of a deserted national park in NZ! Half an hour had now passed and the train was late. I had no idea of where the bloody thing was or when it was going to arrive. My fellow passengers seemed pretty relaxed about the situation so I did the same. Before long, although 40 mins late, the the train gently rolled to the platform. They were obviously running late and there seemed to be an uncharacteristic urgency to get all passengers, as well as the two bikes, aboard. Luckily there was room in the rear cart for the bikes and I found my seat as the train pulled off.

The train was a relatively modern design with the unique feature of having an open-sided carriage at the front end. This being almost an exclusive vessel for tourists, the open-sided carriage was full of people peering over each other to get a shot of the mountains in the distance. As I had seen all three in close proximity only two days before I felt a little smug. The train picked up speed and before I knew it we were making up the miles. It occurred to me at that moment that my cycle adventure in the North had finished; I would only be cycling on the South Island now. Although I had covered around 275 miles on the bike I had only been on the island for 2 weeks. I felt a slight pang of regret that I was only here for 6 weeks in total; there was simply too much to see and do in this country.

The nice-mannered American chap who occupied the window seat next to me said his goodbyes as he was getting off at the next station. Result. A window seat all to myself for the remaining 5 hours of the journey. Once again I felt incredibly fortunate and spent the remainder of the trip taking photos, eating and napping. The best possible way to spend a day off the bike. 

The train pulled into the station at Wellington at just before 7pm. I said adieu to Julie and we exchanged email addresses, promising to keep in touch once we were both back in Europe. I grabbed the bike and spent my time fitting my panniers and bags as the station emptied. Soon I was alone and made my way out into the warm Wellington evening. For a capital city the streets seemed rather deserted. Auckland, although overwhelming in its own way, felt quite quiet considering its metropolis standing but Wellington felt like arriving at a British seaside town in the winter. Regardless I jumped on the bike and instantly heard a rattling I didn't recognise; I had lost a screw from the rear rack. Luckily I was in a city with a plethora of bike shops and so promised to pay a visit before I took the ferry south.

My accommodation tonight would be about 6 miles out of town in a Wellington suburb called Island Bay. It was on the coast and looked idyllic. Perfect. The ride to Island Bay had one or two punishing hills (perhaps fate was inflicting this on me as I had cheated my way on a train...?) but soon I was standing outside the house. It was a beautiful seaside house only 30 seconds walk to the sea front. What a glorious place to spend a few days. I dismounted the bike and made my way to the front door, attempting to make myself look presentable as I did. I was warmly greeted and welcomed into the house but Georgia who I was now fortunate to meet in person. I was introduced to Amanda, who owned the house, boyfriend Dave and black lab-cross Izzy. In a true moment of kiwi stereotyping my hosts were listening to Flight of the Conchords as I came in through the door. Speaking to Dave it turned out he was a bird catcher for the Department of Conservation. Brilliant. Couldn't make it up.

I was to be homed on the sofa bed for the next few days. My hosts headed to bed early, they not being fortunate enough to be on a 6 week holiday as I was. I decided to sleep early that night. Tomorrow would be a beautiful day but the day after it would be stormy as all hell. I had a lot of sightseeing to fit in. I  was told Wellington was a fun city and was keen to explore. It would be my final stop off in the North Island and I was keen to make the most of it.

Day 7: Turangi to Tongariro

Bike Day 7
Trip Day 11
30.77 miles

I woke with a fuzzy head. Surely I had been poisoned? There was no way I should feel this shitty after such a small amount of beer. Maybe I'm getting old. Maybe I'm losing my touch. Maybe I'm just getting fitter? Whatever the reason, it was time to shake it off and get the lycra back on. It was time to head West and catch a train.

I had decided quite early in the trip that I was going to "skip" part of the North Island. I was only in NZ for 6 weeks and at the speed of a bicycle, and with so many distractions en route, I was going to struggle to make the miles. I was desperate to get to the South Island because, in my own mind at least, this is where the real adventure cycling would lie. Planning my route through the North Island had seemed straight forward and through the most beautiful (and therefore most popular) parts but my ideas had run out when it came to south of Tongariro. From what I could see there was a great distance between Tongariro and Wellington that did not contain anything of any particular interest to me. Now perhaps in hindsight (and perhaps with many kiwis shouting at me) I would learn that lower North Island has a lot to offer. But for me, I wanted to get to the South Island. This is why I decided to take the train.

I've always been a big fan of train travel and the route from Auckland to Wellington is considered one of the mlst beautiful in the world. I couldn't miss the opportunity to ride the route and cut out a big section. However today was a Sunday morning and my train had been booked for Monday afternoon. Today would be a short journey west from Turangi back into the national park where I would camp overnight. Simple.

It was raining. A vicious and intentionally spiteful downpour. I had rode my luck with the weather up to this point and had been rewarded with some beautifully sunny and still weather. Today would be my first day riding in the wet. Ah well, a good time to test my waterproofs I guess. I bid farewell to my bunk mates and packed up the bike. Bright red waterproof jacket and waterproof trousers on. I looked like a complete tool but at least I might be dry. I set off in the downpour and hoped I would not regret the decision to head off at this time.

I would have one final flirtation with my old nemesis, State Highway 1, south before cutting along a quieter road westbound essentially dissecting the national park. State Highway 1 was predictably busy, treating me with heavy traffic and speeding trucks, but fortunately I was off of it in no time at all. The road cut south and I knew I wouldn't see it again. Thank God. The rain continued to get heavy as I jumped onto the far quieter road. I really enjoyed taking the westbound road, the simplicity of having a road all to yourself filled me with a joy I had not yet felt. I felt for the first time that I had an entire route all to myself.

The route through the National Park was full of hills. I had done hills, none that had caused me too much of a problem so far, but these were slow-climbing. At first you didn't feel the pain in your legs because of the shallow climb but after a while the slow burn came through and my quads were screaming for a rest. At times I was climbing for a solid 20 minutes. Low gear. Headphones in. Concentrate. "Nearly there" I lied to myself.

After an hour or so the road through the National Park ended and I was dumped onto a busier road that would take me straight through to the campsite. By this point I was drenched. The incessant downpour had soaked me through and I was in need of a break. I found the entrance to a deserted holiday camp and took shelter in the forecourt of an abandoned gas station. I noticed a few camper vans had been parked here, their owners sitting comfortably inside and waiting for the rain to stop. If I had the nerve I would have knocked on the door and ask if I could come in. But alas, stood alone; soaked to the bone.

I layered up, got myself something to eat, toweled myself down and downed a bottle of Man the Hell Up. I only had 35 miles to do today and I would soon be at campsite where I could attempt to dry off. I pushed on and was soon out of the woods and into the flat fields of the national park. Through the fog I could make out the base and initial rise of the great Mount Ruapehu in the distance. I'd already seen it the day before so didn't feel too bad that I couldn't get a perfect photo from this vantage point. Before long I had arrived at the campsite.

The Tongariro Lodge was in a beautiful spot smack bang in the middle of the national park. On a clear day you could get a great view of all three of the great mountain peaks in the middle distance. However at this time I just wanted to get my tent up and my feet dried off. My eyes lit up when I noticed the lodge had a restaurant, although I was quickly brought back down to earth when I was told the kitchen was closed. Bad times.

I grabbed the bike and wheeled over to the camping areas. The whole of the campsite was soaked through and there were great lakes of standing water threatening to flood into my tent. I picked the best spot I could and prayed that the rain would stop. As I was erecting my shelter I was approached by an excited young chap who announced he was also a cycle tourist and that he was making a similar trek to mine. He asked me many questions about my route, my kit and about where I was from. We promised to chat more once the tents were installed and we were both indoors.

I made my way into the kitchen area of the campsite and allowed myself a luxurious dinner of baked beans and baguette. Looking at the other campers, I became temporarily jealous of their kitchen gadgets and full range of cooking kit although I quickly contemplated how I might transport it all on a bike... My friend joined me for dinner and we got chatting to a young Dutch couple about our adventures. It was amazing; everybody here was away for such a long time. I almost felt embarrassed to say that I had planned to take my bike across the country in only 6 weeks. Again, it did not seem like enough time.

After a good chat and some improvised desert we all made our way to the lodge lounge for and quick game of pool before retiring for the night. As we made our way out we had noticed that the sky had cleared and made way for a rather dramatic scene of a sunset across the mountain range. It was absolutely stunning and reminded me of where I was and fortunate I was to be here. It was also a reminder that in actuality I had not come a great deal in two days. I ignored that thought and stared longingly at the view from that lounge.

As I settled to sleep in my surprisingly dry tent, I considered my first wet day on the bike. My spirit had not been dampened. I had enjoyed the ride. But I had been soaked through and felt ill prepared for what the rest of the trip might hold. I had only done 30 miles of the trip and had ended up in that state. I'd have to up my game if I were to survive the inevitable soaking I'd received in the south island. I'd have to pick up some way of waterproofing my feet when I got to Wellington.

Which was fortunate, because I would be in Wellington tomorrow.

The Tongariro Crossing

This was an early wake up. 5am. Urgh. I thought I was supposed to be on holiday.  I rarely stirred this early. But today was a day off the bike. A rest day perhaps. And what better way to rest than to take part in an 8 hour hiking trek across an Alpine Crossing.

I had got incredibly lucky with the weather. The last week up the mountain had been rained off and yet I had simply waltzed to the crossing in perfect weather conditions. I didn't even know about the crossing, let alone know that I wanted to do it. I wouldn't tell this to any of the unfortunate hikers who had either missed the crossing or were delayed due to bad weather. What can I say? I'm just a jammy bloke.

The Tongariro Crossing is an alpine hiking trek through volcanic landscapes and past crystal-clear lakes. It is considered to be one of the popular one-day treks in the world. The trek takes you through Tongariro National Park; itself containing the Mount Ruapehu, Mount Ngauruhoe and Mount Tongariro massifs. I hope you're paying attention to all of this because there will be a quiz at the end of this post. It's hard to describe the raw beauty of this place but I'll try my hardest...

The crossing began at a relatively high altitude and our shuttle van dropped us off at a little before 7am. I had just enough time to prep my gear and start walking before a minibus full of fellow hikers turned up. With the crossing being so popular it was not uncommon for their to be some congestion on the more challenging parts of the ride. I was now glad of the early morning start, but still quietly resenting having to rise at such an ungodly hour on my day off...!

The walk began with a slow ascent near the base of Mount Ngauruhoe and continued for several kilometers over volcanic terrain. Mount Ngauruhoe was of course used in the filming of Lord of the Rings as scents Mount Doom. Indeed a great number of scenes set in Mordor were filmed in this park. But you already knew that didn't you? I found the walk to be quite challenging due to the volcanic land one was hiking over; I seemed to join be expending a great deal more energy than if I were walking on level ground. I was also delayed several times by needing to strip down my clothing layers. With very little foresight I had put on 4 hiking layers when I first awoke but now, with the blood pumping and my cheeks ruddied, I was starting to perspire.

It was a hiking experience like no other. The slow ascent began to turn into a more challenging climb and as the track turned more hilly I began to scramble up and over each coming ridge. With every step I took my less-used hiking muscles screamed in bloody agony. From an athletic point of view I would not recommend this as a form of rest...! Despite the volume of people attempting the crossing I was rarely held up on the hike. Due to my early start and brisk pace I was fortunate enough to not be stuck behind too many fellow-hikers and was treated with clear views of this strangely Alien landscape.

I was enjoying the trek, stopping regularly to take on water and massage my aching legs, and soon I had taken a detour as I wanted to make the short ascent to the summit of Mount Tongariro itself. A gentle climb and short scramble later and I was at the summit. This was the million dollar shot. From here I had unparalleled views over Mount Doom and the snow-peaked summit of Mount Ruapehu in the far distance. I don't like to use this frequently abused word but the views were honestly breathtaking. This was one of the first moments on the trek that I felt true humility. I was so fortunate to be in such a wonderful place. I considered the miles I had made and the experiences I had undertaken... and I had only been here a week!

I started my descent from the top of the mountain and made my way back to the main pathway when I glanced up at a hiker who had stopped just in front of me. It was Julie, the French cyclist I had met the day before. I couldn't believe it. We had talked about taking the train on Monday and so I had assumed we would bump into each other again, but the chances of seeing each other on this hike were more-than-unlikely! We greeted each other and shared stories of the ride the day before. I now had a hiking buddy for the long descent.

The descent was a glorious walk past crystal-clear lakes and down insanely-fun, steep tracks covered in loose volcanic sand. There was a fun game you would play on these descents: Guess which poorly-equipped tourist would be next to fall on their arse during the descent. I had started to get quite good at it when the track firmed up and the descent became less steep. I chatted to Julie about our respective journeys and how we were both excited to get to the South Island to smash out some serious miles. It was good to have somebody to chat to on the descent after a solo ascent. Julie introduced me to a pair of Canadian travellers whom she had met at a hostel the night before and we chatted about a variety of topics. Often my conversations with others turned to politics and, as a Brit, inevitably the referendum. It was good to chat to people from outside the UK about how the vote and subsequent result was perceived. Fascinating stuff. But anyway, you didn't expect this blog to be a political commentary did you...? Of course not, it's an account of how much food I've eaten and a series of gurning photos. I'll go back to what I know best.

I munched down on my fourth energy of the bar and finished the descent out of the mountains and down the gently sloping pathway through the forest. The forest descent was undercover and provided some respite from the fierce sun. The final few miles seem to drag on for an age but eventually I found myself in a car park surrounded by exhausted hikers. Wow, what a hike! And to think I had no idea it existed until a few days before. I was loaded into the back of the car alongside my fellow hikers and we made the journey back to the hostel.

I was knackered but felt my extortion had justified a celebration and so I made the trip to the supermarket in town and grabbed a couple of beers. The other guys in the hostel had had the same idea and before long we were all partaking in posted inner revelry. With my bunk mates all being at least 8 years younger than me we soon moved on to drinking games - damn teenagers... I can't say that the game of Ring of Fire is something I particularly miss about my teenage years but it was a good way to loosen up after a tough day. Turns out that I still suck at Ring of Fire (and I felt I had was being ganged up on) and soon I had to excuse myself to pass out in my bunk. All this cycling had completely ruined my ability to hold my beer and I was happy to be lying horizontal...

And besides, I had a train to catch in a few days...

Day 6: Taupo to Turangi

Bike Day 6
Trip Day 10
31.31 miles

Today I would jump out of a plane. No other way to describe it; I was just going to jump out of a plane today.

I had been informed by a few people whilst back in the UK that skydiving over Lake Taupo was one of the best things they had done when they had visited. Skydiving for me has never been at the top of my bucket list but I certainly couldn't bear the thought of coming all this way and not leaping out of a plane at 12,000ft.

I left my beloved dorm mates behind and headed back into town to await my shuttle to the jump site. A bright yellow stretch hummer welcomed me at the info centre. Subtle. Certainly not my style but it beat a decrepit minibus any day of the week. In I hopped and I was on the way to the airport where I would be leaping from the plane. The ride to the airport was pleasant although I was the only person in the hummer so it felt a little awkward to say the least. I don't think the inventor of the stretch hummer had somebody like me in mind when they made the design...

Jump site. Arrived. Feeling OK. Am not overly afraid of heights so am not really feeling any nerves yet. Into the entrance of the hangar. Registered. Signed my life away. Chose to upgrade my package to include a "freefall video and photos bundle". Well, nobody would believe that I had done it unless I had photographic evidence right? Into the hanger itself and we get kitted up. I'm to be jumping alongside a nervous-looking Malaysian guy and two lads from Essex. Lads lads lads.... One of the Essex Boys had done a jump before back home and assured me that I would proper love it. I hope he's right.

I was introduced to my instructor and tandem partner. Because jumping out of a plane solo without any experience is a bloody silly idea, you are teamed up with a qualified skydiver who does the important job of pulling the chute. You strap to the front of said instructor using a series of straps and a harness; you end the day looking like you're rigged in one of those baby-carrying front slings. My instructor that day was a German fellow called Albert; a very pleasant and experienced chap, albeit with a slightly off putting accent. Just a note now to say that I mean no offence to any of my native German-speaking friends; I believe the Germanic accent to be subtle and underappreciated. But Albert sounded like a villain from an Indiana Jones film. He made the phrase: "we'll make sure you'll have fun" sound like and threat. I did not feel overly at ease but I ignore it and chatted away before it was time to jump.

I was then introduced to my cameraman who would jump from the plane when me and Albert did and film/take photos of my soon-to-be-terrified little face. What a job! We were then all loaded into this tiny little fixed wing plane which soon took to the skies. My God, we are going pretty high, eh? I was then hoisted onto Albert's lap where he tightened me up and adjusted my crash hat and goggles. I'd be first out the door at 12,000ft. We shuffle to the open door, my legs dangling out the side, turn to camera for a last minute photo and then we're out and flying.

The initial few seconds are a complete blur to me; it takes around 5 seconds of free fall for the brain to work out what it is you're doing and just stupid that activity is. The feeling of falling at that speed is simply awe-inspiring, the views over Lake Taupo and the surrounding mountains a perfect backdrop. After about 45 seconds of free fall Albert pulled the cord and we both began our slow descent to the ground. That's when the testicular trauma really stepped up a gear as the harness did its job and ensured I did not slip away (not that you needed to know that...) Albert had done a great job and we posed for photos at the landing site before we ran off to do a jump with another overly excitable tourist.

I only have the photos and video on USB so cannot upload them to the blog yet. However if you follow the below link you can see a pretty sweet highlights video of the jump:

https://youtu.be/CMV7f84yw5I

Anyway that was enough excitement for the day, it was time to get back in the saddle and head South. My plan for the day was a relatively short trip around Lake Taupo to the southern tip and a town called Turangi. I planned to hit up another hostel (as they were so frequent and affordable) and work out where to go from there.

The ride started incredibly pleasantly as I rode down a lakeside cycle path which danced alongside the main road out of Taupo. I bumped into a lot of locals just out for a morning cycle alongside the lake. I could see myself retiring and settling here in many years to come. Perhaps I could get a job at the skydiving centre and freak out tourists with a spooky German accent.

Sadly all good things must come to and end and before long I was unceremoniously dumped from the quiet cycle path straight onto my old friend, State Highway 1. The verge was narrow, the hill I had started climbing was steep and the traffic was heavy. I was hot and frustrated by the time I had hit the top of the hill and the road levelled out. The one fact I used to reason with was that it gets quieter the further south you go...

To finish my short day on the bike I wheeled into the quiet town of Turangi, did a quick bit of research and located a cheap, local hostel. The Lazy Dog Hostel had free WiFi, decent room prices and was close to the town centre. Plus there was apparently a hostel dog. Winner. I checked in quickly and was shown to my dorm room, acquainting myself with a young chap who was also a cycle tourist. He was, of course, from Germany.

I finished unpacking and having a quick shower when the girl running the hostel asked if I was thinking of doing "the crossing" in the morning. I had no idea what she was talking about but bluffed and said I was thinking about it. I goggled "the crossing" and discovered that it, (real name The Tongariro Crossing), was one of the most popular one day alpine crossings in the world. The trek across volcanic land offered views of several mountain ranges, including the one used as the setting for Mt Doom in the Lord of the Rings trilogy. That settled it for me; I had a day to burn as I had planned to take the train to Wellington on the Monday. I rushed to book the shuttle for the crossing for early that next morning.

Funny how things work out when you don't plan them, eh?

Day 5: Rotorua to Taupo

Bike Day 5
Trip Day 9
52.05 miles

So I had managed my first big checkpoint. Auckland to Rotorua. With the exception of one nasty road I had done pretty well. The next stage of the plan was the head South to the Great Lake Taupo and the surrounding countryside. After that, I was unsure. But for now, it was time to crack on and get out of Rotorua. 

I was happy to be out of the relative comfort of the hostel and back in the saddle. It was another glorious day; yet another beautiful day in the saddle. I knew my luck with the weather wouldn't last so I was grateful for every sun-soaked mile that I road. It was 50 miles out of Rotorua towards the town of Taupo, situated on the northern banks of the great lake. I had planned to make this a quick day as I wanted to have a bit of time in the town. With this in mind the route I had planned was a fairly straight-forward ride down State Highway 5 and straight into town. An undulating route that would begin with a gentle downhill out of Rotorua.

The start of the route cut through the surrounding forests of Rotorua; I had come a long way since the open plains and dense farmland of Northern Waikato and was enjoying some shelter from the sun. As I rode I noticed a smaller track running parallel to the highway. Inquisitive and keen to get off the main road, I changed course and get over there. This track turned out to be part of the Thermal Explorers Route which ran from Rotorua south. Although this track would cut east towards the thermal spring of Waiotapu it was worth getting on whilst it went South. It was a delightful stretch of track, weaving into and out of the hills either side of the highway. Eventually the track ran off to the left and I was back with the big boys on the highway.

My two days off in Rotorua had obviously done the trick; I was smashing out the miles. Even on the uphills I was managing to push 10mph and was freewheeling through the valleys of the Bay of Plenty region. By the time it was lunch time I had clocked 40 miles and had averaged close to 13mph - an impressive feat considering my daily averages so far. Not so hard this cycling in New Zealand, eh?*

*I am fully aware that I will be made to eat this words before the end of the trip. I would like to invite my readers to dish out the abuse and point out this arrogance once I hit the mountains of the South Island.

I settled down in a picnicking spot just off the highway (the picnicking spots I have found to be plentiful, well-maintained and in excellent locations) and tucked into my improvised lunch. I looked around at the flatlands around me and considered how much I had achieved up this point and how far I had come. Somehow I couldn't quite comprehend how far from home I was and how fortunate I was to be in this beautiful place.

My daydream was interrupted by the sound of a fellow cyclist riding the dirt track to my location and offering me a friendly "Hello". I dopily greeted her back, my mind still on another planet. "I saw your bike and thought I should come and say "hello" to a fellow cyclist." Julie, as I learnt her name to be, was a fellow cycle tourist originally from a town in the French Alps. She had an eerily similar bike set-up to me; twin panniers on the back with waterproof bag balanced on top, nothing on the front but handlebar bag, various straps and bungees for extra water and gear. She even wore hiking shoes on the bike rather than going down the clip-in cycle footwear route. The big difference between us was that she was carrying no smart phone and relied upon a paper map entirely for navigation.

We chatted about routes and it appeared she was going a similar route south to me, having come from Auckland. She was travelling slower on average than me but was in the country for about a month longer. She had taken a long way round and had seen the Coromandels as well as Tauranga and the coastline of the northeast. I was jealous of her relaxed pace and considered that 6 weeks were not enough to see this country. She was planning on taking a train south from Taupo. Her reasoning was that there was not a hell of a lot between the Great Lake and capital, Wellington. That cemented my decision; I was going to save the days and jump on the train. I wished Julie "bonne chance" and she took off as I settled down to finish my lunch.

I passed Julie again on a big climbs a few miles from where we had chatted. I took the opportunity to see if I could still overtake somebody uphill on a bike this big. I did....but it hurt! Before long I was freewheeling down the hills into Taupo itself.

Prior to the trip I had been made aware of an app called Warmshowers; a service that allowed touring cyclists to volunteers who had put up their homes, showers and/or sofas for the night. I had not had much luck with this app (nor with the similar Couchsurfing) due to my inability to predict arrival dates and that it was peak season for touring cyclists and backpackers. I had contacted one couple who lived in Taupo but were unfortunately not in town when I would arrive. They had recommended that I try a free campsite on the outskirts of town near to a famous set of rapids known as Human Falls. Free? That's my favourite type of camping. Why not give it a go?

Although the falls themselves were awe-inspiring, the campsite itself left a lot to be desired and was overcrowded. You get what you pay for, eh? I decided against staying here and pedalled towards the town centre with a magnificent view of the great lake as its backdrop.

Long story short I managed to find a cheap hostel dorm room for the night. The campsites in the area wanted to get a small fortune for the privilege of sleeping outside on a patch of their land... The hostel was a modest affair but as I was only there for the one night I could hardly care. I had done big miles today and deserved and bed. I was the last person in the bunk room and, due to the fact the free WiFi wasn't working, we were forced to make conversation. As I write this blog entry I had to admit that I cannot recollect any of my bunk mates names and I only remember their crude nicknames:

Chinese Soap-Opera Guy
Smelly Feet Hitchhiker with Beard
The Incredible Loud-Snoring Man
Obligatory German Backpacker #1
Obligatory German Backpacker #2

I think I will miss you most of all, Obligatory German Backpacker #2.

I rushed into town for a late night pizza with my view out over the lake. With my last few nights having been in relative civilisation, I was beginning to feel that I was no longer "slumming it" in the campsites of the back country. And I didn't know how I felt about that. I almost felt as if I was cheating myself out of the "genuine backpacker experience". Not that I dwelled on the matter that much as I allowed myself an offering from the dessert menu and set about making my way back to the hostel. Earlier that day I had visited the tourist info centre and booked myself onto a high - thrills activity. I was being picked up for 9am and was excited about what tomorrow might bring.

"No point coming half way round the world and only doing it half-arsed eh?" I thought to myself as I settled to sleep, just before The Incredible Loud-Snoring Man began his all - night,  cacophonous assault on my ear drums.