Bike day 3
Trip day 5
21.41 miles
Today started like any other. As in, I woke up. Good start. Well done me. Faffed around breaking down the tent and packing the bike before working out my plan over breakfast (fruit and leftover peanut butter crunch from the day before).
My original plan had been to perhaps see some of this area (there was a very nice waterfall just around the corner) and perhaps stay an extra day. In my indecisive state I finally made a decision to ignore the decision I came up with last night and go with my new decision. Still following me? I wanted to keep moving. I was here to explore and travel the length of and beautiful country full of beautiful scenery and natural wonder. If I stopped at every mountain range, hot spring and waterfall en route then I'd never make it to the South Island.
I also knew that today would be a short day on the bike. I had located a camp site in the middle of a nature reserve called Mclaran Falls which was a 25 mile cycle away. A relatively short day in comparison to the two before it. I also didn't want to burn out too quickly. I had no set plans for my route or schedule at this stage. I was free to do as I wished. I was also aware that my two previous days had been a mercilessly flat ride through the farmlands of Waikato. There would be more challenging rides ahead of me I was sure.
Although I had very much enjoyed my evening at Opal Springs it felt more like a holiday resort than a rural campsite. I know that I will not have these luxuries whilst slumming it in the most remote regions of the South Island. I promised myself that I would visit nearby Hobbiton when I got to Rotorua and I turned my attention to the route. It was a simple 20 miles out of the valley I was in before joining Highway 26 eastwards. As long as the highway didn't look like SH1 I'd be OK. According to the map it looked like the highway dissected the Kaimai range of the Coromamdel Hills and then slope down to Mclaran Falls and onto the beachside town of Tauranga. It was only a climb through a set of hills - what was the big worry? I've cycled up Box Hill don't you know?
First thing though was to cycle back to the supermarket in Matamata to pick up some supplies. I was running low on food and my appetite was at an all time high after spending so much time in the saddle. It was only a 5 mile jaunt into town and I had enough time that morning to stop off for a coffee on the high street. Seeing the barista's confused look in my direction, I reminded myself that my uniform of bright orange jersey, padded shorts and pink, sunburnt nose was not the norm in these parts. I thanked the barista, paid and promised top moisturise my nose once I got back to the campsite.
Speaking of the orange jersey, some of you may have noticed the branding of "Yards" on the back and sides. This was a gift from my parents after they returned from a trip to Philadelphia and had discovered a brewery by this name. What the jersey would go nicely with is a nice set Kathmandu body warmer/wind breaker combo. (Still waiting on that sponsorship offer...)
Anyway it was back to the campsite to load up and load out. The road exciting the valley was undulating with some beautiful downhill sections that allowed me to cruise along, growing more confident in my over laden bike with every mile travelled. To my left the entire time loomed the Coromamdel Range; my challenge for the day to climb that mother.
The country lane I was cycling suddenly ended as it met with the highway that would lead me up the pass. The road seemed busy, with many heavy vehicles travelling at high speeds and seemingly with disregard for anything smaller than them. Undoubtedly a busy road but with a larger hard shoulder than SH1 I was quietly confident of my abilities. It was only a pretty busy road. I've cycled down the Old Kent Road during rush hour, don't you know?
The road began to climb as I passed bill boards warning road users to slow and be aware of their surroundings. I increased my cadence, lowered my gears and started to ascend. It was OK to begin with; certainly a tough climb but not dissimilar to other roads I had climbed. But unlike other hilly roads I had climbed, this one kept going. As road continued to climb, so too did the hard shoulder started to shrink in size. By the time I had reached the alpine cut backs, I was on the road proper and slowing down. Trucks and tour buses whizzed by; affording me only minimal space as they did so. Large logging trucks speeding down on the opposite side would bring terrific drag-winds which threaten to topple me over the barrier down the side of the hill or worse, into the road. This was getting ridiculous: I was crawling at 5mph, sweaty and wobbling and was due under the wheels of a speeding car at any moment. As much as I didn't want to do it, I had no other choice but to pull off the road and push.
There is no more humiliating moment than to have to admit defeat and push your machine uphill. I imagined the judgemental thoughts of the motorists who must have glared at me as they passed.
"Lazy twat!"
"Why bother, eh?"
"I'd just chuck myself over the cliff if I were him."
Bastards.
The slow humiliating walk up the side of the road was tricky for many reasons. I had overburdened my bike with food supplies and so the push was physically draining for my upper body. With the back being overloaded it meant that every step required stabilisation via a hand on the saddle. It was hot. I was sweating. I had about 2 miles left to push. And it was only day 3 of the ride.
My task was to only get harder as my route was soon made more tough to navigate. At the side of the hard shoulder there now was a deep trench, obviously designed to allow storm water to drain from the road. The ditch was barely 15 feet deep and 30 feet across but there was no chance I was going to navigate my bike down there without losing it over the side of the pass. Thinking cap on, Josh. Come on, there has to be a way around this. Dammit. There is. I began to offload my bags from the bike and painstakingly walked them down the trench along and up the other side. As I got up the other side I was greeted with the sight of an older gent running down the side of the pass towards me. The man, a very friendly kiwi named Phil, had spotted me as he drove up the road and had pulled onto the verge and rushed to if I was OK. He informed me of what I already knew: this road was steep, this road was busy and that I'd have a hard time getting the bike past the trench. He offered me advice to wait until the traffic thinned out and then lift my bike over the barrier and peg it on the road past the trench and over the other side. What other choice did I have? Before he left he informed me that there was another trench not so far away. Brilliant
30 minutes passed and before I knew it I had made my way to the top. My legs were aching. My arms were aching. My lungs were aching. Had I come to NZ to push my bike up the side of a highway? No. Had I come here to push myself outside of my comfort zone? Yes. Yes I had. Despite this however my spirits were low and as I mounted the bike I feared that I had wasted a day. I was certainly closer to Rotorua but not enough to justify that day.
On the descent I started to reason with myself that this was all part of the adventure. It certainly would provide a good story to tell and it had raised my faith in humanity that a perfect stranger had stopped what he was doing to make sure I was OK. I vowed to make up more miles tomorrow as I spend downhill towards Mclaran Falls.
As I turned into the campsite I was greeted with the spectacle of a gushing waterfall, rock pools and of locals throwing themselves into the water. The waterfalls lead further to a river and lakes in the distance where the camping site would be. At least I had chosen a beautiful spot to be sweaty and aching.
The campsite was ruled by the local population of sheep and ducks and was once again a welcome change to my camping experiences of the previous two nights. I had noticed a real contrast in the campsites I had visited so far and wondered what my other experiences on the trip would be. Despite being in a beautiful location the camp site lacks basic kitchen facilities so that night I dined on cold soup and pitta bread. Washed down with tap water and finished off with energy bars. A quick dip in the falls and an early night would hopefully help to prepare myself for the next day. I had a lot of ground to make up if I wanted to make it to Rotorua the following day.
I had a sudden burst of homesickness once I got to the campground. I had found that whilst on the bike I thoroughly enjoyed the solitude and independence of pedalling solo. I didn't have to keep an eye on other cyclists falling behind or push up to keep up with faster ones. I could go at my own pace and choose when I stopped to take photos, rest and eat. It truly was very liberating and I would not have changed it for the world. And yet when I had arrived at my place of dwelling for the night and had unpacked and assembled the tent, I felt a sudden longing for companionship. I wished my friends and family were alongside me to enjoy what I was fortunate enough to see. Still, I got over it quickly enough and settled down for the evening to make notes on this hell-of-a-day for the blog before settling into a restless sleep.
And at least my list of least favourite NZ roads was becoming more and more complete:
SH1
SH26
Curse you Devil-roads. Curse you.
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