Bike Day 9
Trip Day 18
42.10 miles
Pelorus Bridge had provided me with a scenic and incredibly convenient place to camp for the night. I knew that not all DOC (Department of Conservation) camping facilities would have hot showers, kitchens and running water. I had been spoilt and would have to be prepared to rough it up for a few wet nights once I had hit the west coast proper. This campsite however had given me my first taste of sandflies; a fact I acknowledged as I cleared the corpses of dozens of the little blighters off of M tent. Breakfast sorted. Bags packed. Ready to go.
My route today would take me further west, through Marlborough, up and through the mountains and then down to the Nelson coastline. My legs still unused to the miles, I had only planned a 30 mile trip as far as the city or Nelson. It had a reputation as being an interesting town with great weather; the neighbouring suburb of Richmond officially had the most sunny days in NZ in 2017. Not that I was concerned about the weather at this stage; it had been a glorious first day in the South Island and the forecast promised the same for this coming day.
The first few miles were flat and certainly a contrast to the climbs of the Queen Charlotte Drive the day before. Today I would be tackling the Rai Saddle and I had been warned of some tricky switchbacks as the road weaved through the mountains into Nelson district. In technical cycling terms, today was going to be a bit of a bastard. Once the Saddle had been tackled it would be downhill towards the city, the road descending and following the Whangamoa River before rising even higher up and over the Whangamoa Saddle. Before tackling the first climb I stopped off in a small town to grab a second breakfast and prepare myself. This small town was little more than a gas station and a couple of stores; it felt like a proper rural prospecting town straight out of a John Wayne movie. Anyway, enough fantasies about being a cowboy...it was time to ride.
I found the climb up and over the Rai Saddle to be a relatively straightforward climb. Once again I employed the technique of hitting the lower gears, sweating profusely and cursing at any cars that came too close... This did the trick and I was soon flying down the other side and through the valleys. Soon enough the Whangamoa River came into view and I was cutting alongside down the gradual downhill. It's amazing how easy and simple cycling can feel when you're going downhill... The second climb up and over the Whangamoa Saddle however was a slightly more challenging affair. I found that I required a break after a strenuous ascent over around 500m or so. The break usually consisted of taking on water, a hastily-prepared peanut butter sandwich and cursing myself for choosing such a hilly country to undertake such a challenge. It was normally a combination of the peanut butter and the swearing that gave me enough energy to complete the more sweat-inducing climbs.
Once I had reached the top if the Whangamoa Saddle I fund myself looking down at a long alpine-style descent; crisscrossing and turning down the steep mountainside. This was the first time I had come across such descents and because of the steep gradient I often found myself going in excess of 30mph. For the first few times my white knuckles were clamped around both brakes as I kept a nervous eye around me at any motorists keen to overtake me. It's amazing how much you begin to doubt yourself when hurtling down the side of a mountain pass on a bicycle: "Did I remember to fit all of the rack screws correctly?" "Just how tightly did I do up my handlebars when assembling the bike?" "I did remember to tie down all of my bags to ensure they do not come loose and get tangled in my back wheel, right?" It's amazing how paranoid one becomes when flying downhill on such a contraption but perhaps more surprising at just how used to it you become. By the end of the descent I had relaxed and was enjoying the exhilaration of reaching such high speeds. The wind in your hair, the insects embedded in your face; it's a feeling that cannot be replaced.
Eventually the mountainous pass was replaced with the flat roads as my path took me down to sea level; a glorious few miles alongside the Tasman Bay and on into Nelson. Nelson itself is a sunny city of 50,000 people situated in an enviable position on the Eastern Shores of Tasman Bay. I had was arriving on a gloriously sunny day but with only 30 miles under my belt. When the road had flattened out I had noticed a cycle path which ran parallel to the main road. "Excellent - a chance to get off the main road and see what these Kiwis consider a cycle lane" I thought. It was an excellent decision (even if I do say so myself) and I was now flying along a well paved and signposted route. I got into Nelson in time for a late lunch. It was close to 2pm and yet only 30 miles cycled - the route through the mountains had certainly slowed me down and I was behind schedule.
I had a fairly loose schedule for certain parts of the journey. For others I had mapped out each individual mile and scheduled activities on each individual day. The entire Nelson area was very much the former. I had arrived into a town that many people had recommended and raved about and yet I had no idea what I was going to do. Frustrated at my lack of planning I headed to cafe to hack into their wireless and work out what to do. I was unable to find accommodation in the town, such was the popularity of this seaside town, and so found myself in a bit of a rut. I was struggling to make up the miles whilst simultaneously planning accommodation, meals and activities in advance. I decided to push on to the next town of Richmond which was another 8 miles down the road. I didn't have the time to make up the serious miles to reach the next camp ground to the west.
And so I was away. Another glorious cycle path took me to the small town of Richmond. It had a camp site, a supermarket and, more curiously, a Shakespeare festival taking place in the park. I would have to forsake the last and head for the first: a nice cheap campsite off the side of the westward-leading main road. I set up my tent in the heat of the afternoon sun (I was finally starting to get this done quickly) and rustled some dinner together. Today had been a day of hills and massive effort that had resulted in a frustrating 42ish miles covered. I would have to increase my milage or start to leave earlier if I were to make serious headway. I decided that I would head west across the country tomorrow, rather than north to Abel Tasman. This decision was hard but it would be a necessary sacrifice if I was to complete the journey I had laid out. I settled down to rest and dreamt of tomorrow.
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