Cycling NZ26 - Day 17 - Flatlanders

Decision made. I’m having another day off. 

Why?  Well my plan when in this country was to complete 2 major cycle routes. Firstly the Timber Trail. Done. Happily done. Deliriously happy it is now done. Rabidly deliriously happy it’s now done. The second is to cycle across the Molesworth on South Island. Now that route will take me up to over 3500 ft through a high mountain valley but is only to be undertaken in good weather. Rain plus any sign of a strong southerly would make me late. As in the late Mr Tyssen. Not for my flight. No. End of days stuff. 

Nonetheless there are only 380 miles to go and 15000 ft of ascent. Yes most of the hill work is now behind me. Simply because I have already made the decision not to continue on the mad Tour Aotearoa cycle route. Should I have continued that route then all I would have done is to decide to continue to flagellate myself to the very end. Why on Earth I would want to do that God only knows, and if he does, he can keep that little secret to himself. 

The problem with the hills. No, one of the problems with the hills is that most of the time you are (well I am) grinding along at less than 3 mph surrounded by the laughing cicadas as I empty over a gallon of water out of my body through my porous bits.  You see nothing more than the 10 ft of tarmac or more probably gravel / wet concrete in front of your fevered eyes. There is no feeling that you are in New Zealand. No. I could be in any sub tropical country in the world. You’ve seen the programmes on TV of celebs driving in the most extreme places of the world. Hours of grind only to be rewarded several hours later with one spectacular view. Perhaps like this. 

Is it worth it grinding out the hills?  Err no. Back in the UK both my JOGLE and LEJOG routings generally took the flattest route possible. So why not here?  I want to experience more of the small towns, less of the forests now and perhaps in my travels have a chance meeting and chat with a few folk.  Much healthier than just staying in my own head. 

So from now until the final climb across the Molesworth I’m flying low.  I’m gonna sound like the Dam Busters in their Lancasters over the Dutch countryside towards my final bombing run in the Mountains of South Island.  Mr Softee is oh so not looking forward to it.  It’s the flack you see…

I park my rear in Cafe Jacko just before every person in town arrives. Its full of locals today - Sunday - plus one fly. A fly that has taken quite a shine to me. Feck off I mutter repeatedly as I waft at the damn thing. I lift my eyes and have quite become the centre of attention to the locals who are I think mesmerised by the fat bloke in the corner who for sure is a ‘Tourette’s’ sufferer. Yes that is exactly the right word to describe this whole damn cycle ride. 

The lunchtime tsunami has finally subsided. I’m now sat alone writing more codswallop into this blog.  Hopefully I’m not the cause of all the frightened locals running away.  Nah. Simply it is due to close at 1400. It’s now 1405 and the staff are politely waiting for me to bugger off. 

Today is the 22nd February and so 16 days until my flight home. This is day 1 of the second half of my visit here. Visit yes because I just cannot call it a holiday.  You’re supposed to enjoy holidays aren’t ya?  To continue is 2 days cycling to Wellington where I will catch the ferry to Picton on the top edge of South Island. I will only do that crossing based on 3 things. 

The weather. I just will not attempt the Molesworth in the rain. Its gravel back roads means I would have over 100 miles of soft concrete like quick sands to plough through in the wet. Where’s the fun in that!  

Flights from Christchurch. I will check with Kathy Pathetic if I can change my return flight to depart Christchurch instead of Auckland. A much better solution and I wish I had taken it now I know I’ve got this far. But none of us have crystal balls do we. If not an option then an internal New Zealand Airways flight back to Auckland on the 9th is the next best. There are several every day. 

Bike box availability. I will phone ahead and see if I can book a cardboard box as the bike cannot go on an aircraft ‘raw’. It has to be packaged in some form of container. 

I’m now sat in Cafe Barista. It has every flavour and mix of coffee known to man. Expert in the craft of producing beautiful coffees with fern leaf patterns poured into the frothy bits. I’ve just asked for a pot of English breakfast tea. They’re looking at me like I’m an idiot. Yep, I am.

Palmerston North is defo named after its founder. Farmer Palmer.  A a rich piece of agricultural land as near as damnit at sea level. Founded on the flat lands exactly between the Ruahine and Tararua forest parks and the sea. Both of them in the mountains of course.  Not the sea. 

Now this city is flat. I mean FLAT. This is the place where they brought all the flat bits from everywhere else in this fantastical country and laid them out for Farmer Palmers consideration and adoption. And being a generous man to waifs and strays he took ‘em all. 

This is a place where the kerbs intersect at the vanishing point an infinity away. A place where snooker / billiard / pool tables are calibrated and where newly born spirit level bubbles are brought to life with a wee smack on their glass.  When it rains where does the water go.? Theres no down anywhere. No no look there there. Nope thats only the camber of the road crossing. No no look here!  Nah thats just the wee ramp up and over the kerbstone so that cyclists can breeze through unmolested. For sure I’ve got higher pimples on my back side. 

My cycle ride into town yesterday initially brought me through rolling countryside not dissimilar to the Yorkshire Wolds back home. In places with ultra long straight bits that ran atop a glorious 450 ft high ridge line. With a heat haze silvery portal in the distance which I imagine, if I had looked through with a pair of binoculars, would have shown me in another universe cycling in the opposite direction. 

The ride eventually brought me down main street but only after chatting with a dairy farmer, perhaps Mr Palmers great great great grandson and his wife who were fascinated with my bike setup and what was it that made idiotic me decide to ride in this country.  I tried to explain.  A man perhaps in his seventies and someone with huge sausage fingers. That was his wife then. 

I arrive at the BK motel. Now this place is plush. There is no place in the UK where anyone can stay at this price. I arrive in time for the speedway last night as already shown. I could have been in the hills chatting with cows instead. And let me tell you there are fields full of the buggers. Milk export here is a big thing. Every single one of the feckers firstly looking at me then galloping towards me so that they can get a close look at the fat man and his contraption. Every single one of them laughing with huge smiles on their faces!

Why are you laughing? You’re away to the slaughter house tomorrow!  WE KNOW!  They all break out in a crescendo of moo laughs. Wow!  I simply don’t believe it.  Its like I’m Logan running away from my future. My crystal has one last colour phase to go. And I’m getting worried!

That takes me back to my meeting with Barry in the curry house some days ago. A man worried if not a bit frightened about the days to come. A man who shook hands with me 3 times that night. What a great evening. I have another regret though. That I didn’t grab him in my arms and give him such a deep hug. To try to take away his fears. And to say don’t worry young man, it’s just the universe unfolding as it should.  The effect of that night’s meeting was so profound for me. It was just meant to be. 

I’m happy I’ve stayed put today. The weather front has moved through but the rain did not materialise. Good. However. The wind. Gawd it would have been another mad day riding into a strong headwind today albeit some 10 degrees cooler. 

Tomorrow I point my nose towards Wellington. I will eventually ride a coastal cycle route and no doubt be better sand and wind blasted than I was last night at the speedway. Boy do those machines push a low pressure gravelly air mass around as they go. 

Oh and just to finish. The lovely lady at the speedway extravaganza gave me a free t-shirt and was gonna give me a hat too. I had to politely refuse the second gift because I’m quickly running out if room on my bike.  The generosity here is silly!!

Also because of the night sweats I’ve bought a small blood glucose test kit as high sugar can cause sweats as bad as a cold. My blood sugar was fine when I arrived last night but was too high this morning. 

Probably because of the chicken and chips and cheeseburger and ice cream and biscuits and high sugar lemonade and…

All of which was thrown at a voracious Audrey II last night. 

You get my drift. 

Ciao for now..