Cycling NZ26 - Day 3 - What we have here is a failure to communicate..

My name is Dragline. For sure it was a hard day yesterday, Boss. For sure a hard day. 

It’s 0530am Zulu and as hard as they have tried the Zulus have not killed me - yet.  I’m sat in the kitchenette of this motel that one could only dream of finding at this price in the UK.  

I’m staring at my bike. She’s a Surly fecker. And she’s developed an annoying squeak. 

I’ve survived the night. I’ve just polished off a large plate of cold curry and rice for breakfast number 1 as there was no way I could eat it all last night and by God do I need the calories. 4000 more than normal needed on day one. 3500 more than norm yesterday. The oedema disease that was given to me by Kathy Pathetic has gone. There’s more moisture in King Tut’s mummified body than there was in mine last night. All of which had beed ripped out by the continuous headwind and almost all day long hot sun. 

Ask an Indian, especially one from Dehli and say what is it like in Dehli in summer to which he will proclaim ‘It’s HOT!’  Then ask what the weather is normally like here on the flat plain south of the Coromandel peninsula in late summer to which he would say ‘It’s BLOODY HOT!’  

Now don’t get me wrong. Ive been to many a hotter clime but this for sure was close to one of the hottest days ever on a bike.  London Alan may recall another life affirming day back in the UK which was the hot sunny ride from Scarborough to York on loaded tour bikes where we sheltered from the Sun under a tree in the Yorkshire Wolds quite dehydrated / exhausted some way away still from Stamford Bridge. There’s just never enough water in your bottles when it’s that hot. Well it was similar to that here yesterday. 

How things change. My departure from the sanctuary was into cool airs and light rain. Not bad enough for waterproofs as I normally ride wet with sweat. Now I for sure know that Garmin and Google are in collaboration with each other and should I ever be able to tune in, well, yesterdays conversation went something like this…

‘…Yeah yeah I like that idea but why don’t we try this. You show him yours, you know the original routing and I’ll hide his temporary plan to find the bakery for breakfast inbetween his googles until he’s too far down the gnarly gravel track for him to be able to turn around. Yeh yeh yeh I like that Ha Ha…’. The feckers. 

And so it was. Breakfast number 2 was missed and trying to find a shop nee a cafe even in this part of the world is nigh on impossible. I ask Google for help. He looks at Garmin, tips a wink and a little snigger, turn back to me and says sori mit there ain’t anything here mit (I seem to have found his antipodean alter ego here)

Ok press on Wayne. Breakfast number one should be enough to get you to some place with food especially with a gallon of water on your bike. 

With a fecking crap nav! cry I find the Bugger cafe at the end of the track. Only appears on Google if you zoom right in. Nice feature (NOT) Mr Google!  I demolished a full English breakfast, drank about 4 glasses of water, topped up my reserves, then bought an additional chicken wrap plus a rather large beef sausage roll as I can no longer trust Google and so had no idea what lay ahead over the next 40 miles. 

It’s now midday and the clouds have gone. The temperature increased that quickly it almost blew the end out of the thermometer on the cafe’s wall.  I say hi to an inbound crew of TA riders and have a nice chat with the Swiss lass who joined her group in Auckland for the rest if the ride down to Bluff at the bottom most edge of South Island. 

They and all others, for there are Tour Aotearoa (TA) riders everywhere here like wasps around a honeypot, will be fighting down the mad TA route designed by the Kennet Brothers which means lots of hot gravel track riding and fights over the meagre accommodations en route. I for one am happy to sacrifice my best laid plan and go some place that for sure has accommodation and is on the easier to ride tarmac roads. 

Status symbols. To some folk they really matter.   Back home its either your house, your car or your job title. In this country if you’re only dragging your arse around with nothing connected then you must be a local bum. I am gobsmacked at the number of cars hauling fecking big trailers upon which are strapped the biggest speedboats you have ever seen!  Every 3rd vehicle has a boat tied to its jaxi.  The other two are either pulling a farm trailer or have bikes attached to the tow-ball.  One went past with a boat-less trailer and I holler ‘you’ve lost ye bit mit!’  I dont think he heard me…

My status is shrinking as I ride. I ask one driver how big is your boat and feel myself whither in his forty foot reply. The roads are also littered today with a plethora of hot rods out for a cruise. How much did that cost to build mit I ask and watch my bank balance fold in pain at his reply. I stop by another bloke who seems far too contented with his lot. Ok mit how big is your balloon dog?  I feel mine curl up tight and hide in the bushes when he pulled his inflatable Rotweiller out from behind his iron barred thunderpants and in his bestest Jimmy Savile accent says ‘hows about that then, mit’. You can’t win, Wayne. Just ride on. 

To all intents and purposes I could be riding somewhere in the mid west. Long long straight roads laid out in a wide grid pattern where the roads have a number and not a name. I could be in the film Vanishing Point.  

https://youtu.be/0P2VCMT8vAw?si=SwlePTwtv2v7iAKO

The sun is almost directly overhead. I’m surrounded by wide empty fields intermixed with rather posh looking farm houses. And I’m pushing hard into the wind. 

Anyone dot stalking me may be asking why is Wayne riding so slow. Easy. The bike is shaped like a barn door. I am shaped like a barn door. The incessant wind whilst being no way as ferocious as that day I rode across Shap in 2022 and which originates from the southern ocean is steady and continuous.  Perfect if you are a Vender Globe yachtsman heading north east but a royal pain for a biker heading south west. 

I’m in irons. No way can I get a move on today. Averaging around 10 mph I’ve got probably, allowing for stops, 5 hours riding ahead of me. In this heat. Gahhh!  Thank God I’m carrying all of this water and the extra food cos this is 40 miles alone with a rather powerful hairdryer in my face but the knowledge that should I run out of water I can at least knock on a farmhouse door. 

‘Can I take my shirt off here, boss?’  ‘No, BOY’ is the walking boss’ reply. Like in the film Cool Hand Luke I’m working hard to get the day done. 

https://youtu.be/xhUYSGHTHiA?si=IbmMR_Ko5511s29I

I arrive at my digs. I’ve licked every morsel of water from my bottles. The whole gallon of it. I am exhausted in that way one gets when dehydrated. All day my body has been dry. The wind so efficiently sucking the moisture away. However as soon as I stop I am blathered. With no wind around its like a million taps have been turned on all over my body. The receptionist lets out a muffled my God!  

I walk to the sink, wrap my lips around the fawcet and turn it full on.  Oh no!  Too much Wayne, only little sips right now to get things going. I take balloon fog to the toilet and lift his dead body out of the undergrowth. C’mon lad. Time for a pee. He tries to stand on shaky legs and starts making that raunching sound only a dog can make after eating grass. Nothing. Then with a uurgh he deposits a bit of kiln dried sand in the corner of the bowl. You poor thing. I put him back in his basket, order deliver poo food to the door cos theres no way I’m going out for a walk tonight wrap my lips again around the faucet and stay there attempting to intra gobularly sip water back into my veins. 

Last night I dreamt. Bad dreams. Waking in that paralysis state because for sure the lovely lamb curry must have been loaded with coriander which, as delicious as it is, has a bad sleep paralysis effect on me. 

How the body ALWAYS recovers will never fail to surprise me. 

Today I’m away on a less than 40 mile leg via Matamata, a place loaded with Lord of the rings themery for it is where the film was made. I am aiming for a place that is meant to be spectacular hot pools and scenery wise and it’s where I’m gonna take a day off and relax. 

Time to take the dog for a walk. He’s got plenty of coffee to pass this morning, the poor fella. 

Ciao for now.