Cycling NZ26 - The Awakening

Suddenly, I'm awake.  I see nothing in the blackness.  I immediately start to panic for I am totally, totally lost.  Where the feck am I?  

To suddenly wake into the pitch black not knowing where one is, well it's one of the scariest experiences ever.  As though stuck at the end of a dream reel unable to get out of the darkened cinema.  Not a clue where any light switch may be.  Fearful of moving in case something awful were to happen.  Think man, THINK!  I'm still hours away from dawn yet it slowly dawns on me that I am, yes, I must be back home. 

 
The dim light normally projected by the clock's LED light is missing cos all that was normally powered on had been shut off the day I left home.  In the dreadful tiredness of my arrival all I could do was fight the desperate fight for sleep to give me some chance, any chance of putting my body clock again on it's head in order to get in-sync with UK time.  

I struggle recalling how to turn the lights on for everything in this house is controlled by an electronic remote.  But what a relief when I pressed the correct button and the room sprung into light!  Aaaahh!  I'm in my bedroom!  The grotesque dreams of the night quickly fizzle away.  I check my phone which somehow had come to bed with me.  It says 00:30.  Bugger!  I was hoping for later.  I get up and finally can have that blissful hot shower being that in the tiredness of yesterday I had failed to put the hot water back on.  I go back to bed and my home, now awake, says... 

Hello Wayne.  Welcome home my darling.  I do hope that you have had a good time...  and SLEEEEEP!

She cast her strongest spell and I fall away again into the bottomless blackness of it all, back into that mad dreamland that I suffer every night.  

I wake again with a sliver of light coming in through the gap in the blinds.  I check my phone and, ahhhh!  It's 06:30!  Brilliant!  I've slept for nearly 12 hours and perhaps I've just taken a big step to get back in sync with this half of the planet.  

I lay there thinking of the journey home on what seemed like the longest flight on earth.  Yes, it probably is.  Twenty six hours again inside a pressurised test tube with just 3 hours relief in Hong Kong.  Only to then battle through the crappiness that is Manchester Airport and somehow get onto the direct train to York on time.  Of looking out of the train window and thinking just how high the sun was in the sky.  I get home and the daffodils are in full bloom and the house is pleasingly tidy.  When did I do that?  The grass in the garden is thick, long and oh so verdant the New Zealand way.  Oh how things have changed.  

How long have I been away with the fairies?  It's all been a dream hasn't it?  

So prolific am I with the dreams that I really, really had to question that fact.  No Wayne, for sure you have been away.  The mountain of video that you have and the pile of doggy poo that you wrote in this blog is evidence of it.  But also I do have a few memento's tucked away in my bags too.  Yes, YES!  That bucket list item that you said that you would do is now done.  The memories have been created.  My legs feel SUPER STRONG!  And contrary to the norm, er, you've managed to put some bloody weight on too!  Oh for Christ's sake, Wayne!

Where did 5 weeks go?  How fast does the planet actually spin?  Much faster than I imagined.  Perhaps this holiday, like life itself, is only an illusion where time does not matter.   I recall the old boy selling the ice creams from the back of his camper van at the blue spring chatting about his concern that every year is passing faster than the previous.  So fast did it seem to him that I imagine him stuck in his van, having ejected itself from life's edge, falling in some fantastical gravitational field to the ultimate end of time with him wrapped tight to the seat by an impossible belt staring wide eyed as the end of time rushed towards him.  

You might think that you are in control, Wayne.  But oh no.  You are not.  Because, yes, my stiff foot is similarly jammed hard on life's throttle heading towards if not already over the same edge.  

Nonetheless, I do not feel like I am out of control.  To the contrary the steering wheel still works and so whilst I can to a degree decide my take off point, my landing point remains invisible to me.  

This was my 3rd time in New Zealand.  The first time was a rather quick motorcycle holiday on South Island when I was 48 as part of a visit to Australia for my sisters 60th birthday.  Then again on another motorcycle holiday which was part of my 50th Birthday celebrations this time on North Island but again a reduced spell cos that year also included one weeks sailing in San Fransisco Bay.  On both occasions I had spotted other folk riding loaded cycles and had the mad thought that yes I would like to have a go at that too.  It's only taken 13 years for that to come true....  and SLEEEEEP!

Oh the damn dreams.  I'm in a gargoylian world of weird characters, events and places.  Yes, correct.  I am back in the UK.  It's 4am and the Zulu's are watching closely over my shoulder to make sure that what I type it the truth, the whole truth and nothing but... 

My body clock is still shot.  The tiredness envelops me at almost every hour of the day and so writing this blog entry is being done in fits and starts.  Nonetheless, as promised, just to share, here are some of my core memories of this journey before dementia takes them away from me.  I will leave my destinations for other folk to worry about.  

Now my recollection from those earlier days was just how beautiful New Zealand was.  Everything looks manicured.  Bright.  Sparkly.  Clean.  Including....

The people.  So many folk with huge smiles on their faces.  Many of whom are ex-pats originally from the UK and elsewhere who had made New Zealand their home.  To be able to chat to so many with life re-affirming stories.  We do not just pass one another.  Every moment becomes an opportunity to say hello and talk about this life, the universe and everything.  Including me and my bike.  Some hugely significant beautiful conversations are had, for example with Batman (Barry) and his pseudo wife Robin.  I carry another terrible regret that I did not give him a huge hug cos for sure that is what he, well, both of us really needed.   

Of a land covered with tour cyclists.  I thought I was old and grizzly did I?  How many septuagenarians did I meet out on their non e-bikes.  Proper gnarly types doing bigger, harder and further tour miles than I've ever done.  I feel ashamed to have considered myself to be an old man.  For sure I am not!

There were times where I was given gifts.  Two come immediately to mind in just one place.  Firstly at the speedway event in Palmerston North where I had to positively stop the lady at the back of the merchandise counter from giving me more stuff.  The T-Shirt is enough thank you!  I have limited space on my bike!  

Then in the same city to walk into a cafe for breakfast where I tell the girls at the back of the counter what I was doing.  To then get a coffee pressed into my hand by another total stranger who moments earlier had for “some reason” accidentally ordered two.  For him I must be the reason he double ordered.  For the girls to then say I must be a good guy and that it is only the universe giving back to me for the good things that I must have done.  I am gobsmacked!

I was in country for as near as damit 5 weeks and never heard one crossed word.  Not one swear word.  Nada.  Yes there were discussions and disagreements.  Nonetheless, to be immersed in lovely conversations and buried under miles of smiles is just what my soul needed.  This place restores one's faith in humanity.  With a little bit of effort surely the rest of the World could be the same. 

Every bloody where is green.  Not a bare bit of earth to be seen.  Except for the bits where Mother Nature has evicerated the land with huge slides and falls.  A land so young.  Made of soft pumice stones and clays that are so easily cut by the rain.  There is nothing else here to ravage the land nor rip its hair out.  Let us cultivate and grow the luscious grass my friend and use our long machine combs and sharpened shears to keep it trim and tidy for there is an unlimited market for the sweepings. 

The food.  Who knew.  Either side of my lost taste because of the virus well, you've got to give folk here 11 out of 10 for their effort to make the food taste great.  I cannot get over it.  It did not matter where I went.  Whatever I ordered the fresh zing of the sweet and savoury mix and spice combos were out of this world.  In every sandwich, pastry, restaurant and take away.  Perhaps over done in one or two places.  Laid out beautifully on ones plate.  So keen are they to give you the best culinary experience.  Master chef?  Yeah, whatever you do - do not invite a Kiwi to your competition for fear of them making IED colour and taste explosions that will blow your tongue and eyeballs out!

It's also a land where the animals have no fear of their partner human beings.   To be able to randomly feed the local birdlife, finches and the like, from ones hand at the breakfast table.  To be greeted by cows that positively run towards you to say hello.  I am abso-bloody-lutely sure that they're all smiling at me.  So pleased to see that I have made it to this very point in space and time.  

I still cannot get over the tranquility of this place.  A place so laid back it is almost horizontal. A cafe cultured land bereft of industrialisation where my only worry was getting hit by one of the many double articulations that crawled their way up and down the country loaded with milk and honey.  I could go on and on...

The bad?  Only 4 things come to mind.  

Firstly the weather.  It's called a rain forest for a reason you know, Wayne.  It rained in a way that Trump has probably never seen before.  Something he suffers a lot from.  Only to discover that the God of Thunder lives here.  When it rained I would have been drier if I had gone for a long swim.  Like the channel.  I recall arriving and the Timber Trail lodge.  Wherever I stepped I left an ocean.  I put my hand on the counter and a pool magically appeared.  How the locals just stared at the English water God at the bar.  To then be pulled into their community and thoroughly dried by their radiant warmth. 

When there was no rain the sun would come out and play with the wind.  Riding in a fan oven would surely have been easier.  So just go slow old man, find your true north and a path surely will appear before you.  

This land juts out magnificently into the great Southern Ocean so is gonna see plenty of rain and sun.  Unlike back home there is no elongated greyness in between.  Nonetheless, everyone talked about the poor summers of late.  Of having green grass that should be brown and crisp.  Of not having problems finding silage and hay.  Over the last 3 years how things have changed.  So like the UK now with it's wet Atlantic summer weather.  Perhaps it's just the Christ Child at work.  

Secondly, well, there are a few folk in this country who need to be taught how to drive safely when cyclists are on the road.  The idea of leaving a gap between themselves and the soft pink Earthling on the bike seems to be an anathema to them.  Even on quiet roads I just do not understand their reluctance to move across the median line.  Time to go back to school.  

But also of suffering a virus.  Many a wet sweaty night after the Timber Trail.  Yes that started about day 7 post the incubation period.  No doubt picked up on the plane 7 days earlier.  A pressurised test tube full of folk travelling for nothing important at all.  A first class example of why the airlines should have been closed the day Covid was discovered to prevent the global spread of the disease.  What a government f'up that was in not doing so.  How bad did the muscle aches and joint pains become?  Bad enough to stop me in my tracks or to restrict my miles to 25 or less.  Right here right now I still carry a small tickle at the back of my throat.  A vestigial reminder of the bad days on my bike.  An important lesson though was to recognise that there is no great race in this life to the end.  Look after yourself, Wayne, and take your time.  

And finally to arrive in Christchurch and see a city that is still recovering post the 2011 earthquake.  Many buildings still wrapped in supporting timber scaffolds and many bare plots of land no doubt because of the lack of insurance so unable to rebuild.  And a Cathedral that is still not even close to restoration.  Desperate for funds to keep the project going.   Pass on the goodness, Wayne.  I will make an on-line donation later today.  

What about the UGLY?  Well, yes there was lots of that too.  But none of it in New Zealand.  I see the ugly on the way to, in, and away from Manchester Airport.  In the people and the traffic that surrounds me.  The post industrialisation wastelands, many of which have been converted into monstrous car parks.  The old scruffy black terraced houses that back up to the railway line.  The detritus and muck that is spread about this land.  The aggressiveness of the folk.  The menacing demands for your cash.  Yeah, the only place that was ugly on this journey is right here right now.  

For some time I have been suffering from Tourette's.  Letting out small fecks and fuck it's under my breath.  A daily feature of my life because every day there is something that upsets me or reminds me of my regrets of the past.  However, I just cannot recall one day, NOT ONE DAY, when away in New Zealand where I may have let go with an F Bomb nor a negative thought.  Hmmm, perhaps one but nothing to do with that place.  The ugliness was magnified and projected back into my soul as soon as the rubber hit the Mancunian runway.  

To finish.  I think I understand now.  New Zealand taught me lots.  The hard bit now is to put those lessons into practice - right here right now.  But also of a culture inherent in everyone who lives in that land.  

My last supper was in a pub (of which there are few) where there was a shortage of unbooked tables.  Two ladies followed me in.  They find a table in the bar.  There are no others so I ask may I share this table with you.  Of course they say and somewhere between the courses another lovely conversation sprung up.  Turned out to be a couple of ladies who have historically suffered abuse from their partners but who now run courses / consultation events to help others to deal with the aftermath.  Their parting words to me was to remember....

Mana-ā-kī(tanga)

In Māori culture, Manaakitanga is a concept rooted in the values of care, respect and generosity. The word comes from "manaaki", which means to extend love, support, and hospitality to others.

It's more than just a word in te reo Māori (the Māori language). Manaakitanga is a way of life that reflects the deep understanding and needs of others. It influences how Māori people interact with others in their daily lives, work, or cultural gatherings. It's practised at home, the workplace, and the community. [1]

That phrase encompasses the whole of my experience here.  That phrase is the best that I could use to describe this land and ALL of it's people. 

And it's my final and biggest lesson of all.   

So was this a bucket list item, Wayne?  

Forget the idea of bucket lists for you my friend still have control.

Make yourself a promise to go back again, one day....

For New Zealand is a place to re-energise one's soul.

Ciao for now

[1]Should you want to know more about Manaakitanga then perhaps read the following:

https://www.superprof.co.nz/blog/understanding-manaakitanga/