Cycling NZ26 - Day 25 - The Train

By God this is a remote country. A country that is 25,000 square kilometres bigger than the whole of the UK but with less than one tenth of the UK’s population. 

It should not be a surprise to learn that the railway infrastructure here is a fraction of that back home too. 

Now my journey through this land has generally taken me the same way as the train. Many many times I have found myself close to the single track that links the top of this island chain to the bottom. But only as far north as Auckland and as far south as Christchurch. There’s a little bit of line that goes east west. However to get around in this country you either drive, fly, or ride a bike. 

I’ve got to say that the latter has probably given me some of the toughest riding of my tour cycling career. The timber trail in the Hauhungaroa Range was the worst. Riding on the edge of the Tongariro National Park plain was the worst too. The bike ride through the Wanganui river valley and the ride into the 30 degree headwind on the Hauraki Plains was also the worst. In fact all of this bloody place had been like a mad ride to the top of every Munroe in Scotland. Except for the hot days and perhaps for the ultra flat half days riding in and around Palmerston North and the majestic sweepy roads along the pacific coast line here on South Island 

The weather has been the worst too. The thundery downpour on the timber trail was as bad as I’ve ever had. 

But throughout all of it there have been many moments riding alongside a pair of polished rails. Well I say polished only if you include the fresh rust which has had plenty of time to form between her occasional bogeys in the rain. 

I’ve spent hours paralleling the damn thing.  Riding over and under and through it as though using my bike and my crap nav’s snail trail to stitch it to this land. Trains?  Yer having a laugh mate. One per day. Each way. Timetables?  Well yes we do have a time table they say but it is a bit approximate you know. 

As I’ve told there have only been fleeting glimpses of the silver snake as she slowly transversed this land.  Always in the wrong place at the wrong time. Thats the story of my life. So not to be unexpected here that I only occasionally might get to see a flash of her knickers or to watch her heels disappear into the bush. What a tease!  

But no Wayne. This land is teaching you many things. To be patient old boy. The day will come..

Last night I’m outside the front of the lodge - my stay for the night. I hear a distant angry growl. I look up. No, it’s an air sea rescue helicopter mixing it with the squally rain pushing hard along the coast to help someone in peril. Separated from me by a single storey roofline and bushes of the houses across the street. At the back of which runs the line. 

Then I hear her. A guttural clickity clackety  laugh in the distance cos for sure she knows she has caught me out again. 

There she is. I see only the very top of her head and long flowing painted yellow and red tinged main laughingly pass on the other side. She makes a sound like a two tone fart in my face and gives me the finger!  But that might have just been her pantograph. And shes away across the distant concrete viaduct with a catch me if you can smile on her Hairy Melon face. 

I go to sleep last night and dream of trains. Of a big wide white whale of a thing rounding a bend and coming directly towards me. I am prone on the gravel between the tracks. I cannot move!  I have no power in my arms. I push furiously but I cannot get up! Move! Move or you will be crushed!  I break out of my dream and so my sleep face down in that paralysis state. The curry with the extra coriander last night for sure is to blame.  I fight furiously to get up but I cannot. Eventually the power returns to my arms and I can finally lift my head. Oh please shoot me if I ever become a quadriplegic as there just could not be anything scarier than to live a paralysed life. 

However, I’m stuck in town. The weather is gruesome today. Like this. 

I am a big fat chicken with only summer riding gear in my panniers. My walk today along the sands was as wet and as fresh as walking on the sea front in Scarborough on a cold November day. Brisk is the word. 40 miles cycling into the southerly headwind with these showers around is again a big no-no. Not with my chicken legs. 

However right here right now I’m on the beach close to the track and not that far from the Whale way station as they say in these parts. 

I hear a distant gurgle. No. Never. Can it be?  Have I caught her finally?  At last!?

Good things come to those who wait.  Never a more appropriate collection of word has been uttered in my life. She flashes her headlights at me and gives me a polite smile for I have caught her at last. She says goodbye with a honk. From her smiley driver of course. For this might just be our last moment together. 

For soon this weather will lift and I will be on my way. On the last 125 mile leg into Christchurch. Then the flight home. 

Perhaps tomorrow. Perhaps the day after. 

But I’m getting close to the end.. 🥲

Ciao for now