Snapshots of Tour Aotearoa Taking the long road home
Words and pictures: Matthew Peploe
Monday, 22 February
The night before the journey begins, I lie in my bivvy bag trying to sleep. Insects buzz around the mesh covering my head, struggling to find a way through. They are an echo of the noise within as thoughts swarm within my mind, craving attention: Have I packed everything I need? How long will it take to reach the start line? Do I have enough food? How are my family? When will I fall asleep? I cannot escape.
Tuesday 23 February, Cape Reinga to Opononi, 169km
We begin our adventure like any other cycling race – 100 or so cyclists jostling for position on the open road and down to the beach. Two riders head out in front pushing themselves hard along the sand and I join the chasing peloton. Working together we seek shelter from the wind. It’s as if we have forgotten what lies ahead but 88km of flat unchanging sand slowly reminds us all that we have a long way to go. The peloton slowly dwindles and only a handful of us remain as we reach the end of the beach: Ahipara.
I head out of town alone, eating deep fried fish and chips balanced precariously on my handlebars. The sun soon sets and the moon rises but I keep riding.
In the darkness I crest a hill to see the harbour leading to Rawene. The moon glows, full and round overhead, painting a pale yellow trail across the harbour. I push forward and make it to the ferry with time to spare. After the ferry crossing I ride with Tom and Carl. We cannot see what we pass in the darkness but we note the passing of midnight as we reach Opononi and fall asleep beneath the security lights of the RSA.
Wednesday, 24 February, Opononi to Mt Eden (including 44km Kaipara Harbour ferry), 246km
Past Tane Mahuta and through Northland we push towards Poutu. My companions of the night before each choose their own pace and we slowly drift apart. I ride alone for much of the day and make it to Poutu well before the ferry is due. I have time for a rest beside the sea but I find it hard to sit still; I feel like I should be moving, making progress. I struggle to relax and focus on where I am, instead of where I want to be. Eventually the ferry arrives and we cross Kaipara Harbour. The sea mirrors the sky; blue then gold then inky black as the sun sets behind us.
It is dark when we arrive at Parakai and David and I push on towards Auckland. Riding into the night we discuss our bikes and gear and what we do in our ordinary lives. We question why we have entered an event like this, why we punish our bodies riding a bike during the heat of the day and into the night for days on end. This is not just sightseeing, there is something more to this journey for each of us. David calls it self-actualisation. I agree, then spend the next few days wondering exactly what that means. But I forget the question when we reach the top of Mount Eden and see spread before us the lights of Auckland beneath a clear night sky, thousands of small holes in the darkness.
We join two other riders, lie beneath a tree at the top of the mountain, and sleep until the sun rises.
Thursday 25 February, Mt Eden to Waikato River Trail, 269km
Beyond the Auckland traffic there is nothing but heat. I leave Auckland alone. The sun burns overhead as I push on towards the coast. Pedals turning I roll through Miranda, Kopu and on to Paeroa via the Hauraki Rail Trail. Long straight roads stretch before me, baking in the sun. I stop and hide in a patch of shade beneath some shrubs for a drink.
Arriving in Paeroa I’m welcomed by my workmates Liz and Mark who’ve been following my progress online. We have a quick chat and I carry on, anxious to keep moving.
Through Matamata and on to the Waikato River Trails I ride, where I meet with my friend Graham who joins me for a while. It’s nice to have company as the sun sets on my third day. Graham returns home. I carry on into the night.
Friday 26 February, Waikato River Trail to Owhango, 213km
Waikato River Trails, Pureora Timber Trail: I have ridden these before and it is easy to take them for granted. So I do, and miss a crucial turn-off, adding time and distance to my day. Lesson learned - but what else do I take for granted? That’s a question easily answered when I’m tired, hungry, dirty and homesick. I miss my family, I miss being clean. I miss being well-fed and rested.
Stopping for lunch at the geographical centre of the North Island I am embraced by ancient native forest. Only cicadas and wood pigeons break the silence as fantails dart amongst the moss-clad trees. And as I stand beside the silent centre, I ponder again what has brought me here. I have come so far since I lay amongst the buzzing insects on Monday night.
I leave the silence behind, and carry on, beyond the Timber Trail through Taumarunui and on into the night again.
Saturday 27 February, Owhango to Hunterville (including 33km Whanganui jet boat), 229km
I have planned to ride the Kaiwhakauka Track through to the Bridge to Nowhere twice before and twice my plans have been thwarted by rain. But not this day. I head out to the Track alone, racing for the 3pm jet boat to Pipiriki. Through forest and farmland I ride; bog and mud and gravel. Past the abandoned homes of those promised much but given little. Their family names adorn memorial plaques, first names forgotten. Lonely brick chimneys stand amidst the wilderness, quiet crumbling monuments to abandoned hopes and dreams. But I have my own hopes today. I race past the relics, ignore the ghosts of times past and make the jet boat with minutes to spare.
After the boat trip to Pipiriki, Tom and I follow the Whanganui River as it leads us out of the past and back to the modern world. In Jerusalem I consider briefly stopping and exploring the poetry of the place, but instead I buy a Coca Cola and ice block from a bedroom window that doubles as the village store. I ride again. I am addicted to moving now. And sugar. Lots of sugar.
Sunday 28 February, Hunterville to Masterton, 268km
I ride into Hunterville for breakfast. Tom has beaten me to it. We share a table in the cafe and stories of sleeping through the showers of the night before. We each leave at our own pace, riding into the quiet country roads of the Manawatu. It is a peaceful day of understated beauty: gentle rivers, views of Ruapehu, quiet valleys. I find a rhythm and enjoy the peace and solitude, barely noticing the kilometres slowly ticking over, and the distractions and burdens I slowly forget. Life is simple today.
Monday 29 February, Masterton to Picton (including 95km Cook Strait ferry), 242km
I share breakfast with Tom again. Today’s location: Martinborough. It is good to speak with Tom again after so much time on my own. We leave the town together but soon separate as we each find our own pace once more.
I climb the Rimutaka hills on my own and as I near the top of the trail I meet several cyclists out for a day trip. They are friendly, fascinated by my journey and encourage me on. As we talk, Tom arrives, so we continue on together to the top of the climb and through the summit tunnel. There we meet a TA rider’s wife: she's ridden to the summit to share her home made scones and fresh plums with TA riders passing through, expecting her husband to arrive sometime during the day. We make the most of the welcome, enjoy a scone and plum then head down towards Wellington.
As I ride through Petone a local cyclist joins me, offers me some energy snacks and gushes with enthusiasm about TA. He’s inspired and amazed at our efforts. We chat as we ride and he shares his experiences of racing for NZ at the Olympics. I am humbled. I don’t feel that I deserve such praise from an Olympic athlete. We shake hands, he takes my photo, and I carry on towards the waiting ferry.
Tuesday 1 March, Picton to Murchison, 271km
Several of us leave the ferry in the early morning darkness. Before us lie the undulations of the coastal roads of Queen Charlotte Sound and the infamous gravel climb of Maungatapu.
The climb is tough; long, steep in places and over a constantly loose and rocky surface. I remember my children’s laughter, my wife’s smile and the simple pleasures of home. Somehow I make it over the rocks and boulders, through the ruts and up to the top of the climb. Alone, at peace on the summit, I look back over the rugged trail behind me, the trail of worries and distractions that I have abandoned and climbed over to make it here, and take a moment to celebrate my journey. But I still have a long way to go, so I start riding again.
Wednesday 2 March, Murchison to Greymouth, 229km
Today felt like hard work. Everything felt more difficult than it should. From the sparkling green beech forest of Maruia Saddle and its smooth carpet of leaves, to the rugged and frequently un-rideable Big River, my legs have struggled. As midnight approaches I reach a downhill road into Greymouth. Feeling shattered, I stop pedalling, intending to roll down the hill and rest. My bike rolls to stop within a couple of metres. I try spinning my front wheel and it barely makes a full turn. Something is not right. My tired mind struggles to solve the problem and I assume the worst. I decide to deal with the problem the next day so I continue into Greymouth, book into the first hotel I find and fall asleep. It is my second night in a real bed since leaving Auckland 10 days before.
Thursday 3 March, Greymouth to Franz Josef, 239km
Five minutes in a bike shop and my wheel is turning again. The helpful mechanic removes stones from my brake callipers - it appears that I had been riding most of the previous day with my front brake partially on. In my tiredness, I had assumed disaster, from leg failure to hub bearing faults, without thinking of the simplest, most likely explanation. How easy it is to assume the worst. Embarrassed that I had not noticed such a simple problem, but grateful for the solution, I ride on.
Onto the West Coast Wilderness Trail I ride. I have never heard of this trail and it is a revelation: beautiful, wild, peaceful.
Friday 4 March, Franz Josef to Hawea, 266km
Bluff seems an impossibly long, long way away. I have 5 or 6 hours to ride to Haast. After stopping at Fox Glacier, there are no towns to look forward to, only mosquitos that attack whenever I stop moving. I am tired, hungry and dirty. I have not seen another TA rider today. My body is starting to ache and my ankle is swollen and a slightly unusual colour. I left my iPod where I slept last night. I have never felt so alone, nor missed my family so much. I cannot remember why I am here and I feel like I am slowly breaking apart. Only the beauty of my surroundings distracts me from my melancholy, but even that begins to fail as my hunger increases. I feel like I have been riding to Haast for weeks on end.
The Alps to my left then the ocean to my right remind me how small I am. And then the rain begins to fall. I admire the trees on the roadside, all bent the same way giving silent testimony to the prevailing winds. They withstand the challenges they face. I do the same, and carry on riding.
I eat a meal in Haast. Then another. Purchase some food for a late night snack. I didn’t think I could make it past Haast tonight but I feel encouarged by the food and I want to see my family again, so I pedal on.
Over Haast Pass I ride through the darkness then down, down, down descending beyond the clouds until I ride in silence beneath innumerable stars. I feel alive again, no longer small, just a part of something much larger than I had ever imagined. I feel myself being re-made as my pedals turn.
Saturday 5 March, Hawea to Mossburn (including 12km Earnslaw Ferry), 262km
Night has fallen. As I ride in the darkness, a young rabbit runs ahead of me, finding itself caught in the spot cast by my light. It tries to escape but the boundary between the light and the surrounding darkness seems to have become a barrier it cannot cross. It runs before me, leaping from one edge of light to the other, seemingly unwilling to run into the unknown, trapped within the light I make. I wonder whether it is fear, bravery or simple exhaustion which leads it to finally plunge back into the darkness, escaping its imagined cage. Both of us create our own paths through the darkness now.
Sunday 6 March, Mossburn to Bluff, 117km
I awake surrounded by damp fog and I can barely see the road ahead of me as I begin riding towards Bluff. I cannot quite believe how far I have come. Cape Reinga is a distant memory belonging to another person; someone distracted by the busyness of living within the spotlight of work and demands and expectations setting the boundaries of his life. I left him behind days ago and I enjoy the silence as the fog clears and the sun rises. Once again, I ride beyond the darkness, into the light of day, slowly becoming part of the world around me. Soon I will arrive in Bluff but, for me, this journey will not end until I am home again.
Monday, 14 March, Work to Home, Hamilton, 5km
My first day back at work has ended. I have told stories of where I have been and things I have seen but the stories always fail to capture the essence of all that I have experienced. For me, Tour Aotearoa was more than just an opportunity to tick destinations off a list of beautiful places.
I am not the same man who left here 3 weeks ago. I have escaped for a time beyond the imagined barriers of comfort and habit that blinded me to the simple pleasure of being alive. I have been re-made, discarding the worries and demands and expectations that once cluttered my mind.
I have always known in theory what is most important to me, but now I feel it in my bones and muscles, my joints and tendons and tingling nerves. Now I know what it is that keeps me moving through the busyness of life, what lies at the centre of who I am: he tangata, he tangata, he tangata.
I walk in the door of our house, into the arms of my family, and know that I am home.
Thanks to Jonathan Kennett for organising this amazing challenge, to Tom, Rickie, David, Carl and all the other TA riders I met along the way, to all the supporters who encouraged me along and, most of all, to my family for allowing me to complete this journey and remind myself how much they mean to me.