I want to have a go at answering some of the regular questions regarding this cycling lifestyle situation, because normally I write through a big set of rose coloured glasses. So I’m aloud a negativity pass in this post, even though I wouldn’t trade this life for anything. So boys and girls, here’s the hardcore truth. I hardly bother to brush my teeth at night because I’m too exhausted. Normally I don’t drink in the afternoon so I don’t have to meet with a monster in the middle of the night. My tent is a little one man that is always packed up wet with dew. It smells pretty bad. I get constant chafe; it has pretty much just calloused over at this point. When the wind is against you it makes you want to glide out in front of a truck. Music is my best friend. I’ve even gotten into Jane Austin audiobooks which has transformed my vocab and accent over a fortnight. Plastic pillows are squeaky and you do about 280 full revolutions every night to get comfortable. I broke my lock and now my bike is like my conjoined twin. I even take it into the shower blocks with me. Every time a car goes past you it bursts a stress bubble in your body. I think some tourists want to murder me. When it storms, you’re like an extremely obese person with all of your extra luggage so probably won’t be able to hitchhike. Normally I’m this weird mix between sweaty, hot and cold and just can’t get the layers right. Sometimes, you see other travellers and fantasise about wearing nice clothes and having long lunches. Okay, so now that’s off my chest you might understand how much I enjoyed having a rest day soaking in the hot pools at Lake Tekapo. I stuffed it up though and climbed Mount John with a German traveller who was keen to have a day of exercise. Now my calves are more sore than the whole trip. It was a beautiful climb.
At the youth hostel, the manager Billy was genuinely awesome. Interesting people filled the place. A drunk Scottish man who couldn’t communicate with the English second language travellers and used me as a translator from English to English to English. I met Matt who we discovered met my colleagues Kate and Lee the other day somewhere in the country.
A Malaysian female cyclist touring the South Island (in a hijab-amazing). A middle aged Indian couple who defied all social norms and sold their house to use the funds to travel world.
In the middle of the night on the way to a dreaded pee stop, the clouds had parted and I was lucky enough to witness the most spectacular stargazing in this National Park for the Sky. Milky Way eat your heart out.
Speaking of eating; I’ve been pretty damn hungry. Brother Daniel and I had a big chat on the phone about appreciating the small things in life, and something I appreciate in hostels is the Free Food Box. I was so excited about the Beetroot and Raspberry Jam that I ate so much of it on my chicken salad I made my gut sick.
I rode out of Tekapo with the wind. Some girls dream of an elaborate white wedding, some boys dream of a red Ferrari in their garage. I, I dream of a day when the wind roars at your back, pushing you up hills with his enveloping claws. On this day, you will never have to go into the wind, and you will glide so fast that people think you’re a motorbike. Well, it happened guys. On the 12th of May 2016 I got what I wanted, and flew. I was supposed to take a left turn off this dream run, but I decided to deal with that problem later and just keep riding with my gusty best mate. Ninety ks down the road the wind was no longer my friend, so I made friends with a guy at the pub in Point Pleasant and stayed at his place. I know what y’all thinking but just calm down. I cooked up a huge spaghetti carbonara and in return he dropped me north to Geraldine where I was supposed to ride yesterday. On the inland scenic route toward Christchurch, the grass is green and the mountains dusted in snow to your west. I got lots of time to look at that green grass while I had my head down and fought against the wind for half a day. It was only predicted to get stronger and to steal the sun for the rain. I walked into the tavern at Mount Somers scouring for food. I asked if they had any bread, and I walked out with a neat little lunch pack from the woman named Sandy. On the house. This gave me the inspiration to take my life into my own hands and just go east with the wind again. I roared to Rakaia, with the gusts pushing me into the road. It was a quiet one thank god, and it was almost like sailing. Leaning your body into the wind and holding the steering tight, the wind just tucks you in and scoops you along. The flat farmland is a welcome site, but I miss the raw beauty of where I have been over the past few weeks. I haggled with the campsite owners over the price for some grass to rest this tiny little tent and tired legs. They gave in, I made pasta, then I got in bed. I haven’t even bothered to brush my teeth 😏