death
Of course, I wasn’t entirely certain of what I was getting myself into. 150 kilometers (90 miles) in two days? Cake walk. And no hills? Even better. As we rode our rented bikes onto the trail and started our Tour de Central Otago, I marvelled at the beautiful landscape, and sincerely remarked to Dan that this was a great idea.
A couple of the first pictures of the trail, masterfully taken while I was riding my bicycle. But a few kilometres in, I realized that I was falling further and further behind the others. Initially, I attributed this to my incessant picture-taking, but by the time we took our first break at 25 kilometres, I could hide behind my photos no longer, and lagged several minutes behind Dan, Hayley, and Marco, supremely convinced that there was no way on this earth I could finish the remaining 5/6 of the trail. Not a chance.
Sometime during the break, a powerful stubbornness took hold of me, and I set out once again, jutting out my jaw with the effort of trying to remain on my bike. Five kilometres later, I gave in to the unbelievable agony attributable to, of all things, the bicycle seat, and inventing new swear words to describe my discomfort (“Groxer!”), I had to walk for some time before frustration overwhelmed pain, and I hopped on the bike once again. Thus began my ignominious battle with the accursed bicycle, and I spent much of the first day following the riding-walking-riding loop, occasionally joined by Hayley, who was a welcome companion. Dan and Marco were far ahead of us as the sun finally waned and set as Hayley and I took our leave of the last stop before ending the day in Wedderburn, some 80 kilometres from Clyde, the starting point.
Night crept up on Hayley and me, the darkness enveloping us for good around 9:30 pm. I switched on the head lamp that Dan had lent me at the last rest stop, silently thanking him for his foresight.
Hayley and I walked and walked and walked, totally unable to ride more than a kilometre at a time. However, soon enough we passed a sign, and our joy was unbounded:
The entire day had been a very gradual uphill journey from around 200m to 600m, and the sign that Hayley is shown hugging told us that we were at the highest point of the track – in other words, it was all downhill from here. That’s when things got interesting.
The ebony night around us meant we could scarcely tell cliff from trail, so I switched Dan’s headlight up a couple of notches, and it was agreed that we would resume our cycling, with Hayley keeping close behind me. The wind whistled in my ears as I fumbled with the light—which was clearly not designed for nocturnal biking—alert for any gasps or yells indicating that our beloved Kiwi had taken a rather nasty turn off the side of the trail.
Suddenly, car headlights blazed in front of me, and like so many times in New Zealand, my surprise caused me to do absolutely nothing except what I was currently doing, which was pedalling as fast as I could toward the car that was precisely where no car should be. It transpired that Dan and Marco had gotten worried about us, and the hostel owner had taken them out along the trail to find us, to Hayley’s and my mortified embarrassment. The two of us insisted on completing the trail, all traces of fatigue washed away, the demystified car following behind us, illuminating our path.
The rest of the night was uneventful, us chatting with the tavern/hostel owner (which was amazing, by the way—exemplary service, facilities, and food for about US$22) and the four of us fell asleep in a wonderfully cozy mud-brick cottage.
Day Two was much less eventful, except for my renewed determination (read: stubbornness) to stay in sight of Dan and Marco. I had found a solution to my woeful bottom blues, and rode my bicycle standing up for the entire day, which I consider a personal feat, though nothing compared to the torment of those few times when I sat down on that merciless bike seat.
'You don’t even need to ask who the Coolest Flatmate is. This picture says it all, from my rolled-up shorts to my hiking boots.
The four of us managed to stay reasonably closer together over the course of the day, though Dan and Marco zoomed ahead a few times. When I pulled into the town of Middlemarch, marking the end of the trail, to thunderous applause from Dan and Marco, it was with a definite sense of pride. I had done precisely that which I was so sure, only a day before, was impossible for me. And there’s nothing to boost your morale like achieving the impossible.
After that, it was a cake walk. We returned our bikes to the designated area, hopped on a bus, and took a pleasant train ride back to Dunedin, ending up at the Railway station, precisely where we had started. The four of us hobbled home, chatting animatedly about such things as Strong Bad, and poking fun at any cyclist who was unfortunate enough to cross our path. We had done it, and in my mind at least, we were legends.
Final count: 157.43 kilometres (94.4 miles) in one day and four hours. Oh yeah.
