Budgewoi to Singleton – 71 miles

It rained overnight and so I awoke to a wet tent. Also the ground around was wet and I still had to pack. Frankly years of Pilates has provided me with the capability to operate in small spaces in positions best described as contorted. So I put on my head torch and rolled up my sleeping bag and liner and put that in the dry bag and then deflated my air mattress and stuffed that into its bag. Then I widened the tent by opening the inner tent up to the fly tent and stuffed, semi neatly, other nightwear and the like into my panniers.

With my panniers sorted I took down the tent but separated the wet parts from the dry parts by using a bin liner. (When I erect this later in the day it will dry in minutes.) I was ready to go. The man sat on the verandah of his nearby cabin who was gorping at my activity didn’t acknowledge me as I cycled off (before 7am.) Some Australians blank you, yet some are friendly. I can’t work them out.

I’d noted, from the night before, a cafe that was open early and did breakfast last night and so devoured a bacon and (very runny) fried egg roll with a flat white and embarked on the ride.

The ride was through residential areas, quite well heeled, until I emerged into countryside, in fact wine growing areas. The hills kept coming but after some consolidated sleep I was feeling more like it.

One continual piece of pressure is keeping the bike moving ahead in a straight line on the narrow hard shoulders. The bike is so heavy that both hands are needed on the handlebars. Added to the challenge are rumble strips and later in the trip flies that you can’t waft away. All this at 4.5mph!

I enjoyed my ride high up in the hills and it seemed a little French by comparison.

The regular caravan site in Singleton got desperate reviews. An alternative was a show ground that had a sort of small camp area and some ablutions or ‘amenities’ as the natives call a basin, WC and shower. I wavered but rang the number on the entrance board and spoke to Daryl who seemed very welcoming. ‘Can you ride and talk?’ I could and Dazza directed me to a sheltered cow byre where under a roof I could pitch my tent.

He then appeared in person, a sort of dishevelled David Bellamy dressed as if he’d been underneath a tractor fixing the gearbox. I was less enthusiastic about the shelter but then it started to rain! I relented.

The error was that whatever my tent was sat on was insect heaven and when dusk came all sorts came out of this straw. I got bitten badly. This is elementary schoolboy planning for a camper. ‘But Tony surely you carry repellent and bite relief?’ Well absolutely, in fact three types of repellent. I just need to remember to use it. The next day when I put up the tent I found dead mozzies in the tent. Oww…

Before the insect’s meal I’d found a local Returned & Services League (RSL) club and had gone there for a mountain of pasta and a beer.

Sydney to Budgewoi – 55 miles

In some ways Sydney was a pit stop after Wellington with a day built into my schedule in case I needed to sort out the bike. With no problems I loaded up the bike and headed for the Metro. Paul had volunteered that maybe I could escape Sydney’s traffic and cycle paths by getting to the north of the city. I’d cycled out of the city twice before and they were slow and frustrating, so why not Plan B? Taking the bike on the Metro was straight forward and I was off.

Using the lifts I was soon on the platform and heading for Central where I changed. For a train heading north.

I alighted at St Leonard’s and discovered the lift was out of order. Moving my luggage and bike up three flights of stairs was disappointing but I was soon on the pavement facing early morning workers all looking at their phones rather than me! It was busy and my route to the planned original cycle route was difficult. I muddled along.

Like a lot of Councils Sydney’s solution is to put white paint on existing pavements and roads and leave the cyclists to hope for the best.

Eventually I got free of the city and I have to be honest that I didn’t recognise any of the route I took in 2020. The climbing was NZ’esque and I eventually rolled into Palm Beach and found the ferry. In fact it was about to leave as I embarked.

The ride was tough. I was still tired after my revelry in Wellington and the 16,000 steps I took in Sydney. The campsite I was aiming for I’d stayed at before in 2020 and memorably lost my passport overnight. You never forget that. I did struggle in and remembered from 2020 that there were some restaurants near the campsite. I fancied a pizza and found Domino. I was in bed at around 7.30pm. I am usually spark out in minutes and this proved no exception.

Sydney to Brisbane

The departure from Wellington was straightforward although no one wants to hear their name over a tannoy and a call back to the Check In desk. My call back was to tell me I had submitted luggage that exceeded the baggage allowance and they required NZ$75. I thought I’d just about worked within the 30kg. I was a bit miffed but absorbed the blow.

A first for me was free wi-fi during the flight. I took a photo and sent it on WhatsApp to celebrate. Arrival saw my trust steed arrive and it crossed my mind that this is the third time this bike has been to Australia. Quite the traveller.

So I had to do a little overnight laundry in the room. In the morning I still had damp underwear. Three choices presented themselves for the day – go commando, walk around like John Wayne or find the hair dryer to accelerate the drying. I chose Option 3.

The hotel was within the Airport estate and the next day I looked around and bought some provisions.

Other items on the shelf were more familiar. The mustard would have been useful with the sirloin. I bought the biscuits but not the Coleman’s.

Sydney always seems to me a neat and efficient place. Good infrastructure and a young and busy vibe. The suburb I’m staying in, Mascot, has a very heavy Chinese/Asian population number. Most seemingly under 30 years old and walking directly toward me looking at their mobiles.

The high level of immigration means that there is a London situation on the customer facing jobs front. Many folk whose first language is not English. This situation had me badly advised on using the Metro and the correct ticket to buy. We stumbled around the pronunciation of the train stop I wanted and I had to repeat original questions. Later, in the day, another Information Assistant saved me money and time with correct advice.

For the record I made my way to Circular Quay for the photo op and to tell my global audience of my plans. I hope they enjoy the video on Instagram.

Wellington stop over

For some of my chores in Wellington to make sense it’d be helpful to declare that Wellington isn’t the end of my trip and I won’t be directly returning to the UK. The ‘maybe more…’ meant I was flying elsewhere to complete a bit more touring. However, more of that later.

So after having settled in with Paul I had to go into Wellington to sort a few matters out. Paul is a peripatetic Lancastrian who splits his time between NZ and the UK. Sensibly he spends the better weather months in the respective countries. Despite his youthful looks Paul is long retired and amongst various pastimes he lets the property in full or part as an Airbnb. His guests are fortunate to have this accommodation so close to the city albeit they may need a head for heights.

The good folk of New Plymouth not only retained my soap box/holder but also a pair or trousers that I absent mindedly left hung up in a hotel room wardrobe. These needed replacing. Wellington has several outdoor clothing shops so this wasn’t a difficult to resolve. Next came the purchase of a hold-all bag that I would need to haul some stuff on the flight before abandoning it in my next hotel room. I then needed to visit an optician to see if they could adjust my spectacle frames to more tightly grip my face: elsewhere I’ve raved about Asda glasses. I’m starting to understand why they were so cheap. Lastly, there was the need to get my bicycle serviced along with obtaining a box to ship it in. That was accomplished although timing was tight for me to get the job done and then get the box back to the accommodation to pack it. This was a stressful part of the departure process and I knew it was coming. I did have difficulty sleeping worrying about all this coming together with a fixed flight ticket already purchased. Anyway it did.

So after that it was time for sightseeing, fine dining, drinking and err… ukulele playing,

I used to strum an acoustic guitar but never a ukulele but I had one thrust into my mitts and given a few chords to learn. Amongst 40 other players and a band no one could hear what a mess I was making of it all. I did tell one other players that in fact I was playing all the right notes but necessarily in the right order!

We had a look inside part of the NZ Parliament complex. A small and serene affair with, predictably, a lot of security to get in and out.

There was a lot of imbibing and much to both our amazement Mango IPA was very drinkable.

Paul was an excellent chef. He knocked this up at a canter. Fabulous. I’d not seen proper vegetables since the UK. I must try them again.

Sadly none waddled into view.

‘William’ flew in for a date (piece of fruit not dinner, a movie and how’s your father…) that I fed to him by hand. Me scared I’d lose a finger? Certainly! He was very gentle. These birds are now prolific locally after earlier concerns over their numbers.

The local Botanic Gardens were a local joy and strolling around the different vegetation was delightful.

With 24 hour news we watched the result in mid afternoon although it was Stupid O’Clock in Blighty. I have considerable challenges working out what day it is and the time back in the UK. Missing out on the politics isn’t a loss but following the football is a struggle.

Wellington has many hills. One early 20th century piece of infrastructure still runs up one hill and this is a tram. At the top we looked at its museum and then entered the Botanical Gardens.

Paul illustrating a sundial involving the observer putting their feet in certain positions and raising their arms. Wellington only occasionally kept to its side of the bargain by providing sun.

There are always interesting people. At 85 it’s a long time since he’s left Glasgow. In the interim working in Nicaragua, Australia and NZ kept him occupied. He was a fellow strummer at the ukulele class and told me a touching story of how he was dealing with all the time created by his now dearly departed wife. She’d left him with three instructions. First, get fit. He’s had several minor heart attacks. So now he goes to Pilates and has new friends from that. Secondly, he works at maintaining links with existing family. In the offing is a get together with a brother in Australia. Her last one was find a challenge: this is where the ukulele comes in. I’m not sure how good he’d become as I seldom looked around whilst I personally attempted to move my wooden digits around the fretboard. A very nice man getting on with life. I salute you sir.

On our tour of bars we found some excellent live music. Sadly I reverted to music critic mode about the song selection. Paul heard me out and we ended up bellowing to 80s classics in another bar… ‘Just a small town girl, living’ in a lonely world / Just a city boy born and raised in south Detroit…’

Lastly, Paul and I found our way to an upmarket restaurant for some fine dining and a little Merlot Cabernet Franc. All delicious.

So after exhausting the services of my chef, tour guide, landlord, chauffeur, carer and ukulele instructor I was ferried to the airport to embark on the next stage. Thank you Paul. Immense.

Paekākākiri to Wellington

In the familiar pattern it was a cold morning as I packed away the tent and headed south on my final ride in New Zealand. No one stirred around me. I stopped for a breakfast bagel and flat white but was soon onto a cycle route that would hopefully help me navigate my hilly ride into the capital city, Wellington.

I often write how frustrating cycle paths are: they’re mainly designed with safety and separation from motor traffic in mind even if they’re indirect, poorly maintained or hilly. I suppose if you’re popping to the shops on your ‘sit up and beg’ bike it really doesn’t matter but if you’re covering greater distances they’re a drag. To me they seem like a difficult and unfriendly way of getting to your destination. The ride was a difficult meandering route although it had some highlights with water vistas.

I progressed using a combination of the route on my Garmin cycle navigation computer and Google Maps on my iPhone. It didn’t always work out and memorably I was directed up one very steep hill into a cul-de-sac! It took me a while to stop laughing as I caught my breath. Google Maps latterly came up with footpath solutions but stairs are never easy on a heavy bicycle!

So it was by a wobbly route I eventually got to the Shepherd’s Arms where my old Manchester Poly pal and kind host, Paul, would collect me. 

The plan was that as he lived in the surrounding hills he’d load my bike and luggage into the car and we’d drive up to his house. I got off to a terrible start as he pulled up beside me at the entrance to the pub car park; I didn’t realise it was him and I bellowed at the driver/Paul not to drive into me! I felt very stupid when I realised who it was. However, this was the end of my ride.

Overall it had been as hard as I expected but the campsites were good, the people I met often interesting and helpful, the northern scenery sumptuous and the weather quite agreeable for cycling ie. cool and mainly dry but often mixed during the day with rain, grey skies with periods of intense sun and heat. It was clear that the west coast was not a prime destination for tourists and that any tourist cyclists, if any, stuck to gravel trails, which were well documented and followed. I had ultimately ridden lots of gravel and not particularly struggled with my 28mm wide tyres but they were not optimal. 

In the main I had pedalled through farming communities (dairy or sheep) with few settlements and all had exhibited the usual characteristics. Namely, traffic simply concentrating on getting from ‘A to B’ and putting their foot down on these big distances, whistling by quite close to me was never compromised and inevitably my concentration on keeping the bike in a straight line and ensuring I was to the left of the white line at the side of the road was a priority. I saw scattered houses and a few villages but never larger towns except where I might have camped. It was usually a poor and unsophisticated selection of food with much of it, I expect, starting the day being defrosted from a freezer. The roads that were originally horse or agricultural paths had progressed to have tarmac on them with little subsequent thought about gradients. That folks is New Zealand.

Back at Paul’s fabulous abode the beer was opened and I luxuriated in the thought that I wouldn’t be riding my bike for the next few days and my legs could recover.

The nature of Wellington is that it is a place surrounded by hills and after I’d showered we drove up to the top of one and took in the city below. A few days in comfort and good company awaited.

Dudding Park to Paekākākiri

I quietly cycled off the site hoping Caroline wasn’t twitching her curtains to monitor movements. It seemed I had cycled the worst of State Highway 3 as I found it now flat and soon I was at Sanson turning right to head due south to Wellington. The road was flat the shoulder wide and no headwind. Feeling a lucky boy I listened to my podcasts and music and ploughed on. It was a flat featureless landscape and it seemed in no time I was cycling through Foxton and then Levin with over 40 miles clocked. However, I was feeling tired and food was needed.

It’s surprising how this can turnaround your day and so I dined then I set off and picked up some energy as I pedalled. Inevitably the goal of reaching Wellington was on my mind and the last miles were coming up.

The road got wider and more modern as we got nearer Wellington and I was allowed to cycle on the hard shoulder but felt that I shouldn’t be allowed on this, in effect, motorway. The last time I rode on a rode of similar construction I was called crazy and picked up by the Gendarmerie in France a couple of summers ago! it was a wonderful surface and ultra flat.

Calling into Ōtaki I bought some dinner but found my debit card was declined? We had an account with Lloyds that allowed us to use our card internationally without transaction charges. Whilst that is an excellent facility it does actually need to work to be of any benefit. Needless to say I pedalled on troubled about potential funds drying up! That was something to sort with a country in a different time zone. Bless Lloyds (not).

I’d identified a few campsites earlier to stop at and called into the first one to be told that it was more of a holiday camp for groups. I didn’t quite see how a single camper with few demands couldn’t be accommodated but it wasn’t my decision and pedalled south to the next one. After sailing down the SH1 I for tens of miles making great time I was now on a windy cycle path that took a stunning route but inevitably it was slow and hilly.

As the above images show after having been flat the hills around Wellington had started to appear and tomorrow I’d have the short but demanding grind into the city.

After a long day I arrived at the campsite (to have my debit card declined) and used up some more cash. The site was well appointed and my pitch was fine except it was next to a small shed/hut containing a sauna. By 8 O’Clock I’m ready to go to sleep only to hear lots of middle aged ladies chatting and laughing as they alternated between the steam and the chill outside. In went the earplugs but to little effect. The ladies all seemed to get louder and more excitable. Does steam do this? By 9pm I roused myself out of my tent and ambled up to the shed to tell them I was trying to sleep. To their credit they dispersed no doubt grumbling about the man in a little tent.

Pātea Beach to Dudding Lake

(The post includes videos – open in the website or Reader.)

A new development is the temperature! First thing in the morning it’s cold. So peeking out of my sleeping bag the frigid air, at 11°C, grabs your head and you spend some minutes summoning reserves to extract yourself out of the sleeping bag and start packing your things away. I am usually pedalling off at 7.30am before anyone else had stirred and I wonder if they even knew I was there when they get up.

Today I was on to the State Highway 3 (SH3) and being Monday morning the trucks are back. New Zealand infrastructure is well behind its growing traffic. Single carriageways are seemingly inadequate for vehicles travelling at 60mph plus. Often the carriageways are separately by posts and heavy duty cables. I suspect an out of control logging truck with its trailer isn’t going to be stopped swerving across the road by these wires. I ride on the hard shoulder, where it exists. On the bike I have a Garmin radar that tells me something is behind and approaching and I wear a rear view mirror attached to the arm of my spectacles. At least I know something is coming up behind me even if there’s little I can do about it. If all this sounds dangerous then I feel I’m easy to see and out of their way. Although not far away (eight foot?) the noise of the cars and trucks speeding past is wearing and fatiguing.

To lift my spirits a cafe came into sight and a second breakfast was demolished. I WhatsApp’d Anna who amazed the waitresses by being in England and me in Waverley videoing.

Not long after my stop I came across my first cycle tourer. Martin was a German. He’d been in NZ since December and was touring around, on both islands, mainly on gravel trails. The are many listed trails that cross the islands. He’d given up his job and said this was his second trip to NZ. In fact, as was obvious now, the way to see NZ on a bike was on an appropriate gravel bike like this. It wasn’t for me. However, I think you’d see more of the beauty of the country. I was now seeing a rural setting with lots of cattle but little of particular note. I hadn’t known this when I picked the route back in Blighty.

I was slightly ahead of my original itinerary and had planned to stop overnight in Whanganui. This time I cycled into town at lunchtime with a plan to push on. My first mission was to replace the soap box and bar of soap I’d left in my hotel. I found a large pharmacy.

“Would you tell me where I’ll find a soap box?”

“A soap box?”

“Yes, a soap box?”

“A soap box?”

“Yes, a soap box”

“You mean a box holding lots of soap?”

“No, a small plastic box holding a bar of soap for people travelling,”

“Oh, a soap holder. Aisle seven at the bottom on the left”

Stopping at a supermarket to buy some dinner I nearly mowed over Chris as he traversed the car park with difficulty. He’s an expat Brit who had a career as a social worker. He’d left Britain to escape ‘Thatcher’s Britain’ and subsequently lived and worked in Australia, Scotland before coming to reside in NZ. He was very affable albeit somewhat dishevelled. We shot the breeze before we continued about our missions.

Whanganui had a lot of charm and I dallied awhile before hitting the reviled SH3 heading east.

Unlike my tailwind the day before I encountered a headwind and if that was disappointing I encountered my good friend Mr 7% regularly with unwelcome guest appearances of Mr 8, 9 and even 10%. It was a hot afternoon and now wary of the intense NZ sun I was suitably lathered up with my Factor 50.

With Anna we’d identified Dudding Lake as a good place to camp. At NZ$10 for the night it was my cheapest fee so far.

As soon as I entered the campsite I was metaphorically grabbed by Caroline! A lady of about my vintage appeared out of her camping van enquiring as to my plans and volunteered where I should pitch my tent on this enormous site: next to her van! Needless to say I wanted to pitch elsewhere but accepted the kind off of a cup of tea. She was a permanent resident with her cat. Her son lived in Brisbane and her daughter lived in Dublin with their respective children. She seemed to spend the day looking out of her van windows looking for someone to talk to. Her kindness was welcome but I had laundry to wash, a tent to erect, dinner to make and so thanked her and got about my chores.

I thought you may like to see the average camp kitchen and a tour around my accommodation (mind your head.)

Rest Day Q & A

Q – So Tony are you enjoying it? All we hear about is grey skies, hills and gravel!

A – Absolutely. Maybe I’m a glass half empty type of guy. This is New Zealand and it’s tough to ride. I’ve not seen one other cycle tourer suggesting it’s not a route for the faint hearted! The climbing complaint is a reflection of the gradients. It’s unusual to regularly grind up so many 8% and more gradients all day. I could have done with the rest day a day earlier but another day in Mokau was never a proposition. The weather isn’t terrible but it is very mixed and changeable. The locals tell me it is poor!

Q – Are you safe and don’t you get lonely?

A – I’ve always felt perfectly safe. I’m an old bloke on a bike and don’t show any wealth so unless I was stupid enough to provoke someone why would I be in harms way? Lonely, no I’m self contained but also busy between waking and sleeping: either pedalling, navigating, washing, researching, building up the tent, cooking etc. I speak to Anna every day and also share a few WhatsApps with others. I also receive comments on my social media. I chat to folk on campsites but sometimes you can get bogged down and want to get away!

Q – Is your route and campsites set in stone?

A – Broadly because I have to plan my daily cycling and always gauge it on where I can get to with a campsite as the destination. Hence the shorter distances in NZ. I would contemplate a hotel but if there ain’t a campsite in the ‘sticks’ then there isn’t a hotel! I will adjust a route on occasion but there are no options in NZ and so am sticking to the original plan.

Q – Do you always plan to cook at night?

A – No! If I can find a hot meal then that’s a real tonic. However, I carry pasta, rice, a tin of tuna and other bits for the nights when I need to have Plan B

Q – What makes for a good rest day?

A – A hotel where I can get wi-fi, a selection of nearby shops to restock or have other facilities such as a bike shop should I need one. Another requirement is a launderette. I wash my dirty kit every night on the road but a proper wash is always a motivator so that once in a while I set off with everything spick and spam. Being in an interesting place with a few sights is a bonus.

Q – Without being too rude then at your age how are you coping with the effort?

A – I set off fit. Prior to the trip I did some big bike rides with lots of climbing. I regularly do Pilates classes and so most muscles seem to work. I also pedal at a sedate pace. If I come to a hill I think about all the days to come and how pointless it would be to ‘go for it’ up this one and pull a muscle. I try and eat well. Eating sufficiently is mandatory for fuelling and morale. If I don’t eat well I soon feel lethargic and my morale plummets. I carry a few medical supplies as well as my prescribed daily medication. Anna always knows where I am with Apple’s ‘Find A Friend’. Also in NZ I have a good friend, Paul, who is fulfilling the role of my ‘Angel of the Blacktop’ by keeping tabs on me.

Q – Is there anything you’d have done differently eg. planned, bought etc.

A – Not so far. At home I have a list of what to carry, a route planned in detail and lots of contingencies. I wish I could seriously lighten my luggage but I that would require an abandonment of camping to achieve meaningful weight loss.

Q – Any observations about the country from your saddle?

A – Despite being summer it seems quiet. Either the tourists don’t bother with the west coast or the weather has put them off. I’m pleased to see Māori folk and their culture. The touristy part I’ve experienced on another holiday. Here, seeing them in the community running establishments and their horses brings home that they’re an integral part of the country and haven’t all been overtaken by the subsequent white settlers.

Q – What’s one gift the solo traveller needs and is elevated by?

A – The kindness of strangers.

Approaching The Plymouth International hotel I pulled out my sunglasses to find the arm had become detached. The little screw I still mercifully had. I needed a small screwdriver. I asked Reception if they had. They did and for 40 minutes two ladies (yes, Katrina, women) pored over the glasses attempting to assemble them despite a miniature screw and small aperture with a spring in the way. Eventually one Receptionist phoned her husband who turned up with better kit and he and his wife assembled the glasses. No fuss, no complaints just big smiles and happy to help. (He had a degree in Mechanical Engineering from Glasgow University!)

On my rest day I did some grocery shopping and wandered about. Sadly the body clock doesn’t allow crashing out in the afternoon. Here are a few snaps:

Mokau to New Plymouth

(Again, a reminder. Opening this as an email won’t show the videos I’ve included)

New Plymouth was to be a major stop on my ride, a town of 90,000, and plenty of shops and accommodation. It’s here I would spend a day off the bike resting. Coincidentally it was the town my aunt and uncle, May and George, first settled in when they emigrated to NZ in the 1950s. George ran a clothing factory.

Leaving Mokau was a distinct pleasure, I won’t return, but my route, the State Highway 3, was a major road with fast moving traffic including trucks. If I was concerned then at a cafe in Mokau, where I had some breakfast and stocked up for lunch, I met a chap who alerted me to the perils that awaited. He was the type of man who I imagine as a small child pulled the legs off spiders for sadistic pleasure. Relaying my future misery before climbing into his 4×4 was probably the highlight of his day. His main information was that roadworks were ahead with gravel underfoot. I did advise that when it came to gravel I had seen the movie, bought the book and invested in the T shirt.

When eventually it turned to Green the long queue of traffic behind me gave me space. A few hundred metres down this road and onto the gravel the ride was tricky:

Eventually a chap in a works truck thought it best that I (and the bike) got on board and he’d ferry me to the end of the roadworks. I did ask, after I got comfortable as to whether he might continue to New Plymouth? Bless him, I did have to explain, as he offered excuses, that I was only joking (or half at least.)

The roadworks continued with several traffic lights and it broke up the traffic. Consequently I had a traffic free experience. Being a major road then all significant gradients had been ironed out and I think I only had one 7% section but usually 3 and 4%.

About half way there I got a WhatsApp from Anna. Had I noticed the cafe coming up? So I looked up and lo and behold my observant spouse was steering me toward a flat white and a tarte au citron. New Plymouth started to present itself many miles out from the centre. It was the largest town around.

I found the hotel and easily checked in. To my delight it had a ‘Guest Laundry’. So for £4 I washed and dried my kit.

I then went walkabout. I wanted to find the street my aunt and uncle lived on. I did but it had all been redeveloped and new waterfront houses were in situ.

Kawhia to Marokopa – 44 miles

Sadly, despite an estuary side pitch I never saw the water next to the shore. The tide came in during the night and had left by the morning. However, I did hear it lapping against the shore as I occasionally stirred from my deep sleep during the night. Another waking time was 3.24 am when one of the several contractors staying on site in a cabin fired up his diesel truck and headed off to work.

If you’re cocooned inside a camper van or caravan you have some sound insulation: in a tent you have none. The other crews all were up and around after 5am; so was I as I had to deal with a wet tent after another tumultuous dawn downpour. Amongst this batch of loggers was a lad smoking some cannabis. Clearly his early morning ‘pick me up’. Let’s hope he’s nowhere near heavy equipment. Looking at signage there are considerable concerns over water preservation normally around here. I feel like a Messiah as I have brought daily lashings of rain to wherever I go!

I make some porridge and have a coffee everyday before I leave the campsite but am always interested in something else for sustenance on the road. Kawhia had two stores run by Chinese/Asian ladies and some essential purchases were made.

Frankly, it’s all ‘industrial’ grade food such as pies and fried food for the contractors. Of course, it’s hearty enough for me but I’m starting to wish for something else now. Despite all the cattle there is no cheese? I’ve not seen it on any menu or in a sandwich. If this wasn’t perplexing enough then your average Kiwi has issues with chicken as well. I wish I’d known this in advance and arrived with my expectations adjusted.

After some purchases it was time to go starting with an enormous hill that foretold the day again. For my entertainment and to make the ride go more easily I often listen to the radio or podcasts. I can get evening football matches or mid evening news programmes. As for the news when in the UK it all seems a lot more engaging and current. Over here you listen with a little detachment thinking it’s the same old issues, people and problems merely rotated.

Today was all tarmac and the focus was on one 262 metre climb. As I’m climbing the gradient was variable and thankfully it eased a bit as I ground slowly upwards. My Garmin computer tells me when I’ve reached the summit and on the particular hill I celebrated with an egg sandwich!

The beauty of New Zealand is starting to appear. I like anything rural but we all look for drama or eye catching. A feature is of course the small little hills that seem to have been dropped everywhere with their pointy appearance and always covered in grass and often livestock.

Some respite came with cycling beside a lake and it even produced a bench where I felt compelled to pose for a photo. Sitting options are absent in this countryside and this table and bench were quite a find! (I’m easily pleased, I know.)

These short days are because the camping or lodging options are limited in the area and so you take what you can. Frankly the all day climbing with little nothing flat meant it was hard work as soon as you sat on the saddle. One run of flat came along beside a lake before more quad burning ascension.

Soon I was bowling into Marokopa and as I was cycling west I endured a headwind, if fact if you steer west there is always a headwind, but it was flat at least on the final run in. The number of horses in the fields are many and I, later, asked a fellow camper about them. They’re popular pets and very much part of the Māori culture. He was visiting but had been a local. He said back in the day children rode them to school, tethered them for the day, and then rode home after school. These indigenous people quickly adopted the animals after the Europeans arrived and, to my eye, they all look fine specimens living nice lives in lush pastures. There are hundreds. I suspect, amongst themselves, like me, they must moan about the weather.

So Marokopa was (only just) more than a one horse town. However apart from some smart houses, that looked like second homes, and a campsite it had absolutely nothing else! In a fairly deserted campsite I paddled about doing my laundry, making dinner and eventually settled down for sleep to the sound of the nearby ocean with no contractors in sight (or sound). This is why I tour.

Raglan to Kawhia – 32 miles

The good news is that the scenery all started to look more sumptuous but the cycling remained brutal. At single figure speeds I ground up the countless hills that were between me and the next campsite.

I haven’t seen any other cycle tourers so far, whether on the road or at a campsite. I think this may reflect my pioneering spirit. After the tiring ride into Raglan I woke up the next day feeling Jesus had visited me overnight and instructed me to pick up my bed (inside the tent) and walk. I felt leggy but able to embark on the next mountaineering stage. Maybe I was getting my touring legs.

Overnight it had hammered down and after a dry start first thing to the day I was soon reaching for the waterproofs. Cycling along I listened to Coventry City vs Middlesbrough on TalkSPORT radio. I’m still slightly in awe that I can also WhatsApp Anna in a video call as I cycle along. This digital technology is a thing of great wonder. However, it’s a fact that when I finish my call with her the heavens open (every time).

Eventually the beast that named itself gravel arrived. It was variable in coverage, adverse cambers were common, mud in places and often the side of the road had given way. Being a hero I battled on: I had no option.

I emerged a wiser man on to a main road with a run into Kawhia.

The campsite had a mixture of tourists, in their camper vans, and then some contractors. They were there for the duration and whilst nice lads they left the kitchen a mess and one smoked pot! As they were up from Rotorua for the logging I imagine they were using heavy equipment. Let’s hope the chap with the wacky backy wasn’t working heavy dangerous equipment.

I opted out of catering and a concession van opened up and I bought some fish & chips. I think it was snapper, whatever that is.

I was sooner in my hutch looking at the inside of my eyelids wondering what the next day would bring and would the scenery continue to be delightful.