The morning started with me lying in
bed listening to the wind howl down the coast I rolled over it was only 3am I couldn’t
get back to sleep the wind from the south sounded evil I knew it would be cold.
Six am arrived; god the wind, please stop. At the café by eight, what a great
idea for a start point slash meeting place. Two coffees and I’m still frozen
the hail shower waned my resolve, nothing like fellow fools to make you push
on.
Eight thirty
and I’m away, head down into the wind each bay gives respite each point a sand
and gravel blasting, the cook strait ferry rolls and crashes its way south into
the biting gale . Ric holds his bike up and the wind blows it horizontal, fuck I’m
cold.
Over the
point onto the Wainui road the wind softens, others ride by laughing hellos
friends and fellow adventures are they as cold as me? No turning back now past Orongorongo
the wind is starting to push us now. I walked this coast as a kid with dad to
go paua diving, memories flash by then head long pell-mell into the unknown I
dive. Laughing we stop to admire the brash carefree trio starting into their first
beer, its ten thirty, I’m getting old I was a little shocked, man by eleven I would
have curled into a ball and died if that where me.
The coast
bent to the north the trees bent too, the wind is savage here, and the sea a
washing machine. I am alive this is so cool what a moment. Pushing through sand
I hit ocean beach tick off another segment on to tar seal.
I’m at home
now, on the TT bars head down I rock into my work, the train is leaving my
fellow travellers tuck in we eat kilometres. The wind is behind making me look
good but I’m still cold so fucking cold.
Cross creek
looms I swing left back onto gravel. We stop at trail head eat and muster
courage for the climb, I’m half way now. I pedal talking all the way, I can’t
warm up the wind eats at my soul stripping me bare. The summit tunnel is 3 degrees
I need to know that why did I look at my Garmin? I could feel it did I just
want confirmation. Like a drunk double checking an empty bottle I look again,
fool. Stopping I put on a jacket in hope forlorn empty hope, I’m so fucking
cold.
The decent
was cool so cool utilising both meanings of the word; I revelled in not pedalling
and froze a little bit more.
On the Hutt
trail our team of four; one by two halved becoming two. A pie at Lower Hutt warmed
my edges, onto the Hutt Motorway hanging on for dear life, I was thinking, fuck
I’m cold.
Then into
the warmth I strode to the greetings of fellow adventures, I drink my pint and
the pizza was hot I’m getting better now is it pride? Thrill of completion or am
I finally thawing out. Whatever it was I’m feeling great its six o’clock at
night and I’m happy.
Two hours
later I’m pedalling down the road to meet my lift home, I stop by the bakery to
wait, I shiver, fuck I’m cold.
