2000 Biking New Zealand

Day 28, 4 January 2001, Thursday
Pukenui – Cape Reinga and around; 79.8km @ 13kph plus 6km, Pukenui Farm Backpackers, $34

What a day! From enjoyment tinged by melancholy at a job not quite done; through fear of a terrible road; to elation and nostalgia.

We arose early enough and cycled the 3km back into town – the backpackers being situated west of the town itself toward 90 Mile Beach – where we shopped for sustenance, went to the loo at the harbour (where I saw a bizarre sign saying: “Unlocked cars are contributing to the increased crime rate”), and hit the road. Bound at last for Cape Reinga – not quite New Zealand’s northernmost point, but literally the end of the road (SH1).

Essentially we spent our last day on a sand spit, green-clad and lovely. The peninsula is known to be windswept, but we got a perfect, hot, clear, windless day. The first 50km to Waitiki Landing were superb, although progressively tougher. They took us four hours. On a road quiet enough to hear cows chomping at grass, and birds and bugs a-chatter. Some wide open spaces, smaller hills, forests to our left, farmland all around, sandy soil peeking through dense vegetation. A view of North Cape on our right across white sand dunes and a large body of water called Parengarenga Harbour. Sometimes, at the same time, we could see white sands on our right and golden dunes on our left – though not the sea itself on both sides. Pleasing.

At one point, just before we stopped for a sweet-break under a tree, two men and their dogs herding cattle to another field on tractors with trailers, caused a rural jam. Choosing sweets under the tree, Charl commented on the fact that I spend a lot more time making choices than he does. I said I like to get it right; he said he makes choices based on “broad parameters of what is acceptable”. This is why, he says, I have never married – I am more choosy (chewsy?)!

We took another break at Waitiki Landing before tackling the stretch of road I had been dreading ever since hearing that the last 20-odd km to Cape Reinga were unsealed. And met here again a young man who had stopped to chat earlier on the road – yet another South African responding to the flag. Charl brought two beers back to the table from the self-serve / place-your-order counter typical of most New Zealand restaurants – which I thought excessive. Turns out they had misunderstood him. He ordered Tui (beer); they heard “two”!

And so then onto the road from hell – the last 20km taking us nearly as long as the first 50km. Not just unsealed, but loose gravel under fine dust. Not just loose gravel under fine dust, but steep inclines and descents with sharp bends. Not just steep inclines and descents with sharp bends, but literally infested with fast-moving 4x4s and straining tour buses. No grip, no escape. Even walking was treacherous and at times I was literally frozen with fear. At times I screamed, careening without control around a too-sharp corner.

About half-way along this section we encountered the tandem-couple, who had passed us early on in the morning, returning. He stopped to say hi, she sat perched behind. And I could not imagine doing that road blind; could not imagine the extraordinary degree of trust. In fact, their whole relationship fascinated me. Probably at home she requires considerably less assistance, but on the road, moving to new and unknown places each day, she was completely dependent on him. And I wondered what kind of man could accept such intense need. I also thought a lot about fear. About the things we fear and why. Charl felt elation on the difficult road, not fear. Lack of imagination? I certainly imagine terrible things happening a lot of the time while cycling – unlike Charl who expects only good. Childhood skills remembered? I certainly never did the kind of things on a bike Charl seemed to revel in as a boy. A body more easily hurt? Differing athletic skills? Mmmm…

And then at last there it was – the parking area above the lighthouse (Maori souls go home to Hawaiki from near here). With a sealed footpath down to the lighthouse itself. With, directly below the lighthouse, the Columbia Bank maelstrom where the Tasman Sea meets the Pacific Ocean. With views to die for, doll. With tourists mulling and people eager to chat. With photographs and sips from our hip flask. With elation and disappointment. With relief and smiles galore.

We had arranged to be collected by our host – who in fact sent his visiting son-in-law in his blue truck. The young man had arrived before we had – in fact, he had stopped on the road to offer us a lift, which I had turned down with huge reluctance – and waited patiently through our doings below. Then loaded our bikes and ourselves for the drive ‘home’ (the German couple, cycling all the way back, arrived only about an hour after we did!). There to wash our clothes, our bikes and our bodies. And to cycle into town for a celebratory meal at the local restaurant.

And a delicious dinner they served us too. Fish to start, lamb chops, 200ml of sparkling wine to drink a toast to 2 000km on two wheels!