My choice of verandah was almost too good – I woke with a start and realised it was half-past seven and I’d overslept. This was somewhat understandable as the storm had come through and it was still very dark for the time of day, and now also very wet. At least everything I had was dry as I hurriedly packed, scoffed some food and headed out into the rain for the last leg of the journey.

Heading south, it was to be a hundred-odd kilometres to Invercargill on mostly-quiet rural roads. The wind had swung around towards the south from last night’s wonderful nor-west tailwind, so was a bit of a hindrance. I steeled myself to be riding into the heavy rain for the remainder of my Tour. For some reason, the route left the sealed road and turned away from the river it had been following, just to climb a hundred vertical metres steeply and then return to the same river valley it had just left. But in coming down that seemingly-inexplicable hill (I now think it was to put us on the quieter side of the river), a wonderful thing happened – the sky cleared and we were without heavy rain, basking in sunlight.

It was also around this time that another rider, Steve, caught me – we would ride most of the rest of the Tour together. Steve was very pleased to learn that Dad was coming to pick me up and we could probably give him a ride back to Dunedin – definitely better than riding there. We worked out we’d been on the same boat from Pouto Point way back on my Day Three and Steve had just caught up to me. For one last time, I had a farmer in a pick-up pull up beside me as I was riding enquiring as to why there were so many cyclists on his quiet back road. I tried to get across the outline of what we were doing over the noise of the wind. We followed the straight Southland roads down to Winton for the last food stop, always pleased when the wind was more help than hindrance.

For some reason, they don’t seem to bale their hay around here – just make little stacks.

Second to last photo checkpoint – photo with an enthusiastic Southland local. Fascinated as she was by our journey, we also heard a lot of the Wanaka A&P show that was coming up that weekend.

With only seventy kilometres to go, it was a straight run south to Invercargill battling what was now becoming a gale of a sou-wester. Passing through the outskirts of the city, any time we turned east speed was quickly gained with no effort. Unfortunately, the route was still south and on a cycle path on the edge of the estuary – which afforded absolutely no wind protection. It’s a lovely wide trail, smooth and flat for ten miles; well, it normally would be – we struggled to stay on it as we were repeatedly sprayed with water from the estuary and blown into the grass.

How could it be so hard to stay on such an easy trail?

Steve leaning into the wind and fighting his way back onto the path.

The trail looped around a bit and only a few times did we almost get blown into the estuary. Aware of the ridiculousness of this, there wasn’t much to do but laugh at the absurdity of having come so far only to find the flattest part and the last one percent was to be the most difficult.

Finally we reached State Highway One – that which we began our journey on and on which we would ride the last twenty kilometres. This really wasn’t a good thing – for two reasons: one, the road, while flat and straight, was heading straight into the gale for eight kilometres; and two, unlike the far-north this part of SH1 is very busy and largely used by big trucks going to and from the port at Bluff. Sigh. I rode with Steve a little way as our pace dropped to that of walking. We were constantly blown off the hard shoulder, rolling down the grass verge and then fighting back onto the highway only to be almost sucked out into the traffic lane by the pressure drop after each passing behemoth. Once again, my slight frame was no use as I just didn’t have the strength to continually muscle into the wind. Steve gradually pulled away and I was left battling into the wind alone.

On my commute, I ride on a busy highway with even bigger trucks rattling past – but here, for the first time, did I actually start to fear I might get hit by one. After only a mile or so of this madness I decided that it wasn’t worth the effort of riding to just to increase my chance of becoming a hood ornament for a big Kenworth; I got off and walked. After almost three thousand kilometres of riding, I was reduced to walking along a flat, straight highway – it still sounds outrageous. At least I found out the next day that I was trying to ride into an eighty kilometre per hour gale, that was gusting to a hundred and twenty!

I cut a pretty pathetic sight pushing my bike alongside the highway – which in itself was no mean feat and took all the strength and willpower I had to go on and not just give up and lie in the grass. Such a wretched figure I must have looked that three drivers at different times pulled up besides me offering to put my bike on the tray/trailer and drive me the last kilometres. I felt ridiculous having to turn such kind offers down. Then the rain blew in…

Putting a raincoat on in such conditions is remarkably difficult. After taking ninety minutes to mostly-push my bike eight flat kilometres (!), the road finally turned south. Now I only had a big crosswind to deal with – if you don’t know, frame-bags make very good sails. Tentatively I tried to get back on my bike; it was only after a few attempts at riding a few metres that it was actually worth it. But then a skinny, elevated rail bridge with no shoulder had me walking again. Finally, I could ride again; as the road approached Bluff it turned south-east. The struggle was over, I had survived; suddenly I had the wind at my back and was flying through town. With the last twenty kilometres taking over two hours, the toughest part and indeed my whole Tour Aotearoa was over! Such satisfaction.

There was no fanfare, or anything external really to mark my finish – just a sign post at the bottom of New Zealand that meant I’d ridden the length of the country. A month later (it sure has taken me a while to write this up) I’m not sure I can convey the wonderfulness of it all – what a great route, what a diverse and beautiful little country, what fantastic people I met along the way, what a lot of tasty food I ate and just generally: how good was that?!

Dad arrived a few minutes after I did after buying tea (due to the wind, I was somewhat later finishing than expected). Photos (above) taken, it was to the adjacent cafe to eat and drink. Somehow I managed to drink a pot of tea, a deserved porter (of the beer variety, not an actual porter) and a water concurrently – I think that was excusable after 3000 km in 16.1 days. That was two days quicker than I’d dared hope – wow, I can actually do these events and I’m pretty sure I could do them better. With two extra days up my sleeve, I had rebooked my flight home so I could rest at Mum & Dad’s before a more relaxed return home.

There was no real rush to get going on what would be the second-to-last departure – my Tour was drawing to a close. Which was just as well, as the two most challenging stretches were still in store. The roads were relatively benign, the conditions not.

It was a cool, crisp morning as I set off shortly before sunrise. It was chillier than I initially thought as I climbed up out of Wanaka to the bottom of the Cardrona Valley – this wouldn’t have been a problem, but it was over an hour before the sunlight made it over the hills and onto the road. This was more than enough time for me to get very cold – my extremities were the worst. As I tried to put more layers on, my hands were in such pain and so stiff I couldn’t even grip a zipper. There was much rejoicing as the sun finally hit me and the worst pain I had for the whole route disappeared with the shade.

Having driven past it a fair few times, I’d never actually been in the iconic Cardrona Hotel. The kitchen was just opening, so I clunked in with my bike shoes on the old wooden floorboards and got another cooked breakfast and rested awhile to recover from the previous two hours.

The route was heading up the Crown Range Road to the highest point of the Tour – only a shade over a thousand metres above sea level. It was a steady climb and only kicked into a ten percent gradient for the last couple of kilometres. There was plenty of traffic going between Queenstown and Wanaka – but it was no problem as the road got tighter and steeper.

The Cardrona Valley narrows.

From the top – that road was a lot of fun blasting down in the sun.

The other side, being even steeper than most of the climb, was proper fast – there was a big organised group riding up not looking like they were having much fun. I made sure they knew I was having a great time – constantly ringing my bell whenever I passed some of the multitudes. I’m sure that wasn’t really appreciated, but I was having a grand time.

Queenstown off in the distance.

Arrowtown a fair bit closer.

The road flattened for a while and we missed the series of big hairpins by turning off and taking an off-road track that plummeted to Arrowtown. From there I was back on the familiar & excellent cruisy Queenstown cycle trail network. The rider I’d glimpsed leaving Arrowtown as I was also doing so, turned out to be Evan – so it was good to ride with him a bit more into the craziness that is Queenstown.

Cousins David and Mary (more like third-cousins-once-removed, but cousins will do) were waiting for me at the Earnslaw terminal. The weather forecast didn’t look good for the next day, so I booked a ticket in two hours’ time to make the most of the current fine weather. A very enjoyable lunch was spent discussing the Tour and family news, before stocking up for the evening’s ride and lazing on the grass while David looked at new cars. It was time to say goodbye and I was excited to be going on the Earnslaw for the first time.

Another quintessential New Zealand tourist experience I was doing for the first time on this trip, the TSS Earnslaw has been sailing the waters of Lake Wakatipu for over a century. In days gone by it was an important transportation link around the lake – particularly to the remote stations. Nowadays it mostly ferries tourists, and occasionally cyclists, to Walter Peak Station and back.

Nonetheless, it is one of the oldest working steam ships in the world and with all the interesting history and engineering involved, I thoroughly enjoyed the trip over. I was a little concerned when the captain broadcast that we were heading into a sou-westerly as that would mean a headwind for me later on. The voyage was calm enough and having appreciated the scenery on the trip over, it was time to get amongst it as I rode off from the tourist-chaos just after four-thirty. I hoped to get at least to Mavora Lakes and camp before the rain rolled in. Apparently beautiful, this was another part of the country I’d neglected.

Goodbye mad Queenstown.

Original Bourdon instrumentation!

It turned out the wind was really whipping down the lake from the north and following the lay of the land – so the undulating section of gravel road west was into a fair breeze. But turning south away from the lake to up the Von River, I suddenly had a very helpful tailwind. Following the river there was a lot of large roaming stock; when they ran across the road as a herd, it was a little unnerving.

Looking up the northern section of Wakatipu towards Glenorchy.

There was a reasonably steep climb to get out of the valley and onto a large grassy plateau – but I hardly noticed its severity as the wind had really picked up and pushed me up. A storm was brewing as clouds rolled in while I made good time across the flats. It was beautiful riding with the plains and mountains contrasting against the evening sky.

About the only spot of sunlight I saw that evening.

Crossing into Southland, I was over the watershed and the road descended. It descended a lot really – for most of sixty kilometres. I reached the turn off to Mavora Lakes and it was decision time. I really wanted to see them, but I knew a storm was coming and I’d have to camp in it; on the other hand, it wasn’t raining at that time and the wind was kind – I chose to ride on, after a very light dinner.

The wind really picked up as darkness fell and I was getting fair blown along – this was excellent! After some rather chunky gravel roads and a bit of undulation, I missed a turn in the route off the road. Thankfully, I didn’t miss it by much; but finding the correct route was very difficult in the dark. There were no roads to go down – it turned out it was a very new cycle trail all the way to Mossburn, that was very poorly signed (I don’t think it was marked at all).

Quickly reaching the Oreti River, the cycle trail followed it, more or less, all the way to Mossburn. By now the wind was bordering on gale force; the route twisted around various fields and other features. Whenever it turned into the wind I was almost brought to a standstill. However, upon turning south-east again I’d suddenly be up to a great speed without even pedaling. It was mad, but as quite a lot of the trail was past large trees swaying all over the place, it started to get a bit scary!

Eventually I rolled into Mossburn at eleven o’clock and the storm was not letting up. There’s not much of anything in Mossburn and with nothing organised, I would have to sleep outside arriving at that hour. I thought I had the legs to keep going to Winton, but with the storm strengthening I didn’t think it wise. Concerned my tent would not go up easily or stay in one piece once erected, I found a balcony of some rugby clubrooms that was sheltered from the wind and decided to sleep there. It was a good decision; I lay my head knowing I’d only a hundred and forty kilometres to ride the following day to complete this fantastic journey. Little did I know…

Steeling myself for another long day of quiet West Coast highway, it was about five minutes down the road in the dark before it started dumping rain again. But as it got light, the eventually rain scarpered and was not seen again in force for rest of my Tour – huzzah! I’d timed my start and ride well to arrive at the salmon farm cafe for the supposed opening time of eight o’clock – the first opportunity for some decent food that day. Alas, it was a bit of a wait around and the six or so others from Pine Grove duly arrived. I was still there at nine, everyone else except Brett from Tauranga having left – I was happy to wait for the first full English breakfast of the South Island. I was feeling a bit deprived of decent breakfasts.

It was good to have someone else to ride with after the solo, rainy efforts of the last few hundred kilometres. As I grew up near where Brett lives, there was plenty besides bikes & Tour to talk of. We made it back to the coast and climbed up to the next checkpoint.

Knight’s Lookout – it was now a lovely day, although the sandflies came out to feast.

Flying downhill we were back next to the beach battling a strong onshore wind. As always, my slight frame left me at a disadvantage compared to other bigger riders. I think Brett did quite a bit of the leading, not that it mattered with a crosswind. Progress at times slowed drastically, but it wasn’t all bad news – I was pretty sure this wind would help us up the Haast river valley and over the pass. Just as we came into Haast Township we had my closest near-miss with traffic for the whole trip – feeling like we almost got sideswiped by a tour bus. But the crazy wind may have made it seem worse than it was.

First-lunch was in Haast, then as I was about to depart I realised I’d not eaten enough, so stopped to buy second-lunch too. Progress had been good for me, about ninety kilometres by midday – there was a chance I could get to Wanaka and keep the hope of a Thursday finish alive. I’d been right about the wind, we had a big tailwind up the Haast valley – it was tremendous. Fifty kilometres was very flat, only gaining a hundred metres – Mark from Waihi caught up to me and we made good time in very nice conditions. There were so many great waterfalls to spy – so much easier to do so from a bike. Spotting waterfalls was almost as easy as playing spot the rental vehicle – that is, very easy when over half the vehicles are either campervans, or hired Toyota Corollas and RAV4s.

As the valley and highway turned south a few of us congregated to eat and chat before the climbing started in earnest. I’d driven this road shortly before my move north last winter, so had a fair idea of what was coming.

Heading for Haast Pass.

Looking back down the Haast valley.

Crossing the Haast River, the climbing begins in earnest shortly after.

At least the climb is shorter than one expects, which is just as well as it climbs over three hundred metres in less than four kilometres. The steepest kilometre, having a gradient of over twenty percent, is near crossing the thundering river at the Gates of Haast. There’s a brief respite before the final kick up to the pass and then all of a sudden one has left the West Coast. The transformation is swift and quite incredible – instead of swollen with raging water, all the creek beds are bone dry.

We followed the Makarora River down to the township for more food – the strong wind at our back helping appreciably.

Approaching the head of Lake Wanaka – great to be back around the southern lakes.

There’s a slight climb over The Neck between Lakes Wanaka and Hawea – but I didn’t mind because I knew the view would be grand as the sun sunk on a stunning day.

As so often on this Tour, any discomfort was easily overridden by all we were experiencing – views like this certainly helped.

Down the western shore of Hawea would have been nice as a flattish ride, but it’s not that sort of terrain – there were a few good sharp climbs before we finally rolled into Hawea. Mark, Brett and the rest of their group were staying in Hawea the night, the good company was appealing but I thought I still had a bit more left. How this was the case is a testament to improving stamina thanks to the tour – I’d already done over two hundred kilometres and a few decent hills for the day.

Looking back up Lake Hawea as the sun begins to set on another great day’s riding.

I knew the cycle trail to Wanaka well enough and thought I could get to the supermarket before it closed at nine – necessary as the batteries in my SPOT tracker had died somewhere over the pass. The trail whizzed by as I put in more effort than I should have. The multitudes of wild rabbits scurried out of the way – it always disturbs me to see how many of these pests are around Otago. Past Albertown and around the headland I was in town in time to stock up and grab a huge burger and chips from Red Star – tremendous. While I waited for that to cook there was enough time to get organised and reflect on another big day; the end of the adventure was getting disturbingly close, but it was still so fantastic, rewarding and exciting. Still well pleased to be fortunate to be out on a bike seeing so much, I slept very well that night.