Footnote to yesterday – Grant took three tumbles yesterday, no injuries, just opportunities for us to laugh at him.  I mean with him.  Apparently having a cup of tea instead of his usual triple shot flat white was his reasoning.

And me losing my back up bike pants off the back of the bike and Grant finding them and then me losing them again and Barry finding them again, that’s mateship.

We pushed forwards and stopped at Jerusalem.

The history here was absolutely astounding, how a girl ran away from the other side of the planet to establish a mission that lasted 66 years.

Suzanne Aubert (from France) devoted her life to helping others, where everyone deserved the same respect.  Now a place for travellers to kip down for a night, a definite place to visit.

The Postie taking a tour group even had enough lemonade scones coated in jam and whipped cream, two each at that.

We took a second morning tea another 11kms down the road at an old school house where the River Queen boat is museumed.  Athletes like us can never have enough morning teas!

Jury is still out if they contributed to the last ascent up and out of the valley.  Twas some of the most scenic parts of the land of the long white cloud enjoyed.

Not long now before the tip of the bottom island will be able to be seen.

Mixed emotions starting to stir with it … feels like we just started yet it’s nearly ending, weird!

A single track negotiated (usually closed in winter) had us walking a heap of it.  Mud clung to the bike tyres like blue tack to a wall.

One hoped it wasn’t like this the whole way as there was a jet boat to catch.  Perseverance resulted to arrive at a  four wheel drive track that had the beads of sweat rolling down the brough as we climbed up to a Māori Po (carving).

A right turn and it wasn’t long before the memorial appeared dedicated to those soldiers who fought in the great war.  They were given land by the government of the day as compensation for serving.  Except it was so unrealistic to propogate due to it’s inhabitability and most walked off it.

And was the reason for the bridge construction to help with provisions up or stock transportation down.

Now it’s a bridge to nowhere.

Except for those outdoorsy people who cycle or walk the route we took that ended with being jet boated 32.5kms down the Whanganui River.

An awesome reward having enjoyed the national park and a massive wash, both bikes and bodies before a night under canvas at Pipiriki.

Moreporks (owls) made themselves known when shadows turned to night.

Not this one.

I was out for the count in noddy land after the first Ru-ru was echoed from the surrounding forest.

Epic Camp to Whakahoro – The Longest Day

This was the best day.

To see the looks on Grant, Baz, and Hannahs’ faces announcing the night before that we would be doing the tonne in km distance to Whakahoro.

To experience glamping without the setting up or packing down of bedroom cover and condiments.

To take the first rotation at 7.30am and then the last at nigh on 12 hours later.

Just the beauty at what was seen, smelt, heard, touched and tasted inbetween.

But more importantly, see the three of them believe in themselves that they could do it.

Except, me humping it up a side gravel road elevation on the actual route and then over yonder on the main highway, a biker with legs rotating ninety miles an hour to the dozen blast pass like a satelite in the sky … bloody Grant cheating.

Got caught didn’t he!

Pfffft!

It was again damp when we departed towards the Timber Trail, a rugged part of the central North Island.

Lumpy road riding warmed us up for what was to come, a sloppy single track that took acrobatics to stay up right, before we got onto a bush clad logging road.

A diversion off to the right had us arrive at a marker that signalled the center of the North Island.  Then another short cut passed a tractor of yesteryear to come out onto the Timber Trail proper and a 13 km grind skywards.

More acrobatics on the downwards and the drizzle from the heaven, albeit under canopy, had us not looking forward to putting up the canvas in the wet.

And then it appeared, a place called Camp Epic.

So we rode on up and in looking like drowned rats and pow, managed to score three tent sites that included a building to shower in and an area to cook.  They even threw in breakfast – cereal, toast and eggs sunny side up.

Yep, it was all part and parcel of a first taste of glamping!

It was heaven.

Day 8 started out moist.

Bucketing down from the grey matter above.

Still the debate as to why we put rain coats on to keep dry, but sweat profusely beneath the thing while rotating the momentum forwards!  A real numbnut oxymoron if you ask me.

And to make matters worse, milk tankers overtaking us did swing wide to be considerate.  It was the back draft spray that followed afterwards that propelled forward faster than we we peddling.

Wet butt crack plus butt butter that was more like a syrup being drenched … no other descriptive words necessary.

We pushed on. Raincoats came off and then went back on.  Tarseal then gravel, gravel then tarseal.  Don’t ride directly behind as the wheel spray can flick up road kill if one rides over versus around!

And the off road bits were nuggety.  Soften surfaces left channels like riding on sand.  The legs working overtime.

Nothwithstanding, riding in rain always brought out the fauna green colours more strikingly, punga tree ferns full blosom.  The rowers on Lake Karapiro, the wilberforce of the Waikato River, the drop off from a bridge that people with vertigo should avoid, the dams, the lodge we are staying at, the korero with fellow bikers, and now watching Piglet pack and repack and pack some more, made this day an awesome day to remember.

We have clocked up over 750 kms since the Cape.

A little ray of comfort sunshine as the shadows of grey are ones of sunset.

A complete contrast to the sunrise ones.

The transition was prominent.

From moo cow countryside to horsey countryside.

The only thing that didn’t change were the hordes of blow flies encountered on the rail trail that must just love the change in diet!

Muffled any chatter from the one leading the slip streaming to reduce any probability of swallowing a flying beast, thus keeping the mouth shut and inhaling/exhaling through the nostrils.

And with head down looking at the line to cycle, a fat chance of snuffling the bastards.

We got through!

Paeroa to Matamata was mostly on the Hauraki Rail Trail.  Another feature on the landscape were the rows of oak trees that were just as majestic as the mighty Kauri.

Love acorns.  Seeds of knowledge.

Manured well with the amount of cows and horses that live here.

A short day to rest the frames for the next push …

We had things arse about face today.

Days are getting shorter so we rode a longer distance!

And one needs to not make the mistake and think that they could be getting bike fitter doing the kms at pace when really body fatigue is showing pockets of aches and soreness.

We took the decision to ride the coastline versus traverse the Hunua Ranges.  The Firth of Thames was stunning looking east towards the Coromandel.  Would make for a pretty awesome sunrise and fleeting passed places for third bedrooms (campers and caravsns) to stop at, I’m coming back to explore this part of paradise.

Miranda was the itinerary stop however indecision called for a Governance call and therefore we pushed forward to Paeroa.  Our peace of dirt to pitch the canvas and rest the bodies horizontal is at an NZMCA park.

How special were we to be invited to join the permanents for a pot luck dinner by camp managers Tarzan and Jane.  Home made cooked dishes is the best kai to nourish the hunger.

Before swallowing two magnesium capsules to minimise cramps.  They too feel close when rolling over at ground level during shut eye inbetween dreams.

Of living the dream!

Retarded Rooster.

Work with me here.

Communal sharing of floor space with total strangers is just what happens when the place we did a sleep over at was offered.  There is no discrimination.

So the #@*+ who had a squeaky blow up mattress tossing and turning as if it was a blow up doll had everyone sleeping patchy.

Asking him how did he sleep, “She was not bad, not bad, thanks.”

I told him if I see him again, I’m gonna pin prick the bastard to give it a slow leak!

Banter, of course.  (Those who know the Ru will never under estimate the Ru).

So at 6am, the Auzzies alarm went off.  So I turned on the lights above their sleeping position. More banter I think.

And then there was Dave. He decided to sleep outside in his tent.  Something about him sharing accom the previous couple of nights and not sleeping well with others.

Where he pitched his tent had spot lights off the building, lighting it up like daylight.   When he asked how to turn it off, we purposefully said that we couldn’t locate the off button. I know. A full moon the whole night.

So at 6am when everyone was inside packing up, and there was no movement from Dave, I decided to poke me head out the door and do a cockadoodledoo.  Twice.

We packed up, Dave filtered through before we left, nice guy. Caught up with us at breakfast at a cafe. When the question was asked about hearing a fire siren, his response was,  “yep, and some retarded rooster”.

Humour is important on an adventure that has one stradling a bike seat long distance.   Just like Pooh today missing a turn off and having his dot go wonky towards the coast.

And again needed as we traversed a rolly polly landscape and then some more than planned.

A huge day, stunning views, even the 360 degree panoramic one of Auckland from Mt Eden.

Not the Mount Eden prison neither.

Where I’m guessing those mattresses squeak differently to the ones we encounter!

Day 4 – Dargaville to Pouto was only 69 kms.

Again the legs were having to pump frames and life carried over unrelating humps on the landscape.

This part of the ride had a time factor.

We had to meet a ferry to transport us across the Kaipara Harbour so be ready to embark and gang plank up at the top of the hour, 4pm.

To give some perspective, check out the bike photo of how many made it on time.

One poor cyclist didn’t as they stood at the high tide mark in angst to see the tub do a left turn and rev the motor to propel us forwards.

It was a 3 hour water taxi ride to arrive at Parakai at 7pm and disembark exactly the opposite to how we boarded.

And another 4 kms into Helensville and find lodging at the boat club.  Thinking it was going to be another night under canvas, nope.

How welcomed were we by Sheena.

To be allowed to find a space in the club house and kip down marae style.

Fellow cyclists that include some Auzzies and a Frenchie.

Whānau regardless the whakapapa.

It’s hard to sum it up in one word.

The Kauri giants that graced the woodland skyline we climbed up to, rode through, and down out of.

Tane Mahata at over 2,000 years old is the centre point for congregated selfies.  It’s earnt it’s rightful place to be looked after, for generations to come.

But from a bike seat, you get to see a heap more of the Kauri canopy.  At the same time looking down to keep the line huffing up.  And yehooeeeing down.

More ups and downs. Tar seal and gravel.

The trail angels that were waiting for us at a point just out of Dargaville with cold water and a slice of water melon was divine. A unique family cheering riders on, high up too on the trail. Maybe heaven.

So day 3 has now had us arrive at Dargaville.

Therefore, to the word to some up the mighty Kauri … majestic.

Lastly, it was good bye to BClaire who left us to return home.  Been an Angel in her own right to see us sorted.