The Penny Saver Cyclist
There was electricity in the air. It was race day. I did not have standard run of the mill backyard monarch butterflies in the tummy, oh no, I had cyber-net (ie the computer from Terminator) designed metallic ‘the size of a Jurassic park dinosaur proportion’ butterflies beating away at my internal organs.
I tried to imagine my little fat lycra covered legs pumping up the famous and awe inspiring Hatepe Hill. Shovelling porridge in my mouth (sorry to burst the bubble but there is an ugly side to all elite sports people) I was listening to my IPOD, you know how Jonah used to listen to music before a rugby game to get him in the zone. So to pump me up I was getting the Spice Girls to tell me what they wanted, what they really, really wanted. Once I was ready to ziggy-zig-ahhhh I turned off the IPOD. I thought back to exactly when I determined this was a good idea. All the preparation, planning and cappuccino breaks in Devonport were now a distant memory...
Given I had started this venture on the back of one simple event. It had been a cracker of a day and I really wanted a coffee in Devonport but was too cheap to get the ferry, and petrol was at $100 a 1/2 litre so I biked over. In hindsight it now seemed a little insane to be contemplating an 80km bike ride based on a day of intense thriftiness. I was also cursing the fact I had foolishly bragged to so many people that I was doing Taupo. I remember leaning back chardonnay in one hand and a spoon full of crème brulee in the other casually saying -
‘Yup, just going do the back 80, should be pretty easy I reckon.’ Then watching people look terribly impressed (although I think I now mistook those looks and they were actually suppressing sniggers).
Of course I could lie, travel back to Auckland, surf the web, gather a few pertinent facts and then feed them back to people. But I have always maintained despite my numerous faults lying is not one of them. In fact I am a little too honest for my own good (sorry but yes that skirt did make you look fat - you know who you are!).
Speaking of honesty, I had, at least in one of my moments of sobriety appreciated that since I had only commenced training (three rides over a period of three months counts as 'training') in September the chances of me completing 160km without requiring hospitalisation was slim to none so I had enlisted the aid of a team.
There were three of us. I was the most rational and grounded out of the three. Yes, yes - scary thought - and no the others were not outpatients from Kingseat! However their quirks did actually balance each other nicely. I had 'Rainman' (aka Alan). Alan's approach to life is everything is achievable with a little grit, determination and elbow grease. If I were to suggest we circum-navigate NZ in a weekend Alan would apply his do or die attitude to the task and actually give it a go! Add to this the very straightforward Southland "any problem can be solved with going for a run" mantra then you have one tough cookie.
Then we had the reincarnation of Nostradamus (Linley). There was much wailing and beating of the chest as to how this event (her 40km section) would simply and without a doubt be the death of her. By the time we were driving down the Hatepe Hill she was foretelling of an Armageddon type event that would take her out before she had managed to cycle one peddle stroke!
Personally my greatest concern was staying organised. My biggest nightmare in life is succumbing to disorganisation. Thus I had set about planning the travelling, registration and other necessary organisational aspects of the trip with quantum like precision. I had contacted Greenwich to ensure my watch was synchronised to the micro-milli-second. I had prepared travel plans, alternative routes, taken into account wind direction, traffic flow and the unlikely possibility that a meteorite shower may impact Tirau just as we were arriving en route to Taupo. Thus I determined we need to be on the road by 1 pm Friday to get to Taupo for registration. Of course if I had just calculated the time of the average trip to Taupo from Auckland it is likely I would have secured the same conclusion.
But all that was behind me - it was (as I started off several paragraphs ago) race day. Alan was the first rider. I was able to enjoy a leisurely bus trip to Kuratau. It was on the bus that I really started to notice my fellow cyclists. Now either they were all bloody old or bloody weathered. I started to get concerned that instead of the Taupo cycle event I had actually stumbled on a day trip from the Wairakei Retirement Village and we were heading out on a tour of the top ten tea shops in the Ruapehu District. But then I noticed all the lycra stretched across the wrinkled torsos.
On the trip from Taupo we all ooohed and aahhed on the trip over the packs of elite cyclists zooming by off to complete there 160km in 10 milliseconds, averaging 2000km an hour - amazing! Have to say I think the only time a bloke can really get away with wearing neon is when he is in a pack of 50 other blokes all riding like their lives depend on it!
On arrival in Kuratau I settled in to wait for Alan to arrive. It was all very pleasant sitting in the grass, soaking up the sun - again I contemplated simply getting back on the bus after a suitable period of time and heading back to Taupo. I mean really who were we kidding - the physics of me getting the blue rocket back to Taupo simply did not add up. Short, stumpy, overweight does not lend itself to the necessary aero-dynamics required to propel a bike. Just ask Einstein or better yet Chuck Yager!
Despite these overwhelming feelings of self-doubt I decided to suck it up and ride like I had never ridden before… of course at the point at which I had this intense wave of focus and commitment Alan was no where to be seen so the moment passed and I went back to working on my tan. Having just rolled over to do 10 minutes of tan time on my back Alan rolls in, looking a little worse for wear.
I rode off leaving Alan - alive or dead I was not sure but god knows I was now the keeper of the transponder and not since Frodo's mission to get that damn ring into the fires of Mount Doom was there a more important mission than me getting that piece of plastic to Motuoapa.
The first part of the ride is all a bit of a blur. It was hot and I was soon sweating and panting up the first of what would be many hills. I was quite pleased to be passing a number of fellow cyclists, admittedly they were stationary and fixing their bikes.
Having quietly ascended the Kuratau hill I found myself at the top of a very steep and winding gradient heading down. I internally flicked on 'eye of the tiger' in my head playing at full volume and proceeded to fly down the hillside... losing control I drifted into the right hand lane as a car towing a boat turned the corner towards me - I did not have time for my life to flash before me I quickly ascertained that if I did not make it back onto my side of the road I figured I would probably not die but may break a couple (or 100) bones...it was still worth it! I survived (evidenced by the fact that I am writing this) and quite easily floated on the adrenaline rush the rest of the way to Motuoapa. I now understood why all the people on the bus looked 80 - such experiences at the time make you feel like a kid but I was pretty sure the post-survival realisation that I really had just made it through what clearly was a 'near death experience' did age me.
Once in Motuoapa I transferred the transponder to Linley. All I had to do was beat the Hatepe Hill and I was home free... I headed off on the next 40km. As I clicked my gears back up on the rise of the Hatepe Hill I started to revel in my achievement. Given all the adversity I had overcome (laziness is an 'adversity) to get this far I would just like to say to all those bastards that cycled by me killing my sense of achievement a letter is in the mail.
Nevertheless I was still fairly secure in the knowledge that despite all those whizzing past me I would still not be last and I was not. I crossed the finish line took off my helmet, wiped away the sweat and toddled off. I was happy I had finished, happy I was still alive and seriously commencing plans for the next cycle race.
A journey that had all started with the original goal of saving $5.40 on a ferry ride had led me to Taupo… where would it end?
Story by Nicola Hughes