Cycling without the commute
My commutes in London were slow torture until I bought a bike. At 5 foot 2 (1.58 metres), I often found my face squashed against strangers’ chests or backs in the sardine cans that are Tube carriages in rush hour. Or sniffing the armpits of passengers holding on to poles. The Underground’s carriages are stale-aired, sweaty places at the best of times. Even those with exemplary personal hygiene get smelly pits. I decided there had to be a better way to start, and end, my days.
I picked up my brandless road bike for about £50 (NZ$100) on eBay and, while on the heavier side, it did its job admirably, turning my commutes into competitive sprints. Lined up at intersections, feet poised on our front pedals, my fellow bikers and I were off like shots the second lights turned green, jostling for the best positions in the lanes we shared with Black Cabs, motorbikes, buses, and illegally parked cars.
I was never going to out race the serious cyclists with their ultra-light bikes and proper cycling gear. But, often encumbered by a heavy coat, I did my best, pedalling as fast as my legs could carry me. It was always a rush. I arrived at work feeling like I’d just completed an unscenic yet exhilarating section of the Tour de France. In my mind I was a female Lance Armstrong minus his need for performance-enhancing drugs.
I got so into it, I began taking bike tours whenever I went to Europe. I cycled around the tapas bars and trippy Gaudi buildings of Barcelona. Up the seven hills of Rome and down the cobblestone streets of its bohemian underbelly. Past cyprus-scented gardens on the coastal road from Nafplio in Greece – until I got a flat tyre and my bike and I had to hitch a ride back.
Once, in an unusual stroke of good luck, I won a trip to Burgundy and found myself pedalling through centuriesold vineyards to terracotta-roofed towns where I unwisely opted for wine over water to rehydrate.
When I moved back to New Zealand though, I traded two wheels for four. Partly because it would take me hours to ride to work with all the hills, and partly because I was worried about being ‘‘nudged’’ into an early grave by an aggro Auckland driver.
I decided to rekindle my old love affair with the humble pushbike after reading about the Alps 2 Ocean Cycle Trail, which promised an epic journey through some of the South Island’s most stunning scenery.
The word ‘‘alps’’ did have me slightly terrified, but I was up for an adventure. And it certainly delivered on that front. You can read more about it on pages 34-35.