Lake Tekapo - Twizel

We pedaled sleepily out of Tekapo Village in the morning sun. What a welcome change to swap our mode of transport from feet to wheels after over a month of walking! An emergency pit stop at the Tekapo bakery left me 3$ poorer and one salted caramel brownie richer. I’d snagged the bike with the plushest lady seat, meanwhile Toby was looking a little strained trying to find a comfortable spot on his tiny racing seat. We left civilisation behind after a couple of intersections, and were faced with a monstrous downhill where I really got to test my fears of skidding brakes. Once out of the woods though – literally and figuratively speaking – a grand vista opened up: an enormous flat basin scorched brown in the heat. Distant mountains, ever the blue skies, and a flat-as-a-pancake paved road with no car traffic. The ethereally blue Tekapo/Pukaki canal flowed merrily to our right, and all we had to do was push the pedal to the metal and surge ahead.

Biking felt like the ultimate freedom after over a month of travelling exclusively at walking speed. Miles and miles of paved road gave away to gravel road. It was decently hard going, but I still felt so free among the familiar sights of the McKenzie basin. The sun baked down, but my legs would never get more tan than they already were. I passed a hiker walking the stretch and felt so sorry for her – this was the ultimate way to enjoy the fantastic scenery speeding by without sacrificing feet and knees. I dutifully wore a helmet, but still relished the feeling of wind in my hair and miles flying by.

Patrick had some trouble with his trailer wheels and lagged behind for a bit. I stopped and waited for the boys. Standing above my bike, perched on a high hill just beyond a salmon farm on the narrow turquoise canal, I bit into my salted caramel brownie slab. Goodness melting inside and out. There was no denying that I was more chunky than slim at this point. But so worth it! No one could claim I wasn’t fit! We breezed down to the shores of Lake Pukaki – one of my favourite places in the world. The air was too still and the season was too late for the great lake to shine its illuminated ultra-turquoise as you’ll see on satellite images. We left the paved road to join the narrower lakeside trail, where you could only bike slowly while weaving through the tall weeds. We picked out a secluded pebble beach to enjoy our fresh hummus, peppers, and sandwich lunch.

I sank down on my towel, replacing my remarkably dry longsleeve and shorts with the bathing suit I was still (ridiculously) carrying from Hanmer Springs. I sat cross-legged, feeling the warmth of the grey stones seep through my thin trekking towel. The majestic Mt Cook loomed straight ahead, half engulfed in early afternoon clouds. I’d sat on the shores of this lake as both a 15-and 19-year-old, thinking there was no better place in the world. I still remember laughing in delight the first time I’d waded into Lake Pukaki, seeing my hands disappear only 15 cm down into the dense, radiant water. The icy coolness was offset by its soul-crushing beauty, little white-capped waves rippling across what looked like an alpine ocean. Sometimes I wondered if the red Southern Alps logo on my white Icebreaker longsleeve currently draped over my sunburned shoulder was in fact the mountainous view straight ahead of me. I’d come back as a 19-year old, needing the place to be as unchanged as I was changed – to confirm that New Zealand was indeed the place I’d carried in my dreams for years. And it was. In that moment, my long trek appeared more than anything to be a tribute to this wonderful land, a token of thanks for all the memories made which had carried me through my teenage years into adult life. This place feels more like home than my actual home ever had. I belong here more than anywhere. Had I even known happiness until I discovered New Zealand?

Today the waves were lipping gently at the shore while we baked and enjoyed some phone reception. Too soon we got dressed again and set off at an easy paddle back up towards the main road. Our last stretch of the day was 10 km of undulating gravel road between Lake Pukaki and Twizel across a wide open basin dotted by a handful of trees. Now, I’ve never experienced a runner’s high. On the contrary, I’ve scoffed at fitness maniacs who did high intensity workouts that made me nauseous just to watch from the other end of the gym. But man oh man. I felt myself soar into the most fabulous… biking high?! I’d never felt anything like it. I should have been worn out after over 50 km of biking in the summer sun. But with each kilometre blazing by I felt more and more ecstatic. Both Toby and Patrick were way behind me as I pedaled for dear life. My lung capacity felt like it had expanded 300%. I was invincible, unable to feel exhaustion or cramps. I was FLYING! So this was what all the ultrarunners talked about! How exhilarating it was to be so strong that even the wind couldn’t catch you.

I screeched to a halt in a cloud of dust at the Twizel town sign, feeling the air go out of me like a balloon. What a riot today had been. My two companions shakily demounted their bikes, Toby swore he’d never so much as look at a bicycle seat for the next two years. We walked bow-legged into the closest supermarket. I paid for three cold drinks in a daze and drank them all straight up with barely a breath in between. Dehydration is a sneaky fiend, and I felt slushy as I dug into my favourite kiwi ice cream treat. Oh, glorious day. We didn’t really need a rest day tomorrow, but we’d take one anyway just to wait out a day of rain and enjoy ourselves before diving into the mountains of Otago. Falling into the “double bed” that night next to Toby (Patrick dove for the single bed as soon as we opened the door to our room), I felt more pleasantly smashed than I had in a long time. It felt good to be home.