So the last post I wrote ended in a sort of cliffhanger; how can she get to Wellington? Is it possible? Obviously I made it, and not only did I make it to Wellington, but I then made it by train to Auckland and by plane back to Nelson. But let's go back a bit.
The second day biking (between Havelock and Picton) was both easier and more difficult than the first. It was quite a bit shorter for a start, only around 35 km instead of 86. There wasn't too much wind, unlike when I first left Nelson, and the road that I went on had much less traffic, and no huge trucks (unlike highway 6 that I had been on previously). Unfortunately, the route that I chose - around Queen Charlotte Sound - is infamously curvy and hilly, with about a gazillion switchbacks as it goes around the coast. Its beautiful, but feels endless and slightly treacherous. Also, it started to rain when I still had a ways to go, and I got soaked by the time I reached Picton.
When I first set out in the morning it was drizzling out, with grey mist oozing through the Sounds around Havelock. By the time I had cleared the first hill, though, the rain had disappeared and I was in understandably high spirits. The area is beautiful, the water unbelievably aquamarine and native bush fills gullies and sometimes even swathes of land. Since it was still morning and I was fresh, I felt like I could easily take on this portion of the world. I biked on.
A few hills and valleys later, I was slightly less confident. Luckily, the route is rife with ridiculous mailboxes, which helped me maintain moral. I tried listening to This American Life, but it just didn't feel right. There was, however, a lot of humming.The next hour or so alternately dragged on or flew by, mainly according to whether I was going up or down. I was stiff from the day before, so my muscles were taking things slowly; or rather, taking me to Picton slowly. The main problem was that I really didn't know how far I was from my destination, and nor were there any signs to help me out. Moments of elation at the scenery quickly soured toiling up hills, but overall I was plugging along at a decent rate.
Then, of course, it started to rain. Then it rained harder. Pretty soon it was coming down steadily and my clothes started dripping. A rain jacket is great, and I've very glad that I had one, but when it starts dripping into your face and down your neck that can be a problem. I passed two road crews who seemed to enjoy the sight of a cyclist pedaling against the elements; they probably don't get a lot of action on that road, so a soaked cyclist is hilarious. The main problem with the rain, actually, was how much I had to break going down hills. Its all well and good to go up a hill slowly, but when you have to go down it slowly too because you're worried about slipping and breaking your neck its seriously bad for morale.
By the time I actually made it to Picton I was wet, frustrated and happier than I have ever been to see bleak industrial shipping yards. I bought my ferry ticket, changed clothes, walked to a cafe and had the most delicious hot coffee that I have ever tasted at the Dog and Frog. I'm sure, in retrospect, that the coffee was in fact relatively standard, but at that point I couldn't think of anything more luxurious.
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