Like a newborn foal standing for the first time, I slowly rose from my deflated air mattress. Dreaming of just a few more minutes sleep, I fumbled around disoriented in the darkness. Getting into my riding gear, legs wobbling and knees shaking, I could hear the three others rustling around, but no words were spoken, just the odd moan and groan. The race was on to pack up and get ready, battling the constant fear of being left behind (FOBLB!?). Each of us had our own routine, and I was still refining mine.

It was 4.15 in the morning and we’d slept out under the stars beside a quiet gravel road, in the Hunua Ranges south of Auckland. We were just two days into the inaugural Tour Aotearoa event, a self-supported epic ride from the tip of New Zealand to the very bottom, covering as many trails and backroads as possible. My aim was to cover the 3000km as quickly as I could, so inevitably long days were the norm. We started before dawn and rode well into the night, averaging 270km a day.

Feeling stiff and sore, the first couple of hours were always the toughest. One ache would fade away and simultaneously another would replace it. By the end of the day it was my nether regions that were fearing the worst. It didn’t matter how much chamois cream I rubbed down there or even if I wore two pairs of shorts, there were times when I could barely sit on the saddle; the only way was to stand up and pedal.

It was a simple way of life. I’d eat when I was hungry, drink when I was thirsty and pop a painkiller when (or before) the aches became unbearable. Other than my bike, all I had with me were the clothes on my back, a few tools to fix anything that went wrong and plenty of food. The worries and regularity of normal life were a distant memory and my number one concern was when my next food stop would be.

We stopped to refuel along the way wherever we could, frequenting petrol stations and fast-food joints. The humble kiwi pie became my new staple and my record was four in one day. I’d scoff one down like a ravenous animal and stow away a few more for supper or breakfast the next morning. As a last resort I’d always have a backup supply of muesli bars hidden throughout my bags in various pockets and empty spaces.

Occasionally there were very long sections between settlements, and shops usually were closed when we reached our destination so it was necessary to carry enough food for more than 24hrs. This was purely an estimate of course. I’d wander around the supermarket in a complete daze, bewildered and unsure where to begin. After a few circuits, I’d bump into another rider and ask what he was buying, and rush off to purchase the same. I wasn’t in any state of mind to think for myself, and the pressure of making a quick decision made it even worse. Constantly worried about going hungry, I’d overbuy and struggle to find room to carry it all. I was eating copious amounts to keep going, but at the same time I had to try and ration to avoid running out.

Passing through the Timber Trail, that’s when it happened. I had already eaten my last muesli bar, my stomach was rumbling and I knew it was only a matter of time before I’d hit the wall. Empty and exhausted, I collapsed on the side of the track in the middle of nowhere, feeling like I could go no further. The others were gone but I didn’t care. There was no cellphone coverage and even if there was, no one could come and rescue me. Not knowing what to do next, I laid down in the baking sun, closed my eyes and fantasized about being in another place, far away from what I was feeling. I was woken by the sound of another rider approaching. Sitting up out of the long grass he saw me and offered an energy bar, but I needed something more substantial. He disappeared and I reluctantly hopped back on my bike and slowly struggled to the end of the trail and back to civilization.

Over time we became a real feral bunch, washing poorly once every few days when we had the facilities to do so. Dental hygiene went out the window. It was always the last chore before setting off and I’d almost always run out of time. It was about priorities. Brush your teeth or get dropped. We got used to each other’s smells and at times it was more pleasant to ride alone. Occasionally we’d turn up to a motel at the end of a long day and all take our shoes off. Within seconds the odors of four grown men would mold together to create an indescribable stench. I felt sorry for the people that had to clean the room the next morning. My new daily routine continued and each day blurred into the next until I completely lost track of time. All that mattered was where we were, and where we were heading. We rode until our legs wouldn’t allow us to go any further, then slept for a few hours and did it all again.

Upon reaching Bluff I was overcome by a euphoric feeling, flashbacks of sections from throughout the journey consumed my mind, the highs and the lows. I thought back to the beginning just over 11 days before and the distance I’d covered. I had seen things that I’ll never forget, met great people and made lifelong friends. I suffered and endured the tough times. And did things my fiancée and most people would question my sanity over.

Would I do it again? Definitely.