With this being my only night in a one week period not sleeping in a tent, I take it slowly this morning and spend my time getting ready. I relish in the luxury of wifi, electricity and cooking facilities and gear myself up with a delicious breakfast before committing to the journey ahead. With my pannier broken, I tie it in place with my bike lock. This at least eases the strain on the other bolts. We will see how I go.

Today starts with a quiet sealed road through the countryside. Ahead of me, I see two cyclists. I wonder who these could be? As I ride up closer, I notice the distinctive feather sticking out of one rider’s helmet. Ah, it’s Markus 2.0, with Patrick shortly ahead of him. I say hello and we pull over to have a chit chat and take in the magnificent view. We get onto the topic of which bike repair bits we carry with us. Patrick recommends his tyres as they can do 6,000km on average with no flats. I say that mine can do at least 1,000km as I’ve not had one since I left the lighthouse. They then let me go ahead and we say our goodbyes once again.

A few kilometers later, the sealed road is replaced by gravel and I’m back to sliding all over the place. I pass some men doing roadworks and one of them points at my front tyre… I have a flat. No wonder I’m slipping everywhere. I head for the edge into the shade to get it sorted. Five minutes later, Markus 2.0 and Patrick ride up, visually struggling to contain their laughter. I had jinxed myself. Patrick kindly inspects my tyre as I get a new inner tube out and finds the source: a tiny thorn, almost impossible to notice. We chat again and I let them go ahead as I finish off the job.

I continue up the big hill and pass them for a third time today. It is not helpful that the slipperiest bits of this hill are also the steepest. On the very rare occasion in which a car goes past, the cloud of dust left in its wake could choke you. I find myself using one hand to hold my T-shirt over my face, whilst the other struggles to maintain control. My bike is also a bit unbalanced today, seeing as I put all of my heavy gear into the functioning pannier. When I finally make it over the peak, I pass a walker. It turns out that as well as cycling the entire length of New Zealand, one can also walk it. This route is called Te Araroa and I have clearly lined up with the route today. The walker and I briefly chat and I then steam on.

I am on a schedule this afternoon. With no shops ahead for the next two days and an evening of freedom camping tonight, the Blue Hill cafe in Owhango is my last chance for a hot meal for a long time. I need to make it there before they close at 2pm. I achieve this, but feel sorry for that hiker who has no chance.

Upon entering, I am greeted by Paora in the corner. Our paths have crossed again. We have a catch up and, as always, I gorge on several delicious baked goods. I can’t get over the New Zealand cafe game. 15 minutes later, Markus and Patrick turn up yet again and join on the table next to us. Then another ten minutes later, the walker turns up and all. It turns out that he is more than just a hiker – he’s a hitchhiker. I’m not sure why he didn’t ask to hitch a lift with me.

Paora gives me a good idea during the meal. I had explained to him my pannier situation, which had been bouncing around a bit on the gravel track today, and he suggests that I try the garage next door. I do exactly this. I tell them roughly what needs to be done, and sure enough, a gentleman pops out the old bolt with some pliers and puts a new one in. Good as new! I offer them cash and they simply will not have it. They are just happy to help!

With 44km of gravel road ahead, I then hustle my bustles and crack on. After some time, I realise the road hasn’t yet turned to gravel and I figure out that I’ve gone the wrong way. Having already done the last big climb of the day, I have very little interest in reversing and heading back onto the official route. Instead, I stick with the sealed road. The views are absolutely gorgeous still and only three cars pass me on the entire 25km detour (all very politely and patiently too). I then line up with the official route and realise that the detour was a blessing in disguise. The gravel on this road is horrific. I have never known anything so slippery. This makes the grade 3 sections of the Timber Trail and grade 4 sections of the River Trail look easy. I skid over on four separate occasions and at one point, have to jump off of my bike completely to stop myself landing in a ditch. In doing so, I land with all of my weight on the front wheel and am relieved to discover that all is okay. Slippery gravel and heavy panniers are not a good mix.

As I approach the campsite, I notice a few stray goats. One of them looks me dead in the eye as he pisses. Rude. I then continue and this goat follows me. I stop a few kilometers further along to enjoy a view and to my shock, there he is again, still watching. Fearing for my life, I push through the last 5km and arrive at the campsite. I am greeted by Stuart, who I met on the ferry back in Pouto Point and the infamous Belgian woman who had done the entire Timber Trail in one day. We chat for a while and Stuart is amused to learn that I am the guy who lost a drone. My reputation precedes me. I then setup camp in the evening sun.

With no showers at the site, for today’s wash, I head a little further down to the river. It’s a quiet spot with a couple of canoes and kayaks moored up – some folks are doing a different type of adventuring here. With no one around, I decide that it’s safe to go el naturel. Of course, once I’ve made this decision, a man strolls down the steps. He, being English, and I, being English, make a joke about our natural prudishness and I step deeper into the water in order to conceal my genitals (not like Markus 2.0 and Patrick, who upon entering camp a few days ago, were bollock naked in no time – one has to admire Europeans). We chat for a while and then I continue my bath in private. As I leave, I pass Paora again. I am glad that he arrived when he did and not five minutes before. That’s one less person seeing my todger today.

I head back into camp and have my dinner. As I am finishing, I am invited over by the kayakers – an English couple, Ruby and John (who had the misfortune of intruding on my bath) and a Californian couple, Amelia and Ryan, all a similar age to me. We have a lovely time chatting and sharing stories of our adventures. Ruby and John had also done 90 Mile Beach, but by car, and spoke of a lovely pair of cyclists they had met at a campsite along the way – a US couple in their 60s he estimates. That sounds familiar, I think to myself. I ask if he remembers their names and he does not, so I get out the photo of myself with Janet and Aaron, and sure enough, that’s the pair! It’s a small world. This means that John and Ruby were on 90 Mile Beach the day I cycled it too. Perhaps we crossed paths and never knew…