As I am falling asleep, I can feel the fabric of the tent brushing against my head as it is battered by the wind outside. The rain pelts the top and I pray that my little home can handle it. Eventually, I drift off, still damp from the short run from the kitchen to my camping spot.

It is the morning of 18th February. There is a brief interlude in which the monsoon dissipates into a light drizzle and I use the window to pack everything up. I cross paths with Timo in the kitchen again and we wish each other the best with our days’ adventures. A woman gets chatting with me as I am dismantling the tent and lets me know that I am in for some easy riding today. Thank goodness.

I set off in all of my waterproof gear and am pleased that in no time at all, the clouds make way for the sunshine and I start drying off. Today, I am tackling the West Coast Wilderness Trail – all 133km of it (less the 7km I did last night to get to the campsite). This is my kind of riding. Flat, mostly kind gravel – the sort of gravel you can comfortably cruise at 20km/h along, and above all, off road. With the weather rapdily improving, I am smiling away as I whizz through the forest.

For a trail with “wilderness” in the title, I was expecting it to be a little more remote. After 20km, I pass through a small town and treat myself to a cafe break. I have a toastie and a dirty chai (I should clarify that this is not my dialect – a “dirty chai” is a chai latte with a cheeky espresso shot thrown in there). Feeling sufficiently fuelled up, I then continue my ride, passing Kapitea Reservoir and enjoying breathtaking views of the South Island mountains. Things are thrown into disarray slightly as I pass about ten seniors on their e-bikes, belting it round the blind corners too quickly – not a good idea on a single track. Also, not one of them has the courtesy to warn me that others are coming behind. I suffer a slight anxiety as I pace along unsure of when the passing Bingo Squad will come to an end.

I hit the 50km mark and reach a destination known as “Cowboy Paradise” – a motel in the middle of nowhere. The guidebook for the trip suggests checking Trip Advisor before making a booking. I had hoped that they would have a bar, given that I, yet again, fancy some chips, but alas not. Instead, I travel on an extra 3km to a beautiful clearing with a view of the river and enjoy my multipack of cereal bars.

The weather forecast predicts heavy rain from 1pm. It is 12:45pm. I see the clouds darkening above me and get back on the bike. Surely enough, at 1pm precisely, all hell breaks loose and the heavens open. I am currently in a very open space. Not ideal. The trail zig-zags down the mountain and onto a gravel road at the bottom. With the present circumstances being less than ideal, I opt for ignoring the trail and instead ride down the hill along the grass. This is far quicker and I reckon my bike can take it. I then hit the gravel road and find myself violated by an abominable headwind. I am blinded by the rain hitting my face and push on to the upcoming forest. Only 35km to the next town along, where I hope to find shelter and grab a bite to eat.

The weather has the decency to cool off for a bit as I get back onto the trail. Despite being drenched, I find myself able to enjoy the jungle-like forest I wind through next. The gentle drizzle only adds to the atmosphere, with a deep river running parallel to me along the track. I then hit road and am lucky enough to pass a shelter right as the rain kicks off again. I check my phone, which I had placed in my pannier for its own safety, and see the warning that water is in the USB port and it cannot be charged. This is great given that I am on 17%. I try to follow the trail signs, instead of the GPX file, to the town, Hokitika, but quickly learn that it bypasses the town as I see the glow of a Four Square sign on the other side of the railway line in the distance. Instead of my phone, I use my eyes to navigate and reach my somewhat miserable late lunch spot.

Two hours it takes before my phone will accept any juice. Two hours of wiggling napkins into the port and shaking the device violently to get any water out. I think it was being pedantic towards the end. With another 34km to go, embarking on the next stage with 10% battery would not be very sensible. I use my time at the Four Square to eat and catch up on writing my diary. The prospect of camping tonight looks pretty grim and with the camping ground expecting 60NZD for a non-powered site (disgusting), I decide to treat myself to a motel instead.

Having missed the dry window, I get pretty grumpy as I pedal on in the rain and manage to slide off and over the bike as my tyre hits the curved edge of the loose gravel path. I pick myself up and realise that my handlebars have gone drunk. They’re no longer in line with the wheel. Nothing an Allen key can’t fix. I cycle on and am relieved to find myself away from the road again and back in the forest. The next 15km is simply beautiful, right up until the point at which I reach a sign notifying me that the bridge at the end of the trail and into Ross is closed. This means turning around and going back on myself 2km and then finishing the day on the highway. Nevertheless, I reach my motel right before the heavens open again and find relief in that I am inside with all of that going on outside.

Upon reflection, I am not impressed with myself for going over the handlebars today. I am impressed, however, that having done 90km to Hokitika, I was able to push out another 34km with basically no effort. I realise that I am where I am usually at as I enter the third hour of a marathon. My legs are continuing with their work, without complaint, detached from my body almost, but my mind is giving up. The activity has gone on so long now. I experience waking nightmares that I am toppling off of my bike. My body struggles to realise that in my sleep, I no longer need to be concentrating on the road. Still, it beats the dreams in which I find myself back on 90 Mile Beach. I have loved this adventure, but the thought of going back to the start reeks insanity. The end is nigh and I am preparing myself to wrap this up.

It’s 19th February now. Yesterday was a great track. Today, it’s over 100km of state highway 6. Finn, Will and Paora are exactly one day ahead and I need to crack out some miles if I wish to have any chance of seeing them again. I break the day into three sections: 45km, lunch, 34km, second lunch, 34km, backpackers. I get up at 7am, as usual, and eat my leftover dinner (six burritos) for breakfast. I am ready to go by 8:30am, but find myself needing to lie down first. My body is heavy. The wet and dreary world outside of these motel doors is uninviting.

Three hours later and I have made it to Harihari. I got rained on a lot. The cars overtook too closely. It wasn’t great. But I am here, enjoying a cappuccino, sat under the small bit of shelter in front of the cafe. A friendly couple next to me make conversation. He is also into his cycling. I recognise their English accents and ask where they are from. He says Southampton. I ask him if he knows Horsham, my home town, and he says that’s where he grew up too. It’s a small world. The two of them are travelling by camper van and arrived in Picton yesterday. They did the journey from there to here a lot quicker than I did – about one week quicker. He seems quite keen to give me a lift to today’s destination, Franz Josef. With the rain quickly worsening, the strength required to turn this offer down is immeasurable. I let them drive on as I order myself some chips to fill the time as I wait for the intense shower to pass.

I am blessed to time the next two hour sections remarkably well between heavy downpours and take my next break in Whataroa. I have another chai latte and am sad to be told by the staff that they “technically” cannot fill my water bottle. Why not? There’s enough water going at the moment. I am very curious about the use of the word “technically” here. This somewhat sours the taste of my chai, but I remain positive. I learned earlier that Will is taking a rest day today and is hanging back in order to skydive tomorrow. Following this last 34km section, at least I will have a friend to eat dinner with.

I set off on my final leg of the day. I am feeling the saddle bum today. Two days in soaking wet cycle shorts isn’t going to do wonders for one’s skin. I manage to stop thinking about my behind for a moment to take in the magnificent views. They may be hard to see through the fog, but the scenery is definitely (or at the very least probably) lovely.

In the last three minutes of the ride, the shower turns into a monsoon and I struggle to keep my eyes open through the rain as I arrive at the backpackers. If only I had cycled just a little bit faster. I check into my room and finally take a hot shower. Everything I own is wet and has no prospect of being dry for a very long time. At least I’m not wet, though this is temporary. I set off to the restaurant for dinner. It’s part of the backpackers, less than 100 yards from my building. 100 yards is all that it takes to get drenched from head to toe again. I meet Will and have my third red wine since leaving Cape Reinga (unthinkable, right?). We enjoy a feast with starters and mains, and in my case, an epic sticky toffee pudding to finish. Will is not hopeful that his skydive will go ahead tomorrow, given the weather, so there is a chance that we will ride together. If he does leap out of a plane, depending on where he lands, he may not catch me up again.

It is now 20th February. This is the final day of the forecast rain. Heavy showers, followed by a four hour sunshine interlude, followed by more heavy showers. I get up, brush my teeth at a very crowded set of sinks and put on my shoes. This part is sad. They haven’t been dry since before I entered the Big River Trail four days ago. I hear a squelch as I slide my feet in and take a moment to cherish that sweet fleeting moment in which my socks were dry. I set off to Four Square to get some food for the road and hopefully find something hot for breakfast. My optimism is quickly crushed as I observe an array of meat pies, with nothing veggie in sight. I snoop around and find a cafe a short walk away. “This has worked out brilliantly” I think to myself as I sip on a delightful coffee and enjoy a hot spinach and mushroom filo.

Today I am heading for Lake Paringa. There is a DOC site there with some lovely views. I had made the decision to camp there before I saw the forecast. The journey starts with three consecutive peaks, totalling about 600m in elevation, to Fox, followed by 70km of flat road. With no end to the drizzle in sight, I accept my losses and head off. I am instantly hit by the rain on the first hurdle, but take comfort in the car horn toots of encouragement whilst going up the second. As I hit the third, the entire road darkens as a rain cloud develops overhead. I cycle over the summit and find myself engulfed in a thick fog on the other side. I pray that the cars behind me are focusing on the road and will see my bike lights early enough to dodge me. I ride down slowly, conscious of the slippery conditions, but also because going fast makes the rain smacking against my face hurt more. I see a cafe on the left and pullover for a hot drink. I choose to sit outside because I am feeling too polite to come in and bring my damp and stink with me.

According to the forecast, the sunny window is imminent. This feels impossible to believe. I am so cold in my soaking wet clothes and the rain is still persisting. I don’t think I can camp tonight, with my tent still being wet from two days ago and with everything I own also being very wet. I look for motels on route and realise that I will need to cut today short by about 30km – something I will pay for tomorrow, but worth it, I think. I message Will to let him know that I will be finishing in a similar area to him and he informs me that for an additional 25NZD, he can have an extra guest in his two bed motel room. Sorted. With a bit of hope on the horizon, I embark on this last leg.

After a couple of kilometers, I pass the walk to Fox glacier. It’s still raining. I consider leaving the bike and venturing along it, but I’ve seen glaciers before. I’ve been in glaciers. I can miss it. It’ll be full of tourists anyway. Something Will said yesterday over dinner is that one of the joys of doing the Tour Aotearoa is that you go to places no one else goes to. He’s right. I’ve witnessed such beauty on this trip and been able to enjoy it alone, without the presence of dozens of tourists. The best bits of New Zealand, just for me. Maybe another time, Fox.

This particular 35km I embark on next is a delight compared to the first 25km. Barely a climb to be done, gorgeous views of the mountains and rivers and not a drop of rain to be felt. The sun starts shining and even the road has grown quieter, with cars appearing at a lesser frequency and all passing very politely. I arrive at the motel at 2pm and can go straight to the room. It feels like a waste finishing the day with seven hours of daylight remaining, but sometimes a recharge is more important. I lay all of my possessions out to dry in the sun, take a nice warm shower and wash my clothes, with the hope that they might actually dry. I see two other bikepackers arrive and get chatting. Two women, roughly in their late 50s, named Connie and Anna. They are doing the Tour Aotearoa, as well as several other cycle trails in New Zealand. They’ve done the course before and say that the last 140km can be done in a day. I hope so.

Following some bike TLC and George TLC, I message Will to see how he is getting on. The gap between downpours meant that he could successfully jump out of a plane today. I am pleased for him. He now has to do the same cycle ride I did this morning, but starting six hours later. At about 8pm, whilst I’m wrapping up a phone call, I see the flashing lights in the distance as he pulls in, being battered by the rain as he does so. He does a triumphant fist pump into the air as he sees me through the window. Reaching the end of a ride in this storm is a cause for celebration. I have rarely witnessed a person so pumped. Jumping 10,000ft over the mountains is not a bad way to psych yourself up for a cycle ride over the hills. I genuinely think that he could keep on pedalling another 100km, he is so full of adrenaline.

Will sorts himself out as I prepare us a feast of rice, beans, tomatoes and pitta. We devour a unit of food each and share joy in the fact that we are not camping in the abomination outside. Tomorrow is a new day. We have 130km to aim to achieve. I am praying that my shoes will finally dry overnight and that the need for my waterproofs shall expire. My bike is starting to struggle. It takes time to manoeuvre into the lowest gear and the chain keeps slipping in the highest. My rear brake pads are wearing thin, a lot like my patience with the weather. With five days remaining to cover 563km, I am hoping that she can hold on in there. I am hoping that I can too.