It’s 12th February and for the first time in a while, I enjoy a slow start. With only 40km to do today on sealed road, I can leave camp late. I also have little incentive to vacate this charming spot.

At about 11am, I hit the road and start on a 20km gradual incline winding through the sounds. The views are pretty breathtaking and make the short climb go by in no time at all. I reach the top and detour to Mahaki Paoa Lookout. This starts with a sensible trail and then ends with steep steps, at which point, I leave the bike to do her own thing for a while, seeing as she doesn’t do stairs (like a pre-noughties Dalek), whilst I enjoy a lush view from the top. I then return to the bike and ride the hill down into Havelock.

Having not really had a breakfast and with plenty of time to spare, I pop into a cafe – Ray’s place. I treat myself to some fritters, an iced mocha and a massive doughnut. My Uncle Bruce has been hoping to set me up with some friends of his, Karen and Colin, in Canvastown, 10km further along the road. I had worried that they’d have been too busy today to be able to make anything work, but I make contact at Roy’s and discover that they’re just  minutes from Havelock, having ran their morning errands, so they decide to pop in. As I am waiting, I hear someone call my name. It can’t be them already. I turn my head and it’s Paora! The last time I saw him, he was whizzing away on a jet boat back on the Whanganui River nearly a week ago. I had wondered if our paths would ever cross again, but here we are back on the same time frame. Karen and Colin turn up too, and we have a lovely chat over coffee and “ice cream spiders” (ice cream floating in Fanta). We then make our farewells, pop into Four Square for some food for the road and cycle on.

The next section has warnings in the guide book. A nasty 20km stretch of highway. This is one of the reasons I had a lie in today. I didn’t fancy hitting this in rush hour. I wouldn’t say it’s the worst highway so far, but I am not loving it. As I am approaching the end, I hit some road works and have to wait at a red light. Just in front of me is another cyclist with a set of large back panniers on a decent full-suspension mountain bike. Ah, she’s one of me. We very briefly make an exchange and realise that we will see each other at the bridge in which today’s journey ends. The light turns green and I whizz on. I arrive at camp, do my usual glory lap to find the best camping spot and choose to settle by the river where there is another mountain bike waiting. The woman behind me from earlier pulls up. She laughs that she thought she would never see me again with the speed at which I bolted off. I explain that I never normally ride that fast, but I like highways to be over as quickly as possible. Her name is Alex and she is doing her own version of the route with some detours. Shortly after initiating our exchange, the owner of the other bike turns up, Chris, from the States. Then right after that, Finn pulls in too, later followed by his riding buddy from London, Will, and then finally Paora. We have a decent clan going.

With the confirmation of the campsite booking not containing the shower room code (helpful), we opt for washing in the river, which, with the lack of rain, just about still exists. Having cleaned ourselves and setup our tents, we then all tuck into our respective meals. In my case, about half a kilo of guac loaded into wraps with rice and a 200g chocolate bar currently in liquid state (I am regretting my choice to go with black panniers). We have a nice chat and devise our plan for tomorrow. Paora opts for the highway alternative, whilst the rest of us decide to tackle the saddle, with Chris setting off early with the hope of having some time in Nelson to get his smashed phone screen fixed, leaving us in a team of four.

We say our goodnights and I head over to the bathroom block to brush my teeth. On my way back, I manage to take a wrong turn and find myself lost in the forest for some time. Luckily, I make it back to my tent in time for a luxury six hours of sleep before tomorrow.

The next morning, we gradually appear from our tents with the hope of all setting off at roughly 8am. Chris sets off on his way early and the rest of us eventually leave camp at 8:30am, with a quick stop off at the cafe before hitting the gravel road. That morning muffin hit the spot. We wave off Paora as he takes his alternative route and the rest of us begin our journey. Today’s challenge: Maungatapu saddle. With roughly 1,000m of elevation ahead, it is not actually the worst height gain we have seen. In fact, this is about average if you’re completing the route over five weeks. The tricky thing is the terrain. The height gain is sharp, with massive gradients on loose gravel road. Kathi, my pal from the Timber Trail, claimed to have had to have pushed her bike both on the way up and on the way down and eventually needed rescuing by a four-by-four. She suggested taking the highway alternative. The guidebook also suggests this for those with heavily laden bikes, but we are feeling brave. Setting off early means that if we do need to walk, we won’t need to compete with daylight (it is worth noting that Alex had originally intended to start this leg at 4pm yesterday afternoon, until I shared with her the horror stories).

The trail starts gently, with a soft ascent easily manageable on both mountain and touring bikes. The landscape is covered by a thick layer of cloud, so no one is sweating just yet. We carefully carry our bikes past some roadworks and one of the men checks that we have enough water for the day ahead (he knows what we are in for). After a short downhill through thick forest, we roll to a stop and psych ourselves up for our first steep climb. Being on a touring bike with lesser gearing than the rest of us, Will needs to start walking early on. Finn pushes on at the front and I follow shortly behind. We take regular breaks and make decent progress to our first noteworthy spot- Murderer’s Rock, where five travellers were robbed and killed by a criminal gang in 1866. We are joined by several motorcyclists who are not envious of the task we are embarked on. They let us continue first and then immediately overtake us when we hit our first river crossing. Whilst Alex and Finn try to use stepping stones to cross, Will and I accept defeat and muck on through, knowing that our shoes will dry in the now beaming sun.

The climb continues and worsens as we approach the summit. Each 100m up becomes increasingly tough and with 3km to go, I accept defeat and step off of my bike too. Supporting the weight of a 35kg loaded bike on loose gravel is not easy. Remaining still is half the battle. We need to actually get the bikes upwards. As we approach the saddle, we grow more sparse and I can just about keep up with Finn, who seems to have no issue walking his bike, hitting a decent speed with it. It is a speciality of his. Alex isn’t far behind, busting out the German techno to push her through.

As we are reaching the top, Finn has a realisation. He recalls his first day of the trip, cycling along 90 Mile Beach and seeing a biker travelling the wrong way and thinking this guy must be doing South to North and is about to finish. He was wrong. We check our dates against each other; it was me on my way to the start. I saw five cyclists on the beach that day, a pair of Canadians, Bob and Bob, who I briefly chatted to; a couple, later revealed to be the wonderful Ash and Andy, who I am still missing dearly; and a lone rider who I quickly said hi to and then continued riding – Finn.

Shortly after 1pm, we finish the climb, and finally reconvene for a rest. The hard work is done, but what lies ahead is pure danger. We remount our steeds and make way on the downward journey. The guidebook suggests flexing one’s braking fingers before this section. I can see why. Both brakes are being deployed hard and I find myself pulling over every 100m downward to stretch my fingers. I could go faster, but I want the bike and myself to make it down in one piece (well, two pieces – a piece of me and a piece of bike). Alex, with her front and rear suspension, whizzes down, and Finn, on his gravel bike, confidently follows. The confidence is quickly lost as he hits a rock and rips open his tyre. It would be a miracle if four bikes made it down without a hitch. We take a break as he bungs up the hole (tubeless tyres are a mystery to me) and then continue the journey. Not long after, he gets another flat, and we pause again as he plugs two more pieces of rubber into the gap (it’s a decent rip).

The rest of the descent runs smoothly, with Finn’s tyre holding out. The gradients are steep enough that at times, we all opt to dismount and walk the bikes on sections. To add further insult to injury, the trail ends with two further mini climbs, each too steep to ride, but I make a point of not letting the strenuous effort distract me from the surrounding scenery, which is very fine indeed. With the final ascent over, our next downhill flattens and we finally get to ride without pressing the brakes. The gravel road turns to sealed and we transition from spending 15 minutes on each kilometer to only three. With everyone in agreement that this is us done for the day, we find ourselves a decent pub and tuck into a burger and chips each. Chris joins with a functional phone and Paora arrives looking far more fresh than the rest of us. We enjoy a drink each and find ourselves accommodation for the night. There is a holiday park on the beach 6km away and we begin our final stretch of the day.

We ride the sealed road along the coast, which is glowing in the evening sun and then pull into the park. We set up our tents and head into the sea for a cheeky dip. As the sun sets behind a cloud, we decide it is now cold and finally treat ourselves to a warm shower at last. Following a chilled evening at the campsite, we each take ourselves to bed with the plan to make up some distance tomorrow.