When I say that there's a lot of road waking on this trip, I really mean it. According to my notes, I had 80 more km's to go before I hit the trail again and genius me convinced the hostel to loan us 2 bicycles for a small fee. They even agreed to pick them up at the next town. PERFECT!!! In theory, that was...

It was a complete disaster. I don't really know how to ride a bike, but that was a minor detail next to the fact that only 3 of my numb fingers could reach the handlebars. My pack became unbearable, it felt like I was carrying the sinking Statue of Liberty... All the responsibility of something noble and grand melting away into the hot sticky asphalt. I'm not ready to talk about the bike seat... Just know that I wanted to stitch my legs together, sleep with raw meat on my bum and never sit in a chair again. This feeling lasted nearly a week. Oh, and to top things off, my hiking partner (10-Speed) just happens to be a retired professional cyclist... What was that? You used to bike 25,000 kms a year?! Great. I remember a point when we were on a flat farm road with zero traffic and he had to push my back to keep me moving forward when he noticed my quivering legs. After nearly passing out on a 3 meter high hill, I knew I was in trouble.

There was a cafe, there was a phone call, and there was one last bus to Palmerston North. I only made it 35 kms before giving in to the feeling of utter defeat. Sometimes I'm happy to be humbled down, to realize that I'm not as strong and invincible as I originally think.