Reportage: Tour Aotearoa 2020
It’s taken over a year of good intentions and three false starts to write this one.
Even though my career wraps around the written word, the story of how I got here (keen adventure cyclist; more comfortable with my gender identity) feels like it should be done properly. So let’s start at the beginning.
I always wanted to get into cycling and heavy-duty craftwork, but both of these things used to be unattainably hard. As a young person assigned female at birth, I didn’t get into sports or using tools — society had told me those things weren’t for me.
I only cracked the code of learning how to ride a bike because I tried an electric bike instead of my regular walking commute. It wasn’t long before I was starting to feel foolish zipping around while people who seemed about as unfit as me successfully spun up my local hills, and resolved to get over the initial hurdles of embarrassment and failure. Within a few months, I was addicted.
My relationship to cycling as a whole is underpinned by my opinions about success and failure, but we’ll get into that a bit later.
Within the year of my getting heavily into cycling and bike mechanics I had begun to envision a project. I’d learn how to make bikes, learn how to camp, then create my own rig to ride the 3,000km Tour Aotearoa brevet — and finish. This took three more years to achieve.
In the summer of 2018 I went to Australia to learn how to braze bikes from Brett Richardson. Naturally, after attending such a course, most people struggle to keep up the framebuilding practice unless they have significant access to a space and tools, let alone the high material cost. I am the same, but aspire to have a workshop space instead of an apartment one day.
This frame was my second-ever, made in December 2019, blasted out in a begged and borrowed workshop on the two days of the year it was closed — Christmas day and boxing day. I was so nervous about finishing the bike on time I brazed a cable stop on backwards, and blew a small hole through my seat tube. I had also been too cheap to order curved seat stays so the rear end is incredibly long to provide adequate clearance.
Regardless, the TA was beginning just two months after completion of the frame. Cobbled together with a friction shifter, 9-speed rear derailleur, 34t on the front (quickly changed to 30t at the first opportunity), and an 11–40t cassette the build was not glamorous, but it fitted, and it was bombproof.
I think that all competitive activities automatically lend themselves to patriarchy and capitalism, and bikepacking is no different. Many riders turned up to the start line with flashy gear and a credit card to live in (reasonable) luxury. I love my steel frames and budget bits. They’re more fun knowing that things can be used and abused, then repaired, and taken to limits I might not otherwise if I had something flashy to be precious about.
Aside from that, I’m 5'2 and have a limited history of athletic prowess. Why would I want to be the best at cycling? I’d rather try to have the best story instead.
This is that story. A pivotal point for me between believing that I had my limits, and realising that those limits were a byproduct of society rather than myself.
- Didn’t think I could use power tools and fire? Check.
- Didn’t think I could do physical exercise? Check, check.
- Didn’t think I could safely be outside, alone? Check, again.
- Didn’t realise that the majority of my unhappiness was inflicted by gender norms? Nice one.
Start day arrives
Somehow my timing for the TA ended up completely off. The week prior I was working from Wellington (a thousand kilometres away), and as a climate-change activist I try to travel by train and bus, rather than fly. The full day of bus-trip back to collect my gear in Auckland, was followed by a second full day of bus riding to begin the brevet at Cape Reinga.
I don’t have many photos for the first ten days. I quickly found that my lack of time to prepare hit me like a ton of bricks. Life became a race to eat, sleep, struggle gear in and out of bags and freak out about whether I was going to make it to the next location in time — not much else.
The first day of the Tour Aotearoa is predominately on ninety mile beach, which is actually a faux-pas — the beach is not ninety miles long. European settlers in New Zealand assumed the length of the beach, based upon the time it took to travel the length by horse.
The entry to the beach involves fording seawater, and it wasn’t long before my drivetrain became completely clogged with salt and sand, and my front chainring was refusing to keep the chain on. I ended up riding the beach single-speed, using the chain tension to keep everything together and limp down the beach–except for the occasions where the cassette would decide to dump the chain into lowest gear and jam in my frame. The first day ended at midnight.
The next two days were significantly smoother sailing than the first, although the sense of anxiety about completing the recommended minimum distance of 100-kilometres per day, to reach the finish line at Bluff, still nagged away. Later I’d learn to love that sense of purpose, but for now, it was only a source of worry as I was behind the clock.
It was quick and easy to make friends, too, as I began to bump into other riders with similar attitudes to me, and the faster crowd broke away. However, the stress was back on for my fourth day at Pouto point.
To cross the Kaipara harbour, TA riders are recommended to travel to Pouto point, a bach town separated by well-worn logging roads, and board the ferry. The crossing tends to be a bottle-neck, as some riders over and under-estimate their timings, and there are only limited spaces for the crossing. There’s also limited mobile service, so it can be tricky to change your booking if need be.
On the way into Pouto, signs advised that there were frequent logging trucks and to keep left. During the attempt to keep left, I managed to slide out on a loose, off-camber corner and land straight on my knee — with around 25kg of loaded bike falling on top of me.
The crash hurt, but I didn’t think much of it. I pushed on and made good time to ensure I could get a place on the boat.
The ferry trip took several hours, with the added complexity of loading and unloading a very large number of bicycles. The next catastrophe (for me!) came when we arrived at Helensville, sometime near midnight. As I stood up to get off the boat I found the knee I’d injured earlier had been swelling up while I was sitting, and I couldn’t walk on my left leg.
I hopped off the boat, literally, slightly terrified about what it might mean for the ride. Everyone was tired and focussed on their own ride, so it was hard to convey how injured I was. I rode my bike one-legged the 2km to the Kaipara Cruising Club where we camped out on the floor, and hoped for a better leg in the morning.
While the pain did subside enough to continue to push on for the following days and weeks, it took around seven days before I could stand up on the pedals, meaning that in some of the mountain biking sections I just bashed down the descents seated. It wasn’t nice, but the TA wouldn’t defeat me. Thankfully the Auckland and Hauraki sections on days five, six and seven are familiar, and therefore easy.
On to the trails!
So, if you hadn’t guessed by the preamble at the beginning of my reportage, I had never mountain biked before. The bikepacking routes I took while learning were primarily gravel. Mountain biking is difficult in my home city, unless you like driving a car, and I refuse.
So of course, mountain biking was a trial-by-fire, made worse when after a long day of riding, a group of intoxicated e-mountain bikers who were following the route with their own support van, knocked my bike over and managed to break my helmet.
Thankfully Garry at the Bus Stop Cafe, an awesome local from Mangakino managed to find me an old helmet from his stash of bike parts so I could continue. For that I am forever grateful, and I always tell people to go visit.
The fog quickly cleared on the last gentle section of the Waikato River Trails, which were followed by some easy roads to get nice and relaxed before the famously horrible Arataki Swingbridge. The Department of Conservation had done us all a solid and swiftly repaired it less than a month earlier after it was found to be pulling out of the ground. Bikes were lifted up on their back wheel, and pushed across the bridge one at a time.
Like many things in life, I find narrow swingbridges are designed with the average man in mind. I struggled to lift my Velo Orange crazy bars high enough to clear the sides of the bridge, and ended up stuck halfway across, my handlebar jammed hard into the side of the fence. Juggling a big, heavy bike I give the end of my bars a palm strike to try to get it free — and the angry wire fence lets go, but not before cutting my grip in two. Bummer.
The best part about the pressure to finish a brevet on time is that it can make you improve fast. Since it’s important to get in the right amount of distance, and arrive at campsites and accommodation before they close, I found myself getting braver than before, smashing down descents I normally would have walked. I was starting to get into a good rhythm. And then, crash two out of three came to send me reeling again.
A large part of my tenth day was descending down the Timber Trail. Many people would assume my spectacular face plant happened as a side effect of said descent, but you’d be wrong! However, I did smash my way down with a stuffed knee, swearing all the way as I quickly learned that the clearance between my bags and the wheels may be OK for gravel, but definitely was not okay for Timber Trail level bumps.
So I spent my day tightening up my front bag while riding down the trail, hoping that the holes wouldn’t be too bad.
The crash occurred at Ongarue, heading down the road at 10–15kph and trying to tighten up my bags one last time, I overdid it and managed to lose control, panic brake, and flip the bike, landing straight onto my face.
I’m very thankful for the random bystander living in Ongarue who came and checked on me, and let me into her bathroom to clean myself up. I somehow managed to get off without a broken nose or teeth, and at St John’s offices, a couple of hours later in Taumarunui, another kind lady from St John lets me know I don’t have a concussion. I can keep going.
The day after my knock-about was the day we had to ride the TA’s most infamous track. The Kaiwhakauka has knocked several riders out of the brevet after they were helicoptered off the course with serious injuries. I had been hoping to get it done in a day and camp at a campsite along the Bridge to Nowhere track, so the danger would be all finished and out of the way. In the morning we learned more about the storm predicted to roll in overnight, lots of riders became convinced Kaiwhakauka today was the best way to go about things, before it turned to slippery mud.
Conforming to my ‘quite bad at mountain bikes’ identity I was well set on walking the 6km or so of track and that I did. Three riders — Jenny, Neil and Marek caught me at the end of the Kaiwhakauka so we had a posse up to the summit. We end up with ten cyclists camping at Johnson’s campsite ready to tackle the Bridge to Nowhere in the morning.
Overnight, it rains heavily at Johnson’s campsite and the Bridge to Nowhere. We woke up to aggressive clay-mud and puddles, and 15km to get to the jet boat. I learned all about the biggest flaw in my frame which was the very tight (5mm) tyre clearance…which resulted in the equivalent of jamming the brakes on at any moment where there was serious mud. I carry my bike in some parts.
I felt a whole lot of sympathy for the veterans of World War I who had been gifted the land in the Mangapurua valley. The area is completely inhospitable especially in bad weather — also known as “the valley of abandoned dreams” in the middle of the 20th century. The Bridge to Nowhere represents the only thing left standing of the old settlement, which was abandoned in 1944.
It takes me 4 hours of struggle to travel 15km in the bad weather. My brake pads have worn themselves down aggressively through all of the grit and mud, even though I’ve barely used them. There is plenty of mandatory walking where the Department of Conservation has fenced off dangerous areas that have mud, rock fall and steep drop offs. I make it to Mangapurua landing having missed everyone else who had caught an earlier boat. I also lose a large part of the afternoon to cleaning and repairing my bike.
Late in the afternoon I leave Pipiriki, hoping to go as far as I can before it gets dark. Heading down Whanganui River Rd, I see there’s plenty of small towns on the TA book promising cabins or camping, so I decide to go as far as I can and just find the nearest one. It turns out that the cabins and accommodation I find further down the road are all suggesting I enquire by phone, but when I look at my phone all I get is no service. In the end, I give up and decide to ride all the way to the ‘Basic DOC campsite’ at 39km in my book.
It’s a little foreboding that the campsite doesn’t even get a name. It’s the only one I’ve noticed in the entire book that gets the no-name treatment, and I assume that means it isn’t going to be good. I quickly find out I was right.
The campsite itself isn’t in my photos. It’s a patch of the grass on the side of the road with a tap and a long drop, and I don’t really fancy camping alone in full view of the road. I decide to go over the bank behind the campsite, in the trees with the wild goats. I only just manage to get my tent up in time before it gets completely dark, beside the Whanganui River.
I wake up at 1:30am, to find that there’s a light spotlighting at the campsite I chose not to camp at. I crouch down behind my tent and keep watch at this white light flashing around everywhere and a loud car engine. It’s weird — eventually, after watching for 10 minutes I figure they haven’t seen me, sneak back to my tent and stay still.
After what seems like an hour the spotlighting car drives off. I have no idea what that was about.
Later again, I get woken up by loud snuffling, rustling and screeching sounds. I have no idea if it’s a pig or a possum. I’m later informed it was probably a kiwi — they can make scary sounds.
The creepy campsite of the night before is quickly forgotten with the views of the Whanganui river from Gentle Annie lookout, and an easy road ride into Whanganui. First stop is to the bike shop to get chain lube. I find myself back at the bike shop for a second time not long after as I snap my chain riding around town.
I also head to the pharmacy to buy antiseptic for the scratches down my face, and they tell me it’s infected. I go away with expensive antiseptic, and decide that’s my last night in a tent for a while, at least until I recover from my injuries.
The good news is the next few days presented some easier road and gravel riding, and I race ahead so I can spend half a day in Wellington upgrading my trial-and-error bike build. New riser handlebars, to fix my sore wrists. New brake pads, to accommodate for the destruction of my old pairs in the Mangapurua mud.
Other riders catch up in the evening, and we all catch the overnight Bluebridge ferry to begin the South Island leg.
The terminal doesn’t open until 10pm, so we kill time at JJ Murphy’s, an irish pub. We manage to get more cyclists down at the promise of two for the price of one main meals. A few of us eat 2 pub feeds each, plus drink a couple of jugs of beer, and later as I walk my bike to the terminal I declare “If I make it to the ferry without puking I will consider it a miracle”. I do make it to the ferry without puking proving that miracles still happen.
While the ferry terminal opens at 10pm, cabin options have sold out ages ago and we find out that without the magic cabin tickets, we don’t board until 2am. Sleeping bags and mats come out all over the place as everyone tries to get sleep in the terminal for a few hours. We get woken up at 2am to board and stagger onto the boat trying to juggle bikes and sleeping gear.
In the morning, we get the first hint that strange things are happening back in the real world, as the bakery in Picton refuses to fill up our water bottles on the grounds of coronavirus. We’re outraged at the lack of problem solving but forget about it quickly with the sweet morning views. At this stage, most of us believe that coronavirus is a paranoia rather than a reality–after all, we haven’t had much time to look at any news.
Into the South Island
Leaving from Picton means the day we’d all been waiting for — Maungatapu saddle. TA’s most famous sufferfest. The day starts out as a beautiful, sunny cruise around the Marlborough sounds to Pelorus.
After lunch it was time to hit the gravel. It’s still sunny at the foot of the saddle when I come across Shantal’s puncture party, her tubeless had failed and then multiple tube punctures ensured as well. I never miss an opportunity to stand around and chat to other riders instead of getting somewhere early, so I stick around and hand out snacks.
As the puncture odyssey continues, we can see the dark sky spreading down the valley. The storm starts to hit just as I begin the climb to Maungatapu which quickly turns steep, while I get pelted with hail and ride up a stream of water running downhill. I was very grateful to have other riders around even though we weren’t together the whole time. The grade eventually ends up in a gnarly 16% with big rocks, rolling up and through the site of the famous Maungatapu murders that occurred a century and a half ago.
The descent is just as gnarly as the climb with steep, shale like rocks and I walk most of it unwilling to get injured for the third time. I remember one comment from the TA Facebook group ‘If you can overcome Maungatapu, you can do anything’
Shantal, Ross and I make it into Nelson at 9pm, lucky to score a spot sleeping on the floor of some awesome hosts, Simon and Jenny. In the following year, Simon rides the TA 2021, and I’m able to return the favour on my local part of the route.
Knackered from Maungatapu the day before, I don’t know if I really appreciated most of the Great Taste Trail. I appreciated a vegetarian version of the famous pies at Wakefield bakery, while troubled about whether to ride the full 145km day to lake Rotoroa.
In the end, the decision was made for me. While hanging out at the four square in Tapawera watching yet another thunderstorm rolling down yet another previously sunny valley, we’re approached by a nice lady called Janet who informs us that we haven’t seen a rain like anything that’s coming, and that we should stay at her farm in Tadmor Valley.
Bruce, Janet’s husband was the steward of the local church — recently, the community had banded together to buy back when someone had tried to sell it. Janet was a dedicated tramper, a girl guide leader and a solid cook, and treated us to plenty of epic outdoor stories over dinner. They had seen cyclists riding up the valley and wondered what we were all up to — and let us know that anyone off on an adventure was good in their book.
After this, a few easier days take me to the last major challenge of the TA, Big River.
Big River is also one of the most beautiful parts of the TA and as I am quite bad at mountain biking I took comfort in the excuse to walk some sections and take photos. Many riders (controversially!) skipped this section and with a direct road diversion I could see how it was a temptation. However the news came through that Big River was in near perfect condition this year with limited rain during our little time on the west coast.
After some deliberation I set my mind to completing Big River even if I had to walk the whole thing, and know I could feel I did the TA to its fullest.
The trip to the hut is not bad. There were certainly some walking spots where I found the rocks too hard to navigate, but that was easily forgiven with the epic views. The trail angels from the nearby town of Reefton even left us a bucket of goodies.
As a four wheel drivetrack there were a few occasions of roaring in the distance, then dirt bikes or truck convoys would come ripping through. The locals were very friendly however and kindly questioned my sanity riding a bike through this place all by myself.
At the top of the climb there are old mining buildings with many forks in the trail leading off to walking tracks throughout the old mining sites.
Big River was extensively mined in the late 1800’s and early 1900’s leading to permanent contamination of the soil and water. They mined for gold, chalcopyrite, quartz and molybdenite and manufactured cyanide. Four miners were killed in accidents during the mine’s operation.
Up on the hill is the impressive Big River doc hut. Even if we aren’t staying overnight the book encourages riders to sign their name, so I go and add my name to the pages and pages of TA riders who have passed through.
At the hut, I come across 4 women who are there to hike Big River, they are friends from different parts of the west coast. They give me a cup of tea and a biscuit, and I try unsuccessfully to help them with their crossword. All the other riders catch up with me while I am doing crossword puzzles and drinking tea.
The following track after the hut explains why Big River is grade 4. The track goes from a skinny single track to a rocky creek-bed traverse with plenty of bike pushing. Then, it opens back up into a shredded, muddy track around the side of amountain forest. I walk most of it for hours and hours while sightseeing as I don’t fancy taking my chances; everyone quickly overtakes me on the single track and I know I will be the last rider to leave Big River that day.
The track seems to go on and on forever. To add insult to injury, there is a gate at the end to lift the bike over — I dump my bike over the fence yet again thinking about how these things are designed for taller people.
Finally, the track opens out into a stunning, fast gravel downhill. It passes the abandoned Waiuta mining town — which once housed 100 people. I would have explored on another day but it was already late afternoon, and I knew I had places to be.
I zoomed the next 20km to Ikamatua. Getting there, it was already after 7pm with 30km left to travel to the town of Blackball where I had hoped to stay. I give the Blackball Hilton a call to ask if they think I will make it and not only do they reassure me that yes! I will totally make it, and I am able to book the last room they have left.
I race to the pub. They have kept their chef on for me and I order an epic vegan dinner and a crate bottle of Waikato Draught.
The walls of the pub are covered in its history and it has plenty of it, the most famous of being the lawsuit that was won against the more famous Hilton hotels corporation.
It was cold and foggy leaving Blackball, but arriving at Greymouth the cloud curtains lifted to a clear day and the beginning of the West Coast Wilderness Trail.
The West Coast Wilderness Trail is easy and scenic, full of day tourists, and a refreshing break from danger. The only unpleasant part in the whole trip is Cowboy Paradise, where I was greeted with some free sexism as the owner tried to enquire whether I happened to be the girlfriend or mother of any of the male cyclists, and left quickly. I’d recommend zooming on through without stopping. If you’re still curious why, go check out Guy Williams’ excellent New Zealand Today episode.
People keep telling us the South Island goes fast, and we’ll zoom through it in no time. For me it took until day 23–24 before that started to be true.
I had to say goodbye to riding with company yet again as I knew I was still behind on my 30 day schedule, and I had a plan to clear the debt over a couple of the road cycling days. 140km into Franz Josef, then 151km into Haast the following day.
Finally not injured in any way and keen to close the gap from time lost at Big River, I wake up at 5am in Franz Josef for my 151km day. This wake up was surprisingly easy since I was in one of my least favourite accommodations of the tour — a massive, clinical tourist hostel. I was the only cyclist there and I felt very out of place amongst all the clean and tidy student types. I would much rather be in a tent if I didn’t have to accomodate waking up early.
The first 20km was almost all in the dark, calmly quiet, as I made my way over three saddles and descended into Fox township. Surprisingly I manage to catch the riders that skipped Big River when I arrive at Fox, but quickly lose them again because there was no way I was leaving without coffee.
I head up the trail to the Fox lookout to grab my checkpoint photo then it’s a full day of road cycling for me. The roads are quite flat and I hate it. I might have the advantage of no suspension, but I designed my setup for the hilly parts of New Zealand and a 30t front chainring means all I do is spin along at a snail’s pace.
My favourite thing in this section was the church called Our Lady of the River. The original church was destroyed by a tropical cyclone two years ago, and the locals went for a minimalist approach to the restoration.
The swirly banner really sums up my day on the Haast highway. For an unexciting flat road ride my body found a way to up the difficulty levels.
About halfway through this day I experience the worst bonk of my life — not food or hydration, just exhaustion.
25 days of back-to-back bikepacking and an unceremonious 5am wake up, combined with flat roads did me in worse than any Maungatapu or Bridge to Nowhere ever could. I assume that it was because riding on a flat pavement is incredibly safe in comparison and there was nothing to keep my mind awake.
I was falling asleep on the bike for at least 25km — probably more. I remember looking at every ditch down the highway wondering if there was any place to take a nap — nothing looked particularly good. Eventually, I made it to the salmon farm cafe and tried to take a nap on their park bench while being ravaged by sandflies, it didn’t work.
In the end the only relief came from some climbs at the 120km mark and the lookout at Knight’s point, the point where the roads were joined to connect Haast and the West Coast in the 1950s. Here’s a fun fact — nothing ceremonial about the name, the point was apparently named after the surveyor’s dog, Knight.
I rolled into Haast very grateful to hear that the Saturday cyclists were there and had booked me a space in the cabins — not to mention Shantel had found pizza and beer.
The following day means beginning the road climbs into the tourist areas for the South Island. The grade on Haast pass seems bad, but turns out surprisingly easy. I liked the hills and the sunshine very much, and had the last beer at the top of Haast pass. The roads around Lake Wanaka and Lake Hawea are perhaps the nicest road riding in New Zealand, especially on days where you have a tailwind. Also, the sign on the Hawea river bridge is quite possibly the best warning sign in NZ.
The Crown Range is the highest sealed road in New Zealand at over 1000 metres of elevation. We had almost a tailwind cycling up it, it was an easy cruise to the summit until I hit a wind tunnel near the top that was so strong it blew me off the bike.
Riding down the other side came with epic headwinds and crosswinds making it a fairly slow descent with some stops to avoid similar getting blown off the road situations.
We leave the road to follow Tobin’s track into Arrowtown, a steep and scenic gravel descent. The Queenstown trails give us an easy ride into tourist town.
Across the course of the last two days, we start to hear more and more about the coronavirus pandemic. It becomes real in Queenstown, New Zealand’s busiest tourist town, as staff at various establishments are seen spraying down and disinfecting various outdoor chairs and surfaces. We hear that riders who have joined us from other countries around the world have been told they need to return home immediately, or risk getting stuck.
Some of those riders do fly out from Queenstown, only two days from the end of the brevet. Other riders decide to stay on and take their chances. Now, more than a year later, some riders have stayed in New Zealand long-term.
Those who stay on board the TSS Earnslaw (the only functional steamboat in the Southern Hemisphere, at the impressive age of 108 years old) drops us off at Walter Peak. Not unlike the start of the TA, pinch points happen towards the end due to boat rides, and limited accommodation. We are suddenly a lot of cyclists bunched together and reunited.
Most of this day is on the Around the Mountains cycle trail, which also happens to be the location where parts of the lord of the rings was filmed if you’re into that sort of thing. I prefer the books.
Our small crew ends up in a leapfrog back and forth with a group of e-bikers. The ebike tour guide informs us that we will not get to Mossburn before dark and I am determined to prove him wrong. The straight gravel starts getting a bit tedious but I am eventually rewarded by finding my way to the Railway Hotel — the last pub stop on the tour.
Unfortunately it was never meant to last. Soon it was time to wake up in the rain, go to Bluff, touch the sign post, and think about going home. I was a little sad to see the tour coming to an end but also excited to go home and fix my bikes — little did I know I would be separated from my bikes and gear immediately due to an impending Covid-19 lockdown . I didn’t know much about the global pandemic at all except that the international riders’ flights were suddenly in jeopardy.
It rains and rains. The day is easy but horribly wet and cold. I put half a plastic bag and spare socks over my sandals to try to stop the dull, cold ache. Eventually I catch Tansy in Invercargill and we ride together to the finish (but not before a VB stop of course — I doubt Bluff has ever seen someone so excited to find VB).
Adrienne, Tansy and I kill an hour at the end drinking VB, eating Tim tams and taking photos. Before I can get my ‘end of the TA’ photo a wedding comes streaming out of the restaurant at Stirling point and jumps in. I snap a photo — little do I know that this is going to end up being the most famous wedding in NZ for the next month.
My finishing time was 28 days, 6 hours, 40 minutes and 3,040km travelled.
After the ride, I fly back home, and find out that the level 4 Covid-19 lockdown (stay home, isolate, everything is closed except essential services) is coming in the very next day. It comes as a bit of a surprise.
I was very sick following the brevet, but testing proved I was negative. Others were not so lucky. I also acknowledge the pure luck that was deciding to pursue this adventure three years prior, and manage to get it in before the entire world was locked down.
My homemade frame also survived, and I continued on to surprise myself at how much better I was at off-road riding after the TA.
Lots of people asked me “how was it?” in the months after the tour. I have realised that is an impossible question to answer about a long race against myself, with rather meaningful personal implications, but here is the definitive attempt.
It was both impossibly hard and surprisingly easy.
It was upsetting and stressful but also heartening and totally rad.
A lot of people take the scientific approach to these events but I think going a little unprepared and alone, with a scrappy bike, exposed me to a lot more adventure than it would have otherwise. So while I could definitely make different choices next time, in many ways I also wouldn’t change a thing.
Instead of isolating yourself from the potential of success or failure, just lean in.
Bike build list, for nerds
- Frame: Mohawk Frameworks “Thugs Mansion”. This frame is around 48cm. I designed it around trying to get as much space as possible for a frame bag, and decent toe clearance with the front wheel, while still fitting an incredibly small person (me). This is what came out of that hypothesis. An incredibly slack pink and purple thing.
- Fork/Headset: Ritchey 1" threadless + random polo bike fork (repainted — yes, 2 days was not enough time to also braze a safe fork)
- Crankset/Bottom Bracket: Hollowtech II / Aliexpress cranks. I never meant to go on a massive tour with ali cranks, but the BMX race cranks I had didn’t clear the stays.
- Pedals: Kona wah wahs in a fetching shade of purple
- Drivetrain: 30t + 9 speed 11–40t, Shimano Alivio + Sunrace friction shifter
- Handlebars/Stem: Jones riser bars + Oury grips + Specialized stem (backwards). I started out with Velo Orange crazy bars but had to change to risers to address my wrist issues, past halfway.
- Saddle/Seatpost: Velo orange saddle + BBB seatpost
- Brakes: Avid BB7
- Wheels/tyres: Crankbrothers cobalt + Mavic Crossmax with the knobs trimmed to clear the frame
- Bags: Blackburn frame bag, Altura seat bag, Rockbros front bags
