Ever thought of walking out your front door and seeing how far your legs can take you? In 2018, I decided to cycle the Otago Rail Trail solo during winter, intending to camp on the way. No training, a 200km+ trip in sub-zero temperatures. What could possibly go wrong? Here, I’ve written up my diary entries from my journey that didn’t go exactly to plan. Read on to see just why, and why not, you may want to go on a similar adventure.

Dunedin to Middlemarch, the start of the Otago Rail Trail ~76kms

Saturday, 16th June, 2018.

6:45am

It was pitch black outside when I crawled into the dining hall and blinked away the brain-fog from a restless night’s sleep. I guzzled breakfast- muesli and tinned peaches- knowing that the comforts of Carrington College, my hall of residence, would be sorely missed once I left. My mountain bike waited patiently by the door. Its spindly stand valiantly propped up the beastly thing; all 20 kilos of it. The junk equipment was made up of a $50 one-person tent I’d bought online, a sleeping mat, a quality $30 sleeping bag from the Warehouse, and two pannier bags stuffed with clothes, tools, food and utensils. (To see my full packing list, click here).

My route went from my college gates to the beginning, or end depending on which way you ride, of the Otago Central Rail Trail in Middlemarch, roughly 80 kilometres north-west of Dunedin. The Otago Rail Trail (ORT) is a 152km gravel track that follows the historic train route from Middlemarch to Clyde. The railway was constructed by hand from the 1860s and took decades to complete, but was discontinued as road transport became more economical. In later years, DOC and the Otago Rail Trail Trust banded together to create what would become the cycle trail that is renowned throughout New Zealand.

I took one last look at Carrington before pushing my bike past the skip bins to Heriot Row. Google maps estimated my trip to Middlemarch would take 5 hours and 20 minutes, although I knew this was undoubtedly optimistic. A part of me wondered if I’d give up in an hour and crawl back home with my tail between my legs.

It was one of those icy Dunedin mornings where the air burns your nose and the grass is deliciously crunchy. Otago Harbour was a delicate pink pool, and the locals of Māori Hill ogled at me with curiosity. I churned up the ghastly hills which eventually flattened at Halfway Bush, aptly named for its bizarre amalgamation of prim townhouses, sheds, and sheep.

Mosgiel and Outram

I sped along the narrow Three Mile Hill Road to Mosgiel. There was something very English about the scenery, with its hedgerows, stone walls draped in lichen, and blackbirds scratching up people’s front yards. There was little traffic, which is just as well. Despite my high-vis vest, my blood froze at every corner. The bike launched down the slope like a toboggan, and my fingers were stiff from clenching the brakes in a death grip.

The road was deceptively flat past Outram, and I picked up speed. Sweet! Easy-as. I’ll be fine if it’s like this all the way to Middlemarch, I smiled naively. Minutes later the road forked. One route continued on the flat, the other twisted like a corkscrew into the clouds. No guesses which one was mine!

Highway 87

Alas! Riding up Highway 87 was impossible for the first few kilometres. In places it was so steep, I could have crawled on all fours like a baby. In fact, I hate to confess it nearly came to just that. The main consolation was the view. Every 10 metres or so, I stopped and turned around. Behind me lay a patchwork of fields, hedgerows and cottages. Dunedin city was nowhere in sight. I smiled and shook my head in awe of the sense of isolation that sent shivers up my spine.

My progress from then on was demoralizingly slow. Rather than my bike carrying me, I’m carrying it! About 10 cars went past. Two stopped to see if I was alright, but I waved them on. At this point, I was still clinging to my conviction to achieve this journey 100% solo, 100% by bike the entire way.

By noon, my face was tomato red and my chest heaved with frustration at my own weakness. I was hours behind schedule and cursed my decision of ever embarking on this trip. What possessed me? It was like one of those horror movies where you think the ordeal is over, and then something worse comes along. I’d crawl up a hill to reach what I thought was the flat, only to realize it was another long slope.

I invented a number of curses in those hours; long strings of them, so many I racked my brains to create more. Sheep thundered away when they spotted me: a fluro orange alien on a bike muttering expletives. I was tormented. This is so hard! Perhaps I should go back to Dunedin? But then, I’ve already come so far! Strangely, my anguish evaporated as soon as I accepted I would continue on, no matter what. I turned into a machine, mindlessly plodding ahead. Perhaps I’d become deaf to the screams of my muscles, because I no longer noticed the pain.

I ate lunch and drank the last of my water. There was no hope of refilling my bottle until I reached a more substantial town. The thought of jumping a paddock fence and filling it at a trough crossed my mind, but I was too squeamish to act on it.

Clarks Junction

It always makes me laugh. You can visit the most basic rural settlements in New Zealand and find they’ll have a pub, despite not having a public toilet, 4-square, library, school, or anything else really. Priorities eh? Clarks Junction was one of those places. I sighed with sweet relief to see the orange and blue Speights Logo above the tavern. It was the only building for miles around. I dashed inside and drank my weight in carafes, then biked up the next few hills with a new lease of energy.


There were still 20kms to go and the sun was slipping beyond the horizon with alarming speed. Suddenly, everything got very real. The panic set in as the sky turned black. My headtorch fell onto a hedgehog that had just been hit by a car, a gut-churning reminder of the inherent danger. Perhaps I should jump the fence and set up camp in a paddock? I lamented my own foolishness. Or should I go on? I can’t be too far away...

An unexpected saviour

It was like something out of the movies. A car screeched to a halt in front of me. The backing lights flared, and it reversed up to my next footstep. I wondered if I was about to be abducted, but to be honest, I was so exhausted I didn’t care. A middle-aged lady jumped out the driver’s side. I recognised her immediately. She was the same woman who’d stopped earlier in the day to see if I was alright. ‘I really admire what you’re doing, but you’ve gone far enough,’ she said firmly, taking my bike and plonking it in the boot of her car. I didn’t want to bother her, but I also saw sense. This woman was probably saving my life. ‘Saw you on my way to work this morning,’ she chuckled. ‘Thought you would’ve reached Middlemarch way before now.’

I really admired Kate, she was a real powerhouse of a woman. Her work involved the Otago Rail Trail, and in my eyes, she was an angel from heaven.

Middlemarch

I was secretly glad I’d been rescued, even if it did dent my ego. I might have biked 70 out of 80kms or so, but those last 10kms into Middlemarch seemed to take ages, even by car. Not to mention the hills. After thanking Kate and exchanging phone numbers, I pitched my tent at the local camping ground. I returned to the tent after a blissful shower and pulled on my beanie, thermals and gloves. It was about 7pm when I gobbled dinner: hummus, carrot, fruit and crackers.

Kate sent me a text offering to take me to Alexandra the next morning. Alexandra was near Clyde, the end of the trail. My original goal was to do the rail trail both ways. But it’s only been a day and I feel buggered. I don’t know if I can stand doing this for more than a week. I texted her a reply, and we agreed to meet at the local café the next morning.

Shivers up my spine…

The night air glistened. Morepork hoots rung out across camp. Suddenly, the stillness vanished, replaced by what sounded like a person sicking up on a Boeing 777. The rackety coughs were followed by the noise of spit splattering the gravel. Gross! I could hear voices by one of the cabins and my heart hammered with anxiety. I wish they could shut up! I pressed my eyes closed, willing the noise to end.

The coughing fit continued and suspicions crept into my mind. I wondered if they were doing it on purpose to annoy me. I’m in the middle of nowhere. Is it that hard to get some peace and quiet for goodness sake? Bugger it. I had to see the face of this grossly annoying serial cougher for myself.

I sat up and peeled open the tent door, cringing at the noisy zip. Dead ahead was a hunched figure outside a cabin. It was a woman in a grey hoodie, brooding menacingly. We stared at each other for the most awkward minute of my life. I gingerly zipped my door closed and snuggled into my sleeping bag, trying to remember the Aikido moves I’d learnt in my school years. Luckily, they weren’t needed, and I slept soundly through the night…

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• Check out my post: Packing & Tips for Cycling the Otago Rail Trail in Winter
• The official Otago Rail Trail Website has heaps of tips and useful information, including maps, accommodation options and attractions