In the morning, everything went according to plan and we caught a bus to Tekapo, which was our planned starting point. The bus took off and we fell asleep, and then four hours later, we awoke in another world. The terrain had changed from a flat coastal town to a picturesque mountain laden paradise. We looked at each other in shock and tried to soak in our surroundings. But it was time to get moving because we had a grueling 40 miles of unknown terrain ahead of us. We scrambled to gather food and fuel at the local market while leaving our bikes resting against a hitching post—which seemed so fitting, because after all, our bikes were essentially like Clydesdales.
We were anxious to start the trek, but we quickly learned that getting everything situated takes time. We tinkered with adjustments, pulled on straps, repositioned seat posts, and finally everything felt right. After months of planning, accumulating gear, and sewing custom bags we were ready to begin pedaling toward our first ever bikepacking destination point: deep in the Godley Valley, far away from the rest of mankind.
Cruising through the Alps and out of Tekapo we felt like kids again. We were alive in every essence of the word. Our bodies pumping, our eyes absorbing so many new sights: herding cattle, rushing glacial streams, technical 4WD tracks. Laughing and smiling, we couldn’t help but think, this is living. Finally, after 35 miles, we set up a camp before sunset. The dehydrated meals tasted gourmet as we sat surrounded by the southern Alps and stars that could only be described as 3D constellations. We felt so small.
As our journey continued, the days became longer and the trails got harder. Ten miles started to feel like thirty. Our legs were heavy and our skin was hot and red under layers of sunscreen and sweat. While we felt numb to the climb of yet another hill, we still felt the moments of bliss every time we hit a descent. All the pain became irrelevant when we reached a view we’ve only dreamt of. Imagine snowcapped mountains that trace the horizon strong and humbling below an aquamarine lake so vibrant it looks like a painting. Each new view was incredible.
On day three, we pedaled down to Lake Pukaki’s hidden shoreline tucked away from the sun. Firing up our Trangia alcohol stove, we boiled water for some refreshing ginger turmeric tea. The lake called our names and we rushed in for a refreshing yet icy cold dip. Because of our sore joints and tired bodies, nothing had ever felt so good. We laid back and gazed at the mountains’ mirrored reflection in the crystal-clear water of Lake Pukaki.
The days continued smoothly, until day four when coming to what we thought was the end of a long day, we hit a false ledge and Alicia started to doubt her strength. We were tapping into that mindset that only exists when you are being pushed out of your comfort zone. We paused to pep talk and finally continued to ride again. She felt almost psychopathic as a second wind hit, shifting higher to gain speed, and side-by-side we flew in a masochistic way. Smiling and laughing, we pressed-on knowing food was only miles away. Stuffing our faces will make it all better again, and hours later, our wishes came true as we stopped at a small diner in the quaint town of Twizel and relished the chance for a beer. Time disappears quickly as we rested and refueled, and night fell unexpectedly. Finally, with our bike lights illuminating in the dark, we left in search of a place to put our tent.
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