The First Six: Bikepacking

After quitting my job, selling all my belongings (okay, most—how could I part with my books!?), and kissing my loved ones goodbye, I hopped on a 14hr direct flight from Vancouver, Canada to Auckland, NZ. The parting felt more bitter than sweet, how could I tear myself away from all that held me like home to ride into the unknown?

As I sat in that rigid airport chair, shameless tears drenching the mask I’d be wearing for the better part of the day, a kind Kiwi came to sit next to me. He chatted about mundane things—work, his family—and asked me questions about my journey in a thinly veiled attempt to distract me from my sobbing. Full of helpful suggestions for my journey with tons or route recommendations, this interaction would be the first of many such acts of generosity. The flight itself was your typical time-becomes-meaningless limbo phase of back-to-back movies and failed attempts at reading, before a jittery touch down in the place I’d been dreaming about for years. That same kiwi treated me to a much appreciated coffee before I tucked myself (and my hefty bike box) into an airport shuttle.

The radio was full of starkly monarchist mourning for the Queen’s death, setting an odd tone to my arrival. I lugged my bike box a couple of blocks and staggered, sweaty and scattered with many an atom still up there in the skies, to my Airbnb. My host John was a writer and actor, as well as an interesting conversationalist. He took me out to meet his artsy friends at a funky local bar and I had my first taste of kiwi beer—not bad!

I cruised around bustling Auckland and sorted out the boring logistics—opening a bank account, getting an IRD number, et cetera. During that two weeks I stayed with a handful of fabulous folks from Warmshowers who showed me the best of the city and gave me a lot of encouragement for my upcoming journey. I also explored Rangitoto Island with a new friend.Leia mais