A Cycler's Commute

The spread-eagled city of Auckland makes for a very inconvenient place to live when one doesn't own a car. Consequently, I bought a bike. Solid, sturdy, dependable and with the addition of a profusion of fluorescent jackets, reflective strips and psychotically flashing lights, relatively safe. (yes Mum and Dad!)

The 40 minute cycle to work is busy, noisy and filled with bustling, breathing, bumbling cars which trundle the commuters treadmill, snuffing and snorting at traffic lights, coughing and hacking their way from the outskirts of Auckland inwards.

It is the evening ride home I love. Leaving the office a bit after 8.30pm I lock up and wheel my way down Princes Street, turning right onto Great South Road.

The dark highway is flushed with gloaming yellow streetlamps, burning subtly over cracked pavements and flickering at me in a friendly fashion as I pass. The beer factory at the top of the hill hums gently, its tall cylindrical silos gleaming silver in the light of a Spring moon. A thick, delicious smell like that of baking bread swirls softly on the night air, mingling with the sharp tangy odour of fermenting hops, like that of freshly cut grass.

As I cycle from Otahuhu through Papatotoe the long street of shuttered shops echoes forlornly, its bones creaking and settling like an old staircase at night as traffic lights blink from verdant green to coal-bright red and back down to florid amber in the silent night.

As my wheels sing in tune with the tarmac, lorries idle nonchalantly by the side of the road and I pass one which has stacks of flattened cars on its back, their metal bodies compressed pancake like and nestled comfortably together.

As I wait at traffic lights aeroplanes float above me, tail lights flashing as they slide smoothly towards their landing and the occasional car cruises past me, their exhaust fumes lit by break lights rosy in the humid air.

Over a bridge and up the wide sweep of the road, scrub land cloaks either side and echoes with the musical repertoire of an insomniac bird, its song mingling with the distant roar of the motorway.

Nearing home I turn off Great South Road and up Grand Vue Road which is somnolent and sleepy, scented by richly worked suburban gardens bursting with tumbling blooms.

Along the hedgerows jasmine clambers in weed-like propensity, its star-like flowers glowing pale and pure amongst the darker green of the creeper. As I flow past I drink deeply of the thick, viscous fragrance, sweet as wine and as soft as symphonies, the scent gives breath and beauty.

Finally I crest the hill and roll down, trails of glowing highways linking lonely light-speckled settlements on the dark plain between me and the velvet-edged mountains hunched on the horizon.

The stars wheel into place, their strange southern faces glittering sublimely from a silver sky and my soul lifts, the radiance and beauty of the heavens piercing this life with its grace.

The Road to Napier

The broad bright road unfurls arrow-straight before us, scything through the folds of crumpled green velvet flung carelessly over sleepy hills. Thick sheep tumble amongst glistening black rocks and august cows stare aloofly from their castle-like hummocks.

Presently we reach plains ironed flat and thick with odorous pines. The road tunnels through the dark forest, green-blue lines of trees whipping past with an occasional flash of lemony gorse burning fresh and bright in the scrub land.

A predatory bird floats above us, drawing us out from the dense woods and into the clear fresh land of lonely farms. Their colonial barns nestle forlornly against wooden houses, comforted by friendly cherry trees flushed pink by Spring sunshine as the road curves through undulating hills.

The grass burns bronze in the eve of the setting sun as we near Lake Taupo. A sudden crest in the road and the shimmering expanse of water clear as air, cold as ice, brilliant as molten jewels glitters before us in the mellow light. Snow-topped mountains bloom across the lake like storm clouds on the hazy powder blue horizon as waves dance with iridescent flavours of aquamarine and beryl in the rays of a ripe sun, the view breath giving in beauty.

Reluctantly we turn south and trundle onwards towards mountain peaks sharp cut against the dusky sky. Soon we are carving our way past white cliffs, the occasional lonely hotel or bar perched hopefully by the empty road as we dive round corners and up the steep slopes of the mountain flanks.

As the sun sinks behind us, darkness falls. The evening shimmers with the dewy lustre of pearly rain falling softly through the twilight night and the molten hoot of an owl warbles mournfully to the rising moon.