Running in the Roar of the Wind
What I learned cycling 1.200km across New Zealand
As a youth, I didn’t always fit in and struggled with my emotions. Cycling was my escape, my way of running from life and exploring the world. At the time I didn’t understand the relationships between exercise, endorphins and major depressive disorders–I just knew it gave me control, independence and the feeling of the wind on my face. It also allowed me to see places I couldn’t otherwise see, and doesn’t every child want to be an explorer?
Over the years my relationship with cycling has ebbed and flowed; however, after I got sober in 2019, I was looking for positive outlets to focus my energy into and I found cycling again. A few years later, in 2023, my life changed dramatically again with international relocation, the breakdown of a major relationship and work stressors. Cycling took an even larger presence in my life as I focused on the things that bring me joy and value to my life. Cycling became a form of meditation and therapy for me. It gave me that same control, independence (mostly from work and phone notifications this time) and those positive endorphins I craved as a child. I started prioritising cycling trips and regular rides, even if just a coffee shop spin. Around this same time, I also discovered a song called “Running in the Roar of the Wind” and have somewhat adopted it as a life mantra. It too became the mantra of this trip.
Crossing the South Island of New Zealand from top to bottom, I spent just under two weeks tasting the flesh of fresh crisp apples, tiny pears and plump cherries from trees in the wild, riding alongside running wild cattle at sunset and battling gale force headwinds, rain and hail. I froze and I burned. I saw bulls lock horns and battle for dominance while herds of cows, sheep and goats cared for their offspring. Waking in vacant fields to watch the sun rise gave me purpose, freedom and an appreciation for what I was experiencing. Using my body to transport me across the country gave me pride and strength.
Over the years I’ve learned that bikepacking (and New Zealand in particular) require balanced emotions, controlled responses, determination and resilience. You need to approach each day as its own, with its own unique set of puzzle and problems. But at its core, your day is simple,: you just pedal and let the world spin. If you lean in, you learn in a unique way about the terrain and the local biosphere. You spend hours embedded in the local landscape, embracing it and adapting to it. It will give you everything back that you give to it and so much more.
Pushing uphill for hours over rutted roads takes grit. Giving yourself grace when you can’t push anymore takes kindness. Running in the Roar of the Wind takes persistence.
Knowing when to stop is also crucial, and at 1,200 km my journey prematurely came to an end with a knee injury after slipping in a fjord. I wanted to continue on, use this as an example of resilience and persistence, but that would risk further injury and time off the bike; it would risk time away from my therapy.
I tossed and turned between pushing on or taking what I’d learned and moving on. Letting go. As someone diagnosed with clinical OCD, non-completion of designated tasks can be a huge challenge to me, but in the spirit of the trip, I let this go. At first, I was disappointed; this wasn’t Running in the Roar of the Wind; it was giving up. I purchased a knee brace, took ibuprofen and tried to push on another day–it was easier terrain than the previous day after all. With every pedal stroke, I felt the irritation rise in my knee and I felt the disquiet in my brain as it received signals that something was wrong. It became so very clear I needed to listen to my body, to stop and recalculate.
In the end, I turned and headed home, grateful for everything I had learned and all the bicycle had given me. This means I didn’t officially “tick” the route off and would make my ride in some eyes a “failure”. I’ll never view it this way though. This choice prevented further injury, allowing me to keep cycling another day.
This has been an amazing journey of connection with nature and the landscape of the South Island of New Zealand, from desolate alpine passes and stunning glacial lakes to the flat Canterbury plains with their rich agriculture history, and everything in between. I ate local dark chocolate thousands of feet above the ground in a cool breeze and watched the sun set over desolate farmlands. It was a journey spent focusing on my breath, on my cadence and on being present in the moment. This reinforced in me not to be a fair-weather cyclist, but to keep Running in the Roar the Wind, embracing the rain and treasuring the warming sun and cooling moon when they offer their guidance. Finding joy in all of it.
Cycling is therapy and can save your life; it saved mine. Keep Running in the Roar of the Wind.