The new Petone to Wellington cycleway is the stuff of dreams, writes Lyric Waiwiri-Smith.

In 1901, Hutt MP Thomas Wilford proposed a grand idea: a cycle track between his electorate and Wellington, paid for by cyclists at an annual cost of five shillings. Now, 124 years and $349 million later, Wilford got his wish.

Last month, after four years of construction, transport minister Chris Bishop cut the ribbon at Te Ara Tupua and opened up the 4.5km pathway linking Petone to the capital. Its name, gifted by Taranaki Whānui leader Kura Moeahu, couldn’t be more apt. “The ancient path” references Ngake and Whātaitai, the taniwha who created Wellington Harbour. But you could also read it as a nod to the fact that, for generations, Te Ara Tupua has already existed as a daydream.

As a child of the Hutt Valley, you recognise Wellington as the shimmer that catches on the waves rolling into the harbour. It’s close enough to see but not to touch, so you spend your time wondering what it feels like: as rough around the edges as the cities you see on TV? Or does it feel bouncy and light, a bubble popping with possibility? You know the way to find out, it’s just that the route there didn’t exist.

So when you finally get to hit the trail from Petone Station, you feel like you’ve known this path all along. And, duh, you have – Te Ara Tupua is really just an extension to the expressway you’ve already travelled down thousands of times in trains and buses and cars. But this time, there are things you can do that you’ve only imagined doing, like smelling the sea air and feeling the Western Hutt Hills loom over you. It’s your typical ride to Wellington, but in 3D.

And you’ve got space to take it in: nearly 2km past Petone, you hit the first of six ūranga (landings) along the sea wall. Horokiwi, like the other ūranga along the way, offers some benches and bike stands for your recreational pleasure. You can take in the sights of the mighty harbour, read a few of the information boards dotted around or hit your vape and wonder about the irony of getting back on the bike afterwards.

One thing you’ll notice about the green spaces around the ūranga is that they’re slightly barren while the saplings planted there take root. But you can really see the potential of how Te Ara Tupua will evolve over time – when the lush growth comes in, it’ll not only make the route more attractive, but also provide habitats for the bird and marine life of the harbour.

Wellington City dips in and out of view between the curves in the road and the hills stretching into the sky. I’m about to pass a train rolling down the rail lines to Petone, but I can see it before I hear it. Until they’re coming up beside you, the trains are surprisingly quiet – you’re more likely to hear the sound of birds above you and the whooshing of the cars on the expressway.

I wish I could offer some thoughtful commentary on urban development and commuting patterns here à la Joel MacManus, but my interest in cycling is purely primitive. I cycle because I like feeling like I’m gliding through air, while also knowing it was my resilience that got me there. I like getting from A to B on the most picturesque route possible while being able to periodically say “weeeee” as I go real fast.

Also, cycling is the only form of exercise I can stand without screaming, crying and throwing up. And while Te Ara Tupua is a long journey, the only pressure in terms of pace comes from you. Although in saying that, friends who have used the track at peak times warn me it’s been so popular with cyclists that there are sometimes lines to get down the track. But today, in the middle of the afternoon in the middle of the week, the track is pretty quiet. It’s just me, a few dozen other cyclists, mums running with pushchairs, elderly couples and a wide expanse of sea.

The worst of it is the rise to the overbridge at Ngauranga, if you’ve biked in from the Petone side. These last few kilometres to Wellington feel like the worst, mostly because I haven’t done this much exercise in a long time and I don’t treat my body like a temple. Brief pain is met with instant gratification, though, when you reach the top and take in the harbour. There’s a prow you can stand against as you look out, adorned with Te Āti Awa chief Te Wharepōuri.

I’m at the huffing and puffing stage as I push through the last 1km, past a group of kids fishing off the rocks. They seemed like pre-teens, and I know I’m getting older and lamer because one of the first things that passed through my mind is, shouldn’t you guys be in school?

But there’s delight in their faces and laughter shared as they cast their rods out. That’s the best part of Te Ara Tupua: it’s not like we’ve landed on some visionary project here, we’ve just fitted in the piece that was always missing.

Fishing with my mates off the rocks halfway to Wellington? Shit, that would’ve been cool.