Category Archives: event

Great Southern Brevet – Day One – Tekapo to Omarama

With my arm in a sling after the magpie fiasco and dealing with the disappointment of not being able to attempt to ride over the Snowies from Canberra to Melbourne, I suddenly realised that the Great Southern Brevet would be a good replacement ride and something to look forward to. A 1100 kilometre bikepacking event near and around Central Otago, I could do that with a month off the bike, and then Christmas, for preparation. Surely?!

When I did my first bikepacking event four years earlier, the GSB was the other option. But in comparison to other events, it flies further under the radar and information is harder to come by – so I chose to start with the Kiwi Brevet. The GSB had stayed in buried in the back of my mind ever since, waiting for the timing to be right – finally it was, so I was excited to turn up in Tekapo and discover the half of the course I’d not ridden previously. After having now completed both of those brevets, I’m glad I did it that way around.

Ten o’clock was the very gentlemanly start time – it seems such a waste of daylight when one is eager to get going. But it does give ample time for meeting fellow riders over a leisurely cafe breakfast. More so than other events I’ve done, everyone seemed to know plenty of other riders and there were many returning riders. I was surprised to meet people from other events and have people remark on this little blog, and commiserate about the magpie incident. After a large breakfast, it was down to the start to crowd out the throng of tourists, listen to the briefing, make last minute adjustments to bikes and kit before rolling out.

At the start earlier.

With no real lead-up of biking, I was happy to drift further and further back in the field as we headed out of town. By the time we were on the gravel I was tailend charlie and finally getting to meet Keith who had recently kitted me out with his Robo-Kiwi creations. We caught up to Pierre alongside the canal. Pierre’s bike had caught my eye earlier – over twenty years old, twenty-six inch wheels, rim brakes, original unserviced forks (!); it certainly was a leap back in time. Kudos.

Dropping down to the wide river basin, we had over forty kilometres of gravel track to ease us into the route. Well, one thought so – however, despite the gradual downhill, the surface was more bumpy river stones packed into something resembling a hard surface. Constantly battling the round rocks to keep momentum was not the most fun. But on the other hand, the wind was behind us, the clouds hadn’t burst yet and the company was good. It turns out the GSB every two years is about Pierre’s only bikepacking that he gets to do (more kudos) and he had plenty of entertaining stories and handy pointers from past rides. Already at this point of the ride, I was becoming keen to return – the route changes each time, although this one was a repeat of the 2017 route as that year severe weather (snowstorms on the Pisa Range, flooding and washed out bridges in the Nevis Valley) meant it was curtailed.

Looking back north.

Heading south to the northern reaches of Lake Benmore.

Having followed the Tekapo River most of the day, finally we crossed it as it emptied into the Pukaki – which soon ended in the lake.

We caught up to other riders hiding from the sun, these guys were far more disgruntled with the surface – so I wasn’t displeased as they departed with their negativity while I snacked. I was surprised to learn later in the day that it was well over 30ºC that afternoon – with the breeze, it didn’t feel that way. For a change, I managed to break my habit of dehydrating myself on the first day of such events. Maybe I’m slowly learning something about this bikepacking lark?

Joining gravel roads for a bit, we skirted around the head of the lake.

Organiser extraordinaire Dave had gained permission for us to ride through private land, this took us away from the lake and up into the hills to eventually drop into the Waitaki Valley.

I caught up to some others – more people to chat to; first days are fun like that.

As the climbing intensified I found myself alone enjoying the ascent, new scenery and the warmth. The surface was far more rideable too since leaving the rivers behind. Having spent a bit of time around Benmore in years gone, I’d never been up the northern arm.

The pylons rise from NZ’s largest hydro station, starting the HVDC link to the North Island. The rain finally started about here too.

There was some fairly decent climbing around the lake; nothing huge – but it seemed to keep coming more than one expected. Finally I descended to the dam for the last little run to Otematata and resupply. Once upon a time, my parents had a small house here – it was strange to revisit.

Thankfully the store was still open, unfortunately it was a rather average store (no pies, inconceivable!). As I was leaving, four others rolled in just before closing time. I took off in the rain up the hill towards Omarama. Expectedly, that stretch of highway is tedious in the reverse direction – Adele and I rode it a couple of years earlier on our A2O ride.

Returning to the lake, the trail goes off the road and it was a pleasant ride up the hill in the drizzle. I saw someone fly past on the road, they must have missed the trail. Going through Sailor’s Cutting for the final run down to Omarama (huzzah, this section is now off the road) was a little less pleasant as the heavens opened and it tipped down. There was quite a congregation of bedraggled riders at the Four-Square buying supplies for the next wilderness section and sharing stories of the day. As the rain pelted down in the early evening, finding a room rather than risk exposure at higher altitude seemed sensible – it was supposed to clear overnight.

No sooner had said room been found, things brightened and going over the Little Omarama Saddle seemed a better use of time. But I was in no rush and a decent rest after my biggest riding day in months seemed prudent. Dinner was pretty good too, and cafe’s accommodation (and shower) were most welcome. That was a good day of riding, and my shoulder stayed where it should – bravo.

The Christmas Letter 2018

It’s that time again when I reflect on the previous year and consider what is in store for next year. It has been another great year filled with plenty of biking and also many new experiences; as happens, the good times are sometimes tempered – but with only a couple of annoying injuries keeping me inactive briefly (and missing out on two events I wanted to ride) and the loss of a bike to note, they’re not really worth focusing on.

In an attempt at a little cross-training for bikepacking, I thoroughly enjoyed the local Park Run and was surprised that it didn’t take too much effort to get my five kilometre time consistently below twenty minutes. I hope to slow my running down and work on longer distances next year. Trying to improve my swimming (/ability to drown) proved far more challenging, but just as I felt I was making decent progress my shoulder got loose again – so swimming seems out of the picture for a while.

I once again hosted many visitors to my little home in Napier. Amongst regular visits from family and friends, I’ve had a fair few cycle tourists stay (always happy to chat bikes, touring and bikepacking) and AirBnB continues to help use my spare rooms more than they would be otherwise – while contributing to house maintenance and minor upgrades and allowing me to keep repayments in check. If you’re ever around the Hawke’s Bay, get in touch and visit. I’ve also managed to travel a little this year to visit immediate family, extended family and friends; this Christmas and New Year will be spent down in Otago with family.

Here’s a more photographic account of the year:

After surprising the family for Christmas last year, I skived off for a few days of Central Otago bikepacking. It was brilliant and I’m looking forward to revisiting some of my route, and more, shortly.

Adele joined me for a memorable, fairly big, hilly and hot day on the Old Dunstan Trail.

Local bikepacking trips were fairly scarce, this one south of Havelock North sticks in the mind for the insane mud.

Further south, the Number 8 Wired route was a blinder. One easy day of gravel roads and hills.

And one tough day getting to the coast and back – significant hike-a-bike, rugged trails and battling into a warm NWer all the way home.

With a significant milestone in the Major Hazard Facility project I’ve been involved with at work being reached at the end of March, I was ready for Easter adventures. Riding the Timber Trail there and back on Good Friday was the start. Great fun, but unfortunately I hurt my knee which led me to not finish the ambitious Eastern Bay of Plenty bikepacking loop planned for the rest of the long weekend.

The hills west of Gisborne did whet the appetite with some stunning rural scenery and riding.

Just before reaching Opotiki and ending that painful (favouring my left knee led problems in my other foot and barely being able to walk for two weeks – I got better) ride, I met some other bikepackers that took me back to Rotorua and snapped this last photo of my trusty Surly.

I’d like to say I was delirious with pain and that led me to leaving my garage door open one night, but that’s not quite the case. The result was the ever-reliable bike that I’d had for five years and over twenty thousand kilometres was stolen. I have many happy memories of that bike: from my first forays into bikepacking in England, the Rift Valley Odyssey in Kenya, riding to Italy, around Kilimanjaro, one Australian trip, many local rides and the few NZ events I’ve done (Kiwi Brevet, Tour Aotearoa, and a few Geyserland Gravel Grinds). But in the end, it’s a bike and replaceable – which is just what I did, of course.

I thoroughly enjoyed the continuing Geyserland Gravel Grind series of bikepacking events based out of Rotorua again this year – I lined up for five in total. For the Mini-, Pete leant me his spare bike.

I liked it so much, I promptly test-rode and ordered the latest model. Here it is, unusually, unloaded – it’s certainly lighter than I was used to for bikepacking. I’m looking forward to just as many good trips and memories.

All ready for a few days away; having all one’s luggage stolen has an advantage in getting newer, improved gear.

Finally I made it down south for one of Adele’s birthday trips. A thoroughly enjoyable week of skiing, family, friends and beautiful Otago scenery. I finally got ski-touring with a super-fun day up and down Mt Kyeburn.

It was just as well I had a whole year’s worth of leave stored up before I went south, as near the end of that trip while enjoying one final day skiing, a bikepacking trip in Canada & NW USA was mentioned. Surprised to be invited along, I was suddenly trying to convince my boss I could have another two weeks off, booking flights, and so on.

Heading off bikepacking for two weeks on a bike I’d only ridden a hundred kilometres on, what could go wrong? Megan put together an excellent route down into Montana, across the top of Idaho, into Washington before closing the loop back in British Columbia. It was great being unexpectedly back riding bikes in North America and seeing good friends. A wonderful trip that will be remembered for trees, heat, bushfire smoke, quiet gravel roads, long climbs, some more trees, wildlife (so many eagles, not so many bears thankfully), wild berries, trees and many food items.

The first big climb in Montana.

Avoiding wildfires was a regular consideration.

The fire reroute turned out golden – with another long downhill.

Back home, I had just enough leave later that month to head off to New Plymouth to see Adele, James, Jacqui and Dan. Someone thought I should climb this mountain; which meant learning to use an ice axe and crampons.

We made it above the cloud, I climbed a mountain! That excitement was only tempered by the descent hammering my quads and being reduced to a hobble for the following week.

The Classic Geyserland Gravel Grind was a nostalgic trip back to the Bay of Plenty and many places I went while growing up nearby and on my first bike tours.

Labour Weekend was set aside to finish the Eastern loop I’d bailed on at Easter, with an extra diversion to and from childhood home of Te Puke – another ripping good long weekend exploring different bits of New Zealand. Riding over 700 km in four days didn’t seem that onerous, and with two big rides planned for November I was well on track to reach my stretch target for the year.

I was particularly looking forward to the Hunt 1000 (Canberra to Melbourne – ruggedly up, down and along the Snowy Mountains) – having followed the 2017 edition and being captivated by the scenery and remoteness of the terrain. Alas, that was not to be as I found a new and creative way to dislocate my shoulder again. So the last six weeks have been pretty quiet, but I’m back on the bike and thinking of next year…

There’s already a South Island event booked, I expect there will be an Australian one too as I still have the Hunt 1000 flight credit to use, and there are still plenty of places close to home that I need to explore. Further surgery, and six months of rehab, on my shoulder is a possibility, but until I have an MRI it’s not worth considering too much.

Merry Christmas and a happy New Year to all.

Mega Pain

Having thoroughly enjoyed the inaugural Mega Geyserland Gravel Grind, I was keen to repeat it – this time in the reverse direction. The only drawbacks I saw in going anti-clockwise would be a likely headwind across the Waikato on the first day and having to ascend the many back-to-back staircases on the Waikato River Trail. Some were concerned about riding the Timber Trail in reverse (south to north), but after Easter’s ride – I prefer that direction.

Reasonably fit from bikepacking trips through the NZ winter and the regular bike-commute, I was hoping to match last year’s time. I was however becoming concerned a quick eight-hundred kilometres so soon before flying to Canberra for the Hunt 1000 might be a bit exhausting. I’d had my eyes set on the Hunt for a year, looking to challenge myself over the rugged Snowy Mountains all the way to Melbourne. The stunning scenery I’d seen posted from last year’s event was also a big draw. I knew I’d be challenged severely with 28,000 metres of climbing over only a thousand kilometres of riding (much of that hike-a-bike in unpredictable mountain weather), so going in fatigued would not be helpful…

Alas, I couldn’t turn down more quality North Island bikepacking. I did, due to lack of annual leave, at least do the optional Eastern loop at Labour Weekend and not attempt that as well before the Hunt. So once again I found myself gathered with about fifty other bikepackers in Rotorua’s Government Gardens about to set off into the overcast day over a route of gravel roads, trail and some seal to link the good bits together.

It was a leisurely start for me, as I realised that my new SPOT tracker wasn’t quite talking to the tracking site properly. But with plenty of riders and traffic around, it was better to concentrate on riding and chatting. The climb up the Mamakus was familiar before branching off to ride Cecil and Leslie Roads in the opposite direction to that I was used to. It seemed much easier this way – but that was probably related to it being the first day of the ride, not the fourth. With quieter roads I was able to start sorting out my tracking issue, and a five-minute stop in Putaruru put it to bed. I could get back to simply riding and looking at the countryside.

I remembered to look back and take a photo of typical rolling Waikato dairy country.

Pete caught up to me again and we rolled on at a reasonable pace. Down to the Waikato River, over the Arapuni Dam and back to Oreipunga Road I pointed out the little “shelter” (I’m still unsure what it was, except it was walled on two and one half sides and about one and a half metres tall) I slept in on my final night the previous year. I do enjoy riding with Pete, a similar pace to me there is a font of bikepacking knowledge to tap. Alas, it was not to last.

I’d only previously experienced magpies swooping and touching once, in Hawke’s Bay, and had forgotten it was a thing. But one particularly territorial bird was set to remind me, following us along the road continually diving for my helmet. Then it would sit on a fencepost for a bit, watch us and then swoop again. This continued for quite some time until finally, for no good reason besides exasperation, I reached for my drink bottle and turned to ward off the bird waving the bottle up behind me.

Just like that, the long forgotten feeling of my shoulder dislocating became all too familiar again. Somewhat surprised since the surgery over six years ago had, up until then, been so successful I tried to yell to Pete to stop – but he was just far enough ahead and now receiving the magpie’s attention, that he didn’t hear. With just enough adrenalin pumping, I rode on one-handed to a farmhouse and help.

Rolling up just after the farmer, Bruce, had got in for lunch I greeted him with a rather helpless “I think I hurt my shoulder”. An ambulance was called (the dispatcher didn’t believe the magpie story for dislocating a shoulder), I tried to stay still on the couch with no food, drink or pain medication allowed. Thankfully Bruce was super helpful, getting a few necessities off my bike for me, and I could manage to send a few messages to loved ones – punctuated by the extreme pain with each little jarring as the adrenaline wore off.

I wasn’t really going to ask someone I’d just met to put my shoulder back in, so wait I did for the professionals. Good friend Luke happened to be working in Putaruru that day and had been watching the tracker – he very kindly came over and picked up my bike, arriving before the ambulance. After an hour the paramedics arrived and, with a bit of pain relief administered, thought they’d have a go at putting me back together. But it’d been out too long and the muscles were too tense – so on to a stretcher I went to be carted to Waikato Hospital.

Memories of the ambulance ride include Geoff the paramedic keeping me talking (not that difficult when I’ve a lovely inhaler-thing of pain relief to suck on), mentions of photography at Lake Louise, me looking at the machine that goes bing, jarring and wrenching with pain over every bump in the road, and increasingly incoherent messaging. Eventually we were off the country roads, on the highway and then backing into the Emergency Department.

Comfortable? Not really. Drugged? Certainly.

At least turning up in an ambulance (still a little disappointed there were no flashing lights) in obvious pain meant that I didn’t have to wait long. An X-ray to confirm just where everything was (I had a pretty good idea – not in the right place) and then it was time for the entonox.

Something not quite right here.

Entonox, and a lot of noise, was enough to relocate my shoulder the previous time in London. But not this time. So a general anaesthetic it was. I wasn’t out for long and when I woke I wasn’t sure that my shoulder was back together – it was, everything had relaxed enough to get it back in. It still felt sore; the disadvantage of being out when it’s put back in is that one misses out on the ecstatic moment of going from extreme pain, then “pop” and pure bliss.

A few more X-rays were taken to check on it and for me to give to a specialist back home; suddenly I was discharged with a pile of paper and I found myself slightly groggy trying to work out just how I ended up in central Hamilton and what on earth I was to do now. Standing in my cycling clothes, arm in a sling and realising I don’t really know anyone in that city was not really what I had planned for the day. Definitely an adventure of a different kind.

That’s better.

Thankfully, Dad’s cousin and his wife lives only a little out of the city. Sure, it was a couple of years since I’d seen them – what were the chances they were even home? To my surprise Liz answered the phone, to her surprise I was in need of being rescued. Nothing was too much trouble – I was fed, put-up for the night, ferried around (hospital pick-up, pharmacy run and then driven all the way back to Rotorua) and generally looked after. It was incredible and very welcome, lovely to catch up too with a lot of family news and history shared. Strange twist for the day was working out that I did my shoulder just outside Bill & Liz’s son’s farm.

Back to Rotorua sooner than I expected, Bill dropped me at my car, I had a nap for a while before Luke rode around and drove me back to his house. As my “don’t drive, operate heavy machinery or make important decisions for twenty-four hours” elapsed, I was pretty confident I could drive home left-handed. With a few stops, it was manageable and I was pleased to be home Saturday evening – facing rather different challenges than I expected for the next little while.

There started four weeks of being in a sling again and getting used to doing a lot of things one-handed. The pain eased after ten days or so and I was fairly quickly able to get good mobility back in my shoulder. The Hunt 1000 trip was canned, for this year; but having eventually got back on the bike, I quickly found another new (to me) event to sign up for. I’m still waiting for an MRI and then, I guess, deciding whether I’ll have surgery again. I’m not particularly keen on six months of rehab, and therefore no biking – but if my arm’s going to intermittently decide to be somewhere it shouldn’t be, surgery might be wise. Next year will tell…

Thanks to all that supported me through my short time of injury and incapacitation.

Classic Geyserland Gravel Grind 2018

Coming up two years after I went on the first Geyserland Gravel Grind, I lined up with fifty-odd others for this year’s incarnation of the Classic. In the mean time, Erik and Peter’s hard work has led to a series of bikepacking routes and events starting and finishing in Rotorua. I’ve done most of them at least once and thoroughly enjoy them for exploring places so close to my childhood home and haunts, and for the opportunity to spend time riding and camping with likeminded people.

Only able to spare two days (for some reason I have little leave left), I biked into Rotorua Friday night – eager to take my new bikepacking bags on their first overnight outing. A few of us out-of-towners stayed at Pete’s the night before, as always I was well looked after and there was extensive bikepacking chat. Proper interesting to hear about organising various events, and general recent history of NZ bikepacking.

Saturday morning was a little bleak, but it was not cold or even particularly wet. We even managed to get to the start in plenty of time; Pete’s briefing done, and thoroughly jacket clad the assembled group lined up for a few photos.

I’m a little easier to spot here.

I’ve always enjoyed that these Geyserland event start off riding around the shore of Lake Rotorua, past geothermal flats and pools, breathing in that distinctive whiff of hydrogen sulphide that indicates I’m probably in Rotorua.

More difficult to pin point here.

A little bit of forest, some suburban streets and then we were heading north out of Rotorua on the main road. Memories of how things used to be flooding back – scores (hundreds, probably) of times I have travelled this road from my earliest years. Naturally, it’s so much better and engaging by bike.

The road crosses from following the shore of Lake Rotorua to that of Rotoiti – I could look across to the marae in which we stayed on my first bike tour, over twenty years ago. Come to think of it, the route of that tour rather resembled what I would ride this weekend. The main difference being the opposing direction and the longer distances I now ride.

One hour in surely wasn’t too early to stop at Okere Falls for a meal. After all, there were no more stores en route until the end of the day. A few others concurred, most headed off for the hike-a-bike – hopefully carrying more food than I was.

Fair to say it was worth stopping. A few pies may have also been consumed, and food bought for the rest of the day.

Refueled, I carried on alone up the highway. That may have been the only stretch all day I rode by myself. Onto Maniatutu Rd, the route passed the small road we used to drive down when I was wee to visit Dad’s cousin’s family at their bach (traditionally, a primitive Kiwi holiday house). I wonder if it is still there… I must check next week.

Looking across Rotoiti, probably my earliest power boat trips were here.

First gravel of the day, and the highest point (a whopping 360 m), down the apparently dead-end Lichtenstein Rd (curious name for a road in these parts). Huzzah, new roads! This first day of the Classic GGG was new (billed as an alternate route, no one took the original due to the reported heinous condition of the Okataina Walkway) and made possible by a local rider trying to find an alternative off-highway route between Rotorua and Tauranga.

Through pasture, there were still some stands of native bush to be seen.

A paper road through a long-neglected DOC reserve and some forestry joined two dead-end roads and provided the necessary link to keep cyclists off busy roads. As found, it was overgrown in parts but the bench of an old road was mostly there. A few weeks prior a working bee was organised and ninety (!) people turned up to make the route passable. Fantastic.

I caught up to others resting after a locked gate; I was pleased to now have a lighter bike and generally be carrying less weight on said bike. The only difficult part of this section was a steep little hike-a-bike up a recently cleared slope, with a half-lowered (thanks Pete!) fence to scramble over. Once back on the benched route, the going was easy and the clearing work had done wonders. Lovely to be riding through native forest, and the trail really was in good condition.

Out on to Ridge Road and we were greeted by a trail angel with food aplenty. Another good reason to stop and chat a bit more. A little riding down the ridge of Ridge Rd took us past dry stock farms and onto a big plunge down to almost-sea level. We started to pass the the shelter belts of kiwifruit orchards and the names of the roads were familiar to me as many schoolmates used to live on said roads.

To my surprise we were but a few kilometres from Paengaroa, I could easily divert and ride home in an hour – something I thoroughly plan to do next week.  Turning east and vaguely running parallel to the coast we dropped into and climbed out of the now wide valleys. Some farms, but plenty of orchards – the oh-so-familiar scents returning to fill my senses.

Turning around to look west – oh look, the Papamoa Hills and Mt Maunganui ever so close. But still further and from a different angle than I was used to.

Another impromptu gathering had formed at Pongakawa School (there was water to be had), much discussion of bike set-ups, route finding and many calories consumed.

Leaving the orchards behind, towards farms and forest. It was warmer than the sleeves suggest – someone had rather forgotten to replace their sunscreen.

A small group of us formed as we took this turn and that – somehow I became chief navigator. Which surprises after my recent efforts out of Libby. Turning away from the coast, on to Campbell Road, the gravel was back – splendid. Jonathan and I figured it was about time for an afternoon tea stop as we began to catch up to others. Eventually the middle of a long, deserted straight seemed reasonable. Camaraderie and more stories shared as we basked in the sun, stretching out our day of riding now that the weather was as good as the route.

A few little climbs later, we rejoined the original route on Pikowai Road for one last climb of note before the final twenty kilometres down to the coast and the beachside campground.

Murphy’s Holiday Camp is just lovely – tip-top facilities, right on the sand dunes, friendly staff. There I found many riders had already made camp, and more rolled in. I seemed to be the only one sleeping in a bivy bag, so had little to do but spend time on the beach, standing in the crashing surf as the cool water soaked my legs, admiring the view around the Bay of Plenty.

Whale Island, looking east.

Definitely a beachfront campground.

Most pretty hungry, fifty-odd riders rode into Matata and may have overwhelmed the two local fish and chip shops. So much food, most ate beside the lagoon as the sun dipped and the sky briefly coloured. A fantastic day of reacquainting with familiar faces and getting to know new ones. The riding was leisurely, but just plain lovely – I thoroughly enjoyed it, especially the slow pace giving me plenty of time to both appreciate new roads and wander pleasantly down memory lane. I fell asleep listening to the waves crash, pleased to be sheltered from the wind.

Sunday dawned wonderfully well, unfortunately I managed to sleep in and miss the sunrise. The long option for the day was only a hundred and twenty kilometres, but I’d already ridden it two years before. The short option was tempting just because it held a few kilometres of road my bike tyres are unacquainted with. But I couldn’t turn down the opportunity of more hills and more remote roads – the long option it was.

Not a bad breakfast spot.

For such a short day, I couldn’t work out why Pete, Wendy & I were some of the last to leave at seven-thirty. Still, we had the road completely to ourselves climbing instantly from the coastal highway. Completely pleasant riding up through farmland, so quiet we could comfortably ride side by side chatting all the way – most of the day was spent with Pete swapping riding stories, experiences and vague life thoughts and philosophies. We kept a steady pace and often caught up to others to chat a bit before carrying on.

Strangely, we didn’t turn right – but only because there was more gravel to be found, on a big descent to the Rangitaiki Plains.

Te Teko was the only resupply point on our route until the very end of the day; there were many bikes parked up outside, and the stock of hot pies was severely depleted. I’d remembered the previous evening that a good school friend lived in nearby Kawerau. Kelly kindly drove out to meet me for quarter of an hour or so in which we tried to cram three years of life, family and mutual-friend news; lovely – and reminded me of catching up with so many long-since seen friends on my Tour Aotearoa and other biking trips.

Just enough supplies stashed for the rest of the day, Pete and I set off again. No new roads still, but most agreeable climbing from sea level – a steady climb, it rolled past easily under clear skies (there must have been a bit of a tailwind, as it was easier riding than I remembered). Plenty of people to ride and chat with or stop and chat with is one of the beauties of such events where everyone is starting and ending in the same places each day.

The roads became even more recognisable as we approached Rerewhakaaitu – firstly because I’d ridden them in the opposite direction at Easter, and secondly, those first two cycle tours in the mid-nineties had spent a bit of time around here. An extended stop at the local school enabled lounging on grass under trees, coffee to be brewed (not for me) and water top-ups – all next to a classic NZ primary school dental clinic/murder house. I looked across the road to the community hall that those long ago tours stayed in, remembering fondly when one could ride up and down Mt Tarawera for the princely sum of two dollars.

Out on to the highway heading for Waiotapu, Pete selected the best sections of singletrack – in really good condition considering we were only just coming out of winter. More excessive snacking at the Benny Bee cafe before the last climb (didn’t really seem that we’d managed two thousand metres of climbing all day, that can’t be right) and hurtling down Waikite Hill to the hot pools, my car and the end of my GGG for 2018. Naturally, I thought I was due a nice long soak before the drive home.

A thoroughly enjoyable weekend riding with others, gaining new perspectives on an area so familiar to me. Pretty good weather too for late September. Bring on the Mega in November, and also the Eastern again (I hope to ride it independently next week).

Thanks to Jonathan for the first three photos and the two of me. Thanks also to Pete & Erik for another well-organised ride.