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around home, event, GPS, NZ

Hawke’s Bay Marathon

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For most of the last fifteen years, I’ve been somewhat in awe of anyone that can run a marathon. To me, it seemed an improbably long distance to run. Despite this, there always lurked at the back of my mind the question “could I run a marathon, do I have one in me?”. My detestation of running and never having run more than five kilometres did nothing to quieten these ponderings.

Life continued with only occasional musings about marathons flashing through my mind. Then a strange happened, after losing a bit of weight and hearing running might be good cross-training for my bikepacking, I decided to see if I could actually run a bit. Park Run, which I knew all about from when I was in England, seemed a low-key and supportive way to give running a whirl. Early last year, I rolled up to the local event and to my surprise was actually able to run five kilometres without collapsing or hurting my knees. Hoo-rah!

Intermittent Park Running saw my times improve through last year, and only the occasional slight injury. Twice I even got dragged around by others for ten kilometre runs! Madness; although I must admit it’s far easier to travel with running shoes than a bike.

With such a base, why not find out the answer to those recurring questions? So rather quietly, I signed up to the local marathon (no travel costs, easy reconnaissance, familiar terrain and, most importantly, dead flat), found a training plan and support online and got into it. Would it be possible for this cycling adapted body to go from 10 km to a marathon in less than a hundred days? I was keen to find out. Four hours was the nominal target finish time, but mostly it was about making it to the end.

It was pretty easy to get into the training plan. Each week two short runs and a progressively longer run were interspersed with flexibility and strengthening exercises. It took a lot of time to stick to the program – and much more discipline than I’m used to for my biking (after all, it’s not hard to get out and ride when it’s so enjoyable). For some reason, I was keen to keep my marathon ambitions quiet – mostly because I wanted to see if I could do it independently and didn’t want to get distracted with all sorts of good advice.

Training managed to not get sidetracked by long rides (focusing on running and not going riding was perhaps the most difficult part) for the first couple of months. But then a stunning Easter weekend came around, and I couldn’t forgo four days of bikepacking. I had a grand weekend biking, but with that, a busy weekend following and then getting a cold – I missed the two longest runs in the plan. Oops.

By then it was time to start easing up before marathon day. I did at least not overdo it and went in well rested. The big weekend rolled around with an air of inevitability. I had no doubts that I’d finish. My best run in training was 27 km at a comfortable pace – so I was confident I’d get through the first 30 km OK, and then just suffer through the last 12 km. Not a great plan, but I didn’t really know how my body would react after the 30 km mark.

After some ordinary autumnal weather, race day dawned clear and cold. Possibly the coldest morning we’ve had so far this year. A slightly larger breakfast than normal went down and I still had plenty of time to walk to the start line, stretch a little and assemble in the start pen and wait for the gun.

Following a quick wave to friends spotted in centre of the runners, the gun went off and a mass of nerves and limbs took off around the corner. Through Ahuriri and past the Port of Napier, this was all familiar running surroundings. But the throng of other runners and being on the road was unusual. I was trying to keep to five minute kilometres, but expected to go out a little fast. Once the crowd thinned a little, I started a four hour history podcast going and settled into a slower pace listening to an account of the final throes of the Great War.

On such a glorious morning, there were plenty of supporters out cheering people on. It was especially odd to be running down Marine Parade. Through some back streets, we were soon out into more rural areas – it sure had been easier biking the course. I’d mentally prepared myself for the six kilometre stretch of stopbank to Pakowhai; this part of the course wasn’t particularly interesting or scenic, but did at least pass the halfway point.

The road back to Clive saw me start to slow noticeably; there was a large contingent of supporters on the way out of Clive (about the 30 km mark) – so that was encouraging. It was nice to be out in the sun, with little wind and trying to imagine all the local scenes as a visitor would see them – this particular event seems to have become a destination race and is heavily promoted (or vice versa, perhaps). My feet started to swell a little, I should have stopped and loosened my laces – but didn’t for some reason.

Getting pretty sore on my feet, after 35 km short stretches of walking eventuated – while slow, they did at least keep me moving towards the finish line. My running was probably pretty ugly by then (there are definitely no good event photos that are worth paying for!), and plenty of people passed me. At Black Bridge, the shorter courses joined and there was only a few kilometres to go! Those still on the half- and 10 km courses were not much faster than me, so that wasn’t too discouraging.

Over the last little bridge and down into Haumoana, I managed to run the last two kilometres. After the good atmosphere and support previously, running through this stretch was disappointing and anti-climatic. There were people wandering every which way, many on the course and it was difficult to weave through them in my tired state. Just as my podcast was winding up, my phone started ringing in my ears – apparently the builders replacing my house’s roof had struck a plumbing emergency with water gushing all over! Leaving them to deal with it as best they could (it worked out fine, and didn’t cost too much) I turned into the finishing chute at Elephant Hill. Still not completely sure how I managed to take a phone call while running to the finish of a marathon – surreal.

I think I managed to at least run over the finish, collect my medal and a lot of fluid. Pretty happy to finish, and at 3:53:14, well within my vague goal. I went and found a nice patch of shady grass to lie on.

So it turns out I did have a marathon in me somewhere, at least that question is answered. Pleasing to find that out and satisfying having put in a concerted effort over the previous months. Now I’ve done one, I’m sure there is a lot of time to be shaved off – but really I’d rather get back to riding my bike more, keep Park Run up, and run shorter distances around hills and trails more.

around home, bikes, event, GPS, MTB, NZ

Triple Peaks – finally

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Since moving to Hawke’s Bay near on four years ago, I’ve heard much of the long-established Triple Peaks event. It seemed to have a reputation as a punishing race (MTB or run) climbing three peaks (obviously) near Havelock North. As two of the peaks are on private land, this event is one of the few chances to ride all three. I fairly regularly ride up Te Mata Peak and had been fortunate enough to ride up Mt Erin with a group – which just left the tallest, Mt Kahuranaki, for me to check out.

Unfortunately the weather had been dire the previous two years, and with the Tukutuki River running too high the reserve course had to be used – removing Kahuranaki from the event. One of those years it was so wet, Mt Erin was removed too and the race just went up a very slippery Te Mata three times. Keen to see new places, I’ve always reserved my entry until the weather forecast was likely to allow exploring of somewhere new. This year was finally that time; I entered a few days beforehand.

The days leading up to race day were dry, so the river was low and the A-course was good to go. A little rain overnight before the start greased things up just a bit. It had been a long time since I’d done an actual race, and I certainly wasn’t in anything resembling race-mode (whatever that is) – I’d chosen my bikepacking bike and left the frame bag on so I could carry plenty of food for the fifty kilometres, which I hoped would take me about four to four and a half hours. I found a spot near the middle of the field as 120-odd riders waited for the seven-thirty start.

That wasn’t a great idea, I should back myself more, as climbing gently out of town on seal I eased past many people on much bigger bikes – bringing numerous comments about a motor being hidden in my frame bag. I was in no rush as we started the climb of Mt Erin on farm tracks. It certainly was greasy and at times, with the particular tyres I had, it was easier to get off and run through sections of mud and slop. At least I wasn’t on a cyclocross bike – that looked miserable.

Suddenly the track we had been following ended and the course had us carrying and pushing bikes up steep, slippery grass slopes. I wasn’t quite expecting this level of hike-a-bike, but without luggage my bike seemed very light – another bright side. Settling into the adventure, I admired the view over the Heretaunga Plains as it opened up.

There was a camera, so I got back on my bike.

I stopped longer to admire the view, and found the doctor to snap a picture of this close-to-home adventure.

The music emanating from near the transmission tower drew us closer. I may have stopped a while longer to listen a bit.

Just your average piper and drummer on top of a hill at eight-thirty on a Saturday morning as scores of people rode and ran past.

Off Mt Erin on a rigid bike was just brutal. The tracks were rough enough, but crossing steep paddocks threw me all around and slowed me – plenty of people passed me. But that was only ten minutes of bouncing about before a winding trail through some riverside scrub led to the river crossing. With the Tukituki only knee-high, it was a fairly easy carry and rather nice to cool off a little. Through the aid station I’d no need to pause before a short section of road and farm track led to the bottom of Kahuranaki.

I was surprised when Shaun, a colleague and much stronger rider than me, caught up to me and chatted for a bit – surely he was well ahead of me. I’d not recognised him bent over repairing a flat at the bottom of Mt Erin. Climbing around the back of Kahuranaki was a steady gradient of ten percent, the surface was mostly good and I made steady progress. Nearing the summit, loud tunes were blasting down from a huge sound system – this was certainly motivating and took one’s mind off the climb. Cloud rolled in and it got quite misty very briefly, I enjoyed what of the view I could see. Only just below the summit did the hike-a-bike start, picking one’s way through boulders strewn down the slope.

Another camera, time to hold onto mine and get back on the bike.

With a last scramble up to the trig and a tentative carry off the very peak, it was more bumpy crossing of pasture before finally reaching a well-maintained track. The descent turned fast and wild. Forty-one minutes up, thirteen down. It was fantastic fun; made somewhat exciting on the bi-directional part of the course where some people couldn’t grasp the concept of keeping left. Never mind, it was exhilarating weaving at pace through those hardly moving.

Through the river aid-station again, it was encouraging to hear a couple of familiar voices cheering above the rather loud drums (not of the highland variety). Another familiar face was a marshall at a point halfway across flatter farmland. It is nice to see such people unexpectedly in the middle of events. A stretch of quiet dead-end road had us continuing our route paralleling the river, before we turned away and sharply rose through another farm. More ten percent gradient and more pushing.

Back on the bike, we approached the final peak, Te Mata, from the opposite side to that which I am used to. Some familiar spots led to the Back Track, which is normally walking only. Well, going up, it was still walking only. More of a goat track, it was narrow and numerous switchbacks led up the steep slope. It was easy enough to push up it, but at almost twenty percent it was not a climb I’d be riding up anytime soon – I’d definitely not be able to negotiate the corners. I was happy with my progress and energy levels still, every so often I’d haul someone else in and then expect them to pass me on the descents – they didn’t anymore.

With time for a brief drink at the top, familiar trails beckoned me back to town and the finish. Still bumpy on MTB trails, I held on and pointed down. Thankfully we didn’t have to survive the original MTB track – there would have been significant carnage. Instead, flying down the road for a bit, we hit the flowy trails to Chambers Walkway, a brief bit of road and then some more singletrack before the final road section. To my surprise I still had plenty left to pedal hard and get back in four hours and eight minutes.

Even more startling was that I’d got home in tenth place in a field of a hundred and twenty. I wasn’t really expecting that, and perhaps should have not faffed around so much with photos and admiring the view. Never mind, it was a great morning out on the bike seeing new places and views. With far more hike-a-bike than expected, it certainly was a challenging ride – but I loved it and was proper impressed by such a well-run and iconic local event. Definitely worth the wait.

bikepacking, bikes, event, family, GPS, NZ

Great Southern Brevet – (half) Day Seven – Kurow to Lake Tekapo

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With a mere hundred kilometres to knock off, I did it tough and slow on my final morning on the course. Turns out the playground I slept in, well attempted to sleep in, for four hours was near an intersection used by many trucks the night through. In Kurow, who’d have thunk it? That and the strange bivy-bag claustrophobia was enough to have me up and rolling before half-five.

Up the Hakataramea Valley was a long gentle climb; I pootled on knowing I’d get it done, but with no real energy left after the previous days of effort. Getting lost and wasting energy in those trees may have slowed me more than I thought. At that hour, the roads were at least quiet.

Dawn wasn’t too bad either.

I paused for water and a snack at Cattle Creek, the hall looking rather disused and the school long since closed and abandoned. But here the gravel started and that was cause for celebration, muted though it was.

It really was a lovely morning, and the wind-gods must have felt sorry for me – there was little to contend with. The road curves left and climbs to the pass on the left of Mt Dalgety.

Nearing the pass, naturally the gradient kicked – but it had been very mellow up until that point.

It really was a nice day, Mt Cook and the Southern Alps hove into view.

Finally, I reached the pass. Rather unhurried and tired, somehow sixty kilometres and 800 metres of climbing had taken five and a half hours! Never mind, it would be all downhill from here – surely.

Yes, a long downhill!

Reaching Haldon Rd, there was only thirty kilometres to go and Lake Tekapo lay off in the distance. I could see it down there! But gradients can be deceptive and both Haldon Rd and the highway busy with traffic (each sharing the remaining distance near-equally) had a nagging gentle climb in it. I pushed on knowing that I was lucky to be escaping the headwind that gave this section notoriety amongst the other riders.

With the confidence of it being a question of when, not if, I’d finish this ride kept me going at a steady, albeit slow, pace. Sure enough, I rolled back to the Church of the Good Shepherd six days and change after having left. Unusually, and delightfully, for these events, there was a small welcoming party. I’ve seen it written that I looked pretty fresh, but I know and the photo below suggests that is far from the truth. That was certainly a tough week on the bike, but through some amazing parts of the country and thoroughly worth the effort. About half I’d seen before, but I was more than happy to see those parts again to faciliate exploring new places.

Big thanks and much kudos to Dave for organising it all and planning such a great route. I can see why people keep returning to this gem of a ride (despite or because of the conditions?); knowing that the route varies each time I can see I’ll be well tempted to come back for the next iteration(s). Great to meet so many and ride with a few for extended periods, special mention for Steve and Jake as we battled through that wind together. Thanks also to my parents for picking me up, putting up with me for a weekend of much rest and eating, and then dropping me back in Christchurch; also to John for the Christchurch base and airport transfers.

Last word must be about the wind. For three years, my yardstick of wind strength when it gets a little tough has been “well, it’s not as bad as coming into Bluff on the Tour Aotearoa when I was reduced to pushing my bike alongside a flat highway into 100+ km/hr gusts for eight kilometres in eighty minutes”. No more. Now I know: if I haven’t been blown off my bike for four days in a row, it’s not really that windy; or if I am not holding onto my bike as it does its best impression of a kite being blown away with each gust – it’s also not really that windy.

bikepacking, bikes, event, GPS, NZ

Great Southern Brevet – Day Six – A Linnburn shack to Kurow

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Having called it a day in the southerly storm, got warm and then, with nothing else to do, slept well before sunset – it was a fitful night’s sleep. I must have been quite exhausted, as my bivy bag was markedly more claustrophobic than it ever had been. But it’s real purpose was to keep decades of dirt and pigeon droppings off, so it was simple enough to open it up and relieve the anxiety. Leaving our humble digs shortly after half-four, we had a bit of lost time to make up.

Clambering back over the fence, we were back on gravel for much of the morning. As the sky lightened, we climbed a couple of hundred metres. This section was off the Old Dunstan Rd route proper, but knowing the real route slogs up and over farmland steeply I was not quibbling with Dave’s routing. Short of water, we refilled out of a canal below the Paerau Weir, which feeds power stations I didn’t know were there.

Rejoining the Old Dunstan Rd, the big climb I remembered well loomed into view. As the day dawned, it was definitely cooler than last year. Progress up the ten percent gradient for an hour was slow and steady, but seemed easier. There may have been some walking, perhaps I’m blocking that out.

The weir, the road we’d just ridden and out over the upper Maniototo Plain.

Jake powering ahead again.

Reaching the high point, still heading into the southerly, and seeing all the snow down to our level I was well pleased we’d called the previous day early and avoided the exposure up this high. It was cold and bleak enough as it was.

Dropping down to the Loganburn Reservoir, undulations tired us and took us towards another ridge. Knowing that we did not have to go up the Lammermoor Range and instead were turning east away from the headwind was a great comfort. That there was a big, prolonged descent that really shook me up was quite good too, even if it was interspersed with some decent pinch climbs. Out of the desolate tussock-clad hills and into productive farmland, we lost seven hundred metres and finally turned to have the wind behind us.

This was off the Old Dunstan Road and took us on a quieter more direct route north to Middlemarch, where we knew breakfast, brunch and lunch were waiting.

There was of course a steep climb waiting for us through Rocklands Station.

Joining the highway north after some ridgetop riding, the wind pushed us the twenty kilometres to town. I was happy to be off the highway for the last third; that is, until we found major resealing work on the gravel surface was in early days. Early enough that the gravel had been laid for kilometres, loosely graded but definitely not compacted. It was awful, but with energy that would soon be topped up we powered through.

Finding the only cafe in town certainly didn’t take long. Much to my chagrin we were ten minutes too late for a full English breakfast, I may have been somewhat fixated on such a thing for the previous six hours. Still, there was still plenty of delicious food to fuel us to our next stop.

Bacon and egg pie, broccoli salad, green salad, couscous salad, two spinach & feta parcels, tea for two, a chocolate milkshake and bottles of water…

That didn’t last long.

Breakfast/brunch/lunch over, we promptly rode around the corner to buy snacks. I may have also had a particularly tasty ice cream too while having a delightful chat to a senior about bikepacking, hearing how intrigued and envious she was about our rides.

The logical way out of Middlemarch for Ranfurly would be joining the rail trail at its southern terminus. But Dave had us on gravel roads that I’d not ridden before. For some reason I had plenty of energy and was feeling pretty good; mostly, I think it was the tailwind. I quite enjoyed the hour on the gravel road only climbing gradually as we headed up alongside the Taieri.

Crossing the river, joining the highway and then climbing away from them both, finally we joined the traffic-free and smooth rail trail. I waited for Steve and Jake, to briefly impart a bit of local knowledge about Naseby, before leaving them – I didn’t see them again until the finish at Lake Tekapo.

Joining the rail trail at Hyde.

Weaving and dodging plenty of cycle trail tourists, the gentle rail gradient sped by. Strangely for me, I had the hammer down and made good time – an easy riding surface and that lovely tailwind. Based on my expected progress, I was pretty sure Ranfurly would be the last open store I would pass before finishing. So I made sure to stock up for the twenty-four hours ahead, before following one of the few routes into Naseby I was unfamiliar with.

The route called for a singletrack section in the Naseby Forest. Due to fire risk, that had been closed for the previous days and those ahead of me had mostly not been able to ride it. But the closure had been lifted, so my progress predictions were set back a bit as I enjoyed some slower riding through the trails and beside the water race. But I still had enough time to stop for a cuppa, eek a little charge into my dying phone, arrange with family a pick-up and to book somewhere to stay and rest before flying home.

Leaving town just after six, it was a glorious evening and I was looking forward to riding riding over Danseys Pass – in the northerly direction, for the first time. After I’d stopped at the renowned pub for a big lamb shank, of course. The wind pushed me up and over the deserted gravel road in lovely warm light.

The pinch climb after the lavender farm slowed me some, but soon I was dropping down to Duntroon and the Waitaki River as darkness descended even quicker. By now it was near eleven o’clock and I was thinking I should make Kurow – maybe even beyond – before getting some rest. If I got past Kurow, I might be good for my longest-distance day (anything over 270 km would do) and that would leave me less than a hundred to knock off the following day.

From Duntroon to Kurow I only had to follow the Alps2Ocean trail upstream, which shouldn’t be that hard. After all, Adele and I had ridden the whole trail (about 300 km) on heavy full-suspension bikes in two and a half days two years earlier. Alas, it proved more difficult than I expected for reasons I wouldn’t have guessed.

Partway to Kurow, the trail left the roadside at the Otekaieke River. Following the river towards its confluence with the Waitaki, it had clearly flooded recently as the trail was destroyed and was now somewhere in stretches of river gravel. Nearing midnight, the signage heading the “wrong” direction along the trail was woeful. I lost the signs near where I was supposed to cross the Otekaieke; consulting the GPS track wasn’t much use either as I found another instance of the low-resolution file that had been provided being less than adequate. Using my best interpretation of the base map, the GPS track and what I could see, I ended up following a trail into a copse of willows (that looked good candidates to be of the whomping variety).

It was a warm night and as I got further into the trees, it all became a little surreal. Partway in it was clear there was no trail, but the foliage was thick enough I lost my bearings and my GPS lost its signal. With many branches down there was a fair bit of hoisting my bike over trees and through small gaps. Thankfully, I never felt in any danger and I wasn’t particularly worried about my temporary disorientation; if anything, I was rather bemused at what was quickly becoming a comical blunder and accepted my fate.

There were quite a few walking tracks marked on the base map, so I figured I’d reach one of those eventually. I didn’t. I could hear the hum of a large pump station quite near, so headed for that. Eventually adjacent to it, I was hemmed in by a wall of fallen stumps some metres high – I can only assume they were some sort of flood protection for the pump station. There was no way over them, so I tried retracing my route. Eventually I found my way out after forty minutes of dragging my bike around. It was quite exhausting, but I’d had a pretty great day so wasn’t too put out.

Knowing to stay well away from the trees, I found the route and headed for Kurow. Apparently I was on the trail again, but it was in pretty poor condition – perhaps I was getting a little tired by now. Fifteen kilometres avoiding being showered by irrigators, riding through a vineyard and trying to stay awake had me in Kurow where at half-one it was time for a sleep. By now exhausted, I unrolled my bivy and tried to sleep under a trip-trap bridge in a playground.

That was another big day, by far the greatest distance I’d ridden in one day on this trip – but strangely the easiest day yet. For the first time in five days, I hadn’t been blown off my bike – so that was something. Also, I’d hardly had to push my bike – that was something even more.