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.
Proper decent rope swings; it was not easy jumping off makeshift platforms onto the ropes – great fun but.
We wound our way downtown, pausing briefly to check out some murals and numerous eels slithering around another stream.
Down to the coastal pathway, near the infamous Wind Wand – this is about the only thing I remember about New Plymouth from my university holiday job in South Taranaki – it was the topic of much conversation in the smoko room.
Jacqui, Dan, Adele and James just before heading west on the pathway.
Passing the port, we rode up towards the base of Paritutu Rock.
Atop, we looked out over Sugar Loaf Islands and could just spot some offshore platforms.
East we looked along the coast, past the port and a disused power station.
Floating roof tanks! Oh, and the city. I rankled a little bit at the industry-is-ugly comments.
Hidden in the cloud was Mt Taranaki.
A little further west we enjoyed a bit of beachside riding – my legs were at least still good for cycling and some nasty little grassy pinch climbs.
Back towards Paritutu, note the sax player adding a touch of class to our seaside meal.
The slight detour back into town was unsuccessful in obtaining cronuts, alas; but this building is striking.
This striking bridge is even more so when the mountain behind us is not shrouded in cloud.
The clear skies were also pleasing to see.
I was taken with the difference and large crown of the cabbage trees – most unusual compared to the ones I usually see.
After a short section of quite narrow snow between rocks and a drop (great introduction), our route opened into a nice wide gully.
Steep enough for this novice.
Approaching the crater, the ice formations became larger, more unusual and at times surreal.
In the crater, the surface turned from snow to lumpy, knobby ice.
It looked rather windswept. While we were still bathed in sun, a layer of cloud encircled the lower reaches of the mountain.
Out of the crater, one last pitch up to the summit. Here the ice was in much larger lumps, some of them shattered when bearing weight, others didn’t – they all looked potential ankle breakers though.
Five hours after setting off, we had ascended 1500 metres and enjoyed a bit of time on the rather flat and, in this case, calm summit.
The weather closed in again, and after two hours of slow descent (oh for skis) I think I was starting to get a bit fatigued. So repetitive…
Back on the access track – golly it got steep, no wonder it was paved in part.
Things cleared a enough to admire a bit more of the scenery.
Not much snow looking south-east from where we parked.
Across the Maniototo to the Rock and Pillars.
A tad higher now, at least there is snow on the skin (4WD) track. Looking over to the western reaches of the Kakanui Mountains. I wonder if there is much bikepacking to be had up there…
We followed these footprints all the way to Buster Diggings, until we finally met two photographers from Dunedin on a day trip. Mt Kyeburn, our destination, in the background.
Into Buster Diggings – a bit difficult to see the remnants of sluice mining when it’s covered in snow. Once again, Mt Kyeburn in the distance – this time from a different angle.
Soon after the diggings we rested and snacked at the tiny Buster Hut. Apparently James spent a rather frigid night in here last winter. Well insulated, it was not.
Looking west over the Ida Range; it looks a bit different to when we biked over it almost four years previously.
Made it, after about four hours (1636 m); finally proper windy as the Maniototo stretches west behind us.
Looking over to the Kakanuis from the summit.
Snow cover getting a bit variable, and the track being pretty rutted made for exciting and knee-flexing times.