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around home, food, friends, hiking, NZ, shoulder

Whirinaki Hiking

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Before heading south to ride the Great Southern Brevet, Steve and I had set aside the following weekend to go hiking in the Whirinaki Forest. Still fatigued all week from the brevet, it didn’t seem like a good idea. But as it happened, a weekend walking with a light pack through beautiful native forest was just the tonic.

Perusing maps and brochures, I came up with this vague plan; it happened to be what Steve had in mind too.

I had Friday off work for my shoulder MRI in Hastings (the dye injection was horrible, the MRI went well – completely different in details to the one I had in the UK seven years ago), so was left in charge of food. Planning only a two night summer trip, there was plenty of room for fresh items – I made sure we would not starve.

The ache in my shoulder lessened enough to drive out and meet Steve at work; an hour of Napier-Taupo Road before turning north for forty minutes of gravel brought us to the trailhead right on the Hawke’s Bay – Bay of Plenty boundary, having climbed to the watershed at about 900 m. The walk into Central Whirinaki Hut that evening was a glorious and easy ten kilometres. From the start, we lost altitude over half the distance on a wide well-maintained trail to reach the Whirinaki River, which we followed to the hut.

It was a balmy evening for walking, and we were soon impressed by the number and variety of both large native trees and ferns. I don’t know that I’ve seen so many different ferns in such number in one place that I saw over the next two days and fifty kilometres. My left thigh gave me a bit of gip that evening going downhill, most unusual – thankfully I’d put in my ski/hiking poles and they helped no end, that niggle didn’t bother me the following days.

Friday evening and we didn’t see another soul that night – so we had the entire large hut to ourselves, a bunk room each. Luxury. It also meant we didn’t have to worry about disturbing anyone’s slumber as we turned up, cooked and ate a small pile of nachos well after dark.

I got outside in the morning for a hut photo before the rain came in.

A stone’s throw away from the hut was the river and wonderfully there were two pairs of whio (blue ducks) slowly making their way upstream finding breakfast as they went.

Endangered, these ducks are also rare among water birds in that they live year-round on fast flowing rivers.

Thanks to Steve for the video.

The rain persisted as we set off, but it was inconsequential under the vast canopy. The trail tended down as we loosely followed the river. It seemed that a lot of the cuttings made to smooth the gradient weren’t really necessary – the walking was easy. There was even a tunnel!

Outrageous.

Did I mention there were ferns?

A short diversion had us standing on a bridge above the thundering Whirinaki Falls, alas there was no lookout spot. We left the Whirinaki River to turn to walk up a tributary – Mangamate Stream. With that we left the crowds behind; that morning we’d seen two men (and a dog) heading up to do some pest control and a group of five walking up to Central Hut, we were to see no one else for another twenty-four hours. Knowing we were about to get our feet wet, it seemed a good time break for lunch.

Quite a spread it was too; hooray for short hiking trips when much fresh food can be carried.

The trail notes told us we’d be following the stream most of the way up to the hut and to expect more than sixty crossings.

Finding the orange marker, I contemplated all the crossings to come before wading in. It was luxuriously warm, and like most of the crossings to come – around my knee-height.

I took to counting stream crossings, but that became difficult when much of the time the trail was simply walking up the watercourse. I was well pleased that we were doing this in the height of summer and it was a clear, warm day. For about six kilometres we did our best to follow the elusive orange markers upstream. Along the way the trail often disappeared and we were left immersed in toe-toe (cutty grass, pronounced “toy-toy”), failing to avoid nettles and, most of all, brushing increasingly-sensitive leg hairs across hook grass.

Oh, there’s the marker. I guess we’re walking up the stream again. A welcome respite from the hook grass.

We escaped from the sea of toe-toe!

Finding the site of the previous hut, we left the now-much-smaller stream and climbed to the hut. A couple of hundred metres to climb was a nice change from picking our way through water, rocks and grass and a suitable way to work up an appetite before suddenly emerging from the bush at a saddle to find the hut. For the record, I stopped counting at eighty stream crossings when the stream became small enough to barely get my boots wet.

Once again, our digs for the night were otherwise deserted. (Mangamate Hut)

Looking north as the day ends, in much more friendly grass.

Not a bad spot to devour more of the food we’d hauled in, all in the name of lightening the load for the following day of course.

Reading in fading light back-issues of the Auckland University Tramping Club magazine left in the hut showed a few things. Firstly, this area had been well visited by the club. Secondly, hunting orange markers, masses of hook grass and having wet feet were all part of getting here. Thirdly, I really should have done/do more hiking – while it’s not biking, it can be surprisingly good fun (I can imagine the eye-rolls that comment is getting from certain people).

With an earlier night’s sleep, we got away a bit earlier the next morning to walk down from the other side of the saddle. The morning would mostly be spent following a stream down a valley, before picking up another to walk up the next valley. At times the trail was wide and well-defined, but mostly it was not and occasionally downright difficult to find. Two more hours of hook grass exclamations and I decided it wasn’t too hot to wear trousers and save my hair – why did I not do that earlier? I could just walk straight through everything non-plussed and use far less energy not carefully maneuvering legs to avoid the dreaded hooks.

Steve carrying a relatively low inventory.

Upper Whirinaki Hut – only subtlety different to the previous night’s hut.

Stopping to lunch at the hut, we met the group of five that we’d seen the previous morning. We were lucky to escape with our lives, as our ample lunch consisting of such delicacies as fresh produce and cheese had our new acquaintances turning green. We didn’t hang around to see if we’d be skinned alive for daring to pull such items out of our packs.

Another kilometre of river walking, we crossed the Whirinaki River one last time and contemplated the climb back to the car. It was steep, but the most challenging and enjoyable hiking of the weekend. Climbing over three hundred metres in less than a mile probably should have been harder and less fun than it was. Thankfully we’d eaten most of the food by then and our packs were light, also the trail, while steep, was easy enough to follow.

The birdlife changed too, wood pigeon (kereru) up here.

Disappearing in seas of ferns is preferable to cutty grass.

Up on the ridge, we began to get a better impression of the vastness and density of the bush we’d walked through. As well as finding it was a pretty warm day.

One final pose, near another big tree – there were plenty of those.

Slight undulations took us back to the main track just short of the car with plenty of time to get home before dark. A fantastic weekend of walking in sublime native New Zealand forest; great food, company, birdlife and weather really helped more. I may have to do a bit more hiking – if only to recover after a week of intense bikepacking! Now to get back there again and do a longer loop, or take the bike.

around home, bikepacking, bikes, Canada, event, family, friends, MTB, NZ, shoulder, USA

The Christmas Letter 2018

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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.

bikepacking, bikes, event, family, friends, GPS, NZ, shoulder

Mega Pain

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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.

around home, bikepacking, bikes, friends, GPS, NZ

Long Labour Weekend Eastern Loop

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With a bit of unfinished business from not completing the Easter Eastern Loop, another shoulder-season long weekend seemed perfect opportunity to complete it. I had planned to do so in a few weeks’ time as part of the Mega Gravel Grind event, but find myself with insufficient leave. Pete decided to join me so far as Rotorua; meeting at work, we drove north to Wairoa, locked the car and left in search of supplies for the remote section the following day.

A pair of SIR9s ready to leave Wairoa.

Cloudier than expected, the threatened rain didn’t come to anything, and the southerly pushed us on our way north out of town and past Frasertown.

We followed the Wairoa River for an hour or so through sheep and beef country.

While a sealed road, with next to no traffic it was most pleasant and with a couple of climbs we made good progress to Tiniroto. I’d phoned the previous day and made sure the pub would be open. They stayed open just for us, even managing to rustle up homemade pies and hot chips. The community centre was even available for us to sleep in. That is how we found ourselves sleeping in a play centre adjoining a village hall.

The large hall looked perfect for a three-wheeled race circuit.

Sleeping quarters for the night; I could brush up on my ABCs and traffic awareness.

Quite cosy inside, we didn’t realise it was frosty until departing the following morning. Is it even worth keeping a pie tally? I had my fourth of the trip for breakfast.

Would stay again. The sun just starting to make it over the first-thing-of-the-day climb.

The three kilometre climb helped us warm up; losing more altitude than we’d gained did not. Extremities curled and numbed, our gloves and socks better suited to the weather that was forecast for the rest of the weekend – sunny, still and warm spring days.

Finally the sun hit us; generally not whizzing downhill helped alleviate the chill in our digits.

The familiar climbs and descents continued as we zigged and zagged east and west, slowly making northward progress through farmland – only stopping once to let a mob of steers be driven past us. It feels most rude to be out riding bikes and holding up people going about their work. I particularly enjoyed the Waikura valley back in April, this time was no different. What was different was the incredible number of kowhai in their bright yellow bloom. Quite used to seeing one or two of these native trees in flower, this was on a scale I had not seen before – fantastic.

Finally we were on a gravel road, and pleasingly it did not have the sustained patches of fresh, uncompacted drudgery and toil that I remember from Easter.

This view was as good as last time.

Switching to following the Hangaroa River for a while led to mild climbing, and then a bit more heading north to the next valley – the Wharekopae. We did spy one of those brilliant golf courses in the middle of nowhere – where the chief turf control experts are someone’s ably employed flock of sheep.

A brief stop at Rere School to have first-lunch and fill bottles plonked us on some seal to Rere Falls.

This was about the only place I saw multiple people last time; this time – not so much.

Past the Rere Rockslide, the road reverted to gravel and the climbing continued with only brief respite as we rose five hundred metres or so.

But with skies and views like this, the climbing was easy-going.

Crossing the watershed we joined the headwaters of the Motu, State Highway Two briefly, and then made it to Matawai to refuel and restock supplies.

Down the road a bit, Motu village had an open cafe! Just in time before closing for more ice cream and cold drinks.

Motu village sights

A fine forty minutes of climbing took us up the Motu road and over into the Bay of Plenty. Losing some of that height, we rolled down the road to the Pakihi Track trailhead. At five in the afternoon, we figured we could get out of twenty kilometres of singletrack through dense native forest before dark – that the first half was markedly downhill and the second half gradually down helped our estimation.

The trail was in perfect condition and we had much fun. Halfway down I learnt valuable lessons of what spares to take. Slashing the sidewall of my rear tyre over rather innocuous (or so they seemed) rocks, I couldn’t seal the tubeless up and it turns out the tubolito spare tube I was carrying was rubbish. Thankfully Pete was better prepared and borrowing one of his tubes, I didn’t have to face a ten kilometre walk out. Taking things a bit easier, we made it out with about an hour of daylight and twenty kilometres of easy roads to Opotoki remaining.

After filling our bellies at a popular local takeaway shop (it may have been the only one open in town), creature comforts proved too tempting and we found an old hotel that would let us store our bikes inside. My first two-hundred-plus kilometre day since Easter, it wasn’t overly difficult – Pete’s and my pace for such touring riding seems well matched.

Saturday morning got off to a good, if slower, start…

State Highway Two, again, took us west out of town showing off much of the Bay. Nice to see Whale Island from the other side to three weeks prior.

Pete had been told of a backroad alternative to Taneatua – it broke up what would have been eighty kilometres of flats very nicely. Up steeply through lifestyle blocks, the road turned to gravel as we entered forest and rode along a ridge, still climbing.

A potential bivy spot? Probably not. After brief stretches of pasture, we went back into the shade of native forest losing all our height to blast back to a short stretch of highway to Taneatua.

Time for a milkshake and a pie – this one pork and watercress (when in Taneatua…), voted best of the trip – beating off numerous competitors.

Nearing Awakeri, I couldn’t resist peeking in at a rally of old trucks. This one of significance because this company use to cart for us a bit when I was growing up, and was owned by parents of a primary school classmate. Strange the things one sees while bikepacking.

Off the stretch of well-built highway (judged mainly on the ample shoulder), we were finally back to hills – climbing to Manawahe on the road we’d descended three weeks earlier. Around the tops of Lakes Rotoma and Rotoehu there was some lovely native forest, a rugged four-wheel drive track and much gravel as production forests surrounded us. At the top of Maniatutu Road Pete continued on the course back to his home in Rotorua, while I diverted north to head to Te Puke.

Why is it only this year that I’ve notice cabbage trees in flower? They look so different to what I’m used to.

Back on the flats, with another pit stop for refuelling, it was only fifteen kilometres to ride in to Te Puke. It was a little odd to be riding into a town that was for so long home – yet one I’d never really ridden into before. A little annoyed that I spent so long there and didn’t explore more around the area on bike – as I was finding out, there were plenty of gravel roads and hills to seek out.

Lovely stay with one of my second-families, it must have been two years since I was last in town. One of the reasons for the diversion from the posted route was that I’d finally be able to ride some of the gravel roads that I knew were lurking above Te Puke and would connect me to Rotorua. It really was as simple as riding up my old street, past my primary school, past the house (I guess) I’ve lived in the longest and just keep on going.

Quickly the houses turned to orchard after orchard (mostly kiwifruit, but far more avocados than I remember). For half-seven on a Sunday morning, the road was ridiculously busy – orchard workers heading off for the start of the day.

This cute old hall stands at the end of a straight – for some reason I barely remember it, despite no doubt having passed it many times. Admittedly, it’s been restored – but not out of nothing.

A long gradual climb (of only a few percent) had me looking back over the coast and long-familiar landmarks. Ten kilometres up the road, I’d climbed enough that the orchards ended and pasture began – it gets too frosty up here for kiwifruit growing. The sou-wester I was riding right into was sapping my energy and my breakfast soon wore off; I was definitely underdone on supplies and I felt my mood slipping in the cool, cloudy and windy morning.

The gravel started and promptly deposited me in deserted native forest. Most pleasant Sunday morning riding out of the wind.

Out into the open again, the hills around Rotorua beckoned.

Pine forest clad the climb to the Rotorua-Tauranga highway, which was busy enough and this section has two deep gorges to whizz into and grovel out of. Leaving the highway before Lake Rotorua, I wanted to go somewhere new – in this case, Kaharoa which I’d never heard of. But with the sun coming out, the wind at my back and a slight descent – I thoroughly enjoyed rolling past. There was a bit of a climb out of the valley, before dropping all the way down to the lake and taking the road less-travelled back to the route.

Twenty kilometres took me into Rotorua, passing and being passed by a large contingent of roadies out for Sunday morning (they were surprisingly chatty and interested in the bikepacking weekend), led me to a pit-stop at Pete’s house. The bike got a new tyre to replace the slashed one and I was well-fed – thanks Pete!

The climb out of Rotorua to the south-east doesn’t seem like two hundred and fifty metres worth as the cycle path is so smooth and the wind is usually helpful – as it was this time.

Mt Tarawera just as I entered Rerewhakaaitu.

A glorious afternoon for riding, I made good time over the hundred kilometres to Murupara. The third time I’d covered some of these roads this year, things were rather familiar.

Clouds were starting to gather over the Ureweras as I rode the final straight into town.

Sunday evening of a long weekend, I wasn’t sure if I’d find places open to eat. Thankfully I did, but downtown was pretty dire – one of those places where everyone you meet warns you to lock up your bike. Still, all I met were friendly and, despite sticking out like a sore thumb, I had a most pleasant evening. Rooms weren’t much more than camping (for good reason), so with those clouds amassing I was soft and slept inside again.

Labour Day was a glorious day for the final hundred and sixty kilometres back to my car – another three-pie day, which is not really related to the glorious nature of the day. For the first few hours there was little traffic, and what traffic there was was local and very considerate. My third bikepacking trip across here, the hills came and went – my legs still felt good after three days of riding and I was thoroughly enjoying the surroundings, the climbing challenges and not having to nurse a painful knee.

This was one of quite a few marae I saw around here that are remarkably well turned out.

I only got chased by dogs once, and in a quite different spot to normal (Te Whaiti as opposed to Te Waiiti – actually, those look remarkably similar place names); but the dogs were chased away by a passing car. Ruatahuna now has a fancy new community centre (store, cafe, gas station, accommodation that I’d quite like to stay in, and so on). Unfortunately it’s all closed on Sundays and Mondays, so I just rested in the shade and ate. The closure did lead to the quote of the day, probably the trip, from a friendly local passing by: “Come back tomorrow and the community centre is open. You can get a coffee and a mean feed. Chur bro.”.

Predictably, the holiday traffic markedly increased in the afternoon and I was occasionally choked in dust. Still, the scenery through these parts is stunning.

Panekiri Bluff standing above Waikaremoana.

The undulations around the north of the lake rolled by and I grabbed some food and water at the store far earlier (two versus six o’clock) than I had at Easter. Three hours took me back to Wairoa; after the big descent from the lake, the rolling hills gradually wear thin. Well pleased to actually finish this loop, with a hundred kilometre addition, this time I took care to refuel plenty before the drive home. Seven hundred and forty kilometres in just less than four days – a good touring pace with sufficient hills. I’ll have to step it up a bit for the Mega GGG in ten days’ time (lack of leave and all…).