Nigh on six hours of quality sleep was more than enough to get me riding again at four-thirty on Monday morning. Twenty-odd kilometres of gentle climbing up Cardrona Valley Rd was much warmer than the so-cold-my-fingers-can’t-operate-zippers morning near the end of my Tour Aotearoa. As the day dawned, I reached the Snow Farm access road and began the climb up onto the Pisa Range. Unsurprisingly for a NZ ski-field access road, it was steep and heavily switch-backed – this one climbing almost a thousand metres in little over ten kilometres.

Quickly I was overlooking the valley below as the sun hit the hills opposite.

Soon after, Steve and Jake caught up to me. We chatted a while, but they were stronger climbers so rode off. The wind, still tending west to northwest, was starting to pick up again and push us up to Snow Farm.

I was pleased to be doing this climb in the cool and shade of the early morning.

Past the lodge, the route was off to Meadow Hut. Luckily for me, I’d been up here six months prior for a little bit of ski touring – otherwise this would have been another spot in the route where the low-resolution GPS route would have been frustrating. It was vaguely downhill to the hut, but the grass surface was annoyingly slow.

The hut appeared soon enough and seemed a good spot for a snack and brief pause.

There was still about five hundred metres to climb up to the high point of the route, just off the summit of Mt Pisa. This was more a hiking trail, nicely technical compared to all of the riding so far. Following Kirtle Burn up, the grass was often spongy, the creek crossings rocky and unrideable – a good challenge and plain honest fun.

Kirtle Burn Hut was out of the slight valley the creek was in. I didn’t stop long, as the wind had really picked up.

I was surprised that Jake and Steve caught up to me again – apparently they’d stopped in the ski lodge for water. We continued together.

A zig left and then a zag right and we were definitely on the shoulder riding up through barren rocks.

Before long, it was too steep and windy to ride.

Joining the Pisa Range Ridge Track, things began to get really interesting (read, scarily challenging). Turning towards the north, the gale went from being an occasionally helpful tailwind to a treacherous crosswind. The first challenge was Sally’s Pinch, a narrowing in the ridge with a cliff off downwind and the wind funneling aggressively through. Approaching it, for the second consecutive day I was blown off course and off my bike. I decided to walk. Steve and Jake, having a bit more ballast to weigh them down struggled through.

It was all I could do to inch forward while trying to hold on to my bike as the wind did its best to turn it, first, into a kite and then a two-wheeled missile. Far too many times I contemplated being whisked away to certain peril somewhere down near the Wanaka-Cromwell highway. Nothing for it but one foot in front of the other.

The last time I bothered to take a photo – it was a long push up that slope from Sally’s Pinch into the wind.

Fifteen minutes of tediously slow progress did get me to the highest point. Where I was delighted to find I couldn’t even ride on the flat or downhill. With the rocky track and the wind, I just couldn’t keep any sort of control of my path. It’s always frustrating not being able to ride downhill! While the others could ride, the safest option and best chance of getting off the range under my own steam was to walk much of the descent to start with. Also, if something untoward did occur – I didn’t fancy a helicopter was going to make it up to rescue me.

Back to Wanaka – six hours of effort didn’t seem to have got me as far as usual!

Eventually I could ride again. There was much rejoicing.

A brief turn west to climb steeply then led to where I could then ride all the way down.

These flowers looked an invasive species, but they sure were pretty.

More poor-GPS-trail induced confusion at a series of gates slowed my descent slightly, but before long I was back on the valley floor. Very pleased to have survived, I now have a new standard for windiness when on a bike. I also still had my bike, so that was a plus. Having driven through a few times, I didn’t even know Queensbury was an actual place – but it did have a welcome and very good cafe. I collected my frazzled nerves as I refuelled.

The wind direction on the Pisas and the direction of the road told me I would have a rollicking tailwind to whisk me to Cromwell. That I did, for the first third of thirty kilometres to town. The rest, on the side of a highway, was plain wind-induced toil. Tiring by now, I got out of the sun again and ate at Subway – taking half of it for dinner, as the route next went through the remote Nevis Valley. This was another bit of the course unknown to me and I was well looking forward to it.

I did however remember the climb up to and just beyond Bannockburn. I knew I could stay in the small settlement in relative comfort, but four-thirty and just over a hundred kilometres seemed much too early to call it a day. Even if it had been a tough day, my legs were still going round (however slowly) and the sun was shining. Somewhere in here, I chose to ignore the ever-present wind in my thinking. Leaving Cromwell, I was once again surprised to have Jake and Steve catch up again. They’d taken one long break instead of my two shorter ones. The path around the edge of Lake Dunstan was nice, but energy sapping. Soon I was left by myself for the steep pinch up to Bannockburn. I just sort of kept pedaling, the decision seemingly making itself.

Turning onto Nevis Road, this part of the route was new to me and I was excited to finally be heading into the Nevis. For some reason, this gravel climb built to legendary status in my mind. It didn’t disappoint; averaging near ten percent gradient, it was an efficient way to climb almost a thousand metres. Parts of it were much steeper and I took my time, happy to spin my way up the hill and not push my tired body too much. Also, it was worth stopping to take in the scenery every so often:

Even at my pace, I ended up chasing much of this herd up the road as one by one they peeled off.

Eventually, I was no longer herding cattle up the road.

Back towards Cromwell and Lake Dunstan.

Most of the climb had been sheltered enough, but rounding one corner as I neared the top the wind hit me full in the face again. Having practiced so well walking my bike uphill earlier in the day, I accepted my fate, dismounted and pushed on. In some respects, the gale was horrendous and progress was slow. But compared to the morning’s ordeal and the prospect of real injury, this was a lovely evening stroll!

Eventually I reached the sign Duffers Saddle; I rather wanted a photo of my bike next to the sign. Alas, it was too windy for my bike to stay propped against a signpost. I was struggling to stand up and began to wonder if this would be another time where I’d have to push my bike downhill. But the surface, being an actual road, was much better and I could enjoy (as far as the wind allowed) the seven and a half kilometre downhill to the Nevis River.

It was quite a fun drop down into the valley – I’m sure nothing to do with my legs not having to do anything.

By this time it was approaching a sixteen hour day for a mere hundred and thirty kilometres; I was starting to look for somewhere to shelter from the persistent gale for the night. Getting close to the river I spied a caravan in the middle of nowhere. It looked pretty shut up and left, with nice big awnings. Hmmm, inviting. On closer inspection, it was definitely parked up for the summer and no-one was around. Internal debate ensued for a few minutes before I decided I couldn’t just doss down in someone’s caravan awning.

I went to find shelter behind the riverside willows. Turning, I saw approaching a truck, which carried the owners of the caravan. We got chatting about the crazy bikepackers they’d seen; before long I was invited to sleep in the awning for the night, invited in for a cup of tea and water bottle-filling. Fantastic and much appreciated. The remainder of my Subway was devoured as I calmed after the exertions of the day. I slept well that night rather satisfied at having got through a challenging day and over three thousand metres of climbing.

Home for the night, wonderfully sheltered from the wind by the caravan.