The wind really got up during the night and the clattering from the roofing iron on the old woolshed intensified. I slept little; finally at four o’clock I rose and moved camp to the lee of a Land Rover. There I got some sleep, but still had plenty of moments enjoying stargazing and, later, watching the light change as another day on the bike dawned. Either it was so windy or I dozed off again, but I didn’t hear everyone leave – not a single click of a freehub! So much for my plan to slow down and ride with others, I’d slowed too much.
At least I didn’t have much to pack and I was up and rolling down the valley with a fierce wind at my back in fifteen minutes. Great fun on the quick ride to breakfast at the Wrinkly Ram (never disappoints) and I did manage to find Guy leaving and others to eat with. A meal so large I couldn’t finish it, I took some to go before heading for Little Omarama Saddle. Finding others to briefly say hi to along the way, I eventually got out of town and began the gradual climb away from the Ahuriri River. This seemed a long stretch of benign gravel, but the wind was mostly helpful and soon I was off my bike for the ninety minute push up. I had been looking forward to going over Omarama Saddle for the first time, but recent rainfall and high water forced a course change. The “little” saddle is actually higher and I remembered it well from 2019. Taking it easy, I only rode a short section and was ten minutes slower than last time – certainly wasn’t catching anyone up here.
Back north over the Ahuriri valley.
The saddle came soon enough and there began a fast, rocky, brake-squealing descent. So much fun, and a good test for the shoulder on a rigid fork. I passed some mountain-bikers on the way down, was having a complete blast tearing down and splashing through stream crossings. Surprised to catch Guy and Eileen at the end of snack break, we rode out together enjoying the valley mellowing and the water crossings got larger. Hawkduns Run Road was new to me and I enjoyed the undulations, but mostly the views of the Hawkduns and picking out the beginning of the Mt Ida Water Race (which we’d ride beside at the end of the week).
Guy and Kevin heading for St Bathans.
The wind was bit on the nose as we turned and climbed to lunch at St Bathans. The garden at the pub was most pleasant (although the barkeep made you wonder how and why some ever go into hospitality) with another large collection of riders coming and going. Best of all was best-sister and only-nibling being there as trail angels for the early afternoon. The cookies and brownies were a hit and I was lucky there were any left by the time I arrived. Nice long lunch, twas out into the afternoon with plenty of riders on the road to chat to in passing as we skirted the Manuherikia Valley.
Familiar roads that I’d not ridden before, Thompson’s Gorge was looming as we turned into the wind. Pleased to see any gates open as the course turned towards the gorge, knowing full well that there’d be many to open. With the steep climb to come, it was snack time and Guy appeared. Up we went, with the headwind strong I soon opted for the pushing option – not too disappointed to not be riding a climb I usually manage, I was happy to be saving energy. Guy dominated the climb, but with all the gates – I wasn’t too far behind. It’s a spectacular gorge and I’ve always enjoyed riding through, although it’s never easy – which is probably part of the appeal.
Things flattened out and I was soon back on the bike as we dropped to the creek and traced it upstream. The climbing begins in earnest again after an old stone hut; at least off the bike pushing, I couldn’t be blown off my bike – which I certainly would have been as the wind was far stronger than two years ago (and that knocked me off my bike).
Over the saddle and following the contour for a bit, there was the usual snap across the valley north towards the confluence of the Clutha and Lindis rivers before the rollicking gravel descent began.
Down on the flats, we battled the wind through Ardgour towards Tarras. Approaching 150 km and ten hours of riding for the day, I was most amenable to Guy’s plan to find a nice campsite out of the wind (especially after the previous night!) and not sleep near the highway. Trees beside the Lindis obliged and we were making camp after a good, but tough in parts, day at the civilised hour of eight o’clock. I could get used to this. Camp made, I kept an eye on the road for others and soon there was a strangely large gathering of windswept bikepackers on a nondescript bridge as dusk crept closer; our camping cohort only growing by one as others pressed on into the wind.