All posts by bpheasant

A Southern Wedding Week

My winter holiday for the year (I’m still trying to get to a positive leave balance after the summer’s big bike ride) was a week down south for Adele & James’s wedding. A fantastic, but hectic week spent with much family & many friends – and a little bit of biking too, naturally.

After a catching-up with Mum & Dad over dinner in Dunedin, a group of us piled into a van and headed towards Queenstown for the stag weekend.

We stopped en route at about midnight to sight the church where the service would be in a week’s time. It was already frosty, much colder for winter than I’ve grown accustomed to; naturally we skated around on the lawn.

We spent the weekend staying at a house that was stuck in the ’70s, it was brilliant inside & out – the views of The Remarkables & Coronet Peak weren’t too shabby either.

The days were cold and still – we spotted a few hot-air balloons floating around early morning.

Craig turned up with a wood-fired hot-tub he had made on a trailer – brilliant! We quickly got to work thawing the garden hose, filling the tub and heating it up. The tub got a fair bit of use over the week – they’re incredible, check the website.

We drove most of the way up the Coronet Peak access road, for a reason I could not discern. The view was adequate compensation.

As the light faded, we headed up the gondola for a bit of luging (little carts on a concrete track, not the Olympic type of luging.)

Repeated races down the tracks provided much amusement as we battled it out trying to avoid collateral damage to unsuspecting tourists.

Sunday morning’s activity, which ended up being in the afternoon, was skydiving for the stag & a few of us. It was a glorious day for it &, I’m told, the experience was quite amazing.

A very pleasant drive through Central Otago looking at the recent snow contrasting with the dry pasture soon had me at Mum & Dad’s, where Adele had also arrived from Westport.

With a broken night’s sleep and a few little wedding-jobs, there was just enough recovery for me to head off east again to visit friends & family who have, independently, just moved to Wanaka. It was just warm enough to make riding in thawed mud not worth it; nonetheless, it was an enjoyable visit – which was expected, or else I would not have driven three hours back west.

Mid-week a fair crowd of Adele’s family and friends stayed in the sleepy village of Naseby (2000 feet above worry level, apparently) – where James and Adele have a eight hectare section of mostly pines, a pond and large potential for building singletrack, camping, building huts/tiny homes/container homes etc. The first day or so was frigid – which made for good fun mountain-biking (plenty of traction), a lot of people walking on said pond and good hot-tubbing. A nor-west change came through thawing everything out and burning off a lot of the snow. The biking then got quite amusing as we explored many of the unmarked trails and repeatedly lost our front wheels sliding out in unexpected mud. I even got a ride in with Dad & Uncle Geoff – quite a turn up for the books (as Dad, himself, would say)! So that was a great few days socialising with many that I seldom see, eating a lot and riding bikes.

Packing up once again, it was off to the wedding (reception) venue for the last two nights of the week. There followed two days of busy-ness with many errands to run, people to catch up with – oh, and a fantastic wedding that went all rather smoothly (testament to all the planning, I think). But as it’s not really my day to share here, I shan’t – also due in part to the fact that I was so busy I didn’t even think to take a single picture.

But as this photo has been shared publicly (if you know where to look), I’ll put it here just to show I’m not making this all up – there was in fact a wedding.

Also, I’ve just recently clicked that for the first time I can call someone brother; that’s a little weird.

Moki & Rerekapa Trails Loop

When one’s boss suggests a backcountry adventure MTB ride on the return from a work trip, I imagine scuttling the idea is career-detrimental. Not that I’ll ever know – I was hardly likely to say no, was I? I’d not heard of the either the Moki or Rerekapa tracks before Roger mentioned them – deep in the Taranaki hills, both of these trails were built by wheelbarrows, picks and shovels in the early 1900s, but never quite made the transition to fully fledged roads.

Now they’re not much more than overgrown tracks through large stands of native trees (mostly tawa, kamahi and rimu) just above the Waitara River as it starts its journey to the Tasman Sea. Both of these tracks are linked by short stretches of farmland before joining gravel roads – which makes a forty-five kilometre loop, a good day ride. That’s not a great distance for a day of mountain-biking, but the trail is little used and papa surface (particularly through the farms) can be very muddy and slippery with the slightest amount of moisture in the preceding days. The guidebook says “After a week of fine weather, this is the best expert-level adventure ride in Taranaki” – thankfully, it hadn’t rained for days so things were looking up. The book also said the ride would take anywhere between five and ten hours to complete – the only person we knew who’d done it took eight. That’s quite a while for a ride that has little climbing.

With such an adventure in store, Steve was not going to miss out either – so he drove over four hours from Napier to join in the fun. With the roadside organising done and a stable of pretty new bikes, we were off in the early morning sun.

Token new bike picture – I have a fun bike again.

Chasing horses down the east end of Moki Road – we were heading for the valley in the distance to the right.

But first a stretch through farmland where Moki Road becomes unformed – but thankfully dry – as the sheep run away. We passed a couple of ruined old houses, still standing – just.

The valley closes in, as does the native bush.

Reaching a shack that still looks to be used, for hunting I assume, the trail narrowed and went into the bush as the farmland finished. The route wound its way above the river, with short climbs and descents, frequently following the contour to small, rocky stream crossings. Most of the small bridges that had been put in were in such a state of disrepair to be almost non-existent or else unrideable due to slipperiness or the approaches being too tricky for us. The drop off the side of the trail to the river was often precipitous and best avoided.

There were five wire swing bridges over the bigger chasms – at least these ones had decks. They were considerably easier than the demon wire swing bridge on the Timber Trail approach.

At least here, the trail is well defined. With a GPS trail and the orange markers to follow, only a few times did we lose the trail temporarily as it faded into nothing.

In the shade of the trees, the trail was still quite slippery in parts despite the lack of recent rain. It was a beautiful ride as the morning slowly warmed; ride is a loose term – it was plenty technical and it became one of those days where after a while you begin to wonder if it’s worth getting back on the bike for such short stretches before another dismount due to some obstacle.

This bridge was intact and rideable!

Progress was slow – for two hours we barely got above ten kilometres per hour, the average speed being about half that. But it was excellent adventuring and great to be out somewhere where few people ride – not only did we not see any other riders all day, I saw no other tyre marks on the trails. Due to the slowness, the lack of traction and trickiness of it all there were numerous crashes and falls – mostly of the overbalancing, embarrassing-due-to-their-comic-nature type. No injuries ensued and we were quickly over dented pride as it was hard-going and everyone fell at one stage or another.

Steve trying to work out how much of that slippery approach to another stream crossing is worth attempting to ride as the drop to his right becomes apparent. At least, I assume that’s what he’s thinking as that’s what I thought riding down there.

There were frequent stops for track maintenance – we cleared numerous branches and trees from the trail, mostly led by Steve, ever the font of energy.

Finally, we crossed the fifth swing bridge and emerged into the farmland again. Over two hours for less than ten kilometres – that’s Waiuta-level progress.

With a brief stop to refuel, it was through farmland again.

The view was certainly more expansive out of the trees – Steve taking it in.

The little tunnel of the ride – the stock were slow to relinquish their positions as Roger approached.

We crossed to the right side of the Waitara as the farm track improved to was-once-a-gravel-road and things got a bit faster.

Approaching noon, we rejoined proper gravel road at the halfway point. While flat for a while, the only sustained (fully rideable) climb of the day spread us out as Steve carried on with his inexhaustible energy. Seven weeks later it’s not surprising I’ve lost some Tour Aotearoa conditioning, also this was riding of a different intensity – at least, that’s what I’m telling myself.

Really nice gravel road riding – and about the highest we got all day at a whopping 350-odd metres above sea level.

With a steep blast back to the valley floor, we found the start of the Rerekapa Track and a suitable lunch stop – suitable except for the young hunting dog that tried to steal most of our food.

Just after one o’clock and with only about ten kilometres to go I was pretty confident we’d finish OK – even if we took it slowly. Following a small stream up through more pasture, it was not long before we crossed it and went back under the cover of the trees. If it was possible, this trail was even more difficult to ride than the Moki track – possibly because it was wetter receiving less sun being in the shade of the hill we were climbing slowly.

There was no way we were clearing the trail of this tree, and a fair few others – the muscling of bikes around obstacles became more commonplace.

As our speed consistently stayed lower than five clicks, a slight slowing in my line-choice made me wonder if I was starting to get a little fatigued. My legs still felt fine, as they would – they’d hardly done any pedalling; but all the dismouting and lifting/pushing of bike over obstacles was starting to tell on my complete lack of upper-body strength led to me feeling rather worn out. As I felt I was slowing Steve down and contemplated on letting him past I took my second fall of the day. It was by far the biggest of anyone’s – one of those where you put your foot down on something that isn’t quite there. Before long I had fallen off the side of a bank headfirst and then slid even further down again bringing my bike on top of me. So there I was lying, comfortably all things considered, upside down in a dry stream bed somewhat stuck under my bike – very thankful that it was mostly amusing and not at all injurious.

Thankfully, Steve had hauled my bike off me and I was standing again before a decent photo was taken. My, that trail looks simple – I assure you that there were more slippery rocks there that I misjudged.

The climb over the ridge into the next valley over, we were now amongst the headwaters of the Waitara as we dropped down to the Boys Brigade Hut – which really didn’t look like it was in a great place for a hut. I suppose it had “completely isolated” going for it, but it was next to to an area that looked decidedly swampy.

The trail disappeared into the grass before heading for the trees again.

There was one surreal hundred metres of so knee-high ferns completely covering the track. Also covering wheels – it went on and on, the feeling of floating on lush green ferns that is.

Roger emerging from some taller ferns.

We climbed the gate that signified the end of the Rerekapa Track and joined a farm track that was very difficult to ride on as a bulldozer had recently been over it. Thankfully that didn’t last long as we climbed up and joined the main farm track. We spied the Rerekapa Falls off the side of the track – they demanded a side excursion to investigate.

The last bit of gravel track riding back to the car was easy and we arrived back just shy of six and half hours after our departure. We savoured car-beers and an excellent and demanding day of remote and stunning backcountry riding. It’d rate as one of the rides I’ve done with the most amount of sustained technical riding and constant dismounts – brilliant. Thoroughly recommended if you like this sort of ride and can find a good window of weather – as the guidebook says “If it’s wet, find somewhere else to ride.”

Taranaki Trip

A trip for work for a one-day workshop on the other side of the North Island evolved into a little road-trip due to the places we planned to stop on the route. I say a little road-trip as it was only nine-hundred-odd kilometres over three days. That doesn’t really give a picture of how difficult and slow the driving was in places as we took in four significantly windy and steep roads: the Gentle Annie (Napier to Taihape), the Paraparas (Raetihi to Whanganui), the Forgotten Highway (Stratford to Taumaranui) and the Napier-Taupo highway. I’d think a case could be made for those being among the most tortuous long roads in the North Island – each crossing some very hilly and rugged country.

Somehow I ended driving all those, which was fine but tiring. I was exciting to be driving the Gentle Annie for the first time I remember – I know this rough road was mentioned every so often when I was young, but I have no recollection of having traveled it. Mostly I was interested to see it firsthand as I think bikepacking it one summer will be great as it opens so much more country to explore. It’s no longer a gravel road, but with hilliness of the road is well-known and spoken of in hushed tones if bicycles are part of the same conversation. It was stunning country and I look forward to exploring it more slowly by bike.

I relived a very small part of my Tour Aotearoa driving into Whanganui for lunch before distant memories of university summer holiday work flooded back as we went through South Taranaki. Work things done for the day, there was just enough time to pull bikes out of the car ride the famed Coastal Path in New Plymouth before dark. It was all very pleasant and nice to be out in the fresh sea air after a day mostly in the car.

So many choices; I want to know if Colin’s cat is still in the same place.

Fortunately we had some dim lights to do a bit of urban mountain-biking through a couple of reserves and parks as night fell. That could even be the first time I’ve been to Pukekura Park, shocking.

The WorkSafe workshop proved useful – but Taranaki sure was a long way to go for it. But it did enable a plan to be hatched for the drive home in what was now the weekend. That plan took us through the twisty Forgotten World Highway into another extremely hilly area. Thankfully we made the Whangamomona Hotel just before nightfall as it meant we could take in the spectacular views across this remote area. That there is even a road, let alone a rail line, through here beggars belief. Some of the rail tunnels are over a kilometre long – which is very unusual for NZ.

Much to our surprise, the Whangamomona Hotel – seemingly in the middle of nothing but a lot of hills – was absolutely packed. Just as well we’d booked rooms; a birthday party had really swelled the crowd, I’m unsure if the group on a collection of classic motorbikes was separate or not. We enjoyed the history of the place as we waited for dinner – the kitchen was understandably very busy. The history is rather quirky – not just because it’s in the backblocks and has a proud pioneering & frontier history, but also because the town seceded from NZ in 1989 and declared itself a republic when they were unhappy with new regional council boundaries.

I had a bit of time to wander the town before we left Saturday morning for the rest of the adventure – it didn’t take long.

Tour Aotearoa – My Day Seventeen – Mossburn to Bluff, just!

My choice of verandah was almost too good – I woke with a start and realised it was half-past seven and I’d overslept. This was somewhat understandable as the storm had come through and it was still very dark for the time of day, and now also very wet. At least everything I had was dry as I hurriedly packed, scoffed some food and headed out into the rain for the last leg of the journey.

Heading south, it was to be a hundred-odd kilometres to Invercargill on mostly-quiet rural roads. The wind had swung around towards the south from last night’s wonderful nor-west tailwind, so was a bit of a hindrance. I steeled myself to be riding into the heavy rain for the remainder of my Tour. For some reason, the route left the sealed road and turned away from the river it had been following, just to climb a hundred vertical metres steeply and then return to the same river valley it had just left. But in coming down that seemingly-inexplicable hill (I now think it was to put us on the quieter side of the river), a wonderful thing happened – the sky cleared and we were without heavy rain, basking in sunlight.

It was also around this time that another rider, Steve, caught me – we would ride most of the rest of the Tour together. Steve was very pleased to learn that Dad was coming to pick me up and we could probably give him a ride back to Dunedin – definitely better than riding there. We worked out we’d been on the same boat from Pouto Point way back on my Day Three and Steve had just caught up to me. For one last time, I had a farmer in a pick-up pull up beside me as I was riding enquiring as to why there were so many cyclists on his quiet back road. I tried to get across the outline of what we were doing over the noise of the wind. We followed the straight Southland roads down to Winton for the last food stop, always pleased when the wind was more help than hindrance.

For some reason, they don’t seem to bale their hay around here – just make little stacks.

Second to last photo checkpoint – photo with an enthusiastic Southland local. Fascinated as she was by our journey, we also heard a lot of the Wanaka A&P show that was coming up that weekend.

With only seventy kilometres to go, it was a straight run south to Invercargill battling what was now becoming a gale of a sou-wester. Passing through the outskirts of the city, any time we turned east speed was quickly gained with no effort. Unfortunately, the route was still south and on a cycle path on the edge of the estuary – which afforded absolutely no wind protection. It’s a lovely wide trail, smooth and flat for ten miles; well, it normally would be – we struggled to stay on it as we were repeatedly sprayed with water from the estuary and blown into the grass.

How could it be so hard to stay on such an easy trail?

Steve leaning into the wind and fighting his way back onto the path.

The trail looped around a bit and only a few times did we almost get blown into the estuary. Aware of the ridiculousness of this, there wasn’t much to do but laugh at the absurdity of having come so far only to find the flattest part and the last one percent was to be the most difficult.

Finally we reached State Highway One – that which we began our journey on and on which we would ride the last twenty kilometres. This really wasn’t a good thing – for two reasons: one, the road, while flat and straight, was heading straight into the gale for eight kilometres; and two, unlike the far-north this part of SH1 is very busy and largely used by big trucks going to and from the port at Bluff. Sigh. I rode with Steve a little way as our pace dropped to that of walking. We were constantly blown off the hard shoulder, rolling down the grass verge and then fighting back onto the highway only to be almost sucked out into the traffic lane by the pressure drop after each passing behemoth. Once again, my slight frame was no use as I just didn’t have the strength to continually muscle into the wind. Steve gradually pulled away and I was left battling into the wind alone.

On my commute, I ride on a busy highway with even bigger trucks rattling past – but here, for the first time, did I actually start to fear I might get hit by one. After only a mile or so of this madness I decided that it wasn’t worth the effort of riding to just to increase my chance of becoming a hood ornament for a big Kenworth; I got off and walked. After almost three thousand kilometres of riding, I was reduced to walking along a flat, straight highway – it still sounds outrageous. At least I found out the next day that I was trying to ride into an eighty kilometre per hour gale, that was gusting to a hundred and twenty!

I cut a pretty pathetic sight pushing my bike alongside the highway – which in itself was no mean feat and took all the strength and willpower I had to go on and not just give up and lie in the grass. Such a wretched figure I must have looked that three drivers at different times pulled up besides me offering to put my bike on the tray/trailer and drive me the last kilometres. I felt ridiculous having to turn such kind offers down. Then the rain blew in…

Putting a raincoat on in such conditions is remarkably difficult. After taking ninety minutes to mostly-push my bike eight flat kilometres (!), the road finally turned south. Now I only had a big crosswind to deal with – if you don’t know, frame-bags make very good sails. Tentatively I tried to get back on my bike; it was only after a few attempts at riding a few metres that it was actually worth it. But then a skinny, elevated rail bridge with no shoulder had me walking again. Finally, I could ride again; as the road approached Bluff it turned south-east. The struggle was over, I had survived; suddenly I had the wind at my back and was flying through town. With the last twenty kilometres taking over two hours, the toughest part and indeed my whole Tour Aotearoa was over! Such satisfaction.

There was no fanfare, or anything external really to mark my finish – just a sign post at the bottom of New Zealand that meant I’d ridden the length of the country. A month later (it sure has taken me a while to write this up) I’m not sure I can convey the wonderfulness of it all – what a great route, what a diverse and beautiful little country, what fantastic people I met along the way, what a lot of tasty food I ate and just generally: how good was that?!

Dad arrived a few minutes after I did after buying tea (due to the wind, I was somewhat later finishing than expected). Photos (above) taken, it was to the adjacent cafe to eat and drink. Somehow I managed to drink a pot of tea, a deserved porter (of the beer variety, not an actual porter) and a water concurrently – I think that was excusable after 3000 km in 16.1 days. That was two days quicker than I’d dared hope – wow, I can actually do these events and I’m pretty sure I could do them better. With two extra days up my sleeve, I had rebooked my flight home so I could rest at Mum & Dad’s before a more relaxed return home.