Category Archives: family

bikes, family, GPS, MTB, NZ

Buster Hut and over to Danseys Road

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In Naseby after a lovely family Christmas, Adele was keen to take our visitors from afar (well, Sydney) up to Buster Hut to show off some of her and James’s local playground. Driving up the same track that we skied up in July in the new pick-up may have also been part of the attraction. Alas, there were six of us and only five seats; it didn’t take long to spot a good opportunity to bike up. I soon found a different route down to make a decent fifty-odd kilometre unsealed loop.

Leaving home a bit later than intended, I still hoped to reach Buster Diggings just before lunch was driven up to me – spoilt! About ten kilometres of fords, gravel climbs and descents in beating sunshine got me to the huts where the track really starts to climb. A family in a Prado played leap-frog with me a bit, they were strangely, and ego-boostingly, astounded that anyone would bike up the road, let alone the track to the diggings.

The gravel road in, and the track up to the diggings on the left, Mt Kyeburn on the far right.

Five kilometres of chunky 4WD track at an average of twelve percent was the toughest climb I’d done in a long time. Great training and I loved it. The views back over the Maniototo Valley opened up. My tyres were a bit underdone for the terrain, better suited to gravel roads, but they mostly held on – there was only one short stretch I couldn’t ride. On such a glorious morning in peak holiday season I was not surprised a few side-by-sides, two-wheelers and other vehicles passed me.

Looking back only a little way up, the Rock and Pillar Range in the distance.

That climb taking an hour, things leveled out, more vehicles passed me and I reached the stark former gold-diggings. Barren and white, I’ve visited a few times now – so with motorbikes zipping around, I continued to Buster Hut to await my family.

I contemplated the ride up here, knowing what the ski was like.

Rather a cute little hut; waiting, I tidied the hut a little, soaked in the sun and view and took photos of my bike posing.

Only an hour and a half after leaving home, my family arrived far more shaken up, but considerably cooler, than I had been. We had a lovely lunch in front of the hut (thanks Adele for the food delivery!). The rest of the ride wasn’t going to ride itself, well nourished I set off again.

This is fairly representative of much of the remaining trail up – a bit different with no snow!

Even with plenty of photo stops, it was less than an hour more climbing as clouds rolled in and cooled things a bit.

West over Oteake Conservation Park – plenty more tracks to explore.

Looking over the Maniototo again, the track I’d come up and Buster Diggings on the right.

Climbing, climbing…

Almost there, the track I would follow down can just be seen curling away to the left at the bottom of the scree.

The long since dug diggings a more obvious scar on the tussock slopes from up here.

Bike needed another breather.

Looking over to St Mary’s Range and time to descend!

It was a steep descent, but it seemed a bulldozer had recently been up and back down – it was well graded, but still steep and rocky. Dropping nine hundred metres in only seven kilometres, my wrists and forearms would have preferred some suspension on the front of my bike. Taking a bit of a battering was at least a good excuse to stop and admire every new view as each bend served them up.

The track dropping away from me to cross the Kyeburn and meet Dansey’s Pass Road.

Glimpses of the Pacific could just be made out.

Finally down to the Kyeburn.

This crossing I couldn’t keep my feet from being anything but soaked. So why not just stand in the rushing water for a while admiring things?

I joined the gravel road and rode home, noting a small campground that might be useful next week, drawing a few stares as I rolled past the pub patrons and, for the first time, stopping at the Kyeburn cemetery absorbing the history and a rather tragic tale involving young brothers and avalanches. Turning into the wind that had warmed me all day, I slowed sufficiently to reflect on a satisfying day out up and down hills – good to be back on the bike. Once again, what an area – I look forward to more exploration in Central Otago. Thankfully, I don’t have to wait long.

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.

bikes, city, family, friends, GPS, NZ, travel

Dan Loops of New Plymouth

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Saturday dawned a cracker and we were out on bikes for the day as Dan gave us a tiki tour of New Plymouth comprising loops of various sizes. First up was some nice rooty track through suburban native forest before joining one of the many pathways that follow the lower reaches of various waterways flowing to the Tasman. Beside one of these were two large rope swings strung up in trees on the back of someone’s property.

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.

A lovely day, the pathway was chocka with people out walking, riding and running. Fantastic to see, it reminded me of home.

Passing the port, we rode up towards the base of Paritutu Rock.

A super steep climb up above the coast, bikes were left behind as we scrambled up. Staircases took us about halfway and then chains were strung down the face to aid climbing. Once again, plenty of people were out enjoying the sun.

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.

The walk down was tough in MTB shoes and torture on my legs – which were starting to ache after the previous day’s descent off the mountain.

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.

Looping back up beside another stream we came across a smattering of shops – definitely time for lunch. Dumplings were procured and we found a picnic table on the shore to eat, literally, scores of the tasty morsels.

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.

We continued west with ample distractions to look at – and still numerous people to avoid banging into.

This striking bridge is even more so when the mountain behind us is not shrouded in cloud.

Heading home we found a bakery for more treats and yet another pathway beside a river to get us most of the way back. An altogether lovely day out in a very pleasant little city; good weather, food and company sure helps too. It’s a pity New Plymouth is five and a half hours’ drive away.