Gone by six, I was soon back on the Forgotten World Highway as an overcast day dawned. Having driven the FWH a few times, the scenery was nice but my breath was not taken as previously. There are a few small climbs, but also a lot of valley riding was pretty easy going. Unfortunately, for backcountry cycling, all but twelve kilometres of the road is sealed now; that part which is still gravel was in pretty horrible condition. A symptom of the unexpected number of logging trucks? Perhaps; it’s still surprising to me that I saw most logging trucks of the entire trip through these backblocks.

Hobbit Hole, the sign says; the tunnel on the FWH.

The road finds the old railway at Tahora (about 40 km into my day) and ran close to it for much of time until I turned off thirty-five kilometres later. The exception being the railway gets tunnels at far lower elevation than the saddles the road passes over.

Approaching Tahora Saddle – rails stay low.

The hotel wasn’t really open at nine-thirty, but they rustled up bacon and eggs for me nonetheless – supreme.

Reaching the last significant saddle heading west on the FWH, it was time to turn north and find some better gravel. My route stayed about five kilometres north of the main road heading for Stratford. My word, the hills, gravel backroads, farming scenes and views were especially noteworthy. Eventually, Taranaki came into view too; it was one of those rare clear days where at one particular spot I could see both Ruapehu and Taranaki, although not simultaneously – being between them and all.

Climbing from Matau over to Huiroa, I was pleased by the sudden appearance of a tunnel just when I was beginning to wonder how the road would get over the ever-steepening hillside. But I was surprised to meet a pedestrian just standing there; more so, when we found we worked at NZ Steel at the same time and previously only had one degree of separation. Unusually, I thought, he and his wife were staking out the tunnel to photograph logging trucks; I’d seen some evidence of recent felling, but no cartage on this road.

I rode through the tunnel doing my best impression of a logging truck…

…and got this photo for my efforts.

Down in sheep farming country now, I spotted a mob being driven up the road. In no rush, there was enough time to dive off down a driveway and seek shade from the quickly warming afternoon and let the flock pass without me troubling them. Shortly after, stopping for water at a farm house, I was not surprised to find the day had quickly climbed into the thirties.

Sometimes you get to see Taranaki.

Warming a bit much, the last little stretch into Stratford was a bit of a drag – but the cold, quiet and empty Subway was a good place to recharge and refuel. Pete got in touch, and we figured I’d complete the sixty kilometres around the southern side of the mountain to Cape Egmont to meet him in three hours. Planning this route, I knew this stretch of road wouldn’t be particularly fun – but it meant I’d ride around Taranaki, and it wasn’t a highway.

The views stayed, and on the busy route between Ohakune and Stratford I had to keep my wits about me. The road climbed gradually, by far the highest I’d been all day, but was lumpy as it did so – all those streams and rivers running off the slopes had to be crossed. Progressing, I turned more and more into the NWer. Nothing for it but to put my head down and ride; knowing I’d soon be dropping down to sea level was some consolation.

The Tasman Sea tantalisingly close and less traffic once I was off the route between towns.

Descending to the sea, I finally found out exactly where Parihaka is. The last section was a little longer than I expected, I met Pete just after six o’clock where I was welcomed with a large chocolate muffin – that certainly hit the spot. A bit of a break to savour traversing the North Island in bang-on two and a half days (~480 km, 8000 m of climbing), riding some fantastic trails and backroads for the first time – excellent weather helped, and even the westerly oriented winds weren’t too bad, generally.

So, that’s the heading-west side of the trip done.

Less than quarter of an hour later, there really wasn’t much else to do (the lighthouse was shut) but get on the bikes and start the journey to East Cape. We thought we’d get to New Plymouth for before dark. Back up the east-west roads I’d just descended wasn’t too bad; actually rather pleasant as they were quiet enough to enable much chatting and the wind was now helpful.

Climbing up to Carrington Rd, which would take us twenty-five kilometres right into the city, it loosely followed the 450 m contour line. A skinny, sealed road with a moss median strip it was often a tunnel of native forest. Sublime riding on that evening, one of the highlights of the day and an excellent way to start Pete’s North Island Traverse route.

Before nine we were being welcomed, with admittedly short notice, in to Jacqui and Dan’s home for much appreciated real food and beds. Quite pleased with my first day of well over two hundred kilometres for some time and not being particularly sore, sleep came easily.

A day utterly dominated by the North Island Main Trunk (NIMT). It started by the night being dominated so, at least half a dozen trains thundering past kept me from sustained sleep – but I was rested enough to have fed the school cat again, packed up and got riding before dawn.

Heading out of town, the road briefly followed the tracks – but they soon headed north as I went west.

Quiet country roads had the expected serving of climbs and descents as I warmed. Short, pleasant sections of gravel came, went, came again and eventually disappeared.

Turning north, I was heading straight for Ruapehu – it far closer than the previous day.

Crossing the rails again, I joined the service road that is listed as an alternative for riding on the highway. It started out mild enough, I enjoyed passing motor vehicles as they carefully negotiated the large potholes. At times ballast had subsided from the railway, making for some deep chunky gravel. Approaching halfway to Ohakune, it got worse: there was a deep, swift stream crossing I wasn’t keen on, so that forced me onto a narrow rail bridge; then the service road had been freshly laid with uncompacted gravel for kilometres. Eventually I tired of that and bailed through a farm to the highway – I suggest the service road is avoided on a bike.

In Ohakune for a big, long breakfast I managed to avoid the draw of all things carrot-themed. The Old Coach Road trail held a far stronger attraction. Based on the old coach road (rather obviously) that for some years in the early twentieth century linked the two unconnected ends of the NIMT, it had clearly been well built. Over a hundred years later, the stone laid to bench the track and weatherproof it was still obvious. Routing of railways being even more dependent than bike trails on making the best use of the topography, the interpretative panels were a fascinating study in history, geography, engineering and perseverance in trying conditions.

A more recent, straighter, viaduct built to cater for increased speed of new trains.

The old viaduct had been restored to allow human-powered passage.

I was surprised at just how short the trains were; I expect, and hope, there’s some technical reason for that.

The riding was most pleasant too, the green cover keeping the heat away.

Another closed viaduct.

This sign gets the day’s “bleedingly obvious” prize.

The northern trailhead deposits one in Horopito, home to a car wrecker’s yard since the forties it’s quite the juxtaposition with all the surrounds.

Another Ruapehu shot, this time with decaying transport relics.

One of the more well known of such establishments in NZ, it’s been used as a location for quintessential Kiwi films such as Smash Palace, Goodbye Pork Pie and Hunt for the Wilderpeople (not majestical, however).

Twenty kilometres of undulating highway took me north to National Park, a late lunch and resupply for the next eighty kilometres to Taumaranui. Alongside the NIMT line again, the tourist train (Auckland – Wellington) rolled past, I must do that trip one day.

For a change, Ngauruhoe

For the second time in the day, I was excited to get to ride for the first time a trail that I’ve known of for years – but never had occasion to explore. Fisher’s Track would, in quick fashion, drop through all the elevation I’d been gradually gaining over the day and much of the previous day’s too. A paper road through native bush and then scrubby farmland, it was also well formed and, in the dry weather, easy riding. After all the climbing, a fast and effortless way to cover twenty-five kilometres – even if I had to earn half of it back soon.

Seems legit.

Farming around here didn’t look particularly profitable.

Easy gravel riding down the Retaruke River valley took me to a decision point. I could retrace a gravel section I’d done on Tour Aotearoa or see what the alternative sealed option up to Owhango looked like.

First I paused at the Kaitieke war memorial.

Seeing new places won out over even gravel riding, so up Oio Rd it was. It started mildly enough, before kicking steeply to quickly give three hundred metres gain. After a day of middling temperature, a high smoke layer had helped, at five in the afternoon I was sweltering on that climb. The gloves were off, along with the helmet and skullcap. No need to stop at Owhango, it was straight into what I remember as an exceptionally long, hot and scenic climb on the TA. In this direction, I was looking forward to the drop to Taumaranui.

I’d conveniently forgotten the lumpiness at the top, and the little climb. But then it was mostly downhill, and still scenic – this time in evening light. Down Hikumutu Rd and through the village, the community swimming pool was tempting.

Crossing the Whanganui for the first time on this trip, I was once again taken with wonder pondering how this already large river makes such a long circuitous journey to the sea through so many hills with little elevation to lose. Finding dinner may have also taken a fair chunk of my attention. My favourite cafe from previous bikepacking trips was long since closed that day, but Thai cuisine was a nice change from the usual fare.

With an hour of daylight left, I still had riding time to spare – so I left the NIMT for the last time that day. While night riding is fine, one of the most important motivators for me on such trips is seeing things – that doesn’t happen so much following a small beam of light through the night. This end of the Forgotten World Highway being relatively flat, I assumed I had sufficient legs left to potter on into the fine evening. As dark gathered, I popped into the Ohinepane campsite – it was strangely busy, and also had quite a few mosquitos; I continued. Nearing ten, I found another country school and settled in for the night in the tiny vestibule of a small historic-listed building. The chief purpose of the room seemed to be to house the community’s AED and scores of spiders.

Off to sleep with no mosquitos for company, I was once again pleased with all the new things I’d seen, new trails and roads covered, good food and pulling the average up towards the two hundred kilometres per day that I was counting on to get home in time. Only the slightest of niggles appeared, but I’ve long since learnt generally something will hurt a little bit and it’ll move around.