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Long Labour Weekend Eastern Loop

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With a bit of unfinished business from not completing the Easter Eastern Loop, another shoulder-season long weekend seemed perfect opportunity to complete it. I had planned to do so in a few weeks’ time as part of the Mega Gravel Grind event, but find myself with insufficient leave. Pete decided to join me so far as Rotorua; meeting at work, we drove north to Wairoa, locked the car and left in search of supplies for the remote section the following day.

A pair of SIR9s ready to leave Wairoa.

Cloudier than expected, the threatened rain didn’t come to anything, and the southerly pushed us on our way north out of town and past Frasertown.

We followed the Wairoa River for an hour or so through sheep and beef country.

While a sealed road, with next to no traffic it was most pleasant and with a couple of climbs we made good progress to Tiniroto. I’d phoned the previous day and made sure the pub would be open. They stayed open just for us, even managing to rustle up homemade pies and hot chips. The community centre was even available for us to sleep in. That is how we found ourselves sleeping in a play centre adjoining a village hall.

The large hall looked perfect for a three-wheeled race circuit.

Sleeping quarters for the night; I could brush up on my ABCs and traffic awareness.

Quite cosy inside, we didn’t realise it was frosty until departing the following morning. Is it even worth keeping a pie tally? I had my fourth of the trip for breakfast.

Would stay again. The sun just starting to make it over the first-thing-of-the-day climb.

The three kilometre climb helped us warm up; losing more altitude than we’d gained did not. Extremities curled and numbed, our gloves and socks better suited to the weather that was forecast for the rest of the weekend – sunny, still and warm spring days.

Finally the sun hit us; generally not whizzing downhill helped alleviate the chill in our digits.

The familiar climbs and descents continued as we zigged and zagged east and west, slowly making northward progress through farmland – only stopping once to let a mob of steers be driven past us. It feels most rude to be out riding bikes and holding up people going about their work. I particularly enjoyed the Waikura valley back in April, this time was no different. What was different was the incredible number of kowhai in their bright yellow bloom. Quite used to seeing one or two of these native trees in flower, this was on a scale I had not seen before – fantastic.

Finally we were on a gravel road, and pleasingly it did not have the sustained patches of fresh, uncompacted drudgery and toil that I remember from Easter.

This view was as good as last time.

Switching to following the Hangaroa River for a while led to mild climbing, and then a bit more heading north to the next valley – the Wharekopae. We did spy one of those brilliant golf courses in the middle of nowhere – where the chief turf control experts are someone’s ably employed flock of sheep.

A brief stop at Rere School to have first-lunch and fill bottles plonked us on some seal to Rere Falls.

This was about the only place I saw multiple people last time; this time – not so much.

Past the Rere Rockslide, the road reverted to gravel and the climbing continued with only brief respite as we rose five hundred metres or so.

But with skies and views like this, the climbing was easy-going.

Crossing the watershed we joined the headwaters of the Motu, State Highway Two briefly, and then made it to Matawai to refuel and restock supplies.

Down the road a bit, Motu village had an open cafe! Just in time before closing for more ice cream and cold drinks.

Motu village sights

A fine forty minutes of climbing took us up the Motu road and over into the Bay of Plenty. Losing some of that height, we rolled down the road to the Pakihi Track trailhead. At five in the afternoon, we figured we could get out of twenty kilometres of singletrack through dense native forest before dark – that the first half was markedly downhill and the second half gradually down helped our estimation.

The trail was in perfect condition and we had much fun. Halfway down I learnt valuable lessons of what spares to take. Slashing the sidewall of my rear tyre over rather innocuous (or so they seemed) rocks, I couldn’t seal the tubeless up and it turns out the tubolito spare tube I was carrying was rubbish. Thankfully Pete was better prepared and borrowing one of his tubes, I didn’t have to face a ten kilometre walk out. Taking things a bit easier, we made it out with about an hour of daylight and twenty kilometres of easy roads to Opotoki remaining.

After filling our bellies at a popular local takeaway shop (it may have been the only one open in town), creature comforts proved too tempting and we found an old hotel that would let us store our bikes inside. My first two-hundred-plus kilometre day since Easter, it wasn’t overly difficult – Pete’s and my pace for such touring riding seems well matched.

Saturday morning got off to a good, if slower, start…

State Highway Two, again, took us west out of town showing off much of the Bay. Nice to see Whale Island from the other side to three weeks prior.

Pete had been told of a backroad alternative to Taneatua – it broke up what would have been eighty kilometres of flats very nicely. Up steeply through lifestyle blocks, the road turned to gravel as we entered forest and rode along a ridge, still climbing.

A potential bivy spot? Probably not. After brief stretches of pasture, we went back into the shade of native forest losing all our height to blast back to a short stretch of highway to Taneatua.

Time for a milkshake and a pie – this one pork and watercress (when in Taneatua…), voted best of the trip – beating off numerous competitors.

Nearing Awakeri, I couldn’t resist peeking in at a rally of old trucks. This one of significance because this company use to cart for us a bit when I was growing up, and was owned by parents of a primary school classmate. Strange the things one sees while bikepacking.

Off the stretch of well-built highway (judged mainly on the ample shoulder), we were finally back to hills – climbing to Manawahe on the road we’d descended three weeks earlier. Around the tops of Lakes Rotoma and Rotoehu there was some lovely native forest, a rugged four-wheel drive track and much gravel as production forests surrounded us. At the top of Maniatutu Road Pete continued on the course back to his home in Rotorua, while I diverted north to head to Te Puke.

Why is it only this year that I’ve notice cabbage trees in flower? They look so different to what I’m used to.

Back on the flats, with another pit stop for refuelling, it was only fifteen kilometres to ride in to Te Puke. It was a little odd to be riding into a town that was for so long home – yet one I’d never really ridden into before. A little annoyed that I spent so long there and didn’t explore more around the area on bike – as I was finding out, there were plenty of gravel roads and hills to seek out.

Lovely stay with one of my second-families, it must have been two years since I was last in town. One of the reasons for the diversion from the posted route was that I’d finally be able to ride some of the gravel roads that I knew were lurking above Te Puke and would connect me to Rotorua. It really was as simple as riding up my old street, past my primary school, past the house (I guess) I’ve lived in the longest and just keep on going.

Quickly the houses turned to orchard after orchard (mostly kiwifruit, but far more avocados than I remember). For half-seven on a Sunday morning, the road was ridiculously busy – orchard workers heading off for the start of the day.

This cute old hall stands at the end of a straight – for some reason I barely remember it, despite no doubt having passed it many times. Admittedly, it’s been restored – but not out of nothing.

A long gradual climb (of only a few percent) had me looking back over the coast and long-familiar landmarks. Ten kilometres up the road, I’d climbed enough that the orchards ended and pasture began – it gets too frosty up here for kiwifruit growing. The sou-wester I was riding right into was sapping my energy and my breakfast soon wore off; I was definitely underdone on supplies and I felt my mood slipping in the cool, cloudy and windy morning.

The gravel started and promptly deposited me in deserted native forest. Most pleasant Sunday morning riding out of the wind.

Out into the open again, the hills around Rotorua beckoned.

Pine forest clad the climb to the Rotorua-Tauranga highway, which was busy enough and this section has two deep gorges to whizz into and grovel out of. Leaving the highway before Lake Rotorua, I wanted to go somewhere new – in this case, Kaharoa which I’d never heard of. But with the sun coming out, the wind at my back and a slight descent – I thoroughly enjoyed rolling past. There was a bit of a climb out of the valley, before dropping all the way down to the lake and taking the road less-travelled back to the route.

Twenty kilometres took me into Rotorua, passing and being passed by a large contingent of roadies out for Sunday morning (they were surprisingly chatty and interested in the bikepacking weekend), led me to a pit-stop at Pete’s house. The bike got a new tyre to replace the slashed one and I was well-fed – thanks Pete!

The climb out of Rotorua to the south-east doesn’t seem like two hundred and fifty metres worth as the cycle path is so smooth and the wind is usually helpful – as it was this time.

Mt Tarawera just as I entered Rerewhakaaitu.

A glorious afternoon for riding, I made good time over the hundred kilometres to Murupara. The third time I’d covered some of these roads this year, things were rather familiar.

Clouds were starting to gather over the Ureweras as I rode the final straight into town.

Sunday evening of a long weekend, I wasn’t sure if I’d find places open to eat. Thankfully I did, but downtown was pretty dire – one of those places where everyone you meet warns you to lock up your bike. Still, all I met were friendly and, despite sticking out like a sore thumb, I had a most pleasant evening. Rooms weren’t much more than camping (for good reason), so with those clouds amassing I was soft and slept inside again.

Labour Day was a glorious day for the final hundred and sixty kilometres back to my car – another three-pie day, which is not really related to the glorious nature of the day. For the first few hours there was little traffic, and what traffic there was was local and very considerate. My third bikepacking trip across here, the hills came and went – my legs still felt good after three days of riding and I was thoroughly enjoying the surroundings, the climbing challenges and not having to nurse a painful knee.

This was one of quite a few marae I saw around here that are remarkably well turned out.

I only got chased by dogs once, and in a quite different spot to normal (Te Whaiti as opposed to Te Waiiti – actually, those look remarkably similar place names); but the dogs were chased away by a passing car. Ruatahuna now has a fancy new community centre (store, cafe, gas station, accommodation that I’d quite like to stay in, and so on). Unfortunately it’s all closed on Sundays and Mondays, so I just rested in the shade and ate. The closure did lead to the quote of the day, probably the trip, from a friendly local passing by: “Come back tomorrow and the community centre is open. You can get a coffee and a mean feed. Chur bro.”.

Predictably, the holiday traffic markedly increased in the afternoon and I was occasionally choked in dust. Still, the scenery through these parts is stunning.

Panekiri Bluff standing above Waikaremoana.

The undulations around the north of the lake rolled by and I grabbed some food and water at the store far earlier (two versus six o’clock) than I had at Easter. Three hours took me back to Wairoa; after the big descent from the lake, the rolling hills gradually wear thin. Well pleased to actually finish this loop, with a hundred kilometre addition, this time I took care to refuel plenty before the drive home. Seven hundred and forty kilometres in just less than four days – a good touring pace with sufficient hills. I’ll have to step it up a bit for the Mega GGG in ten days’ time (lack of leave and all…).





bikepacking, bikes, event, GPS, NZ

Classic Geyserland Gravel Grind 2018

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Coming up two years after I went on the first Geyserland Gravel Grind, I lined up with fifty-odd others for this year’s incarnation of the Classic. In the mean time, Erik and Peter’s hard work has led to a series of bikepacking routes and events starting and finishing in Rotorua. I’ve done most of them at least once and thoroughly enjoy them for exploring places so close to my childhood home and haunts, and for the opportunity to spend time riding and camping with likeminded people.

Only able to spare two days (for some reason I have little leave left), I biked into Rotorua Friday night – eager to take my new bikepacking bags on their first overnight outing. A few of us out-of-towners stayed at Pete’s the night before, as always I was well looked after and there was extensive bikepacking chat. Proper interesting to hear about organising various events, and general recent history of NZ bikepacking.

Saturday morning was a little bleak, but it was not cold or even particularly wet. We even managed to get to the start in plenty of time; Pete’s briefing done, and thoroughly jacket clad the assembled group lined up for a few photos.

I’m a little easier to spot here.

I’ve always enjoyed that these Geyserland event start off riding around the shore of Lake Rotorua, past geothermal flats and pools, breathing in that distinctive whiff of hydrogen sulphide that indicates I’m probably in Rotorua.

More difficult to pin point here.

A little bit of forest, some suburban streets and then we were heading north out of Rotorua on the main road. Memories of how things used to be flooding back – scores (hundreds, probably) of times I have travelled this road from my earliest years. Naturally, it’s so much better and engaging by bike.

The road crosses from following the shore of Lake Rotorua to that of Rotoiti – I could look across to the marae in which we stayed on my first bike tour, over twenty years ago. Come to think of it, the route of that tour rather resembled what I would ride this weekend. The main difference being the opposing direction and the longer distances I now ride.

One hour in surely wasn’t too early to stop at Okere Falls for a meal. After all, there were no more stores en route until the end of the day. A few others concurred, most headed off for the hike-a-bike – hopefully carrying more food than I was.

Fair to say it was worth stopping. A few pies may have also been consumed, and food bought for the rest of the day.

Refueled, I carried on alone up the highway. That may have been the only stretch all day I rode by myself. Onto Maniatutu Rd, the route passed the small road we used to drive down when I was wee to visit Dad’s cousin’s family at their bach (traditionally, a primitive Kiwi holiday house). I wonder if it is still there… I must check next week.

Looking across Rotoiti, probably my earliest power boat trips were here.

First gravel of the day, and the highest point (a whopping 360 m), down the apparently dead-end Lichtenstein Rd (curious name for a road in these parts). Huzzah, new roads! This first day of the Classic GGG was new (billed as an alternate route, no one took the original due to the reported heinous condition of the Okataina Walkway) and made possible by a local rider trying to find an alternative off-highway route between Rotorua and Tauranga.

Through pasture, there were still some stands of native bush to be seen.

A paper road through a long-neglected DOC reserve and some forestry joined two dead-end roads and provided the necessary link to keep cyclists off busy roads. As found, it was overgrown in parts but the bench of an old road was mostly there. A few weeks prior a working bee was organised and ninety (!) people turned up to make the route passable. Fantastic.

I caught up to others resting after a locked gate; I was pleased to now have a lighter bike and generally be carrying less weight on said bike. The only difficult part of this section was a steep little hike-a-bike up a recently cleared slope, with a half-lowered (thanks Pete!) fence to scramble over. Once back on the benched route, the going was easy and the clearing work had done wonders. Lovely to be riding through native forest, and the trail really was in good condition.

Out on to Ridge Road and we were greeted by a trail angel with food aplenty. Another good reason to stop and chat a bit more. A little riding down the ridge of Ridge Rd took us past dry stock farms and onto a big plunge down to almost-sea level. We started to pass the the shelter belts of kiwifruit orchards and the names of the roads were familiar to me as many schoolmates used to live on said roads.

To my surprise we were but a few kilometres from Paengaroa, I could easily divert and ride home in an hour – something I thoroughly plan to do next week.  Turning east and vaguely running parallel to the coast we dropped into and climbed out of the now wide valleys. Some farms, but plenty of orchards – the oh-so-familiar scents returning to fill my senses.

Turning around to look west – oh look, the Papamoa Hills and Mt Maunganui ever so close. But still further and from a different angle than I was used to.

Another impromptu gathering had formed at Pongakawa School (there was water to be had), much discussion of bike set-ups, route finding and many calories consumed.

Leaving the orchards behind, towards farms and forest. It was warmer than the sleeves suggest – someone had rather forgotten to replace their sunscreen.

A small group of us formed as we took this turn and that – somehow I became chief navigator. Which surprises after my recent efforts out of Libby. Turning away from the coast, on to Campbell Road, the gravel was back – splendid. Jonathan and I figured it was about time for an afternoon tea stop as we began to catch up to others. Eventually the middle of a long, deserted straight seemed reasonable. Camaraderie and more stories shared as we basked in the sun, stretching out our day of riding now that the weather was as good as the route.

A few little climbs later, we rejoined the original route on Pikowai Road for one last climb of note before the final twenty kilometres down to the coast and the beachside campground.

Murphy’s Holiday Camp is just lovely – tip-top facilities, right on the sand dunes, friendly staff. There I found many riders had already made camp, and more rolled in. I seemed to be the only one sleeping in a bivy bag, so had little to do but spend time on the beach, standing in the crashing surf as the cool water soaked my legs, admiring the view around the Bay of Plenty.

Whale Island, looking east.

Definitely a beachfront campground.

Most pretty hungry, fifty-odd riders rode into Matata and may have overwhelmed the two local fish and chip shops. So much food, most ate beside the lagoon as the sun dipped and the sky briefly coloured. A fantastic day of reacquainting with familiar faces and getting to know new ones. The riding was leisurely, but just plain lovely – I thoroughly enjoyed it, especially the slow pace giving me plenty of time to both appreciate new roads and wander pleasantly down memory lane. I fell asleep listening to the waves crash, pleased to be sheltered from the wind.

Sunday dawned wonderfully well, unfortunately I managed to sleep in and miss the sunrise. The long option for the day was only a hundred and twenty kilometres, but I’d already ridden it two years before. The short option was tempting just because it held a few kilometres of road my bike tyres are unacquainted with. But I couldn’t turn down the opportunity of more hills and more remote roads – the long option it was.

Not a bad breakfast spot.

For such a short day, I couldn’t work out why Pete, Wendy & I were some of the last to leave at seven-thirty. Still, we had the road completely to ourselves climbing instantly from the coastal highway. Completely pleasant riding up through farmland, so quiet we could comfortably ride side by side chatting all the way – most of the day was spent with Pete swapping riding stories, experiences and vague life thoughts and philosophies. We kept a steady pace and often caught up to others to chat a bit before carrying on.

Strangely, we didn’t turn right – but only because there was more gravel to be found, on a big descent to the Rangitaiki Plains.

Te Teko was the only resupply point on our route until the very end of the day; there were many bikes parked up outside, and the stock of hot pies was severely depleted. I’d remembered the previous evening that a good school friend lived in nearby Kawerau. Kelly kindly drove out to meet me for quarter of an hour or so in which we tried to cram three years of life, family and mutual-friend news; lovely – and reminded me of catching up with so many long-since seen friends on my Tour Aotearoa and other biking trips.

Just enough supplies stashed for the rest of the day, Pete and I set off again. No new roads still, but most agreeable climbing from sea level – a steady climb, it rolled past easily under clear skies (there must have been a bit of a tailwind, as it was easier riding than I remembered). Plenty of people to ride and chat with or stop and chat with is one of the beauties of such events where everyone is starting and ending in the same places each day.

The roads became even more recognisable as we approached Rerewhakaaitu – firstly because I’d ridden them in the opposite direction at Easter, and secondly, those first two cycle tours in the mid-nineties had spent a bit of time around here. An extended stop at the local school enabled lounging on grass under trees, coffee to be brewed (not for me) and water top-ups – all next to a classic NZ primary school dental clinic/murder house. I looked across the road to the community hall that those long ago tours stayed in, remembering fondly when one could ride up and down Mt Tarawera for the princely sum of two dollars.

Out on to the highway heading for Waiotapu, Pete selected the best sections of singletrack – in really good condition considering we were only just coming out of winter. More excessive snacking at the Benny Bee cafe before the last climb (didn’t really seem that we’d managed two thousand metres of climbing all day, that can’t be right) and hurtling down Waikite Hill to the hot pools, my car and the end of my GGG for 2018. Naturally, I thought I was due a nice long soak before the drive home.

A thoroughly enjoyable weekend riding with others, gaining new perspectives on an area so familiar to me. Pretty good weather too for late September. Bring on the Mega in November, and also the Eastern again (I hope to ride it independently next week).

Thanks to Jonathan for the first three photos and the two of me. Thanks also to Pete & Erik for another well-organised ride.

bikepacking, bikes, Canada, friends, GPS, travel

Day Twelve: Kimberley to Fernie, closing the loop

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Following the exhausting and biggest day of the trip, it was unfortunate that due to the flights I got booking so late, we had to cover the same distance again to get back to Fernie in time for me to pack my bike and get to Calgary airport the following day. There was some talk of friends coming and rescuing us if necessary – I don’t think either of us liked the principle of this option.

The first leg of the day was to Cranbrook and timing our departure correctly meant Katie could join us on her bike-commute. What a commute – thirty kilometres of sealed rail trail. Views, hills, traffic-free, peace; my commute is pretty good, half on pathway around the coast, but this one I was a little envious of. In summer at least, I suspect I’d prefer my ride to work in the winter!

Getting off the pathway to look over the embankment across the surrounding valley.

A crazy smooth rail trail, especially after Salmo, it was well good for bikepack chatting.

Saying farewell to Katie as we approached town, we headed off to a recommended cafe for second breakfast. And third breakfast. It was warming considerably by the time we headed out of town, stopping for the last gas station stock-up of the trip, and found another rail trail. This one wasn’t so much pavement, but smooth packed gravel. We took it easy in the shade. Eventually we had to join the highway for twenty minutes, despite our attempts to follow some singletrack that didn’t end up going the correct direction. Coincidentally, some motorcyclists, who made our acquaintance the previous morning in Nelson, roared past during that short stretch of highway riding.

A quiet rural road through plenty of fields with many quaint old North American barns took us to the settlement of Wardner and the Kootenay River. The highway had crossed the river, so it was proper quiet; Wardner was small, without services or any place that looked worth stopping for lunch (or fourth breakfast, as the case may have been). We attacked a steep climb instead, the road getting even more rural and turning to gravel. By now we’d left all traffic behind, found somewhere to lunch and continued climbing before a big downhill back to the river. Also, we were back to meeting other people touring on bikes – albeit hauling two or more times more stuff than we were. I finally got fed up with having to inflate my tubeless rear tyre twice, or more, daily and used the small bottle of sealant I’d been carrying all trip. It improved somewhat.

More gravel roads to whizz down; and yes, still trees to be seen.

Back on the seal for a bit, it was certainly hot enough as we approached the bridge across the Kootenay for our last ice cream stop of the route. Mid-afternoon and hot, we still had fifty generally uphill kilometres to go before starting the drive back towards Canmore. Still a steady pace, Gray Creek Pass’s effects may have slowed us a little. Huzzah, more gravel, sustained climbing; this trip just kept on delivering.

Crossing the highway that took us to the US border on the day we set-off, we were trying to get back to the quiet road that would take us alongside the Elk River back to Fernie. Alas, there was a very large sawmill on the connection; that meant a lot of unnerving heavy traffic on a wide, unsealed and noisy road. Not at all pleasant. While a road was marked around the outside of the mill, it was touch and go as to whether we’d be able to sneak around or get stopped and turned around. By this stage, the desire to get back to Fernie was strong and the thought of backtracking appealed none.

Unfortunately, my last photo of a fantastic trip appears to been a very poor one of a Canfor sawmill; ho hum.

We snuck through unchallenged and on the outskirts of Elko we rejoined our first day’s route and turned for Fernie. We repaid all that altitude lost initially with a gradual, and at times undulating, ascent back to town. A great effort (considering Megan’s dearth of distance biking in the previous year) to put our two longest days of the trip, in heat that we were getting used to, back to back to finish twelve days and nearly twelve hundred kilometres later.

It was a fantastic trip and would have been so if planned months in advance – Megan certainly put a great route together. That I started riding in the heat of North American summer less than a week after being invited while skiing in the south of a New Zealand winter, made the adventure all the more incredible. A bikepacking expedition to be remembered for: trees, long gravel climbs, the heat, cheese, frozen burritos, ice creams, snap peas, shortbread, misplaced electrolytes, bears, eagles, ospreys, an owl, deer, chipmunks, ground squirrels, smoke, moose, picnic tables, mochas, amazing crepes, huckleberries, heinous-rail-trail and I’ve probably gone on enough…

Thanks to Megan for all the organising, excellent route-finding, having me along for a thoroughly enjoyable ride, putting up with my diversions (mostly food-based, but also navigational), and also for all the photos of me that I’ve purloined.

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bikepacking, bikes, Canada, friends, GPS, travel

Day Eleven: Nelson to Kimberley

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Blasting down the hills of Nelson early Sunday morning, we couldn’t really tell what the day was like – it was so shrouded in smoke even at that hour. We found a lovely and popular cafe while waiting for the grocery store to open, then stocked up on food. Leaving Nelson, we crossed the west arm of Kootenay Lake on BOB – the big orange bridge.

The sun trying to break through the haze.

Not making a lot of headway through the particulates.

Heading east for the ferry from Balfour across the lake proper, we had thirty kilometres or so to go to meet our preferred sailing at nine fifty. An undulating road beside the lake had us going at a steady pace, while trying not to let our respiratory systems get too irritated – we made it comfortably to scoot in front of the motor vehicles.

For a free ferry, it was much larger than I expected – fitting a surprising number of vehicles, large and small, on and finding room for two bikepackers too.

Disembarking, we let all the vehicles pass before attempting our first hill of the day. A mere hundred and fifty metres, it was hardly even a warm up for what was to come. Not that that preventing us stopping for a tasty food stop – it would be sometime before we saw a shop again that day.

Back on the BC Epic route for much of the day, it was eminently preferable to the horror of the (/a) rail trail near Salmo the previous day.  We left the lake at Gray Creek and headed up, up and up some more.

A gravel road in generally good condition, this consistent climb was just wonderful. Climbing fifteen hundred metres from the lake, it wound its way up with fewer switchbacks than I would have suspected. Even with wildfire smoke obscured vistas, it was a beautiful climb as we focused on less distant views. Averaging out at nine percent gradient, it didn’t seem too bad as we kept a steady pace – with frequent stops to snack or chat to the occupants of the occasional vehicle out exploring.

Up and up.

Slowly getting closer to the pass, which was under the left of that peak.

Three and a quarter hours later, having ridden seventeen kilometres, we were well pleased to crest the pass. I’m sure that’s one of the biggest climbs I’ve done on a bike – loaded or not. We may have celebrated with frozen burritos. After a bit of a rest at the top (a shade over 2000 m above sea level), the much anticipated descent was upon us. First impressions: it was cold. For the first time in the trip, all our layers went on – and still we had chilly digits.

Yet we had exorbitant amounts of fun hollering our way down the long hill. The surface was sublime; generally sound and smooth, there was enough variety to really encourage moving around on the bike, blasting around corners, and hitting enough bumps and rocks to get modest, but still exhilarating, amounts of air.

A.

Complete.

Blast.

We may have thoroughly enjoyed ourselves… Well, I certainly did!

Megan setting the dust flying behind her.

Occasionally we slowed and stopped to appreciate the beauty around us.

The valley widened and flattened out, the surface getting oddly sandy – but not too difficult to ride on. Speed helped!

Enjoying the last of the fantastic gravel excursion in the late-afternoon light/haze.

Getting close to being back on the seal, we were surprised to ride out of a fire closure – very good timing, the area wasn’t closed when we rode in. Unfortunately extensive wildfires ravaged the area surrounding Kimberley in the coming weeks. Suddenly, a bear! The second sighting of the trip. I say that like it was exciting, but thankfully nothing of note happened – it ambled across the road and took off up into the trees.

Back on the pavement, despite our biggest distance and climbing day by far in the trip, Megan had excessive energy left and put the hammer down all the way into Kimberley, some twenty or thirty kilometres. I struggled to keep up after such a long day; I’d blame the gearing on my bike, but even I’m not buying that. We found Katie’s place as the sky darkened (due to approaching night, not smoke) and, exhausted, gratefully accepted kind hospitality. Always nice to meet bikepackers, I especially enjoyed the NZ bikepacking chat.

This was by far our biggest day of the trip in distance, climbing and time – but probably not quite as tough as the extended hike-a-bike dropping down to Idaho in the heat. A great day and another one to remember.