Vague route plans are easily changed with little reservation. I had thought I’d complete my loop to Waikouaiti over four days, but as best-sister Adele started to talk about joining me on Saturday I had to rethink things. I was adamant that I wanted to ride the Old Dunstan Trail, as it was the reason I put this loop together – the seed of the idea planted in my mind three years early on a 4WD trip up the Rock and Pillars. For logistical ease, this meant I had to slow down and only get so far as Alexandra on Friday to meet Adele that evening.

Going up the Cardrona Valley and then riding the Roaring Meg trail before going over Hawksburn Road from Bannockburn to Clyde did mean that it would be a full enough day. Until, that is, I saw some fine print on the route description that specified a short section of that trail crossed private land and was no longer open to bikes. Damn. At least I found that out before having to turn around.

A leisurely start and then an easy fifty-odd kilometres on the highway was rather pleasant. I’ve driven this road enough that it wasn’t particularly interesting, so I put my head down and rode – pleasingly all the big trucks were still on holiday. In Cromwell I didn’t even need to buy food, I’d stocked up enough the night before. Seeking shade in some lovely rose gardens I pulled out another wheel of cheese. Let it be known that this was the trip that I discovered that stashing whole wheels of soft cheeses in one’s frame bag is fantastic fuel – especially as they get softer and gooier throughout the day.

Crossing the Kawarau, suddenly there was finally some climbing, a decent pitch up to Bannockburn. Damn, I was a day early for the Bannockburn Classic – an event I rode eleven years prior. I contemplated sticking around for the day and riding it on my loaded bike – there’s a chance I’d have been faster this time around. South of town I eyed the turn-off to the Nevis, which would have in short distance had me 800 m higher. Knowing that I had big plans for the following day, I erred on the side of caution and turned instead onto Hawksburn Road to climb steadily through another sheep station.

Numerous old farm buildings were passed during this little loop – looking back towards Bannockburn, somewhere there.

Enjoying the varying shades of brown on the hills, the surface was good as I ambled on.

I spied fresh bike tracks in the gravel. Were they yesterday’s or this morning’s? They looked fresh enough that I might be sharing the road with these people. Five sets of tracks I figured belonged to just one group – four conned into this route by one mad friend seemed more likely than multiple groups of the similarly deranged. Reaching 500 m before dropping suddenly to cross Bannock Burn, the climbing quickly resumed to get close to Hawks Burn.

This proved to be a false summit, but it was a good place for a photo – really, I just wanted more cheese.

From this point I could see my quarry struggling up a steep slope in the distance – there were indeed five of them. Would I catch them? I figured so, it was likely at least one of them was slower than me. Just before Hawksburn Station, and Hawks Burn itself, the public access turned hard left and the surface deteriorated markedly as the gradient stepped up a notch or two.

Not so safe for signs either. This bit climbed up to the pylon service road, which I would follow up, along, and finally down to the Clutha River.

Looking back over the road just traveled to the Old Woman Range.

The service road was not quite as steep, especially compared to Thomson Gorge Road, and adequately surfaced; with steady progress towards the high point I did eventually catch up to the five and stopped for a chat. Considering some of the group had thirty years on me I didn’t feel particularly fast – although, I suspect they were the fast, strong ones in the group.

Blasting down sustained rocky, bumpy downhills is not best for bottle cages carrying over a kilogram of water – at least the strange rattling noise was not something more important. With a few cable ties and velcro straps I was moving again sans errant noise. Along Cairnmuir Flats I was soon presented with expansive views as the Cairnmuirs dropped off suddenly to Clutha River.

Clyde on the left, the Clutha, Alexandra in front of the Raggedy Range (them again) and Knobby Range (in the background, left and right respectively).

The Clyde Dam, with the Dunstan Mountains behind – I was up there the previous day.

The service road plummeted four hundred metres quick smart and I had to rein in my heavy bike to keep control. There was quite a network of singletrack beside the road that looked such fun, I had a little play but never strayed too far from the road. Suddenly I was in Clyde, buying a pie and enjoying lunch in the shade. After which I rode the rail trail the short distance to Alexandra and napped in the shade – I was well early.

Spotted at the supermarket (I was replenishing cheese stocks); I have no words.

I was more enamored with this bike rack.

The easiest day of this little trip delivered new sights, quality riding and a fun evening with family and friends – quality day. Oh, did I mention the cheese?

Surprised to wake so cold in the hut (admittedly it’s still got a tarpaulin for a back wall), a leisurely start to a bluebird day had me on the road out of Naseby before seven. I found out later it had dropped to a summery 5ºC that morning. Soon I was making my way on forestry roads to the Otago Central Rail Trail. Nary a soul about, I just had the landscape to share with rabbits. Hundreds of rabbits; I saw more evidence of pest control in a few short backcountry kilometres last weekend than here, disappointing.

The pace picked up when I hit the easy gradient of the ever popular rail trail. Ever popular after nine-thirty in the morning that is, I didn’t pass a rider on the trail before then. It was a little surreal riding such a popular route in the height of summer, in beautiful weather and there being no-one about. Unlike my previous time on the trail there was no howling nor-wester to battle against with nowhere to hide. The conditions were glorious.

The sheep seemed surprised to see a cyclist so early in the day.

Always gentle gradients and smooth surfaces on the Rail Trail.

Rescuing an errant and adorable small lost dog achieved, I left the rail trail at Omakau. But not before stopping for breakfast/brunch/first lunch/whatever at the bakery. Scrumptious venison and mushroom pie anyone? I stashed an equally large bacon and egg example for second lunch and headed for Thomson Gorge Road. Up Racecourse Road again, it heads north out of town and ascends slightly before I hit the gravel and the first gates of the next few hours. Leaving the plains, this predictably happened:

With the sun now high in the sky, the sudden fifteen percent gradient soon had me in my easiest gear.

I came close to running out of gears – a rare event indeed, even on a loaded bike, when one has so many. With no traffic, the gradient and the sun beating down on me, the playlist of current favourites encouraged me up the climb. It was worth stopping to admire the view occasionally, not a tough decision to make. Nearing the end of the steepest part I came across the only vehicle I saw on the road – daytrippers from Cromwell. There were frequent stops to open and close gates that broke up the forward and upward progression.

Looking east towards the Hawkdun Range

Out over Omakau to the nicely named Raggedy Range. Although from this distance, I taken umbrage with the name.

Views of the bottom of Thomson Gorge were elusive, but I was happy with what I did see.

Nearing the crest, I stopped to admire the flowers. The bees on the forage for borage took rather a liking to my bright blue shirt; I escaped unscathed.

That crest naturally was not the top; the road dropped, I stopped for more gates and passed a group of five on bikes climbing. Even without a load, they were not making it look easy. I kept admiring the scenery as the climbing resumed. Just breaking the thousand metre mark, I was beginning to think that surely I would descend soon – the Lindis River was getting closer on the GPS. Rounding a corner I tried to convince myself that I would not be climbing/pushing up this, it was far steeper than anything I’d ridden earlier:

Turns out I can at least interpret a line on a GPS a little bit, and I could rest knowing I was at the top – and tuck into that pie. Two hours of ascent provided a screaming thirty minutes of descent – such fun. Especially as I managed to slow enough not to attempt ploughing through gates.

Part way down and there’s still a little snow on the Pisas – beyond them, Wanaka.

Stopping to phone family friends, I decided to head to Wanaka to catch up with them and stay the night – hoping to ride up the Cardrona Valley & onto Roaring Meg the following day. The fifty kilometres were a pretty even mix of corrugated gravel, holiday-busy highway (no trucks at least) and the Newcastle Trail beside the Clutha. It is odd when on a loaded bike passing, in opposing directions, on lovely singletrack mountain-bikers out for a fast ride. Wanaka was heaving with holidaymakers, I was pleased not to have to find a spot to bivy. Following the trail around the shore, I could not believe how low the lake was. No wonder there had been mutterings about low hydro levels at work, and therefore increased power prices.

Another great day – this time on a road I recently didn’t know existed and had picked off the map as looking a good connector. Certainly was, the right level of challenge for my little post-Christmas escape. Solitude was bliss, help with the dozens of gates would have been useful but.

Having completely surprised my family with the return for Christmas, I didn’t think they’d mind too much if I went off on a short bikepacking trip for part of the two weeks I was down south. That’s what I told myself anyway, as the prospect of a fortnight off work with no adventure was not appealing. The previous year (and in fact that year) we’d made a Boxing Day trip to Naseby and I watched from the car as we passed a few bikepackers struggling up Danseys Pass in the sun. I determined to return on my bike.

Knowing that there was a hot tub and a mostly-built hut waiting at the end of the day gave even more to look forward to as I planned the trip. It’s quite easy to put bikepacking loops of varying degrees of length and difficulty together in Central Otago; I worked some easy riding amongst more challenging sections into the loop I planned to get from Oamaru to my parents’ house over a few days (I thought four). Pleasingly, I could link favourite bits I’d previously ridden with sections I’d been wanting to ride for years to form an interesting route.

With Adele & James’s house completely emptying after Christmas, I had ample time on an overcast Wednesday morning to unpack, assemble and load my bike. With a quick stop to buy supplies, I was rolling out of Oamaru on familiar trail – the Alps2Ocean, albeit in reverse to the normal direction. A bit of a throwback to the previous post-Christmas adventure – Alps2Ocean in two and a half days with my family. First pie was consumed shortly after in Weston before enjoying the rolling scenery of the Wairareka Valley.

Which may have included a little bit of industrial scenery.

And farms, there are many farms. I was steadily ascending a gentle climb towards the horizon at the left of this shot.

Some were making slower progress than others.

Dropping off here to the valley floor, I left the Alps2Ocean route and headed for Tokarahi. From this point, the rest of my riding for the day was on road.

After the village I spied a loaded cycle-tourer ahead. With my lightly packed bike it was not long until I overhauled the guy, Guy, from Dunedin. It was fun to have a companion for a while and as the traffic was so light, we could easily chat – a lot of bike touring stories, naturally.

Alas, shortly after this point the hills got steeper – my distinct weight advantage had me riding off into the distance.

Thoroughly enjoying the quiet gravel road, winding, climbing, and dropping the riding conditions were perfect – slightly overcast, warm but not hot, and with little wind. I distinctly remember being impressed by the very same scenes that grabbed my attention on previous drives over the pass. It’s even better on a bike as you’re out in the open and it’s so much easier to pause and soak it all in.

The south eastern extent of the Oteake Conservation Park – I really should spend more time bikepacking around here, there is some great country and a network of small, basic huts.

I’m slowly learning to travel lighter. Finally I had ditched the tent, borrowing Adele’s bivy bag to trial the concept. Verdict: absolutely fantastic having less on the handlebars, but still having shelter should one need it. Next bikepacking purchase…

Reaching the pass, a shade over 900 m elevation, it was a lovely descent following Kye Burn.

Stopping at the Danseys Pass pub, I was too early for the kitchen to satisfy my hunger – I’d have to try my luck in Naseby. The decline of the once favoured Royal Hotel had been the subject of much discussion recently in our family. Crossing the Kye Burn for the last time, it was easy to think I’d done all the hard work. But the road got busier, and climbed to Naseby into a wind determined to slow me down.

Big wheels rolling down the track into town, I tried my luck at the Ancient Briton. The delicious rump steak had been earned and sitting in the beer garden with the sun still in the sky was very pleasant indeed. There had been a mountain-bike race on the local trails earlier in the day, so there were plenty of people around. I enjoyed a rather long bikepacking chat with a pro 24 hour racer before heading off.

The water in the hot tub (luxury!) was still warm from the Boxing Day visit, I lit the burner to send it back up to 40ºC while I busied myself finding space for my bed on the hut floor. I got distracted enjoying the sun dropping towards the pond down the hill. A soak for the muscles after an afternoon’s riding was just bliss; much time staring up through the canopy at large birds lazily circling overhead seemed quite the way to finish a thoroughly enjoyable day. Danseys Pass – well worth the ride; it opens up a lot of excellent bikepacking territory.

No bivy bag for me that night.