It was a much more leisurely start to the day than the previous one – slightly later and no screaming fire alarms helped. I’d made it to Springfield and had enjoyed that day so much, mostly due to McDonald Downs, and kept my bargain with myself – all thoughts of pulling out were gone, I was going to be able to complete this course. Today was the day to cross the Southern Alps and spend some time on the West Coast – an area of NZ notorious for excessive levels of rainfall (all the weather comes across the Tasman Sea and dumps there, leaving the east of the island rather dry).

For the first forty-five minutes a strong easterly helped me on my way, but heading up to Porters Pass my bearing changed slightly and the wind swirled through the mountain valleys. For not the last time in the day, the head and cross wind was horrendous; the road up to the pass was pretty steep too. I passed another breveter and then another passed me – Gary seemed pleased for the company and was much stronger on the road than I, I was happy to follow him up the hill as he mostly battled the wind.

After sheltering at the top for a snack, we crossed the pass and worked into the wind on the way down. Then the road turned more north and the wind swirled around to give another big tail wind. Eventually Gary was too fast for me, so I was back enjoying a beautiful morning in solitude. The wind continued to be hard work most of the time; I made myself take regular mini-breaks and tried to capture the expanse of the valley in a few photos.

The highlight of the morning’s riding was having to stop for road work at the top of a large hill after Craigieburn – the traffic having been reduced to one lane. I was at the front of the queue and eventually I was let loose down the hill – there is something thrilling about riding a loaded mountain-bike down hills at over seventy kilometres an hour, all the others on faster tyres and higher gears must have really been flying down here. It was sometime before the traffic passed me again.

Then things turned horrible again as the wind changed again for a good couple of hours about the time I reached Lake Pearson – I was glad I hadn’t made it that far the night before to camp, it would have been a restless night. With my speed again reduced to about half of what it would normally be on flat road, it was proper hard slow work. Just as I reached the Waimakariri crossing I caught up to Kirsty & Robyn – it was nice to have a little company for the gradual climb up to Arthurs Pass Village, which was more sheltered and much preferable to being out in the wind.

There was a small collection of Breveters at the store – time to have one of the best pies (I recommend the New York Peppered Steak) of the week and stock up on food for the coming day(s). The remaining climb up to the actual pass was nowhere near as bad as Porters Pass.

When asked to take a photo, I stupidly suggested holding bikes above heads without realising I’d have to do the same and the rear of my bike is very heavy.

So this photo looks a lot less strained.

The descent down to the west of the island was extremely steep – it was fast, fun and I was very pleased we’d not had to climb it. There was another little gathering at the closed-on-Tuesdays Jackson Pub before the route turned north-east from the highway and we had a pretty decent tailwind for a while on the flat. Rolling past dairy farms now, there was an extended stop at a roadside plum tree before a lengthy section on gravel roads through native bush – beautiful. I was lagging back enjoying the moment, riding so slowly I managed to snap some slightly wonky photos – admittedly, there are no giraffes, but they’re OK.

After stopping slightly shorter than my goal the day before, I thought I’d be able to manage to make up the difference as this day was all on the road (mostly sealed, some gravel). To Blackball was almost 190 km – easily my biggest day on a bike. As we rolled into Blackball at about eight o’clock, it was tempting to continue on to get the double century and camp at some clearing on the side of the road near the Grey River. But it was more tempting to sit down at the Blackball Hilton and enjoy the best meal I had all week – a large pork stir-fry with stacks of vegetables and rice, nothing deep-fried in sight, brilliant. I ended up staying the night.

I had hoped that a night in a hotel would bring a good night’s sleep. Alas, the heat and the highway traffic conspired against me – the old Hurunui Hotel was so hot I had not only my windows open, but the room door too (it was a rather empty hotel), which let all the noise in from the trucks. For some reason I thought getting up at five o’clock was prudent, as the only other Breveters (rhymes with purveyors we decided) staying in the hotel were.

It turned out to be a wise decision as shortly after either Kirsty or Robyn (I never asked) set off the fire alarm by burning the toast while making the breakfast that had been left out for us. Much hilarity ensued due to the ridiculousness of the situation (it took fifteen minutes for the woken-manager to work out how to turn it off). I hope it is a long time before an automated voice orders me to make my way to the nearest emergency exit again. I may have more permanent damage to my hearing from that fifteen minutes than from ten years working in industry. On a now-still and quiet morning, we hit the road while it was still dark.

As we headed for the hills, the sun rose behind us on the plains and the morning chill disappeared. By now I was riding by myself again and I could take my time as I entered McDonald Downs Station (I think this was the only bit of private land we went on during the event) and wound up, down and around many hills. Never too onerous, it was an absolutely magnificent stretch of riding with the early morning light on the drought-stricken hills and the smell of morning dew thick in air for miles and miles. I tried to take a few photos but it was one of those times where a camera could not come close to capturing all that my various senses were taking in. That ninety minutes still remains as one of the highlights of the week – I was well pleased that the organisers had somehow managed to arrange access to a place I doubt I’ll ever see again.

Being in such a remote place must do something to one’s sense of humour – apparently it’s 5000 km to nearby Greymouth, but only 3000 km to Sydney.

This particular Monday seemed a busy one for farmers (& apiarists – I saw quite a few) – here is one of the few traffic jams of sheep or cattle I got caught in, maybe they were all destocking due to the drought conditions.

Climbing up to Lees Pass we were back on the road and out of McDonald Downs – there was a section of about thirty kilometres mostly cruising down the road in Lees Valley before we turned off to take 4WD trail to the Wharfedale Track. The access trail climbed gradually with a fair few stream crossings near the end that weren’t rideable. It wasn’t far along the track to the Wharfedale Hut – which had a surprising amount of food left there by previous visitors.

I rested at the Wharfedale Hut for half an hour, mostly because I could, and snapped this shot – just to mirror the one I took seven and a half years ago.

Climbing up to the saddle, the sixteen kilometre section of track was pretty rugged due to frequent washouts – & not nearly as much fun with a loaded bike as it was with a full-suspension trail bike those years ago. One particular part of the track had washed out so much there was less than a foot of trail width to traverse a few metres above a five metre sheer bank. I shuffled across with my bike on the outside of the trail to come across Alistair – poor guy had just spent an hour getting himself, his bike and all his gear back up the bank after they all went down together! Finally the high point was attained and there was a bit of downhill to enjoy at the weather rolled in from the west – managed to not get wet, despite the ominous looking clouds banking up.

Back on roads of various states, it was a gravity & wind assisted ride into Sheffield – unfortunately the renowned pie shop was shut so late in the afternoon. Disappointed, I resolved to eat more pies later in the week. After a refreshment stop at the pub I turned into what was now a howling norwester. So strong was the wind, the flat ten kilometres out of Sheffield took me fifty minutes of constant futile-seeming effort, often trying to hide in the lee of the occasional shelter belt of trees.

Reaching Springfield I restocked on food at the gas station (finally got a pie) and, looking at the sky, contemplated my next move. After the slow progress on the Wharfedale and into the wind out of Sheffield and considering the black clouds rolling over the hills (where the course went next) I thought it a good idea to stay put for the night. Unfortunately the pub was closed on a Monday night (what?!), so it was a variety of gas station food for dinner – not as bad as it sounds – and I camped at the sheltered local domain and had a fantastic night’s sleep.

One can’t complain too much when you wake up in the wilderness with views like this:

I had a leisurely start to the day & managed to eat the rest of my dinner that I couldn’t the night before. The other two were off well before me, so I spent most of the morning riding solo. Back on the route, it was soon the turn off to the St James Cycleway – part of the NZ Cycle Trail. I’ve ridden a few of the easier trails that are part of the network further south recently, but this was a whole different level and was actually mountain-biking – it was incredible.

First up it was a decent 250 m climb on 4WD track up to Maling Pass, at just over 1300 m. The views looking down into the Waiau were more than worth it, and the very fun fast rocky descent to the valley floor was excellent.

From Maling Pass looking down to the Waiau.

This was definitely an intermediate grade trail down the valley – a lot of fun, but at times quite hard work with a loaded bike. Sometimes it was just following small paths across the grass on the river plains, at other times the purpose built trail had to climb a bit away from the valley floor – some of the pitches were so steep they required walking. At one stage the river valley narrowed to a steep-sided rocky gorge – so there were some wire swing bridges to cross, not always the easiest with a heavy bike and certain peril staring you in the face.

Most of the way down the valley, an ominous black cloud had been chasing me – thankfully it never broke completely, but the light rain that fell had a nice cooling effect as the day warmed up. It started to get pretty hot, & I made a point of drinking a lot – but still struggled to fight off a little nausea. After quite some time I finally caught up to some other riders – I think they’d had a much earlier start than I did. Turning east it was up over Charlies Saddle (more pushing) to go east up the Edwards River valley. That was manageable, but climbing out of that to Peters Pass was a solid fifteen minute push at gradients over twenty percent – hard work & I was starting to get a little fed up. At least there were a few other people around – some struggling like me, others depressingly riding a lot of it.

At the top of that climb the pass turned to an easy grade trail down to the St James Homestead. I cruised down that, wondering how much longer I would be able to go on, as the others all took off for Hamner Springs – which I was very much looking forward to seeing. The trail at ended at the homestead – it would be great to do it one day on an unloaded trail bike. Jacks Pass was a bit of a non-event, much to my relief, before a screaming 500 m drop down into the hot spring resort town of Hamner – it was nice to see civilisation again. I was so exhausted I spent about half an hour lying on the grass in the shade of big trees in the centre of town as the drizzle continued to fall. Back in phone coverage, I was able to pick up a couple of short encouraging messages that had been left, which did untold wonders for my spirits and determination to finish – I made a deal with myself that I’d complete this day & the next before making any rash decisions like pulling out or changing to the Brevette (which plenty of people had been doing).

With a bit of food, here I discovered the brilliance of salt & vinegar crisps (they’ve always been my favourite – but there restorative properties, mainly helping with salt levels, were new to me), and after a good rest I was ready for the fifty comparatively easy kilometres on highway to Hurunui. I took it easy, but being on the road my speed was well above the average for the rest of the day. At Culverden I came across a small group just setting off again after a coffee stop. Somehow I managed to hold on to the back of that group as Dan set off at quite some pace for the last fifteen kilometres to Hurunui (where I had planned to get to that night, at least). We stopped for a swim in the Huruni River and enjoyed the warmth of the late afternoon. With some good company, a swim and then the pub stop my Kiwi Brevet was back on track and saved – I was a happy camper again.

The event briefing over quite early we had a lot of time to kill before the ten o’clock start. Never really one keen to stand around and talk about bikes and compare set-ups, there was plenty of time to find a supermarket and get a second breakfast (the large one provided by my exceptional hosts, Shirley and Doug, had somehow faded from my stomach already) and do a little stretching. Eventually it was time to assemble.

Seymour Square – the night before, prior to be filled with bikepackers. No Cycling signs – what No Cycling signs?

We set off in a light drizzle that persisted for hours, but was never really that bad. After a bit of road west out of Blenheim, we crossed to the north bank of the Wairau and followed it upstream on a gravel road through a big forestry block. A few days later and we would not have made it through here as the forest caught fire and a lot of land was burnt through. The pace was pretty quick in the bunch of about a hundred (I think the split was about 70% 1150 km Brevet, 30% 750 km Brevette), much quicker than I would normally ride. Following a big wide river valley up, it was generally gently climbing up with the the odd steeper up or down.

It was all very pleasant with plenty of people to talk to, I tended not to stop at all – which was not a great idea. Crossing back over the river we had a short stretch of highway into a nasty headwind before turning south into the Rainbow Valley. This was more gravel road gently (mostly) going up the valley – it was grand & absolutely spectacular as the mountains got bigger and slowly closed in. The light rain stopped and I paid my two dollar toll to get past the gatekeeper in plenty of time. I started to feel a little peaky at this time, but took it slowly & kept going.

As we climbed to the saddle before descending to Sedgemere Shelter, I started to feel a bit better. As it was still well early, I couldn’t bring myself to stop after my planned 150 km for the day (doing around 150 km per day should get me back by Saturday afternoon – although I’d only ever ridden that far in a day once, I thought that was achievable over ten to twelve hours). So with a bit of food on board I carried on up to Island Saddle, the highest point on the course at a shade over 1350 m. By this time I was riding with Oliver, a cycle tourist from Somerset (of all places) and Dean from Dunedin. I did it pretty tough on the climb up to the saddle, but eventually we were there and it was a nice blast down the hill – we turned off route for a kilometre and all feeling pretty tired camped at Lake Tennyson the night.

I think I overdid it a bit that day with the initial pace, not eating & drinking enough on a long & hotter-than-it-seemed day and not stopping enough (only twenty minutes stopped in almost ten hours). I was exhausted and dehydrated to the extent that I couldn’t even keep a few mouthful of water down at one stage. Eventually I managed to eat about a quarter of the rather tasty freeze-dried Thai chicken stirfry I’d brought along before collapsing into bed for a night of sleep broken by some rain and some strong gusts of wind roaring off the lake. That’ll teach me for not sticking to my rather conservative plan.