Getting wind of Anton’s planned weekend away mountain biking some classic trails near Ruapehu, it wasn’t long before I’d signed up/invited myself along. It had been a very long time since I’d been on a mountain biking weekend away, but I was keen to ride some of these trails relatively unloaded and on a squishy bike for a change.

First up, thirteen of us piled into the shuttle to the start of the Bridge to Nowhere trail on a misty and wet morning. Thankfully the heavy rain overnight had ceased. In hindsight, there was plenty of time to have ridden the thirty-four kilometres from Raetihi to the trailhead and I’d have enjoyed that more than a stuffy bus – but I was trying to be at least a little social and fit in, already feeling like a curiosity for not carrying a pack, having small bags strapped to my bike and generally enthusing too much about riding far on a loaded bike.

This is different.

First up, an easy climb for half an hour; the surface was pleasingly good.

Sitting around 600 m altitude for a while, we passed the Kaiwhakauka junction – from here on, I’d ridden on the Tour Aotearoa five years before. This time I was not nearly as tired, or contemplating such a big day. At the Mangapurua Trig after an hour, it was all downhill more or less to the river.

The quarter of an hour dropping four hundred metres to the stream was the best riding of the weekend for me. Chasing and then leading Dan (a fellow ex-NZ Steel graduate who I’d not seen for over twelve years) down the slippery (papa mud is notorious) double track at speed just on the right side of control was excellent. Being much slighter than Dan, I had to work hard to keep up with his momentum; the whole descent was grin-inducing with only the occasional two wheel slides around some of the sharper corners. So. Much. Fun.

Regrouping at one of the small shelters, the misty drizzle set in. Continuing while chatting about bikepacking (again, eyeroll) to Dan we were just cruising. That is until we were passed and I realised we were wasting a good downhill. Unfortunately I timed picking my speed up with one of the big holes we had been warned about. I managed to avoid it, but fell in the process and was fortunate not to be run over. I got off lightly with only a bruised and scraped knee and a sore wrist – along with being somewhat covered in mud, now slower and with my ego taking a hit.

The trail seemed in excellent condition and rounding slips and bluffs was far less precarious than I remembered. We were at the Bridge in no time, close to an hour and a half before we were to meet the jet boat. Plenty of time to linger and appreciate the bush and remoteness; until the rain set in again, that is, and we moseyed down to the shelter above the landing.

Yup, to nowhere.

All loaded up for the forty minutes down the river, just missing something.

A few kayakers coming to join us at the landing for a bit.

Eventually we got on the boat…

The rain really set in and it could have been a miserable trip down to Pipiriki. But I was just warm and protected enough that I could still enjoy and appreciate the incredible Whanganui River and its dense surrounds – majestical. Alas, no photos worth sharing with so much water flying around.

Loading the bikes again, wet and muddy we did a number on the bus interior for the tortuous trip to the northern trailhead of the Old Coach Rd. Unloading at Horopito the northerly was very strong and strangely chilly – but once moving, it did blow us quickly along the open part of the trail before we entered the bush. Another excellent trail, and being the old road for horse drawn coaches between two railheads gradually converging to form the North Island Main Trunk, it was well made. Heading in this direction was definitely faster than bikepacking in the opposite one, so less time to savour it and read all the historical signs.

A few planks would do it?

Everyone, that I heard, rated the trail very highly and at only an hour of riding twas a great end to a day out in the elements. Mountain Kebabs downed in Ohakune, forty minutes took us back to Raetihi in fading light and then dark. Noting the propensity of mountain bikers to wear mostly black and not carry lights, I was happy to play lantern rouge at the back in my bright green top and with a couple of blinky lights. I did have to find another dinner at the only option in the village, so I must have done some work – but with only sixty kilometres and little climbing in the legs for the day, it can’t have been much. After the murky and atmospheric day through some remote sections of the North Island, it was a contented and subdued group at the house that night.

Sunday I was excited to return to the 42nd Traverse – the first big, backcountry ride I ever did way back in 2005 and when I met some good riding buddies. Well, it seemed a big, remote adventure back then when I was much less experienced, bikes were far less rideable and reliable, and there was a lot less trail beta out there. That first time it was a whole-day undertaking, but I returned three years later and found it only took two and a half hours with one other. I did remember big ruts and holes, and tough long climbs…

Starting at 900 m, the drizzle quickly had us very wet and muddy – but it was warm. Route finding was much easier – there are trail markers now, who’d have thought? We passed a few vehicles coming back from a morning hunt, the surface was very good. Gone were all the big obstacles; sure, it was damp and possibly slippery – but all easily rideable. An hour of gradual downhill and we were then able to rip down the steeper descent – nothing too wild and more good fun. The seven of us were of a similar pace all day so there was little waiting around, it worked well.

Food time at the halfway point, not the whole reason for a big smile – a good wee adventure in progress.

The only walking section of the whole route. Seeing this, jackets came off despite it still raining – it was that warm.

I’m unsurprised that the climbs weren’t nearly as bad as they seemed over a decade ago – I may be a bit more used to hills. Still eight hundred metres in forty-five kilometres is some climbing. I was just happy to be able to keep pedalling as my gear shifting was playing up; time to replace jockey wheels it turns out. The rain ceased and the afternoon started to clear and warm – in time for the climbing of course. The native forest was far denser and more impressive than I remembered; another fun little ride done as we overcame the wet, wheel-sucking gravel into Owhango.

Completing the vehicle shuffle, we loaded up, said our goodbyes and headed home. A very unusual weekend of biking for me – far more time and distance spent in transit between rides (only rode 110 km all up) than I am used to, I found it a bit weird. But never mind, it enabled riding of some excellent routes with a great crew. Thanks to Anton for an incredible job of organising the whole weekend and marshalling us all – no mean feat.

Finally got to see the mountains we’d been playing in the shadow of all weekend when we stopped in Taupo on the way home for an early dinner.

Strange seeing my under-utilised mountain bike lightly loaded – before it got filthy.