Until a day or so before, I wasn’t certain I’d be able to join in on Pete’s proposed Eastern Gravel Grind over Easter. A significant milestone in what has been over two years of work for me was April 4 – the deadline for submitting our MHF Safety Case. This date was just after Easter – would we get it all together in time so I could go and ride my bike for six hundred kilometres over three days? Somehow, we got the three hundred-odd pages assembled, printed and bound before Easter – I could go ride bikes and explore new places with others!

Perhaps riding the Timber Trail in both directions the previous day was not the best preparation; somehow I managed to get my bike, gear and self together to roll out with Pete, Leonie and Craig at six in the morning. Still pitch black at that time, the clocks due to roll back to standard time that night, we made good progress on the cycle trail south-east out of Rotorua. With yesterday’s miles in my legs and a increasingly sore knee, I was happier to chat a bit about bikepacking events we’d done, planned to do and so on.

Around Rerewhakaaitu, I was really slipping behind. The others were all a little faster and stronger than me on last year’s Mega Grind, so this wasn’t surprising – such discomfort however was much less usual. Finally I worked out that my seat was too low – both on my MTB on the Timber Trail, and now my bikepacking bike; most unusual, I long ago learnt the lesson of correct seat height. Tiredness. I sorted that out, but found I had to take it a bit slower and favour my left knee.

Having looked forward to the company, it was a little disheartening to find myself having to take things a bit slower and solo – but it was to be a big day, so no point in blowing up early on. I was hopeful I could still manage 250 km that day, through a pretty remote area. A couple of randonneurs, Chris and Phil (they were following a very similar route for Easter, just with fewer gravel and off-road sections), caught up to me and chatted a bit as we rolled on smooth gravel towards Murupara.

Over ninety kilometres in four and a half hours was a bit beyond my usual pace, so I was pleased to reach Murupara and refuel. The others were just finishing up a big meal, so I ordered and waited for mine as they carried on towards Waikaremoana.

Not bad for second breakfast and fifteen dollars.

Knowing I’d be slow and uncertain just how my knee would do, I didn’t hang around. I was looking forward to riding the Waikaremoana road again, two years since the last trip through – this time in the opposite direction over two, not one, days.

This place looked pretty much the same.

The bottom two lines here being the important one as I left the plateau and headed for the hills and native bush.

Occasionally it would get warm on what was a wonderful day for riding: mild and next to no wind. For the middle of a long weekend, there was little traffic and I found I could get up the hills OK – albeit in easier gears than I normally would, and therefore a bit slower.

Keeping stops to a minimum it was a little while before Chris and Phil caught me again. Chris and I groveled up the first notable climb together, Phil always slightly ahead. I lost them as they sped off on the descents. Through Ruatahuna I passed them as they stopped for water; I made my way up the biggest climb of the day steadily.

There was a fair bit of bush around

Huzzah! Gravel.

Still trying not to stop too much for photos, there are few. But: bike! gravel!

A big plummet to the lake ensued. So much fun. Not to mention nice give the legs a bit of a break. I think the highlight was passing a slow campervan on the outside of a bend. Almost reaching the lake, the road doesn’t quite make it – necessitating more climbing around bluffs. It was windy up there.

Panekire Bluffs across Waikaremoana

Spot the cyclist.

Departing Murupara, Pete had told me that the store at the lake closes at six o’clock and they’d wait for me there. They must have been there a while, as at ten to six they were waiting at the top of the road down to the store to let me know it would stay open for me and I should stock up as it was some time to the next resupply point. The bubbly storekeeper was only too happy to help and I stocked up on Maketu pies, tuna, bier sticks and jerky – much of that I was very happy to have bought over the next thirty-six hours.

Just a little more climbing as the road rose up to trace around, and above, the lake for the last time and at about seven o’clock I pulled on my jacket for the plunge down to lose five hundred metres in the twilight. Great fun. That just left forty kilometres of undulating valley floor riding in the dark to find the others in Frasertown. Goodness knows how much later I was, but I found the camping spot and settled in for what would prove to be a sleepless night for all. While not overly pleased with a sore knee and tired legs, I was still pleased with getting through a 250 km day with plenty of climbing and learning how to manage the pain. That I could hardly walk when off the bike was a different story.

The consensus was none of us slept that night, a mixture of unceasing dog barking, and either of, mutually exclusive, howling wind or mosquito attacks. The others left before five, but I dithered a little. By the time I departed, stopped to put on rain trousers and promptly remove them when the heavy shower passed, it was half-five. This day was the reason I was so keen to come on this trip – places I’d never been, exploring, discovery! Fantastico. With the clocks going back, the day dawned soon – but the layer of cloud kept things gloomy.

Through rural scenes it was mostly valley floor riding with a couple of climbs to Tiniroto. The highlight of the morning was a lively conversation with a young farming family riding together on a quad bike alongside the road between house and shed – the parents friendly and interested in where I was going, the kids excited apparently by a crazy loaded cyclist. Due to a local hunt day (it seemed every second vehicle, there were not many, had a stag’s head on the tray) the Tiniroto pub was open early – which was just as well as it was the only place to buy food. The others left, as I arrived to settle into scrambled eggs, a big pot (rather a milk jug, until the pot was found) of tea and stash some lunch to go.

Leaving the valley floor after riding under these bluffs.

Apparently Tiniroto is named for its many lakes. I saw but a few, here’s one from the pub.

It turned out Tiniroto was only halfway up a sustained climb. I was still nursing my knee, which I realised in the light was fairly swollen. Walking was still a struggle, but riding seemed to be going OK – I didn’t have a lot of options, biking it was. Turning off the route to Gisborne, and heading west again Pehiri Rd was deserted, flat and then turned to lovely gravel. That is, except the small patches of freshly laid aggregate that was big, chunky, uncompacted and very difficult to negotiate – horrid.

The first of two toasties of cheese, onion and bacon from the pub (toasted hamburger buns instead of slices of bread) went down a treat for first lunch as the climbing began again. Climbing up and over I dropped into the next valley. The countryside was deserted, hilly and just lovely. I was so pleased to be out exploring yet another part of NZ.

Gravel roads winding up, down and around.

Down the valley, there was then a small stretch of moderate traffic – daytrippers from Gisborne visiting Rere Falls. I stopped briefly and had my second toastie. The cloud had long since started to break up and it was a charming day with little wind and pleasant warmth.

Rere Falls, nope – had not been here before either.

Passing the Rere Rockslide, the climb switched to gravel to meader towards the highest point of the day. Very rural up here, although in hindsight we weren’t really that far from the highway – it certainly felt like we were. I lost count of how many signs I saw at entranceways for various cattle stations. One peculiarity I noticed in the area was that each property didn’t just have a mailbox – they each had a mailbag stashed. Surely they don’t get that many letters; maybe deliveries of other necessities.

As the shadows lengthened and the climbs kept coming (while not getting nearly as high as the day before, there was almost as much climbing in three-quarters of the distance), it was still excellent to be out there. One last little seventy metre climb and I was besides the headwaters of the Motu River, hoping to get to the highway before dark. I did, lights on and the twenty-five minutes of traffic wasn’t too bad. Turning off at Matawai I made good time on the gradual downhill to Motu village – where the others might have been. They weren’t.

After a long day and wanting to ride the upcoming Pakihi Trail in daylight, I couldn’t motivate myself further – so settled for a nice cup of tea and whatever food I still had left for dinner. Sleeping inside, I managed a wonderful sleep and some much needed rest for my weary legs. While a bit slower than normal, it was a great day of gravel roads, solitude (I didn’t speak to anyone for about twelve hours I think), sun and exploring.

Departing early again, I was wondering how I would make the two hundred-odd kilometres back to Rotorua in time to drive home to Napier – if it was just gravel road, I may have been OK but Pakihi track (which I thought would be the highlight of the day) would slow things a bit. Heading up the Motu Road a few hundred metres was steady with a nice gradient and well-graded gravel. Misty rain became decidedly wetting halfway up and clouded any view I might have had as Easter Monday dawned.

Seven o’clock had me at the trailhead and I was excited to get under the canopy and enjoy a long downhill section of trail. Ten kilometres of descent through native bush that subtlely changed had me grinning ear-to-ear. A big storm had been through the previous week, but the trail was in good condition. I bypassed the hut and tackled the second half of the trail which follows the Pakihi Stream – this was a bit more technical, with some good exposure to decent falls into the water and one big slip that required portage.

Finishing the trail by nine, I figured I could refuel in Opotiki at ten and then try to get back to Rotorua (about 150 km) by early evening – I could always take a shortcut if needed, which was looking likely at my pace. As it happened, while I was eating the last of my food at the trailend, three novice bikepackers turned up after staying in the hut overnight. I’m glad I didn’t stay there, it sounded packed and not at all conducive to sleep. There followed a lot of chat about bikepacking, my bike, gear, previous adventures and getting plied with snacks out of sympathy. By the time we rode into Opotiki together, I decided I would take the ride back to Rotorua that was offered – couldn’t find the motivation or sense in riding on my sore and swollen knee back.

I even found someone to take a picture of me and my bike.

So I finished off my weekend with a fun mini-roadtrip back to Rotorua with only a slight pang of disappointment for not completing the route as intended. I was super pleased with all I saw, keen to explore the area around Gisborne more, and satisfied that I’d ridden so far with a gammy knee and sore legs. What great countryside!

P.S. That previous photo will, probably, be the last of me with my trusty, sturdy Surly Ogre. After five years, over twenty-thousand kilometres, about a dozen countries and countless memories it disappeared from my garage last night 🙁 It probably deserves a post of its own, once I’ve had a bit time to get on with finding the next bike 🙂 .