Due to the excellence of the two previous bikepacking trips Andrew had invited me on this year (this one possibly the best I’ve been on, this one not far behind), I was a deadset starter for a much less ambitious overnighter as we head into winter. Since dislocating my shoulder again (I may get around to telling that story) on the last day of summer, long days on the bike have been absent. That was in part due to a month off the bike and in part finally getting my new mountain bike together – this autumn, conditions have begged for as much trail riding as possible.

As the plan was only for a hundred kilometres and staying in farm accommodation meant no need to carry camping gear, thoughts turned to how much extra space there would be for food. Fond memories of the feast on this trip to Apiti spurred discussions that we needn’t all eat individual rehydrated meals from pouches – instead we could cook and eat together. Closer to the time, I also realised such a weekend would be a good test of my new bike’s bikepacking suitability – by no means what it was designed for, but something that was in the back of my mind when choosing it. I’d have to carry a backpack full of food and water, and any riding on the road would be a chore, but it seemed a fortuitous opportunity – plus I’m still loving riding it as much as possible.

Assembling in Geraldine Saturday morning, the purple patch of weather had truly ended – after riding straight to a cafe, we eventually got going into the cool and damp gloom. Gradually climbing from the plains into the foothills, I was soon lagging – finally succumbing to putting my raincoat on, only for the rain to stop shortly after, didn’t help.

Nor did stopping for the occasional photo of little note.

Road turning to gravel, there was finally some gradient to help me keep up and engage my riding brain a bit more. Leaving Te Moana River and following Leishmans Stream past some recent logging (my digger-spotting antennae on high alert after much time recently with my nephew) the deteriorating surface soon kicked savagely. A rocky creek crossing entry and exit had me off the bike and pushing briefly. Around a couple more corners, the surface and renewed steepness were too much for both my legs and bikepacking tyres (by design, the wheels for each of my bikes can go on the other). This was the longest and only sustained push of the trip.

The track on the other side of the stream looks a far kinder gradient.

At the top of the big push, we easily cut across the saddle to find a recently bulldozed track down.

Looking over to Doughboy Saddle – not even 900 m, Andrew definitely going easier on us this trip.

Thanks Jo for the almost-group photo.

Such a smooth descent for a farm track! Still, good fun with the occasional creek crossing in the corners. Also Jo’s photo.

A bit of route consideration at the bottom and we were soon on the half hour climb to the saddle – most enjoyable chatting away as the day brightened a bit. Halfway through the distance, after noon and at our highest point – lightening the load of food seemed reasonable. Cue lunch.

Down to the Opuha Valley, with the Sherwood Range sitting in front of the Two Thumbs.

Not looking too weighed down by bags.

Another long descent on farm track. Looking back to Doughboy Saddle, even getting sunny now; we came down the track on the left.

Much fun had on those downhills on a bike far different to the rigid frame one I usually bikepack on. A silly amount of fun really. The phrase “gun to a knife fight” kept crossing my mind. Pleasingly also, for such a bike, loaded, it climbs pretty well without a full lockout – even with the narrower gear range than is common meaning a harder high gear (32:11-42 if anyone cares).

Rob conquering another climb as Devil’s Peak watches over us.

Andrew looking pleased – perhaps with another plan coming together, the weather coming around to his usual standards, or just another long downhill ahead.

Bryan also pleased – perhaps that hut was not overnight accommodation for eight bikepackers.

Another saddle gained, the last sizeable one through Four Peaks Station.

Looking green suddenly for the descent to the Opuha.

Out of the station, we had the opportunity to witness some truly extraordinary feats of navigation before turning for the twenty-two kilometres to Blue Mountain Station for the night. The last section of climb out of the Clayton Valley demanded a surprising amount of effort to gain Meikleburn Saddle.

Rewarded with a fast descent, we were soon cruising down the upper Orari Valley to the Cook House.

Over a shed to the other side of Mt Peel – to that usually seen, that is.

Decent old woolshed too.

Woolshed photos for Andrew Watts.

We settled into our accommodation for the night – The Cook Shop. It wasn’t difficult – wood in from the shed and soon a fire was roaring (down to base layers despite the cold outside), heritage apples were collected from the carpet beneath two big trees (many hundreds more still to fall) and stewed (kudos to Jo for the tedious looking prep), hot drinks were sipped while many snacks were devoured (can there be too much chocolate?) from the comfort of the sleep-inducing recliners.

In one of the more remarkable bikepacking cuisine episodes I’ve seen, Andrew pulled two loaf tins and about two kilograms of dry ingredients from his bags and set to making two loaves of bread! As the evening drew in, various groups moved through the kitchen as the kettle seemed to be constantly boiled for more tea – a big salad was prepared, jambalaya appeared, and a large vege curry cooked all while the aroma of fresh bread permeated.

No danger of a calorie deficit on this trip. Another of Jo’s photos.

Although too full to move, it was a lively evening of much chat. Perhaps helped by those committed to the cause who hauled in cans of beer, about a litre of port, bourbon and coke (although I hear there is a new line of bourbon-scented bikepacking bags about to be released), a wee dram and Glayva. We were so full, we almost forgot the apples for dessert. The riding can’t have been too much for anyone – no one was in bed by nine o’clock.

I’m unsure if it was the bathroom calling or just rearing to get going on another day of riding new places, but everyone was up well before dawn on an overcast, damp morning. Not ideal. But first the serious business of lightening the day’s loads. The second loaf of bread mostly went into tasty French toast/eggy bread, but still ample remained for the jam and honey that appeared from somewhere. More of that tasty apple also disappeared. Packed up and the Cook Shop tidied, eight-thirty seemed very reasonable as there wasn’t even three hours of riding down the Orari and back to Geraldine.

Another almost-group photo, this time by Andrew as he amused us with creative ways of failing to get the camera to sit on the gate.

First up – avoiding wet feet where the track had washed out with a little hike-a-bike. Bryan’s photo.

Not raining yet, but damp still.

Half an hour of easy riding took us to the confluence with Basin Stream. We took a small detour to check out the hut, which seven years ago had been restored to its former late-1800s glory. It had been done so that the restoration was barely noticeable, but those that had visited before told of what a vast improvement it was over the old damp, infested freezer box it was.

I took a photo of the hut. But this is Bryan’s photo.

Here is that photo, as the cloud continues to come and go.

After poking around a bit and deciding that this would be a great base for a few days of exploring the station’s tracks and terrain further, during warmer and longer days, we continued up the valley (jettisoning bags in the hut) to see what we might see. More hills, clouds and some nice little climbs.

No one was tempted to continue gain another five hundred metres in the gloom to the peak of Mt Frances – that can wait for the next visit – so we turned and flew down the hill. The clouds cleared from Mt Peel, and the ridge down to Middle Mt Peel, but clung in the valleys a bit more.

Bryan on the descent back to the hut.

On the way to reclaim my bags from the hut. Another of Bryan’s pictures.

Back beside the Orari, the valley narrowed into a gorge – this gave us numerous pinch climbs to make us earn our descent to the plains. All were rideable, but not quite by me.

I watched from afar at the so-called Gates of Orari as much of the group attempted this particularly tough little ascent.

Carrying as much speed as I could as the approach flattened only carried me a fraction of the way up. The surface was a bit loose, more my rear tyre not well-suited, and it became a low-speed grunt while trying to keep a line with some traction.

Almost there! Another of Bryan’s photos.

Just made it, surprised to get a small applause – heaving lungs showing this one as the most effort I put in all weekend.

An enjoyable descent (see further below for video of me having too much fun on the bike I insisted on dragging around) to the flats, before more testing little climbs.

The rain set in, waterproof layers went on and the camera went away for most of the rest of the ride.

Crossing Andrews Stream (the naming of this didn’t get enough attention really), we were off the wet grassy farm track onto a faster gravel surface which continued to improve for the last hour back to town. While the rain stopped, my fingers didn’t warm much – so it was nice to get back to the vehicles and get into warm, dry clothes. Our excellent weekend together ending with more tasty food and hot drinks in a local cafe.

What a great little trip to get back into bikepacking after ten or so weeks, a fun bunch of riders that all contributed much to the enjoyment, of both riding and sustenance. Thanks especially to Andrew for organising another ripper of a trip; hopefully I can speak for all in looking forward to the next one, wherever that may be.

Well done for making it this far, even if you’ve just scrolled through looking at the pictures. As usual, Andrew has told the story of the trip better with far less text and more pictures…