One of the good things about a bottleneck water crossing on such an event is that it facilitates a congregation of all the similarly-paced riders mid-ride. We saw riders in the convenience store, met Dave over breakfast at a cafe and then saw many more waiting for and on the nine o’clock boat across Wakatipu.
Time to share stories of the previous three days. Photo: Dave King
Not the boat to ferry across this time, but still worth a photo.
The newer boat is definitely faster, not even half an hour after scheduled departure we were leaving the shore for an hour of toil into the norwester. But with the views, excellent surface and the promise that we’d soon have the wind at our backs it was hardly toil. Plenty of time to chat, take pictures and see a pink blur flash past us.
Mountain and hill spotting as we trundled along.
We turned and followed the Von River flats up, pushed by the wind. No traffic out here and just lovely morning riding. An important snack break to complete at the foot of the climb, the rest of the boatload were soon past us. The only real climb of this section, it’s not too bad with wind assist – even if it wasn’t the gale force push I had up in a gathering storm on the penultimate day of my TA.
At the top of the climb we found most of the boatload congregated admiring the views and having an early lunch – rude not to join them. With some undulations we crossed the watershed and into Southland, now crossing the Oreti – which we’d spend the rest of the afternoon loosely following. Long gradual wind-assisted gravel downhills seemed to go and go, interrupted only by a quick look at a small pond.
I’ve still not ever had the time or energy to make the detour to Mavora Lakes when passing on an event. One day I’ll get there, for now – this will have to do.
The horror of the cycle trail into Mossburn in strong winds still fresh in my memory after five years (terrible slow surface, many flat right-angled corners turning across the prevailing wind), I was steeling myself for twenty kilometres of mental and physical exertion. That worked well, as it wasn’t nearly as bad as my memory would have had me believe – after storm damage it’s been resurfaced and the corners didn’t require as much slowing to negotiate. There were however far fewer trees bending in the wind than I (mis?)remembered and crossing the wind was still hard work – some small exposed bridges best negotiated on foot lest one gets blown to the edge and find nowhere to plant a foot, except the water below.
Definitely time for a big cafe stop when Eileen and I rolled into town. Many others soon joined us at a cafe that was generally very good, but with a strange aversion to serving hungry customers three-quarters of an hour before closing. I for one bought enough to feed me for many non-bikepacking days, but with seconds I figured I had enough to go and ride the Nevis the following day. There was still a tailwind to take advantage of all the way to the Lumsden turnoff. One just had to deal with an unfathomable cycle trail; really, powerpoles up the middle?! Rather put an end to easy side-by-side chatting for a while.
Go figure. I guess it’s better than being on an unshouldered road.
Near Lumsden we turned north, wondering how the now-crosswind would slow our progress. As the route to Garston slowly curved to the east, the wind wasn’t as bad as perhaps feared. Death by a thousand gates through a large farm section however… Four of us worked our way through the double sets of cattle stopped, self-closing and fastened gates at so many points we lost count early and just dealt with it. That and the powerpoles – a shining example of a cycle-unfriendly cycle trail; how that happens…
Discussion turned to how far we might make it that day. There were no services to stop for in Athol or Garston, so it was easy to keep going.
Suddenly Dave appeared for a photo and a chat, this would become less surprising over the next two days. Heading to Garston with Eileen and Dave (another one). Photo: Dave King
Yup, not much food to be had here. Just as well, we may have called it stumps for the night if there had have been.
By this time, twas already eight o’clock and yet another longest-distance-day-ever for Eileen – but there was still plenty of daylight left, and the old Garston Ski Hut had been in the back of our minds as a destination all day, it was now a mere ten kilometres away. Only thing was, it was over six hundred metres above us!
The approach to the start of the actual climb seemed the hardest – just a direct climb to the gate.
The climb averaged out at about nine percent and an hour and quarter of delight. Sure, constant pedalling and all – but the wind died down, it was warm and still and the light over the Mataura valley and the Eyre Mountains was sublime. On consecutive days, I was treated to an amazing evening and twilight ride. It certainly is great getting to see the whole day while riding, events like this making it far more likely that one will push on. We made the hut with plenty of twilight to spare to find quite a few GSBers already ensconced – some riders I’d not seen since the start days earlier, some from the boat in the morning (including Katie who, on that pink flash of a bike speeding past way back at the lake, arrived two hours before us – what, did we stop to eat too much? Not possible.) and Dave, naturally, going through his photos. As darkness descended a few more riders arrived until we’d pretty much filled both rooms of the hut. Another fantastic day.
