around home, bikepacking, bikes, GPS, NZ

Easter Escapade

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Long-harboured curiosity and ambitions to ride the notoriously hilly and difficult Gentle Annie road from Napier to Taihape were finally realised over Easter. A fantastic patch of weather forecast amongst unseasonable grey and cool days were more than enough motivation for me to take off for the four days on my bike. I may be one of the few people that is disappointed that the sealing of the Gentle Annie was completed some years back, I’d have much preferred long stretches of gravel and even fewer cars. Alas, I had a very smooth day confident that I’d make it to Taihape before dark.

Managing to get organised, I left before dawn and was quickly out through fields of grapes and apples. The few diary farms passed by as the country slowly got hillier. Very slowly mind you, it wasn’t until after sixty kilometres that the climbing proper started.

In the meantime I occasionally looked back over Hawke’s Bay while making my way through the copious amount of food I’d packed for a day with no services.

The first big climb took me about an hour, but it wasn’t too steep as holiday traffic increased from non-existent to very little. Mostly it was alongside company pine forest, never the most interesting view – but good to see where it was and also pass some places I’d heard mention of. It was warming up and layers were shed as far as my short-sleeved shirt. The whole weekend was a very pleasant temperature – warm while climbing, but the descents were definitely and delightfully cooling.

Looking over to the northern reaches of the Ruahine Ranges.

I made sure to stop regularly to admire the view and eat my way through all the extra weight I was carrying. The four wraps I’d made that morning were spot-on.

Te Manihi (1099 m) – just before dropping down to the popular Kuripapango campground and crossing the headwaters of one of the big Hawke’s Bay rivers, the Ngaruroro.

Having crossed the river, the eponymous climb began and it was a good one. Only twenty minutes and ten percent, it was still slow going. It must have looked hot work as a guy in a car not much bigger than my bike stopped and gave me a nice cool bottle of Powerade. Much appreciated.

It doesn’t look too steep, but this convoy of caravans stopped as they were cooking their brakes.

The Gentle Annie hill done, it was very pleasant to spend ten kilometres up on the tops of those hills – at just under 1000 m above sea level, the views in all directions were grand.

Kaikomata Range.

The views of Ruapehu were excellent, I was surprised by how much snow was up there already.

The road quickly dropped down to the mighty Rangitikei River. And reared steeply out of the valley, probably the toughest climb all day – it was a bit of a grovel.

By this stage I was pretty sure I’d arrive well before dark, so I was in even less of a rush. Now mid-afternoon, the little traffic there was really dropped off. It was a very peaceful ride through small settlements. I started to develop a severe case of sideroad-itis, wondering what was up and how long are the numerous sideroads. For now I have to content myself with looking at maps, but as with most places I ride – there are always plenty of reasons to go back and explore further.

One final climb done, it was a gentle cruise down to Taihape as dusk approached and the air cooled. I was pleased to find a store open so I could stock up for another unserviced day of riding. The Rusty Nail Backpackers was a great find and home for the night – copious amounts of hot-cross buns, a roaring fire and fellow guests that cooked too much and very generously fed me dinner. A ripping day out in the sun and hills, it was well worth the wait.

With only a short Saturday on the cards, I had the luxury of leaving just after daybreak. This did mean that traffic on the short stretch of State Highway One was still mercifully quiet. Fittingly for a day in which, even more so than the previous one, I felt I was constantly plummeting into gorges and groveling out, I turned into Gorge Road and headed towards the Ruahines.

A nice little climb to warm up deposited me into this colourful scene.

I soon dropped sharply to cross the Rangitikei again, riding over a deep and narrow gorge.

Out of that valley I soon found a sublime patch of gravel winding its way through farms littered with golden trees and dropping into the next valley, the Kawhatau.

Climbing out of that one, I had intended to turn right towards Mangaweka but I spied a sign to Rangiwahia. I’d not previously considered that option as it is off the cycle route I was loosely following. When a friendly local stopped to see if I was OK and then advised me the alternative was mostly gravel, that clinched it; I turned left.

Ruapehu popped up again.

The promised section of gravel twisted and turned, taking me to the highest point of my day and then pointing me towards Rangiwahia. Here I rejoined the route of my favourite day on my Tour Aotearoa – who knew northern Manawatu was so absolutely lovely? Dropping into and climbing out of more gorges, I turned south on Main South Road – which would be one of the more tedious road names on the trip. But that’s OK, as I soon passed Conspicuous Road – which took the title of best road name.

For some reason the TA course went down the west side of the Pohangina River; I turned onto a new road, Pohangina Valley East Road (fairly self-explanatory), and enjoyed the solitude and autumn sunshine. Requisite riverside climbs and descents passed by easily before crossing the river for the pleasant downhill into Ashhurst. The short section of highway towards Palmerston North was loud and tedious, but thankfully it had a wide shoulder. Before long I was heading along familiar roads from my uni days to the home of dear friends. A very pleasant and much easier day that one, it was great to see familiar faces.

Easter Sunday brought a leisurely seven o’clock and very little traffic as I carried on along the Tour Aotearoa route. It was slated to rain for much of the day, I was thankful for every minute longer I stayed dry under threatening skies. With a nice section of gravel, I was in Pahiatua sooner than expected; but meeting expectations, everything was shut for the public holiday. That didn’t prevent some concerted snacking while I pondered my route choice. Not having ridden either option, I chose the hillier, more direct route to Pongaroa.

Following the Makuri River up its valley, the climbing was gentle with plenty of sheep farms and magpies providing the visual interest.

Watching and listening to dogs mustering sheep was about the most activity I saw all morning.

Native forest! Maybe I’d climbed just a little.

Rounding a corner I was taken by the sight of the Makuri Gorge stretching in front of me – it sure is fun taking roads with no knowledge or expectation as to what one may find. The road narrowed and steepened as the gorge tightened, before opening up at the small village of Makuri (a small school, a church and a smattering of houses). It looks a nice spot to come back to explore some of the gravel roads I’ve since realised are nearby.

The road reared up as much as it had all day and, after a couple of switchbacks, took the direct route up and over the Puketoi Range. Dropping off the ridge the descent was fast towards Pongaroa. I was impressed to look back and see a long bush-clad escarpment stretching away along the range, I’m not used to seeing too many such sights in NZ. I wondered if anything would be open in Pongaroa, I thought probably not.

An Event sign, hmmm, what could be going on?

To my surprise Pongaroa was heaving, the main street covered in people, cones and pick-ups. Turns out, I’d managed to unwittingly arrive on the one busy day of the year in the small settlement. It was the final day of a three-day hunt, and time for the weigh-in. Consequently a wide variety of dead animals, mostly deer and pigs, were spread on pick-up trays and hanging from hooks. Amongst all the gumboots, bush singlets and beer-swilling I cut a strange sight wheeling a loaded MTB in – I’m just glad I gave up wearing lycra well over a decade ago, no need to advertise my leanness in such company.

The pub was, of course, open – so I didn’t have to delve into my luggage to find lunch. Trying to keep out of the sun in the beer garden (the rain still hadn’t turned up), it was a pleasant rest taking it all in. I wasn’t expecting to see someone from work on my little Easter ride, but there you go.

I rolled out of town while things were still getting going, the traffic picking up now – every second vehicle seemingly another truck with antlers or trotters pointing in some direction. Two cheery cycle tourist also rode past, sans large animal carcass – they were the only other bike tourers I saw all weekend, disappointingly. The twenty-odd kilometres to the Weber junction were cruisy and very pleasant, which was welcome as I knew (from a stay in Wimbledon twenty months ago) the next section was hilly.

Quickly I was in my easy gears and an audiobook was playing for the spin up the hill. I was interested to see how much further logging operations had progressed since my last visit. Bombing down into Wimbledon, familiar sights blew past – this pub was certainly closed, I suspect all its patrons were in Pongaroa. As the shadows lengthened I crossed back into Hawke’s Bay, I was basically home – apart from 150 km of riding, that is.

One just has to stop for a sign this long.

The few remaining climbs didn’t get me 200 m above sea level, so the last sixty kilometres into Waipukurau were steady going as I set my lights going against the descending darkness. It still had not rained all day, nor had any wind appeared – it was a little surreal riding through the night so late in autumn with bare arms and legs, any extra layers were not required.

Over dinner in town I debated the last 80 – 100 km (route dependent) home. If I had have brought more light, being home by midnight was not out of the question. I’d had a rather leisurely paced 200 km day and still felt good. Alas, I was not certain I could eek that much illumination out of the lights I had, so I opted for the campground. Managing to sneakily find a roof under which to lay my head, I didn’t have to get in my bivy bag and slept well, missing the early morning rain.

Monday morning took me home, actually having to wear my rain gear for the half-hour between Waipukurau and Waipawa (huzzah for the new cycle trail taking bikes off State Highway Two). Quiet back roads took me to the busyness of Havelock North. With the slight shower gone, I couldn’t believe how warm, still and settled the weather had been – this ride was worth the wait. Negotiating Hastings, it was then cycle trail all the way back; using some of the plentiful energy left, and perhaps with an eye to the cloud behind, I made good pace to get home half an hour before the heavens opened.

A top leisurely trip all around: great countryside, little traffic and brilliant autumn weather. Now I just have to deal with that sideroad-itis and get back out there exploring more – it is all rather close to home after all.

around home, bikes, event, GPS, MTB, NZ

Triple Peaks – finally

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Since moving to Hawke’s Bay near on four years ago, I’ve heard much of the long-established Triple Peaks event. It seemed to have a reputation as a punishing race (MTB or run) climbing three peaks (obviously) near Havelock North. As two of the peaks are on private land, this event is one of the few chances to ride all three. I fairly regularly ride up Te Mata Peak and had been fortunate enough to ride up Mt Erin with a group – which just left the tallest, Mt Kahuranaki, for me to check out.

Unfortunately the weather had been dire the previous two years, and with the Tukutuki River running too high the reserve course had to be used – removing Kahuranaki from the event. One of those years it was so wet, Mt Erin was removed too and the race just went up a very slippery Te Mata three times. Keen to see new places, I’ve always reserved my entry until the weather forecast was likely to allow exploring of somewhere new. This year was finally that time; I entered a few days beforehand.

The days leading up to race day were dry, so the river was low and the A-course was good to go. A little rain overnight before the start greased things up just a bit. It had been a long time since I’d done an actual race, and I certainly wasn’t in anything resembling race-mode (whatever that is) – I’d chosen my bikepacking bike and left the frame bag on so I could carry plenty of food for the fifty kilometres, which I hoped would take me about four to four and a half hours. I found a spot near the middle of the field as 120-odd riders waited for the seven-thirty start.

That wasn’t a great idea, I should back myself more, as climbing gently out of town on seal I eased past many people on much bigger bikes – bringing numerous comments about a motor being hidden in my frame bag. I was in no rush as we started the climb of Mt Erin on farm tracks. It certainly was greasy and at times, with the particular tyres I had, it was easier to get off and run through sections of mud and slop. At least I wasn’t on a cyclocross bike – that looked miserable.

Suddenly the track we had been following ended and the course had us carrying and pushing bikes up steep, slippery grass slopes. I wasn’t quite expecting this level of hike-a-bike, but without luggage my bike seemed very light – another bright side. Settling into the adventure, I admired the view over the Heretaunga Plains as it opened up.

There was a camera, so I got back on my bike.

I stopped longer to admire the view, and found the doctor to snap a picture of this close-to-home adventure.

The music emanating from near the transmission tower drew us closer. I may have stopped a while longer to listen a bit.

Just your average piper and drummer on top of a hill at eight-thirty on a Saturday morning as scores of people rode and ran past.

Off Mt Erin on a rigid bike was just brutal. The tracks were rough enough, but crossing steep paddocks threw me all around and slowed me – plenty of people passed me. But that was only ten minutes of bouncing about before a winding trail through some riverside scrub led to the river crossing. With the Tukituki only knee-high, it was a fairly easy carry and rather nice to cool off a little. Through the aid station I’d no need to pause before a short section of road and farm track led to the bottom of Kahuranaki.

I was surprised when Shaun, a colleague and much stronger rider than me, caught up to me and chatted for a bit – surely he was well ahead of me. I’d not recognised him bent over repairing a flat at the bottom of Mt Erin. Climbing around the back of Kahuranaki was a steady gradient of ten percent, the surface was mostly good and I made steady progress. Nearing the summit, loud tunes were blasting down from a huge sound system – this was certainly motivating and took one’s mind off the climb. Cloud rolled in and it got quite misty very briefly, I enjoyed what of the view I could see. Only just below the summit did the hike-a-bike start, picking one’s way through boulders strewn down the slope.

Another camera, time to hold onto mine and get back on the bike.

With a last scramble up to the trig and a tentative carry off the very peak, it was more bumpy crossing of pasture before finally reaching a well-maintained track. The descent turned fast and wild. Forty-one minutes up, thirteen down. It was fantastic fun; made somewhat exciting on the bi-directional part of the course where some people couldn’t grasp the concept of keeping left. Never mind, it was exhilarating weaving at pace through those hardly moving.

Through the river aid-station again, it was encouraging to hear a couple of familiar voices cheering above the rather loud drums (not of the highland variety). Another familiar face was a marshall at a point halfway across flatter farmland. It is nice to see such people unexpectedly in the middle of events. A stretch of quiet dead-end road had us continuing our route paralleling the river, before we turned away and sharply rose through another farm. More ten percent gradient and more pushing.

Back on the bike, we approached the final peak, Te Mata, from the opposite side to that which I am used to. Some familiar spots led to the Back Track, which is normally walking only. Well, going up, it was still walking only. More of a goat track, it was narrow and numerous switchbacks led up the steep slope. It was easy enough to push up it, but at almost twenty percent it was not a climb I’d be riding up anytime soon – I’d definitely not be able to negotiate the corners. I was happy with my progress and energy levels still, every so often I’d haul someone else in and then expect them to pass me on the descents – they didn’t anymore.

With time for a brief drink at the top, familiar trails beckoned me back to town and the finish. Still bumpy on MTB trails, I held on and pointed down. Thankfully we didn’t have to survive the original MTB track – there would have been significant carnage. Instead, flying down the road for a bit, we hit the flowy trails to Chambers Walkway, a brief bit of road and then some more singletrack before the final road section. To my surprise I still had plenty left to pedal hard and get back in four hours and eight minutes.

Even more startling was that I’d got home in tenth place in a field of a hundred and twenty. I wasn’t really expecting that, and perhaps should have not faffed around so much with photos and admiring the view. Never mind, it was a great morning out on the bike seeing new places and views. With far more hike-a-bike than expected, it certainly was a challenging ride – but I loved it and was proper impressed by such a well-run and iconic local event. Definitely worth the wait.

bikepacking, bikes, event, family, GPS, NZ

Great Southern Brevet – (half) Day Seven – Kurow to Lake Tekapo

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With a mere hundred kilometres to knock off, I did it tough and slow on my final morning on the course. Turns out the playground I slept in, well attempted to sleep in, for four hours was near an intersection used by many trucks the night through. In Kurow, who’d have thunk it? That and the strange bivy-bag claustrophobia was enough to have me up and rolling before half-five.

Up the Hakataramea Valley was a long gentle climb; I pootled on knowing I’d get it done, but with no real energy left after the previous days of effort. Getting lost and wasting energy in those trees may have slowed me more than I thought. At that hour, the roads were at least quiet.

Dawn wasn’t too bad either.

I paused for water and a snack at Cattle Creek, the hall looking rather disused and the school long since closed and abandoned. But here the gravel started and that was cause for celebration, muted though it was.

It really was a lovely morning, and the wind-gods must have felt sorry for me – there was little to contend with. The road curves left and climbs to the pass on the left of Mt Dalgety.

Nearing the pass, naturally the gradient kicked – but it had been very mellow up until that point.

It really was a nice day, Mt Cook and the Southern Alps hove into view.

Finally, I reached the pass. Rather unhurried and tired, somehow sixty kilometres and 800 metres of climbing had taken five and a half hours! Never mind, it would be all downhill from here – surely.

Yes, a long downhill!

Reaching Haldon Rd, there was only thirty kilometres to go and Lake Tekapo lay off in the distance. I could see it down there! But gradients can be deceptive and both Haldon Rd and the highway busy with traffic (each sharing the remaining distance near-equally) had a nagging gentle climb in it. I pushed on knowing that I was lucky to be escaping the headwind that gave this section notoriety amongst the other riders.

With the confidence of it being a question of when, not if, I’d finish this ride kept me going at a steady, albeit slow, pace. Sure enough, I rolled back to the Church of the Good Shepherd six days and change after having left. Unusually, and delightfully, for these events, there was a small welcoming party. I’ve seen it written that I looked pretty fresh, but I know and the photo below suggests that is far from the truth. That was certainly a tough week on the bike, but through some amazing parts of the country and thoroughly worth the effort. About half I’d seen before, but I was more than happy to see those parts again to faciliate exploring new places.

Big thanks and much kudos to Dave for organising it all and planning such a great route. I can see why people keep returning to this gem of a ride (despite or because of the conditions?); knowing that the route varies each time I can see I’ll be well tempted to come back for the next iteration(s). Great to meet so many and ride with a few for extended periods, special mention for Steve and Jake as we battled through that wind together. Thanks also to my parents for picking me up, putting up with me for a weekend of much rest and eating, and then dropping me back in Christchurch; also to John for the Christchurch base and airport transfers.

Last word must be about the wind. For three years, my yardstick of wind strength when it gets a little tough has been “well, it’s not as bad as coming into Bluff on the Tour Aotearoa when I was reduced to pushing my bike alongside a flat highway into 100+ km/hr gusts for eight kilometres in eighty minutes”. No more. Now I know: if I haven’t been blown off my bike for four days in a row, it’s not really that windy; or if I am not holding onto my bike as it does its best impression of a kite being blown away with each gust – it’s also not really that windy.

bikepacking, bikes, event, GPS, NZ

Great Southern Brevet – Day Six – A Linnburn shack to Kurow

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Having called it a day in the southerly storm, got warm and then, with nothing else to do, slept well before sunset – it was a fitful night’s sleep. I must have been quite exhausted, as my bivy bag was markedly more claustrophobic than it ever had been. But it’s real purpose was to keep decades of dirt and pigeon droppings off, so it was simple enough to open it up and relieve the anxiety. Leaving our humble digs shortly after half-four, we had a bit of lost time to make up.

Clambering back over the fence, we were back on gravel for much of the morning. As the sky lightened, we climbed a couple of hundred metres. This section was off the Old Dunstan Rd route proper, but knowing the real route slogs up and over farmland steeply I was not quibbling with Dave’s routing. Short of water, we refilled out of a canal below the Paerau Weir, which feeds power stations I didn’t know were there.

Rejoining the Old Dunstan Rd, the big climb I remembered well loomed into view. As the day dawned, it was definitely cooler than last year. Progress up the ten percent gradient for an hour was slow and steady, but seemed easier. There may have been some walking, perhaps I’m blocking that out.

The weir, the road we’d just ridden and out over the upper Maniototo Plain.

Jake powering ahead again.

Reaching the high point, still heading into the southerly, and seeing all the snow down to our level I was well pleased we’d called the previous day early and avoided the exposure up this high. It was cold and bleak enough as it was.

Dropping down to the Loganburn Reservoir, undulations tired us and took us towards another ridge. Knowing that we did not have to go up the Lammermoor Range and instead were turning east away from the headwind was a great comfort. That there was a big, prolonged descent that really shook me up was quite good too, even if it was interspersed with some decent pinch climbs. Out of the desolate tussock-clad hills and into productive farmland, we lost seven hundred metres and finally turned to have the wind behind us.

This was off the Old Dunstan Road and took us on a quieter more direct route north to Middlemarch, where we knew breakfast, brunch and lunch were waiting.

There was of course a steep climb waiting for us through Rocklands Station.

Joining the highway north after some ridgetop riding, the wind pushed us the twenty kilometres to town. I was happy to be off the highway for the last third; that is, until we found major resealing work on the gravel surface was in early days. Early enough that the gravel had been laid for kilometres, loosely graded but definitely not compacted. It was awful, but with energy that would soon be topped up we powered through.

Finding the only cafe in town certainly didn’t take long. Much to my chagrin we were ten minutes too late for a full English breakfast, I may have been somewhat fixated on such a thing for the previous six hours. Still, there was still plenty of delicious food to fuel us to our next stop.

Bacon and egg pie, broccoli salad, green salad, couscous salad, two spinach & feta parcels, tea for two, a chocolate milkshake and bottles of water…

That didn’t last long.

Breakfast/brunch/lunch over, we promptly rode around the corner to buy snacks. I may have also had a particularly tasty ice cream too while having a delightful chat to a senior about bikepacking, hearing how intrigued and envious she was about our rides.

The logical way out of Middlemarch for Ranfurly would be joining the rail trail at its southern terminus. But Dave had us on gravel roads that I’d not ridden before. For some reason I had plenty of energy and was feeling pretty good; mostly, I think it was the tailwind. I quite enjoyed the hour on the gravel road only climbing gradually as we headed up alongside the Taieri.

Crossing the river, joining the highway and then climbing away from them both, finally we joined the traffic-free and smooth rail trail. I waited for Steve and Jake, to briefly impart a bit of local knowledge about Naseby, before leaving them – I didn’t see them again until the finish at Lake Tekapo.

Joining the rail trail at Hyde.

Weaving and dodging plenty of cycle trail tourists, the gentle rail gradient sped by. Strangely for me, I had the hammer down and made good time – an easy riding surface and that lovely tailwind. Based on my expected progress, I was pretty sure Ranfurly would be the last open store I would pass before finishing. So I made sure to stock up for the twenty-four hours ahead, before following one of the few routes into Naseby I was unfamiliar with.

The route called for a singletrack section in the Naseby Forest. Due to fire risk, that had been closed for the previous days and those ahead of me had mostly not been able to ride it. But the closure had been lifted, so my progress predictions were set back a bit as I enjoyed some slower riding through the trails and beside the water race. But I still had enough time to stop for a cuppa, eek a little charge into my dying phone, arrange with family a pick-up and to book somewhere to stay and rest before flying home.

Leaving town just after six, it was a glorious evening and I was looking forward to riding riding over Danseys Pass – in the northerly direction, for the first time. After I’d stopped at the renowned pub for a big lamb shank, of course. The wind pushed me up and over the deserted gravel road in lovely warm light.

The pinch climb after the lavender farm slowed me some, but soon I was dropping down to Duntroon and the Waitaki River as darkness descended even quicker. By now it was near eleven o’clock and I was thinking I should make Kurow – maybe even beyond – before getting some rest. If I got past Kurow, I might be good for my longest-distance day (anything over 270 km would do) and that would leave me less than a hundred to knock off the following day.

From Duntroon to Kurow I only had to follow the Alps2Ocean trail upstream, which shouldn’t be that hard. After all, Adele and I had ridden the whole trail (about 300 km) on heavy full-suspension bikes in two and a half days two years earlier. Alas, it proved more difficult than I expected for reasons I wouldn’t have guessed.

Partway to Kurow, the trail left the roadside at the Otekaieke River. Following the river towards its confluence with the Waitaki, it had clearly flooded recently as the trail was destroyed and was now somewhere in stretches of river gravel. Nearing midnight, the signage heading the “wrong” direction along the trail was woeful. I lost the signs near where I was supposed to cross the Otekaieke; consulting the GPS track wasn’t much use either as I found another instance of the low-resolution file that had been provided being less than adequate. Using my best interpretation of the base map, the GPS track and what I could see, I ended up following a trail into a copse of willows (that looked good candidates to be of the whomping variety).

It was a warm night and as I got further into the trees, it all became a little surreal. Partway in it was clear there was no trail, but the foliage was thick enough I lost my bearings and my GPS lost its signal. With many branches down there was a fair bit of hoisting my bike over trees and through small gaps. Thankfully, I never felt in any danger and I wasn’t particularly worried about my temporary disorientation; if anything, I was rather bemused at what was quickly becoming a comical blunder and accepted my fate.

There were quite a few walking tracks marked on the base map, so I figured I’d reach one of those eventually. I didn’t. I could hear the hum of a large pump station quite near, so headed for that. Eventually adjacent to it, I was hemmed in by a wall of fallen stumps some metres high – I can only assume they were some sort of flood protection for the pump station. There was no way over them, so I tried retracing my route. Eventually I found my way out after forty minutes of dragging my bike around. It was quite exhausting, but I’d had a pretty great day so wasn’t too put out.

Knowing to stay well away from the trees, I found the route and headed for Kurow. Apparently I was on the trail again, but it was in pretty poor condition – perhaps I was getting a little tired by now. Fifteen kilometres avoiding being showered by irrigators, riding through a vineyard and trying to stay awake had me in Kurow where at half-one it was time for a sleep. By now exhausted, I unrolled my bivy and tried to sleep under a trip-trap bridge in a playground.

That was another big day, by far the greatest distance I’d ridden in one day on this trip – but strangely the easiest day yet. For the first time in five days, I hadn’t been blown off my bike – so that was something. Also, I’d hardly had to push my bike – that was something even more.

Biking to go places, going places to bike.