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Mega GGG 2019

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With a hilly and tough HBAT only two weeks behind us, I was pleased to see six of us backing up on the 200 km longer Mega. This turned the start into a bit of a HBAT-reminisce and catch-up before Pete sprung the honour of leading the forty-odd riders out through the Rotorua morning “traffic”.

Time for a few stories with some HBATers.

A bit more time for a group photo.

This is a bit different to my usual dithering and chatting at the back of the start group.

A few kilometres in we regrouped off the road and headed out of town on the easy cycle trail to Ngongotaha – much time for meeting new faces riding towards the climb up the Mamakus. The route familiar to me, I figured I may as well cut my stops out until the resupply 120 kilometres in at Mangakino. A mild morning with no wind to haunt my memory, the riding was good as riders ebbed and flowed relative to me. Knees still noticeably achey from charging up too many Hawke’s Bay hills, I determined to spend far less time standing on the pedals uphill – which is tough, as I do like climbing.

I allowed myself a brief photo stop; tellingly, my best photo of the day is of a giant scar of a quarry contrasting with the more picturesque backdrop.

Subsequently, I was in no rush over the stretch of the Waikato River Trail that is notoriously punishing with plenty of sharp climbs. As the day warmed I continued to take it easy and walked far more of the sharp climbs than I ordinarily would.

Not stopping had me in the first few into Mangakino where I had plenty to eat and drink, including a big bottle of electrolytes. Many others arrived before I headed for the infamous wire-bridge at the end of Arataki Rd. Mid-afternoon it was hot by now, so much for the forecast 20ºC. While it was toasty, I’d not got it into my head that it was well above that temperature – most reports came back around 30ºC. Mentally, and therefore physically, I was not prepared for such heat and quite rapidly I was cooked. Succumbing to the dehydration of which I seem particularly prone (a disadvantage of having little mass and barrier against such swings?), a rest in the shade was in order as the waves of nausea swept over me and suddenly most of the food I’d eaten that day was rejected.

Completely spent, I tried not to berate myself too much. With some more electrolytes to sip on and cooling a little, almost an hour later I could face limping towards the cabins at Pureora – only twenty-five kilometres, but with most of a 400 metre climb. Moving so slowly, walking much and generally feeling awful gave me far too much time to question why and how I like to ride long distances. Having read my post of the first Mega two years prior recently to remind me of the course, I recalled a discussion about how such rides need to be fun. I wasn’t having much fun as thoughts turned to neglected friends in the Bay of Plenty I could be visiting instead of punishing myself. What’s more, with too many people close to me having significant medical diagnoses recently riding seemed a little selfish and pointless. On the other hand, if I could continue I would – what a privilege to have the time, health, means and freedom to explore our fair land. There was much to see and I knew I’d soon be back enjoying myself; I was really looking forward to seeing the roads from Taumarunui to Kawhia Habour – the most significant change to the course. Also, after last year’s magpie incident I was really keen to avoid another DNF – even if it meant adjusting my expectations, and taking more time off work.

The first time I’ve had to put the much-repeated lesson of “don’t pull the pin at the end of a bad day, wait for morning to decide” to good use, it paid dividends. After taking two hours to crawl to the cabins, some downtime, plenty of food and a thoroughly poor, but just sufficient sleep I was good to go again before five-thirty Saturday morning, albeit a little tentatively. But first, where did this rain come from? The lightest of misty rain, it set in for the gloomy climb to the summit of the Timber Trail. Only near the top did it get sufficiently heavy to have full raingear on. Relaxed enough, the trail was in the best condition I’d seen it and I reminded myself yet again to come back and ride it over more than half a day.

Eighty-odd kilometres of trail went by in a bit of a blur, I passed the lodge and campground mid-trail at around the time those that stay in such places hit the trail – so different people to chat to. Comments above aside, the last part from the Ongarue Spiral to the end was a fair mess. Nice to get off that and ride the deserted gravel to town and a big lunch. Many other riders were coming, eating and going from town; I enjoyed a Full English in good company at the same place I stopped on the Tour Aotearoa. Time for new roads!

Two sustained gravel climbs followed in quick succession and my legs were back – the refuelling must have helped, as did the mild closer-to-forecast temperatures, as I caught up to, chatted with and eventually passed a fair collection of riders. Yesterday’s dehydration effects were long gone, but the memory wasn’t – I ate and drink even more. Dropping into Ohura, I finally got to visit the much-vaunted Fiesta Food Cart. In a town where very little seems to be, let alone be open – a food cart that serves a large plate of fresh Mexican food is quite a novelty.

Thirty kilometres, mostly deserted gravel, had only the slightest of gradients to contend with. The northerly wasn’t too bad to contend with, unfortunately it was rather cloudy. A sudden drop took us down to Aria, before the last little bit of climbing for the day. Here the wind picked up and 200 kilometres into the day, the last stretch became pretty slow. I was pleased to get into Piopio (delightfully pronounced locally “Pew Pew”) in daylight. Well aware of the upcoming downpours, I scouted out some shelter on the way to find the Cossie Club – where a truly massive burger, fries and ice cream sundae were demolished. This was clearly the local and with four of us there in our riding gear devouring large volumes of food, we attracted plenty of good-humoured attention. A local dot-watcher came down to chat all things bikepacking and local AB rounds before we headed off to get out of the incoming weather. That was a far more successful day.

The rain didn’t arrive that night and I caught plenty of sleep with the wind blowing around and through my shelter. Up early and straight into a big climb out of town, it promptly started raining. The lightest rain imaginable as dark slowly gave way to a grey gloom. Gravel, native bush, farmland – all on the winding path north. At times the rain was heavy enough to don full raingear, but that didn’t usually last long. Raingear was promptly removed as, while it was head-windy, it was never cold. I’d love to go back and ride these roads again and see a bit more – so quiet and they felt so remote. Four and a half hours into the day, the first car passed me.

Shortly before ten o’clock was just in time for the breakfast menu at the Oparau Roadhouse. I arrived as the heavens opened again.

Catching up for the last five hours, and fuelling for the next six.

A few of the riders I’d passed with my early start, and that I’d not seen since Rotorua, arrived with various tales – most involving rain. With a good rest and meal in, I was ready to leave. The heavens promptly opened, so I retreated inside before eventually setting off in the rain – it soon abated and by the end of the climb up to Raglan Road I had to delayer without delay.

More great gravel backroads heading to my favourite part of the 2017 course – the coastal detour around to Raglan. Mostly dry, mostly into the wind; out of nowhere, boom, torrential downpour. From the first spits I stopped and couldn’t get my jacket on in time. Good fun, and it abated after ten minutes for the scenic coastal foray of repeated climbs and descents. Raglan by mid-afternoon for a short refuel and to get going while it was dry. That didn’t last long, another big downpour, but at least briefly the wind was less of a hindrance as the course turned east. Old Mountain Road was a new section, and being the steepest long climb of the route one of my favourite parts.

From the summit, Hamilton was within touching distance east; we promptly turned north, back into the wind for quite the dog leg to Ngaruawahia. Just the sort of thing I’d do, and did do, when course-setting. Joining the paved river trail at the northern-most point of the ride, the whole day’s toil into the wind paid back in spades. A very helpful push had me in Hamilton as dark descended, in time for a large dinner. It may have rained again. I’d long ago lost count of the raingear-on, raingear-off routine.

I was definitely making a point of eating well, and all was well on a big day.

Into the dark through the tedious cycle-path route out of Hamilton to Cambridge, it rained again but the wind was still mostly helpful. Nearing eleven o’clock I considered the last hundred-plus kilometres back to Rotorua, the ominous thunder-storm heavy forecast, crossing the Mamakus at night and opted for finding some shelter and finishing this thing in the daylight. Very happy with a big 255 km day in less than ideal conditions – just a pity about the lack of photos.

To my surprise I slept late and was not properly going until six-thirty, keen for the familiar path back to Rotorua. The multitude of small hills to Arapuni felt good, I was disappointed not to see my magpie nemesis. Second breakfast at the Cow Cafe in Putaruru is now a tradition, and a thoroughly good one. The wind was still at my back and I hardly even got rained on – it was a grand morning to finish up, especially learning later of all the thunderstorms I’d managed to avoid the previous night. Even the blockades on Cecil Rd weren’t as bad as expected and running down the hill to town I was pleased to find I had plenty left in the tank.

Finishing in three days and six hours-ish, it was great to see Pete, Roger and Chris there and just sit in some sunshine for a while sharing stories, before another big meal. While things didn’t go quite as planned that first afternoon, I got to ride my bike a lot, see plenty, learn loads, share the ride with others and actually finish it this year – fantastic. Thanks to Pete for organising it all, I look forward to the next such ride.

Thanks to Roger for bordered photos.

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Mega Pain

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Having thoroughly enjoyed the inaugural Mega Geyserland Gravel Grind, I was keen to repeat it – this time in the reverse direction. The only drawbacks I saw in going anti-clockwise would be a likely headwind across the Waikato on the first day and having to ascend the many back-to-back staircases on the Waikato River Trail. Some were concerned about riding the Timber Trail in reverse (south to north), but after Easter’s ride – I prefer that direction.

Reasonably fit from bikepacking trips through the NZ winter and the regular bike-commute, I was hoping to match last year’s time. I was however becoming concerned a quick eight-hundred kilometres so soon before flying to Canberra for the Hunt 1000 might be a bit exhausting. I’d had my eyes set on the Hunt for a year, looking to challenge myself over the rugged Snowy Mountains all the way to Melbourne. The stunning scenery I’d seen posted from last year’s event was also a big draw. I knew I’d be challenged severely with 28,000 metres of climbing over only a thousand kilometres of riding (much of that hike-a-bike in unpredictable mountain weather), so going in fatigued would not be helpful…

Alas, I couldn’t turn down more quality North Island bikepacking. I did, due to lack of annual leave, at least do the optional Eastern loop at Labour Weekend and not attempt that as well before the Hunt. So once again I found myself gathered with about fifty other bikepackers in Rotorua’s Government Gardens about to set off into the overcast day over a route of gravel roads, trail and some seal to link the good bits together.

It was a leisurely start for me, as I realised that my new SPOT tracker wasn’t quite talking to the tracking site properly. But with plenty of riders and traffic around, it was better to concentrate on riding and chatting. The climb up the Mamakus was familiar before branching off to ride Cecil and Leslie Roads in the opposite direction to that I was used to. It seemed much easier this way – but that was probably related to it being the first day of the ride, not the fourth. With quieter roads I was able to start sorting out my tracking issue, and a five-minute stop in Putaruru put it to bed. I could get back to simply riding and looking at the countryside.

I remembered to look back and take a photo of typical rolling Waikato dairy country.

Pete caught up to me again and we rolled on at a reasonable pace. Down to the Waikato River, over the Arapuni Dam and back to Oreipunga Road I pointed out the little “shelter” (I’m still unsure what it was, except it was walled on two and one half sides and about one and a half metres tall) I slept in on my final night the previous year. I do enjoy riding with Pete, a similar pace to me there is a font of bikepacking knowledge to tap. Alas, it was not to last.

I’d only previously experienced magpies swooping and touching once, in Hawke’s Bay, and had forgotten it was a thing. But one particularly territorial bird was set to remind me, following us along the road continually diving for my helmet. Then it would sit on a fencepost for a bit, watch us and then swoop again. This continued for quite some time until finally, for no good reason besides exasperation, I reached for my drink bottle and turned to ward off the bird waving the bottle up behind me.

Just like that, the long forgotten feeling of my shoulder dislocating became all too familiar again. Somewhat surprised since the surgery over six years ago had, up until then, been so successful I tried to yell to Pete to stop – but he was just far enough ahead and now receiving the magpie’s attention, that he didn’t hear. With just enough adrenalin pumping, I rode on one-handed to a farmhouse and help.

Rolling up just after the farmer, Bruce, had got in for lunch I greeted him with a rather helpless “I think I hurt my shoulder”. An ambulance was called (the dispatcher didn’t believe the magpie story for dislocating a shoulder), I tried to stay still on the couch with no food, drink or pain medication allowed. Thankfully Bruce was super helpful, getting a few necessities off my bike for me, and I could manage to send a few messages to loved ones – punctuated by the extreme pain with each little jarring as the adrenaline wore off.

I wasn’t really going to ask someone I’d just met to put my shoulder back in, so wait I did for the professionals. Good friend Luke happened to be working in Putaruru that day and had been watching the tracker – he very kindly came over and picked up my bike, arriving before the ambulance. After an hour the paramedics arrived and, with a bit of pain relief administered, thought they’d have a go at putting me back together. But it’d been out too long and the muscles were too tense – so on to a stretcher I went to be carted to Waikato Hospital.

Memories of the ambulance ride include Geoff the paramedic keeping me talking (not that difficult when I’ve a lovely inhaler-thing of pain relief to suck on), mentions of photography at Lake Louise, me looking at the machine that goes bing, jarring and wrenching with pain over every bump in the road, and increasingly incoherent messaging. Eventually we were off the country roads, on the highway and then backing into the Emergency Department.

Comfortable? Not really. Drugged? Certainly.

At least turning up in an ambulance (still a little disappointed there were no flashing lights) in obvious pain meant that I didn’t have to wait long. An X-ray to confirm just where everything was (I had a pretty good idea – not in the right place) and then it was time for the entonox.

Something not quite right here.

Entonox, and a lot of noise, was enough to relocate my shoulder the previous time in London. But not this time. So a general anaesthetic it was. I wasn’t out for long and when I woke I wasn’t sure that my shoulder was back together – it was, everything had relaxed enough to get it back in. It still felt sore; the disadvantage of being out when it’s put back in is that one misses out on the ecstatic moment of going from extreme pain, then “pop” and pure bliss.

A few more X-rays were taken to check on it and for me to give to a specialist back home; suddenly I was discharged with a pile of paper and I found myself slightly groggy trying to work out just how I ended up in central Hamilton and what on earth I was to do now. Standing in my cycling clothes, arm in a sling and realising I don’t really know anyone in that city was not really what I had planned for the day. Definitely an adventure of a different kind.

That’s better.

Thankfully, Dad’s cousin and his wife lives only a little out of the city. Sure, it was a couple of years since I’d seen them – what were the chances they were even home? To my surprise Liz answered the phone, to her surprise I was in need of being rescued. Nothing was too much trouble – I was fed, put-up for the night, ferried around (hospital pick-up, pharmacy run and then driven all the way back to Rotorua) and generally looked after. It was incredible and very welcome, lovely to catch up too with a lot of family news and history shared. Strange twist for the day was working out that I did my shoulder just outside Bill & Liz’s son’s farm.

Back to Rotorua sooner than I expected, Bill dropped me at my car, I had a nap for a while before Luke rode around and drove me back to his house. As my “don’t drive, operate heavy machinery or make important decisions for twenty-four hours” elapsed, I was pretty confident I could drive home left-handed. With a few stops, it was manageable and I was pleased to be home Saturday evening – facing rather different challenges than I expected for the next little while.

There started four weeks of being in a sling again and getting used to doing a lot of things one-handed. The pain eased after ten days or so and I was fairly quickly able to get good mobility back in my shoulder. The Hunt 1000 trip was canned, for this year; but having eventually got back on the bike, I quickly found another new (to me) event to sign up for. I’m still waiting for an MRI and then, I guess, deciding whether I’ll have surgery again. I’m not particularly keen on six months of rehab, and therefore no biking – but if my arm’s going to intermittently decide to be somewhere it shouldn’t be, surgery might be wise. Next year will tell…

Thanks to all that supported me through my short time of injury and incapacitation.

bikepacking, bikes, event, GPS, NZ

Mega Grind 2017

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Erik and Pete are the masterminds behind the Geyserland Gravel Grinds. The GGG was the only bikepacking event I did last year, and was full of relaxed days of riding followed by social evenings at shared campsites. Familiar with the calibre of route-planning, I was excited to learn this year that they had expanded their suite of events to three: an overnight Mini Grind, the GGG and the 800 km Mega Grind. As soon as it was announced, I signed up for the Mega Grind, as it was the longest and would take me to parts of the North Island I’d never been to.

Very much in a touring mindset, eager to see new places and spend some time biking, my preparation was suitably low-key. I figured I could finish in four and a half days, 160 km per day not being too much with my base level of fitness. Maybe I’d finish closer to four days if I pushed it. Up to Rotorua after work on Thursday it was a relaxed trip to the night-before gathering.

Close to fifty of us gathered Friday morning near the museum in fair weather; after a short briefing we were off through the early traffic – not much to deal with as we were soon on cycle paths and then heading up the Mamakus. I was familiar with the first few hours from the last day of last year’s GGG – up on to the Mamakus, lovely gravel riding along the ridge before descending to Tokoroa. There was plenty of group riding to be had as people chatted away and it was all very leisurely. Only stopping for a short pit stop and to grab a pie (the first of quite a few), I was soon on the road again leaving town.

Gravel roads and bunches of bikepackers atop the Mamakus.

Shortly after I was caught by a couple of riders. It was great to ride with Pete, whose brainchild this route was, and chat away; Pete had a fantastic top-ten finish in this year’s Tour Divide, so to chat as we rode a similar pace (I think he’s a fair bit faster than me, but was being nice) was most helpful. I’d planned to get to the start of the Timber Trail (~175 km) that day and sleep there; with Pete’s knowledge of the trail I was beginning to think I could maybe do a little more.

I was familiar with this section of the Waikato River Trail from last year’s Tour Aotearoa – so was not surprised by the relentless number of pinch climbs appearing each time we got close to the mighty river. It was warm, but not hot, as we made reasonable pace. There was a big group of riders in Mangakino, refuelling and restocking for the remote Timber Trail ahead – I stocked up for potentially more than 250 km between shops.

Six hundred metres of ascent was slowed on the road by the southerly we were riding into. There were a few riders around, just ahead or behind me. Back to the infamous wire swing bridge after the road petered out to an overgrown double track, there was a fair queue of riders waiting to get across. Somehow it was more manageable than on the TA and I was soon over and making slow process up the bush track before eventually joining gravel forest roads again. I passed a few people before Pete caught up to me, again, and it was about now I was easily convinced I’d have enough time to summit the Timber Trail (the highest point on the course, just under 1000 m) – unfortunately my dynamo light had showed itself to be faulty the previous week, so I had borrowed a headlight and was unsure just how much run-time I’d get out of it.

Pausing to eat at the historic Caterpillar tractor (which I slept next to the previous year), another group gathered. Some decided to call it a day while a fair few pressed. The climb is steady and my legs were still reasonably good, to my surprise, and it only took us an hour and we managed to descend a fair bit before it was finally too dark to go on without lights. Crossing a couple of the massive swing bridges (my photos were better last year on a misty morning) we were soon at the shelter Pete had told me about. Pleased with almost two hundred kilometres, I thought it sensible to get some rest and I bedded down for the night on a bench in the shelter. The rest carried on into the night, aiming to finish the trail that night (another sixty kilometres of slow-going bike trail).

Up at dawn, I’d slept OK – but not great as I had been in a constant state of peril of falling off the bench. The Timber Trail was as good as last time – I’m determined to return and ride it with a more fun bike (suspension please) in far more than six hours to appreciate the scenery, the forest, the native bird calls, and the extensive history. As it was, I loved it – especially the lovely chorus of native birds. The trail is in pretty ordinary condition from kilometres fifty to sixty and again around the seventy kilometre marker – I was not the only one to have a very sore back from the section just before the Ongarue Spiral.

Off the trail at the planned time of ten o’clock, I was now on completely new-to-me roads. Excited to say the least.

I think the Ongarue Rugby Club has seen better days – I like to imagine what those may have been like when riding through such places.

I spotted another rider! So I pulled in, slightly off route at the Flashpackers – and somehow ended up with fried eggs, toast and a big pot of tea. Luxury, I didn’t even have to drink out of a rolled up newspaper. Enough faffing (stops can really extend themselves easily) I said goodbye to Les, and that was the last I’ve seen of a Mega Grind rider.

Turning south off a short stretch of highway, I saw this sign and knew it to be a very good sign:

Gentle valley floor riding, overall descending, ensued surrounded by hills, hills and more hills. It was stunningly beautiful and I was loving it – also very happy at how I was getting along and wondering if I might make it past Mokau and 175 km that day. Suddenly, a railway line. I wasn’t expecting that; clearly disused I clearly hadn’t paid enough attention to where we were heading. Soon in Ohura, yet another place I’d not heard of, it was clear that this was the old line that used to go through Whangamomona (of this trip last year) to Taranaki. With a bit of refuelling to be had, from my own supplies as the Cossie Club was not open yet, I gave a couple of local youths on bikes a crash course in bikepacking before leaving town and straight into a big climb and wonderful gravel.

A bit of descent had us on a the farming plateau of Waitaanga before a huge plunge through a beautiful native-bush clad gorge of upper reaches of the Tongaporutu River, which we then followed out to the coast at a more gentle gradient. Thirty kilometres of highway was not too tedious as there was sometimes a shoulder and the wind was now, apparently, at my back – it did not always seem so.

Baches at Tongaporutu.

I made Mokau, my provisional goal for the day and almost halfway around the course, around five o’clock – still many hours of daylight left to get a bit further. So after a huge burger, I was fuelled up again and rolling into the evening. Leaving the highway behind it was a very pleasant, gentle, gravelled climb up one river valley before cresting the watershed and plunging down into the next catchment area. I hadn’t really come prepared for much night riding – my fingers getting the coldest (I had enough other layers) once the sun had gone.

The last two climbs were steeper, but surmountable – I still seemed to have energy left in my legs. Only four kilometres out of Marokopa, where I would sleep, there was another climb – hot work going up, cold whizzing down. Well over halfway now, I found a verandah to sleep under and laid my head for the night – pleased with my first 200 km+ day since the TA, and surprised with how “easy” it was (easy in inverted commas because obviously it was still a fair bit of work propelling a laden bike, but my body seemed far stronger than it should be, had been before; especially considering the amount of riding I’ve been doing recently – few long or hard rides). In part this was because I’d lost over six hundred metres of altitude that day, but there was still a fair bit of climbing – I went to sleep happy, and slept well.

For a change, actually managing to get riding before six o’clock, there was a fair bit of flat riding on Sunday deserted roads – this didn’t help in warming up any. But as the next two hundred kilometres showed plainly, you can’t go far around here without finding a hill. Climbing to the highest point of the day (a staggering 250 m!) there were still no more cars, but the hills were still stunning. Then, there’s Kawhia Harbour in the distance:

Riding around here, on the flat for a bit, was very pleasant as the day warmed.

Stopping for bacon & eggs after three and a half hours, I’d been feeling a little more sluggish than the previous day. Still I was nowhere near wanting to leave my bike on this fence.

Leaving Kawhia Harbour we headed for Raglan. If anything, the hills became more numerous – but not bigger. With more fuel in me and the day warming, I was getting my legs back to normal. By my estimate, I’d be in Raglan by three; as the route got near to Raglan it turned off west for the coast, a definite long-cut around Mt Karioi. Immediately the road turned to gravel and one could see why it was sign-posted as closed during the upcoming NZ Rally – it was utterly sublime. Full of twists and turns, snaking down valleys to sea level and then rising back up – this section was the highlight of the route for me. The sea crashing into the rugged coast, the trees long since succumbing to the prevailing wind and bending away from the coast and there were wonderful, large stands of native forest.

I stopped here a bit to take in the trees forming not merely a canopy, but a blanket of purest green. Mesmerising.

Closer to Raglan, the view opened up north and the traffic increased a little – which wasn’t hard, for an hour or so I’d seen next to none.

I did make Raglan by three o’clock, my plan was coming together as I tried to estimate just how far I’d get that night. I was bemused to see I’d, without getting more than 250 m above sea level, already climbed 2000 m that day – there were many, many little hills. Two pies devoured I hit the highway out of town.

It was awful. A sunny Sunday afternoon seemed to have brought most of Hamilton to town, and they were now leaving. Thankfully the course looped off the highway and onto a gravel back road for a bit. I was displeased to have to join it again, mercifully for less than two kilometres. Turning left at the T-junction, I watched in disbelief as a van just in front of me, at speed, locked up its wheels to avoid another car, started fishtailing, went out of control and barrel-rolled down the highway eventually coming to rest on its now crumpled roof.

There were plenty of people around the gas station rushing to the aid of the driver, so I turned around and did a spot of traffic management before deciding it was time to get off this mad road. Rather subdued when I realised that if I’d been a few seconds faster I’d have been occupying the same time & space that a crappy old Ford Econovan seemed intent on rolling through, I slowed a bit rather keen on messaging loved ones. I was surprised to see an ambulance already heading towards the scene from a back road. Then I came across a recently wrecked road bike (of the motorcycle kind) in a ditch and understood the ambulance’s apparent promptness. Suddenly, I wasn’t so keen on riding a bike on roads – especially remembering some of the tragedies in the international bikepacking community earlier in the year.

After that drama, the roads to Ngaruwahia turned out to be very pleasant and I soon got my head back in a good place and pedaled on. I was surprised to be informed by a sign that I got as close as seventy-five kilometres from my old home of Pukekohe – which is Auckland now. I’d come all this way to get so close to the big smoke?! Unimpressed. But at least I now know where Glen Massey is. We turned away from Auckland.

Stopping to snack as the route joined the cycle trail beside the Waikato River, I set off into the evening through Hamilton to Cambridge. I had been wondering why I’d not bothered to remove the bell from my bike – it turned out to be mighty useful along the busy pathway that evening. The section through the Hamilton Gardens was tedious and poorly signposted for all its twists and turns, but I was soon on back roads in the failing light.

I was having dinner in Cambridge at nine o’clock still rather keen on the plan I’d been formulating to all day to push on and finish this thing that night. It was just over a hundred kilometres and involved the decent climb over the Mamakus. I figured I could be in Rotorua around three in the morning. Just as I was about to leave, I witnessed yet another car crash – I’d recommend not going anywhere near a road in the Waikato!

Having already ridden two hundred and forty kilometres, getting to the finish would be by far my biggest day ever on a bike. Alas, in my effort to try to conserve what light I did have for the Mamakus, I made it too difficult for me to see and I just wore myself out more. I probably wasn’t mentally prepared for more hills near Arapuni Dam and for the first time in seven hundred kilometres I got really slow. It just wasn’t fun (Pete’s words of Friday ringing in my ear), so I realised a bit of sleep would be best and I gave up on my plan of finishing within three days. It was a little disappointing, but as I’d planned on a four day finish the pill wasn’t too bitter.

On back roads through dairy farms at that time, there was little night time traffic so when I saw a strange little (shorter than me) two and a half sided corrugated iron shed, I’d found my resting place for the night. Only after I’d set up my bed did I realise all the grass was making my eyes a little puffy & my nose run, and I had invaded a small bird’s home.

We stared at each other a lot; I slept well and woke to find I still had both my eyes. Success.

An earlier start (five-thirty) and I was off to Putaruru for breakfast. I wore extra layers as it was chilly and as it was relatively flat (compared to the previous morning anyway) I never really warmed up. I was feeling average, but with only seventy kilometres to go it was easy to keep on going. With a full English breakfast in me from the Crazy Cow Cafe (I was too tired to appreciate all the amoosing puns), I was away again and heading for the hills – well, the last hill. Ascending four hundred and fifty metres it’s pretty steady, with a few little pinches; Leslie Rd does seem to be one of those hills that just keeps on giving. Finally I was at the top riding into a stiff easterly and negotiating the huge puddles that form the end of the paper road.

All downhill from here! Or not, the wind was strong enough to necessitate pedaling down hill. Height of rudeness. Still, at least it had nothing on my Invercargill to Bluff TA experience. But that couldn’t come close to dampening my spirits as I turned the pedals around all the way to the finish.

Time to lie on the grass, too tired to ask the small guided tour group to move so I could get a better photo.

I was, and still am, so thrilled to have ridden far stronger and longer than I ever have, or imagined I might. At three days and three hours, that’s an average of 250 km/day – compare that with 180-odd/day I did on TA. I had the same bike and carried the same gear, and had done even less preparation this time around – not to mention entering this event with less of a deadline and firmly just wanting to have a look around a different part of NZ. (Admittedly, this was only three days in a row, not two weeks – and the weather was amazing too.)

So I’m a little taken aback, how did this suddenly happen with no plan or desire? In part, taking a bit more care of what I’ve been eating in the previous six weeks has meant that I am currently carrying significantly less weight on me than for the last ten or so years. As has been usefully pointed out – how much money would one pay to get fancy gear to lose so much mass from one’s bike and gear? The answer would be thousands and involve titanium and fancy composites. After mentally spending these thousands in my mind, sense prevailed remembering what some guru said a few years ago: “Ride what you have”. Another component of this step-change I guess is more in my mind – and that comes from talking to, reading about other people that perform absolutely amazing feats of endurance. Obviously, I’m nowhere near that – but it does open one’s eyes to what is possible, and maybe just rubs off a little, eventually.

Now I’m looking around for more events and routes I can challenge myself on. The cool thing is I can see many areas to improve and with a bit more discipline I should be able to push my boundaries far more (I did after all carry a tent the whole way around and not use it, oops – which is what I did for all but the first night of TA; I think I may be learning slowly!).

Thanks to Pete and Erik for such a great route and well organised event – the hours and days that go into planning such a thing are immense, and all for the love of it. I certainly got to see parts of this country that I’d not before, and probably wouldn’t have otherwise. More importantly, I’ve suddenly seen other things I did not see before.

Apologies for shortage of good photos, I was having too much fun riding my bike. But I suspect if you’ve managed to read this far, you might not mind so much.