Two hundred and twenty kilometres left of the course, it was identical to my last twenty hours of GSB19. So no surprises to be had, and although it was a far longer distance than any day I’d ridden that week – with only two small (in comparison) passes, good surfaces all day, the southerly still blowing well and simply knowing I have and can ride such days – I was wondering if we’d get to the finish. However it was interesting to hear the talk of riding buddies throughout the day – general consensus was that it would be nice to camp approaching the last pass and enjoy another night out, around seventy kilometres from Tekapo; getting all the way to Tekapo would blow many ever-increasing longest-daily-distances completely out of the water.

It sounded nice, and I had been trying to slow down a bit – so I was willing to give that a try. I mean, what was the rush? We’d been having a great time out here, why hurry back and end it? Still, I was wondering how it would play out. With the riding going to be pretty benign compared to the much tougher days we’d all just done, would people really stop so early in the day with such a short distance to go? Fascinating.

Thankfully the Ranfurly store and cafe opened at seven, as after the long haul from Roxburgh and getting in late we very much needed to resupply. The southerly pushed us up the gentle rise to Naseby and around the water race (last seen way back on Day Two) through the forest. I thought I’d warm up, but after two hours of riding I struggled to do so – so a brief layover in Naseby to thaw out a bit. It worked a treat and I continued on the familiar road out of town.

Easy ascent to Naseby, enjoying the sunlight while it lasted.

Turn towards Danseys Pass, before the climbing begins in earnest, I simply can’t go past the Dansey’s Pass Hotel. Especially when there are GSB bikes outside. It never disappoints and it was nice to find some company; the tea and scones probably helped.

Leaving with Dave, it was good to finally spend some time riding together. There’s rarely traffic up here, and with the road only just reopening the day before, it was easy to ride alongside chatting away. The climbing was easy with the wind pushing us up the hill, but it was still cold. Nearing the pass itself, it got rather bleak so it was time for more layers for the soon drop to the lavender farm.

I’d remembered the big climb soon after, but the extent of it always surprises me. At least it was warming and the long downhill to Duntroon was most pleasant. Previously bouncing around between Dave and Eileen, I was promptly dropped as the road flattened – as is my tendency. Time for a decent snack break at the start of the twenty-five kilometre Alps2Ocean section to Kurow, that didn’t ward off a flat section for me. Not an engaging section of trail, and having turned into a strong wind I was slow and not having a great time. I did amuse me to see the giant stand of willows I rather hilariously got lost in at midnight last time around, and I could see how it happened – route finding down the fluid river bed was difficult enough in broad daylight, let alone nineteen hours and 240+ kilometres into a day at the end of a challenging week. At least this time I had a better idea of where to go.

Eventually I made it into Kurow (about halfway to Tekapo) around three o’clock, tuckered out and just a bit low – in part because such a fantastic week was drawing to an end. But there was food to be had and the wind would soon be helpful again on a gorgeous afternoon. Not finding my first pie of the week at the convenience store, the cafe across the road was a far better option. Both Dave and Katie were struggling to finish comically large potato wedges (most bigger than my hand, some almost as thick as my wrist), apparently the burgers were as ridiculously oversized – but I’ll have to visit again to find out.

Fuelled up, we left the cafe in dribs and drabs, the talk still seeming to be of camping out somewhere – I was highly skeptical by now. It’s funny how things can seem to change so quickly (of course, nothing much has really changed but on such rides, one’s mindset is such a large component), with music near blaring from my phone and a faintly ridiculous sing-a-long in progress I felt like I charged up the small hill after crossing the Waitaki. Pleased with this burst of energy and lightened mood, I was not letting it go to waste – especially as I’d had such a tough final hundred kilometres last time around. In high spirits and actually enjoying the long, very gentle gravel climb up the valley Katie was soon hauled in and plenty of chat (another deserted, wide gravel road) ensued, the kilometres flying by – not wholly due to comparing it to the long tedious drag up here in 2019.

Early evening by now, and with only sixty kilometres to go and as the approach to the pass pitched up, it was time for a big rest stop and refuel – admiring the view as Dave, to our amusement, pulled out a large box and proceeded to try and unload the wedges (quite the anchor). We still couldn’t finish them between us, I’m sure he still had them the next morning – perhaps they even fuelled his Kiwi Brevette ride this last week?

As nice as it was there was no talk of camping anymore, we simply kept riding.

Slowly the gradient increased.

Approaching the pass – such pleasant riding conditions, it was hardly troublesome.

Obligatory. 45 km? Simple…

I mean, it looks all downhill.

Much fun on the descent off the pass; surprised to see a tent this early and close to the finish, we stopped briefly to chat to Tony and Karen, who had started a day late and a day around the course and looked to be having a grand time fast-touring the route. Camp chairs, seriously?!

Downhill finished, I’d remembered the horrible traverse across the widened valley to the highway. That helpful southerly was now a very strong head-crosswind. Slowly we climbed to the highway, sixteen kilometres of good road took us almost an hour. But soon enough we were at the busy highway, donning as many flashing lights as possible, for the final run into town. Almost an hour gradually climbing on the highway with a beautiful evening sky, we were pretty spent and each glad for the company; with the final drop into town, we’d almost made it!

Rounding the lakeshore to the Church of the Good Shepherd we were very pleased to be finishing after that section of highway. Hang on, what’s all this noise? Alarmingly, bewilderingly and unseen on any of the dozen or so bikepacking events I’ve done, a lot of cheering, clapping and general celebration was coming from a fair group of fellow riders and company. It was slightly overwhelming, usually one is lucky if there are two people at the end of one of these.

Photo: Dave King

Video: Dave King

But so very cool to be welcomed home by bikepacking friends old and new, what a great way to finish the week. Handshakes, hugs and finish line beers – pretty fortunate. Especially in light of the subsequent comments from friends abroad about how thoroughly normal the video above looks; but after a year of pandemic raging overseas, also how utterly surreal it all looked. Yet another reminder to get out and make the most of the freedom we have for who-knows-how-long down at the bottom of the world.

Pretty happy about that ride. Photo: Dave King

How good is this?! Photo: Dave King

Light finally fading, we rode back to the lakeside lodge for some quick barbecue leftovers, I found some cleaner non-bike clothes before hurriedly piling into vehicle again heading for the finish. Eileen and Joe were riding in, and I think they were similarly overwhelmed by the reception! Perhaps more so as they finished just as night surrounded us – all the noise out of the darkness must have been even more jarring. After having ridden so much with Eileen and seen her daily distances records continually smashed, it was very exciting to see her first 200+ km day completed to finish the route at least a day and a half earlier than originally expected.

Back at the lodge, the party continued – although being pretty tired and hungry I may have missed most of it? Still, excellent reminiscing of the week past. I don’t know what it is about the GSB (is it the route, the terrain, the scenery, the people?); the last one had such a profound effect on me, I’d spent two years waiting for this edition. Even though expectations changed with the recent shoulder dislocation and this one was quite different for me, all goals were met – shoulder survived, found some fitness, saw beautiful places, slowed down and enjoyed more riding with others – and some lessons were learned too. Nonetheless, only two weeks since, the effects are still just as profound and I can’t wait for the next one!

Thanks to Dave and crew for all the organising, and all the people who shared the ride along the way.

Excited by a day of almost entirely new terrain, the only large section of places unfamiliar to me on the route, it was one of the earlier starts during a week of leisurely departures. That said, it was only six-thirty – so plenty of light as we were soon back on route and past the Shaky Bridge leaving Alexandra. Brian caught up as we searched for the correct gate to begin the climb up onto the Knobby Range.

The three of us would ride together for the rest of a day where we were treated to pleasingly engaging climbs, and a thirty degree temperature drop from the previous day – a southerly change overnight didn’t start off too bad considering we were riding south. Fragrant thyme heavy in the air is always one of the special delights of riding around this area, and no different on this morning as any overnight moisture evaporated.

Brian and Eileen catching some morning light soon after leaving Alexandra. Looking across to the Dunstans, with the Pisas just peeking through in the background.

Route finding for the most part was straightforward following the track through an increasing number of rocks.

Skirting the farm buildings about halfway up, the gradient kicked up suddenly. I misunderstood “it’s only two hundred metres” as horizontal distance – so worth a crack, having pushed a bit of the lower climb; only to find it was two hundred metres vertical. Still, I could just manage it and I wasn’t stopping now.

More spot the rider.

Dark clouds rolled through, but the sunlight stuck with us.

The wind was getting up and some of the clouds were looking ominous, but the rain stayed away from us on this entire section, and it wasn’t too cold yet even with the strengthening southerly. It looked bleak up on the Old Man Range, very pleased not to be up there this time.

Undulating across the top, rolling downhill a nice change before climbing again.

As Dave commented later, a real cross section of gate history up here. This one probably the oldest, very pleasing to see the Hayes Engineering shackle from just down the road in Oturehua.

From the trig, it was only a few kilometres down through farmland before hitting the largest part of the descent to Roxburgh on fast gravel.

Down to the Clutha, with the Umbrella Mountains behind.

An easy ten kilometres alongside the river and we were in Roxburgh for an early lunch, reflecting on an excellent morning ride in pleasingly benign conditions (compared with the previous day’s heat and sun, and the coming afternoon).

Certainly was worth lingering over a large lunch and pot of tea at 103 The Store – highly recommended.

Generally heading east for the eight hundred metres of gain to the highpoint before dropping to Lake Onslow, at times the southerly was with us, at time against us. It definitely cooled down, occasional cold rain and then light hail blowing in our faces, we were soon reaching for more layers. However, it was mostly dry and, while steep in parts, there was so much variety in the climb (rolling downhill at times) and the textures of the cultivated and relatively untouched land that there was always something to look at.

At the summit after three hours, I wasn’t hanging around long with temperatures at freezing and the wind strong – not to mention now at our back for much of the next ninety kilometres.

Brian climbing away from the Lake Onslow fishing huts.

Past the dam wall, it was definitely time to find a spot at least slightly sheltered from the southerly for significant refuelling – most of that lunch was well gone from the climb!

Felt a bit bad for startling these sheep out of their place of refuge from the cold wind.

Passing the lake, there was still a little climbing to be done before the long descent to the Upper Taieri. I enjoyed a different perspective of the formation of the river that loops all the way around the Rock and Pillars, usually seen by me climbing the Old Dunstan Road out of Paerau (third photo looks back to where we were on this time around, on a much brighter day). Losing elevation, things did brighten for us as the rocky landscape returned.

With the tailwind and long descent, albeit with many gates to be opened, progress certainly sped – but I think we were all feeling the effects of a long day and being up in the weather, which was a whole lot better than it could have been thankfully. Guy caught us as we stopped for more snacks before the fifty-odd kilometres of skirting the base of Rough Ridge and cutting across the Maniototo Plain to Ranfurly.

Funny to see our place of refuge in a big southerly front on the last GSB in sunlight; the bees certainly less dormant this time!

The evening was pleasant, but we were slowing – Ranfurly was a long way off.

Surprised to still have riding buddies after I inexplicably made a wrong term (thankfully soon corrected) – still no idea why there was no thought process behind that. Tired enough that “see turn, make turn” is quite reasonable?!

Into town at eight-thirty to find a large GSB crew at the pub, happily fed – we were pleased to get pizzas with the kitchen already shut and then off to a cosy cabin at the holiday park, where they couldn’t have been friendlier. Another big day on this GSB, my favourite by far – love seeing new places, not to mention a good climb or two. Very tired, I actually slept through the whole night for the first time in a week.

A good night to be inside a hut perched on the side of a hill as the wind certainly built overnight. Strangely for a hut filled with exhausted bikepackers there was no snoring! However I was awake for much of the night, at times feeling particularly ill – but that passed and I was somewhat ready for a civilised seven o’clock start. But not before taking a look at the intriguing sky as others left.

Katie excited by the prospect of the day ahead, or the sky, or something. Or maybe just agreeing to smile for the camera.

Up the first hill and away.

Well, it was the last hundred metres to climb of last night’s hill. Taking fifteen minutes, it got more exposed and it was a good struggle against the wind. Already I was tired of riding alone in the wind, so slowed a bit; shortly Eileen and then Guy (who’d had an early start way back down in Garston) caught up and down the Nevis Valley we went. Plenty of stream crossings ensued, a few snack breaks as we pedalled through the barren and windswept valley in flat light. Having overcome the climb from Garston, it’s certainly a much easier ride in this direction – or maybe I was particularly tired first thing on that day on the last GSB.
Even the little bit of climbing where the valley narrows wasn’t too bad. Perhaps I had finally started to find some legs by mid-morning, halfway through the route.

Spot the rider.

Dave caught up to us yet again in his surprisingly hardy and capable little Renault for updates and some photos.

Plenty of gates were opened and closed that day.
Photo: Dave King

Yet another stream crossing, and nearing the flats and the steep climb out – a chance to fill bottles.
Video: Dave King

Dave sprung from behind a lot of tussock to catch another stream crossing; most amusing, but I failed to quite snap a picture.
Video: Dave King

Heading towards the homestead and farm buildings, we paused out of the wind for a good food break before crossing the Nevis and taking on the six-hundred metre, steep and ninety minute climb.

Naturally, the sun came out to bake us as we left the Nevis below us.

Much more pleasant summit conditions this time around, one could actually stand up and it was worth lingering for photos and more chat with those loosely following around in vehicles.

Photo: Dave King

We quickly lost all the day’s elevation, and a fair chunk of the previous day’s too, on a fast and steep gravel descent towards Bannockburn.

Cromwell and Lake Dunstan in the distance.

Not shabby.

Definitely prefer riding down here, rather than slowly making my way up through a herd of large cattle.

At the junction, we were delighted to find Mark with a boot full of trail angel goodies. Down low, it had certainly warmed up and even after a big downhill we were quite partial to cold drinks and fresh Central Otago cherries.

Photo: Dave King

A mere twenty kilometres of gravel along Hawksburn Rd and we’d be in the shade of the river trail from Clyde to Alexandra. Properly hot by now, I probably could have done a better job of warning that this section is not to be taken lightly – having ridden it in similar conditions a few years earlier. There are some well steep sections to deal with, as the road eventually follows the power pylons. I was still feeling pretty good and pleased to be stretching my legs a bit. Any shade was welcome for a break, but there was little of that.

Down the Clutha to Alexandra, Crawford Hills behind.

Finally, the big plunge to Earnscleugh. Confusingly, Mark was there again in a different vehicle; as was Brian who’d left the ski hut a little before us. All pretty cooked in the thirty-plus degree heat and a day in the strong norwester, we really hadn’t ridden far – but it was a big day nonetheless. Guy, having started earlier and lower, called it a day while Eileen and I enjoyed shaded, cooler easy kilometres along the river trail to Alexandra. The next section of course both of us were unfamiliar with, and we were debating whether we should go over the Knobby Range that night.

Reports were the forty-odd kilometres would take us well over four hours (we happened across both Dave, and Geof – who living locally seems to randomly appear on my GSB rides, at the bridge into town for a bit of strategising). With reports of 100 km/h winds on the range and knowing the day, albeit shorter distance, we’d just had we opted for a huge delicious meal in an air-conditioned Nepali Indian restaurant, resupplying at the grocery store and the generous hospitality offered to riders by (rider) Joe and his wife, also Jo (not at all confusing) on our way out of town.

Big day, but again great riding, some challenges overcome, fascinating terrain, excellent riding company and plain bikepacking fun.

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.