Overnight rain had passed through and after a good sleep it was a leisurely start to Friday. With a large civilised breakfast around a table, it was after eight o’clock before Oliver and I pedaled out of Tapawera. Before long we were riding through more boring plantation forest, cresting the hill and rolling down to Wakefield – at least we found a lot of ripe blackberries on the roadside. With a day and a half to do only 240 km, we were taking plenty of stops. It warmed up some and as we came to cross the main road we got stopped in our tracks by a large procession of hot rods – it was Waitangi Day (NZ’s national day) so a lot of people were out and about.

Thankfully the store was open late morning on a public holiday, so it was a stock up for lunch and my seventh and last pie in five days. The large bag of salt & vinegar crisps I bought required some creative stowing – eventually they ended up stuffed down my shirt; ready access – brilliant. I had hoped the Taste (cycle) Trail into Nelson would provide plenty of opportunities to sample local food and wines – disappointingly, it didn’t. In fact it was quite boring; but it was flat, smooth and fast and we were in Nelson to have a brief rest beside a small river in the shade. That break was supposed to be lunch, but we’d eaten too much in Wakefield.

Somewhere along the way we’d got to deciding that it would be cool to finish the course in less than seven days – that would mean being back in Blenheim by ten o’clock Saturday morning. Instead of camping the night at Aussie Bay along Queen Charlotte Drive, we would instead get to Picton that night and see if we wanted to go much further. If Picton was the overnight stop, that would only leave sixty-five kilometres and about four hours’ riding the next morning. I was starting to get a bit bored with the scenery so was wondering if I might be able to push through the night to finish – also pitching a tent for only few hours seemed a waste of riding time.

Leaving Nelson up the Maitai Valley was all very pleasant as we passed some big parks with plenty of people out enjoying the warm weather. Fortuitously, as we hit a nasty nasty climb the clouds started to roll in from the west and it wasn’t nearly as hot and uncomfortable as it could have been. The ascent of the Maungatapu was more than enough unpleasantness without sweltering in harsh sunlight. Once again, as on Day Five, it took two hours to go ten kilometres – but this time there was a unrelenting six hundred metres of vertical gain to also be earned. This was mostly pushing, but at least a higher proportion was rideable (just) than Porika Road the day before.

The only photo of the day – looking back towards Nelson from the saddle.

With not too much cursing, we attained the saddle to see the only person for hours, a young guy wandering around with a rifle – brilliant. After a brief chat it was a fast, fun & rocky descent to Pelorus Bridge. Just as we popped into the DOC campsite office to fill water bottles, the big cloud that had been chasing us since Nelson unrelentingly dumped rain as we sheltered near the cafe. Thankful to have avoided that, we waited it out and hit the highway to Havelock. We’d both been craving hot chips for a while, so finding the grocery store closed we headed to a chippie and stocked up on delicious chips.

Out of Havelock was the most tired I felt all day, I struggled along for half an hour or so until we left Pelorus Sound. Reaching the very top of Queen Charlotte Sound, near The Grove jetty, was the dead-cert highlight of the day – and easily the wildlife viewing moment of the week. Initially we rode past a bunch of tourists stopped on the side of the road, as tourist are want to do, before thinking there might be something to see. There definitely was – in the low light of the evening one could just make out a faint disturbance in the water’s surface between some boats anchored fifty metres off shore.

Gradually, a large pod of quite sizeable dolphins came towards us spending more and more time above the water. They came in quite close to the jetty and as they kept going in & out of the water it was difficult to work out how many there were – I think about fifteen. It was one of those majestic memories that will have to stay in my mind as my camera was buried deep due to the heavy shower earlier. The rest of the day seemed quite boring in comparison.

It was only another fifteen-odd kilometres to Picton around the edge of the sound as night closed in and we tried our best to not be hit by slow-driving tourists. We’d decided to keep going & see how far we might make it – if too tired, we’d simply camp somewhere. Thus Picton was our last chance to stock up for the night-ride ahead; after finding the only eating places in town open were bars and restaurants we went towards the main ferry terminal – I’ve never been so happy to see a Subway open. Foot-longs devoured it was about ten o’clock before we left Picton for the last sixty-five kilometres to Blenheim via Port Underwood and the coastal road.

I’d been well warned that this was a rather hilly route and would take hours – also, Oliver had toured it not so long ago. It persistently rained upon leaving Picton for about ninety minutes – until the top of the biggest remaining climb (crossing from Waikawa to Port Underwood). We managed to grind out all the climbing, the quick downhills were freezing in night and the about twenty-five kilometres of gravel road was in pretty poor condition. With quite a few stops to snack, put on a layer or take layers off (it was quite warm going up the hills) I was pleasantly surprised by my ability to keep pushing the pedals around, however slowly, as it was soon the early hours of Saturday morning. It’s nice to do something completely mad every so often.

Finally we were out of the hills after forty kilometres that took over four hours (that is proper slow on the road) – it was probably good that darkness concealed all but what was immediately in front of us. I couldn’t see how big the looming hills were or just how awful the road surface was. On the plains back to Blenheim the sky finally cleared and as the roads were straight and progress was much easier, Oliver started to get a bit sleepy – understandable as it was about three o’clock by this stage.

Eventually, we were back in Seymour Square in Blenheim at 3.40 to absolutely no fanfare – as you’d expect, there wasn’t even a passerby or stray dog to witness our achievement at this time of the day. So that was that – 1150 km around the upper South Island in seven days less four hours. Naturally I was pleased to finish and with the achievement; dog-tired, I was almost just as pleased at how well we’d come through what turned out to be a twenty-hour day to cover 240 km with one bloody big hill in the middle and then multiple smaller steep climbs in the dead of the night. What a great event and I got to see so many new things!

Back to Doug & Shirley’s I found we’d been locked out, so had to pitch my tent anyway. With a few solid hours kip on the lawn, we were up in time to make it to a fun nine o’clock breakfast sharing campaign stories with a few of those riders we’d seen quite a bit of the previous days and who’d finished at a sensible hour the evening before.

Footnote:

I had enough time the following day before catching the ferry from Picton to Wellington to drive the rugged Port Underwood road in the daylight and appreciate the views we missed at night and see just how big the hills were. I’m not sure how we made it through in the dark – probably not being to see the challenges helped. It was hard enough to drive in a 4WD! At times the road was so steep and corrugated that the rear tyres would not grip and I had to put the truck into 4WD. Goodness knows what we were thinking riding through that after already having spent fifteen hours riding that day!

Picton was looking much nicer in the sunshine too:

I suspect this Chevy is carrying one of the Model Ts that was in Blackball just before us a few days previously.

Just past the half-way point of the 1150 km course, the end was starting to seem near on the fifth morning. Quite why this was, I’m not sure – there was still much over five hundred kilometres to ride. The fifth day turned out be the best of the lot, despite by far the worst weather of my ride. This was due to the three and a half hours on the ten kilometre Big River Trail & ~twenty kilometres of 4WD road out on Soldiers Big River Rd.

The day started off innocuously enough at my steady (slow) pace on the road to Ikamatua up the left bank of the Grey passing many large diary herds making their way back from the morning milking. I was quickly caught by a few of the riders faster on the road, Gary dragged me to the village store (I think he scratched later that day with recurrent shoulder & back pain) – but as a non-coffee drinker I wasn’t keen on hanging around. Not far north up the highway, the course turned east up the slightly steeper Blackwater valley and the surrounding bush-clad hills closed in ever closer.

At the much-smaller-than-in-its-heyday Blackwater I happened upon the old school. Intrigued and with plenty of time I investigated to find the door unlocked and a few signs of birds having been inside. Suddenly I was transported back a varying number of years – items in the school varied from about a hundred years old to chairs of the type that I spent many hours sitting on while at school in the eighties and nineties. There was a small display providing some details of what was once a bustling gold-mining community.

These chairs will be familiar to so many New Zealanders of my generation.

For me, that’s not a bad selfie.

Moving on, the road became gravelled and steadily climbed up to the old Waiuta township through a mixture of native and plantation forest. Just as I crested the rise, Grenville & Glen from earlier in the morning caught me again. Waiuta was also once a bustling, remote West Coast gold-mining town and it was tempting to spend hours looking around the remaining buildings and gold processing equipment. Alas, there was a remote backcountry trail to ride.

An old pack trail for reaching small mines in the remote forest, it now goes to the Big River Hut and is open to biking as well as walking. In dense forest on the wet West Coast, the trail was predictably damp but never that muddy (too much time riding real English mud). Still gradually climbing a further two-fifty metres, the trail twists and turns incessantly following the contour of hills. The beech forest was immense, with little light filtering through on to all the various shades green coating the trees, rocks and trail.

With plenty of rocks and roots, off-camber too, for one of the few times in the week my tyres made sense and I was so happy they did. While I passed Grenville & Greg very early on pushing around corners – I could and did ride large stretches of the trail, occasionally dabbing or dismounting to get around tight stream crossings or particularly tricky sections. After all, a bad fall here would be a long way/time from help.

Lush!

As seeing new beautiful places of the country was one of the prime motivators for undertaking this event, I was having a grand time in such a remote little corner of NZ. Admittedly, it was slow going – the ten kilometres took almost two hours of solid riding, with only the occasional stop to snack, take a photo or admire the surrounds. But I loved it all and was thrilled to have such opportunities.

One of the many shafts to long-abandoned gold mines passed during the day.

Eventually the trail seemed to settle on & around its highest point – parts of it seemed to go straight down stream beds, with varying degrees of water in them. Coming out of the bush onto a swampy section the route had been boardwalked for a little before dropping down past the Big River Hut (a fair few of the breveters had stayed here over previous nights I think) and the site of the old Big River township. There are still plenty of ruins to poke around, but I carried on crossing the river and getting my feet wet – much to my dismay, but in the grand scheme of the eventual day that didn’t matter. The rain that the forest had kept out got a little heavier out in the open.

The 4WD trail started off with following and crossing Big River a few times before plunging a hundred and fifty metres on a track covered with big chunky rocks. Steep and fast, it was challenging and extremely fun before bottoming out to leave a good honest climb on a similar tricky surface recovering all those metres just lost passing many more disused mines. Then it was back to an even longer rollicking downhill on more of the same fun trail. I was lucky rounding one corner to not integrate myself into the front of a large Mitsubishi pick-up, but the three people inside were very chatty and interested why there were all these crazy people up there with heavily loaded bikes – so I obliged and talked for a few minutes.

Finally, five hours after leaving Ikamatua I was back in civilisation ecstatic about the riding I’d just experienced. What a great trail – easily the best part of the whole brevet course for me. I’m sure it would be much faster with a lighter and full-suspension bike, but I didn’t really miss one on my set-up and don’t think I could hope for more fun & enjoyment – it was sublime. But it was definitely time for lunch and catching up with a few faces I hadn’t seen for days. The other best pies of the week come from Nanna Nii’s Pies Pies Pies store – I recommend the Steak and Bacon & Egg. Leaving (Somerset) Oliver, who I hadn’t seen since early on Day Two, looking for a replacement phone charger, I headed out on the highway towards Springs Junction on a long gradual climb to Rahu Saddle following the Inangahua River.

Soon I’d caught up to Kirsty & Robyn and with Oliver catching up to us, a merry little group was formed as we soon caught John and Hamish. The weather didn’t particularly like us however, or maybe just one of us – I’m unsure who, as the heavens opened and a downpour ensued for the best part of an hour. I made the mistake of not putting my rain trousers on soon enough, but I’m not sure it made much difference as we were all soon soaked and with still twenty or thirty clicks to go before reaching the Junction. With little choice, the cranks kept turning and cresting the saddle it was fast, wet and damn cold down to Springs.

The dryness and warmth of the cafe at Springs Junction was welcome. As it was still utterly miserable, it was not long before the last rooms in the adjoining motel were snapped up as the certainty of a hot dinner and staying dry won out for a few of us – over continuing to Maruia where they weren’t serving food. But still, some hardy souls later rolled in and out again into the rain. Finishing riding for the day at half past five seemed a little ridiculous, but it had been eleven hours for me – so I was happy to have a warm shower, turn our motel room in to a laundry of drying cycling clothes and eat a lot in good company before hitting the hay.

What a fantastic day – even the torrential rain for nigh on an hour couldn’t dampen my spirits. Exploring remote backcountry trail with some sort of epic quality is just fantastic.

It was a much more leisurely start to the day than the previous one – slightly later and no screaming fire alarms helped. I’d made it to Springfield and had enjoyed that day so much, mostly due to McDonald Downs, and kept my bargain with myself – all thoughts of pulling out were gone, I was going to be able to complete this course. Today was the day to cross the Southern Alps and spend some time on the West Coast – an area of NZ notorious for excessive levels of rainfall (all the weather comes across the Tasman Sea and dumps there, leaving the east of the island rather dry).

For the first forty-five minutes a strong easterly helped me on my way, but heading up to Porters Pass my bearing changed slightly and the wind swirled through the mountain valleys. For not the last time in the day, the head and cross wind was horrendous; the road up to the pass was pretty steep too. I passed another breveter and then another passed me – Gary seemed pleased for the company and was much stronger on the road than I, I was happy to follow him up the hill as he mostly battled the wind.

After sheltering at the top for a snack, we crossed the pass and worked into the wind on the way down. Then the road turned more north and the wind swirled around to give another big tail wind. Eventually Gary was too fast for me, so I was back enjoying a beautiful morning in solitude. The wind continued to be hard work most of the time; I made myself take regular mini-breaks and tried to capture the expanse of the valley in a few photos.

The highlight of the morning’s riding was having to stop for road work at the top of a large hill after Craigieburn – the traffic having been reduced to one lane. I was at the front of the queue and eventually I was let loose down the hill – there is something thrilling about riding a loaded mountain-bike down hills at over seventy kilometres an hour, all the others on faster tyres and higher gears must have really been flying down here. It was sometime before the traffic passed me again.

Then things turned horrible again as the wind changed again for a good couple of hours about the time I reached Lake Pearson – I was glad I hadn’t made it that far the night before to camp, it would have been a restless night. With my speed again reduced to about half of what it would normally be on flat road, it was proper hard slow work. Just as I reached the Waimakariri crossing I caught up to Kirsty & Robyn – it was nice to have a little company for the gradual climb up to Arthurs Pass Village, which was more sheltered and much preferable to being out in the wind.

There was a small collection of Breveters at the store – time to have one of the best pies (I recommend the New York Peppered Steak) of the week and stock up on food for the coming day(s). The remaining climb up to the actual pass was nowhere near as bad as Porters Pass.

When asked to take a photo, I stupidly suggested holding bikes above heads without realising I’d have to do the same and the rear of my bike is very heavy.

So this photo looks a lot less strained.

The descent down to the west of the island was extremely steep – it was fast, fun and I was very pleased we’d not had to climb it. There was another little gathering at the closed-on-Tuesdays Jackson Pub before the route turned north-east from the highway and we had a pretty decent tailwind for a while on the flat. Rolling past dairy farms now, there was an extended stop at a roadside plum tree before a lengthy section on gravel roads through native bush – beautiful. I was lagging back enjoying the moment, riding so slowly I managed to snap some slightly wonky photos – admittedly, there are no giraffes, but they’re OK.

After stopping slightly shorter than my goal the day before, I thought I’d be able to manage to make up the difference as this day was all on the road (mostly sealed, some gravel). To Blackball was almost 190 km – easily my biggest day on a bike. As we rolled into Blackball at about eight o’clock, it was tempting to continue on to get the double century and camp at some clearing on the side of the road near the Grey River. But it was more tempting to sit down at the Blackball Hilton and enjoy the best meal I had all week – a large pork stir-fry with stacks of vegetables and rice, nothing deep-fried in sight, brilliant. I ended up staying the night.