Craigieburn Thanksgiving

Had Ashley Peters invited us to the lamest place on earth to celebrate both Thanksgiving and her 40th birthday, we would have leapt at the chance.  Ash doesn't do lame, and so we were able to look forward to seeing her and some of her nearest and dearest, while also sampling some mint mountain-bike trail in Craigieburn Forest Park.  

I'd ridden past once, during the inaugural Kiwi Brevet.  However, the trails themselves weren't on the course, and I covered the road from Arthur's Pass to Porter's Pass while inside a cloud, and didn't see much more than tarmac [ed: at least so I thought, but my blog has a sharper memory than I do - I guess the sun did come out...].  

Sarah and I rented a car at Christchurch airport, and were glad to be in it as we made the drive up to Forest Lodge on the Mt Cheeseman Skifield Road - there was a hell of a wind blowing, and it was baking hot to boot.  Shortly after Porter's Pass, we gazed fondly upon Lake Lyndon and a sweet bit of gravel road that we'd come through in early 2022, towards the end of a tour between Queenstown and Christchurch.  

Soon after, we overshot our actual turn-off, but only by half a kilometre or so.  Stop-Go folk overseeing highway repairs made for a relatively stress-free U-turn.  

Once at the lodge, and after a round of greetings, I assembled our bikes (wheels, pedals, rear derailleur and handlebar).  All went smoothly, though the sandflies in attendance eventually dictated trouser-wearing, despite the warm weather.   

Ash has made a tradition of celebrating Thanksgiving, and many there were much more regular attendees than Sarah and I.  Each individual was invited to express gratitude for whatever tickled their fancy - I chose to acknowledge "passable physical and mental health" and really enjoyed the contributions of others.  Dinner was delicious too, though I initially mistook the marshmallow-topped pumpkin mash for dessert - crazy Americans (and if only that was just in the culinary sense).  I was a bit cheeky, and had second helpings of the pumpkin pie for actual dessert.  

Before it got dark, Sarah and I managed a short walk in the lodge's stunning back yard.  

The ice-skating rink "closed" for the summer

The following morning the group of 30 or so, from as far north as Rotorua down to Invercargill in the south, ate communally before ride plans were hatched.  

Sarah and I joined a group of mostly acoustic bikes heading for the Luge.  I was excited to ride with Leigh and Leif, two friends I hadn't seen for the best part of a decade, as well as Helen, Claire and Jonas - all Wellingtonians.  

Following Leif across Drac Flat

After 20 minutes or so, we were passed by the e-MTB bunch, who'd snuck in a gravel road climb before bombing down Cuckoo to intersect with our route.  They were heading for a high ridge, and had some hike-a-bike ahead of them, despite their motors.  Our numbers swelled slightly, with Lou joining us from this group.    

Most of the crew in sight:  Sarah, Leigh, Claire, Jonas, Helen, Leif and Lou.  (Matt obscured)

After a short rest, during which I enjoyed telling everyone about Sarah's use of ice as a cooling mechanism during our cycle tours, we began a descent to the start of Sidle 73. We passed a large group of trampers.  They and their humungous packs took my mind off the very cold air we'd found ourselves in - surely coincidence but I couldn't help think that my recent tales had conjured it up.    

As we began climbing the Craigieburn Ski Field Road, we said hi to another group of trampers, though that seemed to go down like a bucket of the proverbial.  We did subsequently wonder if the group of mostly teenagers were on some sort of boot camp - none had smiled at us, despite our friendliness.  Maybe we looked like we were having too much fun...

The clouds starting to burn away

Things got a touch messy after those of us in front missed the turn off to the Luge.  Lou blatted to and fro on her e-bike, desperately trying to coordinate things and to ensure that no-one ended up unaccounted for.  Eventually we did form a couple of smaller groups - Leigh, Leif, Helen, Lou, Matt and I continued up the road (not yet together), while Claire and Jonas were giving the Grade 5 trail The Edge a swerve (lest an ill-timed swerve take the relatively inexperienced Jonas off the edge).  

By the time we reached the ski-field, the clouds had all but vanished, and we were treated to stunning views.  Matt realised he'd blown through his child-free time budget, and made a beeline for the lodge, while the rest of us regrouped by the rustic ticket office.  

I watched from above while the rest of the group traversed the first of a few scree slopes before disappearing into some mint beech forest.  The trail was indeed exposed, though the sketchiest sections were often in the bush where a bench had been cut into bedrock, its narrowness testament to the effort required.  

I tended to ride at the back of the group, and I was pleased to see Sarah taking an occasional tactical walk when things got particularly steep and/or narrow, or simply when all didn't go to plan and a reset was needed. 

There was a fair bit of leap-frogging though, as the scenery dictated plenty of photo opportunities.  

Following Helen.  Photo:  Lou Hunt

Once the Edge had been successfully negotiated by everyone, we had to climb to the start of the Luge, and that required some careful power and traction management to stay on the bike.  We rested before cracking into the descent, and while we did so Lou fretted about her remaining battery, though as it turned out, the 2 remaining bars (of 6) were pretty much sufficient to get her home.  

After the Luge, we rejoined the Dracophyllum Flat track, which was not at all flat but might have been on average.  For a moment, I thought I was going to come a cropper but managed to somehow turn the huge hole I steamed through into a berm which helped ensure I made it out the other side.  

Leigh, Leif and I overshot our turnoff to the lodge, and while they doubled back, I kept going and soon after hooked into the access road we'd driven in on.  We were late for lunch, but there was still plenty of food out, and the body was soon in recovery mode.  

Later in the afternoon, I joined "Whiskey Mike", another long-lost friend on a 45 minute ascent to the start of Cockayne Alley.  The road was a bit of a grind, but conversation and some more stunning views kept us entertained.  Mike knew the area well, and so was able to point out where he and the e-MTB bunch had ridden earlier in the day, as well as the saddle from which the Luge began.  

Within a minute of Mike and I plonking ourselves down at the start of the single track, Russ arrived on his e-bike, and was polite enough not to rub in that it had taken him a little over a third of the time to complete the climb!

Perched high above the road. we saw more of our friends making their way up towards us, but a long wait ensured, and we were eventually forced to conclude that they'd turned off before reaching us, dropping down Cuckoo, presumably.  

I'd gotten a bit chilly while waiting, so was glad to get riding again.  Briefly, that was, since I soon came upon Russ standing in the middle of the track, looking at a bike lying in the tussock.  Initially, I didn't notice that some of the tussock was actually Mike, but eventually his green helmet and shirt started moving, and my brain pieced things together!!!  Fortunately, both he and his bike were fine, and Russ and I didn't see him again until the bottom of the trail.  I was glad it was dry (but not too dry), and had mostly enjoyed picking my way down.  I fluffed a tight corner or too, but was otherwise happy with how I'd coped with the techy trail.  

Back at base, it was time to get washed up, and ready for Ash's birthday dinner.   Steven had asked me to read a very sweet email from Ash's mum.  I didn't ask to pre-read it, taking a punt that I was better to to read it sight unseen.  The beautiful and very accurate list of 40 of Ash's best attributes deserved a good reading, and I carefully managed my own emotions by occasionally injecting a bit of humour - Steven, who was sitting right by me, was immensely helpful, though may not have realised at the time how much I was relying on him.  Nice that it was a two-way street.  

"Giving me Brook" was the last item on the list, though no mention was made of Brook's spectacular rear disc rotor being almost being as large as her wheel!  

The lodge and its temporary inhabitants were all in great form, and it was nice to sit and chat, crank through some of the seemingly endless stream of dishes, or simply admire the community that Ashley and Steven have built over the course of their relationship.  

The next morning it was time to go biking again.  I was keen to explore the trails towards Castle Hill Village, not least because I'd heard from Ash that there was likely to be a coffee cart there.  Despite this draw-card, Sarah was the only other taker, and after a slow start, we set off together.  

From the Texas Flat carpark, we began the Hogs Back Trail.  It climbed initially, and I got the sense we were the beneficiaries of some nice re-routes to lessen the gradient.  There were plenty of switchbacks on the way up to the ridge, and this made for great views back over the lodge, elements of the previous day's rides, and into the mountains.  

We dropped into the next valley, before making our way up a relatively short climb to "the lightning tree".  

Not long after we were stopped at a fork in the trail, and had the good fortune to be met by a pair who were clearly familiar with the area.  They told us about a third option - the Snout - which we decided to take.  When strangers describe a trail as "technical", it is very hard to know what to expect, and I was anticipating some walking being necessary.  It turned out this wasn't the case, and the steep plummet that I was expecting never came.  There were some "spicy bits" after which I had some nervous waits for Sarah, but we were soon riding mellower trail along a stream, and this took us to with a couple of minutes of the coffee cart.   

Sarah on the Snout

There, we enjoyed coffee and some food, as well as a nice chat with the barista, who was one of 35 or so permanent residents of the village. 

While smashing back the very good coffee, I hatched a plan to climb back up to the start of the Snout, and to descend the remainder of the Hogs Back trail, thereby covering the three options we'd had to choose from, albeit one in the uphill direction. I suggested to Sarah that she chill out and have another coffee, but she indicated a preference to head back to the lodge.  

Once I was done with the mountain bike trails, that gave me the opportunity to burn through a little more time by riding down the half a dozen or so cul-de-sacs in the village, something I'll not have to do in the future (see A Karori Caper for background).  Those motivated a second coffee, before I followed in Sarah's tyre tracks on what turned out to be a very short stretch of highway followed by a slow and arduous grovel on the gravel road back to up to Forest Lodge.  

But wait, there's more.  I did have a bit of a rest, including inhaling some leftovers from the communal lunch, but didn't get changed, as I had one more trail I wanted to ride - Cuckoo.  That required climbing back towards the start of Cockayne Alley, which I did in good company.  After talking with Kah for the first half of the climb, Ash came past on her new e-bike.  She was towing Kirst up the hill which slowed here down sufficiently to give me a fighting chance of keeping up.  Despite my weary legs, this was the only opportunity I'd had to ride with Ash, and was able to keep up with her until we stopped at the trail head a mere five minutes later.  

Before getting underway, there was time for a quick "Diamonds in the Rough" photo.  

Ash, Kirst, Helen, Lou and Claire

Ash and Russ hatched a plan to go quickly down Cuckoo and then boosting (using Boost mode, naturally) back up the hill for a run of Cockayne Alley with more e-bikers.  I followed them down, but had neither the skills nor energy to keep up with them.  By the bottom, my hands and legs had had a bloody good work out, and I was pleased to be almost done for the day.

I waited a wee while for those behind me, and started to wonder if there was another exit when I heard voices nearby. I went to investigate on foot, and found the younger members of Ash's extended whanau walking towards me: the Gabites and Parsons kids, plus Mike and Sarah's daughter Rai.  They didn't say what their plans were, but it turned out they went up Cuckoo, and didn't get back to the lodge quite as promptly as they'd imagined!  

Another group of riders came by, and I recognised one of them as Laurence Mote of Ground Effect fame, another person I haven't seen in many years.  We had a good chat while stationary, and then I rode with him much of the way back to the lodge before he peeled off, and I got stuck into packing the bikes for the return to Wellington.  

The evening was a good opportunity for some more family time, naturally celebrating Ash's American birthday, courtesy of the international date line.  

Brook and Steven Peters, keeping one another (and more) well entertained

On the way to the airport, Sarah and I enjoyed a few stops.  A short walk at Kura Tawhiti was spectacular, but we were both a bit thirsty and hadn't carried any water with us, so rushed it a bit more than felt decent. 

We stopped for a coffee and chat at Lake Lyndon Off Grid Coffee, and soon after for a pie in Sheffield.  

Surely a sign of a popular stop

Despite not having any young-uns in tow, our final activity was to visit Orana Park.   I'd been there only once before (with Jolene, while she was pregnant with Kaitlyn, almost 25 years ago), and Sarah had never been.  We were lucky, and pretty much everything was out on display, but we got particularly good views of the cheetahs, rhinos, gorillas and some African dogs.  

It was an action packed weekend, with some great riding, celebration and company, and some quality time with Sarah. 

To a great extent, she'd provided some of the most magical moments of the weekend.  We'd taken with us one of her beautiful ceramic bowls to give to Ash as a present, and some small plates for Brook (one of which Lou requisitioned as a very awesome salt dish for margaritas!).  Even more touching though was taking a couple of bisque-fired items (a bowl and a cup), as well various underglazes a brushes, for Brook to decorate.  These made it safely there and back, and are now fired and ready for Brook to put under her parents' Christmas tree.  

I'm super proud of Sarah's remarkable (and quickly acquired) talent, both in forming the clay, and decorating it.  But, it was her generosity and thoughtfulness that really blew me away, and it was incredibly special to see how apparent all of those things were to Ash, Steven and their friends.  

Across four rides, I covered almost 75km, and was delighted to maintain control of my bike throughout.  Data are available:  Ride 1 // Ride 2 // Ride 3 // Ride 4.  It is always a treat to ride in beech forest, and it was great to be able to do so with new and old friends.  

It was a privilege to spend time with Ashley, Steven, Brook and an interesting and diverse bunch of people, all of whom clearly love the Peters family dearly.  It is an honour to be among their number.  

Birthday boy bikes Bali

A quirk of this year's teaching allocation was that my entire load fell in the second trimester.  I knew that if I survived it, I would need a bloody good holiday, and duly booked flights for Sarah and I to Bali.  

Preparation is becoming increasingly simple, aided in no small part by the destination being warm - this makes packing (light) a breeze.  About the only thing I need to refer to notes for is the base map download from BBBike Extract Service - a free service I remain very grateful for.  

In amongst marking and other final work tasks, I spent a few hours playing around with Strava's route builder, and mocked up a 550km anti-clockwise loop of the island, with a few forays into the mountainous centre.  After letting that stew for a week or so, final prep included booking the first few nights' accommodation via booking.com, whose listings seemed to span much of the island.  

Our flight to Auckland left pretty early in the morning, so the holiday began the prior evening at the Rydges Hotel at Wellington Airport, and with full bellies after dinner with my parents, we drifted off to sleep with great anticipation of what was to come.

Arrival into Bali went relatively smoothly, and soon after acquiring the necessary Visa On Arrival, we sprung for a short taxi trip to Harris Hotel Kuta Tuban Bali, right on the edge of the airport precinct.  Despite arriving in the early evening local time, a five-hour time zone change plus the early start in Wellington meant we hit the sack before assembling bikes.  

Day 1 - Denpasar to Banyuning Bay

The previous evening's traffic out of the airport had turned what would have been a tricky 10 minute walk into a 15 minute drive, and it was hard to predict what awaited us when we would hit the road under our own steam.  

Bikes had travelled well, and were duly assembled after a solid breakfast.  I stowed one bike bag inside the other, and Russian-doll-style, had our airport kit (shoes, compression socks, noise cancelling headphones, etc) tucked away as well.  I booked another night's stay for the far end of the trip, and stashed the bag in the luggage room for our return - one minor stress point overcome!  

Within seconds of rolling out, we found ourselves competing for limited space on the road, mostly with motorcycles.  A small back road soon took us onto a dual carriageway, which was noisy but seemed safe enough.  When a parallel route beckoned, we took it, but minutes later returned to the bigger road where ironically, things felt better - off the main drag, everything was much less predictable, especially at intersections where it seemed that a simple toot was all that was needed to claim right of way.  Alas, we had no horns!  

These road users were very happy to share

The road got smaller in two big steps, first dropping from four lanes to two, and then becoming  narrower.  Despite this, it was nice to observe that convenient stores continued to be abundant - while there was no sign of any 7-Eleven or Family Mart (with its dreaded door bell jingle) - here we were generally seeing the dueling Indomaret and Alfamart chains.  Stops would invariably feature a bottle of Pocari Sweat, presumably named for what it would soon become.  

Balinese split gates (candi bentar) were a common roadside feature

Even on the narrower road, and even in amongst the raucous wee motorcycles, plenty of bandwidth remained to soak in the local way of life.  And there was barely a metre where there wasn't something going on.  Even more common than the convenience stores were motorcycle mechanics - not surprising given the modal mode of transport!  

A coconut husk store?

We briefly contemplated stopping for a walk around Taman Ujung, a former water palace.  Between the heat and bike security issues, we made do with a brief glance through the fence.  

A popular spot with the instagram folk, I'm sure

Beyond the palace, the road changed its nature once more.  The ride had been predominantly flat to this point, but ceased to be so in fairly dramatic fashion.  Part way up the second and longest climb, I was fascinated to hear rock music blaring out.   As I got closer to the source, I was looking forward to seeing what was going on.  It was indeed live music, and I got to enjoy a band doing a sound check while waiting for Sarah.  And waiting, and waiting.  Calm turned to curiosity turned to concern, and I began to wonder where she had got to.  Eventually I began riding back towards her, but almost immediately turned around, with relief.  

These guys seemed as intrigued with me as I was with them

While mostly compatible, Sarah and I often struggle in the fourth quarter of any ride, and this was no exception. I think it is accurate to say she hated the last 20km, which was a shame, because I loved them!  The road was curiously steep - both up and down - and riding it was a bit like being on a roller coaster.   Great fun, if you're so inclined.  

Random ferris wheel in the middle of nowhere

Sarah was ahead of me when we reached the East Cape, so I wasn't able to stop and check out the lighthouse.  

Gili Selang Lighthouse, and before it, some nifty road

Rounding the next point gave a great view down to the bay, where it took me a little while to work out what exactly I was looking at - the small fishing boats were so tightly packed, I struggled to discern where one ended and the next began.  

I overtook Sarah soon after, and enjoyed muscling up the next few steep ramps before a descent to me to the path to our accommodation.  I waited there for a while before once again, starting to get nervous.  I remounted my bike and rode for a few minutes before finding Sarah, unimpressed as it turned out.  I assured her there wasn't much riding left, and all was soon forgotten as we shared a beer beside the pool, a solid first day's riding under our belt.  

Stats:  104km ridden, one temporarily angry Mongolian, and a sweet 27 degree minimum temperature

Day 2 - Nalini Resort to Kintamani

After a lovely night's sleep, we enjoyed a great (double) breakfast, and then suited up.  It was a shame to forgo the chance to snorkel over the local tourist attraction - a sunken ship - but we had a huge hill to climb!

Some fisherfolk blatting past our breakfast table

We'd stayed on the edge of a tourist hot spot, we'd soon discover, and the primary activity seemed to be scuba diving judging by the common attire.  

We were treated to great views of Mount Agung, a volcano we were going around rather than up.  Instead we were headed for Batur Caldera, and in particular Kintamani - a village about 1500m above sea level, perched on the edge of the crater.  

The previous evening, over a feed of Jackfruit, our host Ari (definitely not a cyclist) had recommended to us a nice quiet shortcut.  Intrigued, I mapped it on Strava, only to discover an 8km segment with an average gradient of 15%!   For the uninitiated, the segment name Brutal Climbing Tianyar Songan tells you all you need to know...  

Instead, I'd treat Sarah to more climbing overall, but with a few downhill breaks, and largely single-digit gradients.  Heat control strategies varied - pockets (and bra!!!) full of ice was her preferred mode of cooling, but there were alternatives, including roadside bathing.

Plan B

Our first descent overlooked a valley packed with rice fields, and took us to Tirta Gangga, a royal water palace.  

We were shooed away from the main entrance by a security guard, but followed his direction to a parking area.  There, we decided to entrust our bikes to a local attendant, who'd accosted us so promptly, we felt certain he'd not let our bikes out of his sight.  

To get to the main entrance, we had to run a tourist gauntlet, but tourists we were, and I couldn't resist the opportunity to hold a 32kg "Golden Python".  Much like the golden eagle in Mongolia, the pricing was totally out of whack with the uniqueness of the experience (about $5NZ, and I'd have seriously considered spending ten times that amount).  

I was amazed at how warm the snake was, though maybe I should have anticipated that given the heat of the day.  I got to enjoy the incredible colours before the beast decided it had had enough.  Most of the weight had been on my shoulders, but the grunt of the animal was quite apparent, and there was little I could do to restrain its departure. I'd have been screwed if it had decided to give me a parting squeeze. 

Inside the palace, we found dozens of people trying to get the perfect shot, which in some cases including them nagging other tourists to get out of the way - bizarre.  Maybe in the fullness of time, AI photo editing tools will find their biggest user base in the instagram set.  

Literally gigantic goldfish

It was kind of hard to relax, so we took a single pass around the water palace before returning to find our bikes as we left them.  Back on board, we headed south (and downhill) for a little while longer, before beginning a westward leg. 

The stone walls were part of an irrigation scheme

This included a neat 400m climb through some deafening cicadas, and then a long traverse through a quite busy area.  

That's a LOT of semen!

It was fascinating to see a few stone-masons, busy turning volcanic rock into garden or other ornaments.  

And boy were the fruits of their labours put to good use.  The water palace had been spectacular, but if anything, our glimpses into people's private gardens (and front yards) were to the untrained eye, about as impressive.

Eventually, the flat section came to an end.  After a bit of a rest and some ice-creams at a gas station, we made the hard right turn onto the main road up to Kintamani.  Between it and us lay about 800m of climbing, but spread over close to 20km, so nowhere near as savage as the approach from the north would have been.  Sarah was wisely in cruise mode, and so I'd pick spots to stop and wait for her, generally in the shade and/or where we could buy our next cold drink.

They start 'em young in Bali (average age of this wee motorcycle peloton seemed to be about 11)

Up, up, up we rode until finally we were on the edge of the caldera, and got our first glimpse at Danau Batur - a lake which filled about a third of the crater's floor.

The mountain wasn't quite done with us yet, but at least the sustained steeper gradients were over.  The air was a lot cooler too, which hopefully would keep my cobber's legs ticking over.  

More fun road shapes

Initially we rode through some jungle, before coming to a major road intersection, and our next tourist hot spot.  Despite now being only a few kilometres from our digs, we had another pick-me-up before knocking out the last bit of climbing.  I overshot the "road" to our hotel, and we ended up taking a back route in. There were some handily placed signs, and when those dried up, we were met by our hostess.  She was keen for us to leave our bikes in the motorcycle parking area, but I think only to spare us lugging them down some steep stairs (rather than because she didn't want them outside our room).  

After a short rest, we had about a ten minute walk to a local restaurant that had been recommended to us, and there we had a very nice meal.  It was well dark by the time we headed home, and I was happy to go straight to bed!  

Stats:  82km ridden, 2000m climbed, my 51st year finished!

Day 3 - Kintamani to Lovina Beach

It was a good thing we were still running somewhat on NZ time, as otherwise we'd have missed out on a glorious sight out our window the next morning.  

5:30ish:  R-L:  Mounts Agung, Abang, and the eastern flank of Mt Batur

Our hostess delivered breakfast to our cabin, and we continued to enjoy the view into the caldera.  Since it was my birthday, I got to choose the ride (LOL), and my plan was to do a clockwise lap of Mount Batur, before collecting our luggage and then dropping down to the coast.  While I'd mapped out an anti-clockwise loop en route to Kintamani, a clockwise loop would turn out to be a much better idea, and without our overnight clothing, best yet.  I fondly recalled Singhe's "always clockwise" mantra from our trip to Bhutan earlier in the year.  

The road to the base of the crater was insanely steep, and hard enough to ride down, I shuddered to think of how tough it would have been to climb.  The Buddhists are onto something.  

Sublime scenery gave brakes a chance to cool

Once the drop was successfully negotiated, we found ourselves skirting around a lava field, on a very playful bit of road - a mountain-bike trail builder would have been proud to put their name to it, I'm sure!

When I wasn't admiring the road design, I was fascinated by the residences that lined the road.  Some were very primitive, others were beautifully ornate.  Various crops were being grown, including some good looking tomatoes.  While jeeps were abundant (for tours of the lava field, I think), we got the sort of attention that suggested cyclists weren't a common sight in these parts.  

Mount Batur

We stopped for a second breakfast, before making our way gingerly to the base of the climb.  Just before reaching it, we did a loop to the lakefront, and snuck in a random walking tour of a temple.  While donning mandatory sarongs (provided, for a small fee), it was fascinating to note some of the other rules of admission, thankfully left to visitor discretion...

It was a nice place of calm, and much needed before our figurative storm began.

I don't know about Sarah, but as I groveled my way up to the crater rim, I did console myself with the knowledge that the road we'd come in on would have been worse!  The strava leaderboard has a whole lot of people averaging about 30km/h, which seems about right for a small motorbike.  About half way up was a flattish section, where there were three small trucks letting their engines cool, presumably before knocking the bastard off...

I had a long wait for Sarah, during which I chugged some Sweat.  She had a cold drink when she joined me, but a proper coffee stop seemed in order.  Fortunately, the place we chose had a great view.

Mount Batur, with a (black) lava field from a 2000 eruption clearly visible

After coffee, it didn't take us too long to get back to Tegal Sari Cabins to retrieve our gear.  The hindu temple that lay between them and the main drag was flying some mighty impressive penjor, which were about as common as lamp-posts in suburban NZ streets (if not even more so), though may be a seasonal thing!  

From Kintamani, we had another few kilometres of uphill riding before we would begin a 24km descent to the coast, in which we would peel off a cool 1600 vertical metres.  Thanks to a few photo and/or regrouping stops, it took pretty much a full hour to get down, which is a bloody long time to be sitting on a bike doing next to nothing, though ironically exactly what a couple of Australian women we met at our coffee stop were paying to do as a shuttled bike ride!  

At the coast, we rejoined the main ring road and had to pedal once more.  20km of unpleasant riding later, we were at our accommodation.  Sarah almost didn't quite make it but luckily wasn't taken out by a motorcycle she'd turned in front of.  If that wasn't scary enough, not once but twice she walked into a glass door once we were in our room!  

It had been a hot and sweaty finale, with an unwelcome dose of stress thrown in.  A laundromat mission seemed like just the antidote.  The guy at the lobby assured me there was one within walking distance.  I set out on foot, and eventually did find something about a kilometre back up the road.  

Child sandwich

Expecting to sit and wait, instead, I was asked what time I wanted to collect it in the morning.  9am was rejected, but my counter-offer of 10am seemed fine.  After a pick-me-up at a cafe across the road, I walked back along the beach to find Sarah (and our glass doors) intact.  

Neither of us were keen to go far for dinner, but we coped with the 50m walk to the resort restaurant with aplomb!  It was a nice end to a roller-coaster of a birthday.  

Stats:  93km ridden and some savage gradients managed, up and down!  24 degrees in the crater, and high 30s once we reached the coast.

Day 4 - Lovina Bay to Pemuteran Bay

Any hopes that dramas were behind us were dashed the next morning. Sarah had been for a swim in the ocean while I'd slept, and figured she must have left her jandals there - something that only came to her attention while we were preparing to leave for breakfast.  They weren't on the beach, but floating about 30m offshore were two things that seemed to have the requisite orange tone.  It was clear that togs were required, and I volunteered to go in lest some actual swimming was required.  Sure enough, the likely looking flotsam was indeed her jandals, and I was soon back in dry clothes and tucking into the breakfast buffet.  

We had some time to chill out, but eventually 10am loomed and I rode down to pick up the laundry.  Once back, we suited up - nothing quite like fresh gear midway through a cycle tour!  After a few hundred metres riding on the main road, we took a wee concrete path inland, and spent the next 15km on nifty little backroads.  

We passed another ferris wheel - this time a bit bigger than the one a few days earlier, but in an equally strange location.   I was making route choices on the fly, and got a little bit lost passing through a village, before deciding that we'd better head back to the main road.  

A bad turn meant we discovered this watercourse had a motorcycle track alongside it

We passed the island's biggest power station (coal fired), and I otherwise kept myself entertained by looking for additional routes parallel with the main road.  A few suggestions were rejected by Sarah, though she did invite me to sample them alone - I declined in turn.  

Celukan Bawang power station

By now, we had ridden over 200km, and while it was difficult to pin down the subtle changes in surroundings, some were nonetheless apparent to both of us.  Stone works had come and gone.  Similarly, we hadn't seen any mini timber mills for a while. On the other hand, there did seem to be a decent sized Muslim community along this coast - Sarah's early morning swim had been precipitated by the somewhat rude awakening by morning prayers blaring over a loud speaker so near our room it might as well have been playing in it.  Later, we passed a couple of handsome mosques, and there were relatively many women wearing hijabs, at least compared to the first days' riding.  

Sarah was ahead of me when we passed a temple cut into the bottom of an impressive cliff.  That was a bummer, because only when I stopped to take a photo of it did I notice the many monkeys chilling out on the front steps.  We'd heard (but not seen) one in the forest below Kintamani, but otherwise, hadn't spotted any wild wildlife of note.  

Tonight's was the last of our pre-booked accommodation, though its location had made more sense following a loop in the hills above Singaraja.  I'd decided against that, which would have demanded another 1000m climb, and that turned out to be a blessing in disguise.  We were off the bikes by about 1:30pm, and not long after we'd settled in for a late lunch at the resort restaurant, we began hearing the boom of thunder from the hills we'd have otherwise been riding in.  

A wind came up all of a sudden, and while we ate our pizza we were able to watch people scampering off the beach to get out of first just the wind and then a sudden downpour.  Both cleared up almost as quickly as they'd come, though the thunder was audible for much longer.  

We went for a short walk, which agitated a blister I'd acquired on my laundry walk the previous day.  By the time we got back to the room, it was looking rather angry, and I began to wonder if I'd cut myself on some coral on the walk back along the beach and would have to deal with an infection.  At Sarah's suggestion, I smeared some hand sanitiser into it, winced for a while, and hoped for the best.

That done, we went back to the beach and hired a mask and snorkel each and went for a swim.  The locals had installed some artificial reefs, and so we were treated to some nice coral and pretty fish.  After that, I chilled out by the pool, while Sarah had a massage.  

Back at the room, while getting changed for dinner, my companion started giggling.  I was told to stand still, before being shown evidence that my Metallica board shorts had left an imprint in my bum.  That was a good reminder that tickets for next November's Auckland gig had gone on pre-sale, but unfortunately too late to be useful.  Sorry to those who'd rather I'd left it at that...

Stats:  55km ridden, mostly flat.  A few hours of R&R post-ride.

Day 5 - Pemuteran Bay to Yeh Gangga

The next morning on the way back from breakfast, I was delighted to realise that my blister was merely that.  Of course not before I'd imagined trying to manage a painful and swollen foot, but no harm, no foul.  

A third foray into the mountains had been in my initial plan, but while exploring accommodation options, I'd stumbled upon a room at Royal Roco Villa was listed with a 75% discount from the usual price of $500 per night.  It seemed too good to ignore, so I booked.  The upside, apart from the swanky room, was that we'd have plenty of easy options to finish off the tour.  The slight disadvantage was that we had a solid day's riding ahead of us to get there.  

We set off immediately after breakfast, and before too long pulled into a small complex from which boats took people to Menjangan Island.  There we had an annoyingly warm cold drink, but also saw a bunch of monkeys alongside the road. In fact, they'd be a near constant feature as we made our way around the western end of a national park. 

I hummed and hawed about taking a short detour to Gilimanuk, from which ferries connect Bali to Java.  Instead, we turned left towards Denpasar, and a few minutes later pulled off the road to let a boat load of trucks pass us by.  While the drivers were invariably mindful of us, stopping did give them a bit more space, and reduced the amount of exhaust fume we'd inhale.  

The next 80km were the least enjoyable of the trip.  It was hot, the road was busier than any before it, and in the context of a long day, our focus was more on getting it done than trying to enjoy it.  One minor highlight was passing the remains of a python on the road.  Given the jute sack that was mushed into it, it seemed likely that the snake had originally been in said sack and had fallen off something on to road, before meeting its final end.  A shame to see it, but also fascinating, given the sheer size of the thing.  

Finally, our turn off came, and I was kind of relieved for Sarah's sake as well as my own.  Unfortunately for her, the back road, now in between the main highway and the coast, would cross many rivers.  Invariably this involved a very steep ramp down to the river, a low bridge or (dry) ford across it, and then an equally steep ramp back out again.  I managed to ride all of the climbs, but did see a few motorcycle pillion passengers being required to walk in order for the bike to have enough power to get up!!!  

The ramp on the other side visible mid-shot

I tried to quietly revel in the route, lest I make Sarah's experience of it even worse!!  It wasn't all bad, and a lot of the riding was either through cute little villages, or single-lane concrete paths through fields.  

As we neared our final destination, we passed through a community celebration of some sort.  It was tempting to stop and enjoy it, but our somewhat immodest clothing, and desire to get off the bikes forced us on.

Finally, "almost there" became literal, and we found ourselves at a very impressive property indeed.  Even before we got inside, we knew this would be a special night, and indeed it was.  

I wasn't exactly sure how dinner would play out.  One reviewer had mentioned getting something delivered by the local Uber equivalent, but it turned out there were restaurants at the beach that were within walking distance.  We took umbrellas as suggested, but turned out not to need them.  

Heading out for dinner

It did really piss down, but only while we were eating, so both legs of the walk were in nice enough conditions.  We shared a margherita pizza (as well as some local seafood) - not to be confused with a margarita cocktail, which duly arrived 15 minutes before the pizza did (and which wouldn't have, had we consumed the cocktail).  Hopefully the poor waitress didn't get it taken out of her wages!  
While we didn't get to enjoy the sunshine, the rain (accompanied by thunder and lightning) put on a great show.  

Stats:  127km ridden, a few too many, but with a very happy ending.

Day 6 - Royal Roco Villa to Canggu via Ubud

Had we desperately needed to get to the airport, we were now within about 25km, which gave us plenty of flexibility with how we used the final couple of days before our late night flight back to NZ.  

After identifying a nice looking place about 10km away, it was time to have bit of fun with Strava's route builder - after locking in our start location, I then traced out a big curve through the tourist hot-spot of Ubud and then back to our next hotel, and sat back and watched it (near instantaneously) pick out a route.  I assume its algorithm factors in distance, popularity amongst its users, and perhaps climbing.  In any case, we'd soon sample the fruits of its labour.  First things first though, breakfast and packing up!

View north from the breakfast area and towards some Balinese mountains yet to be seen up close

The nearby rice paddies were looking newly sodden thanks to the downpour the previous evening.  Generally, bikes had spent the night with us in our various rooms, but this place wasn't the sort of facility where I was even willing to ask the question.  Instead, they'd slept outside, and for the most part, out of the rain.  I tinkered with my saddle before loading up luggage (it had slipped aft-wards in the seatpost), and final preparations to leave were soon complete.  

One of the exterior walls of the villa was a work of art

Out on the road, the ducking and diving began!  It was nice to have been relieved of the route design pressure, but even so, I was still responsible for it, and my stress levels would ebb and flow depending on the terrain, traffic, and my guess of how Sarah was experiencing it all.  

Strava surely didn't deliberately take us past this gem, but it was worth doubling back for!

Not long after spending a few minutes on the previous day's highway, we found ourselves passing the entrance to Pura Taman Ayun, an almost 400 year old Balinese temple.  We figured we might as well check it out, and headed in.  The fellows on hand to ensure no indecently dressed cyclists made their way into the facility (or anyone, for that matter) would certain to make excellent guards of our laden steeds.  Nonetheless, I grabbed our passports out of my frame bag, and dressed in a beautiful silk sarong each, we began our brief self-guided tour.

We noted how commonly we were seeing Russian tourists, and here was no exception.  I'm guessing the world has closed up for them somewhat in the last few years, but it seemed like tourist activity was BAU for them in Bali.  

The main temple complex was pretty, and surrounded by a small moat, mostly filled with impressive flowering lotuses.  

I enjoyed listening (without comprehension) to various Indonesian guides speaking to their clients in Russian, French, and German.  According to the internet, there are something like "6000 spoken languages in the world [with] at least 43% of them at risk of extinction".  Even supposing there are 1000 "common" ones, I sometimes wonder how many of the million or so distinct pairs have at least one person who is fluent in both, and, I delight in mentally checking off pairs when I can!  Back to the here and now, I also find it worth paying attention to what other people's guides are pointing out, and in this instance, we enjoyed checking out an ant nest which otherwise I'm certain we wouldn't have noticed ourselves.  

Oh, nature!  I wonder how exactly the ants had pulled these leaves together to form a cocoon of sorts, but, whatever method they used, it worked!

We grabbed a cold drink before returning our sarongs (mine at least was embarrassingly sweat-soaked) and returning to the road, both glad we'd stopped.  The road continued to interesting, and while the river crossings weren't quite as savage as those on the previous evening's route, they still spiced things up a bit.  

A welcoming mural, and on the right, furniture and rough-sawn timber for sale!

As we got closer to Ubud itself, we began to notice more and more tourists, and the accompanying change in service provision.  Cheap accommodation and restaurants became dominant, while motor scooter mechanics, stone masons, and furniture makers became more rare.  

Aside from heeding Khulan's recommendation to visit, we hadn't really done our homework, and consequently, it was a case of following our nose.  We dismounted at a street that was a hive of activity, we acquired the obligatory fridge magnet (often the sole souvenir we return home with), and then settled in for a sweet treat for (very) late morning tea, consumed while we watched the world go by.  While we were watching it, it became apparent that it was also watching us, and we had a brief chat with three Spaniards who seemed both fascinated and impressed with the format of our trip.  

Neither cheap nor healthy, but energy laden and delicious!

Underway again, we ended up taking a road which turned into a path which turned into a goat track which abruptly stopped!  Hating to go back they way we'd come, a turn off soon after the dead end did take us back into "town", but not before a bit of hike-a-bike to negotiate what was probably best described as tramping track!  

Before going much further, it seemed wise to locate an ATM to replenish our cash supply.  I have to admit to finding real money pretty gross these days.  In Bali, the large denomination bills (100,000 Indonesian Rupiah, close enough to 10NZD) tended to be in good shape, but the 1000 and 2000 Rupiah bills were showing signs of wear.  Wear, as in the polite way of saying they'd become sweat and grime absorbers, after years of being passed from customer to proprietor, and on and on through the economic chain...  Nasty, and I couldn't wait to be back in the land of PayWave!  

At my behest, we swung by the Sacred Monkey Forest Sanctuary entrance, where we were invited (aka told) to park our bikes in a stand at the far end of the carpark before going any further.  Unlike the few previous attractions we'd stopped at, this location seemed too public and insecure for my liking, and after a quick chat with Sarah, we decided to give this one a miss.   Instead, we made our way back onto Strava's route, and next stop (other than frequent cool down/fuel up breaks) would be at our accommodation.

Near the beach, we expected heavy traffic, and found it!  The last many kilometres were totally jammed up.  Cars were basically at a standstill, and between them and the curb, a solid row of scooters weren't faring much better.  One of the first curious differences I'd noticed was that Balinese curbs are typically ramps, and we made pretty good use of them as we slowly made our way along the route.  Motorcycles would to a lesser extent, but no one gave us any grief that we were breaking unwritten rules of the
"road".  

JAMMED

Despite being only 50 metres from the hustle and bustle that was the barely moving main thoroughfare, our hotel, Amandaya Canggu, felt almost like it was behind some sort of invisible sonic shield.  (Thank goodness!)  We checked in, and headed to our room for a rest. There'd been some debate as to what to do with the bikes, and as earlier, it was hard to discern what their apparent concern was actually about.  Weaving a narrative out of subtle queues, I think their apprehension had little to do with protecting the room from the bicycles, and more to do with the notion that we'd had to haul them up a flight of stairs ("I'm sorry, there's no freight elevator").  

When dinner time was sufficiently close, we thought we'd take a walk down to the beach.  As we neared it, we passed the entrance to various "Beach Clubs", and once on the beach itself, we discovered what that actually meant - large open areas rammed with scantily clad, sunburnt, and inebriated foreigners, with throbbing house music to add to the vibe.  We decided not to investigate further!

We returned the way we'd come, settling on a Mexican/Korean restaurant for dinner.  We both generally lean towards dining following the "when in Rome" approach, but this strange mash-up had piqued our curiosity.  Disappointingly, much of the menu seemed from one genre or the other, but we did manage to buy some cross-over dished, most notably a po'boy burrito, and a bulgogi quesadilla.  Everything was delicious, but we decided to take our chances elsewhere for dessert.  Not long after, I was chowing down on some pumpkin pie gelato, which did indeed taste like pumpkin pie and also further enhanced the eclectic and out-of-place nature of the evening's fodder.  

Before we got back to base, we did pass a local staple, in the shape of a mini-gas-station, aka an unattended shelf laden with plastic bottles full of petrol.  They'd been everywhere, but the locations were so random I'd never had the wherewithal to photograph one.  

Fill her up, Bali styles

Stats:  74km ridden, and an enjoyable 60km detour between hotels

Final day - Canggu to the airport

At check in, we'd been asked to choose a dish for breakfast, and nominate a time of arrival.  While the hotel had been generally awesome, we weren't expecting the best filled croissant and breakfast burrito known to woman and man respectively, but that's pretty much what we received moments after a polite knock at our door.  

Rolling out an hour so later on sparkling clean bikes, we didn't have a great deal of riding ahead of us. Our flight left just after midnight, and I'd been careful to ensure we didn't miss it - we'd head to the airport on FRIDAY night, despite our plane leaving on Saturday, per the Air New Zealand app - what could possibly go wrong?!

In part to ensure the hotel didn't balk at storing our bike bags, but also to give us a chance to shower and rest before our late departure, I'd strategically booked a room for Friday night.   Assuming a fairly standard check-in time was firm, there was no merit in rushing there!

After a bit of ducking and diving to maintain a route along the coast, we reached the famous Kuta Beach.  After popping up onto the footpath to check it out, we noticed a concrete path heading along the beach.  Rather than return to the road, we figured we might as well take it.

A coffee stop would have been well in order, and while the path was lined with people selling food and drink, but also surf tuition, none seemed to be specialising in coffee.  After 5 minutes or so, a fresh coconut caught my eye, and I stopped to see if we could get a couple to consume.  We were ushered onto the beach to a couple of recliners, and after working out what best to do with the bikes, we settled in.  

The coconuts arrived soon after, both with a straw to deal to the chilled water inside, and a spoon to dig out the flesh afterwards - perfect, and just what the doctors ordered.  

It turned out there was a surfing competition on just in front of us, so while we enjoyed the shade and refreshments, we had some action to enjoy.  Nearby, it seemed like a celebrity Australian surfer had swung by, at least judging by the attention he was getting from some of the spectators, including plenty of selfie requests.  I chuckled at how the tables might have been turned if some surfers were chilling out near a bike race, and continued to surreptitiously enjoy their enjoyment, ignorant to what exactly was happening.

There was no apparent pressure to vacate our spot, but we ordered another drink just in case.  After the best part of an hour, we were ready to move on again.  We stuck to the concrete path, which meant we bypassed any cafes and souvenir shops that might have been in the vicinity.  

Near the end of the beach itself, despite the road turning away from the coast, the path continued and we stuck to it.  It was fun watching the occasional plane come in to land at the airport, but unfortunately, our timing wasn't conducive to photographing one behind a magnificent statue just off the shore.  

Patung Triratna Amreta Bhuwana, a stone's throw from Ngurah Rai International Airport

  

Despite a nagging feeling that I hadn't put enough thought into planning this day, we pushed on and were soon at Harris Hotel Kuta Tuban Bali once more.  It was only noon, but I went up to the check-in desk, and played it by ear.  Upon being handed a key card, I made the safe deduction that early check-in was totally fine, and sent Sarah up to the room with luggage retrieved from the bike bags.  While I was hot and sweaty, I figured I'd pack up the bikes - if we decided an outing was necessary, it would be on foot or using a taxi.  

Half an hour or so later, I was done, and we thought the next thing on the agenda was a swim in the hotel pool, where we also enjoyed a coffee-laden avocado smoothie each - not bad!  We chewed up some more time by heading out for a $2 nasi goreng (for him) and mee goreng (for her), during which time the heavens well and truly opened.  This was the third time in four days we'd narrowly avoided getting drenched, which was fantastic.  While I enjoy watching a good downpour, I'm less a fan of riding in it, especially in unfamiliar environments.  

With no need to rush, we waited until the rain had stopped before heading back to our room for a rest.  Done with outings, we enjoyed chilling out for the rest of the day.  In the end, hunger resolved the dinner issue, and we ate a proper meal at the hotel restaurant, before catching the 10pm hotel shuttle to the airport, where transit back to NZ went smoothly - our next evening meal was back in Karori!  

Stats:  15km ridden, and one fantastic loop closed.

550km of goodness, but plenty to come back for

* * *

This work-hard, play-hard phase seems to be working well for me, in the sense that the regular trips are sustaining my energy to flog myself at work.  While reflecting on it myself over the last week back at work, I was surprised to be told by a colleague "the holidays suit you well - you're much more relaxed this week...".   Nice that I'm not the only one noticing it!

Sarah's main hobby is no longer riding, but pottery, and her talent is considerable.  While we're both a bit less fit than we might otherwise be, watching her grow as a potter brings me just as much joy and wonder as watching her grow as a cyclist did a decade or so ago (but without any of the terror that her steep cycling learning curve was wont to elicit)!

Super proud of my Nomadic Ceramics star (and sole) employee

One of the upsides of this, is that our bicycles are having a much easier life, and aren't getting hammered quite so often.  Relatedly, I don't recall bike issues over the last few trips.  The Di2 gearing has been reliable, though I've adopted the strategy of unplugging the battery from the junction box (to prevent any pressure on the shifters during travel from draining the battery), and also unplugging and removing the rear derailleur from the frame (to keep it safe).  

Bodies are coping relatively well with the on-again off-again cycling pattern.  My regular MTB commute is giving me a bit of a fitness edge, which means I don't end up groveling despite hauling most of the luggage.  My most recent pair of bib shorts is unfortunately not going to get taken on holiday again - the chamois is not quite the right shape, and I'm getting a bit of unwelcome chafing.  I'd hoped to ride them in, but instead of them being beaten into submission, it seems they're prevailing.  Bummer.  [Alas, not actually a pun, the damage is on my front side...]  I do note that my MTB callouses aren't quite in the same place as my road bike callouses, so might have to do something about that (e.g. commuting a bit more often on the Open).  

Sarah really doesn't like riding in the heat, which is a shame given how much my body loves it.  I honestly do think of my body as like a greasy frying pan after cooking a nice feed of bacon and eggs.  Let it cool down and all that grease is foul and hard to wipe up, but put a bit of heat through it, and wow...!  I digress...  The best strategy for Sarah (short of dragging me somewhere cold) continues to blow my mind - she fills all her jersey pockets with ice cubes, with a bit more ice packed in bra, around shoulders, in helmet vents etc - keeps her comfortable for a touch longer than it takes to melt, so for a good hour at least.  I can't cope with the intensity of the coldness, but that is most certainly not an issue for her, I suppose stemming from the 30 Mongolian winters she faced before moving to NZ 20 years ago.  

As suggested by those numbers and a bit of arithmetic, Sarah turns 50 next month.  For a time, we had a plan to take nine months off work to celebrate the 50 year milestones in our lives, during which time we would fly to Mongolia and ride back to NZ - 9 months of summer and a whole lot of miles was the goal.  The pandemic, and the effect it had on all aspects of our lives, including work situations (secure enough, but busy), fitness, and alternative activities, meant that this dream never became a reality.  However, we do have a flights back to Asia booked on Boxing Day with return tickets from another port booked for Wellington Anniversary weekend.  That gives us a touch over three weeks to join the dots, pick up a new fridge magnet or three, and get those callouses well and truly sorted.  Watch this space!

The holiday to Bali was a great bit of escapism, with my best friend in the world.  I was able to leave work well and truly behind, and only fretted about world politics from time to time.  It has been a bit of a hard landing, returning to reality, and if the last week has taught me anything, it is that somethings are well and truly outside of my control.  

I've changed a lot over the last decade, thanks to Sarah, Khulan and Kaitlyn among others, but I'm sensing a greater need to manage what I choose to care about at all, and for the things that make the cut, how intensely to engage.  Both mental and physical health depend on it!!  Kia kaha, and thanks for reading...

* * *

PS:  I recently stumbled upon a nice referral to this blog. I hope the way my writing has been described resonates with you - it is nice to realise these are the things I'm hoping to achieve with it...