Gearing up for Christmas

A welcome distraction from the stresses of work, and what seem to be common post-event blues, was an email from Marjolein Ros, Ashley's business partner at Revolve Cycling.  Marj was not only asking about MTB touring opportunities in the top of the South Island, but also inviting me to join her.  After initially writing it off as impossible, I soon realised I could totally afford the time, and after committing, had only a few days to be excited about the impending trip!  Game on!

We'd agreed to check out 3 out of 4 days of the trip I'd had planned for easter, but had ditched to play dress ups!  Namely, the Waikakaho Track from Linkwater on Queen Charlotte Drive to Renwick in the Wairau Valley, the Wakamarina, and the Maungatapu Track over to Nelson.  Linking these rides up would be only short sealed sections, and in total, we'd have an awesome bit of mountain biking on our hands.

Things became a little tenuous in the final days on account of massive slips and flooding in Nelson, so much so that by the time we sailed for Picton, we still weren't sure about our final day.  We knew enough to ditch any thought of a pass over Dun Mountain, but weren't entirely certain we'd be able to get through the Maungatapu.

Marj was pre-booked on a full Bluebridge sailing, so while we didn't get to chat on our Cook Strait crossings, I could occasionally watch her out the window.

Marjolein rounding Point Halswell

Both ferries were delayed slightly, so we didn't hook up in Picton until after midday, at which point we made straight for the Dutch bakery!  I was hoping Marjo would bust out some Dutch, but had to make do with some recommendations of which traditional cakes to buy!!!   We had a bit to eat in the garden there, before saddling up, and hitting the road.


We'd never done a trip together (let alone a ride), so it was great to get stuck into getting to know each other better.  The traffic was pretty light, so we could ride two abreast for the most part, and the road bash to the Linkwater store was over before we knew it!  We mixed up some sports drink, and bought an apple each, which we ate out in the sun.

A Flux and a Stumpy.  Perfect touring bikes, for this trip!

The store is just opposite Cullensville Road, which is the access to the "Linkwater Long Cut", aka the Waikakaho Track, and we were soon blasting along its metalled surface.  As we rounded a bend, we were confronted by a herd of cows, lead by a stroppy looking bull.  With trepidation we made our way through them without incident!

Safe!

The gravel road ended at a gate, and we were soon over it, and the stream just beyond it.  I'd been through here with Simon a few years earlier and so, despite a lack of signage, knew the suspicious gate on our right was the one to take.

We left the valley floor on a wide bench covered with recently cut grass.  As we climbed, we both realised what a mission it would have been before the grass had been cut - the trimmings were over a foot long, and there was lots of it - and we were musing about how recently the mowers had been through.  We'd settled on a few days, when we were confronted by our saviours!  We'd been out by a few days, give or take an hour or two!  

Thanks team!!!!

As in 2009, I really enjoyed the climb, and I fared a bit better on the upper slopes.  I was managing the left switchbacks much better than the right ones, but wasn't having to walk too much, which was nice.  Marjo was faring similarly well, but we laughed at the mind boggling effort Simon had posted last time to ride the whole thing.

Looking down to Linkwater

The last few hundred metres of track to the ridge were in beech forest, and were unridable, so our legs got a bit of respite from the granny-gear climb, and a hammering of a new sort.  Eventually though we were at the top, and after a short stop, we began picking our way across the ridge on foot. 

Eventually, the ridable sections began to get longer and longer, and finally, we were able to spend reasonable periods on the bikes between dismounts.  When the track finally began to drop on the Wairau side of the range, we were presented by a greasy rocky bit of singletrack!  It came as a bit of a shock to my system, and I was riding very tentatively.  My nerves may well have been less of an issue with slightly less pressure in my tyres and a few more recent MTB rides under my belt, and I was beginning to worry about how much walking we'd be doing!

As we descended, the track became drier, and things settled down a bit.  Then, the next curveball arrived when we found ourselves at a mine shaft, and the end of the track.  In hindsight, things were pretty obvious, but at the time, we thought the track continued beyond the mine.  Neither of us had seen a turn off, and there was plenty of windfall around which could have been obscuring the route.  We poked around for at least 10 minutes before eventually concluding we needed to turn back.

As we retraced our steps, we were both contemplating the unpleasant thought of retracing our steps.  "Tyre prints" would have been appropriate, but for the majority of the last hour being on foot.  After about 200m though, we were flooded with relief on meeting a switchback turn - which the out-and-back track to the mine met at its apex.  We'd both been so intent on a small drop over a root in the corner, we'd overlooked the main track turning to our right.  Phew!  Or, more accurately, PHEW!!!!

The riding beyond this point was an absolute blast, no doubt enhanced by the sensations of relief!  We made a short stop at the relics of a small settlement, which consisted of one stone chimney, and a stone throne! 

Queen Marjolein

I'd discovered a weakness of my touring setup on the upper part of the descent, namely, I'd blown my Ortlieb seat bag off its mount a couple of times when riding down a couple of drop-offs.  Luckily, I had space in my Camelbak Octane 18X bag, and without the seat bag, I was feeling much more comfortable on the technical sections.

There was a particular section of track I was very much looking forward to - an impressive rock bluff with cliff below it.  Simon had tried to get a decent shot of me riding around it, but hadn't been pleased with his photo.  When I arrived, I quickly leade the bike down and scrambled up the bank while retrieving my camera.  No sooner had I turned it on, then it was time to snap Marjo making her way around it. 

We didn't bother setting up for another, and continued our blast down to the valley floor!  Whoop whoop!

We were soon at the end of the track, and after an occasionally boggy 4WD road, we turned right onto the Kaituna-Tuamarina Road.  We had about 45 minutes to get to Renwick before the store closed, and eventually we decided I should make a dash for it.  After discussing a grocery list, I was off, and enjoyed a solid TT effort into Renwick.

Supplies in hand, I was just unlocking my bike as Marjo rode in, and we walked together to Watsons Way Backpackers before washing up and getting dinner ready.  We ate at a large dinner table, and had a European couple nattering away to each other while MJ and I swapped adventures from earlier in the year.

The following morning, I was stunned to learn the other couple had been Dutch, and they'd been translating Marjolein and my conversation!  Little did they know, Marjolein had understood every word they'd said!  RUDE!!!  I wish I'd known, I would have begged Marj to bid them goodnight in Dutch.

My good friends Dave and Tim had ridden the Wakamarina a couple of months earlier, so I knew we needed to detour along to Bartlett's Creek rather than take the more direct Onamalutu Road climb up to the start of the track.  The longer route was nice, and the traffic on the road dropped away significantly after the Onamalutu turnoff. We had great conditions again, and with the short sealed section out of the away, it was time to get ready for a 1000m climb!

The first 600m of it was on a gravel road, and was initially very gentle.  We had a few fords to ride through, and the water passing over them was so crisp and clear.  I finally made the decision to stop at the next one for a photo, when as luck would have it, the road kicked up, and we left the stream crossings behind!

The climb was sizable, but rarely steep, and it ticked away quickly enough.  We stopped occasionally, and had fun trying to work out where we'd be riding.  The Wakamarina track would take us across the Richmond Ranges, and the first of two high points would be Fosters Clearing, in a saddle obscured by my head in the next photo!

 

After admiring the view down into the Wairau Valley, in which we could just make out the Waihopai spy base, we were soon off-road, and into some glorious beech forest track. 

The track was overall less steep than the gravel climb up to it had been, but it wasn't entirely straightforward riding.  The surface was dry, and mostly smooth, but it was often covered with so much leaf litter that progress was hard earned.  In any case, it was pretty sweet riding, and would have made for an awesome out-and-back trip.

Are we there yet?!

Climate control was tricky - as we climbed, the temperature was dropping slightly, and while I was sweating, I still was feeling kind of chilly.  My sleeveless jacket went on and off and on and off, but eventually, we burst out of the bush into Foster's Clearing and beautiful blue skies.

From the clearing, we had a 200m vertical descent, after which the Kennett Bros said we'd be on foot.  They were true to ther word, though I'm sure they should have had "grovel" somewhere in there.  The 200m were hard won, and when the miserably hot push was finally at an end, Marjo and I sat for a rest in what I'm sure would make a perfectly good helipad!

The main descent was to be 800 vertical metres in about 2.5km, and conditions could not have been better for us two nanas to hit it up. The track was bone dry, remarkable given the rain Nelson had experienced not a week before.

"Switchback City Arizona" was a pretty good description of the track, and Marjo and I made a conservative but effective fist of it.  We had no crashes, and a hell of a lot of fun with only a little bit of walking.  There were a couple of drops I might have tried with my seat down and an ambulance on hand, but there were also a few that were well beyond my capabilities!

Before too long we were down in the valley, and the crossing of Doom Creek demonstrated the waters were just as clear on the north side of the range as on the south side.  The prospect of a solid meal was about the only thing that stopped us going for a swim!  Well, that and knowing how damn cold the water would have been!

Doom Creek

Big-ass hills in the background!

The ride out to the Wakamarina Road-end was sweet, and much less arduous than much of the riding had been.  On the other hand, the "15 easy-kilometres" down-valley seemed less so!  A very large proportion of the properties in this valley were for sale, but the numbering system on the letterboxes gave us welcome progress of our ride into Canvastown.

Trout Hotel was waiting for us at the end of the road, on the intersection with SH6, and we were soon relaxing in the sun - the 75km ride had taken us just under eight and a half hours, and it was bloody nice to sit down!

As I made good headway into a pint of Radler (a fitting drop, I thought), Marjo experimented with my new tripod, not so successfully! 

It was worth a crack, Nigel!

Which one's next?!

After a big meal at the pub, we went in seach of cell-phone reception.  Marj had packed jandals - far too heavy - but worth their weight.  My bare feet were being reamed by the road, and I made fun of myself on behalf of Marjolein, who was very gentle on me!  Unlike the road surface!  To add insult to injury, we didn't find any reception...  Maybe I need to rethink my jandals policy?

The next morning dawned even more beautiful than the previous two days - not a cloud in the sky - and we were in for a stunner.

Ready to leave Canvastown

As with the previous two days, we commenced with a short road ride - this time, 10 kilometres or so to Pelorus Bridge.  Here we made a short stop to phone home, and prepare for the Maungatapu climb!  We met an Austrian cycle-tourist, who, between puffs on his ciggy, described his impending ride on SH1 to Christchurch.  On a carbon fully with a HUGE load?!  We suggested he investigate going through the Molesworth and left him to it!

After buying a couple of monstrous cheese scones from the cafe, we were about ready to leave when a ute swung in, driven by NZ MTB celebrity Brenda "Bob" Clapp.  She was on a work trip out of Nelson, and we had a good natter before parting ways.


I vaguely remembered the next bit of riding from the end of Day 1 of the Kiwi Brevet, and enjoyed taking it a bit more gently.  Once again, the scenery was stunning, and the waters clear.

The Pelorus River from Maungatapu Road

I was about to lose my GPS unit - on its single charge from home - but not before it suggested we'd missed the Maungatapu Track turn off.  Luckily the map data were off, not our eyes, and just as I was beginning to worry, we were presented with conclusive evidence we were OK! 

Blinkers on, and up we go!

The climb was stunning, and took us almost exactly an hour.  As if to torture us, the day became hotter, the track steeper, and the track rougher as we neared the top.  We both stayed on our bikes though, but not without physical cost!

We had plenty of time to reach Nelson to hook up with Marjolein's partner Al, so we enjoyed sitting in the sun at the top for about an hour.  The views to south were partly obscured by cloud, but to the northeast they were off the hook! 

Eventually, we started to cook in the sun, and made the decision to head down.  It was great to be on our trail bikes once again, and we enjoyed the blast down the Maungatapu.  Belying the freakish rain Nelson had had the week before, the track surface showed no sign of anything abnormal.

 

Near the bottom, we blasted through a rock garden I'd effectively forgotten all about.  I was glad I wasn't on my lightweight rigid bike like last time.  Urgh!

Maitai Dam

There were a couple of short but savage climbs as we made our way around Maitai Dam.  Here we saw the only signs of storm damage - a bit of windfall, and a couple of very large cracks in the road surface.  If I were a betting man, I'd put money on a bit of the road disappearing into the dam pretty soon.  Stink.

At the road end, a sign indicated we needed to take a singletrack section to bypass some works, a message consistent with Bob's advice.  But, it was ambiguous about where the track began, so I ducked up to a caretaker's home, and was told we could actually take the road if we wanted to.  When we saw the singletrack at the bottom of a fairly steep descent, we figured we'd done enough hard work, and took the cruisy option along the road.

I felt guitly as we rolled along, and occasionally glanced up at the MTB track on the hill above us, kind of wishing I was up there, but simultaneously glad I was not!  Another time, perhaps!

Maitai Valley Road spat us out into the city centre, but not before we'd seen stark evidence of the storm damage.  I grabbed a lock from a bike store, before settling down at a cafe, a change of clothes, and a delicious risotto for him, and a kebab for her.

Shortly after, I was wishing Marjolein farewell and a Merry Christmas, and soon after that, I was off to the airport.

The short flight back to Wellington was great apart from the fact I was looking out the left side of the plane.  I knew those on the right were getting unrestricted views of three great MTB rides:  the old-school Maungatapu Track, and the sublime Wakamarina and Waikakaho Tracks, complete with plenty of hike-a-bike and technical sections.  Marjolein's company had been awesome, and our pace had been cruisy but deliberate.  It was truly uplifting stuff, and the perfect way to bring the working year to a close.

Enduring stormy Taupo

I've got a list of "unfinished business", and last weekend, I was hoping to put a big red line through "Taupo Enduro".

My first attempt at it was a disaster, even as support crew. I hurt my right knee on the way home from a time trial event, and had to withdraw a few weeks before the race.  Nonetheless, I went up to support my good buddy Simon, with whom I'd been training before my injury.  He was 7 months away from tackling the formidable Great Divide Race, and the 320km event would be a useful confidence builder in advance of successive (i.e. 2-and-a-half-weeks of) 200km days on a mountain bike.

What transpired was horrible from the Taupo Enduro point of view, but probably great training (physical but more importantly, psychological) for the GDR.  Simon's daughter was only a few months old and not yet sleeping through the night.  Knackered, and in a relatively quiet home for the night, he duly slept through his alarm.  His back-up plan was me.  I failed miserably, and had set my alarm for half-past midday, rather than half-past midnight.  Simon woke at 3am, and was on the bike by 3:30am, 2 hours behind the rest of the field.  I followed behind in Ben's station wagon, watching his feet go up and down, and berating myself constantly for letting him down.  It was a long few hours, but I was glad to at least be there to shelter him from passing traffic and hand him a bottle when he signalled for one.  Despite knowing that overcoming that hiccup and completing in a slow but respectable time was ultimately good for Simon's confidence going into the GDR, I've still never forgiven myself for letting him down like that.

Since April this year, I've been looking forward to exorcising at least some of my Taupo Enduro bogeys.  It seemed to me to be a convenient target for getting my endurance up through winter and spring.  As the months rolled along, things looked to be falling into place nicely.  My ride at Queen's Birthday showed that I'd be capable of finishing, even without specific work.  I wasn't doing it to finish though, and I'd set myself a target of 10 hours (an average speed of about 32km/h).  While long rides had been elusive through October, a ride in the first weekend of November gave me the confidence I needed:  a 200km solo smash around Wellington's Makara loop, Greys Rd in Plimmerton, Moonshine, Blue Mountains and Whitemans Valley to Te Marua, the Akatarawas to Waikanae, Paekakariki Hill and then over Haywards before finishing back to the city and up to Karori - all in 6 hours 43 for an average elapsed speed of just a whisker under 30km/h. 

I followed that effort up with a local race in the Tour de Whitemans, then just under 6 hours on the MTB at the Great Forest Rogaine, and finally Le Petit Brevet.  I'd managed a few short-sharp mid-week efforts around the bays, so my speed was OK, and most importantly, I was feeling "strong, and enthusiastic".

While I was down in Christchurch, my Colnago was in the shop - getting a full check up from master-wrench, Oli Brooke-White.  I'd had some lower back discomfort on the 200km ride, and while no spacers had been left above the stem by the shop I'd bought it from, flipping the stem upside down and swapping a 10mm spacer out had the effect of raising the bars 10mm or so, hopefully enough just to take a bit of pressure off during the race.  I'd had no doubt Oli would come up with a simple solution to my problem, but nor should I have been surprised by the incredible attention to detail - when I picked up the bike, Oli had carefully covered the now upside-down "Colnago" logo on the stem with black tape, carefully trimmed to avoid blacking out any of the white part of the stem.  While I love my bikes, my "function over form" inclinations would often see such attention to detail resulting in a less aesthetically pleasing package.  So much of sport is psychology, and Oli always ensures I hit the start line with pride of, and complete confidence in, my machine. 

The final aspects of my preparation were logistical.  While I wasn't super-keen to impose an early start on anyone, Simon had suggested my parents would probably really enjoy driving support for me on lap one.  They were nervous about letting me down, so I tried to describe how I thought the race would pan out, and what I'd need from them.  As we all slipped off to bed on the Friday night, I'd be surprised if they were any less nervous than I was.

I woke about 30 seconds before my alarm went off - just enough time to pick up my phone to check the time before it started vibrating in advance of the speaker kicking in.  I was soon up, and dressed.  For lap 1, I'd set off in my Assos bib shorts, a Ground Effect Baked Alaska and Vespa combo, knee warmers, thermal gloves and booties, and a cotton cap under my helmet.  I had one bottle of replace mix on the bike, and diced chocolate brownie and one-square-meal in my feed-bag.  My Ayup lights and small battery were on the bike, spare tubes and patch kit in a saddle bag, and pump in my pocket.  My parents had a spare front wheel in the car, some full bottles, and kit for a change at half time.

Final prep before rolling out

I scoffed a banana, but my guts started to object, and I only managed half a tin of creamed rice.  Mindful of my second day at Le Petit Brevet, I smashed back an instant coffee, and filled in the remaining time with some quad and hip stretches. I bade Mum and Dad farewell, and gave Kaitlyn a kiss as she slept, and then rode the short distance to the start line.

As I had my name ticked off, I was surrounded by about 90 other riders.  Three young and fast looking guys had staked out a start line, and were no doubt affecting others' nerves like they were mine.  I recognised Steve Orchard from the Freyberg bunch in Wellington and sat with him for a bit before taking my place in the mass of riders.

Start imminent

We had a short briefing, and then were off.

We rolled out of Redoubt Street, and then across the Waikato River before the road tipped up and we had pressure on the pedals for the first time.  I'd warned my parents that the field would split up on the climb out of Taupo, and that I'd be almost certainly in the front bunch.  By the time we reached "Ben Lomond, the highest point on the course" things had pretty much played out as I'd anticipated: I was in a bunch of about 20 at the front of the race.

This period was an opportunity to check out the other riders.  I knew Brian Bushe was strong, having ridden around the Tararuas with him a few years ago and monitored his continual improvement since.  Steve also looked good.  Brian had pointed out Jim McMurray as the man to watch, and had he not told me, I'd have drawn the same conclusion in this first hour or two, during which time Jim had rolled off the front at least once with apparently no effort.  He looked the business!

The pace was sensible in the context of the event, though purposeful.  We were being buffeted by very strong winds, and while things didn't feel unsafe, we all clearly needed to be very attentive.  There was one dude on a time trial bike, who was making a habit of occasionally dropping down on his aero bars and going past the bunch very hard.  We mostly left him to it, for no reason other than conserving the energy required to get on his wheel.

Somewhere approaching the Kuratau relay exchange, Jim and Mel Titter opened up a 50m gap on a short climb.  I was following Brian (both of us with deep rims), and was alongside the dude down on his aero bars on the TT bike, when all of a sudden we were hit by the biggest wind gust yet.  We were travelling probably in excess of 50km/h, downhill, in pursuit of Jim and Mel, and in an instant, we were all over the road desperately trying to regain control of our machines.  As I popped up off the drops wrestling with my handlebars as they whipped left and right, I could sense others around me doing the same.  Luckily, no-one went down, but boy oh boy did that gust knock the stuffing out of us.  For the next 30 minutes or so, the bunch was very subdued, and speeds rarely crept up to the levels that they'd previously been at.  Less than a quarter of the way into a 320km event, we were riding like nervous novices, and with good reason. 

The Kuratau climb seemed a total non-issue in the dark, and I was surprised when I recognised the descent to Tokaanu.  Jim and Mel were long gone, so when we hit the flat section through to the bottom of Hatepe, the bunch seemed keen to pursue and capitalise on its numbers and the tail wind, sort of.  In principle we had enough riders to make good progress to Taupo, but the bunch seemed intent on destroying itself.  Gaps were constantly opened up, and then the guilty party would surge to fill it, and slowly but surely the surges were starting to add up.  For the most part, I tried to stay smooth, and when we finally arrived at Hatepe, Matthew Luckie cleared out, followed a few dozen metres behind by Darryl Strachan and I.

My parents were near the top, and I grabbed a bottle from them, before finishing the climb off (note to parents: next time, right at the top - that drink is heavy stuff!). 

Second bottle change ahoy!

By this stage Matt was 100m ahead, and Darryl had stepped off the bike for a slash, so I was on my own.  I've only ever done one lap of Taupo twice: back in 2008 as a solo and with my family in 2009, and while I had no idea how long it would take to finish lap one, I knew time was of the essence - a successful second lap and overall time relies on hooking up with one of the first big solo bunches.  We were riding a different course for the first 40km, so needed a decent head start to be on the solo course by the time they came through.

My parents drove past as I was mulling over a strategy for transition, and they tucked in behind Matt.  I tried to wave them down, but there was no reaction, so I went to plan B and sprinted hard after them.  I was soon alongside, and waiting for Mum to roll down her window.  That done, I told them the change needed to be quick, and that I'd prefer a double espresso to the trim flat white I'd ordered the previous evening.  That done, I connected with Matt, and we worked together to the transition at the BP station in town.

The highlight en route was seeing my Cape Epic team-mate Megan - she'd passed us in the car, mountain bike on the back, and recognising my legs and outfit from the weekend before pulled over and gave me and my workmate a bloody good holler!  Cheers!

As I swiped my transponder over the USB gadget, my time was recorded as 4:59 - not too bad, but not as quick as anticipated thanks to the insane winds we'd battled on the western side of the lake.  Next up was to have a quick slash, and then I was back outside.  Mum and Dad were a finely oiled machine and were operating like people who'd done this sort of thing dozens of times before.  New bottles were already on my bike, and my feed-bag was again brimming with OSM and brownie.  Mum was holding a dry jersey for me.

Man on a mission

I declined a dry hat and vest, but did put new gloves on.  Knee warmers came off, as did booties, and I took the front and rear lights off the bike too.  Pump went back in my pocket, as well as a bunch of jet planes and a couple of bananas.  A small bottle of coke went into my third jersey pocket, and when I'd smashed back the coffee (in one gulp), I was good to go.

Darryl and Jim happy to wait, while I roll out

I was happy to be on my own for the next 15 minutes or so - hell, I was leading the race!  The sun was up, and my legs were feeling good, and for short amount of time, I had as much space on the road as I needed.  The wind was still blowing, but its strength seemed trivial in the context of what we'd already experienced in the dark, a few hours before.

I was eventually joined by Jim, Mel and Darryl.  I'd made no effort to not get caught, and I was expecting to see these guys.  We were joined a few minutes later by Matt, and without any discussion, formed one of the best pace-lines I've had the pleasure of riding in.  In contrast to the earlier effort north of Turangi, everyone was pulling through very smoothly.  No-one was obviously weaker than the others, and when someone missed a wheel, within a handful of seconds, rotation had recommenced without any fuss whatsoever.  As a result, progress was good, and was without undue physical or mental stress.

We'd left Taupo just after 6:30, less than 15 minutes ahead of the Elite field.  We had an extra 3.5km to ride, I believe on a more hilly course, and as a result of those factors and the fact we were not an Elite field pinning it off the start line of a 160km race, the bunch went through a couple of minutes ahead of us.  Safely on the main course, Jim, Mel and Matt stopped at a service area for a leak and a drink, while Darryl and I pedalled on.

Up ahead we could see three riders - Elites out the arse of the main field, we deduced.  They were being followed by an ambulance, and when we caught up, it was mighty tempting to draft the living bejesus out of the ambo!  It was still windy, and it was in our faces.  We did the honourable thing though, and rolled by, just as the ambulance was clearing out anyway.  The threesome included none other than Radioshack-Nissan-Trek signing George Bennett.  He and his mates perked up a little to see us, and increased their pace to match ours.  For the next while we drafted them, but they soon wanted to stop for a slash themselves, and again Darryl and I were on our own.

Someone was looming up ahead though, and before long we realised it was "Ironman" Ron Skelton, on probably his last lap of eight.  We gave him some good encouragement, and kept on our merry way.

Soon, over our shoulders we saw a bunch of a dozen or so, and soft pedalled until we were caught.  According to the photographic evidence, we were now 13, including the five Enduros, as well as Wellington's Tristan Thomas and Sam King-Turner.  "Gidday sifter!" said Tristan as I settled in next to him.

Last time around Taupo, I'd sprinted ahead in this very spot to roll across the photographer's line, netting a great shot with Dad.

2009

This time around, I had another great opportunity, but didn't have to work so hard for it.  I filled a gap between George and Tom Francis, much to the amusement of the bunch behind.  As we past the spot where an old-fashioned camera might have been clicking away, I heard from behind "I'll have four copies of that one thanks!", followed by a few chuckles!  You know it boys!  It was a great, light-hearted moment, and it was a nice distraction from the building sensations of fatigue in our legs. 

2011, and one for the garage wall!!!!

It was a while longer before we were caught by bunch 1a - the first start wave of the Solo race.  The catch was intimidating - we were cruising along and they came by very fast, a group of GMC boys at the front of the peloton, driving it along.  I felt a friendly hand on my lower back, helping me up to speed, and looked across to see a grinning Antosh Kowalewski.  In the last few months I've finally felt able to turn up to the Circa "Wellington Wednesday Worlds" bunch, which Antosh regularly dominates on its hot-lap of the bays.

I really should have got up to speed more quickly, and I ended up well back in the bunch.  Totally understandable, but not great strategy - I could see Jim and the others safely ensconced further ahead.  The steady riding after leaving Taupo had been good though, and my legs felt up to the increased pace.  Angus Taylor was another friendly face I recognised, and it was good to hear supportive words from him.

One minute life was pretty simple: pedal.  Then, out of the blue, my ears were assaulted with the horrible sound of carbon rims being heavily braked upon, and I too was desperately reeling my bike in and trying not to go up anyone's arse while still staking my claim on a patch of road.  The problem?  One of the bike transporters at the Kuratau interchange was blocking almost the entire road, and a bunch of 100 or so riders was being forced into a gap about a third of the size of what they'd become accustomed too.

I was at walking speed when I safely negotiated the bottle neck, and then I was out of the saddle sprinting back up to speed.  I wasn't completely sure at the time, but Antosh later confirmed there were dudes up front attacking the bunch.  The effort cost me, and when we hit Kuratau Hill soon after, my match box contained mostly smouldering ashes, and not too many intact matches left to burn.

As the gap ahead of me started to open up, I didn't take much solace from the fact that around me were 1a starters who were suffering equally.  Dammit, we were being shelled.

One of the nicest shows of respect and generosity towards us enduros came from Tom Francis.  He'd asked earlier if I needed any food or drink.  I'd asked in turn whether he had any fresh legs for me.  He'd apologised then, but the 20 seconds he spent alongside me with his hand on my lower back made a couple of gears' difference on the ascent of Kuratau.  Not only did I get a speed boost and a small period of respite from the climb, but it was also a massive psychological boost - nothing like a bit of kindness to distract from a grovel.  Cheers Tom - that was much appreciated, even though I was probably too rooted to say thanks properly at the time.

I went over the top 100m or so down on the main bunch, but in company.  There was one older dude in particular trying to exhort the group into action, and while his intentions were good, I'd have preferred not to be snapped at.  I didn't think to counter with any alternative encouragement though, and instead got to work trying to help the group bridge the gap.

My legs felt OK, and I was definitely able to contribute to the chase.  I probably shouldn't have though - I had every excuse not to, and I'm sure the fellas would not have begrudged me sitting in.  I knew Dan, Mel and Matt were up ahead, and that Darryl was in the group with me.  We didn't have long to get back to the main bunch, and I knew things were getting desperate as I tried to use my strength on the flat lands to the bunch's advantage.

We were so nearly there when I found myself sliding off the back, and too late I realised I'd gone too deep.  Darryl had already popped, and was behind me somewhere while I watched the group I'd been in 30 seconds before latch onto the back of the main field, and then watched them all disappear around the sweeping turn that marked the beginning of the descent to Tokaanu.  I hung my head, knowing full well that I'd screwed up, powerless to correct it.

I rolled dejectedly down the hill, knowing that I now needed to recharge lest I be unable to hold onto the bunch behind.  I made a point of eating a few hunks of food, and take some long pulls from my drink bottle.   I kept looking over my shoulder, desperately wanting the cavalry to appear.  It wasn't until just before Turangi that it did appear, but not in the strength of numbers I was hoping for.

I slotted in behind Sam King-Turner, one of the Elite starters, and young Jack Sowry, a solo rider.  Sam made it clear he expected no work from me as he passed, my yellow helmet cover bringing me protected status at this end of the race - over 250km in my legs at this stage, to their 110km.  I was not about to argue, and sat in.

Sam took an almighty turn, but eventually I could see him tiring, and went to the front.  He came by me again, then Jack, and then me again, but when I rolled back past Jack to slot in onto Sam's wheel, he wasn't there.  Fuck!  That's a worry.  I tried to encourage Jack, and told him of my aim to get back to Taupo by 11:30.  He took a few decent turns, but soon, he too was nowhere to be seen.  Double fuck!

It was all back on me, and the distance markers were indicating I had better press on.  A minor complication in the calculations was that my GPS unit had somehow started the ride in imperial mode - around this point on the first lap I'd been a bit confused at our speed - it felt a lot quicker than 21km/h.  90km elapsed at that point confirmed it wasn't km at all, but miles, and since I'd been struggling to work out conversions.  The distance markers seemed a bit out of whack in places too, an observation confirmed by world-record holding unicyclist Ken Looi who was struggling to make similar calculations at the same point later in the day.

I passed Nick Dunne, within 40km of the end of his 1600km, 10-lap effort.  While I'm incredibly impressed with what these ultra-enduro guys do, I also reckon they're mad.  I remember commenting to a friend, while leaving a screening of the RAAM movie, "thank god this doesn't do it for me...".

I knew there were hundreds of cyclists moving a hell of a lot faster behind me, but for whatever reason, I put my head down and tried to keep the pace up around the 26mph mark.  Something like that was going to be needed to make my 10 hour deadline.  The wind was mostly behind me, but the lake itself confirmed it was still blowing a gale out...

Trying to keep the pace up on the rollers before Hatepe

While Hatepe Hill is often referred to in hushed tones, much to the bemusement of Wellingtonians, I knew this was not the biggest hurdle I had left to surmount.  My undoing, or not, would be in the flat riding beyond it.  On the climb, I managed to keep on top of my 39x25 granny gear, and enjoyed passing the folk out on the roadside, cheering me on.

Second (and last!) time up Hatepe

I didn't quite hit the descent with as much vigour as I'd done five hours earlier, but my mental arithmetic was still telling me to keep on working.

I finally knew my ten-hour target was outside my grasp when I reached the 15km to go marker.  I didn't know my GPS was running a bit fast, and thought I had 18 minutes to get back.  I'd missed the famed 3-hour mark at Karapoti in March by only 21 seconds, and I knew already that I'd be close here, but not under.  While bitterly disappointed and frustrated, I nonetheless kept pedalling hard.

My feet were killing me, I had a bit of jet-plane rattling around in one nasal cavity, and I was lacking punch in my pedalling, but was still turning the big gears over and got up the airport hill without too much speed loss.  As the kilometres ticked over, I was no longer fueled by my target time, but by reaching the end.   

I knew the lake-front was going to be miserable, by virtue of having ridden it once already.  This time though, I didn't need to keep anything in reserve.  Still alone, I got great support by the folk along the way - they'd probably been waiting a long time for someone to cheer for!

Into the final straight

I was bouyed as I turned into the final straight - not only was I almost done, but I now had a killer tail wind.  I pushed hard all the way to the finish, stopping my GPS unit just under 5 minutes past ten hours - I'd managed to knock out the last 15km in 23 minutes and 39km/h, but not the 50km/h I'd needed.

It was lovely to see the smiling faces of my parents and beautiful daughter as soon as I reached the domain.  They confirmed I'd finished in 4th place, over 15 minutes down on Jim McMurray, who I'd last seen ensconced in the big bunch over the top of Kuratau.  Matt, my companion at the end of the first lap was in second, two-and-a-half minutes down on Jim.  Mel was a further seven minutes back, probably dislodged on the Hatepe climb. Darryl arrived, with the cavalry, four minutes later!  Brian finished in 10:21, and Steve was the seventh and last Enduro under 11 hours, sneaking in by a minute.

My overriding emotion upon finishing was disappointment.  As the days have passed, this has eased, and I've become less gutted about my performance.  Riding a bike hard is a funny thing, and at the level I'm currently at, it's probably worth remembering just about everyone's hurting - not just me.  Road racing is beautiful, and probably the style of racing I'm best suited to.  It's also unforgiving, as my short lapse on Kuratau showed.  If I'd limped home, I'd have probably felt better about the whole thing, but the ride back to Taupo had been strong - apart from Sam and Jack, no one had caught me in the last 70-odd km of the race.

It's also helped to have seen the various reports describing the atrocious conditions.  The mountain bikers had been stopped mid-race on account of trees falling down, and with the exception of the elites, race times were apparently on the slow side.  I'd ridden two 4:59 laps with a 5 minute break in between for an official time of 10:02:52, and would have been well within the top 10% in the solo field with one or other of those lap times.

My legs felt mostly-fine for Wednesday Worlds, but my head is still reeling from the effort.  It's not that surprising to me given the concentration required throughout the night to simply keep the bike on course, plus the added abuse of a sub-par two hour sleep beforehand. The drive back to Wellington added insult to injury, and felt much longer than the ride had!

It was super cool to have my parents involved in the event, and they did their jobs perfectly and without complaint!   It was a privilege to ride Black Ops on my beautifully prepped machine, spurred on by Oli's faith in me. And, to have Simon's words of wisdom ringing in my ears - in response to "I'll do my fair share of work and no more" he answered "preferably less"!  I spent at least a lap preparing my justification for ignoring that advice.  This event would have been so far off my radar without his mentoring and friendship over the last five years - it seems I'm no longer a weekend-warrior, even though I've waged my fair share of wars in the past weekends. 

The nice thing about writing these things up - it helps bring closure.  I can now stop dwelling on this race, and start thinking about whatever's next. One thing is for sure though, I'm going to have to do this damn event again.  For the meantime, it stays on the list of unfinished business.