Pedal Baby Pedal

From Upper Hutt our ride has had some drama that the RA would rather have done without. The curved balls were of course unplanned but given that this section through to Hanmer was already going to test the Team’s resilience, curved balls were something we could have done without. The main culprits – trail & road closures and what we had hoped we had left in the north Island, forestry operations.

Our journey into Wellington was thankfully not Hikoi disrupted. It started out well. Refreshed from our rest day, we hit the Hutt River trail in style. Blazing along the well formed trail until it was no longer there but long since washed into Wellington Harbour. After a dodgy detour we got back onto the path until, again, it too was in Wellington Harbour. By this time, with no idea where we were meant to detour, the only option was to mix it up with the big guys on busy roads with no cycle lanes. Scary stuff but we boosted our pedal assist to keep at traffic speed and finally got back onto the path harbour side without any soiled underwear. Zero marks for those who close paths without posting alternative routes.

Relieved to have made our sailing time we had a bit of time to kill before boarding. When we finally got the call, the tandem would not fit through the ‘cattle run’ that lead to the ferry. We had to backtrack and one of the herders led us through an alternate route. By the time we got onto the ferry all the bicycle spots were taken so we had to harness the Mo to whatever we could. Finally secure we settled in for the crossing. “Um this is your captain speaking (in a whiny voice) due to a technical problem we won’t be leaving as scheduled, we will give you and update in one hours time”. GREAT – said the GOTF, “wonder when the Toyota Corollas are going to arrive – at least we are secured to the wharf”. Two hours later, a new rubber band was installed and we were off. But due to now clashing with another sailing we had to take the longer route. We made it to Picton just before dark.

Not wanting to push my luck, I decided to take the short route to Blenheim. The next day I was really pleased with my foresight. Our route 69km into the Awatere Valley was via Taylors Pass. This was a ride that had a lot of climbing over the last 40km. About 10km into our ride a sign informed us that the road was closed between 6am and 4pm. We had a quick conference and decided to push on, surely they would let a bike through? We stopped and chatted to a couple of local cyclists to see if they knew anything. Nope. We had no cell reception so could not check on the Council website. I had checked the status of Awatere Valley Road which is regularly out of action, but not Taylors. Eventually we reach a man in a vehicle with a stop/go sign. He nearly jumped out of his skin when we pedalled up. Putting on our best ‘take pity on us expressions’ we asked about sneaking the bike through. Nope. “They are logging up there” was the answer that was followed by a description of utter carnage that sounded as though a nuclear device had been detonated. “We can wait until lunch time”. But it appeared that the gang smashing down the trees threw massive boulders on the road during their lunch break.

Is there a detour. “Yeah just go back the way you came and when you get through town follow SH 1 to the Awatere Valley turnoff”.

Long story short, we did that, retracing our path and 34km later we started our 69km ride for the day. Now if you are good at maths you will realise that sums to 103km. The RA was not a happy stoker. The problem was that there was no accommodation options that got us within battery range of our next stop up, like 2,000m in altitude up, the valley.

I forgot to mention that we left at 8am to avoid a nasty looking front that was due to hit mid afternoon. As we started our suicidal ride along SH1 I couldn’t help but notice the inky black clouds forming around the ugly looking hill we were going to have to ride over, nor the sudden presence of semi trailer trucks hurtling in the direction of Christchurch – dang, the latest ferry crossing traffic is hitting the hill as well. This hill had no shoulder and a drain on our left hand side. A cold gale was now blowing into our faces and buffeting the bike around. Stop, brace and wave was engaged and we gave our thanks as we summited. Alas, on the other side we faced the full brunt of the gale which was now starting to hurtle icy rain drops into our rapidly numbing faces. A police car zoomed by and pulled up ahead of us. The officer lept out of the car and flagged us down. I knew this was not for speeding. But I suspected that he may breathalyse me as the bike was weaving badly in the wind, or worse, charge me with abduction as I suspected the RA had held up a ‘HELP ME’ sign as he drove past.

He merely wanted to warn us that we may want to hunker down as there was a violent thunder storm closing in and the report was that there was large hail falling. We scanned the immediate area and the only shelter that we could see was a spindly broom bush. Better than nothing so we settled down for lunch with our helmets on!

Well we only got side swiped by that storm and before we knew it we were finally starting our ascent through wall to wall vineyards up a thankfully quiet Awatere Valley road. We had 65km to ride, the range on the bike computer did not look promising and with the temperature dropping like a stone in the nearby river, the battery performance would not be great.

As the vineyards gave way to mountains and merino the rain started to turn to hail and sleet and the seal road became sloshy wet gravel. The scenery became spectacular and the fresh snow on the mountains added to the drama. We both lost feeling in our toes and fingers but justice was served as the GOTF received double punishment on the front.

Thankfully, the RA was distracted by the scenery while I lived out my form of purgatory battling the elements and doing mental gymnastics working out our available range v the distance to run. There was no way we could push the Mo up these gradients and the road was endlessly heading skywards. As we got closer it started to look promising and as we pedalled into the entrance to Camden High Country Station, nearly 9 hours after leaving Blenheim, the range indicated ‘0’. Phew!

“You are lucky” was our welcome. We looked around to see who Hugo was talking to, it obviously could not have been us. “I have just managed to fix the gas for the hot water”. What he did not realise was that he was lucky, we probably would have done unspeakable things to him if he had told us that there was no hot water.

A hot shower, food and a roaring fire changed our mood and we were soon laughing and joking about our little adventure. They were mustering the next morning and the musterers who were also staying in the shearer’s quarters, probably slept with weapons at the ready just in case the crazies on the tandem came for them in the night.

At around 6am the dog teams were going crazy, fine tuning their barking outside our window. Oh well, we needed an early start as it was too cold to clean the mud off the chain when we arrived.

It was a startling morning and we started singing “what a difference a day makes”. I cheered the RA up by telling her that we only had 30km to ride but quickly added that there were quite a few hills to get over. And hills they were, flaming big mountains but the scenery was so spectacular that we didn’t even notice the climbing, well kind of didn’t. To also help bolster the RAs morale, I told her that today was a strategic ride so that we could charge the batteries to get us through the following two days. Consequently, we were staying in some flash accommodation on another high country station. Good food, accommodation and even hot tubs.

Middlehurst Station was everything we expected. We enjoyed our soak in the wood fired hot tub that was surrounded by mountains. After dinner we were visited by an orphan Merino lamb who Bob took a liking to. It was looking for its bottle but we couldn’t oblige. It was back the next morning and charged into the room when we opened the door. Sue our host took it and fed it – it was earmarked as a pedigree ram. When we left Kerikeri the lambs were well on the way to being the size of their mums, here in the high country, lambing is still in progress. Apparently they don’t disturb the ewes during lambing due to the merino being inclined to desert their lambs if scared off.

Our ride the next day was to have been our longest in terms of time but was now our second longest. 81km of rough, dusty gravel across the country’s largest farm, Molesworth Station which apparently is a larger acreage than Stewart Island.

With no battery charging available for the next 108km and a climb up to 1,145m at Wards Pass, the highest point on our entire journey, a lot of battery nursing was going to be required.

About 1km from Middlehurst, their little fox terrier, George, starting running along side us. We thought it was cute as he led us down the road, darting off into the long grass to look for whatever foxies look for. At one stage he set off after a hare. After a couple of kilometres he showed no sign of turning around and heading back home. We told him to “go home George” but he may have been as deaf as the GOTF. At the top of our first climb we put on the gas and left George in our dust, but as soon as we hit the flat we could see the little speedster gaining on us. He started to become a problem. We didn’t have the luxury of being able to bike back to get him home, we needed every km of our range. At 10km and now in Muller Station we could see that George was probably beyond his available range for getting home. He wanted to get on the bike. Problem was, with no cell reception, we couldn’t ring Middlehurst to come and get him. We had not passed any vehicles. I sent a message to my brother on our emergency satellite communicator and asked him to ring the station. Just as we did that a ute with a family came along. Ruth flagged them down and we explained the predicament. They initially had us down as ‘crazies’ but when Ruth called George over they couldn’t resist his charm and agreed to take him. He hopped in the cab and happily set off on his next adventure. Once we had communications we checked to make sure that he got home. He did.

We finally got to the DOC camp at Acheron about 4pm. It was a long 81km and we looked as though we had been in a flour fight. No showers so just had to dust off. We got the tent up, had dinner, put as many layers of clothes on as we had and turned in early in order to get some sleep before the cold set in. Now we are wimps from the Far North so we are at a distinct disadvantage at dealing with cold. The GOTF got cold feet (no not about the trip) and the RA found her few millimetres (mm) of air in the airbed to be insufficient to keep at bay, the cold seeping through the ground. We swapped and she commented that the couple of extra mm of air that my larger airbed had was just pure luxury. Isn’t it amazing how our definition of luxury changed from one night to the other. We certainly knew all about comfort zones and all of that jargon by the next morning.

Camping at Acheron -720m ASL

One thing about this section of the ride is that humans are a rare species up there. However, Keith from Christchurch came and introduced himself at Acheron. He asked about our journey and when we told him what we were doing we got a cold beer and a donation. Something that we did not expect out in the wilderness. Thanks Keith, it was a real tonic for our morale.

The GOTF was back on the mental gymnastics for the short ride to Hanmer. Like the previous day, the advantage was a big 500m downhill as we descended to Hanmer via Jacks Pass, the surface of which resembled cobblestones. Again, our decision to pedal as much as we could without battery assist, paid off. With numb fingers, this time from gripping the brake pedals, we finally made it to Hanmer and civilisation.

This section of the ride has been our toughest so far and has really tested our resilience. The Rear Admiral has shown why she wears the gold braid but has really found the riding hard. This has been a very real reminder of what we are riding for. We are grumbling about a few temporary inconveniences. For vulnerable kids, there is no temporary.

We are now 3,121km into our journey. The RA is questioning the climbing stat of 34,590 metres. She is sure that it is double that. The bike is performing well – handled the rough stuff.

A few more images from The Muster Trail