225km, 3000m+ elevation gain. 7:00am to 10:15pm
Just getting to start of an event like this is huge. The training, the bike prep, the staying free from injury and illness. Quite a few people – including an unfortunate proportion of female entrants – pulled out in the weeks leading up to the race, because of injury, health or a perhaps a sense of inadequacy in the face of growing hype. I’d had a few conversations with other riders about the latter, as we tried to reassure ourselves that we too were athletes, even if not in the same league as the field’s starry names.
Many photos were taken in the dawn light as we waited for 7am. I leaned my bike precariously against a fence and peered into the void (which had unhelpfully swallowed a rider’s phone the night before). I tried not to focus on others’ lighter-looking rigs but to be at peace with decisions I’d made. I felt grateful to be surrounded by people I knew – especially Pete and Brendan – which reduced the usual pre-start intimidation. There was no briefing as Brian had spent an hour yesterday afternoon methodically running through the course, making clear the responsibilities that came with our access to private land. Everyone knew that how we behaved would determine whether the race had a future.
7am struck and we rolled off, me hanging towards the back. The start was neutralized down the hill to the main road, and it was cool to look ahead and see the mass of riders approach that left turn. I knew I’d never see many of them again! Heading up a small hill and down towards Puponga, Pete and a small bunch were in the distance. I didn’t want to catch them and risk getting cooked, so settled into my own pace. This was the only section of the course where drafting was allowed but I rode it all solo, wrapped up in my thoughts. My head started to play a song over and over, a pretty obscure song that I would become very familiar with during the race, especially these first 2 days where it literally played on repeat every minute of every hour. This something that sometimes happens to me during events and I’ve learned to embrace rather than fight it!
Some of the song’s lyrics, along with my surroundings, made me reflect on my near-obsession with this event over the past few months and how this had compromised other parts of my life, especially relationships. I crossed the Aorere and thought of Richard and my 13-day tramp to its headwaters in 2013; a bittersweet memory given we can’t adventure together right now. I’ve felt much more conflicted about time and energy invested in TTW than any previous events, including whether this was an essentially selfish pursuit. Something I’d think repeatedly about during the event, especially dark times!
But this first hour was one of my favourites. The early light on the water, the almost supernatural calm (from a Wellingtonian’s perspective) and the smooth, fast feeling of a bike running perfectly. Afterwards, when Brian asked us to itemise our most- and least-liked parts, this didn’t make the grade only because my list was already shamefully biased towards the flat and sealed.
After Collingwood, we rode along a beach. This had generated a few mutterings in the lead up, especially among the more mechanically minded: why introduce sand to your drivetrain right at the start, to grind away for another 1300+km. But the beach was much better – both harder and damper – than I’d expected, and it flew past especially when Brendan caught up for a chat.
While I was no longer thinking I’d want to rinse the drive train in Takaka, I did intend to stop. I had a plan for the first two days that included hitting at least the 400km mark. It made sense to clock kms on this “easy” terrain before we hit the tougher middle section of the course. This plan included taking opportunities to buy fresh food and bolster myself for undoubtedly poor choices ahead. Pete had previously suggested the café on Takaka hill might be a good lunch spot but I knew I’d get there after 1pm and, having had breakfast at 5.30am, buying a sandwich and topping up water in Takaka felt like a much better option. Waiting in the Wholemeal Café’s fortuitously short queue, I spied a fresh cinnamon scroll – my favourite. It felt like a good omen. Biting into it outside was one of the race’s few culinary highlights.
The route from Takaka to Tapawera covered new ground for me (having ridden from Takaka airport to Pupunga two days ago). While I met some other riders before the start of the Rameka, once the climbing started I found myself again alone. Traversing numerous switchbacks, I had that horrible sense of having lost all mountain biking skill, but maybe I was just pushing too hard. After the initial climb ejected us onto gravel, I stopped to polish off my cinnamon scroll, and Dulkara and Andy caught up. It was great to chat on the second, more technical part of the ascent, especially to Dulkara who I knew only by reputation. The climb passed quickly and instead of the technical downhill I was expecting, we were on a fast 4wd to the Harwoods hole carpark.
A few of us stopped there: me to eat my sandwich, refill my water, apply sunscreen and chafing cream. By the time I rolled out, the others had gone and I regretted how long I’d taken. A real sense of urgency pervaded the ride. Not just on day one, but every day, and it never diminished, even at “the back”. I wondered if I was now last (I was) and felt almost certain I would never see anyone else again. While this was the first time I thought this, it was far from the last. Similar “facts” proved a real mental challenge that I grew better at dealing with but never fully overcame. At that moment, it was hard to remember to ride my own race and have confidence in my strategy.
But I soon caught Hana, who’d been stung by a wasp (unfortunately not for the last time!). After checking she had antihistamines, I continued through the downs. This was one section of the course I’d really misread, despite hours studying topos. The next 5km were ups and I felt disproportionately aggrieved, which should have been a red flag. Eventually gravity kicked in and I zoomed past the café and down the main hill road.
I enjoyed screaming down the state highway and was lucky with traffic, not getting held up, until I hit the roadworks traffic lights just as they’d turned red. Part of Takaka hill was down to one lane and Brian had (so he thought) arranged for us to follow the designated cycle shuttle down. Soon Hana and I were joined by a handful of others. We took the chance to eat and do various bits of bike maintenance, as the timer ticked down its initial, dispiriting 16 minutes. Then the shuttle vehicle and a ute arrived, complete with unhappy personnel. Repeating what we’d been told proved infuriating to the guy apparently in charge, who’d undoubtedly heard and responded to it a number of times. Not on his watch would we ride down – it was too dangerous. So bikes were put on and into vehicles, and gingerly watched as we made our very slow way down.
I was pretty unhappy to see my rear wheel had been tensioned to the carrier around a spoke, putting it under a lot of lateral pressure. I’m always a bit twitchy about how my bike’s transported, and this fired up my anxious and (in retrospect under-fed) mind in a really unhelpful way. While I’d mentally laugh about this later (especially after day 3), at the time it became a big, brooding obsession all the way to Tapawera.
As we headed up West Bank road, I pulled away from the others and eventually passed Brian A as we shifted to gravel. It was warm, I wasn’t eating or drinking enough, and I was definitely not having fun in my mindtrap. I’d been reading about how to manage the mental side of endurance events but during this first day rather than recognise warning signs I just wallowed in negativity.
I also thought about how intellectually knowing I would be one of the slower riders was different from actually living it. While we were on the shuttle, Nathan had said something about us being the fast mid pack – which was how it felt compared to any other event. The shuttle driver confirmed that no, we were last. The selective entry for TTW meant normal second half of the field just didn’t exist.
As Baton Valley Road headed into the hills, we turned left towards the river. I remember stopping and suspiciously inspecting my rear wheel as Andrew S caught me. When I got to the river, a strange-looking truck crossed with some difficulty – and to my surprise I could see riders on the far bank, including Brendan. I forded and sat down to ring out socks and shoes, mindful they’d be cold next morning if saturated.
After this, the route climbed to Baton Saddle and then paralleled the Moteka River to Tapawera – all now a weird memory blank.
I made a beeline for the pub, very conscious I needed to sort out food and hydration. One reason I was having trouble was a vague sense of nausea since the second half of the Rameka, which wasn’t unusual for me when pushing hard. I’d arrived at 5pm – about 2 hours earlier than expected. I gobbled down fish and chips and a ginger beer, followed by another ginger beer and quite a lot of water. This would prove a mistake. There were lots of riders gathered here – some I knew, some I didn’t, though my focus was more on my own problems and perceived inadequacies than introductions!
The next 20km passed painlessly. But then we entered private land and started to climb steeply up an electricity pylon track. Very soon I feel incredibly unwell and had an unscheduled stop in the bushes. I walked a lot of the climb, feeling like a miserable, feeble slug. If I paused, I had to lean forward over the bars so I didn’t faint. But I was determined, and each slow step was another towards Slope Point. I knew it was just a conflict between digestion and aerobic activity that would eventually settle!
A bit farther along, Brendan passed me. But when I got to the top, he was waiting, which really boosted my morale. We continued together, passing Andrew S preparing to bivvy, and headed downhill into the dusk. I explained my idea of stopping at the start of the Porika, and we pedalled into the night along the state highway. While I was determined to reach that spot at a minimum, climbing the Porika tonight felt like a bad bad idea. We found ok bivvy spots by Porika Stream and tucked in for the night. Amazingly, I slept pretty well.