99km, 1300m elevation gain, 6.40am- 8.55pm
The worst night’s sleep so far. I kept waking up cold but my tired brain didn’t put the pieces together. Shining a light at 5.30am, I could see large wet patches on my sleeping bag. The still night and very low temperatures had generated significant condensation, soaking the fly. I’d been sleeping too close to its foot end and brushing one side. I resolved to try and dry my sleeping things sometime today, as I downed TBs and cold coffee. It didn’t really matter that my shoes remained saturated as I would head straight for another crossing. Rolling up the fly meant all my extremities were now deeply chilled.
My breath hanging heavy in the air, I reached the first crossing and was just about to wade in – when I realised my spare socks were back hanging on a tree. Thankfully this fell inside the “can I face going back” distance, which was now relatively short. I actually ran back to retrieve them, mindful of both time and my freezing feet and fingers. After that there were plenty more crossings, some requiring concentration. While the volume of water diminished as I rode and walked my way upstream, the channel narrowed as the gradient steepened.
While I felt pleased to reach the tramping track in less than an hour, I felt less congratulatory about overshooting it by 20 metres. Tyre tracks showed many others had done the same. Retracing my steps to the giant orange triangle, I ate a snack, rearranged my gear and steeled myself for difficult terrain.
But I found this section in the bush ok. Maybe because I had no expectation of being able to ride, or because it was considerably shorter than the Dampier climb or the Hope Kiwi track. There was plenty of awkward bike wrestling but I could push and lift rather than carry. Having most gear in the pack plus the sweetroll on my back helped. I’d taken the pedals off, so didn’t waste mental energy assessing whether riding was possible. I should have done this through the Hurunui – committing to pushing would have been quicker than continual on/off. Now, in easier sections, I just jogged beside the bike (much less risky with pedals off). There were some steep, rooty sections requiring dodgy lift-and-balance manoeuvres but I didn’t fall.
After about an hour of bush slog, I checked View Ranger – and the bridge across the Cass was just around the corner. From there it was less than a k to the hut. By 9.30am I was inside, writing quickly in the log book. A couple of tramping packs were stashed in the vestibule and I wondered how crowded it had been last night.
Not long after the hut, the terrain turned tussocky. These bike-repelling lumps made pushing futile. Other mean alpine plants fill the gaps between them. Not for the first time in this race, I wondered whether Spaniard would pierce a tubeless tyre. Experience confirmed it would pierce flesh. Compounding the challenge, my sweetroll kept swinging round to my front unless tightened straight-jacket-like. It was time to carry.
But I sat down. I flicked my phone live and messaged Richard. Then I cried for a bit. I knew I’d crossed the border from overtired to overemotional, and would probably stay there. Tears didn’t mean you were giving up or genuinely despairing, just that your body chemistry was skewed.
Alright, I said, probably aloud, and picked myself up. I did the awkward strap thing, hoisted the bike and trudged on. It was less than an hour to the saddle and after that the track quickly entered the bush, looking deceptively rideable. I stopped to reconfigure, reattaching the sweet roll to the bars, though I kept my pack on for now. At the same time I chatted to an oncoming TA tramper. She’d decided to tramp out via Cass rather than trudge along Coleridge road for hours, which made total sense to me. We talked about the nature of our journeys and what inspired us. It was only five minutes but afterwards I felt really uplifted, and hopefully she did too.
There were 20 metres of nice riding before the track became unfriendly, plunging steeply for a kilometre to Hamilton Creek. I walked all of this, feeling inadequate. Next came another 3+km of “fun singletrack” to Hamilton hut. Others rave about this section but I barely remember it. I do know I was riding.
I was aiming for lunch at Hamilton hut but there were contractors on its roof, hard at work in the shimmering heat. We exchanged waves but I didn’t stop, put off by the blasting stereo and sheer numbers. Just round the corner, by a swing bridge, was a sun-baked rock. I spread out my wet sleeping gear then jumped in the stream. I rinsed socks, spare shorts and singlet, and sat in the shade munching yet another TB. By the time I packed the bone-dry tent, sleeping bag and mat, applied sun block and finished eating, it was an unusually long stop but one I didn’t regret. While eating I studied the route and realised my initial instinct to cross the bridge was wrong. Instead, our route continued past my drying rock, down river.
Popping out of the bush and onto flats, my heart lifted to see DOC vehicles. If they’d been able to drive so far upriver, the terrain must be pretty rideable. And it mostly was for the next 20km, though there were many, many crossings, which slowed things down dramatically. I felt like my right arm was stretching as it took most of bike’s weight via the chain stay. Some crossings were deep and required care, though the beating sun made the chilled water welcome. Others meant wading through warmer, more stagnant water.
By the time I neared the braided Avoca river, it was 3pm and fiercely hot. This was one of the route’s potential dangers but none of the channels were more difficult than earlier crossings. Around the corner was a rare stand of trees, and I sat briefly in the shade. The open valley meant these had been visible – and I’d been promising myself a stop – for some time. I’d also been eying a 4wd drive track across the valley that negotiated a steep slope, really hoping the route didn’t go there. Thankfully not. I knew the track would soon be more road-like, and by 4.15pm I was lifting my bike over the last gate.
I wasn’t really in top thinking form: I should have pulled into the Trustpower campsite and topped up water. Instead, determined to make ground, I powered up an unwelcome hill. As I rounded a hairpin, I could see Chris and Bob below and behind me, which generated more momentum. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to chat to them but more about my struggle with being last. But commonsense kicked in and I did pause briefly to filter water from a dodgy stream.
I mostly hated this section paralleling the lakes. My instinct that it would be downhill was continually disappointed. This combined with an unwelcome headwind and too-fresh gravel.
Near the end of Lake Coleridge, I rounded a corner to meet a giant mob of sheep. Bad experiences with stock and horses on roads have left me extremely wary, so I dismounted and walked beside the shepherd. She was controlling a couple of dogs and we chatted about life in this beautiful place. Young and enthusiastic, she cheered me. As we approached a couple of gates, she realised she’d left the wrong one open and asked me to ride through the sheep and shut it. I felt lifted by this encounter, even though I could see Chris and Bob behind the sheep and I knew they’d pass me soon. And finally, as the route left the lake, there was a decent downhill.
After we joined the Lake Coleridge road, around 7pm, I paused for some snacks and a sit down. Chris and Bob finally caught me and stopped to chat. I seized the opportunity to semi apologise for our garbled conversation yesterday, which had played on my brain for hours. We talked about the many river crossings and the annoying headwind. When I set off they weren’t far ahead – but then I quickly stopped again to pump up my tires. I’d optimistically decided too-low pressure was slowing me down. The rear valve proved almost impossible to open and I wondered if something had happened in the wheel-damaging crash. When I finally managed to turn it, the valve core started unscrewing. I wanted this stop, only 100m after my last stop, to be super quick, so frustration levels were now sky high. Swearing, I dug out my tools, tightened the value core, then managed to open the valve and finally pump the tyre up.
Maybe I was a little faster. But the road to Rakaia Gorge really dragged in the headwind. At least I appreciated my aerobars rather than cursing their additional weight. Finally reaching the turn off, I enjoyed zooming down the zig zag, though this was tainted by the looming other side. It was 8pm by now and part of my brain was focused on tonight’s logistics. I passed the camping ground in the bottom of the gorge, and this sign of civilisation prompted me to stop and see if there was coverage. In retrospect this seems pretty irrational logic at the bottom of a gorge. But there were a couple of bars!
In my planning I’d identified a likely motel in Methven, so I phoned and sorted a room. I asked the helpful proprietor what food outlets might deliver. Pizza, he said, which I instantly craved. I told him I’d try and order some pizza to arrive at 9. Then I phoned the pizza place and ordered a couple of pizzas, thinking I’d have one for breakfast. This lovely planning struck a hitch when they wouldn’t take credit card over the phone. While they would deliver the pizzas to the motel, I needed to be there in person to pay…. And the latest they would deliver was just before 9. It was 8.10pm; I had 15km to go including the climb out of the gorge. I decided to back myself.
Sprinting up a hill at the end of a long day is never recommended. But this hill, after an initial grunt, was gentle and brief. I hadn’t studied this section much and fully expected the road into Methven to be gravel. But when I turned onto Mount Hutt road, it was both tarmac and downhill! And with dusk, the headwind dissipated. I cruised along at 35kph. It was soon obvious I’d beat the pizza, so I stopped obsessively watching the minutes. Instead I kept looking right, towards a range silhouetted in orangey pink. I loved this race to Methven, feeling only joy. Shelter and food were secured (and a big step up from the past nights’ dehy and fly). I’d made it through the first tough section in under 3 days. If I could do this, I could do the rest.
By the time I hit Methven’s outskirts, my lights were fully on, though the incredible sunset continued to play out on the ranges. I even thought about taking a photo, always a sign of extreme happiness given the hassle of extricating my phone, but prioritised logistics. I’d been in my motel unit only a couple of minutes when the pizza pulled up. Finally my metabolism had come right, and I was starving. I hoovered up the first pizza feeling it was the best thing I’d ever eaten. After I’d showered and washed out my dirt-laden clothes, I ate the second pizza too. With less relish, since it contained pineapple. Thankfully snack-undereating meant I had other breakfast options. I’d unearthened a bumper bar in my feedbag, along with many melted mini Whittakkers.
I didn’t sleep well despite the luxury of sheets, feeling hot and restless. This is normal for me in races and I’ve stopped stressing about it. It’s amazing how you can keep going hard without much sleep.