Cycling Diaries

GSB Day 6

2012-02-24T19:07:00.001-08:00

There was a chance I could get to Tekapo today but it would need a big day to get there so I set off at 5.00am - my earliest start of all. Watching the sun rise over the Maniototo was magic as I headed towards Naseby. I felt it was going to be a special day but little did I know how special and what dramas were lying in wait for me up the road.

The morning was one of the most pleasurable rides that I can remember doing for a long time. A lovely early dawn ride along the Naseby forest water race was followed by a beautiful tail wind cruise up towards Danseys pass. The surrounding hills in the low glancing light were pure Grahame Sydney. I passed a random sign on the road and stopped for a photo that I thought my Black Sheep bike friends in Colorado might like.

I had passed through Naseby very early before anything was open so I hoped the Danseys Pass pub was open for breakfast. I rolled in and although it looked lifeless from the outside it was open and I ordered the biggest breakfast on the menu. It was great - full of fat and cholesterol - just what I needed. It would get my vote as the best meal and place on the brevet. Fueled up and refreshed I headed out and started the long winding climb to the top of Danseys pass.

It was perfect with the ideal gradient for my singlespeed gearing, a strong tail wind gently pushing me up and the now standard spectacular views all around. I felt I could have climbed like this forever but the top eventually came and a superb downhill brought me into the valley below. Another steeper climb followed which forced me to walk at one point and then an effortless tail wind descent carried me all the way to the main road and Duntroon where I stopped for a big pub burger. What a way to start the day - mountain biking ecstasy.

I looked out the pub window and realized that my good friend the tail wind was going to become his evil head wind twin brother for the stretch to Kurow. I watched with sinking spirits the trees whipping round and leaning heavily over from the winds ominous force. I crawled along the road to Kurow, hunkering down over the bars, keeping my elbows tucked in to keep my frontal area as small as possible. The wind was deafening as it whistled past my ears.

Further up the road I saw a car parked on the side of the road and as I got closer Alexandra local Gary McKenzie stepped out. He had started the brevet before pulling out at Omakau. We had a chat and he told me bad weather was forecast to be on its way but he was not sure when it would arrive. As I pedaled off I wasn't too worried - the wind was unpleasant but tolerable as it was not cold. I felt like I was on the home stretch and there was no evidence of bad weather on the horizons.

After drinking litres of chocolate milk at Kurow I headed up the Hakataramea valley for Tekapo. It was still a head wind but not quite as strong as before due to the shelter of the hills either side of the valley. It was a long drag up starting with a tarseal section that went on and on before turning into a gravel road. The landscape around got less cultivated and I could see the head of the valley in the far distance. Onwards I rode as always.

I stopped to fill up my water bottles from the river and got back on my bike. The wind was picking up again as it started funneling down the narrowing valley. I came around a small bluff and was virtually stopped in my tracks by the blast of the wind. Dust and grit were being thrown in my face. I contemplated having to walk this flat stretch of road due to the winds strength. Head down I battled forward, sunglasses on to keep the grit out of my eyes, pedaling along but barely getting above 5km/hour. How would I get to Tekapo about 60 km away at a reasonable time at this speed?

As the road steepened and the valley constricted I kept hoping I would get shelter from the hills around but it was the opposite. Hakataramea saddle was a gap in the mountain range and just caused the wind to accelerate through it rather than slow down. It was getting ridiculous - I was having to walk a lot on even gentle slopes and if I got slightly off line and sideways to the wind I was blown off into the ditch on the side of the road. I thought the wind on top of the Nevis climb was strong but this was in another league. I battled on and found myself shouting pointless expletives at it (it made me feel better though).

Progress was excruciatingly slow but eventually after a number of false tops the true top came in view. If anything the wind now got even stronger. I struggled to stand and often ended up staggering backwards a few steps. There was a gate at the top which I found difficult to open. I tried to heave my bike over but it became a kite each time I lifted it off the ground threatening to fly me back to Kurow. Somehow after many attempts I managed to manhandle it over and I surveyed the scene ahead.

It was an apocalyptic scene. The MacKenzie basin lay ahead, far below or at least I assume it did because all I could see was one huge dust cloud barreling towards me. Very dark menacing clouds were ominously massing ahead and above. The world was a howling deluge of smudged dirty browns, greys and blacks drained of all other color. This was turning into an interesting end to the brevet. I still had about 45 km to go, mostly downhill. Easy normally but hugely daunting in present circumstances.

I headed down having to pedal hard to keep up my slow forward progress, frequently finding myself blown of onto the side of the road. It was getting late and dark. I had put on my jacket with puffy vest under as it was also getting very cold. I had even put on my long rain pants to protect my legs from the sand blasting.

Then the conditions got worse. First hail then the rain and sleet hammered into me carried by the freight train wind. I had to keep pedaling hard to keep warm. Darkness descended onto this lonely scene from hell. I wondered if Barryn and co. were somewhere behind me and hoped they would be alright. I turned into the Haldon Arm road only to unexpectedly find out it was tarseal which was some relief. There was still a long way to go though.

I had two AA battery powered LED front lights - one on my helmet and one on my bars. The bar light was the first to dim and go out - either the batteries had given up or water had gotten into it. My helmet light was still going but giving out a worryingly meagre amount of light. Slowly into the atrocious weather I continued. These were easily the worst conditions I had ever ridden a bike in and to think that just this morning was some of the best.

Finally I made Dog Kennel corner and the main road. I stopped amongst some trees to put on my arm warmers and balaclava. I now had all my gear on. I quickly realized stopping was not a good idea as my body temperature plummeted - I had to keep moving. As I rolled out my head light gave out. The wet wild world around was now all black but my eyes could just make out the white line on the side of the road and I followed it faithfully.

This next last section was a blur and thinking back now it had an air of extreme strangeness and disconnection from reality. I started seeing lights on the side of the road and at one point a huge bizarre organic form from a Max Ernst frottage painting appeared brightly lit on the side of the road. I wasn't stopping to check out what it was though.

The occasional truck went past noisy with lights ablaze. Blinded I had to stop to let my eyes readjust to the dark before setting of again. During one of these brief pauses I put my still working puny red tail light onto my front fork - it didn't help much.

A car slowly came up behind me and cruised at my pathetically slow speed a few meters back. I was being stalked out here in the middle of nowhere! I thought of the film 'Duel' and remembered my 'Deliverance' delusion in the Molesworth during the Kiwi Brevet. I tried to pretend he wasn't there and pedaled on soaked to the skin by now. He then rolled up next to me and the passenger window came down. I looked in - it was Dave King! He asked if I was alright and proceeded to tell me he had spoken to someone further back that had seen me go past. He said they couldn't believe anyone was out on a bike in these terrible conditions - too right!!

There appeared to be plenty of room in his warm dry vehicle for a wet cold cyclist and his bike. He said Tekapo was about 10km away and asked if I was OK to finish it properly...temptation! I bravely said I was fine and watched him drive off into the distance.

I lost all sense of time and distance. I couldn't turn on my GPS as the screen would blind me leaving me unable to see the Ariadne's thread of the highways white line. It was a real surprise then when I finally saw the lights of Tekapo emerge out of the darkness and a huge relief to finally roll up to the church at 11.30pm in the pouring rain. Dave was there as well as Mark Rayward and his partner. It was so nice to be greeted by them all at this late hour. Dave took a photo of me and I headed to my car.

It took forever to get changed and packed as my fingers were frozen. I drove back to the church to see Barryn and Trevor turn up well after midnight. They must of had it bad as well. Being together it would have helped to share the misery though I thought. I got out of my car to greet them and was shocked by how freezing it was - a quick handshake and congratulations and I retreated back to the warmth of the car - had I really biked in that?

I had nowhere to stay so drove home to Christchurch, heater full bore, stopping once to have a nap in the car on the side of the road. I got home at 5.00am and slept most of the day.

Dave posted some photos of Hakataramea pass the morning after - Otago in January??

On this last day I had managed to ride for nearly 19 hours through the best and worst possible conditions I had ever experienced. It was the longest I had ever ridden a bike in one go. I later heard Dave had had to rescue the Aussie Arran Pearson at 3.30am on the slopes of Hakataramea pass after getting caught out in the worst of the snow storm and activating his emergency help button on his spot tracker. Somehow this final day was a dramatic but appropriate end to a nearly indescribable brevet experience.

I managed to finish in 8th in five and a half days which I was very happy with. I have now completed all three brevets - Kiwi, Petit and Great Southern (along with Ollie Whalley and Geof Blance I think?). They are all amazing and unique experiences. The Great Southern brevet though was the hardest (partly due to the weather), most spectacular and most intense experience I have ever had on a bike.

Thanks go to Dave King for his awesome organization which he seemed to have done on his own. And thanks to my beautiful Black Sheep singlespeed that got me through it all without problems or punctures - no epilogue this time. I'll be back!

GSB Day 5

2012-02-24T16:39:00.001-08:00

I headed off at 5.30am into unexpected cool mist and drizzle. This was supposed to be summer! A quick rail trail burst turned into a pleasant ride and climb through the Crawford Hills until I got to the Old Dunstan road. The mist had really settled in now and I couldn't see very far. It turned the ride into a dreamy glide through a strange and lonely world. I saw no one else with only two fresh tire tracks in the gravel as company (I guessed it was Tristan and Anja not too far ahead). It was a surreal landscape full of misshapen limestone figures appearing and disappearing into the fog.

A brightly colored shape appeared unexpectedly in the middle of the road ahead. Closing in I realized it was a multicolored cyclists jacket and vest which I was sure was Anjas. I put them in my pack and continued on. Eventually the Poolburn lake appeared out of the gloom and as I rode around the lake edge I saw someone fishing in the distance - the first human being I had seen in hours. I rode on with only the odd bedraggled sheep as company. It was a bizarre looking landscape made all the more so with the low cloud all round.

I had been steadily climbing for a while and finally the road started heading predominantly down. I dipped below the cloud to be greeted by a breathtaking sight of a large cultivated plain far below the edge of the rocky, spiky monolithic range I had been traversing. It all had an air of fantastic unreality helped by the fact that I had been totally alone all morning.

I pedaled on - gravel roads, undulations and now the odd vehicle passing by became my world. I missed the next turnoff but quickly realized I was no longer on the GPS blue line. I backtracked and discovered that we were supposed to turn off the main road and head up the Dunstan trail that I could see steeply climbing into the far high distance into the Rock and Pillar range.

Another long walk up followed - at least I was used to it by now. An hour or so up I turned round to take in the stunning view. Way, way down at the bottom of the climb I could just make out some moving figures heading up - I assumed it must have been Barryn and co.

The Dunstan Trail undulated along the top of the Rock and Pillar range for a long time. Eventually I reached the Great Moss Swamp which was really a large lake. With cloud shrouding the far edge it looked like an endless inland sea - totally unexpected up here in this barren high mountain range. I had not stopped at all since 5.30am and decided a break was in order and I had a late lunch of OSM bars and a well squashed banana at the lake edge. Just as I was about to set off Paul, Mark, Barryn and Trevor turned up - company at last! They decided to stop as well while I was itching to go.

Not much further on I stopped to chat to two foreign cyclists unexpectedly pedaling along in this desolate place. They were on old cheap rigid Healing bikes with monstrously huge backpacks. They seemed happy and told me in broken English that they were heading to a village that they couldn't pronounce. I tried to tell them there were no 'villages' anywhere near but they just smiled. I wished them well and headed off on the very long downhill back towards civilization.

It seemed to take ages to descend all the way to the main road. I finally got there and turned onto the tarseal and headed towards Middlemarch. The four others caught me and we got into group time trial mode as someone thought the shop closed at 5.00pm and it was touch and go that we would make it in time. Our peloton started splitting up with everyone pedaling as fast as they could. I dropped off the back first followed by the others one by one until Barryn was left powering off the front alone. He pulled up to the shop bang on 5.00pm, jumped off wallet in hand to find out it actually closed at 10.00pm - oh well.

At the local cafe Dave King was waiting for us - I gave him Anjas jacket to pass on. The cafe owner knew all about the GSB. We collapsed into red bean bags, stuffed our faces, talked rubbish while the cafe owner oggled our bikes and checked the blue dot progress on the cafe computer for future customers. It was hard to escape the soft embrace of the red bean bags but it was too early to stop for the night.

As usual I was first on my bike and headed off on the rail trail towards Ranfurly 60 kilometers away. This section of the trail had some long rather boring sections that stretched off in dead straight lines to the horizon. Hours of riding went by. The other four had long since passed me as I watched the sun go down. It was totally dark by the time I pulled into Ranfurly. The town looked closed but the Hotel still had someone behind the counter luckily. They had no space but rung the backpackers next door who kindly opened the place just for me. I got to sleep around 11.00pm - 16 hours of riding - it had been a big but another totally amazing day on the bike.

GSB Day 4

2012-02-23T23:02:00.001-08:00

I was out the door at 6.00am - my latest start of the Brevet. Tristan and Anja were already gone and I headed off on my own. I was apprehensive - the one thing I did know about the course was that today was the big one with the longest climb of them all followed by the highest most exposed section we would ride - hard to fathom after the experiences of the last few days. Riding to Waikaia I missed a turn off It was a few frustrating kilometers on before I realized and turned back. As I hooked back onto the right road I saw Barryn, Trevor, Mark and Paul just ahead. They had stayed at the Lumsden motels. We all rode onto Waikaia for a big fuel up of pies, chocolate milk and caffein as preparation for what Dave King had called the 'Queen stage'. We pulled away with full stomachs to briefly stop at the beautiful Piano Flat picnic stop for a water top up.

I set of first again and had a great ride along an undulating rough gravel road through native bush - it was mountain biking heaven. The other four caught me at Christies hut and we got ready for the mega climb ahead up to the top of the Old Man range. It was steep - real steep. I was the first to walk quickly followed by Paul and Mark. Trevor rode far more than I thought possible but eventually succumbed to walking as well. I was amazed to see Barryn still riding though seemingly effortlessly cranking up the impossible grades into the distance. It was sunny and hot. Sweat was pouring of us all and I wondered if I had enough water. Looking up we saw that Barryn was finally walking as well - he was human after all! Up and up. I stopped to get something from my camelback and Paul trudged past. Setting off again I was horrified to see I was now faced with a long uphill grovel behind Pauls bare buttocks. Taking his shorts off to air his nether regions may have been great for him but not so for the rest of us.

I needn't of worried about water - snow melt (yes snow) was starting to run down the track. It was plentiful, cold, very refreshing and a real relief considering how much liquid we were sweating away in the heat of the day. The climb was long but somehow less daunting when done with others. Eventually the gradient eased and we saw Barryn ahead in the distance with someone else - who was it? Closing in I was surprised to see Dave King way up here. He had ridden in from a side track to catch up with us. We had a rest, chatting and admiring the endless, breathtaking view from our perch in the heavens.

We continued on still climbing through massive bogs until Dave left us at a hut heading of down to Alexandra on an alternative side route. A sign pointed downhill where Dave had disappeared saying Alex was 27km away. The way we were going though continued uphill with Alex at least 50km away....hmmmm.

The climbing now led into proper snow drifts which slowed our progress to a crawl. There was no way we would get to Alex by nightfall at this speed. It was hard to know how long the snowdrift would go on for as it disappeared over the ridge above. Sinking up to your knees into the deep snow and dragging your bike through became very tiring. I thought about the easy 27km downhill to Alex behind me...temptation!

Thankfully over the ridge the snow stopped and we could see in the distance that the drifts were only intermittent. We could ride again. The country was utterly spectacular and desolate with bizarre rock pillar formations and views that stretched beyond multiple ranges to snow capped mountains in the clear blue beyond. It was entrancing. What a place to ride a bike!

We eventually made it to the Obelisk - the high point of the whole brevet at 1700 meters - and stopped for a snack.

We could see Alex a long, long, long way below. The downhill seemed to take forever and was much too bumpy for my rigid bike. My hands and wrists suffered badly and it was a relief to get to the bottom for a feed of fresh plums.

On the last stretch into Alex I ended up riding and chatting with a roadie who had been following our progress on the website. Distracted I missed the turnoff to the river trail but hooked onto it a little further on. Catching up to the other four we rolled into Alex around 7.30pm and headed to the campground for the night. It had been another very hard but utterly superb day. I slept well.

GSB Day 3

2012-02-23T00:47:00.000-08:00

Paul never made it to Wanaka texting me late at night that he was camping on the banks of the Clutha which sounded very idyllic I thought. Baked beans on toast for breakfast tasted exquisite and before I knew it we were on the road outside the motel at 5.30am. Quickly joined by Ollie, Nathan, Rob, Tristan and Anja we headed up together towards Cardrona in the growing dawn light. Nathan and I were dropped on the first rise as the rest of them powered of into the distance. Further on Nathan stopped for some reason while I continued on. It would be the last I would see of him.

Turning off the main road it wasn't long before I was doing the familiar thing of pushing my bike up towards a distant saddle. I didn't mind though as the higher I got the more spectacular the views were (especially back towards Wanaka), the weather was pleasant and I was feeling good. As I rolled over the top I started descending into one of the most worrying sections of the trip - the Roaring Meg valley of Matagouri and Spanyiard death. In the morning Anja had said we will get punctures here with a definitive finality. I had never had a puncture in a brevet yet and certainly didn't want one now.

I caught Rob by the hut as he had had chain issues. We rode together carefully around the spanyiards until the riding turned into walking which then turned into a struggle along a steep hillside. It was hard work dragging a loaded bike through this amongst the Matagouri bushes and rocks. I pitied the breveteers behind me with panniers - they were not going to like this!

Being on a single speed means I often rode alone as my speed is different to geared riders so it was great to do this section with Rob. Travelling with someone else means time goes quickly and before I knew it we were through Roaring Meg with no punctures thankfully and speeding down an excellent gravel descent to the Kawerau gorge. It was mostly downhill to Cromwell and as it flattened out I left Rob to text his wife expecting him to catch me further on - I never saw him again.

I rolled into Cromwell and had an early lunch, stocking up for what I knew would be a hard section ahead. A workmate had driven this next part over the Nevis range and looked shocked when I told him I would go up there on a bike (let alone a singlespeed). He said the climb was huge and very steep. Well I had done plenty of massive climbs already - it was just one more...wasn't it?

It started pleasantly enough with a ride around the lake edge before passing through Bannockburn. Further up the route turned off the tarsal and immediately started climbing. A head wind was picking up and progressively got stronger the higher I got. I rode some of the early part before succumbing to the slope and falling back on my familiar pushing 'low gear'. iPod time with Jesse Mae Hemphill and Junior Kimborough helped pass the time. The climb went on and on and on and the surroundings expanded to distant horizons.

The head wind was getting so strong it became a worry. I was getting sand blasted from the grit being blown straight into my face. It was also getting colder and forward progress was slow and tiring. I had little idea what was ahead except that it was a long long way to relative civilization in Garsten along what I imagined was a high, desolate, exposed route. The wind became demoralizing. I was starting to doubt I would get anywhere near Garsten tonight.

Brevets are full of big ups and downs especially when you are on your own. This climb was one of the big downs - doubts preyed, flourished and grew in my mind. It took close to two hours to get to the top but it didn't bring the normal relief and elation. I squinted into the ludicrous wind and saw black clouds and rain obscuring the far distance. A sign on the top claimed this was New Zealands highest public road at 1300 meters (no surprise there). It was followed by signs warning of impending danger, the possibility of extreme weather and death (at least thats how my current state of mind read it).

I paused a bit further down the other side of the saddle peering into the approaching storm wondering what to do. A 4WD came up towards me with two people inside. I stopped them to ask what the weather was like further up. Terrible they exclaimed. When I mentioned I was heading for Garsten they looked incredulous and strongly advised against me going on. I asked if there were any huts or shelters along the way. One of them said they only knew of a woodshed but wouldn't recommend sleeping there because of the fleas. They drove off towards Cromwell a tail wind downhill into the sun away. Horizontal rain started to hit my face.

I turned my bike around and pedaled back towards Cromwell - I had given up - it was all too hard. I rode on resigned to not finishing properly formulating excuses in my head to justify my failure to myself and the eventual scrutiny of others. I got to the top before the big descent back to Cromwell truly began. This was stupid - pull yourself together!! I turned around again to face the impending storm and once more pedaled off towards Garsten (the third time I would ride this section) - talk about pathetic and indecisive!

It was a decent descent down to the Nevis valley floor and about two thirds of the way down I got a real fright when a mountain biker caught me from behind. It was Trevor Woodward with Barryn not far behind both sounding very chipper and positive. They probably didn't realize what a relief it was for me to have company at this time. Riding alone can conjour up dark demons. I felt reinvigorated and the three of us powered off into the rain and dark clouds ahead all happy again.

Barryn and Trevor would stop for a snack and I would head of first being slower on my singlespeed. They would catch me further on, we would ride together for a while before they drifted off the front until this sequence was repeated all over again the next time they stopped for photos or food. It was great and even though the head wind was strong and the rain intermittent having company brightened my mood. The experience was also enhanced by the powerful, sublime quality of the scenery all round with its edges blurring into the far mist and wet cloud.

Eventually we started climbing at the far end of the valley and I watched Barryn and Trevor in their bright fluoro jackets disappear into the cloud ahead while I got off and walked. It had been a long day and I was hanging out for a huge meal at the Garsten pub.

Towards the top the cloud below cleared and I looked down into the next valley and highway far, far below. The ensuing downhill was one of the best of the brevet - fast sweeping corners, not too bumpy for my rigid bike with spectacular views. I was now so happy I had not given up. Sadly the downhill came to an end and I stopped for a photo.

I headed off to the pub. Rolling up to the door I read the sign - Closed on Mondays (yes it was of course Monday) - unbelievable! It was just after 7.00pm and I had left Cromwell at 11.30am - I needed food, beer and a cosy warm pub interior. There was nothing for it but to keep going.

The next part Dave had noted as the one boring part of the GSB. It was essentially a connecting road between the Nevis range and the Old Man range. Flat, long, tarseal roads are not much fun on a 45 gear inch singlespeed but I just spun on. I passed through Athol but everything was closed so on I went. After over two hours of lonely tedium I rode into Lumsden as the light started to dim. It all looked closed and deserted and then I heard someone call out my name....huh? I couldn't see anyone. I heard my name called out again and this time I looked up to see Tristan waving from the first floor window of the Lumsden pub shouting out that they had rooms available.

It looked closed from the outside but walking in I found a very friendly host welcoming me in. I ordered a meal, settled into an upstairs room, chatted with Tristan (who had turned up 2 hours earlier with Anja), had a shower, checked the progress of other breveteers on my iPhone, had a few beers and chatted with the locals. What a great end to a dramatic 16 hour day in the saddle! It was experiences like this that make brevets unique and memorable.

GSB Day 2

2012-02-21T01:40:00.000-08:00

I woke up and watched Arran heading off up the hill to Omarama saddle just before 5.00am. OK time to get up. Mixing my complan for breakfast and packing everything meant I was away by 5.30am. Not paying any attention to the elevation graphs meant I had no idea how long this climb was going to be. Too steep to ride I trudged up, false top following false top. Man this climb was long topping out eventually over 1200 meters up. The weather was deteriorating and it got colder the higher I climbed. After an eternity I made the saddle and got on my bike. As I set off I realized the weather had really packed in, the temperature had plummeted and then it started to hail! The downhill I was looking forward to as a payoff for the uphill effort was a misery. Freezing hail stung my face and legs, the steep rocky downhill became greasy and treacherous and my hands were so cold they struggled to haul on the brakes. Mercifully the gradient eventually eased and riding became easier. Further down patches of blue sky started to appear and I begun to feel warmer and happier.

The GPX file on my GPS displayed the correct route as a blue line to follow. I had hardly bothered looking at it as the track seemed obvious down the valley. It was therefore a big surprise when I noticed the blue line come in from the side on my screen. I had inadvertently ridden a track parallel to where I was supposed to be. I had missed the Ida water race - bugger! I wasn't sure if the way I had gone was any shorter or quicker (the endless gates didn't make it seem a quick way) but it was very annoying. I vowed to closely follow the GPS blue line from now on.

A great meander along the Falls Dam lake edge followed and around a corner I almost bumped into another mountain biker heading up the valley to cheer on some fellow breveteers behind me. He told me Ollie Whalley was only 5 minutes ahead of me - that was a surprise! I powered off encouraged that I was doing well.

I made it to Oturehua and had a great bacon and egg pie in the local pub before heading up the rail trail to Omakau. The wind had picked up and I found myself battling into a very strong head wind. Some of the riding was through very picturesque tunnels and over dramatic viaducts which was a welcome distraction to the wind. I stopped in Omakau for lunch and was surprised to find Dave King inside the cafe working away on his laptop. An enjoyable burger and chat was relaxing. Dave told me I was 6th and that Ollie was about 15 minutes ahead. I was motivated now, wolfing down the food and heading off quickly with the realization that turning towards Thompsons gorge road would finally mean a good tail wind.

It was an effortless tail wind rush to the base of the hills. Dave had told me it was a big climb that started off steep. And so it was with me getting off to walk as soon as the gradient pointed up. A mountain biker passed me coming in the other direction. He told me with almost discernible glee that I had a looong push ahead of me.......hmmmmm thanks for that. I got my iPod out and listened to Delany Davidson sing of lost love and misery as I plodded up. Eventually it leveled off enough to ride and I enjoyed the undulating tail wind jaunt through the hills with the only annoyance being the endless gates.

Finally popping out over the last rise I was greeted by a spectacular view out over the plains towards Wanaka and the mountains beyond. Wow! it was very high up here and it all looked a long long way down. Around a corner I stopped to have a brief chat to a mountain biker brevet fan who was unexpectedly sitting on the side of the track to cheer us on. He told me a Jasper van der Lingen was in 6th place. He seemed surprised when I told him he was me especially after noticing I was on a singlespeed. I knew from past experience though that a singlespeed is not that much of an impediment and is arguably an advantage on brevets (less to go wrong) besides that they are just huge fun!

It was a superb and very long downhill followed by a tail wind scorcher all the way to Wanaka via the enjoyable if long Clutha river trail and Wanaka outlet track. I pulled into Wanaka a little after 7pm only to bump into Ollie. He looked as surprised to see me as I was to see him. He was a bit down having lost his money and credit cards on the track somewhere further back. He had managed to borrow some money from some Wanaka friends and was back in business though.

It seemed a little early to stop but Dave had advised against doing the next section - Roaring Meg - in the dark so I decided to relax and stay in Wanaka for the night. Accommodation was hard to find and I finally settled on an available 2 bedroom Motel room - expensive but it would do. I texted Paul that if he made it to Wanaka that night I had a motel room for him. I caught up with Barryn, Trevor, Tristan, Anja, Mark Wallace and Paul Chaplow as they rolled in. Anja and Tristan didn't have a place to stay so the three of us squeezed into my Motel room unsure if Paul would get there and make it extra cosy.

It had been an eventful day from the cold hail in the morning to the warm tail winds in the afternoon. I was really starting to enjoy this brevet and the big challenges were still to come - yee haa!!

GSB Day 1

2012-02-20T23:47:00.000-08:00

All 39 brave breveteers congregated outside the Tekapo community hall for the briefing from Dave. Paul started to get a little anxious when he realized he was the only one with skinny tires. Plenty of CX and skinny tired bikes had completed the Kiwi Brevet but the GSB was different - for a start the KB has around 400km of tarseal for its 1100km length while the GSB has less than 150km for about the same overall distance (by my rough calculation). I noticed I was the only singlespeeder again. I had been very nervous about being the only one in the 2010 Kiwi Brevet but I was totally relaxed with my choice now.

Just after 11.00am we rolled out of Tekapo from the Church of the Good Sheppard onto a nice fast flat tarsal canal road. Immediately a big group got into peloton mode and powered off the front with me watching them disappear helplessly as I furiously spun my very low 34-22 gear. We turned off this smooth effortless road and abruptly everything changed. We rode the next few hours on the old Tekapo riverbed (masquerading as a track). It was the bumpiest flat track I have probably ever ridden. You had to take it at speed to get through the endless river boulders without stalling. The pounding was relentless. I passed many breveteers stopped on the side of the track resecuring their loads. Paul was one of these. I passed saying 'see you soon' as I expected him to catch me further up the road when things improved. I never saw him again.

I rode with many people during this section as we were still reasonably bunched up including Nick Kelly, Petit Brevet vet Graeme Noble and Kiwi Brevet vets Barryn Westfield and Trevor Woodward. I would see these last two many more times in the coming days.

All suffering comes to an end - and so it was when we eventually reached the Haldon Arm camp to be greeted with smooth gravel roads at last. My hands, wrists and bum had taken a real pummeling on my rigid bike and were quite sore - a real worry only a few hours in. The smooth gravel road turned into a gentle climb up a valley that progressively became less gentle until I was off my bike walking for the first of many hike-a-bikes to come. Once again I rode with many people including kiwi brevet vet Nathan Mawkes, Anja McDonald and Tristan Rawlence. The scenery was spectacular (a common theme throughout the GSB) and riding across the Benmore Dam was special.

I made it to the Otematata store 5 minutes before closing time to be greeted by a big crowd of breveteers all fueling up for what was looking like a very strong head wind grovel to Omarama 25 km away. We formed a peloton which I immediately dropped off unable to keep up. I passed Arran Pearson - the lone Aussie entrant - on the side of the road trying to stretch out severe leg cramps. This was turning into a tough first day. It was a long hard demoralizing slog into the howling headwind before I could finally sit down with relief for fish and chips at the Omarama pub.

There was still a few hours of daylight left and after an internal debate about whether I should stay in the relative comfort of the Omarama campground cabins with showers and real beds I decided to man up and bivy out at the base of the Omarama saddle 20 km away. It was a nice late evening ride in with Arran to be greeted at our camp area by Tristan and Anja setting up their tent - what luxury! Arran and I crawled into our bivy bags and a warm but restless night ensued watching clouds skud across the awesome starry sky above.

Riding the inaugural Great Southern Brevet on a rigid singlespeed

2012-02-20T22:53:00.000-08:00

Prelude

When the Great Southern Brevet was announced I was immediately interested. I had become a bit of a brevet veteran addicted to the physical and mental challenges they posed. Since my initiation with the 2010 Kiwi Brevet I had started two Petit Brevets on Banks Peninsula. I pulled out of the 2010 edition after almost 10 hours - exhausted, cold and frustrated at myself for taking a wrong turn in the mist on the double fence line track. Looking back this DNF did annoy me. When riding into a growing storm and things are not going well the doubts start to prey on your mind. What if this southerly gets even worse? Do I have enough warm clothes? I had to hike-a-bike that last small rise and there is still over 4000 meters of climbing left, a warm pub with hot food and beer is just an easy downhill away behind me, its getting dark - are my lights sufficient? why am I dong this? what is the point? what is the meaning of life?.......

I entered the petit brevet again in 2011 this time with fellow mad singlespeeder, black sheep rider and back of the pack racing team leader Judd Rohwer from New Mexico America. This time I did finish - dead last just under the 36 hour cutoff having hike-a-biked most of the 7500 meters of vertical ascent with Judd. Ably cheered on by the crew chief Dan van Asch it was a wholely different and enjoyable experience though. I had my brevet mojo back.

The Great Southern Brevet (GSB) was to happen in late January. I only committed to it at the last minute unsure if I could afford to take the time of work. My training was therefore a little half hearted with lots of 1-2 hour rides rather than the longer rides that would have been more sensible. Oh well - hopefully the body would remember what to do.

Dave King - the organizer extraordinaire of the GSB - had joked in an email to us about checking whether our neighbour was also doing it. Well actually my neighbour - Paul Conner - was doing it! This would be his first brevet and he had decided to use a 29er GT hard tail with skinny tires. Hmmmmm ...not sure the tires were a good idea but he was set on it. We drove together to Tekapo on the Friday night and stayed in an old bach Paul had organized. We compared setups - Paul had it well sorted (except for the tires) using a freeload rack. I was going rackless very like my proven Kiwi Brevet setup. The big difference from 2010 was that I had upgraded my Cotic Simple with my pride and joy - a Black Sheep custom titanium 29er rigid single speed.

For navigation I had uploaded the GPX file Dave had provided on the website onto my GPS. I had not really closely looked at the route though and not looked at all at the elevation profiles. Hey I had done the Petit Brevet so I knew climbs (or rather hike-a-bikes) were doable one way or another. In the coming week I would discover that I didn't really know what true mega climbs were though.

Epilogue

2010-05-27T17:10:00.000-07:00

A week later I felt sufficiently recovered to go for a ride on my beloved Cotic. Hearing a strange noise from the front end I stopped to discover in horror that my carbon fork was broken almost right through! It was only really the wheel holding it all together. The next day I tried to use the inner tubes I had carefully taped to my seatpost only to discover that my legs must have rubbed on them sufficiently to put holes in them both. That was OK though I thought because I could patch them with the puncture repair kit I had carried on the Brevet. On opening it I found that the spare chainlinks I had cleverly put in the kit for emergencies, had rattled around so much that the adhesive tube was pierced and all the glue had poured out. Next I had a close look at my chain which I had replaced just before the Brevet. One of the links was split almost right through!

Posting this carnage on Vorb Oli Brooke-White wrote 'The patron saint of bicycle adventurers must have been watching over you.' A thousand thanks to this mythic patron saint and all the great characters I got to know on the trip. It was a truly unique and special experience that I would do again in a flash. And yes I would probably do it all again on a rigid singlespeed.

Day Six

2010-05-26T17:08:00.000-07:00

I woke with a start with a loud scratching just by my ear. In panic I turned on the light and saw something scurry of into the darkness. I scanned the hay wall with my light and noticed many small burrowed holes. This place must be full of mice and rats! Uneasily I went back to sleep.

Getting up in the morning I mixed up the last of my complan for breakfast while Andrew cooked up a brew on his cooker. As usual it took me forever to get ready and Andrew headed of first into the early light of dawn. It was overcast and chilly but no longer raining thankfully. The misery of the Awatere continued though as I slowly got my legs moving. Meaningless climbs followed one after the other. After one final long climb – the Awateres sting in the tail – it leveled out and civilisation started to show its signs. Vineyards appeared on both sides of the road. The end was not far away. Turning of the main road towards Taylors pass – the last uphill of the whole Brevet – I had mixed feelings. It was almost over which was a relief in a way but it was going to be hard to return to normal life after such an amazing experience.

Food

A few hours before, I had decided I could eat no more until Blenhiem Throughout the ride I had been fueled with OSM bars interspersed with welcome chocolate milk and hot food stops in cafes and shops on the way. OSMs had got me through and for that I was grateful but I could eat them no more. I had had enough. I could hardly even look at them. My system had rebelled. I decided to run my body down to empty rather than face another mouthful of dry OSM bar.

The descent from Taylors turned into a final detour along the Blenheim bike paths. Houses started appearing on either side in greater numbers until I realised I was in Blenheim proper. A search for Dashwood crescent took a while but I was determined to do the course properly and I finally found it and popped out onto the main road. Seymour square was just ahead. I imagined the people going about their business oblivious to my presence were cheering throngs welcoming me back. I got to Seymour square and a familiar figure emerged. It was Darren - smiling broadly he gave me a big man hug. So he was ahead of me after all – he had missed seeing the sign in book at the start of the Molesworth.

We headed to a cafe at the edge of the square where Andrew McLellan was relaxing. I was very very hungry and ordered portion after portion from the all day breakfast menu. I have rarely eaten as many calories in one sitting in my whole life. Soon Simon, John and Thomas joined us having finished, along with Darren, the night before. Some of these people I had only known for a few days but it felt like a reunion of old life long friends. I had hardly ever felt as relaxed, satisfied and deeply contented. The Brevet was a concept of pure brilliance and perfection. It was one of the most amazing experiences and weeks of my life. Mr Simon Kennett you are a genius.

We watched Phil and Ann turn up not long after and welcomed them in. They joined us at the cafe smiling and also full of stories and excitement. Eventually we had to go our separate ways – John and Simon to the airport, Andrew, Thomas, Phil and Ann to the ferry and Darren and I back to the car to drive home to Christchurch.
I had managed to complete the Brevet in under 5 days (4 days, 23 hours and 15 minutes to be exact) on a rigid singlespeed. Oliver Whally was the fastest in 4 days 2 hours. Darren had rolled in at 4 days 9 hours in 6th place – a hugely impressive effort. I was happy. Ollie was quoted as saying when he finished 'life changing shit'. I couldnt have put it better myself.

Day Five

2010-05-25T17:01:00.000-07:00

Waking up at 5am I looked up – the stars were gone and a cold wind rustled the grass. I rushed to get packed – rain was on the way! As I rode the seemingly endless gravel roads to Hurunui a light drizzle started and I began to think of what lay ahead. We had to get through the DOC controlled Molesworth station between 7am and 7pm otherwise we would be booted out. I was not sure how this would happen but I didnt want to find out. Having lost time yesterday through my wrong turn and general tiredness I realised it was unlikely I would make the cutoff.

In Otira Darren and I had spoken about how a sub 5 day time was on the cards. Now however it didnt seem possible at all. Did it really matter though. My initial goal had been a sub 8 day time and that was easily achievable from here. I had nothing to prove and it wasnt supposed to be a race anyway. Also getting to Hanmer today meant I could have an easy day and soak in the hot pools. It was a no brainer I would cruise from here and enjoy a stress free finish to the Brevet. I was now wet and cold from the rain and my legs were still stiff and sore seemingly taking forever to warm up. There was no way I could go past those hot pools further up the road.
After riding the most boring long straight road of the whole Brevet between Hurunui and Culverdon I pulled into a cafe for breakfast. I took my time ordering vast mountains of food and chatting with the locals – I had all day to get to Hanmer after all. I couldnt stay forever though and I headed out into the drizzle and singlespeeded the long tarseal roads to Hanmer.

I pulled into Hanmer just before midday, a little earlier than anticipated. I started to think that maybe I could still get through Molesworth today? I went to check a few things at the local bike shop. They knew nothing about the 7pm to 7am closure or how long it would take to bike through Molesworth. Hmmm..... not much help. However they said they had seen a group of bikers around 9.00am including someone on a bright green Niner. It would have been Simon. So they were only about 3 hours ahead – impossible to catch but close enough to get me motivated again. The hot pools would have to wait. I jumped on my bike and pedaled hard towards Blenheim over 200km away.

I would first have to get over Jolies pass though, one of the many big climbs interspersed regularly throughout the whole length of the Brevet. Mostly too steep for my singlespeed I spent almost an hour pushing up into the mist. Topping out and descending into the Clarence river valley I headed for the Acheron homestead and the start of the Molesworth proper. Closing in on the Acheron I looked across the valley and was surprised to see two cyclists climbing the slope in the distance. I could just make out the shape of white dry bags – it was Phil and Ann! I crossed the river and signed into the book at the gate of the Station. It made interesting reading. Andy Read, one of the two Brevet frontrunners had signed in at 6.25am that morning. That was only 7 hours in front of me. I scanned the rest of the familiar names in the book until I got to Phil and Ann who had signed in only 5 minutes earlier. I couldnt find Darrens name though – surely he was ahead of me?

I entered Molesworth at about 1.30pm confident now that I would get through by 7.00pm and set of in pursuit of Phil and Ann. It wasnt long before I passed them as they had stopped to get something out of their bags. A few quick words and I continued onwards by myself into the vast country that lay ahead. And vast it truly was. Huge valleys followed more huge valleys with great vistas in all directions. It was time for some music and I turned my ipod on.

Music

I had decided to take music with me as I knew there would be certain sections of the Brevet where it would be a great motivator. I had many albums worth of music by Dock Boggs and Roscoe Holcombe – two old time Appalacian mountain banjo pickers and singers. They sang haunting murder ballads and strange death songs. The sound of the banjo a direct conduit into weird other worlds. This was my choice of music for the West Coast. For Molesworth though I had selected the St Matthews Passion by Bach. The melancholy grandeur and beauty of it seemed right for this landscape. I turned the Passion on and pedalled into the immense empty land ahead.

I passed a few cars that had taken advantage of the 7am – 7pm opening of the road. They quickly thinned out and I found myself on my own, winding slowly along. The weather had improved after Jolies but it looked like it was deteriorating again with low cloud and mist obscuring both the very tops of the mountain ranges and the ends of the mighty valleys that stretched of to seeming eternity in various directions. Not being able to percieve the edges of the country made it seem limitless. On I went and started to feel more and more alone and small. Slowly it was as if the many layers of civilisations accoutrements and illusions were peeling away and being left way behind. The signs of human existance ebbed away – there were no fences, no houses, no animals or trees, no structures of any kind as far as the eye could see except for some lonely looking power pylons. And you could certainly see a long way for this land was immense and overpowering. Even the gravel road started to peter out turning into two thin scratches across a rocky land. I felt more utterly alone than I probably ever had in my life – an absolutely tiny figure traversing a vast and desolate land with no apparent end.

A car approached – the last one I would see until I was well out of the Molesworth. It was an old very beaten up Japanese car. Inside were a young couple with barely any clothes on. As they passed I noticed she had her bare feet on the dashboard while picking a banjo. He was driving and smiled at me as they passed. I imagined she must have been picking a Dock Boggs murder ballad and his smile seemed more like a half mad toothless grin. Pull yourself together I thought this is a bike ride not a bad remake of Deliverance.

My grip on reality was slipping. The landscape, 1000km of riding in four days, lack of decent sleep and the sheer aloneness of it all was affecting me. Nature was no longer the nurturing mother we like to think of her as but she now seemed a terrifying, utterly inhuman thing within which we are but an insignificant, irrelevant and infintesimal part. The protective layers we armour ourselves with against this truth – beliefs, objects, buildings,civilisation and culture – were all gone here. The last vestiges of humanity I had seen – the cars – had heating, air con, protective metal shells, windows like TV screens and comfy seats. My seat was definitely not feeling comfy and my puny singlespeed that I had to power myself through this inhuman and indifferent universe did little to buffer me from its otherness.

I climbed up to Isolated saddle which then descends into Isolated flat – some of the most appropriately named pieces of landscape I had ever come across. Aria 39 'Erbarne dich, mein gott!' came on and I totally lost it. This was pathetic and embarressing! I hoped I would not see any more cars as I was a truly abject and pitiful sight. It started lightly drizzling and the low cloud brooding all around me seemed to be thickening as I crept bumping across Isolated flat. I crossed a bridge and soon after the road started to climb. I had totally overlooked the fact that I had to cross Ward pass before getting into the head of the Awatere valley. The drizzle got heavier and the temperature dropped as I climbed into the cloud. A final look back at the immensity of the Molesworth revealed nothing – no signs of life at all as far as I could see. It felt like I was the only living being left in the world.

The climb up was long and just ridable with my gearing. I was hoping that the landscape was going to be more aminable over the other side. However it was in fact worse. The rain had really set in and a cold head wind developed. The landscape became plain ugly. It was no longer the desolate but sublime majesty of where I had just been. Instead the head of the Awatere was a wasteland with no form or legible structure. It was lumpy and repetitive with small climbs and descents all blurring into each other. When was this going to end! I was getting very wet and cold. I stopped and put on virtually all my clothes and wet weather gear and continued on. I was still cold. Eventually The DOC hut that finally signalled the end of the Molesworth came into view. I stopped to talk to the DOC ranger standing in the doorway. It felt strange (and a relief that people still existed) to come across another person in this dead wasteland. I asked if he thought the weather was going to improve. He said who knows and added that we were over 1000m above sea level just to emphasise how isolated this spot really was. I could hear and smell the cooking of bacon and eggs in the hut behind. I thought of what I had for tea – energy bar lightly garnished with tinned tuna – yum!!.

Around the corner was the original Molesworth cob cottage with a bike leaning on it! Out came a bedraggled and cold looking Andrew McLellan. I was very surprised to see him. When had he passed me? The last time I had seen him was when he was being sick on someones front lawn in Murchison. He didnt look much better having stopped to shelter from the weather and have something to eat. I could see a fire roaring away inside. Tempting as it was I knew that if I stopped I would never get going again. I headed down the road towards the Hodder into the cold wet headwind. I had asked the ranger how far the Hodder was. He had looked at me strangely saying it took him nearly an hour to drive there by car incredulous that I would try to bike there in this weather at this late hour. The Brevet had hardened me up though – no wimping out allowed!

Hours later I started to regret my gung ho attitude. The Awatere was an awful, unattractive world with interminable climbs sapping energy and resolve. It was getting dark and I was getting tired – very tired. I started looking around for somewhere to bed down but there was nowhere. I had trialled my poncho tarp on the back lawn of my house one sunny weekend strapping it over my upside down bike and pegging it down. Out here in this wet, cold, dark and desolate landscape with virtually no real shelter it held no appeal at all. I kept on pedalling. I saw a haybarn someway of the road. Struggling up to it I found it sealed up solid with gates and wires. A paranoid farmer obviously did not want any wet bedraggled bikers enjoying its comforts. So I kept going as darkness set in.

I had been cycling alone for so long that I almost jumped out of my skin when someone silently appeared from behind out of nowhere. It was Andrew McLellan also heading for the Hodder. His small LED light was as pathetic as mine and progress was excruciatingly slow as we rode together squinting hard to see what was ahead. It was good to have company though and I babbled on to him inanely.

After an eternity the poles of the Hodder suspension bridge came into view and to our great relief a haybarn as well. This one was not secured off and even had the central block of hay removed to form a pleasant well proportioned room. We were going no further and bedded down for the night. It was as comfortable as any 5 star hotel with a soft hay covered floor and a roof protecting us from the rain lashing down in the dark outside. As I lay down to sleep I thought back on what had been quite a day. It was 11pm and I had been riding since just after 5am with only two relatively short stops, I had survived an encounter with a couple of banjo playing hillbilly axe murderers and had had a strange mad semi mystic revelation on Isolated saddle. Wow and I had thought the Brevet was just going to be a nice bike ride through the country.

Day Four

2010-05-24T16:58:00.000-07:00

Getting up well before 5am we cooked our breakfast and got ready. Darren and I were on the road by 5.45am. It was still lightly raining and dark but it was good to start the day with someone else. We both walked up the Otira viaduct (I had no choice) as dawn came. Peering over the edge to the swirling waters a very long way below in the early morning half light and mist was one of the truly magical moments of the whole Brevet. I was enoying it all hugely again. Rolling into Arthurs pass at 7am we just missed Tim and Thomas at the shelter. I took of my raincoat expecting the east coast of my home to be typically warm and dry. Darren headed off – it would be the last I would see of him till the end. Realising my mistake as I rode out of Arthurs I stopped to put my coat back on. It was still very cold. Simon and John rocked past having just left their Arthurs pass digs. Once again I watched them disappear into the distance. A bit further up Chris rode past. I told him Simon and John were not far ahead and he zoomed of like a man on a mission.

I settled into a comfortable rhythm knowing it was a long way till the next stop in Springfield. I expected to do this section on my own so was surprised to catch John at the top of the Grassmere straight. He told me it was not turning out to be much of a downhill from Arthurs. I had to gently break it to him that Porters pass is actually higher than Arthurs so technically it was actually an uphill. He drifted of the front and I settled into my own rhythm again. Time passed and the weather improved enough for me to finally take of my coat. As Porters pass finally came close I caught John again and we crested the top together. He big ringed it down the other side leaving me to spin my silly low gear. It was alright though, the event was long and difficult and we all accepted that we needed to ride it at our own pace.

At Springfield John was sitting at a cafe by himself. Where were the others? I joined him and ordered a very yummy pasta. I could see John looking longingly at it. He texted the others only to find that they were at another cafe in town. Simon, Thomas, Tim and Chris rolled up to join us and we got ready for the next big section. The original goal of Hanmer for the night now looked out of reach so Simon rang to book a motel in Culverdon. We had to be there by 11pm or they would shut. It was just after midday now so it seemed possible...maybe? We set off on a gravel road detour but before long Simon turned around – he had left his camelback in the cafe. I saw John waiting further up the road and told him what he already knew. They both caught me at Sheffield and like deja vue I watched them disappear into the distance again. I didnt realise it at the time but this was the last I would see of them all. The last 400 or so km I would ride on my own (with the sole exception of one 10km stretch). It would seem in retrospect to be a slow and inexorible passage into my own heart of darkness. But this was in the future, for now I was heading for the Wharfedale, an enjoyable and fun singletrack I thought I knew reasonably well coming from Christchurch.

Overconfidence or tiredness saw me make my first really dumb mistake. I rode past one of the turnoffs going into the Wharfedale. As I rode on and on the wrong way a little voice in my head started getting more and more insistent – you are going the wrong way! Hauling out my maps and GPS I thought I didnt need made me even more confused as to where I was. The panic at losing so much valuable time made it difficult to think clearly. I finally worked out what I had done wrong. I was a long way from where I should be. I backtracked very angry with myself. My cellphone in the bottom of my pack started going off. I realised how many people were watching me go wrong in the virtual world. Sorry to all those that texted and rang but there was no way I was stopping to answer. I was a man on a mission hammering along trying to make up for my stupid mistake. I powered up the climbs that led to the Wharfedale at a speed that was not really sensible but I was mad and determined to limit the damage.

I rode far more of the Wharfedale than I had in practice with a loaded bike. I was taking risks in my effort to make up lost time. I thought I had probably lost about 45 minutes so making up that sort of time was really a lost cause. Getting to Culverdon with the others was now only a remote possibility. I zoomed past the hut barely looking at it and emerged out onto one of the bumpiest sections of the track. It was a relief to my well shaken body to finally reach the smooth gravel of Lees valley. Very long straight sections of road stretched of into the distance. I squinted my eyes to see if I could see any cycling specks in the distance but no. I was on my own. I relaxed back into a steady rhythm. I had done this bit in training a month or so ago so I knew to expect a long rather boring gravel ride and so it was. The last thing you do before turning off into the private McDonald Downs land is climb Lees pass. The sun was getting low in the sky as I slowly climbed. Peering back down the vast valley from where I had just come I thought I saw some cyclists moving in the far distance. I looked again but couldnt pick them out any more. Was I starting to hallucinate? Certainly the solitude, intensity of the event, lack of proper sleep and strange atmosphere of it all was starting to affect my state of mind. I had to stay focused!

I had done many of the McDonald Downs mountain bike races in the past so I should of known what to expect. However I was hoping we were going to somehow bypass all the hard terrain and simply head downhill to Hurunui. Well no I was about to be reaquainted with the mega sized country that is McDonald Downs. After the turn off from the Lees valley road it was straight into a big climb that was too steep for me to ride By the time I had pushed to the top it was getting dark. Putting on my rather pathetic light I rode on and on through big valleys, up unridable climbs, down epic downhills. Hours passed. I kept thinking I recognised some areas but it all seemed the same in the dark. Finally I came out by a shearing shed I remembered as the prize giving spot at the races. I looked up at the homestead on the hillside as I passed and saw a solitary figure silhouetted in the window watching me pass. I realised there was a good chance they had followed my progress through their land on the website. The GPS tracker in my backpack was a great antidote to the loneliness I was really starting to feel now.

Further along the road I had had enough. I found a comfortable spot in some soft grass and drifted of to sleep under one of the most amazing starry skys I had ever seen. I was in a state of blissed out but totally exhausted comfort.

Day Three

2010-05-23T16:54:00.000-07:00

Just before 5am I had had enough and got up. Darren followed soon after. I mixed up some complan to get me going and started packing. For some reason (probably severe tiredness) this was a slow process and Darren headed off before me. At about 5.45am, still pitch dark, I set off up towards Rahu saddle. I saw two taillights ahead. Couldnt be Darren or was it Darren and someone else? I slowly reeled them in – it was Phil and Ann. They told me that 5 minutes after I left the Mariua Motel the cyclist had rung up to cancel his booking. Oh well I was glad to have made it to Springs Junction – it was far further than I had dreamed I would get after one and a half days. Leaving them behind I climbed steadily to the top of the saddle. It was starting to rain. I stopped to put on my coat. The further down I went after the top the heavier the rain became until it was a proper West Coast drenching. I contemplated stopping to put on my rainpants I had taken just for this eventuality. Soon though it thankfully stopped and I rolled into Reefton. As I pulled in I saw a line of bikes outside a cafe. Time for breakfast. Looking in I found Darren, Tim Mulliner and the biggest surprise of all – Thomas Lindup.

We had heard that Thomas almost made it to St Arnaud on the first day – a prodigious feat that had left us in awe. It had obviously taken its toll though. I noticed the jar of peanut butter was gone. I ordered the huge 'workingmans breakfast' and the obligatory chocolate milk and scoffed it all down. The others headed of before me and I stopped of at the 4 square for supplies before being on my way.

We were now heading into Big River and Big River – Wiauta. I knew these would be by far the hardest sections of the whole Brevet. I was relying on my workingmans breakfast to get me through. It started with a good gravel road climb before turning into a scenic but rocky track. I was expecting to catch Darren as I knew this would not suit his skinny tyres. Rounding an early corner I spyed a rider ahead but it was not Darren it was Thomas. I caught up and we rode the many hours into Big River together. I enjoyed riding with him as I had ridden the vast majority of the Brevet on my own so far. He told me stories of his 24 hour world solo championship efforts battling legends like Tinker Juarez. It was fun. He would get away from me on the bumpy downhills – a combination of greater skills and the 29inch wheels on his beautiful Niner bike – but he seemed to slow afterwards to let me catch up. It was great to have company and good conversation.

Eventually we popped out by the Big River hut finally catching Darren impressed that he had stayed away so long. We had a bite to eat and I warned them of what was about to come. Thomas headed of ahead and Darren and I followed walking far more than riding. We passed Thomas a little further up as he had stopped for a snack. It was beautiful country for a walk. I was enjoying it immensely. After what seemed like a very long time we started heading down. I could ride more of it than Darren so we bid each other goodbye (for the time being). After struggling through some very dodgy stream crossings the track improved enough so that I could just about ride it all. Popping out into Waiuta a fast gravel road downhill followed to the main road and Ikamatua. I was glad to get through this section safely and decided to have a bit of a break buying and eating huge amounts of food at the shop.

It wasnt long before Darren joined me. He showed me his feet which were giving him grief. I had never seen anything like it – cracks all over the sole. He thought it was trench foot and lamented that it might force him to pull out. I hoped he could push through. Eventually I decided it was time to go with a very optimistic goal of making Arthurs pass in mind. As I was ready to set off Thomas, Simon and John rolled in appearing surprised to see me. I headed off first but it wasnt long before Darren passed me and pulled away rapidly out of sight. The tarseal and gravel road section to Jacksons was not going to be ideal for a singlespeed being long and flat. I would have to spin fast to make it in a reasonable time.

Passing Blackball without stopping then crossing the Grey river I turned off for yet another gravel road detour. I looked behind and saw a large peloton bearing down upon me. They caught me just before a rise. It consisted of Simon, John Tim, Thomas and Chris Tennant Brown who I had not seen until then. I realised he was the owner of the mysterious red tail light I had followed into Springs Junction. Simon told me he had my Eftpos card I had left in Ikamatua. I didnt even know it was missing. He gave it back and I thanked him profusely. What an idiot I was! I would have been without any money and would have had to do the rest of the Brevet on 2 OSM bars. They headed off into the distance ahead splintering into smaller groups as I watched.

The next long section into Jacksons was one of the worst of the Brevet for me. I was on my own again and it seemed to go on and on. My mood changed and it started to rain. I felt like I was going excruciatingly slow and I was getting sick of being spun out in a stupid low gear. I had had enough of this singlespeed thing – I wanted gears! Long wet empty gravel road stretches that all looked the same followed one after the other for hours on end. Mist hung around the brooding hills of the West Coast all around. I became convinced that my slow speed would mean that the rest of the Brevet field would catch me but looking back I saw noone. I expected to have a few down times in the Brevet and this was one of them.

My mood brightened as out of a single lonely looking house in the middle of nowhere a kid came hurtling out on a BMX. We raced each other wordlessly side by side down the road grinning like fools before he finally gave up and headed back. Wow – I needed that. Eventually I rolled into Jacksons in the dark and wet hoping desperately that it would still be open. It was with unbelievable relief and gratitude that I saw bikes lined up outside and John tell me that they had asked them to keep the kitchen open for me. The very friendly and accommodating barman cooked up a burger feast fit for a king and I ate heartily. Darren told me he had booked a backpackers for us two in Otira. The others were still heading for Arthurs pass but Otira was absolutely fine with me. They all left and once again I thanked the owner for keeping the pub open just for me and I went out into the dark and rain.
The Otira backpackers up the road was perfect. We had the whole space to ourselves, a hot shower and the owner had left us eggs, baked beans and mountains of toast bread for breakfast. We could ask for no more. Life was good again.

Day Two

2010-05-22T16:45:00.000-07:00

After a fitful nights sleep I got up at 5.30 AM realising I wasnt going to be able to sleep any more. It seemed to take me forever to get ready though. My legs were stiff and sore and my brain was only working at half speed. Our very generous hosts offered breakfast which I gratefully accepted. I said goodbye to Trevor, Barryn, the three Aussies and Jan not realising this would be the last time I would see them. Finally rolling out onto the deserted early morning roads at around 7am (the latest start of my whole Brevet) with Darren, Laurence and Guy not far behind I was feeling good. About 5 minutes later a car slowly rolled up next to me and wound down its window. I looked at it – a police car! Quick check – yes I had my helmet on – had I done something else wrong - was I speeding? No, this guy was a fan! He seemed to know all about the Brevet and wanted to take my photo. Zipping up the road he parked and I posed as best as I could. He wanted to get it onto the Brevet website. I began to realise that maybe this thing was bigger than we all thought.

GPS Tracking

One of the great innovations of the Brevet for a NZ event was that we had been issued with GPS trackers. They continually updated our locations on the website allowing friends and family to closely follow progress. This caused a real buzz that we didnt fully appreciate until the end. The policeman – Rob Hambrook – was one of the many followers. It made what seemed like a very solitary pursuit (especially for us solo riders) into something far larger. It was strange to feel we were being continually watched by many from afar.

After the photoshoot Guy, Laurence and Darren disappeared into the distance. It didnt seem to take long before they were out of sight. I didnt expect to see them again. I turned off the main road for a pleasant gravel road detour Simon had arranged for us. Coming round a corner there was Darren fixing a puncture and further up I saw and passed Guy and Laurence. A bit surprised that I was unexpectedly in front of them I pulled into the Wakefield store to stock up. Looking back I saw Simon Kennett and John Randal ride up – what were they doing behind me? Before long six of us were there – Simon, John, Darren, Guy, Laurence and me. I was keen to get moving and I left them eating and chatting and headed towards St Arnaud. It was the last I would see of Guy and Laurence. The next section saw a number of us swap places. John was first to catch and pass me. Further up I repassed him as he was applying butt creame to his nether regions on the side of the road.

Butt Maintenance

Butt maintenance was an essential task on the Brevet. Saddle sores were to be avoided at all costs. I later found out that one of our number had had to pull out due to severe saddle sores – ouch! One of the unique things about the Brevet is that you can ride up to someone you hardly know and start a conversation by asking them about their butt. I cannot think of any other polite social situations where this would be considered normal. However condition of ones butt was a preoccupation of us all. Mine certainly ended up very sore and I was continually changing position to try to get comfortable. I looked forward to climbs where I could stand and relieve pressure. I never developed a proper saddle sore though for which I was immensely grateful to my appropriately named Assos chamois creame.

I watched John catch another cyclist further up the road. I wondered who it was and later found out it was Tim Mulliner – the Maungatapu camper. He must have had a very early start. Darren caught me then Simon. I wondered why these strong geared riders werent leaving me for dead on these tarseal roads. The reason was simple though. The road up to St Arnaud is mostly a false flat and there was a bit of a head wind effectively nullifying the advantages of gears. In fact on one climb I left Darren behind however just before the turn to St Arnaud he caught me back up again, this time in the company of Andrew McLellan who I had not seen till then. We powered into St Arnaud with me doing my best hampster on speed imitation again in an effort to keep up.

A pleasant cafe break ensued with Simon, John, Tim, Darren, Andrew and me. Being in such illustrious company I started wondering how many were actually ahead of us. Simon thought it was only about 5 or 6. I started to feel my up till now dormant competitive juices start to stir. I was doing alright, riding with some legends and feeling OK. With this in mind I gulped down my food and drink and was the first to leave the cafe and head towards the Porika track that I had recoinnoitred a month earlier. It was a gentle downhill tarseal before the track though, not good single speed country. First John and Tim went past, then Darren and finally Simon and Andrew. The Porika track couldnt come fast enough. A highly enjoyable but rough climb the Porika winds its way through native bush gradually steepening as it gets to the top. I loved it. I had caught Darren and we both crested the top together. I knew I would leave him on the very steep rough descent to Lake Rotoroa as my MTB was far better suited to it than his skinny tyred tourer. So it was and I sped through the DOC camp by the lake and headed up the next climb on my own. At the top was the single best downhill of the whole Brevet. The Braeburn track is a perfect downhill gradiant, beautiful sweeping corners through pristine mature native bush with refreshing easily ridable crystal clear stream crossings punctuating the dry slightly dusty gravel track. It was effortless mountain biking paradise. It ended too soon and a series of winding undulating tarseal roads led to Murchison.

I joined Simon, John and Tim at a cafe and watched Darren and Andrew turn up not long after. Service was slow though and the others headed off before my burger had arrived. My competitive juices were really flowing now though so I asked for my burger as a takeaway, put it in my back pack and headed off. Passing another cafe around the corner I saw the others had stopped there and Chris and Brenda had just turned up. I headed up the Matakitaki alone.

Before long a peloton came roaring past consisting of Simon, John and Tim. They were hauling ass and before long they were out of sight. This was becoming a common theme – the others were riding faster but the only resaon I was keeping up was although I was generally the last to turn up at a cafe I was often the first to leave. I knew this was not sustainable in the long term – you need to regularly rest and carboload. There was one notable rider missing from the peloton. I kept looking behind me for Darren expecting him to catch up any minute. Matakitaki and Mariua saddle was beautiful riding through native West coast bush. Pleasant hours ticked away. Life was good. Eventually I rolled back out onto the main road. It was starting to get dark so I turned on my two Fenix lights only to find one of them was not going. I remember reading that running them for too long on turbo mode risks blowing the bulb. Maungatapu downhill must have been too much. Worried that running my last remaining light on turbo would similarly blow it I set it on low and rode into the night. I was getting very tired. Around the corner a sign – Mariua Motels in 3.5km – that will do me. Rolling in I saw Phil and Ann happily settled into one of the rooms. Unfortunately the owner had no rooms or more correctly he had one but a cyclist had booked it and not yet turned up. He tried to phone him to no avail. Then being very helpful he tried to phone the Springs Junction motels for me but also no reply. It didnt surprise me, it was late and most sensible people would be getting ready for bed. Thanking him for his help I decided to press on to Springs Junction and rode back out onto the main road. Up ahead was a red tail light dot. I was sure it must be Darren having passed me while I was in the Motel.

We turned of the main road for another Simon Kennett gravel road detour. The red tail light ahead was going too fast for me and it slowly eased off into the darkness. Once again I was totally alone, riding along an empty indulating gravel road in amongst pitch black mature beech forest in the middle of nowhere with my very meagre light barely illuminating a small patch of gravel just in front of me. Time went very slowly and I felt adrift in the dark immensity all around.

Eventually, well after 11pm I pulled into Springs Junction exhausted. Luckily it was a nice night and I rolled out my sleeping bag on the lawn outside the Motels and settled down under a vast dome of stars. The now cold burger I had carried from Murchison tasted great and I got ready for a well earned sleep. Next minute there was a rustling in the bushes behind my head. A cyclist was rumaging about in the dark – who the hell was it? He came round the corner – it was Darren! as surprised to see me as I was to see him. He had been behind me – who was the owner of the red tail light then? We both tried to sleep on the lawn but were continually awoken by the trucks that seemed to be manouvreing only metres from our heads.

Day One

2010-05-21T16:35:00.000-07:00

The morning of the 6th Feburary dawned. I drove to the outskirts to drop of my car at a preordained spot passing John Randal, Simon Kennett and a few others powering along on their fully loaded Brevet bikes in the other direction – this was getting exciting. Briefing was inside a local cinema. All 65 entrants lined their bikes along the front by the screen while we sat in the seats staring at them and listening to Simons briefing. I scanned all the bikes. The variety was huge – rigid 29ers, crossbikes, tourers, hardtails, FS bikes even a Surley Pugsley. Some had standard derailleurs and some had internal hub gears but......but no other singlespeeds! I was the only one. Did they all know something I didnt – had I made a terrible error of judgement? Also my gear, which I had thought was quite minimal, looked positively bloated next to some. The ones who had opted for no sleeping gear like John Randal and Simon Kennett seemed to be carrying very little on their already ultralight carbon rigid forked machines. There was nothing for it though – what I had was what I was taking and what was going to happen was going to happen. I was relaxed. No turning back now.

We all assembled in Seymour square awaiting the noon start. It was another chance to chat and check out the bikes and gear. Thomas Lindup had some strange looking object taped to his frame. Darren went and spoke to him coming back to tell me it was a jar of peanut butter for emergencies. If it had gone you knew he had hit trouble.

We all lined up in the sun, the town clock struck 12 and we were off. The start was neutral with us all rolling along as a group. And what a strange looking group – not the tight aesthetically coordinated colourful roadie pelotons or the baggie clothed nonchalantly casual mountain bike groups or even the overlaiden panniers everywhere tourers but a collage of them all and more babbling along, excited like kids on the first day of a school camp. The neutral start and easy going mood abruptly finished as we hit the coastline and ploughed headlong into sand, stones and matagouri. This was suddenly hard work. Those on fat tyres were making the easiest going of it (relatively) while the skinny tyred brigade started slipping back as they struggled to keep momentum sinking into the soft surface. Luckily I had gone the fat tyred way with 2.25mm UST tubeless Schwalbe knobblies so I found myself easing past quite a few of my fellow breveters. I rode with Simon for a while. He told me of how he had ridden with some singlespeeders in the Great Divide race and how they had done well. I felt a bit better about my choice. He had been partly influential in my choice writing on Vorb how he hoped some singlespeeders would enter.
Looming up ahead though lay the first real test for my single geared outfit – the Port Underwood road. The contour map indicated over 1500metres of climbing before Picton. A number of people I had spoken to talked about this section in hushed tones as if the pain it had inflicted was a memory they would rather repress. Just before the climb began we finally popped out of the sandtrap onto a flat tarseal road. Most of the brevet seemed to zip past me with blurs of smiling faces and cheery words as the mountain wall got nearer. Alright for them I thought with their silly low granny gears. Darren pulled up next to me for a brief chat. He had been slowed in the sand with his skinny tyres but looked ready to hammer now. We wished each other well and he rapidly disappeared into the distance. I fully expected this would be the last I would see of him on the Brevet.

Different ways to approach the Brevet.

Darren and I had taken what seemed like diametrically different approaches to the Brevet. He was obviously going for speed while I was going for comfort (relatively). He had a skinny tyred drop handled racing/touring bike with aerobars and minimal gear. Proudly he had told me his sleeping arrangements consisted of no more than a lightweight bivvy bag and a tiny piece of sleepmat foam for his shoulders. Being a bit of an insomniac he only expected to snatch a few quick hours sleep very occasionally by crawling into his bivvy bag in his clothes. If the weather was bad he was just going to keep riding. This was way too hardcore for me. Unlike Darren I had zero expectations of doing this thing fast. Hell I had choosen a singlespeed! I had big volume tyres to take the edge of bumpy stuff but I knew they were going to slow me on the 50% of tarseal the course had. I had way more weight in terms of gear than him and I knew Darren was generally faster than me on a bike anyway. I was going to be happy to do it within the 8 day cutoff rather than treat it like a race. Darren had told me he reckoned a singlespeed would add at least a day extra time ( I thought it could be even more). I had given him a lift up to Blenheim but we had not even mentioned a lift back – we both knew without actually saying it that he would be days ahead of me at the end. I was therefore quite relaxed as I watched his green top disappear up the road.

Then the climb began. More riders sped past me and I began to wonder how close to last I was. As I rode along for the whole Brevet there were a few things I tried to keep repeating in my head as a mantra. Keep eating, keep drinking and pace yourself. Dont get sucked into going too fast trying to keep up with others and dont think of it as a race! There were many times in the coming days where I ignored this sage advice but that is for later. So up the Port Underwood hills I rode repeating this mantra in my head in what was now killer 30 degree plus temperatures weaving from side to side in search of shade.

Strangely enough as time went on my slow uphill crawl had me passing riders that had zipped by earlier. On one slope I pass Phil and Ann both riding FS bikes with freeload racks front and back with white dry bags on them. We exchange pleasantries as I passed – I would see them many more times in the coming days. For much of the Port Underwood road I was riding close to the 3 Revolution cycle boys – Jonty, Nick and Matt as well as Jeff Lyall and the three Aussies Phil, Ed and Joel. Up and down into cute picturesque bays we rode, I would pass them while they stopped to take photos then not long after they would wind there way past me again. The last climb before dropping down into Waikawa bay was the longest. I had to resort to walking towards the top and had a brief chat with Jeff Lyall who was riding a Santa Cruz Superlight remarkably similar to the one lying forlorn in my garage at home. Finally dropping down to Picton I stopped at the first shop I found to refuel. Not long after I was joined by the 3 Aussies, Phil and Ann and a few others. Refueled I headed off again passing the Revolution cycle boys and Jeff relaxing in a cafe futher up the road. I waved as I passed not knowing it would be the last time I would see them.

Social Side of the Brevet

There are many things about the Kiwibrevet that made it a truly great event but one of the best was meeting and enjoying the company of like minded people. The Brevet was approached in many different ways either as a group or pair glued together for the whole time or alone like Charlotte Ireland and myself. Each had their own stories and experiences but we all crossed, intertwined and shared in many ways. Some I only saw once, others I crossed paths with many times but it was never predictable. When you rode away from someone or they rode away from you there was always a sense you may not see them again. The whole social side of it was one of the Brevets great joys.

A pleasant undulating road followed which turned into some long flat drags as I headed towards Havelock on my own. I had looked behind me at the end of one of these long straights and not seen anyone so it was a real surprise to be caught not long after by three riders I had not seen up till now – Barryn Westfield, Trevor Woodward and one other. They were moving quicker than me but I decided to spin as fast as I could to keep up. We rolled into Havelock just as Phil and Ann were leaving. I left them all to continue on while I went in search of a cafe. Relaxing and refueling with chocolate milk, pies and coffee I was joined by Laurence Mote, Guy Wynn Williams and Nathan Mawkes. Although I was enjoying the company I was keen to keep moving. I left them to it and headed off.

At Pelorus Bridge I joined up with the three Aussies and the Polish rider Jan who were already there and we all rode up the gravel road towards the duanting Maungatapu climb. When they stopped to help Jan with a puncture I left then to it fully expecting them all to catch me on the climb ahead. Rounding a corner there it was, the 700 plus metre Maungatapu climb, probably the longest single sustained climb of the whole Brevet. It started of steep and loose. I was on the verge of what I could ride and almost got of and walked many times. On and on it went. I caught Charlotte Ireland about a third of the way up and we rode together a while. Further up we both caught Phil and Ann. I was down to walking now and it was starting to get dark. Around another corner we caught someone else who had been fixing some bike issues. Finally the top came. It was pitch black now. With my two Fenix lights on full turbo mode I left Phil and Ann and the others behind at the top. The descent was long, loose and steep but I could just ride it all OK. Eventually it leveled out somewhat and the riding got a little less technical. On a wide flat corner I passed a fellow Breveter who had setup his tent and was cooking some nice smelling thing on his portable stove. I wondered if I should have also packed a tent and cooker, it certainly looked immensely appealing at this late hour. Accommodation options started preying on my mind – hopefully something would be open in Nelson at this late hour.

Further down the road I saw a red tail light ahead. Slowly I caught up. Hold on... that figure looked familiar....was it.... yes it was! I pulled up next to Darren totally surprised to see him again. We talked. I had caught him because he had had to walk all the way down the Maungatapu because of his skinny tyred bike. Maybe my fat tyred MTB was not such a bad idea after all. We rode together and were caught by two others – Barryn and Trevor – how had they got behind me? The last part of the Maitai valley is a gentle tarseal downhill – a singlespeeders nightmare (especially with a silly low 32-19 gear). The four of us powered down this section at well over 30km/hr with me desparately spinning like a hampster on speed at the back drafting millimetres from tyre in front. I did not want to be dropped.

In Nelson after waiting forever in a queue in a severly understaffed McDonalds we got pies from the after hours service station across the road. Phil and Ann joined us and told us they were of to their prebooked motel. I started to realise how disorganised my accommodation arrangements were. Chris Burr and Brenda Clapp had offered their house in Richmond to all Breverters as a place to stay but I had not really listened as I doubted I would get anywhere near Nelson on Day one. Luckily Barryn had been listening and had noted the address. The four of us – Barryn Trevor, Darren and me – followed the bike paths to Richmond rocking up to Chris and Brendas place just after midnight. Brenda and Chris were already there and told us we were the first to arrive – another surprise. What a way to finish the first day, a hot shower, comfortable house and great company. Over the night others turned up – Guy and Laurence, the three Aussies, Jan and a few others. It had been a truly great start to the Brevet – better than I could have imagined.

Riding the inaugural Kiwi Brevet on a single speed

2010-05-20T15:24:00.000-07:00

Prologue

On the 20th September 2009 I had a classic mountain bike crash going over the bars and breaking my collarbone. People proudly told me I was now a true cyclist; a rite of initiation finally completed after nearly 20 years of mountain bike riding and racing. Strangely enough unlike them I didnt see this as a positive at all as I was now stuck inside recuperating with my bike gathering dust.

There was something to cheer me up though, an intriguing event was announced – the Kiwibrevet - a 1100km unsupported bike ride around the top half of the south island through some stunning country starting in early Feburary 2010. This was something truly out of my comfort zone having never done any sort of multiday endurance event like this in my life. I emailed the oganiser Simon Kennett saying I might, maybe, possibly be interested. He obviously thought such a half assed indecisive note was unacceptable and promptly put my name done on the website as a confirmed entrant. All right then I was committed!

In early November with my shoulder barely healed enough to ride I joined a group of 33 friends for a 3 day road bike tour around the West Coast. With days of 160 km, 100 km and 105 km it would be a good test of my capabilities and a kick start to my training. Well it ended up being a severe wake up call – I was dropped by the whole group on day 1, I grovelled up slight up slopes and only sheer bloody minded determination stopped me from crawling into the tail end Charley van. I collapsed in total exhaustion in my motel room at the end of day 1. Minimal riding over winter, out for 6 weeks with a broken collarbone means you end up quite unfit – not exactly rocket science but a reality check for my own self delusional vision that past fitness somehow magically endures. This Kiwi brevet thing was going to be whole magnitudes harder – was the idea that I could somehow complete it a great naïve mistake – what was I thinking? I had about 11 weeks to get ready from what felt like a virtual standing start – was it possible?

Preparations

On the Kiwi Brevet website Simon had links to all sorts of sites full of inspiring stories, ideas for gear to take, endless discussions on bike choice, tyres, wheel size, bags, panniers, backpacks, etc, etc. Quickly becoming obsessed with this I spent many a happy hour thinking, planning, trying to anticipate all possible eventualities, writing and rewriting endless gear lists, researching the pros and cons and most importantly the weight of each item I contemplated taking – this was fun! Slowly it all started taking shape, a delicate balance between taking enough to keep relatively safe while keeping weight and bulk to the minimum. Early on I decided I would take sleeping gear (no accommodation anxiety for me) – a Macpac Epic 450 bag, Neoair sleepmat and a lightweight poncho tarp that I worked out I could sort of string over my upside down bike – Oh how I hoped it wouldnt rain!

The big decision though was what sort of bike to take. I had two mountain bikes – a lightweight XTR equipped 2008 Santa Cruz Superlight FS bike (a great bike) and a rigid Cotic Simple 26 inch wheeled singlespeed. The Superlight was probably the sensible choice but the Simple was my main go to day to day bike – I loved it like a child. In my heart of hearts this was the one I wanted to take. Everyone I spoke to (with the sole notable exception of Dayle McLaughlan) told me I was mad, stupid and/or crazy. Many tried to talk me out of it but I persisted however not without some waivering. A few times I temporarily changed my mind and was ready to take the Santa Cruz but the Cotic kept whispering its siren song in my ear. It was irresistable, I would ride the Brevet on my Cotic Simple single speed.

Spending way more than intended on lightweight stuff I was feeling relatively confident I was prepared in terms of gear. Getting fit enough was the next challenge. Long rides were in order. On the blog Simon wrote that you didnt need to do more than 15 hours a week – whoa thats about twice as much as a big week for me. Yes I would have to step it up. Long but enjoyable rides ensued mainly around Banks Penisula but I also ventured further afield. As a trial I loaded up the Cotic with my Brevet gear and rode through the Wharfedale then a couple of weeks later I rode the Lees valley/Okuku pass loop described in the Kennett book. Finally I drove to Murchison and rode Porika/Braeburn taking a photo of my bike at Lake Rotoroa. On the drive home I decided to drive into Waiuta and ride a bit up the track. My God this track was hard! I got about a third of the way towards Big River hut before turning back to my car in a state of apprehension. I had barely ridden much of it and some of the washed out gulleys were hard enough to negotiate on foot let alone with a fully loaded bike. This section was going to be tough and slow. These long rides were all hard but none were more than 120km. I would need to average almost 150km a day to meet the 8 day Brevet cutoff. It was not going to be easy but I would have been disappointed if it was.

Getting Close

One of the group on the November roadie tour was Darren Tatom. I had told him about the Brevet and his name appeared on the confirmed entry list soon after. Darren was a formidible rider, very fast up a hill with an ability to start strong and just get stronger as time goes on. He had been a front runner on the tour consistantly towing the peloton along at speeds I could not maintain drafting at the back. In addition he told me he was a chronic insomniac and was planning to ride right through the night if necessary. The Kiwi Brevet seemed like an event tailor made for him. I predicted he would be a contender for fastest time (even though it was not supposed to be a race). Giving Darren a lift up to Blenheim for the start he told me of his training – 200km rides, overnight trips, carboloading with beer in local pubs – he was ready but was I?
Detouring via Taylors pass on the way to check it out we turned up at Blenheim a bit late. The owners of the backpackers we had booked were gone but had left a note about which rooms were ours. Only problem was the room I was supposed to be in was full (of smokers) – a good start. Luckily searching around a spare room was found and a restless nights sleep followed. Darren and I met another brevet rider also staying there – Nathan Mawkes. The stories he told us of his epic lone bike tours through China and Tibet had us inspired, our own adventure was now very close.