Sam Shaw: The Great Trails Ride FKT
Words: Ruairi O’Shea
Images: Jay French
Sam Shaw might be the most versatile bike rider in New Zealand. Scroll through his Instagram and you’ll see his recent highlights: top 10 placings at the biggest gravel races in the Southern Hemisphere, taking Lachlan Morton’s record for the Fastest Known Time (FKT) from Auckland to Wellington, and running the CouldBeKeen cycling collective in his adopted home of Wānaka.
And while Sam spends most of his time these days on a gravel bike, if you scroll back to 2021 there’s a social media clip that puts it all in context.
It’s Rotorua Mountain Bike Club’s Triple Crown Enduro. Sam enters the screen from the right, he takes off, pulls back on the handlebars, leans back, and completes a backflip as the crowd goes wild.
“Always been a dream to do a backie in a race run,” Sam says in the caption.
Sam grew up mountain biking in Rotorua and competed as an elite rider between the ages of 15 and 32 at everything from national series races and the youth Olympics to XCO World Cups and Enduro World Series events.
As Sam moved on from elite-level mountain biking and started building a more conventional life in Wānaka, riding a gravel bike offered the chance to continue to push himself without the frequent injuries that can come with pushing the limits on trails. Long days in the saddle training for 250-kilometre gravel races helped to tune Sam’s massive engine for a significant new goal: setting the fastest time to ride the length of Aotearoa.
“The underlying thing is that I always wanted to ride the length of New Zealand and set the fastest time and then I’ve just been finding all these other things to build up to it,” Sam explains.
Having taken the FKT for riding from Auckland to Wellington on the road in December 2025, Sam had planned an attempt at the record from Cape Reinga to Slope Point in May. But when key-supporter Brendan Clarke suffered an injury that ruled him out of the trip, Sam pivoted, eyeing up a self-supported attempt to beat Payson McElveen’s 2024 record for riding the Paparoa Track, Old Ghost Road, the Heaphy Track, and the two road sections in between.
Payson McElveen is a full-time athlete with a list of high-profile sponsors. When he took on the Great Trails Ride, he was camped out on the West Coast for a couple of weeks doing reconnaissance of the trails and able to pick the optimal time for the ride. Sam’s attempt would be more of a smash and grab.
An apprentice builder with a young family who trains on his 23-kilometre commute between Wānaka and Hāwea, Sam uses his annual leave for racing and FKT attempts.
Sam’s limited time, and the constraints of riding the three great trails on the route meant the date and start time chose itself.
Riding at night is banned on both the Paparoa and Heaphy Tracks to protect nocturnal wildlife, and bikes are prohibited on the Heaphy Track until the winter season which opens on May 1. Sam – starting his ride on April 30 – would need to ride the Paparoa Track in an afternoon before, taking on the two road sections and the Old Ghost Road overnight to arrive at the Heaphy for daybreak as it opened to bikes.
Sam’s decision to take on the record self-supported also served to streamline the operation – he had a media crew to document the attempt but no outside assistance, not even stopping at a shop.
“Self-supported to me means that if there are people there, it has to be like they’re not there. It’s taking all your food, all your spares, and being able to fix anything that goes wrong. I’d talk to the crew if I saw them because they’re trying to get footage, but for me it’s about not using them to offload a jacket or pick up food,” Shaw says.
Finally, with everything else going so smoothly, Sam made a mockery of endurance sport’s golden rule of “nothing new on race day”, taking delivery of a new Specialized Epic nine hours before he was due to start.
“I was really frothing the new bike,” Sam says. “I’d been riding a Specialized Epic World Cup which had 70mm of travel at the back and 115mm in the front, but the Epic 9 has 120mm of travel at the front and back, and it has Flight Attendant which effectively learns how you ride while you’re riding and adjusts itself automatically.
“I was confident that we’d set it up the same, and it was just going to be way more comfortable to ride over that distance.”
With the new bike ready, bottles full, and a backpack stuffed with pies, race fuel, and an extensive repair kit, Sam clipped in at 3.04pm and entered the 55km Paparoa Track.
Starting from the southern trailhead, the Paparoa Track starts with a steep 13km climb following in the footsteps of 19th- century gold prospectors. In 1864, gold was discovered in Blackball Creek, leading to the establishment of the town of Blackball, and the development of the Croesus Track – named for an ancient Turkish king known as a symbol of gold and prosperity – as miners traipsed through the bush in search of untold riches.
The discovery of a quartz reef high on the Paparoa Range in 1896 increased the intensification of mining but when significant quantities of gold failed to materialise over the next decade mining stopped and the trail fell into disuse.
The trail lived an unusual life over the next 70 years, first as the site of depression-era “make work” schemes involving further gold prospecting and the repair of the track’s bridges, before short-lived coal mining and logging efforts in the area. In 1970, Ces Clark, a Blackball resident and forest ranger, led an initiative to repair and revive the track. Sadly, Ces passed away while working on the trail. A hut built in 1986 now serves as a memorial to his dedication and hard work.
As Sam climbed toward Ces Clark Hut, the size of the challenge ahead became clear.
“About half an hour in I realised it was going to be stupidly hard,” Sam says. “I was averaging about 330 watts and I was still 380 kilometres away from finishing. Doing all these trails in one day – not to blow my own horn or whatever – it’s pretty f****** crazy.”
The first section of the Paparoa Track is a remnant of historical industry, but as Sam pushed past Ces Clark hut he was entering a memorial to a modern tragedy.
At about 3.44pm on November 19, 2010, an explosion in the Pike River Mine trapped 29 men underground, their fates still unknown when a series of further explosions in the week that followed ended any chance of survival. In the men’s memory, and in a bid to drive tourism to a region that had lost a significant source of income, families of the victims asked that a visitor centre be built, and a Great Trail with mountain biking be established linking the mining site with the town of Punakaiki.
As Sam passed the site of the former mine, too focused on finding a smooth line on the flowy singletrack to think too much about its origins, the heavens opened. It would be heavy rain for much of the next four hours, making for a sketchy downhill and putting his preparation for a self-supported ride to the test.
After more than three and a half hours, Sam had completed the Paparoa Track, putting about 13 minutes into McElveen’s time.
The relative simplicity of the road sections means they were used as an opportunity to relax and refuel. However, as night fell, Sam’s front light began to flicker with the long, dark and high exposure Old Ghost Road ahead.
“The rain f***** my light, and it was short circuiting all the way from the end of the Paparoa to the start of the Old Ghost Road.”
Sam continued as his light faltered, reaching the Old Ghost Road at around 10.45pm. Just after midnight, the light flickered one last time and went out.
What could have been a disaster for Sam’s record attempt was mitigated by good preparation, with Sam packing a spare front light for this eventuality. “I got my headlight out, which wasn’t as good but did the job, and kept going.”
We’ll save you the history lesson on the Old Ghost Road, with our feature on page 12, looking at the trail in depth, but for Sam, riding the track at night was set to be a highlight of the ride.
“I love riding in the dark – everyone should do an overnight mission – and I was really excited about riding the Old Ghost Road through the night. It was the thing I was most excited about, but it was also the biggest worry. I was frothing for it, but obviously you just don’t know if it’s going to go well.
“I started going up the hill and I felt good the whole way up the climb. It was two hours, but it didn’t feel like it at all which was a good sign. I just settled into it and time flew by.
“I got above the treeline and out into the open and it was a full moon, and you could just see all of the lights on the coast in the distance. You know you’re in an amazing spot, but you can’t really see what’s around you, so it was a strange experience.”
As Sam rode into the early morning, the challenge became keeping mental fatigue at bay as the trail got more technical.
“My main focus at that point was just not puncturing, because it’s got really sharp, schisty rock in places, and I’d forgotten how technical it was. It was 2am and I’m hitting these rocky uncambered corners in the middle of nowhere in New Zealand. That’s where I was just having to manage my caffeine to make sure I wasn’t riding tired. If I felt my focus fading, I’d stop and have some caffeine.”
Sam completed the Old Ghost Road in just under six hours, the fourth fastest completion of the trail recorded on Strava – at night and having completed the Paparoa Track beforehand – and had put another 36 minutes into Payson McElveen’s 2024 attempt.
McElveen was also forced to spend a significant amount of time repairing a mechanical at the northern trailhead of the Old Ghost Road, further increasing Sam’s margin for error.
As he embarked upon the second and final road section, 14 hours of riding began to take its toll, and Sam began to measure his effort.
When he set the Auckland to Wellington FKT, he maintained an average power of 257 watts for more than 17 hours. On the road section from the Paparoa Track to the Old Ghost Road, he managed 259 watts. His power dropped to about 220 watts on the road section between the Old Ghost Road and the Heaphy Track. It was clear that the climbing demands had sapped his legs.
Sam reached the southern trailhead of the Heaphy Track just after 7.30am, with just 73 kilometres separating him from the record.
The trails Sam had completed so far are the legacy of New Zealand’s colonial history, but as he travelled north on the flat, coastal section of the Heaphy Track, he was following a coastal highway used by Māori settlers about 700 years ago. This section of what we now know as the Heaphy Track formed part of a well-used travel corridor between the major settlements of Kawatiri (Westport) and Mohua (Golden Bay). It offered Māori a continuous path abundant with resources. For Sam, it would be rich in steep, inhospitable terrain.
As the trail turned inland, following once again in the footsteps of 19th-century gold prospectors, Sam began struggle.
“I got to the bottom of the main climb on the Heaphy Trail and I cracked,” Sam says.
“I’d already seen all the most beautiful sections along the coastline with the nikau palm forests, and I was super tired from staying up all night.”
It’s at this point in the traditional endurance- sports narrative that Sam is supposed to break down and lose all hope before overcoming adversity, but that’s not his style. I tell him that when I “crack” the experience oscillates between my brain making logical arguments for stopping and outright misery.
“My brain doesn’t go there,” Sam says. “I wasn’t enjoying myself at that point, but I just went back to managing my effort and riding within myself.”
Sam continued to turn the pedals, albeit with significantly less power in the legs than on the Paparoa Track and the Old Ghost Road, and while reaching the high point of the trail should have come with a sense that the hard work was done, the exhausting nature of the Great Trails Ride meant the sense of satisfaction would have to wait.
“The last descent takes an hour, and it’s pretty easy, but I hated it. My hands were super sore because they’d been rubbed to pieces. I obviously hadn’t trained enough on my mountain bike because the muscles in my hands just gave up and I could barely hold on at the end.
“I’m rolling down the trail and at this point I know I’m going to get the record, but at that point all I was thinking about was food. That was the only thing I was super stoked about at that point.”
What Sam describes as a “crack” saw him lose 36 minutes to McElveen – who took on the track rested and resurgent following his prolonged mechanical – but his relentless pace on the Paparoa Track, the Old Ghost Road and the road sections in between meant that as he arrived at northern trailhead of the Heaphy Trail after 21 hours 39 minutes and 14 seconds in the saddle, the record was his.
Tipping his hat to McElveen when posting the ride to Strava, Sam wrote, “That was a crazy ride Payson, don’t think I’ll be repeating that,” but speaking to Sam a few days after the ride, his stance had softened.
“I’d definitely do it again, maybe once every two years though.”
The Old Ghost Road
Words: Liam Friary
Images: Cameron MacKenzie
The backcountry is bloody appealing but damn challenging. The first part of the problem to solve is logistics to and from the desired location. It’s often the far-flung places that are the absolute best. However, that means there’s some graft of planning and travel beforehand. Once there, all that fades and you wonder why you’ve not come sooner.
The Old Ghost Road sits tucked into the Kahurangi National Park in the north-west of the South Island. The remoteness of New Zealand’s second-biggest national park makes it appealingappealing. The ability to pedal your bike in here is next level. The trailhead in Lyell is buried in a valley; mist often shrouds the bush line, so it’s hard to see the tops of the mountain ranges.mountain ranges. The sense of scale is severe, and you can hear the water running down Lyell Creek. This is the first taste of the trail and it holds.
There’s a version of this ride that some accomplished riders attempt in a single, breathless push, just to know they can. Either a relentless grind on analogue bikes or watching battery gauges tick down on eMTBs. Often there’s weather closing in and you’re chasing the finish line against the fading light. Sometimes you’re humbled by a mountain that doesn’t care how good your plan looks on paper.
This time, we wanted the opposite: not a race against the Old Ghost Road, but more of a conversation with it. Two days, one night, deep in the Lyell Range at Ghost Lake Hut. No race efforts, no spreadsheet of battery percentages, just the trail, the huts, the conversation, and whatever the weather decided to throw at us.
Some trails are built. The Old Ghost Road was resurrected. Long before it was an iconic bucket- list ride, it was an unfinished promise – a road that gold prospectors dreamed up way back in the 1880s to link the mining settlement of Lyell with the wild Mōkihinui River to the north. A narrow dray road, barely wide enough for a horse-drawn cart, was pushed as far as Lyell Saddle before the money and the gold ran out and the project stalled. On the northern side, miners cut their own rough road up the Mōkihinui to reach the diggings and the small towns that briefly flickered to life around them.
Heck, even the land itself seemed to say no. The 1929 Murchison earthquake and the 1968 Inangahua earthquake tore through the route with landslides so severe that locals joked even the goats wouldn’t cross them. For the best part of a century, the road was exactly what its name suggests: a ghost; a rumour in the bush; a line on a scrunched-up old survey map that nobody quite believed could be finished.
It took a chance discovery to bring it back. A Department of Conservation manager mentioned that a proposed tramping route through the Mōkihinui Gorge had once been part of a longer, uncompleted dray road and not long after an original 1886 survey plan for the “Lyell and Mōkihinui Road” surfaced. That map showed exactly what the old surveyors had intended – a route following the Mōkihinui River and climbing over the Lyell Range to the old township site. Two locals, Marion Boatwright and Susan Cook, who’d recently bought land near Seddonville, couldn’t let the idea go.
They formed the Mōkihinui-Lyell Backcountry Trust in 2008, and what followed was close to a decade of volunteer hard graft surveying, hand-cutting, and bridging some of the most unforgiving terrain in the country. Funding from the New Zealand Cycle Trail, alongside thousands of hours of volunteer labour, made the impossible project real.
As with most of these projects, people were divided. Conservationists objected to the felling of significant trees and to cutting a track through the previously untouched Lyell Range, while sceptics doubted the route could ever be ridden at all. Even a hydro dam nearly changed the story entirely: a power company had proposed damming the Mōkihinui River and backed the trail project partly to win over local support, before abandoning the dam plan in 2012 and leaving the river fully protected.
The Trust finally completed the route in December 2015, folding it into the New Zealand Cycle Trail, and went on to build and maintain four backcountry huts along the way, alongside the Rough and Tumble Lodge. A road that had sat unfinished for well over a century was, at last, whole. The best part is that it’s accessible for us all, riders and walkers, and the well-thought-out huts on the route provide everything you need to be comfortable in the wilderness.
The numbers alone hint at what you’re signing up for. The Old Ghost Road runs 85 kilometres through the Buller District, climbing to a high point of 1280 metres, and carries an advanced Grade 4 rating. With more than 2600 metres of total ascent, it’s regarded as the longest stretch of uninterrupted singletrack in the country.
It’s not just long, it’s engineered like nowhere else. Having been purpose built as a mountain bike route – despite its rugged setting – the track is fully benched with an easy, consistent gradient. And with fourteen bridges it’s close to floodproof. That’s the quiet genius of the place: a trail tough enough to demand respect, built precisely enough to let you enjoy the daunting terrain.
Six huts punctuate the route: Mōkihinui Forks and Goat Creek are free, DOC-managed huts, while the other four are run by the Mōkihinui-Lyell Backcountry Trust and must be pre-booked and paid for. Ghost Lake Hut, perched where the tops fall away into thin air, is the jewel among them. Unlike a lot of DOC- managed backcountry stretched thin across a huge national network, the Old Ghost Road largely funds its own upkeep through hut and lodge bookings, which means the bridges, the benching and the huts themselves get looked after properly, year after year, rather than waiting on whatever’s left in the annual budget. The land the trail moves through has only grown in stature since. In 2019, the Mōkihinui River catchment – more than 64,000 hectares, including 15 kilometres of riverbed – was folded into Kahurangi National Park, the largest expansion of an existing national park in New Zealand’s history, unifying most of the Old Ghost Road under national park protection. This isn’t just a trail – you’re pedalling through one of the country’s great conservation assets that continues to tell a story.
Relics of times gone by can be seen within a few pedal strokes as you head over the first swing bridge and start the long ascent to reach the mountain tops. The old town sits on the other side of Lyell Creek. It’s hard to even fathom there was even a town buried in the bush on a steep plot of land as the trail winds through thick native forest, past the scars of the old road-building attempts, past a rusted anvil left by road crews who gave up the ghost more than a hundred years before we arrived to finish their work for them. The ghost town comes with its own cemetery – times back then were tough, and life spans were short. The town built on mining tells stories of people trying to make it work for themselves and their families. Then, as it often does, the dream comes to a crashing end, and people vacate for the next opportunity.
The dense bush encloses most of the singletrack for a large portion of the climb from Lyell. There are glimpses of the surrounds from either side, and you get to see the sheer scale of the environment. Some of these openings are from recent weather events where slips have come down. As the singletrack zigzags its way up the mountain ridges, there’s plenty to keep you entertained, from the fauna and flowers, relics from the old road, and plenty of waterfalls with a few water crossings. By the time the bush thins, and the tussock tops open, you understand why they call this section a climb into the sky. Lyell Saddle Hut sits at 875 metres, a natural place to catch your breath before the trail keeps climbing.
It’s only after you get out of the bush line that you start to know about your effort, and the terrain in front of you completely changes. The green bush turns to golden tussock, and the mountain faces become apparent. Apparently, back in the day, they used to farm up here. As you get to the highest point, you can see the trail etched into the side of the mountain – literally. It’s here where the trail earns its reputation, threading along the exposed tops of the Lyell Range, past Rocky Tor, with views that don’t let up, so much so that you get distracted from riding. However, this section demands your attention with its exposure.
The short descent brings you to Heaven’s Door, which offers views of both sides, Tasman to the west and Murchison to the east, through a small gap on the rocks. This is the ideal spot to stop, take it all in, get a few snacks in and just be present. Endless layers of native bush rolling into the distance, mountain ranges stacked on the horizon, weather visibly moving across the valleys below. This is one of those moments you must be standing there, wind in your face, to really understand it. This is what we came for.
From Heaven’s Door the trail narrows again, hugging the ridge as it drops and climbs in short, sharp bursts. The first day is almost done at this point, and there’s a certain all-day-ride fatigue mixed with anticipation as you know the hut’s close. However, the range keeps folding in on itself, hiding it until it doesn’t. Then a short, tight, dark and dense stretch of stunning bush brings you into the clearing where the hut, camp and toilets are perched on the side of a mountain. Sitting high above the bushline with nothing but ridgelines and sky for company, it feels less like a hut and more like a lookout post at the edge of the world.
The joy of getting to a place like this is knowing it takes effort. Through your head there’s a lingering thought about whether we’d make it in time, and how it had taken longer than it should. You don’t need to fight it, but rather lean into the moment. And even though you’re not in a rush, getting to Ghost Lake Hut, unpacking your bags and rolling out your sleeping bags feels so good – maybe because you know once you arrive, the riding’s done for the day. Up here there are birds, wind, and the subtle changes are noticed instantly. At 1200 metres there’s nothing between you and the weather, and you notice it as the temperature drops, the sun dips behind the ranges and the sky changes colour.
The night is often mixed with you cooking freeze-dried meals, chatting with strangers, watching the stars, looking at the intense mountainscape under the night skies, and hitting the hay early. The certain simplicity is welcome.
There’s a particular kind of privilege in staying somewhere like this overnight, rather than riding through it. The day-trippers and the one-day- enders pass through at pace, snap a photo, and keep moving – chasing daylight, chasing battery percentage, chasing the finish line. We had nothing to chase. We watched the light change over the range for hours. We watched the first stars come out over ridgelines that gold miners once tried, and failed, to tame. It’s hard not to think about the miners who tried to push a track through this exact stretch of range, well over a century ago, with nothing but lanterns and grit. There’s something humbling about looking up at the same sky they would have, from more or less the same ridge, having failed at the thing you’re now doing for fun.
Morning came slow and unhurried. The cloud buried the view, the window inside the hut had condensation, and the hut’s fire was still ticking as it cooled. There was a full day of riding still ahead, down through Skyline Ridge, its name entirely earned, and into the long descent toward the Mōkihinui Gorge and, eventually, Seddonville. But that descent, and everything the second day held, felt different this time. Not a countdown. Not a battery percentage dropping toward zero. Just a trail, unspooling exactly the way its original builders always intended it to, with plenty of descending all the way to the end.
There’s the most technical section of the trail, Skyline Steps, and it dances left and right on tight switchbacks before dropping you back into the bush line. Up here you’re on a mountain spine, and the clouds come and go within an instant. The morning meant there was still thick cloud around, adding to those sensory elements. Once you start descending, there’s a moment on the section when you can almost let the trail’s natural landscape get the better of you and, all of a sudden, you need to pull the brake lever hard. The stoke is high, and it remains so for the next wee while.
The Stern Valley hut comes up quickly; you’re now on the valley floor, and there’s a major climb before you can get out towards the Mōkihinui River. The pedals keep turning, the snacks keep getting consumed, and the chat comes and goes depending on fatigue level. The sheer expanse of this section is bloody immense. There’s nothing but beauty here, and it makes you think about how special conservation zones are. I mean, most of us reside in concrete jungles, and out here there’s not one building – it certainly makes you appreciate it.
The Boneyard climb zigzags its way up a scree slope before rejoining with the dense bush and descending into tight singletrack – the best kind when you’re deep inside the backcountry, knowing you’re deep into the second day and the effort it takes to ride this certain part of the trail. The reward is being buried in ferns, fauna, and thick old trees as you weave between them. The speed across the flatter sections is fast enough that you’re going somewhere, but slow enough for you to take in the environment. It’s truly something to be able to pedal a bike through this immense and bloody impressive national park.
The flat run into Seddonville is where the trail’s undulations stop, but it still takes everything from you. The terrain isn’t overly hard; it’s more the past two days of riding taking their toll. But there’s a certain tired satisfaction that comes with it. The Mōkihinui River runs at a ferocious speed as you hug the cliffs and swing bridges above it. Whitewater rapids, rocks and steep, fern-lined terrain on the other side offer a splendid picture. This part of the world sees a fair amount of rainfall, and the Mōkihinui River is a striking reminder.
As you head out, it sinks in – you’ve ridden the whole thing, end to end. I found myself looking back over the days and was thankful it went smoothly. It was over, but I longed to do it again, even though it was only just over. It reminds me that staying present in the moment is what’s needed out here. The tired satisfaction came over me as I kicked off my shoes at Rough & Tumble Lodge.
Rolling up at the end of the trail to this lodge buried in the bush on the edge of the Mōkihinui River still feels like you’re on the trail, albeit with a touch of luxury. The hot shower is one of those things you can’t really describe as you wash the dirt away from the last two days. Scrubbed up, drink in hand, and a hearty dinner served whilst the fire roars inside a wooden lodge – it feels right after the ride. Not because the trail was hard – though it was – but because you gave it the time it deserved, instead of racing it.
The Old Ghost Road doesn’t just test your legs and your nerve – it asks you to sit with a hundred and thirty years of failed ambition, quiet obsession, and eventual triumph. Every bridge, every bench cut into the hillside, every hut window framing an impossible view is proof of two different generations refusing to let a good idea die. The gold miners started it. A handful of stubborn locals finished it. All you have to do is ride it, and maybe, for one night, or two, stay a little longer than you planned.
Big Jumps, Bigger Journey: The Story Behind Pekenui at Waitangi MTB Park
Words Meagan Robertson
Images Cameron Mackenzie, Northland NZ & Thomas Falconer
On a sunlit hillside at the entrance to Waitangi Mountain Bike Park, riders are sending it. Some are tentative at first, then grow with confidence. Kids roll tabletops, seasoned riders boost skyward and, somewhere in between, a quiet kind of magic is happening.
This is Pekenui “jump big” Jump & Skills Park, and it’s the most significant addition to Waitangi in a decade. But, like any good trail, the story behind it isn’t a straight line. It’s a winding, technical climb – full of setbacks, persistence, and moments when turning back would have been easier. Instead, the team behind the dream kept going.
A park with purpose
Long before Pekenui took shape, Waitangi Mountain Bike Park itself was an ambitious idea: a free-to-ride, world-class trail network in a region that needed more accessible, land-based recreation.
Northland has historically faced some of the country’s toughest health statistics, and for park manager, Tiff Holland, who grew up there, the vision was always about more than bikes. It was about people.
Like many good ideas, it took a kid to identify it.
“We took our kids riding in Rotorua and they just loved it,” Holland says. “They were like, ‘Mum, this is better than Christmas! Wouldn’t it be incredible to have something like this in Paihia?’”
At the time, Holland was working in a completely different world – producing shows at international fashion weeks in New York, London, Paris and Milan – even after returning home to the Bay of Islands from overseas. But not long after that trip to Rotorua, the family threw themselves wholeheartedly into building a bike park from scratch.
That vision took shape in 2016, but the groundwork started long before that.
Set on 570 hectares of Crown land within the Waitangi Endowment Forest, the park sits on land that’s as complex as it is beautiful – managed by the Department of Conservation, actively harvested, ecologically sensitive and culturally significant.
“Every inch of trail required careful planning, consultation and approval,” explains Holland. “The paperwork was huge.”
Huge is an understatement. It took two and a half years just to get the original park off the ground after countless hui, environmental checks and stakeholder conversations.
“There were so many points where we could have given up and stopped,” recalls Holland. “But we didn’t; we always knew why we were doing it.”
That “why” still drives the park today.
With over 50km of trails, and more to come, Waitangi has grown into the destination Tiff and her husband envisaged when they pitched the concept more than a decade ago. A true community asset, the park balances flow, accessibility and meaning, while contributing millions to the local economy and delivering measurable health and wellbeing benefits to the community.
The next step: Pekenui
If Waitangi was about access, Pekenui is about progression.
The jump and skills park – spanning an entire hillside at the park entrance – is the biggest addition since the original trails opened.
There are three jump lines, each stepping things up: Manurere for beginners finding their feet, Wētā for riders building confidence, and Puanga Matariki for those ready to push it further. Add in climbing tracks, balance features and a ridgeline flow trail, and you’ve got a space designed to be lapped, sessioned and steadily unlocked.
The progression is deliberate. In a region where mountain biking hasn’t traditionally been dominant, lowering the barrier to entry is everything.
“We wanted something that allowed people to progress safely,” Holland says. “Good lines, good angles – something that gives riders confidence.”
And that’s exactly how it’s playing out. Riders who arrive unsure are quickly lapping lines they never thought possible. Families ride together. Kids find confidence. Experienced riders finally have features that push them.
“I dropped in on Manurere first and it’s perfect for learning to fly,” one rider said at opening. “After a few laps my confidence just went through the roof.”
That sense of accessibility – of meeting riders where they’re at – is what sets Pekenui apart.
Built by many hands
Like the rest of the park, Pekenui is a community effort through and through.
The $300,000 project was fully funded through grants, donations and local support, with more than $60,000 in materials and services contributed by businesses across the region.
Trail builders, Empire of Dirt, shaped the lines but the project itself reflects something much bigger. “It’s been pure community grit and aroha to get here,” Holland said at the opening.
That spirit is part of what makes Waitangi different. The park remains free to ride, supported by donations, volunteers and a small team that keeps everything running.
“It’s a really small crew for a big park,” Holland says. “But there’s a lot of pride in it. People really care about this place.”
And Holland would know. Running the park, she says, is “almost like having a third child. It’s always on my mind”. Storms can undo months of work overnight. Funding is never guaranteed. For the first four years, her role wasn’t even paid.
“I sort of blagged my way through it in the beginning,” she laughs. “What I know now compared to then!”
And yet, when Pekenui opened and the hillside filled with riders, it reminded her again why it’s all worth it.
“Seeing Pekenui open was huge, but there are so many moments that make it all worthwhile,” she says. “Seeing a young girl beaming when she rides without training wheels for the first time, hearing the whoops and hollers of teens choosing to spend their free time outside, or hosting a Hapu ride – there’s so much good.”
Trails that tell stories
At Waitangi, trails aren’t just lines on a map – they’re stories.
Gifted through collaboration with Ngā Hapū ki Waitangi, the trails reflect the stories, language and identity of the area. Riding here is as much about connection as it is about flow.
Some stories are cultural. Others are personal.
Insisted on by mana whenua, among them is a trail named after Tiff and Robin Holland – a subtle but powerful recognition of the journey they’ve been on. Because behind the infrastructure, the funding applications, and the thousands of volunteer hours, there’s a human story. One of returning home, starting something from scratch, and choosing – again and again – not to give up.
“It’s pretty special,” Holland says. “To have our story alongside the stories of this place.”
It’s a reminder that trails, like people, carry history.
More than just a ride
Today, Waitangi Mountain Bike Park is a cornerstone of the Northland riding scene, attracting visitors from across New Zealand and beyond. It’s generated significant economic impact, strengthened community ties, and created a space where health, culture, and recreation intersect.
“We’re constantly told that having Waitangi Mountain Bike Park here has changed people’s lives,” Holland says.
Families ride together, school groups come through, and local riders return again and again – not just for the trails, but for the sense of belonging that comes with them.
Pekenui marks the next chapter in that journey – building on everything the park set out to be. But more importantly, it’s further proof of what’s possible when a community backs an idea, and sticks with it through the hard parts.
Super V and the Evolution of Women’s MTB in Wellington
Words Meagan Robertson
Images Kristine Zipfel
There’s a point during Super V – usually somewhere between the first shuttle run and the last finish-line high five – where it’s clear the day isn’t really about racing.
It’s in the conversations on the shuttle ride up, the mix of nerves and excitement, and the way people who’ve never met before are suddenly giving each other tips, encouragement, or just a well-timed “you’ve got this”. By the time riders start rolling in at the finish, dusty and grinning, the results almost feel secondary.
That’s been the essence of Super V since it began in 2013, and something the organising committee – aka the Revolve crew – works hard to keep alive and well.
Now in its 13th year, Super V is firmly part of the fabric of Wellington’s women’s mountain bike scene. It’s competitive without being intimidating – social, but still a race. A space where you can push yourself as hard as you want – or just turn up and be part of it.
This year’s event, held on March 21, felt like a pretty perfect example of that balance.
The weather showed up, the trails were running fast and dry and spirits were running high at a time when it’s easy to get consumed by the energy of the world. The numbers were a bit lower than recent years but, if anything, it felt a bit more connected – people stayed longer, chatted more, and made a proper day of it. So many stayed to help pack down that it was one of the fastest pack ups on record!
There were full podiums across almost every category – from Under 13 to over 60 – which is something we’ve always been proud of. You had younger riders absolutely sending it, but also women who came into the sport later in life lining up and racing just as hard.
The racing itself was tight too, with the top over-18 rider just one second off the podium full of super speedy teens. At the same time, there was the usual unpredictability that comes with mountain biking – a crash from a top rider, mechanical dramas, having to pass because some of us still aren’t great at owning our speed, and those ‘what if’ moments that are all part of the deal.
But Super V has never really been just about the race runs.
The Jump Jam, inspired by Juliana Bicycles and now run by local bike shop MyRide, has become a highlight and this year was no exception. Set at the top of the Roller Coaster jumps line overlooking the harbour, with three different levels of challenge, it provides the perfect mix of opportunity, support and just the right amount of peer pressure. While Open Women have dominated in previous years, this year saw the younger riders taking it to the next level. Watching riders step up to features they’d never hit before –tentatively at first, then full send by the end – captures the shared progression of the day, where everyone is pushing at their own level but feeding off the same energy. It’s one of the best parts of the day, and the crowd of riders watching is testament to the excitement. The competition’s top prize – a beautiful, handcrafted Jump Jam necklace – isn’t a bad addition to the bragging rights earned on the day.
Then there are the lighter moments – the Fancy Finishes, the Whoopsie Award (designed as a condolence for the biggest crash), the Spirit of Revolve Awards and the epic spot prizes. It all adds up to something a bit different from your standard race day.
A big part of that is the team who quietly make it happen. From shuttle drivers and marshals to mechanics and organisers, there’s a whole crew behind the scenes keeping things running smoothly. We’re also always conscious of giving something back, which is why part of every entry goes directly to the trail builders – in this case, the Brooklyn Trail Builders – along with whatever we can add from the sausage sizzle.
That connection to the trails, and the people who build and maintain them, is something that’s always been important to us.
Because at the heart of Super V is Revolve.
The Revolve revolution
Revolve Cycling started back in 2009, and over time it’s grown into the longest-running women’s cycling club in New Zealand. What began as a small group of women looking for others to ride with has evolved into a community that’s introduced thousands of riders to both road and mountain biking.
Over the past 16 years, we’ve run more than 50 women-only events, guided over 1,500 rides, and connected with more than 5,000 riders through our wider network. But the numbers only tell part of the story.
For a lot of women, myself included, mountain biking didn’t start in childhood. It started later – often with a fair bit of hesitation, and usually without a clear pathway in. Clubs like Revolve filled that gap. They created a space where it felt okay to be new, to learn, and to build confidence without pressure.
That’s something I still see now, both through Revolve and my coaching with teenage girls through WORD (Wellington Off Road Department). The difference is that the pathway into the sport looks very different today, and that change is reflected at an event that attracts both.
Looking around at Super V this year, it was impossible not to notice how many younger riders were there. Not just participating, but genuinely competitive – technically strong, confident, and riding at a level that reflects how much the sport has progressed.
It’s incredibly exciting to see and, at the same time, does shift the dynamic slightly.
Revolve has always been a space designed for adult women, many of whom came into riding later in life. For that group, having an environment that feels welcoming and non-intimidating is a big part of what keeps them coming back.
As more under-18 riders start showing up – and doing really well – the lines between those groups start to blur.
It’s not a negative thing. If anything, it’s a sign that the sport is growing in the right direction, and when checking in with the over-18s at the event, they were nothing but thrilled about the age range. That said, it does raise questions about how we continue to support both ends of that spectrum.
How do we keep that original “have a go” energy alive, while also making space for a generation of riders who are progressing faster than ever?
How do we make sure that someone turning up to their first event still feels like they belong, even as the overall level continues to rise?
There’s no neat answer to that, and maybe there doesn’t need to be.
Because if Super V shows anything, it’s that there’s room for all of it.
Standing at the finish line this year, watching riders come through – some racing for podiums, others just stoked to have made it down – it was clear that the core of it hasn’t changed.
People are still showing up for the same reasons.
To challenge themselves. To connect with others. To be part of something that feels supportive, a little bit nerve-wracking, and a lot of fun.
That’s what Revolve set out to create back in 2009 and, 13 years into Super V, it’s still exactly what keeps people coming back.
Meagan Robertson has been the president of Revolve Cycling in Wellington since 2016, and coached WORD since 2013.
Slack Boy at your service
Words Rob Lee
Images Caleb Smith
There aren’t many parts of the Wellington cycling scene that Ricky Pincott hasn’t touched in some shape or form over the past 30 years.
His many years of riding and racing bikes, building trails and former co-ownership of the long-time Karoribased bike shop, Mud Cycles, means he’s been able to bring a wideranging and informed perspective to all things bike-related.
Ricky, 48, is perhaps better known as ‘Slack Boy’, a nickname that’s stuck ever since his early flatting days. His house mates were setting him up on IRC Chat (an early online group messaging platform) and needed to give him an online name or ‘handle’. They considered his chores in the kitchen to be, well, pretty bloody slack, and there it began!
Born and bred in Wellington’s Upper Hutt, Ricky’s first foray into cycling was on a BMX, trick riding and “trying to be cool”.
Not long after, still a fresh-faced 13-year-old, he badgered his parents for his first mountain bike, eventually getting a 19-inch Diamondback Ascent, which he’d ride and race with his mates, Wayne Hiscock and Paul Fiest. The nearby Cannon Point and Akatarawa hills and valleys were both his daily playground and training ground – if he and Wayne weren’t busy playing backyard cricket.
Since then, local, regional and some national racing punctuated much of Ricky’s life, competitive in a range of disciplines including XC, enduro and downhill (to pro-elite level), and hardtail DH. Too many bikes to mention came and went from his stable during those years.
He still counts beating Wayne Hiscock in an XC race in Levin, aged 16, as his crowning glory, largely because the course had no hills in it. “I’ve held onto that desperately, because he (Wayne) was so much better than me. He’s such a genetic freak,” Ricky says.
At 17, Ricky headed to Tūrangi, where he completed a year-long outdoor recreation polytech course, giving him an even greater taste for the outdoors. He also held a very part-time job adjusting brakes and waxing skis at the Tūrangi ski and bike hire shop.
It was around this time he developed an interest in trail building, downloading (very slowly) early Pinkbike-type videos on an old 56K modem, showcasing what was happening overseas with builds, mostly on Vancouver’s north shore.
His local stomping ground of Cannon Point was where he built his first “sneaky little tracks”, aged 18, purely for his own enjoyment. Thirty years on, one of them is still ridable today.
In 1998, Ricky moved into Wellington City and began a relationship with Mud Cycles in Karori. He bought a flash new Diamondback V-link 3.1 off them for DH racing, becoming a sponsored rider. Little did he know, he’d one day go on to co-own Muds’ with his flatmate and fellow trail builder Dave Waugh.
A series of jobs and opportunities peppered the next eight years, mostly in the cycle courier industry – on and off the bike – and where he first met Ali Quinn (now Director and co-owner of Zerode).
Then, aged 30 and working as a postie, he was diagnosed with ankylosing spondylitis (AS) – a chronic inflammatory arthritis that primarily affects the spine, causing vertebrae to fuse over time and leading to stiffness, pain, and reduced mobility. A brutal two years of pain characterised this time in his life.
Ironically, riding bikes was one of the few things he could do that was bearable. Not wanting a future gulping steroids and anti-inflammatories, he did some research and happened upon a no starch diet that helped him immensely after just two weeks. He lost weight, felt better and was able to return to XC racing and DH.
During this time, Ricky also volunteered at Mud Cycles before a fulltime mechanic’s job came up at Burkes Cycles in Kilbirnie, where he stayed for two years.
Ricky’s DH racing in 1999 and 2000 were memorable, to him at least, for two things (and not just because they still wore Lycra).
Firstly, a pedal slip when landing a huge drop saw his butt dragging dramatically on the rear tyre – caught on Saturn cable TV at the time – and immortalised as the “botty grinder” incident.
Then, in 2000, racing for the first time as a pro-elite in the nationals, he had a massive over-the-bars in Hokitika, smashing both wrists. Coming back too soon after those injuries, he raced toward the back of the pro-elite field with the likes of James Dodds (Dodzy).
“I was good enough to get into pro-elite, but not good enough to be in pro-elite,” he says with a wry smile. “I was really fit from being a cycle courier so had the pedal power, but not the skills.” Despite this, he continued on in the hardtail DH class until the mid 2000s.
In between bike couriering and racing, Ricky did volunteer trail building as time allowed, with the iconic grade 5 ‘Trickle Falls’ at Mākara Peak MTB Park being his first ‘proper’ full trail, completed in 2001.
He also helped out with other Mākara trails, including being part of the design and build of the grade 6 ‘Yeah Gnar’, the nearby ‘Deliverance’ (another old school favourite), and other Wellington classics such as ‘Jail Brake’ in Miramar with Dave Waugh. He also volunteered his time to sit on the Mākara Peak Committee.
While working at Burkes Cycles, and building ‘Jail Brake’, Dodzy and Jeff Carter (Southstar Trails) invited Ricky to go and help dig the first trails at Nelson-Tasman’s now infamous Wairoa Gorge. What was supposed to be a part-time gig while taking leave from his job, turned into a fulltime job that saw him relocate south in 2010 for the next two years.
“That was absolutely amazing,” he says. “It was epic. Just the scale and scope of everything. The terrain was so gnarly and wild and it was all hand-built while I was there.”
Then a phone call came out of the blue from Dave Waugh, asking if he was keen to partner up and buy Mud Cycles. Turns out he was keen… for the next decade.
“I went into Muds’ as a minority owner and was there for 10 years,” he says.
Customers who had their bikes repaired by Ricky at Muds’ would get their bikes back with a sticker on it stating: ‘Serviced/Tuned by Slack Boy’.
TRAIL DOCTORING
Toward the end of his time at Mud Cycles, Ricky helped out local trail building company Thomas Lindup’s TGL Contracting, to the point where he decided trail building was his future. He sold out of Muds’ in 2021, and continued on with TGL until 2023 when he formed his own company, drawing on his nickname to start “Slack Trails”.
In the absence of owning a ute, one of the first tools of his new trade was a Boschpowered Orbea Wild eBike, with a trailer for hauling the necessary trail building equipment and fuel for machinery.
He rates eBikes as super handy for general access to remote worksites and times when you need to drop fuel or water stores down a long trail ahead of a big weed whacking or spraying session, eliminating the need to carry those liquids with you or returning to base to top up.
When NZ MTB Magazine caught up with Ricky, he’d taken possession of a rugged new Tern Orox, a heavy-duty, fat-tyred, all-terrain e-cargo bike, to try out for a few weeks. Sourced from Bicycle Junction in Wellington’s inner-city Marion Street, the Orox is capable of carrying heavy loads and two batteries for extra range. It’s driven by a Bosch Performance Line CX motor.
Today, largely for efficiency, Ricky’s tools include a 1.2 tonne digger, a self-loading track barrow, compactors and, of course, all the hand tools required for finishing and shaping jobs all over the Wellington region – all of which offer up vastly different terrain and soil types.
“I’ve made a study of trail building since I was 18 and have always been interested in it,” Ricky says. “I’ve learned a massive amount and I’ve made a crap tonne of mistakes, but the big thing is trying to learn from those and not make the same mistakes repeatedly.”
These days, knowing what water and braking does to a trail is always front of mind when he’s building.
“Braking can be almost as destructive as water. So I think about where braking spots are and how compression of bikes under braking and cornering forces work, because that moves the dirt around… trying to minimise low points in the compressive part of a turn.”
Using bigger gauge drainage pipes more often in an attempt to control water and the old trick of grade reversals before corners, for example, can help mitigate some of the trail damage caused by water and dragging brakes.
He reckons trail building is sometimes like archeology, where if you dig deep enough on a repair or maintenance job, you might unearth the original trail, perfectly preserved under layers of silt and foul-smelling compost from years of decayed leaf litter.
Ricky says he’s “super proud” of the part he’s played and continues to play in the Wellington cycling scene and further afield, and he’s more than happy to share what he’s learned with other trail builders and volunteer groups.
His current workload includes a weekly maintenance day in the now 27-yearold Mākara Peak MTB Park, with the park’s fulltime Ranger, Mark Kent.
“It’s awesome seeing the change that’s happened over the years. The sense of community in mountain biking and trail building in Wellington and New Zealand is just amazing.”
His ideal build is one where the trail caters to the widest range of users and their different riding speeds and abilities, providing something entertaining for the majority.
“Seeing people really enjoying the trails, that’s what keeps me going to be honest.”
He also admits his happy place is “playing on toys”, whether it be his fleet of mountain bikes, a motorbike, a 4WD vehicle or the work tools. “It’s every little boys’ dream to have a digger isn’t it?”
You can’t argue that when a childhood dream becomes reality, that’s a good place to be.
SLACK BOY – FUN FACTS
Favourite trail he’s built
‘Alaskan Pipeline’, Wairoa Gorge.
Favourite trail he’s not built
‘Creamed Rice’, Wairoa Gorge.
Favourite trail riding area
Wairoa Gorge.
Biggest bugbear (among many)
Having to repair or maintain trails where organic material was left in the trail when it was first built.
Matt Walker: Chapters of Life
Words Lester Perry
Images Sven Martin
For most people, life is split into distinct chapters. The pages turn as we transition from one chapter or season to another.
As we grow and develop, some of these pages turn for us with the structure of life: we’re born, school begins, school ends, real life begins, and eventually death comes. We have little control over each end of our lives; those chapters are chosen for us. The middle part – the meat-and-potatoes of the story – is ours to write: a new town, a new job, relationships. Generally, we have some control over what happens in this part of our lives.
Elite mountain bikers have chapters, too. Some they choose, some are chosen for them. The start of a career is chosen, perhaps gradual at first, but eventually a page is turned, and they become serious about the sport as a career. Full-time training, full-time recovery, sponsors and, if they’re lucky, a long and enjoyable career. Some choose to go out on top; others have the choice made for them by injury, a lack of sponsors, or factors they simply can’t control.
Matt Walker, AKA ‘Waxer’, a 35-year-old downhill and enduro mountain bike racer, now based in Queenstown, knows all too well about chapters; his life and career have many. Although he’s only partway through writing his story, the tale so far is an interesting one, full of twists, turns, victories, and failures.
In August 2025, Matt announced his retirement from the top level of the sport and in doing so completed the chapter of his elite-level competitive career.
Chapter 1 – The Beginnings
Originally hailing from Kawerau, a small logging town in the Bay of Plenty, Matt began life on two wheels, fanging around on a BMX. His sister, Sarah, saw Matt having a good time on the bike and wanted a piece of the action too. She dove headfirst into the BMX world, eventually working her way to the top of the sport and the Olympic podium. While Sarah stuck primarily with the little wheels throughout her career, Matt graduated to big wheels and chased the MTB dream.
Gravity was his focus, and by 2007, his BMXesque style stood out amongst his competitors. Matt’s fluid style and effortless flair were always a target for photographers at races. A mid-pack finish in the U19 National Downhill Championship in January on the infamous Fringed Hill, Nelson, had given a taste of success and he wanted more. In the following twelve months, Matt had jumped the ditch a couple of times, claimed a podium at an Aussie National Series round, and hit the ground running in 2008 with a third-place finish in the U19 Downhill National Champs at Long Gully, Wellington.
“My best memories are probably from some of the early NZDH and national series days, road tripping around NZ with mates, getting up to mischief and riding lots of bikes. There were so many good tracks, and the scene was just full of good people. A lot of them I’m still really good mates with now! We are lucky here in NZ with the culture of riding and type of people it attracts. After travelling the world to ride, I see just how lucky we are here in NZ to have so many worldclass places to ride right on our doorsteps.”
Chapter 2 – The OE
In 2008, a new chapter began as Matt headed to Europe to chase the World Cup Downhill Series. It was the classic Kiwi OE, with a competitive twist – chasing downhill and fourcross races. Like most Kiwis who followed that path, the first season racing on the world stage was a tough one. The learning curve was steep, and the results were unheard of.
“I learnt Europe was a big change, mentally more than physically. I found it hard to ride how I knew I could. It’s far too easy to put extra pressure on yourself, and it means you ride tight or overthink some of the basics. Figuring out how to deal with the mindset and the pressure of being on the world stage took me longer than I wanted, but I got there in the end!”
In the years following that first European stint, Matt became a mainstay at races throughout NZ but also jumped the ditch regularly to mix it up in Australia. Good results were sporadic for a couple of years following the first World Cup campaign. By 2011, though, he was on the podium more consistently, and whenever the National Series visited his then-adopted hometown of Rotorua, he was a sure shot for a win, or at least a podium.
By 2013, Matt was ready to take on the World again. Together with a handful of mates, now known as ‘the Vanzacs’ (because of their trans-Tasman makeup), loaded a van and hit the road, crossing the continent chasing races and the best riding they could find. Christened ‘The Marae’, the van had its name written across the front in black masking tape. ‘The Marae’ became a meeting point for privateers squatting in the pits of World Cup venues. Times were good, riding was loose and fun times were many, as were the tricks they learned to maximise their dollars while living on the road.
Chapter 3 – The step up
In 2016, at age 25, Matt signed with the Cube Global Squad team, alongside Greg Williamson from Scotland. The duo targeted World Cup downhill races, Crankworx series events, European Cups, and some Enduro World Series (EWS) races.
Crankworx Rotorua 2016, the first round of the global series, was a big moment for Matt. Solid results over the week, including a win in the Crankworx Toa Enduro, had him finish the festival leading the King of Crankworx competition.
A month later, Matt was again on the podium, this time in 2nd place at the EWS Rotorua, finishing between Kiwi brothers, Wyn (who won by three seconds) and Eddie Masters in 3rd, roughly three seconds behind. A historical Kiwi 1-2-3 at a worldclass event, the trio beating the world’s best.
Unfortunately, before Crankworx round two, where he would defend the ‘King’ lead, injury struck and he was out for some time. A broken finger required surgery, then he was back on the bike and crashed again, breaking a collarbone. He came back from that, then soon after, it was a broken shoulder blade sidelining him. Matt’s resilience, mental strength and neversay-die attitude kept him fighting through all the injuries of his lengthy racing career.
“Some of the biggest challenges were returning to racing from the smaller, ‘stupid’ crashes that you get injured from. At least when it was a proper hugey, you almost feel like you deserved the injuries, but when it was a small awkward crash that sidelines you for a while, it definitely reminds you how easy things go wrong and I found that it made me too cautious when coming back into racing, which can be so frustrating.”
“It’s funny ‘cause I would tend to come back really strong and focused after a big injury. First race back from a full season off after a knee reconstruction, I got a 4th at an EWS. Then the season after a shoulder surgery and breaking my neck, I won a round. The worst for me were probably the ongoing niggling injuries that just impacted my racing, but I didn’t want to sound like it was an excuse, so I just sucked it up. One season it got to the point where I had a shoulder that would just dislocate while riding and racing. It would be super frustrating to have these things impact my ability to take chances or ride how I’d want to, but I learned to deal with it and was lucky to have a good support network when I got home to get surgeries booked in and done. But, it meant I didn’t get to race much in NZ which was something I always wanted to do more of!”
Finally, not long before Crankworx Rotorua 2017, Matt was finally back on the bike training again. A win in the Air DH and consistency across the other events saw him again leave the event with the King of Crankworx crown atop his head. Matt’s dominant performances across all formats confirm that he’s one of the best on a bike, regardless of what event he’s lined up for.
“One of my proudest moments was in 2018 when I gambled on myself, and it paid off. I’d done a few urban races and gone pretty well, and I knew prize money was great at them. I didn’t have enough money at the time for flights and couldn’t get any brands on board to help me get there. So, I sold my van for plane tickets to Chile for the Valparaiso street race. I went there broke, knowing I needed a 4th or better to cover my flights and buy a car again. Had an insane trip, made a few mistakes in the finals, but still got 2nd, so covered my flights and a van upgrade when I got home!”
Chapter 4 – A career cemented
At the start of 2019, Matt added to his story, signing with Pivot Factory Racing and joining Kiwi Eddie Masters to race a mix of EWS and Downhill races across the globe. Factory support, a proper pit setup and a bunch of mates to travel with: the dream!
By 2019, Matt’s best results were coming from EWS races. This racing style played to his many strengths, requiring an obscene level of skills and bike handling, but also a huge level of athleticism, all managed by a cool head; all things Matt has in spades. Although he was excelling at Enduro, he was still racing World Cup downhill and even though his results weren’t as strong, he was generally still qualifying for the finals – a feat in itself.
Red Bull Hardline, in Wales, offers up one of the gnarliest courses on the planet. In 2019, Matt was selected to ride, finishing 10th while his team manager, Bernard Kerr, took the win. A huge day for Pivot Factory Racing!
“Looking back at the highlights (of his career), for sure ticking off Hardline and some of the EWS adventures that we had were massive. Huge days on the bike where you weren’t even sure you were going to be able to finish the race, going to crazy locations and riding, then racing some of the best tracks I’ve ever ridden. But I’d say the highlight has always been the mates I got to share it all with. There was always a good, strong Kiwi crew, which meant even if the race didn’t go so well, there was always a good time to be had!”
In 2022, Matt teamed up with friends Charlie Murray and Ed Masters to chase the ‘Trophy Of Nations’, competing against 27 other nations for the coveted title. Riders tackle the course as a team of three, all riding together on the trail. The Kiwis sealed the deal and came out on top!
The EWS Val De Fassa round in 2023 was where Matt stamped his authority at the top of the sport. He won the race overall, taking the final two stages on the way to the top step of the podium. While others faded in the heat of the monstrous day in the Italian mountains, he only got stronger – another historical moment in NZ mountain biking involving Mr Walker.
Chapter 5 – The wind down
It’s no secret that the last few years have been challenging for Matt. Remaining at the top became increasingly difficult, even outside of the injuries.
“The depth of talent and level of commitment needed to be competitive is insane. Today, you need to put in some serious work on fitness, bike setup, mental approach and all the little things in between, just to gain 0.1 of a second here and there, because every bit counts! When you’re on the right side of those time gaps, you’ll be thanking yourself for not giving up on those intervals during training.”
Now he’s moving on from the sport, Matt has a few thoughts on the state of affairs in World Cup Downhill and Enduro:
“I’d like to see the top end go back to more riders and racers involved each week in Downhill. They are trying to make it very “elite”, which I get in a way, but the sport itself is too varied to have only 20-30 guys racing. As it is, someone could podium one week, not make finals the next, but if more riders were allowed to learn by racing in conditions or on a track that may not suit their current skill set, it can benefit and grow. Not everyone is going to nail it on the first try. Some need time to learn and adapt!
“Enduro needs to get out of the shadow of being at DH venues and go back to what made it great to be at, and great to watch. New venues, great tracks, good racing and lots of variety. I find it frustrating; they had the formula and it was booming, the industry supported it, the riders loved it, now it feels like they (the organisers) are taking the easy option, cutting corners to save some spending. I do have high hopes for enduro making a good comeback, and at the end of the day, it’s what 90% of mountain bikers do, so it should be everywhere.” Between working on various car projects in the garage, Matt’s been focusing on building a life with riding still as part of it, just not all-consuming.
“I’ve had a few months off the bike and social media, but getting back into it all now! A goal with retiring was to turn bikes into a hobby again, which means riding for fun and because I want to, not because I have to. Lately, I’ve been riding heaps and enjoying it more than ever! As for work, I have just started working towards my commercial helicopter license, so I will see where that takes me!”
Matt has confirmed his status as a legend of the sport in NZ and although he’s often flown under the radar, he’s been going about his business and getting the job done. When adversity struck so many times, he just put his head down and got on with the job, bouncing back thanks to his mental strength and resiliance. No doubt these are all things he’ll draw on as he continues to write the next chapters of his story.
We got in contact with Matt’s longtime teammate and friend, Eddie Masters, to get some thoughts on him:
One of my all-time favourite Matt Walker stories is from 2013. We were travelling together in our van, ‘The Marae’ and had ended up at the IXS Cup in Pila. Funnily enough, Wax was riding for Pivot NZ at the time and so was my brother, Wyn. During practice, Wyn managed to break his mech hanger and didn’t have a spare. Kiwis being Kiwis, we hatched a plan that Wax would fake a crash and DNF the seeding run while Wyn would seed at full pace, and that way Wax would come down first, and Wyn would be near the end, meaning both could share one hanger. Wax’s ‘crash’ was pretty spectacular! Right at the finish, he slid out after the last drop, spinning multiple times and then proceeding to collapse, needing assistance off the course. The plan worked to perfection, and on race day, Wax dropped in first and put down a heater. He sat in the hot seat right up until the last few riders. Deleting about seven Red Bulls in the process, whilst wearing a novelty sombrero, he ended the day in second place and took home a decent pay cheque – but, more importantly, a funny story that has stood the test of time.
It’s been an absolute pleasure to spend the bulk of my career travelling the world with Wax. We managed to ride the fine line of fun and fast for so many years, and I honestly think that neither of us would have made it so far or hung on for so long if it weren’t for being teammates. Holy shit, we have had some laughs, and those moments on and off the track are memories that will last a lifetime. One of the best to ever do it, and most definitely one of the best to do it with!”
Oli Clark - King of the Hill
Words Riley McLay
Images Riley McLay, Sven Martin & Cameron Mackenzie
The pointy end of World Cup downhill racing just got a whole lot pointier! Arguably, the most talented class of male junior riders ever is graduating to the elite ranks in 2026. Among them, Kiwi Oli Clark, who will be on a mission to establish himself as a consistent contender for the podium for years to come.
2025 was a breakout year for Oli, highlighted by his first World Cup win at Leogang and a string of impressive results, including a 4th at the World Championships, 6th overall in the junior standings, as well as two strong showings at both Red Bull Hardline Wales and Tasmania.
Despite the inevitable ups and downs of downhill racing, Oli has already built a strong foundation for success at such a young age, along with a grounded perspective to his racing.
Heading into 2026, Oli’s dedication has paid off with a high-profile factory team signing to Mondraker Factory Racing. Joining an already star-studded line-up featuring Rónán Dunne and Ryan Pinkerton, he’s ready to carry his red-hot form into the elite ranks.
We had the pleasure of catching up with Oli ahead of the 2026 World Cup season to hear about the early days of racing, what he wants to get out of his racing, and how he’s preparing to make the step up to the elite category.
Let’s start at the very beginning. What was your first introduction to bikes and how have they shaped your early life?
I’ve always been into bikes, ever since I was little. My cousins rode motorbikes, mainly enduro, and that was always something I wanted to get into. I’m originally from Methven, but we moved to Blenheim when I was still pretty young. At school, I had a few mates who started riding, so I ended up taking my sister’s bike out that she got for Christmas that year. It was an Avanti, I can’t actually remember what model, just a hardtail. It was a cheap bike, but we thought it was expensive. We started going out riding together, and it just escalated from there.
What was your first taste of racing?
I was just riding with mates at first and really enjoying it. Then I kind of slowed down on the motorbiking side and started riding bikes more. I got my first full suspension. It was a Liv Hail and went straight to clips. There was a Nelson Winter Series and a few club races around Marlborough at that time. The first race I did was an enduro, and I thought it was a race to the finish, like racing all the transitions as well, so I ended up being the first one done. The Nelson Winter Series was the main one where everything kind of kicked off. I did those for about three or four years, then started moving into nationals.
When did you realize you had the potential to take your riding more seriously?
It was just for fun the whole time, really. There were a couple of boys travelling and doing nationals, so I started jumping in with them and travelling to the races. I did the national series for a couple of years and started getting some good results, keeping up with some of the older boys. That’s when I kind of decided to stick at it.
Were there any riders you looked up to or used as inspiration to see what a path in racing could look like?
I didn’t really know many people at the time. Justin Leov was around when we lived in Blenheim, so I rode with him quite a bit at his place. Then there were the boys in Nelson; Sammy G, Shannon Hewetson, and Kieran Bennett. I always looked up to them. You’d see them all the time at races. In between their race runs, they’d change into a fresh kit and everything. I thought that was pretty cool. I was like, I want to have that one day.
Was there anyone who stood out as a mentor or helped guide you through the racing scene?
Justin definitely helped a lot, but I didn’t really have anyone specifically mentoring me. I never really had coaching or anything, it was more just figuring it out myself. Mum and dad never really pushed me either. They just supported me with whatever I wanted to do. No matter what, they were always behind me. Progression just came from riding with faster people and gradually getting better. You sort of move up that way, just keeping at it. There’s always been faster riders, so you’re always chasing and pushing to keep up.
What was your first opportunity to get race support, and what did that look like?
When I moved from Blenheim to Kaikōura, we approached one of the local bike shops to see if they could help out a little bit. I ended up buying a Specialized through one of their sales reps. Dwayne from Coastal Sports wanted to help out as much as they could and said they could get me on this ambassador program. We ended up working with the same sales rep I bought the bike from on the program. That was my first real support and led to me getting my first-ever downhill bike. I had only ridden a downhill bike a little bit before that. The team at Middle Hill had an old Glory that I rode on for a couple of races. Morgan and Genevieve were so keen to help me out, which was pretty cool.
What was your intro to Middle Hill?
When we moved to Kaikōura, there wasn’t really any riding. We found out that they were keen to build something at Middle Hill, so we started heading up and digging with them. Most days after school, and all weekend, just digging with dad and I. That’s kind of where that whole relationship began. I’ve been up there ever since I started, and they’ve helped me heaps. Morgan was also a really good rider and I looked up to him a lot, always chasing him around.
Can you give us a quick overview of your progression during your first two years in the junior category?
The first year going overseas, we were just trying to find a team that would make things as easy as possible, and Unior seemed like the best fit. The original connection actually goes back to around my 13th birthday, when I did a YT Mob camp at Jentree. That really opened doors to meeting pros and seeing how they had mechanics and chefs, all that kind of setup. I thought that was pretty cool. They ran us through some race simulations, too. The guy managing the YT Mob at the time, Martin (Whiteley), who’s now my manager, was there and I stayed in touch with him ever since. Eventually, he helped me get onto Unior. That year was a real learning experience. The results weren’t amazing, but there was so much I could learn from. For my first year in junior, it was probably the best thing for me. In my second year, Unior had to stop because of all the team changes. They couldn’t afford to enter as a team anymore. I was kind of stuck with nothing and no spots opening up anywhere. Then I connected with Ali from Zerode and asked if there was any chance I could get one of their bikes. I’d ridden one before and really loved it, so I was super keen to ride it again. They did as much as they could to help me. Ali started talking with MS and got me hooked up with them, so i was going to go over and have a bit of support for races, but as I started doing well, that support elevated.
Looking back, how did your outlook or preparation change going into your second junior season, and how do you reflect on the progress you made?
I was kind of left with nothing, so when that opportunity came, it was huge. At the time, I was working on trail building, trying to save up some money, and train as well. I was also preparing for the worst-case scenario, figuring I’d have to cover everything myself. I went over with some savings so I could get by and manage travel costs. Once I got the support, though, things really started to click. I got a coach for the gym, a coach for riding and that helped me heaps with all my fitness. It wasn’t a make-or-break season exactly, but I knew I had to do well to keep going.
Otherwise, it would’ve been really hard to afford more than a couple of years on my own. Coming from New Zealand, the dollar is worth about half of theirs, so we had to spend nearly double what they would have to spend to do the same thing.
Coming up alongside a batch of high-level New Zealand talent in the junior field, how did you maintain perspective and keep a level head while making the jump to international racing?
Well, I think because we were all just riding together, having fun, and pushing each other. The first year, I kind of thought I’d go over and get some good results, but obviously, there was still a lot of work to be done. Tyler (Waite), who I was competing with back in New Zealand, was doing really well, so I knew I could too. It was just a few little things that didn’t go in my favor. But yeah, being all from NZ, pushing each other, that’s really why we are where we are today.
How did it feel in your second junior year to be right in the mix with arguably the best generational talent ever seen in the category, and did you have any expectations going in?
Oh, I was pretty surprised to be honest. I had done heaps of training and was just trying my best. But really, I just went out there to have fun. I thought, I’ve done everything I can to be here, so just enjoy it. I didn’t really have any expectations. I was just like, ‘go have fun,’ because that’s when I ride my best. Of course, I wanted to do well and there were goals, but mostly I just went with the flow.
Your win in Leogang was obviously a standout moment in 2025. Can you walk us through your preparation going into that race, and what it felt like to take the win?
I’d done a little bit of riding there with the team in Leogang before the race, but I wasn’t really expecting much going in. I rode heaps with Tuhoto, and we were pushing each other, doing laps together. Poland was the first race of the year; I got third there. Then at Loudonville, I was feeling really good. I was doing well in the splits, but I got a flat tire, which was frustrating. I wanted to prove something, but I was mostly just enjoying it. At Leogang, I didn’t feel like I was riding my best. During qualifying, I told my manager I’d done an average run, not very good, but then I ended up qualifying first. I thought, okay, maybe I could do something here. Being up there was pretty nerve-wracking. You’re the last one on the hill in your category, everyone else has already gone down. It’s pretty surreal. Then I came down first, and the feeling was crazy. It’s hard to describe, honestly you just have to be there to get it.
Heading into this season, signing with Mondraker Factory Racing is a huge accomplishment in itself. Does that take some pressure off, or does it raise expectations knowing you now have that level of support?
There isn’t really much pressure from anyone else from the team, it’s more the pressure I put on myself. As long as I’m doing everything I can back home to prepare, I just need to go over and do the same thing, go have fun. That’s why I started riding, and that’s why I’m here. I don’t really see it as a job, it’s still about having fun.
Your career has come together quickly, with a World Cup win and two Hardline appearances. Have you had a chance to reflect on what you’ve achieved?
I don’t really like to look back. I just want to keep moving forward and keep progressing. The motivation for me is always wanting to be better. I’d say I’m quite a competitive person. At the same time, I enjoy doing lots of other things. But when I come back to biking, I still find the enjoyment in it. It’s not just about results, you have to have fun, and the more you do it, the better you get.
How does your approach for a Hardline race compare to a World Cup week?
It’s such a different event. Everyone’s more relaxed, or at least the vibe was, the event is changing a lot. People are there to help each other out and just have fun. It’s a really cool atmosphere. For me, riding those Hardline races is so much fun. The nerves, it’s like scary, but once you’re on it, it’s so fun. I love big jumps and steep stuff. That’s what I ride at home at Middle Hill. We built a track there similar with some huge jumps, which was the only one to ride. That track’s gone now, but that’s the stuff I really enjoy. At World Cups, it’s super serious. Everyone kind of keeps to themselves and their goal is to win. You’ve got lines spotters all over the track. You watch those guys – they know exactly what they’re doing – and they’ve got it dialed. If you want to win, that’s what you have to aim for. The sport is definitely changing. Downhill used to be more about just riding. There were heaps of different lines. Now, you can’t really do anything on the track that other teams don’t know about. Everyone’s basically on the same line on race day, which I think is a bit silly.
What’s it like having riders like Ronan and Ryan on the team this year, and what do you think you can learn from them heading into your first elite season?
We’re all pretty young, but those boys have done some really impressive things. Ronan trains completely differently from anyone else. He’s out there doing 15 laps a day, and no one else is doing that. Ryan trains super differently too. They both have different styles and, for me, I can just look at both of them, pick the bits I want, and learn from them. They’re also really willing to help, which is great. For me this year, I think the main focus is just getting some good consistency. Qualifying for every race would be a solid start. After that, we’ll see what needs to be worked on.
How do you see the current state of the New Zealand downhill scene, and what do you think is needed to take it to the next level?
I’m very disappointed, to be honest. This year has been pretty horrible. When I was under 15 and under 17, we used to have five or six national rounds, plus separate national champs. Now, we’ve had what, like one national round, Crankworx combined with national champs, and then the little Crankworx, which is a Continental race. So basically, we’ve only had three races. It’s pretty disappointing. I think they need to put a lot more work into it. I get that organising it all takes a toll and some people don’t want to deal with it. Having so many races played a big part in our age group’s success. The more you race, the more experience you get, and the better you become.
What advice would you give to young riders in New Zealand who want to focus their efforts on reaching the international level?
I think it’s really just about riding with your mates, having fun, and finding people who are faster and better (than you) so you can learn from them. You can get as much coaching as you like, but it doesn’t compare to actually going to races and experiencing it. No coach can really teach you how to deal with the nerves and all that. It’s just experience and time. Some people pick it up faster than others, but it’s all about sticking with it.
How does it feel to see Middle Hill gaining recognition, with more exposure and projects like the Vale line bringing attention to the local scene?
It’s pretty cool to see how much it’s grown. They started from nothing, maybe six or seven years ago? And now it’s really taken off. Right now, not many people are traveling, with the world, economy and everything, it’s tough. But hopefully we’ll start to see more people coming through, more pros visiting, and more events happening. It’s been awesome to be part of it. There weren’t many bikes coming through town before, but now they’re stopping, hanging around, and people are really frothing for more. That’s really cool to see. I think we really need to push for it to grow even more. If we can get a few more trails and properly put it on the map as a mountain bike destination, it could be huge. They’ve got a camp and everything you need. It’s such a good place for a weekend ride. Hopefully, we see more of that in the future.
Cheers for your time, Oli, and best of luck for the 2026 season. We’ll all be cheering you on!
MY27 Santa Cruz Nomad 7 - First Look
Santa Cruz just refreshed one of their most popular and heavy-hitting models, the Nomad. For the uninitiated, the Nomad is a 170mm travel mixed wheel weapon. It’s not a classic Enduro race bike, although it sits under the ‘Enduro’ category on their website; it’s much more fun than a pure race bike, although I’m not sure I’d peg it as a freeride bike either. In my mind, it’s a mash-up of a few categories that, when melded together, create an exceptionally fun and fast result. Fast is fun, faster is funner (is that a thing?).
From the alloy framed early edition launched in 2005, to the unmissable green and pink colourway of the 2021 Nomad, now in its 7th generation, the intent remains the same; provide riders a downhill oriented platform worthy of hours winching themselves up long alpine climbs purely to shred the descent, no holds barred, don’t let the bike hold them back on a descent.
I’ve been stoked to get aboard the new Nomad 7 for a few rides before launch day. Here’s an overview of my experiences, just a few rides in. We’ll have a more in-depth review dropping in a few weeks.
What’s new?
This fresh Nomad is very familiar at a glance, although many small tweaks and iterative changes put this new Nomad a peg up on the outgoing generation. We’re still getting a 170mm, mullet-specific (29/27.5 wheeled) chassis, but this time it’s only available in the high-end, high-modulus Carbon ‘CC’ version.
The use of CC carbon lowers the weight a smidge, 86g over the ‘old’ CC frame, retaining the robustness while achieving improved ride quality. Better carbon also opened the door for a refined, smaller downtube, assisting in weight saving and helping give a more compliant ride. Interestingly, the downtube is barely larger than the Stigmata gravel bike, a drastic decrease in size from the Nomad 6.
Visually, the bike is very similar; the most obvious change is just above the bottom bracket junction. The bike now gets the more open, “shock tunnel” cutaway shape the Hightower and Bronson received during their most recent refreshes. The rear shock and lower suspension link are now far more accessible, something which was a headache on previous models.
A subtly redesigned Glove Box, the v2, fits tighter than before with no rattle or movement. The latch feels positive and sturdy. Thankfully, the smaller downtube still fits the same amount of gear as the previous, larger version.
The shock has a flip chip, offering riders a small amount of adjustability. Plus or minus 3mm of bottom bracket height and plus or minus 0.3 degrees head angle, not a lot, but there’s adjustment there. Under the toptube, an accessory mount adds options for riders who need quicker access to anything that they can’t cram in their downtube.
After the uproar in the Pinkbike comments when the 2025 Bronson CC frame launched without them, the purists amongst us will be glad to see internal routing for mechanical drivetrains included on this frame.
As has been customary with Santa Cruz’s bikes (outside of the Blur), there are grease ports on key pivot points. Good grease in, bad grease out, simple. When fresh grease doesn’t do the trick, like all Santa Cruz bikes, free bearings for the lifetime of the frame are available.
Santa Cruz raised some eyebrows (and more Pinkbike comments!) when their Vala e-bike launched with its 4-bar suspension layout. Although they considered using it, without the drive-unit in the way of the lower link, there was no need and their tried-and-true VPP linkage was still the best option to retain and build on the performance of the Nomad. Inspired by the changes to the suspension kinematics of Bronson and Vala, the Nomad suspension is tweaked to reduce pedal kickback and lower anti-squat, resulting in better climbing and increased performance through rough terrain and square-edge hits.
With a slightly slacker head angle (63.6/63.3) and a smidge steeper seat tube angle (77.4 in High setting), the geometry is nearly identical to the previous generation. The size large I’m riding is a 475mm reach, seemingly a pretty ‘normal’ reach for size Large bikes now across many brands.
Ride Impressions
Cracking open the Nomad’s cardboard box, the first thing that struck me was the paint scheme, a definite nod to the 2015 Nomad and its Miami Vice, ‘Gloss Aqua Magenta’ colours. That paint was polarising then, and I’m sure it will be polarising now. Fortunately, if you dislike the 80’s throwback, a more subdued ‘Matte Metallic Earth’ is also available.
Before throwing a leg over the bike, I didn’t read any pre-launch info in an attempt to make my own impartial assumptions on how the rig rides and where it’s aimed. After having now spent some time in the launch docs, I’m glad to see many of my assumptions line up with Santa Cruz’s claims.
For clarity, the bike I’ve been riding is non-stock, built with a freshly launched Rock Shox ZEB Ultimate fork and Vivid Ultimate air shock, neither of which features on any of the stock Nomad builds. The stock FOX suspension will be more than up to par, though, the largest difference being the rear shock having a coil spring as opposed to the air on the model I rode – so perhaps even more buttery than the Vivid?
I haven’t been a huge fan of long travel bikes in recent years, heck, even smaller travel (150-160mm) bikes in some cases have been cumbersome, overweight behemoths that go great in a straight line, or down a decent gradient, but point them at a mellow trail, or a steep climb, and no bueno. Excess weight and overly slack geometry mean they perform in a narrow band of trails.
What was obvious from the first ride is that this new Nomad is a big travel that plays like a smaller bike, in all the best ways. Big bike advantages without being cumbersome and a burden on flatter trails or climbs.
Seated climbing is surprisingly spritely for a 170mm travel bike. The reduction in anti-squat means it climbs more efficiently than the previous model. I found myself resorting to the shock’s lockout lever less than many shorter-travel bikes. Even when the shock is fully open, sprinting up short pinches or across flat sections proves how well it pedals. I wouldn’t go as far as to call it “snappy”, but given its travel, it pedals exceptionally well. I’ve been perfectly happy repeatedly spinning my way up long climbs just to bomb down, some of this will be down to the overall light weight of the bike, and some due to that anti-squat.
Downhills are really what this rig is targeted at, and after seeing how good it climbs, I wondered if, when it was thrown down steep, rough trails, it might have some quirks. It doesn’t. It’s surefooted, balanced and predictable through the rough stuff. The VPP’s slightly rearward axle path and reduced anti-squat helps remove the ‘hung up’ feeling many 27.5 rear wheeled bikes get when the going gets rough – I haven’t had this feeling at all on the bike, and it has me questioning my “I’ll only ride full 29er” stance, having been put off some mixed wheel bikes with this feeling in the past.
This is a big bike, no doubt, and 170mm is a lot of travel to be dealing with, but the speed and lines it unlocks are bonkers and have taken some time to get used to. The suspension curve gives a buttery feel off the top, a reasonably linear feel through the middle, and a progressive ramp at the end to avoid harsh bottom outs. Even though it’s a long legged beauty, the Nomad doesn’t feel like it ever wallows in its travel, there’s always some support to push against and it doesn’t get bogged down over successive hits or deep g-outs that catch you off guard – it’s really predictable.
After ‘writing off’ big bikes and thinking they never suit my local trails, in my head, reserving them for proper mountains and chair lifts, the Nomad has been a breath of fresh air. I still need some time to really solidify my opinions, but so far, so good. What a weapon this bike is!
Watch this space for a full feature on the 2027 Nomad.
Bosch’s eBike tech meets Kiwi know-how
Words Liam Friary
Images Cameron Mackenzie
Bikes have changed a lot over recent years, with one of the most significant shifts being the integration of pedal-assist motors.
Of course, along with the excitement and freedom a motor brings, it also introduces a level of technology we – as home mechanics – likely aren’t equipped to handle. Even in the bike industry, the widespread adoption of eBikes has meant brands and wholesalers have needed to move quickly to handle after- sales service and support, and bike mechanics have needed to rapidly upskill to diagnose and repair these new electrical machines.
Bosch has been quick to adapt, launching local support efforts more than six years ago. As Bosch established itself in NZ, it partnered with Marleen Wholesalers to provide service and after-sales support. It hired Kieran Bennett as its Regional Technical Manager, the key technical link between Bosch and the New Zealand market.
Kieran explains that Bosch draws on learnings from its time in the automotive industry and applies them to the bike world, with a fresh outlook on how they should deliver service. “A lot of our processes and things that we do come from years and years of automotive experience – especially on the service side: when it comes to how service should be handled, how quickly replacements should be done, and how warranties should work – that’s carried over from the automotive side of Bosch. We haven’t followed a traditional bike industry model in that aspect because we didn’t come from the bike industry. Bosch has always been very service-first focused across all divisions.
“That’s why we have the likes of myself here, and the team in Australia, because without service a component can be as great as you want and, put out as much power as you like, it can do all this fancy stuff on paper, but if the consumer has a problem with that component and they can’t get a replacement, what good is it to have to wait weeks or even months to get a replacement motor or controller? It’s just not good for them.”
Although he has a wealth of technical knowledge to draw on to answer any questions a retail store or Marleen’s may have, it’s the frontline retail staff who are front and centre when a rider has an issue, so part of Kieran’s role is training shop staff and mechanics nationwide, ensuring they’re up to speed with the latest Bosch tech and systems. Each year, he holds six face-to-face training courses around the country, three in the North Island and three in the South Island, and has trained staff from over 300 New Zealand bike stores. This year alone, over 140 staff have attended the Bosch training in person, and many more are supported through online modules.
“These courses are basically an open invitation to all stores that are dealing with Bosch or maybe want to deal with Bosch in the future. We do product training, including hands-on troubleshooting and that sort of thing, for the dealers. We get them, front and centre, with any new product. Sometimes, we’ll run them through scenarios with problem components to problem- solve and find issues with components. It’s quite a full experience in that aspect. With the number of brands we have in the market now, we deal with just about every store in the country on some level. There aren’t many stores that don’t have at least some sort of Bosch-powered bike in there.”
Training sessions are tailored to the NZ market and bring together the big-picture Bosch brand and history, combined with Kieran’s first-hand experiences as a rider and technical whizz. Kieran covers everything from new features and functions to how components and controllers interact with a rider, and the mechanics of how the systems work together. There’s subtle yet important information where he delves into design choices, like the how and why of the materials chosen specifically for their vibration-damping properties in a drive unit.
Kieran explains that he has a wide range of students turn up to the training; some guys who’ve been through his sessions since their inception over six years ago, bringing their own experiences and insights. There are fresh faces just starting their time in the bike industry who gain so much from the training itself, as well as from the experience of those with years of on-the-job experience.
When a consumer has an issue, be it an error code showing up on their system or something more significant, the structure in place to support the dealer is there to get the customer sorted and back riding ASAP. First and foremost, a bike mechanic will use the Bosch diagnostic tool to identify any errors. If there are no apparent errors at play, they may undertake a process of cross- swapping components to narrow down whether a damaged cable or component is the issue.
“Sometimes it’s as simple as diagnosing it on the diagnostic tool or doing some cross-swapping, say swapping in a battery out of another bike to rule out an issue there, or swapping out a cable or controller. Once they have isolated the error, they will then create a service case with us. That service case then goes into our service queue, which Marleen wholesalers handle. From there, they basically take it on. If it’s something odd or needs escalation for some reason, that’s where I’d come in and provide support from the Bosch side with Marleen’s. And then, essentially, it’s just a turnaround of, hey, it’s this particular issue, maybe this is something we know is a problem. We’ll send a replacement component out, or sometimes it’s the case that a motor will come back, and they can do testing at Marleen Wholesalers on it, so they can identify if it may be a motor issue. They’ll even put it in other test bikes sometimes to see whether that error is still happening; there’s a lot that can go into diagnosing a problem.
“From there, if something needs a replacement, the new part goes back to the store. All this is with the aim to get the customer back on the bike as soon as possible.”
Kieran doesn’t just talk the talk, he can walk the walk too; in fact, you’ll likely have seen him on the very pages of this magazine at some point. An avid mountain biker, ‘KB’ as he’s known, has raced downhill since he was young, competing at a high level locally and around the globe. This experience has given him a unique understanding not only of bikes and their technical aspects, but also of how they ride and the people who ride them. More recently, his focus has shifted from the gravity-focused end of the sport to some more endurance-based marathon MTB and gravel riding. eBikes are now also an integral part of his cycling experience. Days begin with dropping his two boys off at school on an e-cargo bike. After a few hours mahi, he’ll jump on his eMTB for a quick lunchtime lap of his local hill, then he’ll return in the evening with one of his kids in tow; the eBike helping get them to the top of the hill before a descent down to dinner. Kieran is excited to see what the future holds for eBikes, but admits we’re in a great place with them already. “People want more power and lighter bikes, but it’s got to be one or the other, really. More power equals more weight. I think, particularly where a lot of the e-mountain bike market is settling at the moment, it is quite good in the way bikes are getting to a low 20kg range for a full-powered bike. It still makes for a fun ride and has plenty of power. To me, eBikes are fantastic for accessibility. Getting out to stuff that you normally wouldn’t get to, because you can ride further, you can get up more hills or tow the kids. When you’re time poor, you can now go and do that local loop with lots of climbing, far quicker than on a normal bike.
“There are massive positives for eBikes for sure.”
Produced in partnership with Bosch eBike Systems
The Eagle: Handmade Hardtail
Words Eddie Adams
Images Simon Williams & Eddie Adams
I started the trail so softly, not wanting to break or damage what had taken me over two years to complete. The bike handled the first rock sections so perfectly that I immediately trusted my work. From then on, I just let her do her thing – and she absolutely ripped.
This was my first experience riding my homemade hand-built hardtail on singletrack and, of course, it was a race. This is a story about how, as a mountain bike- obsessed teen at high school, I made a functioning mountain bike that was different from anything purchasable on the market.
It all started on YouTube, when GMBN released the video of Blake Samson building his own hardtail in his garage during lockdown. This got my brain ticking – could I build my own bike? Man, that would be cool; how hard can it be? The subject selection for the following year of school rolled around and I was moving into year 11 (level 1 NCEA). I had most subjects chosen but needed one more to fill my timetable. This year a new subject was going to be introduced, called PBL (project-based learning). Instantly, it clicked. This would be so much better than any other class at school, and I could use it as an excuse to build my own bike and then get credits for it; it was a win-win-win situation.
I knew straight away that it had to be a mountain bike (because that’s way cooler), a hardtail (for simplicity), and different from anything already out there. Not to make a hard project harder, but because I am one of those people who doesn’t like to do things the same way as everyone else and I don’t see the point in making something that’s already been made. I had zero prior knowledge or experience in designing or building a functioning mountain bike but I had the passion, and an obsession with making it work. It quite literally took over my brain.
The first step was research. Firstly, what did I want my bike to be like and, more than that, how was I going to make it? I compared the geometry of other aggressive hardtails and quickly decided on my final geometry to make the bike unique and ride how I wanted; stable but playful. Now the main problem was: how would I actually build it? I watched every YouTube video on hand-built bikes, read blogs and even had phone calls with frame builders to get their take on how I could tackle it. The more research I did, the harder it seemed, so I found myself going back to GMBN to remind myself it would work. The main thing I took away from this research, was that it was going to be made from 4130 Chromoly steel, TIG welded and I was going to need some sort of a jig (which I didn’t have) to hold things in place while they were welded.
I had decided on my geometry, now I had to see if it would actually work and how it would look. While researching about building the bike, I found out about the BikeCAD programme created by Canadian, Brent Curry, specifically for designing and hand building bikes. After explaining my situation to him, he was super happy to help me out with a subscription to his program. Honestly, this was probably the biggest help for the project; without it, things would have been a whole lot harder – as you’ll find out. With the program, I found it super easy and fun to put in my decided geometry and customise how the frame would look, then figure out if it would work. From here I found that my chain and seat stays were going to need bends and also how much material I was going to need. From this 2D CAD model, I used the dimensions to create a 3D scale model in Fusion 360 which I then went on to 3D print as small-scale models of the frame. BikeCAD also allowed me to get a file of the frame design printed in 1 to 1 scale which came in handy when building.
Early on, I decided that the bike was going to be made from 4130 chromoly steel as it is much easier to deal with than aluminium; cheaper and also widely used in bike manufacturing but reasonably easily attainable. For the main frame tubes, I was able to source from a New Zealand company reasonably easily and cheaply. Note, this was not bike-specific tubing, the company it was from is more focused on roll cages and plane builds, so it’s much thicker and heavier, but this wasn’t something that bothered me as it was keeping my self- funded budget down. There were specific parts I had to order from America, e.g. headtube, BB shell, dropouts and brake mounts. These were not cheap but made the whole process a lot easier for me and they were good quality so it was well worth it.
I mentioned earlier, the biggest challenge to making the build successful was the fact that I didn’t have a frame jig to hold all the tubes in the right place at the right angle to be welded, so the bike wouldn’t turn out wonky and with the wrong geometry. Nothing I could find by research seemed realistic, doable or feasible for me, so I had to figure out my own. I went back to Fusion 360 and designed my own solution, a series of specifically designed 3D printed lugs that would hold the tubes where they needed to be. A few test and trial batches later – paired with some threaded rod and nuts – and I had a functioning ‘single-use’ jig. The jig was made up of two groups, the first was for the front triangle which is laid horizontally with the lugs holding the centre of the different- sized tubes at the same height as well as at the right angles. The second was for the rear triangle where the intact front triangle stood upright at the correct angle so the rear triangle could be precisely attached.
Preparing the tubing was very exciting for me – it was the first physical step in actually building the thing and it was made super easy thanks to BikeCAD and my cousin, Tom McKewon. From BikeCAD, I was able to print out paper templates of the profiles for each intersection in the tubing to get perfect fits along with thousands of very specific and accurate measurements I couldn’t imagine having to calculate on my own. The tricky part of preparation was bending the chain and seat stays to the correct angles, in the right place and on the same plane so that they matched each other perfectly; this took a lot of thought and care to get right. Thanks to our ‘extremely calculated’ swings on the bending bar and Tom’s very accurate “eye-ometer” we ended up with two seat stays and chain stays looking very symmetrical. After a full, long day of measuring, cutting, shaping and double checking we had tubes that looked ready to make a bike!
After months stalled by racing and final exams, we finally found time to weld the frame. I’d originally planned to do the entire build myself, but with no welding experience – and wanting the bike to be both rideable and reliable – I turned to CenEng, a local engineering shop. They stepped in for a day and welded the frame at a discounted rate. This was the moment of truth: would all my prep work pay off? Had I measured and metered the tubes accurately, and would my homemade jig hold up? Thankfully, the results were promising. The tubes slotted together with tight, clean joins and the front triangle came together smoothly in the jig. It held firm for tackwelds before we removed it for full welding. The rear triangle was more complex. The jig, made from plastic, began to melt under the heat. Plastic softens at around 300°C, while steel welds at close to 3000°C, hence it being single-use. The dummy axle, in particular, warped slightly, which made the rear wheel spacing a bit tight. We added bottle bosses and repurposed, drilled-out M5 nuts as cable guides. By the end of the day, we had a frame that actually looked like a frame. After more than a year of planning and building, it was a surreal and satisfying milestone.
Now that most of the frame was together, only a few final pieces remained to be welded on. But once again, summer racing commitments put things on hold. At the time, I was juggling a packed schedule; racing XC across New Zealand and Australia including wins at the U19 National Champs, The Prospector Stage Race, and the Australian National Series. I was also racing on the road, standing on podiums in both countries, and mixing in some enduro, gravel and cyclocross for good measure – often with solid results. These days, I’m still racing nationally and internationally, spending seasons in Europe and the U.S, chasing the long-term goal of going pro. So, between training during the week and racing most weekends, it was tough to find spare time to get back into the shed and finish the frame. However, a few months later I returned to Ashburton to “Mitre Tom,” where we finished the job.
Among the final touches was the most recognisable part of the bike: its wings. From early on, I was told that with such a slack head angle, a gusset brace was strongly recommended. But it wasn’t until the frame had already been welded that the idea came to me to turn it into the wings of The Eagle. I sketched the shape onto a piece of steel donated by a local engineering firm, then spent hours carefully cutting them by hand with an angle grinder and sanding them smooth. Once welded in place, we quickly realised the sharp upper edges were a bit hazardous, perfect for catching or slicing body parts, so we bent the tips down over the top tube for safety and a more finished look.
With all the welding complete, a few key faces had warped slightly and needed precision work before components could be installed. The bottom bracket shell was the main issue – its threads had been badly affected by the heat, and with such specific dimensions, no one nearby had the right tap to clean them up. I wasn’t about to spend several hundred dollars on a new one, so I turned to the ‘frame builders’ Facebook group for advice. After weighing up suggestions, I decided to carefully grind down just the damaged sections, leaving the rest of the threads intact. It was a slow job, but in the end it worked perfectly.
Seeing the frame finally in its full shape, I was fired up to get it finished. I spent more late nights in the garage sanding the entire frame by hand to achieve a clean brushed-metal look. Alongside that, I designed decals and used my school’s vinyl cutter to create paint stencils. Several coats of clear finish followed, to protect the steel as much as possible while preserving its raw, bare-metal aesthetic. To match the frame’s silver tone, I also used drain cleaner to strip the anodising off a few coloured parts, e.g. fork dials, stem, spacers and top cap. After a bit of polishing, they gave the bike an even more unique, custom feel. Throughout the build, I’d been slowly sourcing parts to finish the bike. I had a rough idea of what I wanted, but keeping the budget low was the priority. Most of the components came from what I already had at home, some cheap Marketplace finds, a few AliExpress bargains, and just a handful of new parts. Like every other step of the project, I was super excited and, once the clearcoat had dried, I jumped straight into the build. By then, I had nearly everything I needed, and the assembly went surprisingly smoothly. The only missing piece was a crank set. After two years of hunting for a cheap second-hand option, I gave in and ordered a brand-new set of Shimano Cues cranks for around $60, still unsure if they’d even fit. Fortunately, they went on perfectly, which was a relief, because the very next day I was heading off on a multi-hundred-kilometre bikepacking trip, without a single test ride…
My first ride on The Eagle was nothing more than a lap up and down the driveway. Two years of work had led to that moment, and regardless of how it actually rode, it felt good just to be on it. There wasn’t much time to reflect, though, as I was leaving on a bikepacking trip the next morning. The bike had never done more than 50 metres, and now it was being loaded up with gear and heading into Central Otago’s backcountry for three days. A few people were understandably sceptical about taking a first- time, home-built frame out there without a proper test ride, but I had almost full confidence in my work. Over the trip, we clocked a couple hundred kilometres with some solid ups and downs. Most of the issues that cropped up were due to worn second-hand components, not the frame itself. That said, a couple of my own oversights did make an appearance. The first was the seat clamp. I’d only tightened it enough to hold my body weight because I didn’t want to over- torque it, but that wasn’t enough for a loaded saddle bag, so the seat kept slipping down. Some electrical tape got me through the first day until I found a wrench in Roxburgh. Then came the rain. We camped in a tent on the second night, and in the morning we woke to a lovely headwind and slightly orange frame. Clearly, the clear coat hadn’t completely sealed the steel. Not ideal, but it was just surface rust on chromoly – nothing structural – and I managed to convince myself it gave it more of the homemade look that I’d wanted.
Once I was back home, The Eagle became my go-to ride to school. It wasn’t the most expensive looking bike in the rack – especially in a town like Alexandra with a solid mountain biking scene – but I liked it. It stood out. But that didn’t stop someone from stealing it. I was pretty stressed when I realised it was gone. After everything I’d put into it, the idea that it could just disappear, or get trashed, was hard to take. I put a post up on Facebook with some photos and it didn’t take long to get a lead. Somebody had found it early in the morning outside the supermarket, not far from some damage to the building. It looked like it had been used in an attempted ram raid. Thankfully, they’d taken it straight to the police station and when I got there it wasn’t hard to describe. There aren’t many bikes with steel wings welded to the headtube. The police asked me to check it over for damage and, somehow, it was fine. Not even a bent derailleur. Honestly, I was surprised… but mostly relieved; my bike had survived being used as a battering ram and was stronger than a supermarket!
Later that summer, I finally got to race it at our local social enduro series, Local Laps. This had been the goal since the beginning: to race my hand-built hardtail in the local series. Obviously, I hadn’t gotten around to riding it on singletrack yet, so I wasn’t entirely sure how it would go. Part of me was still a bit nervous about the whole thing coming apart under the pressure and vibrations. At the top of the stage, people were curious and excited to finally see it in person after close to three years since starting it. There were plenty of jokes about whether it would make it to the bottom. I was wondering the same. I dropped in cautiously, expecting some sort of creak or flex, but it was silent. Solid. A few corners in, it was clear the frame could handle the rough stuff. I started to push harder, and it held up fine. No surprises, no issues, just a good ride. Whipping round corners, skipping and jumping to a P3 and first place homemade bike!
So how does the bike ride with its quite radical geometry? Well, obviously with the head angle the front wheel feels a really long way in front of you – which can look pretty weird – but it doesn’t feel like it takes away any playfulness from the bike. Paired with the really short rear end and a smaller wheel, the bike feels like it can still whip around corners even when they get tight. At slower speeds it’s not heavy to turn, but just feels a little awkward, and on mellow gentle terrain the geo is completely overkill – which you can feel. However, when the speed gets up the bike is extremely stable – especially when high speed cornering; the steeper the trail gets the more confident the bike gets, and it still feels to be very playful which was the idea behind the rear end. In terms of climbing, it’s definitely not the most efficient or nicest bike to climb (coming off an XC race bike) but the steep seat tube angle tries to keep some weight over the front wheel. I still have plenty of riding to do on it to really test out the geometry but, for now, it’s still one of a kind and not far from exactly what I wanted it to be.
Looking back on the build, there are definitely things I’d do differently – but that’s the nature of first attempts. You learn by doing, and the next time around (yes, there will be a next time) I’ll know exactly what to change. Maybe I’ll tackle a full suspension frame, or go completely overboard with carbon fibre. Only one thing is for sure: it won’t be something standard. What I do know is that I loved the process. For a long time, this bike was all I could think about. The most frustrating part wasn’t any of the technical stuff, it was waiting for the time to actually get on with it. Would I recommend building your own bike? Absolutely – if it’s something that genuinely interests you. Just be warned: it takes so much more time, effort and way more problem-solving than you might expect. You can’t half-commit to a project like this. If you’re not all in, it’s probably not for you. The budget? Like most serious builds, it ended up costing more than I’d hoped, but not wildly so. Could it be done cheaper? Safely, probably not. Spending a bit more, however, could make this an absolute dream. In the end, the total cost for everything came out to about the price of a brand-new Fox 36 fork. Not bad, considering I got this fork with an entire bike out of it.