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For a few years, either side of the turn of the century, Apple used a tagline for what was at the time, the underdog Macintosh computer: ‘Think Different’. It summed up their ethos at that time. Since then, the brand’s success has seen its culture shift significantly but the underlying directive to ‘think different’ has always appealed to me. Why roll with the status quo? Why not try new experiences? Use things for purposes other than what they were intended for? That kind of attitude. It’s a mindset that has seen me in some unusual scenarios: travelling internationally to a road race, but writing mostly about off-road riding; attending press events and riding everything on offer - from fixies to fat bikes to XC to DH rigs. My latest venture was to take a couple of mates to an iconic native forest trail I know well, on a different kind of bike... of the electrically assisted variety. But first, some background...

The People

Te Urewera is the traditional home of the Tūhoe people. The Tūhoe signed a deed settling the tribe’s claims at the Waitangi Tribunal negotiations. Of more importance than the fiscal compensation was the fact that the Tūhoe were returned greater control over governance of Te Urewera. This means that in current times the area is administered by the Te Urewera Board, which is a shared responsibility of Tūhoe and Crown entities. The end result of this, is the existence of the Pua a Tane Conservation Park.

Located between Rotorua and Taupo, with extensive ranges of rugged native bush, the appeal for mountain bikers is obvious. A network of well-established tramping tracks and Department of Conservation (DOC) huts date back to the ‘50s, when the primary human interaction with the forest were hunters employed to eradicate deer and other pests. In more recent times Tūhoe and DOC have been leaders in allowing and encouraging recreational mountain bikers to experience what is on offer in the park, with legal access to the Moerangi and Whirinaki trails.

The Critters

When liaising with DOC and Maori landowners as we prepared to complete this ride, we entered somewhat of a rabbit hole when discussing DOC’s role in caring for the area in which the Whirinaki and Moerangi trails reside. Talk turned to DOC’s goal of protecting the whio - NZ’s endangered native blue duck. Neil Hutton, our contact at DOC, passed on an astute observation about the whio: “A lot of New Zealanders have only ever seen a whio on a $10 note… Whirinaki is one of the best places to see whio in real life”.

Stoats have been identified as the primary cause of the whio’s decline in the Whirinaki. Although scientists of the time warned they would be a threat to native birds, stoats were introduced to New Zealand in 1884 to control rabbits and hares. At this stage, I started doing some research into stoats but Google results quickly had me feeling despondent - they’re amazing. Amazingly good at killing, that is. So to curtail their invasive decimation of the endangered whio population is no mean feat.

Since 2011, trapping has played a major part in the improvement of the whio’s long-term fate. Part of my quick research turned up DOC’s info about their trap lines in the forest park - over 1,800 on their trapping lines in the security area.

While simply riding through the trails, the traps are in evidence - sometimes right on the main track. We stopped a couple of times to see if there was a captive stoat in any of them and although the few we saw were empty, they’re obviously only a blip on the radar in the scheme of things with about 1,797 others we didn’t see. Once we ‘got our eye in’ though, we’d often note the presence of trap lines, seeing the markers and the subtle paths leading into the dense bush where the workers lay their traps.

The Journey

The stuff that happens before saddling up to start a ride is all part of the experience, especially if you’re doing it with a sense of adventure, trying new things and going to new places with new riding buddies.

Before even entering Te Urewera, most visitors will come from the more populated northern side of the park - in our case, from Rotorua. The only township of note on the route in, is Murupara, a small town which is effectively the main gateway to Lake Waikaremoana and Te Urewera. Murupara was once an industrious place of extensive forestry, which there are still some remnants of. But like many of New Zealand’s small forest towns, Murupara has experienced hard times with the downturn of labour-based forestry operations in recent years - and there’s little other employment for locals. Our visit to the area included a quick stopover - in anticipation of a lunch break in a few hours’ time - to fill our packs with filled rolls and sandwiches at the local bakery. OK, and there may have been some slices of cake in our orders as well. Oh, OK, yes, some of us may have started eating our cakes before even leaving the car park, but we’re not here to judge each other, are we?!

As we were getting the bikes and our gear ready at the trailhead, a large group of trampers arrived. They were a group of disadvantaged youth with ex-army wranglers guiding them through a bush craft exercise. The military leaders obviously had them under their guidance for a while - I’ve never been called ‘sir’ so much in my life, that must be what it’s like to be in the monarchy - though, to be fair, the youngsters also had plenty of comments along the lines of: “Chur, flash bike au”; and the ever-important thing kids want to know: “How much did that cost?”, quickly followed by, “What?! I could buy a car for that much!”

The Ride - Doing it Different

I’ve experienced the Moerangi trail many times, in a variety of ways: on different mountain bikes; doing it as a shuttled loop; riding it as an out-and-back; even bikepacking it on gravel bikes; and doing a heli-drop to the depths of the forest, to do a 30km trail run out.

Every time I’ve been on the Moerangi it has been epic and this time round we found another way to experience it: on e-bikes.

Apart from the nature of the riding itself, one of the notable differences with riding e-bikes is the ability to take more time to stop and look around. Although you can still work hard on an e-bike, you’re arguably fresher than you’d be on a regular bike. That equates to being more inclined to stop and savour the moment, the views and the sounds of the forest. In this case, it was also an opportunity to revisit the Whirinaki mountain bike loop, which is a separate track at one end of the Moerangi trail. I’d only done it once before, many years ago. In recent times, my objective of a day trip to Moerangi was to ride the main trail, either in a shuttled loop or as an out-and-back to as far along the trail as our group wanted to ride.

Riding the Whirinaki loop was great fun and a lot easier than Moerangi. The trail boasts gentler climbs than Moerangi, and there is significantly less elevation so what climbs there are aren’t sustained for long. Mellower gradients lead to less rain-damaged rutting as well, which can be a noticeable feature on the Moerangi, after a series of storms have been through the region.

But apart from the riding experience, the visual and auditory rewards are similar. As soon as we left the car park on the Whirinaki loop trail we were amongst towering podocarp trees - rimu, miro, matai, kahikatea and the mighty tōtara. At ground level the density of lush lime-green ferns is profuse. The heavy rains from the day before our ride adding another degree of vibrant freshness to the intensity of the undergrowth.

At times we Kiwis can take this sort of scenery for granted, especially if we have a primary objective based around a bike ride, and are focused on the ribbon of brown dirt in front of us. It’s when you’re with international visitors that you recognise how truly special New Zealand’s backcountry rides are. Or, as in our case, when we’re out for a good time, not a long time. Plenty of stops for photos meant we had ample opportunity to look around and truly savour the visual extravaganza that the central North Island’s native forest offers.

It’s not all peace and quiet though. At times the birdsong is noticeable and, to be honest, sometimes the piercing alarm calls of the Kaka are jarring - in a good way though. Their shrieks serve to remind us this isn’t our place, we’re merely temporary visitors in the grand scheme of things, and it’s a fitting prompt that beautiful native New Zealand fauna are the original inhabitants of this forest.

Although the Moerangi trail is most often ridden in a clockwise direction via shuttle drop off, I’ve often done it as an out-and-back from the River Road end of the trail. This involves a tough climb with about 600m of vertical gain, which is a correspondingly awesome descent on the return trip.

On an e-bike I got to describe the climb as something I never thought I’d say: “It was fun!” We rode every part except one short stretch of soft pumice. I don’t deny I’ve got a real bee in my bonnet with fellow riders who slag off e-bikes without having experienced them. I relish the opportunities they offer both to beginners, or riders with limitations for some reason, and to more experienced, capable riders. In our hands, on this day, we simply enjoyed every single second of riding. Although easily still able to get a solid amount of heavy breathing going on any given climb, the difference from a regular bike was that we were actually riding steep, rutted sections of trail that would quickly have had me walking on my regular bike.

As mentioned previously, I’ve ridden this trail a lot, so am acutely aware of my limitations on any of the technical climbing sections. On the Konas we were still working hard, but in a different way; looking much further ahead on the climbs than usual, because the greater speed meant we’d be coming into whatever was next at a greater pace than on a regular mountain bike. It was also vital to ensure we were in the gearing appropriate to keep a fast cadence throughout whatever we were climbing. Pedal assisted e-bikes simply stop assisting if their cadence/torque sensors sense the rider is only barely turning the cranks over. it’s a weird thing though, the low gearing/high cadence we were utilising effectively on the e-bikes would be completely impractical on a regular bike. On one of those, it’s often desirable to have a slightly tougher gear to crank through over tough obstacles on technical climbs. I’m no physicist (obviously, my wife tells me) but I figure it’s something about torque. All of that is somewhat moot though, because the more you ride an e-bike, the more intuitive it becomes as to what gearing is best for given sections, and how to best utilise the power assist.

The Bikes

I’d be remiss at this point if I didn’t explain a little about the bikes we were on for this adventure ride. Their nature had a significant part in shaping how our ride developed, and the high level of fun-factor we achieved.

We were on Kona Remote CTRL models - featuring Bosch motors. These slot in amongst the lowest price points for proper, full-suspension electric mountain bikes. I say ‘proper’ to clarify they’re not bicycle shaped objects purporting to be mountain bikes, like many cheap monstrosities for sale on TradeMe.

Sure, at the price of the Konas there are compromises on specs: relatively short travel dropper posts; SRAM Guide brakes instead of Codes, which would be more practical for the speed and weight of an e-bike; and unusual choices for New Zealand conditions, like Maxxis Icon tyres. The Icons are great tyres, for a purpose, but not for those of us who push the boundaries of what is rideable, where traction is king for getting up, down or around any given section of trail. There are plenty of solid performers for critical components though - like RockShox Lyric forks up front and Monarch Plus shocks, with SRAM NX level drivetrain.

Overall, we came away impressed with the bikes. The geometry was on point, the design and construction of the frames was flex free and solid (a particularly important point with heavy and powerful e-bikes). The suspension was tuned appropriately to the rider and bike combo dynamics. To come away with these responses to the capabilities of the Konas, given the remote environs we were riding in, is no small compliment to be dishing out.

I believe it’s one of those things which is virtually impossible to quantify, but if you did try, it would be along the lines of: “For the lowest-priced, real mountain bike e-bikes available in NZ, we had 90% of the performance possible compared to uber-spendy ebikes upwards of $10k. But, and it’s an important ‘but’, we had 100% of the fun available from what e-bikes bring to rides like this”.

Random Outtakes

Unfortunately, I can tell you from painful experience that it is almost a rite of passage to encounter the native Onaonga plant on Moerangi rides. Although my fellow riders on this trip didn’t get to experience it, I ‘took one for the team’ by taking one step off the trail in the wrong place and getting an instant reminder of what the native stinging nettle Onaonga looks like - and why I should have remembered it from the last time it got its venomous little spikes into me. The skin on my shins is tingling as I write this now - a reminder to pay more attention to look where I’m stepping when I get off the bike to take a photo in the future.

Ah, the serenity. It truly feels like the middle of nowhere most of the time, although we did hear helicopters working occasionally. It’s possible they were tourism operations, hunters or fly fishermen, but it’s more likely - when it’s a busy aircraft flying around for extended periods - they were DOC workers. The recreational users tend to get a drop-off/pick-up and that’s it.

On a previous trip into this area, we spoke with some workmen waiting for their ride into the day’s work site. Their ride was a helicopter. In that instance they were bringing building supplies into the multiple DOC huts in the forest. Those workers also get on the tools to clear the trails which, because of the remoteness and rugged run-off of the terrain, are often subject to weathering from the rain and windfall of storms.

The trails have no views to speak of - not the sweeping vista variety anyway - but the views within the forest are other-worldly, with the verdant greenery of the forest floor and the imposing old-growth native trees putting you in your place.The towering native trees, and the tortuous Giger-like displays of northern rātā gradually strangling their giant host trees, serve as a reminder of how puny we are. (Rata is one of New Zealand’s tallest flowering trees, beginning life as a plant perched on a host tree, high in the forest canopy. Its roots eventually grow down to the forest floor, finally enclosing the host tree and producing a huge tree up to 25 metres high with a trunk up to 2.5 metres in diameter.)

Takeaways

Consider your favourite adventure ride. Can you do it differently? Ride a loop in the opposite direction to usual (if it’s not a one-way trail, obviously); pack a picnic and plan to stop and soak in your surrounds instead of trying to smash out a new Strava PB; take a mate who hasn’t done it before and bask in their enjoyment of it; do it on a different bike if you’re fortunate enough to have a choice. However you do it, there is potential to rediscover and reinvigorate your enjoyment of a trail you know - or at least think you know. As an added bonus, whether you’re South Island based and it’s a major holiday trip, or reside in the North Island and it’s easier to get to - ensure you put the Moerangi and Whirinaki trails on your bucket list. You won’t regret it.

Thanks to Neil Hutton and the team at DOC Whakatane, Earl Rewi and Sharon Nikora of Ngāti Whare and the tangata whenua of Te Urewera.

Check with the Te Urewera DOC office to make sure the trail is open if you’re doing it in winter or when there have been storms in the area – it is prone to slips after heavy rain.

This is a true backcountry ride, so ensure you’re ready for it with suitable gear for trailside bike repairs, and have enough food and water. There is virtually no cell phone coverage to speak of on the trail.

Words and Images: Nick Lambert

If you missed part one of our Wanaka story, click here.

One of the things I was most excited for on our trip, was riding Bike Glendhu. While it didn’t make the 4:30am alarm any easier to get up to, within 15 minutes of being out of bed we were all piling into the van, bringing our time at Cardrona to an end. As we made our way down the mountain, I snacked on a Clif Bar and banana, and tried to focus on the fact that soon enough I’d be watching the most incredible sunrise from the peak of Glendhu - and not the fact that the clock had only just ticked 5am and I usually don’t leave the house ‘til at least 8. We were all feeling pretty groggy as we rolled up to Glendhu, but we were stoked that John Wilson, one of the founders of Glendhu and our guide for the morning, had offered to shuttle us to the top of the hill in time for sunrise – saving us a long pedal in the dark. It was here that we met Jessie of Lake Wanaka Tourism, who’d be joining us for the day.

Glendhu is Wanaka’s newest riding destination, opened in January 2020 after a couple of years of development. John McRae, whose family has owned and farmed Glendhu Station for three generations, wanted to create a more sustainable farming experience for his family’s future generations. He partnered with Wanaka local, John Wilson, to build Bike Glendhu on 1000 hectares of the Glendhu Station. The big picture goal was to create a bike park that’s self-sufficient, both in terms of how they generate resources like power, and in the sense of having a positive impact on the land the park is built upon. The base is rad, with an on-site mechanic, bike rentals and a café (more on the café later) all built on the same ethos of preserving the natural landscape, whilst providing an awesome ride experience.

We all piled our bikes onto the shuttle trailer and began the 15 minute drive up to the peak, and I was pretty excited. I’d seen photos of Glendhu and the view from the top looked insane during the day, so I couldn’t even imagine what it would be like at sunrise. I was dazing in and out of reality and a dreamy haze, when all of a sudden the UTV’s wheels started spinning. “I’ve never actually taken the buggy this far up the hill with this many people and the trailer – I was worried about this part!” John said. It was clear the buggy wouldn’t make it up with all of us in it, so before we dug ourselves into a hole we all jumped out, so John could have another go without the weight of five additional passengers. No issues - straight over the rise without a hassle. As we took our seats back, John realised that he still had one lower gear to shift into, so maybe we would’ve made it after all. As we approached the top of Glendhu our surroundings really opened up and whilst it was still pretty dark, little hints of golden-orange began to creep over the edge of the horizon and it was clear we’d picked the right morning to take on Glendhu.

It was still pretty icy as we unloaded our bikes at the top of Glendhu, but it wasn’t long before the sun crested the mountains and the hillside lit up. The South Island is a special place to be in autumn, and it was definitely putting on a show for us today. It warmed up instantly so, before we left John, we de-layered to save us cooking on the hillside. We then dropped into Upper Baywatch, an intermediate trail with plenty of features to hit if you wanna spice things up a little. As we flowed down the hill, we stopped to shoot a little rock garden midway down the trail. As Haimona and Callum set up their shots, Casey, Jessie and I hiked our bikes back up the hill to get a decent run in. As we dropped in, I couldn’t quite get my footing right and as I pumped up the face of a table, and blew my foot completely off the pedal, accidentally ending up seat-bouncing, moto-style. My back wheel went sky high, my other foot was blown off its pedal and I landed in a nose manual. I was dead sure I was about to go over the bars but, some way, somehow, my feet managed to find their rightful spots atop my pedals, right in time to take the corner before the rock garden. I made it out alive, but my rodeo show had blown our formation clean apart, so up we went again. Second time round, I killed it. We continued down the trail to our meeting spot with John, while the rest of the team continued down the hand-cut advanced trails, that are more natural single-track than most of the rest of the trails. I headed back down to base with John to talk about Glendhu and how it came to be. Time’s always tight on these trips, so you usually end up having to squeeze in a quick chat with the people who know the story best, while the rest of the team get to have a little fun. On the bright side, though, I got to sample Velo Café’s coffee- which is nothing short of top quality and was the pick-me-up I needed.

Caffeinated and ready to go, I headed back up to Jack’s Spot – about halfway up the hill - to reconnect with the team and take on Hare Time, Glendhu’s jump line. Casey took the lead and did what she does best: shredded and got super steezy, while the rest of us followed. The rad thing about Hare Time is that it’s entirely made up of tabletops that get bigger and bigger as you make your way down the trail. This means that once things get too big for you, you can roll them without fear of losing too much momentum and slowly ramp up your speed into jumps without having to worry about casing, should you not be going fast enough. The whole line flows so smoothly, and you can basically roll the whole trail brakeless; you ride it once and all you want to do is pedal back up the hill to take another run! Alas, we were all starving – by this point it was about 11:30am and we’d been up since 4:30am and none of us had eaten more than a Clif Bar, so we made the gentle pedal back to Velo Café to sample their food. As we racked our bikes, I was stoked I wasn’t spending this trip behind the camera, because while Jessie, Casey and I sat down to enjoy our meal, our content team had to capture it. They joined us pretty quickly and whilst we were all talking, I was 100% on autopilot, enjoying my food waaay too much to make any worthwhile contributions to our chat. After your ride at Glendhu, you’ve got to try the veggie Thai curry pie – it’s out of this world good and if I remember correctly, it’s what everyone in our group ordered.

Up to this point in the trip, I’d been mad-hyping-up the “log cabin” we were going to be staying in for the second half of the trip and, after lunch, we had a couple of hours to kill before we could check in. We left Glendhu and pulled up right by the lake to enjoy a midday beer, and I was starting to get a little nervous: “what if the house isn’t all I made it out to be?”. After a quick dip, and talking about how beautiful the South Island is for the hundredth time, we packed into the van once again and made our way about fifteen minutes out from Wanaka, to the log cabin we’d been booked into. We approached the gate, punched in the code and made our way down the drive as the biggest house - let alone log cabin! - I think I’ve ever been to, revealed itself. The River Ridge was built in Canada before being shipped to New Zealand to be re-constructed on the banks of the Clutha River. Some of the logs were easily a metre plus in diameter and, as we made our way inside still in our riding gear, all I could think about was how crazy it was that someone had this built as a holiday house, and how it was way too nice for a bunch of dirty mountain bikers. As we were shown around by our host, she mentioned that she’d come out a few days before our arrival to turn the heated floors on for us so that they’d be warm in time for our arrival. This was our chance to live like the 1% and we were going to make the most of it. We’d gone from an apartment - which was super nice and honestly way better than some of the sketchy hotels I’ve stayed in on these trips - to having two kitchens and our own bathrooms. We all packed in, showered and took our usual afternoon naps, then watched Tea & Biscuits (if you haven’t seen it – check it out) before heading back into town to B.Social for dinner.

I hadn’t checked out B.Social before, but as a craft beer drinker I was pretty excited to visit. I’ve homebrewed a couple of batches in my time, so I love getting to hang out at breweries and watch the magic happen – which is the case at B.Social, as nothing but glass panels separate the eatery from the B.Effect brewery. Since we’d had a big couple of days, I wasn’t sure I’d manage to stay awake the 15 minute drive home if I had a beer, so I stuck to kombucha with Casey, while Callum and Haimona sampled all that B.Effect had to offer. I flicked through the menu as I tried to decide on what I wanted to eat and, after we realised we all wanted to get everything on the menu, we ordered basically every starter to split between our group. I think bar starters are the best, but breweries always go just that little bit further and I feel like that was exactly the case at B.Social – make the portions a little bigger and they could easily be mains.

It was only 7pm, but we were all exhausted, so we called it quits after eating and headed back to the house. I finally had the beer I wanted with dinner, and it did exactly what I thought it would – knocked me out. I pretty much headed straight to bed and was stoked to have a bit of a sleep in the next day – a 7am wake up never sounded so good!

Words: Cam Baker

Images: Callum Wood

A biking trip to the Nepali Himalayas, with a race thrown in for good measure? Sounds like an adventure not to be missed! We had three weeks to explore, starting with the Yakru Enduro race – dubbed the highest enduro race in the world – followed by bikepacking part of the Annapurna circuit. It was a trip to explore a new part of the world, experience a completely different culture and do something a bit out of the norm.

Four-Wheel-Driving Into the Adventure: The road into the Manang region of the Annapurnas was completed in 2011 by the Nepalese army; connecting Manang to the lower valley by 13+plus hours of 4wd action, instead of the traditional seven day hike. The road has encroached on the beauty and isolation of the Marsyandi Gorge so loved by tourists, but no one can deny the benefits motorised transport brings to these mountain communities. Photo: Dane Cronin

Learning the art of Nepali Time: we quickly established there was little point in expecting to be anywhere at a certain time. We went with the tide, and some of our best cultural immersion was done waiting for the truck to be fixed or a guide to arrive. Here, we tested out the gym set of our young Nepalese host, on the roof of his teahouse. Photo: Ben Gibson

The typical view of a village in the Marsyandi Valley. Most buildings were multistorey, with unusual colour schemes and barely-straight beams. Roof tops often doubled as café terraces, giving 360 panoramic views of the surrounds. Picturesque and cosy, they were a welcome sight at the end of a day’s pedalling. Photo: Ben Gibson.

This lodge was home for the duration of the race - and was luxurious by Nepalese standards, with flush toilets and wild card hot showers. Behind the lodge is Annapurna III, towering another 4500m above us. By night, these peaks seemed even more enormous. It was pretty special to be able to relax, unwind and reflect in the evening below these beauties, with a cup of Masala tea or hot lemon in hand. Photo: Dane Cronin

Into the Race Stages: Hiking trails and donkey tracks became nduro stages for the day, borrowing ancient paths of transport through the mountains and valleys. Racing blind in foreign terrain felt very non-racey and was always a balance between grip and speed, as we came to terms with moon-like dry dust. Photo: Dane Cronin

The race stages took us through a cultural slideshow, through ruins, shrines, villages and monasteries. Racing here was a stark contrast to the lives, culture and religion of the Nepalese. I felt very privileged to be able to have the choice to ride my mountain bike through these places and wonder about the thousands of years of change these ruins have seen. Photo: Dane Cronin

Swapping out timing chips for front rolls, we left our newfound friends from the Yakru race and pedalled up-valley to begin the second part of the trip. We were blessed with sunny days pedalling amongst mountains, and without a race team to support us; we felt much closer to people and the place. We all embraced the change in pace as we enjoyed and appreciated the scenery, with nowhere to be but in the moment. Photo: Ben Gibson

Off, up and Away: This is what most of our hill climbing looked like. None of us had done anything at altitude before and it was a whole new experience and pace working with what our lungs and heart could pull out of the oxygen-thin air. We didn’t mind too much, it was all part of the trip and gave us plenty of opportunity to take in the scenery and surrounds. Photo: Ben Gibson

Risk vs Reward: We spotted a side trail on the map, offering an alternative route to the road to our lunch destination. It certainly was an alternative, coming across this landslip with a small path leading across it. Not wanting to turn back and lose the elevation we had already gained, there seemed little other option than to cross it – which was more challenging for some than others. The reward though? A morning of riding glorious single-track through the forest, without another soul in site. Photo: Ben Gibson

As hoped, we found some really sweet sections of single-track to ride. With the oxygen deprived climbing, the descents were all the more satisfying and had us savouring every turn, even with front rolls and loaded packs. Given more time, there would have been many more side trails and areas to explore with similar potential. Photo: Robin Pieper

Dodging Shrines on the Trail: There are many of these Buddhist outposts on-trail around Nepal, and it is Buddhist practice to only pass these on the left, so that the shrine is on your right. Doing so gives good karma to the traveller, as passing on the right conversely gives bad karma. Touching the shrine is only allowed with your right ‘clean’ hand, for the same reasons. Photo: Ben Gibson

The high point of our trip, Tilicho Lake. Sitting at 5000m it’s claimed as the highest lake in the world (unconfirmed). Either way, it felt like a great achievement and stunning to look around and see snow, rock and ice literally as far as the eye can see. In New Zealand, there is almost always a view of lowlands, but not here. Earlier in the season, it’s possible to pass from here over to Jomson, but not with the lowering temperatures this late in the season. To get to Tilicho we needed an early start to avoid the wind, and even in the late morning a bone-chilling ‘breeze’ had already started. Photo: Ben Gibson

Descending from Tilicho lake, as the trail stretches out in front of us along the scree. We shared the trail with regular donkey trains, locals and tourists alike, and the trail was deceptively steep and slow going. Luckily bikes made the descents much quicker and more fun, although some of the exposure and technical corners were met by either cheers or concerns from other travellers. Photo: Ben Gibson

On the way Home: Crossing the Marsyandi River over one of the many single span swing bridges, connecting villages on the true left of the river by foot only to the ‘main road’. In the background, Heaven’s Door rises above us, a single slab of rock, rising 1500 vertical metres from the river. The geological masterpiece serves as a natural barrier (or ‘door’) between the temperate lower gorge of the Marsyandi River, and the montane plateau we are on now. Photo: Ben Gibson

Bitter-sweet feeling arriving back in Besi Sahar, two weeks after we set out, with dusty bikes, empty legs and full hearts. After travelling through small villages among big mountains, it was a shock to the system to have busy streets and air thick with exhaust and oxygen. Photo: Ben Gibson

The last stop of our trip, visiting Boudhanath, a Buddhist Stupa. The largest Stupa in Nepal, it was a popular attraction for monks, worshippers and tourists alike. It really struck home the depth of religion in this country and the impact it has on shaping the culture and country. What an enriching experience to have cycled amongst the tallest peaks of the world and shared the culture and villages of the Nepalese. Photo: Ben Gibson

Words: Robin Pieper

Images: Dane Cronin, Ben Gibson & Robin Pieper

In retail they say convenience is king. That’s what global retail giant Amazon built its brand around. It bet that if it could make shopping more convenient it would trump almost all other factors. When it comes to bike-packing my mantra is this - comfort is king. I’m fast discovering that you can conquer almost anything and ride for almost any distance if you can just stay comfortable, and so Tour Aotearoa preparation for me has become less focussed on grinding out miles with the goal of building leg strength, but grinding out enough miles to trigger the next factor of discomfort.

Take your average beginner cyclist. They get on a bike having never ridden before, and likely it’s a cheap bike with a nasty seat. Within five minutes they are complaining about a sore bum. That’s typical, and they have triggered the first round of discomfort that they need to conquer before they can move forward. They can either suffer till they get well-formed callouses on their butt-cheeks, or they can buy a pair of padded bike shorts. If you’re interested in long distance bike-packing such as the Tour Aotearoa, you have probably been around bikes long enough that you have accumulated a few items that can help keep the comfort levels high on your normal one to two-hour ride, but what I’m finding surprising is the strange things that start to crop up when you start to go for extended time in the saddle.

That good seat you bought that was comfortable for two hours of mountain biking turns to agony at the three-hour mark. Those SPD shoes that have kept you going for the last eight years force shooting pains in to your feet after the 100km mark. Your hands go numb, your shorts chafe and your helmet feels like an oven.

You can conquer almost anything if you can just stay comfortable, but that is no easy task in this game. Going in to this I had read up about people finding their hands going numb. This sounded a bit strange. After all, I had been mountain-biking for 20 years and surely the rough jarring of mountain bike terrain would be harder on your hands than anything else? We didn’t even have suspension then! But sure enough, my hands started to go numb too during training rides. A switch to the Jones Bar, a set of aero bars, and an extra layer of bar tape over the grips seems to have solved this problem. Next thing to tackle was the chafing. Riding for one day was no trouble at all in the chafe department, but only an hour into a second day and all of a sudden it’s like my lycra is lined with sandpaper. Strange. The aptly name Butt Butter quickly sorted this out, but no sooner has one irritation gone away than another seems to arise. The last two training rides I went out for were a perfect example of this. For some reason at the 40km mark my left foot started to get intense shooting, cramp-like pains. I had to get off the bike, take the shoe off, and wriggle my toes for five minutes before I could continue. Strange. It came on with no warning, and went away just as fast. A few days later out on another ride and as I look down at my speedo tick over from 39.9km to 40.0, all of a sudden the same shooting pains return. I was off the bike in the grass wiggling my toes in the exact same middle of nowhere spot as the time before. Weird. On top of this you have the strange way sleeping in a tent on a one-inch mattress can leaving you feeling as stiff as a plank, and now you’ve got to get dressed and jump on the bike for another eight hours. A little yoga and stretching goes a long way as it turns out!

And this is what has surprised me most about all of this. I am far from being at any sort of extraordinary level of fitness, but I’m surprised at just how many kilometres I can crank out if I can just stay comfortable. When I talk to people and tell them I’m riding the length of the country, they have this kind of astounded look on their face like I am some sort of Olympic athlete or something. Actually maybe the astounded look is because they look at me, sum up my mediocre-at-best physique, the combination of the task and the distinctly average human specimen they see before them. Maybe it’s more of a quizzical ‘has he actually gone a bit mad’, extrapolating out the five minutes of pain they felt last time they sat on a bike seat out over 25 days continuously. But I soon find out that they don’t know what I know. You can conquer anything if you can just stay comfortable.

So right now I’m actually in this kind of sadistic training mode. Literally. Yes, I’m trying to get a little bit of tone, a little bit of definition in the calf muscles, but more than that I’m actively looking to ride long enough, far enough simply to trigger the next round of pain, the next round of discomfort. Because at this stage of the Tour I can do something about it. I can buy Butt Butter, I can fit aero bars, I can tweak and adjust and make minute alterations in the hope of creating the ultimate Zen bike set up upon which all riding is good, all riding is calm, all riding is at peace.

Of course then I might start to notice that my legs are actually really really sore.

Words & Photography: Lance Pilbrow

A few years ago, the Department of Conservation approached Trail Fund with an unprecedented query – would we be interested in collaborating with trampers and hunters in maintaining huts and tracks on public conservation land?

It was a bit of a leap for everyone involved but also the start of something great. Trail Fund was a relatively new organization, albeit with experienced people, and mountain bikers and trampers hadn’t always seen eye-to-eye on how tracks should be used. It’s safe to say there was a little suspicion on all sides.

The result of this, after many meetings and e-mails along the way, was the Outdoor Recreation Consortium – a partnership between Trail Fund NZ, Federated Mountain Clubs (FMC) and the New Zealand Deerstalkers’ Association (NZDA). The creation of this new entity was key to obtaining funding from the Community Conservation Partnership Fund, and it received a significant amount. Through that, Trail Fund has been able to distribute and manage funding of many mountain bike projects, from the Missing Link project above Queenstown, to the Craigieburn Trails west of Christchurch, to Te Iringa track in the mid-North Island.

“Along the way, links between our organisations have grown and deepened,” says Trail Fund secretary and co-founder Nessa Lynch, who worked closely with FMC and NZDA on application and allocation processes. “We’ve realised that trampers, hunters, alpine recreationalists, and mountain bikers have more in common than we do differences.

“Many, if not all of us, are multi-recreationalists and, as a result, there’s been learning on all sides.”

The three partners have now moved to establish the Backcountry Trust, which formalises the relationship between Trail Fund, NZDA and FMC in facilitating and supporting volunteer-led maintenance of huts and tracks on public conservation land. This will allow centralised administration and management of grants.

Nessa Lynch and Guy Wynn-Williams (Christchurch- Ground Effect) will represent Trail Fund’s interests on the Trust. Three years of funding has been secured from the Department of Conservation.

What does this mean for volunteers? Trail Fund will continue its core business of funding, volunteer support and advocacy. This Backcountry Trust funding will be available for projects on public conservation land. The Backcountry Trust’s first funding round will be in February 2018, and existing grants are transitioning to the Trust structure.

Have a project in mind?

Start thinking about any projects you might have on public conservation (DOC) land. The focus is generally on maintenance and upgrade of existing tracks rather than new builds, but the Trust is keen to hear about any ideas you might have. We’d love to hear from mountain bikers who would be keen to look after huts, as well as tracks. The vision of the Trust is that groups in an area would collaborate on projects.

In related news, Trail Fund has also made the decision this year to affiliate to Federated Mountain Clubs. This affords us access to advocacy and representation on issues such as land access, and gives mountain bikers a voice in the wider outdoor recreation community.

We are keen to advance opportunities for mountain bike access on public conservation land, and happy to hear of any ideas or issues that you have. Email us on grants@trailfund.org.nz

Words: Meagan Robertson

Images: Callum Wood

Liberation. Release. Freedom. Since 1999, the aptly named singletrack has delivered all three sentiments, as well as a few dozen others, to hundreds of riders in Wellington, its surrounds and even much further afield. Located in dense bush, and rarely fully dry, Deliverance was the brainchild of an enthusiastic group of friends who loved mountain biking and wanted to contribute to its evolution in the Capital.

“I can still remember how it started,” says Tama Easton, who worked at the nearby Mud Cycles bike shop in the ‘90s and was one of the half dozen builders committed from the get go. “We peered down from Wright’s Hill to South Karori with the enthusiasm of explorers setting foot in fertile unchartered country. With little to no experience, but all the eagerness in the world, we set out to build a much-needed connection that we thought would be done in about three weekends.”

With machetes and shovels in hand, Mike Houghton aka Mudzy (the owner and namesake of Mud Cycles), Jono Baddiley, Tom Werry, Seth Blum, Ricky Pincott and Tama couldn’t wait to get stuck in.

“It was the start of a golden era in Wellington mountain biking,” says Jono. “It really felt like a turning point in those days – mountain biking was approved on Mount Victoria, Wellington hosted the World Cup XC and building at Makara Peak was underway, with three singletrack trails completed.”

Jono and Tama admit the crew didn’t know much about trail building at that point, but there was no lack of desire to learn. Even after it became apparent that completing the trail was going to take much, much longer – and require some proper tools – the eagerness didn’t wane.

“You get to a stage where you’ve committed so much time and effort that you don’t want to stop, you just can’t,” says Tama. “So we just kept pushing forward with this cheerful optimism that it would get done. We didn’t know any trail building theory but had a good rhythm going. We’d work out where the track was heading, tear into the dense bush and vines, someone would ride the new section, and if they deemed it “almost rideable” we could move onto planning the next section.”

When something wasn’t “almost rideable”, the crew would have a few goes to see if they were just having an off day. “There was this 8 metre shoot that we ended up calling Satan’s Crack, and after a few too many tries we decided it might actually kill people, so we chose an alternate line.” In reality, completing the build took about 18 months and on Easter weekend in 1999, Deliverance was declared open.

“By the time we went ‘right, this is done’, it was was deemed “rideable”, which meant we were sick of trail building and theoretically you could ride a bike from one end to the other,” says Tama.“Two weeks later James broke his arm on ‘The Chute’, starting a grand tradition of Deliverance chewing up and spitting out hapless riders. Luckily, Don McLeod came along and put hundreds of hours towards upgrading the trail to a more accessible level.”

Not that it doesn’t still spit out riders, hapless or not. “It was built to be a feral trail and 20 years later, it’s still feral,” says Jono. “It’s always an achievement to get all the way down without dabbing.”

As if to prove a point, at the 20-year anniversary event in early May – which was attended by dozens of Deliverance disciples – Ricky, who helped build the trail and has ridden it hundreds of times, broke his wrist and ankle. “What can I say? It keeps you on your toes… or breaks them.”

While breaking riders wasn’t his goal, Tama, who came up from Nelson for the anniversary, says it’s great to know so many riders have honed their skills on a trail he feels such a connection with. “You can tell that it’s still loved, still ridden and still feral in places – I bought my first full suspension bike with the intent to ride it, and I hope it’s inspired others to do the same.I would highly recommend taking part in trail building – whether it’s the full shebang or just a section. It’s pretty special to, 10-20 years later, say I helped make this and thousands of people have enjoyed it.”

Words: Meagan Robertson

Images: Mike Hopkins

One of the great things about any flavour of mountain biking, is its freedom. Outside the realms of competition, its lack of rules and regulations contribute to expanding the fun-factor of merely riding in the great outdoors. There are a few unwritten rules of the jungle, though; some obvious to anyone with a bit of common sense or riding experience; and others which are more abstract. The growing popularity of eBikes on NZ trails adds another dimension to the mix of what is considered ‘proper’ trail etiquette. Although I’d never be arrogant enough draw a line in the sand and say you must do this or that, there are factors at play with eBikes being a valid and growing part of our mountain biking culture, and these are changing some of the previous long-standing courtesies.

A significant one is labelling other riders. You know the drill; you rock up to a trail head and size up any other riders there - trying to judge their ability by the kit they’re wearing, how pro-looking their bike setups are, and that indefinable confidence some riders exude. All this helps determine the self-seeding pecking order of who should head off down the trail first. We’re still at a stage where there are plenty of self-important elitists who swear they’ll never taint their riding pedigree by being seen astride a motor-assisted mountain bike. Woe betide any E-bike rider who arrives at a downhill trailhead at the same time as one of these purists, as they would instantly be tagged as old, lazy or just a cheat for making their climbing easier. That is a mistake, though. As a literal example - I’m aware of several local hotshots who spend their time equally between their regular bikes and their motor-assisted ones. If one of these guys is at the start of your favourite Grade 5 trail it doesn’t matter which bike they’re on, they’re going to beat most riders to the end of it.

On the flip side, E-bike riders shouldn’t gauge other riders by their own standards. Sure, eBikes are supremely capable, and in the hands of a skilled rider are quite the rocketship on descents, even when not pedalling. But just because an eBike rider can ride fast, doesn’t mean their concept of ‘fast’ matches up with other riders they share the trail with. I am thinking particularly of a different couple of local riders I know, one who is an elite triathlete with great mountain bike skills, and the other who successfully races at elite level across DH, Enduro and XC disciplines. I reckon they’d give the average eBike rider a run for their money on almost any style of trail, except for an outright gravel road climb.

One of the points of difference when riding an E-bike is the sheer number of riders you’ll pass on climbs of all descriptions, from gravel roads to single-track. When riding an eBike, I’ve occasionally found a cheery ‘G’day’ is received with a bit of a grunt when passing riders on regular bikes. Sometimes, there will even be a mumble about cheating or some such nonsense. On particularly busy days in the forest, I’d try to minimise the effect by dialling down the motor assist or even turning it completely off. This serves to both reduce the noise of the motor whirring away to make the E-bike presence less obvious, and to pass the rider in question at a more moderate pace. There is no real requirement to do this, it’s just a small element of trying to be aware of, and courteous to, other riders.

Those aforementioned hotshots I was speaking of are at the stage of getting bells for their E-bikes. Although efficient - and even essential - for commuters, there is no denying that a bell is pretty uncool by most mountain bike standards. But… these guys are passing people so often, the bell serves a purpose to gently say, ‘hey, I’m here and I’m coming through’, without needing to engage in a more direct verbal interaction such as, ‘hey, how’s it goin’? On your right’. A gentle ‘ding ding’ sound should mitigate some of the mumbled comments about cheaters

Just riding an E-bike doesn’t automatically make the rider polite and aware of their fellow forest users though. I’ve also seen the opposite in effect: a family of recreational riders on rental E-bikes. I’m pretty sure they were recreational - their attire of Canterbury rugby jerseys, short shorts and running shoes kind of gave them away. Nothing at all wrong with that, but there was plenty wrong with their riding manner. Their newness to mountain biking was further evidenced by their disregard of other riders around them. They were having a great time, to be sure - grins plastered on their faces as they wove between the riders on regular bikes, on the climb to one of the most heavily trafficked intersections in Rotorua’s Redwood Forest trail network. With speeds two or three times faster than that of anyone else around them, the potential for bringing down a rider was high. They got away with it. This time. The moral of that story is that E-bike riders have a responsibility to be aware of other riders around them and tailor their speed accordingly. Especially as they generally have more available speed on tap at any given time.

Don’t be tempted to make jokes at the expense of E-bike riders who need to team up in order to hoist their hefty rigs onto their bike racks or the back of their utes. There may well come a time when you make use of the ability of a rider with E-bike power to tow you uphill or to a ride’s end. I’ve used a simple makeshift set-up myself, so I can attest to its efficiency. All it takes is a couple of spare innertubes linked together, one end slung over the seatpost of an E-bike, the other wrapped around the bars and then held in place under the rider’s hand on the grip. The rider being towed on their regular bike, whether it be because of a mechanical issue, injury or any other reason, will be in for an effortless trip to their destination. In my use of the technique, I was towing a photographer with his 20kg bag of kit on his regular bike up a sizeable gravel road to get to a photo location. Left to our own devices I would have taken a fraction of the time on the E-bike, and been left waiting while he battled uphill. As it was, we were able to easily roll up the hill at 20kph.

Don’t get too smug, joking that when an E-bike rider’s battery runs flat they’re stuffed. Sure, riding a heavy E-bike with no power is tougher than riding a regular bike, but it’s not wildly impossible by any means. I’ve done it myself, run an E-bike flat because I was having too much fun seeing how many technical descending trails I could fit into one day (I can’t answer the question of how many though, as I was having so much fun I lost count). The last hour of my ride that day was using the lowest of minimal power to eke out the final remnants of battery to get out of the forest, then dead flat battery riding the half hour of roads back to my house. It was a little slower on the climbs of course, but not ridiculously so. Therefore, don’t think an E-bike rider’s ride ends if the battery goes flat.

Them and Us. No matter which side of the equation you see yourself fitting into, there are perceptions about each – often completely ignorant. Ultimately, a rider’s abilities can lie anywhere on the spectrum from beginner to local legend, regardless of whether their bike that day is motor-assisted or not. One of the unspoken rules of mountain biking remains, and applies to both acoustic and E-bike riders: be nice to each other out there, we’re all mountain bikers at the end of the day.

Words & Photography: Nick Lambert

I can see how this headline might raise a few eyebrows, but please, bear with me.

In November of 2019 I met up with two old friends from the Southern Hemisphere in Queenstown, New Zealand, where Henry van Ash lives. He is one of the people that invented/commercialized Bungy Jumping and made it a global thing and one of New Zealand biggest tourist attractions. He has also been a long time and passionate mountain biker with one of the most impressive bike collections he’s built up over the years. Recently he started a heli-bike company that transports adventurous mountain bikers to the remote back country.

Mountain Bike Hall of Famer, Glen Jacobs, was the other bloke who joined myself and my wife Carmen on this visit. Glen is from Australia and one of the most influential people in the world of mountain biking. His trail design company, ‘World Trail’ has over 60 employees and has built and developed some of the best bike destinations in the world, including Blue Derby amongst countless others. All three of us were equipped with pedal assist eBikes, not so much because we are lazy or old, but because of the fun factor, because of the different ways of riding and experiencing adventure, and new possibilities like riding longer, further, steeper terrain that’s hard to do or simply impossible on pedal bikes.

So why using a helicopter, you may ask? Well, because we had the opportunity and invitation, and to explore the remote backcountry that would be hard to access on regular bikes or eBikes unless dropped off. Outings like this, would normally require multi-days, which would mean we had to bring tents, sleeping bags, food, etc. We have all done traditional multi-day adventures before and they are always lots of fun, but the helicopter allowed us to be dropped off at pretty much any point and then pedal back home, especially in the alpine environment with overgrown and rocky terrain. The harsh alpine grass, rock fields and snow field would hardly be ridable or fun on a regular bike, but on an eBike it is possible to keep momentum in the rough terrain.

A workout was guaranteed, despite the category 1 electric pedal assist bikes; one was wise to conserve battery power along the way, especially when riding a route that hasn’t been ridden before or with the danger of getting lost and having to backtrack which could deplete valuable power from the battery and could leave you in a sticky situation if your battery runs out before the trail does. Full suspension bikes are a must in such technical terrain and the big tyres allow for better traction, not only because they have a bigger footprint/contact area on the ground, but also because they can be run with lower air pressure. One of the most underrated facts about eBike set up is the perfect tyre pressure, which depends on many factors, 1 or 2 psi can make all the difference. I can only encourage riders to experiment with their tyre pressures to find their own sweet spot, which will vary from terrain to terrain and riding style. Highspeed bike park berms and jumps require more pressure than slow and bumpy back country outings.

Queenstown is the adventure sports capital of New Zealand. The town, with its population of 42,000, sits on the shores of the South Island’s Lake Wakatipu. Set amongst the dramatic Southern Alps, it’s surrounded by pure nature and wild mountains. Many tourists come here every year, to enjoy the thrills of extreme and adventure activities. They also have a renowned bike park and nearby mountain resorts with world class bike trails. We went on three different outings with the helicopter while we were there. One can preview the route and pick lines as we fly over it. We would scout the terrain from the air, to find the best trails or valley’s that wouldn’t lead to a dead end or unpassable river. I have to say sometimes it’s nice to have ‘friends with benefits, and it felt pretty amazing to have a helicopter at your private service without time restrains - “can we first fly over there and look at the other options” or “can you pick us up half way down the ridge and meet us with lunch” or “how about a quick detour to fly over the famous Milford Sound Fiord”. Trust me these are not regular occurrences or options on any of my normal trips or rides. Travelling this way opened the doors for possibilities that I had not experienced before. My favourite day was when we were accompanied by Henry’s dog, Alfi, who joined us and loved running alongside us, always minding and respecting the bikes. He was a very tired dog at the end of that day.

Riding along endless ridges with breathtaking views with hardly any signs of civilization in sight. We came across some old mining sites and ghost towns, from the days of the gold and copper rush. Some of the old mining trails make great biking trails some 140 years later. On another day we were dropped off on top of an alpine mountain with no trails in sight, we had to navigate and pick our lines through rough rock sections and spree fields, patches of snow and endless ridges that would eventually join some old dirt roads or trails.

On day 3 Henry called the operators at Coronet Ski Resorts, since the bike park and gondola hadn’t opened for the summer season yet, we got permission to fly to the top and put first tracks on the freshly groomed flow trails. These trails are eye-candy and snake down the mountain side with one roller, jump or berm after the other.

Definitely an extravagant experience to get to participate in such a special trip and a great way to catch up with some good old mates.

Words: Hans Rey

Images: Carmen Rey