Words & Image Gaz Sullivan

There was probably some fatigue left over from the previous Saturday, for a start. I had taken on a lap of Lake Taupō for no good reason except that it was officially my 25th edition. Once again, I discovered that a year spent crawling up fire roads on a 50-tooth sprocket and free-wheeling down trails is no preparation for 100 miles on a road bike.

I should have figured that out by now, but the other thing I am slow to accept is that every year I make that mistake, I am a year older than I was the previous time. And as those years accumulate, each one has a bigger effect on everything to do with riding bikes than the one that preceded it.

On race day, I stayed alive by not even trying to keep up with anybody. But that makes the ride take a lot longer than once upon a time, and six-plus hours plugging along the road, mostly solo, makes a dent in the physical reserves that no amount of after-match cakes will replenish. Believe me, I tested that concept.

I got back on a bike a few days after the big road outing and was predictably lame. I was in a similar state a few days after that.

By the weekend, I figured I had eaten enough and been horizontal for long enough to have a reasonably full gas tank. It was a beautiful day, and I left the van with a plan: to crawl up some hills on a 50-tooth sprocket and free-wheel down some trails, repeating as long as possible.

After my second climb, I was more than likely ready to go home, but the native forest at the top of my local was calling me. I had not been up there in way too long. Just before embarking on the best part of the ascent (a singletrack climb – rare in these parts), I spotted a couple of people gazing at one of the spaghetti-like Rotorua trail maps that are guaranteed to confuse anybody.

I will use any excuse to stop pedalling uphill, so I went and asked them if they knew where they were going. They were a mother and daughter on eBikes, visiting from central California, with only a vague idea of where to go. I made some recommendations I thought were suitable and resumed my climb.

The women passed me about ten minutes later, not far from the top of the uphill trail. I don’t know what happened to them immediately after that, but they beetled past me again on the final humiliating grind that must be endured by riders before entering the native.

My plan had been to start going downhill from there, down the majestic Tihi-O-Tawa, and continue downhill until I was back at the vehicle. However, trying to explain the trail we call Tuhoto Ariki and its new addition was too hard for my sweaty brain, so I said, “Follow me”.

They were not fast, but they were having a lot of fun tackling the surprisingly wet and root- strewn trail. I am sure they have some great mountain biking back in sunny Cal, but it will not be much like the jungle we have at the top of the forest. There was a lot of laughter coming through the bush as I waited in various spots so we could regroup. We emerged from the jungle to a clearcut that happened last summer, and there is already a really nice climb to a drop-dead view at the top.

‘Drop-dead’ is probably a little too accurate, given my state by the time I got there. Firstly, because I had now completed two decent climbs beyond what I had bargained for, and secondly, because I had executed them at as much pace as I could manage while maintaining a straight face, given the whirring of eBike motors right behind me.

The views, the amazing stack of lenticular clouds coming off the central plateau, the potted history of the Tarawera eruption I trotted out once I could string three words together, even the howling wind that likely made my discourse inaudible, all these things were absorbed with gratitude by the women before we took off down the excellent trail that has been constructed to get off the ridge.

It is a real gem – narrow, tight turns, things to jump over if you are into that, but totally rollable if you are me. We got to the bottom and the first thing the daughter yelled was “Sick!” Hooting at her mother, who arrived in one piece and still grinning, she was very excited about the whole jungle to ridgeline to plunge, and it seemed selfish not to show them some more.

So, we dropped into Te Ahi Manawa. For my money, it is one of the best trails in the whole joint. There are more difficult trails, but I don’t ride them. My skillset lets me have fun on trails like this one, with little real risk of much going wrong. The way I do it (slowly), if things do go pear shaped, I’m able to meet the earth in a dignified manner and get up shaken but intact. So far anyway. There are several little sections that demand my full attention, and I can get through with something approaching panache, and to be honest doing that occasionally is maybe what gets me out in the woods on a bike.

As I suspected, Te Ahi hit the spot with the visitors. In fact, it registered “sick” again on the general coolness scale. But also, it was that stage of the day when my turkey timer was starting to rattle. We took another couple of low trails back to civilisation, at which point I could tell my day was well and truly done.

The girls were still in great shape and looking for some more trails. Big batteries in the downtube will do that. I gave them the best instructions I could manage and left them to it.

I got home and had a shower, some lunch and an unusually late coffee. Then I sat down to read my book. Legs were throbbing in that position, so I moved to the bed. Getting horizontal felt slightly better, but I immediately lost track of whatever the hell I was trying to read. Within fifteen minutes, I was asleep. That lasted a couple hours, and I was not much use for anything when I regained consciousness. We spent Sunday doing not much, especially in my case. We did walk down a flight of stairs to get to a beach, and the return climb hurt.

Five years ago, I decided the time had come to get an eBike so becoming a basket case after a moderately big day out would be less likely. I still haven’t got one, but I can feel it coming.