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The Longest Day Ride

Mon, 26 Dec 2011 22:30:00 -0600

This thing is the brainchild of Tama Easton. What you do is ride from sunrise to sunset on the longest day of the year, because it is fun and to raise money for Arthritis New Zealand. Riding for 15 hours gives plenty of options. You could cruise all day between cafes and hang out places, or you could take on a do-or-die epic that could have you a sorry wreck, out of energy and out of enthusiasm a long way from home as the sun sets. Somewhere between these extremes is an honest ride with only a small risk of geographical humiliation. Living in Wellington, Andrew and I opted for a circumnavigation of Wellington Harbour, anticlockwise from Miramar and taking in all sorts of hills along the way - providing, as they say, views to die for. I tried to put off committing myself to the plan for as long as possible until a perfect weather forecast stripped away all the excuses I had conjoured up in my mind. I signed up for sponsorship and set about persuading my work colleagues that rather then just goofing off for a day's mountain biking, my day of pain had far more worthy merit. As the pledges came in, my resolve to make a decent fist of this ride grew. People seemed to think I was up to it, so there was no backing out. Gabrielle and Pip decided to get in on the fun, and they devised their own plan, mixing road biking up with mountainbiking, and we made loose plans to meet up for sunset at the top of Makara Peak.

Sure enough when we left home at 5:45am, the dawn was clear and windless. The sun caught the tops of the Karori hills as we rolled down the main road and we caught our first direct sunshine on our first off road section for the day - Highbury Fling.

Transient took us to Aro Street and then a warming ride over Mt Vic had us cruising along Evans Bay Parade with the harbour a mirror. Another climb to Mt Crawford

and we were soon enjoying Jail Brake, Repeat Offender, Conviction and Bootleg. Next we headed back into town for breakfast of french bread, and coffee at Aro Cafe.

Hill time. A cruise through town (office workers going to work reminded us it ws still early) and up Ngaio Gorge then throught Chartwell and onto Skyline track for another view of the harbour and the Miramar Peninsula looking a bit distant.

We welcomed the slight breeze on the skyline track and worked our way along to Kaukau

before heading down to Johnsonville and down Middleton Road towards Tawa, stopping for a cold drink on the way. Next we headed up Takapu Road to the end where it meets Belmont Regional Park and had a bite to eat at the gate. No more cool breeze, just the prospect of the climb ahead to savour. Eventually we reached the airstrip and gained another view of the harbour - now looking quite distant. I'd forgotten how much height you lose between here and Boulder Hill, but was reminded soon enough. At the foot of the climb we snacked on snakes and headed up the clay path which we noted made a particularly effective collector and reflector of solar radiation. After a more gentle climb through long grass (if you suffer fom hayfever as we both do, you'll appreciate this), threading our way through a herd of cattle, we topped out on Boulder Hill.

We were re-acquainted with the southerly breeze and it was very welcome - not only for the cooling factor, but it promised a tail wind for a section of SH2 from Haywards to Silverstream. But first a lovely long downhill to Dry Creek on one of those hard clay surfaces that just dares you to go faster. Before long we were wolfing down Big Macs at Silverstream and speculating on the route ahead.

We'd been foiled on this next section earlier in the year, ending up in Pinehaven after missing a turn and then bailing - opting for a train ride into town rather that risking running out of daylight along the ridge to Wainuiomata. It was a decision we re-visited with increasing gratitude as the longest day progressed. I'd got wind of a track called Kiln, that offered a more direct route to Pinehaven Ridge than we had used last time (). The start was just a hop around the corner from Maccas, so I thought I was being pretty smart. Trouble was, what I was sure I'd remember from my research wasn't as retrieved with 100% clarity. After a bit of advice fom helpful locals, we got out the phone and checked out Google Maps. Sorted. Sort of. We found the start of the track, a steep, rutted clay affair that promised to yield altitude quickly if we kept pushing. And then it got muddy. Not vast tracts of it, just big wallows every 50m or so. And between wallows there was ideal country for training for Karapoti's Devil's Staircase. I managed to lie down in one of the wallows when trying to negotitate a narrow ridge between them. Eventually things levelled out and we got to some serious riding and made a turnoff that we figured put us in the right direction. We were buoyed by this until our route degenerated into steep, raw singletrack with manuka stumps that looked like they were just waiting to murder a sidewall. This was a bit worrying, but somehow we were spat out onto a gravel road which seemed to take us southwest - with the now lowering sun over our right shoulder.

Occasional views over the Hutt Valley had our spirits lifted and we rode with new confidence. A stop for more snakes and a Moro bar had me revved up for the final push along the ridge and down to the Wainuiomata Hill Road summit

and hopefully a quick ride to the Days Bay ferry into town and a last climb up Makara Peak where we'd be met with cold beer as arranged. That was the plan. Problem was that the last ferry was pulling out of Days Bay as we rode down the (recommended) singletrack alongside the Hill Road. A phone call cancelled the beer rendezvous and we set about the ride into town with perfect conditions - cool and calm while the sun dropped over the western hills.

Andrew led the way along the cycle path and all I had to do was sit on his wheel and keep turning over the pedals. The last hill up to Karori was a curious mix of euphoria and fatigue. We discussed the pizza order that I'd phone in as soon as I got in the door. Cresting the hill, the sun was just setting and lighting Makara Peak summit

where Gabrielle and Pip were enjoying the end of their longest day rides.

With $500 raised for Arthritis New Zealand, it felt like a bloody good day. I was sunburned, muddy and with about 140km in my legs, I felt great. Next was a hose down, a beer, a shower, pizza, coffee, a bath and that was my day. Thanks Tama for the inspiration. Thanks heaps Andrew for your patience and entertainment during the ride riding with you is never dull. And thanks to all my supporters for your donations! I think this is going to be a regular highlight of my riding year!

Herepai

Mon, 05 Dec 2011 21:43:00 -0600

I'm delighted to report that this re-kindled tramping lark is becoming something of a habit. While not that frequent, at least there is an element of regularity about our getting into the hills, with this latest foray being the fifth time Rex and I have convened the 'old firm' in recent months. This time we visited the northeastern Tararuas, specifically Herepai and Ruapai on the tops with overnight stops at Putara field station (Friday night) and Herepai Hut (Saturday night). Alan Ross was in town having just completed his season in Queensland as a field geologist, so he was along and the other member of the group was Rex's 'lad' Pete who brought a youthful element to this ageing cohort of trampers.

Friday night was a nostalgic one for Rex and I as we both took our biology classes there twenty odd years ago when on the staff at Tawa College. A new toilet block is the main change since those days, along with the large covered lean-to, and the installation of a large extended family of rooks in the gum trees.

In the morning Rex plied us with bacon, eggs, mushrooms and tomatoes and Pete fortified our souls with strong black coffee from a percolator before we set off by car for the road end and then on foot towards Herepai Hut, on the bushline. Views of the open tops beckoned us from the hut, so Alan and I pushed on over Herepai and then to Ruapai peak on the main range.

From the top, we had views of the Horowhenua and we could see the Ohau River snaking towards the coast. The brisk westerly had us putting jackets on briefly but they were off again as soon as we dipped below the ridge on the return trip.

Right on cue, the rain started as soon as we were in the hut which the four of us shared with three hunters. They were notable for their good humour and willingness to carry unnecessarily heavy loads, less so for their willingness to go out for a hunt. Good blokes to a man.

The walk out on Sunday was enjoyable for the lack of rain and mild conditions despite it being overcast.

Well fortified with pancakes and more of that dark brew from Pete's percolator, we made short work of the tip out and soon we were enjoying lunch at Putara where, according to the chalkboard graffiti, Bob the rat lives in the piano, so far unseen and unheard by us. More photos here.

Hat-trick bagged, still no cigar!

Tue, 01 Nov 2011 17:19:00 -0500

About this time last year, I consoled myself that even though I missed out on the Royal Society of New Zealand Manhire Prize for Creative Science Writing, after being shortlisted twice, I was at least on a hat-trick for being shortlisted. Well I achieved that with my latest effort - an essay on chemistry, submitted for the 2011 competition. Again I entertained hope of landing the big one, but alas, it was not to be. Maybe I need to change my pen-name under which these efforts are submitted... You can read my latest effort here.

Le Tour

Thu, 11 Aug 2011 23:31:00 -0500

Funny how you wait so long for something to come along and then it's over, done and finished in what seems the blink on an eye. I'm talking Le Tour here - fifteen days of cycling in France and with a brief foray into Italy, where the coffee is definitely better. We ticked off some big hills - Col du Tourmalet, Col D'Aubisque, Mount Ventoux and the legendary "Dutch Mountain" Alp d'Huez. Mindless repeats of Makara Hill prepared us well. We saw stage finishes, a start, the Individual time trial in Grenoble, hill climbing heroics and of course the final mad climax on the Champs Elysees. Cadel won us over (sort of) with an intelligent and deserving win, but we remain devoted fans of Andy and Frank Schleck, Jens Voigt, Thor Hushovd and Fabian Cancellara. We were gutted to see Vinokourov retire broken from the event and his career. Julz gave us something to cheer for and we Kiwi folk identified easily with the black Garmin Cervelo team bus - complete with the soft toy kiwi that the smiling driver would wave to us in response to our flags. Would we do it again? I think so - maybe when team Pure Black Racing lines up in (maybe 2015).

Ruahine winter weekend

Tue, 28 Jun 2011 00:00:00 -0500

It has taken me 55 years to get into the Ruahine Ranges, so Friday night's drive north was laced with the extra anticipation of a foray into unknown territory. Red line! Rex and I have tried to go for a weekend tramp every three months and have settled on synchronising these with the equinoxes and solstices - for no other reason than they are quarterly and give us the full gamut of seasons in which to tramp. This last weekend was, of course pretty close to the winter solstice, so weather expectations were low. A heavy shower or two near Dannevirke reminded us of this but rain sounds so much worse in a van than in a car.

Eventually Rex, Brent and I tumbled out of the van at the Sunrise Hut road end and set off for Triplex Hut which is quite a tidy affair for an end-of-the-road lodging. The rain had stopped by now and we were pleased to note that there were no other vehicles at the road end. After a quick brew in an empty hut, a group of five others turned up (venturer scouts and leader from Wellington) and that set in motion a trend that was to become the hallmark fo this trip... scouts, scouts and more scouts.

In the morning we chatted to the others who informed us, with what seemed to be an indecent amount of pleasure, that a group of "up to 30" scouts were on their way from Hawkes Bay. It was time to hit the trail. After three hours of leisurely wandering up a gently graded and well gravelled path (you'd get the wrong impression if I called it a track), with lots of photo stops, we arrived at Sunrise Hut.

Although the sun was doing its best, it was no match for the strong, bitter southerly and our post prandial walk to the saddle was postponed due to the probability that we'd get blown off the ridge.

After a while, a few people arrived - scouts from Hawkes Bay, but alas, not the ones we were expecting. This was a group of about 24 and, yes the others were still coming a little later. By about 3:30pm they'd all arrived and the hut was full of exuberant youths and their battle weary minders. So much for a peaceful winter retreat. A French couple arrived later and must have wondered what they had walked into. But despite the crowd, it all worked out pretty well. The scouts were all having a great time in the outdoors and their leaders were on the ball and while they maintained a reasonable amount of order, they were never going to be able to control the noise. For Rex and I, we were just pleased to not be in charge, having shouldered that burden plenty of times as teachers at Tawa College.

It was snowing by nightfall and the wind eased so that it was dead still - not that you'd notice it inside with the noise. Sunrise - that daily event after which the hut was named and as aresult lifted our expectations, was a bit of a disappointment. The dusting of snow gave the place a certain charm in the early light and I managed to get a photo of the small tarn outside the hut before the ice was smashed up by exuberant youths.

After a hearty breakfast of oaty pancakes and coffee we sauntered off back down to Triplex Hut and the carpark which by now had 17 vehicles... and there wasn't a scout to be seen... or heard.

Taupo again

Sun, 28 Nov 2010 20:04:00 -0600

After a certificate/medal/result sheet audit revealed that I have in fact completed 10 solo Taupo challenges, my indecision as to whether to do the Huka Challenge (mountain bike race) or the road ride again evaporated. With 10 solos under my belt, I qualified for the Bronze Club and a swanky bronze edition race number to show off in the road peleton. With a fine forecast and the promise of a hot day, I was envious of the shade the mountain bikers would have, but lured as I was by the siren of elitism, I was content to have my appointment with suffering on the road provided I could do it in style. Imagine my chagrin when I collected my race number only to find that it was a vanilla number that made no acknowledgement of my previous efforts. That of course did nothing to diminish the task ahead as 160km of hot tarmac awaited my pleasure. The main aim was to get around safely and this year it all seemed a bit less chaotic and congested. My nephew Haydon from Brisbane joined us and we all managed to cruise around in good time, although it has to be said that Gabrielle was in the best shape of us all at the finish line.

Still no cigar

Thu, 11 Nov 2010 20:03:00 -0600

The Manhire Prizes for creative science writing were announced on Wednesday and alas, I have missed again. Congratulations of course to the winners! I am already looking forward to next year and another topic. It reminds me of a challenge I read about once on a writers' web site - to get 30 rejection letters in 30 days. Looking on the bright side, I'm on a hat trick!

Jumbo in the Spring

Sun, 31 Oct 2010 20:52:00 -0500

It was another weekend in the Tararuas for Rex and I, this time a jaunt up to Jumbo. Being Spring, anything could happen in the weather deparment - come to think of it last time I was there was New Years Eve 2009 and there was plenty of snow on the ground.

We arrived at Holdsworth Lodge on Friday night in light rain to discover that I'd brought the right tent poles (Plateau) but the wrong tent! Luckily the long Plateau poles were the right size so other than a bit of extra pole sticking out of the top of the tent, nobody would know. The forecast was not great but not all that bad either - promises of fine spells - at least in Wellington. There were lots of Puriri moths around and a hundred or so dead and dying under the outside light at the lodge in the morning.

A pleasant saunter up to Atiwhakatu Hut for an early lunch with a few stops along the way to take photographs was a good way to start the trip.

Then it was up, up, up rain gauge spur, again with plenty of photo stops in the goblin forest near the bush line.

By time we reached an empty Jumbo hut it was definitely quite chilly. Soon we had the fire roaring and a hot brew on board and we set about preparing for a gourmet meal in the tradition of the tent fly once known as the Imperial Jade Palace. This rather extravagant piece of nylon was the shelter for many a feast back in the Tawa College Tramping Club days when carrying a wok was de rigeur. And so began a feast of spring rolls with sweet Thai chilli sauce, beef curry and roti with feijoa chutney followed by lychees and chocolate custard.

Rex's thermometer declared the temperature to be zero outside and 18 degrees inside -an agreeable differential allowing for a good night's sleep.

A frozen tap confirmed our suspicion - it was a cold morning! After waving a cooker under the tap, we had water, then soon after hot water, coffee, hot pancakes with maple syrup and more coffee. Bliss. I made a couple of forays outside with the camera to capture some images of the coldness came back impressed at how I could use all the controls on my new camera with heavily mittened hands. Well done Canon!

The rest is, as they say, downhill. Steep in places and a couple of skids and before long we were back at Atiwhakatu Hut for an early lunch then wandering along the new sidle track along the valley. The sun came out briefly, but didn't persist.

Manhire prize shortlist again

Sun, 31 Oct 2010 20:14:00 -0500

My entry for the Manhire Creative Science Writing Prize has been shortlisted again this year. Topic this year is the mind and my non-fiction entry explores the role of the amygdalae - specifically those of my lovely wife, Gabrielle, in the process of learning and extinguishing fear, in her case of bats. So sporting of her to allow me to write this stuff - but, such is her dedication to science...

Anyway watch this space.

My entry is here

Orongorongo weekend

Mon, 23 Aug 2010 19:30:00 -0500

It has been so wet this winter that the good people at the Meterological Service no longer consider "fine" to be a term worth retaining. The forecast for the weekend of 20/21 August was not surprisingly for rain - just like the three preceding months. The only hope the were allowed was in the wind being a mild norwester, rather than a bitter southerly. As the weekend drew nearer, the rain lost its prominence in the predictions and words like showers appeared. This was wonderful, because we were off to the Orongorongo Station to Join Brent and Sonja along with Peter and Caroline, and Grant and Kate.

Saturday morning was 'all go' as they say as we squeezed in a short road ride around the Makara Circuit. It has been a while and in the interim, some contractors have put a cable under the road all the way from Johnsonville to Makara Beach and made an awful job of re-sealing over the trench. Note to self - Makara Circuit should be done clockwise from now on.

We arrived at the Orongorongo Station in time to wolf down our Bordeaux Bakery goodies and have a coffee before heading up the valley with Brent in search of a farm track that would take us to the top of xxx and some great views of the south coast, Palliser Bay and the hills behind us. We set off up an unlikely track - a bit overgrown, but in the right place according to the map. 600 vertical metres later we were at the top where leatherwood met the farmland and wild goats outnumbered the sheep. Along the ridge we started to think of our mountainbikes, but there would have been a lot of pushing to get there.

On the way down, we passed an old WWII observation post and enjoyed the warmth of the sun as it lowered in the western sky.

Peter and Caroline turned up as did Grant and Kate and it was time for Brent to crank up the BBQ and there followed another evening of discussing potential trips, past trips and all that sort of thing. We speculated on enough trips to keep us going well into our nineties - oh that we should be able to afford them!

On Sunday morning Brent headed for Otaki and a kayak race, Gabrielle and Caroline took the cars home as they both had work to day and Peter and I visited the seal colony to take some photos. We then headed off to ride to Eastbourne around the coast.

Fording the Wainuiomata River was no problem - around knee deep at most part way along the beach. A bit of walking through some soft sand near the rock climbing boulders and we were soon riding freely around Fitzroy Bay. The northely met us head on at Pencarrow and the rest was a cruise around the bays interspersed with buffeting headwinds on the headlands.

We had time for a gelato at Eastbourne and a quick visit to see Peter's parents then we made haste for the Days Bay wharf which we reached just as the ferry arrived to take us to Wellington. Via Somes Island, Petone and Somes Island. The only rain for the weekend was a shower as we rounded Pencarrow Head.

Close call for a hummingbird

Sat, 17 Jul 2010 17:00:00 -0500

It was great to get a call the other day from Adventure Travel to say that one of my entries for their annual travel photography competition had been placed second! I took the photo at the appropriately named "Hummingbird Cafe" at the entrance to Monteverde National Park in Costa Rica. The owner of the cafe has several bird feeders hanging from the roof of the porch outside the cafe and the hummingbirds are in constant attendance. They buzz in and out constantly like giant bumblebees on amphetamines, engaging in all sorts of aerial jousting to get at the feeders while they are full. Getting a decent photo is a challenge with the obvious fast wing speed and unpredictable movements making things a bit tricky. For this shot I pre-focussed on a point just back from the feeder and used a very short duration flash - 1/64 power and a shutter speed of around 1/125 and opened up the aperture to grab enough ambient light so as no to have a black background. Most of the time the birds would feed and then be gone in a flash, but on a couple of occasions this one backed out from the feeder and paused long enough for me to get a photograph. After about 300 exposures, I had a maybe half a dozen good ones - not something I'd try with film! The instant feedback that digital photography provides is pretty well essential for this kind of work. You find out what works and make changes as you go.

For my trouble I recieved a $500 travel voucher and free admission to Darren Leal's photography workshop which was excellent. Thanks Adventure Travel!

Return to the Tararuas

Sun, 04 Jul 2010 17:56:00 -0500

It has been a while since I had a full weekend in the Tararua Ranges - something like 18 years! That's not to say I've not ventured in there, it's just that my more recent (if two decades can be called 'recent') forays into the leatherwood have been day trips rather than overnight excursions. Old-time teaching colleague from Tawa College days Rex Bartholomew and I decided at his recent celebration of, as he puts it completing his 60th circumnavigation of the Sun, that it was time we headed back in to our old stamping ground. There being no time like the present, we scuttled off at the first available weekend to see if it is as cold, wet and muddy as we remember it. With a daunting weather forecast promising a foul Sunday, we headed into Otaki Forks on a frosty Friday night and settled in to Parawai Lodge. Road-end huts have a universal lack of charm, and Parawai is no exception. It is an interface between a mobile urban population and a wild place. You can basically drive there and play out macho roles against the background of the hills without actually climbing a hill. Parawai is then filthy, graffitied and a poor relation of its more remote counterparts, but it was home for the night,

Saturday morning saw a frost under seige from an early nor'wester that had clouds scudding across the sky. Mist hung low in the Waitewaewae valley and the Sun struggled to get through the cloud as we climbed Misery to the bush edge. With the only goal for the day being Field Hut, we had the full day to wander and take photos at leisure - what a treat! The overcast conditions were perfect for forest photography.

Later as we sat outside the hut, evening cloud rolled in from the west leaving and by nightfall we were in thick fog.

One of the joys of winter tramping is getting lots of sleep - a solid 12 hours of zzzs had us bright eyed and bushy tailed by morning. First up was a scuttle up the ridge behind the hut to catch the early light streaming down from above the Main Range.

Another excursion after breakfast to Table Top in bright sunshine and no wind was a real bonus before the walk out.

This time the sun streamed in through the trees, lighting up patches of filmy ferns and kidney ferns on tree trunks.

By time we returned to Otaki Forks, it was warm and calm - a great end to a great weekend out.

More photos here

Harbour City half marathon 25 years on

Mon, 28 Jun 2010 20:16:00 -0500

The twenty fifth running of the Harbour City Half Marathon has managed to sneak up on me somehow. In 1986, I ran the inaugural event in 1:21, coming 121st. Back then I ran most days. Now, 25 years on, I cycle daily and run about three times a month. That's no recipe for a personal best, but buoyed by my enjoyable half marathon experience in February and enticed by the siren of a special 25th anniversary finisher's medal, I signed up for the event on the back of a 75 minute test run around Northland and Wadestown and little else by way of preparation.

Race day was foul. A keen southerly with rain squalls had everyone sheltering in the Westpac Stadium until the last minute before facing the weather and the starter's gun. It was a sombre affair, no music to lighten the mood and an announcer on the PA system who barked instructions as to where everyone should be with no hint of welcome. It was the perfect match for the weather.

Soon we were off into the southerly down Jervios Quay, most people content to hold their position until things opened up, but with the occasional runner dodging about trying to get ahead, cutting across others - possibly these are the same people who cut me off in their cars while I'm on my bike approaching the Karori tunnel - at least they have same attitude.

It was cold, it was wet and it hurt. It served me right too. I was unprepared and more importantly, I was running for the wrong reason. I used to run for the love of it. All I needed was the feeling of running. This, by contrast, was a calculated exercise in want. I wanted the medal, and I got it - eventually. Actually I was pleasantly surprised to go through 10km in under 50 minutes. It seemed slower. Soon it was. Cobham Drive hurt - there and back. The tail wind back around Evans Bay Parade was welcome, but favoured those with leg speed (youth).

It was a good 8 minutes slower than the February run. I'll put it down to the weather. Never mind that the course record was broken.

Spot the difference...

Tue, 15 Jun 2010 20:52:00 -0500

Apart from the camera angle, there is one easily spotted difference between these two photos...

and ten minutes later...

The presence of one Cordyline australis in the bottom picture is what would, in a more commerical setting, put you in the draw to win a chance to go in the draw to get a discount on a purchase of some sort. That cabbage tree started life self-seeded from the monster specimen in the back yard, alongside the concrete path outside my basement where it grew apace and unfettered for some years, holding enough water to wet mewhenever I passed after a rainshower. I have been thinking about moving it to Makara Peak for some time (pretty well whenever it shed its payload of rainwater on me) and now that it is winter, the planets, stars and other celestial bodies aligned themselves in such a way as to awaken me to the task. These celestial accidents are what get me to paint the bathroom ceiling after contemplating its sorry state over decades from the warm luxury of a post-ride bath. Anyway, like painting the bathroom ceiling, it is done. There are other cabbage trees in the back yard that are likely to make the long walk up Varleys - it seems to me that the track pictured would make a fine Avenue Cordyline. Watch this space...

... and then it rained

Tue, 18 May 2010 17:49:00 -0500

It will come as no surprise to those who know me that my presence in the Marlborough Sounds coincided with the abrupt end of the region's drought. The Indian summer bowed so abruptly to the monsoon that it was lucky to avoid a prolapsed lumbar disc. What was dust is mud. The thought of our return to Pelorus Sound for three days kayaking sustained me through a few days of common cold with uncommon 'flu symptoms last week, so it was with some relief that I was on the ferry on Friday night with Brent, Peter Ian and Grant, heading for the mainland, even if I was a little below par.

A balmy Wellington heavy with cloud morphed in to a black sky deluge by time we arrived in Picton. The Humpback whales a couple of km off Tory Channel were a brief diversion from the darkening sky! It is a long drive from Picton to Titirangi Bay - we stopped off briefly to leave our kayak trolleys with the good folk at Portage Resort Hotel en route. The tortuous road had Ian puking out the window somewhere near Kenepuru Saddle. Frogs leapt and rats and mice ran ahead of the headlights and possums stared stupidly as we approached - "Check it out, two moons" as the ad. said.

Titirangi Bay was no refuge from the rain and after pushing the van out of the mud, our driver set off for the return trip to Picton and something called super14 on the telly. We got to camp in the rain. My spirits soared as my instant dinner hit the spot - Backcountry beef curry, a roti and some coconut sambal - all the better for being out of the rain under Peter's vast fly. I'm easily pleased.

Saturday morning and the rain eased as we packed up and set off into a nor'easterly breeze and towards Allen Strait - although it looked more like a river with overfalls and a good 6 knots or so mid channel. Sneaking around the southern edge was a doddle and soon we were surfing into xxxx bay to check out the wreck of the xxx. The portage route into Beatrix Bay was not even slightly tempting with a choppy sea, a 'landing' peppered with kayak-eating rocks and a very steep but short route to the top. On xxx head and into Pelorus Sound we went. Once around Post Office Point we picked up a tail wind again and surfed most of the way down towards Maud Island that appeared as a black pyramid against the dry grassland behind. Squalls crossed our path intermittently and a few boats bashed their way north, throwing up spray from all points of contact with the sea - give me a kayak any day!

A black sky foretold of the deluge that greeted us as we neared our chosen camp and it continued for most of the night. By morning the wind had sprung up and promised us a good ride down towards Pelorus Sound and we made good time into Jacobs Bay for a stretch and bite to eat. Lunch was a sodden affair. Sardines eaten straight from their communal coffin at a rough and cheerless bach that had an acceptable deck. By time we had that, the tide was in full cry heading out and our progress was slowed - it took ages to get past Pipi Beach. Eventually the promised southerly arrived and we really had to slog it out for the last few kilometers to the entrance of Kenepuru Sound. Any let up would have us going backwards, so it was a sustained effort. Once into Kenepuru the slog continued though with a lighter breeze in fading light as we struck out for St Omer. Again the rain set in as we appraoched camp and again we hastened to get things organised before dark. Bent's dinner was memorable for all the wrong reasons. It was hot. It hosed down all night - thank goodness for tent flys!

Morning brought hope of better weather and by time we reached Portage, the sun was actually shining. We hauled the kayaks on trolleys over to Torea Bay and had lunch in the sun before paddling across to Picton where the hot showers on the wharf were more than welcome! For the next week it was enough to be dry, and to have something to eat that was not frioles con arroz a la Brent!

It's just not cricket - (it's cycling)

Sat, 10 Apr 2010 16:36:00 -0500

One of the reasons I spend most July evenings watching the Tour of France unfold is the appeal of watching fate play its cruel hand in the fortunes of seriously competitive men. The stakes are high and gambling on a breakaway that might or might not succeed is a bold move. So often, what seems like an unassailable leads get whittled down to nothing by a team effort from the peloton in the last couple of kilometers and those who have pedalled their brains out to stay away are consumed by the peloton and spat out the back, spent and sore. I feel for these men, for I have been there - in my own modest way. As recently as Saturday.

While the Graperide is no Alp d'Huez switchback hell in the Alps, it is a good ride and having rode 3:02 in the last two years, this year there was a job to be done. Nice to have the consistency, but it's on the wrong side of 180 minutes. Right from the gun, I set about catching the previous groups of 100 riders ahead. My goal was to catch the second group that would put me 4 minutes ahead of anyone in that bunch, and sit in the bunch until I hit the hills of Queen Charlotte Drive where I would drop as many as I could. And pick up a bunch for the tail wind ride back to Renwick.

That was the plan. The first part worked fine, but with just two of us working at the front of the bunch (thanks Andy), the effort required was way above budget. One really shouldn't taste bile so early in a ride. I consoled myself with the promise of a more sedate pace once we hit the headwind towards Picton. By the I'd be in a faster bunch, pulling away from my start group. We'd caught the second bunch by time we swung out onto SH1 at Spring Creek, and were closing in ever so slowly to the remnants of the next bunch up the road. I was flagging a bit and decided that once we caught them, I'd sit up and have a breather. We urged a few others in our group to assist and we got a response from some that helped and we were able to have longer breaks from the sharp end.

Around Tuamarina, with only about 50m to the group ahead, a whirring of spokes announced that we were being joined by another bunch - no problem with that, until I get the cheery greeting from Gabrielle and Alan. It was nice to see them but it meant that the group who had just joined was the same one I crossed the start line with. They looked fresh and I felt as if I had just done the Karapoti. A stray water bottle went straight under Gabrielle's front wheel - luckily she had the composure to roll over it, rather than trying to go around it while in a tight bunch.Our ever-growing bunch swept along to Picton vaccuuming up riders in its wake.

As we crested the hill that leads down into Picton a tyre exploded to my left and a rider pulled off. The bunch had strung out on the hill and I chased hard to catch Alan going down so we were together again going into Queen Charlotte Drive. Alan stayed close as we tackled the first big hill, but I was well clear by time I summited. Through Ngakuta Bay I was pretty much alone, but Alan re-joined me with a bunch of his merry men through Linkwater. Again I had succumbed to the bunch. Half a dozen of us lapped it out at the front across the Linkwater flats to the bottom of Mahakipawa Hill where we scattered on the climb and then regrouped after the downhill run into Havelock. At last the wind was behind us as we swung left for the final leg south back to Renwick, but far from making this a cruise, the pace went on and it was a scramble to shut down the odd gap that appeared in the ever-growing peloton. Things settled down and for once we had good order in the pack and a good paceline had us hitting over 50km/hr in places. We scooped up lone riders but many others, running on empty, failed to get on board. Everyone was concentrating hard and those who had anything in the tank strung out the peloton in the last few kilometers so that by time we crossed the Waiau River again, we were single file and hurting.

I spent the last couple of kilometers searching for the middle ground between my right hamstring seizing up with cramp and drifting off the back of the pack. Soon enough the driveway into Forrest Estate dictated its own sensible pace and we all rolled in, Alan 11 seconds ahead, and me reflecting on what was and what might have been and what should have been. Whenever I needed a bunch, I was on my own. Somehow they just formed behind me and made a mockery of my efforts. Three hours had passed but it had been an enjoyable ride despite my strategy being spectacularly unsuccessful.

That's part of the appeal of cycling - it is an amalgam of strategy, fitness and even a bit of luck. It combines the heady thrill of fast paced peloton riding and technical descents with great scenery. It most certainly isn't cricket.

Matt and Keri's big day!

Mon, 22 Mar 2010 18:10:00 -0500

Some days are destined to be remembered and Saturday 20th was a huge day for the Gunn Clan as Matt and Keri were married at Tatum Park, just north of Otaki. It was a day to celebrate our Scottish heritage as Matt and his best man Jesse and groomsman Andrew all wore kilts, as did Ross (Keri's Dad) and I. We had a piper to lead the procession from the ceremony and Keri wore her new Gunn tartan sash that I presented to her during the ceremony. Everything about the day was just great. The ceremony was clearly the work of Matt and Keri, in a bush setting and with vows that spoke of their mutual love, respect and dedication. Four very proud parents and heaps of rellies and friends had a great time. Thanks Matt and Keri for a great day!!

Gabrielle Ironman!!

Tue, 09 Mar 2010 17:51:00 -0600

What a weekend! What a race! What a woman!

All the ingredients were in place for a heroic effort - 3.8km swim, 180km cycle, 42km run, windy conditions and an evening chill, and two feet that have defied the repeated efforts of orthopedic surgeons to relieve pain and swelling for the last twenty years. That's right - as if the distances are not daunting enough, throw in a permanent injury to both feet just to make it hurt a whole lot more. So why would you do this? You probably wouldn't, but then you're not Gabrielle.

The logic goes a bit like this: The feet aren't going to get better without some miracle cure and there is no sign of that happening, so... if I want to do this, best thing is to harden up and get on with it. Not an approach that most of us would take, but the Ironman is about passion and drive rather than warm fuzzy logic. Training regime: - swim and bike as much as possible and run whenever the pain threshhold dips below agony for as far as possible, because chances are walking will be a struggle for a the next few days after each training run. Race plan: - swim easy, bike harder and survive the run through multiple pain barriers (never mind the fatigue), to get under the finish banner before the midnight cutoff. That's it. Just finish.

Race day

John Key's cannon sends them off in a monochrome dawn and the still air is stirred with the sound of 1200 pairs of thrashing arms. It sounds like a waterfall.

A bit over an hour later and she's out and on the green carpet for the 400m dash to the bikes. Of course she's limping.

Onto the bike and looking good along the lakeshore and off to Reporoa.

Three hours later and she's back looking good on the Napier Taupo Road climb. Even a cheeky response to my "Mash it woman!"

I count a total of five riders without aero bars. There might be something in that...

So the southeasterly blew and those who had them hunkered down on their aero bars for the second haul back from Reporoa up to Taupo. The downhill blast along Centennial Drive and into town had most riders grinning with the prospect of getting off their bikes.

And now for the business end of it all... the run.

It was strange watching with hundreds of others and only I knew of the pain she was enduring. That's one of the things about watching this race. You don't know what people are battling with besides the distance as they make their way around the course. But the support from locals is unreal and it was a pleasure to be part of that. You don't often see people drawing on everything they have to just keep going. That's what inspires people to enter. It's ironic that the best place for someone with damaged feet to blend in with people not so inflicted is in the marathon stage of the Ironman. But it comes at a cost - and that heroic run must have been excruciating. So after 14 hours a huge crowd cheered Gabrielle across the line. By then the pain was obvious and they knew it. It's an over-used phrase, but you were awesome Gabrielle! Crazy awesome! As the man said "Gabrielle Gunn, you are an Ironman!"

Other side up on Car Parts

Sun, 28 Feb 2010 23:00:00 -0600

About once a year, the planets align in a sinister way that has me sprawled along some dusty track, wondering what happened or else cursing my inattention to the terrain and its attendant hazards. On Sunday that happened as I hurried down the track known locally as Car Parts Extension. I was in a hurry because I was between events. The national downhill competition was in full swing at Long Gully and down in the CBD the final stage in the NZ Womens Cycle Tour was about to start. There can't be a better way to appreciate the diversity of the sport of cycling than to watch both these events in a single afternoon. At Long Gully, riders clad in protective gear hurtle down a dusty track in a nor'westerly gale, occasionally stacking in a cloud of dust only to resume defiantly to the appreciation of the crowd below. There is loud music and plenty of strutting between runs. Meanwhile on the smooth tarmac of the CBD, the country's best women road riders go head to head with visiting overseas teams in the cat-and-mouse tactical battle that is so much part of road racing. One is about gravity and traction against time, the other is jockeying for position for shelter, sprint points and getting away from the peleton, chasing down escapers and being first across the line.

So it was with an arresting sense of deja vu that I found myself looking up through the trees after my front wheel balked at a renegade tree root and asked the impossible (follow me) of the rest of the bike. Only casualty was pride so I dusted myself off and headed down to watch the criterium, grateful that nobody had witnessed my short flight.

Looking for my running mojo

Sun, 21 Feb 2010 17:57:00 -0600

There's a lot to be said for managing expectations - both your own and those of others. That is especially so when it comes to physical activity that is firstly measurable and secondly when conducted against the greying background of the ageing process. After fifteen years of dedication to the bicycle as an exercising medium, on Sunday I went back to my roots, so to speak and ran a half marathon. Fifteen years is a long time and while I haven't exactly been inactive in the last decade and a half, I haven't worn out many pairs of running shoes.

I self seeded myself somewhere in a pack of a few hundred runners and walkers for the 21.1km run around the bays. We were advised by the loudspeaker-enhanced voice of authority to "make sure you start in the right group, with runners at the front and walkers to the rear", I tried to distinguish runners from walkers. Surely the kakapo suited woman was a walker, but can anything be certain about someone who dresses up as a kakapo for 21km on foot around the bays? Probably not. Luckily most of the people around me were runners, so the congestion was manageable and we set off at a good, comfortable pace, eventually finding some space. Conscious of being a bit under-prepared (the bikes still get most of my attention), I was wary of taking this too lightly and so settling in to a 5min/km pace seemed sensible. It was easy to ignore the sirens calling for a clearly unsustainable 4min/km pace that was once the slow side of the norm. The road to hell is littered with the souls of those who think they can still do what they once found easy. The last thing I want to be is the running equivalent of those women who have earned the collective moniker "18/50s" - by dressing like 18 year olds at the age of fifty. I'm 53 and I'm going to bloody well act like it. This called for dignity in the face of suffering.

A tail wind from Point Jerningham had the temperature soaring and by Greta Point, I was recognising people I passed as the enviable youths who'd cleared out on me in Oriental Bay. It felt good. For a couple of kms along Evans Bay Parade I matched strides with a runner who I thought would be with me for the rest of the race and we passed a good number of people then, just before swinging into the wind at Burnham Wharf he dropped off the pace. Some strategic placement behind others on the windy headlands out to Pt Halswell had me running economically and feeling great as the race leaders passed by, heading for home.

Kau Bay and Mahanga Bay were again warmer without the headwind and the turnaround back into the stiffening northerly was welcome. By now, most of the fun had gone and the non cycling muscles were sending unwanted messages to the pain centres of my brain. The pace was unchanged, but the experience was very different. I've done enough running for this to be a familiar thing; It was time for an effort. A few runners came past, and I put this down to post-turnaround-euphoria and tried to lock onto their pace and stay with them. Alas they weren't waiting for me so I let them go and repeated the exercise. After a couple of km of this, some of them came back to me. The tortoise was happy to take the lead again.

By time we hit Evans Bay Parade again, with just under 3km to go, I told my screaming calves to shut-the-hell-up and stop spoiling my fun. Everyone was hurting, but mostly they seemed to be hurting more than me and the part of my brain that has been dormant since I ran in a Scottish Harriers singlet awakened and I passed a dozen or so others in the last 2km. A unique feature of the event was merging the half marathon finishers with the 7km fun run finishers about 500m from the finish. This required a fair bit of dodging five-abreast families, scooters, trikes and the like near the finish. I was surprised to see no wrecked fun runners' bodies being loaded into ambulances after encounters with the sharp end of the half marathon field.

I finished in around 1:41 which was satisfying despite being a personal worst time. I put this satisfaction down not to my slow buildup of training distance, nor to a rigorous and dedicated training regime, but to a thorough commitment to expectation management.