Day 8: Mossburn

There has been a little bit of, could we call it tension creeping into our group. My 3 fellow riders feel that at times I might be portraying them unjustly and that possibly at other times I might place things on the blog the could display them in a lesser  light. Even more sad is the concern that on occasion I might have missed the opportunity to talk about my own failings in quite the same  detail as I would describe theirs. Of course I am horrified to think such  a perception has been created. In reality I am just the reporter. Much like a reporter from Stuff or New Zealand Herald I wouldn’t dream of manipulating the truth to gain more interest or influence political discourse. I am sure that you the reader recognises the truth when you see it. However, to help settle frail egos I have decided that I will steer away from any commentary that could bruise my tender friends further. 

This morning we woke up at our usual ungodly hour. I had a passing interest in the weather and therefore poked my head outside to see a clear dawn to the east with some pretty pink clouds being uplit from the sun which was still loitering below the horizon. My first words of the day to Dave Lear broke one of the fundamental rules of adventure riding. I said it looks like it’s a nice day. I then poked my head a little further out and noticed that the moon was setting into an ominous cloud bank in the west. The damage was done. Anyway, Waikaia lives in a permanent pocket of winter and so we headed off with the temperature gauge reading 7 degrees. Before wind chill from travelling at 80kph. The air was still and it was lovely. We were heading up Piano Flat toward the back of Old Man range when we were held up by a large mob of sheep being moved down the road. Very much a kiwi scene and therefore worth a photo. With numb fingers I extracted my phone from its pocket but the little fuckers cover ground when they want to and by the time I was ready to take a picture they were behind me. At this point I was doing one of those owl moves where they move their head 180 degrees. I’m not an owl and so my body tried to follow with the consequence that both my bike and body ended up on the ground. This was amusing to everybody else. I took a crappy photo. 

We headed on up the road entering beautiful native beech forests and started the 1000 metre climb to the top. It has some excellent steep technical bits and soon we were no longer cold. The first drops of moisture arrived at the same time we did and it became clear we would pay for my early weather commentary indiscretion. However, the trail is fantastic with ruts, rock steps, little whoops and multiple fun lines. The temperature was dropping though and the wind was beginning to hint at at some activity. Soon the rain was sleet, possibly even snow if you prefer dramatic effect. We traversed across the tops for a while until we had to turn west were a grey wall waited. The sleet accumulation was blocking my goggles but otherwise it was fun. Because I’m South African and used to warmer climes and also because I don’t want to die yet I suggested we consider an earlier exit off the mountain. This would involve riding a few more kilometres and then descending down to the visibly sun bathed Alexandra. Obviously this was dismissed. Why oh why would you be dry and warm when you can be wet, cold, miserable and not be able to see anything other than the inside of a cloud. I don’t cast judgement on my friends (see paragraph one). I do observe that testosterone has been the cause of more deaths and injuries than smoking and alcohol combined. 

Anyway with massive patience and persuasive powers worthy of the United Nations I was able to steer them to the light. For those of you who care for these guys, you can thank me later. For those with different views I apologise. 

The day marched on with an excellent breakfast in Alex and then a cool ride around to Duffers saddle at the eastern end of the Nevis valley. This involves climbing up the Carricktown track, a delightful technical ascent. At the top we chose to have a thermos of coffee in a howling freezing gale before descending into the calm and relatively warmth of the valley. This is because we are stupid. 

We rode down the 55 remaining kilometres of the Nevis valley and it’s multiple fun water crossings and beautiful little vignettes of creek and tussock and tree, being particularly careful not to stop at any point to appreciate this place. Once we climbed out the Southern end of the valley and we could again enjoy the howling westerly we attempted to stop for another coffee but even an amoeba would have recognised it to be an idiotic place to stop, and after a short while, so did we. 

We popped over the ridge after I had told Bernie to prepare himself for the best view of the trip. It isn’t. 

Bernie kept his opinion to himself and we descended down to the Kingston valley. 

A quick blast down to Mossburn where I chose to ride with dusty tinted goggles behind a dusty tinted visor. It was like riding at night without lights. The world did seem less depressing when we got to Mossburn and I established we had been in glorious sunshine all the way. We had a quick fight about whether we should fuel up immediately or later. Every body is now friends again. 

What a great day.