New Zealand mountain biking proves rocky, tough
Exploring New Zealand articles
One: New Zealand first impressions
Two: Intro to NZ mountain biking
Three: Unhinged—riding a NZ classic
Four: NZ sandflies are an itchy initiation
We didn’t know when we arrived in New Zealand, but getting Unhinged was a primary goal. Unhinged isn’t a state of mind. It’s an expert-level mountain bike descent near Nelson Lakes National Park. Our host Alan built it, and he was really excited to show it off.
Getting Unhinged would require a progression. We weren’t ready for some of the country’s tougher riding right off the plane and would need a few days to warm up. Our hosts had a plan for that, but while working up the difficulty ladder, we broke a carbon bike frame and nearly broke a hand.
Kiwi mountain bike experts
Wendy puts her bike back together.
When we met our Kiwi friends in Spain three years ago they numbered six in total: three couples with common interests, and they live in the same general area. In addition to Alan and Liz, whose house we initially stayed at, there were Bruce and Jane, and Guy and Debora. The intertwined stories of these couples go back to different places and times, but it appears the strongest tie is mountain biking. Alan founded and stays active on the Mountain Bike Trails Trust, which has built more than 130 kilometers of trails and maintains a strong presence in the community as both advocate, custodian and liaison between cyclists and government public land managers. Alan handles the bureaucratic duties, but Liz is just as likely to spend a weekend tossing rocks or swinging a pick to dig new track.
Guy has been involved with trail construction in Kaiteriteri, a coastal town a little south of Abel Tasman National Park. Over the past five years he and his associates have built more than 30 kilometers of trails (Kiwis call them tracks) in a native beech forest above the turquoise water of the Tasman Sea. The trails wind up about 280 meters and work into and out of about a half dozen well-laid out hubs. It was pretty memorable to arrive in a parking lot loaded with mountain bikes and see people on stand-up paddleboards plying gentle ocean waves across the road. It was as if the highway divided Colorado from the Virgin Islands.
This is also where our journey toward becoming Unhinged would begin.
The Kaiteriteri mountain bike trails
The beautiful turquoise water of Kaiteriteri as seen from a viewpoint on the trail.
We donned our gear and pedaled into the forest, working over undulating terrain through unfamiliar vegetation: beech trees, cabbage trees, flax bushes and New Zealand ferns. Liz rode behind me and pointed out the difference between native forest and invasive species, which basically amounts to identifying pine trees. Various pine species were introduced to New Zealand for timber harvest and are prolific growers. Whole mountainsides are still planted in pine today, a $5 billion timber industry and about 3 percent of the country’s GDP. Pine trees don’t stay where they’re planted, though, and have migrated far into New Zealand’s native vegetation. Once outside the boundaries of a pine tree planting area, they’re called “wildings.”
We didn’t go far on our first ride before Wendy experienced the first mechanical problem of our trip. We’d taken apart our bikes for travel and put them back together ourselves, but neither of us had ever worked with the parts of a head tube or headset before. Somehow, we’d put her fork and handlebars back together wrong, and they wobbled over uneven terrain: maybe okay for a while, but definitely not acceptable for aggressive downhill riding. Guy offered to show her the way down, but she refused to let him pull away from the tour of trails he’d built. She also refused to let me leave my inaugural ride in New Zealand to use the buddy system and make sure she didn’t end up camped under a beech tree overnight. It’s not like we were in the Afghanistan backcountry, but I wonder sometimes about how to strike a balance between being a supportive husband and letting her go. If I look at it the right way, I guess they can be the same thing. Anyway, Wendy headed for the bottom on her own, and I was happy to continue riding.
After a couple hours of exciting descents that included big berms, small gap jumps and steep loose dirt (Guy was excited to show off some of the tougher trails), I actually managed to get lost. Having just arrived from the depth of North America’s winter, I was the least fit person in the group and was dropped on our final climb. I hadn’t looked very hard at a trail map, and didn’t know where I was, but also suddenly realized I didn’t really care. In fact, I relished the tranquility. After weeks of preparations for our trip, the stress of flying around the planet during the onset of a global pandemic, and 24 hours of visits with a dozen different people, I was suddenly alone in the woods—and super happy. I rode at my own pace back to the top of the park and chose a trail at random, discovering after a short distance that it didn’t lead to the parking lot. By the time I picked my way through the woods and reconnected with the group at the car I was the last person there.
We went swimming in the ocean that afternoon, had ice cream and a beer and went to dinner on an outdoor patio where a talented singer belted out tunes by James Taylor, the Beetles and other classics that people almost anywhere would know.
Teetotal Mountain Bike Trails
Wendy enjoying the view about halfway down Duck Down at Teetotal National Recreation Area.
Teetotal is the epicenter of Alan and Liz’s trail building universe. In fact, on our second full day in New Zealand while climbing a steady uphill trail called Kaka, Liz hung back with me (I was slowest in our group again) and told stories about how the trail had been a learning experience. It was the first out of a dozen or more that they built, and it was unnecessarily steep in spots.
Teetotal is a government-managed recreation area just outside Saint Arnaud, a town at the north end of New Zealand’s famous Southern Alps. Huge, above-tree-line mountains loom over the valley, which is about an hour drive south from Alan and Liz’s farm. Alan drives the curvy road like he’s in a Nascar race, cutting lanes around corners and throwing everyone’s heads side to side as he does. He knows the roads so well I wonder if he could drive them blindfolded. At least if he was blindfolded he might slow down, which he finally did so he could show us where the fabled trail called Unhinged exits the woods into a nondescript highway pullout.
A few kilometers later we arrived at Teetotal where there were a half-dozen camper vans in the parking lot, a sign it was the sort of place we’d be able to use when we picked up our van in a week’s time. We were also greeted by a young couple Alan works with at the Trails Trust.
We geared up and rode into the woods, out into an undulating meadow, climbed a steep fire road and then an even steeper single track that Alan said he built by himself with nothing more than a pick axe. After a huff-and-puff climb we descended a rooty, rocky trail called Flying Moa (a lawn mower hung from a tree near the top—get it? Flying moa?). That would have been enough riding for me, but the group turned their bikes uphill again for a climb that made me really suffer. It was steep, but my suffering was really due to my poor fitness. After a long rest at the top, we descended another of Alan’s trails, called Duck Down (a plastic duck hung from a tree near the top). The trail was steep, loose, root-infested and fast, our most technical test yet.
We finished the afternoon at a charming inn in Saint Arnaud where Wendy and I enjoyed a venison and mutton pizza and local beer. The pizza was original; the beer was really good.
Louis Creek and breaking Wendy’s bike
The moody, mossy woods of Louis Creek.
That brings us to our first failed attempt to ride Unhinged, a trail with so many tangled tree roots we’re told not to go unless the sun has been out and there’s no moisture in the forecast.
Alan woke early and despite a weather report indicating near-certain rain declared Unhinged would be good to go. So we loaded into his truck and drove like hell through intermittent rain showers to the highway pullout they’d pointed to the day before.
Alan walked into the woods to push the dirt around with his foot and said he thought it might be okay. We appreciated his enthusiasm, but everyone else said no, and we went to Sant Arnaud to drink coffee while it rained.
The next morning wasn’t altogether different. Alan woke early and once again declared Unhinged would be good to go. Once again we drove like hell through intermittent rain showers to the highway pullout. This time we all walked into the trees to have a look at the trail. The roots were damp and slick. Alan walked still farther up the trail. “He really doesn’t want to give it up,” Liz said, something that had been clear since we got out of bed the day before. It took all three of us to convince him we’d rather enjoy his masterpiece than simply survive it, and we loaded back into the truck and headed for a ride called Louis Creek, which it turns out is a carbon-cracking sort of ride.
Louis Creek starts along a river in a bug-infested meadow but quickly climbs 2,000 feet on fire roads before dropping into a murky-thick forest draped in moss and fog. It was a moody-beautiful forest—and tame riding at first—but the trail gradually steepened and worked back and forth in big switchbacks that crossed ample tree roots. Alan and Liz both downplayed the trail’s technical difficulty, and while it was somewhat straightforward, there were several challenging sections created by a combination of steep terrain, massive wet roots and slick rocks.
It was the final, rocky section where Wendy’s front tire slipped off a rock sideways, heaving both she and her bike abruptly into a heap of talus. It also started raining about that time, so, in a hurry to get off the mountain, she simply gave her bike a once-over, brushed herself off and continued.
When we got home, we put the bikes in the driveway and showered them with a hose. An inch-long crack became apparent on Wendy’s carbon-frame seat stay. It was about the same time when she also admitted she wasn’t sure how well her hand had weathered the accident. Her thumb and forefinger weren’t working as well as they should.
That evening Alan and Liz called a man who performs bike repair miracles out of his garage, while Liz and Wendy went through some exercises to determine the integrity of Wendy’s hand. The mechanic was pretty sure he could fix the carbon, and Wendy was pretty sure her hand would be okay after a few days’ rest.
Getting Unhinged, it turned out, would have to wait while we sorted out weather, gear and injuries. Lucky for us, it was time to pick up our camper van, and hiking was still well within our ability.
(Next up: Mountain biking a classic near St. Arnaud, New Zealand.)
Riding in the Teetotal area near Saint Arnaud, New Zealand.