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Author: Tama
Email: tama@vorb.org.nz
This was supposed to be a story about a Vorb Epic Ride. It would showcase an all day mountain bike ride filled with grinding hill climbs, shralving downhills and deranged Vorbers pushing themselves to the limits of endurance. It was going to leave you, the reader aghast at our twisted determination and fortitude. Instead of people coming up to us and saying “Hey I’ve seen you dancing in your underwear on the web” they’d say “I want to shake you by the hand, you are truly hardcore.”
It didn’t happen
People were all psyched up on Friday. E-mails had been sent with the proposed route (70+ kilometres of fantastic scenery, with quite a few 400+ metre hills thrown in.) The weather report said “Cloudy, northerlies, rain in the evening.” – not bad for winter. Northerlies are warm winds on this side of the equator and a large chunk of the planned route followed the southern coast of the North Island, which would be nicely sheltered.
The first sign that all was not going to be good at my end was waking up at 6 on Saturday morning and spending 5 minutes coughing up juicy chunks of phlegm. Still, what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, and I’d got all my stuff sorted so – why not got for a ride? As dawn arrived the realization that the weather didn’t look to hot started to bite. Still, we’ve done Epic missions in the torrential rain – why not go for a ride?
Checking the weather on cable TV gave me the first reality jolt – Northerlies gusting to 100 kilometre per hour in exposed places. Quick mental tracing of the route – yep, there’s some definite exposed places in there. Still, here I am, bike shorts, gloves, helmet, shoes, bulging riding pack – why not go for a ride?
So at 9:05am I arrive at our meeting spot – Epic Café - a fitting
place to start our normally Epic Saturday rides. (for a added bonus they do a two for one breakfast special.) DJ Manson had just arrived. Anna appears seconds later, followed closely by Juan. The faithfully have shown, now we’re committed. We take up our normal table, unfold the map and start re-plotting the route.
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The general idea is – exposed ridges very bad, sheltered singletrack good. We make the call to head towards Makara Peak and re-evaluate our route every once in a while. Natasha shows up and breakfast is started. Finally Jono appears (shall we mention that he’s driven there by Victoria?) Not a bad turn out, considering the weather. We’ve definitely had more, but all up not a shabby little crew.
So breakfast is consumed, life and cycling are discussed, bad taste jokes are made – good times are had by all. By 10:30am we’re beginning to get fidgety, the call is made to start the ride. Natasha can’t join us due to strict medical orders (we try the old “Take the amount of time they say you’re not allowed to ride and half it” angle – but sometimes Doctor’s know what they’re on about.) So it’s Anna, DJ Manson, Jono, Juan and Tama, with Hugh organised to meet us later on.
OK, unlock bikes, put on cycle gear, watch café chairs being blown across the deck… Juan says “Dude, I haven’t got any meat left on my front brake pads.”… crap… Luckily “On Yer Bike” is just around the corner, we roll in, invade the shop, test ride their demo bikes and make general nuisances of ourselves. (After working in the cycle industry for 4½ years I consider it my given right to harass all my ex-colleagues and ex-competitors.) Juan flails around with his cartridge V-brakes, finally resorting to pliers and brutality to put in some new ones. My offer of a 12-inch ball peen hammer is unappreciated.
At 11:15am we are finally rolling. So starts the first hill climb through Central Park. Almost everyone instantly overheats, zippers are unzipped, and layers are removed. On my part granny gear is selected (on the first hill climb - shame, shame.) Our climb towards the Brooklyn wind-turbine gives us about a 400-metre gain, an awesome vista of Wellington, bike shaking gusts of wind, and hilarious views of some really ugly subdivisions.
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The wind turbine is a prototype for generating electricity. From the grinding sound it’s making it’s close to overloading and locking down – (locks at 90 kph winds.) We huddle in shelter quickly discuss the next plan of attack and decide to aim for Wright’s Hill and then Deliverance.
This section of the trail takes us around the fenced off Karori Reservoir. The reservoir used to be home to much excellent singletrack, a lot of it built on the sly by runners and bikers. Sadly it is now fenced off, bikes are banned, and a substantial entry fee is required. The wind is shrieking through the fence and causing constant steering re-adjustments. No one is pulling air off lips, we need all the traction we can get.
A track known as “The Grovel” leads down from the Wind Turbine towards Wrights Hill. The Grovel is steep – hence it’s name, and plummeting down it at 60+ kph with the cheese grater fence on one side and a bank on the other is quite a bit of a fun.
Except for the dogleg off camber S-bend halfway down. This corner doesn’t have a name, but it should. Something like “Evil Bastard Corner” or “Nasty Twisted Little Sod Corner” would suit. Tom, Jody and Harry spring to mind as Vorbers it’s spectacularly claimed so far, but I’m sure there’s far far more – I know I’ve bagged into the bank at least once before.
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Juan eats it and he’s not happy. I didn’t see the crash but he’s scraped up on one side and his bike’s collected quite a bit of dirt. He’s especially annoyed about the crash because (knowing the history of said corner) he was taking it at a candy-arsed pace. Wind is suggested as a possible factor but he’s not placated. It’s weird to see the normally unflappably cheerful Juan looking so sore and sour.
After riding up Wright’s Hill a quick stop is made to access damage and options. Deliverance – the product of 2 years of deranged track building by Jono, Tama, Tom and anyone else they could rope in – is the natural choice. Deliverance gets mighty slippery during winter, and today is no exception. On the bright side it’s very sheltered but we can still hear the wind moaning through the tree-tops.
We all go sideways on a number of times as our tyres become slick hoops of mud. Juan gets pulled off his bike when his backpack snags on an overhanging tree. I catch up with him as he cleaning himself off. Juan says “I know this is unlike me, but I’m over it for this ride.” I know how the feeling, I’m used to being off the back, but with wind and phlegm against me every pedal stroke feels like two.
DJ Manson launches himself off the edge of the track - a classic “Deliverance-style” crash. What a lot of people don’t realize when they’re riding Deliverance is that it’s a long way down. One of the major problems we encountered when the track was under construction was a shear gorge through quite hard rock. While the gorge is pretty and awe inspiring we realized the track had to go over it, rather than through it. Which has left a lovely 8-metre drop to a hard rocky streambed on a 200-metre section of the track. Luckily there are enough vines and trees to catch DJ Manson on the way down. Just don’t think about it too hard.
Deliverance coughs riders up a couple of hundred metres from the Makara Peak mountain bike park. We’re barely 20 kilometres into the ride and most facial expressions are sour rather than smiling. Jono & I make a quick detour to Mud Cycles too meet up with Hugh. The rest of the crew head into Makara Peak.
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We find no sign of Hugh - he got sick of waiting and went off riding by himself. The wind gives us a subtle demonstration of it’s power by throwing a full suspension bike off it’s display stand outside. Heading back towards Makara Peak we encounter Juan riding home. One of the straps on his backpack had totally ripped off, his arm is really hurting and he can’t be stuffed going on.
Jono & I sift up Koro, a sweet 2 kilometres of gradual singletrack through native bush. I’m feeling pathetically weak, no matter how many boogers I hoick out, more form to take their place. For added enjoyment I smash my shin hard enough to cause blood, bruising and swearing. Jono’s still pretty cheerful though. We catch up with Anna & DJ Manson and the decision is made to abort the mission. The wind is howling, motivation is gone, and the air is thick with the promise of rain.
We ride down Swigg & Starfish, bail out of Makara Peak and ride back along the road to our respective homes. The wind shrieks through any vaguely exposed area causing me to wobble about on my bike and exclaim “bloody hell” on more than one occasion. I got back to my flat at 2:15pm - I’d covered 27 kilometres since I left my flat 5¼ hours earlier.
Was it worth it? Hell Yeah!
