Le Petit Brevet - Everest on a Mountain Bike

It was late Friday night when I realised I might have bitten off more than my tyres could chew. All four Topo50 maps were spread across the floor as I studied the course. Just tracing out the massive route was an act of endurance in itself and by 9pm I still hadn't eaten. I felt sick with hunger, but as the unyielding plate of pasta beans & chia seeds arrived, I could hardly resist the urge to vomit.

Yes, alone in the centre of Christchurch, I felt in no fit state to ride 300km across the Banks Peninsula the following morning. The route was infused with 8,000 metres of climbing - rich nightmare material. Exhausted just contemplating the mission, I fell asleep before preparations were done...

Roll on 7:30am, and the nerves were gone. Thirty-five other nutbars lined up at Hansen Park, including the zinc-lipped Sam Manson strolling my way. "So. Ready for 300K mate? Your chain lubed?" Uhh, its a dry lube... After a hasteful dash back to the car my heart rate was well over 200 before we'd even started. It took a while to relax as straight in we jostled for positions across the park, and then into the first climb up the classic Rapaki Track.

Le Petit Brevet waits for no man!

  

Cruising along the Port Hills ridgetop road, I soon found pace with a fellow solo rider. "The name's Dave by the way". I was so grateful to find a partner to share the oncoming trials of pain, joy and suffering. Dave had ridden 225km of the course during the week and knew the course to the dot - across the rugged grassy tops of the western peninsula we traversed The Monument, Mount Fitzgerald & Sinclair. It was awesome to tap into his local knowledge. Horror stories were told of riders unwittingly following 'nice' trails off the wrong ridge into dense gorse & thicket...

A windswept section of the Double Fencline Traverse

This infamous section known as the Double Fenceline Traverse included over twenty tedious fence jumps and crossed the harshest terrain of the course. Three hours of hardship, and the worst of the navigation was over. Six hours in and 75km to boot, we rewarded ourselves with hot pies and a milkshake at the quaint town of Little River.

Chocolate shake for the road in Little River

To save weight off my bag, and lacking any sort of pannier bags, I strapped all my OneSquareMeal and BumperBars to the top tupe - needless to say I was hungry at every downward glance. But food at your fingertips was crucial for a race of this length, you needed to stay on top of nutrition at all times or risk burning out with miles to go. 

By the time dusk approached, we had crossed the peninsula three times, and were heading up our fifth and most brutal climb. The sign heralded a taste of what was to come. Big Hill Rd could have been more appropriately named Big Long Steep Unrelenting Hill of Death Rd and any tired cyclist would have grimly agreed. 

As the brilliant sunset began to fade out of a huge sky, so did my consciousness... After almost fourteen hours on the saddle, now without light and engulfed in clouds, I was over it. The climb wasn't steep - just painfully enduring and neverending. A shot of No-doz and Redbull perked me up and we dug deep to the finally reach the Summit road.

Swarms of cows emerged from thick cloud as we stopped for an innocent suckle on the Camelbak. The atmosphere was still and eerie, but my mind was rushing and frantic due to the combination of  intense fatigue and the massive caffiene hit suddenly kicking in.

This whole time the only thing on our minds was getting over the hill to Akaroa before the shops closed for dinner. We were both furiously hungry and in desperate need of a hot, hearty feed. Praying that the faster riders were keeping the bars open for us, we blasted the descent into town. We could hardly care as we burnt through the 700 metres of altitude that had to taken two hours to accumulate, all in a matter of minutes.

A sea of flickering lights of appeared across the harbour: Akaroa. Alive and well. I stumbled into the first pub, the Tui Tavern, and immediately ordered a large meatlovers pizza without checking the price. The lot was washed down with lashings of sweet milky tea. Just minutes before I was struggling to stand upright, slogging my bike up the state highway at midnight. This change of events was almost too good to true!

This journey was one of simple pleasures. Every sweet moment was savoured, and every ounce of suffering relished.  

Me with Etka & Wayne

At the pub we met a few typical blokes, on their sixth lager and betting madly on the horses. They happily helped themselves to my food as I dozed off for a moment. We had a great time.

Come 12:30am my trusty mate Dave Cooper, who had stayed with me all day despite my lagging, was ready to go. For him it was all or nothing. Sleeping wasn't an option. His bottles were full with fresh silver RedBull, and he was looking good. "It'll be eight hours home." For a moment I was tempted... Christchurch by 9am sounded fantastic. "I won't be slowing down though. There's 120km and 4 serious hills to go." I withered at the prospect, and saluted his endurance as he rode off into the dark. What a man.

Meanwhile, I found myself a comfortable possie in the kid's playground under a platform. Finally a chance to use my MacPac retractable foam sleeping matt. I was out to it, curled in my light sleeping bag that I'd lugged around the hills all day. I woke at 5:30am to a foggy dawn. Eager to erase all evidence of my freedom camping before the kids arrived I quickly packed up and scampered off to the bakery for a cooked breakfast. Choice.

Gorgeous morning over the Akaroa Inlet.

Sunday turned out to be a stunner, and would have been great waste of scenery to have struggled through in the dark. Payment for the sunny aesthetics was a scorching heat and a forever parched throat that even the richest Vitasport couldn't quench. On the grovellous gravel road climb from Pigeon Bay to Port Levy, I managed to slurp my water reservoir dry. Minutes later I was dying of thirst, and dashing between the sparse shady sections of road...

A flash blue Honda halted to a stop behind me, also struggling to maintain traction on the steep slope. I put on the most dehydrated weary face I could muster, not a hard task, and their sympathy yielded a golden can of Fanta. It was even cold. I thanked the friendly Dutch couple, and slumped into the shaded ditch to enjoy the sweet orange drink. A journey of simple pleasures...

Heaven in a can

A rugged gravel descent dropped us into Little River for the second time, only 70km of mostly flat fast terrain would lead us to Christchurch. It wasn't smooth sailing by a longshot. By now the saddle sores from over twenty hours on the seat were becoming excrutiatingly painful, and dominating our thoughts. Peeling off the saddle was as bad as getting a wax with barbed wire. As the River Trail lengthened out into miles of straight shale trail all I could do was scream! The mental challenge was now. Who would have guessed that the crux of the Brevet would be flat easy trail, in a peninsula saturated full of endless brutal climbs! No, to keep moving on this track took every ounce of motivation, and minutes turned into hours...

On the distant horizon the fabled Port Hills grew larger until the final ascent up Kennedy's Bush track finally materialised. But from here was all familiar ground from the R&R Mid-Week Rogaine, and I savoured this grand and glorious finale. Gazing out over Christchurch and the sprawling Southern Alps was an emotional sight to end this huge mission.

The final descent to Hansen Park. A long time in the waiting...

I finished alone at Hansen Park, early Sunday evening. Kids were playing cricket and rugby on the field as I rolled past, stopping the clock on 34 hours 45 minutes, still standing.

A fin, j'ai appris une seule chose. On ne peut pas tricher la montagne, sinon elle te casse. Le Petit Brevet - c'est fini! 

All great days end with a Monster burger

St James MTB

It was a five day mountain biking road trip from Auckland to Christchurch. With no rush, we drove the main line picking off the best mountain bike trails on the way. Keen to move quickly through the North Island, we only tasted Taupo's Craters of the Moon before boarding the Picton ferry.

In the red hazy horizon, we tried to pick out Tapuae-o-Uenuku from the other Kaikoura giants - this was our goal. It would require a hilly 45km farm road approach by MTB to Branch Cottage up the Kekerengu and Clarence valleys. An enormous 2200m climb would top us out on the summit. Still caked with snow in November, we hauled full alpine kit on the ride. Sadly, we were denied permission to access the valley as the owner was out of town...

Destraught, we moved on to Hanmer to save the day. First up we sampled the local Hanmer Forest trails above the steamy hot springs. Bikes going well, we returned to Hanmer for a feed, before moving up to the St James Homestead above Jacks Pass for an overnight camp. The night was wet, and despite a good day on the Hanmer trails, the mood was made depressing by the rain....

Beauty! The next day dawned clear as we prepared to take on the St James Cycle Trail. This was one of the new productions as part of the Nga Haerenga NZ Cycle trail initiative. 25km of fast gravel road took us to the beginning of the trail at Lake Tennyson - we gazed up towards the inviting Maling Pass and to snowy spring time mountains.

From the top of Maling Pass we had an exquisite view down the wide Waiau Valley, rushing down from the heights of Waiau Pass, the southern boundary of my favourite Nelson Lakes National Park. It was great to be here, piecing parts of the puzzle together. We took on the descent with red hot brakes, screaming around switchbacks and long bumpy stretches to the valley floor. When Richard finally reached the bottom he exclaimed "Its like tramping - only bouncier!"

The Waiau Valley tracks were a summer's dream to ride through. Long grassy meadows alongside the river, with plenty of tricky side-stream crossings to ride through.

A swingbridge branched across a high gorgey section of the Waiau - below were boiling rapids and fluted columns of rock. It was a scorchingly hot day, but the frequent water features we passed through kept us refreshed.

While resting on the hill above the swingbridge, another mountain biker appeared, apparently coming from off the main track. His name was Daniel Jessop - he had strayed from the trail and become lost, until now on spotting us. We found out he was also doing a day trip from Christchurch - I was eager to start building my list of adventure contacts and quickly got his number. He also planned on attempting Le Petit Brevet the following weekend, a 300km MTB race across the Banks Peninsula. This boosted my confidence, and I subsequently met him on the start line a week later.

Back to the trail, we soon reached the southern end of the Waiau and we forced to ascend again, two viciously steep climbs to Charlie's Saddle. A fast descent took us past a hunters hut - he cycled past quietly as we spotted a group in camo gear aiming for prey on the hillside. The stream crossings here were challenging, and out of pride we tried to see how far we could bike across before losing momentum. You had to be careful here - on dismounting once I almost lost hold of my bike, quite ready to flow down river in the strong current.

Again, I found myself in familiar territory. We had emerged on the corner of the St James 7 Hour Rogaine map. I remembered well this fun event that I'd competed in December 2011 with Elisha Nutall and Joel Smith. It was a thorough rush of déja vu and emotions as we sped down the final stretch of trail to the St James Homestead. Our bike computers clocked in at 90km and 9 hours. A fantastic adventure in the stunning back blocks of Hanmer!

Ti Point

Three points of contact. Two feet smear against the salted rhyolite. One extended arm grips the arrête. Vigourous surf bursts on the rocks below as you grab the rope and clip into the rusty bolt. Safe!

The ranges and crags of the Central North Island usually steal attention from all the goodness up north - I hadn't been past the Waiwera toll road in over a year. You could be fooled that you're 3 or 4 hours up north, because Ti Point is typical northland holiday material. Sprawling pohutukawa waiting for Christmas, soft dirt trails winding the coast, Omaha Beach in full reach, boaties doin' the rounds...

This is how we do Study Break

The sea-cliffs of Ti Point were impressive, but intimidating - where are the bolts? I soon realised this crag is half trad, meaning you place your own protection in the rock crevasses and cracks. Boulder hopping around the point, trying our best to avoid being drenched by waves, brought us to the Whiskey Delta area full of easy grade climbs. A perfect spot to warm up.

Caroline and Niall find their spot

Attempting the Fang (18) but actually Richard (20) - why is the first bolt so...high!

After an hour re-aquanting myself with lead climbing techniques on some easier climbs, it was time to fry some bigger fish. Ti Point is extremely tidal, even at low tide surf would still roar against the point and cause havoc for some areas of the crag. The Fang climbs a distinctive arrete with a jagged-tooth rock extrusion near the top, and is one of the 'classic climbs' in the area. Discouraged by Fang's dangerous cousin Richard climbing the same intriguing feature from a harder face, I redirected my attention to Angry Sea and the Sky. 90% as epic and only doable at this exact tide. 

Trembling on the arrête, two-thirds up

It began with an exposed traverse across to the first bolt, essentially free-climbing until I reached the 2nd bolt (three metres high). The precarious position of my belayer Cam meant I'd be relying on rope slack to keep me off the barnacles should I fall. Now noon, I was sweating.

I took the grade 18 pillar slowly, breathing a sigh of relief at each clip - it was a real challenge! Not only due to the technical grade, but also the feeling of exposure as waves pounded at the pillar twenty metres directly below. Basically the equivalent of an intense Mozart symphony resounding to the beat of my foot and handholds. Excellent atmosphere! 

Rapping off Angry Sea and the Sky (18)

I should have been more careful to throw toss the rope towards the dry rock - after rapping off I was forced to un-snag the rope from the sharp rocks - too slowly - I was drenched by a rogue swell...

The search for a better grip

Ian, Jenny and Owen enjoying the late afternoon climbs, about to head off to Goat Island

The hours raced by as we battled against our chosen projects. I was stoked to grab a grade 21 and run - by mid afternoon we retraced our steps along the coast and migrated to the beach at Goat Island, the pristine marine reserve just over the peninsula.

I pulled on my Dad's recently discovered 7mm wetsuit, pulled out of the attic still encrusted in salt & sand from 1982. Late afternoon was the perfect time to dive out to Shaggs Rock, and explore the reef. The visibility was patchy, but plenty of stingray and juicy snapper were on view as we ventured to warmer waters...

GOAT ISLAND 
Music: Space Diver - Nhumo

Sleeping God Canyon

The Sleeping God Canyon - a valley in the Coromandel Ranges cut deep and steep - and you'd never know that it was right under you nose along Auckland's favourite easy tramp to the Pinnacles Hut. 

With friends Owen Lee and Jenny Leigh-Young, we diverted off the top of the BillyGoat trail to the put in, just half an hour's climb from the Kauaeranga carpark. No signs, no info board, no warning of the most epic adventure ahead.... as we peered our heads through the bush into the wind, the 2nd waterfall was flowing a torrent - was it too much? Could we make this? Given the incredibly steep terrain around this deeply carved out canyon, there were few chances to escape once we committed...

Are you ready?

Owen had done the canyon 4 or 5 times before, so he knew what to expect. But according to him this was the highest flow he'd seen - though not surprising considering the 50mm rain dump from the day before. The top waterfall was hugely exposed, the wind whipped spray from the freefalling water droplets back into our faces - you'd think it was raining. Meanwhile the sun was making frequent appearances amongst the clouds. Ideal conditions!

Face Shot!

The second waterfall as seen through the trees above was a giant cascade over two tiers, crashing down on slippery collumns of rock. Where Jenny is pictured is the start of the 2nd pitch of the abseil, the total of 80 metres required two rope lengths to traverse.

These first few falls seemed enormous, though it was quite easy to avoid the major sprays and keep relatively dry. We were soon realising the trend however. Each waterfall was gaining strength, funnelling harder, until we were right in it. Fluid mechanics theory anyone?

Where am I?

It just keeps going!

This was not yet the crux, but the feeling was growing, and Owen's descriptions were becoming more and more vivid... That feeling of being submerged and unable to breath, such was the volume and power of the flow pounding down on your helmet, while hanging on a finger-width of rope, the force charging your rope through your ATC with a velocity of near free fall. But getting down to the bubbling pool as fast as possible is nearly all thats on your mind in times like these! We'd abseil right in, and release the rope while swimming away from the impact zone.

Deciphering my line...

Owen, being a jack of  all trades, has a helmet for every occasion, as with every outdoor pursuit brings with it a different type of head-honing projectile to cause havoc: he chose his kayaking helmet with extra protection, Jenny took the climbing shell and I strapped on a skiing helmet. Made for the mountains, these are cunningly designed to suck in cold air from the top and channel the flow as a demister over your goggles - this worked nicely for the eternal shower I received while descending, but then there was little escape from all things wet on this trip!

Shortly before the crux, we approached a 10 metre ledge. I glanced around for an anchor, set of bolts, a chain... nothing. It was a small leap in logic, and the only hesitation was ripping out the GoPro to catch Owen  leaping off the ledge with an emphatic run-up... Next it was my turn to  feel that rush. Living in the moment!  Jenny was next with a whoop and holla! All the while, Owen's rope pack was receving much less attention. Heavy and mostly subermerged, the pack lay there floating in disguise, waiting, watching us enjoying ourselves so much. So the bag made a dash for it - straight over the next waterfall, disappearing into the pool below... 

Owen dropped to his knees and inched closer the edge trying to get and a look down. The pool was out of sight. We were only imagining the worst. The next fall was the crux - if the invaluable rope pack took one more drop, it would be gone forever, leaving us stranded with only one short rope.

Jenny clearly felt terrible, taking the full weight of the blame for tossing the sacks over the fall, assuming that Owen would collect them. Miscommunication or not, we were now faced with a tricky situation and time definitely of the essence. We formulated a quick plan, trying not to rush or make more mistakes. Outdoors training was kicking in. Owen rapped over the edge with the single rope as the clock trickled down...

As he disappeared over the edge, Jenny and I added up our meagre supplies of food and gear. A few sandwiches and chocolate together with 3 emergency blankets would have kept us alive in our 5mm wetsuits if we were faced with a forced bivoauc on the waterfall ledge. The deeply cut canyon offered few options for escape in a flash flood or situation like this. Our eyes darted to the dirt mound below, Owen was scrambling out of the water up the bank with the golden yellow pack containing our glorious lifeline! Yes!

Is the Sleeping God Canyon not epic enough without throwing your gear into the abyss?!

Owen helps Jenny up the bank, after rescuing the rope pack

Relaxing in the final pool, letting the current take me

This spanner in the works had set us back an hour, and with three abseils still to go it suddenly dawned on us that dusk was imminent. The final three turned out to be the most challenging and powerful chutes, a royal water blasting as we skimmed down twenty, thirty metres before relishing the final metre - hanging in space above the pool in a small alcove, behind the cascade's murky curtain.

It was dark as we crawled out of the last pool, a round of victorious high fives all round realising we had knocked the lot off. All that remained now was a trivial half hour stream bash along the shallows of the Atuatumoe Stream, a full moon piercing the canyon and glow-worms dimly lighting the way. 

Jenny ecstatic

Name address and contact number please.
Don't worry you're not in any trouble...

Upon reaching the carpark, we were welcomed with some interesting company after the 8 hour descent... Blinding lights emerged from the Billy Goat track, we stood our ground stunned like possums as we awaited our punishment for coming in late. Our trusty intentions holder Ian Riddick had called in at 8pm fearing for our safety, how did he know? Thanks Ian we owe you one. SAR was next in tow, glad to be turned back. 

We peeled off our dripping wetsuits while the Cops took down our details. Keen to see what they'd been called in for, we entertained the two blokes from Thames with some footage of our epic day up the Kauaeranga Valley.

However, definitely a few lessons to learn: distractions and over-excitement often lead to mistakes. Communication is vital. More buffer on the intentions in case the trip takes longer than expected - a rescue would have only been possible in the morning in any case. Best to keep the Police at home with their wives and children.

The Sleeping God Canyon - sensational, and full respect.

 AB-SAIL - THE SLEEPING GOD

Music: AWOLNation

ROPES AND RAGOUT

A cracking start to Spring Break - a bonfire on Muriwai beach thanks to Hudson & Draper's Landrovers towing in a trailer load of garden waste. The flames burnt late into the night, with the grill keeping over fifty meaty appetites at bay.

The Fire

Early the next morning with much lack of sleep, we were off to Froggatt Edge for a spate of rock climbing on some of the Waikato's best routes. The Animal Biscuit valley kept us entertained for most of the morning and early afternoon, as I ticked off some old favourites like Moon Base Alpha, Julien puffed up Zoomers, while Greg & Tian enjoyed falling and fighting on Bring Your Daughter to the Slaughter.

Caroline warming up at Froggatt

Starting up on Moon Base Alpha (17) on the Australia Face

Later in the day once I'd rekindled my connection with the airy ignimbrite, it was time to lead on. I'd had enough of top-roping, it was time to move up in the world. I started out on an easy grade, but the huge jugs soon ran out and the mellow gradient steepened to overhung!

At least thats what it feels like when you're petering a metre or two above your last bolt... It was a puzzler, and after trying both sides of the arête I lunged and plunged in desperation: my first fall on lead. Good to get that out of the way.

My first outdoor lead

Onwards to the main cliff, and I surged in confidence after cleanly leading up two 20 metre routes. On a sweet climbing buzz! Dusk was falling so instead of pumping out another route, we abseiled off to the car to keep fresh for Kewa.
   

Riddick chilling on top of 'Hold Onto Your Face' wall

Abseiling down Terror Incognito to finish off pristine day in the Waikato

Local acrobat Greg was not only a whizz on the wall, but also a fiend of fresh food. Instead of naturally succumbing to Te Kuiti takeways, we pooled our ingredients together at the Kewa campsite, and with three burners raging harder than our stomach's, we finally feasted on a royal ragout. Relaxing out under the stars for another night - too good - the moon lit up Sunday's cliff face hanging high above the Mangaokewa River. We were psyched.

The Bridge to Kewa

Ian reclipping a backclip the project 21 - One Two Miss a Few

Climbing at Kewa was a sweet contrast to Froggatt. The change of rock type from Wharepapa's sharp, porous ignimbrite to Mangaokewa's slopey, slightly overhung bulging layers made for an interesting adaptation. My favourite routes offered deep cracks up some sections - leading the grade 17 'Dogamtrix' I used my whole forearm in a crack to lever myself up. Probably not the best technique nor the safest, but it did the job! I was loving being on lead rather than on top rope, at the top of each climb I could take my time to anchor in, pull through rope and rappell on prussick down while my belayer had lunch. Check out the routes on offer at Mangaokewa.

After leading two more grade 17s, now later in the afternoon I decided to UP THE ANTE and attempt a grade 18 climb - the Muzzifunsta. My ego was clearly inflated, as I scoffed at the warning in the guide book:

Muzzifunsta (18)

This obvious (juggy) corner to face is located just right of "Pretender." Be warned

that although the moves on this climb are fairly straight foreword, there is a

good amount of air between bolts... so be sure you are solid at the grade (or

willing to tempt fate) before hopping on! 4 bolts (DBB)

Paul Henson 27/4/08

I was going well through the initial wedged chimney section, and at about halfway I reached a nice ledge to get my breath back. I soon realised my arms were trembling - I had muscled my way up the slight overhang and was now 80% pumped. Not good. Carefully traversing back onto the main route, I searched for holds and found nothing... Time ticking, I surged for a higher hold, and at once my forearms gave way - I had no strength left whatsoever - scoffing at the warning of a "good amount of air between bolts" now came to haunt me as I fell from 1 metre above my last clip, narrowly missing my rest ledge. *JOLT*. I had taken a decent fall on lead, and only had to be lowered a few more metres to the dirt. A sober warning to quell my over-confidence! A good note to finish a mighty weekend in the Waikato.

The Ripper - at Campbells Bay

With two more days of mobility to savour before my ankle operation, I took out my newly acquired surfski for a cruise around the bays. She was a stubborn beast to begin with - I spent more time in the sea than on the seat. But as I began to learn her ways, I gently tamed her and kept her upright long enough to jump one bay south to Campbells. There I surfed ashore on a light wave. The feeling of landing on a new beach to stand on solid land again is great. She naturally points in the photo away from the coast and towards Rangitoto... as soon as I master her in the higher swells I'll be ready to take her for a Rangi summit run and return. Its been a long time in the waiting!