Up the creek

Stand down, panic over. my form is a little better than a week prior, and Sunday's hit out with the Albany bunch showed that I can certainly suck a wheel, and climb like a tortoise, but my knee was utterly fine.

I can claim that Friday morning's ride in the hills, and a decent tramp with the spawn through some rugged bush and terrain, along with more steps and stairs than I can remember for sometime may have blunted me a little, but the grim truth is that I was never that sharp.

That said, I am looking forward to the K2 this Saturday, even though it will hurt, I suspect that I will also face rearward ejection from my bunch before the summit of the Kopu-Hikuai. But that isn't the end of the world, as I still have so much of the field behind me, and I'm damn certain that in one, or more, of those bunches I will find company.

The tramp with the Loinfruit was a fine affair, up the Mokoroa Stream. He and I were the first through for a while, as the recent rain had pushed the river level up, depositing silt on the trail, and flattening grass in places. We found no footsteps, and took great pride in being the first again. There was the odd misstep in the murky water, but nothing serious, some good scrambles and a ton of satisfaction.

The big benefit of the higher water levels was that the Mokoroa Falls, and the Houheria Falls were spectacular.

After the walk up the stream, the traipse out was a bit of an anti-climax, and the steep, long stairs back to the car at Constable Road were a bit of a drag, but the regenerating Kauri, a sighting of a Grey Warbler and conversation about Bigfoot did make time fly.

We will be back in summer with togs...

Imps

So, K2 looms, and I had, until recently, avoided nerves and the usual level of self doubt. But, a sore left knee, an old war wound if you fancy, has reared it's ugly head. On Sunday, out for one last endurance ride before my date with misery in a fortnight, this ugly little imp of pain, decided to make it's presence known.

Up the Hunua Gorge it started muttering, on the final ramp it squeaked into life, and by the time of the little rise up to Hunua township I realised it was going to dog me for the day. I muttered apologies to my riding companions and turned for home, I rolled home slowly, a veritable Mr Grumpy. At least the day was fine, the wind was light and the sun was warm. It was the right call, but not one I am accustomed making.

With a little care, a change of cleats, and some commonsense, I am hopeful that it will go. The downside is that my nerves and anxieties have arrived.

Oddly, the couple of Race of 6 Friends races have stood me in good stead for the mental misery that awaits in the K2. As I know that I will not feel the despair of walking through assorted spectators due to my legs deciding "Enough!", I won't have team mates muttering at me, and feeling that there maybe a voodoo doll with my name on it being prepared. And, while my time around the K2 course does count, for pride as much as anything, it is a fun ride, not a race for me.

So, I have this forthcoming long weekend to ensure that I am as ready as I ever am, and then be done with it.

In the meantime, here is something to make you think.


Whale Fall (after life of a whale) from Sharon Shattuck on Vimeo.

Kekeno

Yesterday I took the loinfruit, and a friend of his, out for a day tramp at Whatipu. The weather was a bit patchy, but it was mild, and we did have the clothing and gear for it.

The three of us walked the Gibbons Track, then the Muir Track over to the Pararaha Valley, then ambled and waded down the valley, across the marshlands and out onto the beach. There, accompanied by steady rain and the wind on our backs we marched back to Whatipu.

Total sum of people seen while out, one, an English chap, right at the start, who was looking worse for wear, having just come out of where we were going. He described it as very muddy, and was looking shattered. Finn commented after we wandered off, that he had the same accent, and sounded exactly like Guy Martin. Unfortunately for the Englishman, it was easy to tell that it wasn't Guy Martin, there were no Wolverine like sideburns, and he wasn't too spritely.

The walk was muddy, through to Pararaha, as was expected, the midgets were superb and resilient, enjoying the scenery and the challenge. My spawn is convinced that Johnny Depp perfected the walk of Jack Sparrow by lurching around on muddy trails like the ones we enjoyed.

Once we hit the valley, it was a quick lunch in the shelter in the valley, and then out into the open.

Some wading and detours conquered, and it was then all hard sand back.

At Whatipu, just before we re-entered the dunes, between Paratutae Island and the Nine Pin, on the high tide mark was a dead fur seal. It looked like a recent death, and there wasn't any obvious cause. Sad, but exciting for the midgets, as it was something a little out of the norm. I have reported it to DOC.

We all slept well last night.

Paroxysm

Friday, a ride of redemption for me. Junior and I rolled around out south, taking in the delights of the countryside from Bombay, Tuakau, Kohanga, Onewhero, Wairamama, Pukekawa, Mercer, Mangatawhiri and Hunua. 

It was truly wonderful riding, good company, excellent spring weather and good legs all round. There were a couple of new roads thrown in, which proved to be delights, and a long stretch of us being men alone on the roads. Even the climb back from Wairamarama to Onewhero passed pleasantly and easily, the opposite of the wet day a fortnight prior in the Race of Six Friends, and also, even easier than the gorgeous day I rode it in course exploration for the race, but that day hit it with 110 kms in the legs. 

Here is proof of the beauty of the day, a smiling Junior, out towards Wairamarama.

There, and Snake Hill, provided some much needed redemption from my seeming never ending form slump. It was also a superb change not to be riding in precipitation for several hours, I feel I have had enough of character building weather. 

Lastly, here is proof that a taller chap can ride my spawn's BMX and remain unscathed. Tristan from Wheelworks, on the green item of terror, that bucked me off last year and broke my clavicle in two. As part of his recent parole north from the trenches of the Capital, he and my spawn took turns at riding the North Harbour race track. I wisely refrained.

The Witch

So, where have I been?
This weekend just past, I knocked out my fourth Sunday ride in wet, precipitous conditions. But this time, like last Sunday it was not in the usual environs, and this time was on completely new roads.

I was offered a weekend away, to a remote spot up north, in exchange for some manual labour. It was an offer that I could not refuse. There are only a few lines on the map of New Zealand that I haven't coursed along at some stage, and this was an opportunity to fill in a gap of my geographic knowledge.

We traveled north on Saturday, and the evening's festivities from the night prior showed a little on the windy road through to Helena Bay, where a small stop of the side of the road, and a wander in the fresh air was needed for me to avoid regurgitating my earlier coffee and pastry.

We toiled Saturday, having consulted the weather oracle, and made the decision to ride Sunday. As it turned out, the decision as to which day to ride was a moot point, as the weather was unbending and unchanging over the weekend.

The two of us set out on Sunday, and I rode a section of road that is used in the Tour of Northland, it is a magnificent stretch of road, a mix of grunts and views, sweeping corners, gnarled landscapes, on Sunday  the weather was a bonus. I can imagine it on a fine day, but equally I am glad to have ridden it with great company, on a grey, damp, close north easterlie day. It made me appreciate it even more.

I will return. Thanks Wayne.