Biking Wharfedale and duathlons

I still have some blogs, three of them, to post from New Zealand, so those have to come before I get to all the goings on in Sydney. There are plenty of tales from here as well, so now that we have internet access, I hope to have plenty of photos and stories to post on a regular basis.

Looking back on these photos, I realize how much there is to tell. This first is of a dream garage. And for a day it was ours. Granted, it lacked the motorcyles, but the non-motorized stable was impressive. My mountain bike sits in the foreground. I was preparing to do a duathlon the weekend these were taken, so I borrowed a great bike from Eric Dy, a friend of mine at work. It is the carbon-fiber Giant seen in the background. It turns out that the shoes that were compatible with his pedals were just a little tight, so I called Heath, the same good bloke from the Queen Charlotte Track expedition, for his pedals and shoes. Turns out it was easier to just borrow the whole bike, a mighty loaner, a Scott carbon fiber with sweet components. This being the bike I have been drooling over in brochures and a couple of bike shops (my apologies to the shop owners), who was I to turn down that one? So here it sits in the middle of the stable in the above photo. I was proud of the collection, even if it only lasted for a day.

I did that duathlon, the next day, my first ever. It was a short run (about 5 minutes, maybe 1 km) followed by a 20 km bike then a 5 km run. The same course Ana did the weekend before. I got third in my age group!

These next photos came from Wharfedale, one of the highly touted trails in the New Zealand mountain bike guide. It took a good drive on private land, opening and shutting about eight gates before getting to the trail head. When we got there, I was shocked to see that one of the two SUVs that got there before we did had a Washington Huskies window sticker! So far from town, yet so close to the states.

The trail used to be a beauty, but I suspect that every winter Mother Nature tries to impose herself on the unused tracks. Downed trees were abundant, and there were multiple creek crossings that had become unridable washouts. See photos. So what could be a challenging trail was a slag, as Walter says. Numerous times the rhythm of the trail was broken up with hikes around or, more often limbos under, clusters of felled trunks.

Don't get me wrong; it was a great day. Another cool morning, perfect by the time you got rolling and working up a sweat. But the challenges did take their tolls. Each of us took turns with rough dismounts. For Walter, these have been rare moments, so being the trailing rider I was able to witness his mortality. As for my own turns, well, it is good to be the trailing rider so that he doesn't have to be reminded repeatedly of mine. Both of us had worse falls than usual; while bumps and scrapes are the norm, we had large bruises and, in my case, a gouge out of the leg from a limb in a brook my bike decided to wallow in.

The end point of the down-and-back ride was a hut, seen here. These shelters dot many of the hiking trails in New Zealand, as the weather can change rapidly. On this day however, all was stable and beautiful, and the sandflies celebrated with a feast, starting with my legs. I was happy to get back on the trail and head for the car.

It is nice to have these stories to still write, reminding me of the details of our time there...