Alps to Ocean: Part Two

I wake on the third day of the Alps to Ocean with my stomach in knots. Today we cross the highpoint of the trail and it is rated grade 3 rather than the grade 2 of the previous sections. Words like rockier and rougher, coupled with exposed to mountain weather and sustained climb, jump out at me from the guidebook. Add in steep descent and limited cell phone coverage and my comfort zone is, well, departing for another planet.

I force breakfast down, not wanting to eat but knowing I have to fuel or I’ll have no energy. My legs are wobbly as I begin pedalling and it takes me a while to get going, the path meandering and already uphill despite the easy start promised in the guide. It’s not as cold as it has been and within a few km we both stop to remove a layer, stuffing them into rucksacks already full of the extra layers we’d been advised to carry to cope with possible cold at the highpoint.

I am soon alone, Neil ahead of me and, surprisingly, no one coming around me. At the point where the hill ‘starts’ the incline doesn’t increase much but the track becomes rough, large uneven stones making it hard to maintain momentum. I would find it impossible without the battery and I soon capitulate and knock power up to level 2. The land slides down to my left, steeply in places, and up to my right, the grass short and spiked, dark twigs the only evidence of the devastating fire that swept through here in 2020. Slowly I catch Neil up and, with the path too narrow to overtake, I’m content to pause and look down at the view. The lake glistens far below, cloud at its head hiding the peak of Aoraki, at its foot the silver ribbon of the river we crossed yesterday.

I stop just before a corner to take a quick photo, then ride around it to see Neil off his bike chatting to a couple of young women. It can’t possibly be the top; I haven’t cycled far enough! But it is and I climb off, thankful until I see the same uneven roughness leading downhill, starting my stomach churning again. A large group gathers as cyclists we’ve seen before arrive, thins as rested riders continue. One young woman hares off at such a speed I can only stare in awe. I’m much slower, following a vague line worn by many wheels, dropping my seat and my speed while trying to maintain enough momentum to get over the rough stones.

I walk the two hairpins, then judder and bounce for a km or so until the path smoothes and, still downhill but less steep, is lovely to ride, the curves gentle with golden hills rolling away. I should enjoy it but worry gnaws at me – Julie has called to say she’s punctured near the top and needs help. I don’t catch Neil for nearly thirty minutes. He dumps some stuff from his rucksack and takes my bike to save his legs while I walk his to a shady area. I settle in for a long wait, fill my water bottle at the stream and eat my lunch, chat with other cyclists as they arrive and depart. With no cell coverage I have no idea what is happening, which isn’t helping my queasy stomach. It’s an hour and a half before they turn up.

We turn onto the gravel road where it’s easy to get some serious speed. I force myself to not think about crashing and soon reach the tarmac of the last 10km to Omarama and a sign flapping in the breeze: Drinks. Bikes are parked in a layby just beyond – whoever had the idea to stick a shed at the side of the road and fill it with machines stuffed with cold drinks, ice creams and coffee, surely deserves some sort of award.

My app carked it when Neil rode off on my bike, refusing to connect again when he returned, so I have to rely on the figure in the guide: 45km.

Day 4 starts with bad news: Paul, having taken a tumble yesterday, has strained a muscle and is unable to ride. It’s disappointing but sensible, especially as today, another grade 3, looks like it might be challenging. Again, words jump out of the guidebook: narrow with some drop offs, sharp bends, and fall hazards. I can’t wait. Again my stomach declines to stay still and, again, I force myself to eat breakfast. Then we’re off, the chill turning warm quickly, low cloud and mist burning off Lake Benmore as we ride towards it.

Another beautiful day and the first 10km is pleasant riding, in and out of trees on a wide track close to the lake. The water glows, reflected clouds scattering its surface, graceful willows bending over it, their leaves draping into the water. We pass through farmland, the dry grass looking as though it wouldn’t sustain a dormouse, let alone sheep or cattle. The path climbs and narrows, a smooth section between looser gravel where wheels have passed before.

The landscape seems barren but is stunning. The blue of the sky reflected in the water is vivid against dark gold and grey grass growing amongst sharp rocks. Red and orange tinges on rounder boulders near the edge of the water suggest minerals. What green there is looks dry and dusty, as are we, a thin layer of it on everything I touch.

The next couple of hours are challenging, my focus concentrated on the track just ahead of me. Narrow and winding, it skirts the edge of the lake, hugging rocky outcrops with blind corners that scare the life out of me. I pause often to regroup my thoughts, keeping my gaze away from the edge of the path and the almost vertical cliff that drops to the water, trying to ignore the pale gouge of the path across the steep hillside ahead.

The ride is much harder than yesterday, with no shade and a fierce sun that causes us both to overheat on a steep climb. We swing around a corner and almost whoop when we see a stand of pine trees across the levelling path, dropping our bikes against the bank and sitting in the shade to recover. Far below us is the Benmore Dam, below that Lake Aviemore and Otematata, our destination. I am the definition of caution on the descent, a final hairpin taking us to the carpark at the dam, a rolling track to the village and a welcome coffee cart.

Whilst Neil had a blast (except for that final climb in the heat) I’m not sure it’s a section I’d ride again. I’m glad I did it, relieved that the forecast wind didn’t turn up – which would have made for a long walk for me, I think – beyond grateful that I end the day without mishap or injury. If yesterday my comfort zone was on another planet, today it pissed off into a different galaxy. 35km, the shortest day by distance, if not by riding time.