Double Everest
Words: Ben Hildred
Photography: Callum Wood
On February 26 this year, I set out to ride a double Everest: 17,698 vertical metres in a single bike ride, off-road, using a loop that incorporated a series of my favourite mountain bike trails in Queenstown. Double Everesting has been done before on road bikes, so I knew it was possible, but I wanted to know how it felt, where it would take me, and what it would be like scaling a mountain on-trail, and descending technical singletrack, time after time.
My lap started at the lake front and climbed up to the access road on Queenstown bike park. I’d then pedal the full access road, onto the ‘Beeched As’ singletrack, then follow the walking track up to Ben Lomond Saddle. Once at the saddle, I could descend, first on ‘Upper Missing Link’ – an alpine, rocky, tech singletrack – then on ‘Lower Missing Link’, a flowing, open trail that met the beech forest half way down before hooking onto ‘Creaky Winders’ which is more blue/black tech winding through the forest. When the trail met the creek, I’d turn left onto the Fernhill Loop trail until reaching ‘Hammys’, a flow trail to get to the midway clearing of the bike park. At midway I’d drop into ‘Thundergoat’ before taking ‘KY’, a steeper chute line, finishing off with ‘Trouser Snake’ – everyone’s favourite black tech pinch to meet the road and the bottom of the bike park.
After sixty plus hours of sleep deprived pedal of sleep deprived pedal turning, events felt a turning, events felt a little less cohesive and little less cohesive and the world nonuniform.
After sixty plus hours of sleep deprived pedal turning, events felt a little less cohesive and the world nonuniform; laps were completely forgotten, time didn’t pass the same, my bike moved differently beneath me, and body parts became numb, cold, and alien. Walking was novel and eating was the only chore that hindered the new norm – making circles with my feet.
12:00am, February 26th. Wakatipu lake front; a navy sky diluted by street lights. Calm. About to pedal more than I ever have. Bike ride begins.
1:10am. First ascent complete, Ben Lomond saddle. The distant constellation of Queenstown feels incandescent, a familiar glow in comparison to the Milky Way, floating and exposed above. Some 1000 metres of elevation every lap. First lap far too fast, overly excited. Headlight exposes the descent; black singletrack snakes a dark bottomless ridge-line, insisting pensive focus.
6:58am. Daylight emerges over the silhouetted Remarkables, the solid black gate generously sur- rendering first light to Queenstown. Far enough into lap four to be above the cloud, an inversion making the repetition of pedalling feel accomplished so early on. First three laps a sub two hour loop, productive yet unsustainable, remembering to eat little and often. Positive, full and eager.
1:10AM The distant constellation of Queenstown feels incandescent.
1:37pm. Midday. Progress has settled down to a comfortable churn of familiar and trusting trail. I’m 6100m elevation in. Tried eating one of my pre- made marmite, peanut butter and spinach wraps – swallowing that cocktail of stodge the hardest task so far. Still, onwards and upwards. Grateful for the necessary lathering of suncream needed for the hour of alpine exposure coming up, beautiful weather. Thoughtful and focused.
5:11pm. Soon to tick over 8000 metres. Stopping in the last patch of beech forest before the now relentless exposure of the loops summit, Ben Lomond saddle. Looking for my hidden backpack stashed in the bush, vital for the last push and descent. Chocker with food, water, smoothie and essen- tials. It had been taken. Later found to be a good Samaritan naively handing in lost property. Visibly, mildly distressed I was approached by a young family with a backpack baby, insisting wildly generous help. Lap fuelled by wildberry baby food. Thankful and persistent.
7:36pm. Top of lap nine, a big crew of good sorts see me over the first Everest, savouring the energy, anticipating looming darkness. The shadow of Ben Lomond slowly swallowing up my trail. Hasty to avoid the chill, we descended straight away in a train of hoots and hollers, harnessing everyone’s stoke to get me up here another eight times. Grateful and brimming. Onto new, untrod territory.
Distance: 277.56 km
Moving Time: 41:28:53
Avg Speed: 8.3 km/h
Elevation Gain: 17,925 m
Avg Power: 198 W
Calories: 26,531 Cal
Bike: Santa Cruz Tallboy
1:10am. The second night. Soon to turn over 10,000 vertical metres, willing myself to carry on. The short sighted dark compounded with a distinct and concerning drop in temperature, battling the natural circadian urge to sleep. First attempt to have a nap, I set an alarm for fifteen minutes. It went off instantly. With phone still in my hand, unsure whether I’d slept, whether my thoughts had been dreams. I’d push to the top in great company, words were few and far between, all energy used to go forward. The mountains now sleeping, shadows framing another feast of stars. Numb, though now very invested.
Two, three, four? Maybe five? The next couple of laps I cannot recollect, somehow I’d chalked up another two thousand metres with two full loops. The only thing I remember was being laid in dry, dead pine off the side of the trail where I’d fallen. Somehow, on the climb, I’d taken a tumble. Still unsure whether it was a handlebar nap or poor coordination. Thankfully unscathed, and pulled back up to safety, we carried on. I’m indebted to Jamie and Annie and their company that entire night; their selfless, duty-bound help got me through.
5:11PM Thankful and persistent.
After that minor ordeal, roughly five in the morning, we were gifted something so superlative it got me brimming with joy. Our mate, Steve, met us halfway up a mountain. Still dark, his head torch illuminated the steam rising from three ready-made Yorkshire teas, sat trailside. The sun was on its way, the metres were disappearing, my body was waking up and it tasted like victory. Relieved and excited for first light.
7:30am. Not out the woods yet. I would say I know the Skyline access road better than anyone, but, majorly sleep deprived, this well-trod road threw a few curve balls. In the early hours of light, just before mid-way and in the nick of time, I spotted a deep, clear water moat, impassable and flowing over the road. I was hallucinating.
Grabbing a handful of brake, I almost came to a stop before it disappeared. I made a more considered effort to keep my head high and look ahead, setting small goals to pedal towards and keep my mind occupied and focused. Luckily, I had my head held up, as no sooner had the moat disappeared a series of unevenly placed wooden door frames jumped out at me. With my peripheral vision absent, it took my upmost attention to swerve and weave through them. The oddest experience and the last of that carry on for the remainder of the ride. Confused and bemused we rode on.
Visibly, mildly distressed I was approached by aI was approached by a young family with ayoung family with a backpack baby, insistingbackpack baby, insisting wildly generous help.
2:11pm. After first light’s free spirited bohemian lap, the morning felt rather uneventful; chugging along the tracks of my route like a steady and conservative diesel engine. Time soon passed, as did the metres. Almost 14,000 metres in, I got to midway, where I’d allow myself a rest and recoup. It was on this lap an uncomfortable and grounding pain made me feel very human and quite frail. Familiar with the occasional heart murmur, I knew this thud in my chest and erratic, offbeat rhythm should be okay, although it always makes you acutely and presently aware of your mortality. Conscious this could be an issue, I had a small Bluetooth device with me that takes ECG recordings. Held tight between my thumbs it came back with ‘atrial fibrillation’. I chose to rest a bit longer that lap before carrying on, back on task – some would say foolishly.
4:15pm. In charge of photography, and one of my consistent good sorts keeping company for this pedal, Callum noted I’d run out of water high up the climb and, without hesitation, slogged a 10 litre barrel of water up the mountain in his camera bag. What a champ, The sun was still blinding and aggressive. I’d been awake without any proper sleep for around 55 hours now, climbed over 15,000 metres and descended over 100km of mountain bike trails. I felt completely hollow, the bottom of the barrel had been scraped dry. It became very easy to distinguish between my physical, mental and emotional energy. In rhythm, I’d scoop into each energy source one at a time while the others did their best to recover. You could switch easily from a mindset of body, concentrating on making circles with your feet and pushing down past the ground, to a mindset of determination, trust and belief, always mindful to eject that energy reserve for another before any wavering internal apathy kicks in. It became a fragile juggling act – anyone who tried to help or support me during that period was met with someone quite silent and vacant, a shell of the person they had planned to see, but understanding – I hoped – that as grateful as I was, I didn’t want to see anyone for a short period as I couldn’t give them the gratitude and thanks they deserved for helping me out. Burnt out and dry, so close.
Grabbing a handful of brake, I almost came to a stop before it disappeared. I made a more considered effort to keep my head high and look ahead, setting small goals to pedal towards and keep my mind occupied and focused. Luckily, I had my head held up, as no sooner had the moat disappeared a series of unevenly placed wooden door frames jumped out at me. With my peripheral vision absent, it took my upmost attention to swerve and weave through them. The oddest experience and the last of that carry on for the remainder of the ride. Confused and bemused we rode on.
6:38pm. The bottom of the final full lap. A group of familiar, friendly faces greeted me there and the team grew as we climbed higher together. What a treat to have so much encouragement and help from the incredible community here in Queenstown. By the time we reached the summit, the Remarkables mountain range wore an red evening glow, and Ben Lomond above us sheltered the sun. Everything felt it was coming to an end. Sharing that last full climb with friends was extra special, many moments there are forever held in memory. I was 17,300 meters in and feeling my last ‘second’ wind as we all descended together. So grateful and appreciative.
9:10pm. The last push. I couldn’t close the loop off nice and neat at the top of the last full lap, so still had a few hundred metres to find. It was getting cold, fingers pained after that descent, determined not to go into a third night. Most of last lap’s crew were now invested and seeing it out until the end. Together we climbed, again. This time round, my focus was sharply squared at my cycling computer, watching the metres fall away, navigated by the sound of people talking around me, a comforting echolocation on a road I know all too well.
The last hundred metres never seemed to stop. By this time everyone wanted to know the score, nothing else made any sense.
Eventually, finally, at the end of the beech forest, I’d ticked over the double Everest. Pausing and uploading the ride data, I sat on a rock I’d used at a rest stop every lap. Unsure how to think or consider the bike ride, I felt underwhelmed and disappointed in my lack of enthusiasm or stoke, unable to show any joy or thanks to everyone who was there to share the moment, who made the effort to see it out. All I wanted to do was go home, shower and sleep. Maybe everyone was expecting an emotional spew of relief or elation, but all tanks were empty. It was done.
I’d like to thank Jonny Ashworth and Callum Wood for documenting the ride with video and photography, being there to help and witness it all. Annie Ford for being with me throughout and providing the upmost support – making sure I ate, drank and didn’t fall off – what a trooper. Jamie McKay, who always offers the most incredible company on the toughest days, unwavering, and went on to do an Everest of his own while riding with me, incredible! Thanks to everyone else who showed willing and came along for a pedal, it made the experience unforgettable. Thank you.
5:11PM It became very easy toIt became very easy to distinguish between my physical,distinguish between my physical, mental and emotional energy.mental and emotional energy.
Thanks to everyone else who showed willing and came along for a pedal, it made the experience unforgettable. Thank you.
Queenstown = Dreamstown
Words by Jake Hood
Photography by Jake Hood, Cameron Mackenzie & Jay French
Can a photo be life changing? I’m not just talking about a photo that makes you go, ‘Wow that’s amazing!’, but an image that actually changes the path in which you are destined to take in life. It’s a turning point; a defining moment. Well, this is what happened to me.
Let’s turn back the clock a few years – back to when I had fewer wrinkles and a lot more hair. I was a know-it-all grom, working in a bike shop in Scotland. On my lunch break, I was flicking through a UK-based mountain bike magazine when I stopped turning the pages, captivated by this one image that caught my eye. It was a photo of a beautiful golden landscape, featuring three riders carving their way down this unbelievable bit of track that snaked its way through the orange, sun-kissed hillside. There were huge mountains in the background. The corners of the track looked like those perfect berms you only dream about, and dust clouds tailed the riders, highlighted by the evening sun. The golden orange light contrasted the dark moody hills perfectly in the background. It was such a defining photo. A photo that I needed to know more about.
FROM THE MOMENT I STEPPED OFF THE PLANE, I KNEW THIS PLACE WAS SOMETHING SPECIAL.
‘Where is that?’ I thought. ‘I need to see this place, I need to experience it for myself! It looks like paradise.’ Well, it turned out to be Queenstown, New Zealand – or as I like to call it: Dreamstown.
A couple of years after first seeing that photo, I moved to Aotearoa New Zealand, the land of the long white cloud, and set up camp on the alpine shores of Lake Whakatipu. From the moment I stepped off the plane, I knew this place was something special. The mountain air felt dense. Jagged, craggy mountain peaks towered over the lake, while the small, sunny town below basked in the late evening sun. The energy of the town seemed to echo through the valleys. I remember getting a taxi from the airport to town and seeing the Skyline Gondola for the first time. It literally went straight up – like, vertical. How was that even possible?! How could there be trails off that hill? My mind was blown. The first summer I spent here, I experienced as many of the myriad trails as possible. I would finish work and commute home via the gondola back to Fernhill. There were just so many trails to explore and places to see. I kept having to pinch myself to remember I was really living here, in Dreamstown. This place really made an impression on me. But something weird happened after living and riding in this amazing place for a summer. I started to realise that it’s not just the landscape, town or trails that make Queenstown oh-so-special. Yeah, these aspects are amazing, but there is something else that makes this place special… I’ll come back to that later.
It would be hard not to talk about the trails whilst on the topic of Queenstown. There is such a variety, spanning the 7 Mile riding area to Arrowtown. Over a weekend, you would be lucky to just scratch the surface of the amount of riding there is. Every year, this network grows, and us Queenstown riders get better and better trails. In the past few years, the quality of new trails has skyrocketed. The driving force behind this movement are Elevate Trail Building and Dirt Tec Trails. Tom Hey from Elevate Trail Building started shaping the trails of Queenstown in 2013, with Rude Rock being one of his first builds, supported by Queenstown Mountain Bike Club (QMTBC) and and Queenstown Trails Trust (QTT). This trail was an instant classic and is now known across the world. Since then, Tom’s been shaping the dirt, rocks and roots of Queenstown into some of the finest bits of singletrack on the planet. Like an artist with his paintbrush, he has this amazing ability to build perfect bits of trail that become instant hits. Kepler Rek, local trail building legend, was working at Skyline Gondola from 2013-2015, as a lifty and running trail maintenance. In 2015 he started transforming the Ben Lomond Trails and moved up the ranks to the manager of the bike park. This is when the bike park started to transform into what it is now – up there as one of the best in the world. Before 2015, all the trails had a bit of an old-school feel about them; very fast and straight. Nothing lined up well; they were very janky, you could say. Once Kep was on the scene, he started the process of transformation. The first big shift in the park was Huck Yeah – a Queenstown Mountain Bike Club-funded jump trail in the park. This was the catalyst for the rest of the park getting rebuilt. Things got de-janked, rebuilt and realigned – and safety was also improved. It was such a shift forward, and every year things kept getting better in the park. More trails were built with more variety of terrain, including new blue and green trails, so riders of all abilities could test their limits. It was the shift the park needed and involved a more ‘new school’ way of building. It also brought the trails up to a modern, sustainable standard that improved flow whilst also leaving character. In 2017, Kep joined the Elevate Trail Building team. From that point, Tom and Kep went on to build and shape the next generation of Queenstown mountain bike trails, such as Nearly McGnarly and Hot Rod – trails that are now world-famous. Last year alone, Nearly McGnarly was ridden 75,000 times and Hot Rod was ridden 67,000 times. These are trails that work for all abilities, from beginners to the best riders in the world. It’s these types of trails that are helping get new people into the sport and giving beginners a place to improve their skills in a safe environment. For many people visiting Queenstown, Nearly McGnarly and Hot Rod are on the must-ride list – but there is so much more to be enjoyed. From flowing beech forest singletrack, like Missing Link, to Creaky Winder and steep, techy trails like Salmon Run – and everything in between. Throw some jumps into the mix, such as the world-famous Dreamtrack, Gorge Road Jump Park, and Kerry Road pump track, and you’ll find something for everyone to enjoy. Just last year, Kep went on to start his own company, Dirt Tec Trails, with Skyline taking a back seat in running the bike park. Dirt Tec Trails is now in charge of all the maintenance in the park and I have to say, the park has never been better. Dirt Tec Trails is also lending a hand to other projects around town – most recently, the new BluGazi trail. To say we are spoiled for passionate trail builders in Queenstown is an understatement. With two of New Zealand’s best trail builders living here, it’s easy to see why Queenstown, as a biking destination, is known around the world.
The other big reason Queenstown’s mountain biking scene is what it is today comes down to all the hard work put in by the QMTBC. Since forming in 2003, the club has really brought to life the vision of so many people, making Queenstown a world-famous destination for mountain biking. The amount of work these local legends get done is nothing short of a miracle – and it’s all volunteer work. There is an ever-changing group that takes the reins of this juggernaut of a club. Every year at the AGM, club members can nominate themself to become committee members for the following year. This constant change of committee members keeps the club moving forward and ensures fresh ideas come in year after year. These committee members are the true unsung heroes of the mountain biking scene in Queenstown. From trail network planning and gaining land consents, to running weekly dig nights, local jump sessions, fundraising events and getting new members on board, the work this club achieves is endless. What the club gets done is monumental but, through all this, we have this amazing thriving group of locals that just keeps growing and growing. Every year, membership numbers go up and the club receives more consent for trails; the community grows, and new trails get built. Overall, this club has been such a benefit to the Queenstown region and its community.
The network of trails that spans the basin is the artery that joins everything together all thanks to the Queenstown Trails Trusts. The QTT is responsible for the gravel trails that connect the Queenstown area together, giving access to different parts of the region without the need to ride on busy roads. The QMTBC and QTT work together to create a bigger, better network. Recent projects, like Bush Creek, a single track that has connected Coronet Peak to Arrowtown, has massively improved the famous ride, ‘Corotown’, by removing all the horrible river crossings. By using the QTT network and the QMTBC network, you can link up huge rides whilst mostly avoiding the roads. It’s flipping fantastic! And, if you’re not in the mood to ride mountain bikes but still want to get out and about, it’s easy to grab a gravel bike and smash out the k’s. With over 130km of gravel trails in the area, there is more than enough to keep you busy. For those who feel up to a big backcountry XC ride that feels kind of remote, I can’t go past recommending the Coronet XC loop that takes you around the back of Coronet Peak. These trails and networks are all possible due to the hard work QTT puts in. I’ve heard about the plans for the future and if they get the go-ahead, it’s going to make Queenstown an even more connected cycle network, which is a huge win in my books. With such a host of trails available on Queenstown’s doorstep, it’s easy to see why there are a bunch of locals doing so well on the world circuit in downhill, enduro and freeride events. The list of riders who now reside in the small alpine town during the summer months is pretty ridiculous: Eddie Masters, Matt Walker, Cole Locus, George Brannigan, Louise Ferguson, Vinny Armstrong, Jess Blewit and Robin Goomes, just to mention a few. In the lead-up to the World Cup, Enduro World Series, and Crankworx seasons, there is a whole host of teams and pros that come to town for testing and training. Line up at the Skyline Gondola in the latter half of the season and you will see everyone from Loïc Bruini to Emil Johansson lapping the park. And it’s not just the big names that are savage riders – there are so many low-key shredders in town. People that you have never even heard of, who can outride the best. There is something in the water here. People will come for a season and progress so much in that time. Being able to ride after work probably helps a lot – and I mean, literally from your office to the bike park, just two minutes out of town – but another big factor is being able to ride with people that are better than you. From trying to hold your mate’s wheel down a track while you chase him at a pace you don’t really want to ride at, to rolling up to Wynyard Bike Park for a jump session with your mates and getting spurred on by them making cool shapes while in the air — there is a culture of moving forward, of improving, taking inspiration from others, and applying it to your own riding. The progression levels of everyone seem to go up every year. It’s really a product of its own environment: with lots of variety of trails and long summer days giving you heaps of time to get out on the bike, the bike time just racks up. I will warn you though – don’t drop-in in front of the grommets, because they’ll be flying past you in no time, with more style than you could imagine. The next generation coming up are talented beyond what I can comprehend. They are so incredibly fast and stylish. It’s like they watch a YouTube video, and then just go do it — there’s no question about how they do it; they just do it. It’s so impressive and I think in the next few years we’ll see even more big names come out of this small town.
I think one of the reasons we have so many fast grommets in town is due to the Vertigo Summer Series race events. The main man behind this series is Paul Angus (a.k.a Pang), a legendary figure around Queenstown. Co-owner of Vertigo Bikes, and sometimes known as the ‘Huck Wizard’, Pang has seen and done it all in Queenstown. He lives and breathes the sport that we all love. As a former World Cup racer, he’s deadly fast on a bike, riding with pinpoint precision, and as stylish as they come, making him a great person to watch flow down the steep trails of Queenstown. His passion for downhill is prevalent from the moment you step foot into Vertigo Bikes. There’s a museum of old downhill bikes as you walk in the front door and dotted around the shop are old classic parts and frames. Pictures of the staff out shredding the local trails, cover the walls.
There’s a vibe you can feel as soon as you enter and you can sense the passion which is shared by everyone who works there. The smell of the workshop lingers in the air; that classic old bike shop smell, it’s fantastic. Vertigo has such a rich history in mountain biking in Queenstown, that it’s such a staple in the community. Throughout the summer, Pang, Jimi Ramsay (manager at Skyline MTB) and a few legends from Skyline run the Vertigo Summer Series in the Ben Lomond Trails. A grassroots race series that consists of four rounds, with the Whakatipu World Champs wrapping it up. Pang and Jimi pour their heart and soul into these well-organised races, which are a passion project of theirs, along with volunteers who donate their time on race day. It’s a hotly contested race series – everyone comes out to race their mates and settle the trash-talk that’s been going on all summer. The turnout is huge and normally you have to pre-register to enter. All the funds raised at the races go back to the Queenstown Mountain Bike Club.
The groms make up a huge number of participants and their times are within seconds of the elites. Each race is on a different track and often have fresh bits of track dug in for the racing. The atmosphere at the side of the track is electric. They are awesome events to be involved with and it’s so cool to see all the young, up-and-coming riders get to race on the local trails.
If you want to see a representation of this local scene, there’s no better place to be than Atlas Beer Cafe on a summer’s evening. This tiny yet wholesome pub will be packed to the brim with locals after finishing their ride. There are bikes everywhere, parked up all over the place, and smiles and cheers getting thrown about left, right and centre. Big hearty pints are being poured from the range of 24 beer taps that consume the wall of the bar, and the warm, welcoming atmosphere sucks you in. Above the bar hangs Kelly McGarry’s bike that was famously flipped over the canyon gap at Red Bull Rampage. Other bike memorabilia is scattered around the place, and the friendly staff always want to know about your ride as they pour you a beverage to quench your thirst. If you’re a local and you come to Atlas on a Friday evening, you will be sure to bump into someone you know. You don’t need to plan your evening, as it’s one of the best places be post-ride. It’s a common place us riders like to descend on to catch up with each other after the week’s events and plan the weekend’s adventures. There are two reasons why everyone comes here though; 1) the fact it’s just a fantastic little bar that has a vibe that is second-to-none; and 2) Atlas give so much back to the mountain bike community. Atlas’s owner, Davey Mackenzie, and all the staff put so much effort into helping the Queenstown Mountain Bike Club, from organising and running fundraisers – like the SOS (Season of Shred) Party at the start of summer as well as the end-of-season wrap-up party – to sponsoring trails and the club’s trailer. The staff outdo themselves every year by putting so much effort into these great events that see a huge turnout – they are always a night to remember.
Personally, it’s not Queenstown that makes Queenstown such a special place to be. Yes, I’ll say it again, the riding is pretty extraordinary, the landscape is breathtaking and having three lift-accessed parks in close proximity really does add to the appeal. But that’s all just a bonus. What really makes this place oh-so-special? It’s the people who live here. They really make this place what it is. I’ve never lived in a place where the community feel is so prevalent – it’s more like a big family.
I’m so glad I saw that photo and it changed the trajectory of my life so many years ago. I’m happy I made the leap of faith by moving about as far away from home as possible. After a few years of living here, Queenstown is my home. When I head away on holiday, instead of dreading coming home, I find myself looking forward to being back. The breathtaking landscape, vibrant energy and unbelievably good trails on its doorstep, really make this a special place. You soon realize, it’s the people that make Queenstown, Dreamstown.
A little slice of paradise.
An interview with Sam Blenkinsop
Words: Lance Pilbrow
Photography: Cameron Mackenzie & Sven Martin
I’m two minutes into our Zoom interview and Sam is juggling kids on his lap. Prior to this, he’s been on another Zoom, negotiating deals that will form part of his 2023 season. Undoubtedly, his kids will have let his potential sponsors know that Sam, their dad, should really be giving them his undivided attention. But this is the new normal for Sam. The Juggle.
Most New Zealand Mountain Biker readers will be familiar with Sam Blenkinsop in some form or another. If longevity is a sign of success, then Sam could arguably be New Zealand’s most successful downhill mountain bike rider, having been riding professionally for 19 years. He’s been a fixture on the NZ riding scene for as long as many of us can remember. I personally remember watching Sam ride at the 2006 Rotorua World Mountain Bike Championships where he came second in the juniors. I was blown away by how fast he was riding and just how much style he had on the bike — his bike seemed to effortlessly drift through corners, through the air, always slightly sideways, slightly tweaked. Somehow, he made it look more fun than anyone else.
Fast forward to 2022 and Sam is now one of the seasoned veterans on the World Cup circuit. And a lot has changed over that time. Most notably, he now has a wife and two children to join him as he moves around the globe following the UCI circuit. With his experience on the circuit, and confidence to try something different, in 2022, he ditched the established way of doing things, bought a motorhome and hit the road racing; wife and two kids along for the ride too, as support crew. “We purchased a motorhome in the UK, and just drove the whole of Europe,” says Sam. “We did something like 9000km.”
Having recently toured New Zealand in summer with my own family, I’m well aware that life on the road isn’t always plain sailing. The idea of taking a family on the road, managing a race schedule and the pressure of performing at an elite level made me wonder if he’d had a few too many knocks to his head. But he assured me it was fine. How was it for his wife, Lysh, though? “It was hard for Lysh, for sure. She had to deal with our younger one in the motorhome; there is all the feeding. Yeah, it wasn’t aways easy,” explains Sam.
Sam’s kids come in and out of view on his webcam. In the background, I can hear some fighting over toys, and I’m imagining doing all of this inside the close confines of a motorhome — for six months. On the whole, it’s clear Sam, at least, had really enjoyed the past season.
“To be honest, it was awesome,” he admits. “It was just so exciting having the family there. It was like learning a new way of racing; racing while being a dad. It was more interesting than other years because I was going to all these places I’ve been to for 19 years, but I realised I actually never saw them properly. Typically, I’d just be with the team and at the hotel, and I wouldn’t really enjoy the place as much. Now, I’d be at practice, then as soon as that was done I’d go hang out with the family and really enjoy everything. It was great being with them and not just having the race as the only thing. It was like being on holiday with the family, but getting to race too, which was like an awesome bonus.”
This change of pace seems to suit Sam. The more we talk, the more he seems to relax. He’s reflective on his time as a racer, and the privilege that has been, but also how the reality of being on the road has real downsides. “When you’re with a team, everyone can be in their own bubble and often they don’t really do much. It can actually be quite boring a lot of the time. It’s crazy!”
But he hasn’t always been this way, and he seems to be able to see his own evolution and maturity as racer. “When I was younger, I was more like how I see other younger racers now — it was just racing, racing, racing! Everything had to be absolutely perfect.” He laughs, seeming to sense a bit of irony at what he is saying. “But now I’m old!” I’m a little surprised at just how casual he seems about it all, he just seems to be more realistic. “I just feel like I know what goes into racing — what works and what doesn’t. But actually seeing places differently, that’s what changes when you become a parent. It’s interesting in new ways,” Sam laughs. “Now I’m just looking for the best playgrounds and parks!”
But despite the highs of having his family on the road with him, the challenge any professional athlete faces is that results still matter. So, I asked him if he had achieved what he wanted to this year? “To be honest, my race results weren’t where I wanted them to be. It was pretty frustrating,” Sam admits. “I would get a mechanical or a flat tyre, it was… annoying.” Fort William was one such race. He missed out on qualifying for the main event, a race that is usually one of his favourites and one he performs well on. “I got a flat tyre halfway down…. I missed out on qualifying by half a second.” This was a tough pill to swallow. “I hadn’t been that angry for a long time. We’d driven all this way, I’d been with the family, it was a week of shitty weather, everyone was cooped up in the motorhome, there were midges everywhere, kids couldn’t do anything.” I ask him if having his family there changed how he was able to cope with a disappointing race. “Having the family there changes everything. In the past, if I was at a race and I didn’t do well, I would be thinking, ‘man I wish I was at home’. But, with the family there, it was completely different. It was just like, ‘ah, it doesn’t matter, it’s just part of it’.” This family thing sounds like the ultimate racer’s edge: great support when things are tough and the people you most want to celebrate with when things go well. Like at Mt St Anne, in Canada, where he was back in the top ten: “The high of that whole weekend was really just having the family there with me. It was just the best thing ever.”
Sam seems to have been able to carve out a career as a racer that is pretty enviable, and the longevity of it all is unique. In fact, just staying healthy in a high risk sport like downhill is a challenge; always balancing risk and reward. “When I was younger, I just wanted to go as fast as I could,” says Sam. “But you figure out pretty quickly that it doesn’t really work well that way. You just can’t ride that way all of the time, ‘cause you just end up crashing.” I ask him if this is, however, just what is required to be at the very top? He agrees. “Those guys [Loic Bruni and Amuary Pierron] just ride at such a high level. The risk is so high. But, if anything happens, when they hit the ground, they’re done, the season’s over. I can ride at that pace too, but it’s risky. You need to be comfortable with it.”
Staying healthy, staying on the bike, and showing up to races year in, year out has helped Sam keep sponsors happy. He has just finished up a contract with Norco, after seven years working together, to explore something new. Now, he’s taking charge of managing his own sponsors and race schedule. This seems like a lot of work to me; I ask him why he’s doing it? “I always wanted to run my own program, and I’m finally getting a chance to do that. I feel like I’m going back to my roots — not like a privateer, I’ll have factory support and I’ll have a good budget — it’s just a simpler operation.” Being on the Norco factory team, Sam has seen it all. It’s big business with big overheads. “In a big team, the team takes everything you make them. The managers get paid because of you; the budget is massive to move a team around. I realised this year, in taking myself on the road, it just doesn’t actually cost that much. But, with a team, you’re spending so much money with hotels, mechanics, managers and different staff. The amount of money that gets blown is unreal. With Norco, about twenty people were involved with the team; mechanics, ex riders, masseuse, other staff, an on-track guy.
They were a Canadian team, so lots of them would go to the race and then fly back to Canada each week. The amount of money that got wasted… I couldn’t believe it. So I just knew I could do something simpler that would still allow me to make it work.”
Sam seems to be confident in his own experience. Confident he’s developed skills he can now use to help navigate the new reality of racing whilst also being a family man. “I’m excited about the direction I’m going in, I really feel I can be in the top 10 for sure. I still believe my riding is at that level. I still feel like I can be on the podium the weekends that the track suits me and I’m feeling good.” But the sponsorship side of things is a steep learning curve. “It was so much easier when I had a manager doing all this! Now it’s way harder. I’m just not used to doing it. I’m so Kiwi! We just don’t say, ‘I need this much money so could you please give it to me?’. We’re more reserved and sort of just end up asking for something, anything. Often, I’ll say a number and sponsors will be come back to me with; ‘we can do more than that — you should really be asking for more!’ So, I’m learning I need to be a bit more cocky really. Sponsors often have more to offer than I think they do. But I like that I’m learning all this.”
Taking charge of his own program is about creating new opportunities. For example, he’s getting to work directly with the brands he has always wanted to work with, and working with them directly instead of through a manager or a team. “So often I’m hearing the brands say how good it is to be dealing with me directly. They’ll tell me they’ve always wanted to work with me, not this other person or a team I have been associated with. Often, they just want to do a little deal with me directly but they’ve had to negotiate with the whole team. So it’s cool to be able to work more directly with the actual companies and hear this kind of stuff.”
It’s not all plain sailing, though, and even trying to ensure he gets enough support to run the lean operation that he has in mind for next year has challenges. “It’s hard at this time, all the sponsors are tightening up. They’re not selling as much and everyone is overstocked, and everyone’s freaking out, and just taking so long to return calls and emails.” But Sam’s confident it will all come together, and he’ll be back on the circuit next year. He won’t tell me what bike he’s riding just yet, but he’s obviously excited about it. “I’ve pretty much got everything locked in but there are still a couple of things we’re waiting on. In terms of the industry, to be honest, it is probably the worst time to do it.” But he’s enjoying the new challenges of management, and of the conversations he is getting to have. “It’s just great to be able to choose the people I want to work with, and work with the people I like to work with. Everyone that I’m working with is a friend; I’ve worked with them for years and they are fans of me and I feel like I’ll be able to have a long future working with them. I was with Norco for a long time, and a part of me was just thinking, ‘this would be good if it carries on forever’, but in other ways a fresh start is exciting too.”
There are other changes on the horizon, too. Not least of all Discovery TV taking over the broadcasting rights to the UCI Mountain Bike World Cup. Something that has a lot of riders, Sam included, curious to see how it all unfolds. It’s a complicated business working with the UCI, and the relationship between the UCI and riders has often been fraught. Plus, there are lots of unknowns. “We don’t even know how many people are going to qualify; how many people they are going to show on TV… It seems like they are trying to suck every cent out of us,” explains Sam, candidly.
On the other hand, Sam has always been a fixture on the Crankworx schedule, something some of the other riders don’t seem to prioritise. The reason is simple; “I’ve just always enjoyed the Crankworx events,” says Sam. “If you go to a UCI World Cup, the organisers don’t really care about you at all. You are the show, but they just aren’t bothered. The Crankworx guys, though — you go to the race, and they do everything for you. They are so supportive of you; they help you out with everything. You email the organiser and ten minutes later you’ve got an answer. They just really take care of the riders.” And the festival-style race schedule appeals to Sam, too. “All the events are so fun. They just pack the events in, too. You do one race one day, and if you do badly in that one race, you’re like, ‘oh well, I’ve got another race tomorrow’. It’s busy, and I like that. At Rotorua this year I had the downhill practice, slalom and pump track all in one day. The people love it. I’ve always told the organisers I’ll race these ‘til I can’t race anymore.”
Right now, however, it’s the off season and, for Sam, this means it’s time off the bike and a different pace of life. “I drop my daughter (Indie) at pre-school, then I take Blake (his son) for a spin in the bike trailer.” Family commitments mean Sam doesn’t have the luxury of training whenever he wants, either, so he’s being more efficient than ever with his time — doing weights in the garage before the children wake up being just one example. But his off season is more than just being off the circuit, its exploring other passions too. “I love hunting and spearfishing and that’s what I love doing when I’m not racing. This time of year I love those things even more than biking… Racing is so intense, but with diving you’ve got to really slow your heart rate right down and be relaxed. Plus, it’s all about just being in another environment. Hunting is the same, you have to be calm.”
Nineteen years in any career that takes you on the road for six months of every year is a challenge that could wear thin, but it seems to suit Sam just fine. “I can’t stay in one place for too long. I don’t know how people live in one place for so long! After being in Christchurch for seven months, I’m ready to go back to Europe and start racing again. I just – still – love racing. That’s what I realised this year; I just love racing.” I ask him how he’s stayed in the game for so long, and how many other riders he seen come and go, and his answer reminds me of the day I watched him race in Rotorua: “I think it’s just because I enjoy it so much”. We talk about this for a while, and Sam mentions that one thing he’s wondered about is whether his ability to really enjoy life off the bike has helped him enjoy life on the bike even more. “I think, guys who didn’t stay in that long, all they did was ride their bike. I think if you’re just doing that all the time, you’ll get over it. It’s almost like they’ve put too much into it. To be honest, in my off season I hardly ride a bike. I just do other things – hunting, fishing, diving, and spending time with the kids. Just having other things going on aside from racing is so important.”
Sam acknowledges it hasn’t always been this way. Without being arrogant, he seems proud that he’s been able to evolve over the years to approach riding in a more mature way. “When you’re young you need to be on the bike all the time, you need to do that to get the skills and that’s exactly what I did. I just rode my bike every day, did dirt jumps, pushed up to do downhill runs, XC — whatever I could do. I spent every day on my bike, from dawn ‘til dusk. It was all about biking. But now, I know I’ve got those skills, so it’s more about having fun on the bike and enjoying it and not getting burnt out. It’s key to know when to train and when to stop – to avoid getting burnt out with training. It’s a learning thing — and I’m still learning.” He seems genuine. Genuine that he really does still just love riding his bike, but hungry for more too. “I feel like I’ve got a lot more in me. There’s a lot of young kids coming through the local scene, but they don’t seem to be able to beat me yet, so I might as well keep going.”
Might as well.
A year in review: A team manager's perspective - Behind the tape
Words: Cam Cole
Photography: Sven Martin
Winding the clock back, I started in the role of GT team and performance manager back in November 2021. This opportunity emerged while I was attending the 2021 UCI Mountain Bike World Champs in Val Di sole as the stand-in New Zealand team manager while our borders were still virtually closed, in the middle of the Covid pandemic.
The 2022 northern hemisphere summer has been and gone. In fact, it’s now well and truly in the rear view mirror. For me, in a diverse role supporting GT Factory Racing (GTFR), this came with thanks after many long days spent track side, pointing at riding lines scattered with rocks, roots, dust and mud; being holed up in event villages running errands, cooking meals, making coffee, setting up team pit infrastructure only to tear it down again; travel days navigating narrow Scottish roads in long, heavy team vehicles, attempting to peel tyres off rental cars, boarding ferries and flights spanning oceans, countries and continents; and of course, in classic GT Factory Racing style, our fair share of good times. After an opportune catch up with some old mates from my days as a professional rider (that’s a story I will save for later) some ideas were thrown about and a couple of months later I was signed on to the team. Soon enough, I was buried in online meetings, planning the 2022 racing season, and numerous spreadsheets as the management staff ground through all of the leg work that would allow the team to operate during the 2022 racing season.
Team and Performance Manager — an ever-changing role
The role I’ve taken on with GTFR is a diverse one. It’s a role that evolves in its nature depending on the time of year. In the off season months, it looks and feels like any administrative role. Duties include event planning: from building out the team calendar for the season, booking flights and accommodation, all the way through to working closely with the chef team that supports us at the World Cups. On the performance side, I am frequently in contact with the riders so that the team is updated and aware of their off season progress and so we can keep them updated on any news coming from GT HQ or team partners. On this aspect of the role, my experience as a former professional rider is valuable in ensuring the riders are supported and that the team can assist them in their professional and athletic development. Ultimately though, the athletes on the team are highly motivated and require only guidance as we work together to refine their approach to top level international racing. On the marketing and business side there are general communications aspects of the role, to ensure info is flowing in all directions between the team, several of the GT business functions and GTFR team partners. In addition, there is budgeting and budget tracking. During the off season months, I work closely with Steve Spencer on the sports marketing side at GT HQ and Mark Maurissen, who works on the product and tech side for the team, taking care of all product ordering and allocations for the team as well as supporting the logistics planning. During the season, Mark is both a mechanic and logistics operations support. Additional staff include Rich Simpson, based in the UK, Matteo Nati, who divides his time between Italy and New Zealand, and our two French media mates, Louis and Jules. During the racing season, my job morphs into more of an operations role as the season plan rolls out week by week, race by race. The hours stack up quickly with early mornings in the pits helping the mechanics set up for the day, and generally end late with planning for the next day and site clean-up. Energy is what you need for this part of the job, especially since we are a relatively small factory team and one of only a few that compete in both the Downhill World Cup and Enduro World Series (EWS). For most of the Downhill World Cups in 2022 we were four to five staff looking after four riders, compared to the likes of Commencal Muc-off who have upwards of 10 staff for four to five riders. My days at the events are stacked with general race and team admin, such as assisting with the maintenance of team equipment and supplementary grocery shopping. On the performance side, it becomes more intensive at the events, ensuring riders have what they need to do their job well. The on-track support for the riders is a big part of it when I’m at the races. For DH that means standing track side sighting lines, coaching or suggesting racing tactics and strategies. Sometimes communicating with mechanics about bike set up is required. During the peak of the season sometimes all we can do is react. Dealing with cancelled flights (thanks Easy Jet), adjusting race plans as the inevitable injuries pop up and just generally rolling with the punches that are thrown at you daily when you are managing a dozen people traveling and racing all over the world is par for the course.
The Racing Season
Soon enough, the 2022 racing season was underway, and we were on the ground putting plans into action. We kicked things off in early March ’22 with a preseason block of training and racing in bitterly cold central southern France, before heading further south into Portugal in search of a little bit of sunshine to boost the mood prior to the unusually early start to the Downhill World Cup season, in Lourdes. At this point, we were still missing Jess Blewitt from the team, due to her delayed return to international racing after taking the entire New Zealand summer off to ensure full recovery from the injuries she sustained at the 2021 World Cup finals in Snowshoe. Nevertheless, we still had a strong group of riders in Ethan Craik, Ryan Pinkerton and, of course, none other than Wyn Masters. Although highlights of this first block of racing included all riders making the podium at a Portugal Cup downhill race, and sucking on juicy Portuguese oranges, the Lourdes World Cup was a reality check. This race showed us the brutal nature of World Cup Downhill racing both in terms of the course and quality of the athletes. For round two, in Fort William, we would have all of our riders on an updated version of GT’s downhill bike. This, along with a revised focus after Round 1 and having Jess back on board, was a huge boost for the team and paved the way for several substantial steps in a positive direction. Despite Jess picking up a small fracture in her collar bone, her pace was on target for a solid result and Ethan was riding on pace for a top 10 – 15 result until he unluckily misjudged a heavily degrading corner and fell victim to the wet and windy Scottish conditions on finals day. The Enduro World Series season kicked off on the first weekend of June, two weekends after the Fort William Downhill World Cup, so after a short breather I joined the Enduro team in Innerleithen, Scotland. Although we didn’t come away with the comfort of knowing our outright race pace matched that of our competitors, we did maintain a positive and ‘can do’ approach to picking up the pace up throughout the season. Sometimes, things just don’t go your way in racing, but the only way forward is to reflect on a situation and truthfully answer any questions that the facts present you with, in any situation you find yourself in. Having been a professional international racer myself, from 2006 – 2014, I understand the pressures and demands the riders and teams face. I have had many successes at the top level of the sport. Many of those have come after times of truthful self-reflection and facing the ‘no blame’ facts presented to me. These were often that I was not prepared to race at the highest level due to physical, mental or emotional shortcomings, or that I was just not executing my races in a free and relaxed state. This was true for the Enduro team. There was no flow happening both in and out of the events. Things were just not happening as easily as they should have been for the quality of the team we were on paper. The struggle continued into rounds 2 and 3 of the World Series, in Slovenia and Italy. Noga Korem looked like she was riding well on track, but was just not feeling completely confident at full race pace. Katy Winton was in a similar position, but was feeling like there was something deeper at play holding her back. After fighting through an entire season as a privateer in 2021, her efforts to get to this point in mid-2022 – and back on a factory team – were becoming too much to sustain the detail-oriented approach that is required to maintain the level of performance Katy and the team expected. So Katy bravely made the decision to suspend her racing season so that she could take some time to reflect and dig into what factors were holding her back. With the first major travel and racing blocks of 2022 under our belt at GT Factory Racing, we had forward momentum on our side regardless of the positive or negative nature of the situation. I personally find it better to at least know where you stand and from that point feel equipped with the facts so you can address the situation as it presents. After the Val di Fassa EWS round there was a week break before we faced nine races in nine weeks through July and August, across both the EWS and World Cup Downhill series. This included the Lenzerheide, Andorra, Snowshoe, Mont Sainte Anne and Val di Sole World Cups, and the North America triple of EWS races, as well as World Championships in Les Gets, France. Highlights from this intense string of racing included Jess’s first Elite Women’s World Cup DH podium in Andorra, which she promptly followed up two races later with another fourth place. Jess rounded out the season strongly by achieving another podium place finish at the World Cup finals in Val di Sole, on the most technically and physically demanding course of the year. Ethan, in his first year as an elite male, also achieved a career first when he placed seventh in his first elite Top 10 at the Mont Saint Anne World Cup, and was showing serious speed at the World Champs until a crash on the morning of race day slowed him down substantially. Finally, Ryan Pinkerton rode to a solid second place at the World Cup finals, topping off his first year in the junior ranks. But, if you think it was all champagne showers for the team, I should mention a challenging travel day from Washington Dulles airport after the Snowshoe World Cup, to Mont Sainte Anne for the following race. The day started early with two flights from Dulles to Quebec, via Toronto. When we arrived in Quebec we found the rental car company had cancelled our reservation and permanently shut its doors, but had decided they didn’t need to let us know about it. Since many of the World Cup Downhill and Cross Country teams were flying into Quebec City airport at that time, there was no chance of any rental stock being available that would allow us to move seven people around Quebec and Vermont for the following two weeks. In the end, we decided to fight that fight another day. After taking taxis to Mont Saint Anne, we sat at one of a few local restaurants and ordered dinner – which took forever to reach the table. After a late finish to the meal, we decided it was time to check into the two apartments I had booked for the week. The check in process ended around midnight with Mark breaking down a door to one of the apartments as the digital panel controlling the lock had failed. With that, you start to understand the mental approach and skillset that is required when being part of a team of 12 people who for five months of the year are constantly on the move and not always in the same place, let alone the same time zones. By mid-September, there were just the final two EWS races remaining in the 2022 international season for the team. For these last events we were still missing Katy, but through her time spent away from the races, reflecting, she was beginning to see the early steps required to return to racing at the top level. With the support of GTFR and her immediate support team, she was regaining the fire and energy it takes to ride a bike fast and to one’s potential. In terms of outright results, Noga finished the season very strongly by placing fourth at both the Crans Montana and Loudenvielle races, and was once again having fun at the races and on her bike. This was a relief for her and the team. Ultimately, I do this because I enjoy the process of learning and striving for performance but what really makes it so good is seeing the riders expand their personal horizons and have fun racing their bikes.
Reflections
Since the end of the season, after the final EWS race in Loudenvielle, we have had the chance to back off the gas, unwind and spend some time recovering physically and mentally. However, for those at the sharp end of this business, this time of the year is utilised as a chance to reflect on the past season while it is still fresh in the mind. While it is a good time of year to catch up on any night time reading that is missed during the season, it is also a chance to take notes and brainstorm new ways of doing things, that could be implemented in order to improve performance. Since the end of the 2022 season, we have already overcome some of the challenges that presented themselves over the year. But, we have many more ahead of us. For me, this is the lure of being part of a team competing in the highest level of competition, in any context. No matter what the result, there is always more to be improved on. Competing in an environment such as this forces teams through a process and journey of improvement. You don’t have a choice if you want to remain competitive in this game. Looking ahead to 2023, it’s going to be another busy year. Although there are still many months until the Downhill season kicks off, the first EWS races take place at the end of March, in Tasmania. So, for me, it’s swiftly back to the usual off-season duties.
ENERGY IS WHAT YOU NEED FOR THIS PART OF THE JOB, ESPECIALLY SINCE WE ARE A RELATIVELY SMALL FACTORY TEAM AND ONE OF ONLY A FEW THAT COMPETE IN BOTH THE DOWNHILL WORLD CUP AND ENDURO WORLD SERIES (EWS).
I PERSONALLY FIND IT BETTER TO AT LEAST KNOW WHERE YOU STAND AND FROM THAT POINT FEEL EQUIPPED WITH THE FACTS SO YOU CAN ADDRESS THE SITUATION AS IT PRESENTS.
All Thyme Alexandra
I’m just joking. But not about the riding. Alexandra is sprawling with some of the finest singletrack you can find in New Zealand — heck, maybe even the world. For me, it’s up there as one of my favourite spots to ride. I’d put it in my top 10 and, for some reason, even though the riding is so amazing, no one seems to know about it. Well, apart from those who know. In a world where we have information at our fingertips at any time, Alexandra has escaped blowing up on social media and has managed to stay the hidden gem of Central Otago.
About a one hour drive from Wanaka, 75 minutes from Queenstown, and 2.5 hours from Dunedin, Alexandra is located in the heart of Central Otago. You can track the origins of this quiet sleepy town back to the Central Otago gold rush of the 1860s. Established in 1862, (formally called Lower Dunstan) its humble beginnings and rich history came from gold mining. Miners from all around the globe flocked to Central Otago in search of the precious, shiny, rare metal, hoping to strike it rich. The miners might have gone, but there’s still plenty of gold to be found. Not so much the gold you would find in a wedding ring but the type any mountain biker craves: technical flowing singletrack in an amazing landscape. The magic we all search for.
“Alex”, as it’s affectionately known by locals, has somehow avoided the hustle and bustle craziness of Queenstown and Wanaka. The all go, non-stop, 24/7 mentality of those towns hasn’t travelled across. Instead, you find this beautifully quiet town, where the locals all know each other. They are proud of their town, and so they should be. It’s a stunning little place. There’s a real sense of community that stays true to its humble beginnings. The pace of life seems a lot more relaxed, and you won’t find most of the high street shops open on a Sunday. Instead, people close up shop and make the most of their weekend before starting back into the week. It’s a refreshing feeling in this modern world we live in, but don’t get lured into thinking Alex is a calm place; it’s a town of extremes. Take the climate for example; during the summer it’s the hottest, driest place in New Zealand. Temperatures often reach over 25 degrees Celsius and sometimes even push up into the mid-30s. The flip side of that, is it’s the coldest in winter; on average it’s below 0.
It’s not just the climate that’s extreme, there is the landscape (or moonscape, as some would describe it). In the surrounding hills, it’s rugged wild country. Sharp, rocky outcrops are a common occurrence; they appear to have viciously pierced through the earth’s surface many moons ago, leaving a reminder that it’s tough out here. It makes for a real ‘Mad Max’ feeling. Wildflowers, briar and thyme make up the main vegetation covering the rolling hills. The story goes that miners planted thyme so they could put it in bread for a better taste, but the thyme took off due to the rich, fertile soil. Now, Merino sheep can be found roaming the land, thriving in the extreme conditions of the high country. It’s a landscape that demands respect. Treat it wrong and it will bite back but look after it and it will reward you. If you get it right and catch one of those perfect days, you will see just how beautiful it is. The days when you hit the golden hour, blasting along the narrow hand-built singletrack on the ridges. Purple thyme bush all around, dust trailing behind, in that perfect flow state. It’s at this point Alexandra really takes your breath away.
The mountain bike trails in Alex started like many: illegally. Back in ‘95, Richie Bailey and Gordy Rayner pioneered the way when they started to scratch lines and loops around the area. From what I’ve heard, there were more XC trails in comparison to a lot of the tech you will find in Alex now. As bikes developed, so did the trails. Things started to get harder and more technical. Old motorbike tracks and water races were adapted and made into bike tracks. Although it was very much a stealth operation. Dave Fearnley and Phil Oliver are responsible for a lot of the legendary trails. Initially, they did not realise that they were both building the trails. Each of them went on their own stealth operation but, eventually, they bumped into each other and the rest of history. Phil and Dave are responsible for some of the finest trails found out here. They have this amazing ability to find flow where there shouldn’t be. Scratching in creative lines through the rocky outcrops and chewing through the thyme with the “Thyme Eater” — a petrol push lawnmower that cuts its way through to leave a line in the thyme. They are actually onto the Thyme Eater 2 now.
There are two main riding areas in Alex: behind the clock, and Flat Top Hill. A couple of years ago, Flat Top Hill was the only place to go if you didn’t have a local to show you about. This was due to the trails behind the clock being on private land, so there were no trail maps for them. It was hard to work out where you were whilst up there, as a lot of it looks the same. “Yeah, it’s the trail that starts next to the tree and the rock. The rocky looking rock. After you finish that, head back up the road and take a right next to the cattle gate.” Cue spending hours riding round in circles. After a few times up there, you kind of get an idea of the lay of the land but you could still easily head down the wrong trail.
Flat Top, on the other hand, is on DOC land. All the trails on the hill you will be able to find on Trail Forks as they are all legal and sanctioned. Although they never started that way. The Roxburgh Gorge Trail opening up is what really started the Flat Top movement. This trail gave a way to ride out and back to town. Not long after opening, Phil, Dave and the crew started poking about. They scratched out an exceptional bit of trail down the face of the hill to the river trail. These tracks were Ledge of Death to Rock of Doom. It wasn’t long before DOC picked up on this trail. DOC had a meeting with the MOA, ‘Mountain Bikers of Alexandra’, which subsequently led to a land management agreement between MOA and DOC. DOC gave MOA the go ahead to build legal, sustainable trails on Flat Top Hill. Now you can find seven legitimate trails on Flat Top. It’s all signposted with markers to help guide you around the loop. But don’t think that you aren’t getting the creme de la creme just because they are legal, marked trails on DOC land. Far from it. There are some flipping incredible trails up there. I love parking up at the car park right next to Butchers Dam and heading up the wiggly switchback climb to the start of ‘Black and Blue’. A quick buzz down upper Black and Blue then on to Ledge of Death to Rock of Doom. (Yup, there’s some zest in these trails). This takes you down to the Roxburgh Gorge Trail. Head along this the opposite way from Alex and you’ll find a climb to take you back up to the start of Black and Blue. This time around, hit the whole Black and Blue, back down to the carpark, and be sure to also hit the bonus lines. Just make sure you look before you leap. It’s a tremendous loop that has a bit of everything for all abilities.
For me, though, the real Alexandra riding experience is behind the clock. Here lies Matangi Station MTB. In 2021, the trails became established and legitimised when the farm owners saw the value in mountain biking and what it brought to the town. Before 2021, the tracks were there, but they were all illegal. The farmers that owned Matangi would kind of turn a blind eye to it. Nothing was marked; you had to be a local to know where you were going. No maps, no signposts, no trail heads. Locals only. If you didn’t know there was riding out there then, you would never know. The Linger and Die (now in its 26th year) was the one race a year where you would be able to get out and have a route to follow, following the pink dots to make it down. Since Matangi Station MTB made the trails official, there has been a big investment in infrastructure of the trail network. There is an extensive trail map, and the trails are all signposted with arrows pointing you in the right direction. Stiles have been put in to help get across the fences. There is a massive table at the top of the hill with a post showing lots of iconic riding spots across the world, including my old stomping ground, Innerleithen. Some of the trails have also had a lot of work making them more sustainable for the future. Passes to ride Matangi can be purchased at Henderson Cycles and Willbike Cycling Central Otago, as well as at the Foursquare and Unichem Pharmacy.
So, what’s the riding like in Matangi Station MTB? Well, I needed a reminder. It had been about three years since I’d last been across to Alex. Having spent the last two years living in the Capital (Wellington), I rounded up some mates and we hit the road to Alexandra. We left on a Saturday afternoon and stayed at the Antique Lodge, in Clyde. A great little spot for the evening, it gave us the full day to make the most of Alex. If we weren’t local-ish it would have been the perfect location to base ourselves for the weekend, as we could spend the day shuttling Clyde DH on one of the days and ride Alex on the other. Breakfast was provided, bright and early, and to let us make the most of the Sunday. Fizz, the host, showed us her gin tasting bar — just to give us the full experience of the place. Definitely a top spot on the list of places to base the weekend out of. We set off on the short drive to Alex to meet up with Phil. It has been years since I had ridden with Phil, so I was looking forward to catching up and trying to hold his tail while he effortlessly guided his bike through the rocks, turns and rolls. Our crew for the day was Phil Oliver, Jimmy Ramsay, Craig Munro, Luci Vo and, later, Ashton Oliver (Phil’s son) would join us. We parked up at Phil’s and rode through town to the Industrial Eater Cafe to pick up some lunches to take with us. An inversion layer had happened during the night, so the town was covered in cloud and fog. There was a grey, moody monotone feel about the place. The streets were quiet, almost lifeless. It seemed like we might have been the only people up and about. After picking up lunch, we set off on our way to the top of Matangi Station MTB.
We crossed over the shaky bridge and headed to the start of AC trail. AC I think was formerly known as Shit Track. It’s a slightly techy climb that weaves and meanders its way up through the valleys. The steep hills overlook the trail, covered in lines that zigzag their way down to meet the valley floor, with rocky outcrops towering overhead. The further we headed up the climb, the more the fog started to lift. Eventually, we made it to the start of the second climb, called Carter’s Grind. Like the name suggests, it’s a bit of a grind but it gets you up to the top of the hill in a fast, efficient manner. We made it out of the inversion and were blessed with perfect blue skies. We parked up at the bench at the top of the hill for lunch, with the vast moonscape stretched out ahead of us. Alexandra was still covered in a layer of cloud in the distance. The table really made for a great place to take a rest before dropping into some seriously fantastic singletrack. The first descent of the day was Supercharger. A classic. Right from the get-go you are thrown in at the deep end. The trail sends you charging at high speed over a rock lip, followed by a sweeping left to right. From there you duck, dive and weave your way through the rock fields. Quick right lefts, rocks, rolls, and turns. Up and over obstacles. Holding off cambers. You have to be on the ball. The trail could change direction at any moment. It’s not an easy trail to read. The line is sort of faint. You can’t just ride off instinct. It keeps you on your toes. The flow comes from riding smooth; linking your turns and nailing your braking point. If you get it right it’s oh so rewarding. The rock, if dry, has heaps of grip; you can trust it. You can trust the line as well. It’s built well. There may not be the berms, lumps and jumps that you’re used to but what you will find is raw and rugged. You’ll find Alex berms — ruts that have formed from people riding the lines. There’s just enough support.
We blasted down Supercharger with big grins on our faces. It was so good that we looped back up to the top for a second blast. This time around it was a bit tidier. We had gotten into the Alex style of riding. It involves thinking about what you’re doing. From the bottom of Supercharger we pedalled back up to the main dirt road, crossed the stile and rode up Connector to take us to the top of one of my all-time favourites, Dr Strangelove. This trail really sums up Alex riding to me. It’s got it all: fast flowing sections where you’re blasting along a ridge on a narrow trail that Thyme Eater has carved out many moons ago, into some tight awkward tech jank before you head into the steeps with Alexandra blossoming below. You can smell the thyme as you fly along the ridges and down the corkscrew. The trail spits you out into the bottom of 5th Amendment, just for a little extra spice when you think you’re close to done. It’s just got a little bit of everything, this trail. Some moments you’re speeding along at mac 10, following your mate’s thyme smelling dust. Next minute you’re at crawling pace, working your way through rock channels trying to make the janky turns flow. The steeps will keep you on your feet; control your braking, drive the line. It’s such a tremendous piece of trail. Just Alexandra riding summed up in one trail.
After we got to the bottom of Dr Strangelove, Luci, Craig and I decided to call it a day and head to the pub for a beer. All good rides should finish with a beer, right? Jimi, Ash and Phil set off for another lap and would meet us at the pub after. We crossed back over the spring bridge and headed to the main pub in town, Monteiths, on the main street. The cloud had burned off and we were graced with Alexandra in all its glory on an early spring day. The cherry blossoms were starting to flower, and the temperature was just right. Just a perfect chilled Sunday afternoon in Alex.
Beers started to flow. The outside beer garden was still getting the sun, and the mood just seemed right. We weren’t the only riders that had the same idea — there were a good few that had been out on the hill that day, all parked up at the pub afterwards for a pint and yarns about the day. Jimi, Ash and Phil joined us after their second ride; they’d smashed out another big loop. More pints were poured and cheers were made to a great day out in Alex. “I’ve said it before, but you never have a bad thyme in Alex.”
As we were sitting, shooting the shit in the sun, Phil was off talking to some locals about their rides. You can really get a sense of how proud the locals are of the riding community and what they have — their exquisite trail network, the local club, and the town itself. It’s fantastic. On Wednesdays they have the local shop ride out, on which you’ll normally find 60 people on average. How cool is that?! During Christmas time this sometimes reaches up to 200. It’s a strong bike community that’s only going to grow stronger with the legacy that has already been left.
I may have painted Alex as a place for extreme riders, but it’s far from just that. There are plenty of great XC loops and trails you can put together. In 2018 and 2019, the Pioneer ran two of its six days in Alex and, since 2021, Phil and James Williamson have been running the Prospector XC stage race — a three-day race named the ultimate XC challenge. For the last two years, riders from all over NZ have come down to give it a go, and have been blown away with just how good the trails are and how great Alex is. For 2023, Phil and James are looking forward to getting some overseas competitors over, to really show them some great racing. There really is riding for everyone here.
So, I’ve broken the first rule of Fight Club. But who cares?! Rules are meant to be broken and people need to know about the gold that still sparkles in the hills around Alex. Should you be putting Alexandra at the top of your ‘must ride’ list? 100%. I really can’t say enough good things about it. The trails are world class, and now the Matangi Station MTB is established, there is no better time to head to Alexandra for a riding trip. It’s in my top five places to ride in NZ — and I’m sure it will be in yours after you go. The riding really is all thyme in Alex.
Words and Photography: Jake Hood
Crankworx Rotorua
Nothing kicks off a kiwi summer of biking quite like a trip to Rotorua for the annual pilgrimage to Crankworx, and this November may be the best one yet. After a challenging 2021 Crankworx, with Covid-19 making it a participant-only event, organisers are getting primed to make 2022 something extra special. Kicking off on November 5th, and running all the way through till November 13th, Crankworx Rotorua holds a special place on the Crankworx calendar, with this year being the final stop on the world tour. The Crankworx World Tour is a multi-stop series of mountain bike festivals, bringing together the best mountain bike athletes to compete in elite-level competitions in a variety of disciplines. Being the final stop for 2022 means all the titles are up for grabs and athletes will be giving it their all to secure their crowns for King and Queen of Crankworx.
In terms of riding, it’s one of the few events that is a big enough drawcard to bring the top tier of international riders to New Zealand, and with Covid-19 hopefully well behind us, we should see a full roster of internationals for one of the last big international events of the year. Plus, there is plenty of cash being splashed around to make it worth their while. The two top ranked riders (male and female) will each receive $20,000 CAD. Our own local talent is on fire right now too. Jenna Hastings will be feeling confident on the back of her incredible Junior World Champs DH victory. At the recent Mt St Anne UCI World Cup downhill in Canada, Sam Blenkinsop had a very credible 8th and came second in the AirDH in Whistler. He is also sitting 8th on the King of Crankworx leader board. Rotorua local, Tuhoto Ariki Pene, finished 11th at Mt St Anne and will be a force to be reckoned with on his home soil. Robin Goomes has had a breakout year participating in the Red Bull Formation freeride event and won both the Speed & Style event and the Official European Whip-Off Championships at Crankworx Innsbruck. She also bagged a very credible third place in the Speed & Style at Whistler. It’s safe to say, our own riders will be right up there, and this is probably the best event in New Zealand to see their skills up close. And to get them to sign your t-shirt, of course.
Returning once again to the Skyline event venue in Ngongataha, event organisers are also keen to signal that spectators will be in for a few surprises this year too, with track changes, an all-new pump track, and an even bigger whip-off on the cards. While they are keeping major changes close to their chest, organisers are excited about the way things are shaping up
Crankworx Rotorua took flight in March of 2015, becoming the first festival outside of North America and Europe. Aside from the events that are common to the various World Tour locations across the world, organisers and international riders alike have begun to see the unique event that is Crankworx Rotorua, even referring to the event as ‘the soul of Crankworx’, due to the unique way it endeavours to combine two seemingly unrelated concepts: world-class mountain biking, and the stories and culture of tangata whenua. It’s a unique challenge to be sure, and one they are always looking for new and creative ways to explore and deliver with a sense of genuineness and sensitivity. Starting from the powhiri riders and organisers receive, to the variety of cultural learning experiences they can have in the region, Māori culture is woven throughout the whole experience of coming to Rotorua, and organisers continue to try and weave Māori art and culture into the event. Some examples of this have been the way previous events have seen Māori wood carvings (whakairo rākau) on the tracks, and the king and queen of Crankworx presented with some beautiful carved ‘Tewhatewha’, two-handed weapons that are traditionally given to a Rangatira (chief ) as a symbol of mana or respect.
It’s also a massive week where the Rotorua community comes together to put the event on with many locals volunteering their time to make the event run smoothly. All these things mean that Crankworx Rotorua really seeks to create a mountain biking event that is genuinely unique to the place it is held. The event has even been given its own unique name — ‘Tere Panuku’. Māori is a metaphorical language so it’s hard to pin down a direct translation, but ‘Pa’ is a fortification. It also means to strike. ‘Nuku’ is a reference to shifting or moving. ‘Tere’ is a reference to speed. So in essence it means to rapidly push boundaries in a way that is underpinned by strategy.” A perfect description of what happens at Crankworx.
For most people, a trip to Crankworx is about more than just being a spectator, it’s a chance to get in some riding time as well. With a lot of the events taking place in the afternoon and evening, you can ride during the morning and spectate in the afternoon. With more than 200 kilometres of world-renowned mountain bike trails weaving through Whakarewarewa Forest, you can ride all week and never run out of new tracks to try. If you’re bringing your family with you and want a great family friendly ride be sure to check out the new Whakarewarewa Forest Loop, which has recently earned New Zealand Cycle Trail Great Ride status. The Loop is a 33km circular mountain biking trail located in Whakarewarewa Forest. Being mostly a Grade 2 track, with a couple of Grade 3 sections mixed in, the Loop is designed to be accessible for people of almost all ages, abilities and fitness levels. The trail takes most confident riders roughly 2.5 to 5 hours, depending on their pace. You’ll also want to factor in some time to stop and take in the sights at purpose-built points along the way that reveal stunning views. Back at the Crankworx village there is a great skills area for kids to learn to pump and roll on their own mini pump-track.
In the event village you’ll find lots of exhibitors with the latest and greatest in mountain bike tech on display, and lots of festival deals going too. A lot of exhibitors bring a fleet of demo bikes, and with Skyline trails right there it is a great chance to do some laps on a range of bikes back-to-back to really get a feel for how they all perform differently.
With crowds missing out last year, it means this year will be even bigger, so it’s worth getting your accommodation booked now. All in all it’s shaping up to be a massive event, and sure to get you and your family fully amped to get out and on to bikes over summer.
Words: Lance Pilbrow
Photography: Cameron Mackenzie
Ten minutes with Jenna Hastings
Jenna Hastings is the name on everyone’s lips. The Rotorua teenager has just been crowned the Junior Women’s Downhill World Champion at Les Gets, France. With the Rainbow Jersey firmly in hand, Jenna is now back on home soil – just in time for Crankworx, in November. We grabbed ten minutes with Jenna, in her busy schedule, but believe us when we say this won’t be the last time we hear from her.
1 How old were you when you started mountain biking, and how did you get your start in the sport?
I’ve mountain biked my entire life. Living five minutes from the Whakarewarewa Forest it was only natural that myself and my siblings rode bikes. I started BMX when I was six, which I continued until I was 14, however, when I reached 11 I started to focus on mountain biking — downhill and enduro — and just kept doing BMX as something on the side.
2 What has the journey been like to get to where you are today?
The journey to get to where I am today has been pretty good. I did pretty well in my first few years competing, so that put my name out there which has helped me to get a kickstart in sponsors and helped in getting people to see the potential in me. Obviously racing overseas has always been a dream of mine, but it wasn’t until Crankworx Rotorua 2021 that I could actually see that becoming a reality. My parents had been talking about it before then but, when I won the downhill, I think they — and myself — realised it would actually happen. Then, after the Crankworx summer series, Bernard Kerr and Pivot approached me and said they wanted to help me out in 2022. That was pretty cool. And it’s kind of history from then — going overseas and racing World Cups, making my dream a reality.
3 What was it like winning the Junior Women’s DH World Championship at Les Gets?
Insane. I still don’t think it has sunk in yet to be completely honest. I still look at the Rainbow Jersey and think, ‘you’re kidding?!’
4 How did you celebrate?
Well, I’m sure you saw my burnout that went viral on social media… then it was on TV… so that shows how I celebrated really, haha. But you can imagine how a world champ celebrates their win, along with the rest of the World Cup field and half of France: party.
5 What sort of training or thought process went into getting you onto the winning spot on the podium?
It’s quite hard to do proper training during the World Cup circuit, especially when you’re not at home and don’t go home between some of the races. It’s hard to get a gym membership, for example, when you’re constantly moving around. So training wise, we would just go for a few trail rides, and I would go to the gym with Bernard Kerr when we were at his house and also when I was in Morzine for a few weeks. Other than that, you kind of just go from race to race. My thought process was pretty much the same [as it was] for all the other races: just get through the weekend and do your best. I say pretty much the same because it was slightly different in the sense that I did believe I could win. I felt good all weekend and it’s not that I didn’t think I could win at other World Cups, but this one felt more doable.
6 You’re now racing for Pivot Factory Racing, what does this mean to you?
Pivot is a team I’ve always looked up to. The team dynamic itself is one I’ve always seen myself wanting to be a part of, and I’ve always looked up to the other riders on the team. I’ve known Matt Walker for most of my life as he used to do BMX when I was a kid, so I naturally looked up to him, and Ed Masters — he has always been my idol. The way he holds himself and is always having fun; I always wanted to be like that. Maybe now I’ve seen the way he functions I might need to rethink that… Being a part of the team now is a dream come true and means so much to me.
7 What is next for you and your career?
Keep racing World Cups. That is the ultimate goal and plan for the next few years. Crankworx and maybe a few EWS races are also on the cards, but the main focus is on World Cups.
8 Who have you looked to for inspiration over the years?
Ed Masters, Matt Walker, and Bernard Kerr as I said before. Rachel Atherton was also my idol when I first started racing when I was 12 or 13, as she was just about every other little girl’s idol. I looked up to everyone in a way, I liked watching everyone race and liked to follow what they did with their lives, but those four are the ones that stand out to me as people who I wanted to be like.
9 Do you have any big chunky goals that you’re working towards in the future?
Not at the moment. World Champ and overall World Cup winner are goals of mine, but I don’t think they will be achieved in the next few years. So, for the foreseeable future, my goal is to do the best I can.
10 What words of encouragement do you have for other women mountain bikers?
Just go for it.
Where can we keep tabs on you and your career?
Instagram: @jennnahastings
YouTube: janaynay
Words: Kerrie Morgan and Jenna Hastings
Photography: Sven Martin
Reef to reef
It was a standard miserable winter’s day as I sat down for a pie and coffee, seeking some momentary shelter from the driving southerly. Christchurch had just come off the back of its wettest ever July and, working as a drainlayer, the 9 – 5 had been rather moist.
Doom scrolling through my phone as smoko faded away, an email slid into my inbox with the subject line ‘Cairns’. My attention was caught.
Cairns – Reef to Reef MTB Race.
Tropical North Queensland. August 18th – 21st.
Pairs race – bring a mate. You keen?
Without an ounce of real consideration, the reply was simple: “I’m in”. I soon began to wonder: what had I actually signed up for?
But a quick Google had me frothing over tropical rainforest single track, golden sand beaches, blue skies and significantly warmer temperatures. It looked relatively straightforward: a multi-stage four-day race, starting in Cairns and ending on the beach in Port Douglas, covering some of the best singletrack and scenery Tropical North Queensland has to offer.
The stats on the elevation chart were brisked over as I looked down at the steak and cheese in my hand: “It’ll be OK, I’ve got a few weeks….”
The thought of international travel slowly started to get me fizzed up, especially now it’s a straightforward process with no hoops to jump through. The only issue I was facing was the lack of a current passport and, with all the Kiwis clearly eager to see the world right now, processing time was well out — nudging on the six week mark. With me only having three weeks lead in time, the urgent passport service was the way forward.
The other slightly important puzzle to solve was: who would I be pairing up with to race? It had to be someone that could put up with my subpar banter over 170km of riding, not complain about my apparently obnoxious snoring and, most importantly, someone who was keen to have a good time. My buddy Odin was the perfect person; a part time magician behind the lens and the kind of guy who’s always keen for a good time on and off the bike.
Last minute panic training commenced as it began to dawn on me that non-stop racing was a whole new kettle of fish for me. The idea that over the course of a 50-something km day we’d be up against the clock the whole time, was a foreign concept to grasp. I clicked the wind trainer up another notch and decided not to think about it. The Reef-to-Reef slogan was “Let the Good Times Roll” — and I was sure they would.
Bikes boxed, bags over-packed, we even managed a cheeky upgrade to business — this trip was off to a good start! Touching down in Cairns, via Sydney, we proceeded to play rental car Jenga, squeezing bike bags, suitcases and camera gear into the boot. A wise man once told me rental cars are the fastest cars you’ll ever drive, lucky for us this one was even red!
Cruising around the streets of Cairns was bliss, coming from a -4 frost to a 29-degree day was definitely a vibe I could quickly getting used to. In the past, if someone had ever mentioned something about mountain biking in Australia to me, it was usually followed with a yarn about how everything there is trying to bite/sting/eat you and you’d be crazy to get deep into the bush. Well, this thought quickly came to mind as we navigated our way up to the headwaters of what was to be one of many waterfall swims. It was simple for us: roots that don’t move = good; roots that move and bite = bad.
A pre-race reccy/rego was in order, so we headed to Smithfield MTB Park, home of numerous World Cup rounds and even World Champs back in 2017.
Rolling into the carpark it was rad to see preparation underway for Crankworx Cairns, taking place the following month: mountains of red dirt being shifted for the slopestyle course had my inner trail builder grinning ear to ear.
Rego formalities out of the way, we dusted the steads off and meandered our way into the forest for a practice loop — or what we thought was a loop. Turns out we missed the first half of the circuit and nearly half of the climbing. Ah well, better to ease into it, meaning more time in the afternoon for another waterfall swim and a tin or two.
Waterfalls – 2
Wildlife – 0
Beer of the day – Hemingway’s 7th Heaven
Race Day One
Smithfield MTB Park
18.5km
720m
After an interesting night at the Air BnB, due to a lack of power, we were all set to race. We even had a secret source of energy strapped onboard: the mighty VB. We figured its taste may be enhanced after an hour of undulating trails and warm heat and, should said wildlife jump out at us, we’d be prepared with some bargaining material.
Day one commenced with a mass start and a jostle for position off the line. The pace was quickly set and it was clear we were possibly here to participate rather than race, as the leading bunch of mixed pairs quickly blitzed passed us, aiding one another up the climb with a gentle push on the rear. I shouted out to Odin: “Where’s my helping hand?!” I heard a vague response, hurling abuse and average chat my way, but I was too preoccupied mouth breathing to pay much attention.
Smithfield was a blast. The descent wound its way through the forest then back out to the open and red dirt dust filled my eyes as we simultaneously reached down to crack a warm VB over the finish line. Day one — tick. I’d survived my first XC style race. Day two was primed to be one of the larger days in terms of elevation gained, so suitably another swim stop was found on the way home, to ice the legs and ice the beers.
Waterfalls – 3
Wildlife – 0
Beer of the day – VB
Race Day Two
Davies Creek MTB Park
39.5km
800m
Day two saw us venture 40 mins out of Cairns into the tablelands, where Davies Creek MTB Park is located. The variety in scenery was amazing. One minute you’re watching farmers burn out the sugar cane paddocks, next thing you know you’re driving deep through the dry tropics. Termite mounds littered the highway as the mercury danced dangerously close to single digits.
Today’s start was more relaxed, with riders taking off in five minute gaps decided by yesterday’s finish times. Finding ourselves sitting mid-pack there wasn’t the mad rush to the first corner we were caught in yesterday. Which was handy, as today’s trails were in complete contrast to the day previous. The tropical forest had been swapped for open bush country where gravel singletrack weaved its way through.
Odin had opted to ride with his camera onboard today, perhaps with a gentler pace in mind and potential for a few scenic photo stops along the way. Clearly the communication was lacking as I proceeded to embody my inner XC racer and attempt to attack up the first real climb.
Team tactics were discussed and lack of XC prowess accepted; and photo opportunities were seized or — more so fumbled — anytime I found myself behind the lens.
We wound our way back through the farm track dust clouds, and eventually popped back over the start finish line. Already slightly soggy from the numerous river crossings we encountered during the day a beeline was made to the river to cleanse the soul of the dust build up and the legs too.
Waterfalls – 2
Wildlife – 0 (do cows count?)
Beer of the day – Better Beer
Race Day Three
Mt Molloy
59 km
550m
We woke in Port Douglas to the sound of the beautiful Curlew, a bird that Odin immediately despised as it had kept him awake from the early hours. This was perfect preparation for what was set to be the longest day of the race. We travelled our way back up onto the tablelands and into the sleepy wee town of Mount Molloy, a town once known for its timber and copper mining. Now, it seemed to be the popular spot to park up with your caravan and watch the world go by. Rigs oiled and legs stretched, I felt I was almost getting the hang of this XC style racing thing. Well, that’s what I thought until I completely missed the bottle drop. The only option left was to skull back my second bottle, containing my midday fuel, albeit at 8am. My eyes darted down to the XXXX strapped to the frame. Well, I guess I still had options.
A relaxed spin saw us head out of Vain‘s Park and down the highway. A neutral start kept the group together right until we hit the gravel road and crossed the timing beam — things then began to get spicy.
Bunch riding at high speeds with flat bars and loose gravel roads was an experience. The battle to hold on to the bunch and a free ride was strong but, alas, the screaming quads won, resulting in the pace returning to a manageable spin. Day three had it all, the wide-open gravel roads, tight techy singletrack river crossings, hike-a-bike sections and kilometres and kilometres of rainforest dank.
We undulated our way through two national parks (Kuranda and Mowbray) and slowly but surely the red dirt singletrack gave way to the gravel farm roads from earlier that morning. The changing factor this time round was the heat. The morning’s mass bunch spin had been full of cool air and giddy excitement, whereas the afternoon’s pedal mash gave into the classic “are we there yet?”, sun dodging and ever-necessary drafting just to drag my soggy legs back over the finish line.
All leg pain was quickly forgotten as the Mount Molloy publican assured us his lager was the best around. His money back guarantee was not at all needed.
In a common theme, we once again found ourselves pulling in for a dip on the way home – this time to Mossman Gorge. The most commercial of all our waterfall chasing, a short bus ride saw us back into the watery heaven my legs were craving.
Waterfalls – 1
Wildlife – the sounds of an excited Curlew
Beer of the day – Mount Molloy Lager
Race Day Four
Mt Molloy to Port Douglas
46km
550m
The penultimate day: the promise of a golden sand finish and cold beers on the beach really aided our motivation as the 4am alarm aggressively woke us from our slumber. The illusive Curlew caused no drama on this morning, or perhaps sleep was just enhanced by a few to many hoppy beverages as we explored Port Douglas the night prior.
Today was a point-to-point stage, starting in the same location as yesterday and finishing in front of the Port Douglas surf lifesaving club some 46km later. This was the reason for such an early rise, as we soon found ourselves loading bikes into the back of a truck and clambering into a bus, doing our best to sneak in an extra hour’s shut eye.
Bottle drop complete, it had taken me till the last day to get my ducks in a row and begin to feel like an organised multi-day racer. We headed out the same way we came into finish on day three, so we knew what to expect: the gravel roads quickly became a blur as we snuck back into the deep rainforest canopy.
The chat amongst the pits over the previous days was all focused around a certain part of the final day’s track, known as “The Bump”. This refers to the sheer drop in elevation from 350m down to near sea level as the trail abruptly descends from the Tablelands down to the sea. A quick look around at fellow competitors’ rigs told me it was safe to say our bikes were definitely more suited to this sudden change in trail, as the only change we’d made from our normal enduro bike setup was the adaptation of XC exo tires. We were quick to notice the benefit of pedalling round a burlier bike over the past three days, as we tilted the wheels down the Bump track.
“On ya left!” “On ya right!” was ringing out through the rainforest as we attempted to straight line our way down the trail, praying our thinner tires could hold up to our poor line choice’s and see us safely down to the sands of Port Douglas.
Soon enough, the dust of The Bump track was a mere memory and we found ourselves eating up the remaining kms on the pavement, the sound of the ocean drawing ever closer. A quick weave through some city cycle trails, and a last dash leg cooker through the palms, and we were finally basking in golden sand glory. This was what I had imagined some three weeks ago on that rainy Christchurch day, steak and cheese pie in hand.
The last 4km along the sand was all but over as we reached down to release the warm dusty XXXX can off our frames, to keep in check with our finish line hydration plan. The vibe of this multi-day race is something I could definitely get behind; good people, good trails and good times definitely rolled freely this week.
Not ones to break post-race tradition we made a beeline into the ocean (inside the stinger nets of course) and took a moment to reflect on some of the awesome scenery we had just sampled, the amazing streak of perfect weather and the fact that maybe you don’t have to be overly paranoid that the bush is full of crawly creatures just waiting to jump out and have a go at you.
Waterfalls – The Coral Sea was an adequate replacement
Wildlife – we actually scanned a crocodile basking in the sun on our way home!
Beer of the day – A few too many to count……
So if you find yourself looking to escape the depths of a chilly Kiwi winter, or maybe you’re just enticed by the thought of that warm, dusty, finish line beer, be sure to check out Reef to Reef 2023. You’ll be glad you did! •
Words: Jordan Phipps
Photography: Odin Woods, Mick Ross and Tim Bardsley-Smith
Mind the gap
When I was younger, I always heard these "horror" stories about mountain bikers returning to Wellington after living in Canada. When they arrived home, they’d attack the local trail network, hitting all the steepest lines and constantly looking for gaps. Whilst we have great trails, Wellington simply doesn’t have the larger trail features found in BC. After a few weeks, the hype would fade. There’s great trails to ride but not the addictive challenges faced on a daily basis. It’s easy to lose motivation. I was determined for that not to be the case for me.
As a 16-year-old, I arrived back from three years in Canada as a hero, hit some sick shit, took some mad photos, got a couple covers, got lots of features… and then it all came crashing down (kinda). In a nightmare cocktail of Covid lockdowns, transitioning out of school into a full-time job, some general laziness, a sprinkle of depression and an extreme lack of motivation, I felt myself fall. Whether I actually did “fall” or not is up for debate. In my head, I feel like I’ve just plateaued since arriving back, with little to no progression for the last four-ish years and, being my worst critic, I probably exaggerated everything in my own head. I tend to do alright on the New Zealand race scene (when I get a relatively clean day). Still, I have always wondered how I would compare to all these guys back in my old hometown of Squamish — an actual test to find out find out whether or not I did fall from grace or if it was just a figment of my imagination.
Since boarding the plane back to New Zealand at the end of 2017, I had been planning my return to Canada; getting a job, making money, and booking flights. But a few apparent roadblocks arose. Number one — and possibly the worst one — was Covid. Who could have known something like that was going to shut down the world for as long as it did? Number two, my lack of ability to save/love of spending money on unnecessary shit, like $6 blocks of chocolate. Finally, number three, doubts that it would actually happen. I don’t think I was ever that confident or sure until I held the plane tickets in my hand, four years later. Even then, I was still doubtful, thinking the flight would just get cancelled, or ol’ mate Covid would come around again and I’d be stuck with flight credit for years. But, even after all that, I still found myself sitting at Wellington airport, knowing my flight up to Auckland would arrive two hours after my connecting flight to Vancouver was supposed to leave. After landing, we sprinted along a marked course from domestic to international to board the flight to Vancouver that had miraculously been held for us! Amazingly, against all odds, all my bags still made it!
Then, just like that, I was back in Canada. Damn, did it feel weird. First, it was way too hot – it was 5 o’clock in the evening, and I was sweating just sitting in the shade. Secondly, I was in Canada. And thirdly, I’D MADE IT TO CANADA!
I’m struggling to put into words how it felt to be back. A mix of all emotions: intense nerves about my survival, fear that my relationships with my friends might not be the same, and excitement to ride my bike. I was also worried that I would be subpar compared to all my friends and riding buddies who were able to grow up and keep progressing in the Sea-to-Sky corridor. This rang true a percentage of the time but, ultimately, I’d attribute that to my Covid- induced laziness rather than Wellington itself.
This trip was great for a multitude of reasons. After four years, I reconnected with some of my best friends, and all my fears were lifted. Even though everything had changed — some of us had moved away, we had become adults, and we had jobs — it still felt the same as when we first hung out six/seven odd years ago. It was awesome.
I finally got to explore parts of BC that I’d never been to before, with a little crew of great humans. We followed the BC Cup downhills throughout the Interior, through places like Vernon, Revelstoke, Fernie, Invermere and Golden. I was fortunate to experience fantastic riding in all these locations, making some great friends along the way. The vibe at all these races was quite unique. This massive group of racers, parents, mechanics, friends and fans created a really cool energy at every race, just a big group of friends on a road trip together. I’d never experienced anything quite like it.
At the races, I could also answer another one of my fears about myself. The question of whether or not Wellington had halted my abilities. Thankfully, I surprised myself. In my first proper go at DH racing, atop my trusty Kona Process X, with a lot of messy runs, a lot of sketchy moments and a few big crashes, I managed to convince myself that I am not entirely shit at bikes. So, mission accomplished (almost). My results may have convinced me that I could still ride bikes, and helped me to achieve peak sandbagger status, but they weren’t enough to convince me that I should try to make it as a racer. No, that would take a specific race result.
After a well-deserved (short) stint of relaxation, I was back into it, smashing Whistler Park laps with all the locals and draining beers with all the kiwis. We were rolling into an EWS weekend, followed by Crankworx week, so everyone was in town. This made for a wild experience. My two northern and southern hemisphere lives finally clashed together, and unsurprisingly, it all gelled quite nicely. I mean, we only ride mountain bikes. Not that hard for everyone to get along.
Finally, we reached the big race. I may have only raced the EWS100 (same course as the EWS, just no Pro stage) but it would make for quite an influential factor regarding the next steps of my career. The EWS experience was crazy fun, just an incredible amount of people out all day, riding and racing bikes. So, I ended up sharing the day with some old and new friends and thoroughly enjoyed (almost) every minute of it. All except for the minutes I spent in the dirt and with a broken bike. After a rollercoaster of a race, three stage wins, and two significant stage losses, I found myself five seconds off the race winner (who is also now a great friend of mine) in second place. That was it. That was the result I needed. Just some numbers that could tell me I wasn’t galaxies away from competing with the big dogs — but actually only a few planets away. That one result was enough to convince me that I may actually be able to race full-time. Just gotta get my ass off this couch first!
Words: Elliot Smith
Photography: Caleb Smith
The two sides of progression
It’s a topic that’s headlining wherever you look in the mountain bike industry at the moment: women mountain bikers are absolutely killing it and pushing the boundaries like they’ve never been pushed before, across all disciplines. New events are popping up all over the world specifically for women, and women free riders can actually make a living doing the sport they love, with the support of the industry and their male counterparts behind them. Finally, the world is beginning to recognise what the women of mountain biking can do — and boy, is it impressive! Women are finally getting the respect they deserve, after all these years of resistance from the industry.
But what exactly is progression? The dictionary defines it as: the process of developing or moving gradually towards a more advanced state.
This can be a good or a bad thing, right? Good in terms of career advancement and development; bad when it comes to the medical definition, where something is spreading through the body and becoming progressively worse. Progression has a different meaning to everyone — thank goodness. It should be whatever you want it to be, not what you think it should be.
With all the progression happening around us, and the growing awareness around what women mountain bikers are capable of — via our social media feeds and channels — you feel inspired and motivated. But there is also a side to this progression that can end up making people feel worthless about their biking skills and abilities, and their own personal level of progression. Sadly, social media can have the effect of making you feel kind of shitty about the stuff that you aren’t doing — or cannot do — especially when it seems like everyone else and their mothers can, and are. You end up scrolling and scrolling and feeling worse about yourself and your own abilities, to the point of it effecting your mental state, which can lead to depression and self-doubt.
Of course, it’s not all negative, it is very inspiring too. But, sometimes, it can almost be too inspiring. This can lead to situations where someone doesn’t quite have the skills or capabilities just yet, but they don’t care — instead, they just close their eyes and send it for their latest IG reel! Just YOLO-ing like this can often lead to a disastrous outcome and some nasty injuries. This sort of progression can end up discouraging other women from even entering the sport. They don’t want to give mountain biking a try, because they deem it too extreme, too gnarly, too masculine. We have to be careful to not just portray only this side of our sport – as it’s really a very small percentage of women pushing the limits to the max like that. We should be portraying other sides of our sport, too, and encouraging more women to just get out on a bike and give it a go.
If I can wheelie, I’ll get so many followers who think I’m cool. If I land this backflip, people will love and respect me more, my followers will skyrocket and sponsors will value me! My life will change and I’ll be popular! This sort of thinking ultimately leads to additional pressure, self-doubt, fear of failure, and fear of what people might think of you — to the point where you can no longer just enjoy the simple act of riding your bicycle. My point is, that in today’s society where you’re constantly progressing and everything has to be bigger, better, faster, further, it’s ok if you choose not to do that. It’s ok if you just like to head out the door and go for a pedal in nature to get some fresh air, to notice the changes in seasons, to stop and watch how the light catches the water, to listen to the birds, to stop at the top of the climb, lie on your back and feel the wind sweeping over your sweaty body while watching the long grasses dance in the breeze. This is also a form of progression. This is the kind of progression we need in our busy lives, where the focus is always on achievement of some sort. We need this to find balance, to slow down and recharge our sympathetic nervous system, to calm our minds and find some peace amongst all the everyday chaos. Once we can achieve this, progression will follow — if that is your end goal. They go hand in hand and work together. Homeostasis. Yin and Yang. You cannot have one without the other.
A lot of athletes across all disciplines are facing burnout this season. They’re mentally struggling with their careers or having performance anxiety; not performing as they would like to or how people think they should be. There is this fear of not being able to progress and, because of social media, they feel like they are letting people down. The truth is that, for the most part, people don’t really care, it is only you that thinks everyone cares, or notices or will judge you for not winning races anymore. We tend to create these scenarios in our heads, but at the end of the day it is only you that matters and how you feel about your riding or your progression or your social media fans. It has become such an issue, that athletes lose their love for biking, the fire and passion no longer there because they’ve been pushing and pushing and pushing – possibly without seeing the end results they were hoping for.
Once that happens, disappointment hits and spirals out of control into burnout and depression and, not knowing what to do with all of these emotions, they withdraw to figure out the next steps. Usually, this is when you have to go back to the very basics of riding a bike, like a kid. You have to just get back out there and start making circles with your legs. It’s that simple. Leave the devices at home, switch off the Garmin, leave the music, just get outside into nature and feel the wind in your face, listen to the sounds of the forest, feel the sense of freedom only a bike can instill, look around and be thankful that this is what it is all about. It doesn’t have to get more complicated than that. We make things complicated for ourselves. We push, we want constant progression and achievement, but it can also just be this simple act of exploring your backyard on a bicycle, without any pressure to perform or achieve.
I’ve reached a stage in my life where I can appreciate the unbelievable progression of women’s mountain biking. I admire those pushing the limits of the sport; the new generation of fearless girls and women are so amazing to see and I am their biggest cheerleader. But, I don’t want to do backflips, I can’t wheelie and I have no desire to hit massive jumps. Maybe, a few years ago, this would have bothered me but, for now, I’m happy to get outside and ride my bikes — all my bikes: mountain, road, gravel — because that is what makes me feel alive and happy. My riding is better than it has ever been so, to me, this is progression. I don’t have a crazy number of followers, because I’m not pushing the boundaries, I’m not making cool reels or doing sponsored posts or breaking any records. Instead, I’m outside riding my bike, appreciating the beauty of nature, exploring big mountains, finding solitude amongst the craziness of this world, and appreciating the amazing life and experiences bicycles have given me over the years. Does this mean I have no more value to my sponsors? I would hope not. I would hope that it would inspire other women to get out on their bikes and go on some adventures — explore their backyards, meet some interesting folks along the way, stop for coffee and cake, and find the pure happiness that riding a bike brings. Life is too short to focus only on progression, we have to enjoy the process and progression will follow in a natural way. So, get out there! Stop comparing yourself to what others are doing on social media and find your own progression. You’ll be amazed at what you’ll experience along the way.
Peace out,
Anka
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Words: Anka Martin
Photography: Sven Martin