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
x
Words: Anka Martin
Photography: Sven Martin
CJ suspension
One of the anomalies of our sport is that it’s becoming increasingly common for riders to outlay close to $10,000 on a new bike that boasts the latest, fractional evolution in suspension design. But, when you ask people what the maintenance regime of their actual suspension components has been in the past, it’s not uncommon to get a slightly embarrassed response such as; “I’ve never had my forks or shock serviced” or “hmm, now I think about it, I guess it has been a couple of years”. There are a few reasons for this. Tuning derailleurs to work is beyond plenty of riders’ mechanical confidence levels. And suspension? Surely that is the darkest of the dark arts when it comes to bicycle maintenance.
Well, if it’s a dark art, then that must make Cam Johnson, of CJ Suspension, some kind of wizard, because working magic on forks and shocks is what he is all about.
Working from a humble home workshop in Queenstown, Cam is at the epicenter of mountain biking and has built a solid reputation amongst hard riding locals, and others around the country, as one of the go-to suspension service technicians with the goal of helping riders make massive gains in how their suspension performs.
For Cam it started over 15 years ago when an after-school job with Al Heine, at Blue Shark — the NZ distributor for Fox Suspension — led to him getting the opportunity to be trained in pulling forks and shocks to pieces and putting them back together properly. At this stage he, like many keen young riders, was trying to make it on the race circuit. “I’d work with Al at Blue Shark over our summers, then pack my bags and head over and race the European summers,” says Cam. But, as much as this is a dream for many young aspiring riders, what it really takes to ‘make it’ — to break through the privateer ranks and get a professional contract — was a reality check. “I got to the end of pushing the envelope on the DH circuit; the racing, the crashes — they really took their toll on me and I just decided it was a good time to exit that season. I was pretty burnt out to be honest. I felt I’d given the racing a good go but ultimately, for me, it was in the too hard basket. You push, you push, and you push, and eventually I just felt like ‘this isn’t actually working for me.’” Cam explains. Ultimately, it was another injury sustained on the race circuit that was the final straw. “In 2014, I came out of a shoulder surgery, and I just felt [a sense of ] ‘I’m over this.’ The number of injuries and time it took to recover — I was just at the point in my life where I needed a change.”
This prompted a necessary reflection on what Cam wanted to do next, and with his background in servicing already well proven — and realising this was in fact a part of the industry that he both enjoyed and believed he could maybe even make a living on — the decision was made. “My old man told me I wasn’t able to sit around at home, so I told him I would start my own business, and he looked at me and said, “yeah, all right, do it”. I never really thought it would take off, but it did.”
The early days were all about trying to keep overheads low whilst building a business. This meant CJ Suspension started in a humble sleepout Cam built, perched on the backyard of a friend he was flatting with. This was fine for a while but, as Cam confirms, it still wasn’t really turning over what he needed to sustain himself. “After a while, I’d built a great collection of tools, but hadn’t really made any money — it just seemed like the market wasn’t big enough. I just wasn’t doing enough volume.” Necessity is the mother of invention they say, and CJ needed to increase revenue, so Cam started to explore the growing market for moving beyond mere servicing — changing oil and grease — to performance enhancing additions that could be made to the most popular suspension systems. “I wanted people to really notice the difference each product made to their ride.” After countless hours of personal research and riding he ended up picking up the agency for brands like Vorsprung, O-Chain, and Rev Grips.
The proof has been in the plushness though, and Cam has now built a steady stream of loyal customers, who after having their forks serviced by him have come to realise the difference that regular servicing can make in terms of the feel of a bike. “We’re seeing a lot of return customers who are really keen to keep their equipment running well, and that’s really satisfying.”
And with the price of bikes marching ever higher, the concept of spending $250 in servicing might not be as unpalatable as it used to be. This is a change Cam has noticed, even over his short time in business. “It used to be that when I asked around, I realised, people didn’t service their gear much. But now I think people are a lot more clued up, and willing to get servicing done, and it’s great to see some bike shops starting to offer that service as well.”
But it’s not just tired, worn-out forks that can use a refresh — even out-of-the-box new forks can be improved. For customers who really know what they are looking for, the Vorsprung options Cam offers can dramatically change the feel of a fork, but as he explains, even new forks may benefit from a once over. “Suspension products aren’t made overnight! The forks on any new bike on a shop floor were potentially produced years ago. They will sit around in a factory before they actually get built onto a new bike, which sits in its own factory, before going on a ship and sitting in a distributor’s warehouse. So, even on a brand-new bike, they have probably been sitting around unused for a year or more before you open the box.” That’s without mentioning the varying levels of quality control on OEM specced equipment. All this is to say, opening your new fork up and making sure oil levels are as the manufacturer intended, and the grease is fresh, won’t hurt at all and may even spare the fork from damage if they get used for a year or more before the unsuspecting owner thinks they are due for a service.
Going forward, CJ Suspension is slowly growing its capacity by training more staff. Cam currently has Kurt McDonald, Eddie Master’s mechanic, working with him full-time but, similar to Cam’s old racing pattern, Kurt will be off with Eddie for the season. As a result, Cam is looking for another staff member to train, and hopes to have enough work to keep everybody on board for our 22/23 summer. Having the capacity to turn jobs around quickly is something CJ has always prided itself on: “Typically, we can get to a job within two days of it arriving to us, which means we can get it back to you by the weekend. This is something we offer that most bike shops would struggle to do.”
From talking with Cam, it’s clear suspension is something he is passionate about and this passion means that every set of forks and every shock that comes across his desk, can be made to work better than they did before. Furthermore, in an age where we are increasingly aware of the raw materials and natural resources that go into making our bikes, it also makes sense to take care of them in a way that makes them perform well for the longest time possible. So, what are you waiting for? If you’ve never had your suspension professionally serviced, you might not know what you’re missing out on.
Words: Lance Pilbrow
Photography: Ryan Lucas
SRAM GX Transmission: First Taste
Throwback to 2018: ‘Old Orange’ was the name of my bike, complete with the original SRAM GX Eagle 12 speed. I won’t fudge it – after having races wasted due to chains breaking and multiple derailleurs self-destructing, I jumped ship and went back to an 11-speed set-up. Thankfully, SRAM did what they do; reworked, refined and, not long after, launched the GX Lunar series with an updated and much more reliable derailleur and new cassette. This new series addressed the issues I had encountered but didn’t sway me back to that groupset on my Enduro bike. My cross-country rig does have a full X01 mechanical setup fitted; I really like its lightweight shift feel – the chains last much longer than other brands, and the overall performance is spot-on.
I’ve never spent any length of time on SRAM’s electronic shifting, outside of a three-day stint aboard their gravel-focussed Rival XPLR groupo (I rated it) for NZ Cycling Journal. My SRAM experience has been purely mechanical on the MTB side of things.
GX AXS launched in late March 2021 and was heralded as electronic shifting for the people. To this day, it remains attainable, reliable and precise, but not necessarily an uber-lightweight option (for the price) for those chasing the electronic dream on a budget. The GX Transmission picks up where the standard GX AXS leave off, and incorporates all the features of the higher-end transmission groupsets, but at a more attainable price point.
Looking to break new ground, SRAM tore up the blueprints for anything we know about the rear derailleur and not only reworked them, but created an entirely new ecosystem by removing the derailleur hangar and creating a place to stand while your bike is lying on the ground. All jokes aside, the new groupset looked to be a pretty game changing piece of kit – even the price was game changing!
In March this year, SRAM launched the Transmission ecosystem, with their XX SL, XX, and XO levels. Unless you were on an internet-free trip to Mars, in a submarine looking for the Titanic (too soon?) or hidden under a very large rock which had squashed your phone and computer, you’ll have seen its huge launch. For days you couldn’t go anywhere online without seeing pictures of people standing on derailleurs. We won’t delve into the nitty-gritty of the Transmission development or tech in this piece, as that story has largely been told, but we will give some first impressions and point out some differences from what’s already in the market.
Today marks the launch of part deux of the Transmission story, as SRAM launch the GX series – continuing their ‘All Day’ theme with a groupset designed for all-mountain, all-day missions, at a far more affordable price. What you find on the GX system is largely the same as the higher-end Transmissions released earlier. There are some subtle differences which are visually noticeable from those higher-end units. In particular, the battery is hidden away in what I’ll refer to as the “Derailleur Garage” – keeping it out of harms way – essentially inside the derailleur. Replaceable, protective skid plates have been added, and a two-piece outer link. It also features a tool-free cage assembly – so it’s both removable and upgradeable, should you want to do so. A steel inner cage replaces the carbon of its higher-end brethren. Like the GX AXS of old, it’s been built for riders of the real world.
A couple of weeks before the launch date, a nice cardboard cube arrived on the courier. Hastily, I opened the SRAM Eagle logo-adorned box to find a neatly stacked groupset: three tiers, a layer cake of sorts. The piece de resistance – the derailleur – on the top, with the crank set and cassette making up the second and third tier respectively. The packaging is fully recyclable and recycled cardboard, there’s not a piece of plastic packaging in sight – in fact, the only piece of throwaway plastic I could find was a tiny piece of Sellotape and a cap over the end of the crank spindle. A leap forward from SRAM’s old packaging.
A quick watch of the install video and it was game on. It’s been a long time since I’ve installed anything on my bike that required a proper read of the instructions or, in this case, a video. SRAM does a killer job of stepping through the installation process: whoa-to-go in around 30 minutes. I’d imagine after another couple of goes, a whole Transmission could be installed in about 15 – 20 minutes, maybe even quicker. It really is pretty simple provided you’ve watched the video. My only install hiccup was my inability to pair the system to my phone (no doubt user error, but I’ll figure that out soon) as well as the compatibility of the shifter clamp with my brakes, which aren’t SRAM. It took a bit of jimmying, but I managed to get the two to work together – it did mean that I couldn’t take full advantage of the adjustment that should have been available. Fortunately, the one spot I could get the shifter to sit was just right for me. I see in their documentation a different shifter pod mount is available and this would have completely solved my issue.
After realising there wasn’t an AXS charger in the box (I believe it will ship with one) the derailleur light signalled a critically low battery, so I waited out a few very wet and cold days, borrowed a charger from a mate, finally charged a battery, then hit the trails.
Te Miro MTB Park, just out the back of Cambridge, was my first testing ground. For the uninitiated, the trails are reasonably varied but the general theme is clay and native roots, dispersed amongst meandering climbs with the odd pinch or crux move requiring low cadence torque and fast, precise shifting to get the most out of your bike if speed is your aim. Coming off the back of a few days of intermittent rain, I wasn’t expecting much aside from mud and muck – perfect for bedding in a fresh groupset.
Leaving the car park, I snapped through the gears and made sure everything was still as it should be. I shifted through the cassette and took a couple of looks back just to be sure it had shifted, as it was so smooth and quiet, just a small ‘zit’ noise and a rolling increase of resistance at the pedals. I spun my way up the Easy As climb, taking the harder, steeper lines where possible, purposely shifting at the wrong time and under full power. Thoroughly impressed at how positive the shifting feel and accuracy was I pressed on, thinking to myself, ‘sure, it’s good now, but I bet once there’s some mud in the system it will be just like everything else’.
‘Easy As’ caps out and links into the Miro climb; its mellow gradients are broken up with some proper NZ native roots. Regular traffic polishes off the bark and pulls slimy dirt up onto them. You have to have your wits about you to keep the power down and maintain forward momentum, a situation where a mis-shift or slipped gear will likely see you stalled out or on the floor. Again, I was impressed by how accurate the shift was, with no slipping or mis-shifts, regardless of how many shifts under full power, and regardless of cadence.
Words: Lester Perry
Photography: Jake Hood / Lester Perry / Supplied
Location: Ōtautahi Christchurch
Words: Jordan Phipps
Photography: Cameron Mackenzie
Produced in partnership with Christchurch NZ
Ōtautahi Christchurch: a diverse and exciting city in the heart of New Zealand’s South Island, this is the gateway for adventurers and explorers alike.
The largest city in Te Waipounamu has grown from the incredible challenges Mother Nature threw the community in 2010. These days, a real buzz can be found on the city streets, although it remains an old city at heart, with many remnants of its gothic architecture still tucked away amongst the new. There’s not many cities that can claim the new, vibrant feeling Christchurch has; the city is now flush with a number of new shops, cafes, restaurants and watering holes. Areas like the Riverside Markets and The Terrace are lined with spots to check out and the rebuild has offered a ‘re-set and re-think’ into mobility and how people get around. Go down any street in the city and you’ll see pedestrian areas and cycle lanes along with a heap of cyclists using them. The city has always had a strong cycling culture but nowadays it seems more popular than ever.
Ōtautahi exudes ‘great outdoors’ vibe and it’s clear to see why, with the white peaks of the Southern Alps standing tall, the rolling South Pacific Ocean to the east of the city and various other mountain ranges as far as the eye can see to the north. The city also has easy access to some of the best conservation and national parks, such as Craigieburn and Arthur’s Pass. Beyond that, there’s multiple options from the north, west and south. Closer to the centre, the Port Hills border the city and offer a plethora of outdoor activities. This is one of the main locations for mountain biking, with trails weaving across the city face. This, along with the addition of Christchurch Adventure Park, which opened back in 2016, make it very rider friendly, with trails from beginner to expert. The best part about the city is its proximity to the riding – you can get from the heart of town to the rolling tussocks of the Port Hills with just fifteen minutes of pedalling.
Ōtautahi blends city vibes with outdoor culture seamlessly. It’s got charm, character and so many choices of trails on its doorstep. Recently, we spent a long weekend exploring some of the best riding locations the city had to offer.
Location: Lyttelton
How’s the serenity!
Lyttelton is a treat, its own special vibe. Whether you pop out of the tunnel or drop down off the hill it’s clear you’ve stumbled upon a gem. Lyttelton is a quirky portside town filled with welcoming locals, excited tourists and, of course, the froth-searching mountain biker.
Loading up the truck and heading through the tunnel on a Saturday morning is my favourite way to get immersed in this quirky town. There’s nothing better than smashing out a few laps of the forest, then taking the time to explore the street market with its fresh food, produce and local goods. Or maybe even an impromptu half an hour yarn struck up with a traveling American tourist named Pete. Complement all of this with a hazy and a snack at Eruption, or maybe a flat white and scone at the coffee co-op, and it’s an epic way to spend the day.
You’ll often find Lyttelton bursting at the seams but, somehow, it always manages to retain a chilled and relaxed feel. Even the trails here seem to embody the same feeling, a nice way to escape the hustle and bustle of the city side tracks. It’s not entirely uncommon to lap out the forest and only share the stoke with yourself.
The Lyttelton trails are located in the Urumau Reserve, which is accessible from the top of Foster Terrace. Parking can be a little scarce and with the classic narrow Lyttelton streets, I just find it easier parking in the township and pedalling my way up. A large bonus of parking at the bottom is being able to exit the trails down onto Evan’s Pass when the times comes for your last lap. A rad road bomb back into town for a beer certainly beats an uphill ride back to the car.
Lyttelton, it has loam! It can often be a little haven of dampness sheltered from the hot winds that the northern side of the Port Hills face. Trails like Grommies make it feel like you’ve been transferred into the rainforest, with its green, dank vibes and native flora lining the forest floor.
The Urumau trails are constructed and maintained by the Lyttelton Mountain Bike Club, and their effort and hard work shines through in the quality of rider experience. Janky descents and flowy corners duck and weave through the canopy of trees; the trails cater for everyone.
As a Christchurch local, I can say Lyttelton is a ‘must ride’ spot in Canterbury. Whether it’s a day spent lapping out trails, or perhaps visited in conjunction with an epic ride out to Godley Heads. No matter the plan, make sure Lyttleton is on your list.
Trail Recommendation
Urumau Track – Stormer – Grommies
After-Ride Recommendation
Location: Eruption Brewing
Snack: Fish Taco
Drink: Hydration – Pyroclastic Haze
Accommodation
Rydges Latimer
As a Christchurch local, I can say Lyttelton is a ‘must ride’ spot in Canterbury. Whether it’s a day spent lapping out trails, or perhaps visited in conjunction with an epic ride out to Godley Heads. No matter the plan, make sure Lyttleton is on your list.
Trail Recommendation
Urumau Track – Stormer – Grommies
After-Ride Recommendation
Location: Eruption Brewing
Snack: Fish Taco
Drink: Hydration – Pyroclastic Haze
Accommodation
Rydges Latimer
Location: Victoria Park & Port Hills (Te Poho-o-Tamatea).
This area was formed over 12 million years ago through intense volcanic activity. What remains is the left overs of the Lyttelton crater lake. The terrain is perfect for mountain biking – long, gradual ridges and deep valleys are dotted with trails, spreading from the east with Godley Heads and Lyttelton, across to the western side, where you’ll also find Halswell Quarry Park. Conveniently parked right in the middle is Victoria Park and the Christchurch adventure Park. It’s hard to ignore the calling of these infamous hills, even when you are immersed deep in the city centre; the tussock covered slopes are always beckoning.
For me, Victoria Park (and Bowenvale Valley even more so) is the spiritual home of mountain biking in Canterbury. Core memories of dusty shuttle days, and time spent watching wild National Races in the early 2000’s, quickly flood back to mind. The rock and roll days of early DH racing will always be a part of Victoria Park, but it seems the times have changed – you’re more likely to find trail riders out cutting laps now, or even the odd rogue gravel rider punishing themselves battling on the drops.
The vintage days of Iron Horse Sundays and Foes Mono’s slapping corners may be a distant memory but the trails that founded my froth are still here. The likes of Lava Flow and Huntsbury DH are still local favourites and with rapid descents and epic vistas these are ‘must rides’! It’s best on a sunset so ensure you pedal up in the evening light to see and capture it.
Accessing the park is a breeze – the evolution of drivetrains and wide range cassettes make climbing the fire roads a far more enjoyable affair. The park also has many access points. If you like a challenge, park up at the head of Bowenvale Valley and sweat your way up the 4WD road – see if you can clear the pinches without dabbing! Personally, I find the park best experienced when accessed with a classic Rapaki track climb. Pair that with a pedal west across the iconic traverse trail and you have an iconic loop!
The traverse trail itself is a must ride and is as Christchurch as it gets. The narrow tussock lined corridor leads riders from one side of the city to the other. A multi-direction trail, it offers both descending and climbing options and exceptional views from the Pacific Ocean right around to the Southern Alps.
Trail Recommendation – Scenic Option
Rapaki – Traverse Trail – Brakefree – Sesame ST – Bike Park Connector
2000’s Flash Back Option
Tilted Sally – East Side Bush Track – Bridges
After-Ride Recommendation
Location: Moon Under Water
Snack: Fried Chicken Burger
Hydration: Alpha Juice
Accommodation
Rydges Latimer
Location: Christchurch Adventure Park
Nestled in the shadow of Marley’s Hill lies the Christchurch Adventure Park. The park is a dream come true for local riders and offers a fully lift accessed mountain bike park as well as a zip line and numerous hiking trails.
The Christchurch Adventure Park (CAP) has risen like a phoenix from the ashes (hence the name of its annual Phoenix Enduro Race) after being badly damaged by the Port Hills fires, back in 2017. A strong effort from local volunteers and the trail crew at CAP meant no time was wasted in getting the park back into action.
I’ve found the park has been a great way to introduce new riders to mountain biking – the ease of lift access and variety of trails available ensures there are options for everyone. Getting your significant other involved in the sport has never been easier. Failing that, there’s always the bar at the bottom as a last resort, to reconcile any differences. Turns out, there’s only so many times someone wants to be told how to go around a corner before my instructions grow thin….
The park sits just to the west of Victoria Park, meaning an easy traverse back and forth between the two can open up an even wider network of trails, all easily accessed from the ease of a chairlift ride. I personally like to use the lift to save my legs, and every now and sneak my way over to Victoria Park for the ultimate combo of park and tech fun!
In true Park Rat style, my favourite haunts are Askins and Gung Ho, two blue trails that loved to be lapped. Gung Ho being a technical blue trail, rapid and fun at high speed, and Askins is a blue jump trail. Both I find are pretty forgiving – the kind of trail that, when you’re on one, you can fully unleash and feel like a pro – but, in contrast, also the kind of trail you could head down when you’ve got that one mate who’s convinced they were almost pro once but can’t seem to stay upright on a bike now. You’ll both still have fun.
Really, my true favourite haunt at the Christchurch Adventure Park is the café and bar – the home of hot food and cold beer! The deck here is a great spot to watch riders with more skill then myself fly over the ‘Mulch’ jump and pull shapes most gymnasts would be happy with.
After the realisation that the skills you thought were once there are definitely now gone, make sure you swing into the skills area on your ride out. An area loaded with progressive jumps, corners and drops, a few sessions there and you’ll be on the ‘Mulchie’ in no time.
Trail Recommendation
Summit Connector – Flying Nun – Choir Boy – Gung Ho
After-Ride Recommendation
Location: Adventure Park Café & Bar
Snack: Karaage Chicken Sushi Bowl
Hydration: Cassles Nectron IPA
Accommodation
Cathedral Square Novotel
The riding gems are many within Ōtautahi’s city borders. Being predominantly flat and surrounded by hills means that whenever you descend a trail, you can easily get to your crib or digs. It’s also very easy to navigate and, in this modern age, a device will help direct you anyway. The intersection of unique city flair mixed with vibrant outdoor culture makes it shine. You can easily ride flow or technical trails and then be immersed in a café, city bar or restaurant for provisions and replenishment before heading back to the hills or calling it a day. The cycling culture is everywhere you look – people are on bikes! From commuters and roadies to gravel riders and, most often, mountain bikes – especially when you get close to the Port Hills. The riders range from young groms right through to old dogs and pretty much everyone in between.
Ōtautahi has a vibe, it’s going places and there’s a heap going on. The riding here just gets better and better, and you can see why world-class riders reside here. With riding in such close proximity to the city, with epic spots all around, this location is not to be missed.
Feature: Weekend up the Waiau
Words: Jordan Phipps
Images: Odin Woods
The idea of strapping crap to your bike and heading into the wilderness definitely isn’t a new one, but I’ve been feeling the urge to break out. Time to make the effort to get back outside, chuck down the tools and avoid the Christmas rush. Find fun in the misadventure and – for the first time, for me – take the bikepacking offroad.
The perfect opportunity to dip a toe into this niche practically landed in my lap. A long-planned weekend at the Wairoa Gorge was rapidly approaching, which would see me and my buddy, Odin, traversing the South Island. The journey from Christchurch to Nelson dances along the fringes of some unreal backcountry areas, giving us a plethora of rivers and valleys to explore. What better way to start a weekend of gravity-assisted riding than with a bikepacking adventure.
Driving to Nelson isn’t overly long or strenuous, but when schedules are tight and optimising time away from home is key, an after-work departure is best. Some folks may just opt for a hotel or even whack up the rooftop tent to break up the drive when tired, but when activities take priority, a backcountry hut makes perfect sense…
Stuffing a dry bag full of snacks, camping gear and the occasional hazy (of course), you’ve now got the perfect recipe to start any adventure. I’ve learned over the years, there are three things you usually like to line up to help aid a positive experience while out in the backcountry. None of them are exactly critical but a lack of all three definitely makes life slightly harder, colder and, ahh, less positive:
Good weather.
Ample daylight.
Cold beer.
A plan formed and before long we began the battle out of civilisation. Bumper-to-bumper rush hour traffic filled the roads, with the silly season undoubtedly upon us. Shop fronts were adorned with Christmas livery, and footpaths struggled to contain the masses. My mind begins to wander: have I got my partner the right thing for Christmas? Shit, did I remember to book the campsite for New Year’s Eve? Am I going to be able to pull off a flawless pav on Christmas Day? In my present reality, the only pressing questions were when the traffic was finally going to move and which flavour dehydrated meal I should have for dinner that night.
The slow crawl across the city only intensified the urge to get the hell outta there and be completely immersed in the wilderness. Eventually, the houses thinned out and the tar seal quickly turned to gravel. The inconvenience of the city and that pesky traffic became nothing but a smoke-fuelled memory.
The Landcruiser was loaded to the gunnels: two different disciplines and a weekend’s worth of supplies had stretched our Tetris packing skills. This was demonstrated almost as soon as we hit the first 4WD track – everything that could possibly fall off the shelves and create chaos through the interior, did. As bags collected our heads, we were forced to stop and rearrange, taking the time to observe the dank playground that sat in the valley below.
Alas, the peaceful serenity was momentarily broken by the sound of the windscreen wipers reaching Mach 10 on the Landcruiser. Cool, it was raining…
I downshifted the truck and let the old girl roll down the hill, headlights on as we watched the sun dip below the snow-capped peaks. The weather was packing in and the daylight running away, but hey – at least we’d made it outta the city. Plus, we still had beer.
Under the last ounce of light, we parked the old girl up, had a quick shuffle of gear, then strapped our dry bags down to their racks. With our head torches illuminating the way, our road had become a singletrack adventure. New to me for this excursion, was the Aeroe spider rack system. The simplicity of having a drybag strapped to the back of my bike while still maintaining use of a dropper post was a win indeed. With no movement or the admin of having to stop mid-ride and tighten anything up, this product got a thumbs up from me.
I’d never actually ventured into this part of the country before, but Odin assured me I was in for a treat. A narrow goat trail through tussock flat lands carried us away from the carpark and upstream towards the mountains. Navigating seemed a breeze… for the time being.
It’s strange, but for some reason I tend to always be overly confident in my navigational skills. There’s not really any skill set or valid reason to justify why, I’ve just always been the one to charge ahead and find the way. But, as it transpired, navigating from one small orange DOC marker to the next in the dark is a skill I’ve yet to learn. Toppo maps came out and assurances were made that as long as we were heading upstream, eventually we’d reach the hut. Right? Oh yeah, and technically ‘upstream’ also means ‘downstream’, ‘back across stream’ and ‘across that other stream’, too.
We were, by then, doused in darkness and navigating river crossings, however, the dedication to sustaining dry feet was strong. Our shoes stayed firmly strapped to our handlebars, and socks tucked in our pockets – a decision I questioned as my bare feet felt helplessly for the path ahead, fumbling over rocks and navigating the murky waters one dainty step at a time. It was about then that I reminded myself; ‘it’s not the destination, it’s the journey’. Or was it #notallwhowanderarelost? Either way, the realisation that only a few hours previously I was slinging tools at work and watching the hours slowly tick by, yet now here I was immersed in the wilderness, wading upstream, bike in tow, pushed me further into the unknown.
I don’t know about you, but to me, that’s pure bliss.
Our chosen abode for the night happened to be placed on the Te Araroa trail. We started to broach the subject that there was every chance the hut would be chocka block full of other intrepid travellers, and the question arose of whether we would be pitching our tent in the rain? What was proper hut protocol when arriving late at night? Ah well, I decided that was future Jordan’s problem, and kept the pedals turning.
This was night riding like I’d never experienced it before. To be fair, it was more a combination of multi-sport, orienteering and cycling all thrown into a mixing pot of Type 2 adventure. Mental notes were made on which sections to avoid on our return ride through, and which rock cairns were actually helping us. Somehow, it seemed that each time we’d battle our way through an off-piste excursion, we were only ever metres away from the trail.
Finding ourselves on opposite sides of the river, we reconvened to once again check our course. After a couple of hours of fumbling athletically through the dark, we had success – the hut was in reach and the legs could sense it, so we cranked up through the dank beach forest and summited the last climb. I soon found myself yahooing, taking in the cornflake descent, corners getting slapped, and any feeling of tiredness seemingly having left my brain.
Sliding to a stop, we couldn’t believe our luck – checking, then double checking, then triple checking that we did indeed have an empty hut at our disposal. Yes, an empty hut! We couldn’t believe it; our intrepid trail of cornflakes had led us right to the front door and not a soul was in sight. Our bikes were safely tucked away and, with two simple clicks, my dry bag was released from its cradle. Ahh, that first crispy beer was cracked.
Hut life is an easy life – not to mention, a much-needed change of pace from the standard 9 – 5 back home. It’s the simple things for me: the rhythmic crackle of a fire and the anticipation of a dehydrated meal. We were more than content. This was a heck of a way to spend a Thursday night. With the fire cranking and beverages poured, the quality of our chat started to fade and it wasn’t long before the night slipped away.
The beauty of arriving at 11:30pm the previous night was that neither of us actually knew what to expect of our surroundings when we woke the following morning. Our subpar porridge was inhaled while glassing the numerous slips and clearings, adamant to scan some creatures. This trip, as all of them seem to be these days, was a squeeze in our schedule. It was the sort of trip that, at the time, could have felt rushed and a tad flustered, but that’s when it’s key to remember something like this is always worth doing.
After a morning scanning and exploring the terrain, our bags were back on as quickly as they were unpacked, ready for the downstream trip – which we expected to be an absolute treat. I was quickly humbled by how off track my self-proclaimed mastery navigation skills were the previous night, as the amount of river crossings were halved. The sheer vastness of the valley was hard to absorb.
On any adventure, every positive is balanced with a – sometimes – a small negative. The small negative on this trip was the kind that liked to fly around our faces and bite any exposed skin. Sandflies weren’t going to put a damper on this trip, but boy did they give it a nudge. Luckily for the sandfly population, the majestic sight of the Landcruiser was on the horizon. We’d managed to make it back to the truck in half the time and almost half the distance we’d covered the previous night, but both exploits were just as fun.
Sometimes life needs a bit of spice. Not necessarily the whole Cajun vibe, but maybe more of a paprika hit. It doesn’t take much to mix it up and get out of your environment and into another. Squeeze it in the schedule and get it done. You might be surprised how enjoyable a moonlight ride upstream in the rain actually is.
Feature: Reefton Electrified
It’s Wednesday night and the weekend weather forecast at home in Christchurch isn’t looking too flash. Frankly, it’s looking like a winter weekend indoors, which is not going to fly. Two friends are keen to ride, and both itching for a mission after a big work week. With a few days to plan, a quick Google and Trailforks search, what about across the divide? We had heard rumours about epic singletrack in lush beech forest, untouched by time. The rumours and online presence are vague enough that there’s still some mystery about the trails -enough to push the intrigue and excitement up towards committing to check it out. A weekend warrior mission to better weather on the other side of the Alps, to the wild West Coast, in search of new trails unridden and maximised riding time. With a twist to our usual bike adventures, this time we’d be electrified. It might have been a gamble, but as the region’s history goes, we could end up striking some gold.
Reefton, located on the South Island’s West Coast, may be small in terms of population (927 people at the last count) but it’s always been ahead of its time; big on technology and innovation. A gold mining town established in 1870, Reefton was the first place in the Southern Hemisphere to have a public supply of electricity – beating even London and New York to the switch in 1888 – and the first to have an electric street lighting system. Pretty mind-blowing to think this sleepy West Coast town was a pioneer before the world’s major cities. Given all its history, it’s more than fitting that Reefton should now be experiencing an electrified renaissance and quietly becoming a must-visit eBiking destination.
Surrounded by the Victoria Conservation Park, with 180,000 hectares to be explored, the mountain bike trails range from Grade 2 for beginners to Grade 5 for the more experienced. It’s a stunning setting and you can’t help but enjoy the rugged beauty of the place as you make your way along old mining trails and up through ancient beech forests. Time could well have been standing still for the last hundred years or so, everything feels so untouched, and the old mining relics left lying around are a constant reminder of the history of this region and its tough, pioneering spirit.
Kirwans Track is one of the best-known trails and the main draw card bringing mountain bikers to the town but traditionally it is the domain of the hike-a-bike enthusiast with an overnight hut stay that requires the unique kind of endurance and commitment which can be hard for your average weekend warrior to muster. A long, steep Grade 5 track, gruelling on the uphill, technical on the downhill, Kirwans has a hardcore reputation which, in the past, had many riders choosing to skip the climb and take a helicopter to the top. And then came another ‘lightbulb’ moment: this place is perfect for eBikes.
Don’t get me wrong, I don’t actually mind a steep climb - or even carrying my bike from time to time - that’s just the price you pay to get to the best tracks. But, for this particular mission we’d be riding the whole way, thanks to a couple of Bosch-powered Moustache Game 9 and Game 8 bikes we were lucky enough to have at our disposal for the weekend - they’re just the right tool for the job.
Like a lot of mountain bikers, I like an adventure and when the crew and I go on trips, we tend to look for destinations or trails that offer a few challenges, whether it be the technicality of the riding or the difficulty in accessing it. Reefton has tended to be the kind of place we just keep missing; with opportunities closer to home like Craigieburn, or up to the north and down to the south, we rarely stop to explore the pockets in between. But along the way we’d heard lots of murmurings both about how good Kirwins is, and about Reefton being a cool little hub for accessing other trails and some unique natural spots. Finally, the stars had aligned to make the mission to Reefton happen.
We loaded up on Friday afternoon, heading straight out of Christchurch for the hills and through the Lewis Pass. Coming through the pass and arriving at Reefton, you can see the rolling hills coming down from the Alps and why this terrain is built for riding.
As it happens, there was a major flaw in our plan: Kirwins was closed, another victim of the extreme weather events of recent months, and impassable thanks to multiple slips and tree falls. While we were disappointed not to be able to take on this beast - we’d come well equipped for the job after all – there turned out to be a silver lining as we were forced to seek out another place to ride. These hills have turned up gold before and, in our case, it comes in the form of a different, but equally testing, spot called Blacks Point.
Only a kilometre or so out of town, Blacks Point offers up some classic old-school mountain biking in all its raw and rugged glory. We found ourselves getting lost and having to find our way again; it’s hard, it’s steep, and it’s super gnarly with 550m of elevation gain straight out of the car park. It’s also super fun on eBikes.
The main track goes upwards for about seven kilometres before splitting off at the top and running back down. It would be fair to say that on an analogue bike there’d be a fair bit of pushing, grovelling and sweating, and either wishing you’d packed a second sandwich or stayed behind to check out the Reefton Distillery instead. On this day, however, we had assistance from the Bosch eMTB mode, which helped with hitting the right cadence to get to the top and makes the climb enjoyable. The Performance Line CX motor worked quietly below, giving us the assist needed so the uphill was not so much of a grind. I still got the heart rate up, without destroying my legs.
Feature: An all-day affair
He plan was simple; ride every trail that Craigieburn has to offer - in one day. Mission like these require loads of energy and a positive attitude.
Just over an hours’ drive from Christchurch, the Craigieburn Forest Park is one of the best days out available on a bike, in New Zealand. This unique basin is nestled against the foothills of the Main Divide and, traditionally known for a culture of club ski fields and bouldering, it’s now also a mecca for mountain biking. Native trails, surrounding tall peaks and clear streams are about as good as ingredients get for a day spent outside. Through all the bustle of life, training, work and everything in between, Craigieburn represents the ultimate reminder of why we started riding bikes in the first place. Stripping it back, it’s an inherent need to be surrounded by mountains and native bush. There is something indescribably wonderful about being able to combine being in the foothills of the Southern Alps, taking on a decent physical challenge, and being able to get immersed in the joy of being on my bike. Taking the enduro bikes meant that, while we weren’t planning on breaking any records up the hills, we were ready to add the maximum fun factor on the descents.
The plan was simple; ride every trail that Craigieburn has to offer – in one day. An ambitious goal and a big day but rewarding, nonetheless. Missions like these require loads of energy and a positive attitude. Max Hides was just the person we needed to keep the drive going and, after a last hour call up, he was more than ready to join us.
In classic Canterbury style, leaving Christchurch it was grey, misty and almost drizzly. We were on for a good thing, escaping the eastern plains inversion layer in exchange for some sunny mountain riding. Armed with coffee and the essentials from Sheffield Pie Shop, the clouds parted right on cue heading up Porters Pass. We spared a moment’s thought for the 9-5 hustle back in the city, but only briefly. We were on for a great day!
Starting from Mistletoe Flat, we headed up and moved our way east across the trails feeding into the basin, to finish in Castle Hill Village. Anticipating a full day out, we packed our bags with all the essentials for happiness, warmth and ‘hangry’ management. The great thing about riding Craigieburn is that the hills are big, and the climbs require a bit of effort. It’s not a cash crop, especially not when the first climb of the day is from the basin floor up to Craigieburn Valley Ski Field.
The pedal is initially pleasant through the beech, but kicks up about halfway through, and the conversation was naturally replaced by an increased focus on turning our pedals. The Craigieburn Hut was a welcome appearance, complete with a perfect set of smoko steps. We looked, but there seemed no one available to open the bar for us at 10am on a summer’s weekday... maybe we should return at the appropriate hour. For now, though, it was time to turn our sights downhill.
The Edge track starts at Craigieburn Ski Field, and traverses the side of the hill. Starting with a couple of scree crossings, it’s mostly a lovely gradient through the beech forest, punctuated by the regular rocky outcrop and tight corner to keep us on our toes! One of those tracks where paying attention is necessary but it’s all too easy to get distracted by the views. Not that it upset us, we were all too happy to take some regular breaks and soak in the view before dropping through the tight singletrack.
The climb up AntiLuge to Lyndon Saddle is 15 minutes of real Type 2 fun. Pinchy and technical, it’s guaranteed to get everyone’s heartrate up, but at least it’s short. At the same time, it’s impossible to hate it because it leads to the star child of Craigieburn Forest: the Luge track.
Graded as an intermediate track, this is the definition of fun for the whole family. No other track does roots and flow in the same sentence quite like the Luge does. The gradient and turns are mellow enough for a broad audience while, for the more advanced among us, it’s littered with natural doubles and high lines. Following Max gave me the chance to try a few more myself! Dirt conditions were all time, with just enough moisture among the beech leaves to hook into the side knobs of the tyres and feel like world cup riders, even if only for a split second. Best of all, it finishes right at a creek, perfect to refresh in preparation for the next climb.
As the day passed, we moved our way east through the basin and network of trails. Most creeks were a compulsory stop and kept the body temperatures cool in what was an almost perfectly still, sunny alpine day. By the time we reached mid-afternoon we’d covered some good ground. Arguably not so much in distance and metres climbed, but in scenery, good chat and high spirits.
Reaching the other side of the Dracophyllum flat track, we turned upwards for the second half of our ride, to get a lap in each of Cuckoo Creek and Cockayne Alley. With rogue weather in July 2021 causing a major slip on the access road, access has been limited to pedal only from Forest Lodge onwards. Controversial opinion, but I can’t say I mind it. There’s a feeling of being self-sufficient in these sorts of environments that’s quite nice to keep hold of. For the most part it’s an inoffensive climb in the trees, then kicks up above the tree line to remind us that hills are hard work!
Heck, it’s not a bad view from the top though. Max went in to get some ski turns on the scree and we traversed along the ridge to admire the view once more. The light was starting to soften as the afternoon hours got on, and not for the first time that day we commented on how good bikes and places really are.
Cockayne Alley is about as good as backcountry riding gets. Originally a walking trail, MTBers discovered its steep rooty steps and have since called it their own. To find good flow takes a bit of finesse and concentration, but once it’s found, there’s nowhere I’d rather be. The sort of place where the most important thing in the moment is where your front wheel is going. With just one more climb left to finish off the day, we were Castle Hill Village bound via the Hogs Back. Picnic Rock at the top provided a stunning 360-degree view around the basin, making it a good spot to take a look and realise there’s many more untold adventures and peaks within sight, for mountain bikers or otherwise. From there, we took easy going flow trails winding through the beech, then across the last creek stop and up the terrace to catch our breath by the world-famous lightning tree. The blast from there down into castle village guaranteed a great day, and completed the ride.
There's a simplicity in just putting a backpack on and traveling for a day, that is hard to replicate.
Days like this in Craigieburn don’t get much better. There’s often a value put on metres climbed or kilometres travelled and, although the end-of-ride beer doesn’t taste the same without it, smiles per mile is a metric I’m much fonder of. There’s a simplicity in just putting a backpack on and traveling for a day, that is hard to replicate in any other way. We saw next to no one, and those we did see were like minds, on the same page. It was a brilliant opportunity to switch off, turn some pedals and enjoy a special part of NZ.
Words: Robin Pieper
Photography: Cameron Mackenzie