Words: Philippa Friary
Images: Riley McLay
The last time Elke and I had an adventure together was in June 2009, when we were training for Coast2Coast and learning how to paddle down the Mohaka River. Fast forward 15yrs, several different jobs, partners – Liam and John – weddings, a couple of children, a dog and several haircuts later and here we are, boarding a flight to Queenstown with two bike boxes and an itinerary that smells of adventure.
Over the years, we had managed to squeeze in the odd road ride, mountain bike trip out to Woodhill or gravel mission, yet always needed to rush at the end of the ride to get back home to sort out family life or work for the next day. What I was missing were those days that started on the bike and ended on the bike – when all you needed to think about was what snack you would eat or which story to share next. So, when the opportunity arose to get together again for three days of riding in Central Otago, I was in. But, there was a catch… the trip was to have a theme and would focus on two women celebrating their 50th birthdays together in Central Otago, on their bikes.
Now, I wasn’t concerned about the bike part, and I totally love Central Otago. It was the mental shift of acknowledging that I was going to be half a century this year. Yes, I know, many of you out there have been through this and may be thinking ‘get over yourself, it’s only a number?!’. Yet there’s just something about those numbers that end in a zero, right?! And now that my Instagram algorithm delights in sending me reels about how to combat menopause flushes there is no denying the fact … this year I am turning 50. In addition to this, with nursing the odd pulled calf or hamstring from pushing the pace on the hill sprints or loading up too quickly on the squat rack at the gym, colleagues at work will sometimes say, “Isn’t it about time you slowed down a bit? You’re not getting any younger…” But, ‘plenty of time to slow down when I’m dead’, I think in response. ‘I’m just getting warmed up.’
If this wasn’t enough to start pushing me to enquire at the local retirement village, to my horror I found that – despite being married to someone whose work/life revolves around bikes – over the years I had become pretty relaxed about how to sort my bike out if the (expletive) hit the fan. Back during my multi-sport days, I knew all the tricks to keeping the show on the road. But these days, with tubulars and electric gearing, I had some catching up to do.
So, instead of giving into societal pressures and seeing my 50s in over afternoon tea with my feet up, what better way to celebrate a half century than bikepacking over some of the country’s toughest tracks for three days, in March, with one of my besties?! This is where the idea for the title of this article came from; Re-claiming Wild. This is a story about getting out into the wild and immersing yourself in nature; about reclaiming knowledge and confidence; and about rediscovering the inner rebel that says, ‘We’re doing this our way’.
After a crash course in learning how to pack down a bike into a bike box and build it again – nothing like being responsible for ensuring that your own handlebars are perfectly positioned and secure to get you focused on the job at hand – we ventured down south. First stop, the Cromwell Bakery then onto Tarras to start day one. This three-day trip was going to take us from Tarras, over the Dunstan Mountains on Thomson Gorge Road, through to the Vulcan Hotel for the night. Day two went through the Oteake Conservation Park on Hawkdun Runs Road track (Manuherikia river) to Naseby for the night. Then, the final day was going to be a long one – starting in Naseby and ending in Clyde at the Monte Christo Vineyard. While I had the complicated maps downloaded onto my Wahoo, I was still concerned about losing the maps due to a computer fault, and it was likely we would lose mobile coverage. So, like any careful multi-sporter, we had written down all the key directions and also ensured we had a Personal Locator Beacon onboard.
Our day one notes warned of a long two-hour climb and they weren’t wrong. Cresting the Dunstan Mountains as the sun started to fire golden yellow and peach, the descent was thrilling. Long steep straights and a couple of stream crossings. We whizzed past hunters settling into their hut for the night and a group enjoying a sundowner together. The giddy whooping soon ceased as we settled, one behind the other, and started putting work into the long gravel straights through cattle farms. Legs flattened after the long descent, sun setting, and a chill starting to creep in, my shoulders slumped a bit when I saw we still had 20k to go before the promise of a shower and hot food. Noticing the familiar niggle of a food flat, we layered up, switched the lights on and I dug into my pocket for some magic fuel – chocolate liquorice logs! Elke’s favourite! Taking turns on the front, pushing the pace, trying to avoid accidently digesting the evening moths while scoffing liquorice, we tucked in and pretended there wasn’t a head wind as we plugged on to St Bathans. After the longest 20k ever, we finally wove our way through the old, abandoned gold mines and 1860’s cottages to the historic Vulcan Hotel. An utter delight to be welcomed into the village of St Bathans to the sound of a local band and a chorus of local dogs. ‘Good ride?’ one of the locals asked as we staggered into the pub trying to remember how to walk again. ‘Where did you come from?’ ‘Tarras’ I said. ‘Did you come over the Thomson Gorge Track?’ he asked, slightly incredulous. ‘That’s right’. I said. ‘Jesus, you ladies are tough!’ ‘That’s right.’ I said again and thought to myself, ‘wild, in fact’.
For a town of approximately seven permanent residents, the hotel was pumping. Maybe bartender Vivian’s Gold Nugget cocktails had something to do with that?! Hotel owners, Andrea and Wayne, shared some local stories as we enjoyed an incredible home cooked meal. Coming from a background of accounting and farming, they used to own The Bot in Dunedin and moved to St Bathans for something different, something a little off the beaten track. When the hotel first opened in 1869, St Bathans was heaving with 2,000 residents and 15 pubs. Nowadays, this is a destination stop for those interested in history and the outdoors, and some great southern grub.
After a slightly disrupted sleep, following Wayne’s stories of ghost Rosie, we re-fuelled with multiple rounds of hot cross buns and coffee and got going after a photo stop at the blue lake. After my food flat the previous day, I took on the role of food police – announcing time to drink or eat every 20 – 30mins, which was just as well because the scenery was so stunning it would have been easy to forget. This day started with some long gravel descents then corrugated straights along the Māniototo plains. Māniototo is a te reo Māori word translated into English as plains of blood and referring to the red tussocks that once covered the plains. I could see why this was an area Māori hapu would travel and camp to hunt, gather fish and restore – it’s a magical place.
As we followed the river through the valley, dodging cow poop and rabbits, I was thankful for my front shock – it really does add to the comfort factor on those lumpy days. Having started the day with long gloves and snoods, it was starting to warm up as the sun lit up the Ida Mountain Range. Thank goodness, because around the corner was the first river crossing. Bombing the descent as fast as I could, I tried to keep up my speed so I could sail across the river. I bounced into the river and across the first few rocks. All going well until three quarters of the way across, I came to a grinding halt that threw me forward off the seat and into the freezing Manuherikia river. Elke, laughing hard at my heroic attempt, had no chance of a dry crossing from the start so gingerly picked her way across the river.
After dining out on tuna wraps, nuts, dried mango and biltong while our socks dried, we then boosted the rest of the way through to Naseby, our stop for the night. Cycling into Naseby was like peddling back in time. Naseby was popular during the 1860s gold rush and has maintained this historic look to date, from the antique streetlamps to the old clock shop. As the sun set and the chill crept in, we were pleased to see the smoke coming out of the pub chimney where we were due for dinner after a quick shower. The Royal Hotel was packed with families enjoying the long weekend together. Starting to feel the fatigue of the last couple of solid ride days, we were pleased to meet Adrian and his family who sorted us out with a tasty chicken curry and burger. Between clearing tables and keeping an eye over the orders, Adrian shared his story – he’s another city goer, who has moved from Auckland down to Naseby for the space and lifestyle. After the ride we’d just had, across the majestic Māniatoto Plains under the watch of Mount Ida, I understand why!
We woke up super early. Day three was to be the longest day, from Naseby through to Clyde. I was feeling a bit nervous, given the distance and that most of the ride was track and gravel – plus we needed to get up and over some monster climbs. We grabbed a quick instant coffee and snack, donned multiple layers and lights and packed our bike bags. The plan was to smash through the first 40km to Ranfurly, where we were hoping the café would be open for a proper coffee and a hot breakfast. Locking into single file, the chatter stopped as we focused on a mechanic rhythm together. There’s something magical about riding in the dark with only the red light of your ride companion to focus on. Before we knew it, we were up to speed and knocking off the kms in no time. Nothing like the promise of a decent coffee to keep you going. And hallelujah! The Māniototo Café was open and humming. A couple of flat whites, hash brown, scones and lolly cake for the back pocket and we were off again – ready to tackle the infamous Old Dunstan Road.
Now, if you only get to head down south for one day of riding, make sure this track is on your bucket list. It felt like we were riding on the moon, except with gravity. And there’s nothing like making your way up a 10km track climb with super pinchy gradients and nuggety gravel to remind you about gravity. Yet the climb was worth it. Following a lunch stop on the top, we zipped up and pushed off to start the massive descent down Moa Creek Road, past the Poolburn Reservoir and iconic lakeside huts. Dwarfed by monster rocks, we dared not look around too much as the track was testing with rivets, boulders and corrugations. The lolly cake (more lolly than cake) did the trick at the bottom of the climb, before we hit the Otago Central Rail Trail for a time trial effort through to the Clutha River/Mata-Au. The slick gravel of the Rail Trail came at just the right point in the ride – with almost a day of riding in our legs already – nothing beats getting onto the drops and going for it. The kms flew by as we careered past railway shelters, cafes and Rail Trail accommodation. All we needed to think about was eat-drink-eat-drink-eat-drink.
Before we knew it, we were crossing the Clutha River/Mata-Au and taking a sharp descent down to the Alexandra to Clyde River Track where I enjoyed some of my favourite riding in a long time. It felt like old-school flowy mountain bike trails. Now, I don’t know if I loved this section so much because we were right in the golden hour and the light was stunning, or because I knew we were riding to the finish – which happened to be the Monte Christo Vineyard. Either way, this section of the mission was a treat; weaving in and out of trees and over bridges as we followed the Clutha River/Mata-Au through to the red bridge at Clyde. After a couple of lefts and rights, we followed a bit of the Otago Central Rail Trail which conveniently deposited us off at Monte Christo Vineyard just as the sun was setting behind the autumn orange willow trees. What a way to finish a long day in the saddle – just magic!
After checking into the most deluxe accommodation I have stayed in in a very long time, I enjoyed a leisurely outdoor shower, while Elke had a long soak in the antique bath with luxurious complimentary bath salts. We then made the transition from dusty riding clothes to something a little more suitable for Olivers Restaurant. Here, we were treated with some of Central Otago’s best cuisine to replenish the glycogen after three solid ride days.
We loved Olivers so much that the next day we returned for a café ride to enjoy a coffee at their Merchant of Clyde café. The place was full of riders about to start their day, checking over maps and filling their pockets with homemade deliciousness. On our return to Monte Christo, we were greeted with a sumptuous breakfast platter to start us off for the day. We scoffed down bagels and local preserves and were entertained by Roy and Greg as they hooped and hollered around the grapevines, shooing away rogue birds. We later had an impromptu tutorial by Roy and Greg, on the different types of grapes grown at Monte Christo. Roy had sold his jewellery business and moved down south for a change of scene, while Greg grew up on Mission Estate. Clearly two humans with a love for the land and everything in between, from Chardonnay to Pinot Noir. We had a few hours to spare before our return flight out of Queenstown. What better way to whittle away some time, than nestled inside the historic stone cellar door, listening to Kiki from Limerick talk us through the history of Monte Christo and the different wines they produce. Kiki moved over to New Zealand on a student working holiday and fell in love with the Monte Christo winery and Central Otago – and never left. We enjoyed exploring the wines on offer as she shared stories about Jean Désiré Féraud, the Frenchman who founded Monte Christo Vineyard in 1864 and in doing so made this vineyard the birthplace of Central Otago wine. I decided on the Monte Christo Central Otago Rosé and popped in a bottle of Pinot Noir for my dad, who is partial to a good Central Otago Pinot. We topped off the day lounging in the sun and sampling the tasty offerings from ‘Fritzy’ the food truck – nothing like a melted cheese and relish deluxe sandwich to wrap up the day.
Back on the plane, eyes closed, the Central Otago riding experience played over in my mind. The history, the colours, the land, the food and the people. This place clearly has a way of getting under your skin in all the best ways. I can totally see the pull to this region and all it has to offer. And finally, Elke and I had been able to share a wild adventure together after all these years. The three days of riding was drama-free, not even a flat. With the smallest of smirks and feeling ready to muscle over the next multi-day bike packing trip, I was torn from my daydream with a start – an almighty crash that sounded and smelt very much like a bottle of Central Otago Pinot Noir smashing down from the overhead locker as someone tugged their bag down without looking?! As I wiped the $80 bottle of Pinot off my arm and resisted the urge to ask the wayward passenger to pay for their clumsiness, I thought, ‘Well, there you go, a bit of wild drama to wrap up the adventure… just not quite the sort of wild drama I was anticipating?!’
