Week 6 – Life goes on in Patagonia

Matt and John walking home from work in ever decreasing snow

Like a clump of hoodies at a shopping mall, the snow here at Lake Diserto is still hangin’, but like blaring classical music this week’s combination of warmer temperatures, sunshine and rain has made some progress towards shooing it away.

Gauchos on their way up the valley, dogs in tow

Photo Graham Laing

It seems that life in Patagonia goes on in spite of the adverse conditions. The traverse we are building intersects a horse trail regularly trafficked by farmers aboard the ultimate of all terrain steeds; horses. With four legs to balance on, the horses are unfazed by unstable rocks or a metre of snow, plodding up gnarly slopes without a neigh of discontent. It was on a frosty Tuesday morning when we first met a trio of caballo riding granjeros or gauchos heading up the valley. Clad in llama chaps, ponchos and baseball caps, we conversed briefly in our best spanglish, discussing the snow, cold and their horses.

Only yesterday we saw a lone rider head up the valley, returning a few hours later with a motley herd of sheep in varying states of woolliness. Herding them down from the valley to greener pastures, the sheep unfortunately chose our carefully crafted track down the hillside, rendering it a muddy mess. While the damage was a bit disheartening it looks to be a one off and once the winter is over the racks should dry out and become a bit more durable for hooven traffic.

While Patagonian farmers ride horses, our recent supply deliveries have been getting to the lodge aboard a Unimog. Big tires and high ground clearance make this the mechanical equivalent of a horse, and the decrepit state of this specimen would prompt us to call the SPCA were it actually not inanimate.

Unimog in all her glory

With a bonnet strapped on with a bike tube, spouting pipe for a snorkel and scabs of rust on chassis and body this ‘mog has clearly seen some miles. Despite her age, the ‘mog still ploughed through the rivers and snow to the lodge with ease, only a low growl from her diesel engine giving an indication of the effort required. While food and supplies are welcome, arguably the best result of the Unimog’s visit is the pair of foot wide tire tracks it left, making it possible to ride our bikes to work without the momentum sapping snow of earlier attempts.

The completion of our multispan bridge monstrosity (dubbed ‘bridgezilla’) was one of this week’s milestones. In fact, it is such a masterpiece of engineering I’ve suggested we submit it to bridge builder monthly, the structural engineer’s equivalent of Playboy. River crossings can now be made gumbootless in dry-footed comfort. To prove a point I even piloted the El Terremoto across the planks, and will probably choose this way to commute while we work on this track. The alternative is a hub deep mash through a wide braid further downstream and while it is a rush, the risk of icy water ending up inside your gumboots (rather than the normal and preferable external location) was hard to stomach.

Matt's dismembered feet walk bridgezilla's planks

Officially past the halfway point of our time in Patagonia, and with body well adapted to the rigours of spade and pick work in trying weather, I’m really starting to enjoy the work. In particular the diverse building challenges that we face each day. Best of all is that all the skills I’m learning will be transferable to trails back home in NZ.

Mountain Pedaler out...

Week 5 - Gustatory delights of Patagonia

Lake Diserto on a foggy morn...

and when the sun comes out.

With all of last weeks melodrama over metre deep snow drifts, the omnipotent being responsible for allocating crap weather must have taken heed, as this week we were treated to seven days of the sunniest blue-bird days that Patagonia could muster. Nice.

Situated as we are at the base of a valley bounded by towering ridges, we are allowed the luxury of sunshine from about 1 to 3 in the afternoon. Temperatures sky rocket to above zero and we bask in the warming rays, garnering a much needed dose of vitamin D.

Last Sunday, an expedition to our hill side digging site revealed the normally 45 minute stroll had become a waist deep snow trudge which pushed the boundaries of a reasonable commute at almost three hours. Not really an option, and coupled with the ever present risk of snow and rock slides, we made the decision to start work on a new track.

This track began across a swiftly flowing river on the road out. With precious gumboots stashed high up the mountain, the prospect of wading across the icy waters in leather boots was not a welcome one. Years of experience at Playcentre waterplay followed by an illustruious career as a Civil Engineer helped us formulate a crossing to keep toes dry. Stomaching a day of wet boots ‘for the team’, I set about piling rocks a step apart to allow the gumbootly impaired to cross in dry footed comfort.

John, Millsy and Jack do the river crossing dance while Matt look on

While the stack of round boulders were wobbly at best and the morning ice made for some impressive Torvill and Dean impersonations. The crossing ingeniously used a tree that had fallen with the snow loads. Plans are already afoot for a more sophisticated version of the crossing using a bigger stack of rocks supporting slabs of wood from a nearby tree.

Apart from the joyous 2 hours of sunshine, we rely on vigorous snow clearing, picking and shovelling to keep warm, but a recent development for our crew has been a decision to light a fire at lunch and smoko times. Our resident pyromaniac Emil gets a fire cranking in no time, and those willing to take a face full of smoke are rewarded with warmth or at least a flickering glow that awakens a heartening primal instinct within us all. But even more sensational is the roasting abilities the fire provides.

Lunch for our crew typically consists of a packet of biscuits (usually a Chilean oreo called a Triton), a juice box and two bread rolls dubbed pann (Spanish for bread). Some days our pann can be as dry and brittle as one would imagine bread retrieved from Schakleton’s South Georgian stash to be. However armed with a suitable Y-shaped stick the pann can be toasted to crispy perfection. Sometimes inattention or overzealousness can lead to a pann bottom on the black side of crispy, but our crew is in unanimous agreement that the fire has made snack time significantly more bearable.

The crew gathered round the fire

Another culinary delight we are occasionally treated to and reserved for after work snacks is an amazing spread called manjar. This rich, artery-clogging caramel concoction is smothered over fried pann to yield a delicious snack worthy of a second helping.

Manjar being applied in the only way it should be; slathered on!

With the halfway point of my stint here in Patagonia almost upon us, it is the small comforts like manjar and roasted pann that keep spirits high. With a bit of luck and a spell of warm weather, the tracks may even come out from beneath their blanket of snow so we can ride our creations.

Mountain Pedaler out...

Week 4 - Snow glorious snow

Wind carved snow on a Patagonian mountain

The word of the past week here at Lake Disierto, Chile was snow. The week began with a light sprinkling of the fluffy stuff but built day by day in a crescendo of flaky flurries to the solid metre of depth that surrounds us today. As I write this now, snow it is still falling in hearty quantities but we have been spared the indignity of digging trails in it again after 6 days straight.

Terromoto cools off after the ride up the hill

Given the bad habit I have of lapsing into surliness when I don’t manage to get out for a bike ride, I was determined to ride up the hill each day, picking a path through the snow, attempting to eek every last bit of traction out of the slippery trails. Leaving it in the biggie and slogging it out singlespeed-style was a surprisingly effective technique for the conditions. This approach reduced the wheel accelerations that caused breaks in traction and in the worst of cases a knee/stem disagreement.

Snow clogged drivetrain on a Hope Snow 2 hub

The latter part of the climb here was on the techy side on the gnarlometer and had been dubbed ‘Gay Valley’ by the predominantly downhilling boys who built the trail. As a dedicated follower of the technical climb I love the challenge each morning but with snow depths growing into the meter range the boundaries of rideability are starting to be stretched.

 

Building trails in the snow also raises some interesting challenges. A blanket of snow makes it difficult to distinguish what lies beneath. It becomes a hit and miss affair as to whether a steep rocky slab or a slope of grassed soil lies beneath . The former could lead to an unrideable slipfest while the latter is what we are after, and is the starting point for the flowing trails that we know and love.

 

Another challenge is the extra labour that is required to strip the covered slopes of their snowy blanket, hopefully hitting (pay)dirt and not rock beneath. However our crew has mastered the steps to created benched singletrack perfection.

First step is to strip back the snow with a spade, revealing the soil beneath:

Next the top layer of topsoil and vegetation is scraped off with a pick:

Finally a spade/pick combination is used to dig the bench to a flat track at least a spade wide, with spoil scattered clear down slope. The bench is matched to the next person's down the line. Emil cowers in a particularly nasty snow flurry: 

Our team has taken all this in our strides, and this past week have managed to push on with 750 metres of new track. A few sections traversing waterfalls have been deemed unbuildable, let alone ridable, with sheer ten metre drops below making them a risky proposition. While the opportunity to deploy intricate bridges and or mining explosives is an exciting one, we have concluded that some sections will just require a hike-a-bike and are awaiting a rock drill to allow us to install handrails over the trickier sections.

Jake with completed trail in the background

In time when the weather decides to warm up a smidge we'll be treated to more buildable terrain, ableit with a transition period of sloppy snow and soil as the snow melts to liquid and flows to the river below. We are truly experiencing winter in its full Patagionian force. It is an experience that will help me value to relatively warm climes of my usual home, sunny Christchurch!


Mountain Pedaler out...

Week 3 - Gumboots, puppies and a jet boat

A rainbow shines on our last day at Palmoa

As the damp reality of the Patagonian winter set in we faced a glut of rainy days followed by a sprinkling of sunshine. The persistent rain over the weekend had caused a number of slips, including one which destroyed the final switchbacks of one of my favourite Paloma descents; Super Cougar.

The section of Super Cougar mauled by a slip

We spent most of our digging time clearing debris and reinstating the tracks to their former glory. These repair works served as an ideal opportunity for some real world application of my other occupation as a civil engineer. Firstly we located the support posts and slats of a retaining wall which had been scattered about the hillside on a landslide’s destructive whim. Then dredging up distant memories of geotech lectures we set about reconstruction, laying down the all important drainage then layer after layer of reclaimed earth packed against the stacked slats. Initial confidence in our contracting prowess turned to dismay as the support posts wobbled more than the tooth of a child eagerly awaiting the dental fairy. Support posts and braces were quickly installed with a sledge hammer and nails to keep the main posts fixed to the hillside. While the resulting monstrosity would likely not win any architectural awards we were confident it would withstand nature’s onslaught. Only time will tell if this proves to be the case.

Gumboots in their element

Working in the post-storm slop one comes to value simple things. Notably water proof rubber gloves, and gumboots. Fred Dagg couldn’t have got it more right when he penned his ode to the Red band. My first few weeks of work had been plagued by saturated work boots, which is difficult to stomach at nine in the morning, especially when faced with a day of soggy toes. With this in mind I jumped at the chance to requisition a pair of gummers from the crew who were leaving for sunnier climates. It is hard to believe that a single item of footwear can make such a profound change to one’s outlook, but with gumboots afoot no bog is to sticky or snow drift too deep and a day of digging in the sleet has surely become less of a chore.

DJ Jazzy John rocks out a plate full of Pachunga

Our final meal at Paloma was everyone’s favourite Chilean artery clogging treat; Pachunga! When the departing crew had requested it they had no idea of the labour it would involve, but when the maids dished it up at nine in the evening after a good four hours slaving in a hot kitchen we were fully aware of the sacrifice and even offered to wash dishes as recompense. With even less of the healthy salad bits of regular Pachunga, the meal was a hit with the crew and the evening was notably quieter as food comas set in.

Jet boat Jake on his way to Disierto, cerveza in hand

The original plan was for us to head west to Lake Disierto on Wednesday but slips on the road pushed this back to Friday. Apparently the mud was so thick that our only way into the lodge was by jet boat. Swerving and dodging the shallow rapids linking the lakes made for a thrilling ride. This trip also gave context to our employer’s grandiose trail plans which aimed to link the two lakes by a ribbon of mountain singletrack.

On arrival in Disierto we were greeted by a pair of excitable puppies named after the trail crew’s favourite after work beverages; Konig and Becker. I’ve attached a video of their playful antics, if only to capitalise on the guaranteed blockbusting popularity of puppies on Youtube. Everyone loves puppies!

Their effervescent disposition makes for a stark contrast with nonchalant demeanour of Solo back at the Paloma camp. He will chase a stick with aggression reminiscent of his rugged past but on picking it up he’ll loose interest and look around like he was never interested in chasing anything as stupid as a stick.

With Lake Disierto as our home for the remainder of our Patagonian stint, I can’t wait to explore the trails that crews here have built, not to mention building a few more for good measure!

Mountain Pedaler out...

Week 2 – Cohaique, Pachunga and 3 trail dogs

Graffiti in Cohaique referencing the freeing of political prisoners

Last weekend our crew of 8 took the opportunity to hit the town, Patagonia style. A quick dash along the lake and an hours drive north and we made it to Cohaique (or Quahog of Family Guy fame as some of the more cynical crew like to call it).

The desolate surroundings apparent on the drive in appeared to be echoed in the town, with only a scattering of stores and an alarming prevalence of locks and barred windows on most of the homes.

Fast and Furious; Cohaique drift

Stray dogs wandered the street despite the biting cold and we were heartened to find that a local cafe had decided to turn around the lives of these misfortunate mutts by offering proceeds from the sale of English language books to feed and house them.

The Quahog markets were a veritable smogasboard of knitted goods. I took the opportunity to stock up on Alpaca wool hats from a particular vendor who could be seen spinning the yarn in the back of her stall. While her apparent blindness didn’t bode well for the fit of the finished product, it certainly upped the sense of smugness that can only come from the purchase of handicrafts hot off the knitting needle. If anyone out there wants some sweet handmade headgear (with or without earflaps) don’t hesitate to get in touch.

Ollie digs in to some Pachunga sporting his new alpaca wool hat

A number in the other crew had raved about a certain Chilean delicacy called Pachunga. The dish was constructed on a foundation of steak and chorizo sausage (cemented with cheese) and topped with a generous mound of greasy frites. To appease those who claimed the dish unhealthy, a sprinkling of egg, gerkin and capsicum topped it all off. Accompanied with a sloshing of sauce the dish was heavenly, and I’ll freely admit to polishing off a double portion single handedly.

Taking advantage of the fine weather Sunday, a small team headed up to finish some of the traverse track we’d been building. The work also served as an opportunity to work off various indulgences, pachunga included.

Trail building conditions on one of the nicer days

The cool but clear spell continued to Monday but come Tuesday the muck hit the fan and we were served with a three day long degustation of bitterly cold sleet, snow and heavy winds. During the worst conditions, 20cm of snow fell and soaked through we had no option but to keep swinging a spade or pick, the exertion just enough to keep toes and fingers warm.

Trail building in some average weather

Such is the passion (or perhaps stubbornness or even madness) of the crews here, we slaved on in the snow and wind. We had moved on to digging an alternative line down the hill to complement a mind melting piece of trail called Super Cougar. Fortunately this trail offered a fun way down the hill in any conditions, the steep loamy berms serving as an olympic luge style thrill with good dose of corner drift to keep nerves in edge.

Poopie, Nobby and Solo are two four footed friends of the team here at Paloma. The former is a hyperactive sausage dog who hits the turbo at the first sight of snow, leaping and bounding about the slopes like a gazelle in spite of limited ground clearance. Despite her being in a seemingly constant state of shiver, she is often first up the hill in the morning and is well loved by the crews for her playful antics.

Poopie on one of her adventures

Solo has his own story too. Legend has it he turned up at the lodge one day, seemingly arriving out of the mist. Originally known as Rape Wolf for his inappropriate advances on Nobby, he has mellowed to become the ever vigilant sentinel of the crew, barking to scare away approaching condors at lunch or to warn of approaching puma at night.

Solo stands guard

Nobby however seems to be afflicted with schizophrenia, following closely but dashing ahead if called or patted. His jumpy nature is the main reason he is yet to be captured on film.

All three dogs have a lifestyle the envy of dogs the world over. Free to roam about the Patagonian wilderness by day, with the constant attention of trail crews looking to rest weary limbs with a pat or two. Life for the trail builders themselves isn’t too dissimilar from their canine companions. A refreshingly simple daily ritual in an otherworldly location must surely be good for the soul.

Mountain Pedaler out...

Week 1 – Lago la Paloma Chile

The view up Paloma from the lodge

A week has passed since we first arrived here in Chile. From the hustle of smoggy Santiago (complete with real live Taxi hustle) we flew south for the desolate plains of Patagonia. Landing in Balcamadea I was bewildered as to how a plane carrying nearly 100 passengers could justify a flight to a settlement with only 500, but as quickly as they had arrived at the airport everyone was gone.

An hours drive on pothole laden roads, and we were at Lago La Paloma (Dove lake). A 45 minute boat ride between the towering cliffs took us to our lodge, situated on the picturesque shores.

A day and a half to reset our circadian rhythms and it was off up the hill, the weather showering our gringo trail crew with sprinkles of rain on the ascent up the hill for our first day of work.

Our morning view to the trails below

Starting at 320m elevation, our commute takes us up a sweet bermed trail to 700m, before we traverse across yet more expertly crafted corners to our worksite some 10km from the lodge. A good 50 min ride on 100% singletrack that serves as an ideal commute, arguably the world’s best?

Despite temperatures pushing -12 degrees I usually wear just shorts and a riding shirt, anything more and I find myself uncomfortably hot by the fourth switchback, before the day’s digging has even started.

Graham carries his pick to the scenic lunch spot

Our crew joined another who have been here almost two and a half months, and quickly learned the ropes carving out scree, bamboo and boulders to form a technical descent to the valley below. We even got to ride the yet to be named trail, and the rock work left me grinning. Check some sick helmet cam footage from Emil, a member of our crew from Havelock North.

While I’m far from being a foremost expert in singletrack of the world, the trails here at Paloma have left me grasping for superlatives. Descending highlights include Flow Valley, Super Cougar and High Line. From epic berms to rival Whistler’s A-line (without the braking bumps) to rocky and rooty technical gnarl to rival the best that the Canterbury high country has to offer. All with the backdrop of snow clad Andes which have a rugged beauty that is difficult to describe.

An occasional lunchtime visitor is the Andean Condor, keenly observing the humans carving trails in his territory.

An Andean Condor surveys his territory

The hoar frost that greets us on our morning ride up the hill softens the soil by afternoon, and the humungous banked corners become safety nets for risky berm diving manoeuvres. Step 1 is to brake as late as you dare followed by step 2, throwing your bike into the corner. The result is a strange mix of elation and fear as you drift round the corner then line up for the next.

The fact that the tracks have been crafted by Kiwi riders with an obvious passion for trail riding really shines through, and I feel fortunate to be a part of such an awesome venture. By the time you have swung a pick for a day your arms are aching, but the ride home is the ultimate tonic, filling skull and limbs with enough endorphin to relegate the hard day’s work to a distant memory.

Time will tell if snow flurries and negative zero temperatures will test this enthusiasm, but for now I’m stoked to be in Chile, working in a crew of good mates, building awesome trails and riding them.

Mountain Pedaler out..

Kiwi Brevet - Day 5 Hanmer to Blenheim

Ollie cresting Taylor's Pass on the run into Blenheim

Andy and I woke, according to plan, at 4am. The desire to get out of the cramped cabin and stuck into our final dash for home overpowered any weariness associated with the early hour. Breakfast consisted of a selection of canned goods procured from the general store the previous day. Strangely my appetite had disappeared and despite knowing that I’d need every calorie I could take on, I only managed half a can of creamed rice. By now our roll out process had become second nature, only this time I stashed a good portion of my gear in a roadside bush for a lightweight run to the finish.

Our sole illumination came from a dim led torch, so really it was no surprise when we missed the turnoff at the bottom of Jollie’s pass road, a blunder that could have proved catastrophic. Andy took some convincing, but we backtracked and began the climb at a quickening pace.

Steep as it was, Andy appeared to give no consideration to his dodgy ankle, instead stomping up the hill and disappearing out of site. In the early morning haze I began to doubt my quiet confidence. Was Andy’s ankle injury indeed an elaborate rouse?

Mid way through one of the steeper sections he came back into view, and was off his bike giving his ankle a rest. Relieved and amazed that he could smash it in the face of obvious agony, he relayed that he’d simply opted for the faster of two options; pushing it to the point where his legs hurt more rather than creeping up the hill like a grandma. My respect for Andy grew like the gradually lightening sky.

Rounding the top of Jollies we let rip with some unnecessary expletives, elated to have crested the first obstacle of the day. This elation gave way to bravado on the downhill run to the Molesworth Valley, a risky prospect given the high speed and minimal visibility. Rounding one of the final sweeping corners I drifted wide and into the face deep gravel. Any chance of wrestling back control was now lost, and with a rumble of gravel as the ravens ran out of tread the bike tipped onto its side and slid to a halt. Losing some hip and elbow skin in the process, I was furious that I’d let myself get so carried away. Andy offered a sage comment “Wo man, think you need to chill out”. To which I replied, “Yes I think I’ll chill out”. Checking for serious injuries I remounted and gingerly pedalled the remaining downhill. Arm warmers seemed to have saved me from more serious elbow lacerations, but my hip had been pretty roughed up. It is a testament to the durability of the Rohloff that it still worked flawlessly and all that was required was a readjustment to my dry bag load on the Freeload rack.

From this point on I experienced what can only be described as the cleansing sensation of pain. Whether it was the adrenaline coursing through my system or simply the cold air on open wounds, the injury helped me put aside the deep seated fatigue of the previous four days and focus on the singular goal of getting to Blenheim. While I’m as guilty as most for mocking emo’s and their penchant for self harm, this experience brought a new understanding. It was as if my gravel rash allowed me to push harder with a sense of urgency that would otherwise have alluded me. A very surreal experience and not something I’d try again on purpose.

With this new found vim, it wasn’t long before Andy had drifted off my wheel, and with the grey horizion taking on a golden tinge, I set off for the final 160 km as if it were a time trial that my life depended on.

Prior to the race start Simon had informed us that we weren’t officially allowed to use the Molesworth road between 7am and 7pm, and as I jumped the gate opposite the rangers hut at Acheron at about 5:30am, I didn’t hang around to test DOC’s resolve.

As the pain of my injuries dulled, feelings of clarity were replaced with paranoia. For a long stretch I swore I could spot the tire tracks of someone heading north as I was. A phone call to friends on the web last night revealed that uber-racer Mark had not made it Hanmer as we had, but had he called on his sleep depriving super-powers to push on through the whole night? Only way to know for sure would be to smash it to Blenheim and find out the result.

With a slight tailwind at my back the miles drifted away, helped by familiarity with the terrain (albeit in the opposite direction) as a veteran of 3 Molesworth muster races. Road conditions were excellent until the 7 km stretch of Isoloation flat where loose gravel and soil littered the surface. There was no sign of a compacted wheeltrack to seek rolling refuge in, but fortunately the big wheels kicked ass over this rough stuff, holding momentum and carrying me over the bridge to Ward’s Pass, the second major climb of the day.

Grinding up the steep climb and shredding down the other side, I treated myself to a stop to refill bottles at the homestead campsite. Here a ranger reported that I was the only rider he’d seen that day, and this put my paranoia regarding Mark’s phantom tracks at bay, at least for a while.

From this point I’d enjoyed cool conditions with a pleasant tail wind, but clouds had started to lower and rain fell giving a solemn tone to this stretch of the Awatere Valley.

Back in an unknown landscape, I used the profile velcroed to my bars for motivation. Knowing that there were only five hills left made it that much easier to get up them, and as I counted down the rises, and the kilometeres in between I knew every pedal stroke would bring me one step closer to the finish.

In one particularly headwind plagued stretch of road my attempts to shift the Rohloff into an easier gear met with resistance, the combination of icy rain drenched gloves and worn grip shift reducing the transmission to one gear. Realising that the predicament was doing little for my motivation, let alone my poor legs, I stopped and retrieved a rag from my dry bag. With this wrapped around the grip I could get enough traction to shift, and I stashed the rag in my jersey pocket in readiness for the next hill.

Another hill passed, and was followed by a fantastic downhill stretch where I topped 80km/h. Another hill and I was back on sealed road, with signs of midday civilisation appearing at the roadside. Being immersed in the selfish pursuit of riding one’s bike as I was, it was interesting to gaze upon the vineyard workers go about their pruning, and this served as a gentle reminder of the working reality that would soon return.

Strangely the final climb to Taylors Pass left me more elated than the finish line itself, and as I put in a final few pedal strokes, the sight of Jane then Dom and their ambitious road painting left me humbled in a way that I’ve never felt before. As I saw it, riding the Brevet was a selfish and basic pursuit, but to stand in the cold waiting for a friend to ride past at midday on a Tuesday took a step up in terms of commitment. I was humbled to have friends who would do this and only hope that I can do the same for them if the opportunity arises.

Bouyed by the company of friends the final kilometres melted away, with only a dash of careful route choice required to navigate the riverside cycleway. Crossing the finish line was an anticlimactic, and after a brief interview with the Marlborough Express my attention turned to food, warm clothes, food, and tending to my wounds.

Ollie just after arrival at Seymour Square

Andy rolled in several hours later, his quote in the Express saying it all “I didn’t think it’d be that tough. I won’t be doing it again”. He’d done it tough and had been an excellent travelling companion.

Michi and Ollie at the finish. Stoked!

Showered and fed, we left about midnight to support Michi on his run to the finish. He was pretty out of it, having survived the day on only a roll and chocolate bar bought that morning in Hanmer (and consumed within the first hour), he looked to be suffering. Providing a drive-by supply of cake and some assistance with directions (to correct the route he’d almost taken back up the valley), he eventually made it across the line. The Brevet was over, and would prove to be an amazing experience that would be difficult to match.

Post event depression after such an exhilarating adventure is inevitable, and following some wise advice I set about planning the next epic adventre. Plans are now in place for a mountain bike tour of the Annapurna Trail in Nepal. Building on our Brevet experiences, Michi and I are hoping to complete the high altitude circuit in less than two weeks, and have made a pact to maintain a less furious pace (if we can!)

Ventana rocks it out at the 2010 NZ Singlespeed champs

Spider-Becs hooks one of the monster berms 7-mile is renowned for.

Exercising her cornering powers with responsibility!

Photos Queenstown MTB Club

While ANZAC weekend honours the unfathomable sacrifice of our nations soldiers at conflicts around the world, Ventana NZ's fearsome singlespeeding force were engaged in a guns blazing assault of a different type; the NZ Singlespeed Championships.

The team were well equipped with the finest of singlespeeding munitions; from Ollie's belt driven El Commandate to Jo's double squishy barrelled El Saltamontes.

Hula girl Jo on her way to a storming ride for 3rd aboard her singlespeeded El Saltamontes.

Hosted by the trail crafting masters at the Queenstown Mountainbike club at their amazing 7-Mile course, the battle took place over 5 laps of a hilly course. 100% singletrack and littered with jumps, monster berms and the obligatory beer stop, the race was a feast of moutainbiking mayhem, only heightened by sheer quantity of crazies dressing up (or in some cases disrobing) to fit the mood.

Fulfilling a lifelong dream of being a Mexican pro-wrestler, Michi adopts the El Commandante moniker and proceeds to crush skulls around the grueling course.

From the gun it was madness, with organisers decreeing that riders run 800m with their front wheels, only to have to mount them and hit the course proper. Despite her running prowess, disaster struck for Becs, who lost her QR nut on the run, leaving her using her spider mind powers to locate a spare. At the front of the field, a siren malfunction kept Ollie on edge, forcing him to dig deep to escape the aural assault.

Staff sargent Mops dispensed some indiscriminate justice on the womens field.

She reported Migel her El Toro  was loving the tight and technical trails!

On only the second lap Andy Reid fell victim to the gnarl with an impromptu face grind to collarbone break. Ouch. Andy and Ollie had become good mates over the course of the Kiwi Brevet, so he stopped to check he was okay (he wasn't) before alerting the next marshall of his plight. A sobering reminder of how the good times can turn to crap in the blink of an eye.

Decked out in a skinsuit and a pink Davies Craig Hardtop helmet, Ollie displays a concerned expression on one if the downhill sections of the course. Strange given that his helmet is so safe, it would require a mistimed jump over a shark-filled lava pit to break the impenetrable bubble of safeness.

Lap after lap and the fatigue grew. Without gears to adapt to the slowing pace riders had to dig deep. At the end of it all the Ventana riders performed commendably, highlighted by Jo's storming ride to third in the girls, and Ollie fourth in the boys. All agreed it was the best race of the year, with the electric atmosphere and bermy technical course making the race one to remember. Expect to see a similar all out assault from team Ventana at Rotorua's world SS champs in October!

Realising his head is in the safe hands of a Davies Craig Hardtop,

Ollie adopts his usual smile.

Mountain Pedaler out...

Ventana Gringos and Gringas kick ass at Hanmer 8

The gringos and gringas show some post-race stoke

In hitherto unforseen levels of race particiation, a team of 6 Ventana Gringos rolled out the Hanmer 8 hour last weekend, and after a hard day in respective saddles they come away with some spectacular results. The reduction from 12 to 8 hours encouraged big fields in the solo divisions, with Craig, Michi and Ollie all throwing their chains in the ring. A largely flat but still flowy and fun course kept them entertained, with a great low key atmosphere and plenty of rowdy support feel at the Forest Camp village. Jo and Mops tackled the 4 hr while Sue bizarely strapped an ET replica to her bars and proceeded to fly (not literally) around the course as part of a womens team.

All photos are from ultimate race supporter extroidinaire, Rebekah Tregurtha.

Jo and Mops pre-race showing smiles far to big to be serious. Jo went on to reel in first place on the last lap of the 4 hour and took out the win in open Womens. Nice. Mops kept it real for a solid 5th place.

Jo still showing smiles despite ripping the legs off the field aboard her El Saltamontes.

Can't be hurting enough!

Ollie busts out another hot lap. By the time 8 hours was up he'd taken his rigid/Rohloff equiped El Padrino to 1st in the 8 hour solo, only 2 minutes behind the leading teams.

Michi shreds through the forest, furiously chasing down a rider. Sporting the Brevet proven El Commandante and Rohloff combo, Michi pullled of a solid 8th place. He regretted not brining anti chaffe but was back in the saddle the next day for a downhill race. Crazy.

Finally Craig T, who called on supreme displays of riding smoothness to pull off an exceptional 2nd in the veteran mens solo 8. Sucker for punishment that he is, he went on to mop up the rest of the field at the following days sprint race. Solid.

All in all a resounding success for the Ventana Gringos! Expect a big (and mexican themed) appearance at next months Christchurch Singletrack Club Fiesta. Rumors are already abound as to what the costume du jour will be, with the Nacho Libre themed wrestling get-up a leading contender.

Mountain Pedaler out...