Post-Christmas Pootle

Natural Bridge

Good intentions never get me very far.  I know I should ride at every given opportunity, but I don't always make the most of it when the optimum situation presents itself.  After 'missing out' on a few rides, I'm itching to get out again and usually find myself manipulating a sequence of events in order to squeeze a bike ride in.

We had planned a short holiday with my family in Marokopa and I realised I could fit in a sneaky ride if I played my cards right.

While in the Waitomo area, we took a couple of short day trips.  The first trip took us to visit the Natural Bridge, Piri Piri Caves and Marokopa Falls, all free, just a short walk from the road and super interesting to boot.

PiriPiri Caves (take a torch)

Marokopa Falls

On our second trip we drove down to Waikawau to see the tunnel that was hand cut by farmers to provide easy access to drive their stock along the beach.  The beach itself was amazing.  Sandstone cliffs towered over the beach, undercut by the wave action at high tide.  We found all sorts of squishy seaweed plants and shellfish stuck to the cliffs and nestled in the cracks.  We prodded, poked, oohed and ahhed at all the interesting sights.  The kids thought it was cool to write their names and carve pictures into the sandstone rock.

After our beach exploration, I changed into my cycling kit and saddled up for the 30-odd km ride back to Marokopa.  That's about when it started to drizzle.

Turn off to Waikawau Beach

I set off anyway, knowing that the rain wouldn't make much difference to my ride and if I whimped out because of the rain, I would miss riding at all during this short holiday.  It was a nice warm day, so a bit of rain would help keep me cool anyway.

The winding gravel road thread its way through narrow steep-sided sandstone cuttings with limited forward visibility through the corners.  I took it slow, unable to see or hear if a car was approaching from in front or behind - the noise of my tyres on the now wet gravel drowned out any other ambient noise.  The short 5km ride to the turn off onto Marokopa Road was a good warm up.  Grit flicked up off my tyres and into my face and I had a few drips of water into my eyes already, despite wearing a cycling cap to ward off the precipitation.  My glasses now took on the appearance of a frosted bathroom window and I struggled to see much ahead of me.

At the turn-off, Andrew drove by with the kids in the car on the return journey to Marokopa.  "See you in a little while", I cheerily shouted, grinning and waving at them as they swooshed by.  Bugger, that's it... I'm on my own.  One big hill climb and another smaller kick-in-the-guts hill climb stood between me and holiday HQ and there was nothing for it, but to pedal there.

The first 5km or so was a gentle climb, hardly anything to worry about.  Then the road tipped up a little more, and a little more.  Then it rained.  A lot.  My cap reached it's maximum water content and began dripping from the brim.  Perspiration ran into my eyes and more grit flicked up off the road.  I was temporarily blinded and had to stop to wipe away as much as I could and blink and cry the rest of it out.

My problems continued until the top of the hill and then things got a little worse.  My frosted bathroom window glasses were now fogged up and I was hurtling downhill on an unfamiliar road.  I used my fingers as windscreen wipers  Trying to clear mositure from both the inside and outside of the lenses using a gritty wet finger was never going to be much of a success.  And trying to do this at 40km//h is ill-advised.

I made it down the hill and into the valley, where I could finally relax a little.  The rain stopped and I could see a little better.  The valley was clouded in, with the hills shrouded in mist.  It was nice to spin along on the flat (actually slightly downhill) and be able to see the world around me.

Riding through the valley

Misty hills

Hot and wet

The road followed the valley floor for the next 10km, getting ever closer to the coast at Kiritehere.   The next intersection was my turn-off to Marokopa where I was back onto a sealed road and had less than five kilometres to go.  After 25km of rain, grit and gravel, my drivetrain finally succumbed and I got chainsuck as I changed into the small chainring - scraping the chainstay and scarring the Ritchey for life.  After releasing the chain and getting up to speed again, the last climb was over before I knew it.  I took one last opportunity to snap off some photos before slipping back into holiday mode.

Velvet valleys

Marokopa Village

Trusty steed