NZSS10

Tristan models a daring blue vintage number with matching dodgy tash and tats...

Lots more images from the Queenstown MTB Club gallery

Well, since cross doesn't really happen here in NZ, we've been occupying ourselves with a little bit of single speeding. NZ held our national single speed race in a spot called Queenstown. Better known for perfect postcard scenery and having earned the title of NZ's adventure capital, Queenstown was a welcome choice of venue. Although the day itself was a less than perfect - actually it was pretty yuck, as it dawned cold and drizzled right up to the race start. My specially purchased mid-calf-length pure white socks were stained before I even hit the race track.

Anyway, it was bad... In a good way. But also in an evil way. The track was squashed into a peninsula on Lake Wakatipu called 7 Mile. Somewhow they managed to jam 330 verticle meters of climbing into the 6km loop and then forced us to ride it 5 times. Add it up - that's a shade over a mile of vert. On a single speed.

Anyway, the outcome was favourable for me, but part way through the last lap I started worrying about where I was going to put the winner's tattoo...

Above two images courtesy of Scott Kennedy of Adventureskope.com

We've also written a bit about the race for the NZ importer of my lovely Ibis Tranny - Hyperformance Hardaware. Although, to understand it, non NZer and non-squash-enthusiasts might need to do a little prior research to understand it: wikipedia.org/wiki/Susan_Devoy

Not Quite Cross

It's not quite cross - you'd never see any 700c wheels anywhere near where we were - But with a 2 and a half hour carry separating the epic uphill and the best downhill I've ever done, it's as close to cross as I've come since I left Scotland.

The Moonlight - Croesus Tracks are in a tiny little place called Blackball, tucked into the folds of the northern tip of the South Island's West Coast, New Zealand. From sea level, you ride and stumble up to 1220m, then push, carry and occasionally ride your bike (these interludes on your bike are so good, they eclipse the pain of having shouldered your bike for the last 2 hours) across a ridge with seemingly endless peaks. Your goal, Croesus Hut, is neslted into a saddle, way in the distance, which never gets any closer as the ridge takes you in an arc away, and then back towards your target.

Once you pass the crux of the ridge, it's all downhill, literally. Pinch flats are a real risk, with the first 15 minutes of foot-wide track paved with cruel, square-edged rocks. It then smooths out just a touch, dropping into dense Beech forest... Roosty drifts into cornflake-covered corners.

An hour later, (8 and a half hours after you rolled away that morning) you're back in Blackball, for a half of coke and a half of beer. Smiles pasted to salt-crusted faces, exhausted and stoked on one of the best rides in memory.

What a way to break in a new bike - My Ibis Tranny handled it with grace (maybe more grace than it's pilot?). Oh yeah.

Roaring Meg

Central Otago is one of my favourite spots in New Zealand. It's consistently hot and dry in the summer months and can be relied upon for some of the best snowfall in the country during the winter. Queenstown, Otago's activity epicentre, is a popular tourist destination year round and the surrounding mountains and lakes provide a stunning backdrop to what has been dubbed the Adventure Capital of New Zealand.

It has a history, too, as it was one the first places in NZ to be settled by early colonials, lured by the promise of gold, back in the 1800's. Nowadays, it's adrenaline junkies and wine enthusiasts who roam the streets in search of their next big hit (Central Otago is synonymous with fine Pinot Noirs and excellent Rieslings and Chardonnays!)

A couple of weeks ago two friends and I set out to ride Roaring Meg - one of the old pack tracks used by early settlers. It was a stunning ride, in open alpine tussock, over a ridge, into (and out of) a steep sided valley crossed with frigid alpine streams and down an eye-wateringly fast fire road to the Roaring Meg itself - a hydro electric dam built in 1931.

I'll let the pictures do the talking, but it was a big sky day, a bit cold on the tops, a bit warm in the valleys and 6 punctures were equally shared amongst the 3 of us.

Spaniards - Like a pin cushion made of sharpened knitting needles. The valley floors are studded with them, they'll take a core sample if you're unlucky enough to fall in them and tires spontaneously deflate if they come anywhere near them

Just to reassure you all I haven't fallen off the face of the earth - I'm just on the other side of it now. I've been busy doing not much, but I managed to squeeze in a local race - one that I was looking forwards to more than most - The New Zealand Single Speed champs.

The guys here know how to put on a slick race - They've been professional event organisers for about 7 years and are keen to step up. At the race briefing they made it clear that they'd had their hearts set on hosting a World Single Speed event. They went to the point of renaming the NZ race "Rest of the World", feeling a bit raw believing the Americans had it all stitched up for a 2nd event before the Napa kicked off. Ah well,boys. Maybe next year, eh?

Anyway, the event was ace. We rode out from the town centre at midday taking a meandering white pumice path past Sulphur Point (mmmmm, who farted?), a steaming geothermal peninsula covered in native Kanuka bushes. The race course and start was kept secret until all arrived at the Redwood forest, where the ragtag bunch of about 300 riders were directed to the start line.

The format was familiar - Le Mans start, spectators were invited to shuffle bikes while riders were off sorting out outfits and vying for pole position on the start line, 4 laps of an 8km course on insanely smooth, flowing, fun trails with one gradual gravel climb, a beer shortcut and a peppering of heckles. My major concern was the pending rain and my decision to ditch the VCM colours for the day and don an 80's inspired yellow leotard (dangerously thin and prone to transparency).

I managed a brilliant run down the rocky road in my cleated shoes to arrive at the bike in the first 10 people, but my start went downhill from there because my bike was so cunningly hidden. After every other entrant had collected their bike and left, I was ready to give up and admit I'd actually lost my bike. Then I spied it - nestled between the portaloos and a hilux ute in the far corner! "For f*cks sake!" I grabbed it and sprinted off, exectuing my best high speed cross mount and tore off up the road to play hurry-up-and-wait as the trail narrowed to singletrack.

So, I clawed my way up to 3rd female, (or 2nd Loser as my certificate claims), downed 3 beers (more practice needed) and threw up on myself once (not very dignified). Check out the photo evidence of the 'Rest of the World Single Speeds' here