Feel the burn
Tackling the Alps 2 Ocean Cycle Trail
They look at me like I’m crazy, clueless or a particularly ill-fated combination of both. ‘‘You’ve chosen New Zealand’s longest continuous cycle trail for your first multiday bike ride?,’’ they ask. ‘‘And you’re not doing it on an ebike like the rest of us?’’.
I don’t tell my fellow tour group members that I haven’t owned a bike – or even ridden one – for five years. They are veterans of multi-day bike tours in Europe. I already feel like enough of an imposter.
Still, I’m quietly confident I can handle the jandal. I run most days and cycled everywhere during my last years in London. If I could battle black cabs and double-decker buses on long commutes across England’s capital, often in cold rain, I can surely cope with an easy- and intermediate-grade trail through the South Island countryside. Can’t I? The others’ incredulity does have me beginning to wonder.
The truth is that I chose the Alps 2 Ocean Cycle Trail, which stretches for more than 300 kilometres between the Southern Alps and Oamaru, because it is often touted as one of the most scenic multi-day bike rides in the country.
Lonely Planet describes it as ‘‘one of the best Great Rides within the New Zealand Cycle Trail’’ offering ‘‘epic vistas’’ all the way.
In addition to New Zealand’s highest mountain, riders are treated to glass-clear glacial lakes, braided rivers, basins of golden tussock, bizarre fossilised rock formations, cute country towns, and the boutique vineyards of one of New Zealand’s newest wine regions.
I’m willing to over-exert myself to experience it, but I have done my research.
The trail’s official website states almost anyone with a moderate level of fitness can ride it, although riders should be prepared for ‘‘a few’’ uphill and downhill sections, ever-changing surfaces, and riding alongside vehicles. Tour operators such as Tuatara Tours, which I’m travelling with, offer a buffer: the accompanying van carries your gear, and you if you wish.
Our five-day trip doesn’t get off to an ideal start. Drizzle gives way to a deluge as our group of 11 sets out from Christchurch for Lake Tekapo, the alternative starting point for the trail. The original starting point, just north of Mt Cook Village, promises an outstanding first section, but requires an expensive helicopter ride over the Tasman River.
Despite the dismal forecast, our guide, who’s spent a lifetime in the South Island backcountry, predicts the skies will clear by the time we arrive, and he’s right. Three-and-a-half hours later I’m replicating my favourite travel influencers’ shots of the cute stone Church of the Good Shepherd as the lake behind it competes with the cloudless sky to show how brilliantly blue it can be. The happy hormones begin to kick in.
The resultant buzz intensifies as we hit the trail on our hire bikes, careening between a river that snakes its way through the sun-bleached Mackenzie Basin like a sleek blue serpent, and the clear Tekapo Canal, beloved by anglers for its treasure trove of trout.
I’d forgotten how good it feels to ride through an unfamiliar landscape at what, with the wind in your face, feels like breakneck speed, its secrets unravelling scene by scene. My butt is already starting to ache, but I’m experiencing levels of excitement I’ve struggled to reach since I was 6. For once, my tiredness and to-do list move to the furthest reaches of my mind.
Before long, the ebikers at the front spy Aoraki/ Mt Cook amid the alps casting their snow-capped reflections in the canal, and its twin peaks continue to command my attention for the rest of the 54km we cycle that afternoon.
I am one of four on standard mountainbikes – the others include an inspirationally speedy 74-year-old – but they leave me in their wake as I succumb to the temptation of the infinite number of photo ops, particularly as the trail meets Lake Pu¯ kaki and poplars in their mid-autumn finery provide golden framing for selfies with my trusty metallic steed. I am determined to make the most of it. This is scenery people pay a fortune to cross the globe for.
I arrive at our Twizel motel just as the Mackenzie Region is beginning to illustrate why it’s world-famous for its night sky (it’s one of just 18 International Dark Sky Reserves in the world). Stars wink at us with unusual intensity as we make our way to cosy Poppies Cafe for a twocourse dinner and drinks. My pan-seared venison with candied cashews and a sherry-spiked plum sauce is just the kind of hearty country fare I’m craving, as is the thick slab of salmon with locally sourced vegetables.
For me, the second day proves to be the second toughest. After following the Pu¯ kaki Canal out of Twizel and winding our way around a windswept Lake O¯ hau, we prepare – with well-stuffed sandwiches and cake – to climb to the highest point of the trail in the Ben O¯ hau range. It’s in the foothills, so serious mountainbikers might not break a sweat, but the 11km ascent has my running-whittled thighs burning.
The first 6km aren’t too bad, but the final 5km push to Tarnbrae High Point, 900 metres above sea level, is a beast. Even the ebikers are puffing.
Taking the 74-year-old seasoned cyclist’s advice, I just keep grinding, telling myself it will be mostly downhill from the top. It would be, but I fail to spot the others sprawled out in the grass beside the historic Quailburn Woolshed.
I am 8km down a gravel road that makes me feel like the last human alive before the group comes to my rescue in the van and kindly gives me a lift to Lake O¯ hau Lodge, our digs for the night.
Far less famous than its fellow waterways in Tekapo and Pu¯ kaki, Lake O¯ hau looks deserted
when we pass through, save a lone hiker on the Te Araroa Trail. We have unobstructed views across its wavy surface to the Main Divide from our rooms, which are snowcapped after a recent southerly.
The common area has a retro hunting lodge vibe with its leather couches and open fireplace. By the time I’ve installed myself beside it with a big glass of red wine, my body is almost ready to forgive me for the pain I’ve caused it that day. After the multi-course dinner and breakfast that follows, it’s begging me to get back out there.
Day three sees us tackle the new 16km section between Sailors Cutting, where houseboats bob beneath mellow yellow willow trees, and New Zealand’s largest earth dam.
Opening up sections of Lake Benmore previously inaccessible to most, we’re lucky enough to have it almost to ourselves on a sunny Thursday afternoon, although I don’t feel particularly fortunate on the first gut-busting ascent. It’s the first of many ups and downs, some on the steeper side, so we non ebikers take our time, telling ourselves it’s to savour the views.
They’re certainly worth taking your time over. The contrasting colours of the lake and autumn leaves stand out spectacularly against the landscape’s otherwise muted palette, and the elevated views of Benmore Dam are second to none.
The adrenaline goes into overdrive when I’m finally brave enough to release my brakes on the downhill sections. Whizzing towards the dam, I feel like every cell is on fire. No meditation class has ever made me feel more in the moment.
From the dam, we follow the Waitaki River past a string of secluded campsites where willows admire their reflections in their blue-tinted mirror, and cover the sprinkling of campervans in what looks like confetti.
Speeding alongside it, it’s a blur of blue and gold almost all the way to Kurow, a small town many may never have heard of if All Black legend Richie McCaw hadn’t grown up nearby.
We size ourselves up against the five-metre cut out of McCaw on the main drag, inevitably finding ourselves lacking, before setting out through the vineyards of the Waitaki Valley wine region en route to Duntroon.
A sign for Ma¯ ori rock drawings on the outskirts of town beckons, as does the Vanished World Centre with its famous fossil collection in the centre. My biking buddies have made a beeline to the pub, however, and having busted out some 70km that day, I don’t need any convincing to join them. We could pass it off as a cultural visit of sorts – the Duntroon Hotel dates to 1881.
Checking into Waitaki Braids Lodge in Kurow, another characterful porthole back to the late 19th century, a few of us walk to Ostler Wines, hoping to sample offerings as good as its Caroline’s pinot noir, which we glugged over dinner a couple of nights back.
The cellar door is closed, but GP turned winery ‘‘commander in chief’’ Jim opens up after we give him a call. He tells us about what it takes to turn a profit as a small, family-owned winery in a region striving to distinguish itself from its world-famous counterpart in Central Otago as we sip a series of
Burgundy-style whites and reds. Our verdict? The fact the five of us buy a few cases between us should tell you all you need to know.
That night, we hold a premature celebration for having (almost) conquered the A2O. Cocky about our abilities by now, we dismiss the next day’s 54km as a mere addendum. Local reds flow freely as we tuck into another three-course feast, capped with a round of port.
We realise the celebration was premature when we begin our first ascent the following day – one of a series of steady climbs in the final stretch to the coast.
‘‘How does that port feel now?,’’ one of the women asks her husband as he struggles up a particularly steep incline. ‘‘We have our regrets,’’ I should have replied for us both.
Still, there is much to distract us. I feel like I’ve stepped through the wardrobe to Narnia as we cross a field to find ourselves face to face with elephantine rocks.
The Elephant Rocks featured in the first Chronicles of Narnia film, which no doubt plays a part, but big limestone boulders carved by mother nature over millennia into all manner of mammalian shapes work a king of magic. I also spot a dog and a duck, and closer inspection reveals more creatures. Like many rocks in the Waitaki Whitestone Geopark, they’re filled with fossils.
Fifteen kilometres from Oamaru, I begin to flag. Even with the padded bike pants one of the others has kindly lent me, my butt feels bruised to the bone, and my knees feel like they might need replacements. It is with relief that I finally wheel my way into the Oamaru Public Gardens which, with their century-old summerhouse, Moon Gate and marble fountain, feel like a virtual reality version of a Victorian fairy tale.
The time warp continues as I follow the A2O signs into the Victorian precinct, slowing down to peer through the windows of quirky shops, the Craftwork Brewery, and cafes that wouldn’t look out of place on Paris’ Ile Saint Louis.
I cross the finish line to cheers – the ebikers have been waiting for a while – and we step inside the oversized A2O frame for the photographic evidence some of us will need to prove we actually completed it. I can hardly believe it myself. I feel every one of the 296km in my legs and behind, but also weary satisfaction. A bit like I imagine Bilbo the hobbit did at the end of his unexpected epic journey. Less than 24 hours later, I’m researching bike trips, thinking I might just opt for an ebike next time.