Mountain Bike Gang

You might have seen the TikToks showing people in odd predicaments overlaid with the audio, “You might be wondering how I ended up here.” Or, if you’re also a Millennial, you might have seen these as reels on Instagram two weeks after they’ve been viral. (It’s okay, we can still hold pride in our skinny jeans, avocado toast, crippling existentialism and accompanying dark humor). But picture me facedown in a mud puddle, limbs akimbo, with snacks, a water bottle and a bike strewn on the trail beside me, and the audio is appropriate. How did I end up here, sans my backpack and trekking poles but with the addition of a mountain bike? Good question.

So… what had happened was..

On a whim, I decided to bike the roughly 48 mile Timber Trail rather than hike it. Due to minimal planning (read: no planning) on my part, I only had snatches of information from the hiker grapevine. I knew it was:

a.) possible to rent bikes 

b.) an “easy” section 

c.) pizza was available at the halfway point

At first glance, my bold, half-baked idea was to hike the Timber trail plus 2 miles in 24 hours, because I enjoy suffering. My reasoning behind this plan is still unknown to me. A lot of the well established trails in the USA have weird little traditions and challenges and Te Araroa is still relatively new and mostly sans traditions and challenges- probably since the trail itself is challenging enough. I’ve had a vague fascination with the idea of attempting 50 miles in 24 hours for a while. The ego driven self firmly believes my body is perfectly capable, but this is the same side of myself that watches the Barkley Marathons each year and thinks, “Yeah, I could win that.” No. No, I could not. But I did consider the possibility of attempting this particular challenge on the Timber Trail since the distance was nearly perfect. However, the universe and my body had different plans for me. 

I had taken a leisurely morning in Te Kuiti, lured into a false sense of security of only having a 13 mile stroll along the romantic Mangaokewa River. 

It was the trail from hell. 

The track had recently reopened after being closed for lambing season, and I was one of the first hikers through for the season. It mainly followed the river, and on a map, looked flat. It was neither flat, nor quite on the map. My GPS based map eventually shrugged and said, “Find your own way, sucker,” which I took personally. The “trail” had it all- mud, poor way marking, a precipitous hill the trail zig-zagged up (one misstep and you’d break a leg on the tumble down), tall grass, gorse, cow shit, and sometimes… no trail. Some sections along the river bank were washed out and required clinging onto tree branches and roots along the steep bank to avoid an unplanned swim. The weather was fantastic and there were lovely views, so I trucked along in an oddly good mood given the circumstances. 

After bushwhacking through a section of overgrown vines and undergrowth, I noted a lone trail marker pointing up the steep bank. There was no sign of a trail the arrow pointed, but neither was there any sign of a trail in front of me. I tried checking my GPS map, but it still was not talking to me. Resigned, I awkwardly clawed my way up. Eventually, I popped out of the undergrowth, and found vague signs of what might be considered a trail. There were no markers in sight, but it gently sloped off to the left, still following the direction of the river. I marched along gradually becoming more confident as it began to resemble a footpath more and more. It emptied out onto a wider and more pronounced 4WD path and angled slightly away from the river. I ambled along, rising higher and higher. I came to a junction, again without any markers in sight. One side of the junction angled up and I could make out a field through the trees. The other angled slightly down and towards the river. I checked my maps, at which point the GPS blue dot decided to helpfully tell me I was off the path. Way off. The actual path was far below me, still running beside the river. I decided to take the path on the side of the junction that angled back to the river, rather than retrace my steps, choosing to believe it would eventually slope back down to the Trail.

It did not.

Rather, a quarter mile later, it abruptly ended on the top of a cliff and there was no discernable way to make it safely down the bank. 

I retraced my steps back to the junction. 

More than an hour had already passed since I had seen the last trail marker and scrambled the bank. After some internal debate, I decided to angle up toward the farm. I figured I could follow the fenceline and then when the steepness of the bank lessened, bushwack my way back down to the river. Oh, the hubris! The hot afternoon sun found me climbing higher and higher, trying to find stiles or gates to cross the electric fences. I had completely drained the last sips of water when I finally came to a point where a field had a gentle enough grade to start skidding down. From the top of the mini mountain, I could see the water glinting below. When I finally reached the official TA route, with shaky legs and drenched in sweat, my GPS helpfully informed me I had only advanced ½ mile along the trail and still had 7 miles to go. Wonderful. 

The next day lured me into another false sense of security. I planned on hiking the 16 mile stretch of gentle rolling gravel roads and then snag a hitch for the remaining 7 miles along the highway. I traipsed off early in the morning in high spirits. The way was easy, and the day beautiful, not a cloud in the sky. But as the sun rose, so did the temperature, and soon I found myself slogging mile after mile in direct sunlight. I had packed a liter of water, planning on refilling at a stream marked on the map. The stream in question was disgraceful, greenish, murky water littered with cow patties. I decided to take my chances and carry on, and knock on the first door I saw. By the time I had reached a farmhouse, my water supply was almost nonexistent. I knocked in vain. Either no one was home, or the sight of a dusty, red faced and sweaty hiker on their doorstep was unpleasant. The next two houses I tried had the same result. I decided to just finish hiking the last mile to the highway and hope for a quick hitch.

I reached the highway and hopefully peered down the long stretch of asphalt. There was not a car in sight. I waited for almost an hour before resigning myself to hiking. In that time, only two cars had passed, both headed in the opposite direction. The sun was beginning sink into the horizon and creating golden glows across the fields. To my great relief, the temperature was finally coming down. 

It went down, and down, and down… the wind picked up, and I layered on several items of clothes. I tucked my hands into my armpits and tried to warm them up. By the time I reached Pureora Cabins, my teeth were chattering and I was shaking. I had planned to camp further down the road at the DOC campsite but a warm cabin was too inviting. Dehydration, overheating, and then the beginnings of hypothermia took its toll on my body and I spent several hours with cold sweats, a pounding headache, dizziness, and a fun little panic attack. 

The next day I was perfectly ready to beg the bike rental company for a bike. Lucky for me, there was an extra one my size. I was grateful and relieved to hand over my backpack and quit hiking for a couple days… with only the one minor problem being I had never been on a mountain bike. A mile from the trailhead, I gaily sailed head over handlebars straight into a mud puddle. I was very happy to get my pack back two days later. 

 

 

Miles Breakdown

• Day 35: Te Kuiti to Stream Shelter 13mi
• Day 36: Stream Shelter to Pureora Cabins 23mi
• Day 37: Pureora Cabins to Camp Epic 23mi
• Day 38: Camp Epic to End of Timber Trail Shelter 25mi
• Day 39: Timber Shelter to Taumarunui Canoe Hire 19mi
• Day 40: Taumarunui Canoe to Blue Hill Cafe 14mi
• Day 41: Blue Hill to Tongariro Holiday Park 25mi