Taupo cycle ride: more challenged than most
Posted 3 December 2008 // Ben Schrader
Lake Taupō Cycle Challenge
Last Saturday, alongside nearly 11,000 other lycra-clad bodies, I queued up for the start of the annual Lake Taupō Cycle Challenge – a 160 kilometre ride around the lake. I wasn’t in peak condition – I’d been off work with sinusitis earlier in the week, and my training had been sporadic.
But it was a beautiful morning. Looking across the azure waters of Lake Taupō towards the snow-clad volcanic peaks of Tongariro, Ngāuruhoe and Ruapehu was elating. After an hour’s wait, it was our group’s turn to start. The hooter blew and we were off. Crossing the Waikato River, the bunch headed up to Wairākei, before turning off towards Kinloch.
I’d begun with a friend, but he fell back and I found myself next to a South African, an Australian, and a wiry 10-race veteran from Palmerston North. I was wearing my London A to Z shirt – with a map of the West End – so I got the inevitable ‘At least you know where you’re going’ witticisms.
As we rose and fell along the rolling landscape I was feeling great. The snake of cyclists stretched as far as I could see, and locals lined the road cheering and clapping as we passed. It was like the Tour de France. I could have been Lance Armstrong!
It was too good to last. Turning south on the Mangakino road I hit a pot hole or rock. One of my water bottles fell out. ‘Leave it’, people shouted, but I knew I’d need it later. The temperature was forecast to hit the mid-20s. Back on the bike, I raced to catch up. But it seemed harder than before. I looked down to notice my back wheel rubbing on my rear forks.
A quick examination revealed my wheel was buckled. I repositioned it and loosened the brake blocks. My friend rode past in a large bunch shouting, ‘Are you alright?’ ‘Yeah,’ I lied. I hopped back on, but it was no better. So I dismantled the back brake and that seemed to help. At the Kuratau interchange, I thought of packing it in. But I couldn’t face the defeat. I thought of Ed Hillary; he was no quitter. I decided to keep going until either me or my bike bust.
Up the tortuous Wairau Hill, a purple-faced man in striped pyjamas passed me. ‘Do you know you have a buckled wheel?’ he said. He was the first of many who ‘helpfully’ informed me of my plight.
Past Tokaanu, past Tūrangi, past Motuoapa, I finally hit the lake front again. There was just the gut-busting Hatepe Hill to confront. Fortunately, my (hill-climbing) Wellington legs came to the fore, and I puffed my way up the slope without having to stop or walk.
From there, it was a glide down to Waitahanui. In the distance was Tauhara hill, beneath which sits Taupo. The end was nigh. To the song of my squeaking wheel, I crossed the finishing line in just over 6 hours. It was longer than I’d hoped, but I’d knocked the bastard off!
