It’s hot… really hot. I don’t remember it ever being this hot? We leave the greenery and shade of forest and ride into another clearing that provides zero protection from the uncharacteristically hot Welsh sun. Our eyes scan ahead and observe the rocky, dusty trail climbing its way up over another hill, on what appears to be its attempt to get as close to the sun as possible. A thought crosses my mind as I turn to Kat, my partner and semi-willing biking buddy for the week, ‘Since when were the trails ever dusty in Wales?’.

We’re in the Motherland, also known as Wales. A country that isn’t famous for a great deal, other than being commonly mistaken as a part of England. I’ve not been back to Wales for a number of years, now residing in Christchurch New Zealand. However in that time the Welsh biking scene has been quietly growing to rival the likes of Scotland and Northern England. Kat and I were back in South Wales on wedding business (not our own before you ask), so we decided to take the opportunity to ride some of mountain bike trail centres that had been developed over the last several years.

I grew up in South Wales, riding locally built trails at the nearby quarry. Due to the wet Welsh climate, the trails never really seemed to dry out, resulting in slippery routes (and roots), sketchy lines and if / when you did fall off, sliding uncontrollably down the hill side, much to the hilarity of your mates. I’d never been the biggest fan of riding at trail centres as the day seemed to solely consist of just turning up and riding a trail. Whereas I was used to spending the day messing about on a badly constructed tracks, spending more time hanging out than biking. So I was interested to see if the same enjoyment could be taken from riding professionally built, well made trails, while taking the opportunity to see parts of the country I had not visited before.

There are a number of points to note when arranging a bike trip to Wales. Firstly, when you have a world class biking destination next door in the shape of Europe, expectations need to be adjusted accordingly. Wales doesn’t have the altitude, chair lift access or mountain scenery. However it can offer difficult to pronounce place names, one of the largest steel works in Europe and a reliable climate of wetness. So it was a bit of a surprise when we arrived during a heat wave with temperatures in the low 30°C’s. This may not seem particularly significant, but in Wales they’ll be writing songs and telling stories about that heat wave for years to come.

The first stop on our mini South Wales bike tour was the Cwmcarn Forest. Located just over the border with England and easily accessed from the M4, the motorway that traverses along the bottom of the country. Cwmcarn is best known for its downhill trail ‘Y Mynydd’ (Welsh for ‘The Mountain), a 2km long track that flows and curls its way down 250m of vertical descent. A shuttle bus service is also provided, wittily called ‘Cwmdown’, which can save the tiresome cycle / push to the top. We opted to ride the ‘Twrch’ (Welsh for ‘Boar’) track instead, a Red grade, 16km long trail with approximately 300m of climbing.

After a bit of a cycle along a well formed, undulating trail, the route took on a more vertical, rocky nature, as we ascended to the top of the forestry park. It felt a bit of a slog at times and our effort was slightly undermined by a perfectly good, tarseal road that ran parallel to the trail, which ended at the same location. We battled on through the heat, my Welsh genes unaccustomed to such balmy weather and Kat not accustomed to this amount of exercise.

After an hour of cycling upwards, we finally arrived at the top of the trail and at the fork of two downward routes. We could either continue on with the Twrch trail, or take the alternative, Black Diamond graded route. I turned to Kat with a look of ‘please can we ride the black trail’ in my eyes. To which she responded with a silent rolling of her eyes, and so began our strange journey into the world of Welsh trail grading. The Black Diamond route essentially amounted to a gravel pump track, with a number of berms and table top jumps as it snaked its way down the hill side. We swooshed and whooshed our way down, all the while being cautiously mindful that at some point it was going to get a bit Black Diamond-y. We arrived at the point where the two trails merged, still expecting some large drop or unavoidable jump or something involving fire, but alas none materialised. Now don’t get me wrong, it was a fun trail and a more interesting route down than the Twrch trail. But we couldn’t help feel that it may have been slightly over graded. To put it in context, Kat is a very novice rider and she really enjoyed it!

Now at the bottom of the death defying Black Diamond run, thankful to be alive, we continued on with the rest of the trail. Now that the majority of the climbing had been completed, we were able to really start enjoying ourselves. The trail meandered through a number of wooded sections, all with a unique personality. One small positive of the regions high rainfall is that the forests are bursting with colour, with all the shades of green covered. The trail trundled through areas of dense ferns, mosses and smaller green, spikey vegetation things – which no doubt have a more elegant Latin name. The final section of the trail ended on an excellent piece of single track that twisted its way down towards the car park, via a 6 inch drop accompanied by two unnecessary hazard signs. Back at the car park where we started several hours earlier, we reflected on our introduction to Welsh trail centre riding. In fairness, for what the Twrch trail lacked in muddy, slippery, off camber corners, it made up for in variety of scenery, well-constructed and sign posted tracks and bargain parking fees of $2 for the day. The biking trip had started well, even if we did just turn up, ride and go home.

It was another Welsh scorcher the following day and this time we were aiming for Afan Trail Centre. Located depressingly close to the Port Talbot Steel Works, which legend has it was Ridley Scott’s inspiration for the Blade Runner world, are two trail centres on either side of the valley; Afan and Glyncorrwg. Both locations are more cross country based and provide a huge amount of varied riding with Green, Blue, Red and Black graded trails. Due to the continuing heat, we opted to ride at Afan on a short, Blue graded trail, called ‘Blue Scar’. A 7km trail that, according to the trail details online, provides ‘progression for riders who are very competent on Green trails who want to start looking at getting out on more remote and challenging trails’. So it was thought a little odd when we cycled past a Skull & Crossbones warning sign at the beginning of one of the sections. The warning sign appeared to allude to two bermed corners about half way down the track, which I felt may have instilled a certain level of fear into a novice rider, as opposed to providing a useful heads up. I doubt calling one of the sections ‘Widow Maker’ is particularly helpful either.

Although the sun had his hat on and the trail was completely exposed, with no forests to take shelter in, there was thankfully a nice breeze to help us through the ride. The dry, gravel topped track passed old ruins and provided plenty of opportunity to take in the view over the Welsh valleys. The trail then turned to an almost cobble like texture, presumably joining onto one of the old existing access roads in the area, as the trail began to climb. Our morale was kept topped up on our way to the summit with markers named ‘Round the Next Bend’ and ‘The Top’. Arriving the trail apex, there was the option to extend the trail by riding the ‘Penhydd’ (Welsh for Head Heart… or something), however we opted for some more Skull & Crossbones action as we headed down the hill side on a trail that wasn’t that dissimilar to the Black Diamond we had ridden the day before. Adding to the confusion of the Welsh trail grading system.

With the mornings ride completed and some lunch devoured at the local pub, the original intention for the afternoon was to explore the Skills Park just around the corner at Bryn Bettws Lodge.  The park boasts multiple downhill tracks of various grades and a jump track to hone your skills on. However, something that I had failed to appreciate growing up in this area of the world was just how quaint it all was. We were deep in the Welsh Valleys now, an area steeped in mining history. Small villages dotted the hill sides, made up of narrow streets and even narrower terraced houses, all lined up as they followed the contours of the land. It wasn’t long before we found ourselves getting side tracked, exploring all the viaducts and abandoned mine shafts that littered the Valleys. The day coming to an end with a new appreciation of Victorian architecture, but no skills honed.

An enforced rest day was implemented on Wednesday by Kat. Not being an avid bike rider, she wanted some time to ‘actually enjoy the sunshine!’. The following day we opted for the more adrenaline fuelled and lazier option of an evening of shuttles and downhill riding at Bike Park Wales. BPW is the UK’s premier bike park, with a range of well-built trails covering everything from novice green tracks to Downhill Pro Lines, with very Welsh sounding names such as ‘Dai Hard’ and ‘Coal not Dole’. The park is the flag ship of trail centres in Wales and due to its popularity, day shuttle tickets book up months in advance. Luckily we were there during the summer and tickets were available for the Thursday evening sessions.

Here we were introduced to a new set of trail grading, based on the fact that we were riding at a ‘Bike Park’ as opposed to a ‘Trail Centre’. There was a noticeable difference in difficulty between the Blue and Red graded trails, and the Black trails were not for the faint hearted. Riding in the evening meant that the heat from the day had dissipated and with a complete lack of uphill riding to deal with, the evenings shredding was excellent. BPW was far more my thing, with an opportunity to chat amongst ourselves as we rattled around inside the mini-bus that was shuttling us to the top of the park. On the descent there were various features and sections that we could play around on with fresh legs from no upward cycling nonsense. A cheeky post ride beer and pie provided us some time to reflect on the evenings riding and it was easy to see why this place was so popular. If you are riding in Wales, or even in the UK for that matter, BPW is definitely somewhere to include on the list.

As the week was coming to an end and BPW had given me a taste of how we used to ride, minus the convenient shuttle service, I was after a dose of nostalgia. It had been years since my mates and I had ridden together up at the local quarry, so I arranged a final biking session before we flew back to NZ. The Welsh weather obliged accordingly with the heat wave coming to an abrupt end and being replaced with torrential rain. The bike trails quickly became slick to the point of almost un-rideable and any features turned into death traps – this was the Wales that I remembered! The rainy Sunday afternoon was spent riding the old downhill track we built as kids, with berms in the wrong place and jumps I remember being a lot bigger and scarier. With no mini-bus to take us to the top after each run, we were reduced to pushing our bikes up the slick, muddy slopes. Slipping and sliding everywhere in a slapstick fashion, as arms were waved frantically in an attempt grab the nearest tree branch for stability. The forest was drenched, amplifying the green colours of the foliage and the mist providing an atmospheric tinge to the afternoon. On reflection, very little riding was actually done, but the most fun was had, as we reminisced over the various crashes we had witnessed over the years and destroyed bike parts as a result. Finishing our day wet, muddy and smiling; it became apparent that the experience on the bike was less to do with the quality of trails, and more to do with the people you ride them with.

Having recently signed up to a three day mountain bike race, which was then immediately followed by several weeks of procrastination, it was time that my team mate Ben and I actually started doing some training. Our first foray into the world of fitness would be riding the St. James cycle way. A two day ride that can be ridden in a single day, replacing the ‘pleasant’ and ‘enjoyable’ qualities of the trail with less agreeable adjectives such as ‘long’ and ‘tiresome’. In addition to this frankly not ideal exchange, would be the discovery of my love of all things animal, and the discovery of Ben lacking a soul.

The St. James cycle way is a 90km loop north of Hanmer Springs, located in the Hurunui district of the South Island, New Zealand. Completion of the ride in a single day was considered an achievable goal as a) we weren’t bringing any overnight gear so we’d have to make it; and b) some mates of ours had ridden it in a day a few weeks earlier and they weren’t training for anything, so we’d definitely make it.

We headed up on Friday evening from Christchurch with the intention of camping at the start of the trail and setting off early Saturday morning, expecting to be back about eight hours later. This meant driving out of Hanmer Springs on Jacks Pass road at night to get to the camp spot, which in turn meant that my road kill tally was to increase exponentially. Before moving to New Zealand two years ago, my road kill count was a respectable and karma pleasing zero. Since arriving here, I’m up to three confirmed kills, which was all on the same drive, on the way back from Queenstown. First on the list was what I am convinced was a baby snow leopard. I have been reliably informed that no such species exists on either the North or South Island, however whatever I hit was small (like a baby), white (as snow) and leopard (like), so even the most sceptical have to accept that it must have been a baby snow leopard. Obviously, once I hit it I was in dismay at losing my perfect record and while explaining to my mates Ben and Tom in the car that I’m now no better than a seal clubber, a bird flew into the windscreen and bounced off in an explosion of feathers. This was then followed by another bird coming to a similar fate several hours later on the outskirts of Christchurch, much to Ben’s amusement.

But back to the evenings drive to the camp site and for some unknown reason the small mammals of the South Island, before they decide to cross an otherwise deserted road, like to wait several hours until a car comes and amble across at the last second. I can only assume that they like to use the car headlights as some sort of illumination to allow them to cross safely. I doubt they see the irony of the one thing that allows them enough visibility to cross the road is also the source of their demise – although I may have seen the fifth possum roll its eyes in knowing just before it ended up under the car wheel. Upon arriving at the camp site, I pitched my tent, dug a shallow grave for a symbolic burial of Mr. Tinkers (the koala bear car mascot – representing the enroute massacre of the last two hours), marked it with a make shift cross, lit a candle and took a moment of sober reflection. I then turned to Ben who just shrugged his shoulders and climbed into his tent.

We rose at 6am the next morning to slightly ominous weather in the direction we were about to ride:

And slightly ominous weather in the direction we would be finishing from:

Ben and I entered into some discussion which went along the lines of:

Me – ‘What do you think?’

Ben – ‘Reckon it’ll be alright’

Me – pointing in the direction that we would be riding ‘Looks a bit unsettled over there’

Ben – ‘Yep’

Me – pointing in the direction we’d be finishing from ‘Looks a bit unsettled over there too’

Ben – ‘Yep’

Followed by a brief pause as we both stared off at some unknown spot on the horizon somewhere. I looked back at Ben who just shrugged his shoulders.

Me – ‘I’ll pack my coat…’

And so we set off.

Technically the St. James cycle way is a crescent and is made into a loop by a 25km gravel road that runs through fairly barren and uninteresting terrain. After our earlier intellectually challenging exchange, we both opted to cycle in silence for a while and allow time for the early morning start to wear off. Arriving at the start of the trail, our mood perked up as it turned out our average speed had been about 17km/hr and if we could keep up this pace we’d be done in 4.5hrs. Back in time for lunch I thought. Which was a bit stupid really seeing as we’d not technically ridden any of the trail yet and had no idea what lay ahead. But still, you gotta do what you gotta do to keep morale up for the troops, no matter how naïve or misguided it is.

Now at the actual start of the trail we were warmed up, talking to each other again and raring to hit some killer trails… which, it appeared, would have to wait as the trail map indicated a 4×4 track for about the next remainder of the trail. We looked at each other, shrugged our shoulders and embarked on the first climb of the day over into the adjacent valley. Lake Tennyson was to our right, looking lovely as ever, as we continued our way upwards on a gradual ascent through more barren and rocky terrain. And yes, I am aware that I have already mentioned how uninteresting the terrain was; which may beg the question, it can’t be that uninteresting if you’ve mentioned it twice so far? Well, to that I would reply, just you wait until the next paragraph…

As we turned into the adjacent valley the landscape burst into colour and vegetation. It was incredible to witness the difference of this lush and diverse landscape, filled with forests and grass land when compared to the barren terrain I may have mentioned earlier. The valley was full of wildlife such as birds, sheep, more birds and rumours of wild horses, and so much greenery and rivers and more greenery and none of this barrenness of earlier in the day, that you may or may not have heard about.

Descending down into the valley and cycling along the valley floor, along more 4×4 track, the mountains on either side of us started to grow in size as we followed alongside the Waiau River. The 4×4 track was flat and well-formed enough to mislead us into how much progress we were actually making as we manoeuvred around large rocks and attempted not to lose control of the bikes on the gravel surface. Our average speed began to fade and with it the prospect of a lunch time finish. The gradual decline in speed and general mood spanned a good two hours as we trundled our way uneventfully along the valley floor. Eventually we made it to the end of the 4×4 track and once over a helpfully provided swing bridge that spanned the Waiau River, we embarked on a climb that took us up to an excellent vantage point looking back over the valley we’d just cycled through.

It was at this point that we came across one of the fabled wild horses. Now, I’ve never been much of an animal person and if you were to show me a picture of a hamster riding on the back on a kitten, riding on the back of a puppy, riding on the back of a baby snow leopard, at best it would invoke a Ben type shoulder shrug from me. Possibly accompanied by a ‘meh’ depending on how similar the baby snow leopard was to the small white leopard like thing I maimed with the car last year. It may have something to do with recently becoming a cat and dog owner, but I seemed to have softened up a bit and find myself getting all emotional and excited about anything on four legs or more. The best example being the wild horse we came across – based on my giddying reaction and high pitched squeal, you would have thought I’d seen a unicorn or one of those half man, horse winged things which you hear so much about (which also may have been on the list of things I killed on the drive in… although it was quite dark. May have been a griffin). I was running about trying to get photos of this wild, untamed beast and looked back to Ben who just took a single camera shot, shrugged his shoulders and continued on with the climb. Once I photographed every possible angle of this magnificent specimen of a horse, I mounted my own steed and we rode together through the plains of St. James valley for all of three and a half seconds before the horse half ran, half galloped, half flew away towards the horizon. I continued up the hill, wiping tears and sweat from my eyes.

As well as being rewarded with a fantastic view of the valley and a soul touching moment with the mythical local wildlife, we also got to ride our first bit of actual bike trail.  The track became a lot technical as it reduced in width and increased in gradient. We shot off down the hill, negotiating tight corners and small drops for all of about 2 minutes, before the trail had the chance to reform as a 4×4 track again and continue on its merry way. It was a fun 2 minutes. Possibly not worth all the effort we’d gone through for the 2 minutes of trail, but seeing as we happened to be out this way anyway, it was a small perk.

We were nearing the end of the valley now and were around the point where you would normally stop for the night and continue on the following day. Which at that particular time in the ride, would have actually been quite nice as the legs were starting to lose form somewhat and a feeling of tiredness was starting to emerge. Checking the map, it appeared we had about 20km to go which was going to feel more like 50km as morale started to drop and mutiny within the troops was stirring.

I rode in silence and pondered what exactly ‘the troops’ was a metaphor for, while Ben chatted next to me, attempting to take my mind off the impending final 20km stretch of more 4×4 track. It was around this time I also began to realise the difference in riding psychology between me and Ben. Whereas I’m a lot more emotionally up and down, for instance getting overly excited by a horse or slumping from fatigue, as I now was. Ben is a lot more consistent and solid with his emotions – based on his reaction with the horse earlier in the day, I can only assume that he doesn’t have a soul, or a pet. In any case, putting being dead on the inside aside, his conversational skills, delivered in his distinctive monotone, uninterested mode of speech, was exactly what I needed to take my mind off my tiring legs. This allowed me to focus on whether Ben was born without a soul and then somehow lost it, or whether he never had a soul to begin with, as we pedalled up and over the final climb of the day.

At the final 7km point, where we turned off to follow the trail back to the car, I decided to give the troops a helping hand for the home stretch and take one of those energy gel things, that’s loaded with glucose and carbs and no doubt plenty of banned E-numbers. As it turned out, the final section was a well formed walking trail that continued on a lovely downward gradient all the way to the car. We zipped down the trail, swerving this way and that as the path snaked its way to the finish line, all the while venting our excitement in ‘WHOOPS!’ and ‘WOOHOOS!’ at the prospect of the day finally coming to an end. Finishing the trail back where we had started an expected eight hours later, I’ve never been so pumped and buzzing at the end of a ride. I let out a final whoop and turned to high five Ben who just responded with a monotone ‘that was good’ and cracked open a beer.

Disclaimer – Ben probably does have a soul

About 100km to the West of Christchurch is an area known as ‘Craigieburn’. It’s predominately known for housing a number of ski fields but it also hosts a good handful of excellent mountain bike tracks that, as well as being great fun to ride, are complemented enormously by the equally excellent views, vistas, vantage points and other nouns beginning with the letter ‘V’.

Aside from providing an always useful exercise in alliteration, Craigieburn provides a sense of adventure when biking there due to the surrounding mountains and lack of any civilisation… although it seems not quite enough of an adventure to justify each ride being written as an individual article, so as an alternative I’ve just combined the highlights of several rides into one long day. Which as it happened worked out quite nicely as when looking through the photos and videos of the several trips, we all appeared to be wearing the same clothes each time, such is the lack of variety in our biking attire.

So here we go…

Beginning the ride at the Craigieburn picnic area (I was going to mention the drive from Christchurch but it’s generally uneventful with the only highlight being a slightly over-rated pie shop in the village of Sheffield where they pride themselves on terrible customer service. I’ve never been to a shop where I feel like I’m inconveniencing the owners by wanting to give them money) the first task was to overcome the 6km long, 600 meter elevation climb of the Craigieburn Ski Field access road. As far as access roads go it has very few redeeming features, other than it gets steeper the further you cycle up it. You could argue that it doubles nicely as a warm up, but due to its length and increasing steepness, it tends to feel more like the main event. So by the time we’d reached the top and were ready to start the actual bike trails, I’d already drunk a third of my water and was having doubts over the amount of trail mix I’d brought for the day.

But we had made it nonetheless and it was time to start actual mountain biking on a trail known as ‘The Edge’. In keeping with the ski field access track, the Edge throws you in at the deep end by requiring you to traverse scree slops with lots of exposure thrown in for good measure. And if you’re really lucky, you might come close to slipping off The Edge ….like I did.

The scree slopes aside, the rest of the trail trundled its way through the forest and eventually dropped us off at a bit of an intersection between ‘Helicopter Hill’ and ‘The Luge’. As none of us had been up to Helicopter Hill, and according to the sign it was only a 15 minute walk, we thought we’d head up and have a look around. It turned out that the sign didn’t take into account the additional time that was required to haul your bike along with you and 15 minutes gradually and sweatily became 30 as we slung our bikes over our shoulders to climb up some of the rockier sections.

As we climbed higher and higher towards a panoramic 360 degree view that awaited us, I began to feel that the excited anticipation of getting to the top was slightly undermined by the thought that I was soon going to have to ride back down this this path. As hoped, the view from the top was amazing and once we had stared it at for longer than necessary, chatted amongst ourselves and posed for photos, I couldn’t help feel that we were subconsciously putting off having to ride off the hill, over the horrible rockiness that awaited us. As we were about to head off I decided that I just needed to take one more photo and crack open another sandwich and then came to realisation that riding down was kind of inevitable. I sulkily put my helmet on, tightened my shoe laces, adjusted my underpants, checked my tyre pressure, brakes, seat post height, the time… and then set off. Riding down was as tricky as I had expected, but what made it worse was the general ease that the others found it. I headed off in front and after making it through the first technical section and onto the ridge (all the while repeating motivational quotes and telling myself that I was doing really, really well) my mate came bombing past and disappeared off down the ridge line. I’m pretty sure he was whistling and tilted his bike helmet to me as he shot past. Can’t notice it in the video though.

And onto ‘The Luge’ it was. The trail takes you down to the Broken River Ski Field access track and is great fun to ride. It has a good, flowy gradient with a couple of rooty sections to negotiate but for the most part nothing overly challenging. So you can just sit back and cruise with a relaxed smile on your face without the worry of falling off cliff edges.

The next trail to target was ‘Dicksons Downhill’. A downhill track which would require us to cycle up the Broken River Ski Field access track for several hundred meters. Turning off, we followed a 4×4 track and took the opportunity to stop for our first photo shoot. Which I think we can all agree, was bloody lovely.

We set off down Dicksons Downhill which is another fast flowy track with the odd little jump here and there to liven things up, which all paled in comparison to the main jump of the track. This jump was brilliant. It’s not the biggest, or fastest, or craziest, but man it was fun. Having a nice run up, smooth take off and no gap to clear, it was the perfect jump to play around on. And that’s what we did. For ages. All the while our mate photographing every angle imaginable. What helped add to the experience was the surrounding scenery which was continuing to be epic. Once we were satisfied that every angle of our jumping antics had been sufficiently photographed several times, we pried ourselves away from the jump and continued down the rest of the trail. Which was good. Like, not as good as the jump obviously, but until I have my firstborn child, I imagine all experiences from that point on will be lacking somewhat.

Now the problem with Dicksons Downhill is that it drops you off onto the main road that runs through the Craigieburn area. Meaning that to make it to the next trail ‘Dracophyllum Flat’ required riding up the Broken River ski access road again. On the plus side, the trail starts about mid-way up the access track and isn’t as steep as the Craigieburn access road. But an access road is an access road, which means it still has a surprising ability to suck the fun out of the day and replace it with a slow pedaling slog skywards.

It’s amazing how well bitching and moaning kills time, and before we knew it we were up at the start of the Dracophyllum Flat and ready for the next section of downward trail riding. Dracophyllum Flat is similar to ‘The Luge’ except it’s wider and more open, allowing you to go faster and the ability to play about a bit. It led onto a bit of a traverse along the valley floor which was completely deceptive in its length. In your head you think it’s just a short flat jaunt to the final trail of the day ‘The Hogs Back’. ‘We’ll be there in no time!’ we laughed and joked to each other. For some reason collectively forgetting that this section of the trail had a lot more short, steep climbs than anyone of us could remember. It was around this time that the legs began to lose form somewhat and the speed at which the lactic acid built up increased. There was one saving grace of this section though, where it momentarily opened up and flattened off so we were able rip through the low lying grass with the mountains in front of us. Unfortunately there was no epic jump but I guess you can’t have it all – here’s a GoPro section of the track

Dracophyllum Flat finishes at the Cheeseman Ski Field access road and I know what you’re thinking, more bitching about cycling up an access road. Well for once, we didn’t have to cycle up it. However our relief of not cycling up another access track was short lived when we realised that instead we’d have to undertake a shorter, but a much steeper, climb right at the beginning of the trail… so I guess there still is some bitching to be had. The Hogs Back trail is one of those routes where it feels like you’re cycling down a lot more than you’re cycling up. So once the first climb was out of the way, it felt like we were just freewheeling to the end. There was the odd climb, but nothing compared to earlier in the day, so I’ll just leave the impression that it’s one of those Escher type trails where people are constantly riding downhill to the top.

Finally we made it to Castle Hill Village, signifying the end of the ride and where we parked the second car earlier in the day to save us having to ride back along the road to the Craigieburn picnic area, where we began all those months ago. We had tactfully left some victory beers in the car, and as I was about to crack open one of these well-earned beers one of the guys floated the idea of riding the Cheeseman Downhill track. Unfortunately, due to my tired and reduced reaction state, the idea spread faster than I was able to quash it and before I knew it the beers had been packed away, the bikes loaded onto the back of the car, and we were driving up the Cheeseman Ski Field access road. My mood improved with a combination of appreciating that at least we weren’t cycling the access road and the happy hardcore music we had selected as a pre-ride morale boost (which on a side note, in terms of biking movie backing music, happy hardcore makes for an entertaining choice and gives the illusion of the action happening faster than it really is, as you’ll see from the link later on).

So…. the final trail of the day. As you can imagine, it had been a longer day than normal, mainly due to the fact that, as previously mentioned, I’ve combined three days’ worth of riding into one, but in any case, I was still a bit knackered. So why we decided to ride the hardest trail right at the end is a bit beyond me, but here we were. The trail is kind of split into two, best described as ‘The Good’ and ‘The bad and the Ugly’. The first section started quite a way up the Cheeseman access road and traversed across country with a large expanse of view to the left. The terrain remained low lying and scrub as it dropped down, and picked up speed with a few little features along the way to jump and drop off. All the while thinking ‘this is nice’ and ‘what a lovely way to finish off the day’. Then the forest approaches and you end up doing a bit of a mental calculation that the end of the track isn’t that far away yet we’re still quite high… oh no, as the trail takes on a distinctly more vertical and slippery character as you’re launched down a technical, rooty, muddy trail straight down. I’ve never been down a trail before where I’ve been hard on the brakes for the entire way. I got to the bottom mentally and physically knackered and after 3 more runs of the trail, no amount of happy hardcore music could lift my spirits anymore.

But on a more positive note, here’s a clip of ‘The Good’ section with a cheeky bit of happy hardcore music thrown in for good measure.

With the sun setting on an unusually long day, we finally made it to our now warm beer and reflected on that jump, the ridiculousness of the Cheeseman Downhill and how it was going to be difficult to not fall asleep on the drive home after the past 28 hours of continuous riding… but mainly about the jump.

PS

As an aside, we did see a bearded, old naked man riding down the Broken River access road but without any photographic proof no one seems to believe us…..which is probably for the best.