Mountain Biking in Saint Arnaud, New Zealand
"You've got to be fucking kidding me," I thought, as I stood on a mountain biking trail in New Zealand surrounded by waist high green grass, a river and jagged mountains, held my rented mountain bike upright, and watched, as Greg disappeared down the beaten down path towards the road in the distance. Sun poured over the field. The strap on my bike helmet itched my chin.About an hour earlier, Greg and I ate breakfast at the Alpine Lodge where we were staying, rented mountain bikes from the front desk, and listened to a run-through of the surrounding New Zealand mountain biking trails from one of the local riders. After the run-through, he oiled our bike chains, adjusted our seat heights, and offered us re-usable water bottles for the road. Dirt covered the water bottles' mouth pieces. Scratches marked the actual bottles. We declined, road our bikes to the convenience store across the street (the only actual store in Saint Arnaud), bought water bottles, snapped a few photos of each other on the bikes, and then rode down one of the side streets towards the start of the bike trails.The first trail started through a small field, rose up into the trees and traversed across the side of a mountain. As we passed through the first field, we met uphill switchbacks that took us into the forest. I lowered gears. The bike's chain creaked. The tires slid along the gravel trail, as I pedaled around each sharp turn.Once we reached the top of the hill, the switchbacks eased into a straight trail again. I stopped, wiped the sweat from my forehead and turned towards Greg. Dust settled on my bike frame. Tall evergreen trees sheltered us (mostly) from the sun."That wasn't easy," I said.Greg laughed, as he pulled his store-bought water bottle from his bike's water bottle holder. He laughed."No, it wasn't."After a quick break, we clamped our GoPros to our bike frames, hit film and continued down the trail. We reached a set of downhill switchbacks. I break-checked. My back tire slid around the corner. Dust fluttered into the shadows from the surrounding leaves. We both slid around the next six or so switchbacks until we reached the bottom.At the bottom, the trees parted. Sun seeped onto the leaves, bark and gravel trail. We accelerated out of the last switchback, pedaled over the loose gravel and emerged through the trees into a grass trail that traversed across an open field. Waist high green and yellow grass loomed over this classic New Zealand mountain biking trail. Jagged, rocky mountains stood beneath the blue sky and sunshine. The sun warmed my cheeks, arms and legs. Perspiration dripped from my water bottle. After a few moments, the trail led towards a small, rocky creek. My legs tensed. I pedaled harder. The bike ripped through the creek. Water splashed onto my feet, inner thighs and spokes. I stopped on the other side of the creek."Dude," I said to Greg after he rode across, "we need to film us going through that thing."
Greg agreed, so we trekked back to the other side of the creek. Water seeped into my Nike Frees. Greg grabbed my GoPro first, positioned himself beside the creek and gave me the OK. I placed my foot on my right pedal, pressed down, and started to pedal towards the creek again. My calves tensed. The bike slammed across the water. The frame rocked over the creek's pebbles. As I reached the other side of the creek, the bike's crank lost resistance. My legs peddled faster than before. The bike stopped.I hopped off the bike, stared down at the crank and gaped."Fuck," I said.Greg turned the shutter on my GoPro off, walked over to me and looked at the bike."What happened?""The chain broke."Greg stared at the broken chain."Shit," he said, and then stared out over the waist high grass towards the moments, "how far do you think we've gone since we left the lodge?"I shook my head. I dropped the bike on the grass."At least forty five minutes.""Shit," Greg said, "what should we do?"I stared back at the forest, mountain and switchback trails behind us."I guess we'll have to walk back the way we came."We both sighed. The long grass waved towards the path. A few hundred yards across the grass, power lines swung beneath the mountains, cars zoomed down a roadway and a small, white, worn-down hut rested. Greg grabbed his bike."Maybe if I ride down the trail further I'll be able to reach that roadway. I'll come back shortly and let you know. It'll be easier to get back to the lodge if we can make it to the road."I stared across the field, back at the forest, and then at the field again. I clenched my teeth."All right. I will wait here."Greg mounted his bike, pedaled through the creek again, and turned around the bend in the trail. I watched Greg ride down the trail through the long field for a few minutes, and then he disappeared beneath the tall green grass. I studied the crushed grass, dirt and rocks beneath my Nike Frees. Bees hovered and buzzed and swarmed my ankles. I gazed out at the empty field again."Maybe I should just start walking back through the forest," I thought, after five or so minutes passed, "I can't wait here all fucking day. This is insanity."The bees wove between the grasses, gathered around my shoes again, and veered out towards the creek. My body tensed. My eyebrows furrowed."I'm leaving. I can't fucking stand here."I grabbed the chainless bike, gripped the handle bars, and started walking towards the forest. Sweat dripped beneath my helmet. I stopped."What about when Greg comes back?"I stared out across the field again. A tiny version of Greg emerged on his bike beside the white hut. He hopped off his bike, approached what looked like people, and pointed in my direction. After a few moments, one of the people pointed their hands toward me, and motioned for me to walk through the field. I stared at the chest-high grass in front of me. Bees buzzed. The grass scraped and sliced and slashed against itself. I shook my head.
"I'm not walking through that grass," I yelled.The person motioned with their arm again."I said I'm not walking through that grass."Greg and the people turned towards each other again. I studied the long grass, gazed back at the forest and swore."This is fucking ridiculous. I'm walking back through the forest and getting the fuck out of here."A moment later, one of the individuals hopped into a white Dodge Ram, started the engine and drove into the field. Grass collapsed beneath the axles. The truck bobbed and weaved and traversed across the rugged earth. A ditch eroded into the ground halfway between myself and the hut. The truck driver stopped in front of the ditch, hopped out of the car and motioned for me to start walking again."Walk through the grass with the bike," the person, who now appeared to be a men with buzzed, white hair, a dark blue t-shirt and jeans, shouted.I shook my head again."I don't want to walk through the field.""It's fine," he said again."Are there any ticks or snakes in there?"The driver stepped further into the grass."The only thing dangerous in this field is the owner of the property, and that's me, so don't worry about it."I sighed, gazed across the field at Greg, the other people and the small, white hut, and then stepped into the grass. The grass scraped and slashed and swiped across my shins, wove into the bike's spokes, and crumpled beneath my Nikes. Crickets chirped. Bees buzzed. After a few minutes of trekking, I reached the ditch in the field.The man yelled across the field, "keep moving forward."I lowered myself and the bike down into the ditch. My thighs tensed, as I jostled my feet down the slope. I gripped the handle bars with my left hand, shoved the front wheel up the other side of the culvert, and clambered up the pebble and grass-covered slope. The man stood about 20 yards from me now. He waved at me, hopped in his truck and drove back towards the white hut. I pressed through the remainder of the grass. The bike dragged pieces of the grass in its spokes.When I reached the short grass that surrounded the hut, I investigated my shins for tick or snake bites, walked over to Greg and the others and pulled off my helmet. Sweat beaded on my forehead. Greg pointed to a black pickup truck in front of us with a trailer hitched to the back."Toss your bike on the trailer," he said, "this guy said he'd drive us back to the lodge.
"Three men stood beside the black pickup truck. The man with the white, short hair that drove into the field and owned the property smirked. A tall, slim man with medium length brown hair and graying stubble approached the trailer. His aviator sunglasses reflected the mountains in the distance."Yeah, toss it up on top of your buddy's bike right there," he said, "I was heading back to town anyways."I clutched the dirt and water-covered frame, lifted it and placed it on top of Greg's bike in the trailer. The man strapped the bikes down, opened the driver's door and started the engine."Hop in, boys," he said.I peered over at Greg. He shrugged. We both hopped in the back of the pickup truck. The man said bye to the other two men, shut the door and placed the truck in drive. The truck bumped across the grass road towards the main road. The mountains loomed overhead. Grass crumpled beneath the truck's wheels.Check out my
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