Words Chris O’Leary
Images Cameron Mackenzie & Riley McLay
“Riding back up a slithery bog-holed 4WD track on skinny gravel tyres and rigid gravel bikes tested us as we slowly made our way back up to the ridge. Bog holes created by recreational 4WDers might have been fun times for them, but they were pretty damn ugly for us and our fancy cleated shoes. Cold, wet, mud covered and tired, we clawed our way back to the ridgeline only to discover our way forward was unrideable and we were a long way from anywhere. What the bloody hell had we been thinking….?”
Deep in the heart of Otago, the Maniototo region beckons with its ruggedness and long roads of smooth gravel. A recent cycling escapade through this terrain was challenging and full of the grand stuff that bikes and people are made for.
Armed with our early-adopter narrow-tyred gravel bikes, rather than the typically modern MTB seen riding these hills, we rode up the Ida Valley fuelled with a positive attitude and plenty of fruit cake. The ride proved many things, above all, just where that rigid gravel bike of yours can go, as well as raising the question of whether naked pagan rituals were alive and well in Central Otago? More on that later… A perfect crimson Otago sunrise greeted us as we set off and pedalled the first few kilometres up the valley. I’m sure Old Man Frost had a laugh – our fancy townie gloves were no defence against his icy grip. A spirited burst got us out of his frosty clutches and into the warmer hills above us.
The climb was steady and warming, the gravel firm and it even sparkled with that wonderful Otago schist. As we climbed, the chill in our bones dissipated and the landscape before us was bathed in sun as the breathtaking Poolburn Reservoir came into view. Bursts from nearby shotguns punctuated the serenity as duck shooters let loose their inebriated pelleted hopes. The locals were clearly unhappy we’d scared away their birds. The water glistened off the dam and the sun warmed the rugged, rocky outcrops and surrounding hills. The past week of work grinds disappeared as we soaked up the country around us and felt the warmth of hard ridden legs and achievement. Unbeatable.
Leaving the reservoir behind, we ventured along a smooth gravel road for an hour before heading south onto rougher 4WD trails and our pilgrimage down a fast long track to our once-holy destination: the historic, stone Serpentine Church.
Back in the day, the humble building was the highest church in the land. We paid our respects to those who had been before us, breaking fruit cake and knocking back a Snickers bar or three. During the descent, dark clouds rolled in from the south. Rain fell and the temperature plummeted. The morning crimson sky should have been a reasonable warning of things to come. The trail to the church, that we had merrily descended with yells of ‘hell yeah’, had turned wet and slippery.
Riding back up a slithery bog-holed 4WD track on skinny tyres and rigid gravel bikes tested us as we slowly made our way back up to the ridge. Bog holes created by recreational 4WDers might have been fun for them, but they were pretty damn ugly for us and our fancy cleated shoes. Cold, wet, mud- covered and tired we clawed our way back to the ridgeline only to discover our way forward was unrideable and we were a long way from anywhere. What the bloody hell had we been thinking….
Our route involved heading out via the Manorburn Dam road. This meant following a DOC signposted ‘trail’ down to an old gold-stamping mill site, up and out of its valley and back down to the dam road. The trail was steep, eroded and loose, and neither of us wanted to risk an over-the-bar event this far away from painkillers, plasters or single malt. With our egos in our back pockets, we did the only sane thing and hiked our bikes down and back up the valley. The hike-a-bike into the valley was knee trembling and the climb out on tired legs truly burned, but the raw beauty of the surroundings kept us going, with the promise of the ride to come. I recall talk of a fire side pizza back at the pub, which, to be honest, would only just outweigh the wet hard climb.
The Manorburn Dam came into view and we were buoyed with thoughts of racing down the Ida Valley to that pizza, and fire. Unbeknownst to us, the reality was we were still in for some decent rollers up and out of the Manorburn, followed by a gravel grind on flat roads. We made the rookie mistake of not keeping the food and drink up in the last couple of hours and arrived back at the car well below zero on the energy front. Lesson re-learned once again – never stop fuelling.
Arriving at the Wedderburn Pub we were greeted with a peculiar sight. Two gents well in their eighties had exited the pub, disrobed, and were frolicking about the nearby paddock bollock naked apart from their wellies. Some form of pagan ritual alive and well in Central Otago? Turns out they were heavily-fuelled on the local brew and the joys of duck shooting. We graciously declined their requests to join them and opted for hot showers and pizza by the fire. The Wedderburn provided great atmosphere, good food and plenty of local “leave your boots at the door” yarns and character.
Just two hours from Dunedin, this micro adventure is doable in a day and is not just one you dream of doing ‘one day soon’. A ride that takes in gravel, ups and downs, challenging trails, and the unpredictability of the weather on the tussock tops. Our humble skinny-tyred gravel bikes navigated all that took us to incredible country we would never had contemplated until now.
The day had brought jaw-dropping scenery, physical challenges and a break from the day-to-day grind without huge planning or commitment. Most of all, it brought that genuine shared experience and true camaraderie you get between two mates out there doing it. One for the fireside.
