One man's misfortune is another man's gold nugget of joy. Appropriately, Dave careened down a track at unnecessary speeds, meeting his fate - handle-bar gripped fist into stoic tree trunk - thus freeing up a place on the glorious quest to ride the Old Ghost Road, and, unfortunately for Dave, metacarpals from wrist. I snapped up the opportunity.
From Ray's man cave, the bike was reassembled and excitement built. The next day we met with the team, hit the road and headed west. Mid-afternoon saw packs loaded, wine stowed, steaks packed and anticipation unleashed.
DAY 1: A stiff climb from the Lyell end of Buller Gorge took us up into the trees, yet the 'baby heads' of lore (the irregular rocks that once reeked havoc on this ascent) didn't materialise, and the crushed quartz that greeted us felt like a groomed highway, in-turn being crushed by the massively fat tyres of Ray's ten tonne tractor. His pack-horse of a bike made the Lyell Saddle hut first, by a fair margin, thus proving the point: there's no 'i' in team, there's no team in Rai, and the old boy has still got an impressive amount of juice left in his tank. I got there just before dusk and was welcomed into the hut with a roaring fire, glass of bourbon and comfortable camp mattress.
DAY 2: Heading out the next day we set off further up the mountain, exiting the tree line to catch sight of the most crazy traverse I've seen. It's spectacular. It's spectacular that someone came up with the idea of smashing a narrow trail along the steep ridge of some mountains, joining two redundant mining tracks from Lyell to Mohikinui. It's pure genius in its conception, impressive in its engineering and jaw-dropping in natural rugged beauty. Adrenalin competed with excitement, competed with saddle-bound religious fervour at each turn and vista. The drop from Old Ghost hut, after lunch, was pretty darned challenging: steep, gnarly and acute switchbacks. The Stern Valley hut was well equipped, the curry delicious and a few glasses of red wine complemented the glorious after glow.
DAY 3: The morning comprised a lovely cruise through a beach forest, lulling us into a false sense of security. Lunch was had, eating tuna sandwiches as fast as humanly possible, so that the body would metabolise red blood cells faster than the sand flies could drain the same from your legs. Back on the bikes the trail joined the Mokihinui river, which is a steep gorged affair. The track was pretty high and, at times, unfeasibly narrow - raising the following two questions: Why did I chose a bike with downhill handlebars wider than said track, and why is mountain biking appealing when I'm so prone to sweaty palmed attacks of vertigo. The sheer drops from foot to river valley floor induced fear when pushing the bike and the swing bridges only added to the incessant mild panic.
We made it out of the trail, a few celebratory jugs at the Seddonville Hotel, a good deep fried feed and a couple of essential west coast community visits (Patricia and Em of Powerbar fame) before heading back east.
Massive thanks to Ray for the invite; Ross and Nigel for camaraderie, crass jokes and cool camera capers. It was the most impressive ride yet.
