I grew up with Dirt Magazine from issue one and it pretty much formed who I am. I moved from XC racing to DH and hucking because of the messages I read in Dirt. I stopped “training” and pounding creatine shakes and instead started wearing full-face and baggys when I saw the fun and excitement of the DH/moto/BMX mix that Dirt was celebrating in the nineties. In school I had big fat silver hoop and ball body piercings in various parts of my body because of the images I saw of Palmer and Tattoo Lou in Dirt Mag. I now have both arms tattooed because of the photos I saw. I live in BC now because it is the centre of the universe for anyone who loves riding bikes hard but still lives their life kicking back.

There is absolutely no way I would be who I was, experienced the life I have, or live the way I do now if it wasn’t for Dirt Magazine.

You could also say that because of Dirt I was a retarded youth who followed fads, wore women’s jewelry, indelibly marked himself as a moron and has chosen the juvenile dirtbag life over any chance of having a nice house and retiring comfortably. But I’m happy in life and rich in bikes so Dirt has a lot to do with the satisfaction and relative wealth I now enjoy.

Which is why when I wrote for Dirt I felt the weight of responsibility being a part of such an important institution. And why, now that I am back scribbling words and dribbling thoughts onto the page for Dirt, I am extremely proud and honoured.

The first magazine I wrote for was Dirt Magazine and I still remember clearly the day I received the email from Mike Rose (Dirt editor) saying that not only would my words appear in the magazine but that he was offering me a monthly column. To say I was over the moon would be an understatement.

For four years I penned the ‘Whistler Diaries’ column but last summer I took a break from writing it. I enjoyed doing it immensely even though every few months I would consider throwing in the towel as the deadline approached and I would scramble to write something. But every month something would come to me and it would almost without exception be the most enjoyable thing to write. I took a break from Dirt for the last ten months not because I did run out of ideas but that I had too many. It was at a time when I was trying to make the leap of faith to writing full-time and to do so I knew some things had to change. One of the more bonkers things I did to make that change was to leave Dirt Magazine.

In issue #124 I have returned with a monthly column and a feature on photojournalist legend Gary Perkin.

Earlier this spring I had the opportunity to spend some time with Gary Perkin in Sedona, AZ and Santa Cruz, CA. It marked Gary’s official “move” to film making. I was terribly interested in his motivations for changing things up so sat down to interview him over the course of several formal interview sessions and numerous casual chats. The result is a story we titled ‘Too Good For The Web?’. I say we because it is a poignant line Gary said that sums up the changing form of the mountain bike media (all media too), his thoughts on it, and how he approaches his work.

Gary is a gentle and calm chap, obviously so at home in his work he doesn’t fret one bit, but this is just one part of his character. I enjoy his company immensely and loved hearing his tales of lives past. Mountain biking dominates the life we see of everyone in the “industry” but it doesn’t stop there for most. Did you know Gary used to be travel the world working on yacht racing teams? Did you know he used to work in a high power marketing position in London? Did you know he traveled around South Africa with Ladysmith Black Mambazo? These are the interesting stories, some of which are in the Dirt feature but most of them wouldn’t fit in the page count. Anyway, what I took away from this is always look beyond what you think you know for everyone has colour and depth if you are willing to look.

The column is now called ‘Hey You Hate This’ because after the first year or so I rarely wrote about Whistler in ‘Whistler Diaries’, and instead used it as a soapbox to blabber on about something that was driving me mad or that I thought would stir some people up. People have said that from reading ‘Whistler Diaries’ that they imagined me to be an angry man, but I really am not. I see the role of a columnist to incite emotion, initiate thought, and generally entertain. Lots of columnists treat their 900 words as an excuse to write about their own life – sort of like a blog turned into print and forced into peoples hands. I think that is a waste of space, not only page space, but space inside a reader’s brain. The columnist should raise issues and give perspectives that shake up reader’s consciousness, awaken ideas that may have laid dormant, and perhaps instigate action.

Or it should just wind them up or make them chuckle.

For four years doing ‘Whistler Diaries’ I said plenty of wild things that I didn’t necessarily believe in. I wrote things just to be the devil’s advocate or just to straight up annoy the heck out of some sections of the readership. But only in the hope it sparked something in them or entertained other readers who could see the joke.

Anyway, #124 also marks a new look for Dirt Magazine. There is a new size, format and paper quality, all things aimed at improving the magazine and not just satisfying the corporate overlords. Here is what editor Mike Rose says about the new look.

“OK, so you should have noticed straight away that there have been a few changes with the mag. The most obvious being the size and format, we’ve gone a bit shorter. Why? Well…err…we fancied a change…and we wanted to improve the quality of the paper that we print on. Over the last few years paper prices have rocketed, so much so that we have had to drop the grade of the paper we have been using…and that’s not right. The feel and the quality of the magazine is massively important, and the old stuff just wasn’t ‘doing it’ for us. So a smaller size and a bit of juggling has meant that we can now use better paper. And, coincidently, the new format is better suited to our iPad version of the magazine. We’ve been amazed by the numbers of iPad subscribers we have. Is it the future? We’ll have to see about that.

“We’ve also made a few changes with the content of Dirt. With the ever–present onslaught of the internet, and all the good things it can offer, we have decided to switch things around a little. The magazine will become more feature based, articles will be able to have a bit more space to breathe (there’s still nothing like a big photo printed in a magazine is there?). We will still have bike tests and our Hammered section (now renamed ‘Wear and Tear’), but most of our product stuff (what was once called Fresh Produce) will be online. We can use more photos, embed videos, use graphics and have more space to write about products online. We can give you more information, and we can do this as soon as the products come through the door rather than a month down the line. And of course you can have your say (immediately) in our comments box at the bottom of each article. We have a lot of plans for our online content, and we really believe that the magazine and website can work hand in hand.

“This may sound a bit corporate, but how people consume information these days is changing rapidly. We have to constantly look at what we do and how we can react to these changes. We have to ask ourselves some tough questions…I mean, will magazines still be around in five or ten years? We have to be flexible. We are lucky here at Dirt that we can react quickly to stuff as it happens, so we are in a strong position. They do say that a change is as good as a rest.

“But enough of this, we also have to remember that the reason we all do this is because of our love for bikes and riding. Without those two wheels Dirt would be nothing. Enjoy the mag.”

Dirt means so much to so many people so anything they do to keep the magazine rolling and the inspiration happening is a good move. Here’s to Dirt Magazine. Thank you for having me back. I missed you so much.

While out riding a trail freshly released from its snow-devil prison in Whistler, I sustained an injury that would throw my whole year into a flat spin. I was clearing a fallen tree off the trail when the tree fell onto my legs and folded my left foot underneath. I felt my toes touch my shin and the old familiar sting of white pain flashed into every grain of my being. I was pretty lucky really. I had just taken my i-Phone out of my pocket, so at least I didn’t damage it.

The pain was tremendous and I almost screamed [cough cough]. It hurt enough to make me pay attention. Pay attention to it while I was balled up on the ground with my eyes clenched like a new inmates butt-hole and my teeth biting down so hard I could of pressed coal into diamonds between them. I lay on my side as the pain washed over and through me, familiar as we mountain bikers are with such torture, waiting for it to dull enough that I could stand up and get on with it. But it didn’t.

It had being a long time since I had injured myself so I figured I must have gotten soft and the pain couldn’t be that bad at all. I stood up and decided that I walk out of the trail, pop it up on the sofa, slosh a bit of scotch around me that night and I’d wake up with nothing more than a bit of a hangover and the foot would feel as right as rain.

The next morning though I woke up with the pain gone but unable to walk on it. It wasn’t exactly painful to stand on, just that I couldn’t stand on it. My body was either somehow rejecting my command to bear weight on it, or the foot just couldn’t do it and would flop over. I still thought it was a bit of a sprain so attempted to ignore it. Like a girlfriend though, ignoring it did no use and the discomfort got worse and worse.

I have a physiotherapist friend who happened to call about some unrelated matter so I dropped it into the conversation that I had a foot that was not playing ball. They mentioned something about Liz Frank, and at the time I didn’t know what some random lady had to do with my situation. Anyway, he poked me into getting it checked out. Which in the Whistler Medical Clinic means an expensive money up front dissappointment.

After X-rays and prods I was told I had sustained a Lisfranc injury. Lisfrancs was a surgeon and gynecologist in Napoleans army. I have no idea why Napolean needed a gynecologist, but for me it basically meant I had torn all the ligaments attached to my metatarsals, plus dislocated and fractured the bones in the mid-foot.

Now I face a lengthy recovery which sees my winter training and preparation made useless. I made plans this year, something which always seems to make the Dog laugh.

With biking taken away from me I can finally get to experience what a normal life is all about. All my riding buddies, and even me before this accident, would say that what I have ahead is abnormal, but to be honest, at what point has a life devoted to bikes ever being normal? I’ll have so much more time to smell the roses, what with no long weekends away with the boys in search of new singletrack goodness, without the hours spent fixing a delinquent drivetrain in the shed, or scrubbing muck from tire, jacket and car seat covers. And what about the time that is wasted fixing punctures? I calculate that I will have about three and half hours extra to hobble about and take in the view now that I don’t have to put up with that infuriating hiss.

I’ve never had this long off the bike from injury so I don’t know what to expect. What is worrying me the most at the moment is that I don’t care that much. I’ve locked all my bikes in the shed for four or five months and I’m not bothered about them. I’m looking forward to living a life without bikes and trying out some new activities. I’m going to invest in a fishing rod and try meditate myself to angling mastery. I’m going to buy a little 50cc scooter and buzz around the lanes to get my fix of handlebars and wheels this summer. I’m going to volunteer for every damn mountain bike event I can. I’m going to slow down a little and just admire the view from the passenger seat rather than driving the loony bus off a cliff. I’m going to live vicariously through my friends trail tales and I’m going to listen to them good because they are my lifeline to that world.

More than anything though, it reminded me that the best feeling in the world isn’t riding a sweet bit of singletrack with my friends on a warm summers evening. The best thing in the world be getting this damn cast off. I want to scratch my feet, stretch my toes, skip to the toilet, and not feel the insane pain I do right now. The simpliest of things is all I want. This would be the best feeling. I thought I’d do anything to ride sweet singletrack with my buds, but I’ll tell you what, it’s nothing compared to what I would do to be healthy right now.

So Last week I feebly attempted to cover the best of the south of the South Island singletracks. Somewhat akin to choosing your favorite ice cream flavor when you are confronted by more flavors than hours in the day, the riding in New Zealand goes on and on. As I started last week, this is not meant as a comprehensive list of the bestest, nor is it an all-embracing guidebook to the what, where, why, who, and how. This is a general pick and mix of the riding I think needs highlighting above others.

Of course your preference or kink towards mountain biking depends on many factors, so let me state that I am a red blooded male who loves having the challenge of a feisty animal of a trail, but is also not adverse to slaying my thighs or lungs to get to them. If this sounds like you then read on. However, if you prefer something a little different, then that’s OK too. Everybody has their own flaws. I kid. Mountain biking is about variety and the freedom to choose how to express oneself through their riding. There is no right or wrong answer, in fact there is no question to start with. Riding in New Zealand can be approached in many ways, this is just the way I have found to be most fun.

This week I am going to blabber on about some trails on the West Coast, a frontier hotel that has seen more action than a $10 hooker the day after the Navy came to port, and the fantastic, seemingly endless singletrack riding of sunny Nelson.

THE WEST COAST

The gold rush and subsequent mining of the area have left a superb legacy of singletrack. Trails that have become overgrown, scoured by trampers, eroded by rains and left to be partially reclaimed by mother nature. There are many in the area but the hot spot is around the Westport/Reefton area, particularly Blackball, a nearly deserted town that has more history and character than its backroad status implies.

Blackball

Just up the Grey river from Greymouth is a curious little settlement called Blackball that feels like a ghost town. Although a coal mine exists in some state, these days the run down shacks, hushed boulevards, and sleepy smokey chimneys from a few remaining residents give the town a spooky feeling that much has happened here in the past but now the bustling action of history has moved on.

You would be right feeling like this.

It was first settled in 1864 by glitter hungry prospectors searching for gold, and later in 1893 the Blackball coal mine opened. But the towns contribution to the history of New Zealand came in 1908 when a three month strike over the length of the crib break showed the rest of New Zealand that collective action worked. After that the Red Feds were formed and from them evolved the Federation of Labour, and the Labour party.

The main reason for you, the singletrack miner, to come to Blackball would be the un-groomed trails that are a legacy of the gold mining in the area, and the Formerly the Blackball Hilton. The hotel is 101 years old and in every creaky floor board, every photo on the wall and every lopsided picture frame is a morsel of the hotels colorful history. Unlike much characterful history it hasn’t been tidied up for coach tour consumption or dumbed down to a caricatured simile of what it once was.

The hotel is an eclectic mix of the tastes and beliefs of the previous and present owners. There are walls of black and white photos and newspaper clippings of the earlier times when the hotel catered to the gold and coal miners. Then there are many shelves of feminist literature and many female nude paintings which point to more recent owners.

Don’t expect wireless internet (don’t even expect cell reception), matching towels, or neutral interior design. It is a patch work quilt of a hotel that possesses a casual charm and vibrant character which is a precious find in these days of franchised, coordinated customer service standards. It is clean and well kept, in the way a mad aunties house would be. Expect to be called by your first name and treated like a wandering son who has returned home at long last. Then when you retire after an evening of knocking back ales, be prepared to have to use some muscle to pull back the dozen or so sheets that make up your bedding. It’s like sleeping under a Great Dane.

There are many trails that can be explored within the vicinity of Blackball, but the one that really needs highlighting is Croesus.

Croesus Track
Located in Blackball, 25km northeast of Greymouth on the West Coast.
38km there and back. Takes around 2-3 hours to climb then a full hour to return.

The old gold miners certainly knew how to build a track and the pounding rain fall of the wet West Coast has done its worst (or best, depending on what side of the trail coin you sit on) to make this a very unique blast up and down through steep sided damp valleys and passing remnants of the incredible industry that was pushed into these secret gullies.

Head NorthWest out of Blackball and follow the Blackball Road for 6.5 km to the start of the Croesus Track where it is clearly signposted. It is an interesting trail which snakes through the forest. It is generally on a perfect gradient but roots and rock that have been exposed over the years to Wet Coast erosion make it a fun challenge. If it’s raining some people say avoid as it becomes treacherous and unrideable, but these people are just being wet. Double points for tackling the rooty climb and descent in the wet.

After 2-3 hours of climbing you will reach Ces Clarke hut out in the tussocks over looking the surrounding valleys. If you are prepared you can bring a flask of whiskey and several dancing girls and have yourself a party in the hut (heli drops for dancing girls can be organized). Either party your heart out in the backcountry watching the sun settle over the Tasman from Croesus Knob above the hut, or after a short rest, turn around and slam dance the trail back down. Roots, rock, not too steep but plenty fast enough that you don’t really need to pedal. It will take you about an hour to get back to the start of the trail so save some water and energy for this, the best part. The other option is to continue past the hut and over to Barrytown on the coast. The trail down to Barrytown is steep and technical.

Moonlight Track

The Moonlight Track (not to be confused with a trail of a similar name in Queenstown) is another old gold mining trail in the Blackball area. At the time of writing this the trail is in massive disrepair and a lot of it has been eaten by the creek. However, there is rumor that the Moonlight is to be resurrected and perhaps linked to the Croesus. Until this happens (if it happens) don’t be tempted to ride any further than three kms into the singletrack.

NELSON

I don’t like to tag any one town as being superior over another, but if it’s technical singletrack that goes on for hours, or even days, then Nelson is the main place to locate yourself. This is a quick run down of just some of the incredible rides that are situated in or around Nelson.

Peaking Ridge

If you have traveled through Nelson but haven’t ridden Peaking Ridge then you are one testicle short of the whole purse. It is from more recent trail building movements and was pushed through by a few locals who wanted a beasting reward for the climb. There are two choices for the climb. You can take the longer more scenic cruise up the Dun Valley Railroad that is all on a lovely gradient but is less straight to the point than a politican who has been asked to convert fahrenheit to celsius in his head. The other option is to go straight up the 629 fire break. Beers for those that can pedal all the way up. The trail, once you start going down, is steep, fast, very rooty and tech. It is a raw drum beat of a trail that makes you feel like the spirit of a Norwegian death mental band has inhabited your being.

Kaka Hill

Close to town and containing a bunch of old hunting trails and more recently carved mountain bike specific trails, Kaka Hill is a good choice for a shorter ride. R&R is a trail that starts about 12 km up the forest service road and then wiggles and winds its way back down like a salsa dancing siren. However, at the time of writing the forestry company had just stepped in for a bit of a chop of the lumber around this area. So before heading all the way up speak to some locals and find out the status. Also in the area is Supplejack and Rimu, too tight trails that require some front wheel pivoting to make all the corners. Definitely good fun.

Browning Hut

Hidden up Aniseed Valley south of town is a beaut of a trail. Cruise up the access then take signs up towards Browning Hut. The climb will become unrideable in places but it is worth it. Once you reach the hut turn around and bobble your way back down. The trail is wide at the start, allowing a plethora of lines to be taken or missed. A few creek crossings are required, but top tip is to take the low route when you get to the landslide.

Rameka Track

The Rameka Track is an old stock track that was used to move cattle from the lush grasslands up above the native bush of the Abel Tasman down to Takaka and the waiting stock boats. It starts high above the coastline upon the Canaan Downs on Takaka Hill and you can choose to stop once you exit the bush and take a leisurely ride back to the start or if you have arranged a car drop off, continue all the way down to the coast, which is way more fun.

Escape Adventures (www.escapeadventures.co.nz), who are based in Takaka just outside the Abel Tasman National Park, can organize this for you. You don’t really need a guide for the trail, but their friendly knowledgeable services are an asset.

The Rameka Project, which is located part way down the Rameka track, was started by Jonathon Kennet, of two wheeled NZ adventuring literary fame. They purchased a block of land and have been planting tress to act as a carbon sink. The side benefit is they have been able to build some fun flowy trails throughout of course. The trails play their way across the steep hillside until popping you out at the valley bottom. Hit the dirt road down for a short while, but look out for signs to your left that point out several sections of immeasurably fun singletrack that were recently built along the banks of the river bed.

Heaphy Track

On 1st May 2011 the Heaphy was reopened to bikers after 15 years of red tape closure. This is an 80km point to point trail that is a designated Great Walk. It climbs up and over hill and dale through beech forest and grasslands then descends to the West Coast where you find yourself singletracking through what looks like a scene from Apocalypse Now. Incredible scenics and almost exclusively pristine serpentine singletrack for its whole length, this ride is best navigated as a multiday ride. There are well established huts all along the route which you will need to pre-book, but they offer gas stoves, pot bellied burners and bunks. This is real mountain biking. Away from it all, with only a few riding companions and remote singletrack that stretches out past the day to keep you company. For more info try this link for a good run down on the sort of preparations you should make before hitting the Heaphy http://www.mfla.org.nz/stuff-learnt-from-mountain-biking-the-heaphy-track/

Queen Charlotte

Some people call this a classic New Zealand mountain bike ride, but I call it a bloody cycle lane for an opulent weekend ride. It is a multiday ride, so you will be made to stay in one of the many resorts along the way eating expensive food or drinking overpriced local wines. The trail is flat, dull, and as raked smooth as a Hollywood wives forehead. The ride to the start of the trail (by boat) is the only real excitement. The whole thing costs a small fortune to do, and even though the experience of it is heart warming in places (if you get good weather), the serious singletrack pirate will feel short changed.

Still more…

There a lot more classics in the area, the thing to do would be to book a longer stay or book next years holiday in advance.

I am besotted with New Zealand. I have been coming here for a whole bunch of years to escape from the perils of winter (it’s on the other half of the world innit) and each year I love this place a little bit more. Which is remarkable because I think I love New Zealand more than I could love a chocolate eyed orphaned puppy who does charity work and fights fires in his spare time.

Each year I try to explore more and more but no matter how hard I try to see and experience all the riding here more trails become apparent. Trail development is currently happening very fast here. Whilst some countries are losing the fight to keep bikes on trails, in NZ ‘walking’ trails are being opened up all the time. Local groups are finding the traction to be able to secure funding and legitimacy to build brand new purpose built mountain bike trails. The government is putting millions and millions of dollars into creating a national cycle network that will span the whole country which in turn will mean a lot more singletrack and not just commuter lanes. Ultimately they want a rider to be able to connect the whole of both islands (it’s two islands innit; imaginatively called the South Island and the North Island) without much need to use roadways. Off-road cycle touring anyone?

This year I have been on numerous road trips and I still haven’t scratched the surface. Even after throwing lungs and legs to the slaughter for days and weeks on end, there will always be locals who say “If only you had more time we could take you to this, that and the other trail. They are amazing.”

As I pointed out last week, turning up in a brand new country (or even a well known one) can mean much head scratching, furrowed brows and guess work to try to make the best of any visit. So for the next two installments of World Affairs I have compiled a ‘best of’ list in order to try to give you an idea of just some of the ‘must do’ trails.

But first a quick disclaimer. This cheat sheet will cover predominantly the South Island. My stays here in New Zealand have always been biased towards the South, not because I am biased to the South Island, but it’s just where I have found myself. So if there is two installments of absolute ‘must do’ trails on the South Island that means there is a whole lot more to add to the list when you include the North Island too.

As I said, this is a list of some of my favorites but also some classics that might appeal to a wider audience. Most of these rides are of the kind of riding that you good people of NSMB enjoy. I imagine that most of you don’t mind a stiff pedal if it means a singletrack descent payoff. You aren’t adverse to steeper and more technical trails even if you don’t care to ride a DH bike like Danny Hart. These trails listed are almost exclusively oriented to a bike that can be pedaled for several hours without giving the rider a heart attack and are capable of not spoiling the ride on the way down. There is an increasingly large amount of bikes that are capable of fitting this criteria these day. I believe the correct term for this genre is Mountain Bikes. Bring a downhill bike to NZ and you will have a blast in the right towns at the right times, but if your baggage only just stretches to one larger bag (“No Miss, it’s not a bicycle or sporting equipment, it’s a musical instrument. I play the rusty trombone for the East Hastings Street Orchestra.”) then do yourself a favor and bring a cleaver to a knife fight.

Ideally if you are to visit New Zealand you need your own transport. The island is bigger than you think and the riding is spread about. Landing without wheels and locating yourself in just one town is a recipe for an awesome time, but not the absolute best time.

Finally, this is not a guidebook or a comprehensive ‘how-to.’ I may one day compile all my notes and do a proper singletrack guide to New Zealand, but not yet. This is a general list of some of the amazing spots I know and love. There are many more good rides around but if you are going to be doing a short trip (2-3 weeks) then these are the places you most certainly want to tick off on a circumnavigation of the South Island (and a little North Island). Almost all of these trails are chosen because they are real singletrack. Some are backcountry routes that require a good level of fitness and skill, others are multi-day trips that require a bit of grey matter before heading into the abyss, while others are chosen for the community that surround the riding. Basically, if you like singletrack then you will love these rides. If you don’t then send all complaints to my email which is cammcrae@youhoo.com.

This week we start with the south of the South Island.

THE SOUTH CENTRAL (CHRISTCHURCH/CANTERBURY)

There are many excellent rides in and around Christchurch but if you want to really experience New Zealand landscapes and possibly one of the best trails in the South Island then you need to get out of town to Craigieburn. Also in the general vicinity is Wharfedale and Mt Hutt, and inside Christchurch city limits you have the handy and varied trail networks on the Port Hills and Vic Park.

Craigieburn
Located in the Arthurs Pass around 100 km west of Christchurch.
2-4 hours riding.
Stiff climb but rewarded with a sublime singletrack. Many regard it as their favorite South Island ride. I put it firmly in my top five of all time. Easily.

Riding amongst beech trees is the best. They space perfectly, they push tight fingers of roots up from the earth and the leaf litter they drop makes for the best riding surface ever. It is like racing through thrown wedding confetti; it blows from your tires, it slides predictably and, contrary to what the forums think, when you skid upon it, there is zero damage to the trail itself.

To find it drive northwest out of Christchurch towards Arthur’s Pass. Drive up from the brain batteringly dull Canterbury Plains into the Pass where the mountains soar and geological mind benders, like the Castle Hill boulders, keep your eyeballs rummaging through the landscape till they get tired of the awesomeness and crave a little rest. Just after Castle Hill village turn left at signs for ‘The Craigieburn Recreation Area’ and park at the shelter then ride along the highway to the Craigieburn access road. Put on a clean pair of underpants and possibly a rubber pair over them. It’s gonna be a good one.

This ride consists of a good old pedal up to the base of the Craigieburn Ski Field. Climb up the access road till you reach the ski field and rope tow. Once at the top give your broseph a high five, butt slap or do whatever feels right in that special moment before cruising into the singletrack that crosses a rather substantial avalanche path. This is the Edge. It sings along through beech forest and across steep scree slopes (don’t be tempted to drop in on these unless you want a Stairmaster work out), becoming narrow in places and often with deceptively tighter right handers than you are ready for. After about 4km of sexual congress you’ll reach a fork in the trail. Drop left to hit the access road and do another loop (the record is eight laps completed during a nine hour Craigieburner marathon. The record holder had a lot at stake so don’t think this was an easy task) or go right to get to the Luge, the second half of the trail.

The Luge is a festival of shimmying hips and delicate brake control. If you don’t have a real, or imaginary, trail boner by the bottom then you are probably dead, so do the world a favor and box yourself up neatly for the afterlife. When you hit the forest road at the bottom you should feel and overwhelming sense of right with the world and love for your fellow man. You will almost certainly be tempted to hug your riding partners. Do so as much as you feel is necessary.

There are many more rides that combo off this one, but to know them you need a Dave Johnston. Dave Johnston is a mechanic at Basic bikes in Christchurch and who has ridden in these parts for years and knows a thing or two about line choice on these trails. Following him is like being given a sonic boom education of the 100+ rides he has done on the Craigieburn trail. He is rapid down this trail and lights it up at every opportunity. A typical Kiwi local good c**t (that is a term of endearment used by Kiwi’s when they really think someone is a rather upstanding fellow so don’t get all pissed off about using a swear word, consider it essential knowledge for when you get to New Zealand. Unless of course you really do get upset by swear words, which in your case will mean you may never hear the words good and c**t used together). Dave is one of those fellows who tickles your trail hunter instincts with morsels of information regarding rarely ridden ‘super-mega-gnar-grunty rides’. New Zealand is a small place, and for that I am happy. Bumping into old friends like that is a joy and a blessing, especially when you get to share in such a fucking good c**t of a ride.

THE SOUTH

Queenstown
Located deep in the lakes area of the Southern Alps. This town is a mad capped oasis in the stunning landscape of the South Island. Action and adventure capital of the world. Bungee your heart out, party your socks off and sample the finest burger you may ever eat.

You can’t really come all the way around the world to New Zealand and miss out Queenstown, but unless you have a dirt jumper or downhill bike then it’s best to keep your stay to three days. The town is lively – as you would expect with a town who proclaim the title of adventure capital of the world – and full of a solid community of bikers from all over the globe who come to season it, or live it up. Queenstown does not contain as much singletrack as other areas throughout New Zealand, but the newly opened to bikers gondola is the current draw card. The singletrack there is great but you will expend it rather fast if you are a keen hunter.

Day one: Start the trip with some easily earned laps on the newly opened gondola that zooms riders up the hill right from the centre of town; the only in New Zealand. Ride the gondola accessed trails of Skyline in the morning, banging out lap after lap, then use your last ride up to gain elevation for an up and back Fernhill ‘Loop’ – which is a rooty beech leaf litter blast – before skidding right into town and stuffing your face with a Fergburger.

Day two: Time for a big ride that will take you into the pristine pleated ridge country of the one time gold prospecting landscape. Ride the Moonlight trail from Arthurs Point to Moke Lake, turn off to Lake Dispute, drop down to Bob’s Cove and link up Seven MIle and Sunshine Bay tracks to get you back to town where you should reward yourself with a Fergburger with blue cheese.

Day three: More mountain landscapes and bomber singletrack from both the old and modern trail building legacy of the area. Some of the same trails that Gee and Stevie light up in Follow Me; Coronet and Skippers Pack Track.

Coronet is a berm filled flow country trail made from ego dirt. Start at the Coronet Ski Field base building and climb up the trail. Once at the top take in a deep breath of the view, looking south west to fiordland and over Skippers Canyon – where you will be later on – before turning on your tail and carving the trail down. Afterwards cruise down the road a few kilometres, turn into Skippers Canyon and ride down the pack track on the right of the road. The trail is short (5 km) but the views will keep you stalled from time to time. The ride down and back up the road will take about an hour. To really make the most go with someone who knows the history of the area. The stories of brothels, frontier shenanigans and construction of the gold rush towns and roads is scintillating stuff. Vertigo Bikes offer guided shuttles in the canyon which will provide you with some entertaining background on the area. Afterwards go for an emergency Fergburger and try the chips (you may know them as fries) with wasabi mayonnaise.

For trail maps, directions, advice, rent a bike, buy some new shorts, fix up the beaten bike or book a guided trip, stop in at Vertigo Bikes located right in the centre of town opposite Fergburger. 4 Brecon Street, Queenstown. 0800 VERTIGO www.vertigobikes.co.nz

Alexandra
100 km east of Queenstown. Town is a little rough around the edges but if you like technical riding with a fun crew then you must track down Jimmy and Phil. Worth a full days riding but don’t try ride at midday in mid summer as the place is very hot, dry and has little shade.

Alexandra is a peculiar place. You drive through the lakes and steep jagged mountains of the Southern Alps, turn the corner at Cromwell (don’t forget to buy a real fruit ice cream on a warm day) and you end up in a wide valley that seems at odds to the area you were just in. Warmer and drier most of the year round Alexandra riding is considerably different from elsewhere nearby.

The riding is often steep, technical, exposed and rocky. The tracks and trails are found behind the clock tower (you can’t miss it as it a clock face pressed into the schisty rock the overlooks town) and are a maze. There is almost zero trail signage and many trail heads require careful navigation through open fields of thyme bush to find them. The very best trails are all local secrets so to get the most of your visit here you will have to go by way of Henderson’s Cycles & Mower Service (which also acts as the store front for Altitude Adventures www.altitudeadventures.co.nz) on the main street (88 Centennial Ave, Alex. 03 338 8917) and find Phil or James Pollard to find the best. These two are some of the most dedicated and knowledgeable riders you will find anywhere. James is particularly skilled on a bike and will have you looking over lines that no one else sees. They will be able to offer some excellent guiding, ride ideas, and even a shuttle to get you to the top of the hill range which will give you the best chance to gain as much time of the singletrack as possible. If you are in the area on a wednesday night then pop along for the locals ride to see how 14 year old nibblers and 50 year old farmers all tackle the demanding trails with aplomb.

Wanaka
90 km northeast of Queenstown
Mellow lakeside town with incredible views. Worth a day or two camping here by the Clutha River or go explore without bikes up the Matukituki Valley for some stunning hiking and camping.

Sticky Forest Plantation trails used to be the number one spot in the area, but land difficulties have meant the trails are rather stagnant there now. They are still worth a little fun, but other trail development nearby is the best bet and you can tag some Sticky Forest on the start or end of your ride.

Deans Bank popped up in recent years and is an incredible example of how good trail design can incorporate the needs and wishes of all mountain bikers on one trail. An hour long (lap times have been recorded much lower when the locals go head to head in a time trial format but racing isn’t always necessary) loop trail that starts in Albert Town campsite and can be linked from the Wanaka or Hawea townships using the Millennium trail (see local maps) to make a much longer cruise. The Deans Bank loop is a fun flowing roller coaster trail than makes excellent use of the terrain. There are plans to expand much further around Dublin Bay. For more information pop into the Tourist Office or bike shop in Wanaka for a biking map.

Just up the valley towards Cardrona and on the way to and from Queenstown via the Crown Range Road (New Zealand’s highest tar sealed road) is Dirt Park. Dirt Park is the summer moniker for Snow Park where Shaun White and most of the worlds top freestyle skiers and snowboarders come to perfect their spins and jibs.

You will need to sort out a shuttle for this (try Queenstown Bike Taxis 021 2967643 or email jono@queenstownbiketaxis.co.nz) because the road to the top is a 14 km dirt road. Once at the top there are two main DH oriented runs that wriggle through the tussock and rock. They go right down to the valley floor (a long way down) or you can do shuttles of the top half of the hill which is more than enough.

If you have a trail or AM bike and like a bit of gravity riding then you will be absolutely fine, but look before you leap. These trails were filmed in some of Follow Me when Stevie Smith and Gee Atherton came to sample in 2010. Look out for a super rad edit from Brook MacDonald riding here soon. Beware of riding/falling off the trail. Some of the grass is soft and breaks your fall, some of it is Spaniard Grass which will go through tires, skin and body armor easily. If you have ever wanted to feel what being a pin cushion is like then I dare you to go for a roll on one of these pricks.

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I am a sieve. Pour things into me and all those things just stream out like a crowd at a surprise Charlie Sheen appearance. As fast as I pour things in they just keep flowing away down the brain drain. Of course, I am talking about my mind and not my bowels; I would not dare be so crass for you lovely gentile readers. You see, as I move through the dawdling winding B-roads of life, my capacity to preserve knowledge is diminishing. I am not old enough to be mentally and physically incontinent, so age can’t be the reason. An adolescence of experimentation may play a factor, but even in the tallest of big fish stories I doubt my party prowess was wild enough to restructure the wiring of more than a tea kettle, let alone my mind. So by simple deduction I believe the internet is responsible for turning me into a hollow gormless beast. The advent of Google and Wikipedia has turned my retention of knowledge into something I need to ask Google what it is to start with. If you drew a graph of my forgetting curve then it would probably be a nearly vertical, inelastic red line.

Like a boy with my finger in the dyke my efforts to preserve knowledge is futile. Since information speed is now weighed against an index of 256 kilobites my brain has just stopped working as it once did. I don’t remember any useful information or facts, just vague abstract thoughts, the names of girls, and a black list of late night black out spots. There just seems no reason to have to remember anything at all, ever, when a faintly correct answer is available at a click of a mouse. I despair for the yoof of today – how on earth will they cope in life now that they don’t need to learn anything? Everything is instantly available at their grubby little fingertips through the power of Intel Inside. The young ‘uns are rather good at interneting though, so they don’t have to worry too muchly. I wonder how the kids get on with exams these days. Maybe exams will be reformatted to be more like a game show where you are given three lifelines – Google Search, I’m Feeling Lucky, and Ask Jeeves.

But one thing I am not so bad at is remembering directions. If I have traveled a journey once then it is seared into a part of my brain which would be far more useful if it could help me count cards or predict lottery numbers. I’m pretty good at having a good idea which way is which and where here relates to where I want to be. It’s like my mind works like a fuzzy matrix or a scene from Tron, all be it a slightly less cinematic version.

My ability to remember routes stretches to mountain bike trails but does not include an encyclopedic knowledge of trail names and statistics. If you asked me about a ride three years ago someplace I could describe the entrance way, what the trail was like and list my favorite three corners, but often I would not be able to tell you the name.

Getting lost is not an option. It might appear I am lost, but it just means the map I am reading doesn’t actually bear any reasonable resemblance to reality. This happened to me recently – or possibly much much later if you did manage to pull this detritus out of the Wild West Wonderland garbage dump of content. I was riding in Nelson, New Zealand trying to explore what trails were on offer on a day when there seemed to be no one available to show me around the good stuff. I had done the logical thing and gone down to the bike shops to find a local trail map, but of course, being a sunday none of the half a dozen half arsed bike shops were open so I went to the tourist information centre and purchased a map which was titled Nelson’s Best Mountain Biking Tracks. Now when you pay $5 for a map with such a boastful and authoritative title you really expect the best, but this being mountain biking I knew there would be some deficiencies. There are very few mountain bike maps or guides that are ever informative, detailed, up to date, or that can accurately describe what a Best Mountain Biking Track actually means. Mountain bike trail maps are usually more than vague caricatures of the terrain to which they allude to. The phrase more useful to wipe your arse comes to mind, but then again they are printed on the kind of paper that I wouldn’t use to wipe toothpaste off the bathroom mirror.

This particular map missed whole roads out, added some extras that may or may not of existed around the time of the Moa, and handily put in directional markers that showed the direction you should ride the trail if you are a droopy eyed armless child. So I doubt I would of been so confused as to which island I was on if only the map hadn’t been put together by some half witted lost boy years ago. Just like the map is not the territory, the map I had purchased had no relation to maps themselves. I could of got better directions from a garbled telephone conversation with a stroke victim who rode the trails one time when he was hammered drunk and I could of drawn a better map on a hessian sack using a blunt pencil whilst wearing two pairs of winter gloves.

It isn’t just Nelson that this happens in. The whole of New Zealand is pretty confusing for first-timers and even the eighth edition of the know legendary Kennet Bros. guide is no guarantee. This weighty (relatively speaking) tome still possesses the writers biases for considering multi-day rides that may require more hike-a-biking than biking as being superior to anything else. Reading this book has had me thinking the ride I am about to go on could be a snooze fest that is as worthwhile as keeping a diary of toenail cuttings, but it has usually turned out to be an incredible ride that was worth writing about in my pink diary highlighted by glitter and love hearts. I have once been mistaken into thinking a highly recommended eight hour mountain pass epic was worth exploring, but I came back with blisters on my heels and nothing more than bad memories.

This is a wide problem with mountain biking. If you go somewhere new then you had better A) have someone you know and trust to show you around B) prepare to stumble around finding all the mundane trails, or C) get so frustrated that you give up finding the three-degree climbing singletrack and ride up the sun scorched seven-degree fire road till your bladder runs dry and you are left looking like a bloodied macadamia nut gasping for air whilst clawing at the sky whimpering Why? Why is there no reception for my f-ing phone here? I could ask GoogleMap to save me damn it.

You can not fight time and finally we have time to start playing with Final Cut Pro. We have been playing with video creation and content for a while now but this is our first attempt at editing, and, WOW, it is going to take time to get to the level we want. However, we are very impressed with how intuitive and easy to use software like FCP is. With relatively cheap camera equipment, slick and easy to use editing software, and sites which are easily accessible for all of us to upload to and distribute make this a brave new world. This video has a few glitches and a little rough in places but we are pretty pleased how the first one turned out.

The video is a simple look at when artist Darren Camplin added a special touch to Arbutus Routes’ new tech benches. Using spray paint and India ink he turns the sheet metal facade into an abstract scene of Arbutus roots, trees and trail. Shot on Location at Arbutus Routes’ Whistler Village North Location on 12th May 2012.

arbutusroutes.com/
darrencamplin.wordpress.com/

The third installment of Hey Neighbour dropped this week. In this episode our guide for some North Shore history was Sterling Lorence, one of mountain biking’s most respected photographers. Enjoy the video and words which accompanied it. For the full piece, including Sterling’s incredible shots, go to NSMB.com.

Hey Neighbour #3: Sterling Lorence’s One Roll Thunder Storm
Sterling Lorence or the North Shore – which came first? The trails and riding were products of the environment, as was Sterling. But without someone unique on hand to document the essence of what was happening in these mountains, perhaps a different image of the Shore would have emerged.

Sterling Lorence grew up on the North Shore. He lived here, he was schooled here, he played here, and when mountain bikes came into his life, he rode here. Sterling was a good rider with race results and a list of conquered trails to prove it. However, it was his ability to to capture the fundamental spirit of the North Shore that set him apart.

We tracked Sterling down one snowy February morning. We wanted to understand more about how the North Shore went from underground movement to world famous circus, and what role Sterling played in the process. The morning turned into most of the day as we trundled around Cypress while Sterling passionately illuminated us on so many topics about the Shore. The knowledge, history and commentary that Sterling imparted on us that day could fill a book.

The course we walked that day wasn’t just symbolic for being a quintessential North Shore line, but rather retracing a pivotal day in Sterling’s career and life. A 36 exposure roll of 400 ASA Kodak Tri-X black and white film (pushed to 1600) shot on Pre-Reaper and Reaper gave Sterling his first keepers; images that served up his spectral vision of riding the Shore and the launch pad to becoming a professional photographer. Then on the next roll, taken a few days later, Sterl captured the Reaper log ride shot of Eric Vandrimmelen that became the Bike Magazine Photo Annual cover, as a gatefold spread. For a photographer this is like winning the Olympics and the lottery at the same time.

He had been shooting for a little while already, so this one roll wasn’t just beginner’s luck, but still, it is an extraordinary achievement. Sterl’s lifelong friends Eric Vandrimmelen and Scott Grieve shared the same passion for riding and helped him experiment in those early days; “They are the two riders that gave me lots of chances to evolve my photography with them as subjects and they were the two on that first roll of B&W that I was trying to shoot ‘keepers’ on. I had explored with some test rolls prior to this to discover which stocks handles the Shore darkness best, and then this was the first roll that I was targeting specific moves and places on the Pre-Reaper and Reaper trails.”

With the North Shore suddenly in vogue (not just because of Sterl’s shots) everyone wanted a part of what the North Shore was putting down. The black and white images of riders doing unthinkable maneuvers in a backdrop of shrouded mystery amongst the pillars of a great forest were unlike anything anyone had ever seen. They were alien and evocative.

It was Joel Smith, then working at Answer Manitou, that gave Sterling his first paid commission job in 1998. Manitou was releasing the Millennium fork and they wanted an advert with the fork being ridden on the Shore. The images coming from Vancouver’s mountainous backdrop were mesmerizing to an audience used to seeing blue skies and dusty trails. More so, what was happening on the Shore was manufacturing a whole new market.

People thirsted for the style and look of the Shore. Even beyond mountain biking circles, big companies like Oakley want billboard images from these trails that might appear on a highway in Southern California. People continue to be spellbound by the drama of North Shore riding.

What made the North Shore famous wasn’t the names of the riders, or even the riding, but rather the trails. These daunting lines through the forest forced our sport to evolve. Trail builders letting their imagination run wild in the wet, gnarled, steep, and cluttered mountainsides meant riding here was no walk in the park.

Sterling remembers clearly what Pre-Reap and Reaper meant to him as a rider before he picked up a camera, “I was, on numerous occasions, left mentally exhausted by one of Dangerous Dan’s trails. I remember being relieved and stoked when I finished Pre-Reaper, so much so that some days I would do just that one trail and be done for the day. I wouldn’t need to keep riding so I’d peel out and ride down the road. It was so technically challenging that it required so much concentration and was just so scary.”

Sterling believes what was happening back then in the North Shore movement was akin to a Dog Town style and creativity which was fueled by “fun, danger, and not the media because there was no precedence. We weren’t influenced by anything but nature and the possibilities we imagined.”

Ladies and gentlemen, Sterling Lorence’s one roll thunder storm.

Mexico was probably the best time of my life. Hidden in the desert, building trails for three months, completely cut off from life and reality (well, we did have internet thank goodness) we were able to shed some of the layers of behavior we are forced to wear in society. We acted like hooligans, roamed free and wild with no one to tell us what we should do or how to do it. It allowed us to get something back of our childhood and something that I imagine was present in man way back when. One of the best things was being allowed to express ourselves anyway we wanted. Whether that meant running around letting off fireworks or lying on the roof naked or sitting up under the stars writing about exactly what was in front of us. Despite feeling like we had signed up to an isolated prison in the desert we soon realized this was the most freedom we had ever experienced in our lives, or perhaps ever will again.

An ocean of blue, but neither a sea nor body of liquid. Waves of breeze and blow, not licked sea caps but wisps of cloud. The only tide is the sunlight, never hidden nor masked, except on its nocturnal flight.
Earth wide, space large. Landscape few, distant view. horizon granted, earths curve slanted.

Most days warm. Kissing fleece of hugging content. Some days cold like a stepmothers breath. One day shirts off, shorts on. Then next day turned off, hustle on.

To the front fathoms of room. To the rear fortress sentinels loom. Protected in the corner, backs to the wall. Canyons scored by rain, hiding places with a thousand no names. A thousand and twenty times fissures concealed, secreted and veiled.

Little sound when no one around. Believing nothing or no man steps forward on this ground. Coyotes bite, scorpion might. Snake rattle, feral cattle. A lonesome arrowhead, from battle, hunt or game? Like tell tale footprints of a warrior looking to maim. 

Laughing is important. Laughing at yourself is even more important. Dan Barham, Matt Dennison and I laugh at ourselves more than most…a statement which sounds like I’m saying something else entirely.

Anyway, the Ultramontane series was one of the boldest and most refreshing pieces of branding and creativity that mountain biking has ever seen. Ideal for a bit of a parody. The NSMB.com news team (and Dan Barham) launched into action to lampoon the Ultramontane style and this is what we came up with. Check out the full Ultramundane satire on NSMB.com.

We said we may never do it but we did – Hey Coach!

Light hearted, highly visual and easy to digest with simple, small pointers, Hey Coach! is a brand new video coaching series that NSMB.com produced in collaboration with Endless Biking.

May the 4th be with you.