The Outlaw — January 5-12, 2003

I left Vancouver on Sunday, the 5th of January, flew for about 16 or so hours and arrived in Christchurch on Tuesday the 7th of January. I don’t know what the rest of the world was doing on January 6th, but for me, the day never existed. Very odd to try and wrap your mind around that.

I would spend the next few months at the house of my good friend and coach, Gordo. However, when I arrived he was somewhere between Taupo and Christchurch on his bike and I would have the first few days at his house alone. His flatmate, Chris (aka Macca), picked me up at the airport and showed me around a little bit — where the gym was, the pool, the grocery and produce stores — then left me on my own.

I don’t know that I actually had any jetlag, but I was grateful to be alone for a couple days to settle in. The day after I arrived, I woke feeling a touch out of sorts. It was a bit of an overcast morning, and I stood in the main room looking out over the estuary wondering what I was doing there, did I really want to be there, and did I make the right decision to up and leave in the first place. That feeling was short-lived, however. After a morning run, ride to the pool for a swim and a little sightseeing, I felt like I could live there.

Gordo had set up a training schedule for my first week in NZ that was mostly just adjusting after all the traveling. The Saturday called for a ride on a route the locals call “Short Bays” ride. It included a fair bit of climbing and ascended two passes. I had printed out the directions that Gordo had given me and took off for my ride.

Well, the first road on the directions was Dyers Pass Road and the first road I came to was Dyers Road. It didn’t say Pass, but perhaps this was the road Gordo meant — it was the first “Dyers” after all and I did ask if the road I was to take was that first one. So I turned left and head towards the mountain.

The guys had told me that the first 100 meters of Dyers was the steepest bit, yet, it seemed pretty easy to me so far. Didn’t know what they were going on about, so I just figured I’d come to it further ahead. Up ahead I saw a tunnel. Hmmm... the guys never mentioned anything about a tunnel. Perhaps there’s a road that runs up alongside the tunnel.

There was no road that veered off and up from the road I was on. I was heading straight for the tunnel. I took a quick glance around for any “No Cyclists” type signs, saw none, rode right past a Tunnel Patrol truck and into the tunnel.

The tunnel was narrow and there wasn’t a great deal of shoulder to ride on — maybe a foot. Fortunately it wasn’t too busy, but it turned a little and I couldn’t see either end. All of a sudden the tunnel seemed darker and seemed to grow longer and narrower. I couldn’t see any light ahead of me and what traffic there was, was passing me pretty closely. This started to seem like a real bad idea. I hugged the edge as tight as I could, kicked onto my big ring and picked up my pace, and said over and over under my breath to the traffic approaching from behind, “Please see me, please see me...”

Finally I could see a spec of light, “Yes! The end of the tunnel!” I picked up my pace even more trying to get out of there as fast as possible. I could hear a semi-trailer behind me and prayed he could see me. He did and he stayed behind me until I was clear of the tunnel. Kudos to that trucker for hanging back and not trying to squeeze past me. Holy huge relief, Batman! Was I ever glad to be out of there.

The tunnel spat me out in the village of Lyttleton where I was to pick up the road over Evans Pass and back down into Sumner. The road wasn’t clearly marked, at least not to me, and I promptly got lost. As I was turning around from a dead end, a guy in a car pulled up to me and said, “That was illegal, you know, riding your bike through the tunnel.”

“Say what?”

Turns out it is illegal to ride a bike through the tunnel and I could have been arrested and fined for it, according to the local. (A roadie later told me I’d just get my hand slapped being a tourist -- at most I’d be fined.) He also told me that they have video cameras in there and that I was recorded riding through. If I go through there again, they will arrest me. Newsflash! No bloody way am I riding through that tunnel again!

When the local finally stopped with the lecture, he pointed me to the road I needed to get up Evans Pass. I rode off and started laughing to myself. Here I am, not even a full week in New Zealand yet, and already I’m an outlaw. ;-) The rest of the ride, although incredibly gorgeous, was uneventful. Oh, except for the wicked downhill into Sumner! It’s one of those descents you want to go up and do again and again.

People get a real kick out of the telling of my little adventure. Seems I did what everyone around here wants to do. They do open the tunnel one day a year for cyclists to ride through, but many people never get the chance to do it. I’m not only an outlaw I’m a legend, too. ;-)

Wee Bits:

• Heard on a local rock radio station... "Not quite up to U2 standards, but a bloody good song!"

Back to Top
Back to the Journals Index

Terminator to Timaru — January 13-19, 2003

Training Terminator Style

The week started off with my first Masters session at the AquaGym. Scott Molina runs the AquaGym and was my Masters coach. How cool is that, I ask? After a good swim, I swapped workout gear and hit the weight room. Scott was also in there doing some lifting and gave me a few pointers on the leg press and leg extensions. It is a small gym — I likened it to Scott’s home weight room. For a while there, it was just the two of us in the gym working out and chatting. Ha! I worked out with Scott Molina today! :-)

Hanmer Springs

Gordo, Clas, a few of the Swedes and a few Aussies took off early Tuesday morning on their bikes for the 160K ride to Hanmer Springs. This would be an overnight training trip. The crew would ride up, go for a run then the next morning do a long run followed by a ride back home. I would do my ride solo in Christchurch then drive up with all their overnight gear.

On the return stretch of my ride, an older fellow pulled up beside me and started chatting. Very friendly these Kiwi chaps are. His name was Graham and he was headed to Sumner, which is just up the road from Gordo’s. He showed me a different route than the one I had been riding that went through Heathcote. He said we had one “wee” hill to climb. Hmm... This was to be a flat ride for me today, no hills. What exactly did Kiwis consider “wee” anyway? I was picturing Evans Pass type hills — that wouldn’t be such a good idea today. As it turned out, wee was pretty small. The “climb” was only two or three hard pedal strokes, not worthy of changing gears, but standing was acceptable.

I ended up riding a little longer than planned, but it was all good. :-)

The drive up to Hanmer was gorgeous. The motorways go through all these little towns that you’d miss if you blinked. Many were no more than a gas station. Then I turned out onto Hwy 7 — one lane with nearly no traffic at all. In between the little towns is nothing... and I mean nothing. The terrain reminded me of BCs Okanagan, yet more remote and with more vegetation.

Hanmer Springs is a beautiful little resort area popular both winter for the skiing and summer for the hot springs, mountain biking, water sports. It looked very much to me like Whistler Village. When I was out running later with Karin, one of the Swedes in Christchurch training for the summer, she said it reminded her of the Swiss Alps.

When I arrived at the house the crew rented the whole side of the house was lined with bikes. There were nine of us in all. After everyone went for their post-ride run, showered and had dinner, we sat around the fireplace in the living room telling triathlon stories. It was kind of funny, I thought. We were like campers sitting around a campfire telling ghost stories and fishing tales.

The next morning we woke up to a brilliant blue sky and warm temps. Everyone laced up for a long run through the forest. The crew was running longer than I... and of course, faster. ;-) So we parted ways at the trailhead and I went off on my own. The run was incredibly gorgeous and extremely invigorating. I could run there everyday and never get bored of it. It reminded me a little of the Seymour Demonstration Forest in BC.

As the crew was fueling up for the return ride to Christchurch, I had a little chat with Gordo about volume. I was over nine hours already this week and he said I could very well hit 25 hours. Twenty-five?! The only time I ever hit 25 hours in a week was when it ended with an Ironman. ;-)

Lessons in Gordoworld

Thursday I went for a two-hour ride with Gordo. It would be steady for me and easy for him. ;-) However, the lesson today would be learning exactly what steady pacing was. It’s a solid pace to ride at. One that you can maintain and still hold a conversation, however, it takes a lot of focus to maintain for extended periods of time. You feel like you’re working the whole time. I can see how a five-hour ride at steady pace can be a killer workout. It was a relief when I got to ease off the last half hour, but an extremely good lesson to learn.

During our ride we had a discussion about training volume and the outside stresses of daily life. It’s rather hard to explain this to someone — it really needs to be experienced to be understood.

How does someone who can barely handle a 15-hour week (on occasion) step into a 22-hour week feeling they hadn’t even started? That was me. I left Los Angeles doing an average of 13 hours per week training volume. I took naps in my car or the park on my lunch breaks, sometimes I snuck out of the office in the afternoon for a quick 10-minute power snooze and I was often irritable with the general population. My first full week of training in New Zealand and I hit the end of the week at 22 hours feeling like it was still the beginning of the week. What was different?

In one word: Stress.

I have always been one to handle stress very well, and actually didn’t feel that I was under a great deal of it. However, cruising along on my bike on the other side of the world with nary a car in sight, I saw plenty. I had a full time job that wasn’t going anywhere and limited my growth, I had a 90+ minute grid-locked daily commute, I had smog in abundance, I had noise pollution in abundance, I only had so many hours each day to try and squeeze in my training, all of my training involved driving... and anyone who lives in LA knows that there is no “quick drive” anywhere.

I had become complacent with my routine and just didn’t realize the affects it all had. It’s not until you’re able to step out and take a look in that you realize, “hey, that wasn’t so great, I can’t believe I thought that was okay.” A few changes to my environment and suddenly I had the energy and time to train like... well, like a pro. ;-)

Granted not everyone has the ability to up and bust out like I did. I have no mortgage payments, no car payments, no husband, no kids, and a mobile/universal talent. However, is you’re able to remove a few stresses from your daily life, you’ll find you can do amazing things.

And I capped my first 22-hour training week off with an Olympic distance triathlon. :-)

Wee Bits:

• The ATM machines say, “OK, got that!” instead of “Thank you” when you’ve finished your transaction.
• None of the houses have heat! They think its sub-tropical and Monday was so bloody cold I had to wear gloves INSIDE to type on my computer.
• Heard on the local rock radio station... “Bloody hell, I’d be scared shitless!” Said the DJ regarding bungy jumping.

Back to Top
Back to the Journals Index

Epic Camp — January 20-31, 2003

Epic Camp is something that Scott Molina and Gordo dreamed up one afternoon. Basically, you get a group of fast people together for two weeks of some serious over-distance training, sharing of knowledge and experience — and a few good laughs. You can read Gordo and Scott’s accounts of Epic Camp at www.epiccamp.com. For the support girl version, read on.

Day One: Flatulence Orchestra
The camp was comprised of eight guys and myself — John, Andrew, KP, Macca, Scott, Clas, Gordo and Mauricio. Clas would join us mid-way as he had been nominated for a prestigious athletic award in Sweden. Mauricio would assist with the support duties, but more importantly, was the Epic massage therapist, and yours truly, the Epic support girl. The camp started with an early morning kick-off swim at the AquaGym. The guys did the masters class while I did my own thing.

After the swim it was a feeding and packing frenzy as the guys got ready to roll. The van all loaded and the Epic boys all suited up. A couple quick photos for posterity and they were off. I then picked up Mauricio and we headed out to Geraldine for the camp’s first lunch stop.

I have to mention, the van only had a cassette player. Scott was kind enough to bring some old cassettes for us to listen to as we would drive through many places that would be radio-free. Interesting collection — Boz Scaggs, Barry Manilow, The Jackson Five, Santana that had something else taped over it. Hmm... I promptly informed Mauricio there would be no Manilow or J-Five while I was in the van. ;-)

After lunch Mauricio and I swapped driving duties — I took off running and he would pick me up about 8K down the road. The run was nice, but a little hot and straight into a headwind. I kept thinking about the tough going it would be for the guys.

Nearing the end of my run, I came around and corner and saw Mauricio and the van waiting for me. As I got closer I could hear Mauricio singing. He had turned on the microphone in the van and was singing along to Barry Manilow tunes! Too funny.

We arrived at the final destination for the day, Lake Tekapo. What a gorgeous place! The house we had sat up on the side of the hills and overlooked the pristine turquoise lake. I have yet to find a photograph that does the colour of that water justice. We quickly unloaded the van and then I got started on dinner so it would be ready when the crew arrived. It wasn’t long after dinner before they all started farting like an orchestra! Pee-U! Love those guys, but man, did they ever stink! ;-) I finally couldn’t stand it anymore and retreated to my room for the night.

Day Two: Playing with the Big Kids
Today was a lot of fun. I started off with a morning run out to the lake and then along a trail that winded its way above the river. Today would be another 200K ride for the guys and Mauricio took off with them to ride as far as Lindis Pass. At the top of the pass, we would swap driving and I would ride the last 80K or so to Wanaka.

As soon as the guys arrived, I took off down the other side of the mountain. What an awesome descent! Oh, how much would I love to just keep doing that descent over and over! The road was deserted save for the odd car and weaved its way downward slicing between massive majestic peaks. I will never be able to express enough how incredibly beautiful it is here or how small I felt surrounded by those peaks. It’s absolutely breathtaking.

At the bottom of the summit the guys started to catch me one-by-one. First Gordo then Macca then Scott. I caught up with Scott — and passed him! He caught me back and we rode together chatting until we caught up with Gordo and Macca. We sat in on their wheels and then the rest of the guys caught up to form a nice little pack. I rode with the Epic pack with a big ole grin on my face clipping along nicely at about 21 mph or so. WooHoo!!! Too much fun I was having!

Then Macca blasted an initiation fart my way. “Uh, thanks mate.” ;-) Gordo said his farts smell like lavender. Ha! I was then informed that I had been properly initiated into the pack.

Gordo reminded me to ride my own pace and so far I had been — I was near the top of my zone, but I was still within. ;-) It was all good until we either hit a small hill or the guys picked up the pace slightly. I couldn’t maintain my place in the pack without my HR elevating too high and that was that. Just a foot off the back and there was no hopping back on for me. I can honestly say hat was one of the best 45 minutes of riding I’ve ever had! :-)

The rest of my ride was great. I was moving along at a nice clip, my pacing steady and even, until I turned off for Wanaka and straight into a stiff headwind. My bike speed probably dropped clear in half — more time to take in the scenery. :-) The countryside was so wide open. You could look in any direction and see nothing for miles or one lone farmhouse. I wondered why people lived so far from everything, so isolated. It must be an all-day event to go grocery shopping or run all those little errands that I’m so accustomed to just running “around the corner” to do. So out in the middle of nowhere, and the funny thing is, I felt completely safe out there all alone.

With about 16K to go the road came to a T-junction. Sitting under a road sign at the junction was KP. He’d blown off the back of the pack and knew it would mean a redline heart rate to catch up. Instead, he decided to hang out and ride the rest of the way in with me. I was most happy for the company.

Day Three: Table Talk
Today we stayed put in Wanaka and had a somewhat mellow day. We all went for a morning swim and then later in the afternoon I wet for a run around the lake. It was seriously windy, but not enough for Gordo to actually classify it “windy”. ;-)

I found it pretty windy on my run, however. There was a fierce crosswind coming off the lake as I ran alongside. Not only was it knocking me around so much that I looked like a total drunkard, it was kicking my legs across one another so I was running cross-legged. I kept whacking the inside of my left ankle with the heel of my right shoe. I managed to escape with only one layer of skin scrapped off and a small bruise. ;-)

The evening’s dinner conversation was interesting and entertaining as usual. The guys all had some degree of “bag” issues and Scott shared some old racing stories. Most entertaining. And lucky me, the guys cleaned up the dinner dishes. :-)

Day Four: And a Baron Makes Nine
I went for a morning run around the lake, packed the van, and headed off for Arrowtown. Mauricio was riding the full route today — about 80K or so with a 1900-meter summit across the Crowne Range. I took the long road instead of the range and followed the Kawarau Gorge. Breathtaking! This is also where AJ Hackett’s famous bungy jumping bridge is.

We’d be spending a few days here in Arrowtown and will race a 1/2IM in the middle. I arrived ahead of the crew and got things all set up. After a short run, we all went for a ride of the bike course we’d be racing that weekend. Gordo gave me some excellent tips and pointers on the course in between chatting. He told me that Scott said I could handle myself well on the descents, to which Gordo said, that’s what she’s famous for in LA. Nice compliment. :-)

The rest of the day was spent chilling out around town. Arrowtown is an old gold rush town nestled right at the foot of the mountains. It’s very quaint and looks like it could be any small town in the BC interior. Our accommodations were little cottages that sleep three to each, so I’m sharing with Scott and Mauricio. Hope that gas situation is under control. ;-)

Clas arrived today, too, so now we’re a happy little Epic crew of nine.

Day Five: Chillin’ by the Barbie
Today was another quiet one. I was a little tired and tomorrow was race day so I just went for a short run and then hung out in town for a bit. Everyone seemed pretty mellow and going about their pre-race routines. Dinner was a nice salmon filet and chicken BBQ. KP handled the BBQ honours.

Day Six: Race Day
The Queenstown 1/2 IM. My race report is on the Race Reports page and capped an 18-hour training week.

Day Seven: A New Level
Today we made the trek to Alexandra, but first, the guys decided to start the day off with a 3K open water race. While they raced, I went into Queenstown to do bike shop errands and stock up on groceries. All the guys rode today, so I drove solo and took the day off training. Dinner was a huge pasta feast and after dinner it was just Gordo, Scott and I chatting about, what else... training. ;-) We went through my next training week and Scott shared some very interesting training theories — stuff I’d like to try and incorporate in my next training season.

Scott also told me the history behind Taylor’s Mistake. When I first arrived in Christchurch, I saw a sign that said ‘Taylor’s Mistake’ and was curious to find out how it came to be called so. Seems Captain Taylor was steering his ship into Lyttleton Harbour, but mistook it for a neighbouring cove and grounded his ship. Oops.

I’m actually feeling pretty fantastic for having just done a 1/2IM yesterday. Got a little tired as the day wore on, but no muscle soreness whatsoever. Ha! I’ve reached a level of fitness where I can just walk into a 1/2IM race like any other training day! No taper, a couple easy days after and the machine keeps rolling.

Day Eight: The OK Corral
I really didn’t want to get up this morning, but came alive during our morning swim. I was trying to pack the van, but the guys took over and told me to beat it. I was starting off ahead of the crew to ride for a couple hours then Mauricio would pick me up in Becks — that’s in Becks the town not with Becks the beer. ;-)

I was having a slow ride. My quads were pretty much toast. I was feeling great but my legs just weren’t there. At one point I was riding past New Zealand’s rugged-rolling countryside, looking out over the tan grass with dark volcanic rocks jutting out haphazardly. I couldn’t help thinking I was in the Lord of the Rings’ Middle Earth and at any moment Gollum peak his head out from behind one of those rocks. “Smeegle...” I said aloud slow and drawn out just like Gollum would. Where did that come from?! I had to laugh, which only made it funnier. Ah, so easily entertained. At least I wasn’t talking to fence posts. ;-)

I was quite happy when I finally saw the van, but disappointed I didn’t have more juice in my legs. The ride was so gorgeous that I really wanted to keep riding. As Mauricio and I drove the rest of the way to Middlemarch, he was singing along to the Jackson Five tape. Why does he know all the words to these tunes? ;-)

As we drove past the guys, I dangled a bag of licorice all-sorts out the window at Scott. Figured it would be a little added incentive to bust it up those hills. Scott laughed and later at lunch Macca said, “That was a cruel thing to do to a man.” ;-)

Middlemarch was another one of those two-block main drag kind of towns and was nearly deserted. There was a pretty solid wind howling through and I suddenly felt like I was in an old western movie. I stood in the middle of the road and looked down the street waiting for the Power Train to arrive — sort of like Wyatt Earp and Doc Holliday right before the famous shootout at OK Corral. What a neat vibe there.

KP and Andrew hopped in the van after lunch, and about 15K later Scott and Macca hopped in. The weather had turned pretty nasty with fierce winds and cold rain, and the terrain long unforgiving climbs. Gordo, Clas and John kept on going and it wasn’t too much longer before the elements let up and the sun returned.

I think everyone was pretty much done by the time we reached Dunedin. I hustled to get dinner ready for the crew with help from Scott, and Mauricio worked a solid night on the massage table.

Day Nine: Directions Kiwi Style
This morning we all piled into the van and made our way for the pool. We were a little lost, so I ran into a corner store to ask for directions. I’ve discovered a theme when asking for directions in New Zealand. Goes something like this:

“Well, you keep going down this road and down the hill. It bends around the corner to the left and to the stop light. Keep going through that light, go around another bend and to the top of that hill. There’s a street at the top but don’t turn there, go to the next road after that first one, and at the next stop light you turn left and go down the hill. Keep going until you see the pool on your right. You won’t miss it, its right there.”

Okay then... I’m more lost now than I was when I walked in. Tip for future NZ travels — always have a map on hand. ;-)

So, we found the pool finally and swam about an hour until it was time for our swim flume session. How cool was that, I must say! The flume is about 25 feet long, but you only see half of it. There’s a mesh netting at the back to stop you from getting sucked up in the jets if the current is too strong, but David Peace, the fellow who ran the flume, assured us that’s never happened. There are cameras set up that record you from four different angles and David critiques your stroke into a microphone, recording it right onto your flume video. Nice not having to try and remember everything he said.

It’s pretty wild to stop swimming and see how fast the water is rushing past you. Made me giggle thinking I was swimming fast enough that when holding onto the rope, my legs dangled out behind me.

Between the flume, a short run and an easy spin, Gordo and I had an interesting discussion about being “open”. It’s just an awareness thing that can help increase overall energy. For an example, standing on the beach waiting for a race to start on a cool morning, what do people often do? Cross their arms over their chest. This “closes” your energy. If you’re aware of that and let your arms drop back down, you “open” your energy. You may feel better, stronger, taller... and you may even race better. ;-)

Day Ten: Icky Sheep
I got up before the rest of the crew this morning and took off for a run. I followed a trail that took me through a golf course. I could hear waves breaking, but couldn’t see them over the dyke at the edge of the golf course, so I changed direction and followed the sound. When I got to the top I was stopped dead in my tracks. I was standing on the edge of sheared rock cliffs that plummeted straight down into the ocean while powerful waves crashed upon a white sand beach, all under the glow of a rising sun. It was a stunningly perfect way to start the day.

Today we would make our way to Timaru with a stop in Oamaru for lunch where Mauricio would leave our happy little band of campers. KP and Andrew arrived for lunch first (they had taken off early again) and KP, feeling the six V’s (similar to Red Bull) he chugged down at a corner store, wolfed down a quick lunch and took off like his butt was on fire. Andrew decided to call it a day as he was having some stomach issues.

The funniest bit of lunchtime escapades was when Scott cracked a beer. Gordo tried to take it away and Scott said, “I’ve crushed faster guys than you after more than one beer!” Listening to Scott and Gordo banter can be highly entertaining.

Back on the road we slowed to check on KP. Seems he’d had a little trouble with his chain and the front of his shin was gashed open. A little first aid and he was off again like gang busters. One tough dude, that KP is.

When we arrived in Timaru, I had to take off right away to get my ride in before dinner, so Andrew pitched in and unloaded everyone’s gear. I rode a little shorter than planned. Carrying a little fatigue from the race still, I guess. I couldn’t get my HR up and my quads felt like they were working more than they should at the HR I was sitting at. I was doing an out-n-back and on the way back ran into a fairly decent headwind — or at least it felt that way to my quads. Have you ever ridden into a headwind and had a semi-trailer come flying past you in the opposite direction? Talk about mega headwind draft. Every time a rig blew past me, its draft was so fierce that it hit me like a cold, hard slap in the face and brought my bike to a split-second standstill. Every truck was hauling sheep and every time that draft hit me, so did a nasty musty stench. Icky sheep! Those sheep smelled worse than the Epic Flatulence Orchestra in Tekapo.

I got the night off cooking and we all went out for Chinese food. Good company and great conversation as usual. We were sharing maximum bike speed stories — Scott had us all beat. He hit 72mph down I-80 drafting off a semi-trailer once. Yikes! And I thought I was a speed demon. I’m so not worthy!

Day Eleven: “But I am in a race, I must go!”
I was up before the crew again and off for my swim. I got to enjoy a nice 50-meter outdoor pool under a warm spotless blue sky all to myself. The guys had all hit the road by the time I returned, and after packing up the van, I was off for today’s lunch spot in Motukarara en route to Akaroa.

All the guys arrived, except for Andrew. I was surprised that none of the guys had seen him as he had left ahead of them. I had seen him about 20K ahead of the crew on my drive in and he was doing well. The guys had finished their lunches and were eager to get back on the road, so I back-tracked to see if I could find Andrew. It wasn’t too long before I saw him. Seems he’d taken a wrong turn, got a couple of well-intended but misguided directions, and had ridden an extra 40Ks.

The route into Akaroa was comprised of three passes. The first climb was similar to Palomar Mountain, however, only about three miles or so instead of 12. Driving up the switchbacks we passed the guys one-by-one. Andrew got a second wind and just before the top of the climb hopped out to ride back down and bring it home with KP.

On his way down he passed a mountain biker with full panniers struggling up the climb. He asked Andrew how much further it was and the answer, “Oh, it’s a long way yet Mate.” Poor fellow’s face drained all colour as it hit the ground, completely deflated. Then when KP asked if there was only 1K more to the top, Andrew said it was another five. So evil. ;-)

At the top of the hill there was road construction just on the other side. I was stopped one car back from the flag person when Clas made the summit. The flag person told him to stop and wait and Clas said, “But I am in a race, I must go!” The guy thought for a second and then told him to be careful and he was off. Just as Clas disappeared around a bend, Gordo appeared at the summit. The flag person told him to wait and he said, “But I’m in a race!” The flag person said, “Ha! The last guy up here said the same thing.”

Akaroa is a quaint little village true to its roots as a French colony. I absolutely loved it, and on my evening run happened upon a parcel of land for sale — seven acres with a heritage home overlooking the harbour. I so could live there.

Day Twelve: Memory Lane
Today is the last day of Epic Camp New Zealand and I have to say I’m a little sad to see the camp come to an end. I started the day off with a run around the harbour and then drove to Little River where I would do an out-n-back ride on the flats.

Scott and Andrew arrived just as I was about ready to ride, so I rode with them for a while until a wind gust/hill combo knocked me off their wheels. I didn’t have too much more to go before I had to turn around anyway, so it was all good. As it was, I got off my bike just as the winds really started to pick up.

Lunch was at Corsair Bay today. We all went for a short swim in the bay — very refreshing. KP and Andrew called it a day there, Scott, Macca and John rode back to Gordo’s over Evans Pass, and Gordo and Clas ran over the pass through the trails.

Later that night we all went to the Ruptured Duck for our grand finale dinner. Pizza and beer! :-) Gordo gave all the guys a “Certificate of Epic Achievement” and Scott brought paraphernalia form the Terminator Memory Lane for everyone — including me! He gave me a limited edition, collector’s Scott Molina Ironman T-shirt. Tres cool.

At dinner we all shared our thoughts on the camp — best location, highlights, darkest moments, funniest moments, lessons learned and so on. The feedback was excellent, however, I had no answer for the darkest moment. Every moment I spent on the camp, doing my own version of epic training, was a highlight. And with that, the first Epic Camp on New Zealand’s South Island had come to an end.

Back to Top
Back to the Journals Index