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SPOKE

THE ONLY WAY IS UP

HISTORY LESSONS FROM CARDRONA AND THE HEAPHY

LOCAL HEROES

ROCKERS, ROLLERS, ARTISANS AND CREATORS GET THEIR RIDE ON

DESTINY NATIONS

KOREA, CANADA, NZ, FRANCE

I SS U E 63 S E PT 2015

TOMAS SLAVIK & FILIP POLC - CHILE ISSN 1177-018X ISSUE 63 SEPT 2015 NZ $10.90 AUS $11.90

Image: Jeff Smith

PEO PLE

FROM THE BELLY OF THE BEAST The life of a rock god, bike nut, weapons maker and normal bloke Tex t Rod Bardsley Photos Brett Kennedy

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“I can’t believe you’re riding that piece of shit.” Those were the first words to leave my mouth when I met Andrew Durno, aka legendary bassist Tall Beast from one of New Zealand’s biggest rock bands of the 90s, Head Like a Hole. At 6 foot 6 inches, Tall, as I still call him, had just arrived at my bike cave circa 1994 on The Terrace in Wellington on a rigid 21” Milazo Crazy Horse that he’d just bought from Mike The Hippy. The Horse was one of the first New Zealand mountain bikes to be sold in shops here, and it really was a piece of shit.

Its current equivalent can be found in any Warehouse store nationwide.

Tall tells me now that I really hurt his feelings, as he thought it was the shit and had lovingly painted it with blue Hammerite. It was his baby, and his love of riding in the dirt was born. I was a firefighter at the time and Tall was washing dishes and landscaping between gigs as any muso in New Zealand had to do to make any decent money. But like me, he had plenty of days free, so even though he was convinced I was an undercover narc, a free and easy relationship developed and we became pretty good buddies, doing a lot of riding and drinking and other stuff for many years to come.

HEDONISTIC NIGHTS OF NOT ENOUGH SLEEP AND TOO MANY NARCOTICS (OR WERE THEY JUST DREAMS?)

Fresh from my disdainful remarks about his bike, he quickly moved onto some real bikes. A huge Marin Team Issue with RockShox Judy forks lasted only a week before it was stolen. Then came a Diamondback Axis with Mach5 Manitou forks. Tall didn’t have a car, so riding everywhere was his thing. Any roadtrips were done in my ’65 Ford Fairlane, trying very hard to mimic Hunter S Thompson, minus the mescaline of course (impossible to get in those days). So I dragged Tall out riding as often as I could and he dragged me kicking and screaming to bars, gigs, clubs and parties, generally in that order,

and I got a taste of that rock ’n’ roll lifestyle for myself.

And what a lifestyle. Okay, this is New Zealand we’re talking about, there were no hookers, limos or helicopters. No pool parties, jets or cocaine (okay, there was a little bit of cocaine) but what there wasn’t was boredom. Everywhere we went, doors opened, people smiled and Tall got treated like a king.

Tall dabbled with a bit of DH racing, but due to his congenial nature there just wasn’t enough fire in his belly. The skill was there but his balls weren’t anywhere big enough so most of the

time he was just ‘out riding’.

The band split in ’99 and Tall got work at Weta Workshop making weapons and armour for Lord Of The Rings. Meanwhile I returned from living in London a few days before the eve of the new millenium, so Tall and I jumped in his Bedford van and partook in another wild road trip to Hawkes Bay with our DH bikes to spend New Year’s Eve at an all-night party on the East Coast. Sometime shortly after midnight both of us donned our full-faces and got a shuttle to the top of some huge hill and did what we like to think was the first DH run in the world for the year 2000.

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PL AC E S

UPLIFTING AND FREE Tignes proves there is more to French alpine riding than Morzine Tex t Sam Flanagan Photos Sam Flanagan

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Who hasn’t been to Morzine? It’s a classic, be it for seasoned racers or weekend warriors. But when is enough enough? When do you call halt on the knee-deep braking bumps and hour-long lift queues? When do the wings get spread, new pastures explored, and the jump over Mont Blanc to the southern alps become an acceptable yearly pilgrimage?

The New Zealand/Europe summer/winter divide makes as much sense as beans on toast. The number of Kiwis living a second summer in what is more often than not a sun-bathed Europe is increasing, and the number living on a van-life shoestring budget is also high; who has time to work when you’re in the depths of a double summer? When picking riding locations, enduro bikes and the fitness phenomenon have drastically reduced costs, but when the pull of the lifts to optimise the

massive climbs to the alpine becomes just too much, why not make it as costeffective as possible?

Tignes is your typical picturesque alpine ski village nestled below a vast glacier.

With the highest of the three Tignes villages, Val Claret, already putting you at 2200 metres and straight onto the lift for more ascent, the resort instantly grabbed our attention. Crossing the vast dam onto a twisting mountain road leading up to the higher modern ski villages, you instantly begin to spot trails littering the hillside.

Pulling into the bustling town, bikes rolling around left right and centre, pedalos galloping round the lake and onlookers watching terrified punters hit the slip and slide for the first time, you can understand the ‘Tignes effect’. The resort has been offering free lift passes for several years now, covering both Tignes and Val d’Isère.

To be eligible, you basically have to sign

WHO HAS TIME TO WORK WHEN YOU’RE IN THE DEPTHS OF A DOUBLE SUMMER?

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Musings on the origins of lift‑accessed life in Aotearoa Text by Laura Williamson, Photos by Sven Martin and Stefan Haworth I have a photo stuck in an old album. It was taken fifteen years ago, when people still had photo albums, and it’s of a bike with a lift ticket dangling from the brake cables.

The year was 2000, and I’d been riding at Cardrona Alpine Resort, something I’d only previously done on skis, and which I must have found pretty exceptional since I memorialised it on celluloid. The only things I remember from that day are clinging to my bike like crazy as I rode up the chair—back then you just hauled your bike onto your lap, placed your saddle over the armrest like a grappling hook, hung on, and hoped—and the realisation that what feels like a gentle slope to a skier is bloody steep on wheels.

A decade and a half later, last summer’s opening of Cardrona Bike Park was greeted joyously by the riding community (“Love to get my ass over there, class place for mountain biking”, commented one fellow on Facebook, adding “crazy f$%*er who painted them sheds!” in reference to the resort’s colourful base buildings), especially as the opening date in late December coincided with the start of the busy‑season blackout at Queenstown’s Skyline Gondola. What many may not have known is that the 2014/15 version was Cardrona Bike Park Mark II, and that some of the tracks they were riding were a legacy of New Zealand’s first experiment in lift-accessed riding.

Trialling mountain biking at Cardrona was the brainchild of Queenstown trailbuilder Graeme ‘Morgs’ Morgan. Using ski lifts to make riding more awesome wasn’t a totally new idea—American resorts like Big Bear Lake in California and Deer Valley, Utah opened their lifts to cyclists in the early 90s—but it was rare.

Whistler Mountain Bike Park was still a year away when he pitched the idea in 1998, and the concept was new to New Zealand. Or almost new. According to Morgs, for a (very) short period prior to the Cardrona experiment, the Skyline Gondola bosses in Queenstown had decided to allow anyone, with anything, to utilise the gondola. It didn’t go super well. “That only lasted about a month”, Morgs says. “There were no tracks to use then, so we were mostly riding the access road. A few people got run over.”

(Specifically, some people remember the wife of the Skyline director getting hit, which probably contributed to the brevity of the free-for-all gondola trial.)

All was not lost though. Morgs was one of a group of Queenstown riders—including Henry van Asch, Tony Moore, Ashley Cameron and John Thommsen—who were heading to Mont-Sainte-Anne to represent New Zealand at the UCI Mountain Bike Champs in 1998. Skyline agreed to continue to let them (and only them)

Kelly McGarry cool as ice, on the rocks Photo: Stefan Haworth

the The Heaphy Track Revisited Text by Anka Martin Photos by Sven Martin One of the big draws for our initial move to New Zealand was, of course, the mountain biking. Not your usual stock-standard trails, but the lure of a vast amount of backcountry riding and overnight hut-to-hut adventure possibilities. This was something that fascinated me and that I was excited to explore and discover. The Heaphy Track was the talk of the mountain biking community as we arrived in New Zealand; DOC was opening the track up to mountain bikers once again for a three-year trial period to see if bikers and hikers could work together and co-exist. I immediately booked two huts for the opening weekend in May 2012 and started researching how to tackle this overnight biking business.

power After many post-ride pub discussions on how to best prepare oneself for an overnight adventure, we went with the seatpost-mounted rack option to carry our then-oversized sleeping bags, and we had massive hiking backpacks to store all our treats, dehydrated food, cooking gear, changes of clothes and beer. We all chipped in to make it worthwhile for a rider’s wife to call in a sickie to drop us off on a Friday afternoon and pick us up in Karamea on Sunday afternoon.

Newbies at this whole thing, we learned quickly. The beer we carried was heavy, so at the top of the first big climb we decided to drink it––it was Simon Bannister’s birthday after all, so we had an excuse to start celebrating––but of course losing pack weight is always the goal, and our packs weighed between 8 and 12 kilograms. Turns out hiking

backpacks are specifically made for hiking and not biking; they don’t bend and shape to your spine. They stay straight, and after the first few hours mine rubbed and bruised the hell out of my back. Note to self, never ride with a hiking pack again.

The back rack with the sleeping bags were fine on the climbs, but boy, trying to descend with those bad boys was a bit odd to say the least. We eventually got used to it, but every time you got behind the saddle, you’d get a big old bump and rebound forward from your sleeping bag just as you were trying to navigate down a rock garden. We wanted to take our time and not rush, so we booked two nights in huts, with three days of riding.

That meant quite a lot more food and snacks to pack and everyone had to bring along a mystery treat for the weekend.

Despite all of the above, it was an absolute blast. We had plenty of time to wake up late, stop for trailside swims and basically just take it all in. Everything was so exciting and new and the trails and huts were just magic. It wasn’t an easy walk in the park; there was loads of climbing, some technical descents, roots, ruts and rocks to navigate through, up and over and even some sections where we had to dismount and walk. I was blown away and swore that it was to become a yearly affair before we have to head over to Europe in May each year.

The following two years, we booked our huts for the opening weekend, but unfortunately had to cancel both times due to torrential rainfall and massive storms––we’re not usually fair-weather riders, but the Heaphy is just more enjoyable when the sun is shining.

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A A T G

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Lifting the lid on one of the south’s unsung heroes of dirt Text and Photos by Matt Wragg

Life has been a tiny bit unfair to Alexandra. While money has poured into tourism-heavy towns nearby, thirty kilometres off the tourist route, Alex— as it’s affectionately known locally—has very much retained its blue-collar feel.

There are no flashy bike parks or trail centres, and the local riding community is small but active, and has quietly dug itself one of the most extensive trail networks in the country. And I’m sure I’m not the first to say this: the terrain doesn’t lend itself to easy riding.

If you’re planning to ride in Alexandra, you need to speak to local legend and guide Phil Oliver. An Auckland escapee, he made Alex home for him and his family some twenty years ago and, along with riding and digging partner Dave Fearnley, has been instrumental in shaping Alexandra riding into what it is today. In 2002 he hung up his race plates and set up Altitude Bikes and has worked tirelessly since to gain land access, dig trails and show it all off to as many people as he possibly can.

Our stay started with a decision. We could either pedal or take the 4WD to the top of the Old Man Range, a 1500m 15km grind up the face. Laziness won out this

time, but as we set off for the summit, none of us realised how lucky a call that had been. When you visit a new area, you can expect some embellishment from locals; they want to paint their home exciting. So when Phil mentioned a storm hitting the summit, we thought little of it. It was a pleasant twenty degrees in town and although there were some clouds at the top, how bad could it be? Apparently Phil doesn’t embellish.

Clouds swirled above us, obscuring the sun, then disappearing. As we climbed, the sun hid for longer and longer, until somewhere around 1200m it vanished for good. The wind picked up. Light rain began to fall. By the time we reached the summit at 1700m, snow was coming in horizontally on gale-force winds.

Refusing to be beaten by weather, we unloaded the bikes and attempted to descend towards the stunning rock spires that dominate the bleak mountaintops. It was too much. If we dared let our tyres lift off the slick, frozen rock, they were blown from under us, and if we stopped for even a second we could feel a layer of snow building on our clothing. We took shelter in an old miners’ hut cut into a rock face.

Little more than a hole in a boulder

Fabien Barel, Mike Jones and Sam Hill chill out on the Old Man Range 8 0 SPOKEMAGAZINE.COM

�PP RTUNITIES

K REA

It was foggy when Daniel and I landed. We met Joe, our guide and driver for the next two weeks, and we were feeling almost at home looking at the landscape and houses.

We noted, however, a cycling track next to the main road; in fact, this track traverses the whole country.

Students, at least those working in the cycle industry, traditionally ride this road before starting their first job. So began our visit to Seoul. We were well-rested after the long trip thanks to the upgrade we got from the airline, much to our surprise. At the end of the day Hannes joined us at the hotel after another long flight with a transit stop in the Emirates.

Unfortunately, his bike did not arrive but he was lucky enough as Odobike sorted him another bike for the first day. Though Korea has a lot of ski resorts, there is no bike park using the same infrastructure.

There are a few downhill races using chairlift facilities but none of the resorts remain open during the MTB season as it isn’t financially viable.

A ride across South Korea with no precise destination

Text by Alban Aubert, Photos by Daniel Geiger 8 6 SPOKEMAGAZINE.COM

We are very lucky in Europe, as we can use shuttles every day to get to the start of trails. Everywhere things are well organised. The first spot we hit is Namhansanseong, with a choice of four different trails which we discover one after another. We are surprised to see that Korean riders like to flow. Hoobigo R is a splendid trail and definitely our favourite. At the same spot we see a few rocky faces that we can ride. Tom surp­ rises me by offering me a shuttle: both of us on his motorcycle and my bike on a homemade support.

His father’s motorcycle is apparently built to fit two bikes. We ride run after run, loving every minute.

Alban Aubert and Hannes Klausner let the sun go down on them above Busan