Mountain Biking

Today was the most anticipated day of the trip for Charlie.

We had four hours of adrenaline-fueled fun booked at Rotorua’s world-class mountain bike trails, The Redwoods in Whakarewarewa Forest.

For Charlie, this was the main event. The reason we came to Rotorua, and possibly the reason New Zealand exists at all.

For Erin and I, it was slightly more daunting. Mostly because our minds went straight to broken bones, hospital waiting rooms, and the very real possibility of abruptly ending the trip because one of us got a bit too confident on a berm.

The Whakarewarewa Forest was only an 11-minute drive from home base, so after a leisurely breakfast in bed and a quick dip in the hot spring for Charlie, we were off.

Pulling into the base, it was immediately clear that Rotorua takes its mountain biking very seriously. The whole place is incredibly well set up, with a fully stocked bike shop, rental centre, cafe, and enough expensive-looking gear to have you mentally spending your tax return before you’ve even lodged it.

This wasn’t some bloke in a shed handing out rusty bikes and a helmet that had seen better days. This was a proper operation, with what looked like hundreds of thousands of dollars’ worth of bikes lined up and ready to go.

We’d pre-ordered our bikes online, so pick-up was surprisingly smooth. A quick check-in, a helmet each, and a very brief explanation of the cockpit.

We’d opted for e-bikes, which Charlie was initially not on board with.  Apparently, real mountain bikers prefer suffering. Erin and I, enthusiastic novices with a healthy respect for hills, were more than happy to embrace a bit of battery-powered dignity.

There were about 30 different routes to choose from, graded from 1 to 5, with 5 being the hardest. While Charlie was keen to head straight for a level 4, Erin and I were more comfortable starting where all great athletes begin… the kids’ trail.

I’m fairly sure Charlie was rolling his eyes internally, but to his credit, he obliged.

After surviving without injury or embarrassment and without having to explain ourselves to a group of actual children, our confidence was high. We decided it was time to move higher up the mountain.

This, I think, is where Charlie finally realised the e-bikes were the right choice.

There was a shuttle for the plebs, but that was another $100 per person on top of the $450 we’d already forked out. At that point, the e-bike wasn’t cheating. It was a financial decision.

Without them, I reckon we would’ve ridden up one hill, completed one trail, and spent the rest of our booking sitting in the car park pretending we’d had a great time.

By the end of the day, Erin and I had worked our way up to level 3s, a respectable achievement, considering we’d started the morning eyeing off the kids’ trail.

Our favourite was The Dipper, a downhill trail winding through the forest, with just enough humps and bumps to get the adrenaline going without actually launching us into orbit.

Charlie, however, was ready for more. The old timers were clearly holding him back, so for the rest of the day we let him off the leash. Level 4 was his peak, which I can only imagine felt like some unholy mix of a rollercoaster, a mechanical bull, and a constant battle to stay on the track. He came back in one piece and grinning, which, honestly, was all we could ask for.

Final verdict from Charlie: 8/10

Erin and Matt: 10/10

Exhausted, we decided to head back to camp and take it easy for the rest of the afternoon.

But not before checking out some more stinky holes and restocking at the Bok Shop.

We took a short 15-minute drive to Rainbow Mountain, the only decent-sized “free” stinky hole we could find. Everywhere else wanted $40 to $50 for the privilege of standing in a cloud of sulphur and having your nostrils assaulted.

There was a short hike along a muddy trail, followed by a lookout over the steaming, sulphur-filled pit below.

And to be fair, it was a good hole.

Not quite “sit in it with a spade and no undies” good, but still a respectable hole.