From Mansfield the road makes a bee-line out of town. It looks flat but rises slowly and steadily. Two shallow climbs take you over the Glenroy Hills. Now you can see Buller properly and start wondering how the fuck you summon the strength and energy to pedal it.
The road no longer pretends to be flat and rises about 250 metres in total between the start of the ride and Mirimbah at the real start of the climb. This is where cars pay their dues to be allowed onto the mountain. In winter and at weekends. But not today and not bicycles.
It’s Monday morning and the ‘traffic’ has all but disappeared since I left Mansfield at 8:22. It’s close to 10 and the sun is bathing the place in autumnal glory when I pouch the python after a piss and point my nose at the sky. The sign says 15 kms to the top.
The gradient is a pretty much unrelenting six to eight per cent. A flat of maybe 500 metres is the only relief all the way up. The final two kilometres are all double figure grades with a last gasp pitch of 12 per cent. It’s thigh-puncturing stuff.
The descent is fabulous, especially on a non-holiday Monday morning with no traffic in front holding you up, and none harrying you from behind. No rocky rubble litters the road and the surface is mostly smooth.
Finally back on something resembling a flat road, my legs are raw sausage. I determine to have a crack at the road up Battery Hill to Benbullen where my Mansfield hosts live. But with my triple chainring out of commission--the 30-cog ring skates on the chain--there is no hope for me. I dismount before losing momentum and falling off.
The steep section is no more than 150 metres. The cycle computer tells me I’m wheeling the Cervélo up a 24 per cent slope. It’s hard enough walking it in the bike shoes.
So there you go; there I go. Buller is behind me. I’d like to do it again, maybe in early June, when it’s cold, maybe even a bit of snow. But no wind or rain, please.
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