Big Trouble in Little Akatarawa

Last updated: Mon, 17 Mar 2008 18:32:00 GMT

It's one thing feeling like a bit of a dork for carrying the tools, the spare parts, those three litres of water and a thousand calories of food, but when the bike's in bits around your muddy knees and the voice in your head is telling you to start the hike out, suddenly you don't feel so paranoid.

Knowing that I was itching to try my new Shoei Hornet DS off road, not to mention the tuning the engine had received recently, my missus kindly volunteered to look after the pox-ridden kids by herself while I took a Sunday morning jaunt on the DR. For once I managed to get out of the house early, and decided to take another bite at the trail into Tararua that had turned me back last time. I've heard tell that you can get all the way through to the campsite at Otaki Forks, if you're good enough, but last time out I stopped when I'd seen enough loose gravel.

Things started out well enough. That Shoei is noisy at highway speeds -- earplugs are a must, except that I don't wear them when I'm riding off-road. In fact, it may well be noisier than my motocross lid. Hard to tell. But it's comfortable, and it fits well. Ventilation is good and weight's not too bad. When I got to the start of the trail, there was a van parked up with an empty trailer. Company. I made a note to keep my ears open and my eyes peeled. The ride started well. For some reason my confidence was high, and I was making great progress. Without feeling like I was pushing it, I seemed to be considerably faster than last time, staying loose and catching slides with less drama. I stopped just the once on the way up, for a gander at some hilltops besieged by cloud. I wanted to push on, though, and figured I'd take more photos on the way back.

Getting to the top proved to be nothing but fun, and so I headed back down the gnarlier side without much further ado. Fun. I stopped a couple of times to walk unknown obstacles, but otherwise I just kept going. I found myself locking up the rear a couple of times, skidding half sideways down close trail sometimes stalling and bump-starting the bike as I neared the bottom. Even remembering it now raises a grin. While trying to match the direction of the trail with my memory of the map, I suddenly found myself rolling into a clearing containing the Waiotauru Hut where I stopped for a chat with three friendly hunters.

According to them, I wasn't far from the bridge, but they didn't know how well I'd fare there. I thought I'd press on and see how far I could get. With their warning about the approach to the next river crossing in my ears, I plodded on. A small river, and only a short stretch of looser trail to worry about, but a pretty little river. A clearing on the other side with a major-looking trail heading north-south and a trail directly opposite that looked dark, wet and forboding. Reasoning that south would only take me back where I'd come from, but on the other bank of the river, I headed north. Half a kilometer of wide and hard-packed trail later I reached a dead-end. You can see in the picture below, the trail just stops. There's a foot trail, but I'd need ropes to get a bike down there. Tantalising glimpses of the river through the trees... next time.

So, where was this bridge? Ah, that dark and forboding trail! Vague memories of Google Earth shots of the area suggested that the path was set to climb, and that other trail was directly opposite the river crossing, wasn't it? Wrong turn. So I turned around and headed back to the clearing. My first impression hadn't been all wrong. Wet, muddy, frogs and all. I could only see about five metres in, then a left-hand bend. But the water only stretched for three metres or so. Off I went. Around the first corner, another five metre straight and a right-hander, more water. Turn around or keep going. Keep going! How bad can it be? Six inches deep, a foot, 18 inches and, oh dear, it's up to my knees . Around the bend and there, in front of me, is a dead end. My immediate plan was to make it to the end of this run of water and get out of it at the other end. Some hope. I almost made it out, and at least the water never got deep enough to fill the airbox.

On my own, with no really solid ground to work from, no handy branches with which to lever the bike out. Fun! In the end I dragged it into the water and then pulled it out on to the side. I dragged it through 180 degrees and then planned to ride it back into the water and then up the trail. It got stuck again. No traction at all from the rear. There I was, bouncing up and down on it, dipping and dumping the clutch, when all of a sudden it completely failed to engage. Rev all you like, no movement.

I pushed it back to dry land in the end -- half an hour's work. Checking the bike over, I found that the chain and sprockets were fine, the clutch lever, cable and arm were all good. Internal problem, then. Not great. So, do we start walking out now? It was about 1130 now, the weather looked good enough, a little windy, but I'd covered 13 miles on the way in, and all of it climbing or ascending. Already tired, that was going to be a four or five hour walk. One last-ditch -- I wound the clutch lever adjustment right the way in and, woot, the clutch just started to bite. But not enough. I pulled the cable and removed the nut from the clutch adjuster so that I could wind the bolt all the way in. Success, of a sort -- the clutch nearly completely engaged. So now I can ride my way out. Easy to say, hard to do. With the clutch tending to slip, and me not wanting to use it any more often than strictly necessary, the ride out was hard work. I dumped the bike any number of times, slipped down innumerable slopes, but finally made it out two sweaty and bruise-filled hours later.

After some much-needed tea, I hosed the bike off and pulled the side cover off the engine.

The oil reeks of burned clutch, and is full of debris. The friction material on the primary drive plate has disintegrated, its all over the inside of the engine. The bare steel of the drive plate has been griding away against the first driven plate and the face of the hub, galling them both fairly badly, and the resulting steel flake is also painted all over the place. Thankfully, the oil filter seems to have caught a lot of the mess. But only time will tell what the damage is.

I have to say that, even though I was giving the bike a hard time, I'm really surprised that the clutch gave way like this. Disappointing. Some lessons learned, though. For starters, things can turn to shit in a second. It's worth being prepared, it's worth carrying tools and spares, it's worth carrying water, food and clothing enough to hike out. I already tell my missus where I'm going, and check in on my way in and out, but I should explain to her how long it'll take me to hike out, and discuss the procedure if I fail to make it home when I say I will. I need some more spares. I already carry spare levers, but I also need a spare clutch cable, because riding without one is a bitch. I need a couple of spare chain links, and tyre repair equipment.

But most of all, I really need to get back out again and see if I can find that bridge.