It can only be ridden at low tide.

90 mile beach.

But before you reach the bit between the sand dunes and the sea, one must encounter the bulb that signals those sailing the waters where the Pacific Ocean fuses with Tasman Sea and it’s aura, at Cape Reinga.

It’s significant to Māori and where the deceased’s wairua (spirit) departs these shores.

Then it’s a 20km or so of tar seal undulation blat before a right turn that had one negotiate stream riding.  Arse up riding  that and you win dick of the day!

Then the 90 mile (which is actually approx. 88kms) .

It threw everything at the mind, the body and the bikes.  An unrelentless sapping of firm sand underneath,  rolling crashing waves to the right, eroded dunes to the left, sea haze that ghosted forwarded riders ahead, and a heap of population outdoors whether fishing, swimming, follicking for shellfish, or recreational motor biking, quad biking or pullin wheelies in four wheel drive beaten up sea rusted utes.

So the welcome from BClaire and Kerry Rolleston  (our bloody outstanding host) were the two welcomed beacons at the opposite end of mile 90.

It had beauty.

As it was “beauty” to have knocked the bastard off.

A new day will dawn tomorrow.

The snoring was certainly earnt this day!