> ## Content Index > Fetch the complete content index at: https://vaughan.ai/llms.txt > Use this file to discover other available public pages before exploring further. # Of Mountains, Blisters, Bikes and Stupidity - URL: https://vaughan.ai/blog/of-mountains-blisters-bikes-and-stupidity/ - Published: 2017-02-12T03:27:36.000Z - Updated: 2026-11-07T23:21:29.000Z - Author: Vaughan Fergusson - Tags: Adventure, Nothing Is Impossible, Self, #medium-import I was recently incredibly fortunate to be part of a group of riders cycling from Christchurch to Queenstown, on mountain bikes, over the Southern Alps, off road. The race is called [The Pioneer](http://thepioneer.co.nz/?ref=vaughan.ai), and you can cycle it as part of two groups, the 7 day Epic which goes all the way to Queenstown, or the 4 day Traverse which only goes as far as Lake Ohau. Not being a mountain biker at all I went for the 4 days, 8,402m of climbing across 310kms. Sounds easy. I was doing the event with my friend Scottie, it was his idea. He sent me a link to it on Facebook one day and I said “Count me in” before even reading about the race. Sometimes my enthusiasm gets the better of me. One thing I learnt quickly about the event was that there was a diverse bunch of people. Everyone a mountain biker (except me), every other person was an IronWoman/Man (should have been a warning sign early on) a huge group of people were from overseas and ages from 20 to 70+. Mostly guys but the women who represented did so by kicking a lot of butt. All up the 300 or so riders shared the same passion and values. To ride over mountains and to look out for each other as they did it. I turned up fighting off a gastro virus thinking I would be able to shake it. I should have been more prepared and made sure I was race fit before I started because from day one, it got ugly. We started out at the brand new Christchurch Adventure Park to do a couple of laps to set our start order. It was only 20km so I figured I could grind my way through that then get back to bed for some last minute rest before the real biking began. The next day was a big one. We were off, 5km of climb first, in mid 20’s heat. I made it to the top with my head about to explode. Heart rate through the roof. This is not going well I though to myself forgetting to hydrate as I gulped down air instead. But all I had to do was go down fast and then back up again. A slow decent for another 5km as I was still pretty new to mountain biking and I was back at the beginning with a lap to go. I thought “no fucking way” I was ready to pull the pin. Head spinning and heart rate at unsustainable levels. What should I do? Pull out or push on? ![](https://vaughan.ai/content/images/2026/11/7addff47a665.jpeg) Deep breath, time to make some plans. I knew I was not 100% and I was now in a spin and was forgetting basics like to hydrate, and to focus on what I was doing with the bike. I had almost hit a tree and a rock already. I was always doing the event to complete not to compete, so I just spoke to myself slowly and calmly. Slow down, one pedal at a time. Let people pass and just get to the finish. I felt like there was no way I could complete even the first day let alone climb 4 mountains over the next 4 days. But I got back on the bike and slowly ground it out. Walking up the 20–25% gradients. Sucking down water as often as I remembered. Coming back down through a slightly more technical section in a rock garden and going too fast I hit a rut. In slow motion all I could see around me was boulders, big ones, as my body flew over the handlebars. “Hmmm, where‘s’ a good place to land” I though, scanning the surrounds. I found a nice flat rock between two scarier rocks and willed myself to land there. \*Thud\*Umph\*. Winded on the ground and staring up at the sky I wondered for a minute if I had punctured a lung. This is pretty stupid to die on a mountain bike trail in the middle of Christchurch after only 17km. Would someone please run over me and finish me off? My breath came back to me and I picked up myself and the bike. I got back on and from that point on I had made up my mind. I am going to finish this. Like many times in my life I would think what my mum would do, wheelchair bound and the only way was forward. Hopefully it doesn’t kill me, but I need to be smart, not over extend and no stupid risks and I can do this. I finished day one second to last. That night I planned for the next day. 106km with 2,480m of climbing gravel roads and 30º heat. I needed to hydrate as priority #1\. If I didn’t get enough fluid in me then the distance and the climb was impossible anyway. I loaded up almost 4 litres in my pack and some food and energy to keep me topped up. Scottie my buddie on this adventure had finished the first stage in good time so he was going to be further up in the pack. I was starting at the back. This would be a hard day, harder than any day on my round the world cycle. The combination of distance, elevation, heat and gravel would make it so. ![](https://vaughan.ai/content/images/2026/11/c01cab508a84.jpeg) Scottie and I at the start of day two At the start line I hung with a bunch of other riders who like me were doing this to complete not compete. I met an American, Craig, from San Francisco and we talked about the tech industry for a bit to take our minds off the impending gruel. The hooter was sounding, and the groups one by one were off. When it’s our turn just take it easy. Take it easy. \*hoooot\* the pack was off down the road. Feeling good. Road cycling is familiar to me, and I loved the sound of wheels on tarmac. It was coolish and cloudy so things perhaps would be ok. Then came the first hill, only 50m or so of elevation, but an instant reminder that things were still not quite right inside. I powered up it overtaking a half dozen or so riders, but that made me feel queezy. Some straight roads for a bit so I could relax. I found a small pack and tucked in behind for 20 or so kilometers. The tarmac became gravel roads, and the gravel roads became farm roads and then trails through streams and over ridges. We were off road now. I lost the group I was with at a river crossing. I came off the bike and took some time to get back on and up a hill. It’s OK, it’s slow going through these parts so I didn’t need a pack to be sucked along with. I revelled in the downhills and ground out every uphill. The sun was coming out now and I had a big climb to do. I was keeping an eye on the cutoff times and I had to make the next checkpoint in time or be taken off the course. I had to cover 30km in just over an hour and a half to make the cutoff. It was not going to be pretty. And then there it was, the first real mountain of the race. I had to get up over it fast, but the sun was out now and things felt hot. Not high 20’s hot, but mid 30’s hot. I had finished half my water so I knew I was hydrating. I just needed to keep breakfast in, but was constantly on the look out for a nice private bush in case of emergency. Half way up the hill were some race marshals and a medic so I jumped off the bike to get some medical advice. I was losing a lot of fluids so perhaps there was something the medics could give me to help me get to the end. Just keep hydrating and hope was the advice. Also steer away from fruit at the race aid stations (I demolished an orange an hour ago). “What time is the cut off?” I checked. “2pm” “I should make that I hope” “You just did, this is the cutoff point” Wonderful. I had mistakenly thought the next aid station was the cutoff point and it was on the other side of this mountain. I could dial it back. A weight was lifted and I jumped back on the bike. Nearing the top of the hill my American friend Craig caught up while I was taking photos (I could take photos now). He was wide eyed and moving fast. “What time is the cutoff?” He asked. “You’ve passed it!” I said. He was as visibly relieved as I was. From there Craig and I became race buddies for a couple 0f days. We would walk up the challenging climbs, and keep the aid station volunteers entertained. We rode together at the slowest of both our paces. We started to enjoy ourselves. Every race marshal we passed we asked where the next check point was, how many hills there were and Craig without fail, with the best Californian manners would then say to them “Thank you for being out here.” There was an army of volunteers often leaning on a fencepost in the middle of nowhere cheering us on, and keeping us from getting lost. And every one of them we thanked. It felt good knowing they were there. ![](https://vaughan.ai/content/images/2026/11/9db418bbf20d.jpeg) The first of many long dry uphill climbs ![](https://vaughan.ai/content/images/2026/11/f3e948ef27f7.jpeg) Craig and I entertaining an aid station Day two we made it in before the cutoff, and just in time for dinner. The last 10km was magical through the forest weaving along a beautiful trail. I picked up the pace as I was so excited to be so close to the end of day two. Craig and I still crossed the line together. Our time didn’t matter. What mattered was getting to the end. And getting food. And sleep. The heat, sweat and river crossings combined with walking up hills gave me some nasty blisters on the back of my feet. After I ate I got them seen to for some blister patches to minimise the pain the next day. The medics gave me plasters and they felt better. Tomorrow I would need to be careful as there was bound to be more hills and rivers. Two pairs of socks would be required. I wondered about the sorts of injuries the real pioneers suffered as they walked for weeks at at time across newly discovered country. We had bicycles, they probably had horses. What would be easier? What if your horse died from dehydration. What if you broke a bone. We definitely had it easier, and I reminded myself this on every hill. Keep going, you have got it easy. This is not impossible. I filled up my water bottles and climbed into my tent to collapse. I had brought a yoga mat to sleep on which was not the greatest idea. It took the edge of the hard ground but not all the rocks. It was cold, and raining but I slept solidly most of the night. Nothing beats sleeping in a tent in the rain, even when you are dehydrated, in pain and cold. Day three. A shorter 80km day but still some climbs. The weather was going to make it cold. Gone was the extreme 34º heat, instead it was going to be 1º. I met Scottie for out 6am coffee ritual. First one at the coffee buys it. After breakfast the race organisers called an emergency briefing. The conditions were too bad to go up over the Albury Range. 25km/h winds and freezing temperatures and wet. Too dangerous. Instead we would go up around the peak with only half the climb, and 8km less distance. Relief. We still had to wear layers of thermals, and it was uphill the whole way to Lake Tekapo but we would take off some distance which was good news to me and the rest of group E at the back of the pack. You take any minor win where you can. ![](https://vaughan.ai/content/images/2026/11/3c85463386c7.jpeg) Sometimes the trails were barely there ![](https://vaughan.ai/content/images/2026/11/004353fd867d.jpeg) Sometimes you couldn’t see the mountains Again, the hills got the better of us and the marshals and aid stations kept us going. Scottie was moving further and further ahead in the pack. Craig and I just kept together, and we pushed ourselves a little harder to get back to camp earlier. We made it back by 3pm which bought us 3 extra hours to relax, clean and make preparations for the next day. I needed medical attention still, as my layers of socks could not protect my blisters enough. The blister patches were hanging off of my feet. The medics frowned and grimaced. “OMFG!” they said. The blisters were twice the size and looking pretty raw with no skin. Puss was oozing out. “Let’s keep the patches off them tonight and dry them out. They are weeping pretty bad” I didn’t want to look. I knew how they felt, and didn’t need a visual image to go with it. I was really hobbling now. I slid back to my tent and tried to sleep. Every breath of air, every touch of the sleeping bag made by raw heels sting. I tossed and turned all night unable to sleep much. If I wasn’t running to the toilet it was the pain of my feet. Pioneers had to put up with worse. I am lucky I still have my feet. Only one more day to do, but it was a big one. The biggest. Hot, high and long. Was I really going to be able to do this? Looking at my bloody feet I felt like I wasn’t going to make it. Despite all my planning, one choice right at the beginning ended up being so critical to the success and failure of my trip. A virus that I felt I was recovering from, was left to cause havoc. That virus meant I was not race fit. My overall fitness was gone, with my body busy fighting off a virus. The lack of fitness meant I had to walk up most hills. Walking at 25% gradient meant my shoes rubbed on my heels. The rubbing caused blisters. The plasters I used aggravated the blisters. The blisters got worse. They were now ending my chances to finish the race. Defeated by a blister. Morning came and the same routine. Moving pretty slow now but still 6am coffee, get as much food down that will stay down. Layer up and then pack up. The medics put some patches on my feet again, but they didn’t look hopeful they would work so they wrapped tape around my feet for extra protection, and to hold on the blister plasters which were only marginally bigger than the actual blisters. Every time they came off they took skin off so we needed to keep them on! My stomach was still not my friend but I hadn’t had to race to the toilet in a while so that was a positive. I had mastered hydration but I worried my feet would let me down. Back in the same group at the end of the pack, we were all leaving together today. The entire race would start at the same time. We would have 50km of mostly flat then two massive climbs over two 1,400m peaks then finish off with 27km of mostly flat. I knew the peaks would be the biggest challenge. I knew there was no way to ride them, and I would have to walk, and walking was slow to near impossible with my feet. I decided I would put my head down on whatever flat trails there were, and make up time so I could hobble over the mountains. We were off, the last ride. Beside the lakes and canals it was fairly straight roads. I knew how to ride these types of roads. I have ridden thousands of km of these. I cranked up to the highest gear and passed a couple of packs of riders until I caught up with a fast moving group. I swept in behind and decided to spend as much energy as I could to have fast times on the flats. The roads disappeared and we were back on rolling trails and river crossings. Around a corner I spotted a familiar face. Scottie was pulled over to the side and changing his top into something cooler. “Hello Mr. Rowsell!” He called out. “Howdy stranger” I replied. “Shit you are making good time today, are you feeling better”. “I think I am 80% but fuck it I am going hard while I can on the flats. Those mountains are going to kill me.” The mountains we had been briefed would be dusty, rocky, and up to 27% gradient. There would be 10km of climbing in which translated to 10km of walking, for pretty much everyone. “Well let’s do this” We rode for 20km or so before I drifted back after an aid station. It was good to finally, even for a short while, ride with Scottie. I felt bad I came with only 50% to give the race. But I was going to finish. The path crossed fields and the mountain we all could see taunted us off in the distance. There was an aid station at the base of it then the climbing began, for hours. I rode as far up the first stretch as I could knowing as soon as I got off the bike my feet would kill me, but as far as I could go was only 50m further than the others I was riding with. From there every step was agony. I tried walking sideways, that didn’t help. Tiptoes. That didn’t help. I was almost standing still, and knew I had 10km of this to do. So I took my right shoe off and hung it over the end of the handlebars. With my double socks I started my plod up the rocky mountain. Most of the people I passed earlier one by one overtook me walking. I was only able to do 2–3km per hour on most parts, and having to take regular breaks. The view was magnificent however, and I had plenty of water. If it took me all day I would do it. I kept reminding myself, standing still gets you no closer to the end. Even the smallest of steps is progress. I created games where I counted my steps to 100 and started again. I knew there was a finite number of times I needed to count to 100\. The hours passed, the sun beat down. The rocks beneath my feet felt number and number. Everyone who stopped as they passed did a double take once they noticed my shoe on my handlebars. I was envious of their fine healthy feet. ![](https://vaughan.ai/content/images/2026/11/65aa8a8966a3.jpeg) Half way up Ben Ohau ![](https://vaughan.ai/content/images/2026/11/7b4a009750a0.jpeg) Off to the right is the last of the climb. Every bend in the path I hoped would be the last. But every bend gave way to a view of another path snaking up the mountain ahead. Then eventually a marshal appeared. “See that over there” He pointed, to a path a kilometer away up the mountain. “That’s the top”. Only a K to go. I can get there. It had taken me 3 hours to walk up the mountain, and soon I could get back on the bike and ride down. If I made that then my blisters were not going to stop me. 2o minutes later, I slowly wedged my foot back into my shoe, clipped in and cried. I think I was laughing, but tears were streaming down my face. The pain was gone, completely blanked out. I had done something I at times thought was going to be impossible. I could have quit so many times. People had. Others had injured themselves and pulled out. Nothing said I couldn’t, but I knew I would do it. Even when my brain convinced me I could not. I slowly navigated down the mountain, the last thing I wanted was to slide out on some rocks and fail at the last stretch. My brakes overheated 10 minutes in. I had to stop to let them cool, but I wanted to keep going. I wanted to make a good time, just to prove to myself I could do it. Make a good time. Feel like nothing held me back for as much of this stage as possible. The brakes were cool enough so I pushed off again, came around a corner and hit a small stream and muddy puddle and was off on my face again. “Fuck you” I cried and got back on the bike. More puddles, more rocks “Fuuuuuck yooooooou” but eventually I arrived at the last aid station for the day at the base of the mountain. They had a sign on the station saying “27km to cold beer”. I filled my water one last time, and then got really excited. The last 27 km would be on road and gravel path. Mostly flat. I could go fast! I could go FAST! My bike computer went flat at that point so I will never know how fast I travelled the final 27km, but I know it was fast. Tears streaming out of my eyes as I tore around Lake Ohau passing only a handful of people as I went, but I just wanted to know that for at least 27km I pushed it. I went as fast as I possibly could go. Almost losing it on some corners, but then there it was. The finish line. 1km to go. That feeling was incredible. I crossed the line, having spent four days, 28 hours on a bike. Having had moments where I was going to quit, and possibly should have quit. But one of my strongly held beliefs is that when you feel like giving up, you are usually only half the way to impossible. Keep going. Nothing great ever comes from staying comfortable. You can do far more than you can imagine. I visited the medics as first point of call across the line. I was worried about infection, especially after today. They carefully peeled off my socks and bandages. ![](https://vaughan.ai/content/images/2026/11/f2b8b03b2e6b.jpeg) Ouch. “Oh, ouch, sorry, we are going to have to scrub those with alcohol. You have no skin left and these are getting infected. It will hurt like hell. Do you want a bit of wood to bite on?” After climbing up a mountain with my feet in agony for 3 hours, I figured another few minutes would be fine. I almost welcomed it. Scrub those bastards! I will never ever forget the next 5 minutes of my life. That pain is now permanently etched into my brain. I will also never forget the last 4 days. A race I embarked flippantly on as a personal challenge became something far bigger than I imagined. Highs and lows, pain and ecstasy. I met wonderful people, most who were super human in many ways. I saw amazing sights and pushed myself harder than I thought I could. Compared to what our real pioneers did a hundred or more years ago it was nothing, but I found character. Thank you to all the team at The Pioneer. Thank you for making us feel alive. ![](https://vaughan.ai/content/images/2026/11/caac5becfd53.jpeg)