Granted, there are doubtless gains in productivity and efficiency that can be made – but show me an organisation, public or otherwise, with similar staffing numbers that couldn’t make a few gains here and there.

Government departments are constantly being told they need to ape the private sector, to increase efficiency.  That they need to be run like a business.  Well, they’re not a business.  The clue is in the name.  The “public service“.

What worries me is that constant restructuring and staffing cuts across the public sector are being seen as the solution to a much wider problem.  The Ministry of Health, for example, has been in a more or less constant phase of restructuring since late 2007.  Over four hundred jobs have gone from there since, including my position as a media advisor back in early 2009, during the swine flu scare.  I therefore found it ironic listening to the howls of indignation from the media and politicians, wondering why it was taking so long to get information to the public during the recent Air New Zealand/flu flight from Tokyo incident.

Anyway, there’s only so long you can bang the public-vs-private debt drum, knowing it’s our high levels of household debt which are the real concerns of the ratings agencies, as seen in our latest downgrade.  So why is making further cuts to the public sector seen as the first course of action as a response?

I’d like to see real-world, directly comparable examples of this approach actually working.  Comparisons between countries of a similar size to New Zealand, with similar GDP and with a similar split between the public and private sectors as employers.

And I mean making a genuine difference – driving the economy, boosting productivity and growing GDP.  Not just a bunch of weasel-words (and this coming from someone for whom weasel words are a tool of the trade) as seen in the release of MFAT’s change document, like “reducing waste and clutter”, “ensuring services are modern” and “outsourcing things that could be done more efficiently by others”.

Leaving aside the fact that “outsourcing” can accurately be translated as “stuff currently done by FTEs, but because we need to reduce FTE numbers so our spreadsheets look good, stuff that will now be done badly by consultants charging $120/hr”, I’d like to see what’s defined as “clutter”.  What’s a “modern service”?

I want to see examples that have worked, and worked so well that when the Opposition gets elected, they don’t reverse the policy.

Because until some solid evidence is presented, it’s very difficult to see this as anything other than a series of ideological burps, from a right-wing Government of Chicago School adherents intent on gutting the public service, as every National government that’s gone before has done.

Are staffing costs really that high?  Are these people really costing the economy money?  I mean, by the time you factor in the fact they all earn a salary, which is then spent elsewhere in the economy – at shops, farmer’s markets, travel agencies – would we really be better off as a nation by having these people out of the workforce, at a time when the private sector continues to struggle?

Statistics NZ’s most recent Household Economic Survey (year ending June ’11) indicates for the first time in many years, Kiwis are now saving more than they’re spending.  Surely this is evidence that we’re getting the message, that hammering away at the credit cards and the mortgage payments is more important than that second flat screen TV or the holiday to Hawaii.  And now we’re being told – again – that there will be more job losses, and the money saved will be poured into things which “make the country more productive”.  Like what?

Or, will the cost savings be sucked up by the additonal needs MSD will have, with more and more people applying for income support while they scratch around trying to find another job, in a public sector which is constantly being told it’s useless, inefficient and far too big.

There’s a saying that goes “Successful leadership is disappointing the people at a rate they can tolerate”.  At this rate, the Government is about to find out exactly how much disappointment the electorate can take.

As an aside, the Herald’s political editor John Armstrong gives his thoughts on the matter here.

I’m a modern city-dweller.  I drive a desk, have meetings, and use words like “mitigate”, “Minister”, and “moreover”.  I field regular calls from that funny-shaped building on Bowen St.  I have – wait for it, this is tough for me – soft, callus-free hands.

Given my coddled, air-conditioned, tube-lit existence, there are few things I enjoy more than the opportunity to faff around with technical things, or do some outsidey work.  I love the chance to fiddle with things, chop things or make them better.

Last weekend I took a ridiculous amount of inner pride from changing the headlight bulbs on my car.  This was a job so simple and straightforward a child could have done it.  Actually, with the lack of space in my engine compartment (no, that isn’t a euphemism), a child would likely have found it easier.  Small hands and all that.  Then, after it was finished poking around under the bonnet, I could have sent it up North for some fruit picking, with those other harvesting experts, Asian immigrants.

Anyway, while affecting an air of outward casualness and indifference about my bulb-changing adventures, (I do this complicated car stuff all the time, you know) inside I was glowing with achievement and manliness.  I get this most times I pop the bonnet, even though it’s usually to top up the fluid levels and I’d struggle to do anything more advanced than an oil change.

That’s one of the reasons I enjoyed mountain bikes so much.  Downhill race bikes are complex machines which need almost constant care and attention to keep them running properly.  This gave me all the excuses I ever needed to disappear into the garage with my Metallica CDs and emerge hours later, covered in grease and dust, but proud that I’d managed to repack a hub, or dismantle, grease and reassemble the entire rear suspension setup.  Ah, the days before grease ports and sealed bearings.  I had all the right tools and could identify any creak or rattle, and do something about it.  Plus I had tough, callusy, manly, greasy hands with scars all over them.

Living in an apartment, there are few opportunities these days for me to do jobs which are even slightly manly.  There are no lawns to be mowed, gardens to tame or, sadly, bikes to be tinkered with.  I don’t have a garage – I have a parking space.  Instead of some grass and some unruly trees crying out for a good chainsawing, there is a herb garden.  How fucking middle class is that?

Instead, I have to live vicariously though my mate, who’s both a landscaper and a downhiller, and spends his spare time doing up his own house with decking and steps and terraces.  I wander around and discuss plumb lines and drainage and the proper mixing ratios for concrete.  I shake his hand, which feels like a brick with fingers, wrapped in sandpaper, and admire his collection of wheelbarrows and power tools.

Perhaps what all this boils down to is the mastery of one’s own domain.

There’s a saying which goes a man turns into his Dad the moment he sets aside a piece of scrap wood for the express purpose of stirring paint.  My own father was an office worker, who, when I was young, built fences and steps and gardened furiously until the sun went down at the weekend.

I’d rather spend my weekends playing golf, drinking beer and watching sport on the telly, but is this another sign of early middle-age, where I want a plot of land so I can tame it, groom it and make it do things I want it to?  Nek minnit (yeah, I went there) – convertible sports car and mid-life crisis?

What was Super Awesome

If you’ve never started a ride as the flaming disc of the sun rises over the horizon you’re missing out on a fantastic experience. This was my third Longest Day Ride and between the blood, sweat and tears there’s a whole bunch of magical experiences to treasure; from cruising through morning light to the top of the first climb to stumbling through your doorway in the fading light of dusk with a feeling of achievement and relief.

The Longest Day Ride is gaining popularity every year with a high number of repeat offenders. It’s an addictive experience in the best of ways.

For me it’s also a personal triumph over arthritis. In 2009 an infection spread to my joints in my feet and I’m now the owner of reactive arthritis. At its worse I needed a walking stick to get around and thought I’d never mountain bike again. But with management and the right mind-set I’m able to ride my bike all day – how cool is that.

In 2010 the Longest Day Ride became a fundraiser for Arthritis New Zealand and in 2011 we raised over $4,000 for this excellent organisation who support thousands of Kiwis like me who live with arthritis.

What I Did Right

Committing to the Longest Day Ride months in advance was an excellent idea, it’s no small thing and a run up of a few months is wise. It was also a good idea to go through with it, as commitment is good for the soul.

My riding chums for the day; Colin and Dom were both stand-up chaps with vast amounts of experience with endurance/ back country riding. We’d already ridden a few all day rides together and had an idea of our respective riding styles – another good thing to get sorted before you strike out for a 15 hour ride.

We had set out a route with a clear idea of where we were going, and even better it had a couple of opt-out locations where we could get back to civilisation. Our brilliant plan involved going from Rarangi Beach (near Blenhiem) to the Honest Lawyer pub (near Nelson) – connecting the Pacific Ocean and Tasman Sea in an epic mountain bike ride we could tell our grandkids about.

For added security we had a backup route with the same start point, in case inclement weather forced a rethink. This was very wise considering there had been severe flooding towards the end of our ride the week before. We’d even quizzed various authorities and locals about track conditions in the days leading up to the ride.

Our proposed route had a mixture of tarseal, gravel, 4WD and singletrack with a couple of 800+ metre off-road mountain passes. With this in mind I selected my faithful 13 year old Rocky Mountain Blizzard and fitted a pair of burly bombers to the front. The sensible idea being that a lightweight bike is going to be a better trade-off than my tank-like trail bike which is built for descending.

For added safety we took a SPOT Tracker – a satellite connected GPS tracker/ emergency rescue beacon we could use to call for help if we got into a bad pickle somewhere in the middle of nowhere.

What I Did Wrong

Commitment is great, but I really needed to follow up it with fitness. After the first couple of months I was well on track to cope with a day in the saddle. This was followed by a nasty headcold that knocked me out for three weeks, work, fatherhood, more work, and not a lot of riding. Daily commuting kept a base fitness in place but I simply didn’t get around to the 50+ km rides that’d get me in the all-day ballpark.

Of course riding a light bike makes hill climbs easier, unless of course you mess up your gear ratio, like I did. A couple of years back I replaced the Blizzard’s drivetrain with 28/38/48 tooth rings on the front mated with a 11-32 cluster on the back. Most modern bikes have a low gear of 22/34 many ratios away from my 28/32.

My gearing logic at the time being that it was a light bike and I could ride up the steepest roads I needed to on it. In the wild I could ride up the viciously steep Glider Road to the top of Involution (700+ metres) without getting off and this seemed like the best test I could come up with. What hadn’t crossed my mind is there’s a big difference between climbing for the first hour of a two hour ride versus climbing for three hours a third of the way into a 15 hour ride.

To make matters worse our route involved 130+ km, the aforementioned two mountain passes, technical descending, and a bit of bike carrying. Riding all day is exhausting enough without having to scramble up mountain sides with a bike over your shoulder.

My 2010 Longest Day Ride had involved a two hour hike-a-bike section so I had no illusions to what state my body would be in after scrambling over trees. Even while riding ones bike technical singletrack is mentally exhausting and you don’t want to be second guessing your line on a steep descent nine hours into a ride.

Talking of technical descents brings me to my next couple of mistakes – tyre selection, and seatpost height. The tyres I went for were Kenda K-Rads, excellent street tyres which function brilliantly on gravel roads and smooth singletracks. I’d already taken the K-Rads on a number of epic mountain bike rides including the Queen Charlotte Walkway and the Karapoti. The K-Rads performed brilliantly on tarmac and gravel which made them a blessing for the first 40 kilometres. As the terrain got rooty and rocky things started to go a bit pear shaped.  It’s hard to keep tyres with a complete round profile gripped on smooth roots and damp rocks, especially when you’re tired and struggling with your high centre of gravity…

“Lower your seat” – I hear you say? That’s all good and well if the Blizzard’s seatpost wasn’t seized into its frame at full extension. I honestly can’t remember how many years ago this happened but it’s something I’ve simply never got around to fixing as it would require finding an engineer, and most likely buying a new seatpost and repainting part of the frame. Doh.

Unlike me my food preparation had been poor too, I should have eaten twice as much for dinner the night before and hadn’t packed enough One Square Meals to get me through the day. I gone in with six bars when ten would have been more realistic. This made me hesitate at refuelling stops when I should have been cramming my face.

So to recap I was exhausted, riding a bike ill-suited for technical descending, and quite possibly hallucinating at this point.

The End Result

I caught a tree at pace while descending a ridge line near the bottom of Wakamarina, our first mountain pass. We were already behind schedule and I was physically and mentally exhausted. The first (1000+ metre) climb on my high gearing had drained my tank and the bike carrying had exhausted any reserves I had left.

It could have been a lot worse, the split second before impact I thought “here goes my clavicle”. Luckily my right bicep took the brunt, generating a hell of a lot of pain and bruising, but not breaking any bones.

Ten and a half hours and around 75km after starting off we got picked up by our awesome support person Jane near Canvastown. I was in no shape to ride and we’d been delayed to the point that even if Dom and Colin had soldiered on it would have been dark for the descent of the Maungatapu and Maitai Valley. We’re not that stupid.

Next Year

My aim is to be a lot fitter, and my route won’t involve bike carrying. In fact right now I’m thinking of a nice long cycle trail cruise with low gradients and lots of café stops.

But make no mistake, on the longest day of 2012 I will be riding my bike, from sunrise to sunset.

Our current planned route covers 130km from the Pacific Ocean through to the Tasman Sea and crosses two (off-road) mountain passes. Well that’s the theory because last week there was 1 in 100 year rainfall and severe flooding across some of our planned route so things may have to change.

The big question is: Do I feel prepared?

Well – I have a bike, all of the gear, 18+ years mountain biking/ back country experience and… ummm… my fitness is suboptimal. Months ago things were going well and 130km + two mountain passes seemed do-able. Since then work, fatherhood and a month long headcold have got in the way.

So that’d be a no, not really.

What does this mean? I really don’t know – I’m relying on pacing myself and optimism. You will of course be able to keep track of how well pacing and optimism work via photos and SPOT Tracking on this website and the MFLA Facebook page.

Oh yes, and please do Donate to Arthritis New Zealand to help them help Kiwis with arthritis keep doing what we love to do.

As a handwringing lefty socialist, albeit one with a strong disdain for hippies and the organic movement (I don’t like worms in my apples, but I DO like raw milk cheese), I am strongly considering voting Green at Saturday’s general election.

I’ve voted Labour in all the elections I’ve been eligible for, and it’s one of the truisms of New Zealand politics that, when Labour are strong, the Greens lose out, and vice versa.  This places Green politics firmly at the fringe of power, and despite them rising and falling by a few percentage points each time around, they’re never likely to be knocking on the door of 40%.  So with Labour in decline, the Greens have been vacuuming up disillusioned Left voters like me, and are hovering in the early teens.

With Labour unlikely (and that’s being generous) to form the next government, thanks in part to the cult of personality most voters seem to have bought into (if I hear “Oh, John Key seems like a pretty good bloke, I s’pose I’ll vote for him” once more, I think one of my legs will rupture…) the prospective Green voter faces a conundrum – do you vote for a party which stands for most things you hold dear, but who has been flirting at the table of the Great Satan, or do you revert to Labour, who have been perpetually doomed over the last three years, knowing your vote’s likely useless, but at least you’ll be able to lie straight in bed at night.  Actually, it’s just occurred to me that I sleep on the left side of the bed I share with my girlfriend, and she sleeps on the right – which is a pretty fair reflection of our individual political leanings.

But one thing which bugs me about the Greens is their transport policy.  I like the idea of the Auckland rail loop, and would dearly love to be able to hop on a train at Britomart and ride that bad boy all the way to the airport.  And I don’t even live in Auckland.  The Puhoi-Wellsford ‘holiday highway’ will be heavily used for about 10 days a year, so seems to make bugger-all economic sense, and a light rail or tram system for Wellington makes me come over all Melbourne and sunshiney.

But there’s a fly in the ointment, and it should be called the Greater Wellington Regional Roading Plan.  “Wellington Northern Corridor” sounds lame.  It involves eight different sections, the most contentious of which are a second Mt Victoria tunnel, the Basin Reserve flyover, Transmission Gully and the Kapiti Expressway.

The Greens have pledged to scrap all facets of this project, focusing instead on improved rail and bus transport around the region.  This sounds good in theory, but people are not going to take the train when the family’s heading away on holiday at Easter.  Personal transport is always going to be the preferred way of travelling longer distances, epecially considering New Zealand’s topography, and the fact holidays for most Kiwis involve out-of-the-way baches or seaside townships, which aren’t usually accessible by train or bus.  Can you imagine taking the 12:33 express to the Coromandel?

I am all for sustainability, but efficient roads are always going to be a key part of the country.  Whatever technology replaces the internal combustion engine, people are always going to have personal transport, so the question is how it’s powered.  So whether we’re cruising round in hydrogen vehicles, or solar-hybrids or whatever, we’re going to need roads to put them on.   But it is an easy argument for the Minister for Trucks and his roading lobby, because thanks to the privatisation and subsequent asset-stripping of the railways, we’re 20 years behind where we need to be as far as public rail transport goes.

Even countries we like to aspire to be like, such as Switzerland, Germany and Denmark, they all have modern motorways and modern public transport.  The key is that they are systems that work together, rather than one being seen as better or worse in the way they are here.

So I can sit here and honestly say, I haven’t quite made my mind up.  There is no way I’m voting National, and I’m not sufficiently disillusioned with Labour to go down the “a pox on both your houses” road.  Not quite.  But I wonder about the Greens.  They have huge talent in their leadership, and one or two promising youngsters like Gareth Hughes.  I find myself nodding along when listening to their policies, and have been impressed with the increasing maturity of their economic ideas.  But we’re not all going to revert to public transport, no matter how good it gets.  Kiwis are too independent for that.

I know expecting to find a party who has policies i agree with across the board is unrealistic.  So, I guess I’ll wait until Saturday, and do something rash like see what sort of mood I wake up in.  Ooh, a Green Party ad just came on the TV.  It’s seriously getting that bad.  Is that what’s going to push me one way or the other?

Today is no exception – after a gallant start a few months back of riding every day to work and back (100km a week) and doing the occasional weekend mission I got a massive headcold and was off my bike for over three weeks. Add to that work, parenthood, an out of control garden and well… modern life and I’m totally, painfully out of shape.

I’ve also been totally useless at updating this website. But you probably noticed/ didn’t notice that.

The upshot is that I’m probably as unfit and unprepared as you are and yes, I’m still going to ride from sunrise to sunset on the longest day of this year.  This means that my photo blogging will be a bit more amusing that usual as I will metaphorically dis-integrate over the course of the day – hooray for those of you in front of computer.

For those of you riding it’s a time to remember these things:

• You are an excellent person who’s going to have massive fun breaking yourself.
• If you want people to ride with post on the Longest Day Ride Facebook Page – there’s probably people in your town.
• This is optional but we’d really appreciate it. You can register here for fund raising for Arthritis New Zealand – the password is “HurtyLegs”

Lots more information on the Longest Day Ride can be found here.

2000 Mount Downhill

I’ve climbed Alpe d’Huez, raced downhills all over Europe and eaten $25 of McDonald’s after bonking on a long cross-country ride in Palmerston North.  I’ve smashed my front teeth out in a crash on the road, destroyed my shoulder trying to qualify for the 2004 Worlds team and been unable to put my feelings into words after riding a proper downhill bike for the first time.

But am I a cyclist, or am I just a fat dude on a bike?

I love cycling.  I love le Tour.  I love the isolation, the rewards, the peace I get from riding.  As a natural loner, the solitude and contemplation I get on a long ride, especially if I can get away from the traffic, is a welcome distraction from the issues I find myself wrestling with on an almost daily basis.

But thanks to genetics, I’m predisposed to put on weight quickly, especially if I don’t do a lot of exercise.  If I’m in full training mode, I’ll drop six or seven kilos, but as soon as I stop, they come back in a matter of weeks.  In 2009, I was down to 81kg for Taupo, but by the time I went back to work in late January, I was back up to close to 90.

I’m reminded of the scene from Alice in Wonderland, where the Red Queen tells Alice that she has to run as fast as she can just to stay in the same place.

So my problem, for the most part, is motivation.  I feel good when I’m out on the bike, because I like to ride, but only once I’m riding.  But getting myself together to get out – pumping the tyres, pouring myself into some kit, fiddling around with contact lenses – man, I just can’t be bothered.  I know that because I’m overweight, unfit and weak, that I’m going to be slow, that the hills are going to be painful torture, and to onlookers, I’ll just look like the archetypal MAMIL.

I know it’s going to hurt, so I don’t go.  Instead of riding four times a week, I’ll ride four times a month.  Or once a fortnight.
But I want to avoid the seven hours of pain, cramps, and hunger that I suffered at Taupo last year.  By the time I reached the airport hill, I actually couldn’t pedal.  In a past life, I was a football goalkeeper to a reasonably high standard, to the point where I was the backup to Kent Walter at what used to be Manawatu AFC, in the old National League days.  The old scar tissue on my lateral collateral ligaments caused by tens of thousands of diving saves had completely seized up, and while pushing 52-11 would normally be a badge of honour, in my case, it was the only gear I was capable of turning over.

I’m quite well aware that the only solution is hard work.  Get out and ride.  Then get out and ride the next day.  And the next, and the next.   Soon, I’ll realise that it doesn’t hurt quite so much, the hills aren’t quite as daunting, that my legs don’t turn to useless porridge after 50km, that I’m not turning a 32-25 at something like 60rpm up Brooklyn Hill and I’ll start to look forward to my next ride, rather than dreading it.  I’ll be able to look other riders in the eye, be able to impose my will on a race, be able to tell people “I’m a cyclist” without seeing them look me up and down, and know they’re thinking “Sure you are, fat boy.”

So, the work starts here.  I have an 80km event in Featherston in a month, 100km in Waikanae a week later, then 115km at Tour de Manawatu in early November as I lead up to the big dance three weeks later.  I’m never going to ride 4h30 or blast up Hatepe in the big dog, but all I want to do this year is exorcise the demons of 2010.  I just have to get off my arse and do it.

Come on, big boy!

2008 Tour de Manawatu

This got me thinking about the “Longest Day Ride”, a relatively new annual institution where cyclists go out and ride from sunrise to sunset on the longest day of the year. I’ve done it twice before and really enjoyed myself, so of course I’m going to do it again.

However, this year I’ve got quite a few more things going on:

• 6 weeks ago I became a dad to an awesome little fellow called Harry. He’s entirely dependent on us to look after him and I absolutely love spending time with the little chap.
• I’ve recently started a new job which I’m really enjoying. As well as being a manager I’ve got a couple of large projects on the go and my work days are pretty full on.
• Our quarter acre property was neglected by the previous owners and needs a lot of love, and digging.
• There are a couple of weekly social engagements on the go that I don’t want to miss.
• I’m the owner of reactive arthritis in my feet. This can make things painful if I don’t look after myself.
• Because of all of the above I haven’t been riding my bikes much and am currently really unfit and the heaviest I’ve been for a long time.

All of this seems like some very good excuses to not do the “Longest Day Ride”. I mean with all this going on how can I get myself bike fit in 4 months to be able to ride all day?

But to me they seem like a really good excuse to do it, properly.  I don’t want Harry to have a fat has been dad who sits at home talking about what he did in the distant past.

Come 22 December 2011 I want to be riding fit to bust out a sunrise to sunset ride of epic proportions, and starting today – that’s what I’m aiming for.

A Challenge to All Cyclists

If my list above sounds like you I’ve got a challenge for you – join me and ride the Longest Day Ride. It’s a personal challenge to ride from dawn to dusk on the longest day of the year. You can rest, you can eat, you can lie face down in the grass making pathetic mewling sounds for a while, but the idea of riding your bike from sunrise to sunset is there.

I’m starting from scratch and if a lardy, busy, arthritic, late 30s dad can do it so can you.

Sign up to the Longest Day Ride Here

How I’m Starting

It’s 10 kilometres to work and I’m going to cycle it, both ways, every day. The first days are going to be ugly, the first weeks will be tiring, but it will build back the all-important foundation of fitness I once had.

I’ll try and keep folk updated with my progress via the MFLA website and Longest Day Ride Facebook page.

The New Zealand Cycle Trail, announced in 2009 delivered the funding and political will to see the plan to turn into reality and as I type this Hoz and his team are hard at work on completing the Pureora Timber Trail by March 2012.

Below are some recent photos from the trail work featuring the big swingbridges spanning the many gorges in the area, and the snow that has been falling on the higher parts of the trail (over 1,000 metres above sea level). The Mangatukutuku Bridge is the largest completed so far at 90 metres long at 30 metres above the water. There are seven bridges like this planned  with the longest at 110 metres  and the highest over 40 metres above water.

It’s been a long journey from concept to 90 metre swingbridges. Below is the article I wrote for Issue 17 of  Spoke Magazine back in 2005.

Off the Beaten Track

We clustered around the designer table of the small trendy coffee as Hoz’s finger traced the highlighted lines and markings spider-webbing across a vast map of the Puerora Forest. Hoz’s description of the trail was punctuated with subtle warning signs like “a bit of walking” and “OK condition 5 years ago” – Caleb nodded enthusiastically while I grinned evilly. Over many years of Hoz helmed riding I had a fair idea that the ride would turn into an epic, muddy, jungle mission which would leave Caleb and I shell-shocked, broken, and dribbling.

Hoz is currently employed by D.O.C. for the sole purpose of planning the development of the Puerora Forest for mountainbiking. The forest is a vast sprawl of regenerating native podocarp that stretches from Taumaranui through to Otorohanga. A couple of popular mountain bike trails such as the Okahukura Loop and Waihaha Hut track already exist in the forest but Hoz’s grand vision stretches out to a multi-day North-South traverse of the forest. The traverse would utilize existing tracks, clear some long forgotten tracks, and in some places require the building of new tracks and bridges.

Much of the trails in Puerora follow old bush tramways which originally transported the lumber from the depths of the forest to the main trunk line. We were also soon to realize that once the traverse is complete (and to be honest this is many years away) it would be very possible to take the train to the start of the traverse in Otorohanga, and then emerge many days later in Taumaranui for the train home. With the train theme emerging we put a call through to Transcenic and soon found ourselves bleary-eyed at the Wellington train station awaiting the early morning departure of the Overlander.

New Zealanders have a terrible sense of history, and in our modern internet-fuelled mindset the train felt like a historic way of travel. The main trunk line was completed in 1908 and the trains P.A. system regularly warbled interesting slices of history to the passengers. The scenery was a mixture of rubbish filled sidings and impressive landscapes that had Caleb muttering and fondling his camera.

8½ hours after leaving Wellington we pulled into Te Kuiti for a rendezvous with Hoz and his Hilux. The night was spent in Hoz’s “Bush Hut” tucked away in a regenerating stand of native bush on his family’s King Country farm. Without power, hot water, or cellphone reception the Bush Hut has endeared itself to years of visitors who have enjoyed the chance to quite literally “get away from it all” and peruse Hoz’s collection of vintage mountain bike magazines – some over 20 years old.

General faffing around the next morning led to a later start than intended near the old logging town of Ongarue on the main trunk line. Ongarue used to serve as a base for the loggers, a sawmill town, and terminus for the bush tramways. Hoz’s cunning plan was to GPS a quadbike track which followed an old bush tramline and connected a well-formed hut access road with another gravel road to the North. If the old tramline proved conducive to mountain biking it would make an ideal link in the grand traverse and help create day loops that could be ridden from Ongarue.

Heading into the overgrown trail we were pleasantly surprised by how well maintained and rideable it was. The trams that carried the logs out of the bush couldn’t cope with steep gradients so the trail climbed at an easily pedalable pitch towards a saddle. Apart from the occasional strand of bush lawyer lying in wait at shoulder height the tram route offered a challenge similar to the more overgrown sections of the 42nd Traverse – a trail ridden by thousands of mountain bikers a year.

Moisture filled the air giving a fairy tale haze and the lush regenerating forest carpeted in ferns and moss lent a “Dark Crystal” feel to the surrounds. The tramway was punctuated by clearings which had served either as logging camps, or maybe prime sites of rimu harvesting for the pioneers. The red rimu that used to flourish through-out this area have been decimated by logging, with only the occasional medium sized specimen left to give an idea of what the forest once was.

After a final clearing near the top of the saddle the technical aspect of the trail ratcheted up a couple of notches and we were soon flowing along root strewn doubletrack under a gleaming forest canopy. Hunters had cut punga logs and laid them lengthwise down a steep descent to give their quadbikes the necessary traction to make the climb. This translated into a challenging downhill log-ride which confirmed my choice of Tioga downhill tyres for the mission.

The downhill popped out at a crossing over a picturesque pumice bedded stream followed by a slippery climb out of the valley. At the top of the climb a watery bog of epic proportions blocked the trail with the choice of a bush-bash around the outside, or plunging through the middle. From our experimentations neither quite worked and we reached the other side either scratched, or sopping wet.

We emerged from the trail onto a well groomed pumice road which could be easily navigated by a 2WD car – if it wasn’t deep within the jungle. Hoz had run his GPS since leaving the site of the hut, mapping out a 3D route that could then be applied to Topomaps for future planning. From now on he only used the GPS for junctions as most of the rest of our trip had been previously surveyed.

As the road climbed towards “Top Of The World” – a high point in Southern Puerora – the atmosphere got damper, as mist turned to drizzle, and finally to rain. My glasses became hopelessly waterlogged and I had to revert to my natural vision, which works well for everything except depth perception. My bike choice of my 6” travel full-suspension Heckler paid off as attempted ambushes from increasingly nasty ruts were comfortably dealt with.

The “Top of the World” didn’t offer the promised views of Lake Taupo so we made do with dense cloud, rainjackets, and some extra body fuel before charging down an overgrown, and relatively uncharted quadtrack to something that probably used to be a bridge. From there on the trail was incredibly overgrown with only the occasional glimpse of the ground and a constant stream of water transferred from the surrounding vegetation onto our increasingly waterlogged bodies.

Had the trail been clear of saplings and foliage it would have offered up some beautiful flowing singletrack, instead it was a case of gritting out teeth and plunging forwards. An ancient skidder site with a half submerged pile of native logs was our next waypoint and Hoz put some time into the GPS before our bearings were confirmed. By now the light was leaving the sky and the combination of mist and dense bush made the following hike-a-bike slow and tiring.

In Spoke15 I wrote about a night mission on Waihaha Hut, we were now on a tramping track linking the hut to Ongarue. With his years of jungle riding experience Hoz was charging down the track, smoothly riding a challenging collection of wet roots, bogs, and soggy moss covered stumps. With failing light, fading energy, and crappy vision I was walking most of the trail, whilst mentally preparing myself for some night-jungle-riding.

A trig finally appeared out of the gloom and Hoz happily informed us to watch out for the really steep sections on the subsequent downhill. The start of the downhill was boggy but open enough to afford some riding. Sadly it quickly degenerated into dark dense bush that steepened to the point of a clambering down root ladders and even crossing gullies via massive fallen trees.

At the bottom a clearing gave me false hope that we were onto a pumice road but after lights were fitted to helmets the scramble started in earnest. Track clearers had been through before us and in their infinite wisdom has cut saplings down and then left them across the track in a hazardous ankle tweaking collection of slippery branches and wet foliage. The trail would have offered some very fine doubletrack downhill had it not been covered in fallen trees. Bad words were said – loudly, and often.

Finally a clearing that marked the start of the pumice access road appeared. Caleb’s light had run out of batteries so he resorted to duct-taping a “Buzz Lightyear” torch onto his helmet. He’d “borrowed” the torch off his son at the last minute after repeated warning from me about how prepared one has to be on a ride with Hoz.

The ride out past the old hut site was relatively uneventful – with our lights woefully underpowered for anything past cruising speed. We finally arrived back at Hoz’s Hilux a bit before 7pm – cold, saturated, and buzzing with excitement.

Catching the train from Taumaranui the next day I was struck by the tangles of native forest we passed as we made our way South. Train had opened up the centre of the North Island to settlement. The bush railways had transported the logs out of the forest and allowed our ancestors to mill the once proud forests.

But now, trains seem a kinder remnant of a gentler time. The forests we once milled are protected and people are hard at work boosting their recovery and restoration. And ironically, deep in the flourishing forests the remnants of the bush tramways allow us to access, appreciate and value some of the hidden wild areas of our country.

The ad ends with the boy selling wool on the side of the road.

As well as being a cute story, this ad has a deeper message.  For a start, it’s promoting a savings plan for kids, presumably in an effort to encourage them to think about sound money management as they grow up.

We’re now about four months out from the election, and one of the key policies National are planning to campaign on is the partial sale of public assets.  Most people realise this means the state-owned power companies, Solid Energy and Air New Zealand.

Putting aside the fact that increasing demands for shareholder returns will inevitably mean higher power prices, and in the case of Solid Energy, vastly increased mining, I’m just going to deal with Air New Zealand.

Tasman Empire Airways Limited, or TEAL, became Air New Zealand in 1965, following the National government of the day’s decision to wholly purchase the airline.

In 1989, the Labour government of Lange and Palmer privatised Air New Zealand to, among others, Breirley Investments.  This period in the airline’s life is interesting for no other reason than it was a National government who bought it from private hands, and a Labour government who privatised it.  Anyway, following the sell-off, our national carrier was gradually loaded with debt, unprofitable routes and ultimately nearly destroyed by over-expansion.  What followed was an increasingly desperate series of moves to pull itself out of the mire, including the farcical purchase of the underperforming Ansett, which was later offered to Qantas for a dollar, and an idiotic attempt to buy Richard Branson’s burgeoning Virgin Blue.

Ron Breirley and others made a great deal of money during the 12 years the carrier was in private hands, and to this day he remains among New Zealand’s richest men, thanks in no small part to the publically-funded $885m bailout of the airline by the Clark government in 2001.

With a new leadership and 80% government ownership, Air New Zealand turned a profit almost immediately.

The bailout decision heralded the beginning of private sector incompetence and greed being financed by the taxpayer.  We’ve seen it more recently with the bailouts of South Canterbury Finance and AMI Insurance.  The New Zealand public doesn’t get to share in the vast profits these companies have enjoyed over the years, but boy, do we get stung when it’s time to erase their losses.

We’re now being asked to buy our national carrier for a third time.  I don’t get it.  Sure, companies need investment in order to grow, innovate and improve, but by all accounts Air New Zealand is doing quite nicely on this front, having been named World Airline of the Year in 2010 at the oddly-named Air Transport World Global Airline Awards.

It is the launch customer for Boeing’s much-delayed but revolutionary 787-9, is rapidly replacing its ageing domestic fleet of Boeing 737s with new Airbus A320s and has won industry-wide praise for its innovative products on board its new 777-300ER fleet, including the Skycouch ‘cuddle class’ and the ability to order food and drink using your touch screen, whenever the mood takes you.  They were also one of the first airlines to think about a long-haul Premium Economy service, and are currently the only airline offering this class of travel out of New Zealand.

So it’s nothing to do with the airline itself needing new investment capital – this is about the government freeing up its share, which has dropped to a hair over 75% and is worth around $900m.  What all this extra cash will be spent on is anyone’s guess, since apparently government spending is the root of all recessionary evil and we’ve been having the “there’s no money, so stop asking” dogma hammered into us for the last three years.

Hang on.  These so-called “mum and dad” investors are being asked to step up and buy shares in a company which, remember, is publically listed, so there are shares already available if you want them.  But wait – the rest of the company is also owned by you and I (sorry, the government).

So I guess what I’m getting at is, Air New Zealand performed reasonably well when privately owned, at least at first.  Then, as always happens with the profit motive, more returns were demanded, which required cutbacks in some or all of the following – service, investment or personnel.  At the same time, money saved in these areas was being poured into struggling Aussie airline Ansett.  Monash University aviation economist Keith Trace commented at the time “…by taking it (Ansett) on, they ensured their own airline was in terrible danger.  That was a dreadful mistake.  They were taken for a ride.”

Once Air New Zealand was returned to public ownership, it went from strength to strength, and is now rightly considered one of the most innovative in the sky today.  Why we’d want to once again put this in jeopardy by flirting with privatisation and its obsession with profits and investor returns is utterly beyond me.

Also, has anyone considered what’s likely to happen to the share prices when the government drops 804,191,058 of them into the market?

My final thought brings me back to the kid in the sheep ad.  From being told that hanging onto your revenue-producing assets is a good thing, to watching his Dad’s generation selling them as fast as they can.  What’s he, and the other kids the ad is aimed at, supposed to think?