"Get out and get clear. Whatever you do, don't turn left." These are the instructions that are bellowed at me as I step into the helicopter. I'm doing my level best to remember them. But it's hard. The sound from the rotor is deafening so I'm really hoping what I heard was correct. I'm also overwhelmed by excitement.
I'm about to enter said chopper, along with my bike, and fly over the mountains that surround Queenstown, New Zealand, before riding what I can only imagine will be an incredible trail. It's like nestling in a dream. I can't quite believe this is happening.
As I buckle myself in, I repeat: "Don't turn left, don't turn left…" I want to ride the trail. Turn left and I'll be sliced into a thousand pieces by the blades.
Ticking the bucket
I'd never been to New Zealand. It's a country I'd always wanted to visit because it looks like mountain-bike paradise. Despite living in Australia for a short stint, I never managed it. That was all about to change, thanks to a call from SRAM.
Their plan was to launch a load of new products during the depths of the northern hemisphere's winter, so what better place to head than the other side of the planet, in search of banging weather and belting trails. Being the team player that I am, I put my hand up and volunteered to take the hit.
I'm blessed to travel regularly for work, and often visit new and wonderful places, but I haven't been this excited about a trip for years. It was set to be the adventure of a lifetime.
Once I'd checked my bike and bag in at the airport, things started to feel a little more real as I made myself comfortable for the first of three flights. In 26 hours' time, I'd be in New Zealand, and I couldn't wait.
Virtual versus reality
Having seen so much of Queenstown on social media, I was a little concerned it might not live up to the hype. Could it really be that beautiful? Would the trails be as amazing as they'd always looked?
I had nothing to worry about. As soon as I set foot in Queenstown, I was blown away. The landscape is jaw-dropping. It was like living inside a painting. I've seen a lot of beautiful vistas in my time, but this wins, hands down. Every time I had an opportunity to look at the view, I'd take it, standing there until something snapped me out of it.
Of course, I wasn't in New Zealand just to stare at the view. I was here to ride bikes. And what better way to kick off a trip than to start by lapping the iconic Coronet Peak aboard a downhill bike.
The jet lag combined with a track that delivered some hefty hits provided a serious wake-up call, but the dirt was incredible, as was the flow of the trail. As I began to get a feel for things, I became more comfortable and started to find my groove.
Once I felt at home on the bike and track, I could begin to push a bit more, picking up the odd gap here and there, and sussing out the rhythm of certain sections, unlocking some extra speed in the process.
That was, of course, until missing a line lower down on one of the roughest sections of the track. This was a real slap in the face, a serious warning shot that I needed to pay attention to. After all, I was here for a week of riding and it was only day one. And, of course, I had a helicopter to catch on the final day – and there was no way I could miss that.
Icing on the cake
The first part of the week passed in a blur of Skyline bike-park laps and product presentations. Although my hands and arms felt weary, I couldn't have been more excited for this day to come. Finally, it was time to catch the chopper.
After a short drive back up to Coronet Peak and a quick jaunt on the chairlift, we dropped into the first trail. Rain that morning had made the dirt incredible. If I wanted to hold an inside line, I could, thanks to how steadfast the connection between my tyres and the trail felt. Throw in the picture-postcard backdrop and it was already turning out to be one of my best ever days on the bike.
In order to meet the helicopter, we needed to venture further into the hills and a little more out of the way.
We peeled out of the park straight onto some beautifully flowing singletrack. Managing speed here was critical, partly down to the blind corners we were continuously being plunged into, but also the fact that the Commencal Muc-Off downhill team were with us, dotted among our crew and pushing the pace. The last thing I wanted to do was look like a complete idiot in front of Amaury Pierron or Myriam Nicole.
When we rounded the final turn on the trail and entered a clearing, the view into the next valley opened up and a silence descended upon the group. We were now really in Lord of the Rings territory and it couldn't have been more hypnotic. Rolling foothills leading to sharp, jagged peaks, all covered in a blanket of green. Amazing.
The next trail was even better. Now we were faced with a little more gradient. The pace was fast.
Get too cocky and you could come unstuck quickly. While some brows could be popped, enabling us to float through the air and land on a perfectly graded slope, others faded quickly and spat us into turns. Get it wrong and I'd pile-drive myself into the side of the hill. Quickly. But the fun when I got it right was immense.
On any normal day, this would've been more than enough to satisfy any mountain biker. But as things mellowed, the speed dropped and the whooping and hollering quickly faded, we could hear the faintest thud-thud-thud of whirring rotor blades approaching.
Up, up and away
A short climb led us to the clearing where we were being picked up. As we gathered in a tightly packed bunch, the helicopter entered the valley, banking up onto its side before swinging around and hovering just in front of us.
As it touched down, instructions were being shouted as bikes were loaded. With the noise from the chopper, the excitement and the frantic rush to buckle the straps, I'll admit not everything was sinking in. As far as I could make out, the one thing I couldn't do was turn left when getting out, due to the angle of the terrain and the proximity to the blades. As I repeated this to myself while fumbling around for my camera, we began to lift off.
Before long, we were skimming the ridges of the mountains surrounding Queenstown, being buffeted by the air currents as we dipped up and over peaks, heading to our landing zone. As soon as we were looking at the terrain from above, it became even more spectacular. In among these incredible mountains, we could begin to spot trails linking up the landscape.
After a while, the pilot slowed and we circled a peak. This couldn't be where we were landing, surely? It wasn't flat or particularly big. Yet here we were, slowly hovering downwards until the skis of the helicopter gently kissed terra firma. I bundled up my pack, stuffed my camera into my pocket and hurriedly unclipped my seat belt.
As I stepped out of the helicopter, I remembered what I was told and made my way quickly out from under the rotor blades to safety. With the downdraft whipping up the tall grass around us and drowning out any other noise, it was almost impossible to hear what anyone was saying, but that wasn't a problem. The grins on everyone's faces said it all. That was an experience we'd remember forever.
Ultimate ending
Now we were sat atop a mountain, there was only one way to get home. The trail that stretched ahead of us dished up a real mix of terrain, starting loose and sketchy, before diving into the forest, where we were met with a mix of slippery rocks and roots to keep us on our toes.
Finally, we hit the climb. Although I was riding as part of a group, the long drag up to our last summit started to segment us. Before long, I was pedalling uphill all by myself. I followed the trail as it wound its way up and around the mountain, only stopping when I reached Kelly McGarry's monument.
I was sweaty, tired and breathless while I stopped to take it all in. Kelly passed away at the tender age of 33, almost exactly 10 years prior to my visit, close to this very spot. Although I'd never met him, the Kiwi freerider clearly had a huge impact on the riding community around the world, and particularly here in Queenstown.
I rode the final part of the climb thinking about him and reflecting on how he must have loved riding here. Slowly, the group gathered at the McGazza Bench as everyone finished the climb and took a moment to catch their breath.
There was just enough time to suck in the view for one last minute before beginning our final downhill. And what a descent it was. To cap things off, we rolled down McNearly Gnarly - a 1.8km-long mellow jump trail that offers grins by the lorry load. It was a fitting and fun way to round out an incredible day and an amazing trip, packed full of laughs, screams and some absolutely top-notch riding.
Sitting at the bar still in my sweaty riding kit, things finally started to sink in. I'd just ticked off another of my bucket-list adventures, doing something I'd always dreamed of and loving every second of it. Now I just needed to work out how I could come back and do it all over again.
