Shortly after lunch Paul's rear derailleur broke, leaving him with a single gear. At about three o'clock, while weaving our way through a patch of fairly dense bush, the Bridge to Nowhere appeared before us. We had seen photos of the bridge, and anticipated riding over it for weeks, but it was still a real surprise. Imagine a large concrete road bridge, 125 feet above a small stream in a deserted valley 30 kms from the nearest road. We rested and pondered for a while, then nipped down to the Whanganui River, two kilometres away.

It had been a classic days mountain biking. We were stuffed, yet had covered little more than ten kilometres in six hours.