Thunderbolt and lightning, very, very frightening. Alternatively, an epic atmosphere for an almighty ‘cross race rustled up by the Gods of Cross. For Round 4, your $25 entry fee bought you tickets to a free light show.

Ngati Tama appears to enjoy delivering on tough mudders and followed on from her performances in 2016 and 2018, securing a hat-trick in 2019.

Philosophers both ancient and modern have oft pondered the sport of cyclocross. Epicurus, clearly fresh from a tough mudder in Greece professed that “skillful pilots gain their reputation from storms and tempest” while his dirty toga soaked in Napisan in the tub. A more modern man, Bill Schieken of CX Hairs notoriety, scribed Stateside that “cyclocross is often romanticized as a soul wrenching battle that takes place in mud, rain, and epic conditions”.

Well, after last weekend we can consider it done, chaps. Lovers strapped in for some soil sampling in Upper Hutt while the pitter-patter on the mic debated whether ryegrass, brassica or clover made for better rolling resistance or traction opportunities with the superior pastures on offer.

Huttcross Round 4 was definitely the connoisseur’s choice with a hardy rabble of fine gentlemen and women embarking on the challenge.

Beelzebub had a devil put aside for C and A Grades in particular with B Grade enjoying the driest conditions (it’s all relative) across a race day schedule that dumped 20mm of wet stuff from overhead.

Thor put the mallet down and ramped up to fork lightning around noon while riders wrestled with the age old maxim that “some days you’re the hammer, some days you’re the nail”, while other days you’re just glad not to be struck by lighting. Anyone know the conduction insulation properties of a UCI compliant 33mm tread?

Our own scaramouch bounced around in the rain with an inflatable gavel while the racers soaked in some Type II Fun.

Tidal rise held off although by the time the course was fully dismantled and returned to the comfort of the trailer, the mighty Awakairangi had taken a nibble at the run up and the sand was submerged with worn in lines washed away.

The full deep custom staircase rocked people’s socks off and clearly had a great time as she was the very last to vacate the park. The club gazebo was less enthralled with the whole shemozzle and folded early on.

A special 30^th milestone was celebrated with the best known way to mankind to earn cake mid-winter as well as a free bike wash post-onslaught*. A twelve-year old girl crushed all the boys in Mighty CX repping her pink school skinsuit. A C-Grader refused to be pulled off course until he’d cranked out the same number of laps as his son. A wily fella just shy of his 66^thbirthday dished out some old school learnings to the young whippersnappers and ploughed his way through the mud to secure silver. And we all made the Australians green with envy on social with rad videos of riding bikes in epic mud.

Good stories were never made in the dry. Magnifico.