WORDS: KIM HURST IMAGES: LISA NG VIDEO: ANDREW TURNER/AT PHOTO

Post pandemic party mode pulled into Petone on Sunday. The Huttcross crew were pumped to lay down that boogie harbourside.

Arguably the most picturesque offering on the Huttcross bill of fare, Hikoikoi Reserve serves up grass camber, driftwood barriers, and shale pits while sittin’ on the dock of the bay.

Two hundred and forty-eight riders took a walk on the wild side with a throng of newbies toeing the line.

Despite the phat tyre brigade baying for action shots from the trackside papa-paparazzi, swells of drop bars graced B Grade. What once was the minority is now firmly in the majority. The gravel movement has been great for ‘cross providing the perfect justification for n+1. I’m callin’ it a Revolution.

That said, it’s hard to beat a faithful old steed that’s seen you through many lifetimes. The Ziggy Stardust Award of the day went to the man astride his fixie, a bike that had seen him through hectic Seoul traffic, Wellington messenger life, bike polo battles, and now tracklocross. [Note from the Pres: I’d still love to know how the drop to the beach went, Jordan].

School holidays brought all the girls and boys makin’ all that noise and after tearing up the grownups’ course, the MightyCX rabble took control of the lap board. Apologies to B Graders who saw the lap board countdown jump from 5 to 9,000 to go, the kids are coming for you.

Indeed, a Young Pretender, Millie aged 13, scorched her way through the C Grade field crushing the hearts and souls of her elders on route to victory.

A shark (doo, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo) emerged triumphant over a dinosaur. The Faceless Man in a tuxedo moved from neutral tech support earlier in the day to cutting laps, while sometimes glimpsing a clean line of sight (we think).

A Welshman’s tubular glue was Born Slippy. The Celt’s tub roll incident led to a lengthy time shouldering to the pits and his lead dropping like it’s hot, while a resplendent purple Huttcross skinsuit seized the moment and bagged bragging rights on social. Purple rain reigned.

A regular attendee in kitten-themed lycra nailed the beach drop in for the first time while learning to fly. Coming down is the hardest thing.

A father-son rivalry went down to the line with the old man dropping fierce watts as his Prodigy ran out of real estate for the sprint.

Tarzan locked in some Coldplay while his core body temperature tanked during the enthralling rider briefing held while a fresh zephyr blew straight off the harbor. One word. Nipples.

A Club Treasurer spring-boarded from a lockdown inspired Zwift racing foundation to a scorching result albeit minus his timing chip. Timeless wonder.

A Club Pres clocked up 29,653 steps and prolly more words on the mic. Work B-itch.

And dubious dance moves were thrown down across the venue. Boogie Wonderland.

It’s great to be back to our usual foray of winter Park Life. Welcome home, Huttcross fans. Take me home to the place I belong.