Photos Andrew Ivory

July usually heralds a freshness in the air felt by a resilient crew of vollies gathering for dawn raid on a corner of parkland. This year, it brought severe weather warnings.

The downpours probably kept the leviathan visitor happy in our harbour, while the damp stuff guaranteed prime habitat for grass-dwelling mammals most content frolicking in an environment of challenging traction opportunities. A rain free window was prayed for by the organisers mid-week but that submission was ultimately declined by the weather gods who felt a smidgen of something Belgian was more appropriate to commemorate the tenth year of ‘cross in the Hutt.

A confetti of red, white and blue rejoiced the Independence Day Cyclocross Race of yonderyear, which kicked the whole thing off way back when. Those repping the star spangled banner found their patriotism recompensed with a Trumponian headstart.

Thirty early adopters were part of that first rollout in 2009. Reminiscing over old photographs provides a stark reminder of just how sparingly course tape was used in the olden days. Clearly, we were all virtuous, law-abiding, taxpaying folk who could be relied upon to hold our lines honestly and the tape was merely a guide. Either that or maybe there were less places to hide.

While the likely success of a similar tape-saving approach in 2018 conjures up more doubt than a Grand Tour rider’s positive salbutamol test, it is exciting to see how our niche grassroots scene has evolved. Our ancestors would be proud to see the ruthless hot lines sought by riders keen to pressure the boundaries of their peers. Of course, the red mist was still as crimson a decade ago but with the breadth and reach of CX stoke bulging at the seams like it’s had a double cheeseburger or three too many (with fries), it’s understandable that we need to tighten our tape a notch or two to hold it all in. With epic conditions at Huttcross Round Three, you would have been forgiven for wavering onto the lush greenness associated with lesser rolling resistance and predictable traction had the tape not been there preventing trespassing onto craved territory.

The jewel of Round Three’s crown was billed to be a tricky riverside drop into a sandtrap leading to an off-camber run-up just to remind y’all that the spirit of ‘cross and making things awkward is alive and well. This particular diamond was initially unearthed with tools nabbed from the garden shed but the weather had other ideas and Te Awakairangi fancied her turn on that portion of the course. In fact, the whole course was designed on the hoof to incorporate the driest parts of Ngati Tama given Mother Nature’s wrath. Not that you’d believe by noon. So instead we proved that the spirit of ‘cross and making things hard is still kicking strongly.

Mud is like Marmite. Dark brown with the capacity to be spread thick or thin and while some people love it, others hate it. For the foul-weather faithful, this was hallowed turf with evolving lines and those with a predilection for umami happily munched through a thick serving. Smiles turned to bike washes that progressed to hammered domestic showers and washing machines. But, we think the admin was worth it.

We’re pretty sure the American pioneer who introduced us to a new frontier of fun on two wheels would have given it all a big, “Hell Yeah!”. Alternatively, as a Yorkshireman wrote on the eve of the event, “We should ride more when its shitty, and just have fun. The shower is always hot when we get home. Have a great race”. Amen.