What terrifies one person is a thrill for another. Kimberley Rothwell puts on a brave face in activities around Lake Taupo.

I didn't wet my pants," said Marina, as the Huka Jet came up against the dock at the end of a 25-minute ride up the Waikato River.

Before getting on the boat, the Wellington mother of three had been wringing her hands in anxiety at the thought of getting into a speed boat.

"Are you girls scared?" she asked us. "No," we said. "Must be just me, then." And she pulled a little face, like she'd seen a monster.

With her two sons, she endured the 360-degree spins our driver put us through, the last-minute swerves as the boat sped toward trees looming out of the river. She even managed to smile as she gripped the safety rail with white-knuckled hands. At the end, with her pants dry, we applauded her bravery.

It's funny the things people are scared of. I knew a little girl from a war-torn African country who was frightened of my extremely easy- going cat. I love turbulent plane rides and scary landings at Wellington airport, but I won't go near a swing bridge. And my friend Monique, since dislocating her knee several years ago, is dubious about any sport that might make it pop out again. She quit serious rock-climbing after her knee gave way in Thailand because she got The Fear.

She wasn't scared of the Huka Jet. In fact, as we tried out mountain biking for the first time near Taupo's Craters of the Moon geothermal area, she seemed to be positively looking forward to just having to sit there while the boat did all the work.

Taupo is probably more famous for the annual Lake Taupo Cycle Challenge – a 160-kilometre road race around the lake – than it is for mountain biking. But the Wairakei forest north of Taupo is crisscrossed with tracks for mountain bikers.

The tracks are maintained by the local club, and are well signposted and graded so newbies on hired bikes don't end up falling off cliffs. A friend had warned me that tracks are graded from one to five.

We started off with a grade two track called the Tourist Trap. Must be easy, we thought, with a name like that. With a bit of uphill at the beginning through pine forest, nice open wide tracks, sun breaking through the trees, we talked about whether we could get into the sport.

"I have a mountain biking story," Monique said, "about a woman who went biking with her partner, and he dislocated his knee. Not just the knee cap, but the whole joint. She had to pull it back into place. That's why I don't think I could do this sport. I couldn't do that."

Eeek. I knew mountain biking wasn't for old ladies, but I'm quite afraid of breaking bones and getting stuck with my leg hanging off. Suddenly those little downhills scattered with pine cones and tree roots, especially the ones that were narrow and rutted, looked perilous and life- threatening. I had been scared before we got on the bikes of how ridiculous I would look in my cycling shorts, but now I was terrified of plunging off a bank to certain pain.

However, when your hands are sweaty from riding and you're clasping the brakes really, really hard, it's quite liberating just to let them go, letting gravity do its thing. The track underneath our tyres felt spongy as we bounced along. I could have broken into song.

Next, we took on a grade three track. This one, the Tank Stand, had too much uphill for my liking, but coming downhill was superb. Monique wasn't so keen, and for quite a way we inched gingerly down when the track became too narrow and steep. But I loved it. I made a note to myself to ask Santa for a mountain bike this year.

At the bottom, buzzing from the great downhill, I took on a grade three track called Walter's Wiggles. It was incredibly peaceful, just the sound of my tyres across the pine needle-blanketed track, of water in my bottle sloshing, twigs cracking, and my lungs burning.

I stopped at the top of a hill and stood listening to the quiet, thinking I was in the middle of nowhere. Then I hopped back on the bike and found I was about five metres from the road and the car park where Monique lay in the shade waiting. I glimpsed myself in the rear-view mirror of the car. Face red, frizzy hair stuck with sweat to my forehead.

Bruises darkening on my knees where I'd missed a wiggle and careered into some bracken. That image should be enough to frighten off the most valiant adventure- seeker. But I wasn't frightened at all.


SOURCE: The Dominion Post