Karl "Ratas" Ratahi. The man, the myth, the Maori mountain bike maven. Taking advantage of the lack of me in the PNP XC series, and despite the fact he was riding a bike a size too small, with a stuffed hub, a saddle made of iron, and a fork with more stiction than a toffee-apple dipped in honey, he still managed to take out the series for the over 40's (or Masters, if you don't want to be cruel to us old guys).
"Check out my choice bling, eh bro!" Three seconds and a first in the four races, they call him Mr. Consistency. Nice work mate.
Ratas smashes it up the road at the start of Sunday's final race at Makara, watched closely by Matt, who tried his darndest to bury the big fella up Koru and Salley Alley, but was dished out a dose of Ratahi hurt up Aratihi.
God (Carl), Josh and Bryce form a Singletrack Colorado train, before God absconded and left the rest in his celestial wake, prompting questions of possible performance-enhancing drug usage.
"Check out my choice bling, eh bro!" Three seconds and a first in the four races, they call him Mr. Consistency. Nice work mate.
Ratas smashes it up the road at the start of Sunday's final race at Makara, watched closely by Matt, who tried his darndest to bury the big fella up Koru and Salley Alley, but was dished out a dose of Ratahi hurt up Aratihi.
God (Carl), Josh and Bryce form a Singletrack Colorado train, before God absconded and left the rest in his celestial wake, prompting questions of possible performance-enhancing drug usage.
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