There are riders sitting numbly at the bottom; others trudging up the hill pushing their bikes disconsolately.
Just one rider, an older woman with a lovely wicker basket strapped to the front of her racing bike, keeps going.
What is her secret, I ask as we wobble up, only just moving.
"Sheer [puff] f*****g [puff] bloody [puff] mindedness," she says.
The bloody mindedness of the long distance relay rider.
The 160km solo riders have their fitness and perfectly calibrated training schedules. Some of us, like me on the relay buses, have hope and a few extra kilos on our side.
Heading out to our designated transfer stations, we stare through the bus windows at the terrain, secretly relieved as we wind our way around the shores of Lake Taupo, nervously joking as we chug up Hatepe Hill.
The transfer stations are remarkably efficient at, well, transferring riders.
Team mates arrive, looking relieved but a bit haggard, and the next in line takes a deep breath and follows the riders out the exit.
While you wait there is plenty to do; you can relieve yourself three or four times at the spotless Port-a-Loos.
In my case, I take the advice of friends to keep up my food and fluid intakes quite literally, by enjoying a quiet mochaccino or two at the coffee carts while waiting for my team member to arrive. (Don't forget to take some money).
And, if you can, enjoy the views.
Then, far too quickly, my team mate arrives.
We exchange a few words (Fine, buggered, bastard of a hill a few kms back, need water, good luck, see you at the end, have a beer waiting), then it's off.
Heading for Taupo.
Via Hatepe Hill.
