David Whitley experiences New Zealand’s latest crazy adrenalin activity in Rotorua – and learns of plans to introduce the bizarre form of green transport across the world.


Jared shuts my glass cage, and disappears behind me. I am suspended a metre or so above the ground, attached to a Lilliputian monorail. Jared gives my pod a shove and I’m suddenly flying. And this, I guess, is where my pedals come in. I start pushing in order to gain speed and I’m soon whizzing around the track faster than I’d ever be able to manage on a normal bike. The kinks and dips in the track make it feel like a self-powered rollercoaster, complete with clattering around corners and faint feeling of exhilaration.


This is Shweebing, New Zealand’s new form of absurd adrenalin rush. It’s somewhere between cycling, taking a monorail, Scalextric racing and having a nice lie down. And if it sounds odd, that’s because it is. But if the man behind it has his way, then it might not seem so unusual in a few years’ time. According to Jared, the operations manager here in Rotorua, sixteen licences to operate Shweebs have been issued worldwide. And the intention is to branch out from theme park-style race tracks into lengthy transit systems.


The theory goes that Shweebs could be green, healthy ways of getting through forests or caves – the ground isn’t disturbed by people walking on it, and it offers a gimmicky selling point. The inventor also hopes that the principle can be applied to getting around busy local neighbourhoods. It’s all very space age, and yet again New Zealand is leading the way in quirky action experiences. Or so it would seem – the big secret is that the Shweeb is an Australian invention.


The idea apparently came to Melburnian Geoff Barnett while he was living in Tokyo. Barnett taught English there for six years, and used a recumbent bicycle to get around. These lying down bikes may look silly, but they’re far more energy efficient to use than a normal two-wheeler.


The inspiration came to Barnett as he got frustrated with the Tokyo traffic. “One day he thought: ‘I wish I could just go over the top of these people’,” says Jared. And so the seed was planted. Barnett returned to Australia and worked on his idea for five years, but struggled to find a suitable place in his home country to launch it. So be brought his Shweeb - the name comes from the German word ‘Schwebe’, meaning ‘hanging’, ‘hovering’ or ‘suspended’ – to Rotorua.


The clever part of the gimmick is that Jared and co record everybody’s time on the three lap thunder around the 200m track. It becomes a time trial – a race against everybody of your age, gender and nationality that has gone before you.With this – and the option of going head to head with a friend – no-one is going to treat it as a gentle cycle around the park. Apparently Olympic cyclists have had a go at this, but no-one has managed to beat the time of 56.2 seconds by a chap who looked like Prince William and had undergone no training. That’s an average speed of 38.4km/h per hour – something that would be murderous on a normal bike but is perfectly feasible on the Shweeb. There’s no friction from the ground, the body is in prime position and the aerodynamics of the design mean there’s little resistance. According to Jared, you could push one of the empty pods from the start point, and it would come back round without any further assistance.


As a comparison point, I am about as athletic as a giant meat pie, yet I still manage to complete the three laps in 63.4 seconds. This is going reasonably hard, but by no means flat out – frankly, I was too busy trying to work out the gears for the best part of the journey. Apparently, I would have reached the 40km/h mark on my way round – 45 to 50km/h is easily attainable – and I averaged out at just over 34km/h.


And when you put it in those terms, the idea of using the Shweeb concept for transit systems doesn’t seem quite so much of a pipedream after all.




Do it: Three laps around the Shweeb track costs NZ$45, although packages with the other activities at Agroventures ( are also available.

Stay: Base ( is a good hostel option in Rotorua, with surprisingly large doubles available for those who have outgrown dorms.




By David Whitley





David Whitley spins, hovers, swoops and screams in New Zealand’s hotbed of absurd adrenalin rushes

The roar is obnoxiously loud. It sound like I’m stood behind a fully fired-up jet engine, and that’s not too far from the truth. I’m dressed in a jumpsuit which, being entirely made of cheap denim, makes me look far more like a redneck baby than Elvis, and I have been released into a circular cage. Stood on a platform made from the material that usually goes into bouncy castles, I am told to put my hands out in front of me and let myself fall into the cacophonous void...


If Queenstown is New Zealand’s place to go for the heart-stopping big beasts of adrenalin-junkie tourism, then Rotorua is the spot for variety. Best known for its overriding stench of sulphur, thermal pools and mad bursts of hot steam bursting out of the ground willy-nilly, Rotorua is also home to Agroventures. You can pretty much do anything on this roped off section of a local farm. Rolling down hills in giant hamster balls, bungy jumping and cycling around the underside of a monorail track are all on the menu.


I, however, am testing out Freefall Xtreme. As I tumble forth, the wind turbine below propels me upwards – taking on gravity with a 185km/h blast. Well, in theory, I go upwards. The idea is to float in the air above the turbine. I’m just propelled to the bouncy castle matting on the other side. After a few more abortive attempts, I just about get the hang of it, and the dastardly swines operating the thing decide to play tricks on me. One pushes my legs, the other pushes my arms and I find myself spinning around like a particularly big hand on a particularly silly clock. Dignified it is not. If the Freefall Xtreme is absurd, then The Swoop enters genuine underwear-staining territory. The concept is relatively simple – you’re strapped up inside a big bag/ straight jacket, and then slowly winched upwards to a height of 40m.


From there, you pull a rip cord and fly back to earth.

The gradual process of getting to that 40m release height is horrible. You’re gradually pulled backwards as well as up and, given that you’ve little choice but to look down, the view below sends your heart into warp speed. All that’s going through my mind was whether it was worse to fall into the river or onto the concrete. After seemingly months, the little ant man on the ground calls out. Is that my signal to pull the cord? What if I get it wrong? What if he’s shouting “don’t pull it yet”? I run through my extensive vocabulary of swear words.


Eventually I get a three-two-one and I yank the little orange rope. Deeeeeeeeeeear looooooooooord – I’m falling to earth...I have entered a temporary phase of freefall, reaching 135km/h and 3G as I skim just a metre above the concrete that would no doubt claim me and have my mother weeping.  But I survive; the upswing takes me flailing around in the air, powerless to resist or manoeuvre. But by this stage, it has become quite good fun. I’m whooping like a fat retard on in an American chat show audience rather than screaming. I’m Rotorua’s newest action man; I hovered, I swooped, I conquered.





By David Whitley