Sunrise over Cessnock - Reason enough to get involved |
With the tingly fingers and blackened
toenails from April’s Cloudride finally subsiding, the itch had returned
and I was well overdue for another bikepacking adventure, if only to break the daily
monotony of a blustery Sydney existence.
Since moving from New Zealand to Australia
two years ago, I’ve been raving to boyhood chum Tristan about the great
bikepacking on offer, particularly in New South Wale’s Hunter Valley. When a
gap in his hectic native bird-rescuing schedule opened up, some cheap trans Tasman
airfares sealed the deal and he was on a plane bound for Sydney, with adventure
bound to ensue.
Elated post-ride Tristan |
We’d grown up riding and racing together in
Nelson and were pretty good mates, but our bromance was afflicted by the
tyranny of distance so more than anything else I was looking forward to
spending a good few days catching up with Tristan. In the past our rides together ended inevitably
with broken bikes, scraped knees and the dull lactic pain that can only come
from repeated full noise sprints.
With the belly of my own life and work
swelling with busyness, riding has taken a stoker seat so I was bracing for
some old fashioned punishment at the legs of Tristan. He was coming off a holiday
at the Alaskan Singlespeed/debauchery World Championships then a tonne of riding
in the Canadian Rockies, so his usual ferocious pace would be even more so.
Tristan arrived on a Friday afternoon to
the same weather which had been dampening Sydney for weeks, frequent soggy
downpours and a cool blustery breeze that made the prospect of four days in the
wilderness less than attractive. Up till
this point we’d decided to ride the infamous Big Hurt, a 750km
bikepacking loop heavy with bike carry and leeches. The sheer physical and
mental misery I’d been through riding the course last year had forced me to revaluate
my passion for bikepacking. But as always seems to happen, the memories faded
and when we were running through ride ideas the Hurt came out on top. Laden
with single track, the course would have taken us through some remote and
critter heavy parts of NSW for Tristan’s first Australian wilderness
experience.
Fortunately we reconsidered our position. Thoughts
of slick leaf litter laden slopes where one step forward would have resulted in
two back (not to mention falling on ones face) steered us towards a less
extreme option. As luck would have it, the Hunter’s very own GPX Gandalf (Brad
Mertens) had wizzarded up a worthy loop called the Dirty 600, six hundred odd
kilometres of road and singletrack which avoided the hike-a-bike that had
earned the Hurt its fearsome reputation.
Brad Mertens in 10 years |
Loading the files onto our Garmins the
night before, we added some last minute revisions to divert around an irate farmer,
and were all set for our adventure.
All aboard the train and ready for adventure! |
One of the great things about riding in the
Hunter is that so much of it is accessible by train, except when the train
breaks down and forces one to stand in the rain waiting for a replacement. About
an hour from our destination Morissett, we contemplated the ride but were not
keen to say goodbye to the relative warmth and dryness of the train and station
too early. Fortunately the wait was short and before we knew it we were rolling
out on the course, Gandalf himself coming all the way from Middle-Wangi to show
us the way to Coorangbong.
It begins... (Day 1)
Starting with a gentle road climb into the
Watagans (which by the third time, some 560 kilometres into the ride, would became
the Notagains) the sunshine which had blessed the start of our ride gave way to
a misty vapour that forced us to pedal harder and don my Anti-cyclone.
This first part of the ride was punctuated by climbs followed by short descents,
forming undulating ridge roads which set the rhythm for the rest of the ride.
Dropping down into Wyong it was sunny again and joining the trail up to Mangrove
Mountain the puddles were ever present. Soon our bikes were slathered in fine
particles of clay, a paste which migrated from trail to every part of our body
and even via drink bottles into our mouths. Not even the delicious taste of home
in the form of an Em’s Power Cookie bar could flush out the gritty sensation.
Rohloff hub cared less about the mud than I did |
A welcome stop at the Mangrove Mountain store
allowed Tristan to overhear some quintessential Aussie banter, with locals
discussing the prospects of weekend festivities, a lingo laiden diatribe that
left us in hysterics. Before we could further investigate the culture we were
barked out of town by some rowdy blue heelers, a breed Tristan is familiar with
as it is the same as his Dusky, the dog made famous in the dusky dog blog.
Who let the dogs out? |
Buoyed by the pies and chiko
rolls of the stop we rolled through strangely boggy Upper Mangrove and onto the
Convict trail, determined to make it Wisemans Ferry before sunset. I’d recalled
this section from the Hurt and was overjoyed that I could share it with
Tristan, the rocky steps and convict hewn trail becoming increasingly gnarly in
the failing light. Boarding the Wiseman’s Ferry in the proper dark, we were
carried to the warm bistro across the road, and while the generous portions
delighted our hearty bikepacker’s appetites, they failed to comprehend our need
for takeaway food, proffering a quiche and cookies in a huge polystyrene
containers. Fortunately some spare ziplock bags did the trick, although they
didn’t prevent Tristan’s quiche from becoming pureed.
Tristan gets stuck into his dinners at Wisemans ferry |
Rolling out to the Upper Colo Campground,
we were escorted by Rosco and Gandalf who as instigators of the route were keen
to see its effects in person. Tristan and I didn’t have to pretend to be stoked
with the trail so far, and as we bivied up to the sound of grunting Koalas and
the serene backing track of our fellow camper’s offensively loud dubstep we were eager to see what else was in store.
Morissett to Upper Colo, 188km, 11 hours,
1707m climbing. Critters of note: Lyrebird, Kookaburra, Koala.
And
continues (Day 2) ...
Some minor bathroom related dalliances
aside, the second day started smoothly with an invigorating climb to the ridge
then more undulating roads and a descent to the Hawkesbury River.
Probably the dullest part of the route, the
proceeding rolling roads swayed back and forwards up the valley past
picturesque cows, churches, spitting us out at the historic St. Albans pub.
A
breakfast of epic proportions ensued, with bacon, eggs and man sized toast
doused in enough butter to lube our screeching chains. While we’d missed the
lamb shanks of the previous night the breakfast was more than fitting of the
day ahead. More mellow rolling roads took us up into the hills behind Wollombi,
with motivation starting to wane we hit a gnarly descent that got the stoke
going.
Large servings in St. Albans bring bikepackers all the way from NZ |
Dubious water source which may have caused digestive malfunction |
The Dirty 600 was not without its own
Hurt-like idiosyncrasies, with Brad throwing in a ‘for shits and giggles’ loop
up the Boree track to get the kilometre’s and vistas up. It ended up being a fantastic
section of trail with the hills just short enough for momentum to be carried. However
it was at this point when a cruel digestive ailment struck me mid pedal stroke.
Dropping my bike and dashing for the bush with toilet paper in hand, I cursed
the evil microbes that had rendered my bacon breakfast to liquid. Taking my
time to make sure my stomach was settled we set off again feeling decidedly average,
not even the high speed 84km/h run to the Wollombi valley could lift my
spirits. Stopping at the store then the pub I picked at a hearty evening meal
with surprising disinterest. My digestive disconnect provided mixed feedback to
my normally over ambitious gullet. Taking my time I managed to get through most
of it, and saddling up again we headed for what we hoped would be our final
camp.
Shortly after loudly proclaiming the
lameness of Australian hills in comparison to the steep cols of Banks
Penininsula (especially as arranged in the Petite Brevet), the road
pinched upwards into the sky. Only the small illuminated patch of our
headlights kept us from seeing the soul destroying climb ahead of us, and so we
stayed on our bikes, winching our bikes up the road, knees and crank bolts
creaking all the way. Passing a wombat rescue centre we chose a flat spot and
bivied for the night.
Upper Colo to Pokolbin State Forest, 215km,
12 hours, 3371m. Critters of note: Wombat, Deer, Owl.
The final Countdown (Day 3)...
After an early and chilly night, we packed
up our camp and wolfed down a packet of Oreos each to fuel us for the descent
to Cessnock. Starting up high we’d wrapped up warm, but as the inevitable ridge
pinches hit we stripped off layers and stuffed them back in our bags. After a
short section of rocky singletrack we picked up speed on the descent, only to
execute some high speed swerves to dodge some startled Kangaroos who chose a path
through our front spokes as the path of least resistance. Hearts racing, they
settled as we re-joined tarseal and took in the awesome sunrise which was
happening over a mist shrouded Cessnock.
Sunshine over a misty Cessnock |
Not ones to dwell on such niceties, we dove
down the hill and into the mist, heading straight for McDonalds where the
greasy McMuffins were just as welcome as the warm seats and bathroom sink
shower. Turns out the hyper-processed mush had reawakened my appetite which had
thrown a wobbly after the digestive malfunction of the previous day. With sun
starting to emerge we headed for Kurri Kurri, a combination of back roads and
railway track taking us to a park which made for a perfect chamois cream
application opportunity for Tristan, whose tired brain now considered the
indecency socially acceptable. He has since apologised to any children or old
ladies who may have been offended.
Tristan discretely applies cream in a Kurri Kurri park |
Shredding through more twisty moto trail amongst
piles of consumerist detritus was a new experience for Tristan, and one that
left him perplexed given the multitude of garbage collection options available.
Before long we were pointed upwards and
sweating hard, grinding up into the Notagains for the final time. Crossing the
course where we’d headed for Wyong was a great milestone which was capped off
with the heavenly Coke, pies and slices of the Cooranbong bakery. This time
Ollie offended some older patrons by scraping mud from his bike onto the
footpath and letting out a load profanity laden proclamation that his chain was stuffed.
Heading out for the final stretch, we began
singing ‘final countdown’, a cola fuelled ding-dong battle ensued as we circled
the Eralong power station. neither of us could break the other and the spirit
of congeniality returned for the spin around Morisset Peninsula to the finish.
Pokolbin State Forest to Morisset, 189km, 11.5
hours, 2621m. Critters of note: Bison, Goanna, Fox, Snake, Millions of
Kangaroos.
In summary...
Rolling into Morisset after 55 hours of
riding, sleeping and eating we were both struck with how pleasant a bikepacking
ride could be with fine company and without the red haze that comes part of racing.
I’d enjoyed the Dirty 600 more immensely, and while a strong willpower was
required to resurrect sleepy limbs form the padded train seat for our short
ride home, my body and mind came out the other end refreshed rather than
drained. Our relatively fresh state was a sure testament to the fact that we’d matured
to the point where we no longer saw the need to crush each other every ride, or
maybe we were just getting old!
Despite Ollie's pyscho expression he was actually as happy as Tristan |
For those with some time to kill both Tristan
and I can wholeheartedly recommend the Dirty 600 loop, or for those just
dabbling there are shorter 400 and 200 km routes each taking in many of the Hunter's fine trails. Grand depart is on October 4 so there is still plenty of time to carbo load or at least start your taper!
2 comments:
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i love love the Gandalf reference. Your blog and pictures make me want to go on a road trip but i think ill be fine in my car! kudos to you for taking such a long trip on your bike, i don't have that kind of courage.
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