First Hit Out

 I introduced my Kona Wo fatbike to my local roads this morning and it was a blast! It was so good that I decided to take the "dangerous" route home,  more on that later.  

The second purpose of the ride was to get a bottle of milk from the nearest village some 14k away. 

First of all, we negotiated some dirt; 400m of mountain bikey trail (my driveway!), then 1.5k of good gravel road.  unfortunately for the local livestock I had sprayed a WD40 type product on my disks so we made a kind of James Morrison screaming jazz trumpet sound, times  two,  for some of the rapid descent from home.  It was particularly effective on my daughter's horses.  Halfway down the steepest section the spray must have burned off and it went a lot quieter.  As this was the steepest downhill of the entire ride,  it should have been a hoot, but after being stored in a shed for three years, the hydraulic brake system was a bit airy, and hairy! That slope is probably around 20% and 300m long, followed by a nice hairpin before a cliff into a rock quarry.  So it was important that we slowed a bit. 

Onto the tar; 12k to Paterson. I'm abso-bloody- lootly happy to report that the Kona goes ok on the blacktop.  Not touring bike good,  but not too shabby. While tottering along on an ultra quiet two lanes country road in beautiful winter's sunshine,  I did come up with a new name for my fatbike.  Over  the last month I had been looking at trikes and thought of  the name Greta  after my favourite eco-warrior. But some "hobo" triker in the US had bagged that name.  So I came up with Cliffy after a briefly famous ultra-marathon "runner" Cliff Young. Years ago he entered his first ultra marathon race from Sydney to Melbourne. He was an older dairy farmer, so he ran in gumboots,  as you do.   Anyway he looked hilarious because the "shuffled" along very slowly.  But it turned out a classic hair and tortoise story; the slick guys went fast but as they stopped to eat and sleep,  Cliffy shuffled past them in the night.  After a week or so when fatigue was setting in with the jet setting runners, Cliffy just kept up his low energy shuffle going and cleared out on the pack.  The fellow that the media treated as a joke when the race began,  became a national sensation less than a week later. I am Cliffy's age about now and a slow rider,  so it kind of fits.

Paterson, loading groceries.

A highlight of the fatty was bumping into a very beautiful single artist as I dismounted in Paterson.  She was walking her dog right past where I parked up. Typically the best I could offer her was a timid "hello"?! Oh well, next time.    I grabbed a coffee, Mars bar and some  bananas  which I ate down by the river. Touring cyclists often say that cycling provides a different view of the world. It proved true for me today as I sat on a bench by the river, dull ache in my legs, slightly sweaty, pale winter's sky. I reflected on how often I drive past here, but rarely sit and really soak in the beautiful surroundings.  This bank was once the major site of trade in the region, where steamers and riverboats were loaded with timber and produce for transport to Sydney and beyond. 

Paterson wharf.

Now at the furthest point of today's loop, I had intended to return by the same path because its generally quieter,  safer.  But I felt fearless and with the fatbike,  ready to scoot offroad if needed, and the gravel trucks seeming few and far between m I decided to brave the main road.  With  fluro vest on,  but lights off, the traffic gave me a wide berth.  i was more concerned about the occasional caveman type driver. Usually in the ute with big tyres and loud exhaust,  who goes out of their way to blast cyclists off their road.  But interestingly,  probably because most of them are miners, they respect the vest. As it's now a standard safety wear at minesites, perhaps their reptilian brains are trained to  ""respect the vest"?  Being thick headed, they don't realise that I am an imposter who got the vest from a charity shop. Fred Flintstone types aside,  I did ride on the wrong side of the road for a while. Often there was no bike space  and if this coincided with a blind bend or hill,  I crossed over.  It felt safer and I waved to drivers to demonstrate that I'm not a robot in licra, just an old fart in boardies, trying to have fun. It seemed to work really well.  

Overall,  the Kona felt bloody fantastic.  It's not a bike for everyone because its slower than most.  But it actually suits my circumstances and my personality,  rugged, slow, chunky and unconventional. For some reason it feels "friendlier" than my steel framed tourer. There were downsides other than less speed. One was the way the whole bike bounces under acceleration,  something to do with the rhythm of pedaling and balloon tyres.  It's potentially seasick- making.  But the trade-off is a much gentler ride,  no reaction to potholes (and there are lots of those in the Dungog Shire), and going on gravel or grass is as smooth as tarmac.  A mechanic told me that 50% of suspension is through tyres.  Let's say you won't need a telescopic seat post on your fatbike. 

Now to sought out my fly fishing gear. 

Post Script: As the muscular aches subside I happily feel no after effects from yesterday's 2-3 hrs in the saddle. In fact I feel energised to do it all again,  and more.