U24O ✔
The prospect of heading out on my first overnighter came with mixed feelings. Excitement at finally being able leave my two children to fend for themselves and have a bit of me time with nature. In my experience, laying on the earth overnight can develop a bond like no other. But, you know at 60 years of age I am continually flooded with stereotypes that I should be driving a massive caravan about, or cruising on a ship in the South Pacific, putting my feet up and sleeping on thick mattresses, taking an easy slide into retirement. I was pretty comfortable writing off that as BS, but I did lack confidence with bike camping alone a good distance from the support of a doctor, emergency department, take away food shop and so on.
But hey, you never know until you give it a go. The simple act of saddling up right by Geurie racetrack was a major boost to my fun factor rating. A great start.
This cycle touring jaunt along a party of the Central West Cycle Trail was originally going to be from Friday to Sunday evening. But it had later been cut back to Saturday afternoon. I was just happy to be doing anything resembling cycle touring. "Cliffy" my Kona Wo fatbike and I were piggy backing our tour on a road trip undertaken my daughter. So the arrangements were beyond my control.
I had only recently learned about the Central West Cycle Trail (CWCT) and was bursting with excitement to just poke my front wheel down those a handful of its dusty trails.
We hit the road west early Friday, my daughter driving her little truck and horse trailer with "Cliffy" and my luggage lashed on the tray. The weather deteriorated steadily over the six hour trip and at Geurie the wind was cold enough to pierce flesh and the rain felt like sleet. Anyway, I hit the Step It Up button; got warmly dressed, loaded panniers and hoisted my pack. I thenb bid Mia an uncertain farewell; "I might be back tonight if it rains much more, but I'll try and push through. I'm not hopeful though".
Mounting up and riding off immediately lifted my mood. I was heartened to be floating across wet gravel through the village of well worn country homes, built for practicality rather than show. Each home reflecting an old Australian charm without being defaced by the"rennovation" disease prevalent in the east of the state.
Out of town we headed down the outdated Arthurville Road, a quiet road rolling the Geurie cypress forest. After crossing an old wooden bridge at the Macquarie River the land opened up with irrigated fields. A vast cotton farm complete with massive cotton bales to our right, up a steady rise some sheep and tree skeletons loaded with galah and cockatoo. The cool wind now assisted as we climbed past the sheep and wheeled on a slightly more easterlt course. Over the hill we rode into calm air. At the base of the hill as the swept right, but our trail took a left onto a beautiful small red dirt road. "River Road" just what I was searching for, the signpost even had a small but very welcomed CWC sticker. Strangely, that little sticker proved the first concrete proof that the CWCT existed, everything I knew before seeing it was from the net. Well, here it is I could almost go home happy right now. Did I say this road is beautiful? Despite the cold, the road felt soft and dustless after rain and it was windy (ie. curvy) with trees, so each bend bought a new vista. An old homestead emerged on the left as we swept right away from the river which I sensed was behind the homestead. We passed a groove of gnarly trees that I suspect are River Red Gums. Up ahead a the river flat opened out before us. A massive irrigated paddock almost hid a herd of mixed cattle with its lush growth. The smoothness of the red carpet trailcontinued, except on bends where cars had created stutter bumps. A small inconvenience to travel on a road without traffic. At one point, climbing off the river flat, I saw my first cycle tracks and the only evidence of cyclists on the trail. The road had got gravely and the cyclist had gone to the furthest edge for a smoother ride. Some wrist numbness developed, so I shook it off before reaching the paved Wellington Road.
Due to my inexperience things turned a little shit here. As the sun dipped the breeze felt more chill; I was depleted of energy and had no idea where I would camp for tonight also unsure where The road took a long steady rise up Mount Arthur' and before I could work out my camping options I needed to reach the top and determine whether Wellington was achievable.
I'd let myself get cold, hungry, thirsty and my butt was feeling tender. But in the right gear we climbed more easily, and it warmed me up. But as we reached a pinch just short of the top, fatigue and confusion hit like a hammer blow and I pulled over. In quick succession inhaled a banana, an apple and took some water in and passed water out. As I held my bike munching away though I saw the front wheel was loose. "Long walk from here" I mused. I themselves to find the axle was lose and tightening easily remedied by, tightening it. Ah, no more wobble and the front brakes were working again. Wonders never cease!
Back on board everything felt better, the bike was moving more smoothly and I felt physically stronger and was mentally okay about an evening wild camping. As we summirted Mount Arthur however I could see nothing of Wellington just trees and other hills. AsxWell that sucks a bit! I guess that rolling into Wellington was no longer an option. A bright yellow and red sign caught my eye, a small reserve of some kind. Well it was protected from the wind, but water run off made it look uninviting. But really I had no choice. I detached my luggage and lifted Cliffy over the gate and sweet up home for the night.
As I erected my tent in failing light as my daughter called. She was happy I had reception, surprised I was camping and then reported that tomorrow's schedule had been shortened to finish at 9am. Oh well , at least I have the chance to ride a little piece of trail and bike camp for the first time. I changed into dry clothes and went straight to bed to warm up and mentally reset. I "woke" later to make cous cous, eat snacks and drink coffee before diving back into bed. I was stoked to pick up ABC Radio and looked forward to "Overnights" with Rod Quinn after 2am. I repeated this routine all night; get up for coffee, cheese and crackers, go toilet and backup back into bedding warm sleeping bag. IT's only shortcoming was my sleeping bag, I'd packed a "junior" sleeping bag to save weight and bulk, but it barely came to my shoulders. In 3°C you need a decent sleeping bag.
Early in the dark of night small bush creatures came to visit. Laying quietly everything sounds big and scary, but as I reigned in my imagination, I figured it was too small for a dog. Possum I wondered. A little later as the crescent moon peered through the cloud cover I saw the silhouette of a mouse (not a moose!) It was one of millions that made up the current mouse plague in the west of the state. This guy was putting about over the roof of my tent and although he was causing me no harm I decided to vent my joy and slapped the canvas with the back of my hand. He went into orbit very quickly, something to tell the grandmice. You don't get that at home.
The following morning, well just later really, I woke to break camp before being sited and to make tracks back to base. I had cereal and coffee then loaded my panniers and backpack and was underway by 7am. Already experience was rewarding me and I took a few moments longercto dress properly for the rapid decent. A Snowgum hat under my helmet, bandana scarf over my face, several tops under my rain jacket, fresh undies and socks. Lights on I hit the short climb before the long run off the other side. I remembered to dab the brakes. Yep they're working. Bonus! The riding was fabulously exhilarating.
The ride back was essentially a reverse affair except that it was in calm and sunny conditions. Being June, the morning sunlight was weak, but at least it was trying hard. We scampered off the hill in much better condition than when we had mounted it yesterday. I felt reassured, I had learned a few things and felt relieved that at age 60 I had a future in bike packing and camping. The elation stayed with me as the k's drifted by. I shook wrist numbness off without worrying, and swapped butt bones regularly as well as standing to rest up. The body is able and will only get stronger.
Again, the traffic on River Rd was zero and on the paved roads you could hear the odd car from a long way off. So, the CWCT ride felt safe and challenging, for all the right reasons.
INouye tho self: Get a longer sleeping bag, thicker sleeping mat and bleed those brakes!
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