..am easily led by my friends who think it will be a good thing and within my capabilities.
The event takes two days and the first day goes from Bright, over Mount Hotham to Omeo. The second day goes from Omeo over the back road to Falls Creek and thence over Tawonga Gap back to Bright. The first day is a mere 110kms with the longest and highest bike climb in Australia as its centrepiece and the second day is 130 kms. With almost as much climbing. One indication of my preparedness was that I didn’t actually know the actual route until I got there. The other more worrying indictor of my training was that it really didn’t start until four weeks before the event, and given a winter of great torpor and too little riding that might be considered careless.
Now this event might sound strenuous but the real cyclists do what we were planning to do in one day. Or ride up Mount Buffalo and then up to Falls Creek just for fun. And I knew this, had been told this, and to be honest it didn’t really register. Nor did I think to look up the aspirations and raison d’etre of the Audax Club. These people ride long distances for fun, seriously long distances. 1200 kms for example in four days. They ride more than twelve hours a day for the fun of it. These are different people from me. Very, very different.
To me a long bike ride is long because you stop for a good lunch and a couple of glasses of pinot noir.
The weather, often unpredictable, is usually very hot in the valleys and cool on the peaks on Australia Day which is, oddly enough, my wedding anniversary. Mind you when we got married it wasn’t celebrated by all States and Territories on the same day and it is always possible that it wasn’t Australia day in the State of Victoria when we got married. As a resolute New Zealander I think I might have had other thoughts had I been aware.
So the day before the event my friend, the one who thought that I should do the event, set off for the township of Bright with our bikes on the roof. My six year old battered contraption and he with his $10,000 brand new, tailored for the event, extravaganza. Totally black like a stealth fighter. Electronic gears, carbon fibre wheels and disc brakes. His is designed to smooth out rough roads and mine was designed to transmit every vibration to every part of your body directly. To be charitable my bike is stiff and twitchy and going down a steep hill with bumps is an exercise in airborne dynamics as the bike jumps from bump to bump. This has proved interesting in corners with approaching traffic.
But despite all its faults I was slightly fond of the machine that had done so many kilometres. Slightly fond, not really enamoured, because I had a significant birthday on the horizon and there were thoughts that maybe a more contemporary bicycle was a possibility. It was, I thought, really not ideal for the riding I did.
And most of the riding I do is on public roads and if you think they are rough in a car they are infinitely worse on a bike, not the least because you have to ride on the edge of the road where all the crap is. Where the leaves and branches fall and the gravel lies in loose piles. Where the surface is an afterthought. Where the coarse ship surface goes from coarse to really vulgar. Where the sound of any vehicle behind you always creates and air of anxiety.
Perhaps the bike sensed this?
The first day started quite well with the 25 kms to Harrietville charming in the early light of dawn, with the sun breaking the dark line of the hills and light mist above the river. But then once you leave Harrietville you climb. And you climb for 30 or more kilometres. Some of which is very steep for a very long way. Far longer than I thought possible for my aging frame but somehow I made it to the summit and food. And rest. I beleived myself to be somewhat stuffed and not wanting to consider that I was only half way on that day’s journey. And of course it must be downhill to Omeo.
Not actually as, 10 kms outside Omeo there are some more very steep climbs – roads that just don’t meander easily up a hill but just go straight up it by the shortest, steepest route. But somehow they were overcome. And it was very hot. So hot that, though you logically knew you were moving, you felt that you were standing still with your legs pointlessly rotating.
The next day I felt better than I had any right to and so we set off towards Falls Creek. And seeing we had descended from the Alps it was guaranteed that all the altitude that we had lost descending the day before would have to be regained this day in order to get over Falls Creek. But off we set, through delightful countryside ascending gently the side of a rural valley. The air clean and fresh. The views superb.
Too good to be true.
About 35 kms into the journey there was a nice descent. All I remember was a feeling that I was been thrown forwards and then waking up on the road. And not feeling all that wonderful. Pain and shock competed for my attention. There seemed to be a little blood but I could stand up. Nothing major was broken at least.
The bike had had its revenge for an insult that had not happened but was now guaranteed to. In nearly writing me off it had destroyed itself. And my helmet, shoes and every item of clothing.
I was transported shaken and shaking to Omeo hospital, and the biggest fright was when I looked in the car mirror. Not a pretty sight. Cracked ribs and teeth that have looked better. But it could have been worse, a lot worse.
Or. In an alternative universe, it may not have happened at all.
But there must be easier ways to get a new bike.