tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-87569693513130655152024-03-05T17:38:59.816+10:00Velo ceteraTales of a cyclo tourer who spends more time thinking about cycle touring than actually cycle touring, and occasionally does other stuff.Velo ceterahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07533811267393975393noreply@blogger.comBlogger59125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8756969351313065515.post-48316102964679824012017-08-07T10:32:00.001+10:002017-08-07T10:34:14.752+10:00Bike overnight - South Burnett Rail Trail<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It's not that I haven't been riding for two years, it's just that I've not been updated this blog. It's been a pretty cool time, I've done some long rides in NZ, written a heap of magazine articles and have even got a new bike! I've decided now to back off from the magazine work a little bit, and go back to sharing my adventures online as I feel that way I'm somehow contributing to the collective knowledge of bicycle touring and adventure cycling. Hopefully people can search up things they need to know and hopefully come across something useful that makes it that little bit easier to get out on the bike, rather than the information being hidden away in a paper magazine on a shelf somewhere.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I'm spreading my online presence across three platforms now. This blog will continue as a place for long form travel stories and technical articles, much as it has done since 2011. Additionally, I will be sharing more up-to-date thoughts, gear and adventures on my newly-minted Facebook page <a href="http://www.facebook.com/velo.cetera.rides/" target="_blank">www.facebook.com/velo.cetera.rides/</a>), and videos on my Youtube channel (<a href="http://www.youtube.com/user/VeloCetera">http://www.youtube.com/user/VeloCetera</a>). I'm looking forward to interacting with you all in those online spaces.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">In the meantime, here's a new video of an overnight ride I did with my daughter on the new South Burnett Rail Trail last week. Enjoy!</span></div>
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Velo ceterahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07533811267393975393noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8756969351313065515.post-61983308666547851922015-04-09T21:40:00.001+10:002015-04-09T21:40:59.209+10:00Bike overnight - Lightline Road bush camp<div style="text-align: justify;">
One of the good things about being a slightly successful cycling magazine writer, is that every once in a while I get the opportunity to do something really cool. A couple of weeks ago I got a call from a magazine editor asking me if I'd like to take part in a fully supported off-road ride through the South Australian outback. Obviously my answer was YES!!!!, and as a result in about 6 weeks I'm flying off to Adelaide to take part in the <a href="http://www.bikesa.asn.au/outbackodyssey" target="_blank">Bike SA Outback Odyssey</a>. It's going to be an amazing adventure, however the prospect of putting in big days in the dirt is a little daunting at this point in time - basically since <a href="http://www.bikesa.asn.au/outbackodyssey" target="_blank">my bout of pleurisy late last year</a> I've become as soft as a Caramello.</div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Accurate depiction of my toughness at this point in time.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">Fortunately, it's not all terrible news. Since November last year I've been competing a lot in <a href="https://oq.asn.au/new-to-orienteering" target="_blank">foot orienteering</a> events, and have managed to work my way up to the hardest level of competition. This has managed to keep my fitness ticking along, it's just that that my bike handling skills, particularly in the dirt, could best be described as weak - powerful weak. With the Outback Odyssey departure date drawing ever closer, my intertia was finally overridden by my fear of failure in the South Australian outback, and I decided I needed to get bush to rebuild my skills and test out some new kit.</span></span> Still too lazy to load up my car and drive somewhere, I decided to find the adventure right outside my front door, and explore more of the massively underrated southern section of the <a href="http://www.nprsr.qld.gov.au/parks/daguilar/index.html" target="_blank">D'Aguilar National Park</a>.</div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Here we go again</span></b></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">The boundary of D'Aguilar National Park is only about 10km or so west of the centre of Brisbane. However as it's largely undeveloped with no vehicular access, combined with steep trails, there are generally very few visitors on the trails on any given day. Having said that, some of the trails (particularly South Boundary Road), and popular with cross-country mountain bikers as a traffic-free off-road route to the top of Mt Nebo. There are number of bush camps and huts dotted around the mountainsides, which are also largely unused as the general public are mostly unaware of their existence. My destination today was the <a href="http://www.nprsr.qld.gov.au/parks/daguilar/camping.html#light_line_road_bush_camp" target="_blank">Light Line Road bush camp</a>. A few years ago <a href="http://velocetera.blogspot.com.au/2012/03/different-kind-of-glorious.html" target="_blank">I tried unsuccessfully to reach the camp</a> - however today I'd be travelling solo, taking an <a href="http://ridewithgps.com/routes/7405263" target="_blank">alternative route through Samford and up the fabled Goat Track, returning through the township of Mt Nebo, before a long undulating descent down South Boundary Rd into the north-western suburbs of Brisbane</a>. I didn't have very far to ride (only about 40km from home to camp), and a whole day to do it in - so I decided to take the video camera along for the ride to try and get some footage.</span></div>
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The ride from my place to Samford Rd is usually a nightmare at any time, but on a loaded touring bike it's an outright hellscape. After taking much longer than necessary taking a convoluted series of backroads and bike paths I eventually I reached Ferny Grove train station, where my overnight adventure really began...<br />
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Velo ceterahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07533811267393975393noreply@blogger.com2Mount Nebo QLD 4520, Australia-27.3920744 152.77961589999995-27.448476399999997 152.69893489999995 -27.3356724 152.86029689999995tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8756969351313065515.post-14851883815625108852014-09-20T11:30:00.001+10:002014-09-21T10:14:46.952+10:00Ride of the weak<div style="text-align: justify;">
I think it's pretty standard practice in the blogging world to start posts with a statement like "it's been a while since my last blog", so I don't see why I should try and re-invent the wheel and do things any differently. It's been a while since my last blog...</div>
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Since about June I've not been very motivated for cycling. Not sure what the problem has been - I'm still totally interested in cycle touring and spend much of my spare time looking at maps, watching cycle touring vids on YouTube, and perusing the touring journals at <a href="http://www.crazyguyonabike.com/" target="_blank">Crazy Guy On A Bike</a>. It's just been that I physically don't feel up to going riding. A few times I've gotten my bike packed up on a Friday night to go out riding, but I get up on Saturday morning and just physically don't feel into it, so I cancel. I've even stopped going on my regular night training rides - I just felt out of fitness and out of breath. Then about 7 weeks ago I got a cold or something and lost my voice, had to have a few days off work. I never seemed to really recover from that, with a nagging cough and breathlessness that kind of came to a head earlier this week. Over the weekend I'd been coughing so much that my ribs and shoulders started to hurt - then on my way to work on Monday I suddenly had a huge coughing fit that involved bringing up all this weird lung butter mixed with blood, while tearing muscles in my chest and shoulder on the left side. To say it was painful would be a profound understatement. Anyway I somehow got to work, where one of my bosses saw me and said "what are you doing here?" and one of my other bosses said "you're going to the doctor right now" and insisted I go home. I must have looked pretty dire, the fact I couldn't really speak, breathe or stand up straight may have played a part in it.</div>
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I arrived at the doctor who did a bunch of tests, including sampling the amazing lung butter, and the conclusion was reached that I have <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pleurisy" target="_blank">pleurisy</a>, as a result of my earlier infection from 7 weeks ago combined with an existing autoimmune inflammatory disease. Until that moment I didn't even realise that pleurisy was still a thing - I always just assumed it was some medieval disease my nanna used to threaten I'd catch if I didn't wear a singlet outside in winter. I returned home where my life took on the following pattern for 5 days:</div>
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<li>Cough from lungs full of gunk.</li>
<li>Have violent muscle spasms in chest, shoulder and arm.</li>
<li>Cough from the pain of the muscle spasms and torn muscles.</li>
<li>Have violent muscle spasms in chest, shoulder and arm.</li>
<li>Repeat steps 1-4 for about 8 hours.</li>
<li>Fall asleep exhausted for a few hours.</li>
<li>Begin again at step 1.</li>
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It wasn't a huge amount of fun, and there didn't seem to be much I could do to get any relief. By Friday the spasms were very painful and lasting about 30 seconds each, so I phoned the doctor, who prescribed me some muscle relaxants and epic painkillers to cut down on the muscle spasms so I could at least get some rest of a night. Only one problem though - I needed to get to the doctor then the pharmacy to get the prescription filled, and due to the muscle tears in my chest / shoulders I couldn't lift my arms enough to drive. In my pain addled state I had the genius idea that I could probably lift my arm enough to rest it on the handlebar of <a href="http://velocetera.blogspot.com.au/2013/01/welcome-to-fold.html" target="_blank">my ALDI folding bike</a>, and I probably had the fitness to do the ~4km round trip to get my medication. And so began a ride that was simultaneously the weakest and most hardcore bikecycle I've ever undertaken...</div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Dumbest idea everrrrr</span></b></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">The ride started off OK, rolling downhill from my place towards the doctor's surgery. I opted to ride on the footpath as I didn't have the perspicacity to ride on the road.</span> My speed was never going to be amazing on the footpath anyhow, but combined with the fact I could barely get enough oxygen in to power my brain let alone my legs, my speed was similar to that of a lethargic barnacle. My footpath route put me in close proximity to the local schoolkids having lunch in the playground, a few of whom pointed and laughed at my horrific visage as I slowly pedalled past. </div>
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To try and paint a picture of my look, I was riding a folding bike with the seat too low, in granny gear on flat ground, moving at maybe 8km/h. To really complete my "junkie riding to the chemist" image I was wearing old joggers, a backpack, a ratty old screenprinted T-shirt and a crumpled pair of grey shorts. All I needed to complete the scumbag look was to hang my helmet off my handlebars, get some white rim Oakley sunnies, put a Monster energy drink hat on my head and tuck my ears into it. My wife rather unkindly remarked that I didn't need to take my wallet, I could simply ask everyone I saw "for $2 to get a prescription mate" as I rode along. She also couldn't help herself but get a photo of my quality professional cyclist look as I set off...</div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">How the mighty have fallen...</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">So I managed to roll down the hill and across the flat ground OK. Next up was the major challenge of the slight incline up to the doctor's surgery. Bike was already in granny gear and I was already at maximum capacity, so what happened next was me wheezing and coughing up the hill at a snail's pace, my upper body bobbing up and down with each pedal strokes as I struggled to get any kind of power into the pedals given my shortness of breath and shortness of seat post. After what seemed like an eternity of riding up a 300m long incline, I arrived at the doctor, spent a few minutes on my hands and knees coughing / throwing up into the garden out the front, before walking in, looking forward to a bit of a sit down while I waited for the doctor.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">No such luxury awaited me, however. The doc had left the prescription at the front desk, so I was straight back out onto the bike, rolling down the hill on my way to the pharmacy. It took me approximately forever to </span>get the 2km along the bike path to the pharmacy. Just to make things even easier / more stylish, the seatpost of the old foldy started slipping down, giving me the look of an adult bogan riding a stolen 24" Kawasaki branded kids mountain bike from K-mart. By this stage I was too exhausted to care, and was focused on reaching the pharmacy for a bit of a sit down while I waited for the prescription to be filled. Old men on ancient bikes were whizzing past me like I was standing still. I was wheezing and coughing and spitting like it was the end times for Velo Cetera. Somehow I arrived, locked my bike out the front of the shops, and staggered through the shopping centre, sweating like Paul McCartney in a divorce court and shaking like a shitting dog...</div>
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Turns out there was no rest for the wicked at the pharmacy either. They had one of those whiz-bang automatic machines that instantly grabs the medicine and drops in on the counter. So once again without a break, I was back out in the bike path, heading to my home 1km away. I was fading fast, and as I got the final incline up to my house my seat had slipped even further - down to "cool-teen-on-a-bmx" level - and my speed was now considerably slower than walking. Time for the final indignation - in my defenceless state a <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WRH0ZPPS0Z8" target="_blank">local magpie started to swoop me as I rode up the footpath</a>. I couldn't raise my left arm off the handlebar to shoo it away due to my chest pain. I couldn't raise my right arm as I needed that for steering the bike with. I couldn't go any faster as I was already struggling just to move at the speed of a glacier. All I could do was plod along and take the hammering from the magpie, like a boxer putting his gloves down during a fight. It was an inglorious end to a taxing ride.</div>
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I got home and flopped down on my bed awash with sweat, chest spasming like crazy and in searing pain. I eventually got the strength to get up and take all my medication, including sedatives, and spent the next 12 hours in a drug-induced slumber, having a recurring nightmare where I had to get to the airport to catch a flight but I hadn't packed my bike yet. And then I woke up feeling much, much worse than I did 24 hours before.</div>
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Did I learn a lesson from all this? Yes I did...</div>
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Next time my wife offers to drive me to the chemist for medicine when I'm sick, I think maybe I might just say yes. Perhaps.</div>
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Velo ceterahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07533811267393975393noreply@blogger.com0Brisbane QLD, Australia-27.4710107 153.02344889999995-29.275130700000002 150.44166189999996 -25.6668907 155.60523589999994tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8756969351313065515.post-27124555625750203132014-07-13T17:49:00.001+10:002014-07-13T17:49:35.195+10:00Nano-adventure at Dularcha National Park<div style="text-align: justify;">
Since returning from a <a href="http://velocetera.blogspot.com.au/2014/05/a-long-day-in-saddle-nz-2014-part-1.html" target="_blank">fortnight cycling in the South Island of New Zealand</a>, I must admit I've been a bit off bike riding. I'm not sure exactly what the problem has been, but over the past 12 weeks I've only ridden about 100km in total. I'm not 100% sure of the reason for my lack of cycling motivation - maybe it was injury, cold weather, a particularly bad rheumatoid arthritis flare up, a general lack of inspiration - the list of excuses could go on and on really. I seem to go through the cycling doldrums thing once every few years, and normally I claw myself out of it by starting back on the small rides in the local area. This week I decided that I needed to snap out of it and get back on the bike, but this time around there is a critical difference to when I last went through this a few years ago - this time my oldest daughter Miranda has her own geared bike and is a capable little off-road rider. Taking the daughter out bush on the bike satisfies her love of bike riding, and gets me back out on the bike exploring new places, without the need to ride hundreds of kilometres to have an enjoyable day.</div>
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Our destination today was <a href="http://nprsr.qld.gov.au/parks/dularcha/index.html" target="_blank">Dularcha National Park</a>, on the outskirts of the town of Landsborough, 75km north of Brisbane. I've been trying to find some off-road rides suitable for little kids (Miranda is 6 years old), and from what I'd read the mostly flat fire roads of Dularcha gave us a chance to sample some dirt touring style riding in a quiet bush setting. After loading up the van and driving for about an hour, we hit the gravel into Dularcha National Park.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb3DKd89cHQRngw66NmnCNtB92x3PNLU7RgJZwdpvVKpWWUKEyZJg96gjMF1Iky0HYyztcl2nuPEA2W4rcNqePuhQUQ398wlJypIulHWMothuPdKFMmKYEwiJpUEwbplPTKgnlvmkPult0/s1600/P7130002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb3DKd89cHQRngw66NmnCNtB92x3PNLU7RgJZwdpvVKpWWUKEyZJg96gjMF1Iky0HYyztcl2nuPEA2W4rcNqePuhQUQ398wlJypIulHWMothuPdKFMmKYEwiJpUEwbplPTKgnlvmkPult0/s1600/P7130002.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Riding into the entrance of Dularcha National Park at the Landsborough end. There are a few car parking spots here, although the ride out from Landsborough town is all on dedicated bike paths so getting to the start is no drama.</span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">After crossing the park boundary, we simply followed the main trail heading north through the park.</span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">The tunnel track follows an old rail line that undulated very gently across a few creek beds. The trail surface is smooth, sandy and firm. There's nothing close to steep on the trail, with Miranda easily managing to ride the inclines and declines.</span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">I've never said anything about horses to Miranda, but she is still obsessed with the things. What's all that about???</span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Miranda walks a creek bed that was just a bit too rocky for her to handle. On the way back she must have been a bit more tuned into the terrain, and breezed through the whole thing easily.</span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">The creek crossing seemed like the low point of the terrain, and from there the trail climbed up to the southern end of the old Dularcha rail tunnel.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">It was pretty dark in the tunnel. As we rode up to it Miranda said "Dad can you put your back light on? I'll just ride along behind you and follow the light." I was impressed - there's no way I would have thought of that!</span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">The tunnel is curved, making it a little bit dark in the middle - however the surface is smooth and firm. Miranda and I got through with no trouble.</span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Little kid in front of big tunnel - northern end.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Nut bar break at the tunnel. We turned and went back towards Landsborough, although the trail continues on to the town of Mooloolah just a kilometre of so away.</span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Miranda emerging from the southern end of the tunnel.</span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">It's all downhill from the tunnel back to Landsborough.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">As a day out off-road / mountain biking with the kids, I reckon Dularcha is right up there with the best. It's just far enough out in the bush to be a nice nature ride and, most importantly, it's technically a breeze. The tunnel trail is very flat, and the</span> </span>surface has plenty of grip with just enough slightly sketchy bits to challenge the kids slightly without demoralising them. Riding out to the tunnel gave Miranda a real sense of exploration and achievement, and left her wanting more rail trail / off-road style riding. She's keen to do some overnighters, and I'm keen to take her. However, despite the fact her moving average is about 7.5km/h, it still took us 2.5 hours to ride 7km today - I'll need to very carefully choose our destination for her our first overnight ride as riding with little kids definitely isn't the fastest way to get around.</div>
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The other cool thing about this ride is it gave me just a little taste of what riding around the Glasshouse Mountains might be like, and left me keen for more. It occurred to me that getting the train to Landsborough, riding the Dularcha trail and continuing onwards might be a great way to start a weekend tour around the Sunshine Coast hinterland. Miranda and the Dularcha tunnel track seemed to snap me out of my non-cycling malaise - time to hit the maps and get back out there again...!</div>
Velo ceterahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07533811267393975393noreply@blogger.com1Dularcha National Park, Landsborough QLD 4550, Australia-26.7841276 152.96325550000006-26.8124776 152.92291500000005 -26.755777600000002 153.00359600000007tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8756969351313065515.post-44884913224969207632014-07-07T18:42:00.000+10:002014-07-07T18:42:16.549+10:00Destination: Dunedin - NZ 2014 Part 10<div style="text-align: justify;">
My alarm went off while it was still well and truly dark outside. Today was the last day of the tour - we only had to ride about 70km to Dunedin where Chris and I would pack up and fly to our respective home cities. I crept around the dark hostel drinking a liquid breakfast and putting my panniers on the bike. The forecast said it was going to start raining at about 2pm in Dunedin (NZ forecasts are unusually specific), so I wanted to make a mile and get moving as I was unsure of the terrain that awaited us on the ride. The plan was to follow Highway 1 for an hour or so, before heading down to the coast to follow the beach all the way into Dunedin. The weather was already variable when we got going, switching between drizzle and light rain as we rode across town. Our exit out of Milton was marked by a dead dog on the roadside that somehow had its intestines unravelled their full length across a couple of lanes of the road. It seemed like a good sign to get my head down and get out of Milton as quickly as possible. As soon as we hit the open road, Dunedin seemed to start pulling me in with some kind of tractor beam - Chris dropped back almost immediately as I rode the 20km-ish stretch of Highway 1 to the next town in about 40 minutes.</div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">My old Redline Conquest Classic ready to hit the road one last time to finish this tour off.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Chris gets moving out of Milton through mud puddles from the night before. Conditions were to remain damp all day.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">My view for the first 20km of the day. Trucks, rain and traffic as I pedalled east along Highway 1.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">The only mildly interesting sight between Milton and Lake Waihola. I could even be bothered stopping to get a photo or check it out - I was on a flyer and wanted to beat the heavier rain forecast for later in the day.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Sign on the outskirts of Lake Waihola. Fortunately that was to be the end of our riding on Highway 1 for this trip - it really is as bad as people say it is.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Stopping for breakfast and some bike adjustments at Lake Waihola. Chris was only about five minutes behind me - despite a bad start to the day with knee some pain, he was now feeling good and riding strong.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">From Lake Waihola we headed south towards the coast, on a quiet road away from Highway 1. Here's a picture of Chris listening (and singing along) to Hootie and The Blowfish on his phone. That dude's music collection is truly mystifying / awesome.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">The photo doesn't show it, but the climb south out of Lake Waihola is very steep. At least the roads were quiet...</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Chris' knee pain of the past few days seemed to completely evaporate, and now he was flying up the climbs - so fast that I really struggled to keep up with him.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">There's the town of Lake Waihola below us. It took is an hour to get maybe 8km. Even old ladies in Milton were telling us this road was particularly steep. Turns out they were right!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">After a few false summits we eventually crested the range, before a 75km/h blast back down to the sea at Taieri Mouth. Even with the showers and watery sunshine, it was good to see the ocean.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Getting close now...</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">The road tracked along behind the sand dunes for 15km or so, with occasional glimpses of the ocean and the sun to energise us.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">The pull of the Dunedin tractor beam got stronger the closer I got to the city. My average speed over the 16km from Taieri Mouth was 32km/h - I was riding more like a Sunday club racer than a touring cyclist.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Milestone reached. Now all we had to do was get into the city itself, which I knew from a previous visit involved a fair bit of climbing.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">During the taking of this photo Chris sustained the worst injury of the tour as he lifted his bike over the grass...</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLjhY1-cDVK7F-dbJZBgGEQCeGsNqhEZtLKrEi2Jl1Bj9jv7fzxoAFfi9whRlEHU8MZEeXjLKnli-VZ-H_gMvR-2m4yQSJab52FwJQ7vHkf8_Yjn7dMTkC0O1m2PCyXoqp0BC_lC0OdCsr/s1600/2014-04-15+10.59.47.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLjhY1-cDVK7F-dbJZBgGEQCeGsNqhEZtLKrEi2Jl1Bj9jv7fzxoAFfi9whRlEHU8MZEeXjLKnli-VZ-H_gMvR-2m4yQSJab52FwJQ7vHkf8_Yjn7dMTkC0O1m2PCyXoqp0BC_lC0OdCsr/s1600/2014-04-15+10.59.47.jpg" height="400" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">...and there's nothing more uncool than a chainring grease mark. True road riders look away in disgust now!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">The road became progressively wetter as we pedalled closer to Dunedin - although we were now riding with a handy tailwind to speed things up even more.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Stopping for a quick bite to eat by the beach.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Beachside riding near Brighton. Despite being so close to the city, this coastal road was surprisingly quiet and remote - definitely gets the full recommend from me for a cycling route into Dunedin.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Stopping at the only shop in the seaside town of Brighton, on the outskirts of Dunedin. From here I knew there'd be hills and bad weather, so we both stocked up on hot chips and chocolate milkshakes for energy.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Our last road meal - huddled under a shelter trying to avoid the steadily increasing rain.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">The photo doesn't show the scale of it, but this was one last killer climb up from the coast into Dunedin city.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Suddenly we were in the suburbs of hilly Dunedin, dropping down into the city centre.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"> Dunedin city centre - certainly a shock to the system after being out in the bush for a week or so.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">...and then it was all over. Shortly before 2pm we arrived at our destination in the centre of Dunedin. Within 2 minutes of getting into our room, the rain started to pour down solidly for two hours.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Chris and I decided to spring for a nice big 2 bedroom apartment at the Dunedin Palms Motel, a pretty fancy place right in the middle of the city. We were glad we did - they were super bicycle-friendly, allowing us space in their garage to wash, pack and store our bikes. As the rain poured down outside, we sat in all our riding gear, drinking cups of tea, not saying anything and contemplating the ride we'd just undertaken.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">My legs seemed to know the tour was over. As soon as I got up from my hotel room tea drinking session a searing pain shot through my right ankle - sort of like it was sprained or something. The only sensible thing to do was hobble to a Dunedin pub for a few quiet drinks and a feed to mark the end of another great New Zealand bicycle tour.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">At the end of our ride in Dunedin, it seemed like it was a lifetime ago that we'd <a href="http://velocetera.blogspot.com.au/2014/05/a-long-day-in-saddle-nz-2014-part-1.html" target="_blank">left Christchurch at the start of our tour.</a> The biggest lesson I'd learned from my<a href="http://velocetera.blogspot.com.au/2011/12/from-here-to-start-nz-day-1.html" target="_blank"> previous tour in NZ </a>was that I needed to do more riding each day and have less rest days - something that I was pleased I managed to correct on this time around. We'd only had one rest day in ten days of riding, and the distances and terrain each day had mostly been a real challenge. The other thing about this tour that was a real treat was spending time with my mate Chris - we live in different countries and rarely get to spend any time just hanging out</span></span>. This ride was also Chris' first cycle tour, and I very much enjoyed being a part of that - getting to share in his touring highs and lows that over time I've somehow taken for granted. To sum up the whole experience, a good time was had by all.</div>
Velo ceterahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07533811267393975393noreply@blogger.com0Dunedin, New Zealand-45.8787605 170.5027976-46.05565 170.1800741 -45.701871 170.8255211tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8756969351313065515.post-11091599575364009182014-07-06T20:37:00.001+10:002014-07-06T20:37:12.590+10:00Back on the blacktop - NZ 2014 Part 9<div style="text-align: justify;">
Despite being the only guests at the Beaumont Hotel that night, the resident Icelandic chef still went to the trouble of putting on the full breakfast spread for us. As we sat there ploughing through numerous breakfast courses and cups of tea, we surveyed the weather outside. It looked dark. Dark and cold. A very low and thick fog restricted our view of anything more than about 100 metres away. With breakfast consumed and bikes packed, we stepped outside into the cold. I don't know quite how cold it was at that moment, but it surely must have been well below zero - certainly judging from the frost everywhere.</div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Sun rising through the morning fog at Beaumont. Another Lord Of The Rings scene plays out before my eyes.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">As we were leaving, the fog lifted around the pub and the sun blasted through. Somehow, being in the full sun was even colder than being in the fog.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Single lane bridge into Beaumont, complete with cyclist-controlled traffic lights.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Chris unleashing his inner shepherd on the Clutha Gold trail.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Leaving Beaumont, the Clutha Gold trail turns away from the river and heads through farming valleys on the way to the town of Lawrence. Only a few hundred metres from Beaumont it was bright and sunny, with the thick fog still clinging around town.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Scenery like Windows XP standard wallpaper...</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Fast and easy riding, hoping it would warm up a bit.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Within half an hour of leaving Beaumont the trail started up a long shaded valley. While the climb wasn't exactly steep, there were a few pinches and switchbacks here and there that required a little bit more effort than I had put in since riding Danseys Pass five days ago.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">We rounded a spur on the climb and I saw the road pass over the range high above me. For a moment I was none too amused at the prospect of more climbing - fortunately it turned out we were on another old rail line with a tunnel cut through the hill.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Chris had a light this time, which made it considerably safer / easier than our previous tunnel experiences on the Otago Central Rail Trail.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Last tunnel of the trip = completed.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">After passing through Big Hill tunnel, it was downhill through farmland pretty much all the way to the trailhead at Lawrence...</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">...except for a tiny little switchback climb about 6km out of town.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Can't argue with that!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Last leg of the Clutha Gold trail into Lawrence, through some cropping land.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">A cropduster was working over the trail as we approached. We stood there for ages trying to get a good photo. The pilot spotted us and did a super low flyover on one of his turns - so close we could see the carbon buildup on the engine exhaust. It was totally awesome.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">End of the Clutha Gold trail and the end of the dirt.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">The Lawrence trailhead. By linking together the Otago Central Rail Trail, the Roxburgh Gorge trail and the Clutha Gold trail, we'd managed to ride over 200km of completely car-free trail through some pretty out-there landscapes. I can't recommend these trails highly enough for cycle touring in NZ - absolutely a must-ride.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Back in a busy town on a busy road. A very odd feeling - we hadn't ridden on a main road for the past seven days and it was taking some getting used to the traffic, trucks and buses.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Helmet hair world champion of the world contender.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">I hadn't had a liquid breakfast drink for at least a few hours so it was time to have yet another. I must admit I haven't been able to stomach these things since this trip.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Wow - first sign pointing to the end of the trip.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Leaving Lawrence on the main highway did my head in. I wasn't used to the road, and wasn't used to the cars, and wasn't finding it all that much fun. Chris was looking good on the first climb out of town as we headed towards the coast.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">The closer we got to the coast, the windier and hillier it became. Despite a strong start out of Lawrence, Chris' knees soon let go over the undulating climbs, and I left him far behind out on the road. I wasn't feeling too bright myself, and just wanted it to be done for the day.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">One final monster climb for the day, before a long and fast descent down to the coastal lowlands. At this point Chris was a spent force, sitting crestfallen in the drain by the road. Things were pretty grim up there on top of that hill, until I ripped a massive loud fart that lightened the mood / galvanised Chris into action to outrun the stench.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Only a few kilometres to go along highway 1 into Milton, where we were staying for the night before our final push into Dunedin tomorrow.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Ducked into the first open food business we saw for carrot cake and beer combination.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">The sign said "Milton - Town of Opportunities". Probably should have read "Milton - it's not quite right".</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">We were staying the night at a hostel in town. We were the only guests there. The place was nice enough and comfortable, but much like everything in Milton, something about it was deeply unsettling and unnervingly odd.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">The only pub in town was some syndicated sportsbar type joint. After a few beers and laughs in the charmless bar, we wandered into the world's bleakest Chinese takeaway shop for fish and chips. Although by this stage I'd somehow downed four pints of beer and was just looking forward to bed.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Potted plant display in the middle of the floor. Interior decoration Milton-style.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">It was another one of those crazy days of cycle touring where the beginning and the end were completely different - seemingly starting and finishing on different planets. We'd started at a remote little village at a cozy pub, now we were in a characterless service town on the main highway in slightly sinister hostel. Despite our pretty bleak surroundings, I was still pumped about tomorrow. We'd be finishing the tour by riding along the coast into Dunedin - one of my favourite cities.</span></span> I packed up all my gear ready for a quick escape in the morning to get this tour finished off. I turned into bed and commented aloud how comfortable it was - in hindsight that assessment may have been augmented by the 2+ litres of beer I'd drank that afternoon trying to dull the pain of being in Milton. At any rate, it did make for a fun end to a long day.</div>
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Velo ceterahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07533811267393975393noreply@blogger.com0Milton, New Zealand-46.1174416 169.9631137-46.2935146 169.6403902 -45.9413686 170.2858372tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8756969351313065515.post-63164948940277761662014-07-06T19:23:00.003+10:002014-07-06T19:23:42.541+10:00Taking a break at Beaumont - NZ 2014 Part 8<div style="text-align: justify;">
Even though today was only about 50km of cycling, we were still up and on the road before the sun came up. The plan for the day was to cycle down the Clutha Gold trail to the village of Beaumont, and spend half a day doing pretty much nothing. Both Chris and I had a pretty rough night sleep, so the decision was made to roll into town and have a coffee before proceeding back down the trail - after all it wasn't like we had to be anywhere in a great rush.</div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">The sunrise at Roxburgh revealed that the rain we'd arrived in yesterday wasn't going to continue today.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Low cloud and dry roads on a strangely warm autumn morning.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Most places in town were closed at this hour on a Sunday morning - expect of course for the excellent Rox cafe.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Chris declared that seeing as though it was Sunday morning, we should treat ourselves with a full cooked breakfast. It was a great call - I rarely eat extravagant breakfasts on a cycle tour, and this one was just majestic.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">On our way to the cafe we discovered a broken spoke on Chris' bike. I made him a deal that I'd fix it for him if he bought me another coffee. 5 minutes later the old Fuji was good to go, and I had earned my $3.50 coffee - not a bad hourly rate of $42 for being on a cycle tour!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">A collection of futuristic automatic toilets and sculpture on the main street of Roxburgh. Pretty sure this is EXACTLY what the dunnies on a starship would be like.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Back on the road. The cloud wasn't lifting as fast as I expected, and there was still a bit of a damp feel in the air.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">We rejoined the Clutha Gold trail directly on the edge of town. For the last few days we'd enjoyed car-free riding on the Otago cycle trails - it was awesome to be able to go pretty much straight from bunk to trail with only a few hundred metres of quiet country road to deal with.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">The Roxburgh trailhead. Still cold enough to warrant wearing the wet weather jacket for added warmth.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Autumnal colours as the sun started to melt the cloud away.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Every now and again the trail would pass through dark leafy forests. I half expected those skeleton ghost bird riding things from Lord Of The Rings to pop out at any moment.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Kiwi ingenuity example #1: Chris fashions a mudguard from the box used to carry the Chinese takeaway home the night before.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">As with the rest of the Clutha Gold trail, the surface here was smooth, grippy and well drained. I don't know how much was spent on building this trail, but surely it must have been well into the millions - it really is a phenomenal piece of trail work.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">We were both riding quickly today, however as we approached the small town of Miller's Flat I could see Chris was in a lot of pain. He was having trouble with both his knees and although he wasn't letting much on, it was apparent he was in a world of hurt. I wasn't feeling to good myself - I was physically OK but mentally agitated for no good reason. I figured I must just be drained from not sleeping well the night before, but I was still in a rage at nothing in particular by the time we hit town.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Apparently since the trail opened, business in Miller's Flat has picked up so much that the store opens seven days. We stocked up on ibuprofen, tins of Coke, chicken chips and woolen socks.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Kiwi ingenuity example #2: Chris fashions a pair of knee warmers from the socks he just bought at the shop.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Can't tell the difference between the fancy ones and the roadside-made ones!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">I loaned Chris my rain pants to try and get some heat into his aching knees. Hilariously, they were the same colour as his jersey. And even more hilariously they were too short in the leg. Stylish.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">We left Miller's Flat with a renewed sense of energy and purpose - particularly now that a tail wind had sprung up and we were flying along the trail.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Surveying the Clutha River.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">In the incredibly scenic Beaumont Gorge, the trail builders had even gone to the trouble of building a bike-only trail high above the 4WD track by the river, offering amazing views and more car-free cycling.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">The best shadow I cast during the whole NZ trip. We certainly didn't cop a huge amount of sunshine most of the time.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Exiting Beaumont Gorge via the Clutha Gold trail.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Cycling the trail right into the tiny village of Beaumont.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Our destination for the day - the Beaumont Hotel. It's literally the only place in town, and a classic kiwi country pub in the Otago tradition.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Bright and warm pub room at the Beaumont Hotel. A heater, electric blankets, spotlessly clean, free WiFi, with the biggest and most comfortable bed I've ever slept in, all for just $50 a night. Plus the publican even insisted on doing all our laundry for us!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Given it was only 2pm when we got to Beaumont, we tried to make the most of the day and went for a walk down to the river. However the lure of the pub soon became too great, so we headed back inside to spend the next 6 hours sitting by the fire in the bar.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">"The friendliest pub in Central" - yeah I reckon that's a fair call actually.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Our view for the afternoon as we sat in the bar reading the paper, looking at maps, writing journal notes and generally having a blast wasting time.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Chris looking thoughtful - possibly contemplating his shitty day on account of his knee pain.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">My bad mood of earlier in the day was all but forgotten as I tucked into a pizza and beer combo.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">Overall, it was a bit of a strange day with a strange feel. The trail and scenery were superb, and the Beaumont Hotel was just an amazing place to stay - a must-stop destination for anyone riding the Clutha Gold trail. However since setting off from Roxburgh I'd felt a bit agitated and tired, and I know Chris certainly felt the same. It took us most of the afternoon to shake that feeling,</span> </span>so sitting still in the bar at the Beaumont Hotel while our respective moods washed over us was probably the best way to shake our negativity and prepare for our transition back to actual road riding the following day. Maybe it was weighing on my mind that this little tour was coming to an end soon - I resolved to make sure I stayed in the moment and enjoyed things as they happened. After all, our tour ride wasn't over just yet...</div>
<br />Velo ceterahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07533811267393975393noreply@blogger.com3Beaumont, New Zealand-45.8225495 169.53037319999999-46.1767635 168.8849262 -45.4683355 170.17582019999998tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8756969351313065515.post-17960204024489342142014-07-01T14:17:00.001+10:002014-07-01T14:26:18.835+10:00A tale of three trails - NZ 2014 Part 7<div style="text-align: justify;">
SPOILER ALERT: This <span style="font-size: small;">was the funnest day of</span> riding I've ever had - cycling the Otago Central Rail Trail, Roxburgh Gorge Trail and Clutha Gold Trail all on the same day.</div>
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Our day started before dawn - eating a hurried breakfast at the Omakau Commercial Hotel before heading out to pack up the bikes. It had been raining overnight, however it looked as though the weather might be OK for at least a couple of hours. With the sudden change in weather yesterday, today we wanted to get going as fast as we could should we encounter more unexpected precipitation. Our first leg for the day was to ride the Otago Central Rail Trail to the town of Alexandra, where we were meeting someone for a coffee at 10am. With the unusual circumstance of having to be somewhere at a particular time, we shot off down the trail towards Alexandra.</div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Loaded bike ready to go outside the old stables at the Omakau Commercial Hotel.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Quiet, damp and very cold out on the Otago Central Rail Trail.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Low cloud still hung on the ranges all around, making conditions on the ground a little bit like being in a fridge.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Chris makes a cleat adjustment in the hope of sorting out some of his ongoing knee problems.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Gunning it over the top of Tiger Hill, the only real "climb" on the rail trail.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">On the fast descent towards Chatto Creek, Chris managed to lose his handlebar bag over one of the rough grids. Another of our usual roadside dodgy repairs and we were back in action in no time.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Heading off Tiger Hill, not far from w<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Three-Weeks-On-The-Mainland-ebook/dp/B00FV97MXI/ref=cm_cr_pr_pb_t" target="_blank">here I took the cover photo for my book</a>. It looks fairly different today though, almost unrecognisable as the same place.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Chris, myself, and some kid on a K-mart bike behind us. Immediately after his photo the kid on the K-mart bike breezed past both of us like we were standing still. It was highly embarrassing and we both agreed never to speak of it again.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">The Otago Central Rail Trail component of the day concludes at Alexandra. We were both exhausted by this stage, having ridden hard for a couple of hours with no break.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">The famous Alexandra cross 'n' clock combination. Apparently it's even illuminated at night.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Our coffee date spot - the Alexandra Courthouse Cafe.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">We parked our bikes outside the Courthouse Cafe</span> </span>and wandered inside. It was Antarctic outdoors, and I was glad that it wasn't just me feeling the cold - even the locals were all rugged up, wandering around in the gloom rubbing their hands together and breathing steam. Inside the cafe we were meeting up with Ali from Tourism Central Otago, who had generously agreed to provide us with a wealth of knowledge about the trails we were just about to ride. I had a moment of brief panic when I realised that I didn't know what Ali actually looked like, however she soon introduced herself to us, no doubt by searching for the two most dishevelled looking cyclists in the place. Ali told us all about the Roxburgh Gorge and Clutha Gold trails that we were heading along later that day, furnishing us with maps and information that would see us through the next few days on the bikes. With Ali's enthusiasm for the trails I was starting to get very excited about the terrain to come - plus it was great to personally meet someone who had been so instrumental in planning out the second half of our NZ adventure.</div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Chris looks down the barrel of a monumental French toast superfreakout. The Courthouse Cafe in Alexandra certainly gets the full recommend from us.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">I don't usually eat eggs Benedict, but I thought "what the hell, I'm on Hollandaise!" (sorry).</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">After a pleasant late breakfast with Ali, Chris and I said farewell, stepped back outside into the freezer, hopped on our bikes and headed over the bridge to the start of the Roxburgh Gorge Trail. Quite simply, the Roxburgh Gorge Trail was spectacular - I've never ridden anything like it at all. The riding itself is easy, thanks to careful track design and a high quality surface, but the scenery it cuts through is just mind boggling. I won't go too crazy on the description here - </span>even on a dark and rainy day the photos show what it's all about far better than I could ever hope to with words. I will say this though - drop whatever you're doing and book a flight to go and ride this trail. It truly is phenomenal.</div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">The trail starts just next to old Alexandra bridge.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Heading down towards the Clutha River, with splashed of autumnal colour next to the smooth and solid trail.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">For the first few kilometres, the Roxburgh Gorge trail alternates from leafy groves by the river...</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">...to exposed schist rock slopes.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Descending from the open slopes to the tree-lined river is handled by flawlessly designed and built switchbacks.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Ruins of an old schist miners hut by the trail.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Soon the trail climbed high up onto the gorge wall. From this high vantage point we could see the rain closing in up ahead. Note the boat down on the river - the only way to get along here other than the trail is by boat.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Getting my wet weather gear out in preparation for the imminent drenching.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Descending down a steep switchback to river level. This one was actually a bit hairy - not a lot of margin for error!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">In the shadowless gloom, parts of the scenery looked they were photographs of another planet taken by a robot lander.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">One of the wider parts of the gorge.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Due to access issues the trail is cut into two parts. Here I am awaiting a boat transfer from the northern section to the southern section. Some people complain about this need for a boat transfer, however to be honest it broke up the day very nicely and added a whole new awesome dimension to proceedings.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">I expected a pontoon craft of a punt of some description to rock up, but being in NZ it was obviously a V8 powered jet boat...</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiCPEIDPz6JH7E9wqI20bwnm4KBfSF5BefX4LI_e1WqiPmyDPP-AkfHTGWxS9dOMxtk6R7rDBXEpu4z4KKTpTjLvGZJLF4DxoCLzwdBCdtGCtohjQYLmudPgPe7rN84mhh31LJgQqDpaBX/s1600/P4120501.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiCPEIDPz6JH7E9wqI20bwnm4KBfSF5BefX4LI_e1WqiPmyDPP-AkfHTGWxS9dOMxtk6R7rDBXEpu4z4KKTpTjLvGZJLF4DxoCLzwdBCdtGCtohjQYLmudPgPe7rN84mhh31LJgQqDpaBX/s1600/P4120501.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">...complete with a bike rack. This was definitely a hitherto unexperienced mode of bicycle transport for me.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Chris looking very much at home on the jet boat. Being a Kiwi I'm sure he was probably taught jet boating at school or something - it's probably compulsory for all New Zealanders to learn how to do a 360 spin I imagine.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Checking out the numerous mining huts along the banks of the river. The jet boat allowed a whole new perspective of the gorge.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9zuSx66OluEvb3yvb8zfz_vof558sKKBuTsvGLrw_BkNQyMSpOw-3DHHW9NLM1Ox4o1xvi_oOTn8g6oc3Zg0SkwKTjXWo7JU1VMv5rgL1lMrNvOtCBdFLT-nx78oPtWvlg3MiTZcSh81D/s1600/P4120504.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9zuSx66OluEvb3yvb8zfz_vof558sKKBuTsvGLrw_BkNQyMSpOw-3DHHW9NLM1Ox4o1xvi_oOTn8g6oc3Zg0SkwKTjXWo7JU1VMv5rgL1lMrNvOtCBdFLT-nx78oPtWvlg3MiTZcSh81D/s1600/P4120504.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">An old original miner's house by the river.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Having a look around inside the old house. I was amazed that things like the intact floorboards and even hessian wall panels were still largely intact after 100+ years and countless visitors.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEldf1pcsU8tQ8afjLz9gmcsKD9ZGLfkqMLITEd8s-dq5tgRhYg982HnwDcZ8zLHohNnUbX3Ot_Y0NNGCqkEHIN28NU8jt6SpiAY9I2xKJbjT-kgVhRhsj5ZP_AT9SFyGKnl1oI-R6ADA9/s1600/2014-04-12+13.29.44+HDR.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEldf1pcsU8tQ8afjLz9gmcsKD9ZGLfkqMLITEd8s-dq5tgRhYg982HnwDcZ8zLHohNnUbX3Ot_Y0NNGCqkEHIN28NU8jt6SpiAY9I2xKJbjT-kgVhRhsj5ZP_AT9SFyGKnl1oI-R6ADA9/s1600/2014-04-12+13.29.44+HDR.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Exploring safely with my helmet, life jacket and high-vis pants.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">I'm not the only safety enthusiast either. Even Chris wears his life jacket on dry land, should a strong gust of wind blow him into the drink or something.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyJ7vj7J-CQtQRgG3uLZQE5P4-wKXwEIij8VI1JsK8E-GEWmXdV47DmTF91foMYSw5wItvxMqL9japVWl5r355XE_H8LMm3ydIOayOJwPlvT1bCJiawe4F63nttYsswrxA78dM-5WNyizD/s1600/P4120508.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyJ7vj7J-CQtQRgG3uLZQE5P4-wKXwEIij8VI1JsK8E-GEWmXdV47DmTF91foMYSw5wItvxMqL9japVWl5r355XE_H8LMm3ydIOayOJwPlvT1bCJiawe4F63nttYsswrxA78dM-5WNyizD/s1600/P4120508.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">The second part of the Roxburgh Gorge trail continued much the same as the first, albeit a lot higher up the cliff, and with a lot more switchbacks.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh59nlm5Diplnxccs1dZiLkKsATHo3QsT8TQWVh9SsnieVVCtC_cLtHVas4RkQ3sR5br-Wx4eECx0STXviz9Bn1Vk-1WJi5So8SK4u9dnMWWBaUUJ-0QXk-MAe0dN5MbNQ-5HVOExCpjLc8/s1600/2014-04-12+13.57.29.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh59nlm5Diplnxccs1dZiLkKsATHo3QsT8TQWVh9SsnieVVCtC_cLtHVas4RkQ3sR5br-Wx4eECx0STXviz9Bn1Vk-1WJi5So8SK4u9dnMWWBaUUJ-0QXk-MAe0dN5MbNQ-5HVOExCpjLc8/s1600/2014-04-12+13.57.29.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">As we headed south the weather didn't let up, with light rain and wind the whole way. Although it was a bit miserable out on the bike, the scenery and riding were so unbelievable that the crappy weather somehow added to the whole experience.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">The photo doesn't really how just how high were were above the water at this point, but it was a long way up. The trail continued around to the left, following the river. With all the switchbacks and climbing, it ended up being a long way.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirvPhiJ2QxQFRa9I0BmFbZkMa8yXjHqp1-pIV0710eNAtXr7W8aWH9J8HRoTtLjiq_OOqk-DgZ9risNLDmbuQIVvKFrP98qvOsIz8UyX-m4xTkMzsuwhnldV02pKwrL7klt_V_djOR5fR_/s1600/P4120520.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirvPhiJ2QxQFRa9I0BmFbZkMa8yXjHqp1-pIV0710eNAtXr7W8aWH9J8HRoTtLjiq_OOqk-DgZ9risNLDmbuQIVvKFrP98qvOsIz8UyX-m4xTkMzsuwhnldV02pKwrL7klt_V_djOR5fR_/s1600/P4120520.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">One of the switchback descents up ahead. At about this point the trail changed from easy bike track to mild mountain bike track. Still easily rideable on the touring bikes, but with a few twists and turns and elevation changes thrown in. A supremely well designed track that is a hoot to ride.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">The last switchback climb out of the gorge, up to the Roxburgh Dam trail head.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Chris approaching the top.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">The view back down the final switchback climb. The scene was almost like a NZ cycle-only dirt version of a Swiss alpine road.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">After completing the Roxburgh Gorge trail, we descended down the blacktop and across the dam wall, where we picked up the Clutha Gold trail head. Although the two trails technically join into each other and could probably be classed as just the one really long trail, the Clutha Gold trail definitely had a very different feel to the Roxburgh Gorge trail to the north.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">On the Clutha Gold trail, the terrain became flatter and greener as the smooth trail past wound alongside the river. By this stage the rain was quite heavy, although the high quality trail surface was holding up well, albeit flicking up a bit of muck into the drivetrain.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Ruins of an old gold dredge sunk under mysterious circumstances a very long time ago. The fact it's still there says something about the cold weather and freshness of the water.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">As the rain got heavier our riding became faster and faster along the grippy trail. By the end of the day I was throwing my loaded touring bike into corners like I used to back in the MTB racing days.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">At about afternoon tea time Chris and I rode into Roxburgh, pretty cold, wet and filthy from the trail. We stopped at the first cafe we saw - the Rox Cafe - which turned out to be an awesome choice. We thought we'd be frowned upon as we dripped all over the carpet and furnishings, but instead the awesome owner Matt made us feel super welcome. It turned out he was a bit of a bike enthusiast himself, and even live tracked the Kiwi Brevet race when it happened earlier in the year. After a pretty frazzling experience outrunning the rain all arvo, it was nice to be sitting inside having a friendly chat, so one coffee and cake turned into two while Matt chatted to us about Roxburgh and the trail. We were introduced to some other guy who was involved in the trail building - it seemed like everyone we met was justifiably proud and excited about the trail.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">After leaving the cafe we made our way to our accommodation, in someone's house that had been converted into a few backpacker rooms. It was great to be warm and dry, and they even let us use their garage to clean up and service the bikes after a day of riding around in the grit. From there we headed back uptown to an old country pub for a beer and a cheap feed, followed by dessert at the local Chinese takeaway. This concept of getting deep fried sweet snacks from the takeaway shop was a new concept to me - one I welcomed as I sat back in our room chowing down on deep fried chocolate donuts and apple pies.</span></span></div>
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What a day it had been - we'd spent the entire day riding three iconic NZ trails. It was such an action packed and diverse day that by the evening it felt like it was a week ago that we were at Alexandra having breakfast, and a year ago that we had departed Omakau just that morning. In addition to the mind boggling scenery, the riding had been fun, fast and car-free - with a jet boat ride thrown in. At the time I realised this three trail combination was the most fun I've ever had on a bike. Not the most challenging or longest day, but without question the best time I've ever had out cycling. Four months later and I'm still smiling about it. And the best part was that we still had another two days to go exploring the Clutha Gold trail...</div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Airing wet gear in our room.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Nightfall at Roxburgh.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Pretty busy at the pub on Saturday night. The only patrons were Chris and I.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">BEST. DAY. EVER.</span></div>
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Velo ceterahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07533811267393975393noreply@blogger.com0Roxburgh, New Zealand-45.5390501 169.31233870000005-45.5835351 169.23165770000006 -45.494565099999996 169.39301970000005tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8756969351313065515.post-87856578236487381982014-07-01T09:57:00.000+10:002014-07-01T09:57:47.497+10:00Back on the Central Otago Rail Trail (but in the opposite direction) - NZ 2014 Part 6<div style="text-align: justify;">
I woke up at 8, congratulating myself that I'd wisely decided not to drink at all t<a href="http://velocetera.blogspot.com.au/2014/06/meta-holiday-taking-holiday-from.html" target="_blank">he evening before</a>. My companions weren't feeling quite so bright however, with everyone else looking a bit dusty as they shuffled about the place. After packing up my gear and loading the bike, we all sat around for a very humorous breakfast session lasting a a couple of hours. At around 11 we realised we had to hit the road and get on the famed Otago Central Rail Trail. We made our farewells to Chris, Gary, Ross and Carol, before setting out into the bright lunchtime sun of Central Otago.</div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Breakfast laid out in the dining room at Maniototo Lodge.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Cooked breakfast humour. I almost died laughing.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Chris taking no chances with his aches and pains before the start of the ride. Not sure what the paddle-pop stick is for though.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">I rode about 500m into town and discovered my knee really, really hurt a lot. Only one thing for it, dip into the pharmacopia and take two of everything. It's the one advantage of having severe rheumatoid arthritis - always lots of medication on hand to whip up whole new drug-cheat combinations.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Back on the trail, I was once again heading over old ground, having <a href="http://velocetera.blogspot.com.au/2012/01/rolling-into-ranfurly-nz-day-15.html" target="_blank">ridden the trail back in 2011</a>. This week, however, we were headed in the opposite direction to last time - meaning the views and experience ended up being pretty different to before. A little way out of Ranfurly, we stopped and chatted to a couple of local people cycling the trail. They asked if we'd ridden up from the start of the trail at Hyde - I told them we'd ridden in over Danseys Pass from Kurow. They started at us amazed, asking "you rode the pass on those bikes?!?!?</span> That's pretty crazy!" With our egos nicely inflated for the rest of the day, we pedalled off towards our lunch stop at the tiny town of Oturehua.</div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Nothing beats the good old Otago Central Rail Trail for some easy, relaxing riding.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Clear skies and classic Central Otago scenery.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">We'd only ridden a little way when we decided to stop at the old Wedderburn station. We only had to ride about 60km in total that day, and we had the whole day to do it in. Made sense to take our time.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Chilling it up with a water and some homemade shortbread biscuits that Gary and Chris from Maniototo Lodge gave us to sustain us on our journey.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Super scenic. Imagine living in that house and seeing that view every day...</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">At the Wedderburn goods shed we caught up to some kind of Christian youth group out on a group bike ride, and ended up leapfrogging them all day. It was no problem passing them when we needed to, but they sure did make a lot of noise.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Chris approaches the town of Otureha</span>.</div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">We stopped for lunch at the Oturehua pub. Just before getting into town the steerer tube wedge on Chris' bike snapped - a quick dodgy repair later and we were sitting in the warm sun eating burgers and drinking coffee.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Gotta love the country pub bulletin boards where they pin up the LoLz. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">I was feeling on top of the world and riding like a pro after my big-pharma bender at Ranfurly - not condoning it but I can definitely see why so many cyclists like the drugs.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">This was even more difficult than it looks.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Inside Gilchrist's General Store at Oturehua - NZ's longest running shop.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">After lunch the weather started to thicken and light rain began to fall. Chris also started having some pretty severe knee pain on the bike, and was riding slowly as we approached the Poolburn Gorge.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">The Poolburn Gorge is regarded as the most scenic bit of the Otago Central Rail Trail, and I tend to agree. It's also the bit with most of the big tunnels and bridges.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Stopped for a snack / big-pharma break at the Gorge. We were both feeling a bit weak on the bikes, however as we sat there we saw some extremely unfit people cycle past at a walking speed. They were in a world of hurt, but still had smiles on their faces. The moral of the story was that we needed to toughen up a lot.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Riding through the two tunnels with no lights was an experience. The tunnels are curved so in the middle it's pitch black. But unlike the Vin Diesel movie of the same name, this experience was actually pretty enjoyable.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Chris approaching the second tunnel for the day. By the time we'd navigated this one through the dark, we were both slightly hysterical and giggling like schoolgirls. It was just the lift we needed to counter the increasingly crappy weather.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Heading out of the Poolburn Gorge towards Omakau.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Classic tourist pose at the tunnel portal.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Well and truly raining by this point, so we gunned it all the way down into Omakau.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">A bridge that appears to be made out of a water tank.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Our destination for the day was the famous Omakau Commercial Hotel. I've <a href="http://velocetera.blogspot.com.au/2012/01/hitting-dirt-nz-day-14.html" target="_blank">raved about this place before </a>- and it was even more spectacular this time around.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">The big lesson I've learned with cycle touring is try to get separate accommodation whenever possible. It's great riding with a mate all day, but at night it's good to have your own space. And on this day I was lucky enough to be put up in this awesome room, complete with en suite bathroom! I unpacked my gear, had a shower, and spent an hour just sitting around in the warm room before venturing back outside.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">The rain had lifted a little, but it was still pretty cold. Dinner consisted of fish and chips in a roadside park. It was precisely what I needed. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">A day bookended by dick references. Majestic.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Having an after dinner beer with Chris. The vacant chair was soon to be occupied by a very strange Australian lady complaining about the WiFi reception or something while she obsessed over her iPad - all the while talking loudly to nobody in particular about 30cm from Chris. Unusual times in Omakau, although not quite weird enough to be a repeat of <a href="http://velocetera.blogspot.com.au/2011/12/going-snowhere-fast-nz-day-8.html" target="_blank">the Brazilian guy</a>.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Even though we'd only ridden for 3 hours, I was exhausted. I turned into bed early to read. After the cold afternoon, the evening was so warm that I was able to lie in bed without the covers on.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">Just like last the last time I was here, the Otago Central Rail Trail dished up another day of good, relaxing, scenic riding. I ride the trail so often in my mind, that I felt a bit as though I had come back to my spiritual home. Tomorrow, a fresh adventure awaited us on New Zealand's newest cycle trail - we'd be riding into new territory, so I needed all the beauty sleep I could get...</span></span></div>
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It was a nice treat to wake up ensconced in the luxury of Maniototo Lodge B&B. It was even better knowing that I didn't have to get on a bicycle at all that day. After yesterday's exhausting traverse of Danseys Pass, I had no interest in doing anything other than not much. We prepared ourselves for a hard day of hanging around the small rural town of Ranfurly, doing nothing in particular.</div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">First up, Carol had laid out an epic breakfast spread in the dining room. After an hour of plowing through every type of food on offer, Chris and I felt ready to tackle uptown Ranfurly.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Manitototo Lodge and Ranfurly was <a href="http://velocetera.blogspot.com.au/2012/02/maniototo-meandering-nz-day-16.html" target="_blank">every bit as awesome as I remembered it to be from last time I was here</a>. For the last few years whenever I had a bad day and needed a bit of cheering up, I thought of being back at Ranfurly - now it was nice to be back and I was soaking up every sweet moment of my favourite NZ town.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Maniototo Lodge used to be an old presbytery for the nearby church, but has since been converted into luxury accommodation. A lot more work had been completed since my last visit, and I was in awe of the construction skills of Gary and Chris, who restored the place largely on their own.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">The Otago Central Rail Trail, running through Ranfurly. We'd be riding out of town this way tomorrow, but for now it was time to check out the historical tractor display in the old red goods shed.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Historical tractor displays - ROCK!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">New Zealand railway is what?</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">You better believe it mister!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">At least they don't mind me using the tap in the public toilets, that's the main thing.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Somehow we just kept ending up back at the Ranfurly Lion Hotel.</span></div>
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After drifting around town for an hour or so, we found ourselves in the local cafe up the main street, watching the passers-by. There seemed to be a huge amount of cyclists about, mostly retirees riding the trail as part of organised group tours. We noticed they all had a penchant for leaving their helmets on at all times - in the pub, in the cafe, in the restrooms, in the shops - as if to proclaim to those around them "I AM A PROFICIENT BIKECYCLIST!!", despite looking pretty out of shape. Anyway, after another lap of town featuring the purchase of a dispensary bulk pack of painkillers, we ended up at the pub sometime before lunch. Chris ordered a beer but I held back, not one to drink much anyway but especially not at lunch. He then pointed out though that this wasn't a normal sort of a day, this was a holiday within a holiday - a meta-holiday. And on a meta-holiday anything goes. I had to agree, so I ordered myself a beer and a pizza. With great skillful skill I managed to bite into an oven-hot slice, sloughing all the skin off the roof of my mouth on the thermonuclear cheese topping. Pretty standard behaviour for me when confronted with a pizza, but at least on this occasion I had a beer on hand to put out the fire.</div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"> I noticed all of the proficient bikecyclists in town weren't taking full advantage of the standard tourist comedy props on hand.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">After a resupply of road food at the local supermarket, Chris happened across a fresh way of carrying a plastic bag that still allowed both hands to be kept free for other tasks, such as giving "thumbs up" or waving.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">This group of people rode past, whining about how difficult it all was on the flat, smooth, slightly downhill trail. Chris and I both agreed they were soft as Caramellos.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Back at the lodge we undertook a bit of bike maintenance. We'd put in a lot of work on these bikes before starting the tour, and so far they were holding up excellently.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">The clouds on the Maniototo do this cool thing in the afternoon where they want to roll in over the mountains but just kind of sit there and never roll down. To quote Chris, "It looks a bit like shit snow!"</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">We heard word from Carol and Ross that my old friends Chris and Gary would be back in town at about 8pm. I was thrilled to bits that we'd be able to catch up with them, so to kill a bit of time we wandered back uptown for another beer at the pub (it must have been Dr Hook night judging from the jukebox selections), before packing up all our gear for the following day. Sure enough at about 8pm we heard the rumble of Gary's souped up V8 in the driveway. I was euphoric to see them again after a couple of years of communicating only by email. They were visibly relieved to be back in town too, having been called away on some unexpected matters. Needless to say they were in dire need of some decompression, which was assisted by several bottles of wine and numerous bottles of beer. Think of this particular evening of decompression similar when you accidentally release the tension on a coiled mower starter cord spring - loud, intense, and very hilarious. We all stayed up laughing and talking until we were too physically fatigued and "refreshed" to do </span>anything other than smile at each other. I was exhausted after riding over 400km in 4 days but I was so, so happy to be right where I was.</div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Sweet relief to be headed to bed. My face and scalp hurt from laughing so much.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Not quite the early bedtime ideal for a big day of riding in the morning, but it was all totally worth to spend so much time with Chris, Gary, lady Chris, Ross and Carol - a bunch of awesome friends.</span></div>
Velo ceterahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07533811267393975393noreply@blogger.com0Ranfurly, New Zealand-45.1287327 170.09814030000007-45.3079772 169.77541680000007 -44.9494882 170.42086380000006tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8756969351313065515.post-87917159849984411102014-06-09T14:00:00.002+10:002014-06-09T14:00:19.463+10:00Cycling Danseys Pass (apparently there's no apostrophe) - NZ 2014 Part 4<div style="text-align: justify;">
Chris and I pedalled out of Kurow just before the first light of dawn. We were keen to make an early start - our day involved about 110km of riding, much of which would be on the dirt traverse over Danseys Pass and beyond into the Central Otago town of Ranfurly. Danseys Pass (apparently there's officially no apostrophe) is legendary in NZ cycle touring circles - a 935m remote dirt pass over the Kakanui Mountains linking the towns of Duntroon and Ranurly. As far as I knew there were no services along the road other than a holiday park near the start of the climb, and a pub after the pass about 32km later. I had no clue if these businesses would be open or closed. We decided to make an early start, have a huge breakfast at the town of Duntroon, before turning into the wilderness over the pass.</div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">From before dawn the weather in the Waitaki Valley was low fog. There was no wind that early in the morning and the road sloped ever so slightly downhill. We rode the 25km from Kurow to Duntroon in less than an hour, just in time for a huge breakfast...</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">...or not. There's only one place in town to get a coffee and some food, and it wouldn't be open for hours.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">At Duntroon our food options were limited to zero. The decision was made to press on and try our luck at the holiday park about 20km away towards the pass. If all else failed, we were both still carrying a lot of road food.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Historical building in the tiny village of Duntroon. This was an old blacksmith shop I think.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Leaving Duntroon we arrived at the turnoff. We knew the ride was about to get a whole lot tougher, so naturally we were tempted to ditch the pass, roll all the way downhill to Oamaru, marry a couple of local steampunk girls and live out the rest of our lives there. However we made the turn southwest towards the pass, committing ourselves to a pretty big day of riding.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">From Duntroon, we headed across what looked like a reasonably flat farming valley. The low fog obscured any view of the mountain range ahead, so we had no idea of what the day held. In hindsight, that was probably for the best.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">About an hour and a half into the day Chris suddenly started fading fast. He couldn't put his finger on what was wrong, but he was struggling to ride at even 15km/h. We hadn't even hit the range yet, so things weren't looking good.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">We stopped for a roadside break for Chris to get his energy back. I knew the holiday park was maybe 5km ahead, so we agreed to just box on to there and take a big break to replenish before the pass.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Part of Chris' fatigue may have been due to the coarse, dead bitumen road. It even required pedalling to ride downhill - never a great sensation for a touring cyclist.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Two corners later and boom! - out came the sun. The road rose and fell through pine forests through a steep valley. As the fog lifted, so did our spirits, and in no time Chris and I were both riding strong again.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">We soon lobbed into Danseys Pass holiday park, a remote spot at the foot of the mountains.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Even though by now it was about 10 in the morning, the temperature was still cold.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">The selection of food at the park was pretty limited, and I expected to pay mountain prices. Imagine my delight when we jagged two tins of Coke and a large packet of chicken chips for just $6!</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKKUUc0VxfSw3PsJ1K9UB2LdOodJSDvcPiq8XHSkIetbuccqSl2s1r3wW0RZuvdaC-VR0CVZ4uXM2CYMXee7KbLwihYBQF3AznyPv7Rx4o3Pjk81s9_0F4YU40PoAQ0oQk7jVyvtc6JC53/s1600/2014-04-09+09.49.44.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKKUUc0VxfSw3PsJ1K9UB2LdOodJSDvcPiq8XHSkIetbuccqSl2s1r3wW0RZuvdaC-VR0CVZ4uXM2CYMXee7KbLwihYBQF3AznyPv7Rx4o3Pjk81s9_0F4YU40PoAQ0oQk7jVyvtc6JC53/s1600/2014-04-09+09.49.44.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Enjoying my late breakfast / early lunch as I mentally prepare for the ride ahead.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Feeling refreshed and in high spirits, we set off from the holiday park onto the range. The lady at the park had boosted our egos by saying "you guys look like fit, strong men - I reckon it will take you about 4 hours to get to the hotel beyond the pass." I thought "4 hours to go 32km - we'll smash that!</span>" Immediately after leaving the park, the road kicked sharply upwards into a winding granny gear climb out of the small valley. Once we crested the top the road turned to dirt, and a panoramic view of the roof of New Zealand opened up all around us. Directly in front was a jagged series of peaks - I was unsure where the road went over or around them, and I had kind of given up guessing mountain pass routes, but it all looked definitely do-able. The sun was out, the wind was mild, the road was drying and we were riding strong. We continued onwards through the ups and downs (mostly ups) toward Danseys Pass somewhere up ahead.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuopFaoXPFS1oT5vkrGveC1NSh93WoGZOqMFTqOu2tbdCAyXaz5bfGVnIvfd2K7LnPziColQSjntYCLBqnKTwc18upjy_qHoc_Z53Mzf_dt8FDKwp34dWYNBZlXTa9M0MnG4q7th3TypSS/s1600/P4090202.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuopFaoXPFS1oT5vkrGveC1NSh93WoGZOqMFTqOu2tbdCAyXaz5bfGVnIvfd2K7LnPziColQSjntYCLBqnKTwc18upjy_qHoc_Z53Mzf_dt8FDKwp34dWYNBZlXTa9M0MnG4q7th3TypSS/s1600/P4090202.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Things get steep beyond the Danseys Pass holiday park.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_twQvSnf1IAIRtYyvGElt3lrs7bE3vwtPDbSIBA06rcLhjGzCptpSxs9P2YGq7BqxEa0mxXxw62H74GVkg5pMdB1JKxqR61aAcaZTDbPFIqSY-hBYnu4HrfJwETnyv0mLVJmUdM8EtokC/s1600/P4090208.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_twQvSnf1IAIRtYyvGElt3lrs7bE3vwtPDbSIBA06rcLhjGzCptpSxs9P2YGq7BqxEa0mxXxw62H74GVkg5pMdB1JKxqR61aAcaZTDbPFIqSY-hBYnu4HrfJwETnyv0mLVJmUdM8EtokC/s1600/P4090208.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Chris riding along the roof of New Zealand. Lord Of The Rings references were in abundance.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlLF65IZdbjdbdicOrxd6aBMHhVxBkfLF7Xf8EVb7ocqVAWe_qiIRnGmsCwnwOR02jymdSO45wXoRD65ZhuIvQ8Yn_OqzoprUs3zCW2xtj0Oa8MYIi7qPPdHFmQUM60LEC_CcHEvt8m0Hj/s1600/P4090210.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlLF65IZdbjdbdicOrxd6aBMHhVxBkfLF7Xf8EVb7ocqVAWe_qiIRnGmsCwnwOR02jymdSO45wXoRD65ZhuIvQ8Yn_OqzoprUs3zCW2xtj0Oa8MYIi7qPPdHFmQUM60LEC_CcHEvt8m0Hj/s1600/P4090210.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">I was making good on my promise to sing "Slice Of Heaven" every time we were struck with yet another scenic vista.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6UVXf2h4pi7RcBYXFG6FiBOxfkDurztqBk9H-VbInSFZCeBVPAlo6MeU-WpJ308IsJgSB6oNy0RUYy97ZXRatFaHYvKAQrhzOHv3HpAKzpzd8-NouKnz82-lRXYdo1kmtsNqJ58VQmrre/s1600/P4090214.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6UVXf2h4pi7RcBYXFG6FiBOxfkDurztqBk9H-VbInSFZCeBVPAlo6MeU-WpJ308IsJgSB6oNy0RUYy97ZXRatFaHYvKAQrhzOHv3HpAKzpzd8-NouKnz82-lRXYdo1kmtsNqJ58VQmrre/s1600/P4090214.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">My surname is Hill and the sign says Hill - geddit? This was also the scene of my only mechanical issue of the trip - one of my brake adjusters had worked its way loose on a rough gravel descent.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE-0hGWMjDqSnOYpMi_7j277hFDoayY0cOKUqcXx83K-P6ExbPUpsuKURdk5BPX_kNwFC9ozoJvmqWbgnAi8LkPbWBP-bAkRdm5C1_NmYVzU_NqdXivW3n1zzuDei7DXuy9FK25Nt-7MqA/s1600/P4090219.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE-0hGWMjDqSnOYpMi_7j277hFDoayY0cOKUqcXx83K-P6ExbPUpsuKURdk5BPX_kNwFC9ozoJvmqWbgnAi8LkPbWBP-bAkRdm5C1_NmYVzU_NqdXivW3n1zzuDei7DXuy9FK25Nt-7MqA/s1600/P4090219.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">The scenery over the Danseys Pass road was impossible to photograph, impossible to describe and impossible to comprehend. This place is the hallowed ground of NZ cycle touring.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSnjtuS38qxQjwFhrd3xA4aacxBdArDE2NEyC0AacmCtLvk6CaJ3MpYcRp_8Qm0_roaxonw-sVAqsLkcrQ_2KB_P-1x_rAJQOAqITdwUTp8YLJQOYyFSG6I6bF0Vbcw0F55Ee2rRvQZ8Fi/s1600/P4090229.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSnjtuS38qxQjwFhrd3xA4aacxBdArDE2NEyC0AacmCtLvk6CaJ3MpYcRp_8Qm0_roaxonw-sVAqsLkcrQ_2KB_P-1x_rAJQOAqITdwUTp8YLJQOYyFSG6I6bF0Vbcw0F55Ee2rRvQZ8Fi/s1600/P4090229.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">The way up the pass was punctuated with a lot of steep, rough gravel descents. Chris surveys the descent we just rode down before setting off on yet another climb through the remote wilderness.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimxEHiRZJ7-rrLAuvynUwIUvuPpaTsiyUY74-Hhgdu3NNRVA69RDoXDeZNBrPYaEvyKpp6QHiW213zQ4f0BRthHSVaYe4bsu9OomF3kRbZunpm2e_Sq1DgCMyILtpoMJ4eA96TMho27B-k/s1600/P4090235.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimxEHiRZJ7-rrLAuvynUwIUvuPpaTsiyUY74-Hhgdu3NNRVA69RDoXDeZNBrPYaEvyKpp6QHiW213zQ4f0BRthHSVaYe4bsu9OomF3kRbZunpm2e_Sq1DgCMyILtpoMJ4eA96TMho27B-k/s1600/P4090235.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Stopping for a rest on the only bit of flat grass we saw all day.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">Despite the up and down nature of the road, we were definitely gaining altitude as we climbed through forests, around jagged buttresses and across countless small creeks. I was tiring in the legs, however I was so energised by the landscape that I wasn't losing speed. I had also been to Ranfurly before, so I was reassured knowing what awaited us at our destination. Somewhere near the top we spied a flat bit of grass by a creek, and unanimously agreed it was time to stop for a lunch of whatever we had left in our handlebar bags. My odometer was playing up so I didn't know quite how far we had to go, but I estimated it wasn't all that far. We both went a bit loco with the excitement of the imminent pass, knowing it would all be over soon. We laughed and danced and jumped about on the grass, making stupid jokes and generally wasting energy goofing off.</span> </span>As we lounged around in the midday sun, we saw the only car of the day on the range crawl by, so we waved idiotically. Knowing a pub lunch was just around the corner, we hopped on our bikes and pedalled onwards towards the nearby pass.</div>
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The road continued upwards, climbing steadily past small trees and grass clumps under a radiantly blue sky. Up ahead I saw the top of the pass - the road in front of me kicked steeply and turned left behind a spur. Beyond the corner was a large tree, and past that blue sky. Approaching the corner the road suddenly turned to deep mud - I gave one final kick of strength to get me through the mud, around the bend and over the top. I triumphantly cleared the mud, ready for the descent to the pub - the only problem was that I wasn't at the pass. I was nowhere near it. I had crested a false summit. Stretching out before me the road continued steeply upwards. I'd passed above the treeline and into the alpine zone, and the wind blew strongly straight into my face. This was far from over. It was at that exact moment I realised the climb over Danseys Pass had changed from a great day on the bike, into a legendary day of cycle touring - but legendary days often aren't all that pleasant.</div>
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My trip computer registered my forward speed at 5km/h. I knew from past experience that once I drop below 5.5km/h I'm better off getting off the bike and walking, so that's exactly what I did. Chris was a way behind me after my burst of speed up what I thought was the summit, and he soon caught up with me. I could see he was pretty unhappy. He got off and walked for a while too, but after about ten minutes he started having some sort of back spasm. I could see he was in a lot of pain, and I felt sympathetic. I knew the feeling of being out in the middle of nowhere, in a lot of pain, with no way out but to continue - and I could see that's exactly what he was going through. I opted not to give it too much of the "chin up buddy" routine as I know it doesn't help and when a man is in a little cone of suffering it's best not to disturb that focus. After about fifty minutes of pushing the bikes, we finally reached the top of Danseys Pass.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_NjSBXuYweQhDTKW7HsaDfWTj-atOJ_IB4L0oO9eQ4LkQwv3rjju6UHkxZqU9RGq7anIWHoySnWL3pVfcYFAI4LeIcD68mU_-ImtIUXW8JNO9AR23GdCWdJMUmcm4EtOw9SUQM-JKY0aO/s1600/2014-04-09+12.59.25.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_NjSBXuYweQhDTKW7HsaDfWTj-atOJ_IB4L0oO9eQ4LkQwv3rjju6UHkxZqU9RGq7anIWHoySnWL3pVfcYFAI4LeIcD68mU_-ImtIUXW8JNO9AR23GdCWdJMUmcm4EtOw9SUQM-JKY0aO/s1600/2014-04-09+12.59.25.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Getting up above the tree line. I knew the pass was up there somewhere, but I was not at all how far.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Photos don't show the two biggest enemies of the cycle tourer - wind and steepness. They do show a man suffering a lot.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgToqVBs2C520DdwuK1iy2BLaIzPJfjZu3O41uFSY3nGsr3XMXCgBOABAxyQYdQI_HOt4wZf5NnxqAxDFoXggY2r6O_16haAlVi-ZjKBvHwi_cihRRM-z67j1s5ZBzyZKmGoZoQMmMDZ76c/s1600/P4090247.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgToqVBs2C520DdwuK1iy2BLaIzPJfjZu3O41uFSY3nGsr3XMXCgBOABAxyQYdQI_HOt4wZf5NnxqAxDFoXggY2r6O_16haAlVi-ZjKBvHwi_cihRRM-z67j1s5ZBzyZKmGoZoQMmMDZ76c/s1600/P4090247.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Fifty minutes is a long time to be walking a loaded touring bike.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">I turned a corner and finally saw the pass. Within another twenty minutes or so of walking the bike I was finally up there.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzxegUszu9848_MNdiCeifneoD8GVOJjGQt0bPN4b2gRj8bMN9e2-LZ22k1PDCYqYyfH5skcQ-sagwAfmgwJewC0vvVIt_ecBwqlR6Xyvk95kcoESWraWuHnN7ssl-O_Jx_Y7TiWg06fdl/s1600/P4090251.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzxegUszu9848_MNdiCeifneoD8GVOJjGQt0bPN4b2gRj8bMN9e2-LZ22k1PDCYqYyfH5skcQ-sagwAfmgwJewC0vvVIt_ecBwqlR6Xyvk95kcoESWraWuHnN7ssl-O_Jx_Y7TiWg06fdl/s1600/P4090251.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Free cycle touring tip: when you see a bloke really suffering, but the bloke is still moving forward, don't say a word to them. I felt really sympathetic for Chris on this diabolical climb, but I also accepted there was not much I could do to help, so I opted to stay just out of earshot most of the way and keep moving forward.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Looking back down to Canterbury from whence we came</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">We didn't linger long at the top of the pass. There was still a long way to ride that day, and the pass was cold and exposed to the wind.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEttfZXSjrVFCNyN5QKSYOFPWVY3C0w8qMEH2tVUJKot973G3IRftk4JzaHnynfeI-39csKFStcgxNncmKpQFhB8BWzQ2ScFybIyX9LRBzQvpKimeWVQRsNxQPBTwLKpBTbcU43F6ylmQ9/s1600/P4090261.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEttfZXSjrVFCNyN5QKSYOFPWVY3C0w8qMEH2tVUJKot973G3IRftk4JzaHnynfeI-39csKFStcgxNncmKpQFhB8BWzQ2ScFybIyX9LRBzQvpKimeWVQRsNxQPBTwLKpBTbcU43F6ylmQ9/s1600/P4090261.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Looking downhill to Central Otago. At least it'll all be a downhill cruise from here, right?</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">After the effort and pain of getting up the pass, I was at least grateful that Chris would get a break cruising down the other side to the pub for lunch. I could not have been more wrong. The descent was diabolically rough, with large schist stones poking through the steep dusty track surface. We later learned that apparently an inexperienced grader operator had messed up the previously smooth road just a few weeks earlier. At any rate, it was taking a lot of my concentration to find the right mix of speed, stability, not rattling my bike to bits, not overheating my brakes and not shooting off a cliff. To be fair, I've got a pretty good bike and I'm a good descender, so I found it challenging but still fun. Chris, on the other hand, was having a nightmare of a time. This was his first experience if riding a skinny tyre touring bike down a steep descent, and this particular descent went on for a very long way. After 15 minutes or so of descending I stopped at a little outcrop to get some photos of the valley. Chris was nowhere to be seen, but after I while I saw him slowly round a spur and roll down to where I was. As he pulled up his foot jammed in the cleat, resulting in a less than graceful dismount. He very nearly landed face first in the dirt - it's a frustrating thing to happen at the best of times, but in that moment I could clearly see he was hating this ride with the power of a thousand suns. He hopped straight off his bike and walked off down the spur away from me. I hopped back on my bike, determined to keep moving and stay just far enough in front of him so that he'd chase, but not drop back enough so we could talk. When a man is in a cycle touring rage, all he needs to focus on is moving forwards, so I silently took on the role of chase target.</span> The road flattened out a bit but somehow got worse, with deep gravel and corrugations. After spending a few kilometres hoping to see the pub at any moment, it was with a sigh of relief we finally reached the Danseys Pass hotel. As predicted, it had taken us exactly 4 hours to travel the 32km from the holiday park to the pub. 4 harrowing, dusty, tiring hours. We dumped the bikes out the front, tumbled inside, ordered 2 lunches each and sat there for 90 minutes not saying much, but happy to have each others company.</div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Chris later revealed he was getting a lot of front wheel skids on the descent. Never a pleasant sensation.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Just after very nearly dumping the bike and faceplanting, Chris walked around a bit to reflect on the situation we'd found ourselves in - exhausted in the middle of nowhere.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Gravel and corrugations. I can't decide if this was better or worse than the schist track. Either way, it wasn't good.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">The historic Danseys Pass hotel, built right on the road.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Exhausted out the front of Danseys Pass hotel.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">I totally underestimated the distance between the hotel and our destination at Ranfurly. After the hotel another couple of hours of dirt riding through undulating drainages across farmland awaited us.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">As happened often on our trip, our moods swapped. Suddenly Chris was full of energy and riding away from me everywhere, while I wheezed and grumbled my way to the top of every climb.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">I had in my head the idea that it was all flat or even downhill between the pass and Ranfurly, but my tired legs and a quick look behind revealed we had climbed a significant distance from the valley below.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">As the day got darker we kept ourselves amused with renditions of "The Monorail Song" from <i>The Simpsons</i> - a logical thing to do after having already spent 11 hours in the saddle that day.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Hopping back onto the bitumen just before the steep descent into the town of Naseby was sweet relief. As we left town for the short blast from Naseby to Ranfurly, our moods swapped again as I got my trademark late afternoon second wind, and Chris completely ran out of energy. I totally lost sight of him as I powered down to Ranfurly in top gear at 40km/h across the farming plain. This sign seemed like good advice...</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">The main street of Ranfurly. We stopped to resupply with some evening snacks. A day off was planned for tomorrow, and my only scheduled activity was to hit the pharmacy and buy pretty much every painkiller they had. I'd had a mostly strong day, but I was getting very sore all over.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">We pedalled into our luxury accomodation at Maniototo Lodge just as the last of the sun drained out of the sky.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">I had been to Maniototo Lodge back in 2011, where I met the wonderful hosts Gary and Chris, and generally had the time of my life in this perfect little Central Otago spot. A wave of relief rolled over me as I ride down the familiar gravel driveway to the grand old building. Chris and I hugged it out and congratulated each other on a tough day well done, stashed our bikes around the side, and knocked on the door. Carol and Ross opened the door, exclaiming "We didn't think you were going to make it, we were wondering where you were!" Turned out Gary and Chris were away for a few days, so Carol and Ross (Gary's brother) were holding the fort for a few days - despite the fact I'd only met them at the door that moment, they were wonderfully hospitable and ushered us two dirty disoriented cyclists inside. Inside the luxuriously renovated building the fire was raging, while Carol and Ross asked us about our travels and our plans for the evening. I was so tired and disoriented and they were so awesome and full of energy that I felt a bit like an impostor in such plush surroundings with such lovely people. We made plans for dinner, I had a shower and spread my stuff out around my massive room. We all regrouped in the front lounge where I wrote up my notes, we ate some snacks and chatted about our various adventures. It turned out Carol and Ross lived up north, and were touring around NZ in a camper for a few months. Carol cooked up an awesome feast with an amazing desert in the usual NZ "it's no trouble" style - which is to say it was an awesome meal far more satisfying than I could possibly ever whip up at a moment's notice if left to my own devices. After dinner and a few drinks the exhaustion really started to set</span></span> in, and I was flat out keeping my eyes open. I retired to the massive king bed in my room and crashed out - I don't even remember closing the door.</div>
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This day was the most epic day of cycle touring I have ever had - the yardstick by which all other epic days will be measured. I've definitely ridden further in a day (this one was about 110km), I've definitely ridden more scenic routes (just), I've certainly tackled more technical terrain, and I've definitely had more fun. But in terms of a 12 hour emotional and topographical rollercoaster, this day surpassed anything I had ever done in all my years of moto and cycle adventure touring. Danseys Pass has that mysterious x-factor that justifies its place in the pantheon of iconic NZ touring rides, dishing up a cycling experience that I'll never forget.</div>
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Velo ceterahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07533811267393975393noreply@blogger.com1Ranfurly, New Zealand-45.1287327 170.09814030000007-45.3079772 169.77541680000007 -44.9494882 170.42086380000006tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8756969351313065515.post-51880754675042264322014-06-07T18:43:00.000+10:002014-06-07T18:43:03.103+10:00Into the Waitaki valley - NZ 2014 Part 3<div style="text-align: justify;">
After a restless sleep, I woke up at about 7am feeling like a piece of dessicated coconut, having inadvertently left the heater on all night. As per usual Chris was up and about before me, and informed it was clear and blue outside. We only had a short and straightforward day ahead of us today, so the decision was taken to go for a wander up the main street of Waimate for a leisurely breakfast.</div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Blue sky was a novelty after the last few days of wall-to-wall grey.</span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">I was relived that we didn't ride all the way from Timaru yesterday, and excited that we'd get the afternoon off after a short ride to Kurow.</span></div>
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Waimate was a pleasant and clean farming town, with a wide main street and historic buildings. Despite being close to 9am, most food places were closed, and there seemed to be no bakery. All we could manage was a lukewarm pie that had been in the warmer since time immemorial, washed down with an equally lukewarm and lacklustre coffee. The good news was that the local radio DJ mentioned the weather outlook for the day was "NGR", which he *hilariously* clarified to mean "no gumboots required." We left the cafe staff to their underwhelming fare and contrived AM radio banter, and stepped out into the warm sunshine on the main street. After a quick resupply for fruit and road food at the local supermarket, we discovered that there seems to be some kind of competition among the local Waimate hairdressers to see who can come up with the best pun business name... <br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">I couldn't determine who won the pun tournament -</span> <span style="font-size: x-small;">Shampers...</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">...Sophisticuts...</span> </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh80WmMVToMaWNiH-LZDHpuY6FEl2ZNYzmnm1LiaKhIpEx2ObpOSK1nHZJKOxC2G13v2DYyvb8hH-X_a7aZG4397g3QBjOsskv6iQqXBnS_vuQ4ezov3_vs80JtyxuwGyMzzGHrWt5bTTPB/s1600/P4080056.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh80WmMVToMaWNiH-LZDHpuY6FEl2ZNYzmnm1LiaKhIpEx2ObpOSK1nHZJKOxC2G13v2DYyvb8hH-X_a7aZG4397g3QBjOsskv6iQqXBnS_vuQ4ezov3_vs80JtyxuwGyMzzGHrWt5bTTPB/s1600/P4080056.JPG" height="297" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">...or Scissorhands. You be the judge.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Cool junk hey...?</span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Waimate: punctuation hell.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Many building on the main street had these grand old facades.</span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Sweet turn-ups!</span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">All packed up and ready to leave. As I mentioned the room was very basic, but for $25 I couldn't fault it.</span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">After packing up and chatting to a bloke who was walking around NZ, we rode back to the main street and turned towards Kurow, our destination for the day. I couldn't find much information about the route ahead - I knew there were no town, and no shops. As far as I could tell the northern side of the Waitaki Valley was rarely ridden by touring cyclists. Within a few turns of the pedals we left Waimate behind, and rode immediately into a winding gorge. The clouds closed in and the wind picked up, however I had trouble riding quickly. My right knee suddenly became extremely sore when I hopped back on the bike, so I happily dawdled along through the rolling countryside knowing that even at a slow pace I'd only be on the bike for a few hours.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Riding out of Waimate.</span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">The township finishes suddenly, and within a couple of minutes of leaving the cabin we were back out in the countryside.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Riding into Waimate Gorge. I really had no idea what I expected to see today, so this was a pleasant scenic surprise.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Emerging from the gorge, the road continued through rolling farmland.</span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">At one point the road descended down to a creek. Chris was a little way ahead of me so I grabbed the camera out to get a photo of his descending. I didn't account for just how steep and long this hill was - by the time I snapped this photo I was doing about 70km/h. It was a bit frightening going that fast one handed!</span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">The Waihao Forks hotel - an unexpected pub out in the middle of nowhere.</span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">After a while the sun came out. I stopped to have some food and admire the super saturated colours all around. Given we had a whole day to get to Kurow, we decided to stop every hour for a full sit down roadside snack to keep our energy levels high.</span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">As I rode through the green farmland, I became fatigued but couldn't really figure out why. I kept getting slower and slower, having change into lower and lower gears. I thought I was having some kind of energy or power crisis, however stopping to rest and looking behind, I realised that we had climbed a long way up that morning.</span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Reaching the summit before heading down to the Waitaki River.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">A fast and fun descent through farmland continued for about 8km. It was nice to get so many "free" kilometres in on a short day.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Chris and I are pretty evenly matched in the cycling stakes, so we broke up the day by taking turns to lead while the other drafted on the long, flat road leading up the river to Kurow. I'd lead for half an hour, Chris would lead for half an hour, then we'd stop for a roadside snack. Of all the buddy systems I've tried cycle touring, this one worked the best to keep us fresh and moving forward.</span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">One of many single lane bridges along the way.</span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Breakfast / lunch / dinner of champions. I've lived on these things for days out on the road.</span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">A familiar sight for any cycle tourer - sitting in the grass by the side of the road eating muesli bars.</span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Kurow approaches, and the cloud starts to thicken and lower. Fortunately by this point I estimated we were only a few kilometres out of town.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Chris hooks it as our energy picks up with the knowledge the day is nearly over.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">Crossing over the Waitake River on the boundary of Canterbury and Otago, I came the closest I ever have to being cleaned up by a passing car. To get into Kurow we needed to cross from one side of the valley to the other, across the Waitaki River. The bridge was out for repairs, so a temporary deep gravel alternative route had been constructed into town. The flagman waved us through, and as I got to the narrowest part of the deep gravel detour, walled in on both sides with temporary barricades, I spotted a Nissan X-trail faux-wheel-drive in my mirror. I moved over to the left a bit, into very deep gravel. The car passed within about 30cm of me - close, but I've had closer. I concentrated on riding in a straight line through the gravel, lest I end up under the wheels. What I hadn't bargained on was the fact that this particular moron happened to be towing one of those huge hire trailers, significantly wider than the wheel track of the car. I was doing about 15km/h, X-trail dickhead was doing maybe 20, so it wasn't as if I was slowing him down considerably. The end of the detour (and centre of Kurow) was maybe 50m away, so it wasn't as though he'd be stuck behind me for ages, but no - he was going by. I braced myself for the inevitable shove from behind as the wheel arch hit my pannier - but it never came. The trailer passed so close that the wheel arch of the trailer passed <i>under</i> the mirror on my bar end. Chris was riding behind and was sure I was getting hit - there was maybe a centimetre or two in it. At the Kurow junction a few metres later, X-trail man turned left, and I turned right to look at a roadside map. I noticed X-trail man pulled up down the road, talking to a bunch of ~55 year old cyclists that must have been doing the Alps To Ocean trail. He was clearly driving the support car for them. So here we had a guy who clearly had some knowledge of touring cyclists, was about 100m from his destination, was going 5km/h faster than a cyclist, but was still so busy and important that nearly running another rider off the road was a logical course of action for him. I briefly considered riding down there and giving him a bollocking - but then much like Queen Elsa from the smash hit motion picture movie film <i>Frozen</i>, I decided to let it go. However the fact remains that X-trail man (and by association everyone he was "supporting") is a complete and utter fucking idiot of the highest order. Comforted by the thought that this individual lived the hollow and unpleasant life of a career fuckwit and other must hate him as much as I did, I pedalled off towards the bucolic splendour of the Kurow Holiday park.</span></span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Our totally awesome cabin at the Kurow Holiday Park. Highly recommended.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Chris eagerly embraced my post-ride tradition of eating an entire packet of jellies each day.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">How a bin should look at the end of a successful day of cycle touring. Liquid breakfasts, nut bars, ibuprofen and whisky.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">My handlebar bag prepped for the following day - nut bars, sunscreen, electrolyte and chamois creme.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">We got into Kurow at about 2pm, so we had time to get some chores done. I laundered my clothes, cleaned and serviced my bike, then wandered uptown with Chris for an early dinner. The small town had all the usual shops and services - we grabbed some road food and headed to the Waitatki Hotel for a well-earned beer. All of the traditional pub food there looked awesome, and we were pretty hungry, so we ordered the unlikely combination of lasagna and mashed potato. After a short while a small mountain of food arrived on a plate the size of a bicycle wheel, and I hungrily scoffed the whole thing. It was the most I'd ever eaten in one sitting - I couldn't believe it. Plus I was still hungry. Chris also powered through his food mountain, expressing a similar sentiment that he'd never eaten so much in his life. Even the barmaid was impressed with our ingestion efforts - and here was me thinking the surefire way to impress a barmaid was to sit at the bar all night and show her just how much you can drink. The pub was warm and cozy, and we'd had a great day. I felt like staying there for a while longer, however knowing we had a huge day planned for tomorrow we sensibly dragged ourselves away and walked back to the cabin for an early night.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Kurow holiday park overlooking the Waitaki River.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">We were only a few metes into Otago, but already the scenery was unmistakable.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Metaphoto: taking a photo of taking a photo.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Low cloud over the Waitaki Hotel. Best we go inside to stay warm.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">$8 jug of Monteith's Black Beer. I was so stoked, my favourite beer for sure.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">The ride from Waimate to Kurow was cycle touring as it should be. Not many people about, good weather, good company, lots of laughs, with a lot of hours to unwind at the end of the day. Tomorrow was shaping up to be a massive day, over the famed Danseys Pass - a remote dirt pass with no services in the middle of nowhere. I went off to bed early, knowing I had everything organised for the following day, refreshed and ready for any and all cycle touring challenges.</span> </span></div>
Velo ceterahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07533811267393975393noreply@blogger.com3Kurow, New Zealand-44.7333171 170.46982819999994-44.9137101 170.14710469999994 -44.5529241 170.79255169999993tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8756969351313065515.post-66692477084239121352014-06-04T14:37:00.000+10:002014-06-07T13:43:04.313+10:00Snatching victory from the jaws of defeat - NZ 2014 part 2<div style="text-align: justify;">
In my exhausted state from the huge ride the day before, I managed to sleep a solid ten hours before my alarm woke me at 0700. Chris was already up and about, and informed me it was raining steadily outside. My low mood of the earlier day had faded somewhat after a good sleep, and I had resigned myself to the fact that I'd be riding in the wet for a big part of the day. On the bright side, at least I'd be riding into some new terrain - I'd already ridden a bike to Mt Somers a few years ago so the area held no real new surprises. Chris and I quickly packed up our bikes, I donned my full wet weather gear, and we bravely ventured 300m to the local shop for a breakfast of pasties and coffee.</div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">The view out on the road hardly inspired a lot of hope for a lovely day of riding.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Mt Somers general store - now with an actual coffee machine! </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"> Inside the Mt Somers store</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">I was extremely excited at the prospect of riding a day in wet weather with all the scenery obscured by cloud.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">Once we got moving out on the open road heading south towards Geraldine, it became obvious there was only one option - gun it. While the rain and low cloud was miserable, it did mean there was little wind, and within the hour we had ridden a massive 29km. The 20km straight section through the tiny town of Mayfield was dispensed with before we even had a chance to be bored by the lack of corners. Chris was riding without a speedo or clock, so by the time we reached the corner after the long straight he reckoned we'd ridden about 11km all up. He was shocked that it was nearly 30km we'd knocked out that morning already. Our momentum was good, and although we were soaked through by the time we hit the town of Geraldine we were in high spirits. I was especially pleased as from this point onwards I'd be riding across new ground - the last time was in Geraldine I'd headed west, today we were continuing south to the seaside town of Timaru and beyond. </span> </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">We were too dripping wet to eat inside, so we quickly ate a hot breakfast under the cafe awning before jumping on the bike and making a break for it.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Once we reached highway 1 at Winchester, things kind of unravelled a little bit. I'd heard that NZ highway 1 was bad to ride on, although I had it in my head that it probably wasn't all *that* bad. As we rode south along for a while things were going OK - lots of large trucks passing pretty close, but nothing I wasn't used to from highway riding in Australia. Then we hit an extended stretch of roadworks that involved us now riding in soft gravel right on the side of the road as the lanes had been narrowed, leaving no room at all for bikes. This was treacherous enough, so when a savage southern headwind sprang up along with heavier rain, I'd pretty much had enough. By the time we hit the light industrial on the outskirts of Timaru I was starting to get quite depressed. A few taxing hills later and we'd arrived in the centre of town, where I stopped into the local information centre and tried to find out what the deal was with catching a bus the remaining 50km we were due to ride that </span>day to the small town of Waimate. The buses weren't for hours, and only dropped us 10km from Waimate. I was less than thrilled at the prospect of waiting around for 4 hours in town then riding 10km in the dark in the rain, so I opted to continue on southwards from Timaru. Chris agreed to go along with that plan, but I could see that he wasn't too stoked at the prospect of more freezing rain and big hills...<br />
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We jumped on our bikes and pedalled away from the city centre heading southward. As soon as we reached the edge of town, the heavens opened with a vengance, and a harsh southerly sprang up with a view to pushing us all the way back to Christchurch. I still hadn't seen a shred of scenery for days, but in the gloom I could see a very large hill that we'd have to ride over to continue onwards to Waimate. Apparently there were a number of these hills that we'd have to contend with. Almost instinctively, I slowly rolled off the road and sheltered under the awning of an abandoned shop. I wasn't having fun. I made a snap decision. I turned to Chris and said "This isn't a prison, let's just stop." To say he looked relieved was a profound understatement. We raced back to the shelter of the information centre in the heart of Timaru. I booked us a bus to the Waimate turnoff to save us riding into the southerly and over the big hills. We'd have to ride the last part in the dark - I didn't care. The bus trip cost a small fortune - I didn't care. Suddenly it felt like a weight had lifted off my shoulders. I decided to write off the whole trip to this point as a false start. The adventure began now. And the perfect way to celebrate the start of the adventure was to sit in a warm pub for three hours while we waited for the bus to arrive.</div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Outside the Timaru information centre. Fortunately for us it turned out to be next door to a pub.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">The manager at the pub was a cycle tourist himself, so he didn't object to us spreading out all out wet gear in front of the gas fire. Despite spending 2 days together already Chris and I had hardly talked at all - now it was good to be able to chat and catch up over a lot of food and a couple of beers.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Soon the time came to leave the warm pub and wait for the six o'clock bus - something I managed to do while looking incredibly stylish.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">The small bus finally arrived, we threw our bikes on the back and were away. The forty minute drive revealed that there were a lot of big rolling hills to traverse along our intended route, and that the traffic and weather on Highway 1 that day was ordinary to say the least. Still, it was nice to feel that our tour was now out of the starting blocks, and we were jubilant when the bus dropped us at the deserted Waimate turnoff as the very last evening light drained from the sky.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">As the bus drove away I had an overwhelming feeling of elation. For a start it wasn't raining, and to the west I could see a tinge of pink as sun set under an obviously clear sky. In the dark I could see the silhouette of actual scenery - rolling hills, a mountain range, and the ocean to the east. For the first time on the trip I felt as though I was actually on a cycle touring holiday, not just some hellish ride through nondescript grey. Chris was obviously feeling the same vibe - we were singing, jumping around and joking as we put our luggage on the bikes beneath the lonely fluorescent light beside the otherwise dark road. I turned on my largely ineffective bike lights and pedalled off into the night towards Waimate, about 10km away. This momentous event marked the first time I've ever ridden at night in a foreign country.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">As the light levels dropped, so did the temperature. It was freezing as we pedalled down the deserted main street of Waimate about 20 minutes after setting off from the intersection. The ride in had been uneventful with no traffic at all - riding through town it seemed like nobody actually lived at Waimate anyhow. The long main street looked prosperous with shops and pubs and heritage buildings and the like, but there were all closed up with not a soul to be seen. With a bit of crafty navigation we eventually located our overnight stop at the council-run Waimate holiday cabins. The cabins were basic - very basic - but after a long and exhausting day of two halves, we were absolutely delighted to arrive.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">We couldn't make much out in the dark, but we had arrived safe and sound in the right place.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Bags unpacked and bikes stored inside. For $25 the small but basic cabin had a bit of a school camp vibe, but after a long day on the bike it was perfect.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">We knew that we had no chance of getting anything to eat up the main street, but we went for a walk anyway out in the cold night air. The previous night at Mt Somers we hadn't walked around at all due to rain and exhaustion, so it was a great feeling to get outside on foot and reflect that we were actually in a different location than where we had started that day. As expected most places were closed but we did manage to find a chippy that was just shutting doors, where I bought the most expensive can of soft drink in the history of commerce ($2.50 for a Sprite). Still, I wasn't bothered about the lack of dinner as I still full from my Timaru pub lunch, and feeling generally upbeat that we had put the false start of the tour behind us and were now well and truly covering new ground.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Mystifying Easter display at the Waimate chemist shop. The little Easter baskets had no chocolate eggs in them, but did contain an array of pharmacy only restricted medications.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">Back at the little cabin we laid all our wet gear out around the huge heater, drank duty free whiskey, and reflected on our day. The start had been tough and disheartening, and it seemed like a bit of a cop out to catch the bus, but at the end of the day we'd done what we had to do to arrive at our destination. It was one of those days that went from bad to worse to horrible, but managed to come around full circle to end up an awesome and memorable day of cycle touring. Even with the bus ride we'd still ridden over 100km, and were looking forward to a relatively easy 70km ride tomorrow. The plan was set to lie in a bit, get breakfast uptown in Waimate, and have a very leisurely pedal tomorrow. I felt energised at the prospect of riding into a new challenge, and managed to mentally draw a line under my usual negative start to a long bike tour. In cycle touring terms, we managed to turn this whole thing around and snatch a sweet victory from the jaws of defeat. Roll on adventure!</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span>A dry roof, a 3 bar heater, and only 70km to ride tomorrow. Things are looking up for this guy!</span></div>
Velo ceterahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07533811267393975393noreply@blogger.com0Waimate, New Zealand-44.7326402 171.048135-44.9130817 170.7254115 -44.5521987 171.3708585tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8756969351313065515.post-19301338465038127092014-05-09T12:30:00.001+10:002014-06-07T13:42:35.261+10:00A long day in the saddle - NZ 2014 Part 1<div style="text-align: justify;">
I recently returned from an ~850km cycle tour around the South Island of New Zealand, taking in some awesome and remote adventure riding. The first couple of days of the tour, however, were among the most shithouse days I've ever spent aboard a bikecycle. With the benefit of hindsight, staying up for the 24 hours before having to ride the first 135km leg of a cycle tour probably wasn't the best idea. Before turning a pedal I'd already been up early with my kids, packed up my bike, driven to the airport, flown from Brisbane to Christchurch and had to clear NZ quarantine. Fortunately my mate and riding companion Chris was waiting for me when I finally emerged into the cold and damp Christchurch midnight. </div>
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Following an action-packed SUV trip involving some drunk roadside teens and an old derro playing chicken with us in his circa 1982 Mazda sedan, we arrived at Chris' cousin's house in the Christchurch suburb of New Brighton. I jumped straight out of the car, raced straight into the garage, and began assembling and tweaking the bikes we'd be setting off on in a few short hours. My bike went together in record time, although I realised it was probably time to get to bed when I suddenly became manic and confused as I decided to try to perfectly align my rear light perfectly perpendicular to the rear axle of my bike. I looked at the clock as I hopped into bed - it was 2:30 in the morning.</div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Chis makes some last minute adjustments to his bike before setting off.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">My trusty Redline all ready to begin another cycle tour</span>.</div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Although I had technically gone to bed, I managed to get no actual sleeping done. I was wired from the flight and the bike assembly, and concerned about the crappy wet weather I'd arrived in the night before. I hopped out of bed at 0600, quickly drank a couple of liquid breakfast energy type drinks, and Chris and I tentatively wobbled out into the grey, but mercifully not raining, Christchurch dawn.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Chris begins his first ever cycle tour - getting thrown in at the deep end.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Our ride started on the eastern side of town, and we were headed west. An hour of pedalling through the Sunday morning gloom of empty industrial estates and car yard strips started the day.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Eventually we cleared town and rode out into the countryside.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">On a clear day, the looming Southern Alps are clearly visble from the outskirts of </span>Christchurch. The very sight of them energises riders as they pedal out of town to the foot of the snow capped mountains. Not on this day however, every direction was just low grey cloud, light drizzle was beginning to fall, and without the excitement of seeing the Alps, my energy levels were already flagging about 40km into a 135km day. It was shaping up to be a long day in the saddle - particularly faced with the same scenery for the entire day.</div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">I was having to stop to stretch and eat a lot already. It was the most tired I have ever felt on a bike, and I wasn't even a third of the way to my destination for the day.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">If Chris' bike looks familiar, it's because it is - this Fuji Touring bike is the same bike formerly ridden by Jer last time we toured NZ.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">By about the 60km mark, I'd well and truly had enough of riding for the day. Fortunately Chris was there, and was able to offer me some moral support - as well as allowing me to tuck in and draft behind him on the long straight flats into Hororata. Arriving in the tiny village just before lunchtime was a feeling of tremendous relief, and I demolished a couple of pies, a sandwich, a plate of chips, and a few coffees. As I sat there shovelling food into my face for an hour, the weather looked like it was clearing a little bit. By the time we grabbed some road supplies and pedalled out of town at midday the weather looked almost promising.</span> </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">70km into a long tour and I was already hitting the wall. Chris, a novice to this type of thing, was feeling fine and was in high spirits. I tried to dampen his spirits with my incessant whining, but it seemed to have little effect.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Riding out of Hororata, the gloomy weather looked to be lifting. Turns out it wasn't.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Rakaia Gorge, at the foot of the Alps. Raining, gloomy, dark, freezing. Blerrrrgh.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">Before dropping down into the Gorge, Chris and I were standing around near the top pondering the route ahead. Out of the gloom a female cyclist clad in bright lycra on a racce bike, complete with race number, pulled up and asked "did you guys see a race come through here?" We hadn't. Before the steep descent into the Gorge, she got on her mobile phone, made a call, then wisely decided to turn around and go home rather than drop down the steep road. Once down at the river, there</span> </span>was only one way out...</div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">The climb out of Rakaia Gorge. This thing is diabolically steep, just the thing we needed after about 100km of riding.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">We both managed to tackle the steep section of the climb without much drama, although I did have to stop a few times during the 4km ascent to let my heart rate drop a bit. I was on cold flu medication and my heart was racing with the slightest exertion.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Taking a break at the top of the climb. This was the first of many 3pm bursts of energy I'd have along the trip. Pedalling out of there for the final 30km or so push to Mt Somers, I felt strong, and was looking forward to a pub dinner.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">As soon as we pedalled away from Mt Hutt towards the small village of Mt Somers, the weather finally changed from drizzle to actual rain. The scenery was pretty non-descript - with visibility down to a few hundred metres in the now fading light, there wasnt much to see. It felt like I could have been riding anywhere - I was cold, wet and there we no visible landmarks to give me any clues as to my location. All I could see were the cows in the cleared paddocks either side of the road. As we progressed towards our destination, Chris became progressively more tired and disheartened, and by the time we pulled into Mt Somer Holiday Park to our cabin our road speed was down to 15km/h. Despite our slow finish we'd kept a reasonable speed throughout the day - our average moving speed over the 135km was 21km/h. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Once in our basic but comfortable cabin, we unpacked, cleaned up, and walked over to the nearby Mt Somers Hotel for dinner and a beer. As soon as we set in foot in the utterly charming rural pub, the publican said "you blokes look exhausted!" Indeed I was - and starving too. Chris and I sat there at our table, not saying much. Despite the fact I hadn't seen Chris for ages before today and wanted to catch up, I kind of just didn't have much to say after such a long day of riding around in the drizzle - fortunately of all my mates Chris is probably the most understanding of those days when I just don't feel like speaking. I was exhausted and a bit disoriented, and looking forward to a sleep. Outside the rain was really beginning to bucket down.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Inside our basic but comfortable cabin at the Mt Somers Holiday Park. Money well spent to be warm and comfortable.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Bike travel pro tip: vaccum seal your favourite chain lubricant so it doesn't leak everywhere on the plane.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Inside the Mt Somers Hotel. Rural hospitality at its finest. It's a shame I wasn't a bit more awake to enjoy it more</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"> <span style="font-size: x-small;">This ham steak was enormous - that's a pint of beer there to give it some perspective. Classic kiwi pub food.</span> </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">As with my previous tour of NZ, the first day had been strangely deflating and depressing.
I'm usually pretty hopeful that the following day will always be better
than the current one. As I lay in bed I was hopeful the next day would be better, but listening to the rain pour
down outside, I wasn't so sure... </span></div>
<br />Velo ceterahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07533811267393975393noreply@blogger.com1Mount Somers, New Zealand-43.704311999999987 171.40007489999994-43.888113499999989 171.07735139999994 -43.520510499999986 171.72279839999993tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8756969351313065515.post-9118702566321334022013-12-18T11:24:00.001+10:002013-12-18T11:25:38.390+10:00December on the Brisbane Valley Rail TrailAs I often do, I rode the Moore - Linville section of the Brisbane Valley Rail Trail last weekend. Since I've already done a million blog posts about riding that section, I thought I'd do something a bit different and put together a little video of my weekend...<br />
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Enjoy my grumpy and awkward talking to camera as I try (and fail) to think up any kind of insights out on the trail!<br />
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<br />Velo ceterahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07533811267393975393noreply@blogger.com0Linville QLD 4306, Australia-26.8407815 152.27521950000005-27.067534499999997 151.95249600000005 -26.6140285 152.59794300000004tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8756969351313065515.post-22100919477018430482013-10-14T12:25:00.001+10:002013-10-14T12:25:36.264+10:00Three Weeks On The Mainland - book out now!People have dared me to do it, I've been threatening to do it for years, and now I have finally done it. I've gone and written a book...<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1YhG2VGwPD8ZmsrsqjBJ-whDhm6JEBEgwJBGZrjVUSJw3b33zGUfd8jzTf6oZlsHH2fceMyBuGWVQ500Zx1pPD71-feSJWAeqMOKsMjVCyy3zCpSFychAXpoJ-Ag-wDoLj1Bj5QTVwfUy/s1600/Three+Weeks+On+The+Mainland+cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1YhG2VGwPD8ZmsrsqjBJ-whDhm6JEBEgwJBGZrjVUSJw3b33zGUfd8jzTf6oZlsHH2fceMyBuGWVQ500Zx1pPD71-feSJWAeqMOKsMjVCyy3zCpSFychAXpoJ-Ag-wDoLj1Bj5QTVwfUy/s400/Three+Weeks+On+The+Mainland+cover.jpg" width="251" /></a></div>
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<i>Three Weeks On The Mainland</i> is the story of my NZ ride of a few years ago, told with (hopefully) a little more detail, structure and style than the blog. Given the fact it's self published and that it's 2013, I've currently released it only as an e-book for Kindle (or the free Kindle app for iPad / iPhone / Android / Commodore 64) available exclusively through Amazon. I guess it's kind of like some kind of cyber-panhandling on my part advertising this on the blog, but the least I can do is give you an ebook in exchange for the list price of $2.99.<br />
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Want to get involved and carry my wuthering tales around in your very own ebook reader??? Then <a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00FV97MXI" target="_blank">hit this link </a>and before you know it you'll be reading about the highs and lows my cycling journey through the South Island of New Zealand.<br />
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Enjoy!Velo ceterahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07533811267393975393noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8756969351313065515.post-44864379810557420482013-06-29T20:58:00.000+10:002013-06-29T21:15:41.091+10:00One day Esk-apade<div style="text-align: justify;">
Let's get this out of the way straight up - I went riding for the day at a place called Esk. Obviously there are lot of puns to be made here, so let's do it now: it was Eskellent, I Eskcaped for the day, I should have taken my Esky, the scenery was picture-Esk, I was Eskcited, and so on and so on and so on (insert your own Esk puns on the comments section if you need to!). Now we've cleared that up, let's get into it.</div>
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I've been writing about cycling a lot lately, just not on this blog. I've been doing a fair bit for a couple of magazines, and as a result of that I've become a bit mercenary about my riding and writing - I've only really been getting on the bike when I've been getting paid for it.</div>
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My latest deadline was met yesterday, and today I found myself with not much to do, so I put the bike in my recently acquired van, and headed off for a ride around the Brisbane Valley near the town of Esk. It was raining in the city where I live, but by the time I drove the hour out to the start of the ride, the weather was overcast but not threatening rain.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgFui49oKbjiSVuevE5EWNwICYYG-LNqCrZQVA4tAOJqCuQDCae_hXWxRKIJQ9kVjnRlNelGmrHro8M2Orwyoftfc60l4y_fNv0hDw36gCdMxQUc9icvMBTVy0uHAyUxHxlGd0fqB7GgTz/s1600/P6290020.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgFui49oKbjiSVuevE5EWNwICYYG-LNqCrZQVA4tAOJqCuQDCae_hXWxRKIJQ9kVjnRlNelGmrHro8M2Orwyoftfc60l4y_fNv0hDw36gCdMxQUc9icvMBTVy0uHAyUxHxlGd0fqB7GgTz/s400/P6290020.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Gratuitous van photo. I must admit I'm pretty pleased with it.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzcE0KaILCPr6F7BMGh3RkSZHql3J7OPD-JiG6KaVzZkqtCIi18nHalKeOQ0Hwf2SvuEjBKd9Q6n6gqNAA34A_KoJqlCQGW-LKha74ahIUeiKSZWmo67Qsi2k5VXL0zBMIGlbYxZF6ZBVb/s1600/P6290018.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzcE0KaILCPr6F7BMGh3RkSZHql3J7OPD-JiG6KaVzZkqtCIi18nHalKeOQ0Hwf2SvuEjBKd9Q6n6gqNAA34A_KoJqlCQGW-LKha74ahIUeiKSZWmo67Qsi2k5VXL0zBMIGlbYxZF6ZBVb/s400/P6290018.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">The best part is being able to put a complete bike in without taking a wheel off - I hated all the farting around every time I wanted to put my bike in the old car. Oh and the fact it's just big enough for me to sleep in is cool to.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">I hopped on the bike, and rode immediately to the bakery where I sat around for the next 15 minutes eating a hot pie. Once that important task was done, I pedalled over to the Esk trailhead, before having a change of heart and deciding to go a different way to the town of Toogoolawah. I hadn't been on a "real" road ride for ages, so I figured I'd hit the open road then ride back on the rail trail.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1SfMO4TNc4rTMYno8FAxhqLodZUzGhhmJobiq-4nF4JlF9L2u4m_TN2cYU_4Y5DXellaDjbNJqJRctaqAEOKn_WPz_h85ZWOLbVJj_ilbjgUo7feDy8T8DXJgBiuovoUmLqyRhgstRi2b/s1600/P6290024.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1SfMO4TNc4rTMYno8FAxhqLodZUzGhhmJobiq-4nF4JlF9L2u4m_TN2cYU_4Y5DXellaDjbNJqJRctaqAEOKn_WPz_h85ZWOLbVJj_ilbjgUo7feDy8T8DXJgBiuovoUmLqyRhgstRi2b/s400/P6290024.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">The Brisbane Valley Highway heading north of Esk has a reasonably wide shoulder and smooth surface. It's however still chockers with moron P-platers with Monster Energy Drink stickers on their Commodores yelling and swerving at you. Every single time I have ridden this highway in the past 5 years, the drivers have been unpleasant to say the least.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">If the highway is shitting you, then get off the highway! Time to go the back way to Toogoolawah, if I can remember it...</span> </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3I4UCf_PsxEjaSZDhIS3AHf7AHmSuhXpy4WfZelmJQ90nIvlQF3q9QvbmGK_kx9v0WWyK5lIQmcETyDITdn8WQqqIS93EsyPnV6gQSqQxNbr2UOfAm9clA47EjfmQAeAF13LK9uc93HWt/s1600/P6290030.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="155" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3I4UCf_PsxEjaSZDhIS3AHf7AHmSuhXpy4WfZelmJQ90nIvlQF3q9QvbmGK_kx9v0WWyK5lIQmcETyDITdn8WQqqIS93EsyPnV6gQSqQxNbr2UOfAm9clA47EjfmQAeAF13LK9uc93HWt/s400/P6290030.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Quiet country roads and farmland scenery.</span> </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLMlEx7u7Uxzpe5SiZx26HcXgvftSmZsqNm6PmQFaxDP-bEqhX07nRR8wsnpK-Fq4ET1XEXAPZ8OLus3vxHWaq1N_yAvFstjVSifHl9ZWKPnqIbM3WFHRQd3aFK4zsI5YiRhb1BU7qoRNH/s1600/P6290040.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLMlEx7u7Uxzpe5SiZx26HcXgvftSmZsqNm6PmQFaxDP-bEqhX07nRR8wsnpK-Fq4ET1XEXAPZ8OLus3vxHWaq1N_yAvFstjVSifHl9ZWKPnqIbM3WFHRQd3aFK4zsI5YiRhb1BU7qoRNH/s400/P6290040.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">After a few wet years there is a LOT of grass around - the next fire season has the potential to be pretty full on.</span> </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf5pDxeDMcu5uWv-SpkAOf68XgMGj6JGVzoLZX2AkM4YWgydQ3_pl3QjN_lEIX5YcFPjo678xNp3PCVAm-8y-5i6UWGc_hQzJw99vyhGrdKNr8SQwTRkElkoYZLMC9nBvOVWqjYw2OD-cu/s1600/P6290041.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf5pDxeDMcu5uWv-SpkAOf68XgMGj6JGVzoLZX2AkM4YWgydQ3_pl3QjN_lEIX5YcFPjo678xNp3PCVAm-8y-5i6UWGc_hQzJw99vyhGrdKNr8SQwTRkElkoYZLMC9nBvOVWqjYw2OD-cu/s400/P6290041.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">It's been a long time since I've been on an Australian country road. Away from the highway, drivers are awesome, slowing down and giving a wide berth and a wave. People are courteous and good and you've no chance of getting skittled, however if a car is approaching, get right off the blacktop and right over into the gravel - that way the approaching car will stay on the tar and not spray you with gravel while politely trying to give you a wide berth.</span> </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOUMM3__0GnjfIFpPTuv6Icfe5xVf1z0dSBNY8yJXj8a8jF6nYqpi17SSL0ireKAqBIT0VVknI7uwJc6tyo6AW6vBAQC2UtpzRnshQsPNkUxizw-zo1qnPNN61xBDIP7fML0K-FxGhARyd/s1600/P6290042.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOUMM3__0GnjfIFpPTuv6Icfe5xVf1z0dSBNY8yJXj8a8jF6nYqpi17SSL0ireKAqBIT0VVknI7uwJc6tyo6AW6vBAQC2UtpzRnshQsPNkUxizw-zo1qnPNN61xBDIP7fML0K-FxGhARyd/s400/P6290042.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Well named and signposted local landmark. It felt great to be in the countryside again - I wasn't that far from town, this spot just seemed to be an anomaly having the vibe of somewhere much more remote.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">About 10km down the road I came across an unsigned junction with a road heading to the East. I had no idea where the road headed, but I did know I needed to be going in that general direction, so off I pedalled.</span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA44YTvmNCVAtaCiEFElEkJsD3HzatwTsoNA241Nl5X7qAyLcBQ1CabaIf9DNN5yL4CinVZT5YzCnj19ndZHG6kZBd9T05zXsiEMtRJBP5rNIMAHBBSkDxBcOeBL8HQBn14-0UpLcWracB/s1600/P6290043.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA44YTvmNCVAtaCiEFElEkJsD3HzatwTsoNA241Nl5X7qAyLcBQ1CabaIf9DNN5yL4CinVZT5YzCnj19ndZHG6kZBd9T05zXsiEMtRJBP5rNIMAHBBSkDxBcOeBL8HQBn14-0UpLcWracB/s400/P6290043.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">A good navigational choice - the road turned to dirt after 50 metres or so.</span> </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ_JLhGzhDmDAX8MaO6Gjv7bmzLmugLCA_4XLLAOAYPx3iOJT45zhofDqDj-qzut4xaH5bh7vgUbWeRcn81RkYC8sMCNLZSMcPQ80sE3Wo_BgKBkUEowoK8EqMNZ9LDMtrxPk5jnldKjOU/s1600/P6290046.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="143" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ_JLhGzhDmDAX8MaO6Gjv7bmzLmugLCA_4XLLAOAYPx3iOJT45zhofDqDj-qzut4xaH5bh7vgUbWeRcn81RkYC8sMCNLZSMcPQ80sE3Wo_BgKBkUEowoK8EqMNZ9LDMtrxPk5jnldKjOU/s400/P6290046.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">There was no traffic on the road, although it looked well maintained and well used. I figured it must lead somewhere so I pressed on.</span> </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwaz0BCIU__7Cz6-NuMaGMKkQJCo49TEo1ln-jWpKgbwZXBqRpxPNeOcdT9xtvmB6HqIqVFdADRB-Z50Ly6xWP2xObxaW7v9yfLkughXlLd8YI1CTdzqJKITQK03FNMawty2AMTJIx6u-j/s1600/P6290052.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwaz0BCIU__7Cz6-NuMaGMKkQJCo49TEo1ln-jWpKgbwZXBqRpxPNeOcdT9xtvmB6HqIqVFdADRB-Z50Ly6xWP2xObxaW7v9yfLkughXlLd8YI1CTdzqJKITQK03FNMawty2AMTJIx6u-j/s400/P6290052.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">New helmet!</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6vsjkbsJlbHa3jJAPlrPuhcSooCA5e509N-HRsZmzfp0jMWH-nuEBpDeLBMJO-CrHYYLSs8vibLYTBmZCOS4nTrFKOUJ8uSGKcSjVrQY126UB_9CSNkdQZaTn4N8O26OJ-xztNUzF4Th9/s1600/P6290059.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6vsjkbsJlbHa3jJAPlrPuhcSooCA5e509N-HRsZmzfp0jMWH-nuEBpDeLBMJO-CrHYYLSs8vibLYTBmZCOS4nTrFKOUJ8uSGKcSjVrQY126UB_9CSNkdQZaTn4N8O26OJ-xztNUzF4Th9/s400/P6290059.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Caught a bit of selfie fever and got carried away with it. I very nearly binned it trying to get this photo - I was doing close to 50km/h and was more interested in doing contortions to get a shot of myself than watching the road.</span> </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9VKPwuop6L3lHUMdz-2_Iwgo83ZmfhVjfA3WRy3ERyvThTz7RN8lV3JIwdkst3vUI_VGNM3CmceFGc0m9-SW-ltxIKso2SsUBC4_lZlklUWKk3m0vJ8NjsRoSG8sKzb63QR7lHYE5x05k/s1600/P6290060.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9VKPwuop6L3lHUMdz-2_Iwgo83ZmfhVjfA3WRy3ERyvThTz7RN8lV3JIwdkst3vUI_VGNM3CmceFGc0m9-SW-ltxIKso2SsUBC4_lZlklUWKk3m0vJ8NjsRoSG8sKzb63QR7lHYE5x05k/s400/P6290060.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">So that's where I was! I eventually ended up on a main road leading to Toogoolawah.</span> </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG5J84glNKPFeVyn2GH36fZ3rennxT9u7JuSFGLnMyF1ICEoVcD4yzCZ0YvBa5k8GnEyn1977glk_e6USwQyEeOm5SUnlLtxAH2l_n0Fe-__IEd1GWck_dahQT6ucfBEAppqIVM8kV6LA0/s1600/P6290061.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG5J84glNKPFeVyn2GH36fZ3rennxT9u7JuSFGLnMyF1ICEoVcD4yzCZ0YvBa5k8GnEyn1977glk_e6USwQyEeOm5SUnlLtxAH2l_n0Fe-__IEd1GWck_dahQT6ucfBEAppqIVM8kV6LA0/s400/P6290061.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Bridge over very slightly flowing waters.</span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Looking back from whence I came before rejoining to bitumen.</span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">On the undulating road into the town of Toogoolawah.</span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">I lived in little country towns for a long time. Being in Toogoolawah on a Saturday morning really made me miss that lifestyle. Maybe one day I'll get back out into the bush...</span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Lunch stop at the Coach House Cafe for a burger and coffee.</span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">By the time I set off from town at about midday, the Saturday morning rush had well and truly subsided.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">After lunch I pedalled across the road, and joined the Brisbane Valley Rail Trail for the 20km dirt ride back to Esk. The surface was a little rougher than I expected, still it was great to be in the outdoors, by myself, riding a stretch of the trail I'd never been on before.</span> </span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">The restored Toogoolawah station building alongside the trail.</span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Lots of grass along this section of the trail. I don't really enjoy riding through grass a huge amount, it's kind of like trying to battle across a really large doonah. It's comfortable but you get nowhere fast.</span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">First of many flood damaged rail bridges along this section of the trail.</span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Pretty standard for an Australian creek -they're either flooding like crazy, of choked with debris with very little water.</span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">New way / old way.</span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Lots of signage on this section of the trail. In case you're wondering, "moderate" means "easy" - I ride all this stuff on a skinny tyred cyclocross touring bike and it does fine.</span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">To be honest I saw this about 4hrs into the ride, and I wasn't having too much trouble keeping it under 40...</span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">The cow tracks offered the best respite from the energy sapping grass.</span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">I'm flat out doing 25 by this stage, not much danger of me getting over 60...</span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">A group of 17 horse riders came along the other way. I was please to discover the usual cycling banter applies when you encounter an equestrian - "nice day for it" and so on. One guy even made a few saddle related quips - I was impressed.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">It's self-timer time!</span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">The highest point of the Esk-Toogoolawah section of the Brisbane Valley Rail Trail, where the line crosses under the Brisbane Valley Highway with all its idiotic P-plate drivers.</span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Pretty much all downhill back to Esk from here.</span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Old rail bridge that seems to be made from rough-hewn timber. Pretty cool to see how well it's stood the test of time.</span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Some legend had put some sort of marsupial skulls across the bridge on the cross-members.</span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">I didn't even need to get the feet wet with the little rock bridge!</span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Last bridge before getting back to Esk.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">Back at Esk I loaded up the van, and with an hour or so I was back at Brisbane. It's not often I go out riding by myself, but reflecting on it during the drive home, riding solo is something I really want to do more of - particularly to little out of the way country towns. I guess now with the van it's easier than ever to bolt from work on a Friday afternoon and spend the weekend in some faraway outback place. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">Sounds like an Eskellent idea - I'm Eskcited...</span></span></div>
Velo ceterahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07533811267393975393noreply@blogger.com3Esk QLD 4312, Australia-27.2397535 152.42153080000003-27.3526755 152.26016930000003 -27.126831499999998 152.58289230000003tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8756969351313065515.post-18901253137272362792013-06-09T15:07:00.002+10:002013-06-09T16:37:20.613+10:00Wine times = good times<div style="text-align: justify;">
For the last few years, cycling magazines have been telling me that riding a bicycle from winery to winery is apparently a cool and fun thing to do. Well I don't drink (since <a href="http://velocetera.blogspot.com.au/2011/12/self-inflicted-struggle-street-nz-day-3.html" target="_blank">the Christchurch incident</a>), and I don't like having fun, so back in February, I decided to put these claims about wine touring to the test.</div>
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I met Rudi at my work on the Friday afternoon, we loaded up the car and made the 3 hour drive out to Lake Barambah, near Murgon in Queensland. It was well and truly dark by the time we arrived at <a href="http://www.yallakoolpark.com.au/Local-area/the-bjelke-petersen-dam.html">Yallakool Park</a>, checked in, and made our way to our spacious cabin. The plan for the following day was to do a 100km-ish road and dirt loop around the dam and nearby national parks, before spending the afternoon checking out the <a href="http://www.southburnettwine.com.au/" target="_blank">South Burnett wine district</a>, centred around the tiny village of Moffatdale. Shortly after arriving the heavens opened, so we prepared for the adventure ahead by eating boxes of pizza shapes and watching about 6 hours of shopping channel.</div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Whine time</span></b></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">After a restful sleep dreaming of steam mops and integrated home exercise gyms, I woke up to the sound of rain on the roof. The weather was miserable. We sat around drinking cups of tea for several hours, hoping the weather we could lift and we could get on the way. Anyone who knows me knows that it doesn't take much for me to abandon any kind of ambitious plan in favour of doing nothing, and so on this day I decided the big ride wasn't going to happen, and we should just drive around the area until after lunch and see what the weather was doing before deciding on a course of action.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Our cabin at Yallakool Park. A top spot</span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">We spent at least 4 hours sitting on the veranda drinking cups of hotel tea with UHT milk. Not exactly grand cycle adventure but I will admit it was very relaxing after a long week at work.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"> </span><span style="font-size: small;">Our first stop was the town of Murgon, where we walked the quiet main street eating pies and drinking chocolate milk in the rain.</span> From there we drove over to Goomeri, and even smaller town, where I had possibly the worst, and therefore best, coffees I've ever had. By this stage the weather looked like it may be lifting enough to actually ride, so we made our way back to the cabin, prepared for what was looking like a pretty dreary afternoon of cycling.</div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Main street of Goomeri. "Cheese World" is hyping it a bit - it's more like "Room With Half A Dozen Shelves With Cheese On Them"</span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Spelling guys...</span></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Wine time</span></b></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Back at the cabin, the roads had dried out enough, and were were all fired up for an afternoon of cycling and wine tasting. I know zero about wine, I don't even like it, however I had an open mind and was pretty pumped to try something I'd not done before. Bikes were prepared, and off we rode - into adventure!<b> </b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">This bike was total overkill for the task at hand - we didn't exactly push the frontiers of cycling endurance.</span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Rudi heading out of the campground up to the main road. The pannier were for carrying back any wine related products we might score along the way.</span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">It ended up being a nice afternoon for cycling. The weather was nice and cool, the road was dry, and there was absolutely nobody else around.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Pedalling into the first vines of the winery district. </span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Turning off the main drag and onto a dirt side road, we were headed to our first winery, and my first ever winery experience.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><a href="http://www.southburnettwine.com.au/bridgemandowns.php">Bridgeman Downs wines </a>- our first stop on our South Burnett wine region cycling tour. Total distance travelled from cabin to winery - about 1200 metres.</span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">I was really nervous about the whole winery experience. Up to that point my impression of the whole winery sampling thing was a bunch of pretentious wankers crapping on about "bouquets" and "aftertaste" and "stuff". I had two options - spend my day in fear, or surrender myself to the whole experience, and do my best to play the part of a wine wanker myself. I chose the latter, took a deep breath and stepped inside. Obviously playing it super cool, when the lady there said hello, I nervously blurted out "I'VE NEVER BEEN IN A WINERY BEFORE AND I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO AND I'M REALLY SCARED!!!"</span>. I think she was a bit taken aback by having such an anxious luddite in her midst, however I think it was the best approach - she explained to us what all the wines were, and we set about the business of trying each. Some of my insightful comments at this stage were "this wine tastes strong", "I like this one" and "this one is different to that one". I was well on my way!</div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">It begins</span>.</div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Rudi CoolGuy propping up the bar. Being European, Rudi was much more able to bung on the wine aficionado act a lot more effectively than me.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Don't drink and ride kids.</span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Given the whole wine tasting thing is free, we felt compelled to buy a few bottles to take home for the wives. Even by this early stage I was starting to feel a bit giggle headed, being such a lightweight and all.</span> </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-R5WRBIcUM1cj7w0G85guh4SGPkT8TmfonsrpwKBMQ1f97Xr6CYkGSwA63Zzxs5y8xETlChV1unVdFpV_Iamcodjc4MnqQzcfRaD2IuVjVXUfHw7uYAxdTr1EEm8IvdVkAMJaC5tzC3w8/s1600/P2090047.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-R5WRBIcUM1cj7w0G85guh4SGPkT8TmfonsrpwKBMQ1f97Xr6CYkGSwA63Zzxs5y8xETlChV1unVdFpV_Iamcodjc4MnqQzcfRaD2IuVjVXUfHw7uYAxdTr1EEm8IvdVkAMJaC5tzC3w8/s400/P2090047.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Making our way to <a href="http://www.clovely.com.au/" target="_blank">Clovely Estate</a> wines - a massive distance of about 1500m from the winery we just left. Lucky we are such hardcore endurance athletes...</span> </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbfK7wr1D6LzEkyxisO1ZsHpHNMml3HlQGEthsPhAFPG6MVsuDztJoqp_y4wLUJClPB1JeN0UDLcucf5qHTXhC_OYe3uiMLuP7DFOpIhtQpb0jIYVG2MUWGIJ16DXApQvnEfr5PaBQ-C8j/s1600/P2090056.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbfK7wr1D6LzEkyxisO1ZsHpHNMml3HlQGEthsPhAFPG6MVsuDztJoqp_y4wLUJClPB1JeN0UDLcucf5qHTXhC_OYe3uiMLuP7DFOpIhtQpb0jIYVG2MUWGIJ16DXApQvnEfr5PaBQ-C8j/s400/P2090056.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">It's a bit of a haze, but I seem to recall someone telling me that this is the biggest wine producer in Queensland.</span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">By the time we hit the Clovely Estate cellar door were well and truly emboldened by a few wines, followed by some pedalling. We marched in through the front door, and informed the owner that yes, we would indeed love to sample their wares on this fine afternoon. We surrendered ourselves to the wine tasting scene, having a great time pretty much playing characters</span> from some kind of 80s yuppie drama. We were all bouquet this, fruity that, swirling glasses and stuffing our noses in them for no other reason than we'd seen some grown ups do it one time. In short, we were getting pretty silly on all the free wine, an having a very, very enjoyable day.</div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Clovely Estate cellar door - there's a little restaurant in there too.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtaezopPAZ8VTOefjLnk2-VfukvF53jdRmflp93WKxtOwRTB2cU1Ag_cksJ01dBIWsc1l2x7YjPRY7eolpd0m6quv7tE5lVuDUdgbL21BrbzlYE7lLG3fXR6vkoHRiy0pr7IF2Enh22M6u/s1600/P2090060.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtaezopPAZ8VTOefjLnk2-VfukvF53jdRmflp93WKxtOwRTB2cU1Ag_cksJ01dBIWsc1l2x7YjPRY7eolpd0m6quv7tE5lVuDUdgbL21BrbzlYE7lLG3fXR6vkoHRiy0pr7IF2Enh22M6u/s400/P2090060.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">"Do I look like a tourist?". I actually stopped after about 4 wines here, although Rudi kept charging through the entire range, including the liqueurs.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF4cBzoqfSXL2PgQQ8Oa-eD3UJLmqWWjFa-xgrGMktw5_W6q3r46ZAqHFRPdgw5D44EIDDbp-nFYg7SuctMAjmJx9Js02Mo9VdLJYujPCuf1YTgm9kGeTo4opRq8gNxidoltD-2iIHzVj0/s1600/P2090091.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF4cBzoqfSXL2PgQQ8Oa-eD3UJLmqWWjFa-xgrGMktw5_W6q3r46ZAqHFRPdgw5D44EIDDbp-nFYg7SuctMAjmJx9Js02Mo9VdLJYujPCuf1YTgm9kGeTo4opRq8gNxidoltD-2iIHzVj0/s400/P2090091.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Rudi wobbling through the vines, as I try and get a staged photo for some of my magazine stuff. For some reason I'd lost the ability to use a camera very well by this point.</span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">These are grapes. Other than that, I have no idea.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH8dwpx8MBiaunIk3qAbiI8LMzfhtGmj_cIuIM8MR8x4ABoRsZM3KqWdd9XVbWq6hACAcPBvLH-fStp_y52xn9dfHHAnX2jLEIQztHp5bkvyjjZdtF2BF_nQN316xVa0wVjoGH0ykhcott/s1600/RDI_3889.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH8dwpx8MBiaunIk3qAbiI8LMzfhtGmj_cIuIM8MR8x4ABoRsZM3KqWdd9XVbWq6hACAcPBvLH-fStp_y52xn9dfHHAnX2jLEIQztHp5bkvyjjZdtF2BF_nQN316xVa0wVjoGH0ykhcott/s400/RDI_3889.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">On the day, pedalling between the rows of vines seemed like the most profound experience ever. It's a shame neither of us had the perspicacity to actually transform the experience into any kind of compelling image.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVLhLVIPvBnnCIbK05cnPzWGNp0dAor8n3jkZzK35yH3GPSlnExN1KJ4Lytf3VaWFGrBuD5-yXTXh8e8SC3282sCIlkZ7VEuumNEL9KXsINPQHS0ychmCO1zfaT_C7kK7N8DxXAvqgXzSi/s1600/P2090100.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVLhLVIPvBnnCIbK05cnPzWGNp0dAor8n3jkZzK35yH3GPSlnExN1KJ4Lytf3VaWFGrBuD5-yXTXh8e8SC3282sCIlkZ7VEuumNEL9KXsINPQHS0ychmCO1zfaT_C7kK7N8DxXAvqgXzSi/s400/P2090100.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">The percieved gradient of a slope is directly proportional to the number of drinks samples by the rider (me = 8, Rudi = 13). This nearly flat climb felt like it went on forever, by which I mean about 600m.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">Our next winery destination was <a href="http://moffatdaleridge.com.au/" target="_blank">Moffatdale Ridge</a>, the third and final winery for the afternoon. After an exhausting 3km ride to the cellar door, we were very much indeed of refreshment. It was getting pretty late in the day by now, and the grey weather was getting just a little darker. We parked the bikes, walked in, and the owner asked us if we'd like to do a tasting, we simply nodded knowingly, now that were obviously qualified wine super-experts.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Wine vine climb time.</span> </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8PYPmOfy0Z5_zvhMs6r-uMm8BvFpYdv4LKn_JkyaMZuuxh9izRgBGyadrrX30Gk8ToHpnJTf_4Ev01pSjyR6BE71OCC5tEW6ObmLdnlbdomjmBNHbi4yXEjacQB6-zN-dm_eAKdgBDhJr/s1600/P2090102.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8PYPmOfy0Z5_zvhMs6r-uMm8BvFpYdv4LKn_JkyaMZuuxh9izRgBGyadrrX30Gk8ToHpnJTf_4Ev01pSjyR6BE71OCC5tEW6ObmLdnlbdomjmBNHbi4yXEjacQB6-zN-dm_eAKdgBDhJr/s400/P2090102.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">The road to Moffatdale Ridge.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCTjkNukdVXotdSNIeFPwMSQPdoPwlXZsSacgNnfE5mV1O8A0I2Mp5iQbAkOorAvzEpyYMPM-gSerD4qp9Mm-xwJuV-DpaWM1nuxnK4ulhmeRWyGsz4TOZ4Nph46ECgKbhFbFzwaNcastV/s1600/P2090106.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCTjkNukdVXotdSNIeFPwMSQPdoPwlXZsSacgNnfE5mV1O8A0I2Mp5iQbAkOorAvzEpyYMPM-gSerD4qp9Mm-xwJuV-DpaWM1nuxnK4ulhmeRWyGsz4TOZ4Nph46ECgKbhFbFzwaNcastV/s400/P2090106.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Yet another round of tasting underway within.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"> </span> <b><span style="font-size: large;">Dam time</span></b></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">By the time we left Moffatdale Ridge I think our wine sample count was me = 16 and Rudi = 22. Although each sample was pretty small, the rapid fire nature of the drinking and the bursts of light cycling meant that by the time the day ended, we were feeling pretty jolly. Cycling back down to the cabin, I was feeling particularly silly - trying my best to jump my touring bike off roadside drainage ditches at full speed, and somehow succeeding. Before retiring to the cabin for dinner and more shopping channel, we rode down to the dam wall to explore our surroundings a little more.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbPEhzd21S_-Kg6CvrluzLPsB8jfKn1UdWTQtdLe_mbqVDwXkV-Qy6C8MEM7JbpTIc5BVHbhkGPjkuNcpn9fX5GjLDLKReB5n6SMVZcFMai_QYGavpR_PHV_6wVHSq-3lTTiw8DS3CbNjz/s1600/P2090107.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbPEhzd21S_-Kg6CvrluzLPsB8jfKn1UdWTQtdLe_mbqVDwXkV-Qy6C8MEM7JbpTIc5BVHbhkGPjkuNcpn9fX5GjLDLKReB5n6SMVZcFMai_QYGavpR_PHV_6wVHSq-3lTTiw8DS3CbNjz/s400/P2090107.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Rudi rides over the dam wall.</span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Heading towards the spillway. The recent wet weather meant that the recreation areas around the dam were very quiet.</span> </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAEPqPf9Yk1QvFvANGxSJQMIsJh3w4SKiMEEcy84atRJ0qppiSJVooKn3eFerWlsYU_CB9wAtMGYwGKv0V-sVbw8VOfZ94Rd2klGti-YdUsu9slDIrgr5mvg_RZtBEjvOqbEAe4ai7Xi5p/s1600/P2090144.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAEPqPf9Yk1QvFvANGxSJQMIsJh3w4SKiMEEcy84atRJ0qppiSJVooKn3eFerWlsYU_CB9wAtMGYwGKv0V-sVbw8VOfZ94Rd2klGti-YdUsu9slDIrgr5mvg_RZtBEjvOqbEAe4ai7Xi5p/s400/P2090144.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Pretty sure this doesn't apply to sophisticated wine experts like us.</span> </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCWlgQjC50-sL5MWL9Rsa38rxwrOTKqIMOlRtrbmQ3vya8VRKSr91SJtmJsLmj445JpzU6p51AZtdWqQKpb-_tv4AUXeGOYK1FKtwOo0v71PRM5-zuF5J-KPOChJ0ggrLP8JUgH5B5CA4F/s1600/P2090153.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCWlgQjC50-sL5MWL9Rsa38rxwrOTKqIMOlRtrbmQ3vya8VRKSr91SJtmJsLmj445JpzU6p51AZtdWqQKpb-_tv4AUXeGOYK1FKtwOo0v71PRM5-zuF5J-KPOChJ0ggrLP8JUgH5B5CA4F/s400/P2090153.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">This seems intelligent.</span> </div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Good time</span></b></div>
So, was the winery cycling tour thing everything that it was hyped up to be? Basically, we'd just driven 3hrs each way to spend a day drinking free wine and riding a grand total of 9km - and it was unquestionably one of the most entertaining days I've ever had on a bicycle. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6IuEiSddWfk9b8jXQbVWRBIFe2aciTbxpaZ1ziwYtnRpsrRkXHaObg0xG52L7aSEAemqu30RFjxbO4WUJSzngu01-Bt3d0mSs_AWGebxGnq2WaKe53E8bxqWeHWctm3kMe1kYiTbIO0PJ/s1600/P2090158.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6IuEiSddWfk9b8jXQbVWRBIFe2aciTbxpaZ1ziwYtnRpsrRkXHaObg0xG52L7aSEAemqu30RFjxbO4WUJSzngu01-Bt3d0mSs_AWGebxGnq2WaKe53E8bxqWeHWctm3kMe1kYiTbIO0PJ/s400/P2090158.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">The spoils of the day.</span> </div>
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Winery touring on a bicycle is simultaneously grown up yet juvenile - it feels civilised yet quite naughty. You don't need to like wine, or even cycling, just grab a bike of some description, set yourself up among a few wineries, surrender yourself to the experience and do whatever comes naturally...</div>
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...you won't regret it.</div>
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Velo ceterahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07533811267393975393noreply@blogger.com1Moffatdale QLD 4605, Australia-26.3085417 152.0130117-26.4224142 151.8516502 -26.1946692 152.1743732tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8756969351313065515.post-15365705574054802172013-01-04T11:05:00.000+10:002013-01-06T11:11:33.299+10:00Welcome to the fold<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: small;">As I <span style="font-size: small;">posted a few<span style="font-size: small;"> weeks ago, my <span style="font-size: small;">four year old daughter has <a href="http://velocetera.blogspot.com.au/2012/11/introducing-newest-member-of-cycle.html">picked up the </a><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="http://velocetera.blogspot.com.au/2012/11/introducing-newest-member-of-cycle.html">noble art of bikecycling</a>. </span></span></span></span></span>Since then we've been riding more and more, and she's been getting better and better. That's been great and she's been having a blast, but the difficulty is finding new places for us both to ride...</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2PNaFxkYHCCFfOpCAowDoahYxEbO4gcNST68zQN5dyCYtGXNKj30vu6XSW-c2QxYNYbiG-7vcSfceBtLZwRT3ONkY3rloT3s_AXNZ79YFURXXSRhfhMKqsMf9AVqFQkoH3mpAq97WxmQc/s1600/DSCF1159.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2PNaFxkYHCCFfOpCAowDoahYxEbO4gcNST68zQN5dyCYtGXNKj30vu6XSW-c2QxYNYbiG-7vcSfceBtLZwRT3ONkY3rloT3s_AXNZ79YFURXXSRhfhMKqsMf9AVqFQkoH3mpAq97WxmQc/s400/DSCF1159.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">The <span style="font-size: x-small;">park about 100m from my house has one of those little bike path / traffic sign things<span style="font-size: x-small;"> - it was fun at the start but now her and I are getting thoroughly sick of it. She loves practicing <span style="font-size: x-small;">sideways skids <span style="font-size: x-small;">into corners though, although it's ended in tears a few times!</span></span></span></span></span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">We went down to the </span><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">criterium bi<span style="font-size: small;">cycle </span>racing circuit. It was</span><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;"> a lot of </span><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">fun</span><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">, however getting my bike down there was a massive pain - </span><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">we only have </span><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">small cars, and to car</span><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">t a bike and more than one person requires the use of a bike rack, something I can't be bothere</span><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">d doing most of the time<span style="font-size: small;">. Plus riding one of the "big" bikes seems kind of overkill.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ4LmgyZH8VZIuNGmUzLQqPsgq4Wp1omQpxiCPkr9Oey1bxVe7rVTuG9s4Cxl776VgaHuh8gNkXBiTc5R7my1bcNAhrlTKZs6LvutVQPPEeBk1z1kj8Bgga1sVczHrL5EFD_lLYf7IUy5D/s1600/DSCF1112.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ4LmgyZH8VZIuNGmUzLQqPsgq4Wp1omQpxiCPkr9Oey1bxVe7rVTuG9s4Cxl776VgaHuh8gNkXBiTc5R7my1bcNAhrlTKZs6LvutVQPPEeBk1z1kj8Bgga1sVczHrL5EFD_lLYf7IUy5D/s400/DSCF1112.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">T<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">here is something not right about <span style="font-size: x-small;">chasing down a little kid <span style="font-size: x-small;">on a track bike...</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">One of the great things about parenting is you can use the needs of your children to justify all sort of naff<span style="font-size: small;"> things that you<span style="font-size: small;"> couldn't otherwise get away with. I needed a bike that was e<span style="font-size: small;">asy to ride, wou<span style="font-size: small;">ld fit in my little car along with my daughter and her bike<span style="font-size: small;">, and wouldn't look too misma<span style="font-size: small;">tched alongside a tiny BMX riding at 15km/h.<span style="font-size: small;"> We all know there is only on<span style="font-size: small;">e kind of bike out there to match those criteria, <span style="font-size: small;">and let's fac<span style="font-size: small;">e it, it's something I've secret<span style="font-size: small;">ly wanted for years and years<span style="font-size: small;">.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">Being just after new year's day, I tried my luck at buying some "unwanted gifts" <span style="font-size: small;">through the classifieds. A few phone calls and crazy low <span style="font-size: small;">offers later, I drove across town, handed over my $70 and became the proud owner of this once-ridden machine...</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span> </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVVhR3iC3OuyfQs-O-Rrs46TtLBkpKcZC7Nr1_QNfsGtltU4Vev30NUGR6I30aK8BD6ddrXBYPzYaUudQiyHci0EoPXvL4JNMb4xzmFvjXmnO84NoJ12HF9KeP7PHmh51dCFgoREd3MkHY/s1600/DSCF1148.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVVhR3iC3OuyfQs-O-Rrs46TtLBkpKcZC7Nr1_QNfsGtltU4Vev30NUGR6I30aK8BD6ddrXBYPzYaUudQiyHci0EoPXvL4JNMb4xzmFvjXmnO84NoJ12HF9KeP7PHmh51dCFgoREd3MkHY/s400/DSCF1148.JPG" width="400" /> </a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Yes, I've become o<span style="font-size: x-small;">ne of T<span style="font-size: x-small;">HOSE guys...</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"> </span></span></span></span>Let the good times fold...!</div>
Velo ceterahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07533811267393975393noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8756969351313065515.post-10001778919007351622012-12-30T19:32:00.003+10:002012-12-30T19:32:54.629+10:00Same but different: Day 2<div style="text-align: justify;">
There's no daylight saving in Queensland, so by 4:20am it was well and truly light enough to break camp and get moving. The forecast called for another scorcher of a day, so I hopped out of bed and set about packing up my gear. By 4:40am I was all packed up, dressed, fed, and ready to go. Rudi, however, was still fast asleep in his tent - not even all the noise I was making and the numerous wallabies crashing through the campsite was enough to stir him from his beauty sleep. I decided to use the time wisely, to explore the camp in the already warm and humid pre-dawn air.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXvsVAnXec_Hgm7EGjA9Be7yZTgmyHf3Tz8CPlZV24G0k6DLqNsovGpoWDEx6Exu_x3UjMuwoUztFcSUDJXLzIvv4leeQpirVpZWdya9PQ6yzSZni1y0Rar-R9-6yaoi4MNZPX9FYkdFTH/s1600/PC020180.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXvsVAnXec_Hgm7EGjA9Be7yZTgmyHf3Tz8CPlZV24G0k6DLqNsovGpoWDEx6Exu_x3UjMuwoUztFcSUDJXLzIvv4leeQpirVpZWdya9PQ6yzSZni1y0Rar-R9-6yaoi4MNZPX9FYkdFTH/s400/PC020180.JPG" width="288" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Macnamara's Camp at about 4:30am. Tha<span style="font-size: x-small;">t white shiny thin<span style="font-size: x-small;">g</span> behin<span style="font-size: x-small;">d the clouds is the f<span style="font-size: x-small;">ull moon<span style="font-size: x-small;">.</span> </span></span></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmwAPrC6Xo76_xjRjp90hKexEcoMPlTGrikqR69fioru96Ct_eg_UQ0r3LjQEZ2MYcLRLU6-U9rV-WbdTz1JDoMqebNFIQ_J1nxRLltZ4eGEAAerdf8mEiIo3cO2ye_7yyZeKtlaEGzFg6/s1600/PC020183.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmwAPrC6Xo76_xjRjp90hKexEcoMPlTGrikqR69fioru96Ct_eg_UQ0r3LjQEZ2MYcLRLU6-U9rV-WbdTz1JDoMqebNFIQ_J1nxRLltZ4eGEAAerdf8mEiIo3cO2ye_7yyZeKtlaEGzFg6/s400/PC020183.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Camping right on the Brisbane Valley Rail Trail<span style="font-size: x-small;">.</span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6DvSmxFAZOX4iL8T22N59qLbWWxMIJE-JeboaVSpdAmkmWfnxVgIzs_zQy1HH6E2BOuqBXMhNoCTibuVE0KKXsRH8ULFGx0a_aerMHw3ZqFe1xAaLRUf3k-QtA-0Fl6NEqKCf96Wb_Gil/s1600/PC020189.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6DvSmxFAZOX4iL8T22N59qLbWWxMIJE-JeboaVSpdAmkmWfnxVgIzs_zQy1HH6E2BOuqBXMhNoCTibuVE0KKXsRH8ULFGx0a_aerMHw3ZqFe1xAaLRUf3k-QtA-0Fl6NEqKCf96Wb_Gil/s400/PC020189.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">My summer sleeping setup is a <a href="http://www.hennessyhammock.com/">Hennessy Hammock</a>. It really can't be beat<span style="font-size: x-small;">en for comfort, coolness and fast setup and takedown.</span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKpQm4Cw7buN33D7KuAc3CexLaWGeGT3XnDBE61VFdgFCNozhxoF8VnYDk7VGpMuYvWqhuVRsSXhhjG9lJSQLgVqBPBa1oJw6sQPXbd3JXW04-yDYy79ncq6PMbGMs1Pz2TOs_TiqMEyUe/s1600/PC020193.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKpQm4Cw7buN33D7KuAc3CexLaWGeGT3XnDBE61VFdgFCNozhxoF8VnYDk7VGpMuYvWqhuVRsSXhhjG9lJSQLgVqBPBa1oJw6sQPXbd3JXW04-yDYy79ncq6PMbGMs1Pz2TOs_TiqMEyUe/s400/PC020193.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Dawn clouds on the rail trail</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV3f3ek4Gp9FlLE_SdeBQwtyB-3itLa1dpgxK_W0nCFXMnrNwEcakf7QPcuTaJZsMZo8MtozXok_fMgvd7HrgXUELRi7wdPBAL_nPbTbR4Wwe2IrBsu8tlYOWrCWcJXm0HoiOdUTYnvpN0/s1600/PC020200.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV3f3ek4Gp9FlLE_SdeBQwtyB-3itLa1dpgxK_W0nCFXMnrNwEcakf7QPcuTaJZsMZo8MtozXok_fMgvd7HrgXUELRi7wdPBAL_nPbTbR4Wwe2IrBsu8tlYOWrCWcJXm0HoiOdUTYnvpN0/s400/PC020200.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Finally, the sleeping beauty awakes! The sun was well and truly up by this point, about 1.5hrs after I was ready to depart.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Uphill we go</b></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">By the time Rudi got out of bed and got himself together, the horse had well and truly floated out the window of opportunity for us to beat the hea<span style="font-size: small;">t on the morning climb through to Blac<span style="font-size: small;">kb<span style="font-size: small;">utt. <span style="font-size: small;">By the time we set off on the trail again, the temperature was s<span style="font-size: small;">weltering, and I was <span style="font-size: small;">alrea<span style="font-size: small;">dy s<span style="font-size: small;">weating before even tur<span style="font-size: small;">ning a pedal.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span> </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSQnokvLa41hdQez5-gVhetfaXgn1WgVxDMyIT6fnLrW7rzqkuMXCMqIhn6Vb2Jl5zDCSknjctU24l1bJnkqqvYeM4A6k7jKEJDWcKmyoaPUvqdM2h6pgNf1ufGNFcHYb94JbIeN57AFR4/s1600/PC020204.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSQnokvLa41hdQez5-gVhetfaXgn1WgVxDMyIT6fnLrW7rzqkuMXCMqIhn6Vb2Jl5zDCSknjctU24l1bJnkqqvYeM4A6k7jKEJDWcKmyoaPUvqdM2h6pgNf1ufGNFcHYb94JbIeN57AFR4/s400/PC020204.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">The best part of me being ready to go so early was I got to enjoy wat<span style="font-size: x-small;">ching Rudi attempt to pack down his tent, all the while offering unhelpful advice and commenting on how difficult it all looked.</span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzYsuuMxq83Pq4AkDb2duVX0Gyj_mW95HrlX9Y9nsdWgRvxp7dZUOu9ksYIcRqbZF1uTeAOnoVbLkaskCImLGiyckkGXUCtSfoRx7_CZHzjxbW-99NjR5bTLCy7LErXxc3tjvFK-UIhZnL/s1600/PC020211.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzYsuuMxq83Pq4AkDb2duVX0Gyj_mW95HrlX9Y9nsdWgRvxp7dZUOu9ksYIcRqbZF1uTeAOnoVbLkaskCImLGiyckkGXUCtSfoRx7_CZHzjxbW-99NjR5bTLCy7LErXxc3tjvFK-UIhZnL/s400/PC020211.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Away we go again, clim<span style="font-size: x-small;">bing uphill through Benarkin State F<span style="font-size: x-small;">orest. The trail continues steadily uphill from here, all the way to the township of Benarkin.</span></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEQCQ8OmfbloxkqGWinTn9ZfB2V8WwM-5DUDqT1ElL1IwkDvEjguXWWRK0LubFIWdMz3kKf4mMHQc7eR8fx6YOX8ud5AOuD34tRVj6tpPd9vxBhs_0XrVX27x1Edb8g0ftiDyXvDcolUbL/s1600/PC020217.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEQCQ8OmfbloxkqGWinTn9ZfB2V8WwM-5DUDqT1ElL1IwkDvEjguXWWRK0LubFIWdMz3kKf4mMHQc7eR8fx6YOX8ud5AOuD34tRVj6tpPd9vxBhs_0XrVX27x1Edb8g0ftiDyXvDcolUbL/s400/PC020217.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">The trail surface in <span style="font-size: x-small;">the forest section is smooth and fast.</span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJITK_6kPAXjqvkHs-_5RLOS4AD133ykl7mZNe8ZKIylMkgGapbEYMVuDOAINq7xUEAmZFGrqwslzRk8RhZtUQl1pc3-rz1UgGWPxmbQYK5qQRBJ3urN37OkYhZ5aFDNY6-t0eyLBLWf82/s1600/_RDI2868.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJITK_6kPAXjqvkHs-_5RLOS4AD133ykl7mZNe8ZKIylMkgGapbEYMVuDOAINq7xUEAmZFGrqwslzRk8RhZtUQl1pc3-rz1UgGWPxmbQYK5qQRBJ3urN37OkYhZ5aFDNY6-t0eyLBLWf82/s400/_RDI2868.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">We crossed under t<span style="font-size: x-small;">he main highway, where we could <span style="font-size: x-small;">see a lot of cars were stopped for some roadworks on the rang<span style="font-size: x-small;">e. We were definitely having a much more enjoyable trip than all those motorists!</span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Our progress up the hill wasn't fast, m<span style="font-size: x-small;">ainly as we were both stopping a lot to get <span style="font-size: x-small;">a lot of photographs on the way <span style="font-size: x-small;">- <span style="font-size: x-small;">o<span style="font-size: x-small;">ne of our main purposes for the ride was for a magazine photo shoot</span></span></span>. Here's Rudi blending seamlessl<span style="font-size: x-small;">y into his surroundings.</span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">The trail <span style="font-size: x-small;">emerges from the forest into a grassy clearing near the commercial pine plantations of Be<span style="font-size: x-small;">narki<span style="font-size: x-small;">n State Forest.</span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">As we neared Benarkin, we left the thick<span style="font-size: x-small;"> scrub and rode into more over bush<span style="font-size: x-small;">land. By now it was getting very hot, and I was looking forward to <span style="font-size: x-small;">a cold drink<span style="font-size: x-small;"> in the town somewhere up ahead.</span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>A meeting on the trail</b></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">As we pedalled closer to Benarkin, I was sure I could hear the sound of a vehicle on the trail. It w<span style="font-size: small;">as a very odd moment as the trail is close<span style="font-size: small;">d to vehicular<span style="font-size: small;"> traffic, and <span style="font-size: small;">for a<span style="font-size: small;">n instant</span> I was a pretty disappointed that my impression of the place as a pe<span style="font-size: small;">aceful car<span style="font-size: small;">-free <span style="font-size: small;">paradise could be shattered. <span style="font-size: small;">Approaching a creek crossing near the top <span style="font-size: small;">of the range, we spotted a white ute down on one of the concrete culverts<span style="font-size: small;">, carefully rolling back and forth across f<span style="font-size: small;">reshly laid <span style="font-size: small;">gravel</span> <span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">covering the steep approaches to the gully. I stopped on the side of the trail, and<span style="font-size: small;">, strangely for me<span style="font-size: small;">, the driver of the vehicle alread<span style="font-size: small;">y</span> knew who I was! His <span style="font-size: small;">name was Geoff<span style="font-size: small;">, a rai<span style="font-size: small;">l trail ambassador, who had been chatting <span style="font-size: small;">with the other rail trail <span style="font-size: small;">ambassadors we'd met on the pre<span style="font-size: small;">vious day. As per the<span style="font-size: small;"> day before, I was just blown away by the<span style="font-size: small;"> dedication and effort these guys put in to running the trail. Geoff was out here rolling out some gravel</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span> he'd put over a creek crossing a few days earlier. He was concerned that the trail was getting too rutted in the approach to the creek crossing, so he'd decided to do something about it, first doing some earthworks in his loader, then coming up this morning to roll it all out. I kind of had trouble getting my head around just how the ambassadors worked - basically if something needed doing, they just sorted it out and did it. A very different approach to the "can't someone else do it" mentality that seems to prevail in nearby Brisbane.</div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">G<span style="font-size: x-small;">eoff <span style="font-size: x-small;">very kindly spent a lot of time with us, <span style="font-size: x-small;">pointing out where <span style="font-size: x-small;">to find <span style="font-size: x-small;">interesting sights along the trail. He also recommended to head to the Blackbutt bakery for our morning <span style="font-size: x-small;">coffee<span style="font-size: x-small;"> - a very s<span style="font-size: x-small;">ensible idea.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Rudi approache<span style="font-size: x-small;">s t<span style="font-size: x-small;">he town <span style="font-size: x-small;">of Benarkin. You can almost see the heat in this photo - it was well over 35 b<span style="font-size: x-small;">y this time of day.</span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Between the towns of Benarkin<span style="font-size: x-small;"> and Blackbutt, the trail levels out as it makes it<span style="font-size: x-small;">s way across the plateau.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">The legendary <span style="font-size: x-small;">Blackbutt Bakery. Here we met up with Geoff an<span style="font-size: x-small;">d his family again, and had a fan<span style="font-size: x-small;">tastic ti<span style="font-size: x-small;">me chatting to the local people and learning a lot mre about the area. If you're ever at the bakery, I recommend getting a smokey-d<span style="font-size: x-small;">og!</span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Surely the most photographed si<span style="font-size: x-small;">gn in Blackbutt.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">I hadn't expected to see a rusted old trac<span style="font-size: x-small;">tor that someone had converted into a giant music<span style="font-size: x-small;">al instrument, but here <span style="font-size: x-small;">there it was! The "fins" on the "cylinders" were actually tuned to different notes, and the pedals of the tractor operated the cymbals hidden within the body. Very cool.</span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Sc<span style="font-size: large;">orching descent</span></b></span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">In our classic style we ended up spending much longer than expected chatting to the locals and seeing the sights, and it was well and truly after luncht<span style="font-size: small;">ime as we started pedalling back down the hill<span style="font-size: small;"> towards Linville. It was hot, crazy hot - <span style="font-size: small;">a look at the weather observations later in the day revealed the temperature in the area was <span style="font-size: small;">a bit over 41 cel<span style="font-size: small;">cius. Fortunately, the gradual descent meant we could easily ma<span style="font-size: small;">in<span style="font-size: small;">tain a decent speed to keep some breeze blowing in our faces.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">No shelter from the midday sun, even in the forested section of the trail.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Th<span style="font-size: x-small;">is hist<span style="font-size: x-small;">or<span style="font-size: x-small;">ic railway culvert provided us with some much needed shelter from the midday sun.</span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Another of the art installations along the trail, made fr<span style="font-size: x-small;">om the parts of old railway <span style="font-size: x-small;">carriages.<span style="font-size: x-small;"> I quite liked "the zombies"<span style="font-size: x-small;">, as the locals referred to them.</span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Pushing my bike up the steep creek crossing on the trail. It was tough work on such a hot day, although I could have <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yLeGUDjzAfk">had a shot at riding it like Jer once did</a>...</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">I was pleased that it wasn't just me who opted to <span style="font-size: x-small;">push out of the creek crossing.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Today the ganger's shed took on a <span style="font-size: x-small;">whole different <span style="font-size: x-small;">feeling from when we had ridden past at sunset. It was hot, glar<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">e</span>y and dr<span style="font-size: x-small;">y.</span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Behind the ganger's shed are the ruins of the old magazine, where the trail builders used to store the dynamite used to blast <span style="font-size: x-small;">cuttings through the spurs of the valley.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">The fires were still bur<span style="font-size: x-small;">ning near Linville, filling the valley with smoke and haze.</span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdTd-xHjZGK1cXkMSyMnRfJSVUXySbpWzzyae2Jl-bRNb68nKcKdUaMwUw7SUnwfhDcfzAqjIjsA4BTJQX5NhpZ_B3N2pZxyh3S65jo92HGZFehS69R3MjGH-6phQyUwvUs10Saba56aFZ/s1600/_RDI3072.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdTd-xHjZGK1cXkMSyMnRfJSVUXySbpWzzyae2Jl-bRNb68nKcKdUaMwUw7SUnwfhDcfzAqjIjsA4BTJQX5NhpZ_B3N2pZxyh3S65jo92HGZFehS69R3MjGH-6phQyUwvUs10Saba56aFZ/s400/_RDI3072.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">A <span style="font-size: x-small;">patchwork of different colours across the la<span style="font-size: x-small;">ndscape as a re<span style="font-size: x-small;">sult <span style="font-size: x-small;">of the recent fires.</span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Back at Linville Station. As I rode out of the station grounds one of the locals at the pub<span style="font-size: x-small;"> called out "you're nuts<span style="font-size: x-small;"> in this heat!" She was of course correct, it was sc<span style="font-size: x-small;">orching<span style="font-size: x-small;"> out there.</span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Linville store <span style="font-size: x-small;">knows how to get the cyclists in!</span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuMCwByTEivEjLVxsrxVBU43u5nv_00Das8FjOg0jOBSGXjuWpxDpDQPA8knZlLH6K7TgmnAZbDUQnvp3p2ioYcEz3t-S2UT-CQ7kp3IP1LPknrDULcMFwwe-lbU_PnV4ythrARgpdHdld/s1600/_RDI3101.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuMCwByTEivEjLVxsrxVBU43u5nv_00Das8FjOg0jOBSGXjuWpxDpDQPA8knZlLH6K7TgmnAZbDUQnvp3p2ioYcEz3t-S2UT-CQ7kp3IP1LPknrDULcMFwwe-lbU_PnV4ythrARgpdHdld/s400/_RDI3101.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">I sat o<span style="font-size: x-small;">n the steps out the fr<span style="font-size: x-small;">ont of the shop drinking a fizzy drink. In the heat and quiet of the little country town, <span style="font-size: x-small;">it was all reminding me very muc<span style="font-size: x-small;">h of <span style="font-size: x-small;">when I worked in the outbac<span style="font-size: x-small;">k of </span>remote north Queensland.</span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Linville - the true outback country town experience, <span style="font-size: x-small;">less than <span style="font-size: x-small;">two hours drive from <span style="font-size: x-small;">Brisbane.</span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">A quick blast back a<span style="font-size: x-small;">long the bitumen <span style="font-size: x-small;">back to Moore.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">It ends as it begins, chilling it up in the tearooms at Moore memorial hall.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">After unwi<span style="font-size: small;">nding with a cold drink, <span style="font-size: small;">it was time to load <span style="font-size: small;">up the car, crank the air conditioning up to a billion, and head back home to Brisbane. I thought I <span style="font-size: small;">kn<span style="font-size: small;">ew t<span style="font-size: small;">he Brisbane Valley Rail Trail reasonably well, but <span style="font-size: small;">this weekend had dished up a whole bunch of new su<span style="font-size: small;">rprises.<span style="font-size: small;"> By adding in an overnight stay along the way, my favo<span style="font-size: small;">u<span style="font-size: small;">rite day ride had now been tran<span style="font-size: small;">sformed into my favourite week<span style="font-size: small;">end getaway destination.<span style="font-size: small;"> <span style="font-size: small;">The only<span style="font-size: small;"> logical step for me now is to ride the whole 300+ kilometres of the trail all the way from Ipswich to Yarraman and back again - now there's a new adventure <span style="font-size: small;">tha<span style="font-size: small;">t has to be had!</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
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Velo ceterahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07533811267393975393noreply@blogger.com3Blackbutt QLD 4306, Australia-26.8856376 152.10285450000003-26.9139631 152.06251400000002 -26.857312099999998 152.14319500000005tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8756969351313065515.post-77388435189095200322012-12-21T19:42:00.000+10:002012-12-21T19:42:11.835+10:00Same but different: Day 1<div style="text-align: justify;">
I have ridden the northernmost section of the<a href="http://www.dsdip.qld.gov.au/bvrt-homepage.html"> Brisbane Valley Rail Trail</a> a lot. I've written about it <a href="http://velocetera.blogspot.com.au/2011/06/riding-rails.html">on this blog</a>, in magazines, and told anyone who will listen that it is easily my favourite ride in Queensland. However for whatever reason I'd only ever attempted it as a day ride. A few weeks ago that all changed when Rudi and I jumped in the car early on Saturday afternoon and hit the road to spend a night camped out on the rail trail...<br />
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As <a href="http://velocetera.blogspot.com.au/2012/12/mt-warning-and-melting-bitumen.html">seems to be my way lately</a>, I'd selected the the hottest day in ages to go out riding. When we arrived at the town of Moore mid-afternoon to start our ride, it was still well over 35 degrees and baking in low humidity. We sought refuge in the Moore Hall - despite having cycled past it many times, I'd never actually stuck my head inside to take a look.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Kicking it off at the Moore <span style="font-size: x-small;">Sol<span style="font-size: x-small;">diers Memorial Hall</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">The inside of the hall is impressive and wel<span style="font-size: x-small;">l worth a look. It even used to be a movie theat<span style="font-size: x-small;">re back in the day apparently<span style="font-size: x-small;">.</span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>A hero<span style="font-size: large;">es f<span style="font-size: large;">arewell</span></span></b></span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Given that the <span style="font-size: small;">weather was atom<span style="font-size: small;">ically hot, we ended up spending a fai<span style="font-size: small;">r bit of time sitting in the little tearoom attached to the hall, drinking coffee and chatting with some of the <a href="http://www.ambassadorsbrisbanevalleyrailtrail.org.au/">Rail Trail Ambassadors</a>. I was previously unaware of the existence of this group, but as it turns o<span style="font-size: small;">ut it were were sitting with the very <span style="font-size: small;">people who <span style="font-size: small;">are</span> instrumental in keeping the whole thing going. As we sat there c<span style="font-size: small;">hatting I couldn't help but be in awe <span style="font-size: small;">of the amount of effort they put into the trail, and the genuine excitement <span style="font-size: small;">and pride they have for the trail and their local area.<span style="font-size: small;"> </span> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span>Rudi and I ended up hanging around for 2hrs or so, just chatting and listening to stories of the trail and the area. For anyone attempting the trail, the Memorial Hall at Moore gets my 100% full recommendation for a place to stop and get in the zone for the ride. Something about talking to local people, being surrounded by local art and sampling a truly epic Devonshire tea acclimatised us to the vibe of the landscape. By about 4:30pm we decided to get moving, out into the baking afternoon heat. Instead of the usual low key start to a ride, on this occasion we were farewelled by the Rail Trail Ambassadors themselves, waving and wishing us well as we pedalled off towards the trail head. I felt like some kind of windswept and interesting explorer hero of old times. It was time to get this little adventure underway.</div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">How much crap can you fit in a 1992 Toyota Corol<span style="font-size: x-small;">la<span style="font-size: x-small;">? T<span style="font-size: x-small;">wo touring bikes, 4 panniers, a tent, 2 hand<span style="font-size: x-small;">lebar bags and 2 fellows<span style="font-size: x-small;"> would seem to be the <span style="font-size: x-small;">answer.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Rudi rides off into the afternoon towards Linville<span style="font-size: x-small;">, the next stop along the rail trail.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">The good folk at<a href="http://www.fujifilm.com.au/"> Fujifilm Australia</a> kindly provided me with a <a href="http://products.fujifilm.com.au/products/digital.asp?id=79&sid=1&pid=1220">Finepix XP150</a> to capture my future adventures on<span style="font-size: x-small;">, <span style="font-size: x-small;">we <span style="font-size: x-small;">gave it good shakedown on this trip. </span></span></span> <span style="font-size: x-small;">Here's Rudi having a play around with it - it was the first time we'd used a drop proof<span style="font-size: x-small;">, everything proof camera out on a cycle trip.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">The empty, hot road<span style="font-size: x-small;"> to Linville. My body and mind were f<span style="font-size: x-small;">reaking out a bit <span style="font-size: x-small;">starting a ride so close to the end of the day - I'm much more used to getting up at dawn and doing the whole training ride scene. Certainly the novelty of riding into<span style="font-size: x-small;"> the sunset put me in holiday mode straight away.</span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">There I go. And yes ladies, that is<span style="font-size: x-small;"> 100% genuine </span>chest hair.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Peda<span style="font-size: x-small;">lling up to the old carriages at Linville Stat<span style="font-size: x-small;">ion. A fire had been through here recently, which added <span style="font-size: x-small;">some un<span style="font-size: x-small;">u<span style="font-size: x-small;">sual colours to the landscape.</span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Cycling past the ol<span style="font-size: x-small;">d carriages <span style="font-size: x-small;">at the station.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">One da<span style="font-size: x-small;">y I will stay overnight at the Linville Hotel.<span style="font-size: x-small;"> It <span style="font-size: x-small;">look<span style="font-size: x-small;">s</span> awesome.</span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">The things (dogs?) that hol<span style="font-size: x-small;">d railway carriages together<span style="font-size: x-small;"> </span>in their natural habitat<span style="font-size: x-small;">. We'd be seeing a fair bit more of these throughout the <span style="font-size: x-small;">weekend</span>.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">Up the hill and<span style="font-size: large;"> far away</span></span></b></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Passing by the long abandoned railway carriages still sitting at the old Linville station, the trail turned the corner westwards, as we rode into another world. We began the gentle ascent in silence. There was not a breath of wind, and across the valley we could clearly see and hear a large grassfire slowly smouldering away. The sun was already low over the ranges to the west, cutting through the smoke to bathe the entire valley in a calming orange glow. Despite having been here many, many times before, I sudden<span style="font-size: small;">ly had no<span style="font-size: small;"> <span style="font-size: small;">feeling of where I actually was - the combination of smoke and sunset completely confused and excited me.</span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Rudi rides into the sunset.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">This was the first time I'd ridden a laden touring bike in the dirt since my hand surge<span style="font-size: x-small;">ry. It was all going well, in<span style="font-size: x-small;"> fact I was riding more easily than I had over the past 2 years.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Ascending <span style="font-size: x-small;">in the afternoon light.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">The view from the back of <span style="font-size: x-small;">my bike</span>.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Rudi rides past one of the many grass trees dotted along this part of the trail.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Despite the sun dipping below the Blackbutt Range, it was still wa<span style="font-size: x-small;">rm and we were going through a fair bit of water.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">By the time we neared the old <span style="font-size: x-small;">ganger's shed on this hill, the<span style="font-size: x-small;"> sun was hitting<span style="font-size: x-small;"> o<span style="font-size: x-small;">nly</span></span> the tops of the cuttings, leaving the trail in shade. I<span style="font-size: x-small;">t was like <span style="font-size: x-small;">riding in another world.</span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">We arrived at the ganger's shed right on dusk, and spent a while <span style="font-size: x-small;">quietly exploring and taking photographs. It turns out that this shed is apparently an original from the days of the railway - I p<span style="font-size: x-small;">ersonally find it remarkable that a littl<span style="font-size: x-small;">e tin structure that old is still standing, free from vandalism and destruction.</span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Some of the railway dogs are used along the <span style="font-size: x-small;">rail trail in variou<span style="font-size: x-small;">s art installations. Apparently they're <span style="font-size: x-small;">a bit controver<span style="font-size: x-small;">sial with some of the locals, but I'll go on the record as saying I like them and I think they add nicely to the whole <span style="font-size: x-small;">rusted iron aesthetic the trail<span style="font-size: x-small;"> has going on.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEila224HwVFamScsYzp9cQygDvSNmMs3iYuMLvETUfl6RxMxgLhTKq6DZRNZZgB0JiZK99QqyYpB9_OsdhtzFD_lSqCP8dY5OxZZRA0LIBNycY1hhvQ80U5uXvwrDU4Potvb7sboPo5omLa/s1600/PC010122.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEila224HwVFamScsYzp9cQygDvSNmMs3iYuMLvETUfl6RxMxgLhTKq6DZRNZZgB0JiZK99QqyYpB9_OsdhtzFD_lSqCP8dY5OxZZRA0LIBNycY1hhvQ80U5uXvwrDU4Potvb7sboPo5omLa/s400/PC010122.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Speaking of rusted iron <span style="font-size: x-small;">aesthetic, it would be remiss of me not to include a shot of my trusty Redline Con<span style="font-size: x-small;">quest Classic. I've added gel pads under my bar tape r<span style="font-size: x-small;">ecently, making a huge difference to off road comfort.</span></span></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5S5ffh3lxuY3xz9n7GUVQiPhyphenhyphenfqvA3XZEEho_hBFaZFtO7FSGvJ4ucVGmIL4lyLiG-GlsrgEhErBQsqslFpv3VJ_-kXwqoA978LPCgOouzWJ6TDkAFhrbO8SY_IwCD1uoPovqfzA6llV_/s1600/PC010124.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5S5ffh3lxuY3xz9n7GUVQiPhyphenhyphenfqvA3XZEEho_hBFaZFtO7FSGvJ4ucVGmIL4lyLiG-GlsrgEhErBQsqslFpv3VJ_-kXwqoA978LPCgOouzWJ6TDkAFhrbO8SY_IwCD1uoPovqfzA6llV_/s400/PC010124.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">I cou<span style="font-size: x-small;">ldn't help myself, had to take some arty photos.</span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBDfmFOjMBwbXZEX396R9odMmYikOZThsgQJI-UruzKclis7Jcn1AAuXRqbY29VNPDXmufXIC1gtXUU_mBN86aR-dW56ZN5loteqYDgOn-DuYdZLM4DFfFTJYvEwT905uTed0NcKUBIueN/s1600/PC010130.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBDfmFOjMBwbXZEX396R9odMmYikOZThsgQJI-UruzKclis7Jcn1AAuXRqbY29VNPDXmufXIC1gtXUU_mBN86aR-dW56ZN5loteqYDgOn-DuYdZLM4DFfFTJYvEwT905uTed0NcKUBIueN/s400/PC010130.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">...another attempt at arty photography.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB2EzXlGkCRXlIxyF22u0N6m76U4YtkX9fF17YqFr_eChYMu-Rz9ROSJDZ90TgZc2E9Qlk2QKFFKompscekcGF9xGr50r6BhgCvcWMEXiBv-Un3IheC7fZCJjqt5K7_ysgcBiFF0jCIuQd/s1600/_RDI2825.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB2EzXlGkCRXlIxyF22u0N6m76U4YtkX9fF17YqFr_eChYMu-Rz9ROSJDZ90TgZc2E9Qlk2QKFFKompscekcGF9xGr50r6BhgCvcWMEXiBv-Un3IheC7fZCJjqt5K7_ysgcBiFF0jCIuQd/s400/_RDI2825.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Rud<span style="font-size: x-small;">i takes a photo of me taking a<span style="font-size: x-small;"> <span style="font-size: x-small;">photo - pretty sure that sort of thing is what <span style="font-size: x-small;">c<span style="font-size: x-small;">ollapses the space-time continuum.</span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUuYY1AL8JdxuYvOlFfNqm59nOSiZX4BeuYgnyNfz1qAz5zJ96j1RuoK3a4ktF8nKQhp8NThhB3n0ojRnOLsuX4l7OUIfvzxsmpH8EMIAbw6Eqw4VJMYccQ1WW75AGVt4SlHgjhGla0fhZ/s1600/_RDI2809.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUuYY1AL8JdxuYvOlFfNqm59nOSiZX4BeuYgnyNfz1qAz5zJ96j1RuoK3a4ktF8nKQhp8NThhB3n0ojRnOLsuX4l7OUIfvzxsmpH8EMIAbw6Eqw4VJMYccQ1WW75AGVt4SlHgjhGla0fhZ/s400/_RDI2809.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Rudi wasn't immune to arty photo taking either. The benches along the way are engraved with the distances to the next town. Although it<span style="font-size: x-small;"> was only 16.7<span style="font-size: x-small;">km to Blackbutt, we had no plans on making it that far tonight.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">We <span style="font-size: x-small;">mucked round at the ganger's shed maybe a little too long<span style="font-size: x-small;">, and had to make haste as dark quickly clos<span style="font-size: x-small;">ed in.</span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">Camp luxury</span></b></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">We<span style="font-size: small;"> cycled into Macnamara's <span style="font-size: small;">Camp right as the last of the light was draining from the sky. As expected, we were the only <span style="font-size: small;">people there, and indeed apparently very few people camp here. I don't really understand why that is, as it is a truly premium location - right next to a bubbling creek, with toilet, tables, water and a flat area for pitching tents. We didn't even have time to sit down and relax when we arrived, and quickl<span style="font-size: small;">y set up our tent<span style="font-size: small;">s</span> and hammocks. With <span style="font-size: small;">our camp established, we prepared and consume<span style="font-size: small;">d </span>dinner - which is to say we drank warm fizzy drink and ate the cheese and bacon <span style="font-size: small;">rolls I'd bought <span style="font-size: small;">at the supermarket on the drive from Brisbane. <span style="font-size: small;">A t</span>ruly majestic camp <span style="font-size: small;">feast</span>.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span><b></b></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgllOgc0g2nR5M4C0VGMOp5nEHOaC0c0xYGnNFxIsWc0NwcyJIfxRKQaSrIED7XP_4ssluVqsRXp4PfjxKrMYflk9RtjtxXGMWtVcg5wBtEt6HcmFxzPYVMZAhHwQvxkY0W8evu96hSpTOs/s1600/PC010148.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="95" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgllOgc0g2nR5M4C0VGMOp5nEHOaC0c0xYGnNFxIsWc0NwcyJIfxRKQaSrIED7XP_4ssluVqsRXp4PfjxKrMYflk9RtjtxXGMWtVcg5wBtEt6HcmFxzPYVMZAhHwQvxkY0W8evu96hSpTOs/s400/PC010148.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Macnamara's <span style="font-size: x-small;">Camp on the Bri<span style="font-size: x-small;">s<span style="font-size: x-small;">bane Valley Rail Trail. A superb spot to stop fo<span style="font-size: x-small;">r a night.</span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Rudi tucks into the dinner of champions.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">An evening visitor who seemed very interested in my bicycle.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">B<span style="font-size: small;">y camping standards it was a pretty late night. I didn't check the time but I think I didn't go to bed until about 8pm - a very late night for m<span style="font-size: small;">e out in the bush. I lay in my hammock wanting to stare up at<span style="font-size: small;"> the stars for a while, but I just couldn't keep my eyes open. Even though I'd only been on the trail for a couple of hours, I felt like I'd esca<span style="font-size: small;">ped into another world. I'd do<span style="font-size: small;">ne this trail so many times as a day r<span style="font-size: small;">id<span style="font-size: small;">e, <span style="font-size: small;">yet </span>this overnight adventure <span style="font-size: small;">was <span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">an experience that was totally differe<span style="font-size: small;">nt, and I had a whole<span style="font-size: small;"> day of it ahead of me again tomorrow</span>. I chalked the day up as a win as I drifted of<span style="font-size: small;">f into a comfortable sleep.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span> </div>
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Velo ceterahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07533811267393975393noreply@blogger.com0Linville QLD 4306, Australia-26.8407815 152.2752195-26.9541255 152.117291 -26.727437499999997 152.433148tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8756969351313065515.post-45449939336856826902012-12-17T21:48:00.001+10:002012-12-18T10:34:49.633+10:00Mt Warning and melting bitumen<div style="text-align: justify;">
Woke up this morning at about 0500, to the usual fierce sunshine scorchy morning that non-daylight saving summer Queensland loves to dish up. The weather forecast claimed it was going to be mid-30s, so I decided the best option was to chuck the bike in the car, and head south into New South Wales for a day ride. The non-stop bogan parade that is Brisbane summer has been getting me down a bit lately, plus I've been wanting to try out a bit more riding / touring solo - heading to the northern NSW town of Uki seemed like perfect destination to scratch my riding and anti-social itches.</div>
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A couple of hours in the car and soon I was there, in the sleepy little town of Uki, near the headwaters of the Tweed River. The car was parked and unloaded, I looked at my map to get a vague idea of a loop for a few hours, and away I went.</div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">I'm a little unsure of how to do the whole "photograph a solo ride" thing, so I mostly fell back on the old favourite of leaning the bike on things.</span> </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdqgjgIoHMmFntDTUWxMVc3cqMMiCexnRpe9v0KKHuFKkiySyWocTsIBarvi_VBWw_HwEN90Z65g3bQ5IAHmBhlyHYb1CuhMmqPRiP-FM7qg-qWGnTJMr_M5AUtzErLPmCs-TOgEQxJGPQ/s1600/PC170005.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdqgjgIoHMmFntDTUWxMVc3cqMMiCexnRpe9v0KKHuFKkiySyWocTsIBarvi_VBWw_HwEN90Z65g3bQ5IAHmBhlyHYb1CuhMmqPRiP-FM7qg-qWGnTJMr_M5AUtzErLPmCs-TOgEQxJGPQ/s400/PC170005.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">The main street of Uki. A pub, a small supermarket, a couple of artis<span style="font-size: x-small;">ty gallery type places, and a shop that DEFINITELY DOESN<span style="font-size: x-small;">'T </span>specialis<span style="font-size: x-small;">e</span> in <span style="font-size: x-small;">herbal reme<span style="font-size: x-small;">dies of the non-taxed kin<span style="font-size: x-small;">d.</span></span></span></span></span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">First order of business was to ride up the main road 10km <span style="font-size: x-small;">towards the main local town of Murwillumbah. Traffic in this area is quiet and polite at the best of times, today it was particularly so due to a <span style="font-size: x-small;">traffic police blitz between the two to<span style="font-size: x-small;">wns involving numerous marked and unmarked pa<span style="font-size: x-small;">trol cars. I tried to get a high-fi<span style="font-size: x-small;">ve from one of the cops as I rode past - he left me hangin'<span style="font-size: x-small;">!</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">I'm not sure what the full story is ar<span style="font-size: x-small;">ound here, but I saw lots of signs all day protesting coal seam gas exploration (aka <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fracking">fracking</a>).<span style="font-size: x-small;"> From all accounts it's pretty damaging to <span style="font-size: x-small;">people's health and the enviro<span style="font-size: x-small;">nment, s<span style="font-size: x-small;">o I was personally pretty stoked to see people making a stand against the big corporations.</span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Bri<span style="font-size: x-small;">dge over the Tweed River. This waterway was to be my companion for much of the day, <span style="font-size: x-small;">in one form or another.</span></span></span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Riding out onto th<span style="font-size: x-small;">e r<span style="font-size: x-small;">emains of the old bridge.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Vol<span style="font-size: large;">canic heat</span></b></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">By the time I turned off the main drag, onto the small back road leading to Tyalgum, it was getting very, very warm. By my reckoning it was<span style="font-size: small;"> already well over 35 celcius. Heading towards the hills <span style="font-size: small;">it felt like I had 2 flat tyres, and my tread was making a huge a<span style="font-size: small;">mount of noise. I s<span style="font-size: small;">topped for an inspection, and it was so hot out there that the tar on the road was melting, and the road base was coming away in chunks that were sticking <span style="font-size: small;">to my tyres. I've experienced that <span style="font-size: small;">a couple of times ri<span style="font-size: small;">ding motorbikes <span style="font-size: small;">in the tropics, but on a bicycle this was<span style="font-size: small;"> an ent<span style="font-size: small;">irely new thing for me. Wasn't a massive amount of fun, felt a bit like I was riding through molasses - getting anywhere was slow going and a lot of effort.<span style="font-size: small;"> Still, I was getting into the swing of being out on the bike by now, and the fact that I seemed to be pretty much the only person idiotic enough to be outdoors in the heat was a big plus.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">The pointy bit is the vo<span style="font-size: x-small;">lcanic plug of Mt Warning. I c<span style="font-size: x-small;">ould see i from most of my ride today. It's ap<span style="font-size: x-small;">parently the first point of the Aus<span style="font-size: x-small;">tralian mainland to see the rising sun each day.</span></span></span></span></span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Solutide on an emp<span style="font-size: x-small;">ty country road heading to Tyalgum, albe<span style="font-size: x-small;">it a slightly melting road.</span></span></span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">The r<span style="font-size: x-small;">ide sta<span style="font-size: x-small;">rted off flat, but as I headed closer to Mt Warning and furt<span style="font-size: x-small;">her into the valley, everything slowly became more winding and undulating.</span></span></span></span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">This is so<span style="font-size: x-small;">me<span style="font-size: x-small;">one's private driveway over the river - 2 long bits of track<span style="font-size: x-small;">, one for each wheel. Imagine driving over that each day<span style="font-size: x-small;"> - pretty hardcore the firs<span style="font-size: x-small;">t time I reckon!</span></span></span></span></span></span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">For a wh<span style="font-size: x-small;">ile muddling a<span style="font-size: x-small;">long the melting road became even more taxing. Looking back at Mt Warning I could see it was because I'd been slowly gaining elevation <span style="font-size: x-small;">for the past few kilometres.</span></span></span></span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">It was about midday by now, and getting scorching ho<span style="font-size: x-small;">t. I <span style="font-size: x-small;">stopped in under this shelter shed t<span style="font-size: x-small;">o change my map sheet over as I approac<span style="font-size: x-small;">hed town. It was even hotter in there than out in the full sun.</span></span></span></span></span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">I arrived at Tyalgum <span style="font-size: x-small;">much earlier than I expected. I'd never been there before.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>The heart of the caldera</b></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">As the sign suggests, this town and area whole area was once basically the middle bit of a volcano. Now I'm not one prone to ex<span style="font-size: small;">aggeration or hyperbole, so I'm 100% sure the conditi<span style="font-size: small;">ons <span style="font-size: small;">today were EXACTLY like when the volcano was erupting IN EVERY WAY. It wa<span style="font-size: small;">s hot, like mag<span style="font-size: small;">ma (ie runny volcano juice). I stopped and chatted to a council worker who informed me it was 39 <span style="font-size: small;">celcius. Certainly felt like it. He <span style="font-size: small;">al<span style="font-size: small;">so informed me that the foresty road that the forestry road around the edge of the crater was c<span style="font-size: small;">losed, and I'd have to go a different way back to Uki, a way that in<span style="font-size: small;">volved about 200m less elevation gain. This was perfect for me - I got to pike out of something difficul<span style="font-size: small;">t but still feel good about myself as the excuse was rock solid.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">I<span style="font-size: small;">n Tyalgum I surveyed the <span style="font-size: small;">main street, and stopped at the shop for a fizzy drink<span style="font-size: small;"> to regroup before my attack<span style="font-size: small;"> over the bac<span style="font-size: small;">k o<span style="font-size: small;">f M<span style="font-size: small;">t Warning, back to Uki. I was sitting ther<span style="font-size: small;">e chilling o<span style="font-size: small;">ut and some French hippie looking guy came over and sat with me and tried to<span style="font-size: small;"> strike up a conversation. He was a nice enough guy, but I really didn't have much to say. I think he was a bit conf<span style="font-size: small;">used that I <span style="font-size: small;">was happy to sit there with him in silence. I finished my drink, and pedalled <span style="font-size: small;">off in the now b<span style="font-size: small;">lazing midday sun, towards the locality of Bray Creek.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span> </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">The main street <span style="font-size: x-small;">o<span style="font-size: x-small;">f Tyalgum. Pretty quiet on a Monday - a very lovely out of the way little spot.</span></span></span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">French d<span style="font-size: x-small;">ude with<span style="font-size: x-small;"> the blue pants sitting on the step.</span></span></span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">I<span style="font-size: x-small;">'m guessing this is the end of town where it all happens - the pub end.</span></span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">The conditions are an unfit cyclist on an atomically hot day who stupidly didn't have any lunch<span style="font-size: x-small;"> in the last town.</span></span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Heading south from Tyalgum on pleasant empty roads, a few tree lined avenues offering a little shade.</span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Had a funny feeling riding along here, like I'd been here before in a dream.</span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">I can confirm that sign is acccurate.</span> </div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Over the top</span></b></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">The road became progressively more undulating, <span style="font-size: small;">eventually becoming a series of sharp ups and do<span style="font-size: small;">wns. I was <span style="font-size: small;">tiring fast, and my water <span style="font-size: small;">had become too hot to drink quickly.<span style="font-size: small;"> I <span style="font-size: small;">arrived at the base of a climb that would take me up and over the "back" section of Mt Warning, where few people go. On this day I was the only one there, for the next hour or so of climbing in the dirt I didn't see another soul, and indeed di<span style="font-size: small;">dn't see another car until getting back to the main road almost 20km later. The isolation was both exciting and terrifying<span style="font-size: small;"> - I had that vaguely uneasy <span style="font-size: small;">feeling that I'd bitten off a bit more than I could chew.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">At the base of the climb<span style="font-size: x-small;">, the dirt begins.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">The <span style="font-size: x-small;">road flattens out along a ridge for a little way, still nowhere near the top. The surface for the most part was smooth, although care had to be taken <span style="font-size: x-small;">on the a<span style="font-size: x-small;">pproached to corners, pushed up into jarring corr<span style="font-size: x-small;">ugations by local rally-driv<span style="font-size: x-small;">ing enthusiasts.</span></span></span></span></span></span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">I estima<span style="font-size: x-small;">te the grade up was about 10%. It just ke<span style="font-size: x-small;">pt going and going. In thic<span style="font-size: x-small;">k <span style="font-size: x-small;">rainforest, but with no escape from the sun.</span></span></span></span></span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Ver<span style="font-size: x-small;">y nearly at the top of the climb. C<span style="font-size: x-small;">ondowie Rd is where I w<span style="font-size: x-small;">ould have ended up had I gone the steeper, more remote way.<span style="font-size: x-small;"> I was<span style="font-size: x-small;"> pleased that I had<span style="font-size: x-small;">n't. I sat down for a bit to get myself<span style="font-size: x-small;"> composed <span style="font-size: x-small;">for 10 minutes or so before continuing in the hea<span style="font-size: x-small;">t.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Trying to w<span style="font-size: x-small;">ipe the sweat out of my eyes before the self-timer went off. I failed. O<span style="font-size: x-small;">r I possibly could have been weeping for<span style="font-size: x-small;">eseeing my own death from heat exhaustion<span style="font-size: x-small;">. Either or.</span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">B<span style="font-size: x-small;">eginning <span style="font-size: x-small;">the descent I was relieved to see a sign that I was on the right track.</span></span></span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Hairpin on the way down. My steering stem bearing were destroyed before I started the ride. They were well and truly munted by the time I finished the<span style="font-size: x-small;"> 10km or so of this.</span></span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Out of the rainforest the road ope<span style="font-size: x-small;">ned up and flattened out a little, still making its way <span style="font-size: x-small;">down to the bottom of the valley.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Creek crossing as I rode into the valley. There we<span style="font-size: x-small;">re a few of the<span style="font-size: x-small;">se - cool and majestic.</span></span></span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">The <span style="font-size: x-small;">Tweed River again. My car was parked in Uki right next to the Tweed River, so I was at least on the right path to finish this ride.</span></span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Back on the bitumen. <span style="font-size: x-small;">I normally would have picked up the pace a bit, but the heat and melting tar were really slowing me up. <span style="font-size: x-small;">I estimated I had about 15km to go, and maybe 200ml of wate<span style="font-size: x-small;">r <span style="font-size: x-small;">remaining.<span style="font-size: x-small;"> This could get interesting.</span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Pleasant riding along the river, far from <span style="font-size: x-small;">everything.</span></span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">My final c<span style="font-size: x-small;">ros<span style="font-size: x-small;">sing of the Tweed River today. I tried the water, it wa<span style="font-size: x-small;">s kind of brackish and weird. I pushed on.</span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Back on the h<span style="font-size: x-small;">ighway, only 7km to go back to Uki<span style="font-size: x-small;">.</span></span></span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">I obviously utilised this facility. Completely out of water at this point.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">I started feeling really <span style="font-size: x-small;">dehydrated and very hot as I arrived at Uki. At least the town wasn't far.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">Mission acc<span style="font-size: large;">omplished</span></span></b></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">I was <span style="font-size: small;">getting pret<span style="font-size: small;">ty past it <span style="font-size: small;">as I r<span style="font-size: small;">ode into the edge of town. I was really hot, and I felt dizzy and sick. I probably only had about 400m to go back to my car<span style="font-size: small;">, and I saw it - a tap!!! I quickly pulle<span style="font-size: small;">d over and ripped off my helmet, filled the bidons and started tipping <span style="font-size: small;">them down my back and front and over my head in delight, like a beautiful lady in a s<span style="font-size: small;">hampoo ad<span style="font-size: small;">vertisment</span></span>. It was about that point I realised I was directly acros<span style="font-size: small;">s from the pub, full of patrons w<span style="font-size: small;">ho seemed pretty bemused <span style="font-size: small;">by my action<span style="font-size: small;">s. I didn't care. <span style="font-size: small;">I drank about 2L of water and t<span style="font-size: small;">ipped the rest all over myself until I was soaked. It certainly gave me the lift I needed to ride the few minutes up to the mobile industrial oven that <span style="font-size: small;">my car had become.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span> </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFBYV6TD-a4k4TGL84IZjFrFkI3sOFFF8qTrYj1kITe9Cz0iSASQQmBjLzJRasblErcEtb0Ujz58-4fnsP_Urshp97ZfOEsru6vHmSg927C-mpBBafExjuh3c34jg963fibqPsN5XbY5hy/s1600/PC170104.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFBYV6TD-a4k4TGL84IZjFrFkI3sOFFF8qTrYj1kITe9Cz0iSASQQmBjLzJRasblErcEtb0Ujz58-4fnsP_Urshp97ZfOEsru6vHmSg927C-mpBBafExjuh3c34jg963fibqPsN5XbY5hy/s400/PC170104.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">What a beautiful tap.</span> </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEii0PBJh699Ipe79Qp_vMOH1Tir8jkqlE5lpVR3q3E56ReRxJT_QtjZvmdyhhKCMo6QXV4AaXNP1fGiQCrAv7m_0NlNJubvxqpbtRvsMRULT9liXA4Vu4JRSKCak9YB3TvTRTlhv4VLHG74/s1600/PC170103.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEii0PBJh699Ipe79Qp_vMOH1Tir8jkqlE5lpVR3q3E56ReRxJT_QtjZvmdyhhKCMo6QXV4AaXNP1fGiQCrAv7m_0NlNJubvxqpbtRvsMRULT9liXA4Vu4JRSKCak9YB3TvTRTlhv4VLHG74/s400/PC170103.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">And a significant tap too! Some kind of commemorative tap!</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitJb9VWYSzMazhKBOaWtpgwPeDE6XSE5wLsnVmK1-1BIA0h8BobbIHPzIN0WLNfhhZ9bHeWDXde4oP9rMvfIkJes7jEpkECTPPsmz4UYSzgjmqalMCN2718OjqkRhq-ZxK2RRzJMQRqfFt/s1600/PC170109.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitJb9VWYSzMazhKBOaWtpgwPeDE6XSE5wLsnVmK1-1BIA0h8BobbIHPzIN0WLNfhhZ9bHeWDXde4oP9rMvfIkJes7jEpkECTPPsmz4UYSzgjmqalMCN2718OjqkRhq-ZxK2RRzJMQRqfFt/s400/PC170109.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">I was enjoy<span style="font-size: x-small;">ing an apres-ride pie and chocola<span style="font-size: x-small;">te milk when I noticed this local business. Something I was pretty close to doing <span style="font-size: x-small;">just a few minutes earlier.</span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">In t<span style="font-size: small;">erms of what I<span style="font-size: small;"> wanted to achieve, the day was a total win. I explored somewhere new, had a few riding challen<span style="font-size: small;">ges thrown in</span> (you can check out the route <a href="http://www.bikely.com/maps/bike-path/uki-mt-warning-loop">here</a><span style="font-size: x-small;">)<span style="font-size: small;">, got t<span style="font-size: small;">o get out of Queensland for the day, and I had a chop a<span style="font-size: small;">t a bit of adventure riding all <span style="font-size: small;">by myself.<span style="font-size: small;"> Maximum respect to those guys who get out there and tour so<span style="font-size: small;">lo<span style="font-size: small;">, it seems a pretty different sort of game. But I m<span style="font-size: small;">ust admit it's a game I<span style="font-size: small;">'m going to devote a bit of t<span style="font-size: small;">ime to in 2013...</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
Velo ceterahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07533811267393975393noreply@blogger.com3Tyalgum NSW 2484, Australia-28.3567473 153.20720040000003-28.468528799999998 153.04583890000004 -28.2449658 153.36856190000003tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8756969351313065515.post-88322770413428835952012-11-27T13:22:00.000+10:002012-11-27T13:44:44.152+10:00Introducing the newest member of the cycle adventure crew<div style="text-align: justify;">
This is an apologetically self-indulgent child-related blog post, so be warned - dadblog imminent...</div>
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Since my eldest daughter was about 1.5 years old, she has been right into cycle touring. I spend a lot of time at home looking at maps and reading bike books and things, and she usually joins in saying she wants to ride here and there with me. Every time I leave the house she's always saying "I want to come bike riding too".</div>
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One of the great things about being a parent is I can force my views of how the world works onto my children and they don't know any differently - in this instance I indoctrinated her into my belief that training wheels and / tricycles are counter productive for learning to ride a bike, and therefore have no place in a child's life. So since a young age she's been burning around on one of those timber balance bikes, and rides one of those little alloy scooters the 3.2km round trip to kindy each day.</div>
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Now that my wrist has been fused solid and healed, I felt I finally had the stability in my hands to get her out on a little BMX (donated by Rudi, who frequently appears on this very blog) to get her pedalling around solo. I had a burst of extra motivation from my mate Dave (who writes the MAJESTIC cycle adventure blog <a href="http://dave-livingthedream.blogspot.com.au/">"A View From Above"</a>), who I discovered had <a href="http://dave-livingthedream.blogspot.com.au/2012/05/brisbane-valley-rail-trail.html">ridden the Brisbane Valley Rail Trail with his daughter</a>. Teaching kids to ride seems like a sweet little investment in a lifetime of getting out on cycle adventures while simultaneously looking like Father Of The Year. Daughter was super keen too - I asked her if she wanted to learn to ride all by herself today, she said yes, and off we walked down to the local park.</div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Before the ride she declared "I'm going to ride my pedal bike today - don't help me!"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">I live about 100m f<span style="font-size: small;">rom a large park that joins onto a convoluted series<span style="font-size: small;"> <span style="font-size: small;">of reserves that includes creeks, bush<span style="font-size: small;">land, playgroun<span style="font-size: small;">ds, sports fields and bikeways. We walked down there, got to the edge of <span style="font-size: small;">a sports</span> field, <span style="font-size: small;">she sat on the bike and I gave her an almighty shove to get her <span style="font-size: small;">moving</span>. And she just kind of did it stra<span style="font-size: small;">ight away<span style="font-size: small;">, pedalling 39 metres on her first attempt! I <span style="font-size: small;">thought it might be a bit more complex than that, and I'd have to run around for days holding onto the seat, thereby providing me a lifetime of fatherhood memories I could later recall w<span style="font-size: small;">hile tearfully listening to <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_hcTUuzHlvM">"Cat's In The Cradle"</a>, but no<span style="font-size: small;"> - she just pretty much rode off like it was no big deal.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Off she goes! By her third at<span style="font-size: x-small;">temp<span style="font-size: x-small;">t she was getting about 80m in the <span style="font-size: x-small;">grass before s<span style="font-size: x-small;">topping. On<span style="font-size: x-small;"> her f<span style="font-size: x-small;">ifth attempt she started riding around in tight circles and weaving in and out of tree<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">s.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
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We were riding around on the grass of the sports oval, which must have been pretty tough going for her little legs, so after a while she wanted to tackle some downhills. I asked her if she knew how to stop, and she said "just pedal backwards" - she already had the intricacy of the coaster brake sorted out it would seem. We walked up a slope overlooking the sports ground and off she went - down the slope, across the sports field, off the edge of the field, weaving through the trees through a patch of scrub, before tackling the hill up to the next sports ground. After that marathon ride she suddenly stopped, and declared "my legs are tired. Tired from bike riding!". As readers would well know there's nothing I enjoy more than taunting my riding mates mercilessly when they show the first sign of weakness - and my riding mates would have no doubt be disgusted when I today said something like "that's OK, you've done a great job. Let's have a little rest." According to my speedo she had done around 2.7km of solo riding on her first time out.</div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Pleased with her<span style="font-size: x-small;">self. Note I have also indoctrinated her into my bel<span style="font-size: x-small;">ief that <span style="font-size: x-small;">adjusting the seat so <span style="font-size: x-small;">feet can rest flat on the ground <span style="font-size: x-small;">is an insult to pedalling efficiency<span style="font-size: x-small;"> - to quote her "I need the seat up high so I can go fast!<span style="font-size: x-small;">"</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
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As we pushed the bikes back home, I asked her where she wanted to go cycling next. Without hesitation she said "I want to cycle all around the world, on a rail trail!". I have no idea where a 4 year old girl could have picked up an idea like that...</div>
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...kids these days!</div>
<br />Velo ceterahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07533811267393975393noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8756969351313065515.post-91704483702991040102012-11-17T20:26:00.001+10:002012-11-17T20:26:51.705+10:00Back on the Brisbane Valley Rail Trail<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">What a year it's been. As I sit here typing this, I've spent a total of over 700hrs this year so far sitting in this office chair, working on a postgraduate uni course I foolishly undertook. University study, combined with a long recovery from <a href="http://velocetera.blogspot.com.au/2012/06/whole-lot-of-nothing-going-on.html" target="_blank">major s</a><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="http://velocetera.blogspot.com.au/2012/06/whole-lot-of-nothing-going-on.html" target="_blank">urgery</a><span style="font-size: small;">, has meant I have not been on the bike much at all this year. This lack of riding turned into kind of a big <span style="font-size: small;">problem for me - on the one hand I was wanting to get back out riding again, on the <span style="font-size: small;">other hand I'd kind of gotten comfortable with the inertia of having a convincing excuse t<span style="font-size: small;">o <span style="font-size: small;">do nothing, and on the third hand I had a lot of fear about just how I'd go back on the bike w<span style="font-size: small;">ith the <span style="font-size: small;">new wrist, and just how that would work out. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOV9pZtHngkEHOrR30wvJZPjy65yiJT8Lu8ulJB-gfvSiMr7a3kejCFqvar6G-bHNfIV4P9uxIQPRN1_u11hQg4-tR7D9Dj_IyXO06gbTVkO0zpSmLgFbwK4wNKUvFBHLgKAzl5am_B_Wl/s1600/DSCN3698.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOV9pZtHngkEHOrR30wvJZPjy65yiJT8Lu8ulJB-gfvSiMr7a3kejCFqvar6G-bHNfIV4P9uxIQPRN1_u11hQg4-tR7D9Dj_IyXO06gbTVkO0zpSmLgFbwK4wNKUvFBHLgKAzl5am_B_Wl/s400/DSCN3698.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"> <span style="font-size: x-small;">Fu<span style="font-size: x-small;">sion of my right wrist. They took bone from m<span style="font-size: x-small;">y hip, chopped my u<span style="font-size: x-small;">lna down, removed all my joint linings, bunged in a bit of alloy from my for<span style="font-size: x-small;">earm to my middle finger and bolted the whole lot solid. The plate is a permanent addition - <span style="font-size: x-small;">my wrist won't be moving again.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
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I thought I'd be three weeks off the bike, it ended up being closer to three months. A few weeks after getting my cast off I gingerly headed out for a 7km ride. It totally destroyed me - I was weak in body, heart and spirit. I stayed off the bike for another few weeks, before making a point of forcing myself just to have easy, relaxing rides. I managed 30km one week, then 35km the next, then 45km, and within a couple of months I was back up to doing 75km rides without too much difficulty. The body seemed to be getting back on track, but my head was still all over the place.<br />
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During my recovery I was keeping myself motivated by saying I'd go and ride the <a href="http://www.brisbanevalleyrailtrail.org.au/trails/fernvale-lowood.php" target="_blank">southernmost part of the Brisbane Valley Rail Trail</a>, then as each weekend approached I'd enable myself to not go for the ride somehow. It would probably rain. Or be too boring. Or be too easy. Or be too hard to get to. Or I couldn't be bothered putting the bike in the car. Or some other excuse. For a ride that starts only 60km from my house, I certainly was doing a great job of equipping myself with a whole lot of reasons to stay at home in my comfortably lazy state.<br />
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Jump forward to a couple of weeks ago, and here in Brisbane we had a visit from my wife's parents (ie my parents-in-law). I've always kind of been on the same wavelength as my father-in-law (herein referred to as Laurie), in that we're both somewhat similar in being hermits who like doing things the difficult way. Despite knowing him for over 13 years, I don't think we'd ever spent any time together just he and I. I'd been chatting about rail trails and the like, and Laurie seemed keen to go and have a look at what they were all about. One overcast Sunday morning we were faced with a choice - go with the womenfolk to some local organic market to watch people being all "passionate" and "local" and fret over "macrobiotic food miles" and other such nonsense, or get out of town and do something slightly adventurish. Laurie hadn't ridden a bike much lately, and I'd never been to the southernmost section of the Brisbane Valley Rail Trail, so we chucked my wife's old mountain bike in the car, chucked my touring bike on top of it, and got out of town.<br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">I know this <span style="font-size: large;">place...</span></span></b> </div>
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We drove into the town of Fernvale at around 10 in the morning, pretty late to be starting a ride, but we only planned to ride the first 8km of the trail before heading back for afternoon tea The whole area is reasonably familiar to me, having spent 4 years at university in the nearby town of Gatton, back in the 90s. As we unpacked the bikes and made our way over to the trailhead behind the Fernvale information centre, it all came back to me. I suddenly remembered a much less pleasant visit to Fernvale in recent years, when I was stopped at a pre-dawn checkpoint on a wet and miserable midnight century ride (which basically involves riding for 160km, starting at midnight). As we rolled up to the start of the ride, I resolved not to punish myself as severely as I did that night, and make a big effort to have a relaxed and easy day.</div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">The Fernvale trailhead of the Brisbane Valley Rail Trail. For some reason I didn't h<span style="font-size: x-small;">ave really <span style="font-size: x-small;">high expectations of this <span style="font-size: x-small;">section of the trail - I was t<span style="font-size: x-small;">o be proven very wr<span style="font-size: x-small;">ong.</span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Laurie heads o<span style="font-size: x-small;">ut of Fernvale, towards the town of Lowood.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">The trail out o<span style="font-size: x-small;">f Fernvale winds westwards through the lifestyle blocks on to edge of t<span style="font-size: x-small;">own, <span style="font-size: x-small;">next to a <span style="font-size: x-small;">q<span style="font-size: x-small;">uiet backr<span style="font-size: x-small;">oad across the Lockyer Valley.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Laurie on the mighty Malvern Star, purchased circ<span style="font-size: x-small;">a 1999. It weighs roughly as much as my car, but with <span style="font-size: x-small;">a set of <span style="font-size: x-small;">Detona<span style="font-size: x-small;">tors on it was roll<span style="font-size: x-small;">ing easily across the well<span style="font-size: x-small;">-groomed gravel surface.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
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We slowly made our way out of Fernvale, across a dead flat bit of trail running about 5 metres from the road. So far the trail was living up to my expectations - it was pleasant enough, but not exactly what I would call the full rail trail experience. Despite having not been riding in the dirt <a href="http://velocetera.blogspot.com.au/2012/03/different-kind-of-glorious.html" target="_blank">since March</a>, the whole experience was leaving me a bit cold - goes to show what a spoiled little adventure sook I've become! We rolled along past all the hobby farms and small agistments as we headed slowly west. Had I been by myself, I think I might have found this section of the trail a little dull - but I found that Laurie's excitement for the trail and being out on the bike was infectious, making for a very enjoyable ride.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">After a few kil<span style="font-size: x-small;">ometres the trail <span style="font-size: x-small;">veered from the main <span style="font-size: x-small;">road and headed high above the Brisbane River - it looks very different up here to the muddy waterway that win<span style="font-size: x-small;">ds its way through the <span style="font-size: x-small;">city of the same name.</span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">E<span style="font-size: x-small;">ven though we we<span style="font-size: x-small;">re still only about 20m from the main r<span style="font-size: x-small;">oad, we were also about <span style="font-size: x-small;">10<span style="font-size: x-small;">m above it<span style="font-size: x-small;">, s<span style="font-size: x-small;">o <span style="font-size: x-small;">w<span style="font-size: x-small;">e could no longer see o<span style="font-size: x-small;">r hear most traffic.<span style="font-size: x-small;"> It really changed the whole tone of the ride to have just t<span style="font-size: x-small;">hat little bit of distance <span style="font-size: x-small;">between us and the cars.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">When I was trying to find info<span style="font-size: x-small;"> about the trail on the Internet, people were saying all sorts<span style="font-size: x-small;"> of things about the gravel surface, much of it not very kind. The reality is that <span style="font-size: x-small;">between Fernvale and Lowood on th<span style="font-size: x-small;">is section of the trail, the su<span style="font-size: x-small;">r<span style="font-size: x-small;">face is smooth, firm and fast<span style="font-size: x-small;"> -</span> <span style="font-size: x-small;">a</span> kid could ride a scooter al<span style="font-size: x-small;">ong it.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">And here was where the whole tone of the ride c<span style="font-size: x-small;">hanged - some old rail infrastructure!</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Heritage happens</b></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Up to this point the whole experience had basically been a pretty nice ride along a dirt road, although certainly nothing particularly rail-ish had happened. We climbed a little further up the embankment, turned a corner and it all happened - some railway heritage. The whole tone of the ride immediately changed, and all of a sudden all the feelings I enjoyed about riding came flooding back. It truly was a great moment after so long off the bike and unsure of what riding would be like when I got back into it. It was the moment when I went from "I wonder if I will do cycle touring again" to "I'm doing cycle touring again". I wasn't the only one feeling very pleased about it all - Laurie was beside himself that all the old structures and artefacts were still sitting around untouched, in pretty much the same condition as the day the last locomotive went through.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Laur<span style="font-size: x-small;">ie was intrigued by some la<span style="font-size: x-small;">yer of rock (I'm going to go ahead and call it metamorphic), among all the <span style="font-size: x-small;">layers of sediment. He raced <span style="font-size: x-small;">up the steep<span style="font-size: x-small;"> slope for a look, as it turned out <span style="font-size: x-small;">getting up there was a lot easier than getting back down.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">An old br<span style="font-size: x-small;">ick and sandstone block retaining wall near Lo<span style="font-size: x-small;">wood</span>. Thi<span style="font-size: x-small;">s went on for ages, somet<span style="font-size: x-small;">imes about 5-6m high<span style="font-size: x-small;">. </span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Laurie's welcome to Lowood was discovering that I obsessively and continu<span style="font-size: x-small;">ously adjust my bike if there's <span style="font-size: x-small;">even th<span style="font-size: x-small;">e slightest noise<span style="font-size: x-small;">. Today it was my rear brake squeaking a bit that was d<span style="font-size: x-small;">riving me insane.</span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Hea<span style="font-size: x-small;">ding into <span style="font-size: x-small;">Lowood on the Brisbane Valley Rail Trail was very reminiscent of hea<span style="font-size: x-small;">ding into one of the towns along the <span style="font-size: x-small;"><a href="http://velocetera.blogspot.com.au/2012/01/hitting-dirt-nz-day-14.html" target="_blank">Otago Centr</a><span style="font-size: x-small;"><a href="http://velocetera.blogspot.com.au/2012/01/hitting-dirt-nz-day-14.html" target="_blank">al Rail Trail</a>, with the old line heading running literally into the centre of town.</span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Pau<span style="font-size: x-small;">sing for a second <span style="font-size: x-small;">at the restored Lowood <span style="font-size: x-small;">railway station.</span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">The trail passes within a few metres of the Lowood bakery. Obviously the only sensible thing to do was to have a baked treat and a soft drink.</span></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">In the middle of now<span style="font-size: large;">here, close <span style="font-size: large;">to everything</span></span></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Given our late start, it was about 1130 by the time we finished our morning tea. We'd only covered about 8km, and decided to <a href="http://www.brisbanevalleyrailtrail.org.au/trails/lowood-coominya.php" target="_blank">press on towards the small village of Coominya a</a><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="http://www.brisbanevalleyrailtrail.org.au/trails/lowood-coominya.php" target="_blank">round 12km away</a>. I<span style="font-size: small;">'d heard the trail got a little rougher between Lowood and Coominya, and I must admit as we rod<span style="font-size: small;">e through the town section of the line, I wasn't in love with the rough gravel surface. After a few hundred metres we crossed a stile, and all concern<span style="font-size: small;">s about t<span style="font-size: small;">he slightly rougher nature of the rail trail were forgotten as the landscape ope<span style="font-size: small;">ned out into wide open agricultural plains, stre<span style="font-size: small;">tching far away to the mountains <span style="font-size: small;">in the north and west. It was at this point the trail well and truly left ci<span style="font-size: small;">vilisation for the next 10 kilom<span style="font-size: small;">etres or so, cutting directly o<span style="font-size: small;">verland, far from any local roads.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Leaving Lowood as<span style="font-size: x-small;"> we rode t<span style="font-size: x-small;">o<span style="font-size: x-small;">wards C<span style="font-size: x-small;">oominya. The weather got a bit strange for an<span style="font-size: x-small;"> hour or so,<span style="font-size: x-small;"> but I once again felt the landscape energising me to continue, a feeling I'd <a href="http://velocetera.blogspot.com.au/2012/02/riding-to-end-of-line-nz-day-17.html" target="_blank">not really felt since getting back from New Zealand</a> over a year ago.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">The first railway cutting of the ride - exciting times.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">I was really getting into the swing of it now, <span style="font-size: x-small;">riding t<span style="font-size: x-small;">hrough a vast valley with not much about other than <span style="font-size: x-small;">weird cloud<span style="font-size: x-small;">s</span> an<span style="font-size: x-small;">d a black soil plain.</span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Even though we were still re<span style="font-size: x-small;">ally c<span style="font-size: x-small;">lose to a major urban centre and not far at all from th<span style="font-size: x-small;">e nearest town, we were both taken by how rem<span style="font-size: x-small;">ote the stretch between Lowood and Coominya seemed. It was a<span style="font-size: x-small;">n </span>unexpected treat.</span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGU0PrAiFF5NRqNEmN12JFjbOpIzCFlS4cncsaiKncdPDXIAzngYMEAQW2yzjK82prA2MzCeWF01NBoMSe4ARofY6LsOWLceS4_RlELNNd63M3TVqxp7HRmEVA4FfCYnpnfgDM1qX8qiUj/s1600/DSCN3803.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGU0PrAiFF5NRqNEmN12JFjbOpIzCFlS4cncsaiKncdPDXIAzngYMEAQW2yzjK82prA2MzCeWF01NBoMSe4ARofY6LsOWLceS4_RlELNNd63M3TVqxp7HRmEVA4FfCYnpnfgDM1qX8qiUj/s400/DSCN3803.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">It's been a long time since I've seen one of the<span style="font-size: x-small;">se<span style="font-size: x-small;"> - a deserted co<span style="font-size: x-small;">untry road. We c<span style="font-size: x-small;">rossed over it br<span style="font-size: x-small;">iefly <span style="font-size: x-small;">before <span style="font-size: x-small;">conti<span style="font-size: x-small;">nuing <span style="font-size: x-small;">along the trail.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-Hi1ZayY3Oo7wIMDW7qIJegfFNRPlVcuzv36IJebEKwbZhhPCcQtbPhnXAOEPQMQUXO6uZnHkbg-x9gttOY4XT5wCyvkiPe0XZC7Al6kZSogf8bkfPp7Gb4NsMJ0ET_bZ5J8BbfUpVazl/s1600/DSCN3805.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-Hi1ZayY3Oo7wIMDW7qIJegfFNRPlVcuzv36IJebEKwbZhhPCcQtbPhnXAOEPQMQUXO6uZnHkbg-x9gttOY4XT5wCyvkiPe0XZC7Al6kZSogf8bkfPp7Gb4NsMJ0ET_bZ5J8BbfUpVazl/s400/DSCN3805.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">When I was younger and used to drive through the area a lot in the car, I <span style="font-size: x-small;">always though t<span style="font-size: x-small;">he entire Brisbane Valley was kind of the same. Now on the bike I was amazed by the diversity of landscapes we were moving th<span style="font-size: x-small;">rough. In the space of about 15 minutes we'd gone from cropping land, t<span style="font-size: x-small;">hrough cattle grazing properties, and now were passing a lush<span style="font-size: x-small;">, green dairy farm.</span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh40IJI9kwwIozMI6ZpZ4OyiyDrf3OuiINkDDNCXuzv5LB4-CMDYhbiKjZhYkGtV5d9HpWNGu1bIfltGjXJNrIh2amvqbwT1GgA-eoSdhp3EFRaP7OUBWPLdsECU9T2M1IOjUzohNWZ8y5r/s1600/DSCN3804.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh40IJI9kwwIozMI6ZpZ4OyiyDrf3OuiINkDDNCXuzv5LB4-CMDYhbiKjZhYkGtV5d9HpWNGu1bIfltGjXJNrIh2amvqbwT1GgA-eoSdhp3EFRaP7OUBWPLdsECU9T2M1IOjUzohNWZ8y5r/s400/DSCN3804.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">As soon as we got up close to the cows, <span style="font-size: x-small;">Laurie started up with the dad-jokes. Well I can hold my own in the dad-joke sta<span style="font-size: x-small;">kes<span style="font-size: x-small;"> (I have two daughters), so I started firing back with some lame cow related one-liners as we rolled a<span style="font-size: x-small;">lo<span style="font-size: x-small;">ng. <span style="font-size: x-small;">The weather was getting very warm by this point - we were pretty surprised as we thought it would be Friesian out there (yes I know they probably aren<span style="font-size: x-small;">'t Friesian cows, <span style="font-size: x-small;">just thought I'd give you a sample of the champagne comedy on offer).</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">A very unex<span style="font-size: large;">pected <span style="font-size: large;">surprise</span><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"></span></span></span></span></b><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">We eventually came to a spot where the trail suddenly turne<span style="font-size: small;">d sharply left <span style="font-size: small;">onto a small <span style="font-size: small;">farm tr<span style="font-size: small;">ack. We co<span style="font-size: small;">uld hear <span style="font-size: small;">some p<span style="font-size: small;">eople tearing about on trailbikes nearby, <span style="font-size: small;">and I decided to continue straight ahead to see if I could spot where the <span style="font-size: small;">old rail line continue<span style="font-size: small;">d. <span style="font-size: small;">The trail appeared to stop <span style="font-size: small;">in a big clump of grass, I p<span style="font-size: small;">arked the bike and continued on foot. Pushing th<span style="font-size: small;">rough the gra<span style="font-size: small;">ss I made a very un<span style="font-size: small;">expected <span style="font-size: small;">discovery...</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEhOgbDE4BAS6uZJUIpLfYB8qFv6sZFu-Nf3T-E22gvmvMb4-VkEE8IchKdl5SvVbeUPNqgSupZJtEG81ybcaaGJhQ6NHgsr5soSgSfzDoTIab5AiHI1GnjmKOnH3j734REGApknp1wa0o/s1600/DSCN3811.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEhOgbDE4BAS6uZJUIpLfYB8qFv6sZFu-Nf3T-E22gvmvMb4-VkEE8IchKdl5SvVbeUPNqgSupZJtEG81ybcaaGJhQ6NHgsr5soSgSfzDoTIab5AiHI1GnjmKOnH3j734REGApknp1wa0o/s400/DSCN3811.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">The old rail bridge crossing high over Lockyer Creek. It certainly<span style="font-size: x-small;"> didn't appear stable enough to get a bike across, and it looked like we would have to cross the creek far below. As an added bon<span style="font-size: x-small;">us, s</span>ometime right about this point my co<span style="font-size: x-small;">mpact </span>camera went all weird - the poo<span style="font-size: x-small;">r old thing.</span></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibQkRTBY6P1D5weCxPAFa81Y7Ql1Ju8-wjAvfmEmcpTEqqETQESyewoCoFZ7vgeoEdX_OphD_oblZQlLWdPdKC2nd6Y_KldhPfMDG7lBMrObCLOx4AtdDPYhV5H297cdxCG0zDrDGNewKR/s1600/DSCN3810.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibQkRTBY6P1D5weCxPAFa81Y7Ql1Ju8-wjAvfmEmcpTEqqETQESyewoCoFZ7vgeoEdX_OphD_oblZQlLWdPdKC2nd6Y_KldhPfMDG7lBMrObCLOx4AtdDPYhV5H297cdxCG0zDrDGNewKR/s400/DSCN3810.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">I had read abo<span style="font-size: x-small;">ut this crossing of Lockyer Creek, apparently it can <span style="font-size: x-small;">be quite slippery in the wet. The climb back out the other side looked ins<span style="font-size: x-small;">anely s<span style="font-size: x-small;">teep.</span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">I was standing there looking at the bridge and creek crossing while Laurie walked out on the ricketty old structure a little way, before deciding that was act<span style="font-size: small;">ually a pretty bad <span style="font-size: small;">id<span style="font-size: small;">ea. A short<span style="font-size: small;"> distance away, <span style="font-size: small;">a gr<span style="font-size: small;">oup of local teenagers on dirtbikes and quads pulled up and surveyed us with interest. After a little while the lead guy cautiously approac<span style="font-size: small;">hed us to say hello. It turned out they were local guys and girls (<span style="font-size: small;">one on them lived on the property the trail passed through here), and they were very knowledgeable and justifiably pro<span style="font-size: small;">ud of the trail. We made the usual chit-chat for a <span style="font-size: small;">while, be<span style="font-size: small;">fore the whole group eagerly escorted us down a little track to the crossing, and <span style="font-size: small;">ensured we made it safely across. I must admit it was <span style="font-size: small;">a pretty cool encounter to have out in the middle of nowhere, and I thought it was a huge endorsement to the value that local people place on the trail<span style="font-size: small;"> as a recreational facility to showcase the region and bring pie-ea<span style="font-size: small;">ting and chocolate milk<span style="font-size: small;">-drinking tourists like <span style="font-size: small;">us through the little old towns.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Down a steep switchbac<span style="font-size: x-small;">k the Lockyer Creek crossing below the old bridge. The local lads were all concerned that I had stacked it on the way down - I had just stopped to get some photos. What a bunch of caring legends.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Laurie put<span style="font-size: x-small;">s his shoes back on after crossing the <span style="font-size: x-small;">calf-deep water<span style="font-size: x-small;">, before starting the s<span style="font-size: x-small;">teep <span style="font-size: x-small;">climb back up <span style="font-size: x-small;">onto the plain.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">This is the only bridge I've seen remaining on the rail trail - <span style="font-size: x-small;">not sure if it's the only one left along the 150km-is<span style="font-size: x-small;">h length of the line though. The dust i<span style="font-size: x-small;">n the bottom left is one of the local tearing off on his bike after he was confident we knew the directions <span style="font-size: x-small;">into <span style="font-size: x-small;">the next town<span style="font-size: x-small;"> (as it happens you just follow the trail along).</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">The local guys stopped to pose for a photo and / or laugh at us attempting to get up the steep bank on <span style="font-size: x-small;">the other <span style="font-size: x-small;">side. I opted <span style="font-size: x-small;">for the cyclo<span style="font-size: x-small;">cross run up <span style="font-size: x-small;">to the top - <span style="font-size: x-small;">i<span style="font-size: x-small;">n the process disc<span style="font-size: x-small;">over<span style="font-size: x-small;">ing just how spectacularly unf<span style="font-size: x-small;">it I've become.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Looking back across the Lock<span style="font-size: x-small;">yer Creek <span style="font-size: x-small;">railway bridge<span style="font-size: x-small;">. Not sur<span style="font-size: x-small;">e why this particular bridge is still there or what the plans are for it, but it sure adds something <span style="font-size: x-small;">awesome to the ride. It would be easy to say it should be fixed up to allow bike traffic, <span style="font-size: x-small;">but in truth I really enjoyed the little detour to the<span style="font-size: x-small;"> creek<span style="font-size: x-small;">bed<span style="font-size: x-small;"> - it added a<span style="font-size: x-small;">n unexpected touch of adventure.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">The trail runs alongside the road here. Laurie wisely suggested to ride along the road into the township of Co<span style="font-size: x-small;">ominya<span style="font-size: x-small;">. G</span>ood call.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Riding along the middle of an empty country road, how I have missed thee!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">Turning point</span></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">After a few kilometres of riding along the bitumen I arrived in the little town of Coominya, crossed over the main road next to the crowded pub<span style="font-size: small;">, and headed over to the restored station buildings in the centre of town. This place was very familiar <span style="font-size: small;">to me - we used to go to the pub boozing on the weekends when I went to uni down the road at Gatton. In more recent years I passed by there at about 2am during a midnight century ride - ba<span style="font-size: small;">ck then </span>I got out of town and realised I needed a nature break and pulled over to the side of the road to take care of bu<span style="font-size: small;">s<span style="font-size: small;">in<span style="font-size: small;">ess pr<span style="font-size: small;">o<span style="font-size: small;">-peloton style, managing to very skilfully piss all over myself, my bike and (somehow) my handlebar bag. Fortunately I had no such issues today.<span style="font-size: small;"> Looking back down the road I spotted Laurie stopped a little way away - I was unsure <span style="font-size: small;">if he was lost o<span style="font-size: small;">r having cramps or what was going on</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span>. He eventually made is way over to the station and we had a muesli bar in the shade to celebrate reaching the halfway point of the ride.</div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Exploring the old station complex featuring an assor<span style="font-size: x-small;">tment of historical ra<span style="font-size: x-small;">il<span style="font-size: x-small;">way artifacts ar<span style="font-size: x-small;">oun<span style="font-size: x-small;">d the place. Despite the overcast conditions, <span style="font-size: x-small;">the weather in Co<span style="font-size: x-small;">ominya was scorchingly <span style="font-size: x-small;">hot.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">After<a href="http://velocetera.blogspot.com.au/2012/01/rolling-into-ranfurly-nz-day-15.html" target="_blank"> riding the Otago Central Rail Trail last year</a>, I <span style="font-size: x-small;">actually appreciate the Brisbane Valley Rail Trail a lot more than I did. The <span style="font-size: x-small;">local councils and communit<span style="font-size: x-small;">y organisations have done a great job providing a real adventure experience, <span style="font-size: x-small;">with very little money and even less support fr<span style="font-size: x-small;">om the powers that be.</span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">A feral bush ute at Coom<span style="font-size: x-small;">inya - this is something of an Aus<span style="font-size: x-small;">tralian <span style="font-size: x-small;">rur<span style="font-size: x-small;">al trad<span style="font-size: x-small;">ition. The basic concept is get a ute, put truck mudflaps on it, and as many stickers, flags and aerials as you f<span style="font-size: x-small;">it.</span> This was a particularly good example, with the bed of the ute <span style="font-size: x-small;">fu<span style="font-size: x-small;">ll of <span style="font-size: x-small;">artistically arranged </span>random junk.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">Risk it for a biscuit</span></b></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">I had<span style="font-size: small;"> originally planned for us to ride st<span style="font-size: small;">r<span style="font-size: small;">aigh<span style="font-size: small;">t back down the rail trail <span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">to</span> get back t<span style="font-size: small;">o Fernvale, however Laurie wasn't too keen on the idea of bouncing along for a<span style="font-size: small;">nother couple of hours. I suggested we try the main road bac<span style="font-size: small;">k to Fernvale, along the sometimes busy Brisbane Valley Highway.<span style="font-size: small;"> <span style="font-size: small;">From my memory of a few years ago<span style="font-size: small;"> the road was mostly flat, and reasonably short (wrong!), so Laurie sa<span style="font-size: small;">id "let's risk it for a biscui<span style="font-size: small;">t" and take the <span style="font-size: small;">main road</span>. I wasn't too co<span style="font-size: small;">ncerned either way, <span style="font-size: small;">but <span style="font-size: small;">I do enjoy biscuits, so off we headed away from Coominya and out to the h<span style="font-size: small;">ighway.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">I was slightl<span style="font-size: x-small;">y economical with the facts and "forgot" to mention to Laurie t<span style="font-size: x-small;">hat there was a 2km moderate climb from Coominya up to the highway - I figured it was probably best he just did it without getting too stressed out about it<span style="font-size: x-small;"> beforehand.</span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">With the <span style="font-size: x-small;">only hill of the ride dispatched with<span style="font-size: x-small;">, <span style="font-size: x-small;">we rolled al<span style="font-size: x-small;">ong the <span style="font-size: x-small;">highway towards Wivenhoe Dam. </span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Laurie had something of a trial by fire today. He went from not really riding at all, to a 45km ride with me a week ago, to riding 20km along a rail trail earlier in the day, to riding on open highway. Of course as with any ride on a main road in Queensland, he was treated to the full works - trucks, idiots in lime green commodores passing within 20cm of him, bogans beeping horns and revving engines in his ear, young dickheads in Monster energy drink caps with their ears tucked into their hats hanging out of cars yelling "oiyafuggenpooftacunnnnn!!!". All pretty standard stuff to me, but no doubt new to him.</span> He took it all in his stride though, never flinching once and always holding his ground. We stopped for a drink and the top of a hill and he said with a chuckle "good to see we have a few supporters out on the road today!". I think I can learn a lot from the way he just laughed it all off.</div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">We had<span style="font-size: x-small;"> the <span style="font-size: x-small;">pleasure of riding over the Wive<span style="font-size: x-small;">nhoe Dam <span style="font-size: x-small;">wall. Another novel experience for Laurie, as<span style="font-size: x-small;"> most people just rip over it in a car at 100km/h and don't get to see just how h<span style="font-size: x-small;">uge that expanse of water really is. I kind of<span style="font-size: x-small;"> got the feeling th<span style="font-size: x-small;">at Laurie was becoming a bit of a convert to the whol<span style="font-size: x-small;">e cycle adventure concept.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">A short <span style="font-size: x-small;">r<span style="font-size: x-small;">ide from the dam and so<span style="font-size: x-small;">on we were back <span style="font-size: x-small;">at Fern<span style="font-size: x-small;">vale. Laurie was quickly becom<span style="font-size: x-small;">ing skilled at pulling awe<span style="font-size: x-small;">some pose<span style="font-size: x-small;">s every time I <span style="font-size: x-small;">pointed the camera at something. Note to self: bring the better camera next t<span style="font-size: x-small;">ime so I can <span style="font-size: x-small;">get one of his <span style="font-size: x-small;">amazing <span style="font-size: x-small;">photo poses into<span style="font-size: x-small;"> a magazines article.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Aprés velo meal of champions = pie and chocolate milk. On<span style="font-size: x-small;">e o<span style="font-size: x-small;">f the great things about this r<span style="font-size: x-small;">ide is how ofte<span style="font-size: x-small;">n it <span style="font-size: x-small;">passes through little towns, and how many of those towns have bakeries. Pretty sure I finished this ride heavier than I when I started.</span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>I <span style="font-size: large;">finally <span style="font-size: large;">did it</span></span></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">I was so pleased with myself at the end of that ride.<span style="font-size: small;"> The ride itself was e<span style="font-size: small;">asy and re<span style="font-size: small;">aso<span style="font-size: small;">nably short (about 50<span style="font-size: small;">km), but the fact that I had actually got back on the bike, <span style="font-size: small;">made the effort to go somewhere new and spark my intere<span style="font-size: small;">st in cycle touring again was a h<span style="font-size: small;">uge milestone for me. As an added bonus, my new wrist passed all tests with flying colours<span style="font-size: small;"> - even in my unf<span style="font-size: small;">it state I had a <span style="font-size: small;">lot more strength <span style="font-size: small;">and ag<span style="font-size: small;">ility handling the bike than previously. I definitely cam<span style="font-size: small;">e away from Fernvale with a big smile on my face - I was very much "back in the saddle"<span style="font-size: small;">.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">The other big <span style="font-size: small;">b<span style="font-size: small;">onus of the day was how awesome the southern<span style="font-size: small;">most section of the Brisbane Valley Rail Trail is. I'd read mixed reviews, but after being out there for a day I can safely conclude it's awesome. Starting under an hour's drive from Brisbane, t<span style="font-size: small;">he Fernvale - Coominya section offers a prefect slice of rail trail experience, including lots of little towns to resupply at, plent<span style="font-size: small;">y of restored and original rail heritage, <span style="font-size: small;">and <span style="font-size: small;">just enough riding challenge to keep it all interesting.<span style="font-size: small;"> Definitely high on my recommended rides list and I'll most definitely be <span style="font-size: small;">back<span style="font-size: small;">.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
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As I sit here now, I have no more university study left to do - I finished my course yesterday. It's Saturday night and a huge storm is hammering Brisbane. Rain is bucketing down and the house is rattling from all the thunder. There is only one sensible option - grab a map book, sprawl out on the couch and plan my next ride. </div>
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It certainly does feel great to be back.</div>
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Velo ceterahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07533811267393975393noreply@blogger.com3Fernvale QLD 4306, Australia-27.4559047 152.6532798-27.5122657 152.5743158 -27.399543700000002 152.73224380000002tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8756969351313065515.post-31923555503013877082012-11-06T19:43:00.000+10:002012-11-06T19:45:36.187+10:00Something I can believe in - and support!<div style="text-align: justify;">
Well it’s now been almost 5 months since <a href="http://velocetera.blogspot.com.au/2012/06/whole-lot-of-nothing-going-on.html" target="_blank">my wrist fusion surgery</a>. Today was the first time I’ve actually sat down and pondered just how long it’s been since that day in June when I went under the knife to repair my destroyed right hand. I honestly thought I’d be back on the bike within 3 weeks doing easy training rides. I was very wrong - it was 3 months until I tentatively got back on the bicycle to go for a wobble around the local bikeways.<br />
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Since making those first pedals back on the velo a couple of months ago, I’ve managed to gradually re-learn how to ride a bicycle with the new wrist, to the point where over the weekend I managed to get out for a ride on the southern section of the Brisbane Valley Rail Trail. That ride will be the subject of another post soon, the focus of this post is how I’ve spent those weird months where riding a bicycle wasn’t an option...<br />
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For the first few weeks following my surgery, I wasn’t up to much. My days basically involved lying in bed, taking extreme painkillers and listening to Depeche Mode and Elton John (separately, unless there’s some duet out there I don’t know about) on my MP3 player. After that I began reading the few cycle touring books I have, and giving all my old cycling magazines another look. After about a month I felt up to a bit of light computing, so it was time to trawl the internet looking for adventure touring sites in an effort to keep my spirits up and set some touring goals for my eventual return to cycling.<br />
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After searching through the usual favourites I happened across the <a href="http://www.inspiring-riding.co.nz/" target="_blank">Inspiring Riding website</a>, by a bunch of cycle adventurers based in New Zealand (aka my most favouritest nation in the whole wide cosmos). This site struck a chord with me, as I was laying around equally excited and fearful about getting back on the bike for a new adventure. The aim of the Inspiring Riding site is simple - to inspire people to get out on a bicycle adventure - whether it be a ride to a new suburb or a ride across a new country. For me the site really captured the spirit of adventure that I was desperately trying to reconnect with.<br />
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As I loafed around for the next few weeks doing my endless rehabilitation exercises and hoping for the day when I’d be able to go near a bike again, I received an email from the team at Inspiring Riding. <a href="http://www.inspiring-riding.co.nz/adventure/2012/7/19/journey-release-1.html" target="_blank">They are producing a magazine!!!</a><br />
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The Inspiring Riding website says a lot more about it than I ever could, other than to say this looks like a publication that is VERY much on the same page as I am. It isn’t about having the best bike or crunching the most miles or riding the most technical terrain - it’s just about getting on a bike and going somewhere. The spirit of bicycle adventure really is that simple...<br />
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<a href="http://www.inspiring-riding.co.nz/adventure/2012/8/25/journey-release-2.html" target="_blank"><i>Journey</i> is a quarterly cycle touring magazine that looks to be very different to other cycling and adventure magazines - a journal that has the single goal to inspire people to get out on a bicycle adventure.</a> Something that I think the team at Inspiring Riding do so well is really communicate the essence of why I, and no doubt many others, choose adventure touring and cycling as a lifestyle. To sweeten the deal for me, Journey will contain a lot of stories about getting out in the New Zealand countryside on a bike, as well as bicycle adventure stories from around the world. So obviously I am well pumped at the prospect of getting my hands on the first issue.<br />
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To get the <i>Journey</i> project off the ground, the team at Inspiring Riding are offering <a href="http://www.pozible.com/index.php/archive/index/8979/description/0/0" target="_blank">subscriptions and a bunch of other rewards for early subscribers and supporters.</a> The funds will be used for printing, paper and production costs that will not only provide for a boutique standard journal publication, but will also reduce the need to include intrusive advertising - keeping it all about the adventure and not about the latest equipment.<br />
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The <a href="http://www.inspiring-riding.co.nz/" target="_blank">Inspiring Riding website</a> and the prospect of the forthcoming <i>Journey</i> magazine has really kept me focused, motivated and inspired for adventure over the past few months, and I wholeheartedly endorse and support the project. I sincerely recommend you check out the <a href="http://www.pozible.com/index.php/archive/index/8979/description/0/0" target="_blank"><i>Journey</i> supporters and subscription page</a>, and consider getting involved with this startup publication by cycle adventurers, for cycle adventurers. And be sure to check out the video on the supporters page - it was watching those guys sum up the reasons we ride that made me get off my sorry convalescing arse and get back out on the road!</div>
Velo ceterahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07533811267393975393noreply@blogger.com0