Mt Warning and melting bitumen

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.

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.

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.

The main street of Uki.  A pub, a small supermarket, a couple of artisty gallery type places, and a shop that DEFINITELY DOESN'T specialise in herbal remedies of the non-taxed kind.

First order of business was to ride up the main road 10km 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 traffic police blitz between the two towns involving numerous marked and unmarked patrol cars.  I tried to get a high-five from one of the cops as I rode past - he left me hangin'!

 I'm not sure what the full story is around here, but I saw lots of signs all day protesting coal seam gas exploration (aka fracking).  From all accounts it's pretty damaging to people's health and the environment, so I was personally pretty stoked to see people making a stand against the big corporations.

Bridge over the Tweed River.  This waterway was to be my companion for much of the day, in one form or another.

 Riding out onto the remains of the old bridge.

Volcanic heat

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 already well over 35 celcius.  Heading towards the hills it felt like I had 2 flat tyres, and my tread was making a huge amount of noise.  I stopped 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 to my tyres.  I've experienced that a couple of times riding motorbikes in the tropics, but on a bicycle this was an entirely 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.  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.

The pointy bit is the volcanic plug of Mt Warning.  I could see i from most of my ride today.  It's apparently the first point of the Australian mainland to see the rising sun each day.

Solutide on an empty country road heading to Tyalgum, albeit a slightly melting road.

The ride started off flat, but as I headed closer to Mt Warning and further into the valley, everything slowly became more winding and undulating.

This is someone's private driveway over the river - 2 long bits of track, one for each wheel.  Imagine driving over that each day - pretty hardcore the first time I reckon!

For a while muddling along the melting road became even more taxing.  Looking back at Mt Warning I could see it was because I'd been slowly gaining elevation for the past few kilometres.

It was about midday by now, and getting scorching hot.  I stopped in under this shelter shed to change my map sheet over as I approached town.  It was even hotter in there than out in the full sun.

I arrived at Tyalgum much earlier than I expected.  I'd never been there before.

The heart of the caldera

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 exaggeration or hyperbole, so I'm 100% sure the conditions today were EXACTLY like when the volcano was erupting IN EVERY WAY.  It was hot, like magma (ie runny volcano juice).  I stopped and chatted to a council worker who informed me it was 39 celcius.  Certainly felt like it.  He also informed me that the foresty road that the forestry road around the edge of the crater was closed, and I'd have to go a different way back to Uki, a way that involved about 200m less elevation gain.  This was perfect for me - I got to pike out of something difficult but still feel good about myself as the excuse was rock solid.

In Tyalgum I surveyed the main street, and stopped at the shop for a fizzy drink to regroup before my attack over the back of Mt Warning, back to Uki.  I was sitting there chilling out and some French hippie looking guy came over and sat with me and tried to 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 confused that I was happy to sit there with him in silence.  I finished my drink, and pedalled off in the now blazing midday sun, towards the locality of Bray Creek. 

The main street of Tyalgum.  Pretty quiet on a Monday - a very lovely out of the way little spot.

French dude with the blue pants sitting on the step.

I'm guessing this is the end of town where it all happens - the pub end.

The conditions are an unfit cyclist on an atomically hot day who stupidly didn't have any lunch in the last town.

Heading south from Tyalgum on pleasant empty roads, a few tree lined avenues offering a little shade.

 Had a funny feeling riding along here, like I'd been here before in a dream.

I can confirm that sign is acccurate.

Over the top

The road became progressively more undulating, eventually becoming a series of sharp ups and downs.  I was tiring fast, and my water had become too hot to drink quickly.  I 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 didn't see another car until getting back to the main road almost 20km later.  The isolation was both exciting and terrifying - I had that vaguely uneasy feeling that I'd bitten off a bit more than I could chew.

 At the base of the climb, the dirt begins.

The 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 on the approached to corners, pushed up into jarring corrugations by local rally-driving enthusiasts.

I estimate the grade up was about 10%.  It just kept going and going.  In thick rainforest, but with no escape from the sun.

Very nearly at the top of the climb.  Condowie Rd is where I would have ended up had I gone the steeper, more remote way.  I was pleased that I hadn't.  I sat down for a bit to get myself composed for 10 minutes or so before continuing in the heat.

Trying to wipe the sweat out of my eyes before the self-timer went off.  I failed.  Or I possibly could have been weeping foreseeing my own death from heat exhaustion.  Either or.

 

Beginning the descent I was relieved to see a sign that I was on the right track.

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 10km or so of this.

 Out of the rainforest the road opened up and flattened out a little, still making its way down to the bottom of the valley.

Creek crossing as I rode into the valley.  There were a few of these - cool and majestic.

The 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.

Back on the bitumen.  I normally would have picked up the pace a bit, but the heat and melting tar were really slowing me up.  I estimated I had about 15km to go, and maybe 200ml of water remaining.  This could get interesting.

Pleasant riding along the river, far from everything.

 My final crossing of the Tweed River today.  I tried the water, it was kind of brackish and weird.  I pushed on.

Back on the highway, only 7km to go back to Uki.

I obviously utilised this facility.  Completely out of water at this point.

 I started feeling really dehydrated and very hot as I arrived at Uki.  At least the town wasn't far.

Mission accomplished

I was getting pretty past it as I rode 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, and I saw it - a tap!!!  I quickly pulled over and ripped off my helmet, filled the bidons and started tipping them down my back and front and over my head in delight, like a beautiful lady in a shampoo advertisment.  It was about that point I realised I was directly across from the pub, full of patrons who seemed pretty bemused by my actions.  I didn't care.  I drank about 2L of water and tipped 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 my car had become.

What a beautiful tap.

 And a significant tap too!  Some kind of commemorative tap!

I was enjoying an apres-ride pie and chocolate milk when I noticed this local business.  Something I was pretty close to doing just a few minutes earlier.

In terms of what I wanted to achieve, the day was a total win.  I explored somewhere new, had a few riding challenges thrown in (you can check out the route here), got to get out of Queensland for the day, and I had a chop at a bit of adventure riding all by myself.  Maximum respect to those guys who get out there and tour solo, it seems a pretty different sort of game.  But I must admit it's a game I'm going to devote a bit of time to in 2013...

Northern Rivers Tour Day 2: Mechanical failure success!

One of the things I enjoy a lot about camping is getting up early and really making the most of the day.  And on this day, waking up at sunrise freezing cold and uncomfortable, I was naturally keen to get out of my tent and get the day happening.  Today we planned on leaving our camp where it was, and doing a loop ride south to the tourist town of Byron Bay, before heading west away from the beach and riding around the small towns up in the hills, before eventually returning to Brunswick Heads in the afternoon.

We mucked around for a while getting ready, then rode into town to find some breakfast.  Within about 400m we found the local bakery, where I scoffed a pastry, and Rudi had a a bread roll, that he claimed was literally the greatest thing since sliced bread.  Rolling back the 400m to our tents to grab our gear and head off, it became apparent something was very wrong with the rear wheel of Rudi's bike.  Closer inspection revealed a snapped drive side spoke, presumably sustained on one of the rough descents of the previous day.

The best part was that 24hrs before, Rudi had said "what's the bet I snap a spoke?"

The offending spoke

We had no means of getting the cassette off the bike, and it didn't look as though we'd be able to thread the new spoke through the pretty solid cassette, so we decided the best option was to head down to Byron Bay, quite a large town, to try our luck at finding a bike shop open on Sunday morning to help us out.  Rudi trued the wheel with the spoke missing so it was running reasonably straight between the brake pads, and we set off towards Byron Bay, about 20km to the south.

In this part of NSW, there is a wide bike path running along the Pacific Highway

Even riding out on the highway with 110km/h traffic, I felt safer than I do riding around the main roads of Brisbane.

Off the main highway and into Byron, on yet another excellent bike path.  It's really a bicycle touring dream, beats me why they can't manage this in Queensland where I live

Trying to phone around the bike shops to see who was open on a Sunday morning

Somewhat surprisingly, not one bike shop appeared to be open in town.  I suggested we jump on the bikes and go and find somewhere quiet to have a coffee and we'd regroup and rethink our plan.  Riding back up through town at about 0930 on a Sunday morning there were already a fair few people starting to come out, and all the cafes were packed.  We rode up to the beachside and while the view was nice out to sea, on the grass banks next to the beach there were already a heap of people, drinking in public on the grass and playing loud music.  I cracked it and decided we needed to get out of town, so we took a shortcut through some bushland, and headed south towards the next seaside town of Suffolk Park, about 5km away, in search of a coffee and a quiet sit down.

Nice view from Byron, but turn around 180 degrees and the park was already packed with noisy people drinking

We eventually made our way onto the road south, and found a strange little roadside cafe serving possibly the worst coffee in the world, but paradoxically one of the best bacon sandwiches I've ever had.  The setting was quiet and peaceful though, so we had a bit of headspace to think about our next move.  It was clear this bike wasn't going to get fixed today, so at that moment we threw the whole plan of the day's ride out the window, and decided to completely wing it.  Best option was an easy morning ride around the area we were already in, so we got back on the bikes and continued south along the coast road, with a view to doing nothing in particular.

The nostalgia begins

As I mentioned earlier, my family used to visit this area a lot when I was a kid, and I have a lot of fond memories attached to the Northern Rivers area.  It was in this area I first learned to ride a bike at the age of about 5, and indeed most of my exploring around here was done on a bicycle during family holidays.  Basically my parents would head to the beach for the day, and I'd jump on my bike and ride around exploring, pretending I was on some grand adventure.  Being back here on a bike certainly bought back a very strong sense of nostalgia, and I felt it was my duty to revisit many of the places and memories of the past, and in the process of doing that, bore the shit out of Rudi with endless rambling anecdotes of my youth.  It was shaping up to be a great morning for me, and probably a very boring morning for Rudi listening to me prattling on.

Just south of Byron Bay a bike path connects to the town of Suffolk Park

 Rudi already trying to ignore my endless and pointless stories

The bike path crosses Tallow Creek, a lagoon directly behind the beach at Suffolk Park

Bike path follows the beach at Suffolk Park

I ended up riding into this deep sand while trying to put my camera away - came very close to stacking it!

My strongest memory of this bike path was in the summer of 1991 - I would tear up and down it all day, listening to Achtung Baby by U2 on my cassette walkman.  Good times

We rode through the streets of Suffolk Park and back out onto the main road for a while, before turning east towards the headland of Broken Head.  After heading down a rough descent, we were spat out at a mostly empty and entirely pleasant beach.  We stood at the top of the sand dunes for a while, neither of us particularly wanting to ride back up the climb to the road, so I suggested we ride along the beach back up to Cape Byron.  Riding on the beach was something Rudi had apparently never done before, and indeed it is a bit frowned upon by those "in the know" as they fear bike rust or something, but on this perfect sunny winter day it seemed the best way to get to where we were going.  Plus we were pretty keen to avoid that climb back up the headland.

The mostly deserted beach at Broken Head

Me riding to the southern end of the beach

Posing for some photos with the bikes

Heading north on the hard packed sand at low tide

As we headed off through the salt spray, we could see our destination of Cape Byron ahead, about 7km up the beach.  Riding on the beach was pretty easy going, sitting on about 20km/h, feeling free as a bird with no cars, no roads, no nothing.  Just the sun, the sand and the breeze - it was definitely one of the best moments I've had on a bike for a long, long time.  As we headed further north, the few people we did encounter did seem fairly confused at the sight of two road bikes tearing along the sand.  We rode through the middle of a surfing competition somewhere along the way, where the judging table gave us much waving and tooting of air horns as we passed by.

Riding along relaxing and taking photos

The beach gently curving along the edge of the Pacific Ocean

Taking a photo of someone taking a photo - it's what I do

Me following Rudi along the beach

We charged along the beach, and I recounted yet another one of my awesome stories how I used to ride my bike from Brunswick Heads along the beach to Byron Bay, and back again.  In hindsight it was probably a big feat for a kid under 10 years of age to ride 50km along the beach unaccompanied by an adult.  And back in the day I carried no phone, no spares, no water, no food, I never did any maintenance on my bike, but everything always seemed to work out.  I remembered one time my dad and I were riding along the beach probably about 10km from Brunswick Heads, when I thought it would be funny to buzz his back tyre with my front tyre.  I did it, and it caused his tyre to puncture.  We had no repair kits or tools or indeed anything on us, and he had to push his bike all the way back up the beach for 10km.  For some reason I recall he was pretty unhappy about it at the time.  Anyway I was riding along with my brain in neutral, looking at the view and chuckling about the old days, when I rode straight into a deep, soft sand drift.  The front wheel snapped to the left and started to plough in, and the whole bike started to tip over.  I was fairly sure I was done for, but fortunately I emerged back out onto the hard sand just in time to look over my shoulder and see Rudi suffer exactly the same problem.  While a synchronised crash would have been highly hilarious, it snapped me out of my daydreaming, and I rode with a bit more force and conviction as the sand got softer towards the northern end of the beach.  After about half an hour of cruising along the beach, we arrived at Cape Byron, the most easterly point of Australia.  From there we got onto the main road out of Byron Bay, and headed north along the Pacific Highway back to our camp at Brunswick Heads.

Rudi headed to the most easterly point of Australia, in the distance

Hands in the drops to enhance the strange sight of a road bike on the beach  

Had to push the bikes across the soft sand to get off the beach.  I tried riding it and got about 50cm

A bit of sand in the drivetrain, but nothing a squirt with a bidon couldn't fix

 

Heading back north to Brunswick Heads along the highway

Riding into Brunswick Heads on the gravel bike path running along Simpson's Creek

My nostalgic rambling steps into high gear

We arrived back at camp at about 1230, got changed out of our riding gear, and slipped well and truly into holiday mode.  We spent the afternoon ambling around Brunswick Heads exploring the town, accompanied by a soundtrack of me going on and on and on about my childhood experiences there - back in the day my family owned an onsite caravan in the camping ground we were staying at, so I spent a lot of my childhood wandering around the town exploring and fishing and riding and whatever else.  To my delight the town has changed very little in the 20 years or so since I was last there.  I took a large number of photos that afternoon, which I have included here - partly for the benefit of my sister to give her something the reminisce about, and partly to recreate the feeling of being bored to death by my nostalgia, as Rudi no doubt was by the end of the day. 

Simpson's Creek at low tide, running between town and the beach

Footbridge crossing the creek over the surf beach

Looking south along the beach from the mouth of the Brunswick River

I managed to snap an old biplane flying overhead as I was standing on the beach

I sat around for about half an hour on the rock wall, relaxing in the sun, watching the waves

Rudi apparently has some rule about if he goes to the beach he has to go for a swim, so in he goes

The obligatory one-footed seagull trying to score a feed

Looking inland from the rock wall at the mouth of the Brunswick River

Walking back to town from the beach, we passed by the park where I learned to ride a bike

The old footbridge crossing Simpson's Creek at low tide

Second hand shop where my dad bought my first bike.  I was really getting into the nostalgic stories by this stage

Rudi was still keen to have a shot at fixing his broken spoke, so he headed back to the campsite to have a go.  I went back down the street and grabbed a thick shake (from the same shop I used to go to as a kid, obviously), and sat around camp watching Rudi try to fix his bike while offering vague and unhelpful advice for my amusement.

The thickest thick shake I have ever had.  It gave me an elite level ice cream headache

Sitting around camp watching Rudi unsuccessfully repair his wheel

A very successful day

Despite an hour or so of trying, Rudi was unable to replace the damaged spoke, so we decided we'd just leave it until tomorrow to deal with.  We were both enjoying being at the the seaside with nothing particular to do, and throwing the plans out the window had made for an excellent day, so we figured if we freestyle it tomorrow, things will most likely turn out just as well.  After showering, we walked back into town for a look around at sunset.  Brunswick Heads is a town surrounded on all sides by water, beaches, rivers and creeks.  After having such a relaxing day with such strong memories, I wandered around the quiet river banks in the fading light, feeling relaxed but ever so slightly melancholic - a bit like I was trapped inside a Bjorn Olsson song.

Late afternoon, with the creek now at high tide

I sat on the bank for a while watching a yacht glide silently up the river 

Town was even quieter on a Sunday night

After eating two pizzas between us the previous night, we decided to do something a bit different tonight, so we went to the same place and ordered three pizzas between the two of us.  This confused the staff at the restaurant ever so slightly, and we didn't really deserve it after riding only 60km the whole day, but hey, we were on holidays!  After completely stuffing myself to the gills with food, we stumbled back to camp, where we sat around in the cold, me jotting down some notes for the blog, while Rudi went for the powerball world championship. 

With the light on, powerballing looks pretty strange...

...but add a head spot and 15 second camera exposure, and it's art darlings!

I reckon people were definitely wondering what on earth we were doing

It was significantly colder than the previous night, so I rugged up properly before turning in.  As with the night before, I lay there listening to the sound of the ocean, reflecting on what turned out to be a very successful day.  The mechanical failure of Rudi's bike had certainly thrown a big spanner in the works for our tour, but in the end it turned out to be just what we needed.