Saturday 19th February 2005
Walhalla Goldfields Bush Bash

After our unfortunate encounter with the mysterious Ivan on our last foray into the Walhalla Woodlands I could not help feeling some degree of foreboding as we set off for another attempt to conquer the Walhalla Rail Trail. Fearing the worst, I had already removed the cleated pedals from my Norco to facilitate a possible running retreat should this prove necessary.

In keeping with the sinister feeling of the day, the weather had settled down to a strange grey mist - just the sort of day that a group of cyclists could disappear into the forest and never be seen again. I had been hoping for protection in numbers but a number of late withdrawals had left the size of the peloton in some degree of doubt. Although Johnny Seamons had assured me that he would be coming along, I certainly did not want to be caught in the forest with just John and his handbag for support.

Bob had continued his steady bicycle backsliding by announcing that he would NOT be coming, adding some gibberish about yet another "National Title". If these blessed Nataional Titles are held so often I guess they can't really be worth much. The Warby's Walhalla Ride only happens ONCE a year and therefore is of much greater significence in my book.

Following a brief pit stop at Moe, Maggie and I arrived at Walhalla at about 10.45 am and we were soon joined by Mal, Cheryl and Donald. Young Ben arrived a few minutes later, followed by Lex and Celia who had brought along one of Lex's clones with them. Willie was another sprightly German guy with a thatch of white hair and a goatee beard. (Just as well he had the beard because we could not have told them apart otherwise). Willie was also possessed of a quick, dry wit which made him a valuable member of the peloton.

By the time Ross and Estelle had arrived the riding group had swollen to 8 - but where was John? He was still nowhere to be seen. Surely he was not still worried about the weather at Cape Otway? Was he still back home in bed? The time progressed. With no mobile phone coverage we had no way to contact him, although some of the others were convinced they had seen him near Moe. Surely he could not be driving at the same speed he rides. Well apparently he does, because it took him about 45 minutes to drive the 22 km from Moe to Erica.

The final group of riders (also Hooters) ready to start the ride - from left Hooters, Cheryl, Donald, Ben, Mal, Ross, Dennis, Lother, Willie

We finally had the group assembled for the obligatory photograph, then a brief wave to the adoring fans and finally we were off. Now all that remained was to find the trail. Last year this part of the ride had taken over an hour, but Mal was convinced he remembered the correct way. "Follow me", he yelled, before disappearing out of sight in a scattering of stones and a cloud of dust.

"Where did he go?", someone asked. All we could was follow the dust cloud and hope that he really did know the way. Soon we were careering down the stony and narrow path towards Erica. It was soon obvious that absolutely no maintenance had been done of the trail since last year. The blackberry bushes now reached greedily in from both sides of the path so that they almost met in the middle. With moderate skill it was therefore possible to ensure that both your left and right legs were ripped by the vicious thorns at the same time.

Splashing through the muddy pools of stagnant water and trying to keep my nerve and my balance I was soon very glad that I was not attached to my bike with cleats. The peloton started to stretch out. Willie quickly was left behind in the bush. "Where's Willy?" I asked no-one in particular, and was answered with stony silence. From a starting peloton of 9 riders I supposed that if at least 5 made it to Walhalla, that would be a pass.

Is this the way we have to go? Looks a little shaky to me....

The trail makes a final steep climb up to the main road and this gave us a valuable time to catch our breath and regroup. It was at this point we made a fearful navigational error last year and I was determined that history would definitely not repeat itself in 2005. Mal was not so sure and proceeded to head off down the WRONG path yet again. Down to 7 riders.

I ushered the remaining riders onto the correct track and continued my battle with the blackberries. "I've got a leech", Ross cried. Cheryl groaned. John reached for his camera. I kept pedaling. No time to stop now I thought.

After about 4 km the trail widens as it follows the Thompson River Valley. This finally gave us a chance to pick up speed and let off some steam. The track then abruptly ends at an overgrown trestle bridge. Some time was spent joking about crossing the crumbling structure before Cheryl and Donald rolled up to join us. "You will have to cross that bridge" we told Cheryl. She looked up, her nerves obviously shot. She seemed past caring. "I guess I will do it if that's what we have to do", she said and started towards the narrow girder that jutted precariously out into thin air. I suspect that if we hadn't backed down and let her know that we were joking, she would have actually given it a go. What a woman !!!

After navigating around the bridge there is only a short distance to the main road bridge that crosses the Thompson River. At this point we followed the road to Walhalla. Only a few kilometres but almost all of it uphill and winding. No wonder we were glad when the township finally came into view.

It was a little surprising to see that we had actually arrived in town before the support crew. Last year they had been waiting for us for about 3 hours. At least the weather had cleared to a perfect day with blue sky and warm sunshine to enjoy. Sitting in the small park gave us all a welcome break to discuss the ride and rubbish anyone passing by. Some took the opportunity to top up their depleted caffeine levels in the nearby coffee shop.

When the support crew still had not appeared after 30 minutes we decided it was time to go looking for them. They were eventually found sunning themselves and enjoying our cool drinks at the other end of town. "Oh we didn't expect you lot to arrive for ages", Maggie nonchalently commented as I rolled up.

One of the most pleasurable parts of any ride is the socialising and it was great to be able to relax and share our experiences. It was somewhat surprising that even John seemed to be enjoying himself, with not even one complaint emitted up to this point.

Lex takes Willie for a free ride at the Long Tunnel Mine

By 2.00 pm we were getting anxious to be underway again and the decision was made to ride back through town to the Long Tunnel Gold Mine. At this point Donald and Cheryl, conscious of the considerable challenge still ahead, decided to commence riding straight back to Erica.

In order to reach the entrance to the mine you first have to climb a 100metre gravel path of prodigious gradient. We all switched to our lowest gear (some had even lower gears than others) and spun like whirling dervishes all the way to the top. One thing is certain, I could never have climbed a slope like that two years ago.

At the top we took a moment to regain our composure and fool around with the old gold mining relics, before setting off along the old tram track patthway. This path follows the contour of the valley and provides spectacular views down into the township. The air was so fresh and the surrounding forest scenery was breathtakingly beautiful that, within a few minutes, we felt like we were riding through paradise. (We just had to be careful not to turn left and go cascading down the steep cliff).

The track meanders gently past mine shafts, under dense overhead tree canopies, across small mountain creeks for about 5 km, before meeting up with a 4 wheel drive track heading down to the Thompson River Bridge. This part of the track is perfectly straight for about 600m and drops at about 1 in 4 gradient. As I gritted my teeth and grabbed both brake levers I only hoped that wheels would have enough traction to stop me flying out of control all the way to the bottom.

Hooters with red hot rims nearing the bottom of the Mother of all Hills

About 10 minutes later we were safely at the bottom and I was able to start breathing again. My red hot rims gave witness to the fact that it had, indeed been the "mother of all descents". The next 30 minutes or so gave as a chance to wait until the rest of the riders regrouped at the Bridge. John surprised us yet again, by tackling the descent, albeit with a white face and with clenched fingers that had to be prized off his brake levers as the end. By the time the blood had returned to his brain he announced that he would ride no further and would travel the rest of the way lying down in the back of his car.

This left 5 riders to make the ride back up to Erica. I soon discovered that, although this ride is quite short, the numerous hills make it a challenge for anyone with a real man's body (like me). As the lighweights shot into the lead I huffed and puffed, hoping for the crest and the welcome time when gravity would again become my ally and not my enemy.

The final couple of km into Erica is via a wide smooth clay topped country road. Even better, there was a long fast downhill section allowing us to get near 60 kph. What a great way to finish off a memorable day's riding. It was a pity that there was still one (unexpected) hill to climb on the outskirts of Erica, but all too soon we were gathered back at the sportsground with the support crew. We discovered that Cheryl and Donald had managed to safely pedal their way and had been waiting for us.

With the day's events drawing to a close we took the opportunity for a well earned coffee at the Erica Coffee Shop (actually Erica's only shop, and also the Estate Agent, Bike Hirer, Post Office, Post Hole Digger and part time Dentist). The owner seemed to have great difficulty distinguishing between a cup and a mug, but I could not let such a small detail spoil what had been a pearler of a day.

All that remained was a stop at Yarragon on the way home to enjoy a nice meal and some more fun at the Yarragon Hotel. Unfortunately Ross turned left, instead of right, at Albequerque and was halfway to Bairnsdale before he realised his blunder and therefore arrived about 45 mins later than the rest of us. It was refreshing to see that John had enjoyed himself so much - perhaps there is hope for him after all. Then again, on second thoughts - I doubt it!

Enjoying a hot dinner and a lot of laughs about the day's ride at the Yarragon Pub

The other major topic of conversation over dinner was the Wangaratta ride which is now less than 4 weeks away. Since that promises to be our best ride ever, it must be almost time to start oiling our chains and shaving our legs.

It's a tough life, but the Warbies will prevail......

Previous Page