Assembled ready to start the ride
The members had made their opinions clear. "We want a short social ride", they demanded, "one that even John could participate in". I tried to imagine just how short a ride I would have to devise in order to be compatible with John's limited staying power and miniscule riding tenacity. What I was looking for was a ride of about 10 km length and one that would be downhill all the way. Also taking into account John's morbid aversion for riding on bitumen, this did not leave a lot of options available.
After searching through the available literature I finally discovered what I believed would be the ideal ride. Not only would we be heading away from the crowds and traffic of Melbourne in Moomba fever, but the ride would be along a well established rail trail. It was also (extremely) short AND downhill for almost all the way. What better way to pass a sleepy public holiday than for a relaxed ride from Erica to Walhalla, followed by an (equally sleepy) picnic by the side of the river? This would be one ride that even John would not be able to fault.
When the day dawned somewhat cloudy, I was a little apprehensive, but these fears were progressively allayed as the sky cleared to unveil yet another "pearler". Indeed it quickly developed into the perfect example of Autumnal excellence. This looked like it would be a day to remember, an expectation that was later to be proved correct, although not for the reasons I had originally believed.
Arriving at Erica at about 11.25 am I drove up and down the single Main St, looking for the other Ghost Riders. There were none to be seen. I drove back and forth some more, until Maggie exclaimed "There they are!" Indeed, the flourescent radioactive jerseys had again proved their worth by glowing brighter than the morning sun, and leading us to Peter, Joan , Ross & Estelle, who were already preparing their bikes for the ride and preening themsleves in their clean lycras.
Within a few minutes we were joined by Mal & Stacey, and, eventually, by John and Joy. The peloton was going to be joined by Joan for the first time, so Peter was very keen to demonstrate his extraordinary cycling prowess for his fairer half. I had carefully planned ahead by providing all riders with clear maps so that it would not be possible for anyone to get lost. Even though it was a very short ride, the complete absence of any mobile phone reception, would make it imperative that the peloton rode with discipline and skill.
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Assembled ready to start the ride |
After the obligatory photo shoot I prepared to show the group to the start of the Rail Trail. Peter proudly announced that he was an expert in navigation and would be able to find the trail in a few minutes. (Apparently he had recently completed his Masters' Degree in Mapreading at the Toyworld Cycling Academy). "This way", he shouted as he led us down a rutted cattle trail to the first dead end. As we made our way back to the start he again shouted "That way", and proceeded to lead us up someone's path to their front door.
Within fifteen minutes Peter had led us from one end of the town to the other, seeking the elusive phantasm that was the Walhalla Rail Trail. We repeatedly got out the maps (which were already getting a little tattered), but the situation seemed to get more and more confusing. Prior to our leaving we had sent the support crew on their way to Walhalla with the promise that we "would be there in about 40 minutes". This original intention was starting to look a little ambitious. After all, we had still not left Erica yet.
Rather than admit his obvious shortcomings in front of Joan, Peter doggedly pedalled back and forth, progressively scattering members of our peloton in his wake. Half an hour after our planned departure, all he had succeeded in achieving was fragmenting the group from one end of Erica to the other. Each time he discovered another dingo track he yelled "Found it", with the same degree of excitement as the legendary Archimedes running naked through the streets of Athens yelling "Eureka".
After 45 minutes had elapsed I decided it was time to ask an expert. I noticed a local who was mowing his front lawn. I trudged up to him and enquired where the Rail Trail actually started. He looked at me and helpfully said "Don't you know the way to Walhalla?". I assured him that I did know the way to Walhalla, but would certainly appreciate his assistance in pointing us to the start of the trail.
Once it was confirmed that my map was correct after all, I rounded up the "lost sheep" and led our group down the correct path to Walhalla. Almost 70 minutes had elapsed and we still had not travelled 1 km in the right direction.
Fortunately the going was easy for the first couple of km. Although the trail was a little rougher than we expected, the beauty of the surrounding forest went a long way towards settling our somewhat frayed nerve endings. At least we knew that once we were on the correct trail, all we had to do was enjoy the rest of the short ride. Nothing else could possibly go wrong.
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John trying to find a way under the tree |
About 20 minutes from the start of the trail we encountered our next major challenge. The gradient took a steep increase and soon we were huffing and puffing along in our granny gears. I thought the trail was meant to be downhill, but did not want to admit that this was really hard work. With my rear wheel skidding on the loose gravel, I finally made it to the top of the slope and noted that we had reached a major sealed road.
When the rest of group had finally caught up to me we crossed the road and looked for the continuation of the trail on the other side. Mal quickly announced that he had found it, and led us all down a likely looking track. At least it was downhill, although it quickly started to get narrower than we expected. By the time we were carrying our bikes over fallen trees and fighting off wicked blackberries that were encroaching on our bare legs from both sides, we started to think less than charitable thoughts about the deplorable lack of maintenance on such an important trail. "I will never criticise the Warby Trail again", I said as I bounced over a crippling tree root.
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Dennis leading his riders to safety |
About 1 km along the path degenerated into something of a farce. This looked more like a trek thorugh the Amazon, than a social ride along a rail trail. I had not realised that we were meant to bring machetes with us.
At this stage Mal panicked and decided to desert the peloton. As he rode frantically into the hungry bush, we knew that his mind had snapped. Within seconds he was gone and most of us doubted that he would be seen again.
I collected the remaining survivors and reminded them of the importance of staying together. We had lost one rider, and, although that could be regarded as an acceptable degree of attrition, I did not want to be responsible for any further losses on my watch.
As we huddled in the darkness of the forest, with all sense of direction lost, I was startled to hear a voice from the other side of the valley. "Where are yous going?" it said. I looked up but could see no one. Facing in the direction that I thought the voice had come from, I replied that we were "riding to Walhalla". "Not down that way, yous aren't!!!", came the reply.
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A rare picture of Ivan the Terrible, taken before
our lucky escape |
After a few minutes of this crazy conversation we were instructed to make our way down the trail, where we would be rescued and shown the way to the "correct trail". When we followed these instructions we were met by a somewhat wild looking character coming straight out of the jungle. He was accompanied by a huge dog, that I was scared could easily swallow a man whole.
Ross pulled me aside and said that he thought our new saviour looked like the notorious Ivan Milat, and when I had a closer look I had to admit that it did look like blood spattered on the front of his jumper. Not only that, but the yellow rag that he had been using to clean his chain saw looked just like it could have come from Mal's jersey.
As we carried our bikes down a non-existent path, through a creek bed, and up a steep incline, I could not help but think that this could be last any of us would be seen alive. Three schoolgirls might have gone missing on that famous Picnic at Hanging Rock all those years ago, but I could see future screenwriters making a fortune out of the story of the SIX riders that went missing on the Picnic at Walhalla.
Not wishing to tempt fate any more than was necessary, as soon as we reached the real trail, I told Ivan that we would not be able to have lunch with him after all, and yelled for all the group to mount up and ride as fast as they could. At this point, none of us needed any encouragement, and we were soon hurtling along at a breakneck pace. When we finally thought it was safe to stop, we tried yelling out to Mal at the tops of our voices, but our cries were met with the solemn silence of the forest. Well, at least we had tried to help him. That's more than he had done for us !
The final couple of km down along the side of the Thompson River was worth the horrific experiences we had endured. We knew that we were out of danger, and finally heading in the right direction. You could imagine our surprise when Mal miraculously appeared from behind. Although he was white with shock, he appeared to otherwise be in remarkably good condition. It was a relief to see that he had also escaped from Ivan the Terrible.
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The rusting remains of the tressle bridge that
almost claimed 6 lives |
After navigating a final few obstacles, including a rusty relic of a tressle bridge, we finally emerged into civilization. It was a good feeling to be finally standing at the familiar road bridge across the Thompson. Walhalla was only 4 km further on, although it was something of a pity that it was all uphill.
Peter and Joan tuned back at this point to retrieve their car, while Ross, John, Mal and I rode the final section to Walhalla. When we finally joined the anxious members of the support crew, we noted that over two hours had elapsed since parting company with them at Erica. It was nice to be able to relax in the waiting chairs and enjoy and cup of tea, and recount the "Tale of the Trail".
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Finally enjoying our picnic lunch |
With the blue sky, the warm sun, the good food and the great company an enjoyable afternoon was had by all. Walhalla has lost none of its charm, it's still a fascinating place for people of all ages. Maybe one year we should camp here and explore the surroundings on our bikes. Will we ever muster up enough courage to tackle the Erica to Walhalla Rail Trail again? Of course we will - in spite of the minor mishaps, we all agreed that it really had been a hoot, and we wouldn't have missed it for quids.
The day was completed with a nourishing meal at the Yarragon Pub with the main topics of conversation being the day's ride and our next major challenge - "The Great Traverse" in two week's time, but that will be another story entirely.
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Peter, trying hard to sell another Avanti (aka rebadged Toyworld Special) |