April 25-27 - The Return to the Great Traverse

Read the entire TRUE story at last

For weeks we had counted down the days to the weekend when we would again be able to pit our efforts against the longest rail trail in Victoria, until at last the fateful day arrived and it was time to pack our cars and head North. Of course some packed earlier than others and hence were able to arrive at Wangaratta in time to secure the best rooms in the Motel. Others arrived later and had to be given the unfortunate news that there were no rooms left for them. Other (potential) riders had to face obstacles before they even started off, with their wives trying to prevent them from riding at all. But let’s hear the story in full.

The final team from the Warby Riders consisted of Dennis, John, Mal, Ross, Duncan, Daryl and Bob (aka “crasher”). They were assisted in some measure by the support crew, consisting of Maggie, Joy, Stacey, Estelle, Linda O, Linda M and Fran.

Maggie and I headed off nice and early and were able to enjoy a lovely drive to Wangaratta, arriving about 11 am, and were therefore able to secure the best room in the motel (complete with extra bed, video player, spa bath, waterbed and resident masseur.)

Bob was still recovering from his recent string of spectacular crashes and was on strict doctor’s orders not to go near a bike for at least six months, but tried to sneak his bike into his new car, hoping that Fran would not notice. Of course Fran was not fooled and immediately proceeded to unpack it again. This resulted in a nasty domestic incident outside his house which was only resolved when Bob assured Fran that he had no intention of actually riding the bike – he just needed to take it along for companionship. Fran finally relented and allowed it to stay in the car, providing he promised to stay off the trail. Bob smiled slyly and said “sure thing, my precious”.

Relaxing by the Pool

By mid afternoon most of the teams had assembled near the motel pool and started to make plans for the weekend. There was still no sign of Ross and Estelle, but a quick mobile call indicated that they were not far away. This gave just enough time for a quick consultation with the motel manager, so that when the tardy couple finally arrived they were informed that there were “no rooms left”. Ross started to hyperventilate in a most alarming fashion, until Estelle realised they had been victims of yet another practical joke.

After an hour or so Ross stopped fuming and came down to join the rest of the team by the pool. By this time we were all starting to get hungry and decided that the booking at the restaurant for 7 pm was a little late. All agreed that it would be OK to turn up at 6.30 pm so that we could get in some early eating.

The only problem was that when we turned up at the restaurant, some other group was still firmly ensconced in our booked table, and looked in no particular hurry to leave. We were instructed to wait in the street until the table became vacant. At this point of time some of the riders started to experience a clear déjà vu of the last time we were in Wangaratta when we ended up so hungry we had to gnaw on mud flaps and roadkill for sustenance.

We tried to look through the window at the group sitting at OUR table, hoping that they would feel guilty for keeping us out in the cold. It must have worked for about 45 minutes later we were finally called in. It was at this point we faced another challenge – the waitresses had no idea what was actually on the menu. Undaunted by this we nevertheless placed our orders and waited (and waited) for the meals to arrive.

When the meals finally started to come in dribs and drabs, each one was announced by the waitress with a cry of “who’s this stuff belong to?” This was followed by a curious ritual of passing the plate back and forth along the table to see if anyone recognized it as being their order. In spite of this small problem, most of us managed to get something resembling their preference, and were able to start quenching their hungers.

Unfortunately Fran was not among the “lucky ones” and had to watch the rest of us eat while she waited in vain for her meal to arrive. A trip to the kitchen eventually solved the mystery – they had apparently just lost her order altogether. She was told to sit down, shut up and wait while a new meal was prepared for her. Fortunately she did eventually get a dinner and we were all able to leave fuelled up ready for the challenge that lay ahead.

It was also during the meal that Linda M and Maggie started experimenting with their special “mood indicating” nail polish. Linda delighted in showing how it changed colour when dipped into someone else’s coffee or dessert. Others suggested that it could also be used for a variety of other uses including anything from a lie detector to an arousal indicator. At this point Linda looked shocked and exclaimed “too much information”.

Later that evening I made sure that the riders would get a good night’s sleep by insisting that they all watch a lengthy video of my Nepal trip before going to bed. What a great way to prepare for the challenge that lay ahead.

Saturday morning dawned bright and clear – just the type of day we had been hoping for. By 7.30 am all the riders were assembled in the carpark, ready and eager to head off. By this time Bob had decided that his leg was just about healed now, and that he should be able to at least roll down the hill from Beechworth to Everton. John fussed around with his teddy bear flag trying to reattach it to his bike. The rest of the riders reminded John just how painful it could be to have a flag pole inserted into his nether regions and with a passing farewell to the crew we pedaled off down the main street.

We had not traveled more than about 200 metres before we realized that John was already missing. Surely he had not stopped for a rest already. We waited and waited until he was seen meandering up the road towards the rest of the peloton. At last we could form up and start to tick of some kilometers. Several minutes later we reached the start of the trail and started to rotate the pedals. This was what we had come so far to do and it was great to be finally underway.

We managed to complete about 1 km of the trail without incidents or accidents, until someone turned around and noticed that John had again gone missing in action. A search party was quickly constituted and it was soon revealed that he had apparently forgotten his gloves and had sent a message for Joy to bring them to him. The rest of the riders waited by the side of the ride for the missing gloves to be relayed to him. When, after 20 minutes the gloves had still not arrived, John decided to look in his pocket and guess what he found !

By this time we were well behind schedule and needed to make up for lost time, but at least we were all together again and heading in the same direction. Mal and Duncan decided early in the piece that they did not want to be seen riding with the rest of us and soon disappeared into the distance. John also decided that he did not want to ride with us either and disappeared in the opposite direction. The peloton was already severely fragmented but we knew that we would soon be able to regroup at Everton Station.

About an hour out of Wangaratta we reached the station and began the long wait for John. When he still had not arrived 20 mins later we started to worry. We noticed a couple of elderly riders on mountain bikes coming along the track and asked them if they had happened to see our missing rider. They replied that they did notice a rather suspicious old character on the side of the trail doing stretching exercises and calisthenics. Worrying that he looked a little like the notorious “Everton Flasher” they had decided to give him a wide berth as they passed. Their description left us in no doubt that it must have been John they had seen.

A few minutes later we began to hear a strange repetitive sound coming from the distance. This gradually resolved into a distinct chant of “Why do we do this ?”, and we surely knew that John could not be far away. While all this was going on, Bob had quietly arrived at the station to welcome his riding mates, and judging by the smirk on his face it was eminently obvious that he had more planned than just a “roll down the hill”. John eventually arrived and promptly collapsed into the back of Bob’s car and the two of them headed off to meet us at Beechworth.

Duncan arrives in triumph

The reduced peloton of five riders headed on up the long hill to Beechworth and I was soon reminded of the fact that I was the largest rider in the group. Since gravity has never been a great friend of mine I contented myself with a rearward position on the trail in order to assist any other riders that might suffer a mechanical problem or puncture. Forty minutes later we were all safely grouped at Beechworth station where Bob was waiting to welcome us by hopping around on one leg and waving a large checkered flag.

At this point of time we were all in high spirits and felt on top of the world. We were soon gathered with the support crew at the Beechworth Bakery, enjoying a well earned cappuccino and cake. By this time Bob had his bike ready and was so excited at the thought of being back in the saddle, that the rest of us (apart from Fran) could only smile.

Heading back downhill

All too soon the time for departure had arrived so the full peloton of seven riders made its way back to the station. We headed off with a whoop and a holler and quickly accelerated down the long slope. It is at such times that you realise afresh just why riding a bike can be so darned addictive. Careering down the hill at 40 kph, I don’t think any of us would have wanted to be anywhere else in the world. It was especially great to see Bob back in his customary place at the head of the peloton.

By the time we arrived back down at the Everton turnoff there was again no sign of John. Although it was evidently clear which path to take, we decided to wait for him so that he could not possibly take the wrong turn. When he rode into view we all yelled out loudly to him to show him the right way. He slowed down, and then promptly took the WRONG turn and headed back towards Wangaratta! We kept yelling, he kept riding.

At this point we could see the Great Traverse quickly degenerating into a “Great Reverse” all the way back to Bowser. We quickly deputized Duncan into the role of pursuit rider and sent him on his way down the trail, with instructions to catch John and give him a hiding. Duncan disappeared into the distance at a furious rate of knots. We waited, and waited, and waited.

The next sight we saw was John quietly pedaling up the trail towards us, as if nothing had happened. When we asked what happened to Duncan, we were informed that he did not see him at all. Since Duncan had no mobile phone, the situation was starting to look desperate. Duncan could literally be chasing a phantom all the way back to the start of the trail. Mal tuned to John and said “This is another fine mess you’ve gotten us into”, and looked about to behave in a very unpastorly fashion, just as Duncan reappeared riding towards us. Fortunately disaster had been narrowly averted and we all resumed our progress towards Myrtleford.

At this point I turned to remind Bob that he was only meant to ride DOWN the hill. But where was Bob? He had rocketed up the trail and was rapidly vanishing into the distance. Obviously some sort of miracle must have occurred during the descent, or else Bob’s hormones were stronger than his common sense.

Ross and I set off after the peloton but by this time any real challenge to Mal, Duncan, Daryl and Bob was doomed to failure. We also faced the additional problem of having a new type of debris on the trail – small pieces of surgical appliances, catheters, drain tubes, screws and other assorted fragments of metal that had fallen off Bob while he was riding. I suppose that’s one way to lose weight.

Apparently Bob’s hip was not the only part of his anatomy that was put out of action in his accident. His braking hand was also apparently not working, as he did not manage to stop his bike until he had reached the public park in the main street of Myrtleford. He climbed off and hopped about like Monty Burns exclaiming that he felt the best he had in weeks.

relaxing in the park for lunch

After a relaxing picnic with the support crew, the girls all rolled up their pants to reveal their latest folly. Each of the women was sporting an ankle tattoo! And they reckon that WE don’t act our ages!

With only a little over 30 km left to ride until Bright we remounted our bikes and resumed our journey. Unfortunately Fran had hidden Bob’s bike and threatened him with another broken leg if he dared to get back on the bike again that day, so the peloton was again reduced to five riders plus John. When John loudly asked (for the 17th time that day) “Why do we do this?”, we decided that the best way to look after John would be to surround him with riders and not let him out of our sight.

This approach seemed to work well with a tight formation maintained for the next 30 minutes, however at this point John exclaimed that his resolve had disintegrated and that he could go no further. He resisted all attempts to encourage him to try a little harder, and instead called for his driver to collect him.

At this point the peloton started to break up with a distinct lack of discipline shown by Mal, Duncan and Daryl who quickly left Ross and me in their wake. We had no alternative other than admit that they were obviously sillier than us and allowed them to escape.

The pace gradually increased at this stage, probably because we could almost imagine the soft beds of the Bright Motel beckoning us on. By the time I reached the outskirts of Porpunkah I could see Daryl and Mal in the distance. Could it be that they were actually slowing down?

I decided to dig deep and utilize some of the invaluable stored calories from last week’s Big Mac and head off in pursuit. Within another couple of km I had caught up with them and actually passed them. This was the first (and probably the last) time in history that I had managed to catch Mal on the bike. I guess the fact that he was only operating on one lung did help a little, but it felt good to be able to wave them goodbye and head off on the final leg to Bright.

The final couple of km up to the Bright station is one of the highlights of the ride and it is always a fantastic feeling to know that the end is literally in sight. All that remained was to turn down the main street and head back to the Motel. At this point I was surprised by a passing maneuver by Daryl who had apparently just got his second wind (and I got a face full). This was too much for me to bear this close to the end so I again stood on the pedals and somehow cranked it enough to pass him again a couple of hundred metres further on.

We turned into the Motel entrance and barely managed to keep our bikes upright in the loose gravel. The computer on my bike told me we had covered just over 120 km for the day. I was disappointed that there was no welcoming committee and no checkered flag to signal the end of the ride. I was even more disappointed to learn that Mal, Ross and Duncan had taken the short cut back to the motel and thus failed to complete the full rail trail journey. I could not believe that Mal in particular would have to be marked down with yet another “DNF” rating alongside his name.

I dismounted the Cannondale and soon realised that I somehow seemed to have lost the function in my hind legs. I could hardly stand up and could only walk with a severe list to starboard (or is it “chainward”?). Maybe the seat had come off the bike and I was still wearing it. I staggered to meet the others in the courtyard and soon noticed that I was not the only one behaving strangely.
Mal could hardly breathe. Daryl had the cramps. John had lost his faculties. Ross was caressing his bike with a vacant look on his face. Duncan was looking in the mirror to see if he had another Westpac symbol on his head. And Bob, he couldn’t help smiling. What an interesting group of men.

After a period of recovery we were all off to the Porpunkah Hotel for dinner. The only problem was that the dining room was already packed so we had to sit outside in the cold. It was also unfortunate that the seats were SO HARD and had no backs on them. It felt like I was back on the bike all over again.

The good thing was that the meals were huge, well prepared and served quickly. We were soon stuffing our faces and discussing the day’s ride. Bob also assured us that, because of his huge daily doses of Horny Goat Weed, he felt no ill effects from his riding antics. Apparently the only downside of this “medication” is that he doesn’t get much sleep at night. Linda immediately chirped in with another “too much information” plea.

After the main course Bob and John ordered Lemon Meringue Pie for dessert and, a few minutes later, they were presented with the most wicked looking plate of cream and calories that we had ever seen. Apparently it tasted pretty good, but Bob was plagued by people sticking their fingers in his pie to see what it felt like.

Since the Hotel did not know how to make cappuccinos we headed back to Bright to find a coffee shop. Soon we were happily seated in a wonderful new shop with the rather likely sounding name of “Beanz”, watching a giant screen replay of a Fleetwood Mac concert. It proved to be the perfect way to wind up a great day. (A pity I had the only chair that faced the wrong way, but at least it was soft.) It was at this time that we learned that Daryl and Linda would not be able to complete the reverse ride but would have to leave early the next morning.

As we retired for the night we all hoped that the next day would dawn bright and clear, although the weather forecast had been less than promising. The beds were warm and inviting and I am sure that sleep came easily for all of us. We had already decided that a 9 am start on Sunday would be quite adequate for us to make Wangaratta by mid afternoon.

After a delicious 8 hours sleep and pleasant dreams of winning the Tour de France on my Cannondale I awoke to the less than pleasant sound of rain on the roof. A quick look out the window confirmed my fears – it was grey, cold and WET. This was not the way the day had been planned, after all Rob Jell had promised us two sunny days with 22C of warmth on our backs.

The wet weather peloton

As I am by nature an optimistic soul (you have to be to ride a bike), I got dressed in my lycras, arm warmers, leg warmers, rain jacket, gloves, glasses, etc and checked out the bike. Gradually the other riders arose from their slumbers and joined me in the carpark for the obligatory photo session.

We scanned the skies from horizon to horizon looking for a patch of blue, but without success. After a few final checks we were on our way in a peloton of 6 riders. Bob still had the smile on his face, although we were not sure if it was because of his success yesterday , or because of his “medication”.

We had not ridden for more than 5 minutes before the rain started again in a steady drizzle. We closed ranks and rode on in tight formation. We picked up the pace to 27 kph. Even John forgot about the speed and pedaled on like a man possessed. The rain got heavier. We all got wetter and colder. Just as well there was no head wind and the trail is slightly downhill at this point. The rain dripped from my glasses. The water seeped under my bottom. Our bikes were getting all dirty. We developed mud stripes up our backs. We continually scanned the skies in vain for a break in the clouds. This was definitely NOT the way it was meant to be.

By the time we reached Myrtleford we could not get any wetter and we all huddled in the shelter of the public toilets while we discussed what to do. John had already made his decision and within 5 minutes he reappeared changed, shaved, combed, and WARM. Duncan said he could ride on through anything. Ross looked at the dirt on his new bike while a tear slid down his cheek (or maybe it was a raindrop). Bob said that rain is no good for the polish on his legs. Mal said that his lung had collapsed about 5 km back. I said “let’s go have a cappuccino in the coffee shop”.

The short break we had planned extended for over an hour as we sipped coffee, ate cakes, had lunch and all the while watched for a break in the weather. All this was very good news for the coffee shop proprietor as word had obviously gone around that the Warby Riders were in town and soon the shop was packed. Mal planned future rides – “let’s ride up and down Mt Kosciosko in the dark”, “why not ride 800km around Tasmania in two days blindfolded?”, “we could easily ride to Cairns and back one weekend”. I think Mal must have had some bad beans in his coffee, or maybe it was his medication, who knows ?

By 12.30 pm it appeared that the rain had slowed to a downpour so Duncan, Ross and I girded our loins and decided to have one more go at the next stage. This folly soon became evident as the rain showed no signs of abating. The final straw came when I received a mobile call from Bob informing me that he was sitting in his car at the top of Taylor’s Gap and that it was “bucketing down”. It started to seem rather pointless to continue so a quick discussion among the three remaining riders saw us retreat to a small tin shelter at the side of the road while we called our crews for a rescue.

Although we were disappointed at not being able to complete the full reverse traverse we did have a great weekend anyway, and it sure was good to be sitting in a warm car with dry clothes on again. Since the rain never stopped falling all the way back to Melbourne, it was obvious that we had made the correct decision.

Will we do it again ? Of course we will, after all we are the Warby Riders and if we don’t do it, who will ?

PS The story will soon be released as a (short) motion picture. Watch for news of the premiere screening.