As I rode into the main street of Bruthen I was rather surprised to see Hank walking around the central reservation wearing nothing but his riding knicks. It was not until I drew closer that I could see that he was busy applying moist tissues to his scraped body parts. Bob Thorpe was sitting shell shocked at a picnic table with blood pouring from his leg and thigh. It seemed obvious that a crash of biblical proportions must have just occurred.
After a few minutes I was able to piece together the story. Apparently the breakaway group had been racing along the trail toward Bruthen at a furious rate of knots when Werner had lost control of his bike. When your bike weighs less than you do, this is always a potential risk when riding at high speed. Bob and Hank had been sitting close behind on Werner's wheel and had no chance to take avoiding action and were also sucked into the impending disaster. It must have been an impressive smash and I could not help but feel a little disappointed that I had not been there to witness it. On the other hand, riding a safe distance behind the pelotonic hotheads does sometimes have its own rewards. It was somewhat ironic that the three lightweight whippets had all been involved in the same accident.
While the injured riders continued their ministrations the remainder of the riders arrived and sought about the important task of finding food and drink. In spite of the accident, everyone still seemed to be in high spirits while they dissected the real cause of the mishap and sought about the correct apportionment of blame.
Just 24 hours earlier it had been an entirely different story. As Maggie and I set out for Bairnsdale I had high hopes for yet another successful cycling expedition. We had left early - about 10.30 am, but not as early as Mal and Peter. For some entirely unknown reason Peter had decided to abandon common sense and ride all the way from Monbulk to Bairnsdale. Even harder to understand was how he managed to talk Mal into sharing his folly. If Peter had been born in a different century I could imagine him setting off with the legendary Burke and Wills - but while all the rest of the expedition would be riding horses, Peter would have been riding a penny farthing bicycle into the desert.
With the temperature soon nudging 30C I was quite glad that I had the air conditioning working well as the kilometres clicked off. After stopping at Sale for lunch we continued on towards Bairnsdale with no sign of the two insane cyclists. I started to assume that they had come to their senses and called for their support crew to rescue them from their own midday madness.
It had become a welcome tradition for Maggie and me to stop at Stratford for a final coffee before the final 50 km or so to Bairnsdale. Stepping out of the car outside the coffee shop I was hit by a blast of superheated air and quickly realised that the temperature was now approaching the mid 30s. As I was just about to enter the shop I heard a distraught cry coming from 50 metres or so up the road. Looking up I saw that the shout had come from a doubtful looking character with a manic grimace on his face. At first I thought it was just one the colourful local identities (aka the village idiot), but as my eyes became accustomed to the bright light I realised that it was Mal.
When I walked up to meet them the sight that presented itself was not pretty. Peter's face looked like he had been standing too close to a nuclear reactor. His nose and cheeks were red raw and the sweat was running profusely down to his chin. Although some might say that he always looks like this, in my opinion it was an even more horrible sight than usual. Although not as burnt as Peter, Mal also looked like he did not have too many more kilometres left in him.
After spending a few minutes encouraging (ie ridiculing) them I was quite ready to escape the heat and resume our journey. About 30 minutes later we pulled into the motel and settled into our room. About 4 hours later Mal and Peter finally wobbled their way into the car park. By that time nearly all the other participants had also arrived and all were looking forward to a big dinner. Mal and Peter looked like they needed a hospital more than anything else. They both disappeared into their rooms.
Some time later I thought I was seeing an apparition in the car park. Although I had seen many statues of Buddha, I had never seen him walking around in broad daylight. It was not until my eyes had become accustomed to the bright sunlight that I came to realise that, in fact, it was not Buddha but Peter Warren who in his delirium had taken to walking about the motel car park dressed only in a bath towel. Apparently he had given all his luggage to Stacey to bring down to Bairnsdale and since she was not expected to arrive until 7.00 pm we were all to be inflicted with an almost naked Peter for the rest of the afternoon. We could only hope that the over stretched towel did not give way and treat us to a sight that would destroy all our appetites for dinner.
Fortunately we were all spared from a visual atrocity and all the remaining participants safely made it in time for dinner. Unfortunately the restaurant we were planning to have dinner at had decided to permanently close its doors. leaving us looking for an alternate venue. After looking at several options i eventually decided on the local RSL. As it turned out the food was quite reasonable in both quality and price. With a bulging stomach I sat down and enjoyed trying to make it bulge even more, but all too soon the fatigue from the day and the excitement of anticipation for the next day's ride conspired together to make me head off early back to the motel for a relatively early night.
In order to ensure a better night's rest I had succeeded in sneaking the bike into our room. I always find that helps me to drift off to sleep much easier when I know that my bike is safely stored within easy reach. Other bikes were not so lucky and had been unceremoniously relegated to a cold store room for the evening. Within seconds of hitting the pillow I was already on my way to the wonderful land of Nod where I would have happily remained all night if we hadn't been rudely interrupted in the wee small hours by a raging domestic going on the unit next door. (Note - it is important to point out that the combatants were NOT part of the Ghostriders).
Sometime before sunrise the feuding occupants of the next room loudly loaded their car and exited the motel, leaving their room keys dangling from the keyhole. This allowed me to finally catch up on a few minutes rest before it was time to get up and polish my bike chain ready for the long ride ahead.
When the sun soon rose above the horizon it revealed a perfect day for cycling. Poking my head from the door I was thrilled to see a blue sky from horizon to horizon. I finished polishing the cahin and started pumping some extra psi of air into the tyres. I had long ago learned that there is no such thing as "too much pressure" in a tyre. It is obvious that they wouldn't have invented floor pumps capable of achieving pressures approaching 200 psi if that wasn't good for tyres.
With the tyres finally feeling like hardened concrete I decided that the inflation was sufficient and wheeled the bike into the courtyard. There was no one else in sight. The only sound to disturb the early morning air was the sound of snoring coming from the rooms of Peter and Mal. I had no alternative other than to sit down and wait for the appointed start time to arrive, but since that was still about two hours off, I retreated back into my room and annoyed Maggie by turning on the TV and watching some early morning children's shows instead.
After what seemed like an interminable amout of time, the clock finally ticked around to 8.00 am and riders started to slowly stagger from their slumbers into the daylight. Various greetings were exchanged and the sounds of vigorous pumping soon filled the air. I was keen to get underway but not without the obligatory group photograph. We must be improving because it only took about 20 minutes to get everyone standing in a straight enough line for Maggie to take a picture. A few others also decided to get out the cameras, so another 10 minutes or so ticked by while we were all battling to hold our stomachs in.
It was at about this time that Vivienne discovered that she had made an awful mistake. For some unknown reason she had experienced and extreme "blonde moment" and had brought her road bike with her rather than her mountain bike. Since this would make it impossible for her to navigate the rail trail, she had to rapidly formulate a Plan B and decided to ride with Peter to Orbost along the Princes Highway. The rest of us would follow the trail to Orbost.
Finally everyone was ready and we rolled out onto the main road and down through the shopping centre. The weather was still fine but starting to foreshadow a hot day ahead. It was a good feeling to be finally underway. The first section of the rail trial through to the Nicholson River is sealed and offers very easy cycling. It is a pity that the section near Bairnsdale is always covered with an ample layer of broken glass, but fortunately we all managed to navigate this obstacle without scoring an early flat tyre.
Once you cross the big bridge the trail reverts to a packed gravel surface, similar to the Warburton Trail. We had received several warnings that the recent fires and floods had severely damaged the trail and that it might even be impassable. I was relieved to find that the general condition was quite good. Although there were a few culverts, the surface was quite rideable. I had taken my Avanti hybrid bike and had no difficulty apart from a short sandy section near Nowa Nowa.
We managed to all stay together for the first hour or so of riding but the discipline finally proved too much for some of the perrenial bolters who finally could restrain themselves no longer and charged off towards Bruthen, leaving the remainder of the peloton stretched out over several kilometres. This resulted in groups arriving at Bruthen over a 30 minute period. I had been riding somewhere near the middle and rode in about 10 minutes after the bolters. It was at this point that I discovered the carnage caused by the crash described earlier. Perhaps there is truth in "cycling karma" after all - those who seek to destroy the peleton are most likely only to destroy themselves in the process.
In spite of the unfortunate mishap we did spend a most enjoyable 45 minutes or so on the wide central park having lunch and a good chat. Bruthen really is a most picturesque town and the central gardens are always immaculately maintained, making it the ideal spot for an early break.
Once we left Bruthen the trial starts to climb steadily up to Siberia Crossing. It did not take long for several riders to engage in a race to the summit, with the remainder stretched out in their wake. The temperature was rapidly rising and was probably close to 30C by the time Phil and I joined the small group gathered at the signpost. The biggest problem whenever we stopped were the swarms of small bushflies which immediately descended on us. I cannot recall these ever being so bad on any previous ride of this trail. With the continual swatting and waving to keep the flies off we were all keen to get moving again and to get above the magical 20 kph that leaves the flies behind.
Eventually the waiting got too much for some of the riders and they took off with a cloud of flies and dust and headed down the hill to Nowa Nowa. I decided to stay behind and wait for the rest of the group to arrive. Three and a half thousand flies appreciated my decision.
When we confirmed that everyone had safely made the summit I set off down the hill. There was no sign of the earlier riders and I ended up riding the entire distance to Nowa Nowa without seeing anyone else. As I turned off the trail I was somewhat taken aback by the sight that confronted me. The entire township looked like it had been swallowed up in some enormous construction site. The usual sleepy hollow had been replaced with a gaping excavation - in fact the landscape had changed so drmatically that it took me a couple of minutes to get my bearings and work my way down to the General Store.
The bolters were already settled in and enjoying their cold drinks when I arrived. Also at the General Store was a group of female cyclists who had also left Bairnsdale that morning. Even though they had left about an hour earlier than us it had taken them all day to reach Nowa Nowa. They went on to state that one of their riders had suffered no less than SIX punctures between Bruthen and Nowa Nowa. This seemed like an amazing feat but one which I would have no intention of emulating. I could not resist the temptation and asked their leader if they always purchased their tyres and tubes from Peter Warren. To my surprise when I mentioned that we were from the Ghostriders they already seemed to know all about us. It is amazing just how far our infamy has spread.
After some drinks and a couple of icypoles we were ready to leave. It had been my plan to let the slower riders have a head start, but before I could say anything Werner and the Bolters jumped on their bikes and disappeared into the distance. I rode with a couple of the women we had met at Nowa for some time, but because they were riding below the threshold speed for fly strike I got tired of spitting the flies from my mouth. I soon found myself cycling alone and in fact never saw anyone else until I reached Orbost, about 40 km further on.
While I went in search of a cold can of Coke the remaining riders rolled into the park, tired but well pleased with their efforts for the day. It had been a hot, dry and thirsty ride but everyone had made it safely to the destination. All that remained was to pack the bikes and head back to Lakes Entrance for dinner.
After a wonderful shower and rest it was soon time to walk the short distance to Pinnochio's Restaurant. The crowd that was already gathered there showed that it was indeed a popular eating place in town. When the meals were served we were all very glad that we had chosen this place instead of the RSL. The meals were huge AND delicious. Phil ordered a family size pizza and proceeded to finish off the entire pie by himself. I think it exemplified just how hungry you can get after a long day in the saddle.
As is usual at such gatherings the eating was liberally interspersed with lots of laughter and reminiscences of the day's ride. I had chosen the Reef and Beef for the main course and I was 100% satisfied with my choice. It was a perfect way to end a long day.
After dinner we walked back to the motel under a canopy of bright stars and with the marvelous smell of the ocean and the sound of the incessant rolling waves. It did not take long to go to sleep.
On the Sunday it is customary to let everyone decide how they want to spend the day. While most rode back to Nowa Nowa to complete the reverse traverse Maggie and I chose to spend the morning having morning tea in Metung and lunch in Paynesville. It brought back fantastic memories we had of a boating holiday we had enjoyed with the kids about ten years ago. I was pleased to see that the jetty at Paynsville had been repaired after our ernest attempts to demolish it with our boat - but that's a whole new story.
Another memorable "Warby Weekend".