Gearing up for a fatbike odyssey

I pulled the go button a crap load of gear today. Flush with Xmas/birthday money and with only a little more than a month till we start pedalling, I needed to get my schtuff in order.  Today’s online shopping netted:

Tent

Boat

Paddle

It isn’t lost upon me that my paddle is worth three times as much as the boat, however I figure I will be able to use the paddle when I finally get around to getting an alpaca (right after I sell a kidney).

The tent is actually pretty light for a 2 person model. If you check the rest of the weights amongst other models, most weigh at least 2.3 kgs. It will also be perfect for short hiking trips with the Mrs. I got it for this trip as it is a little more luxurious than sleeping in a bivvy bag in this crummy La Nina summer. I’m picturing spending a few nights in heavy rain and this little baby will see me snug as a bug.

I’m so excited about this trip I can barely sit still. It is so far removed from anything I’ve done before that I have no idea what to expect. I’m guessing lots of photos and big smiles!

 

 

Moonlander Rack

In order to strap a crappy plastic boat to my bike for the fatbike odyssey, I needed to get my symmetrical rack to fit my wonky arsed bike. Without some re-engineering, the rack sat awkwardly rubbing the tyre on one side and flapping in the breeze on the other side.

In the true spirit of a bike shop mechanic, I grabbed hammer and started wailing on it. It didn’t bend as I needed so I got a bigger hammer.

I may or may not have cracked one of the welds on the rack but after several complicated bends, it fit reasonably well. The shiny silver stays are meant to go onto rack mounts on the seat stays but they are way too short so I improvised and instead joined them to the seat post collar bolt. Apparently Salsa make a nifty little seat post collar that which accomplishes the same thing so I will probably change it over at some point.

Next comes the front rack which I haven’t decided upon. I intend to put the tent on it so it won’t have to carry too much weight, perhaps 3 Kg so i’m thinking the Salsa Minimalist rack looks pretty trick  from what I’ve seen on MTBR. I’ll probably order one of those shortly and post some photos when I get it set up.

I have a ride in mid January that I will use to put the racks through their paces and do my best to break them. I’d rather have it happen on an overnighter than on the first day of a 10 day ride.

The rack is pretty centred to the tyre - It is wonky in just the right way

A spontaneous adventure p4

Yarramalong store is a quaint mix between styalized cafe culture and ye olde general store. They have a pokey little general store that has everything a bikepacker could ever dream of (including patch kits) along with a cafe with an amazing menu of warm hot food. To top it off, they had a guitarist strumming out tunes in the golden afternoon sun which begged us to linger and listen. Food was consumed, water was topped up and phone numbers exchanged with the musician to hook something up for the Paterson Kona 24 and we were on our way again.

Rolling through the Yarramalong valley, we again paused and lingered at the bottom of the hill and stared at the blue bird sky and listened to the breeze rustle the trees. We knew the climb that lay ahead was long and constant so there was no point in rushing things. When we finally summoned the strength, I found a pace that kept me over my gear and accidentally pedalled off into the distance. While I wasn’t racing, I pushed a little as having to grind out the climb in slow motion wasn’t very appealing at that point.

The terrain profile does this on the hill

The best things about topping out on this climb is the single track that ensues. Foolishly, I failed to get the camera out however it is probably one of the best bits of trail in the whole of the watagans. It rolls, flows, contorts and evolves leaving us giddy with excitment. Amusingly (although it depends on your perspective I guess), like so much of the Watagan trails, the finale is a push up an impossibly rutted motorbike disaster. It is quite possibly the most rutted bit of trail I have ever seen. Standing at the bottom looking up, you scratch your head with wonder at how exactly your meant to get up there.

Since we were so ruined and running low on time, we avoided the rest of the single track although from past experience there is some amazing stuff hidden away. The trick is to pick the right portions as some will be Nirvana and some will be the purest depths of hell. A little more reconnaissance will be needed and then Big HuRTers will get to ride the best bits. Since the single track and fire roads parallel each other, Gaz pointed out that riders could easily mistakenly ride the wrong route and gain an advantage without actually meaning to do so.  I’ll attempt to mark any single track entrances with a waypoint for this file to ensure that everyone is clear on where they need to go.

We rode quite a bit of fire trail through to Olney Headquaters before sitting and eating yet more food. It’s amusing how your energy levels wax and wane on long rides and shovelling food in often rescues you from the depths of despair. After leaving Olney, we decided to use an abridged sawmill in order to make a reasonable finish time since we were running low on light. Part way through the descent I broke out into a cold sweat and was pedalling squares. I needed yet more sugar, although I had eaten every last calorie I was carrying. It was then that I remembered an emergency Gu  which had accompanied me on many a bike packing ride including most of the way across WA. I had been carrying it for this exact moment. It went down the hatch and within minutes I began to feel human again.

This aint no picnic!

By this point, my brakes were now on the backing plates on the rear which meant I was riding like a big girls blouse trying to use only front brake. It just meant I was getting myself into more and more trouble as I tip toed along. Eventually I decided I was going to do much less damage if I just used the rear brake and hang the mechanical consequences.

From there we roe out of the watagans and back to Cooranbong. Brad had heard tales of a very old trail which linked Cooranbong and Morisset since they were founded. It apparently crossed and old swing bridge and despite the fact that we had no earthly idea about where to start looking, we set out in search of trail. We bumped into another guy riding a bike and asked if he knew anything about it and much to our surprise, he rattled off a 15 point list of directions on how to get there. Between us, Brad and I managed to retain about 5 of the points but it was enough that when combined with Brads ability to sniff out single track led us almost directly to it.

The trail was just lovely and a great way to get between Cooranbong and Morisset. Now only meters from the train station which also served as our finish line, we were heading for the bottle shop for a finishers beer  when we bumped into Phil and Ed who were fresh from smashing the Chocolate foot race at Awaba. We exchanged plesantries before we parted ways and Brad and I took a long neck to the park and exchanged taunts with the boys from across the road. From there, we hopped the train home. I walked in the door, took a shower and fell asleep.

What a great weekend.

Over and out.

A spontaneous adventure p3

Sooo, where were we?

That’s right! It was freakin cold and early in the morning.

While we had no better place to be and no urgency to go about the day, our local avian counterparts welcomed the coming morning with gusto and it was impossible to sleep past sunrise as their calls rang around the valley.

Brad was attempting to film with the GoPro camera as we left the camp site and I was especially glad that he didn’t actually know how to work it. I dabbed on almost every obstacle I came across and generally rode like I was still half asleep. Things just weren’t going my way. I don’t know whether it was the ‘pressure’ of the camera or insufficient espresso, but it was an ugly spectacle and when Brad discovered the camera wasn’t actually running, i couldn’t have been more thankful.

There is nearly 10km’s of mixed single track and scenic fire trail until the climbing begins. It was pure joy to be pedalling along such a wonderful part of the world in the growing light. I gradually started to find some skills and began clearing rocks and obstacles again much to my relief.

Single track climbingClimbing to SommersbyLumps

The first stop for the morning was at Sommersby. This little takeaway store is a relic from a time long forgotten. A grimy counter is tersely manned by a hulk of a woman who makes ordering feel like an inquisition, yet somehow manages to finish the sentences with ‘darl’. An early teenager works the counter with her and disturbingly is already slipping into the same patterns. Another 20 years and 60kg and her metamorphosis will be complete. The butterfly will have crawled into the cocoon and emerged a caterpillar.

Sommersby general store

The finest moment of the morning was supplied by the couple arriving as we sat and ate. He (dressed in his hipster fineries) enters the store and I’m fairly convinced asked:

Hipster: “Can I get a bacon and egg roll without the bacon? Are your eggs free range?”

Waitress: “Nah maaatee, we don’t ave free range stuff”

Hipster leaves wordlessly and gets back in the car. You’re a long way from home, hipster boy.

Crossing the road, we re-filled our water bottles at the school and I was pleased to note I had guesstimated my water needs perfectly. I had about 300mls of water left which nicely confirmed my water strategy for the Big HuRT. Fill up at Point Clare and conserve where necessary.

The section between Sommersby and Ourimbah Creek Rd was probably the most gruelling section of the trail in the route. Yet it also contains one of the best descents I’ve ever ridden. It is the perfect trade off between laborious hike a bike and the most flowing single track imaginable. I’m sure for some, the trade offs won’t be worth the effort but for those that embrace the spirt of the HuRT, I’m sure they will fall in love.

Brad again demonstrates the orthodox De Bellin Portage

Ourimbah Creek Rd runs for nearly 5 kms along level ground before the real climb begins. Starting as a wide gravel road lined with horse paddocks and distant valley walls, the road imperceptibly narrows as you progress. Before long, you realise the road has narrowed and a dense canopy has crowded out the sky. Tropical ferns line the trail and leaf litter has piled deep across your path. It was here that Brad and I encountered some hikers. Unlike some of the militant enviro nazis that deem everything but their own presence as a threat to the natural world, these gentleman were kind enough to reserve a heckle for our lack of gears and a smile for riding big wheels on a sunny day.

The leeches are tough around here. They will suck the sealant right through your side wall

Lovely fern grove just beside the trail

The climb out of the valley is to be feared. It starts once you wobble across slippery rocks to cross the stream. From here, there is nearly 200 vertical meters of hiking which presented a seemingly endless slog. With the heat of the day beginning to make its presence felt, I surged ahead and put the bike aside in order to capture an image of suffering framed by a beard.

Somehow the brief respite proved too much for my rear brake as a pronounced clicking now emanated as the wheel rotated. I stopped to peer inside the caliber and attempt to diagnose the issue. Meanwhile Brad stopped dead in his tracks as the snake peered back at him from the trail ahead. The two exchanged a reptilian greeting before the snake was suitably intimidated and made for the cover of the undergrowth. I continued to fiddle with the wheel while Brad became more insistent that there were probably more suitable places for us tinker.

Snakes on a trail? He is in frame there somewhere although I can't pick it.

As we dropped the wheel out, half the pad retaining spring rattled to the ground and the pads followed. Upon closer inspection, there was a micron of pad material left and the one item I had intended to pack but forgotten was a spare set of pads. With little options available, I put the pads back in sans retainer spring and accepted that at some point in the not to distant future the backing plate would be contacting the disk and most likely it would occur at the least opportune time.

Reaching the top I flopped on the ground inhaling food, cursing gravity and picked leaches from my socks. A few moments rest were permitted before we began traversing fire roads. We soon arrived at the top of the GNW descent along bumble hill. It was showing clear signs of recent heavy rains and we dismounted numerous times to walk through the slush and avoid scouring heinous ruts into the soft loamy soil. Some sections had narrow foot bridges to avoid the perennially wet water seep. These proved a great challenge to pop a wheel onto through tight corners and ride. Several were dispatched but on the next as I lifted the rear wheel and gently wobbled, I glanced left and with slight horror noted the landslide into the abyss which had undermined the footings for the bridge. Thinking lightweight thoughts, I daintily rolled to the far side and then assessed the enormous tree which had torn the side from the hill leaving a 10-15 m vertical drop immediately next to the bridge. The bridge still seemed firmly anchored at each end and hadn’t budged with my passage but it was a startling moment when I realised I was potentially in a whole heap of trouble.

Once you clear the bridges, the bumble hill descent widens to an overgrown single track with a long constant gradient that leaves you spun out on the single speed and consequently with little to do other than sit and admire the view interspersed with railing the odd corner. After riding copious rock strewn descents, gently flowing along with the wind in your hair can’t be beat. At the bottom of the descent is Yarramalong general store, the day just gets better and better.

To be continued.

A spontaneous weekend adventure p2

Departing Kincumba with food in our stomachs and freshly filled water bladders was bliss since it was all down hill. While it was primarily fire trail, it was still descending so life was good. We rode through suburbia a little before reaching Point Clare and detouring to the shops where I stocked up on supplies.

In every past multi day ride I have done, I have been guilty of horrendously over estimating the amount of food I would need. Determined not to repeat past mistakes I took only a packet of Deb potato, 2 packets of instant noodles and a packet of Uncle Ben’s instant rice. So I needed some chocolate and biscuits to keep me going until we reached camp for dinner. My weapon of choice is usually picnic bars so I bought a few of them along with some coke and some beer with the aim of a late afternoon rest break to watch the cricket in a local park.

From Point Clare, the easy stuff was over. I knew we would be climbing up some steep roads and it wouldn’t be long before we would arrive at “Chad’s Fault”. I posted a photo or two from Chad’s Fault a fortnight ago and sadly I knew exactly what kind of bushwack I was in for. I paid close attention to the GPS and that section of trail is only 400m long but it seemed an eternity. I took the liberty of adding a waypoint called ‘salvation’ to the HuRT file so that ‘riders’ will have something to aim for rather than stumbling blind into most peoples idea of hell. The beauty of “Chad’s Fault” is it lies just past a point of no return. Once you are through it, your going to have to keep riding the trail so even if it breaks people, they will still have plenty of time to change their mind before dropping out of the race.

'The Beard' taking the walking option up some chunky Point Clare trail

Our aim had been to make Mooney Creek camp ground for the night and we arrived with an hours light to spare leaving us to wonder how far one could push through if they were racing this in the HuRT. The campground is a delightful spot and I suspect that if there are more than 4 riders for the Big HuRT, the campfire may become a point of reformation of the peleton. Those that are really racing will push through although there is no point in getting past Sommersby on the first day unless you are carrying 2 days worth of food with you.

The descent is all carry which is fine because the trail that leaves the camp ground more than makes up for it. It’s not the sort of carry I would be looking to do with crappy lights in the dark however. There are plenty of places to take a tumble.

Brad demonstration the reverse orthodox De Bellin portage

Mooney Creek

The campsite

As the light faded and darkness creeped in, I spent time fussing with timber and building a campfire. While not strictly necessary, there is something spiritually uplifting about fire. It melts away the thoughts of  a long hard day and leaves you content and excited for the following day. Long ago a quasi pyromanic friend spent all manner of time perfecting the art of the ideal zen fire. Even though it almost seems OCD to ‘construct’ something you will soon burn, I took his ‘lessons’ to heart and quite enjoy the process of designing a fire in much the same way an architect designs a house.

I cooked my Deb instant potato mixed with a cuppa soup on my trangia and devoured it’s warm, salty goodness. It was manna from heaven and I made seconds while trying to mentally calculate excatly how much water I had left and how much I was going to need to make it through the night and onto the next water source the following day. Meanwhile, Brad pulled out a flat bread, cheese sticks and salmon sachet to make a gourmet trail side wrap which partnered his Uncle Bens Risotto which seriously raised the ante for campsite cuisine.

Around 10pm, we called it a night and I wearily lay in my bivvy without the need for the mosquito net since there hadn’t been a single insect all night. Sleep was fitful and I repeatedly dreamt of people walking through the campsite which I suspect has a lot to do with how much caffeine I had late in the afternoon.

Despite being summer, it was bloody cold in Mooney creek. After long days on the bike I often notice the cold much more than normal so I long ago learnt to carry thermal gear for night time. I had a mid weight merino undershirt and cotton long johns and at the last minute before leaving home I added a cotton thermal long sleeve top because my seat bag was so empty and I needed to firm it up a little. I was so thankful I did. I suspect the temps dipped into single digits in the early hours of the morning and my summer weight sleeping bag is see through so I woke shivering several times. It seems I wasn’t the only one that noticed it as the first thing Brad said in the morning was “Cold eh!?”. He didn’t have a thermal top and his sleeping bag is as bad as mine…. poor bastard.

The morning cup of coffee reinvigorated the soul and chased away the lingering cold with a bitter sweet jolt to sleep addled eyes. Some food, some packing and we were soon breaking camp.

Hurry up and make my coffee

To be continued….

A spontaneous weekend adventure p1

Talking to B-rad on Tuesday night, he decided to call off his return attempt at the HuRT with a severe bout of Whittakers syndrome.  I hadn’t given any thought to the weekend plans but it occurred to me that it would be the perfect opportunity to spend some time mapping trail for the Big HuRT and an opportunity to play with gear, ride some sensational trail and beat my legs back into shape.

I’ve spent a little time pondering the things that chew up time while you are bikepacking. Normally, this doesn’t really matter since part of the appeal of disappearing on your bike into the wilds is that there is no pressure to be anywhere. But when it comes to honing a bike packing race setup, I quite enjoy the tinkering. One of the slowest things I had to do on the small part of Trans-Oz I got through was setting up and pulling down my sleeping gear. Stuffing sleeping bags in to sacks, stuffing the bivvy sack into a bag, rolling up the neo air and fitting it back into the seat bag. It all soaked up a deceptive amount of time. For this trip,  I set things up so that the neo air and the sleeping bag were already inside the bivvy bag and the whole lot just rolled up and strapped straight to the bars. Setting up camp literally took 30 seconds, just take it off the bars and unroll – done.

The trip started at Adamstown train station with an early train heading to Woy Woy. Having mis-spent the better part of his youth on the central coast, B-rad has an encyclopaedic knowledge of every piece of trail in the whole area. At times, it’s almost scary.

Upon arriving at the start line, we made our way to the obligatory bakery for a commencement breakfast pie. One of the exciting things about a Grand Depart for this style of race is the camaraderie with other riders. Getting the chance to check out what everyone else is riding, carrying or left behind. Sharing pre race nerves and strategy and generally hanging out with like minded people.  With this in mind, we decided the Grand depart will feature a neutral roll out from the pie shop to the start line a few kilometers down the road. From there all bets will be off!

The view from the start line

The start of the ride was pretty cruisy with some sneaky single track through a rock garden and then fire roads and bike paths to reach the start of the fun stuff. Of course, there is a little bit of hike a bike but it is fairly easy going and visits some sensational places. The rocks slabs near the Mt Wondabyne are breath taking. They endlessly join and flow to make the most inspired trail. It’s like nothing in Newcastle and despite the fact this was the second time I have ridden it, I think it was even more captivating now than it was the first time.

While the riding across the top of the plateau is all grins and scenery gazing, it really comes as a surprise when the trail starts to point down. Not the gently undulating fire trail that seems to dominate XC riding now, but gnarly, rock strewn, chaotically lumpy bliss that simultaneously scares you half to death yet dares you to try and roll through it. As the descent progressed, I found myself trying to roll through more and more silly situations – places I had no business visiting with a tent strapped to my bike. The end result was inevitable as I attempted to drop off a chunky ledge and simultaneously throw a loaded bike through a tight turn. With a glorious cascade of Stan’s finest, the tyre rolled off the rim with a bellowing hiss as I threw a leg out and somehow saved my skin and my neck. All I could do was laugh and all Brad could do was poke fun at me as again I was breaking out the tyre pump early in the ride.

Cause and effect

Taking heed of the warnings handed to me by the rocks, I fitted my only tube and we continued on our way on a big loop back to Woy Woy. Without really planning it, we ended up back at the same bakery that we started at before grabbing some food and heading to the waterfront to eat and drink. While the weather was remarkably cool for what is meant to be summer, I was still feeling the heat and took the opportunity to suck down a bottle of coke to try and find some spark.

The next section followed a cycle way before heading into a techy hike a bike. I fiddled around playing with the camera while Brad headed off ahead and I was waylaid as I found myself stuck in a rock crevice balancing the bike and wondering how the hell I was going to get up there. Amusingly, I’m actually coming to really enjoy a difficult hike a bike. Carrying the bike up stairs is boring, carrying the bike through enormous rocks and spectacular scenery is inspirational. Brad and I joked that for people to train for the Big HuRT,  they are going to need to spend quite a bit of time at the biggest stair case they can find with a loaded bike and SPD shoes walking up and down.

Brad demonstrating the orthodox De Bellin portage

The gap to the right is where I got stuck. Turns out Brad was left scratching his head in the same place too.

From here we connected into the trails at Bouddi that I rode a fortnight ago and they just destroyed me. It’s only a couple of kilometres of single track and there is little climbing involved but the obstacles are relentless. Rocks steps, logs and tight corners keep coming and by the end I was shattered. There was a short stop for us to regroup and take on some calories before continuing on.

We missed a turn somewhere looking for  an elusive bit of single track before giving up and deciding we will draft Chad into the hunt since he lives just around the corner. Another hike a bike followed by some beautiful flowing single track ended in a rest break in Kincummber reserve.

To be continued

A spontaneous weekend adventure

I don’t have the words in me as yet to encompass the complete spectrum of the weekends ride. It was stunning, intoxicating, painful, exhilarating and debilitating all at once. Instead, I will just post a small selection of photos that I quite like. Not because they represent the most artistic interpretation of the fluid form of a rider on single track, or because I have emotional attachment to the small part of the earth they represent. Just because I find them nice to look at and they make me smile. Perhaps tomorrow I will find the words but for now, I leave you with places and feelings we reached while riding a bike.

 

Click through to see the larger version of each photo, the small versions don’t do them justice

 

 

A coghead Xmas

Today was the coghead Xmas ride. Many beers were drunk (when the pubs finally opened). It was scorching hot, it was raining. I did my best to keep up for 70kms but popped and called an early finish about 70 k’s in.

The pristinely white lawn bowling uniform was not salvageable.

Bouddi National Park

Awesome ride today. I caught up with Chad and rode on the Central Coast along some trails i’ve never seen before. There is nothing better than a trail you’ve never ridden before . This ride had everything; techy single track, bermed firetrail descents, sand and big climbs.

I rode the single speed which was the first time I have ridden a ‘normal’ bike in weeks after getting the moonlander. It was a revelation. It gripped and handled so much better than the moonlander could ever hope for on insane descents. There’s nothing like an Ardent for carving huge turns and I was all smiles on the chaotic descents.

There was also a side motive to this little trip since quite a bit of todays trails will turn up in the HuRT plus. My god it is going to be a tough 600 k race.

Yaaarrghh – She be a sturdy vessel says I

What could possibly go wrong with this little dinghy while crossing a vast body of water with a bike strapped to the bow? The fat bike odyssey just got a little more real!