Late in 2013 I was feeling like there was too much working and not enough riding in my
life, so it was with great glee that I began to fit the pieces together for a few
days of tall packing in December. My
mate ‘Bushman Dan’ Freeborn was back in town after spending the Top End tourist
season misleading European backpackers around the Kimberley and another top
shelf mate, Simon ‘Elbow’ Elliot was on one of his biennial returns from his
current Francophonic home of Quebec.
Each are great adventurers, cycling and otherwise, and were excited to
join a silly two-wheeled touring odyssey. My mate Jess was non-committal but when I
started talking as if he wasn’t coming he became quite defensive and quickly
made arrangements to join the adventure. There was a route that had been on my
mind for a while – three days across the Fleurieu Penninsula, taking in various
elements of Deep Creek Conservation Park and sections of the Heysen Trail. Of course, the premise for this travel was
that it be undertaken on tall bikes – variously providing wonder and
entertainment for all those we encountered and offering a challenge to riders
who are bored with reality, looking for a fresh approach to cycling and a
chance to test their backyard engineering prowess.
On the Thursday
evening we loaded our various wacky steeds and gear into the van and drove to
Normanville to spend the night in a buddy’s cabin at the beachside caravan
park. After waking early and preparing
ourselves a hearty breakfast, we set about strapping our bits and pieces to
bikes. One of the many advantages of
having excessive frame and fork space on is that it creates a number of extra
places to stow and strap on luggage.
Extra long forks make a great spot for mats, tents and sleeping bags,
and Jess has even developed his patented ‘fruit basket’ shaped rack which
comfortably supports a 30L dry bag.
The day’s first
leg, through Yankalilla and up Kessler’s Hill Rd was relentless and made all
the more challenging by huge swarms of free-loading blowies. Rather than buzz their own way to the top of
the hill they preferred to hitch a ride with us, simultaneously licking away at
our salty sweat with their tickly probisci, leaving us wishing we’d brought the
dangly-corked-jolly-swagman version of our cycling helmets.
Once atop the
ridge we were rewarded with great views and a series of big dipper shaped
gravel roads that alternatingly invited the rider to ignore brakes, throw
caution to the wind, woot gloriously with excitement and enjoy the spoils of
anchorless gravity consumption, only to be required to quickly return to
whatever lowest gear is available in order to grind onwards to the peak of the
next crest.
We climbed all
that was to be climbed of our unpaved roads and began to be quite excited by
the prospect of descending some glorious singletrack through dense scrub. It took a little rabbiting around to discover
our magical Hesysen Trail marker but we were soon at the trail head salivating
at the idea of radical dirt action. Of
course, this mood was tempered by an understanding that we didn’t really know
what the trail was like and we weren’t necassarily supposed to be approaching
it on bikes (the Heysen trail is denoted
as a walking specific route but often includes highly cycle-able fire trail and
open areas).
After about 5
minutes of nervously grinning, giggling and crossing our fingers along a
narrow, meandering goat track it became quite clear that this trail was going
to get the better of us. Resigned to
accept a battering on behalf of nature, we tramped our bikes for a while before
taking a little rest in a clearing.
Refreshed, we pushed on, pedaling along some pleasant fire trail before
being confronted by a truly ridiculous section of what some unhinged individual
incorrectly described as ‘trail’. Lugging outrageous machines down the side of
cliff face covered in five foot high weeds was not we had hoped for but all we
could do was laugh at the absurdity of all for half an hour or so till we
finally reached the bottom.
After a short section
of rolling gravel we arrived at Inman Valley
where we fueled up on a round of Devonshire teas. The next section meandered through a section
of Second Valley forest punctuated by various lifting bikes over fences
sequences. At this point the trail
markers advised us to hop another fence into a paddock filled with fresh cow
pats and absolutely no sign of a trail. ‘Follow the fence’ the description said
and what was marked as a lovely straight line on the map dipped sharply in and
out of a valley of long grass with no clear indication of any trail over the
horizon. We hadn’t expected that the
most extreme part of our adventure would take place in a field of cows. The next hour or so was spent slamming our
backsides repeatedly over the perfect wheelsized holes left by our hard hooved
companions, dodging sloppy bovine waste and trying not to be too worried about
the fact that we had no real idea of where we were going. A little more bumping, bike rattling and fence
hopping later we popped out at a gentle country lane. Relief was an understatement. Flocks of galahs squaked at us, red bellied
black snakes wriggled out of their sunning spots and we even got to hang out
with an echidna which was quite the treat.
By the time we reached the tarmac leading in Victor Harbour we were well
and truly weary. We decided against the
last skerrick of dirt trail described on the map and chose to descend the
steep, grin invoking main road into town.
We topped up with snacks and refreshments at the local supermarket and
set up camp at Victor Harbour Beachfront Caravan Park.
Our second day
began with a big grind back up the hill that had given us so much joy the day
before. It didn’t take as long as we
thought it might and we were soon cruising gently along Ridge Rd. As it’s name suggests, this road travels
along the ridge of the hills and, as such, yielded fantastic views down to
valleys on each side and further to the ocean.
Bushman Dan took a couple of stops to adjust and pack his luggage as
well as adjust his package, made significantly uncomfortable by his choice to
wear two pairs of knicks.
We took a lunch
stop at the Parawa community hall and CFS station, refilling our water bottles
and resting in the shade of the verandah.
Ridge Road continued its spectacular meandering for a while longer
before we turned back onto gravel towards Deep Creek Conservation Park. It was
not long before we arrived at Stringybark campsite, an oasis like zone of tall
shady trees surrounded by bushland and made all the more luxurious by the
presence of hot showers. We enjoyed the
rest of the afternoon imitating the local kangaroos lazing around in the
glorious sunshine. There was an
abundance of wildlife to watch including kookaburras, black cockatoos and heaps
of tiny wrens.
Our final day
began with a bit of a ski slope style run adjacent the campsite. It was just the thing to get the blood
pumping and the pupils dilated. It may,
however, have been the final straw for Simon’s rack, which began its death
rattle in earnest a little way along the day’s journey. (insert steel is real commentary or various
ads for the glory of Tubus racks here) A
trip wouldn’t be complete without a real MacGyver moment and so we happily set
to work grafting a timber crutch to the poor old rack via excessive cable ties
and PVC tape. Don’t leave home without
‘em kids!
We doubled back
along Ridge Rd for a bit before turning off onto Hay Flat Road towards
Yankalilla. A lovely rolling unsealed
section led into the steepest, rideable descent of the trip. This was a proper heart starter! We pulled into Ingalala Falls for a snack and
a look at the scenery before continuing along our final leg. The surface of the next section was
predominantly super smooth and mildly downhill.
Combined with a healthy tailwind, thoughts of a massive barbeque cook up
and refreshing ales made this a supremely enjoyable leg. We stopped briefly in Normanville to pick up
some lemonade and sausages and made our way back to the caravan park we began
from.
