Saturday April 6 2002 - Manilla to Barraba - 47 kms

The alarm began to beep at 0430.

It had been a warm but restless night at the Post Office Hotel in Manilla. The enthusiastic, but off key band, being cheered on by enthusiastic but off key revelers, determined to make the start of their holiday, something to be remembered. Fortunately the band had finished their gig at around midnight, allowing a few short hours of peace, for those of us desperately seeking unconsciousness.

Dressing in cycling clothes, I groped my way out of the hotel to the car park, and fired up the Landcruiser. My mission for the early part of the day was to drive over to the finish line at Walcha, where I had booked parking for the truck and box trailer.

It was cold, and as I reached to turn on the truck’s heater, I remembered that the trapdoor that allowed the hot air into the cab, had been playing up for a while, and refused to open. It was going to be a rather cool trip!

My coach back to Manilla was due to depart the John Oxley Sports fields at Walcha, at 0700 hrs, and as I realized that I had seriously underestimated the distance between the two towns, I grew more and more concerned that I might be running late. It turned out that I had made it in good time, as I rounded a corner to find the sports field literally covered in cars and trailers, with a line of about seven or eight busses standing by, to take riders to Manilla.

I locked the car, and walked over to the line of busses, had my name checked off, and stepped on board the first bus in the queue. I was shaking from head to foot with cold, and it was well into the two hour trip back, before I began to warm up. I really must do something about that damned heater!

The bus pulled up in a street just around the corner from the Post Office Hotel. While the rest of the occupants began sorting out their kit, I walked over to the pub to find Julia and let her know I was back. Jules and Pat had already checked in, their ride passports swinging from their necks, and yellow I.D. bracelets clipped around their wrists. We carried the bags down the rickety stairs of the hotel, and loaded them onto the rear seat of our tandem trike, for transport to the luggage trucks. I joined the check-in queue and came out with my wrist band, and ride passport, then we joined the next queue for bag weighing, prior to loading them onto the trucks.

We now had about three quarters of an hour before start time, and we rode into the main street where a growing crowd of riders and locals were preparing for “the off.”

All along the pavements, stalls selling cakes, sausage sandwiches, egg and bacon rolls, and drinks, were inundated with riders determined to stuff some more breakfast into themselves, secure in the knowledge that for the next week at least, they could easily ‘work it off’

Speeches began at eleven, and after having been welcomed by the Mayor of Manilla, been warned by the contingent of Police, to ride sensibly and keep to the left, heard others from the RTA, MS, and Bicycle NSW, the buzzer went off, and we were on our way.

Today’s ride was only 47 kms. Enough to get us warmed up which wasn’t too difficult considering that the day was already about 29C and threatening to get even higher.

We hadn’t been on the trike since the Easter weekend when we had ridden from home in Sans Souci, down to Lake Conjola, and surprisingly the six days off the trike soon showed, as we struggled up some long, gradual inclines. A recumbent trike is not the most nimble of steeds on anything resembling an increase in elevation!

It was quite late in the afternoon when we trundled into Barraba. We stopped at the pub to purchase a six-pack of cold stubbies before riding into the camping area.

Entertainment in town included horse and cart rides up and down the main drag, an Australian and Asian cuisine, and vineyard tour, and a Bird Routes or Gold Fossicking tour. In the evening, the “famous Wolverines” were playing at the local RSL Club, and “Barrapella” were singing a selection of African, gospel and popular songs, in the main street from 2000 hrs, complete with nibbles and wine thrown in.

I have to admit that all the above entertainment was for us, ‘surplus to requirements,’ as it had been a long, hot day. We pitched our tent, and had a shower, then wandered over to the brasserie, where we were surprised to be called over by David and his son Nick, whom we had met previously on last year’s Big Ride. David had also brought his wife Jan for this years ride. We had a few drinks before dinner, and then listened to the daily briefing, before dragging our weary bodies back to our tent, to sleep, perchance to dream.

Sunday April 7, 2002 - Barraba to Warialda - 103 kms

The camp was beginning to stir by about 0530 hrs, so we rolled out of bed and began the tedium of packing up. It was damned cold, and the inside of the tent soaked with condensation. Try as we might, we couldn’t avoid touching the roof or walls of the tent, and we soon had our own small rain shower inside.

We set off at about 0730 hrs for this year’s longest day, at 103 kms. The route profile showed a 100 vertical metre climb within the first ten clicks or so, before the first decent down hill. At approximately the 42 km mark there was a significant down hill lasting about 5 kms and was followed by a gradual decline for the next 10 kms.

With last night’s warning of this hill at the briefing, and so many signs and waving route marshals it was difficult to be anything other than cautious, and for the first half of the hill, we kept our speed down to about 65 kph, dabbing at the brakes, and wondering where the scary bit was. Halfway down, I could see that the road had a wide left hand sweep at the bottom of the hill, with a long run off. I let the trike run, and down the hill we shot at a top speed of 79 kph. I’m sure, that had we known the road, and allowed the trike it’s head, we could easily have made the magic 100kph. However, that wasn’t to be, and exhilarating as the run had been, a new speed record for us would have to wait.

Lunch was served just after the 60 km mark, at Cunningham Park, Bingara.

We continued, and soon discovered that when we got to a downhill, we were no longer able to attain the big ring on the front derailleur, which prevented us from reaching any wild down hill rides. For the last 10kms into Warialda, we also lost the high and mid range on the hub gear, and I was too tired to do much more than ensure we did at least have low range. We rode into Warialda Show grounds, pretty much at the rear of the pack, but still pleased with our efforts.

After finding our luggage, and erecting our tent, I took the trike over to the Pegasus Bike Mechanics to be fixed, had a shower, then a beer before dinner, after which, once again, we collapsed into bed.

Tonight’s entertainment included P& A Dog High Jumping, dog lotto, and a cross- cut saw demo, an off – road vehicle display with Terry Rose, National Off – Road Champion. The ‘Cranky Rock Tour,’ (take your swimmers), a cycling history presentation, and movie, “Finding Forrester,” and last but not least, sheep shearing demo and mechanical bull rides at the Royal Hotel.

Monday April 8, 2002 - Warialda to Ashford -.79 kms

It would seem that a wet tent interior is going to be a feature of this years camping experience. Modern tents don’t have a fly, so there isn’t too much we can do about the condensation, except put up with it. I’m sure that the extra water inside puts a couple of kilos onto the total weight of our bag. We sincerely hope that we will get to the finish lines every day, with enough time to dry the tent before we retire.

We set off at 0730 hrs and knew that we were in trouble as soon as we hit the road. We are both beginning to cough, and are suffering with bunged up heads, and having breathing difficulties. Today’s relatively easy day of 79 kms was beginning to look a little more difficult. We both took a couple of paracetamol tablets, and hoped things would improve.

The first 5 kms from town was reasonably steep, and we struggled to maintain momentum, as we coughed and wheezed our way onwards.

With only 14 kms under our wheels, I heard an evenly spaced phtt sound, and soon realized that we had punctured the front, near side tyre.

In the process of turning the trike upside down, we managed to break the support arm of the right hand side wing mirror, which pleased me not a jot!

Close inspection of the flattening tyre proved that the tyre was not only punctured, but was in need of replacement. This was not entirely unexpected, as we had done almost 3500 kms on the trike since new, and the road surface on both this, and our Easter trip had done it’s share to shorten the tyres’ life, as we hugged the rough, on the edge of the highways. The rubber on the slick tyre looked as if it had been shoved up against a sanding wheel. Fortunately, I had brought my last spare with us, so decided that now was as good a time as any to fix both the puncture, and the tyre. Removing the wheel meant that I also had to take the hydraulic brake off, so it was a good hour before I’d replaced the tyre and tube, and done what repairs I could, with silicon and gaffa tape, on the support arm of the mirror. It was obvious it wouldn’t last, but for the time being, it was better than having no mirror at all.

While I was playing junior bike mechanic, Julia went across the road, to rest under the shade of a willow tree, where several other riders had gathered. It turns out that they had decided that the Big Ride was far too painful, and not the fun they all thought it would be. They had phoned friends, and were now waiting to be picked up, and taken home, abandoning the ride altogether.

The delay had seen most of the field pass us, so we set off as soon as we could.

We had been told to look out for some of the interesting RMB’s (Roadside Mail boxes) along the road, and we smiled as we rode past colourful helicopters, Highwaymen, trucks, pigs and horses, all fabricated from old gas bottles, milk churns, and pieces of pipe. They are manufactured locally by an apparently bored farmer / frustrated artist.

A significant, ‘yahoo factor,’ down hill provided welcome relief as we managed a top speed of 73 kph. And despite our worsening coughs, and the day’s irksome delays, we arrived at Ashford, only 34 kms from the Queensland border, at a fairly reasonable time.

We set up our tent, and then walked over to the town’s swimming pool for a welcome and cooling dip, before meeting with our friends, Pat, David, Jan and Nick, and heading off into town to ‘see the sights.’ The ‘main’ (perhaps only) street in Ashford had been closed to traffic, and a street fair had been set up. With a town population of only 500, the Big Ride was the biggest thing ever to have happened in Ashford, (including Armistice Day and V.J. Day) and the locals were keen to see that we all had a good time.

At one of the displays, two old bikes had been bolted to the tray of a truck. The bike’s rear wheels, powering drive belts, connected to a pair of shearing shears. Two shearers each had a sheep to shear, and bets were placed on the abilities of the peddlers to provide enough power, long enough to last until half the sheep was shorn, whereupon, a replacement peddler took over the powerplant. We laughed as the volunteer peddlers rode, red faced, to a state of apoplexy, before their turn was up. All that wasted energy had made us thirsty so we crossed the road, and joined the throng of tired and thirsty riders, practicing the gentle art of elbow bending in the pub.

Apart from the pedal power shearing, and street markets, Ashton is also throwing on an extravaganza. . . . A 5 hole, yes, count them all, 5 hole golf course featuring sand greens, and you are advised not to miss the Disco and twilight bowls night from 1930 hrs. Quite a combination!

Tuesday April 9, 2002 - Ashford to Inverell - 58 kms

There was a lazy, relaxed atmosphere about the start of today. With only 58km to ride, people seemed to be in weekend mode, and it was after 0800 hrs before we finally hit the road.

Both Julia and I are feeling much worse today, so we are grateful for the ‘more restful’ day.

Today’s ride was full of ‘undulations,’ which is a nice way of saying hills without putting the fear of God into your listeners. However, we rode into Inverell, about mid day, and after setting up house, and having a shower, we trolled into town to see what it had to offer. First stop was a chemist, where we bought copious quantities of ‘Codral Cold and Flu’ tablets, and tested a few of the pubs in the name of research, before returning to camp for dinner.

It’s a big night in town tonight, with the Big Ride Pajama Party, at the Inverell RSM club, and one of the pubs is holding a beach party. The local St Vincent De Paul charity is doing a roaring trade, selling nightdresses, (for both male and female) at $5 a throw, and it was certainly a strange mob of campers who arrived at the dinner line, prior to hitting town.

Sick and tired as we were, we just ate dinner before flopping into bed, to cough ourselves to sleep.

Wednesday April 10, 2002 – Inverell – Rest Day

Today is a rest day, and for those with the energy, there’s a myriad of things to do.

Take a horse and carriage tour, visiting historic areas around Inverell, the local Gem center, followed by morning tea at the pioneer village.

Check out some of Inverell’s historical homes, Blair Athol, and visit the local New England Estate Winery.

Go Fossicking for sapphires at Poolbrook then visit a sapphire plant in operation.

Take the local attractions tour and visit the transport museum, and the draught horse center.

Tour the New England Wood Turning Centre, The Gilgai Winery, the Wing Hing Long Emporium, and Green valley Farm.

There is a four wheel drive sand surfing tour via an old mining town, finishing up with Billy Tea and Damper.

Tonight at the RSM Club, is a screening of Tropfest, the world’s biggest short film festival, or just hang around camp and see the RTA famous, ‘Red Faces’ talent quest.

We surfaced quite early, and while Julia did our washing, I did some maintenance on the pedals of the trike. One of Julia’s pedals had been driving me crazy as it squeaked every time it passed behind my ear. I took all the pedals apart and gave them a coating of lubricant, then tightened up the wing mirrors. Julia returned with the washing and we hung it out on, and around the tent and trike. Several people, obviously with little else to do, came over to photograph our washing line, and one declared us the winner of the most innovative dhobi line.

We sauntered over for breakfast. What a pleasant change to eat, and relax with a hot cuppa, carelessly chatting to anyone and everyone while the sun rises, and we contemplate the day.

Those of us in camp wave to the photographic aircraft, as it buzzes us, taking shots of camp.

We returned to the tent to prepare to go into town. Some bloke has climbed onto the roof of the dunny to take a photo of the camp, and is immediately inundated with hoards of other, less agile campers, handing up their cameras, and asking, “can you get one for me too?” He was up there for an hour.

We took the bus into town and wandered up and down, eventually finding the coffee shop where we wasted an hour and a half, most of which was while waiting to be served. Not to worry, the people working there were under pressure of the sudden surge of customers, and we had nothing else to do. We found the local bike shop, as did hundreds of other riders, and knowing that I had at least one other tyre that was decidedly suspect, I bought three new ones, ‘just in case’. I suspect that a graph of the shops takings would have shown a sharp peak for that day.

We had booked lunch at “The Arches” for twelve thirty, and met Pat there for a civilized nosh and natter, before wandering around a little more, testing the beer in a few of the pubs. At about 5.00pm we were in time to watch the news, and saw part of the Queen Mother’s Funeral.

We took the bus back to camp, in time for drinks in the brasserie, and dinner, and waited for tonight’s entertainment at Red faces. Surprisingly this year there was actually some talent! The prize for the most interesting scar, was won by a man sporting his vasectomy!

We managed to stay awake until the finish, and went to bed at our latest time so far, at 2200 hrs.

Thursday April 11, 2002 - Inverell to Bundarra - 81 kms

We left Inverell at 0730 and rode toward Copeton Dam. A few ‘undulations’ let us know that we were still having breathing difficulties, but all in all it was a very pleasant ride. At the top of a hill we stopped to take a photo of yet another interesting RMB this one in the shape of a wedding cake.

At about 35 kms we started on an interesting down hill toward Copeton Dam, where we all stopped to take photos, and have a wee break.

Lunch would be just on the far side of the spillway, and up a short sharp rise.

The day so far had been very pleasant but that was about to change.

Having rested and cooled down, the next 40 kms was mostly up hill. Beauty, we couldn’t believe our luck!

During the day we rode over a number of cattle grids, which almost rattled our fillings loose, and we also encountered our first bit of dirt road. . . . all 12 kms of it! We were rattling along the dirt at 59 kph, heedless of punctures, and other possible sources of disaster, when the Heath Robinson repair on the side mirror finally had enough, and with a final jiggle, it jumped ship. I made an attempt to catch it, but on the third attempt it evaded my clutches, and made it’s escape somewhere out in the never- never. Julia suggested we stop and mount a search party, but I figured that if it was so desperate to get away, we should let it. Later that night, in camp, I went to the Renegade Cycles tent, and bought another mirror. WOW $35.00! Ho hum, when needs must.

Friday April 12, 2002 - Bundarra to Guyra - 99 kms

Day 7. The most feared and talked about day of the ride was upon us. Very few riders, save those hardy souls who relish pain were looking forward to today. Julia and I were thinking about not starting at all, and I believe there were indeed, some who chose to ride out today in the Sag wagon from the start. They were not to be alone. We were probably as sick today as we had been all trip, and the prospect of a 99 km day, which was for the most part, all uphill, wasn’t cheering us up.

Because of todays ‘challenge’ the route had been opened half an hour early, though we didn’t manage to get on the road until 0710 hrs.

We decided to ride, and see how far we got. As it happened, we had quite a nice ride at first, and by the first water stop I was feeling quite good. The day went downhill from there, but interestingly whenever one of us was on the point of giving up, the other was feeling reasonable and was able to jolly the other along. At morning tea I was ready to call it quits. At Lunch, we were both feeling down, but after a feed were able to get back on the road. Our biggest challenge to forward motion was at afternoon tea, where just as we crossed the road to the rest stop, we were able to see the road ahead rear up toward the heavens. It was a demoralizing sight, but it’s amazing what a Mars Bar can do for a wilted and out of fuel body, and within about twenty minutes we were back on the road, in twiddle gear, heading toward that great cloud in the sky, and mumbling, “I think I can, I think I can.”

The ride guide for today says, “In general, it is a day to spin in a low gear, take your time, and enjoy the unique scenery of rock formations and turn of the century mines.”

We had no other choice but to take our time, but I can’t remember enjoying the scenery!

We seem to recall about five full busloads of riders who eventually chose to call it quits, so despite riding into camp at 1700 hrs after an awful long day on the road, we were pleased to have made it all the way under our own steam.

A pleasant surprise awaited us as we arrived in camp. Nick had found our luggage, and was in the process of pitching our tent. Good on yer sunshine. I felt like a train crash and it was no surprise to hear David telling me I looked wrecked!

Saturday April 13, 2002 - Guyra to Uralla - 77 kms

A mere 77 kms of road to cover today and the morning began surprisingly mildly. Even the inside of the tent was relatively dry which was a bonus.

Today’s ride promised a few decent down hills, which would have made a pleasant surprise had they actually materialized. The first, and most exciting down, turned out to be another section of dirt road, which proved to be exciting, but not the blood rush we had anticipated. It shook us to the core, and I guess we should think ourselves lucky that we didn’t succumb to the loss of air pressure in our tyres, that so many others fell prey to. More cattle grids also ensured that every time we gained a decent speed, we had to slow to prevent our eyes popping.

Directly after lunch at the sportsfields of the University of New England in Armidale, we rode into another ten clicks section of up hill with cold, stiff muscles. It’s amazing how often they catch us out like this. However, it wasn’t long before we were riding into Uralla.

“It’s all down hill from here,” shouted the marshals and the ride Police. Apparently they had forgotten the three little hills into the camping area which although short, were easily as steep as anything we had come across to date.

Sunday April 14, 2002 - Uralla to Walcha - 43 kms

Our last day on the road. There was only 41 kms this morning before we arrived at the assembly point at the John Oxley Oval just outside Walcha. We arrived at approximately 0930 so had an hour and a half to kill before the mass entry into town. The local Lions club, and others were there selling breakfasts of egg, bacon and sausage, so we did our best to support the local community, while having a decent scoff at the same time. A few cups of tea later and it was almost time to begin the invasion of Walcha. The motor cycle Police rode in line abreast, leading the pack into town. Recumbents and tandems to the fore, we trolled along at 10 kph, bike bells ringing and whistles blowing. Following a circuitous route we made our way to the center of town, which had been closed off to traffic, the locals cheering and waving, and taking photos. We had made it, and now it was all over bar the shouting.

Finding our luggage was easy, it was laid out in the middle of the road, and ours was pretty close to the start of the lines of bags. I dumped the two bags onto the rear seat of the trike, then left Julia to it while I caught the shuttle bus back to the assembly area to retrieve our truck and trailer. A short while later, Nick was helping to push me and the luggage up the hill to where I’d managed to park, and we were loading our kit and bikes back onto the trailer.

After securing everything down, we walked back into town to have lunch with Jan, David, Nick, Pat and Stuart, before we said our goodbyes, and set off on our journey back to Sydney.

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