Up, Up & Away

Wollongong to Moss Vale – 48 miles and 1,143m climbing

So I woke up feeling hungover after minimal sleep thanks to my noisy neighbours. Their stupidity and inconsideracy was astonishing. I was leaving the site and the potential for future abuse wasn’t a problem for me. ‘Reception’ was shut and so I couldn’t complain but I later emailed the site office outlining the miserable night. I received a prompt reply advising they’d grip it. I hope they did.

Meanwhile I looked at my pre-planned route and decided to abandon some of the nice country lane detours and to cycle down the calm Princes Highway. This made it quicker and less hilly.

Cycling navigation Apps have an algorithm to avoid car traffic. That’s logical but for a cycle tourer with many miles to do you often can’t tolerate the stopping and starting of cycle paths and their meandering routes. I had to get a move on. I had planned all my rides with Ride with GPS under the tutelage of my appointed ‘Tour Digital Navigation Consultant’ (Nick from Harrogate) but I always knew I would adapt. Interestingly enough Nick always planned on the ‘car’ route option rather than ‘bicycle’.

Not having breakfast I stopped at a McDonalds and had a large gross type of breakfast burger. I need the calories but I won’t ever eat anything like that again! Now replenished I set my sights on reaching ‘the wall’. The story is that inland from the coast the terrain rises 700m in the form of a large cliff. In a car, by driving a long way south or north, you can do this more easily but ultimately you need to ascend to the Highlands.

My route, which was the one all the Apps couldn’t avoid, was the Macquarie Pass. This joyous road was 6.5 miles long and via a tortuous set of hairpins, at a fairly constant 10% gradient, it achieved the 700m.

In 38°C I wended my way up with several stops. On this gradient my heavy bike is very skittish as regards balance as there is 20kg of luggage on the rear wheel. I rode at 3 or 4mph for over a couple hours. This route was a jolly good outing for Saturday motorbikes who zoomed noisily up the pass; they weaved in and out of the cars and whistled three feet from my hip at 30mph. It was awful, not least the sound that suddenly appeared from nowhere and was always distracting.

As you cycle you don’t properly know when it ends but remain hopeful that you’re getting near the top on each bend you turn. A check on that optimism is the smell of overheated brake pads on the vehicles descending. Obviously there was a long way yet and judging by this burning smell I could tell that vehicles had been standing on their brakes for miles.

A few club cyclists went past on their carbon road bikes. Two quick lads shouted ‘Allez, allez, you’ve got this!’ as they sped quickly past. I appreciated their encouragement. Emerging eventually at the top I found the Robertson Pie cafe. I kid you not. So gasping for air and needing to replenish the two and a half litres of drink I consumed I popped in. Along with the water I indulged in a peaches and cream pie. As fab as this was it wasn’t sufficient reward.

Pretty jiggered I laboured on for another 15 miles to the town of Moss Vale. Here I pulled into a calm yet well set up campsite and erected my little tent. I’d spoken to Barbara the day before. She’d said if I got there by 4.30pm she’d have a space. Frankly if I’d got there by 7pm I’d have still had a field! It wasn’t busy.

The kitchen or ‘cook house’ had a microwave, hob, kettle, fridge, toaster, benches and tables. All I needed. However, I chose to dine out at The Returned and Services League of Australia club (RSL). It offers a bar and restaurant as well as karaoke (!) and some sports facilities. They are plentiful in the country and I’ve visited before. The dinner selection was wide, the food not fancy yet delicious, the setting comfortable and the beer cold. I became a temporary member and was in.

Back at the campsite I got talking with some Queenslanders from Rockhampton, a place Anna and I stayed in April. They’d come to the Highlands to escape the summer heat on the coast. Typical of many sites are residents who are contract workers. In the cook house on my return were three young guys in hi viz. They were working on a railway contract nearby but all came from Newcastle, just north of Sydney. These boys worked late and rose early. This was a Saturday night and when asked if they missed home they just shrugged their shoulders. They went where the work was.

I dived into my tent and enjoyed nine hours of solid sleep. Bliss.