Angels of the Black Top

Canberra, ACT to Harden, NSW – 77 miles and 1,147m of climbing

Harden to Temora – 53 miles and 567m of climbing

I was worried about the ride from Canberra. I had ‘spent’ a lot of fitness getting to Canberra and had had a brief but lovely time whilst there but I didn’t rest and the quads really ached! The start was flat and cycle paths abounded in this well laid out city. However, soon the road started to rise but with the weather overcast and relatively cool I made it to Yass without too much distress. Here I asked a pedestrian which was a good cafe and following her advice I can confirm she was right, the chocolate muffin was exceptional. The further I got away from Canberra the more I ended up in the country and I found myself on the small chain ring spinning away.

The roads were wide with easy climbs but long fast descents. It was here that I lived in fear of my AirPods falling out and for me never to see them again. I listen to music or podcasts. On the latter it’s either the English Civil War, Leeds United or politics.

I have only two fears on a bike. One is cycling through a tunnel. The traffic noise is terrifying and if the tunnel has an incline you feeling like a target as you pedal at 5mph whilst a truck bears down on you at 60mph in the darkness. The other terror is a unique to Australia: crossing the lanes a motorway from the hard shoulder. The Aussie road designers configured a cheap solution to exiting to a town on the other side of the four lanes. It was simply turning across traffic into the central reservation and then waiting for a gap to cross. This Russian roulette involves 18 wheelers doing 80mph and cars going even faster as you attempt to find a gap in the traffic to make it to the central reservation. I have a slow, badly balanced bike to get across the four lanes. Fortunately Anna doesn’t read the blog!

An obvious delight in store was my lunch from last night and I eventually pulled off the road near the grave of a 19th Century highwayman. He met his end here after seemingly causing havoc and death wherever he went!

So despite the distance and climbing: a combination of a day off the bike, eating well on the road and cooler weather I pedalled into Harden and found the caravan and campsite immediately. Finding anyone to check in was difficult until I rand a telephone number and a young lad ambled out of a caravan. He said the fee was A$42 but on seeing cash agreed to A$40, frankly given the quality of the site it was too expensive. However, I was a long way from an alternative. It was a shabby spot with a weary and dirty washroom. My pitch was fine but ultimately too near the main road. The 18 wheelers thundered past until the early hours and to cap it all off it was a nearby railway line. This had a long slow departure at 00:35 I recollect.

You can eat in most small towns at the ex-Servicemen clubs. They have a bar and restaurant where you can get a beer and meal for less than £15. I found one here and ate my fill before returning to see if my laundry had dried. It had and despite the astonishing and awful noise the swarm of cockatoos were making in the trees I crawled into my little tent. I listened to the trucks and trains until eventually I succumbed to sleep.

In the morning I packed and found a wonderful bakery. Here I was asked by a chap about my tour. He volunteered he had a lot of motorcycles and had ridden a 1942 Harley Davison 5,000km last year on a charity ride for The Flying Doctor. He showed me a photo of a barn full of motorbikes. I don’t think he was short of a bob or two! Sadly the reason he was in Harden, with his wife, was to attend a funeral for another of the riders who was, at the time, in remission.

By way of preventing complacency the Angels of the Blacktop served up, on the supposedly easier day, a climb of 260m in the first 10 miles. Also it was a lot hotter than the day before and I started to fade badly. I don’t think I ate well on the ride and the heat rose to 42°C. Sometimes I’m only human, obvs. However I got to the show ground at Temora and found a pitch near the new modern washroom for A$15.

In fact the supervisors of the site came round collecting the dosh and I struck up a conversation with Garry and Joan. Both were retired and interested in my bike ride. It surprising what people tell you! Their gay son lived in Ealing with his partner and they’d been across to the UK a few times. Garry had worked for P&O and his son for Intercontinental Hotels. They eventually left advising I remain vigilant for the deadly brown snakes! Thank you (!) and I did keep my tent zippers tightly shut. The night was sweltering and my flannel jim jams were stored away as I chose my birthday suit until about 3am when the temperature fell from sizzle to warm and I slipped into my sleeping bag liner. Sorry, I know, too much information…

Again I had found earlier a club and had a good guzzle before returning to the tent. The next day offered my longest ride of the trip so far. Deep joy.