Part III - Mildura to Hillston
Last updated 2023-03-31 | Word count: 8,500 | Reading time: ~45 minutes
Wednesday 26th January 2022. 1100hrs riding east on Clare Mossgiel Road 20km from Mossgiel. I've spent the morning riding hard, worried about a possible storm and trying not to think about the conversation the previous evening where the owner of the property implored me not to ride across here "as I might die". They were wrong about that as well as that there are no properties out here, I would count four.
Clare-Mossgiel Road was both unsignposted and closed. The sign indicates the road is closed, looks like it has been there a while. Half an hour earlier the road was soft and I could see that just a small amount of rain would make traversing impossible. Despite my concerns, this section of the ride proved to be the smoothest, fastest and easiest riding of the trip. I had somehow developed the belief that once I cross the Cobb Highway (at Mossgiel) the road would be sealed. It's not, but I'd find this out later today.
Mungo National Park is in the Willandra Lakes World Heritage Area - dry plains containing the world's oldest recorded human cremation site. The area is as rich in history as it is barren. Mildura is the obvious starting point to ride out to Mungo; most people turn around and head back, but you can continue north to Ivanhoe or east to Hillston.
Riding from Mungo National Park to Hillston is an accessible version of riding in remote Australia. You have all the same physical and emotional experiences but with properties still at a reasonable distance from the road and each other. You can see to the horizon as you ride along soft roads with little to break up the view. The roads aren't always soft; they're corrugated, there are sections where you ride through blue metal, and occasionally there is a small section that is sealed.
Being out here heightens your senses. You hear the subtleties of your bike and the ground you're passing over. You're attuned to the changes in atmospheric conditions. The sky seems bluer than you can imagine, not because you're seeing the world differently, but because of all the distractions and noise that have been removed. The sunsets can be incredible; they signal to you that this is the end of the day in a way they simply don't in the city. Hillston is a beautiful town, even if there aren't many signs telling you you're going in the right direction.
'Rest' day - Arumpo Road (return) | Day 07 Mildura to Mungo National Park | Day 08 Mungo National Park to Clare | Day 09 Clare to Hillston
Doing this ride yourself
Route: Mildura to Hillston | Distance: 395km | Elevation: 862m
Moving time: 24:07:59 | Elapsed time: 34:05:31 | Ride with GPS route
You could do this route in 2-5 days. Three is doable; four would be a bit more enjoyable. The limiting factor is going to be your hands.
Getting there: Mildura has a domestic airport with daily flights from Sydney and Melbourne and flights from Adelaide and Broken Hill.
You can catch V/Line train from Melbourne to Swan Hill and then a coach to Mildura. There is also a direct coach service from Melbourne.
Getting home: There is no easy way to get home from Hillston that doesn't involve riding somewhere first. Your two options are catching the weekly train from Condobolin or a plane or coach from Griffith.
The ride from Hillston to Condobolin is ~ 180km if you take the direct route via Lake Cargellico (all sealed). You could take Lachlan River Road onto Mount Grace Road to ride a quite unsealed road that runs roughly parallel to Kidman Highway/ Lachlan Valley Way. The train runs weekly on Tuesday, leaving Condobolin at 1341hrs and arriving at Central at 2138hrs. You don't want to miss this. It's quicker to ride to Sydney than wait for the next train. NSW Regional Trains are not bike friendly. Your bike must be in a box. The box's maximum weight is 20kg, and they'll weigh this.
The ride to Griffith is ~110km, with a few route options. There is a daily coach service to Wagga Wagga with a connecting train back to Central. The trip is over 10 hours in duration. Qantas flies from Griffith to Sydney six days a week (no flights on Saturday).
Daily: 119.66km | 5:49:44 | 432m
'Rest' day - Arumpo Road (return)
Sunday 23rd January 2022. 0800hrs the turn-off to Arumpo Road. In a few days, the sign would probably show all the roads as closed as a storm comes through later in the week. Today, the road is open and quiet ('Rest' day - Strava link).
Today was the first time I'd ridden on a road that has a sign with the status. It's both reassuring and concerning that, someone has gone out, made an assessment and then adjusted the sign appropriately. Until you see one of these signs you intuitively assume roads are always 'open'. This is a moment to reevaluate our assumptions about what we think we know based on the experiences we've had.
I had always planned to spend Saturday in Mildura. After a week on the road, there were errands, shopping and packing to be done. I had hoped the only bike shop in town might have found some time to change over my tyre, instead, I was told by the owner 'I don't work Saturday' with the clear implication my schedule doesn't matter to him. As they didn't open until Monday, I had two options on Sunday. The first was to rest, find a pool and get organised. The second option was to go out riding. Mildura is not a town I planned to hang out in. Mildura is the gateway to Mungo National Park and beyond. If you know what you want and you only have a few options, the answer is usually obvious. I was going to gain a lot more from heading out, looking at the road conditions and building confidence than from sitting around planning what I didn't know. In a future trip where I have more experience, I could easily foresee making a different decision.
Mildura is a regional city defined by its access to cheap and plentiful water. The wide streets feel like boulevards. Grass abounds despite the limited rainfall (the average is less than 300mm per year). There's an odd combination of Las Vegas style streets but without the glitz and glamour. I remember walking into the local Coles and thinking 'wow there's going to be all these new products I've never seen before based on the size'. Instead of the floor space having additional shelves, the aisles were double the width of what I'm used to.
Sunday 23rd January 2022. 0830hrs heading north on Arumpo Road (Street View August 2022) having just passed Lake Gol Gol, not that you'd know.
The power lines are part of the Buronga Substation. Looking at the AEMO map (turn on Transmission Infrastructure) you can see this line runs out to Broken Hill. Looking at the map you'll see that a number of the transmission lines run directly to mining sites. The cost to build the infrastructure for hundreds of kilometres provides some perspective on the value of these sites.
Leaving Mildura as you cross the Murray River, you're suddenly on the major east-west highway across Australia (Sturt Highway A20), this turns into the Silver City Highway as you head north. The road is smooth, busy and has dual lanes. After five kilometres the turn-off for Arumpo Road is on the right. Knowing what is 100km down the road, you expect a sudden change, which of course doesn't happen. The signage is somewhat confusing in that it states Mungo National Park is 100km and in brackets below states "unsealed road 86km". Any reasonable person would read this sign as saying the unsealed road begins at 86km, instead the sign is telling you in 14km you're on an unsealed road. Having heard that the sealed section had been recently extended I assumed I would see the dirt fairly soon. My guess is that the sealed road had almost doubled. Instead of 86km of rough road, there would only be 70km.
Arumpo Road had the classic mix of corrugations, soft sections and poorly done repairs that resulted in an experience that the word fun does not feature. Not at the time, and not afterwards. 37mm tyres have more in common with 30mm tyres than they do with 45mm tyres. I'm going to struggle to recommend riding to Mungo National Park on a gravel bike. It's doable; I've shown this. I also don't plan to do this again on 37mm tyres, take from this what you will.
Sunday 23rd January 2022. 1000hrs heading northeast on Arumpo Road. The tar has ended and I am beginning to experience what the next few days will be like. They'll get much worse than this, not that I know that.
Having ridden this road on 37mm tyres I can recommend against this. Riding this road on anything less than 50mm tyres is going to be hard work. Your ideal set-up is probably running 50-60mm tyres (2.0-2.4). If you want to go faster, run 50mm (or narrower), if you want comfort, run 60mm (or wider). Outside of this range, you're going to find the going very rough, or a bit slow. The tyres you use are a personal preference. The general recommendation would be fast rolling, these tend to come with less protection. You could run heavy knobbed tyres and accept the rolling resistance.
There are no solutions, only compromises.
When you're used to riding a heavy bike, taking off the panniers changes your perception more than you think. The heavy, lumbering mass becomes fast and nimble. The average speed suddenly starts to increase. There was no plan today, the goal was to see if I could find water on the presumption there would be places out here. There was a naïve optimism that this part of the trip would be fine. I headed down what looked like paths to travel a few kilometres and find nothing, then backtrack to the road and continue. As I'm riding around a property, I see a ute in the distance and eventually catch up to ask about water. They're as surprised to see me as I am to see them. It's a hot Sunday afternoon in the middle of January and someone just turned up on a bike 60km from the nearest town with a hell of a ride to get there.
We spoke for 15-20 minutes and he told me how he lives up the road (only a few kilometres) and that he would be happy for me to drop in tomorrow and get water. He told me about a Malvern Star bike he had from 1919 that was given to him and he had kept. I said I'd love to see this. He noted that if the weather is good he'd probably be out working and told me where to find the water tank on his property. I thanked him, and left with a vague plan. Satisfied I'd solved the most pressing problem for tomorrow (but not the following days) I turned around and headed back to Mildura.
I didn't realise I was only a few kilometres from Pedro Mail Road. Had I been more aware, and done some planning I would have returned via Pedro Mail Road to make a loop instead of just an out and back. Before leaving Mildura I had noted the Pedro Mail Road on a map and that it linked back, but I hadn't worked out the distances. In the moment I did what was simple and easy. I convinced myself I should get back and finish packing. Heading back via Pedro Mail Road would add another 15km to the ride and would be a decent gravel day ride from Mildura. Depending on your interpretation of what a gravel bike is, how much punishment you're up for, this ride might not be for you. It's almost certainly not for you in summer.
Ride with GPS route for Mildura loop. Note I have not ridden Pedro Mail Road, I can't imagine it's much worse than Arumpo Road.
The ride back felt easier as any return leg of an out-and-back often does. With every minute you're getting closer to where you started. On the return, I stopped in at the grave sites I'd seen on the way out. The first was Jack Nicholson who died of thirst on 18th January 1914, age 45. The second I guessed to be a mother and daughter: Jodie Maree Larcombe 1966-1987 and Dorothy Larcombe 1947-1997. I often wonder about the lives people have lived, what brought Jack out here in 1914 to die of thirst? I am reminded of our difficult relationship with death. Within a generation, almost everyone will have forgotten about these sites and it is the odd person such as myself who visits.
Sunday 23rd January 2022. 1315hrs heading southwest on Arumpo Road (Street View January 2010). If you look very closely you can see the rocks around the base of the tree that is the grave site. Jack Nicholson died of thirst here in 1945, almost 77 years to the day before I came out here. Later in the trip, I'll have a sense of how much Australia changed in that time. I could imagine life out here would have been tough for most of the 20th century.
1330hrs heading southwest on Arumpo Road (Street View January 2010) the grave site of Jodie Maree Larcombe and Dorothy Larcombe. This site stands out as it is one of the few if only places on Arumpo Road where there is a tree near the road. The shade was appreciated.
I arrived back in Mildura mid-afternoon and stopped in at K-Mart to pick up a gas canister for my stove. I rode 120km in just under six hours, with a total time of eight and a half hours. Not a bad day for most people. I am still not sure why I had so much stoppage time. I did my final shopping in Mildura and spent the evening packing snack bags of food and trying to implement plans I'd thought about for nutrition. I had developed the idea that I wouldn't want coffee in the morning because it's hot and instead made up bags of 'iced coffee' (instant coffee, milk powder, protein powder and sugar to have whilst riding). I told someone about my idea of 'iced coffee' in Melbourne and they interpreted the concept quite literally and asked where I would get the ice? Moments like this make me realise how much I take for granted. I'm playing a game of make-believe that serves me. If I want to call my drink mixture an iced coffee, then I will. The art is having enough belief to go along with the story, but also knowing you made it up.
Sunday 23rd January 2022. 2030hrs the advantage of a double bed is not the space to sleep but the space to lay out stuff, group, discard the packaging and repack. There's an inherent struggle between what you want to carry and space. I like having an excess of food. I will not go hungry over the next few days, in fact, I'll hardly lose any weight on this trip. Lion is overseeing the packing operation, keen for us to get to bed at some point soon.
Purchasing zip-lock bags that had space to write on them was a good decision. This meant that at the end of each day, I could put my 'iced coffee', and various snack bags somewhere easily accessible. Although I expected to ride the following section in three days, I made bags for four days.
I was aware that it's easier to prepare what you need when you're inside and clean than in a tent, hot and sweaty. Although it was tempting to put off the packing and organising I stayed up to get this done. I had used every available storage space on my bike to get all the food in. The bike was heavier than it had been at any point in the trip and what lay ahead was the hardest riding I was to ever complete. Our perception of situations is often a result of a sudden change in circumstances. This is the reason we wear jumpers in summer and t-shirts in winter. The same is true for difficulty. Gradual changes can be adapted. Leaving a motel to ride the roughest roads of the trip on the bike at its heaviest is the sort of change that is sudden. Being aware is helpful to the point of understanding, but then you need to learn how to reframe difficulty at the moment.
As I was finishing my packing, and replying to comments on Bikepacking Australia Facebook page a friend (who didn't know I was out riding) called. We chatted about my plans, specifically that despite my time and effort I had not found sources of water. After today it was clear that I would not just ride past places as I had done to date. Ryan suggested looking on Google Maps and finding properties, which we did whilst we spoke. Between Mildura and Hillston we found places roughly every 50km, with the longest distance being 70km. I had spent hours online asking for advice from supposedly knowledgeable bikepackers in Australia about how to find water; in the end, a friend came up with an idea in a few minutes that made the trip work and is the basis of planning on all my trips.
When we ask people what are the defining moments of their lives they often identify points that were built up to slowly and are somewhat arbitrary. Graduating from their degree, the day of their marriage or achieving a position in their career. If pushed they'd concede that no, those were not the defining moments. The defining moments came when they made the decision that lead to the outcome. In the case of marriage, it's the moment when you decide, for whatever reason, you want to do this, not the day the paperwork is signed.
Over the coming days, I'd experience what few people ever do; for the defining moment to happen during the outcome. Looking back, I had worked to this point, but I had never planned to do a multi-week trip, let alone one with this level of remoteness solo and self-supported. In the preceding year I had worked out I needed to push myself, but I hadn't done this with a purpose or goal in mind. I did this because I believed that one day, I'll need to rely on this experience of dealing with hardship. Even planning this trip, I had not foreseen that I would need these skills and experiences I'd acquired over the past few years.
When I left Mildura on Monday, my life was about to change in a way I couldn't begin to understand or appreciate. I'm glad I didn't know. Not because I wanted the surprise, but because I'm not sure I was ready.
The next three days would change the trajectory of my life in a way, few if any decisions have before.
Daily: 114.07km | 7:05:31 | 349m
Total: 1,045km | 51:25:07 | 4,794m
Day 07 Mildura to Mungo National Park
Monday 24th January 2022. 1715hrs heading north on Arumpo Road 25km from Mungo National Park (Day 07 - Strava link). I had just crossed Willandra Creek, not knowing unless I'd seen the sign. It's been a long day so far, and I still have another hour and a half of riding before seeing Mungo Lodge and finding myself a camp spot.
Only two hours earlier, I'd left Belnar property with tears streaming down my face. By this point in the afternoon, I'd been able to refocus my attention on the flies, the wind and the sun. By this point, I'd seen the same truck driver three times as he drove up and down Arumpo Road. Each time I'd get off the road and wave at him. This was my only social interaction all day - waving at a truck driver that kicked up so much dust I had to get off my bike.
I had my answer if I pondered why stopping in at Belnar station was so emotional.
It's easy to view the world as deterministic. To believe that once the outcome has occurred; this was inevitable. Over the course of Monday afternoon, I'd experience a series of events that would leave me overwhelmed, in tears and wondering why exactly I was out here riding my bike. I make these hours sound dramatic; they were. I don't look back and think that I was always going to succeed. I look back and wonder about the person I became. I wonder: if I'd known what was going to happen, would I have ever left Mildura?
The day started as they so often do; late, on the basis that I needed someone to help me out. Today was waiting for the only bike shop in Mildura to open so that I could purchase a tyre and set up tubeless. The owner told me they'd come in 'early', he would be at the shop by 0930hrs. Mildura early is not Sydney early. I had planned to be well on my way to Mungo as I arrived at the shop. I'd now be leaving town mid-morning and riding all afternoon. I left the shop with a new tyre and an annoying rubbing sound. The owner assured me I would just wear down the bolt in the frame this was rubbing on. I headed off doubtful about this suggestion. I decided to ignore their advice, take all my gear off the bike and remove the bolt that was protruding a few millimetres outside a hotel with a large Egyptian statue. I wonder who wanted this, who made it and what people thought the day the statue was installed.
On the way out of town, I saw my first sign for Sydney; only 1,020 kilometres to go if I followed the main roads. The next sign I'd see for Sydney wouldn't be for another five days. The day was hot and dry. I made use of the shade at the gravesite I'd seen the previous day. I did make one detour to look for a property, thinking there must be one not that far off the road. I rode parallel to Arumpo Road for a kilometre but turned around as the track narrowed and became increasingly sandy. Had I continued I would have re-joined Arumpo Road (and not found anything). The sealed section is smooth and fast, even on a loaded gravel bike.
The defining aspect of this trip was the lack of accessible water between Mildura and Hillston. 400km, no services. I'd been watching the weather over the previous week and saw that there was a thunderstorm forecast for late Wednesday. I needed to be on a sealed road by the time this came through. I thought that would be the case east of Mossgiel (in a few days I'd find out I was wrong). I'd allowed three long days to ride this section, which is why I wanted to leave on Sunday to give myself some extra time before the predicted storm. Leaving on Monday meant I may be still out when the storm was predicted for Wednesday. The forecast was 7-10mm of rain. Any more than 1mm would make some of the roads unrideable. Any more than 2mm and I'd be pushing the bike through 'peanut butter mud'.
Rain was the one weather aspect I was concerned about. The irony of course is that everyone else was worried about the heat and lack of water. On the way out to Mungo, the clouds darkened, and I seriously considered turning back or stopping early. I decided I had to go for this. We tend to regret what we don't do much more than what we do. Over the course of fewer than two hours, the sky went from a brilliant bright blue to ominously grey and cloudy. If the photos were not time-stamped it would be hard to believe how quickly the change occurred. Looking back at photos from the rest day the sky did become overcast during the day. The change today looked threatening, not benign. I made the decision to continue on the basis that there were people heading out to Mungo National Park in vehicles. I had enough food to stay there for a few days and should the roads become wet and unpassable, I would try and get a lift from someone.
I arrived at the house of the person I'd met the previous day at around 1530hrs. I parked my bike and myself under his shed. I filled all my bottles from his rainwater tank and had something approximating lunch. I saw that his dog was in a cage, and I spent some time petting him. A dachshund seems an odd choice for outback NSW but if you want the dog in your ute I can see how this makes sense. I've come to assume country dogs would be working, but just because you live in the country, doesn't mean you don't want companionship. I found a scrap of paper and scratched out a short note letting him know I'd visited.
As I was heading off, I noticed the small patch of grass in an otherwise dry landscape. At this point, I cried. I guessed the grass was being tendered to by the owner of the dog. As little as this guy has, he has his dog to come home to. For everything I have, I have even less to come home to.
I remember little of the hours that followed.
I was surprised to see a small lake close to the road. This was the first of a few that I would pass by, which gave me a renewed sense of optimism about finding water. I didn't need these and didn't stop at them. When you're uncertain, the value of information increases more than people think. Being told there is 'no water' and then seeing a small lake means you have to reevaluate the information you're relying on.
I'd started to realise that the flies were going to be a constant companion. Whilst riding the flies would eventually settle on my back and cause little annoyance. My head net quickly moved to an easily accessible place. My priority when I stopped was putting on my head net. The flies seemed unperturbed by a lack of access to my sweaty face. The straw hat I had on under my helmet meant it was often easier to take my helmet off and put the head net on, rather than put the head net over my helmet.
The threatening clouds slowly subsided to form a blanket of grey. The change in atmospheric conditions mirrored my general mood; the ferocity of my feelings had subsided, but the underlying sense of emotional disturbance remained. My afternoon was spent finding short sections of hard-packed rock and trying to avoid the sandy sections, which, as I came to learn would often be in the dip of the road. The road undulated slightly, meaning any time I gained speed I had to wonder how much sand might be at the bottom.
As the grey blanket slowly subsided and the blue sky above became visible, the lodge outside the Mungo National Park came into sight. Having spent the day becoming attuned to the sense of isolation, in front me suddenly stood a modern building with a well-maintained driveway.
Close, I continued on to the campground and found that, despite the need to book, there were plenty of spots available. I settled in the far corner where I again began the time-honoured ritual of pulling everything off my bike to form camp. I ate my dinner out of a bowl from under my head net. Had I bothered to do a fraction of research about Mungo National Park, or even just look at the signs, I would have seen there was a short walk to a lookout where I could have watched the evening sunset with an uninterrupted view across Lake Mungo.
I was oblivious to all of this. I'd just spent the best part of ten hours getting from Mildura to Mungo National Park, had I spent a few more minutes the experience could have been spectacular. Instead, what I came to realise over a year later is that sometimes right when we feel exhausted and overwhelmed, the best part is just around the next corner. You just have to get there.
Daily: 121.99km | 7:59:27 | 333m
Total: 1,167km | 59:24:34 | 5,127m
Day 08 Mungo National Park to Clare
Tuesday 25th January 2022. 0915hrs heading east on Mailbox Road (Street View - January 2010) towards Mungo Visitor Centre (Day 08 - Strava link). The experience was disappointing, with no helpful information being offered and incorrect information being provided. This almost felt personal, having just spent seven days riding here. You'd think someone might vaguely care or go to some effort. No. You're expecting too much.
The roads were going to deteriorate further today. I've mostly tried to repress the memories of the bone-jarring hours on hard, narrow tyres. My notes on Strava read:
"If Day 07 was the emotional roller coaster, today was like being on a treadmill. Except it's the worst treadmill you've been on. I've been thinking, how do I describe how bad these roads are? Everyone thinks they know bad roads, but I think these might be like cycling in a third-world country. I've never been interested in horse riding but I felt I was kicked for about eight hours today."
I woke up to the grey blanket of clouds from yesterday. The overcast conditions provide a considerable reduction in temperature, even if it doesn't reduce the humidity. As I packed up camp, I chatted with the people who had driven out their vintage car (Peugeot?). We both remarked that we thought the other person was doing this the hard way based on the road conditions.
The morning was spent delaying the inevitable uncertainty I had ahead of me. Riding out to Mungo was for the most part fairly straightforward. Heading beyond Mungo there is little information available. The roads have different names on different maps, it's not clear if these are roads or private tracks, and on some maps, some of the roads don't exist. What was particularly disconcerting is the town I was heading for - Hillston - is not on a single sign, anywhere. This only increased the sense of doubt and uncertainty.
I headed back to Mungo Lodge (which looked nice), ordered a coffee and managed to get them to fill up my water bottles. I then headed off via the National Parks Office to find the staff not particularly useful. The first person I spoke to at the visitor centre didn't know of Hillston! The second person (again staff) told me National Parks operated the places 50km down the road I lined up for water (they're private properties). The online chorus of 'rely on local knowledge' is only useful if the locals know the area. How could you work out here and not know where Hillston is? No one seemed particularly concerned about my decision to go out riding by myself, which was somewhat reassuring. Part of me wondered if they just assumed I'd ride the closed loop and I was asking these questions for personal interest.
I left the visitor centre to ride across a series of dry lakes out to the edge of the park. Over this 50km, the defining feature of a dry lake is the sign telling you that you're entering a lake. There is an imperceptible drop in elevation and the road changes. You can tell it's the sort of surface that has absorbed water in the past and will do so again. The texture is flaky and breaks up easily.
As I left Mungo National Park (there's no sign) the first property I expected to see for the day was exactly where I thought it would be based on the distance I'd travelled. There are two properties, one on either side of the road. In an area where it's often 30km+ between properties, this does seem odd when you ride past. I went to the northern one as I saw that first. The person that answered the door seemed a bit surprised to see me and remarked 'I was the first cyclist she'd (ever?) seen' (out here). She was more than happy to fill up my water bottles and I spent some time with her grandchildren who enthusiastically asked me about the bike. They recounted stories of their life on the property - riding motorbikes and catching animals. I'm guessing they were probably 8-10 years old. They seemed so attentive and grounded. It's almost as though there is a life without a phone in your face all day. She kindly made me a sandwich (which I didn't ask for) and I headed off with the goal to make it to Balranald Road.
Google Maps would tell you I stayed on Gol Gol Road which turns into Gampung Lake Road. At some point, the signs change to Mildura Ivanhoe Road. There are not that many street signs out here, you tend to notice them. I spoke to someone who was driving towards Mildura to ask about the next property I had lined up. They happened to live there and directed me to where the water was stored, but asked I stay away from the dogs. By the time I worked out where the dogs were, they'd seen me and I set them off in a barking frenzy. This person had a motion sensor alarm set up such that when I walked in a certain area it set the sensor off and a voice told you 'you're being monitored on camera'. This reminded me of what the person at the first property had hinted at, not everyone that turns up is nice and can be trusted. There's theft and damage out here. In many cases, people are often alone and vulnerable. It's not what I associate with rural life.
Over the course of the day, the road conditions deteriorated from yesterday. The road varied between one of three states:
Sand. Awful. Deep. Very hard to push a bike through. I was pushing at less than 3km/hr. Sometimes I’d be getting off and pushing, riding, pushing. You'd change from riding to pushing every few minutes.
Gravel. Imagine an inch or two of soft gravel. Steering was a secondary consideration as you're trying to keep the bike upright.
Rocky. Sharp rocks that you think could easily cut the sidewall of your tyre without a second thought.
Once I reached the point of forgetting the previous surface I'd been on and thinking I'd had enough of this, the surface would change. Just as I thought, well it can't get worse, of course, it did.
There are a lot of trees, but not many of them are close to the road. I tried never to take my bike off the road (due to possible punctures) and would often sit down in the middle of the road for my 'break' in the baking sun. I usually found taking a break from riding was enough to get some energy back. Before starting riding, I’d take another big gulp of hot water. This is as refreshing as it sounds.
I arrived at my final property just after 1900hrs. This evening will remain with me for years, not necessarily for good reasons. There was some confusion among the people that lived there about where I should camp. I was offered a shearers dorm, which was pretty hot and unpleasant as it was full of mosquitoes. I did make use of the outdoor shower, not that I had a towel. I washed my cycling clothes and hung these out to 'dry'. The humidity and reasonably still night meant the next day they still felt damp, just somewhat cleaner. The evening provided a quintessential outback sunset. The red shadows of the fading light illuminated the broken clouds through distant trees, dirt and scrub.
As I was getting ready for dinner (a dehydrated meal) the owner and his mate turned up, cracked open some beers then proceeded to tell me that I'd die if I rode the route I planned tomorrow. This 'conversation' dragged on for over an hour when all I wanted to do was eat my dinner. In some ways, they seemed to care, but mostly to get me to change my mind. Their point, as most are, was valid. A small amount of rain could make the road unpassable, I accepted this. What I didn't accept is their premise 'that you can't know' the conditions of a road 'as it could have just rained in that one spot and no one would know'. The 'you can't know' is a premise I instinctively dismiss. There is no counterfactual to 'you can't know' which means there is no validity. Yes, I understand I can't know where it has rained, knowing this I am not going to simply ride an additional 100km to be on a sealed road with trucks.
The discussion became somewhat terse when I was relentlessly quizzed as to why I wasn't riding a motorbike. What answer did they expect? Oh, yes, I wish I was here on a motorbike. I'd be a lot less welcome if I turned up on a motorbike, put that aside. I did my best to get them to leave, which is an art when you're staying on someone's property. The son of the owner's mate was the most reasonable and I would have happily chatted with him. Unfortunately, our short exchanges were interrupted by those drinking. There's a temptation to leave this out, to pretend everything was perfect. I couldn’t get them to leave quickly enough. This was one of the few times I wish I'd just filled up my water bottles and camped somewhere else.
As the room was so hot, I decided to pull out the mattress from the dorm and put this inside my tent as a change from my deflating air mattress. I told the guys that I'd make my decision in the morning. As I lay down, I was conflicted. I don't know this area, there's merit to what they said, yes, they're annoying, but I came out here to experience a part of the world I'd rarely see. I didn't feel I could give up on this without seeing how the day looked tomorrow. I'm responsible for the outcomes and I need to make my own decisions.
Daily: 158.34km | 9:03:01 | 180m
Total: 1,326km | 68:27:35 | 5,307m
Day 09 Clare to Hillston
Sunday 16th January 2022. 1500hrs I am a few kilometres out of Cressy on the Hamilton Highway and starting to see how dry Victoria is. The dryness of the country today (Day 01 - Strava link) is a revelation coming from NSW where most days it seemed like it rained in 2021. Few us could have imagined how much rain we'd receive in 2022.
In 1841 Frenchman, Jean Duverney established an Inn on the Woady Yallock River and later a settlement was formed which he named after his home town in France, Crecy. - Source sign next to the toilet block at Cressy Picnic Area Playground.
I mentally set out with the belief that as long as I didn't make any egregious fuck ups, I'd probably be okay. By this, I mean the sort of thing where you tell someone what happened, and they look at you like you're an idiot as if you'd make that mistake, Losing my pump, accidentally spilling a bottle of water, trying to catch a snake etc. I avoided all of these, but I made many small mistakes: forgetting to apply sunscreen, lip balm etc. I never made enough small mistakes to compound into a serious issue, but I made plenty. It’s hard to describe the frustration of thinking next time I stop, I’ll do X, Y & Z. Only to realise when you start again, you forgot to do Y.
I awoke to another day of grey clouds. The sunrise drenched the brooding clouds, injecting lashes of colour into the sky. The sky feels much wider on flat, open land than in the city. What you might glance at home becomes enthralling as you pack up camp. With no sign of rain, I decided there was no reason not to follow the planned route. The owner saw me that morning and disagreed but asked me to text him when I was across. I thought this was a good idea. I texted him when I arrived in Hillston the following day. While packing the bike, I noticed one of the bolts holding on my Salsa Anything Cage had been sheared off by my rack. I don't think I had a spare bolt, which tells you a lot. I decided to take some of the weight out of that dry bag and see if this holds, which it did until I was back in Sydney.
Clare-Mossgiel Road was both unsignposted and closed. The sign indicating the road closure, looked like it has been there a while. I left the short section of tar to venture east under a cloudy sky. The 'conversation' from the previous evening had made me realise I should ride this section harder than I usually would. I had somehow developed the belief that once I cross the Cobb Highway the road would be sealed. It's not, but I'd find this out later today. My mind was focused on getting to Mossgiel. The owner of the property last night told me he had not driven across here in years and that 'no one lived out here'. Within an hour I'd already seen a sign for 'Mungunyah'. I quickly made a note that in the worst case, this is my exit. I was to come across another three properties. Local knowledge is only helpful if it's not wrong.
Crossing Clare-Mossgiel Road I saw only one vehicle. A guy had come out to pick up a stray ewe. How he found the sheep is not something I considered. I expressed my concern about the weather. He said it wouldn't rain today, but offered for me to check the radar. I explained I don't have reception, then he flicked a switch in his car and suddenly I had a 4G connection. I was got the impression this was an expensive necessity. Confident in the rain holding off I was able to enjoy the sections that provided the photos that defined the trip. Soft sand on a straight road that stretches to the horizon. There's a disconnect between what you see on the map and what you experience. When the road extends beyond what we can see due the curvature of the earth, it's hard to imagine that at some point in the future the road will end.
I reached Mossgiel at 1300hrs for four hours of riding time to cover 71km. Those numbers don't convey the satisfaction I felt upon my arrival. There was reception at Mossgiel (which is one house - the old Post Office?) and the forecast still showed a 50% chance of a storm in the afternoon. Having worked out no one was at home I found the outside tap and filled up a water bottle. I might as well have boiled a kettle the water was that hot. I wandered around seeing if there were any better options; the outside laundry seemed to have water that wasn't quite as hot. I ate some lunch in the shade outside the front of the house. Whilst I was here, I went over to read about the history of Mossgiel and found it a sad story; possibly one of many for people that moved out to regional settlements in the 19th & early 20th century. In 1901 there was a devastating drought and later an epidemic of typhoid that affected residents in every house in town in Mossgiel. Those that stayed on left at the outbreak of WWI.
In the 30+ minutes I spent at Mossgiel I did not see one vehicle on the Cobb Highway.
In the early afternoon, I left Mossgiel with less than 100km to Hillston. I had initially planned to detour via Willandra National Park, but when the turn-off came, I did not want to be stuck out here in the rain. The detour would have added another 40km, and it wasn't clear if I'd find water out there (I assume not). At the time, I made the right decision; looking back, it would have been nice to visit as the weather did hold up. I could have never known this. I reckon I'd make the same decision if I had the same moment again. I hoped as I came closer to Hillston that the road might improve. I was wrong. The road was rough and sandy. The first 60km of the day were some of the best riding of the entire trip. It's amazing how well roads hold up when cars don't drive on them.
Whilst the days were hot and the afternoons offered no reprieve, I wasn't consciously aware of the conditions until later that afternoon. I'd seen signs up for 'Take a Selfie with Santa' just before the Watkins Road turn-off. Someone had made some effort with the display, including finding 'servo sunnies' for Santa. A ute drove towards me as I left the display (with my selfie). We chatted a bit; his wife had made the display. He offered me a beer, which I declined. As he was about to head off, the guy casually noted he had ice and made up some ice water bottles. I put a 950mL bottle in my feedbag and a 750mL bottle on the frame. 30 minutes later, when I finished the 950mL, I couldn't tell the difference in temperature between the 750mL bottles on the frame. They were both at the same temperature. One had been out for hours; the other was cold 30 minutes ago. Until then, I'd not considered the temperature as I didn't have a reference point.
I kept looking for water as I headed east, but for once without success. I pulled into a property and found a beautiful place with a pool, incredible kitchen and additional accommodation but no obvious external tap. I had enough water, I continued riding. I knew that eventually the road would become sealed. 40km out of town the road suddenly changed and I thought what luck I'd had to ride this all the way in. The sealed road was on either side of Middle Creek, which looked to have more water than I'd expect based on the area. For some reason this extended a few kilometres; maybe there was extra money in the budget that year and the road was the beneficiary.
As I stopped to take a photo of what I believed to be the cross-over point from dirt to tar, a family drove past, stopped to see if I was okay, and we chatted. They dispelled me of the belief that this would last off the dirt and confirmed that the road would go back to what I was used to. The driver offered me a beer; they were drinking one whilst driving - more common than I realised. I found out his brother was the person that had been somewhat annoying last night, they said, 'he's like that'. In those five minutes, multiple threads came together like a scriptwriter might plan. Late in the afternoon on Australia Day, I'm riding on a road that I've only seen one vehicle on, and that person knows not the owner of the property I camped at, but the guy that turned up to tell me I should ride motorbikes. We have this discussion whilst the driver is drinking a beer in an air-conditioned car whilst I am looking a bit ragged. Then as quickly as the moment happened, we went our separate ways, almost certainly never to see each other again.
I happened to experience all of this for no reason other than choosing to be out here. We each headed off in our respective directions for the day and in our lives.
As the shadows lengthened, the road suddenly changed from rough dirt to chip seal. These changes are sudden and abrupt. You spend hours wondering about the moment, then only a minute to adjust to the change. I was 20km out of Hillston. Within an hour, I could be in town. That thought was insufficient to overcome the growing fatigue both physically and emotionally. The adrenaline that had sustained me through the last three days quickly wore off, so I started looking for somewhere to stay. I'd received advice on the road earlier of a property to stay at. The directions, whilst sounding clear, were not. After riding through a few paddocks, I headed back to the main road. A few minutes later, I saw a property with a light on that was good enough to investigate. This was an agricultural space, with a house further down the road. I approached the house, but no one was home. I parked my bike near their shed and waited for them to return. By 2130hrs, I was tired. I didn't feel like riding further, so I set up my tent in the corner. Not long after getting in, I heard a vehicle drive in. They parked at their front door and didn't see me. I thought I'd leave this conversation for the following morning.
As I look back on the three days from leaving Mildura, there are two themes that stand out. The conditions and the people.
The road conditions were difficult on a heavily loaded (40kg) gravel bike with 37mm tyres. The weather added an extra dimension: I was expecting hot and dry, instead I had hot and humid. The daily maximums were 35-37C. Throughout the day the humidity would build as the sky darkened only to dissipate by the evening, as did the wind. Throughout this section and most of the trip, I had a decent headwind. Just what you want. The afternoons were often scorching and hard. Of course, I was riding these as I'd started late... On the ART scale (Andrew's Riding Toughness scale), where 10/10 is all but unrideable - think 45C+ or 60km/hr headwind gusting to 80km/hr - these days moved from a 7/10 into 8/10 maybe 8.2-8.3 ish on the ART scale. Never more than 8.5/10. I just made up this scale, but you get the idea, it was hard.
The world owes me nothing. I don't come out here to test a social psychology theory of compliance, I come out here because I want to be here. Part of that must come across when people meet me. The data suggests there's something more than an individual factor, the reason for my positive experiences is not me, it's them. People are just nice, kind and thoughtful. They go out of their way to do more than is required, they don't just tolerate the fact I've trespassed onto their property; they invite me inside.
If you want to criticise a trip like this, in my opinion, it's on the legality, morality and ethics of assuming you can turn up at someone’s place and expect them to give you water. Over time I have developed a view that this is fine. People seem happy to host me briefly, and the conversation is interesting enough to offset the issue of me turning up unannounced. I reckon I have done this between 20-30 times in the last 18 months. I would return and ride this section again, not to be on the roads but to visit some places and just say thank you.
On the Bikepacking Australia Facebook page I posted the following:
"I think much of this ride is doable by many people. Maybe not in the way I choose to ride (solo, self-supported), maybe not at the same time of the year or with the exact daily distances. I hope that what people see from this might seem impossible is within their grasp. If I was to say anything I would encourage you to put fewer limitations on yourself. You might be surprised that you can ride in summer, you won’t know if you don’t try.
I can't wait for the next person to come out here in summer, turn up to a station and have the person go - you know what, some guy came through here last year riding his bike - do you know him? To which you can say - yes, yes, I do."