It was after 4pm when I set out from the northern locked gate. Skies were very dark with water laden clouds, and as I started cycling it began to rain. Originally I thought the track was 10k in either direction with a couple of kilometres detour to Johnson’s Campsite. But the signage informed me I had twice the distance to cover if I wanted to make it to the gate at the other end and back. That’s OK, I thought, I can do 40-45k and enjoy it. In for a penny, in for a pound.

The track however, from the start, looked rather less inspiring than I had hoped. Instead of being a little used somewhat rough winding fire trail offering  the occasional gnarly tree roots and bush rock gardens littered with tree debris, criss crossed by a friendly wallaby or two, the track before me was … well, close enough to being a bush highway!

 A dirt\gravel road as wide as the gap in my front teeth and as straight as Hugh Hephner  stretched out before me. I was keen for a ride so I peddled off with gusto thinking to myself, most likely after a few ks it’ll change and become more interesting. In the meantime, how to make it challenging and fun and stimulating!

So, nothing for it, I hit the gas. (For a terrible moment I thought my speedo had given up the ghost again, but a twist of the magnet and the sensor was once again telling me how fast I could go. Nothing worse than a straight track and no way of telling your speed.) Best way to while away the long straight smooth miles is to race the clock.

At the 5k mark, I was averaging 28.8. Hang Dang, thats not bad. But I was blowing steam and knew I couldn’t keep it up. The 10k mark came and went and the track had barely changed and barely turned a corner. My average was now down to 27.6. By now the rain was falling pretty solidly and there was no way I could keep this pace up and expect to enjoy the 20 ks of the return trip. After 20.2 ks I finally reached the locked gate at the southern end, on the Mungo Brush Road. I was pretty satisfied with an average speed of 26.2. But how would I fare on the return trip?

Well, thankfully, 2ks back down the track end was the detour to Johnson’s Beach Camping area and Johnson’s Lookout. Riding that 2km detour was the type of riding I had come for – twisting, winding, undulating, rougher, narrower fire trail. Good stuff! Ah, so much more fun – and then the 300 metre steep rough ride up to Johnsons lookout was stimulating and challenging. It was in this clearing on the top of the hill, with commanding views of the lake and surrounding bushland, that the Johnsons build the homestead for their cattle farm back in 1900.

Once back on “the main track” with the dusk rapidly closing in around me it was pedalling business as usual. Best way I could find to “party up” the return stretch was to duck and weave around the big puddles that had formed (since my trip out). It was also a bit of a challenge to see just how dark it could get before I succumbed to the temptation to switch on my light. Amazing how little light you need on an open track.

It would have been a much better ride with some company – someone to talk to,  the warm sound of their wheels going round, the homely crunch of their gears grating and, of course, the sound of their slightly laboured breathing. That said, there was still a beauty and sense of adventure of being on your favourite bike in a bushland you haven’t been to before. I was glad when I passed through a couple of glades where I enjoyed the enthusiastic voices of frog choirs! They had a different attitude to the inclement weather.

Well after dark, very wet and with a muddy butt, some two hours later I was more than pleased to reach the locked gate and the welcoming warmth of my car. Perhaps fatigue was playing a game with my mind and legs, but It sure felt like the last several ks had more up hill in them than flat. It was definitely flat on the way out!!

I had covered just over 45 kilometres, average speed of 24.4

Whilst the track had proved to be different to what I had expected, except for the Johnson’s Beach section, it had been a good solid “training ride” in the great Aussie bush. On a sunny drier day along with other riders it would have been a much “funner ride”.  Yet, I had worked my legs and bike hard, passed through tree groves, sped between growing puddles, smiled with frogs, watched a few wallabies cross the track felt the wind in my face and fresh rain on my skin. But, at rides end, all I could think about was changing into dry cloths and finding some warm tucker for the drive home. (NB I did take a few minutes to wipe the worst of the mud off the beloved Ripley Mum had given me) And then? Ah, a long hot shower and a soft warm bed!