Le Tour de NSW
I don’t think I want to even look at a bicycle for at least a week, let alone ride one. The good news is that I survived, more or less unscathed as well, apart from the temporary groaning of my muscles. Pain and sunburn aside, I feel good; I feel I’ve achieved something. And I’ve managed to raise around $140 for the ‘Solomon Islands Appeal’ – the college’s own charity project whereby infrastructure is built in poor communities.
The Day Before
It all began with a cramped car trip up to Orange late on Friday afternoon. Our driver, Dave, was a real man of the country; a true Aussie bloke. The various stickers on the back window of his four wheel drive combined with his accent and manner left no doubt in my mind that this was the case. I’m probably the opposite in most respects to the stereotypical Aussie country bloke; a city slicker at heart. I think this is the reason we’d never really gotten to know each other that well before the trip; there seemed very little point.
Seven of us in total crammed into the four wheel drive, luggage and all, and it was tight to say the least. By 5:30pm we were on the road and began the trip to Orange. All in all, it took a bit over 3 hours and my legs were cramped by the end of it. I spent most of the trip anxiously assessing the height of each hill we went over in the knowledge that we were riding back exactly the same way.
After a little trouble finding the others in Orange, we finally pulled in at destination – an incredibly wealthy and expansive private school. I did what I always do after a long trip, I got out and groaned loudly whilst stretching all of my muscles. The aroma of the awaiting barbeque caught the attention of each of us – the weary travellers. Before eating, we were shown where we would be sleeping and we carried our luggage with us. The school was most impressive. On the way to our sleeping quarters, we walked past an indoor pool then through a mega gymnasium, past weights rooms, up the stairs past a room filled with billiard tables, then past several squash courts until we arrived at a floor with a cushioned mat rolled across. We were all a little awestruck; none of us could remember school being so luxurious. The facilities wouldn’t be put to shame by even the AIS, and this was just the sports section.
After ooh-ing and ahh-ing, we headed back outside to the car, where our dinner was awaiting. We were provided steak sandwiches by the ‘Lions club’ and ate them in a science laboratory. On the walls, posters encouraged students to eat beef, while other posters showed the various stages of the cattle slaughter process. This was a county school for certain, and not just any country school, a mega rich one for mega rich farmers. The posters and the lab environment made me a little queasy as I ate, but I was hungry after the journey, so I still managed to eat all of my dinner.
Ideally we all should have gone to bed early, given the enormity of the task ahead of us, but due to the impressive nature of the facilities, we all stayed up late playing. I shot a few hoops with some of the guys, I watched as others balanced on gymnastic beams and I revelled in the foam pit. It was like a 5 year old kid’s dream of being locked in the school gym overnight and being able to do whatever they wanted. I just loved jumping and somersaulting into the soft foam pit.
At one point whilst we all gleefully enjoying the facilities, Zane abruptly halted and yelled out an obscenity. Zane is an awkwardly built, loud talking, crude thinking Aussie bloke. He looks like a thirty-something typical Australian tradesman and has the mouth to match. Each phrase that comes out of his mouth is either some joke about sex or about toilets. Despite all these arguably lacklustre attributes, when combined, somehow he becomes a real character and a funny guy. After cursing, in a strine accent, he conceded “I’ve forgot my towel.” Just I was about to laugh sympathetically, I realised I’d forgotten my towel as well. Bother. Later in the night I realised I’d forgotten thongs for the shower as well. Fortunately though, one of the support car drivers gave me his towel, as he was driving back to Canberra the next day anyway.
As the night wore on, our joyous playing in the gym continued. Eventually though, our logic overruled our youthful frivolity, and we all went to bed. We all slept in our sleeping bags on the padded floor spaced closely to each other; it was just like camp again. I lay there staring at the ceiling, worrying, until a gentle calm washed over my mind and I fell into a blissful slumber.
Day 1
We shared an anxious breakfast together. People hardly spoke except for the more flamboyant characters. We weren’t ready to ride for hours, and each minute waiting was agonising; I just wanted to get started. Eventually though, we were underway and rolled out of Orange. Once out of town, the pack opened up and we all went at our own pace. I was enjoying the country scenery and couldn’t imagine why I had been worrying so much; surely the ride wouldn’t be that bad, after all, I’d survived it the year before. Ten kilometres into the ride, we were told to ride in a tight pack together, so we all stuck behind Kiwi, the mad New Zealander with bright blue bike shorts and a blaring stereo strapped to his bike.
The start of the ride was pleasant. I enjoyed the scenery and the remoteness of the areas which we cycled through. Unlike Melbourne where points of interested are separated by a labyrinth of streets dotted with houses or other buildings, out in the country, tiny towns are spread far apart, and in between them is void of anything that resembles civilisation, bar fences. Some fields were barren, some had sheep, and the more interesting ones were a glorious golden colour made up of canola flowers. Golden rolling hills looked like sand dunes under the clear blue sky. Just outside a town named ‘Blaney’, lush green hills had large white wind generators on their peaks. I don’t know how people can complain about how wind generators look; I think they look great, a welcome break from barren fields.
We passed many kangaroos, but unfortunately they were of the ‘road kill’ variety, and each time we passed one, we copped a lungful of pungent air. Most of the day was spent keeping left of the white lines that marked the shoulder of the road, whilst trying to avoid potholes or debris. Soon enough the hills started, but fortunately on the first day, they were mostly downward sloping. I began to realise how slow my bike was compared to everyone else’s when we got to the steep downhills. My bike is a big black, heavy and of the ‘dual suspension for the sake of dual suspension’ variety. In other words, it is meant to be cool for a kid, but not really meant for long distance riding. While I was in my top gear and peddling madly, the other riders drifted past me effortlessly, without even peddling. My front forks shuddered and made a terrible sound as if they were about to collapse. I lost ground going downhills, but made it up again going up them. So although uphills were harder, for the sake of keeping up with the other riders, they were better.
Several hours and sixty odd kilometres later it was time for lunch. We pulled into a rest area and unloaded the ute. The area was nothing more than a small clearing by the railway line with one decrepit picnic table. It felt good to take a break and we all enjoyed it in our own ways. Artou, a Russian exchange student, immediately got out some tobacco and rolled himself a cigarette, not exactly the image you associate with cyclists. Each to his own, I guess. Artou is pretty much everything that you’d imagine a Russian person to be; he drinks heavily, smokes heavily, has a thick accent and is very loud and confident.
It was just about time for the Grand Final to start back in Melbourne, so Kiwi tuned into the radio to the broadcast and we spent the rest of the day’s riding listening to the final. The sound didn’t travel all that well, so at times we had to pass the score along, yelling from rider to rider. One bike had broken down just a few minutes after lunch, so we quickly swapped it for the spare bike that was brought along.
After a long exhausting 105 kilometres of riding, we finally pulled into ‘Cowra Public School’. This school was far less impressive, but as soon as we arrived, the ‘Lions club’ fired up a barbeque, which made us quickly forget about anything else.
After a satisfying dinner, we began to settle down for the day. We were all exhausted and looked in bad shape. Our legs were already aching and a few riders were red as beetroots – sunburnt all over. I learned that there were no showers available, so we would have to wait until Boorowa to take one. This news was most unwelcome to the other riders and I; we were going to have to rough it and put up with the smell.
Most people wanted to check out the local pub, but I wasn’t really interested, so I stayed back. I looked over my bike, and realised that the mechanic at uni, a docile old man who would be at least 90 years old, had made my brakes too tight, so it was as though I had been riding with my brakes partially on the whole way. I quickly got out my allen key and fixed them up, checking over the bike afterwards. When I’d sorted out everything else and washed myself as best I could without a shower, I decided to check out the town of Cowra.
Apparently Cowra had a fairly sizeable Japanese prisoner of war camp during the 2nd world war, but I’m not sure if it was for actual soldiers or just Japanese people living in Australia at the time. Anyway, now the town has quite a bit of Japanese culture, including a Japanese garden and several restaurants. The garden was out of town and would have been closed, so I instead decided to walk through the main street. It was a bit like every other country town in Australia really; several pubs and an ad hoc mixture of family owned shops in old buildings and large multinational franchises. Only the pubs and ‘Bi-lo’ were open, so I went there and got myself some thongs for the shower in Boorowa – I didn’t fancy exposing my feet to the kind of germs that would be present in a caravan park shower block.
By about 10:30pm almost everyone was back, and we all fell asleep pretty quickly, to a cacophony of snorers
Days 2 and 3 to follow. Stay tuned.
I don’t think I want to even look at a bicycle for at least a week, let alone ride one. The good news is that I survived, more or less unscathed as well, apart from the temporary groaning of my muscles. Pain and sunburn aside, I feel good; I feel I’ve achieved something. And I’ve managed to raise around $140 for the ‘Solomon Islands Appeal’ – the college’s own charity project whereby infrastructure is built in poor communities.
The Day Before
It all began with a cramped car trip up to Orange late on Friday afternoon. Our driver, Dave, was a real man of the country; a true Aussie bloke. The various stickers on the back window of his four wheel drive combined with his accent and manner left no doubt in my mind that this was the case. I’m probably the opposite in most respects to the stereotypical Aussie country bloke; a city slicker at heart. I think this is the reason we’d never really gotten to know each other that well before the trip; there seemed very little point.
Seven of us in total crammed into the four wheel drive, luggage and all, and it was tight to say the least. By 5:30pm we were on the road and began the trip to Orange. All in all, it took a bit over 3 hours and my legs were cramped by the end of it. I spent most of the trip anxiously assessing the height of each hill we went over in the knowledge that we were riding back exactly the same way.
After a little trouble finding the others in Orange, we finally pulled in at destination – an incredibly wealthy and expansive private school. I did what I always do after a long trip, I got out and groaned loudly whilst stretching all of my muscles. The aroma of the awaiting barbeque caught the attention of each of us – the weary travellers. Before eating, we were shown where we would be sleeping and we carried our luggage with us. The school was most impressive. On the way to our sleeping quarters, we walked past an indoor pool then through a mega gymnasium, past weights rooms, up the stairs past a room filled with billiard tables, then past several squash courts until we arrived at a floor with a cushioned mat rolled across. We were all a little awestruck; none of us could remember school being so luxurious. The facilities wouldn’t be put to shame by even the AIS, and this was just the sports section.
After ooh-ing and ahh-ing, we headed back outside to the car, where our dinner was awaiting. We were provided steak sandwiches by the ‘Lions club’ and ate them in a science laboratory. On the walls, posters encouraged students to eat beef, while other posters showed the various stages of the cattle slaughter process. This was a county school for certain, and not just any country school, a mega rich one for mega rich farmers. The posters and the lab environment made me a little queasy as I ate, but I was hungry after the journey, so I still managed to eat all of my dinner.
Ideally we all should have gone to bed early, given the enormity of the task ahead of us, but due to the impressive nature of the facilities, we all stayed up late playing. I shot a few hoops with some of the guys, I watched as others balanced on gymnastic beams and I revelled in the foam pit. It was like a 5 year old kid’s dream of being locked in the school gym overnight and being able to do whatever they wanted. I just loved jumping and somersaulting into the soft foam pit.
At one point whilst we all gleefully enjoying the facilities, Zane abruptly halted and yelled out an obscenity. Zane is an awkwardly built, loud talking, crude thinking Aussie bloke. He looks like a thirty-something typical Australian tradesman and has the mouth to match. Each phrase that comes out of his mouth is either some joke about sex or about toilets. Despite all these arguably lacklustre attributes, when combined, somehow he becomes a real character and a funny guy. After cursing, in a strine accent, he conceded “I’ve forgot my towel.” Just I was about to laugh sympathetically, I realised I’d forgotten my towel as well. Bother. Later in the night I realised I’d forgotten thongs for the shower as well. Fortunately though, one of the support car drivers gave me his towel, as he was driving back to Canberra the next day anyway.
As the night wore on, our joyous playing in the gym continued. Eventually though, our logic overruled our youthful frivolity, and we all went to bed. We all slept in our sleeping bags on the padded floor spaced closely to each other; it was just like camp again. I lay there staring at the ceiling, worrying, until a gentle calm washed over my mind and I fell into a blissful slumber.
Day 1
We shared an anxious breakfast together. People hardly spoke except for the more flamboyant characters. We weren’t ready to ride for hours, and each minute waiting was agonising; I just wanted to get started. Eventually though, we were underway and rolled out of Orange. Once out of town, the pack opened up and we all went at our own pace. I was enjoying the country scenery and couldn’t imagine why I had been worrying so much; surely the ride wouldn’t be that bad, after all, I’d survived it the year before. Ten kilometres into the ride, we were told to ride in a tight pack together, so we all stuck behind Kiwi, the mad New Zealander with bright blue bike shorts and a blaring stereo strapped to his bike.
The start of the ride was pleasant. I enjoyed the scenery and the remoteness of the areas which we cycled through. Unlike Melbourne where points of interested are separated by a labyrinth of streets dotted with houses or other buildings, out in the country, tiny towns are spread far apart, and in between them is void of anything that resembles civilisation, bar fences. Some fields were barren, some had sheep, and the more interesting ones were a glorious golden colour made up of canola flowers. Golden rolling hills looked like sand dunes under the clear blue sky. Just outside a town named ‘Blaney’, lush green hills had large white wind generators on their peaks. I don’t know how people can complain about how wind generators look; I think they look great, a welcome break from barren fields.
We passed many kangaroos, but unfortunately they were of the ‘road kill’ variety, and each time we passed one, we copped a lungful of pungent air. Most of the day was spent keeping left of the white lines that marked the shoulder of the road, whilst trying to avoid potholes or debris. Soon enough the hills started, but fortunately on the first day, they were mostly downward sloping. I began to realise how slow my bike was compared to everyone else’s when we got to the steep downhills. My bike is a big black, heavy and of the ‘dual suspension for the sake of dual suspension’ variety. In other words, it is meant to be cool for a kid, but not really meant for long distance riding. While I was in my top gear and peddling madly, the other riders drifted past me effortlessly, without even peddling. My front forks shuddered and made a terrible sound as if they were about to collapse. I lost ground going downhills, but made it up again going up them. So although uphills were harder, for the sake of keeping up with the other riders, they were better.
Several hours and sixty odd kilometres later it was time for lunch. We pulled into a rest area and unloaded the ute. The area was nothing more than a small clearing by the railway line with one decrepit picnic table. It felt good to take a break and we all enjoyed it in our own ways. Artou, a Russian exchange student, immediately got out some tobacco and rolled himself a cigarette, not exactly the image you associate with cyclists. Each to his own, I guess. Artou is pretty much everything that you’d imagine a Russian person to be; he drinks heavily, smokes heavily, has a thick accent and is very loud and confident.
It was just about time for the Grand Final to start back in Melbourne, so Kiwi tuned into the radio to the broadcast and we spent the rest of the day’s riding listening to the final. The sound didn’t travel all that well, so at times we had to pass the score along, yelling from rider to rider. One bike had broken down just a few minutes after lunch, so we quickly swapped it for the spare bike that was brought along.
After a long exhausting 105 kilometres of riding, we finally pulled into ‘Cowra Public School’. This school was far less impressive, but as soon as we arrived, the ‘Lions club’ fired up a barbeque, which made us quickly forget about anything else.
After a satisfying dinner, we began to settle down for the day. We were all exhausted and looked in bad shape. Our legs were already aching and a few riders were red as beetroots – sunburnt all over. I learned that there were no showers available, so we would have to wait until Boorowa to take one. This news was most unwelcome to the other riders and I; we were going to have to rough it and put up with the smell.
Most people wanted to check out the local pub, but I wasn’t really interested, so I stayed back. I looked over my bike, and realised that the mechanic at uni, a docile old man who would be at least 90 years old, had made my brakes too tight, so it was as though I had been riding with my brakes partially on the whole way. I quickly got out my allen key and fixed them up, checking over the bike afterwards. When I’d sorted out everything else and washed myself as best I could without a shower, I decided to check out the town of Cowra.
Apparently Cowra had a fairly sizeable Japanese prisoner of war camp during the 2nd world war, but I’m not sure if it was for actual soldiers or just Japanese people living in Australia at the time. Anyway, now the town has quite a bit of Japanese culture, including a Japanese garden and several restaurants. The garden was out of town and would have been closed, so I instead decided to walk through the main street. It was a bit like every other country town in Australia really; several pubs and an ad hoc mixture of family owned shops in old buildings and large multinational franchises. Only the pubs and ‘Bi-lo’ were open, so I went there and got myself some thongs for the shower in Boorowa – I didn’t fancy exposing my feet to the kind of germs that would be present in a caravan park shower block.
By about 10:30pm almost everyone was back, and we all fell asleep pretty quickly, to a cacophony of snorers
Days 2 and 3 to follow. Stay tuned.
posted by Travvy at 9:30 am
1 Comments:
Hey Mr Perky Butt! HAHA! =D
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