the bogan in Bogong - a cycle up to Falls Creek

There's debate as to whether the iconic bogong moth was named after the Bogong High Plains where they return every summer, or that the mountain range was named after the moths. Either way, it's widely accepted that bogong means 'big fellow'.

I pedal out of the 'big fellow' village and set my sights on Falls Creek, a climb of nine hundred metres over fourteen kilometres, with an average gradient of 5.7%.

Unlike yesterday's ride to Mt Buffalo, this gradient plays tricks, changing from a relaxing 5% to a 'my knees are shaking' 10%. But, don't be dismayed, the hard stuff is near the summit and doesn't last for long. And there's always the view to keep me occupied.

The Weather Bureau has warned of high winds, storms and torrential rain. I start early enough, crossing the Pretty Valley Branch of the East Kiewa River - nice name that one. The climbing starts immediately on good tarmac winding through snow gums surrounded by a thick carpet of ferns. On the first bend, three motorbikes storm past, each rider leaning tight into the corner. Easy for some.

At the next bend, the same three riders cruise back, heading downhill fast. I immediately think, 'road closure.' But, no, it's just the predicted rain, coming in showers off the mountain top. The leather clad bikers didn't want to get wet? I smile, despite the damp.

The first seven kilometres is easy riding, a steady gradient, no traffic and time to play 'count the number of ferns'. I'm feeling very settled in the saddle this ride, enjoying the glimpses of the far valley and the majesty and quiet of the forest. To cap off this reverie, I turn a corner and see a lyrebird building a nest into the road embankment.

I suppose a display of colour is out of the question?

The bird industriously clears the undergrowth. I toast him with a sip of water and pedal on.

At the ten kilometre mark, I reach the Falls Creek tollbooth, closed for the season. The road kicks up noticeably from here to the summit, but the reward is unhindered mountaintop views, with stark ghost gums rising into the troubled sky. Someone's going to get even wetter very soon. Any excuse to pedal faster, I guess.

Two kilometres from the summit, I turn a corner and see the village ahead. One more sip of water, a few more bends and I'm pedalling through a very quiet closed ski resort. Four wheel drives and snow vehicles are parked for the season. Only one cafe is open, cake and coffee for $7.50. Sounds fine to me. The woman looks a little surprised when I enter. Yes, I know about the weather warnings. It's all downhill from here, I suggest.

Banana bread and a flat white is enough fuel for the descent. Let's face it, I don't plan on pedalling. My tyres kick up litres of water, rain drips from my helmet and my brakes get a good workout.

Even the lyrebird has sought shelter from the storm.

Garmin details here: