bikes

Last year, I had the pleasure of cycling from the Atlantic Coast of France to Ulm in Germany, nearly 2,000 kilometres alongside numerous rivers and canals. One of the highlights was staying in the restored barn at the B&B of Jean-Paul and Regine in Saint-Firmin-sur-Loire. They fed me excessive amounts of satisfying French food and allowed me to dry off after my first rainy day of the trip. They also offered to bike-sit my red hybrid, named Craig, at the conclusion of my time in Europe. This year, accompanied by my wife Cathie, our first stop in France is a two-day sojourn with Jean-Paul and Regine. Once again, they are the perfect hosts, offering a five course dinner. I won�t go into the sumptuous detail other than to say Jean-Paul�s cassoulet is premiere-class and the cheese plate of five fromages was perhaps too indulgent! We promised to ride off the calories the next day, if only it would stop raining. Voila! The morning dawned dull and cloudy, but sans pluie, so after a breakfa...

Today�s ride starts in a car park looking up to a hill recently denuded of trees by Forestry NSW. I�m a few kilometres west of the village of Hampton, which consists of a pub, a general store and a spectacular view east to the Blue Mountains escarpment. After electronically pawing over  Google Maps, I�ve created an itinerary from here, west to Oberon, south-east to Jenolan Caves and back up the mountain to this car park, a circuit of seventy-eight kilometres, with quite a bit of up and down in between. It�s a cool morning of 11 degrees as I set out, accompanied by bird song and the occasional roar of a logging truck. To my left are high plateau sheep pastures of lush green grass and trickling streams. To my right, forested hills yet to feel the wrath of the chainsaws.  Although Hampton and Oberon share a similar elevation of 1100 metres above sea level, the road between them dips and climbs incessantly. It�s hard to get a rhythm with these constant variations, but on a clear s...

Yesterday, after reading poetry to one hundred and seventy Year 8 boys at a Catholic College in Wollongong, I cycled the beach cycleway. And a very pleasant experience it was. Starting at City Beach, Wollongong, the mostly off-road path meanders beside the beaches of the northern suburbs. A stern southerly pushed me along as I admired the rolling waves; the battery of imposing tankers anchored out to sea waiting to be unloaded; the seagulls arguing over hot chips thrown by a giggling child and the designer chic houses near Thirroul. Whoa! What happened to the discreet fibro seaside cottages inhabited by the miners from the nearby coal fields? These McMansions were testosterone-fuelled giants all angling for the prime beach vista. Although, I was much amused to see the biggest, most imposing houses were opposite the historic Sandon Point heritage area, a patch of grassland and sand with the Aboriginal Tent Embassy plonked among the low-growing scrub. Yep, you can spend all the money you...

The Col de la Croix de Fer is unlike any other climb in the French Alps. It goes up and down, the road winds through forest then open high meadows, the gradient changes from steep to relatively easy back to steep in the space of a few kilometres... in other words, it�s a temperamental bastard. The Croix de Fer is a 'hors category' climb, thirty-one kilometres of trying to find a rhythm when the road varies so dramatically.  All this is good enough reason to indulge over breakfast. Anita is a willing host, loading the table with croissants and baguettes, home-made jams and local honey, all washed down with as much coffee as any tight fitting lycra-clad bladder can hold. It�ll be my excuse for frequent stops today while climbing. Jean-Louis wishes me �bonne chance� as I cycle down the gravel driveway. The sky is cold blue as I cruise along the valley road, a quick wave to the folk at La Cascade. I�ll be reporting in there tonight for a few recurperative glasses and perhaps some e...

After a few days away from the mountains, today I rise early and drive to Mansfield to tackle Mt Buller, the fourth in my Seven Peaks Challenge. Mercifully, the heatwave conditions of previous days has dissipated. I set out from Mansfield for the thirty kilometre 'warm-up' to Mirimbah where the serious climbing begins.  In my humble opinion, thirty kilometres is a ridiculously long way to cycle to get to the start of a mountain climb. And, as most riders will descend the mountain as well as climb it, that means I'm facing sixty unnecessary kilometres. The road is up and down through bone-coloured hills of tussock and dead logs. And this morning, there's an unpredicatble wind that threatens to push me off the road, which for the first ten kilometres doesn't have a bike shoulder.  Enough moaning.  I pedal faster and enjoy the view of clouds scudding across Mt Buller and Mt Stirling in the distance. The road from Mansfield vaguely follows the Delatite River, a pretty s...

For the third day in a row, the temperature is expected to peak at over 40 degrees. Which is why on Sunday at 7am, when all good poets should be in bed, I'm unloading the bike from my car at Mount Beauty to begin a 32-kilometre ascent to Falls Creek. It's very quiet this morning - an old lady walks her two pug dogs, three parrots flutter in a pine tree and I cross the bridge over the West Kiewa River. The road climbs past a terraced golf course and a swish new ski development on the hillside overlooking the valley. Meanwhile, this bogan is cycling to Bogong, an alpine village fifteen kilometres up the road. As a child, I was always thrilled by the story of the Bogong Moth, a night-flying brown stealth bomber of an insect that diverts to the bright lights of Canberra on its yearly migration south to the Bogong High Plains. Sidestepping the issue that anyone (or anything) would be attracted by the bright lights of our nation's capital, I longed to go to the mythical high coun...

With the temperature predicted to peak at 42 today, I set out early this morning to tackle Mount Hotham. At 7.30am, I start from the pretty village of Harrietville and the first hill ramps up to punchy 11% for a few hundred metres to welcome me to today's mountain. It relents to a friendlier 7% for the next eleven kilometres, except at the hill known as The Meg where a road sign advises motorists to engage low-gear. I guess that means granny-gear for me? The rigours of yesterday's sauna-ride have taken a toll and I'm pedalling slowly. Only 27 kilometres of climbing to go! It's shady this early and I'm enjoying the intoxicating aroma of a eucalyptus forest mixed with altitude. The perfume clears my head and makes breathing just that little easier. The parrots are out today, poking their heads over native grasses as I churn past.  At the eleven kilometre mark, a false flat begins. My Garmin tells me I've climbed 700 metres and descended precisely... zero. With the...