Riding Old Grafton Road is something that I have wanted to do for a very long time. In November of 2017 I had the chance but had to call my trip short as the weather hammered every which way.
But all good things come to those who wait, and eventually the opportunity arose again.
After spending a day and a half on the New England Highway it was fantastic to finally turn off onto Bald Knob Road at Dundee. A chilly evening began setting in as I made camp in a secluded spot off the side of the road. I was hoping to have a fire but due to fire restrictions this was not possible. Instead I garbed on trackie dacks (tracksuit pants), thick socks and a few top layers to ward off the evening chill.
It's funny how quickly evening turns to night when you're camped out just on the eastern side of a mountain range. The stiffness of the chill began rolling in well and truly by the time I was preparing dinner, a much needed hot curry.
Well off the highway now the faint rumblings of trucks could be heard in the distance. The road I was camped beside was rather desolate and empty, so I only had the crickets and night birds to keep me company. With the exception of a few farm dogs barking in the distance, the night was relatively empty.
It was not late, but pretty close to zero degrees as I loaded myself into my sleeping bags, yes plural. I huddled down, beanie pulled over and drifted off to sleep. I awoke the next morning with a full bladder and no desire to leave the warmth of my bedding. But I had to brave it and get up and get going as today was the day.
Up, cold, with coffee and porridge on I was glad that I decided to put my winter riding tights on the night before. It was certainly not the morning to want to exchange warm clothes for fresh cold ones, and as the sun rose a little towards the mountain range's edge ice particles began forming on the heavy dew that was layering the tent fly.
Getting packed up and on my way by around 8:00 am it was still cold. Most of my riding was still covered by dense shade as the sun still hung lazily in low orbit above the horizon. But even with a very cool breeze, eventually I was able to comfortably strip layer from layer.
I was now on the Gwyder Highway heading East for Grafton. I only had about ten kilometres to ride before turning off onto Old Grafton Road. With very little traffic, and a lot of gradual declines the ride along here was a dream, and it wasn't long before I hit the road I had longed to see.
Once turning onto Old Grafton Road I just had to stop, take a breath and just soak in the ambience. No, seriously...this road had been on my bucket list for ages and now I was on it. I had ridden the Grafton end which is aptly named Old Glen Innes Road, but only the bitumen section. I used to enjoy riding it when I had my road bike, and it was a regular on my Grafton list of rides. But this end and all the way through was new to me, virgin lands waiting for me to conquer them and leave the dust settling in my wake.
When first on the road it was open tablelands, but that only lasted a short while. The road then started to climb slightly with the surrounding bush land beginning to close in. I couldn't help myself from thinking, "If only I had pushed on another fifteen kilometres". There were so many secluded camping spots tucked away in amongst trees with no fences to be seen.
The bush became even thicker as I continued up the steady incline, bell birds now chiming in the background. The air got cooler and I was almost ready to reach for an earlier peeled of layer to rug up once again. It wasn't long before I saw the sign I was waiting for, "Steep Decent", now it was all down hill for the next two days, or was it?
This is the funny thing about planning everything on computers without any real knowledge of the area. I considered that it being higher at the top than it was at the bottom it would be all down hill.
After the Steep Decent sign it 'was' a steep decent. Zig-zagging down the mountain side with tight hair pin bends made one want to let the brakes go and go with the flow. But this couldn't be done. On one side there was a sheer cliff face and on the other was a sheer drop. Added to this was a fine film of sandy gravel covering the road that had been washed down in recent rain storms. This made the tyres loose on grip, and with the trailer on the back pushing hard, some corners were underwear changing stuff. I had to stop half way down and give the brakes a quick adjustment and let them cool off so we would be right to the bottom.
The decent continued and a small creek with crystal clear water appeared through a small reprieve in the down hill run. I pulled over to the side and filled up my nearly empty water bottles then continued on. Down the hill we go go again.
I kept thinking to myself, "Man, this will be great like this all the way to Grafton". I knew that there was a mixture of terrain at Grafton's end, but my ignorance of this end was to be short lived. I was about to be introduced to the 'real' Old Grafton Road.
Continuing down hill past the Mann River Camping Grounds I crossed a small bridge and hit the dirt. When I say hit the dirt I meant hit, I hit hard. Waiting on the other side of the bridge was the dirt section. From the bridge it was a sharp incline the snaked around some rather blind bends. But what hit the hardest was the condition of the road. Deep corrugations up to 15 cm deep greeted me with a loud "crack". The noise of the bike hitting this badly degraded section of road made me think something had broken.
The road was so bad, and steep that I had no choice but dismount and push the bike up around the corner. A car coming the other way stopped and asked if I was OK. I was and she kindly informed me that the road got worse, much worse.
Now pushing the bike up the sharp, rutted incline I found a relatively flat spot off the road where I could catch my breath and check things over to see if anything had broken. All seemed good and I took a large drink, straddled the bike and began to pedal up the hill. It was impossible. The ruts were so bad that that it was just so difficult to pedal over them. Along with the bike and trailer wheels getting caught in them, the tyres just did not want to grip.
I eventually made it to the top of this first climb as the road drop downwards once more. It was still an insane amount of effort required even to ride these corrugations on the flat or down hill. This continued on for, I don't know how many kilometres. Most of it being walked, and what downhill runs I did ride I was confronted with bike cracking ruts. All I can say is that Kona make one tough bike in the Sutra.
After several hours of walking, bone jarring flats and the odd down hill run I couldn't understand why one would be going down a mountain range and have so much climbing to do...and the road just continued to get progressively worse. Ahh, the bliss of ignorance being darkened by reality.
I don't know just how many kilometres I walked until the road appeared to smooth out a little. I appeared to be in a bit of a basin where it was more undulating than it was massively hilly. The road smoother, the hills easier the day started to show signs of revival. I was completely exhausted by now so it was relieving to say the least to have this change.
I caught up with a local farmer setting his cows back out to pasture after the afternoon's milking. We had a brief chat and bid g'day to each other. Not long after that I was surprised to see a stretch of bitumen. Could this be the end of the dirt? Had I travelled further than I though? No, it didn't last long, and at the end of the bitumen there was a sign which read, "Degraded Road Ahead Next 60 Kms".
What, you're kidding me right?
Actually the road was rather pot holed but the corrugations were not as much as a problem. The corrugation problem earlier was also enhanced by the afternoon sun setting and casting long shadows across the road. This made it impossible to navigate the ruts as they couldn't be seen through the shadows of the trees.
The road still had it's fair share of hills but at least they were smoother and ride-able. I had stopped trying to push the pedals hard up hills to attempt to get up them quickly. I now, through sheer exhaustion, found my slow mojo, spinning lightly and only topping out at around four to five kilometres per hour. It wasn't much faster than walking, and it was easier in the end.
I was now seeing the Boyd River as I progressed. My original aim of Dalmorton was now not a possibility. The sun starting to dip behind the mountains made sunset that little earlier, the cool evening air was setting in and it was time to start looking for a camp site.
I eventually found one. Off to the side of the road a ways and along the edge of the river. I ducked down a rough dirt track to have a look at things. I found a beautiful little spot tucked in behind shrubbery and well hidden from the road above. Not that it mattered too much, traffic was not an issue.
However on one of my earlier stops for a drink and rest I was crossing a small one lane bridge. An Izuzu D-Max came the opposite way. I stopped and chatted with the elderly couple who were camped up at Glen Innes. Funny thing was that they were from North Bundaberg. It certainly is a small world.
Fully decided on the camp site I began unpacking. There seemed to be plenty of greenery around with damp patches common on the ground. I could only assume that there were no fire bans in place and collected a good load of wood as well.
After setting up on the edge of dark I headed to the river on a rocky cropping and collected some fresh mountain water for cooking and filling up the water bottles for the next day. The billy then put on, and with my usual afternoon cuppa tea as I set about lighting the fire.
It was now dark, cold and the dampness of the night air was settling hard. The dew was that heavy that I had to put on a wet weather jacket. The dew doesn't matter when you can look up and see so many stars that you're left breathless.
After dinner it wasn't long before I hit the fart sack. I have to say that this was one of the best night's sleep that I had had. Chalk it up to sheer exhaustion.
All I can say is that the next morning came around way too soon. After the tough seventy-five kilometres I endured the previous day, the night past into morning swiftly. I didn't wake until what I thought was dawn. But because I was camped deep within a mountainous crevice it was much later than I thought.
The heavy dew from the night before had saturated the fly of the tent and whatever else was left out overnight, which luckily was not much. It was a chilly morning yet again, the sky was blue and clear, and with little wind and faced with such tranquillity I reluctantly set about packing up what was left.
I skipped breakfast. The massive feed from the night before still lay in my gut. I kept my usual on standby, some bananas, muesli bars and a tin of mushrooms. Of course I could not skip the morning heart starting jolt of caffeine.
Packed up and eager to tackle the next eighty odd kilometres into South Grafton I set out on my way. Back up onto the road and pedalling gently until the warmth began returning to my body. There are so many beautiful sections along this road, but the approximate twenty kilometre ride in Newton Boyd was my favourite. Following the lazy Boyd River just made me want to stop and take stock of it's rich green sidelines, a shade shrouded wonderland.
Not far along and I moved over for a motorcyclist to pass. But he stopped and we chatted for at least and hour. Unfortunately I had put myself under pressure by putting forward a timetable along this stretch. I wanted to get to Grafton to rest for a couple of days. Hind sight is a wonderful thing, isn't it?
I eventually reach The Old Grafton Tunnel, a tunnel that had been hewn straight out of the rock. It is an historic icon that has stood the test of time. I had to stop for some photos and of course get the DJI Spark out for a flight. It was here I forgot the golden rule, and was too concerned with watching my phone screen rather than the drone itself. Crash, a broken propeller and a limping drone. That was enough of that, I dusted it off, packed it up and set off for the next stop.
Now at Dalmorton I stopped and looked at the relics of the old township. I had planned to ride down and check out the camp sites along the river where I was aiming for the previous day. But my earlier friendly chatting had taken it's toll and I opted out.
What started out as bullock trails in the early 1840's was now this one hundred and sixty odd kilometres of road. It was transformed into a road around twenty-five years later, and used as a connection route between the New England Ranges and the Clarence on the coast by Cobb & Co.
The tunnel was part of this 'modern' upgrade and was carved straight from the rock above. It's only a short tunnel, with a clearance of just over three meters.
Dalmorton kicked off as a Gold Rush town in the mid 1800's. At it's peak it accommodated up to five thousand people with thirteen pubs in full swing.
All that remains today is the remnants of history, an old butcher's shop, one other building and what appears to be a still operational camp for schools or large groups. The river is on the eastern side of town with camp grounds easily accessible.
The road from Dalmorton certain put forth it's challenges once again. Although the hills may not have been as steep as the previous day, they were long and drawn out. But the road was much smoother, and that had to be a bonus.
Then coming into Buccarumba where I crossed the Nymboida River, remnants of old bridge pylons could be seen littering the river. I'm unsure from what era these came from, but there is quite a few. There's also a camp site here as well. Again, on the eastern side of the road and on the northern side of the river. The grass was extremely long when I went through, and it didn't appear to have too much shade or shelter. I had a rough plan of camping here, I'm glad I didn't. Although in all fairness I didn't ride down the tracks and investigate any further.
There were some good long flats now and I was tempted to put the hammer down and push hard to make up time. But the Grafton end of this road I knew rather well so resisted the urge. I still had plenty of long climbs to do before joining the Gwyder Hwy.
Now leaving the river as company I drifted into open farm lands. The road was still well shaded and the afternoon sun started to drop in the sky. I was still at least thirty kilometres from South Grafton but I was sure that the bitumen wasn't far away, then psssstttt...yep a flat. This was the first for some time. The bike and tyres had help up well, the tyre liners seemingly doing there job, and considering the road I was riding, I was surprised a puncture didn't happen earlier.
Bike upside down rear wheel off it didn't take long to fix. Actually when touring the flats never take long to fix, it's the loading and unloading of the bike that takes the time. Loaded up and on my way it was only another kilometre or so when I hit the bitumen at the Grafton end. WHAT!!! The flat couldn't wait, it just couldn't hold off...lol It would be several days later when leaving Grafton I would realise that it was here that I lost my good Anker solar panel. It must of fallen out of the straps on the front rack when flipping the bike.
Now on the bitumen, I was familiar with this end. When I stayed in Grafton and had my road bike this was a popular route for me. Many hills both ways, it was a good thirty kilometre ride each way from the Gwyder Hwy. I so wanted to go hard as there were plenty of long down hill runs and long sweeping flats. But I also knew there were still plenty of long steep climbs as well. It took a lot to hold back the old MAMIL within me.
The sun was well and truly hanging low in the sky and with it descending below the mountains, darkness was fast approaching. Lights ablaze I kept going. I knew that it wasn't far now and I had a hot steak and a cold beer waiting for me. I came around the last bend and up a slight rise and there it was, the Gwyder. It was now only a short pedal into South Grafton, most of which would be on a shared path way.
It was a long and hard two days. I think next time I do this road, and there will be a next time, I will take my time. I think if you took five days to do the Old Grafton Road you would be less fatigued and see so much more. It is a must do ride and would be perfect for bike packing on the mountain bike, far more than a loaded touring bike with trailer.
There are many little drop downs into the river, some side tracks and spectacular views all the way along. Do yourself a favour and put this road on your riding bucket list, take your time and just soak up the serenity.
Cheers guys, and ride safe out there.
Long downhill runs with continual hairpins meet you at the beginning of The Old Grafton Road
Eventually on the dirt. Let the torture begin
But the scenery is contiually magnificent
Now following alongside the Boyd River
Not much remains of the once thriving gold rush town of Dalmorton
The Old Grafton Tunnel still standing strong.
Calm waters make for a perfect reflection shot
A little tunnel history
The last bridge before hitting the Gwydir Hwy into South Grafton
