Old Bum On A Bike: October 2019

This was another big surprise. My initial thought of going this way was that I was going to put up with heavy city traffic and impatient drivers. This couldn't be further from the truth.

When arriving at Raymond Terrace I was planning on staying in a caravan park. I wanted something cheap as there were no free camps in the area. I did look down a few sidetracks and peered into the scrub a few times but there weren't many options that I would choose. I stopped at the rest area south bound at Twelve Mile Creek to make a few phone calls. The first was only open to workers as there are a lot of mines around the Hunter area. The second rudely told me that they don't accept tents, although their website said otherwise, and the third was the same as the second, just not as rude.

It was getting late into the afternoon as I continued pedalling south for Newcastle. There were some side roads just south of the Heavy Vehicle Weighbridge but nothing. On the opposite side of the highway there was an area, but right on the highways side, no thanks.

I thought that I would eventually find one but I was soon arriving in Raymond Terrace. The sun was hanging low and the next free camp was around forty kilometres away. There was the Shell at Hexam which was a nominated truck stop, but I knew from experience, as a truckie, there was no where really safe to pitch for the night. As I slowly rambled down the Pacific Hwy mumbling to myself all kinds of profanities I saw the motel where my family and I had stayed the previous Christmas. I wandered over and they had a room, and as a returning customer received a decent discount on that room.

So a motel it was again, settled in, showered and some dinner on I soon forgot about the earlier turmoil and settled in for a quick Facebook round up and phone call to the family. After all the day wasn't that bad, and although mostly on the highway I had a wide shoulder, smooth roads and deviations such as Karuah to ride through.

Morning came around and it was time to take a big breath and tackle the Newcastle traffic. I had a wide shoulder to the Hexam Bridge, a pathway over the bridge, then a footpath along side the Pacific Hwy/Maitland Rd. After the footpath ended there were sufficient bike lanes on the road's shoulder.

I had a route saved into my Garmin to help me navigate through Newcastle's streets. It had been years since I had spent my youth cutting capers in this town, coming down from Wingham on weekends. The route that was saved was taking me through quiet back streets, shared pathways and pathways through parks. Much better than the anticipated main road all the way around.

It was mid morning when I reached the start of the Fernleigh Track. The Fernleigh Track is the old branch line, now a well used rail trail, that runs from Adamstown in the central western suburbs of Newcastle to Belmont in Lake Macquarie to the south.

The Track started out it's life as a joint coal and passenger line in around 1880. It was going to be extended to Swansea but that never eventuated. It was originally laid between Belmont and Redhead, with further extensions happening in 1916, 1922 and 1925. April 1971 saw the last passenger train run along the rails and in December 1991 the line was officially closed.

Still today it sports a curved tunnel that is meticulously restored and looks as new as the day it was opened. It runs 181 meters under the now Pacific Hwy at Adamstown Heights/Highfeilds area.
The track is well used, and made me wonder if there was more traffic on the trail than on the roads...lol. Joggers, cyclists, commuters and walkers all co-existing together.

After stopping at Redhead for a late breakfast I continued south for Belmont. I took my time along here as I was just loving the shady cover of the trees and the quietness of the ride. If only I had made it to here last night...ahhh!

Soon arriving at Belmont the serenity was over, back onto roads, mainly main roads had me heading for the Central Coast of New South Wales. Surprisingly enough I was met once again with shared pathways and bike paths to keep me out of the flow of traffic. Many a roadie whizzed passed me, both here and on the Fernleigh Track with strange looks and hesitant waves. It was like they didn't know what they were looking at. What was this strange three wheel contraption that was loaded to the hilt? In the end they just smiled and shook their heads in disbelief. No weight weenying for me I'm afraid.

The views were wonderful. I had left the bush land of the trail to the scenic lake side views of Lake Macquarie. The pathways followed water views pretty much the whole way. I did, however, make a mistake and came out on an area of Pacific Hwy that had no bike lane or pathway. I did have a wide shoulder that was heavily littered in debris such as broken glass, bits of steel and the myriad of other things that fall, or are thrown from vehicles as they travel along.

Sick of this I regained my sense of direction and decided to leave this shit behind. I wandered down through Munmorah Sate Conservation Area. This once again took me through bush land then opening itself up to wondrous ocean views. I followed my way down through left and right turns until I came out at Budgewoi, and back onto the Pacific Hwy. But this time with two lane bike paths to escort me along.

Down through Toukley, The Entrance and Long Jetty I was accompanied by water views both sides of me. I hadn't planned to stay anywhere particular along here, my plan was to just ride until the day was over. There were no free camps but plenty of caravan parks. I just wanted to get close enough to Gosford as my plan was to catch the train into Sydney the follow day.

I ended up finding a peaceful caravan park at Bateau Bay that was clean, shady and quiet. This is just what the doctor ordered after a long day in the saddle. I set up camp, showered and then made my way to the local bowls club for a refreshing ale and a hearty meal.

I was happy with the day's ride and as I reflected my travels on Facebook I couldn't help but smile. It was one of those days where I had feared the worst but was rewarded in a magnificent way, views, peacefulness and some friendly chats along the way. What more could one want?

Cheers guys, and rise safe out there.

The peaceful coastal village of Karuah

The Fernleigh Tunnel

The siding of Whitebridge. The Fernleigh Track

Met by ocean views

Down through Munmorah Conservation area

Enjoying a nap

Wingham is a small town on the Mid North Coast of New South Wales. It's history derives from the old timber days and over the years has moved into cattle. Wingham is also my home town, it is where I did most of my growing up. High school, rugby league, cycling, motor cycling, camping, I did it all there, even a little trouble.
The town still boasts a population of only around three thousand people and not a lot has changed since I have left. It still has that small town feel.

I had the absolute pleasure of staying with an old friend whilst here and it was great to catch up with other mates over the weekend's shenanigans. Getting out for a few beers, watching the old footy team play against long time rivals, and just kicking back and talking, catching up on the years since we all last were hanging out.

Monday morning came around all too soon and it was time to head off southbound once again. Instead of travelling the Pacific Hwy I opted, as usual, for a more subtle and relaxing approach to my day's route. I would head down through Burrell Creek to Krambach, then down to Buladelah where my plan was to free camp by the Myall River.

The bike repacked, a bit of a service done I was off heading out along Gloucester Rd. Unfortunately my excitement was short lived as the rear tyre deflated and I was on the side of the road fixing another flat. I had a small leak as I was heading to Wingham and thinking the problem was fixed...well we all know what thought did...
It appears that I had missed a small piece of wire that had lodged itself through the tyre.

Wire removed, tyre fixed I was on my again with a rejuvenation of my excitement. I hadn't been out this way for years, these areas were my old stomping grounds of years gone by. It wasn't long before I was about to head across the Manning River at Kundibakh. The old bridge is one we used to ride out to and jump off but it was no longer there. Instead a new wider concrete version stood in it's place.

The road was peaceful with minimal traffic and although there was no shoulder it felt safe with the few motorists that past slowing down and giving me room, many with a friendly wave. The road was still bitumen at this point and I didn't even know if I would ride on gravel. Passing through Burrell Creek and into Kramback it was still well before lunch. I stopped at a small cafe, had something to eat and topped up the caffeine levels.

Leaving the restful cafe I headed down Firefly Road and made my way south yet again. Although I had lived in this area for many years I didn't recall ever travelling this way before. The road was narrow but with no traffic, the scenery magnificent and the landscape undulating. Cattle wandered to their fences to check out this new found thing that was pedalling by, with many following down the road as far as they could.

It wasn't long before I was at my next intersection making my way up Wallanbah Road and then onto Bunya Road. Now my dream came true, gravel road. Bunya Road was narrow and wound it's way along the sides of foothills. The foothills soon turned into small mountains and I climbed, and climbed. Once I finished climbing I climbed some more for good measure.

The road slowly narrowed as it meandered along it's path. It wasn't long that it was just a single lane of road, and with no cars on it. This was the stuff dreams were made of, wandering serenely along a mountain road with spectacular views, and by the way...it was far from rough, the complete opposite.

Looking down over green valleys, shadowed by blue mountain ranges as a back drop I chose to walk a lot. Not because of the hills. Even though steep in parts they were more long and continuous, but very rideable. It was the scenery, I just wanted to walk and soak it in.

I came to a dilemma in the road. My planned route that I had mapped via Komoot and uploaded onto my Garmin wanted to take me another way. It wanted to take me via a mountain bike path that I eventually found the sign for. Now...the mountain bike trail was straight up and over. I had been caught like this before at Girraween crossing the the border from Queensland to New South Wales.

I was able to check Google Maps, and although there was no service I was able to see the road I was on, Manning Hill Road. It went around the mountain rather than straight up over it. Yes, it was still a continuing gradual climb but was far more enticing then pushing the bike and trailer up and over.

Ride a little, walk a little, I wasn't in any rush. I knew the time was passing by but there were so many options to camp it didn't worry me if I didn't make it to Buladelah. Actually it was the exact opposite, I was starting to look for a place to camp just for the sake of camping in such a wonderful place. After all, what was another day.

Up a bit further, around a few bends and I decided to step of and walk a little. After getting off the bike I heard a car and a motor bike coming my way around the bend. Now the road was rather narrow and I didn't want the driver or the rider, whoever was first, to get a surprise. I stepped down into the deep rocky laden drain on the side of the road to give both vehicles plenty of room. They came around the corner, saw me, slowed and waved, then continued on their way.

I stepped up onto the road. I hadn't pulled the bike down into the gully, I held it up on the roadside as I stepped down. As I stepped up again, a large rock rolled from under my right foot...and twang!!!
It was only several months prior I had an arthroscopy on my right knee. A torn medial meniscus removed, some gout and arthritis tidied up had the knee feeling new, until now.

I almost dropped the bike which would have landed on top of me. Anyway I struggled to regain my balance and eventually stepped up out of the gully. I was in pain instantly and immediately thought, and shouted, "Shit".

I still had a fair way to go to get to Buladelah which I wasn't worried about before. But now it was different. I had a new challenge, a new decision ahead of me. I walked for a while trying to walk off the pain. It did ease, but only slightly. Now the new dilemma...do I just find a place to camp and rest. I had an emergency ice pack in the first aid kit. I could just go a little further, find a place and set up. I could tend to my wounds and hopefully be OK in the morning.

Then the questioning doubt set in. I had no phone service, I was in the middle of nowhere, all day I had only seen a motorbike and a car. What if I awoke in the morning only to find I couldn't move my knee? I had plenty of food, but only enough water for one night.

It wasn't much longer and I had hit the peak of the mountain. It was mainly down hill from now, or at least I hoped. I bit the bullet and decided to continue to Buladelah. Pushing through to evening sounded a better option than being stuck somewhere. That's exactly what I did.

To my surprise my hope was founded. It was largely down hill. Yes there were uphills and it was here I felt the pain of the earlier injury. Whilst the hills remained rather light where I could lightly spin upwards all was OK. But as soon as they got too steep, it hurt. It was tough, because it hurt to get off and push as well.

The sun was well and truly going down. It was winter after all and it gets dark earlier. Onward I continued, slowly making my way to town with head light and tail light ablaze. Cars weren't an issue although a couple did pass my way. Eventually I was back on bitumen.

Not far to go now there were a couple of decent climbs that sent the nerve receptors into a panic. I made it up eventually and then the comforting sign of street lights. It wasn't long before I was in town and smelling the food being cooked at the local pub. I headed down to the free camp where I had planned to camp. Man oh man, talk about reminiscent of the crowd at a Big Day Out. It was jammed packed with every variety of camper van and caravan one could imagine. I did find a small bit of gravel available, but it looked like someone had emptied their lunch box on it.

I was pretty well spent. I knew I couldn't go any further to next free area so I did a quick google search, yes I had service again, and found a nice, quiet and cheap motel. Booked in, unpacked roughly and comfy I was straight into a hot shower. After that I unpacked the first aid kit and smashed the cold pack onto my knee. Some tinned baked beans and a couple of anti-inflammations tablets were dinner that night.

The next morning I awoke and after a rather restless night. It appears I may have made the right decision as it was rather stiff and difficult to get around. I spent an extra day at Buladelah simply because I wanted to make sure everything was alright. I went to the Chemist (pharmacy) and purchased a few more emergency ice packs. The motel manager was kind enough to give me a shitload of ice to use through out the day. By the the end of the day all seemed OK, and it was all systems go to head further south the next morning.