A Short Ride Around Town

I had heard about a bike trail around town, starting near the tip and heading down to the highway and back along the creek to the tennis courts. Not an official track by any means but one made by some local mountain bike riders. So, I dragged the bike out of the shed, dusted off the cobwebs, cleaned and oiled the beast, pumped up the tyres and headed off. 

The first section was a bash up the bitumen past the scout hall. It was warm and I started sweating and wondering if it was wise to go for a ride. I located the start of the track and looked at the narrow path through the long (snake-filled?) grass and thought “I might as well” and headed off.

The track meandered downhill through trees, over lumps and jumps, and my hand was definitely on the brakes for a fair part of the journey.

At one point the track forked. Left or Right? I remembered that downhill mountain bike tracks have A and B lines – the hard way and a way to avoid the hard way. I took the right fork and found myself rounding a tight bend and heading towards a gap between two trees that seemed slightly narrower than the width of my handlebars. No time to stop or slow down I breathed in to make the bike thinner and managed to ride through without hitting anything. I make a mental note to consider my options at the next fork in the track a bit more carefully.

At the bottom of the hill I take a short rest. I had hardly peddled the bike on the way down simply using gravity and momentum to keep going but found myself hot and sweaty and feeling like I had a bit of a workout.

The track continued across the highway and I am instantly met with another decision – left or right (or wrong)? I take the right fork again and find myself perched at the top of a drop into a gully followed by what would be a rather quick left-hander. I am not a mountain biker and so I think that maybe the left fork would be the better option, but it leads to the same spot forming a loop of panic – approach the drop and chicken out and go round the loop back to the top of the drop. I could ride in circles all day but that would be a bit silly and so take the drop. On foot.

The track continues through some nice bush with a bit of mud here and there to make the clean bike dirty again. But it looks dirty from hard riding rather than shed sitting so I am not too unhappy. Cobwebs brush against my face and I realise that no-one has been down the track for a while, that if I fall, lose consciousness, I could be there for a while, a couple of metres from the road but totally unseen. And the long grass means that I wouldn’t just be lost and unconscious but being attacked by snakes as well.

The day is rather warm and the track is uphill a little for a bit and I’m feeling it. At the next crossing of the highway I consider just taking the bitumen back into town but a car zooms past at 100km and I think the snakes and concussion and heat exhaustion are a far safer option.  

I ride on and get a handle on some landmarks and realise I am nearing the end of the track. I pick the correct line at the next fork and avoid the see-saw and jumps that have been constructed. I portage around another obstacle, a narrow wooden bridge over a deep chasm (looking down I can see the tortured souls of riders who have tried and failed, doomed forever to ride 1970s Dragsters as their punishment.)

A Dragster! Groovy bike for 70s kids.

Hot and tired I come to the final obstacle, a wooden ramp down to the creek and under the bridge to the tennis courts. I am tired and think “Maybe I should just miss this last bit.” But what a failure that would be, so down I go.

I had made it to the end. Around seven or eight kilometres taking me about 30 or 40 minutes counting rest breaks and time spent wondering which way to go. A short ride along the backstreets and I’m in the backyard, lying in the hammock with a Labrador trying to lie in the hammock with me.