“Ahh, Michelle is going to be so proud of me (I like to
think Ms Bridges has a personal interest in my progress),’’ I thought as I
pedalled off up our hill and out of the estate on Saturday morning.
My weekend plan didn’t exactly fit the Super Saturday session
and rest day prescribed, but involved a 50-kilometre bike ride to a nearby farm
stay, followed by a climb up a small volcanic plug on Sunday. The outing was to
celebrate a month of birthdays – mine, my partner’s, and our good friends who
are husband and wife.
The bike ride to the beautiful Henderson Park went fairly
well, although it was horribly windy. I managed to burn off 1900 calories
according to my Polar wrist gadget, no-one tried to run me off the road, and I
survived the frequent stench of road kill.
Henderson Park is set amid beautiful grazing land
interspersed with wetlands, birdlife and amazing volcanic plugs. The homestay
is on the spring-fed Hedlow creek, allowing exploration of the area on canoes
provided by the owners.
Henderson Park - serenity, food and wine
We took a plastic table down to the creek and enjoyed a
Hyacinth Bucket-like riparian repast. I must have burned off heaps more energy
chewing through lunch – the food provided by my friend seemed never ending –
prawn, cheeses, smoked salmon and so on. But I think I managed to not eat more
than I had burnt off.
A quick reconnoitre and we had the canoes on the creek and
set off against the wind and current. We could only find two paddles, so
decided we could manage with one per canoe. My arms were already aching from my
first session on the assisted dips machine at the gym the day before, so I
initially relished the chance to work some soreness out of them. Although that
soon wore thin, I didn’t want to admit to my paddling partner or our friends
that I was in pain.
Funny, it doesn't look windy in this photo, but it was. Very.
The serenity of the creek with its overseeing windmills and
eucalypts, the lowing of the cattle and sighting of an ambling echidna pushed
aside the regular scream of my arm and
shoulder muscles.
We were pretty tuckered out by the time we got back to the
cabin, and managed a ten-minute snooze. That ended with some good stomach
muscle exercise, as I curled up in laughter when my man fell out of bed.
It turned cold. Luckily we had the campfire organised, and
more good food, wine, scotch, port and birthday cake ensued.
I didn’t give Michelle a thought.
I awoke the next morning full of beans and after a
mini-exploration of the property, decided I would ride my bicycle to the
mountain we were going to climb. I knew it was only about 20 kilometres if I
went back the way I had ridden in the day before.
My partner was going to drive home and pick up my son and
some friends and meet me at the mount.
I set off and along the way was joined by my friend
Lorraine, who lives nearby. We got to talking and, full of bravado, decided to
take a slightly different route to the mountain.
It can’t be much further than the original way, we decided. Both
roads ended fairly close to our destination.
We wended our way along Hedlow Creek, then cut alongside
Lake Mary, a large wetland full of waterbirds.
Still in familiar territory, we bounced our way over the
rough gravel road, splashed through some puddles, sang some songs and enjoyed
our high spirits.
Lorraine and I while we were still dry.
As we diverged around a big puddle I sang – you take the
high road and I’ll take the low road and I’ll get to the mountain before you…
Then we hit THE PUDDLE. Or more specifically, Lorraine went
through it, the water suddenly got too deep, she tried unsuccessfully to get
her cleats out of her pedals, and…down she went.
So while my shoes got wet (as I couldn’t make it through
either), poor ‘Rainy had wet shoes, and wet cycling knix. It inspired new music
from me …”I’m singing in Lorraine’’.
When we had wiped the tears of laughter from our eyes, and
thanked the heavens Lorraine’s iphone was still dry, we soldiered on.
And on.
And on.
Every few kilometres Lorraine would say ‘the turnoff’s just
up ahead, I’m sure of it.
The tenth time she said it, it was true. So then the mantra
became ‘we come out onto the main road in a few minutes, I’m sure of it’
By now, we were wearing out. We’d been riding for two hours,
and there was no end in sight.
Eventually we could see the mountain we were going to climb,
although we weren’t too sure we’d have the legs for it.
I took note of the numbers on the postboxes we were passing.
1690. That means its only 1.6 kilometres to the next main road, I asserted
brightly. Deep down, I’m sure I knew it meant 16 kilometres.
When I received a text from my man to say they were at the
mountain, I started to stress a little. I didn’t want him stuck there waiting
for me, with THREE TEENAGE BOYS. Not a nice thing to do to a man on his 55th
birthday.
So we rushed on, in who knew what direction.
I tried to ring my partner, but my phone decided it was out
of credit. My partner told me later my
phone had kept redialing him, and he would answer but only hear me chatting and
laughing with Lorraine, and the slosh of my water pack. That’s where all my
credit went.
Eventually he rang me, and asked “where are you?’’
HOW THE HELL WOULD I KNOW! I’d been waiting for him to ring
so I could yell that line at him.
No, we weren’t lost, I assured him. I could see the
mountain. We were only a few hundred metres from the main road. I could hear
the traffic…
Four bumpy kilometres later, we found the bitumen and I flew
along the smooth surface to the bottom of the mount.
It had been three and a half hours since I set out. Damn, I
wanted some lunch.
And I couldn’t back out of climbing Mt Jim Crow. We do it
every year, around my birthday. To prove that I still can.
So up I went. In my wet shoes. All the way. Then I came back
down a little and redid the last bit with one of my son’s friends, who had
vomited on the way up, but still wanted to get to the top.
I was glad I had kept my cycling knix on, under a pair of denim
shorts. They provided good padding on the way down when my quads were too tired
to hold me up and I bum-hopped over the scree.
Top of the mountain. That's the road below in the top left corner of the photo.
Exhausted, I turned to my Polar wrist gadget to see how much
energy I had burnt. I was empty, spent, and sure I had just burned off a year’s
worth of calories.
1200. What! I guess the road was too bumpy and flat to get
my heart rate up. And because I was already so tired I climbed the mountain too
slowly.
Lucky I burned another million calories laughing, and a
score fuming over how far it was.
Surely Michelle would be proud of me.