Oppy 2015

It's no secret that the Oppy - properly known as the Fleche Opperman All-Day Trial - is my favourite ride. There's a lot to like about the Oppy, the challenging distance, the night riding, the company of like-minded folk on a most enjoyable jaunt. This year was my sixth Oppy in Victoria, having completed in 2013, 2011, 2009, 2008 and 2007. This year, the Tasmanian contingent in the famed Lancefield Lairs was doubled, with Hugh coming along for the ride as well.

There's always a lot of preparation for this ride for me. These days it involves packing a lot of gear into a bike box, a flight from Hobart to Melbourne and the unpacking and travel at the end. I caught up with Hugh at Melbourne Airport and we bundled our gear into a hire car and set off for Lancefield where Andy kindly fed us and put us up for the night.

The course for this ride is a matter for the each team captain, subject to the rules of covering 360km in 24 hours from 8am Saturday, at least 25 of them in the last two hours. Steve chose a familiar route, up through central Victoria, turning west and ducking briefly into NSW before a night stop and the ride back down to Rochester, with stops every 60 or so kilometres for food and a wee rest. Our team was a strong one, overflowing with Oppy and Audax experience.

The scenery in Victoria is unlike that of Tasmania. For a start, the place is astonishingly flat. We cruised along on the road to Seymour and I marvelled at how little climbing there was. I always argue it's one of the reasons cycling is so popular in the state. 

On we rolled, making reasonable time, despite more than our fair share of punctures and a broken spoke. A brief bout with an upset stomach slowed me down for a bit either side of the lovely town of Dookie, so I lived on gels for a few dozen kilometres and waited for things to sort themselves out, which fortunately they did. Aside from that, I seemed to be travelling pretty well, none of the normal neck pain I get on longer rides, and the contact points of hands, feet and bum were also going ok. 

Nightfall provided a welcome drop in temperature from the 30 degrees of late afternoon. Not long after out pizza stop we donned our reflective vests and sailed off into the setting sun. It's a nice time to be out on the bike.

The wind, which was predicted to be a challenge for us, rose a little in the night - but not so much as to make the riding unpleasant. The stronger riders took the front and the rest of us were content to travel along in their wake. The chatter of earlier in the day died down to almost nothing as the evening wore on, a sure sign we were getting weary. The final 30km into Moama is a favourite of mine, a mixture of very ridable roads and the proximity of a decent rest.

We reached our night stop at the caravan park in the very early hours of Sunday. A 3am arrival and a quick shower meant only a couple of hours sleep before the 6am departure. No sooner had my head hit the pillow than I was out like a light.

The alarm sounded what seemed like a few seconds later. A quick breakfast and we were back on our way, this time into a stiff headwind. Although we had left a few minutes late we seemed to have plenty of time to finish the last 30km even at the slightly-sub 20km/h speeds we were managing.

After the first hour or so, it was apparent we weren't making terrific time. I did some mental calculations but I wasn't overly worried because we'd had tight finishes before. Not far from town we spotted the riders from the Lair's Petite Oppy (180km) team waiting for accompany us to the finish. A few riders stopped and a few of us continued on at a stately pace.

A few minutes down the road the second group was not longer in sight - which seemed a little odd. We continued on and discussed what it might all mean. It didn't make sense they'd all dropped off the pace, it must have been a mechanical problem or a puncture. The clock continued to tick down. With a dozen minutes and less than two kilometres to go, we pulled over to the side of the road. What would this mean for our finishing hopes?

The time ticked by with no sign of our teammates of the last 24 hours and our Petit Oppy comrades. There were murmurs of consternation and debate about what course to take but we waited somewhat confident that they would be along in good time. Then the lights appeared, far down the road and drew towards us, slowly at first and then more quickly. Happily reunited we were on our way once more, the final distance being a bit shorter than we had reckoned. We arrived at the Oppy statue in Rochester with three minutes to spare. 

Another year, another most memorable ride.

1703km so far this year.

Audax Wuthering Heights 150km

Stunning riding through tall forests on the way back from Bronte Lake.

Each year a talented and handsome ride organiser, who I shall call Chris, runs a ride that centres on a fishing lodge at Bronte Lake in the central highlands of Tasmania. There's the option to ride 150km up and back or 200km each way with a night of convivial company and tall stories in between. Sadly last year I missed this ride and was determined not to do so again.

Unfortunately the weather bureau intervened. The forecast Saturday was for heavy rain, including thunderstorms. Not I'm not saying I was looking for an excuse but the idea of getting up at 5am to ride 150km uphill in the rain didn't appeal as much as perhaps it should have - not matter how keen I am to get some miles in. 

Leaving Bronte Lake on the short stretch of gravel.

As it turned out, the forecast was disappointingly wrong. Hugh and I caught a lift up to the lakes with Chris, passing the trio of diehards as they ground up the final steep climb. Purely out of courtesy, we didn't crack a beer before their arrival but instead rode out to meet them and escort them in after their hard day's toil. There followed a night of superb food, a few drinks and apparently some snoring in the bunkroom.

By agreement, the 200km lads set off an hour ahead of us for their out and back loop with the intention of catching up up later in the day. Nathan and I turned our wheels eastward and enjoyed warm and warm conditions as we swooped through the gorges and valleys on the way to Ouse, where we ate our fill of roadhouse tucker.

Long downhills and open country in the Derwent Valley.

Underway again, Chris passed us on his way home and informed us that Hugh was breathing down our necks. He caught us at the end of the long and very pleasurable descent into New Norfolk and the three of us made a happy paceline to the finish at the Cenotaph. As I'd left my car at Chris' house, we had 10km to go, which made for the perfect imperial century for the day, as Hugh demonstrated his superior fitness and all-round athleticism by outpacing easily me on the final hills. All the same, I was happy with what was for me a solid day in the saddle. 

A superb ride, thanks to Chris for putting it on. I'm been to travel both ways under my own power next year. Some video highlights below.

879km so far this year.

A perfect morning's excursion

I rode a very pleasant 18km to the bus this morning. It was warm, though the sun had not been up long. The blanket of fog I descended through zooming down the hill from home didn't quite reach the valley floor. Just three cars passed me in the 40 minutes it took me to ride along the rough dirt road to Huonville and the bus. I knew all the drivers and all of them waved as they slowed and gave me a wide berth passing. The wide Schwalbe tyres on the Crosscheck soaked up the bumps on the gravel road beautifully. The ride home was about the same, but without the traffic. We're a one car family for a while and though it means some minor inconvenience, it also means I'm able to get a some more time on the bike. 


It's February, which means FebFast: a month off the grog. As a challenge, my household has cut its alcohol consumption from a case (or two) of beer a week to zero. Into the bargain I've given up soft drink and bacon and egg rolls from the work canteen. If it's going to be a month of abstinence, it might as well be a good one.


As I've probably complained here before I have struggled to find a regular ride that isn't so hilly as to make daily riding exhausting or too clogged with traffic to be enjoyable. Apart from a 300m hill at the home end, the road from here to town is pretty flat by Tasmania standards. It's a nice ride: slightly harder coming home because of the hill, but pleasant enough to do every day. I've racked up 200km this week which is about twice my average. I can read on the bus - and the paper I work for pays reporters $50 for book reviews, which means my travel almost pays for itself.


Normally I'd be buggered after a week of work and riding. But the exercise and improved  diet means I've dropped about 4kg in three weeks and suddenly I'm riding faster and with less effort. I feel good when I get out of bed in the morning and don't seem to be as tired in the evenings. Diet and exercise huh? Who would have thought it?


I'm wondering how long this pleasant experience will last. I'm pretty committed to see out the next six weeks until I ride the 360km Opperman All Day Trial Summer in Tasmania is brief. This year hasn't been much of a summer at all but even so in a week or two as the days continue to get shorter I'll be leaving home in the dark, which isn't too big a problem because I have lights and sunrise won't be too far away. It will cool down, but I have warm enough clothes for that. Daylight Savings ends at the end of March, so it will be dark at both ends of the day, which means a man has to be pretty determined to push on. And I'll get my car back in a week or two and I'll have to ride past it each morning to the gate. It's temping, always tempting, despite the pleasures of the ride. We shall see. It's easy to make rash promises when its warm and dry. 


570km so far this year.

A brace of beautiful bikes.

I own five bikes. Actually, I thought I owned four bikes, but a visit to the shed surprised me. I had them all roadworthy for a while last year, but canibalised one to make up the single speed. I only corrected this last weekend when I got the road bike going once more. Easter has given me the chance to take it out for a spin.

The road bike is a mid-80s Centurion racer. From memory it's a Turbo with Tange number 1 steel tubing. They were all the rage for a while. It was my training bike until I rode my early-model Vitus aluminium frame up the back of a car. It's probably had half a dozen paint jobs, for the moment it's red. In an age where everything seems to be made of plastic, it's very old fashioned, but it's lovely to ride.

We've been out for a spin in the hot, still weather we've been enjoying the last couple of days. I'm struck inside churning out 6,000 words for a book I've been talked into because I want to spend the money on a new dual-suspension mountain bike (N+1+1+1+1 etc, how many bikes does one man need? Hey, I ride them all I tell ya!). So I've been going out for a blast each afternoon around 4.

Compared to the Surly, which I love dearly, the road bike is like a Ferrari. Despite the vintage downtube shifters and the 25-year old Campagnolo Nuovo Record gear, it's still good for two or three kilometres an hour extra on my average speed. And it just inpires me to go faster. Even with though it's as twitchy as hell its narrow handlebars and high-pressure skinny singles , I dared to ride no-hands for a short distance today. I've owned it since 1985, which seems a long time ago, but boy I love this bike.

We're heading up to Sydney for a few days this week to visit some of our old haunts and test the legs against some old climbs. I'm a bit larger these days - a man taking a stomach for a ride - but I'm looking forward to it immensely.

2,131km so far this year.