The Final Push ~ June 23-25 #45
Back Track
The remainder of our “loop” ride from the wetlands to the brewery and then into the National Park did not go exactly as expected. Our stop at the brewery felt a bit unexpected on a Sunday afternoon so we departed soon after and headed to the National Park.
Our plan was to ride over the hill on a track and out to the main road just a short distance from our caravan park. We were both excited to finally be riding our fat bikes unencumbered through the forest. Even still, mid-way up the steep gravel climb, we needed a snack break on a log before climbing our way to the ridge.
At the top, Nivaun checked his map to confirm just a short distance up the road to the right, we would join a single track taking us down the other side. That is, until we rounded the corner and passed a sign on the side of the road “Private Property”. Assuming it was in reference to the communication tower at the end of the road, Nivaun continued on. I hesitantly followed until I heard a dog barking and chainsaws buzzing - realizing the road actually ended in a driveway.
Undeterred, Nivaun continued up the drive while the man holding the saw began shouting repeatedly “Can’t YOU Read? I watched from afar, my cell phone at the ready, unsure what was to happen next. But within a few minutes, Nivaun had deescalated the situation, explained we weren’t on motorcycles, and were following a route clearly marked on his map. What he learned in return was that they had only recently bought the property and were having issues with motorcycles tearing past their house and damaging their land. Moreover, he had never heard of the track we were trying to follow. In the end, he agreed to let us through and somewhat sarcastically called out, “if I see you again, you might as well stay for Sunday roast”.
As it turned out, he was right. We started to enjoy a short stretch of single track, until it deteriorated and became less well-defined, leading us straight to a barb-wire fenced paddock. After crashing around in the bush looking for some connection, we gave up and reluctantly doubled-back. By the time we made it onto his property again, the man and his family were most likely eating their Sunday roast.
It was approaching dusk and we now had twice the distance to cover back to our camp. Another bit of a misadventure, but once again it ended with another new sighting - a group of emus grazing in the field. We couldnt tell if they were wild or stock but exciting to see either way.
Murray to Mountains
Leaving Glenrowan, it was hard to believe we were now just two days away from arriving in Beechworth to meet up with our new friends and ride together into Yackandandah, then a short distance to their farm. We stopped over in Wangaratta before starting our last leg on yet another of Victoria’s rail trails, the “Murray to Mountains”.
This rail trail is 128km in total but branches out from Wangaratta, North to the Murray river, as well as South to the base of Mt. Buffalo in the Australian Alps. On the South leg, after 26km, the trail branches again at the Everton station, heading NE to Beechworth and ends in Yackandandah. This being the section with one of the steepest grades allowed for a broad gauge branch line and the one we would be riding.
After crossing over the Ovens river in Wangaratta, the trail took us through the last bit of farmland in the Murray basin before climbing onto the edges of the Australian Alps. Just before reaching Everton Upper station and our long ascent into Beechworth, we stopped for a break and discovered our first lemon-scented Eucalyptus, a magnificent tree that had been standing there alongside the railway line for almost a century.
From far-reaching farmland roads across this basin, we had kept our eye on the distant hills knowing at some point we would be on the other side and at the foot of our first mountain range in Victoria. We arrived in Beechworth just before sunset in time to catch the rainbow above the clouds, toast our accomplishment and soak in the crisp fall mountain air.
In almost 900 kilometers, we had scratched the surface of Victoria’s varied history, experienced small town life, passed countless dry creek beds, crossed rivers that stretch from mountains to distant plains, communed with the cows, spooked the sheep, clucked to the horses, felt the absence of people native to this land, witnessed efforts to make reparations, traveled more gravel than bitumen, and went down roads probably rarely, if ever, cycled. It was not “the plan”, it was part of the journey, enriching our minds, hearts and lives in ways we may not yet even realize.