Advertisement
Prohibited
Apparently riding magic carpets is prohibited in the township of Jindabyne... I'm aware that it's only been about 24 hours since my last entry, but this one couldn't wait. It's been an interesting day for me in the heart of the Snowies.
By way of prelude to this blog, I might make mention that Banjo Patterson's quintessential bush ballad, "The Man From Snowy River" manages to capture so vividly the ruggedness of both the Snowy Mountains and the Australian Stockman alike. I had hoped that on my trip to this treasured part of Australia's natural and historical heritage I would somehow mirror the feats of the great legend himself, hurtling down the mountains astride a glorious beast, kicking up flint stones, waving my hat above my head with one hand. Ironically enough, it was another Patterson poem, namely "Mulga Bill's Bicycle" that my experience seemed to resemble.
Given the time of year and my lack of a vehicle I was somewhat limited with the activities I was able to partake in. Having checked out a few brochures and made a few phone calls, I decided that mountain biking seemed like a fantastic idea. After all, the brochure showed a couple of amateur looking bikers, riding through a small puddle with
Never again
As if ANYONE can ride a bike down that!!! Crazy adrenolin junkies. great smiles on their face, what a blast! Now, the tricky thing about marketeers is that they neglect to mention certain details in brochures. For example, at no stage did the brochure say, "CAUTION: Riding up steep hills causes extensive lactic acid build up" or "FOOTNOTE: It is unlikely that anyone riding a bike for more than 30 seconds will have a smile on their face like the one on the cute blonde lady pictured in this brochure".
As I hired my bike from just outside of Jindabyne and received directions to the most "gnarly" tracks and the most "wicked" paths the lady asked if I do much riding. A bit wary about the question I simply replied, "I do a bit" but what I was really saying was, "how hard can it be?" I was soon to find out.
Another fact that never entered my thought process prior to my ordeal was that the Snowy Mountains are indeed quite a mountainous region. I was found wonting fitness wise as I climbed the deceptively steep hills back into and out of town, over the dam and up to the first track.
As I stood atop my first descent I couldn't help but notice that the so-called 'track' seemed a lot rockier than anything I have ever rode a bike on. Kinda steep too. I took a deep breath and pedalled down the hill.
At this stage things got out of control pretty quick smart. It was hard to slow down, every time I eased the breaks I skidded, I tried to follow the flat tracks left by other bikers but only managed to fall off the humps into ditches and over jagged rocks and small boulders. Within 10 metres I shut my eyes and my feet came off the pedals. Legs stiff and outstretched I let gravity bounce me more so than roll me down the hill. Forward not backward, downward not forward and twirling always twirling towards what I could've sworn was to be my impending doom. In fact, the only enjoyable part of this near death experience was the retrospective "walk down memory lane" as my life flashed before my eyes.
Some how I made it to the bottom and figured the worst was behind me. I pushed the pedals as hard as I could to get me up the other side. Within 3 metres I was heading backwards toward.
I half rode, half pushed and half carried my bike up and down a few more smaller inclines and descents before I found a rock that looked like a good pondering rock. I sat with my elbow on my knee and chin on my fist and decided I should make the most of 21st century technology and consult with the biggest and strongest legs of them all - Charles Logan. Hillarity ensued:
SIMMO:
Mountain biking in the snowy mountains. Worst idea EVER. Do you have any idea how mountainous they are? I'm lucky to still be alive. And that's just going UP the hills.
LOGES:
In 1781 there was much controversy over Dirk Hartog's original naming of the area as The Snowy Deceptively Flat Plains as 42 people were kiloled mountain biking. But they didn't have helmets back then.
*
Thanks very much for putting a smile on my face big fella.
I tried for a bit longer to master the art and got marginally better, but finally, with a bum like a pumpkin and bits and pieces of my pride scattered over the snow-capped peaks of the mountains I turned for home. Up and down, up and down, up and down and eventually I arrived back at the hire shop an hour early yet as far as I was concerned not before time. "It's not 1 o'clock yet" the shop assistant said. "Yeah, fitness is lacking a bit at the moment. Great fun though..." I responded weakly.
Anyway, that was me today. I hope everyone is going well. This arvo I caught the bus to the nations capital and I now write this entry from the Canberra City YHA with my two feet firmly planted on the ground.
Mark Simpson reporting... CAN-BERR-AAAAAAA.
*Simmo'sTourOfBEWDY! takes no responsibility for the historical accuracy of the comments of Charles Logan.
Advertisement
Tot: 0.087s; Tpl: 0.01s; cc: 10; qc: 49; dbt: 0.0408s; 1; m:domysql w:travelblog (10.17.0.13); sld: 1;
; mem: 1.1mb
Brookesy
Andrew Brookes
Political Marketing
The cute blonde lady on the front of the brochure had a big smile on her face when they wanted people to join the Nazi Party too (as well as being blonde, she also had blue eyes and perfect Aryan lineage). Worked a charm, apparently...