Words Liam Friary
Images Paul Spurling

PAUL DE VIVIE GAVE MUCH TO CYCLING. A FRENCH BICYCLE BUILDER CREDITED WITH THE INVENTION OF THE DERAILLEUR; HE’S OFTEN CITED AS ONE OF THE FATHERS OF ‘AUDAX’ (LATIN FOR ‘BOLD’) RIDING, AND WROTE PASSIONATELY ABOUT HIS DEDICATION TO DISTANCE. MORE THAN 100 YEARS AGO, PENNED UNDER HIS PSEUDONYM, VÉLOCIO, HE GAVE ANOTHER GIFT TO CYCLING: HIS SEVEN CYCLE TOURING COMMANDMENTS. DESPITE THEIR AGE, THESE GUIDELINES FOR ‘THE WISE CYCLIST’ ARE AS SOUND TODAY AS THEY WERE THEN:

1. STOP INFREQUENTLY AND FOR A SHORT TIME ONLY SO YOU DON’T LOSE MOTIVATION.
2. EAT LIGHTLY AND OFTEN, BEFORE YOU GET HUNGRY. DRINK BEFORE YOU ARE THIRSTY TOO.
3. NEVER RIDE UNTIL YOU ARE SO TIRED THAT YOU CANNOT EAT OR SLEEP.
4. PUT ON EXTRA CLOTHING BEFORE YOU’RE COLD, AND TAKE IT OFF BEFORE YOU’RE HOT. THE SUN, AIR AND RAIN IS GOOD FOR YOUR SKIN!
5. DON’T DRINK WINE, EAT MEAT, OR SMOKE DURING YOUR RIDE.
6. DON’T RUSH. RIDE WITHIN YOURSELF, PARTICULARLY DURING THE FIRST FEW HOURS OF A RIDE WHEN YOU FEEL STRONG AND ARE TEMPTED TO FORCE THE PACE.
7. DON’T BE A SHOW-OFF. VANITY IS UGLY.

Just after dawn, gathered around a small community hall in Yarragon, in Gippsland, Victoria, Australia, are riders getting prepared for a 200 BRM. Brevet (Brevet de Randonneur Mondiaux – BRM) is a long-distance ride within prescribed time limits in designated but unmarked routes, with control points to check off. It’s a causal affair with most riders taking their time to sign in, collect their brevet card, grab a cuppa, and down some toast. It’s a far cry from the hectic pre-race antics you see at most larger scale bike races. I automatically liked it. This is a ride which should not be underestimated. I mean, it’s 200km, which always demands that utmost respect. Everyone has their internal challenges when it comes to what they’d like to accomplish; after all, the only competition you truly face is with yourself.

This particular brevet reads like a good bunch of mates got together and plotted a route, then set off into the hills. It’s that simple. We have a route loaded, feed stops every 50km or so, and beer and paella waiting for us at the end. All that lies in the way of that end beer and feed is 200km across the bitumen, gravel, and tracks, through the splendid but unrelenting terrain of Gippsland.

Gippsland is a region of south-eastern Victoria, extending northeast from Western Port (near Melbourne) to the New South Wales border, and south from the Eastern Highlands to the coast, with an area of 35,200 square km. Quaint towns and marvellous landscapes span country to coast.

Gareth (the event organizer) gives a quick relaxed briefing. The clock ticks 7am and, just like that, we are rolling down a back lane from Yarragon. It’s about a minute before we hit open countryside. The golden light of the morning silhouettes the hills we’ll need to climb to get deeper into the Randonnée. Green pastures, cows, farm Utes – it felt like home, but with the unique gum trees that shroud the first gravel section.

The day’s ordeal was officially underway. Ups and downs, emotions and energy expenditure, needed to be finely balanced. The focus was narrow – make it to the end as best as possible. I cut the ride into the feed stations as they were basically positioned in each quarter of the route. As the famous quote states; “there is only one way to eat an elephant: one bite at a time”. It wasn’t long before the field thinned, with long climbs taking us into the back of beyond. I rode within myself and tried to not get carried away with the early stages of a long endurance ride.

The route was loaded into my head unit, and I was like a semi-autonomous vehicle getting guided around this rural part of Australia. The grandeur part of the ride is Grand Ridge Road, which the Randonnée intersects and traverses along several times. Gippsland’s Grand Ridge Road is one of the great tourist drives of Victoria. For 132km it snakes its way along the ridge of the Strzelecki Ranges, providing striking views across the emerald-green farmlands to the Latrobe Valley in the north and Bass Strait in the south.

I wasn’t far off the first feed station and, like a kid a Christmas, I was super excited. The farmland views were lush with dark pockets of tree-lined gravel lanes. Twigs and sticks and other road debris littered some of these lanes which kept it interesting. I had my game at this point but as the fatigue of this marathon effort set in I wondered, would I still be able to manage?! I pressed onwards.

A small community hall was our refuge. Littered outside were riders slumped on rickety chairs scoffing down filled rolls and sweet treats. I walked inside to find a selection of rolls with handwritten cardboard detailing each combination. After much deliberating I opted for cheese. The scroll looked too delicious to pass up, so I stashed one in the rear pocket of my bib for later. I joined the crew slumped on the chairs outside and ate my roll, quietly contemplating what still lay ahead of me. This was the first stop, and it wasn’t exactly on 50km, it was 63km, but there was still a large portion of the ride to complete. I didn’t waste too much time and jumped back aboard my bike.

Riding long distance gives you a lot of time alone with your mind. The longer you’re out there, the more the mind wanders. It’s the balance between positive and negative thoughts that you need to navigate. The farmlands eventually gave way to dense forest with a gravel road snaking between it. I had managed to tackle the first part of the ride clicking just over halfway. I had kept the exhaustion at bay…

This part of the route is the most spectacular. The gravel section is very long, staying high on the ridgeline. The weather became more inclement compared to the glorious sunshine at the start of the day, and the wind was now howling through the trees. Dark clouds lingered in the surrounding hills. I was suspended in a state of survival, not wanting to give any extra energy to anything. I was alone at this point and had been for a while – it was a beautiful place to be. The mind dabbled with self-doubt, but I pulled it back in line.

I plummeted down white gravel roads deep into a valley. The foot cramp of being in cycle shoes with clipless pedals for over six hours was setting in. As I coasted swiftly downhill, I unclipped and gave my foot a shake to get the blood flowing again.

This slight relief was enough, I had extinguished that fire…. for now. The wind was cross-on in the valley so once I had lost the momentum of the downhill, I automatically felt as though I was going nowhere. I just put my head down and got on with it. The only focus was the next feed station.

It felt like an endless push, but I arrived at the final place of refuge a little delirious. I was guided to the hall by a volunteer waving his arm. The Esky (chilly bin) was filled to the brim with ice, Coke and ginger beer. I grabbed a ginger beer and faffed around trying to get the cap off which I eventually did. The small things aren’t so easy when you’ve pedalled your bike for a long time. I ate a muffin and an egg slice before stashing another something sweet in the pocket of my bib short. I filled up my bidons and before long was off on the final quarter of the Randonnée.

I made the transition from bitumen back to gravel, then onto a bulldozer track. I was hours into this ride and loving every moment of the section. I was reminded that I love pushing boundaries. I started to see the flag of the finish line on the route loaded on my head unit, however, the data showed that there were several climbs to encounter before I’d be sipping on a coldie. I caught a glimpse of the ‘Travellers Rest Hotel’ whilst passing through Thorpdale. The beautiful old red brick building with a Carlton Draught sign was beckoning me inside…. Reluctantly, I pressed on to the final climb.

The climb was arduous. I felt laboured with each pedal stroke. I stood to use different muscles. I reached a false summit, but it up kicked again. My internal chatter was all about positivity. There were expansive views across the farmlands as the gravel lane danced its way through regenerative bush in the afternoon light. I was almost there. The last section was a swift downhill. I tucked into the drops for the final flat section back into Yarragon. I reached the outskirts of town, where people were going about their normal day. I almost forgot the regular world existed as I’d been so deep in mine. I reached the hall where it all started. My mates welcomed me back with a strong clap and told me to tell the organiser about my return. I parked my bike and walked into the hall a shell of the man who’d departed from there many hours earlier. I handed in my brevet card, which was exchanged for a cold beer, and went over to corner of the hall to sip on it. I sat there with my helmet still on debating whether I could stomach any food or not. I couldn’t, but the beer tasted bloody great. I kicked off my shoes and gathered my thoughts.

I am competitive with myself, and on this day, I overcame all the challenges. The resilience and strength you gain from these feats isn’t generally realised until months after. The further away you step from the effort, the more you can appreciate it. There’s a real sense of pride in achieving rides of this distance.