Words & Images Liam Friary

So, there’s a horse race over the ditch that basically shuts down Australia. The Melbourne Cup doesn’t really need much introduction – as they say, it’s the ‘race that stops the nation.’ Our (perhaps better) take would be the ‘ride’ that stops the nation! This three-day riding adventure would be focused around ‘cup day’ being watched at Dargo Hotel, which is a remote country pub that sits in the High Country of Victoria, Australia.

We’d be a small group. We’d be self-sufficient. And we’d need to travel across tough mixed terrain. So, we called up a few pals and planned an adventurous route through Gippsland, in Victoria. Once the group chat was established, excitement resounded, and the pace was set as ‘Parmas and Pots’ on the chat. Our crew comprised of Andrew Pike (the instigator), Jarryd Jones, Ross Wilkinson, Glenn Marriott, and me. This crew are all cycling enthusiasts and seasoned riders and, most importantly, can sort mechanicals and look after themselves if things go sideways. I hurriedly packed my bag and headed across the Tasman. The next morning, we rolled out on the three-day journey. I was aboard a new Canyon Grizl CF SLX 8 eTap Trail (thanks to Canyon) that was fitted with a Topeak BackLoader saddle bag packed with some spare kit, shorts, tee shirt, a film camera, a few film rolls, two bidons, spare, tools and some ride snacks.

Every bikepacking route can be lived a thousand ways. It all depends on the season, your bike, the weather, the ride buddies and who and what you’ll encounter along the way. It’s perhaps the unpredictable nature of events that’s the most refreshing. It’s just great to be in the outdoors exploring unfamiliar territory. I could spend time looking at the route via digital red line before this journey but often the real world really determines how hard the terrain will be.

Day One
As we crossed into the country, hazy skies turned clear and we knew we’d made the right choice. The expansive views were always spectacular across paddocks with mountain ranges sitting on the horizon. The route danced across flatlands, back and forth between bitumen and gravel. The heat was evident early on, so I applied some sunscreen. We settled into a steady pace with a slight sense of urgency. The kitchen would be closing around 2pm and we’d need to get our Parma orders in before then. The pace was set as ‘Parmas and Pots’, after all.

It was several hours into the ride, along a long gravel road, that the heat started to rise. I rolled up my sleeves before we bombed down a steep and quite badly rutted descent. I switched on my fork to absorb some of the vibration. The end was treated with Cowwarr Weir where we all dipped our toes into the cold water. Most of us wanted to swim, but we still had around 40mins of pedalling ahead of us so decided against riding in a wet chamois on day one of our three-day trip.

Heyfield Top Pub provided the ideal lunch for post-ride – Parmas and Pots. That would be our digs for the evening and our dinner location. It was busy that evening with everyone excited about the upcoming Melbourne Cup, and perhaps more so their day off. Bets were placed at the bar and the TV, which was on in the background, announced the odds.

Day Two
We awoke to the smell of sachet coffee, a musky old sweat smell and gloomy clouds. After packing our minimal belongings back onto our bikes, we rolled around the corner for some grub. We found a closed bakery – this was Melbourne Cup Day after all. So, feeling a bit deflated, we pedalled over to a truck stop for a breakfast roll, an average coffee, and a takeaway toastie. But this was some of the best customer service we would receive all trip – everyone was greeted with ‘hey darling’.

A short, isolated shower came down; rain jackets on and ten minutes down the road, rain jackets came off. Perhaps not the most direct route was a detour through the Blores Hill MTB Park, but it was bloody fun nonetheless. Long and straight bitumen continued for a while before we pulled into Briagolong. We topped our bidons, had a snack and reapplied the suncream. The day was starting to get warm.

The next section was gorgeous! This was Freestone Creek Road which is a backroad to Dargo. The backcountry road had only recently reopened after devasting fires ripped through here. As we ventured further along the road, the blackened trees and burnt smell was evident. The group was riding well at this point. I started to feel good and throw down a few efforts which I would eventually pay the price for. The road pinched up and then wound its way up and over a range. I managed my effort up this climb, whilst some of the group attacked it. We were now into the edges of the Victorian High Country. As I looked out through the stark forest, I could see dark green ranges in the distance. I knew the final push to Dargo wouldn’t come easy.

The road transitioned back to bitumen and with it came rolling undulations. It wasn’t long before my bidons were completely dry – I even unscrewed the top and drank the dregs. It was about 15km or so out from Dargo when things started falling apart. I was just cooked, and probably had slight heat exhaustion. Plus, the effort – or rather, efforts – I had made earlier on came back to haunt me.

I couldn’t put down any power and every pedal stroke was exhausting. I was with Jarryd at this point, but we didn’t really talk as we were both suffering in our little worlds. We pulled over with 5km to go, sat on the grass beside the road and shared a gel. I said it wouldn’t be long until were eating and drinking like this had never happened. But, at this point, we just couldn’t see the light at the end of the tunnel. Jared’s brother was camping overnight in the hills and was going to meet us at the pub. As we started to ride again, he came past with his truck and topped up our water bidons. I put the whole bottle down as we coasted into Dargo.

We pulled into Dargo to find the rest of the group sitting out front, sipping on pots. I drank another bottle of water then joined them. It took a while to feel normal again but, thankfully, in these remote parts no one really cares. A massive plate full of Parma was served, with Melbourne Cup playing on the TV. ‘The race that stops the nation’ was over in minutes, and no one won their bets.

Day Three
Heading back towards civilisation we encountered some of the roads that had brought us out here, before riding towards Stratford. It was on the transfer out that I really started to appreciate this ‘High Country’ region. Perhaps because I’d been ‘swinging’ so much on the way into Dargo I hadn’t taken in the splendid scenery. We reached Briagolong Hotel and had few pots before returning to the sun scorched gravel that led us into Stratford. Pies, Paris-Brest-Paris, chocolate milk and Coke brought us back to life. We changed out of our kit on the train platform but, unfortunately, the train wasn’t going. Thankfully, the bus replacement service allowed us to put the bikes underneath the bus. Three days exploring a new region was special but perhaps more so were the people who shared this journey. When memories are shared there’s a very strong bond that goes with them. The simplicity of riding from destination to destination is very rewarding. This perhaps wasn’t the ‘ride that stopped the nation,’ but it was enough to stop our regular life rhythm. The bus back was the final transfer – back into our regular lives.