Chain a blog by Jeff Barnes

Suddenly the bush opened up and a black mirror of water stretched out in front of us, old gum trees punctured the lakes surface, tree ferns came down to the waters edge and seemed to be drinking in the inky still water.

The eating highlight would have to be the tin shed opposite a truck tyre service it was also the towns only cafe. One big polished concrete floor with no trimming except for the plastic tables and scattered chairs. I was the night’s entertainment as they brought a large dish of steaming chicken, vegetables and rice. The wow factor was the chillies even after requesting they go easy (madly waving no and fanning my mouth ) I extracted a whole cup of the buggers from my otherwise delicious dinner. Two large bottles of beer Lao helped immensely. They backed it up for me with a fantastic soup the following morning.

Yesterday had taken its toll on me and the following morning I watched the horizon for fear of leg bursting hills although it was never that hard again. I was forgetting to enjoy the bush and the lush alpine pastures. All around me birds squawked, vibrant red rosellas, budgerigars, shiny black currawongs, sulphur crested cockatoos rose in white clouds then dropped back to ground as I passed. The bush was alive again after a cold alpine winter. Lizards and snakes came out onto the roads for warmth usually with an unhappy ending. Somehow this snake survived the traffic as I rode past with my legs higher than the handlebars !

We had two quirkier and more interesting nights out. One was our foray into the world of total anarchy or Christiana. A forty-year old commune with loose drug laws in an old military barracks. Balaclava clad youngsters were selling ready rolled joints or hash in various forms. The balaclavas and cries of “no cameras” was helping to give the rundown area a bit of edginess and a single finger up to more traditional society.

Friday morning, I woke before the alarm, nervous about my day, much hill climbing and 170 kms to my accommodation near Moran. I started riding at 6.30am, the temperature on my Garmin speedo was -3c. Four layers of clothes but I was still shaking as I rode seventy kms up hill, finally over the Divide and many hours of blissful freewheeling when my legs were begging for a reprieve. My mood was as up and down as the road ahead, I’ll never get there before dark was the morning thoughts to new-found enthusiasm in the afternoon as I whistled down hills at warp speed. I finally arrived at Moran at 5pm with a broad grin plastered across my dial but dog tired. A shower and three beers with an enthusiastic group at the bar before I vacuumed a large meal into my ravenous body. I was asleep at nine pm. I barely noticed it wasn’t yet dark outside.

There’s backpackers wandering from camp to camp, there are legions of Germans outfitted for any situation and there are a handful of wild-eyed Americans who thought they’d booked New Orleans but landed in New Zealand and can’t understand a word…

The night is abuzz, we head back to the calmness of our room, I’m half drunk from the Havana Club rum, half drunk on life. You find yourself dipping into the street life but needing a refuge from it too. Like parts of overflowing China, like throbbing Mumbai, too much to absorb. You take little sips and withdraw.

Each day the group has left earlier either due to getting better at packing, not forgetting their cereal bowl for breakfast or the real reason paranoia……that they will flag before the finish of the days ride

We shared the summit with no others. We celebrated our arrival with broad smiles or was that teeth chattering? Our climb in the dark had given us little understanding of our climb and as we stood there the surrounds slowly became clear. The shadow of Mt Sonder began to stretch out like an upturned ice cream cone across the plains below. We celebrated with a thermos of coffee and chocolate Tim-Tams, such an Aussie salute.

The next minute I was in a bustling city and four laneways back from civilisation parking my bike outside a seafood restaurant. “Lunch” he announced. Inside the place was heaving and we squeezed onto two small tables. Minutes later communal bowls of steaming pippies, small prawns, noodles and stock were placed in the middle of the tables. The guy next to me scooped ladles of soup into each person’s bowl before the happy slurp of contentment stopped the chatter. Some spoke English learnt working for the American military, others simply smiled and nodded approvingly. Full we waddled back onto our bikes and snaked our way across paths I would never have found.