stats. Today 101.79km Trip total 472km
I was expecting a very cold morning, thick fog, maybe even a frost…. It was cold, but not that cold. Even so, it didn’t stop the whinges and moans from the people from the coast! The temperature seemed to drop between waking up and leaving, maybe it was as the wind increased.
Heading west from Bungendore on a bike is a rude shock. There’s only around 3km of almost level riding to warm you up before you’re presented with the climb up Smith’s Gap. Mum and Dad, together with Boris and Scarlet, were standing at the end of Lake Road waving to the riders as we passed, they seemed to be laughing at the thought of us having to ride up the Smiths Gap hill….
In about a kilometre and a half of road we climbed up nearly two hundred metres, many getting off and walking, others zigzagging madly back and forth across the road and getting in each others’ way. There were many red faces and panting voices by the time we hit the top.
From Bungendore to Murrumbateman the obvious route would have been to head straight along the road that joins the two in almost a straight line — it’s a quiet country road with very little traffic even on a weekday morning. Unfortunately it would have involved a crossing of the Federal Highway, and that’s anathema to Bicycle NSW, so we had to detour half-way around the country and add on an extra 20km of riding in the headwinds in order to avoid the major road. Their insistence on treating everyone like pre-school children gets a little wearisome at times…
The route used Norton’s Lane and other roads that in the past ten years I have never ridden or driven along, then came out onto the Sutton road before heading out to Gundaroo and rejoining the route we would have been on if we could be trusted to look both ways and cross a main road. Unfortunately, with the increasing headwind, and after such a long, hard day as yesterday, the added distance meant that many people were so exhausted that they couldn’t complete the day’s riding.
Lunch was taken while sheltering beside or behind a CFA shed in a windy paddock, while a curious highland cow looked on from the adjoining paddock. It had obviously been hand fed, and was tame enough that it kept trying to lick various bikes or people that got near enough to the fence.
Lunch to Murrumbateman, then via Dog-Trap road to Yass were just a continuation of the slog into the wind. Probably the lowest point was having to ride past the municipal tip at Murrumbateman, being pelted with gravel from passing trucks and assaulted by the stench from the garbage.
Raising money for their school, three schoolgirls struggle to carry Ronnie's bag
Looking south down the Yass River to the old railway bridge
At Yass sportsground the local primary school students were busy offering to help carry bags and put up tents in order to raise money for their Year 6 farewell. There’s always the tradeoff between wanting to help them with their fund-raising, and not wanting to injure anyone who tries to pick up 20kg of baggage! It can also be frustrating — if slightly amusing — watching others try to find your bag or put up a tent — and it’s nearly always quicker and easier to do it yourself. It took three girls to carry Ron’s bag, but luckily it’s distinctive enough that at least they could find it!
After snacking on a steak sandwich, putting up the tent, and having a quick shower, I decided to head into town for a look around and to try and call Liz – my sister in law – to see if we could catch up this evening. The countryside around Yass was much greener than it has been for the past few days, the view north and south along Yass river looked especially inviting. Walking back into town after setting up my tent I had to clamber over railings and run across the road to take the Southerly-facing photo without including the passing traffic. I loved the look of the old rail bridge that’s parallel to the road.
Sammie, playing with her blocks in the Yass RSL
Colin, Liz and the girls drove into town to meet me in the evening — no mean feat with the amount of baby-support equipment they all seem to need! We decided to head to the Yass RSL for a drink and a chat, as it seemed to be the only place likely to be open and suitable. Unfortunately the RSL seemed to go out of their way to make us unwelcome, and made it painfully obvious that small children, or even any children, were not wanted.
One of the funnier aspects of the club is that immediately on entering the foyer, there is a flight of stairs to climb into the club proper. This is not easy to navigate with a baby stroller, and probably equally difficult for any of the disabled Returned Servicemen, for whom the club was built! Once inside we were forbidden from entering various bars and rooms, but that wasn’t labelled anywhere — the only way to find out was to walk into them and then be told “you can’t bring children in here.” Colin remembered that the last time he’d been here, about six months ago, they had been similarly unhelpful to him and his mates.
As a final example of their customer focus, we got to overhear a conversation between a group of about a dozen bike riders and one of the staff. The riders were asking if one of the many TVs could be tuned to a particular football game, since all of them were showing one channel. The staff member claimed that he had to show what the boss had specified, but that the boss was at home and couldn’t be interrupted, and that nobody in the club had the authority to change channels. Not surprisingly, the group of riders all left for another pub, where they could watch what they wanted!
Even with all of this, it was great to catch up with them all. I got to find out what a circus-like event it can be to just go anywhere with the twins — people just stop and point or interrupt and ask questions. Sammie was happy to see me, and unlike previous visits, nowhere near as shy as she used to be. Casey and Zoe just lay in their respective seats, sleeping quietly and periodically asking to be fed. I’ve no idea how Liz and Colin manage to tell them apart, even Liz says she sometimes has trouble, and they’re not even identical!
One of life's more memorably stupid signs. “DANGER BBQ HOT!”
Eventually it was past everyone’s bed time, so they bundled themselves back into the car and headed home, while I headed up the street to see if anyone I knew was out and about in the pubs. It was quiet out, the two long days in a row seemed to have taken their toll on the partying.
A one man band was playing in the pub, with around twenty people dancing and sitting about. His voice was so out of tune that a number of people had thought that it was a karaoke event, Stu even asked where to sign up to sing, this didn’t impress the entertainer at all! Luckily he was also playing a saxophone, and unlike his singing, it was greatly enjoyed by all. I wonder if he ever got suspicious of why so many people asked for more sax solos?
The pub also had one of the more amusing signs that I’ve seen for a while, I couldn’t resist and just had to take a photo of it. Attached to the hotplate of the barbecue was a sign that clearly read: “DANGER: BBQ HOT!” Obviously they’ve had advice from their lawyers… or maybe the barbecue is made for the American market and these signs are required over there….
Where?
Bungendore(-35.25,149.45), Yass(-34.8333333,148.9166667)
