BurbleChaz

The forest at Daisy Hill was hammered by yesterday’s storm. Leaves, branches and entire trees littered the park. This chap had decided that the trees were far too dangerous, and he’d just sit on the path for a while.

Nirvana. The Buddhist state of not-being. Also, the name of a 2.5km single-track run at Daisy Hill. Coincidentally, one wheel wrong here and not-being is the most likely outcome.

We found a parking spot amongst the horse boxes and large dogs, and pottered about for a bit as described here. Once the Sensible Cyclist had had enough, I was let off the leash. She said something about mud, but I couldn’t parse it. I met a nice chap at the first gate. We exchanged polite words and sized each other up as X-chromosome-deficient cyclists everywhere do. He made some remark about it being “Muddy out there, then?” No idea why. My bike was still pristine. No more than 1cm of deposit on the downtube. We started the downhill section on the fire road together. I waited for him at the bottom. After the first climb, I waited a bit to let him catch his breath. Then I smashed his ego to bits on a 1km flat bit. Hey – it’s my story, and I’ll tell it however I like.

So: Nirvana. 2,500m of single-track deep in a rain forest. How was I meant to know there is a right way and a very very wrong way indeed? I started at the wrong end. After 200m I was repeating the mantra “never descend anything you can’t climb”. The trail descended a series of switchbacks over steeper and rougher ground. The forest grew thicker and darker. The ground went from moist to mushy to – no – not muddy! Anyway, mud is nice, healthy and an important part of a balanced diet.

My utterly awesome bike took care of me, and carried me through some sections that should not have been physically possible. On a couple of occasions, I came to a halt with the front wheel in mid-air and the back on a slippery root. Feet may have touched the ground for a second. Or for a few meters. OK – I had to carry the bike at one point. My fault – not the bike’s.

It took me 30 minutes to finish the trail. That’s an average of 5kph. In my defence, I stopped to take pictures.

The return was amazing. Tight, twisty switchbacks. Long level traverses through the rain forest. Short, intense technical climbs. No mud. Really. Well, only the recommended daily minimum. Ridden in the correct direction it took just over 15 minutes, including stops to enjoy the beauty of being alone in a silent forest.

For reasons still unclear to me, my bike and I had to stand under a cold tap for five minutes before being allowed in the car. Most unfair.

We have a five-day weekend over Easter. The logic behind this is awe-inspiring. Anzac day falls on Easter Monday, and can’t be moved for some reason. So, in an act of sheer brilliance – pay attention here, this is remarkable – they moved Easter Monday to Tuesday. Really. This year, Easter Monday falls on a Tuesday. The theology is somewhat baffling, frankly. Anyway, the upshot is a five-day break, which is utterly spiffing, particularly as one who is in possession of paid holidays. So, how have we been occupying ourselves?

On Good Friday we did a long ride up the river and back. This was fairly gentle, as I wanted to see if an idiocy-induced injury had healed. It had. No, I will not explain how I hurt myself riding a CityCycle up a hill in the rain. True stupidity needs no explanation.

Other People had been doing some research, and had heard about Daisy Hill Conservation Park. This is 400 hectares of old forest, located 25kms south of the city. The idea is to provide a sanctuary for native wildlife like koalas, kangaroos, drop-bears and bunyips. It has a network of multi-use trails for walkers, horse riders, and nutters on mountain bikes. We arrived at the carpark at the top of the hill, hopped on the bikes and pottered off for an explore. We found a range of trails, from big forest fire tracks to twisty single-track. While the terrain is far from flat, it’s nowhere near as challenging as Mount Coot-tha.

After a while, the Serious Photographer decided that hammering up and down wet, muddy trails in the pissing rain was no longer fun, so we sent her back to hunt for koalas, and I hurtled off to find more mud. I succeeded.

Since we’d had so much fun, we went back again on Monday (not Easter Monday – that’s on Tuesday. Today is Anzac day. Do try to keep up.) This time, we started along some fire roads that I’d discovered. My memory of these was ‘almost level’. Apparently, my definition of ‘level’ is not in widespread use. The Other Cyclist was game, and we did a few ks before turning around. Imagine my astonishment when she turned – entirely of her own choosing – down some single track. We took it sensibly. My track-stand technique is developing well. We had a blast – twisty narrow tracks through dense forest with dappled sunlight. Some small obstacles, and a gentle climb back to the fire roads. It was awesome. It was also enough for the Sensible Cyclist, so we went back to the car so she could swap bicycle for camera.

I hammered off in pursuit of more mud. I’m getting good at this. I met a couple of other cyclists also new to the park, and rode the single-track with them. Twice. It’s really that much fun.

Anyway – enough of the deferred gratification – you only come here for the pictures, I know. Here you go, then: