Bikepacking – Ryan Anderson Online

NorCal Bike Loop

Posted on August 24, 2017June 22, 2024 by Ryan

In 2010 I cycled across the USA along the Transamerica Trail, somewhere deep in the wilds of Kentucky I met Joe. We continued to ride together until our routes split in Colorado but we have remained great friends since. Joe was turning 30, we were overdue a catch up and a bike trip so we coordinated a 5 day ride in California, with San Francisco as base camp. I flew in from Australia and Joe from Pittsburgh and we stayed with very dear friends Flavia and Vijay who allowed us to turn their living room into a popup bike shop/hostel.

The planned route would take us north east from SF through Sonoma and wine country before cutting west through the Redwoods and finally South along the stunning pacific coastline, connecting the loop back in SF, you can see the full route here.

During the ride I was frequently uploading short Instagram Stories, a compilation of those videos for the entire ride can be watched here.

DAY 1

Starting under textbook SF conditions we navigated through Monday morning traffic to the entrance of Golden Gate bridge, the top of the red struts blanketed in thick fog with a light drizzle testing our handling skills. Bikepacking on a road bike is about as light as you can go for a bike tour, nonetheless an 8kg carbon bike with bags, tent, clothes, supplies etc. still comes out around 18kg.

The omnipresent summer fog in SF doesn’t extend very far inland and conditions change rapidly just a few miles east. We would soon be riding under clear blue skies, hard to believe heading out first thing.

We had a small arsenal of navigational tools. Garmin and paper cue-sheets, both played backup to the Maps.Me iPhone app that I’d imported the route on. After day 2 we really wouldn’t need any of them as we follow CA-128 then CA-1 for most the way. The majority of navigation for the trip was done in the first 20 miles escaping the urban Bay Area sprawl. Somewhere on the outskirts of Los Ranchitos we pulled into a shopping centre for breakfast at a casual diner. Pancakes with sides and coffee all round with our rock star waitress Joanie, she imparted some wisdom before leaving, “Don’t worry about getting your shit figured out, I’m 65 and still haven’t got my shit figured out.”

Things were going swimmingly until I had a huge bug smash me in the temple, it then acquainted itself with my inner eyelid. At the same time Joe got a flat tyre. We pulled over for Joe to replace his tube whilst I handed over the tools and rinsed my eye. That episode out the way we got back to it, cruising along smooth roads stopping occasionally to check directions.

The Old Redwood Highway runs parallel to the busy 101 for a few hundred miles. We used it for the first half of the day with barely a car passing us the entire time. It was a cruisy way for us to re-accustom ourselves to the loaded up bikes and as riding partners again. State bike route signs pointed us the way to Petaluma with some rolling hills and we made good time for lunch at the Walnut Grill in town.

The grill lunch didn’t sit too well and my stomach started popping. At the next general store I made a b-line for the toilet block adjacent, the door was locked! In panic I called over to Joe inside to ask for the key, “Can’t have the key, toilet is broken…”. Right. Back on the bikes, stat. Down the road we went, scanning every field, building, side road for options. At the first sight of what looked like a civilized structure I jumped off the bike and left it for Joe to watch.

Stepping inside I found an upmarket cheese and wine store. A single restroom in the corner had a sign, ‘CUSTOMERS ONLY’. With monumental levels of British politeness I scanned the store for the lowest value item, a bag of crisps. There was a young guy working the till and espresso machine, “Anything else for you?” he asked. Pretending to scan over the wares I replied “You don’t happen to have a restroom do you?”. He brandished the key and I skipped across the floor like Charlie heading to Wonka’s factory. All that business taken care of I returned to Joe awash with relief and smiles.

Riding through some of the best wine country in the world we were obliged to stop in for an afternoon tasting ‘refreshment’ at a cellar door. A quick scout on Trip Advisor highlighted Loxton Cellars as a well rated but casual spot for a couple of cyclists. It was perfect, the winemaker was Australian and we exchanged knowledge of towns close to me in South West Australia. He had a classic laid back ozzy charm, never more than a sentence away from a joke… “The problem with drinking your own wine is you start to think its good!”. The session finished with a chocolate and port pairing that left us salivating. Joe grabbed a bottle of white for the road and they let us off with a free tasting to commemorate the trip.

We left the winery in great spirits to complete somewhat of a victory lap for the last 10 miles into Santa Rosa where we would be staying at a motel for the evening. Flanked by vineyards and the Sugarloaf Ridge I pressed on ahead to town with Joe flagging a little as we pushed over the 80 mile mark, a role reversal from him waiting on me during the TransAm! I had been keen to make this a stopover to visit the world famous Russian River brewery, home to the impeccably rated Pliny The Elder, among other top drops.

We washed our kit in the motel bathroom and hung it out on our room balcony to dry, keeping a fresh kit in rotation for the days ahead. Walking back through town we noticed every restaurant was a Pizza place but all eerily empty. Everyone in town was at Russian River it seemed. We sampled the beers and ate all the pizza with some good company the table next to us visiting from Atlanta. A beautiful balmy evening out celebrating an accomplished first day on the road.

DAY 2

After a good nights sleep in the motel beds we walked across the street in our civvies to Adel’s diner for a bacon and pancakes breakfast. Joe resisted temptation to order ‘The Joe Special’, best not to deviate too far into new food territory with a chance of getting caught (almost) short like me yesterday. We had a few chores to complete before riding, the clothes had dried nicely on the balcony and we packed up the motel room carnage and checked out. Joe carrying his extra bottle of wine and me with a few bottles of Pliny and souvenir Russian River glasses. The plan was to post these back to Flav and VJ’s in SF then take them back to Australia with me at the end of the trip. UPS opened earliest and was a few miles down the road, on route, so we swung by and shipped the goods.

Healdsburg is the next town up from Santa Rosa, Joe wanted to grab another tube and a pump so went to the bike shop in town that opened right as we arrived. The guys at the bike shop pulled out maps and elevations charts of the Geysers Road climb we had coming up, they told us we should ride it in the opposite direction due to the poorer road surface and switchbacks descending the direction we were heading. The bike bags probably should have been enough to inform them we weren’t out on a day ride and riding the opposite way was not an option. Apparently there is a cold spring half way up the climb that we could drink from. With things starting to warm up outside it sounded ideal until they passively mentioned recent tests had shown E. coli in the water, but they’ve been drinking from it for 20 years!

The forecast was very hot and dry 103F (38C) with mercury already rising fast after the early pitstops. We knew Geysers was going to be a tough climb, over 3200 feet of climbing and no services whatsoever for ~40 miles. There would have been one refuel option at the foot of the climb but the Jimtown store, a famous deli amongst local and pro cyclists in the area, was closed on Tuesdays! Only a few miles since we left Healdsburg but we still needed to replenish water supplies so I went looking around the building for a spigot when Joe called me over. He found a sign above a cold water tap welcoming cyclists to use it. Thanks Jimtown!

We started ascending from that point, crawling up the initial bursts of elevation. As the road continued to rise we stopped every few miles, stripping off more layers each time until I was basically down to bib-shorts. The road was super steep and pinchy, I’d guess it was close to 20% in places. After a photo-op looking out over the parched yellow hillsides I set off again tucked behind Joe’s wheel. Joe was already riding with one less gear than me on his rear cassette and as I wound up the hill in my granny gear I was amazed to see Joe haulin’ away in only his second lowest still.

Ryan: “Keeping one spare there Joe?”. Joe: “Huh?”. Ryan: “You’ve got an extra gear back there!”.

Joe tried shifting down, there was nothing left on the cable though. We quickly realised Joe’s rear derailleur wasn’t quite tuned up. Already running low on water and just about out of snacks it wasn’t the time to pull over and start tweaking his drivetrain so we pushed on.

We reached the cold springs the guys had told us about and practically bathed in it without taking a sip. We figured the top of the climb would only be another few miles the we could cruise downhill into the next town. The climb got steeper yet, the road harsher and the sun unbearable, we were being absolutely cooked alive Out of water and starting to get desperate I was taking rests in the shadows of small branches waiting for a mountain lion to jump out. The ride had quickly turned a little alarming. We flagged down two cars who had some extra cold water for us, they were the only cars that we’d seen all afternoon. The descent came but rather than being our saviour it was hell taking us almost 2 hours to get back off the mountain, riding the brakes expending all leftover energy concentrating on the huge potholes whilst navigating the switchbacks that seemed to repeat 20-30 times.

We crawled the last few miles to the town of Cloverdale, even a mile out I had to pull over and slump over my handlebars. At the first store I dumped my bike against the wall, stumbled inside grabbing water and gatorade. Me first instinct post-ride is usually beer and food. Feeling something close to sunstroke I could only think about hydrating for now. Joe pulled up and did the same but also grabbed me an ice cream. We sat on the pavement as locals walked by with curious glances. I felt the guilt of putting Joe through that ride as I planned the route! We had stopped talking for the last hour or so, I looked at Joe, we hugged it out and laughed. Tonight was supposed to end with a camp near Boonville and a shorter day tomorrow. There were no camp options in Cloverdale and we weren’t heading any further. Baked and dirty we resolved to grab another motel room, ride further tomorrow and camp the next few nights instead.

Sitting at a desk now looking at the pictures from the day its hard to represent in words how difficult that ride was. The whole day had only amounted to 53 miles, I practically ride that in my commute to work! It was the heat, simple as. Locals in town had conflicting reports but we heard the temperature actually got up to anywhere from 112-116F (45C+!). Furnace.

DAY 3

With confidence slightly bruised from yesterday’s punishment we rolled down the Main street of Cloverdale in silence. A coffee shop called Plank was just about the only place open but was all we needed to down some caffeine and have a pep talk before setting out for the day. We would have another climb to begin with over a ridge into the next valley, the stupendously named ‘Anderson Valley’. Thankfully the gradient was kind, the temperatures humane and we rediscovered our form, even daring to smile again at the ease of riding in beautiful surroundings.

Morning progress was halted by roadworks, one way traffic on a single lane along CA-128. We got chatty with the worker holding the STOP sign. We quizzed him on food options in Boonville, he recommended a Mexican place called Lizbby’s where I would get the breakfast burrito fix I’ve been craving.

A gradual downhill had us flying into town, the valley was a picture postcard with golden fields sitting in front of interlocking sloped pine forests. The stars in our surnames aligned as we realised we were riding past the Meyer winery in the heart of Anderson Valley.

No surprise that this area is home to the Anderson Valley Brewing company, the art work from the cans perfectly depicts the landscape. I did learn the legendary mascot bear with antlers is called… ‘Beer’ (Bear + Dear!). We stopped by for a photo-op and could smell the fresh brews fermenting. Sadly the taproom wasn’t due to open for another hour but I was reliably informed we could pickup any of the range from the store in Navarro so we headed on to Lizzby’s for lunch.

Joe paused before we headed in to eat “Hold on, quick sanity check…”. This would be our first and only cooked meal for the day so we’d better make it a good one. Sanity checks became commonplace for choosing food the rest of the trip. It might seem harsh to discount a venue based on what the internet has to say but we were quite lenient, anything 3 stars or above was a pass, in fact I don’t remember a venue ever failing the sanity check. Anyways, the food was fresh, hearty and authentic so it was a thumbs up this time. The toilet stalls were different though, they had shower curtains instead of doors…

The heat peaked after lunch around the mid 90s, hot by normal standards but relatively humane after yesterday. A roadside fruit stand made for an idyllic shaded stop. Joe got cherries and I picked up a peach. First bite shooting juice all over me, the bike and ground. Ravenous wasps started circling so it was time to bounce.

The road narrowed as the valley closed in on us, our pace seemed to slow, perhaps the baby burrito was still digesting. Not hungry but in need of supplies for tonight we stopped at the Navarro general store. A popular spot in an otherwise remote stretch of forest, advertisements posted up for live weekend music and BBQ festivals. There was a deli for us to pick up some sandwiches for dinner. We would be camping in Manchester, CA, I’d been once before and there isn’t anything else in Manchester other than the campground. Concerned the day would end without beer I grabbed some Anderson Valley EETAH! IPAs for us from the fridge and stuffed them in my backpack.

The CA-128 bent west towards the coast carving through magnificent redwood forest. No shoulder and the traffic was a little heavier than anticipated but all drivers were courteous. Something i had genuinely forgotten about all my riding in the USA, the drivers are simply amazing or are the Australian drivers just terrible? Fully slowing down to a crawl until its absolutely clear ahead and safe to pass, always moving over into the opposite lane giving smiles and hand ups. Not a single dose of aggression or road rage to report. Back in the forest the trees grew taller until the road was blanketed in shade. We pulled over several times just to rest our bikes against a trunk and take in the majesty.

Joe had done his homework on the Navarro River Redwoods, he learned this was all second growth after heavy logging in the 19th century. The stumps of the old logged redwoods sat dormant in between, 3-4 times wider than the new ‘shoots’, which themselves were dizzying in height.

Suddenly the air turned cool and salty as we broke through dense forest revealing fast rolling fog across a turquoise river mouth, a dramatic transition.

The fog barrelled in as we reached the coast, hindering initial views of the pacific. We stopped in at the Elk store, one of maybe 4 buildings in town. Blink and you’d miss it. The store was charming, 50s decor with enamel and brass fixtures, quite a throwback. Coffee and pastries kept us topped up. The Elk store fridge was stocked with Anderson Valley beers, could have bought them there instead!

Later that afternoon we rode through bursts of fog making it difficult to find a comfortable body temperature. Smart layering is key to coastal riding, you can be hot, cold, sweaty all within a few minutes. Before we had chance to redress the sun eventually flourished in clearer skies as we began the ‘Victory Lap’ aka the last 10 miles of the day.

Some challenging twisting climbs tested Joe’s lack of an easy gear but it allowed me some more time to take pictures of the scenery and him! Stunning coastal riding.

The views got better as the sun eventually won out. Gilstening ocean crashing against rocky juts, tiny hidden beaches, inaccessible yet preserved.

Rolling into the Manchester KOA campground we rejoiced at a more triumphant finish than yesterday. KOAs are well kitted out for family holidays so are complete with facilities like laundry, pool, even a store. Unsurprisingly they also had Anderson Valley beers. So I needn’t have carried and warmed our cans for the last 40 miles!

Joe was using the same 1-man tent from the TransAm, he hadn’t unraveled it once throughout the past 7 years! He decided it would be more entertaining for us to find out what lurked inside during the trip. The tent turned out surprisingly mold-free, the hard part was him figuring out how to construct it again. Another piece of kit that had stood the test of time was his red Thermarest. He loaned it to me when stopped by Pittsburgh during the 2012 Northern Tier ride and I’ve had it ever since but finally reunited with its owner.

A few other bike tourers were in the plots next to us but after washing, food and beer we retired to our tents as some kids at camp started to play a movie. Apparently quiet time doesn’t start till 10pm. The beer had got me drowsy and I passed out in seconds.

DAY 4

We appeared to be the first up at camp, it almost felt like we were sneaking out between the sleepy trailers. There was a cold moisture in the air so the first 15 miles of rolling hills warmed us up as we reached the next town, Point Arena, to scout out a proper breakfast. An old guy wearing a trench coat and akubra style hat shuffled over to grumble “Don’t trust that thing.”, angling at my iPhone. How we made it this far on a self supported bike trip without his wisdom is unknown. Turns out we were right to trust ‘that thing’ as Yelp informed us the cafe didn’t open for another half hour. Rather than idling about we continued into town to find a general store serving up 2kg breakfast burritos. Neither of us were able to finish, even after making extra space in the sizeable restroom, complete with Monet paintings! We joked about the unusual town name ‘Point Arena’ passing time by thinking of tourism slogans like “Get to the Point!”.

A phrase often shouted between touring cyclists heading in opposite directions is ‘You’re going the wrong way!”. When it comes to the Pacific Coast, you really are going the wrong way if heading north. Not only are the winds genuinely a factor and almost always blowing from the North but all of best scenery can only be observed heading south in the coast-side right lane. I know this in part from riding it North for 2 days at the end of the TransAm and thinking I need to do more of this route but heading the other way!

Looking down over the cliff edge on those tight Highway 1 shoulders is equal parts exhilarating, terrifying and astonishing. You would miss from a car just a metre away let alone the far side of the road. Needless to say almost everyone rides it south for that reason, I recall one rider heading north, I’d guess a ratio of approximately 10:1.

Second morning coffee in Gualala got us kicking to tackle more coastal hills as we seemed to find a consistent rhythm, hill, roll, hill, roll, sceneic lookout, next small town and repeat.

Filling in for Terry’s absence, one of our other mainstay riding partners during the TransAm, we would shout things in Australian accents like ‘Car Back!’ and ‘I could bloody murder a Pinot Gris!”. We share the type of friendship filled with inside jokes and personal derision that are pure gold to us but would bewilder a bystander.

We encountered an entire family also riding the coast south. Mum, Dad and two young boys who must have been no older than 10, both riding their own, loaded touring bikes! They were from France but had lived in Australia giving them the most peculiar French-Aussie accent. This is not easy riding, continuous short hill repeats with technical hairpins at each river gulch and busy traffic at times. It was easy to look at the boys and put your feelings on them, thinking they must be finding it hard going, in reality they were probably having the greatest summer holiday ever!

Deli sandwich lunch again, this time at the Fort Ross store. I lent my bike against the wall under the store window and was scowled at by the women working inside, she told me to move the bike around the back. I wouldn’t care but for some reason I had even checked for a sign or notice about bike parking, strange intuition. I did stop here with Eal 5 years ago so maybe some vague memory was triggered and that same women probably scowled at me then!

The french family had kept pace with us to Fort Ross, we had been riding for 20 minutes since speaking to them and they were only a few minutes behind us to this point, they stopped at Fort Ross historical site for a picnic, it was free entry to the site for cyclists. Fort Ross was a Russian settlement in the early 1800s, we explored the grounds for a while with some underbiking on its gravel roads on our 28mm tyres before waving goodbye to the family and continuing south.

Each time the road meets an inlet it takes a sweeping turn to the cliffside, you zip down away from the coast to the point of the hairpin then swing back west. If you get your angles right you can maintain speed which will get you most of the way up the other side. Entertaining riding, like a big dipper rollercoaster, it became best practice to move into the centre of the road before taking the initial bend to give yourself as much space to brake and turn into, smart defensive riding to stop a car from overtaking.

From riding this section in 2012 I had vague memories of a crazy switchback descent before Jenner that hovered above the ocean. My memory conveniently forgot about the climbing that preceded it. Some roadworks had us paused on a steep incline waiting for the guy to swing his sign around to let us pass. The queued cars went ahead first which meant we then had the stretch of road to ourself for the next 10 minutes until the next batch was let through. Restarting on the inclines, even in lowest gear, made for some excruciating chain stretching cranks.

The views of the coastline were ample reward for the steep undulating riding. So stunning it was hard not to be moved, very humbling awe-inspiring moments, just magical. It was foggy for this section back in 2012, amazing how different an experience can be depending on conditions, this was essentially all new to me.

The climbing continued. After Geysers Road on Day 2 we didn’t bother to look at the elevation charts on the cue-sheets I printed. If we had there would have been some prominent spikes prior to Jenner. Destination for the day was Bodega Bay, at sea level, here we were about 15 miles away still climbing up, yet again, towards 500 feet! The peak of the climb was unmistakable as the crazy switchback I had recalled mapped out below us from a stunning view point.

For the next 10 minutes it was time to sit back and take it all in as we glided down towards the bay. Some of the bends were sharp, almost 90 degree turns, with Joe 20 metres ahead he looked as though he was about to paraglide off into the ocean. At one stage a vulture was above him wings spread, Joe took the corner while the vulture continued over the cliff edge like some epic stuntman scene.

It was victory lap time, those miles were so fondly thought of we stopped counting them in our daily mileage. A 75 mile day would become a 65 mile day + Victory Lap, then beer. We pulled over as the descent eventually bottomed out to look at rock stacks in the ocean. We couldn’t wipe the grins away and didn’t want to, Joe summed it up simply with “That’s as good as it gets!”.

Bodega Bay Dunes campground was full, but they have hiker biker group areas. Even the group area was busy with 6-7 other riders already setup. We had a little trouble pitching on the leftover sandy patches but eventually found a small section of firm ground which meant the tents were practically touching. We chatted for a while with a retired guy, Reg from Chino, who had been undertaking short self-supported bike tours for several decades. We discussed equipment, route choices while Joe drip-dried after his shower. Joe had forgotten his towel so was now hunched over wringing his hair out.

We rode our unloaded bikes the short distance into the town of Bodega Bay itself for beer and food, sharing a small toast for our final night on the road. Then grabbing dessert and a nightcap beer to take back to camp. The beer helps you sleep.

DAY 5

As we packed up Joe decided he was going to shed some weight so binned his tent that had served him diligently but was reaching its end. Again, we rolled out of camp early, a cool and still morning. I knew of a place me and Eal had gone to for breakfast in 2012 on the opposite end of town called The Tides Wharf. Its a tucked away spot hidden behind a car park and what looks like a mini-mall, you’d otherwise miss it if you didn’t know which was lucky because nowhere else was open for breakfast.

Riding started fast but we dispersed as the rollers got bigger until they eventually became genuine climb efforts. This area is mostly farmland, with over cast skies it almost looks like British countryside. I didn’t enjoy this section that last time I was here but the roads had been repaved since and I was feeling strong zipping across the fresh tarmac.

We continued without stopping in the farming town of Valley Ford and pushed on for Tomales, passing sections of eucalyptus forest that was reminiscent of riding in Perth. Tomales has a small town bakery which already had a few cyclists at sipping on coffee. We chatted with the locals a while and snacked outside but it quickly got chilly after stopping so hopped back on the bikes keen to make good time getting back to San Francisco that afternoon.

After more fast rollers along the Tomales with all its cute ramshackle oyster shacks we reached Point Reyes Station. It seems a popular town for locals in the Bay area and headlands. This is my second visit and I don’t particularly care for it, I didn’t even take a picture! Its essentially a small town with busy traffic, the first semi-remote town north of San Francisco its a strange mix of bohemian vibes catering for wealthy weekend tourists. We looked up a few lunch options and settled on a restaurant that was a little hectic, but it filled the stomach.

Leaving town we had the last real climb of the trip which starts immediately after the left turn at Olema on Sir Francis Drake Boulevard. Still feeling strong I spun up without breaking sweat. After the crest the road twists gently downhill through some more redwood forest as the suburban towns of Marin County start to build in size. A final afternoon coffee in San Anselmo to see us home. We were back to civilisation, people everywhere, bustling, which means more attention on the navigation.

The pair of us were pretty spent with 5 days racked up in the legs. We slowed considerably as we passed through Sausalito approaching the Golden Gate Bridge. Pedalling just a few revolutions at a time then coasting to a stop. As much as a we wanted a shower, beer, dinner maybe the lethargy was in part due to the ride ending. Its been 7 years since we last rode together, who knows when we will next get a chance.

There must have be two dozen tourists on rental bikes making the killer climb up Alexander Ave to the Golden Gate entrance. Mass confusion ensued as always at this point with confusing signs and peak hour traffic but we finally found our way to the west side of the bridge which is cyclist only in the afternoon, you ride the east side in the AM.

Coasting across the Golden Gate bridge again, looking out at the Pacific for whales, sucking in the sea breeze whilst processing the last few days. Tired but content with the opportunity to ride together. I snapped a few last pictures and videos then asked a stranger to grab a picture of us both.

Time for the final victory lap navigating back to Flavia and Vijay’s place in Inner Sunset. I’d cycled over to the headlands and back a few times so knew the way by now, guiding us up through Presidio then Golden Gate Park and eventually the steep sloped streets towards Inner Sunset which sits at the foot of Mount Sutro, just to burn a few more calories!

Panting and breathless after the final incline we hugged and shook hands on a job well done. It had been 5 days but coming full circle in a loop like this felt like one continuous ride start to finish. Day 1 we cruised, 2 was killer, 3 was the comeback, 4 was mind blowing and 5, mostly contemplative, all up we had covered around 77 miles (124km) per day. One flat, many beers and a million laughs. I absolutely love riding the pacific coast, the Oregon section is even better! Maybe that will work its way onto the radar again in the future…

– T H E E N D –

Wheatbelt Wheels

Posted on June 5, 2015June 22, 2024 by Ryan

Following a brilliant little micro-tour in the south west earlier this year I decided to take advantage of another public holiday weekend to go and explore some more of this magnificent state, Western Australia. Fittingly it was the designated WA Day weekend and I had mapped out a quick route inland from Perth this time towards the region known as ‘The Wheatbelt’. A few people have asked me how I manage to get so much time off work, the answer is I don’t! But whilst they are sleeping in on their Saturday mornings with a hangover in the mail I’m already up and on the road. The simplicity of starting an adventure from your doorstep requires less planning and is a cheap alternative to a grand adventure, don’t wait to go cross country, go overnight!

Winter has arrived in Perth which means cool, crisp mornings until the sun comes out and settles around the low 20’s. A dry weekend and light wind provided almost perfect conditions for cycling. Some other roadies out on their weekend rides quizzed me on my gear and destination as they zipped past, self-supported is a very alien concept to many cyclists. Touring, particularly bikepacking is a very niche activity and I’m seldom as animated about discussing any topic as I am when it comes to bike touring so I was happy to field questions. I climbed up into the Perth hills through Helena Valley towards Mundaring, beautiful forest suburbs. Stopping for coffee and cake at a Dome cafe briefly to re-engerise after the first 40kms(25 miles) I would eventually be riding about 175km(109 miles) each day.

Avoiding the Great Eastern Highway where possible I weaved up and around it on back roads where what looked like a cross-country running event was taking place. Each participant was being clapped and encouraged by volunteers, sadly I didn’t get the same treatment but gave the thumbs up to the runners as I passed. The aptly named Bakers Hill, a bakery stop on top of a hill was the first opportunity for lunch. The pies looked super greasy, in a good way, but I wasn’t quite ready to stomach lunch so instead accepted the glances from the motorcycle gangs and trucked onwards to Northam.

Northam was one of those towns remote enough to be classed as country but big enough to sustain the usual chain fast foods joints. It didn’t leave me with the most charming impression but that might have been in part due to a puncture I had just gotten. The culprit was a small piece of metal wire that i was unable to pluck out with my nails, not having any tweezers on me I resorted to filing the wire with a stone until it was smooth and recessed back into the tyre then slapped 3 tube patches over it for cushion. Replacement tube held perfect, it had cost me half an hour but I had plenty daylight left to reach my destination. The small town soon gave way to endless wheatfields, something about golden fields on a blue sky backdrop that is so idyllic and lazy. It made for a beautifully tranquil afternoon of cycling, only one dog chase of note but luckily it heeled at the end of the farm driveway.

Eventually I had to join the Great Eastern Highway, home to huge road train trucks heading back and forth to the mining super pit another 400km east in Kalgoorlie. There was a decent shoulder and the truckers were very courteous, a good riding experience to have as I look to do a Perth to Sydney when time allows. My final pitstop was Meckering, a town famous for an earthquake back in the 60’s, the town had to be rebuilt on a fresh site just south of the original area. On the edge of town was a remarkable building that had been modified to look like an SLR camera. There were two guys chatting outside and when i pulled in one of them began to unload photography history on me, I assumed he was the proprietor and asked him for the tour, there was a $12 charge to gain access to the backroom so i took the gamble. What I found was a large open room with row after row of impeccable camera models dating from the dawn of time to present, the collection was incredible and I spent a good 20 minutes scanning over everything, I could have spent longer but was keen to arrive in Cunderdin before dark.

For the last 30km(18 miles) stretch I was accompanied by a moonrise and long shadows. The surroundings becoming increasingly remote, less civilization and more outback. I made it to Cunderdin clocking on 170km(106 miles) and found the funky Ettamogah Pub, they weren’t open for dinner yet so I rode around town until I found the caravan park to pitch up town. There was a number to call for reservation, the owner Jim picked up and agreed to meet me outfront then apologised on arrival for taking so long because he was on the toilet! Pitched up and took a great hot shower before heading to the pub.

The inside of the Ettamogah didn’t quite match the vibe of the outside, tap choices were Carlton Gold, Carlton Mid, Carlton Dry…so i asked for a Carlton, sort of a lucky dip I guess. I promptly ordered the parma and chips, no salad in sight with the dish. I debated a second beer but the place was pretty dead and lacking atmosphere so I opted for some catch-up on my phone and an early night in the tent was a better option. Laying in this tent at the end of a long ride inevitably brings back memories of previous tours, especially this time of year when I have been on the road many times before so I had a glance back at old blog posts for a bit of a ‘where was i on this day’ type thing and found I was both here in 2012 and here in 2010.

I was perfectly warm all night in the tent, even had surplus layers but they were needed the next morning. My alarm was set for 5:30am and I packed up sharpish and hit the road for sunrise. As it broke a huge flock of Galah flew, screaming, around a tree top. It was an incredible thing to witness with the birds black silhouettes against the purple sky putting on a show in otherwise still surrounds.

The knitwear came in handy and was super comfy to ride in, my toes got a little cold but the day was getting warmer. I felt sluggish for some reason, the thick cut stone surface on the road certainly wasn’t helping to ease rolling resistance but I later found from studying my Strava GPS that I had been steadily climbing for the first part of the morning ride.

It would be 75km(46 miles) before I would have any services for breakfast this morning so I made the odd pit-stop to grab banana and chocolate bars from my pack. There were a few super old abandoned buildings along the roadside that I had been reading were left behind when a train line was built connecting the towns parallel to the north. They peaked my interest for a while until I reverted to iPhone for music, good vibes and the wind behind me I arrived in York, WA. I’d already picked out Jules Cafe on Urbanspoon as my go to and found myself a spot inside the cute cafe and inhaled my coffee with fried breakfast then proceeded to get a second coffee before tackling the last 100km (62 miles).

Unfortunately at this point the country roads bottlenecked into the highway and I was left with no choice but to ride the 120 back to the Perth metro area. The shoulder was tight but traffic levels just about manageable, it did mean I had to maintin focus rather then soaking up the landscape. I had not anticipated so much climbing for this section either, it was quite a long slog back up to the peak of the Perth hills. Salvation came at The Lakes service station, re-topped my bottles and had myself a donut and ginger beer welcoming ‘G’days!’ of every man and his dog whilst sat on the brick wall in the sunshine.

I knew the way home from here as this area forms part of a local loop I do from time to time which meant i was able to avoid major roads and span through quite tree lined streets instead. Today was the public holiday and apparently the day everybody had chosen to do excess leaf and wood burn-offs. The hills were thick with wood smoke but it smelt amazing and I enjoyed the screaming downhill back to Perth and connected onto a bike path that would lead me to my apartment. Mission accomplished, 347km(217 miles) total in around 32 hours! Sleepy and in need of shower, food, cold beer, in that order.

Footnote, if you got this far then thanks for looking. This year I have seen so much hatred towards cyclists on my Facebook feed of people sharing articles and rants about riders on the road. I hope everybody can learn some patience and chill, stop the aggression, share the roads and quit the pedantic arguments such as ‘He jumped a red light!’, ‘There is a bike path next to the road!’ If you have time to be enraged at a person pushing away with their own steam on two wheels then you are living a very pathetic life, get some hobbies and practice some compassion, maybe try cycling? 🙂

Bikepacking, WA

Posted on January 27, 2015June 22, 2024 by Ryan

It’s been almost 2 and a half years since finishing my last proper bike tour and I’ve been idling for some time on the road for a while now. The long Australia Day weekend was beckoning me to go get good and lost with nothing but my bike and wit for company so I set about planning a short tour of the South West Australian countryside.

If you don’t like pictures of bikes, my lycra clad groin or forest roads maybe you can just read the words but hopefully you can make something enjoyable of this. With about a weeks notice I whipped up a rough route that would take me down roads I’d never ridden to towns I’d never been. I made use of the TransWA Australind train service to get out of the city and away from the urban sprawl of roads I already frequent at weekends. Leaving on Friday night straight from work I got some pretty good stares at the platform from the other passengers heading down to Bunbury for the weekend.

I had arranged to stay with Linda and Jose for the night, friends from the cycling hospitality network. We had both hosted another cyclist called Lyndal just last year so it was great to make more connections. They met me at the station and we pedalled back to their place before sharing past tails of bike adventures in the USA and all the same places we had ridden, no forgetting Jeffrey City, Wyoming…

The next morning Jose made me the best homebrew coffee I ever did drink and Linda marvelled me by hand feeding the local magpies whilst Chico the old dog gave himself up for petting. Suddenly anxious not to let the day get away I packed up and Linda offered to direct me out of town along a coastal route rather than the highway.

Forecast all weekend was going to be hot, around 33C (91F), dry with south easterly winds. Linda took me to the highway section I was due to join and we said goodbyes. This was to be the more tedious section of the trip route, but only 20km (12mi) along the busy highway, a good shoulder helped until my turn off. I must have passed 10 Australian car flags by the side of the road before opting to finally pick one up and stick it out the back of my seatpost bag.

The ride followed close to the coastline but just set back amongst the Tuart forest. Things started to get a little morbid as I passed one dead kangaroo after another, I lost count in minutes, must have been 50 easily that morning. The smell of roadkill when you roll past it on a bicycle is brutal. I was barely getting a fresh lung of air before the next stench kicked in, if nothing else I knew I was alive. Pit stop of cold poptarts and bananas kept my energy levels up until Busselton.

I normally try to avoid larger towns on rides, but as I was going to be spending the evening in the middle of nowhere and there were no more services after this today (or indeed the first half of tomorrow) I made the most of a second breakfast at a cafe in town before resupplying water/snacks and headed inland to what felt like the real start of the adventure. The days heat had just started to kick in and those hot easterly winds from the Australian interior were bucking me right in the face.

As the forest grew thicker and traffic thinned out to a rate of about 1 car every 15 minutes I started to feel isolated. I then quickly realised I had made a grave error in judgement. I haven’t toured for a while so was a little out of touch and hadn’t given proper consideration to the lack of services for the afternoon and following morning. Destination for the evening was a DPAW campground at Sues Bridge which had zero facilities aside from a pit toilet. My water rations dwindled quicker than expected in the headwinds and I soon knew I would be without water tomorrow until Nannup. It was worry enough to start seeding doubts in my mind about proceedings so I drew on younger Ryan’s tour experiences to tell old Ryan to put up and get on with it. The afternoon played out as a small psychological battle until my turn off for the site came into view after 120km (75mi) of riding.

Luck was in at the campground and as I had hoped there were a few other campervans pulled in for the night, mostly retired Aussie couples that were sitting around gassing about whether or not they had a bucket list. I unashamedly went straight over to ask for water which they happily gave me by the gallon and ended up making conversation with them for a while before making camp myself and heading down to the river to clean off my tired limbs. The water was clear and warm, in the most idyllic spot you could imagine, beautiful.

I had my sandwhich supper and headed back over to chat with the oldies about their respective trips. They were all from Tasmania and seemed like they had been settled in this particular spot for a few days. They couldn’t tell me enough times about the huge climb awaiting me tomorrow between Nannup and Bridgetown, I told them I loved the climbs (best views!) and thanked them for the heads up, then it was time to hit the hay. I was zonked but happy to avoid cramp which seems to get me on the first day of these rides.

Tour Tip: Put your jersey and bibshorts in the bottom of your sleeping bag so they are warm to put on the next morning.

I woke a few times to a sound I wasn’t accustomed too but easily recognised all the same. It’s easy to pick out footsteps or small mammals breaking twigs and crushing leaves. These sounds were the unmistakeable hops of marsupial friends bounding around the site at dawn. I was packed up and back on the road by 7am feeling good, the air was perfect and the heat was yet to hit. I slammed out the first 56km (35mi) to Nannup through stunning Jarrah and Karri forests now with a few (live) Kangaroos making themselves known to me along the roadside.

This was the Brockman highway, I had anticipated heavier traffic for the public holiday weekend but wasn’t complaining, I was no longer heading due south east so my road change turned the headwind into a more managable crosswind. I must have climbed onto some sort of ridge line yesterday afternoon as I was gently rolling along, hardly shifting out of the same 2 gears.

First there was the shire of Nannup sign, then the welcome to Nannup sign, then Nannup 2km sign, then finally Nannup. Sometimes I would swear true that somebody had physically moved the townsite further away, typically when I’m getting impatient for a coffee. The little town finally arrived and I picked out a cafe for breakfast, there were a few to choose from but I couldn’t look past the one painted bright purple.

Tour Tip: If your bike is laden with weight and you need to pump tyres, elevate it first by hooking the seat or frame triangle on a sturdy tree branch.

Whilst I was busy lollygagging over a second coffee the tin roof of the cafe began to expand and twang under the rising temperature. Time to tackle that climb along Tourist drive 251: Nannup to Bridgetown. It was a decent little pinch out of town that had me up out the saddle a few times. Always remember to look back at the top of a hill to appreciate the view from the other direction. It was a magnificent lookout with the towns little reservoir pool very inviting.

The area was covered in pine forest plantations and the smell of hot pine bark is my absolute favourite, brings back lots of great memories cycling in Idaho and Oregon, a simple existence on the bike. This was to be the best part of the whole route and a must for any cyclist worth his salty cap salt in Western Australia, I’ve probably set an easy to beat Strava segment time for you to crank at too. The pines turned back to dense Karri and Jarrah forest, traffic still almost non-existent. I was in heaven for the rest of the afternoon, it truly caught me off guard, these random three towns I had plotted to form a 3 day bike loop had delivered some of the best riding imaginable. Lucky boy, who dares wins.

Arriving in Bridgetown late afternoon I located the caravan park where I was hoping to pitch up for the night, they had plenty space and Keith the owner, in his Australian flag singlet, told me about the free sausage sizzle going down at 5pm, bonus. I got my first proper shower in 2 days, cleaned my bike clothes in the laundry sinks and hung them out to dry. The first opportunity of the weekend for a cold pint came about as I headed into town to find the Bridgetown Hotel. I got a James Squire of the tap and sat out back listening to the live country band singing about ‘rats and roaches’. The locals seemed to dig it at least.

Most people at the caravan park were residents, they fired away with all the usual tent questions I’ve fielded before, Does it have an en-suite? Ever take any girls back in there? They were good fun. I overheard two thick Teesside accents coming from a couple sat around the sizzle feast so I made myself known to them. Turns out they were indeed from my own Middlesbrough, even had their wedding reception in the Cleveland Bay 40 odd years ago! They had lived in Oz ever since.

The final days ride was Australia Day! The locals had all invited me to the free breakfast held annually at the showgrounds. It kicked off at 7:30am which was good because I had just over 100km (60mi) to ride for the day to catch the one and only train back to Perth from Bunbury at 2:30pm. I was probably the only person under 60 at the breakfast and the old timers quizzed me about logistics of the trip. It was forecast tailwinds so I was excited to get out and eat up some distance, the last day of a trip inevitably seems to switch focus to the end point and getting the job done. A real sense of accomplishment.

The hills were large and rolling all the way to Balingup, staunchly pronounced Baylingup by locals. They might as well stick a ‘y’ in, kind of like how Cockburn should just be renamed Co’burn to save the town peoples blushes. Coffee and muffin in BAY-lingup to stay focused, the nice cafe lady offered to refill my water bottles too. It was a very small town, but cute and artsy, they had also just finished up a free Aussie day breakfast in the town park.

Two fully loaded rack and pannier bike tourers came my way, Germans riding around Oz. I gave them some tips for the towns ahead and we split. I was cruising to Donnybrook and enjoyed some big descents as I gradually made my way back down to sea level. Pit stop at an IGA for some pineapple, pop and trail mix and I hit the highway again. I had neglected my alternate route option from Kirrup to get of the main road due to bush fires I could see in the distance on my left side. There was one last delight after taking a right turn and following the back country Hurst Road before rejoining the highway to Bunbury, arriving in town with a few hours to spare.

I find bike touring helps me to re-calibrate my moral compass to a course that makes me happier. You have to earn everything on the road. You can’t just grab a cold drink if you want one, or take a nap on your comfy bed. We are too passive, it forces you to engage with the scenery, conditions and the people. You become less wasteful, and more grateful. That ice cold can you have at the end of all those hot miles, built up in your mind throughout the day, the dreaming and immensity of it’s refreshment. It turns into more than just a can. It’s pure gold. I also love the physicality of it which helps but as JFK said: “Nothing compares to the simple pleasure of a bike ride.”

{RA}

Category: Bikepacking