Bluegrass or Bust!

Bluegrass or Bust!

by HARRY SMITH Cycle touring in the Victorian High Country I looked at the sign in the shop window. Bluegrass Music Festival, it said. Starting on Friday evening. Five days away. Right here in Harrietville. It was November 2013 and I was in the Victorian High Country, 200 kilometres north-east of Melbourne. The trip had started off as a cycling touring trip and had morphed into a music festival trip. I had already been to two music festivals and if I went to this one it would be festival number three.

Woke up this mornin’ in the Wangaratta Jazz and Blues Festival… My original plan had just been to cycle the Great Alpine Road, a scenic route which runs for 300 kilometres across the high country from Wangaratta in the northwest down to Bairnsdale in the south-east, add in a few detours, explore a few side-valleys, and climb a few peaks along the way. But then I discovered there was a huge jazz and blues festival on in Wangaratta only a couple of days after I was due to arrive there! So after getting the train out from Melbourne I found a nice free-camping spot beside the Ovens River a few kilometres out of town to serve as home base for the next few days and waited around for the festival! I did a day ride out to Glenrowan, the site of Ned Kelly’s last stand, then spent three days in musical heaven, attending concerts in the streets, in the pubs, and under the big top in the park.

At the end of the festival I thought it was time to get back on my bike and do some actual cycle touring; after all, that was why I had come here! But instead of heading off along the Great Alpine Road to the south-east I set off in the completely opposite direction on a three-day detour to the north-west to visit the Murray River, the largest river in Australia. I spent a morning cycling across flat, hot, dry farming country out-running the vast swarms of Aussie bushflies, but when I got to the Murray I have to confess I was a bit disappointed by how small it seemed. This river drains half a continent yet it didn’t seem any bigger than the Wanganui or the Manawatu! I crossed over into New South Wales and followed down-river, went for an evening tourist cruise amongst the drowned treestumps of Lake Mulwala, then crossed back into Victoria and returned to Wangaratta.

Harry and Ned

Top o’ the mornin’ to ye from the Beechworth Celtic Festival… Then it was off up the Ovens Valley into the mountains, following the Murray to the Mountains Rail Trail (which doesn’t actually start at the Murray or go right up to the mountains but runs up the valley from Wangaratta to Bright). I took a detour up a steep branch-line of the rail trail to the historic 19th century gold-rush town of Beechworth, where virtually the whole of the downtown area seemed to be registered with the Australian equivalent of the Historic Places Trust. There seemed to be an unusually large number of people milling around for a Friday afternoon, and that is when I discovered there was a Celtic Music Festival on over the weekend, starting that very evening! Knock me down with a four-leaf shamrock! The luck of the Irish must have rubbed off on me! Music festival number two, and I knew absolutely nothing about it until that moment! I spent an enjoyable couple of days going to concerts and watching pipe bands marching up and down the main street.

From Beechworth I cut across country and back onto the main rail trail heading up the valley. Up ahead rose Mt Buffalo, a massive granite plateau and a national park; I intended to cycle up it but the weather was bad up on the tops, so I headed up a side valley to camp at Lake Buffalo instead. This was a beautiful place, but the bushflies were absolutely atrocious! It was impossible to sit still - I had to keep walking, swinging my jacket around above my head to keep them at bay! I don’t know how the Aussies can stand it – it would drive me nuts if I had to live there! There must be billions of them and they seem genetically programmed to go for your eyes and mouth; no matter how much you try to shoo them away the bastards keep coming back. They really did become the absolute bane of this trip. At high altitudes you largely get above them but down in the valleys they just never let up - they are a constant unignorable presence. Imagine being caught in a This area of the High Country centred around Bright is incredibly popular with cyclists. The mountain scenery, the rail trails, the cruisy valley rides and the challenging hill climbs all make it a cyclists’ paradise. A number of Australia’s top professional cyclists base themselves here for the training opportunities that all the hill climbs provide. The hills in this area are absolutely massive. We tend to think of New Zealand as a hilly country and Australia as flat, but not here. The road climbs in this area are far bigger than anything I can think of at home in New Zealand. Most of the big climbs involve at least 1000 vertical metres of ascent, and the biggest are up around 1500 vertical metres or more. By way of comparison, the Rimutaka Hill Road north of Wellington is a 400 or 500 vertical metre climb, depending upon which side you are on, so imagine four Rimutaka Hills stacked one on top of another without a break and you begin to get some idea of the scale of things! Setting off at the bottom with heavy panniers and 1500 vertical metres climb ahead of you, they are absolutely daunting! Bushflies!

sandstorm where the sand grains are actually flies and you get some idea of what it is like. You cannot stop and enjoy a rest or a snack or just sit in the sun or go for a swim because you are continuously under attack. Keep cycling at about 15 kilometres an hour and you can largely avoid them, but any slower and you have them buzzing in your face, your hair, your eyes, your ears, and your mouth. Over the course of a month I must have accidentally swallowed at least half a dozen of the bastards!

7 Peaks Alpine Ascent Challenge Back down in the main valley the next day, I discovered that there is a fun cycling challenge held in the High Country every summer known as the Seven Peaks Alpine Ascent Challenge. The idea is to cycle up the seven biggest skifield roads in the High Country. You can do these at any time, in any order, as many times as you like. You receive a passbook which describes each climb and provides a height profile and other useful information. When you complete a climb you get your passbook stamped at the skifield office at the top of the road to prove you have been there. You send in your entries with a copy of your stamps and at the end of summer the prize-winners are drawn at random. Separate prizes are awarded for each road, but if you have done four or more of the climbs you also get to enter for the main prize, which is an expensive bike. It just so happened that four of these peaks were located along or close to the Great Alpine Road where I was, and since I was planning to cycle up some of them anyway, I decided to take part!

Mt Buffalo The first I tackled was Mt Buffalo - 23 kilometres long, 1120 vertical metres overall height gain (but more like 1200 of actual climb when you allow for the height lost in some short downhills, plus another 100 before you even get to the official start of the ride at the park entrance and 200 or so more beyond the park office up to the end of the road at the very top of the mountain), average gradient 5%, maximum gradient 11%. This was a relatively good introduction to the hill climbs, with a nice constant gradient nearly all the way. I cruised slowly up the road as it wound up the face of the mountain, got my passbook stamped at the park headquarters at the edge of the plateau, and camped at Lake Catani campground. It started raining just as I arrived up on the plateau, and in the morning a snowstorm set in. Snow in Australia in November! This couldn’t be happening! In the afternoon I hitched a ride up to the end of the road in a bus with a school party. The road wound up across the desolate rocky plateau and past a small skifield before coming to an end at a scenic lookout. Snow lay on the ground around us. We climbed up the short track to another lookout on the very highest point of the mountain, a rock outcrop known at The Horn, but saw nothing in the clag.

Mount Buffalo National Park I decided to hang around for another day and see if it would clear up. In the morning it was still drizzly but in the afternoon the sun came out and I cycled back up to the end of the road and climbed the Horn again, this time in good weather with stunning views out over the surrounding country. On the way back I also climbed another prominent peak known as The Hump. (Mt Buffalo gets its name from a purported resemblance in shape to a Buffalo, and The Horn and The Hump represent the horn and shoulder hump of the beast.)

Mt Hotham The following day I cycled down off Mt Buffalo and up to Harrietville, a village nestled in the head of the valley at the start of the road up Mt Hotham. The Mt Hotham road is possibly the biggest, toughest road climb in Australia, and as I sat astride my bike at the bottom of it I had very mixed emotions about it. I was looking forward to the challenge but also dreading it! 33 kilometres long, 1350 vertical metres of ascent but more like 1550 of actual climb when you allow for the downhills, average gradient 5%, several sections over 10%, maximum gradient a scary 18%. 18% is more or less equivalent to cycling to the top of Mt Victoria in a straight line from the end of Courtenay Place! Any steeper and you’d probably call it a face climb! The highlights (or lowlights, depending upon how you look at it) include a notoriously steep hairpin bend at the 5 kilometre mark known as The Meg, and two viciously steep hill sections towards the top, CRB Hill and Diamantina Hill. In winter the road is covered in snow and cars have been known to be blown off the sides in one of the deep saddles.

The climb began as soon as I left the village, a 10% gradient up around a steep S-bend. About two hundred metres down and I was already feeling knackered! Then it eased back a bit – 7 or 8% for the next 5 kilometres. There were heaps of other cyclists - being a nice sunny Saturday lots of people were clearly taking the opportunity to knock the bastard off! There was also a mountain bike festival on further down the valley in Bright and I think lots of people were coming up from that. But the other cyclists didn’t have heavy panniers like I did to slow them down and there was lots of good humoured banter between them and me as they went past.

Five kilometres down and I reached The Meg. I stopped for a rest at the bottom and an Aussie guy pulled in behind me. “A rest - that’s a good idea” he said. “I tried to do this ride last year and I had to turn back halfway.” Then he pulled out a pack of cigarettes and lit up a fag! Hmmm, maybe that could have something to do with it! Then it was time to bite the bullet, and I was off around the corner and The Meg rose before me. Down in bottom gear, standing on the pedals, pushing hard, giving it everything I had. Two hundred metres later I was at the top and collapsed for another rest.

Then another 5 kilometres of 7 or 8% gradient up a huge switchback. I could see the lower part of the road down below me through the trees. Jump off the side and you’d land right on the roadway 100 vertical metres down the hillside, or so it felt. A team of three professional-looking cyclists wearing identical fancy cycling gear and draft- ing in close behind each other overtook me. “You guys are making it look easy!”, I called out as they went past, and the guy at the back rose up in his seat, looked at me, and called out “no, with all that gear you’re carrying, you’re the one who’s making it look easy!” I was chuffed by the compliment, but it certainly didn’t feel easy, and as soon as they disappeared out of sight around the next corner I stopped for a rest!

Finally, at last! The road levelled out and I was onto the restful middle third, like the slow middle movement of a sonata after you have experienced the build-up of the opening fireworks but before you are hit with the full fury of the resounding finale. Still gaining height but almost flat by comparison. I cycled along through the burnt-out treetrunks and blackened stumps of dead gumtrees resulting from a massive bushfire. The High Country seems to suffer devastating bushfires every few years. During the month that I was there, gangs of workmen were at work on the Mt Hotham road, cutting back dead trees that were threatening to topple over onto the road, and so the road was only open to cyclists during the weekend, another reason for all the cyclists this day. I was running out of water and when I spotted a trickle coming down the bank I stopped to refill my bottles. This was one of only two water sources I saw on the whole climb.

Bushfire landscape Then onward and upward, past a deserted roadside office and winter chain-fitting areas. I came to a small saddle and a road junction and stopped for lunch. What a relief! Off the bike! Sprawled out on the grass, a rest in the sun. But all too soon it was time to go. Back on the bike and back to work! And now I was into the brutal final third, the allegro fortissimo movement of the sonata, the second side of the hurricane after the calm in the eye of the storm – a succession of winding ridges, short restful plateau sections, deep saddles, and dauntingly steep ascents.

I was out of the bush now, in low, scrubby, burntout country, with stunning views out over the valleys and across to Mt Buffalo. A brief pause to rest and snap a photo and I was on my way again, pouring with sweat even with my helmet off. Helmets are compulsory in Australia but I was far too hot and sweaty to have it on. The cops come down hard on people riding without helmets, some passing cyclist warned me. Ha! So what?, I thought. There won’t be any cops out here! Then a few bends later I came upon a police car parked up beside the road! But I saw him before he saw me, so all was cool. I stopped for a chat and he told me he was parked there to catch speeding motorcyclists.

Then I came to the first of two deep saddles. What a relief! No need to pedal! I whizzed down and round the bend at the bottom. Don’t brake, save energy, don’t waste momentum! Before me rose CRB Hill, a brutal, kilometrelong ascent. I dug in, determined to give it a go, but my calves were screaming and I just couldn’t do it. So it was off the bike and time to walk - a change of muscles but still hard work.

Then more flattish going as the road curved around an open plateau. And now I could see the ski lodges of Mt Hotham Village lining the ridgeline in the distance across the far side of a valley, almost level with me. If only I could just cycle straight across there! But I couldn’t, and the road curved around and dropped down into another saddle, and there before me rose the final obstacle, the gut-wrenchingly steep and brutal opening salvos of Diamantina Hill, two kilometres or more of soul-destroying uphill carved out of the hillside, curving up and around the flanks of Mt Hotham, seemingly 15% gradient or more the whole way. Whoever designed this road was a complete sadist!

I sped down into the saddle, powered into the start of the uphill, determined to make use of the momentum I had built up - and soon came to a shuddering stop. So it was off the bike again, pushing, pushing, pushing. Pushing a heavily laden bike up a steep hill is hard work! I grabbed the handlebars, crouched low, and dug in with my shoes on the road surface. A few metres and stop. Change your hand grip. A few more metres and stop. Grab the seatpost instead. A few more metres and stop.

And just then a cyclist came speeding down the road towards me and waving! It was the guy I had met at the bottom of The Meg. This time he had made it to the top. Good luck Mr Kiwi Man!, he called out as he sped past, giving me the encouragement I needed just as my spirits were at their lowest ebb.

I rounded a corner and the road got even steeper up ahead! A few metres and stop. A few more metres and stop. A few more metres and stop. Out to my left the mountains rolled off into the distance but I wasn’t paying any attention to the view. A few metres and stop. A few more metres and stop. A few more metres and stop. My thighs were aching, my lungs were gasping. Change hands, lean forward, dig in, push forward, another few metres and stop.

And then finally the road began to flatten off slightly as I approached the shoulder of Mt Hotham, not very far below the very summit of the mountain itself. Yes! You’re getting there! Keep at it! Don’t give up! Only a short distance to go! That line in the road surface up ahead seems to mark the highest point - just aim for that! Keep going! A few steps at a time! Keep your eyes on the prize! A few metres and stop! A few more metres and stop! A few more metres and stop! Twenty metres to go! Fifteen metres to go! Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one! The final step! You’ve reached the line! That’s it! There’s no more! You’ve done it! Hallelujah! HALLELUJAH!! HAL- LE-LU-JAH!!! Time to lay down the bike, collapse down beside it and have a rest! Just lie there and rest. Gulp down some water and rest.

But it’s not quite all over yet. You still need to get your passbook stamped to prove you’ve done it! So off down the other side, a steep two kilometre downhill run, curving around the far flanks of the mountain, round the bends, through a bizarre gaudy tunnel (an artificial ski overpass), and into the sprawling metropolis of Mt Hotham ski village. Where to go to get that vital stamp? I checked my passbook. The pub. Right, where’s that? Right down the far end of the village of course. Of course - it just had to be down that end, not up at this end! More distance to travel. I cycled down and there it was, complete with a snowmobile parked forlornly up outside. I went inside and approached the barman. I’d like a stamp for my passbook, I said. Oh, and three steak pies and a beer.

Mt Feathertop After a long rest in the pub I returned up the road to the shoulder of Mt Hotham and back down the other side a couple of kilometres to spend the night at Diamantina Hut, a large A-frame public hut just up off the side of road. There were benches inside, but no bunks. There was also no door! I slept on my thermarest on the concrete floor and for the first time on the trip I felt cold at night and had to snuggle up tight in my sleeping bag. And no wonder – the hut is at an altitude of around 1800 metres above sea level! I would probably have been cosier if I had put my tent up on the grass out the back but it was nice for a change to be able to stand up and walk around with a Diamantina Hut roof over my head.

Next morning I left my bike in the bushes and set off northwards on foot along the Razorback Ridge on a 22 kilometre round trip to climb Mt Feathertop, the most prominent peak in the High Country. Mt Feathertop rises up fairly steeply above the surrounding country and the Aussies seem immensely proud of it – they call it the Queen of the Victorian Alps and describe it as a “majestic alpine peak”. In winter it is covered in snow and people apparently sometimes do ice-climbing on its flanks. Alas, to a Kiwi it is somewhat underwhelming. It is certainly the most steeply angled, pointy thing in this rolling plateau country, but it is still really no more dramatic than a fairly middling Tararua summit. The very name Razorback Ridge highlights the difference between the Aussie and New Zealand mountains. In New Zealand terms it would Razorback Ridge be hard to find a more broad and gentle ridge. Whoever named it had clearly never visited Sawtooth Ridge in the Ruahines or somewhere like that! I strolled along the Razorback through the charred remains of a recent bushfire and up the final 200-vertical-metre climb to the top of the mountain. After lunch on the summit I visited the nearby Federation Hut, then returned back along the Razorback to Diamantina Hut, where I packed up the bike and set off back down the Mt Hotham road to Harrietville. I had to get off the road before the end of the weekend due to the tree-clearing work. What a contrast to the day before! It had taken me five or six hours the previous day to cycle up the road, and I got back down it in about an hour flat! It was an awesome 30 kilometre downhill run, apart from the few steep uphill climbs out of the saddle, and by the time I reached the bottom my brakes were hot and squealing! I camped that night in a bush reserve just out of town, the next morning I called into the general store - and there it was, up in the window, the fateful sign advertising the bluegrass festival the following weekend. Music festival number three!

Y’all come back now to the Harrietville Bluegrass Festival… Music festival number three - I was sorely tempted, but I didn’t really want to hang around in Harrietville for the next five days. I was planning to go off over to the next valley system to the north and climb Mt Bogong, the highest peak in Victoria, and cycle up to Falls Creek, another skifield road. Now I was unsure what to do. But then I suddenly realised that if I went off in that direction I could actually do a complete circuit of the high country, heading out to Omeo in the east then looping all the way back over Mt Hotham to Harrietville and the bluegrass festival! And by doing that I would get to complete a short section of the Great Alpine Road that I was otherwise going to miss out between Mt Hotham and Omeo, and it would also enable me to collect another of the Seven Peaks along the way – Dinner Plain! It seemed like a good plan - could I do it? I looked at the map and calculated days and distances. Day 1 – Down valley, up over Tawonga Gap to the north, and up Mountain Creek to the base of Mt Bogong. Day 2 – Climb Mt Bogong. Day 3 – Up to Falls Creek and the start of the Bogong High Plains. Day 4 – Across the Bogong High Plains, down to the Big River, and out down-valley to Omeo. Day 5 – Back into the hills, up to Dinner Plain, along to Mt Hotham, and back down to Harrietville! Yes, it all seemed to work! It would be five long, tough days, including two huge hill climbs on the bike and another on foot up Mt Bogong, but if I didn’t have any problems I could do it. I could make it back here in time. I decided to go for it. Bluegrass or bust!

Tawonga Gap I cycled back down-valley and turned off towards Tawonga Gap. The Tawonga Gap climb seemed to go on forever, and once I reached the top I found out why. I had thought it was only a 300 metre climb, but according to the signpost at the top it was actually more like 600 metres – considerably more than cycling over the Rimutakas! And this was just a minor little saddle compared to the true giant road climbs in this area. From the top I got an awesome view out over the valley below and across to Mt Bogong in the distance, and I’ve got to say I was impressed! Mt Bogong looked like a real mountain in a way that no other Australian mountain has ever looked like a real mountain to me. OK, not a Southern Alps type mountain, but I felt I could be looking up at the Ruahines or the Richmond Range or somewhere like that. I zigzagged steeply down the far side of the saddle and headed up Mountain Creek road to the campsite at the start of the Mt Bogong track.

Mt Bogong Next day I left my tent and bike behind and set off up Staircase Spur towards the summit of Mt Bogong. I passed a small hut high up the spur and eventually emerged out of the bush onto the open tops.

Open tops are rare in Australia; it’s really only in the Mt Kosciusko / Snowy Mountains area in New South Wales and a few areas here in the Victorian High Country that they are found (plus some areas down in Tasmania). It felt quite different from the open tops in New Zealand; rather than lumpy tussock and pointy speargrasses I met low grass and herbs. After a steep climb, the hills levelled off into rolling plateau country and I came upon a long line of huge snow poles marching across the landscape, all individually numbered! Navigational directions must be easy up here – “follow the snow poles and turn left at number 178”.

The summit was at the top of a gentle dome marked by a large cairn. This was it – the highest point in Victoria! I had great views down over the hills and valleys on one side and across the rolling open plains on the other. Mt Feathertop was visible off in the distance to the south, although it hardly registered as a significant peak. After lunch at the summit, I set off around the tops to Cleve Cole Hut, an unusual stone hut set in amongst snowgum forest in a gentle valley. Somehow this spot seems to have survived the bushfires which have burnt off most of the snowgum cover elsewhere and destroyed a number of the other huts. Then I headed back down Eskdale Spur and followed a four-wheel-drive track back down Mountain Creek to my campsite.

Bogan on Bogong!

Falls Creek and the Bogong High Plains The next day I cycled up the Falls Creek road, another one of the roads in the 7 Peaks Alpine Ascent Challenge. 31 kilometres, 1200 vertical metres of ascent, plus another 200 to allow for downhills, plus at least another 100 up past the ski village and up onto the Bogong High Plains, a high rolling plateau, average gradient 4%, maximum gradient 10%. This was another long steady climb. It started off reasonably gently and had some nice downhill sections in the middle. I stopped for lunch and a swim at a hydrolake. After lunch the climb continued, getting gradually steeper and steeper. At the same time I was getting more and more tired, so the final few kilometres up into Falls Creek Village became exhausting work. I got my passbook stamped at the skifield office and got some snacks from the village store just before it closed. Then I had an agonizingly steep 2 kilometre climb from the village up to the edge of the Bogong High Plains, where I camped beside a large hydro-lake, just around the corner from the dam.

I was looking forward to cycling across the Bogong High Plains the next day. Something about the name appealed to me. Next morning at 7 o’clock I looked out my tent door across the lake and thought I was going to have a good day. Half an hour later the weather had set in and it was wet and miserable. I lay there in my tent for another two hours, not wanting to get up. It was just too unpleasant outside. After cycling all the way up here, this was just unfair! But then I thought, if I want to get to the bluegrass festival I’d better make a move, so I dragged myself out of bed, crawled out into the cold and damp, hurriedly packed the tent up, and set off in the rain. The road crossed over the top of the dam and wound around the far side of the lake and across the rolling plains. I thought I spotted a sneaky shortcut along a vehicle track beside a hydro-canal, but it turned into a long-cut because the dirt vehicle track became so sticky in the wet that it was unrideable and I had to get off and walk on the flat. How embarrassing!

There are a number of old historic huts just a short distance off the road up on the Bogong High Plains and I visited two of them – Wallaces Hut, an old cattlemen’s hut, and Copes Hut, an old ski hut. Wallaces Hut was built in 1889 and is the oldest surviving hut in the High Country. Somehow it has managed to survive the bushfires over all these years. When bushfires have threatened it in recent years special teams of volunteers have gone in to protect it. It was fairly rough and uncomfortable inside but back in the old days it would have provided some much-welcome shelter in a storm. I have seen photos of it in winter with snow up to the roof-top.

Wallaces Hut The Back of Falls The road then began its descent down off the High Plains and into the valley of the Big River to the south. It began quite steeply and after a short flat section at Trapyard Gap it got even steeper! The last ten kilometres were just diabolical! Ten kilometres of very steep downhill, all over 10% gradient, without a single let-up the whole way. The last kilometre must have been up around 15%! I had my hands clasped tightly on the brake levers, taking it slowly and carefully the whole way until I reached the valley floor.

This would be an absolute brute of a road to cycle up! Ten kilometres of 10% gradient without a let-up, followed by more steep climbing up onto the High Plains. I did passs two cyclists going up and they were making hard work of it – and they were just day trippers and didn’t have panniers! I think if I had had to go up it I would have been off walking the whole way. This climb is called the Back of Falls and it would unquestionably be part of the

Alpine Ascent Challenge if it wasn’t for the fact that there isn’t a skifield office at the top where you can get your passbook stamped. I learnt later that the corner where this road meets the road up the valley floor is known informally by local cyclists as WTF Corner because if you are doing the Back of Falls ride you come up the valley, which is basically flat, and when you reach this corner and turn to look up at the road ahead of you your jaw just drops and you let out an anguished cry of “WTF!” (or words to that effect).

Self portrait By now the weather had cleared up and I stopped for lunch and a swim in the river, but unfortunately I was back down in fly country and I was under attack. Then I had a long ride out down the valley and around the hills towards Omeo. This was a beautiful bush-clad valley with a pretty flowing river but the flies completely ruined my enjoyment of it and I just put my head down and kept going, trying to outrun them. Even then I had them buzzing into my eyes and my mouth. Then I suffered two punctures in succession and it was a nightmare trying to fix them while being pestered by swarms of flies. I was definitely in a bad frame of mind as I approached Omeo! To add to my worries it was getting late and I had no idea where I was going to camp, but fortunately I came upon a spot by an old historic bridge a few kilometres short of town. It wasn’t the best but it would do. The water in the stream ran down off farmland and looked dodgy but by this stage I didn’t really care. I drank it and suffered no ill-effects.

Dinner Plain From Omeo I turned back into the high country towards Dinner Plain and Mt Hotham. It felt strange heading back into the high country after I had just come out of it, but that was the way the bluegrass festival lay so that was the way I went!

The road to Dinner Plain was a bit different from the others of the Seven Peaks I had done – it was longer and more undulating. 43 kilometres, average gradient 2%, maximum gradient 11%. The total height gain was only(!) 940 metres, but there were some big downhills along the way, and when you factored them in the total height climbed was probably more like 1400 metres. And from Dinner Plain the road continued along the range for 10 or 12 kilometres to Mt Hotham Village which probably involved another 300 metres of climb, and then to cap it off there was the 100 vertical metres up to the shoulder of Mt Hotham itself, giving 1800 vertical metres or more of climb for the day!

This was a long and tiring day. On the other big climbs I had done over the previous week I had felt pretty knackered by the end of the day but at least I had felt good in the morning when I set off. On this climb I was feeling knackered right at the very start! I had had a week of hard going and my legs were feeling like rubber. I was definitely looking forward to having a couple of days off listening to some music at the bluegrass festival! When I came to the first steep climb I just couldn’t manage it. I got off and started walking, and I ended up walking most of the big uphill sections this day. There was one big downhill section of two or three hundred vertical metres in the middle, which was an awesome ride, but at the back of my mind I knew I was just losing height that I would have to regain later on. But it was nice country – after passing through a huge cattle station the road crossed over a large river and climbed steeply up into the hills. There were long sections of beautiful eucalypt forest without any fences, and in the distance I could catch glimpses of snow on the tops of the high peaks up around Mt Hotham. Finally I arrived at the Dinner Plain ski resort where I got my passbook stamped – my fourth of the Seven Peaks.

Sweeping downhill road

Ski-Doo parked outside pub From Dinner Plain the road continued along the range top, still gaining height, until I arrived back at Mt Hotham Village, where I had been six days earlier. The ski mobile was still parked outside the pub. I was hoping the same barman would be there too, so I could walk in and say “Remember me? I’m back! I’m crazy!”, but unfortunately it was someone different, so the effect just wasn’t the same.

Finally I had the last excruciating climb up out of the village through the tunnel, and the final 100-verticalmetre ascent up to the crest of the road on the shoulder of Mt Hotham. By this stage my legs were feeling like two strands of soggy spaghetti and I walked the whole way. It was a great feeling to finally reach the top! There was the line in the road marking the crest, and out before me in the distance stood good old Mt Feathertop, with patches of snow still on the summit.

I had originally intended to cycle down the road to Harrietville this day in order to catch the opening night of the bluegrass festival, but now I decided to stop off again at Diamantina Hut and go down in the morning instead. Even though it was mainly downhill I decided I just couldn’t face it at this point. This was a good decision – I still had a couple of hours of daylight left and I just sat in the sun on the grass outside the hut drinking endless cups of tea and munching chocolate biscuits and relaxing, followed by a nice sunset as the sun went down to the west and all the hills and ranges of the high country were set off in various shades of grey and black. And of course, being high up I was out of fly country!

Bluegrass festival The following day I cycled down the road into Harrietville and I spent two days relaxing at the bluegrass festival. After a week of tough going I enjoyed it enormously! Even the ever-present bushflies couldn’t put me off!

Postscript That was the last of the music festivals but not the end of the trip. On the Monday after the festival I got a bus up over Mt Hotham and back down to Omeo, and I spent the next week following the Tambo River out to the coast and exploring the Gippsland Lakes area of eastern Victoria before getting the train back into Melbourne from Bairnsdale at the end of the Great Alpine Road.

When I got back home I sent in my entry for the Alpine Ascent Challenge. As well as a copy of my passbook stamps I included a brief description of my trip and a few photos of me and my bike along the way. I didn’t win any prizes but I think the organisers were surprised to receive an entry from New Zealand and they posted a little story about me on their blog.

So if anybody is looking for an interesting place to go cycle touring, the Victorian High Country makes a good place to go. It’s easy to get to, the scenery is beautiful, and you can do some great bushwalking as well. If you time it right you may even catch some great music along the way! But man, those hills are awfully big and steep! And if only somebody could do something about those billions of blasted bushflies…!