Lesson of a Mountain Bike weekend: pack a pump
After a temporary break in our Explorer exploits, we hit the road again for a 2-wheeled adventure. Or should I say, we hit the single track.
Thanks to our friends over at Bear Rentals we ‘double donked’ the trip with Britain’s finest export – the Land Rover Defender, perhaps the only vehicle worthy of mountain exploration!
Stocked up with enough meat for an eternity of gout and a supply of alcohol that would have Oliver Reed twitching in his grave, we ventured past the forest fires, parked up next to a house of hill-folk, and took our mountain bikes first along the precarious ‘Linden’ trail. Tom was unfortunately man down 20 minutes in due to a flattie, which in most circumstances results in a frustrating 10 mins of puncture repair, although in this instance we instead came to the painful realisation that none of us had packed a pump! Great work fellas.
Our free private campsite at Murphy’s Glen presented the perfect opportunity to reconnect with our primitive ancestors, who would have looked on with pride as we crafted everything from sausage oven boats using beer cans to kebab skewers using fresh sticks from the surrounding gum trees. As if possessed by some kind of pagan witchcraft, the night then evolved / descended into a drunken blur of fire walking and forest rambling with imaginary bushmen…
Murphy’s Trail the following day proved sweaty to say the least, with our Antipodean representative Andy calling it day approximately 40 meters into the ride when the first hill (combined with an ungodly hangover) proved too much to bare. Whilst Andy returned to the bliss of his hammock, the rest of us continued forth along a seriously steep firetrail that weaved our mountain bikes through the empty bush. Like an excitable herd of wilderbeast at the first watering hole of the wet season, we frolicked in a mountain stream over lunch before returning to the snoozing kiwi back at camp.
Neil was struck with a wave of utter genius on the drive back to Sydney, directing us to a restaurant in Petersham where we consumed our bodyweight in chicken. Of course, no cutlery was necessary – a fitting end to another epic adventure weekend with the 6 o’clock club.