I Re-Rode Rockhampton’s MTB Trails 20 Years After I Helped Establish Them

Rockhampton, Queensland, is where Lisa’s love of mountain biking was forged on raw trails and sunbaked switchbacks. Twenty years later, she returned to see what’s changed and what’s still wild.

Rockhampton. Twenty years ago, these were my stomping grounds.

Dusty switchbacks carved into stubborn earth, tackled on a clunky hardtail that rattled your fillings loose. I cut my teeth here.

So, when the chance for a return trip came up, I organised a car, booked a bike, carved out a little extra time and set myself a mission: to see just how far these trails – and I – had come.

Dusty Roots and a Modern Mission

Back in the early 2000s, we rode whatever we could scrounge; fire roads, hand-scratched singletrack, and sketchy lines someone’s mate had hacked into lantana with more enthusiasm than engineering.

It was in this scene that my own path as a rider began to take form.

In 2003, at 17, I followed a new love to this new town, into an unfamiliar scene. He was a former world-ranked BMXer, sidelined by injury and suddenly adrift.  

Back then, riding disciplines were deeply tribal. Moving from BMX to mountain bikes wasn’t just upsizing your wheels; it was crossing a cultural divide. At first, he rode alone, finding his feet on a third-hand 26-inch dual suspension rig about as forgiving as a shopping trolley left in a creek.  

Slowly, we built a new community: trail by trail, race by race, and through the welcoming chaos of the local bike shop. He made friends fast, the way only young blokes can. I was along for the ride, soaking in the grit, the culture shift, and the raw beginnings of something new.

The Dirt Clown Days

The trails then? Raw.

They spent every spare moment in the bush, digging, riding, and dreaming up lines where none existed. Pick axes, shovels, and sheer bloody-mindedness under a 40ºC sun that made the air feel like soup.

My photo lab job made me the unofficial photographer, sparing me from trail-digging duty. No complaints here.

I cautiously stuck to the easier loops at First Turkey, on a stiff Giant hardtail that doubled as a core workout, especially when paired with my tragically undercooked cardio.

That raw, rattly intro lit a fire. And though life since has meant an on-again-off-again relationship with mountain biking, my skills and confidence have grown far beyond those tentative first pedals.

From Goat Tracks to Gold Standard

Fast forward 20 years: Rocky’s MTB scene has transformed from a bush hobby to a professionally managed trail network.

Rolling into the German Street car park, I hardly recognised the place. Where expansive grasslands and a narrow dirt track once led into the bush, there now stood a polished housing estate.

The trail entrance wound through manicured native gardens and neatly laid riverstone paths.

At the trailhead, a full-scale glossy map stood tall, like something from a national park. This and the digital signage confirmed what was now obvious: First Turkey had gone legit.

The network now sprawls across 150 hectares, with over 30 named trails and more than 40km of singletrack built for every skill level.

It’s clear this isn’t the work of a weekend dig crew anymore. It’s a serious community effort, led by the Rockhampton Mountain Biking Club and backed by the Rockhampton Regional Council. Years of vision, volunteer hours, and public support have created something truly impressive.

And there’s more to come: a formalised trailhead precinct is on the cards, with plans for better parking, shaded gathering spots, and dedicated event infrastructure. First Turkey is well on its way to becoming Central Queensland’s flagship riding destination.

Tyres on Dirt: New Trails, Old Ghosts

With my spirits high, I started by climbing Lower Wild Pig, a mellow green climb with tight switchbacks and a thick canopy. The bush was still and dry, with webs strung across the trail like fairy floss on a stick. Riding solo meant clearing them with my face. A classic Rocky rite of passage.

First descent? Whip Snake.  

A 1.2km flowy dream with berms, playful jumps, and doubles that roll in just fast enough to spice things up. It welcomed every kind of rider, proof that good trail building can be inclusive and still wildly fun.

Chasing something rowdier, I climbed Jackhammer to the Ants Nest Hub and dropped into K9, 1.7km of black diamond madness. Big jumps, long rock gardens, drops that kept my adrenaline humming.

But it was Whitey that hit the hardest.  

It used to terrify me. Tight, technical, and way beyond my skill level. Riding it now felt like visiting an old mate who never cleaned up his act but aged just right. Still rocky. Still narrow. Still unapologetically wild. And I loved it.

On my final ride, after two days reconnecting with Rocky’s trails, I wanted something gentler. The Jackhammer–Wundali–Pegasus–Zamia loop was just the ticket, a cruisy trail through dry bushland and dappled light. The ride was calm, scenic, and meditative. Exactly what I needed to wind down.

More Than Dirt: A Community’s Vision

What’s happening at First Turkey goes far beyond riding.

The Master Plan includes adaptive trails for riders with disabilities, improved emergency access, and environmental protections.

This is no longer just a hidden gem; it’s a regional asset. A hub for community wellbeing, eco-tourism, and outdoor education. One built on shared sweat, smart planning, and deep love for the bush.

Full Circle

Now, as a mum of two young kids, time for myself feels rare and hard-won. But out here, surrounded by hot gum leaves and trail dust, I felt something stir.

Returning to Rocky’s trails wasn’t just a ride through memory. It was a quiet reckoning. A reminder that both the land and the rider are shaped by time. We shift. We adapt. We find new rhythms.

Sometimes growing up isn’t about leaving the wild behind. It’s about learning new ways to return to it, again and again.

Somewhere between the red loam and the dust, I found that untamed part of me again, quiet perhaps, but still there, waiting patiently for her turn.