Riding the Tassie Trail

The long awaited summer has arrived in Tassie promising long hours of epic sunlight with whimsical weather of unpromising predictability.

The down under chrissy season advances a few days from work for five days in a row… with a sneaky four hours annual leave. Dylan, the Dilbatross, had undergone successful spinal surgery six months back removing a sneaky excruciating extrusion and is now upright and progressively riding… and has reached just the capacity to embark upon The Tasmanian Trail with a timeline of four and half days.

We hopped the bus from Hobart to Devonport on Christmas day with a 2.30pm arrival. Short of food supply due to the holiday and everything closed, what other than McDonalds as a feed to start the trip. My last trip to Maccas, besides the restroom, was the way back from a ten hour day snowboarding with my brother at Wrightwood in SoCal in high school. Quite crowded, we found ourselves amongst a range of international folks; not the quintessential Australian rather, those adopted from other nations or those of the First Nation itself.

We gathered our feed and headed to the Mersey Bluff lighthouse – the top of Tassie.  We then cruised out of the city onto the country roads on our quest for an epic adventure. We rolled through Latrobe, Railton, Sheffield and into gravel bush alongside the Gog Range Regional Reserve where we arrived at Mersey River crossing at dusk. We sat up camp and Dylan had a moment – the first moment of acceptance.

Side Story Number One

My second bikepacking trip was the Hunt 1000 in 2018 when a group of mates convinced me I would make it and not die; I trusted their word and here I am – still alive – to tell the story. During the ride I voyaged through four stages and discovered I experienced the same stages whilst embarking upon other epic bikepacking endeavors.

Stage 1: Uncertainty and exit cognitive existence. You’ve been riding for five to six hours. Your bike is heavy. You haven’t gone as far as you’d like. Something flew off your bike on that techy downhill. You look down at the topography of your entire ride and think “there’s no freakin’ way I’m going to make it!” Your ambitions fade and you sink into doubt of your ability and sulk especially after your burrito… but you keep pedalling and shut down your brain. 

Stage 2: Acceptance and commitment. Typically day two or three. You forget about that thing at work. The dirty dishes in the sink. You embrace your surroundings and realise you are out in the middle of nowhere and have one task at hand – eat, drink and just freaking pedal. The stress of your day-to-day grind is ages behind you given you rolled away into the sunset day(s) before. You now have more energy to move through space… or are you light moving at lightspeed. Are you a lump of mass or a ball of energy – you decide. 

Stage 3: Full feral fashion. Free and wild. You’re a few days in now and you’ve been riding for hours on end putting every bit of energy into moving the pedals forward. You’ve tapped into your natural habitat and you’ve tapped into your intuition and are now listening to your inner child and the deep seeded seasons of your heart. You’ve peeled back the onion and now you’re having the best time; you’ve entered an epic flow state. You’re on a mission, determined, and you surpass any struggles and challenges presented to you. The harder the challenge, the greater the victory. One more hill… if there’s one – I’ll take it. 

Stage 4: Victorious victory. You’re within hours of your final destination and coming back to civilization. You have surpassed your wildest expectations and have a moment. You were one with nature, with yourself and with your bike and now your adventure is coming to the end. You’ve done it.

Stage 5: Return to your daily Jeti. You reflect on your experience and may think: “never again” or “that was amazing!” but beware, in a few months time you might forget the hardships and find you’re hungry for more. You reopen the cognitive brain and return to civilized, unferal life – oh yes… work! 😀

Bikepacking the Tassie Trail

At the river’s edge Dylz was far into stage one back in Sheffield. He was tired, exhausted, had an upset stomach and was definitely questioning his ability to make it to the end. I set up “the mansion” tent, his gear and provided a few words of comfort and respite. The peace of dusk slipped away to the darkness of the pitch black sky littered with stars shimmering like rampant bioluminescence of the shape shifting sea. We listened to the buzz of the skitters dancing between the rain fly and mesh on a background of the river’s serene flow with a possum rustling my snack bag on a quest to acquire my unprotected banana. “Shoo!” And off she went – I need my Nanos for brekky!

The morning rose as did I like a five year old ready to play all day. We packed our gear, strategically crossed the river, and rolled out beneath the shadowing eucalyptus and bathed in the tunes of cicadas and kookaburras. Our first stop was Deloraine for re-stock considering everything was closed for Chrissy the day before. This was Dylan’s first experience in a store and wanting to buy it all in classic bike-packing famish. Bracknell and Miena were our next feed stations so we planned accordingly… and mentally prepared to push our bikes up the side of a mountain for two to three hours… otherwise known as the Poatina climb.

We rolled through the sleepy town of Bracknell around four and despite the weather forecast of sunny skies a few days ago – a storm was headed our way with rapid winds arriving around 9.00pm in the highlands. We had to get our move on.​

Side Story Number Two

My inaugural Tassie Trail experience was with my bikepacking mate Eric who had ridden it once before. I vaguely remembered the push up Poatina; it progressively became more steep and more challenging and there was a cave half way. In bikepacking I always suspect there to be some degree to bike hucking, chucking or rucking, therefore Poatina did not strike me as unfun – it was just part of the bikepacking experience. Halfway Eric inquired if I was still having fun and I replied “Ya, it’s all part of the bikepacking, hay?”

Anyway, we arrived at the base of Poatina and commenced operations to-top-of-mountain. The first thirty minutes was rideable given you had power and control to ride up steep techy rock. The next hour was pushing small, steeper rocks. The last hour was straight up the side of a mountain with large rocks. Despite my memory of “ah, ya, it’s kinda hard” and warning of the challenge – Dylan was at his absolute limit. In his head, I am 100% sure this climb was a vertical asymptote to a never ending, very steep curve. With 2km to go, my GPS alerted me we were off track, ten feet from it. My heart sank yet, I kept quiet as if I told Dylan he would have surely crumbled right then and there. Despite his physical challenges with a km to go, we pushed on; one step at a time until we reached the road. There, Dylz layed on the earthly floor and I fed him a coke I bought him in Bracknell to celebrate his victorious push up 3,000 foot (1100 VM) side of the mountain. The darkness and the storm was on the approach so we rolled into Cramps Bay for camp.

With Dylan at 99% complete cognitive and physical fatigue, I made the decision to pitch the tent next to the lake; we either pitched under trees and risk widow makers or next to the lake at the mercy of the winds, I went with the latter. As quickly and efficiently as possible I pitched the tent, gear and packed it within fifteen minutes. Upset stomach and fatigue, I did my best to comfort my fellow counterpart and kept in close communication with our Hobart contact… just in case. 

Surviving the Storm

The winds began to bellow across the lake and the rain fell rapidly from the ominous sky. Darkness was upon us as we bunkered down at the mercy of the inauspicious storm. The rainfly frantically flapped as the tent poles danced like a gymnast to the merciless melodies of the 70km gusting winds. The rain chattered against the rainfly like a piano having all its keys aggressively played all at the same time. I lay there, nervous, questioning if the rainfly would soon be ripped off, or would it withstand the demands of its ratings and benefit from the extra support of the bikes. Keeping my hands up supporting the tent in untrustiness, Dylan lay restfully lost in a parallel universe of a science fiction book. I succumbed to trusting our Sea to Summit expensive tent, shut my eyes and escaped to a semi-undreamy dreamland.

The sun rose and finally the storm passed by. I went out to gather water and took in a deep breath of the fresh, rain-laced air. Dylan, alive and well, decided we’d roll to Miena and reassess his capacity to carry on. I reassured Dylan the power of sleep and recovery: “don’t worry, your body is a remarkable biological machine! It’s mostly downhill; tonight, we rest.”

We packed our gear and rolled out with the most epic of tail winds which I knew would turn to a side-on-ish headwind when we would turn west to Miena. We rode along the highlands with only shrubs to block our feet from the wind. My clear sunnies kept the rain and wind out and I imagined I was in a car jammin’ out cruising across the highland. We fuelled up with squirmies in the sunshine to lighten our spirits despite the heavy headwinds.

Big Days

We walked into the Miena Pub to a warm, bustling fire and ready for a feed. After an hour, I nudged that we needed to roll on to make it to Ouse with the promise of mostly downhill. A quick stop at the Miena General Store for a coffee and off we went into the sun and nowhere lands to Ouse.

Echidnas were about and a few snakes were embellishly embracing the rays. Few hours later we arrived in Ouse through rolling hills with fields of sheep. We exited the dramatic highlands to the warmer, lower, less dramatic climate of Tassie. We went for a feed and camped out. A good night’s sleep was upon us.

​Day three was a biggo with the intention of arriving at Judbury crossing over the random grassy fields of epicness, Jeffrey’s track –  muddy 4×4 tracks – and the untamed white timber trail. We embarked upon the fields of openness questioning the trail and following the signs and Garmin. We passed two gravel riders questioning their choices then two others, one of which was a fellow Hunt 1000 rider – epic peeps doing epic things! We rolled down to New Norfolk for a snack then embraced the last push.

With daylight weaning and the associated temperature drop at elevation, I warned we could take the white timber trail (as compared to an alternate route) but needed to keep up the pace and would be risking potentially riding in the dark and me freezing my pogiesless hands. Not that I’m opposed to riding in the dark, but completing a cold, dark 3000ft (1000m) descent is not my ideal idea of a good time. Pushing alongside puddles and riding among the white timber – I did not speak of the beauty surrounding us. We quickly descended at dusk and just near the bottom, my rear tyre whipped against wet bark and sent my rear wheel to the right by a meter or so. My tyre hit the ground sideways, knobs caught traction and before I even knew what happened I had automatically corrected and rolled on. I’d saved it and was still upright at 30km an hour. I let out a “whoops!” sound effect as I do on MTB rides in celebration and gratification of my MTB skills to save it. Otherwise I’d be in a very bad state. Dylan was more shocked than I was.

We rolled into Judbury to set up camp and what did I find but inchman ants staring me down on the nearby log. I took their hint of unwelcomeness and moved our tent.

The Finale

Another good night’s sleep was on the cards.

​The last and final day called for a semi-early start. We rolled out for Geeveston over Dylan’s favourite climb – Bermuda climb. We stopped for a feed in Geeveston and rolled through the woods to Dover. On the verge of complete exhaustion, Dylan was moving at quite a slow pace and I got lost looking around at mushrooms, the density of the Tassie wilderness and… even came across a devil running just up ahead! The final descent to Dover we were riding amongst sunny skies and warm beach-like weather.

The final push to Cockle Creek was “easy beach riding” compared to our last five days but Dylan thought otherwise.

We were towed in by no other than Kate to celebrate Dylan’s completion of the Tassie Trail. We arrived at Cockle Creek by 6.00pm and touched the whale marking the furthermost Southern rideable spot of Tassie.

We then rolled down to the beach and went for a well deserved swim in crystal clear waters of the South Coast, had a picnic and lied in the sun.

This trip was good fun but what a different perspective being the leader is as compared to being the tag along. On this ride, I had kind-of remembered the track but forgot how many hills there were and how intense the Poatina climb was. I had a hard time framing the ride for someone new and put it into reasonable and achievable perspectives. It was interesting to be on this side. “There’s another hill – sorry!!”

Being the tag along with bits of guidance is quite different. Riding this with Eric I didn’t think much of anything – I kept pedalling along having all the good chats. Similarly, on solo adventures or riding with others on things like The Hunt or The Tassie Gift you kinda cruise at your own pace, pushing your limits chasing mates. Also, every riding buddy is different – some chat more, some less. Some faster, some slower. Some wake earlier and take twenty mins to pack whilst others rise later and take an hour to roll out. One not more superior than the other – just different vibes. It’s just the vibe of the thing!  

Perspective is massive

On the day riding to Ouse, yes, I was tired after three hours of sleep but this wasn’t unusual or unexpected. I dealt with it as you do. It is all part of the experience of bikepacking. 

This was a massive victory for Dylan to complete this ride and massive for me to get out there and have some fun on my bike!

If you’re looking for a great way to experience Tassie (as a mid-range bikepacker with a few days), the Tassie Trail is a good start. If you don’t want to push up the side of the mountain – Poatina – riding up the road is a better option. The Tassie Trail technically ends in Dover but if you want to cross the whole of Tassie from top to bottom, you can ride to Cockle Creek. If you REALLY want to see what you are made of and experience all the flavors of Tassie – The Tassie Gift is for you… or some of the Tassie Gift route is exceptional for a few days depending on your goals. Either way – Tassie is a magical fairy island for all things bikes!

Escape reality and go ride your bike!