Race From the Rocks 2022

I recently raced the ~700km Entree stage of “Race from the Rocks’ (RFTR) from the Opera House to Orange NSW, then continued on course to my hometown of Forbes at a more relaxed pace, before turning south and riding home to Canberra. All up it was a bit over 1200km and almost 20,000vm over 8 days. 

The “Full Meal” option was 2000km all the way to Adelaide, and I was on the fence about doing that, but @michaelobee was also racing and was keen to ride back to Canberra too. The Full Meal would have taken a bit more time than I had as well, if I finished it.

RFTR looked like a great ride, but a big reason for doing it is that the course went past and through so many areas of personal and ancestral significance that I couldn’t not do it. Some of these were:

• Davistown, where my father and I used to go to the regatta for him to display the wooden boats he built when he retired
• Collits Inn at Hartley Vale, built by my 4th great grandfather Pierce Collits. Apparently this is the oldest building west of the Blue Mountains.
• Sunny Corner, where there are photos of my grandfather and family in the 1920’s
• Back Yamma forest, which backed onto the farm my mother grew up on, where we used to get our Christmas trees every year, and where I used to ride motorbikes as a kid.
• The farm just out of Forbes where I spent most of my childhood, and the road where Dad let me drive myself to indoor soccer when I was 14 because he’d had too many beers. I suppose I didn’t have a licence to lose.
• Another house closer to Forbes that my father built, and where we lived when I was younger.
• Dalton, on the return journey, where there is a small private cemetery for the first member of mum’s family in Australia, John Toohey, on the farm he cleared and settled.

These locations had no real significance for the other riders, but for me it felt like it would be some type of pilgrimage, or perhaps I was paying homage to my ancestors. You don’t have to go  back many generations for life to have been much harder. One story that sticks out is that one of my great grandmothers had to walk from Sydney to Yass with a toddler to rejoin her husband who had been sent out as a convict years before. It put the relative ‘suffering’ of my ride into perspective.

Day 1

Graham, Michael and I left the YHA at Central and rolled down an empty Pitt street to the Opera House, having a coffee and pastry on the way.

Rain was looming, riders were gathering, and I saw a couple of familiar faces. Nervous conversations ensued, some photos, and then it was time. My only goals for the day were to catch the 12.00pm ferry, and to get to Yarramalong at 160km as a minimum.

Quick progress through the city, over the Harbour and Spit bridges, and soon enough we were on the dirt, or should I say mud, as it was now well and truly raining.

Drivetrains were grinding and brakes were howling as we went through the singletrack at Manly Dam and then along waterlogged, muddy trails. Back onto some bitumen as we headed into Newport, and some big hills to get over. I was riding with Graham and we pushed hard to make the 12.00pm ferry, with only minutes to spare.

The weather was too rough to go to our destination of Wagstaff, so the ferry dropped us off at Patonga. You beauty, a shortcut!! But no.. after much discussion ‘respecting the course’ was the decision so we backtracked to Wagstaff, before returning to Patonga. Some decided not to do Wagstaff though and gained about 4 hours. I was tempted, but it made you ineligible for a position.

Riders dived into any bike shop they found and cleaned them out of brake pads and lube. Bikes were getting trashed, and it was only day one.

SUPER tough trail behind Woy Woy Tip and around to West Gosford. Loaded bikes up steep rock walking trails drained the tank. My brakes were shot by Gosford and I changed pads and unseized pistons in the front door of Grill’d. I was keen for a hotel, but Graham wasn’t as soft so we pushed through more tough trails to Ourimbah, refuelled at the servo, then up the big climb and eventually Yarramalong.

We decided to do some easy flat miles along the creek and camp just before the big climb up to Bucketty. Setting up the tent in a paddock at 12.30am, I noticed the grass seemed to be wriggling a lot? Leeches! Heaps of them making a b-line for my sleeping bag! Why did I leave the inner tent at home?? I stood on as many as I could but it was too late to move camp now.

Day 2

The alarm went off at 5.00am after four hours sleep. I put on all the wet clothes from ‘yesterday’ and waited for a break in the rain to pack up the tent. Couldn’t be bothered checking for leeches. Fun times.

We climbed up to Bucketty on good roads, then came to the start of the “Old Great North Road”. I should have done my homework. We paused for a breather and Carl came past and said it took him 4hrs last week. I smugly thought, “Have you seen me ride, Carl?” It took us 4.5hrs. What a slog. A road of rock gouged out of the hills, rocks, plus mud. Never terrible, but never easy. We passed Michael W (there were so many Michaels), who seemed to be deep into sleep deprivation. He got to Wisemans, but needed a grand siesta.

We pulled into the shop at Wisemans, and Carl had a can of WD-40 he was spraying over everything trying to make gears happen. I gave it a go and it seemed to quiet everything down. In my half awake state I thought it might help unseize my brakes too. I caught myself in time.

Graham and I pulled out of Wisemans and did some reasonable climbs before dropping down and following the Colo river for a while, before the big climb to Bilpin. One of his friends, Matt, was watching the dots and stopped to offer some local advice: “The climb is pretty hard, and once you think you’re past the worst of it, it kicks up again, so keep some powder dry”. Hardly inviting. He told us the Bilpin Community Centre had a big awning we could sleep under.

We climbed about 10km at 6%, then it flattened off a bit, before a moderate climb into Bilpin. The Community Centre was great, a big well-lit awning, and we set up camp a bit early around 7.30pm. We were first in our “Entree” category at this point, and 7th overall. Not far along was a super dodgy bridge, and we didn’t want to cross it in the dark, so we planned for first light.

We messaged Michael about the camp and he pulled a massive day to get there about 1.30am. He had brake trouble on Day 1 and was playing catch up.

As I was setting up, a leech crawled out of my sleeping bag. At least one passenger for the day, perhaps there were more. A nice long, dry, but fully lit sleep ensued.

Day 3

Up at 4, rolling by 5.

Straight up we had a big descent down to Bowens Creek. The road was abandoned, but still falling apart, and in a couple of points you felt only a step away from graduating to your afterlife of choice.

At the creek there was a super sketchy bridge. It is the dodgiest thing I have ever walked across. Mesh fencing panels lying on sticks about as thick as a toilet paper roll. Below was a fall of 5m or more to the creek. I didn’t know many were opting to walk through the creek. Anyway, we survived.

It’s rare to ride with someone on these events, let alone someone you know, but Graham and I were lineball on pace and it just happened. Our long sleep put us down the order, so we had some work to do.

We worked our way up through Mount Wilson, onto the Bells Line of Road, and then dropped down into the Hartley Valley, and past Collit’s Inn, built by my 4th Great Grandfather, Pierce Collits. The body niggles had started by this point, backside becoming an issue.

TOUGH climb into Lithgow, drop into @renshawspedalproject for more lube and see fellow racers, refuel at Subway (foot long pizza with all the salad and double bbq sauce please!), then start climbing again.

The section from Lithgow to Ben Bullen was probably the most spectacular of the ride. The rocks at Maiyingu Marragu (Black Fellows Hands) were simply stunning. Then we turned south for Portland and got on a crappy rail service road – probably the worst section of the whole ride.

I wanted to push into the night after our long sleep the night before, but this road broke me. Pointless ups and downs, rocks, and eventually a boghole I couldn’t find a way around. I dreaded riding through the cold night with a now wet shoe. Things were grim.

We got into Portland and everything seemed closed, but Graham found @coronationhotel open, sort of. Brent and Olly were in there hydrating, feasting, and warming up by the coal fire. They offered to reopen the kitchen and give us a bed. Magic!

Other riders filtered in, and it was tempting to kick back at the bar, but Orange was a long way still, so it was bed by 10, alarm for 2. I was determined to get to Orange in one more hit.

Day 4

Up at 2, rolling by 2:30.

It was cold. I dried my socks, but stupidly didn’t dry my shoes, so had wet feet soon enough. Couple that with a backside that wasn’t great, and some big climbs to Sunny Corner almost straight up, and I wasn’t a happy camper.

We pushed on through the dark and both of us struggled to warm our feet, so we walked a few of the climbs to get some blood down there. It helped.

We came across Eric waking up in the bush. He lost his Nav, and had a sleep while he waited for a rider to follow. Sofala was the next town, and we had a long 7.5km descent at 6%, followed by 30km of rolling hills with four river crossings. One was fast flowing.

Food was limited at Sofala, so I had a milkshake and drank some passata(??). It was sealed now, and we’d decided not to take the shortcut option, as the rivers were up and the deep crossings risky. Lucas tried, but turned back, so we chose well.

The hills were rolling for a while, but then one climb just kept going and going. About 7km at 5.5%, but half of that was at 7.5%. We crested the rise and thought we could coast, but then the road took a turn and just went up again, then down, then back up. It was borderline sadistic. For the next 100km the hills just did not stop. 

For the last 20km my backside was protesting loudly. My legs weren’t too bad, and I tried climbing while standing up, but you can’t do that for long. The last big climb was 2km at 7% and I walked it.

We picked our way into town and had a typical bikepacking greeting party of ZERO, but Graham’s wife wasn’t far away, and we went for a well deserved beer. It was a massive day, almost 5000m of climbing. We were both cooked. 

Orange was the end of the ‘Entree’ option, and the end of our race. Graham was stopping here, and I was going to be cruising with Michael on the course to Forbes, my hometown, then back to Canberra. It was great to do it all the way with Graham, and I think we did well. 

We were equal 2nd in our category and 11th overall, but two guys ahead didn’t do the ferry backtrack, so we were equal 9th overall, out of 48 starters. Pretty happy with that. Big kudos to those who raced on to Adelaide. Such an adventure!

Part two of Peter’s Race from the Rocks recap will be continued in a following article.