Day two of my Gippsland trip blew me away with incredible views over the green rolling hills of the Bass hinterland.
The second toilet block at Lang Lang Caravan Park has never before seen a logistical operation of this scale and precision.
It was 8.30 am and operation ‘Newbie Bikepacker Camp Packdown’ was in full swing, which involved, in between rain showers and gale force wind gusts, transferring various components of my camp site onto a section of concrete flooring outside six portaloos. The latches on four of the portaloos were no match for the gusting winds and the doors flapped around like demented mouths having a good old laugh at my fumbling efforts.
Calling it a toilet block is a bit inaccurate, it was more of an enclosure made up of a high fence which screened the portaloos while providing some fortuitous screening and dry patches against the weather as I tried valiantly to get my shit together.
Today was set to be a big day: For the first time was planning to test my ability to carry myself and my gear up and down a series of hills taking me from the coast to the meet the Great Southern Rail Trail at a town called Koonwarra.
It was all going pretty well. I’d managed to make myself a coffee, which I scoffed down with a protein bars while crouching outside the flapping loo doors. (Surely better breakfast views would be a feature of coming days). I was keeping an eagle eye on the pieces of tent drying in the tree ready to swoop them away at the first drop of rain.
Much the same of yesterday the weather was a schizophrenic combination of bright sunshine followed by freezing wind and rain. I’d slept well, cocooned in two layers of Merino, a fleece and my puffy jacket, inside my 2 degree rated sleeping bag and thermolite reactor liner. Welcome to Victoria in late Spring.
My tent, stove, sleeping mat and other gear was attached to my bike courtesy of six Grunt Straps, purchased for a few dollars each at Bunnings (actually multiple Bunnings trips were made to satisfy my hunger for straps in the lead up to this journey). These are lengths of stretchy rubber that you pull as tight as you possibly can to secure your load, presumably while making loud grunting noises.
This second day of the trips was the first time I would need to assemble the whole set up on my own, without help from my partner.
I’d bought some cages to help hold part of my gear, packed into five dollar K Mart dry bags, but could already see these were next to useless given my aluminium bicycle forks only had one screw outlet each and the aluminium threads were already stuffed.
I also had an elaborate set-up involving a handlebar bag strapped on over the top of my tent through a careful tangle (I mean alignment) of Velcro and straps. In theory, the advantage of this was that I could pop my cycling computer into the plastic window on the bag so I could see important things like how fast I was going or how many kilometres. There was obviously no room for a cycling gadget on the handlebars, what with the tangle of straps and Velcro and stuff. My tent bag was slung over the handlebars with its straps and made snug with – you guessed it – more Grunt.
So essentially, my bike was held together with Grunt straps, which was definitely better than sticky tape – but gee whiz was I glad of that screen to allow me to fiddle about with all of this in complete privacy.
After what felt like an eternity I finally got onto the road, veering on to the South Gippsland Highway for what would just be a short stretch before my route headed in to the Bass Coast hills. I was feeling excited but nervous. While the previous day had felt easy, I really had no idea how I would cope with a day full of hills. At the same time I felt huge anticipation at the scenery for this route.
It started to hail.
Bracing against the freezing weather, I pushed on, water streaming down my glasses and pausing at the bottom of a massive hill to fruitlessly wipe rainwater from my eyes and brace myself to a miserable climb ahead.
But then, in a sudden and schizophrenic weather change that was a sign of things to come, the sky opened up only minutes later to reveal sunshine so bright and warm I had to start pulling off layers.
Everything sparkled freshly in the sun and I whipped out my phone for some photos to prove I was really on the road. I felt a rush of exhilaration, like I’d reached the starting blocks.
The Bass Coast Hills really are a cycling paradise. I’d dreamed about lush green rolling hills, and there they were – like something from a storybook or a postcard, maybe from England or Wales. I followed smooth asphalt roads that flowed up, down and around the hills, ridges, valleys and peaceful farmland.
One of my favourite view points was at a place called Krowera, where you could see right across to the distant coastline, and the family name on the farm gate was also ‘Krowera’. I wondered how many generations had lived on that farm and how much it had changed.
Another spot made me nearly fall off the bike with excitement, but it took me a few moments to work out why. Then I remembered that this was a spot I’d looked at many times on Google Maps as lockdown wore on and trip planning became a form of escapism. This view was the reason I’d chosen this particular road, even though it meant more climbing – and now I was here. And it was 100 times better in real life.
Having spent so much time indoors during lockdown, it struck me how alive the weather felt, so three dimensional. Pockets and currents of warm air, sunshine and rain criss-crossed the day, and the wind was so fierce it forced me to take momentary shelter in an empty cow shed.
I saw barely a single vehicle and soon ditched the dead weight of the soggy hi vis vest – the only part of me that hadn’t dried in the wind – into a roadside skip.
My chosen lunch spot was at a very attractive small town called Kongwak. A teacher waved enthusiastically as I pulled into town, and into the recreation reserve where there was a neat picnic rotunda and toilets looking out over some gardens. Perfect.
With absolutely no shops (at least open ones) on this route, lunch was going to be one of those dehydrated meals used by hikers. You pour boiling water into a bag then wait 15 minutes for the contents to magically transform into Teriyaki Chicken.
Watched closely by a beady local magpie who really didn’t understand the concept of personal space I whipped out my camping stove completed this operation, then remembered hearing somewhere that putting the bag under a beanie would keep the meal warmer, or help it cook better… ummm… or something.
Maybe it was the magpie-induced performance anxiety but with my beanie at the bottom of my pannier I thought it would be a wise alternative to pop the meal bag into an orange dry bag (the one used for storing my stove and other bits and pieces).
Half an hour later I had a full belly and an orange Kmart dry bag that stunk of leaked Back Country Teriyaki Chicken juice.
It was rank. The food had tasted ok but the smell was like armpits crossed with the kitchen of the worst Chinese food court joint you’ve ever been to crossed with something weirdly sweet and chemical. Ewwww.
At this point I’d like to extend a since apology to the Kongwak recreation reserve committee for any extra mopping needed in their amenities block that day.
But there was nothing for it but to rush up to the bathroom, pumped hand soap into the bag, fill it with water and shake it like crazy to get rid of the smell. Which of course achieved absolutely nothing. It looked like the smell would be my newest travelling companion, possibly joined by the magpie which continued to sit uncomfortably close as I had a cup of tea.
I finally said goodbye to the hills south west of Leongatha where I rode through paddocks en route to a turn-off on to the South Gippsland Rail Trail. Even on this less scenic part of the ride, the sides of the road were wet with the rain, frogs croaked and life seemed to be everywhere. Despite the craziness of the weather I was lucky to be doing this tour in a wet and green spring.
I took a moment to feel proud of myself for conquering my first hilly stretch with bike luggage – approximately 60 kilometres and 700 metres total. Maybe it was the undulating nature of the terrain, or the exercise bike session I’d put in, but my legs didn’t feel that bad. Apart from the views, I decided there were even some positives to riding on hills, and even the variety of sitting and standing made the time go faster.
Still, the sudden monotony of a long, straight section of road made me realise that fatigue was setting in and I pumped my legs to make a stop at Koonwarra (all these K towns were making me dizzy). Somewhere along Whitelaws track I noticed a clump of colourful wildflowers by the side of the road. Then some more. And some wild roses. The plantings – because obviously someone was going to a lot of effort to make this rural road as beautiful as possible – got closer and closer together and more numerous until they were a riot of lovingly tended colour and variety. Finally a house came into view with landscaping that looked like it belonged in a magazine, or a nursery.
Cruising past on the bicycle, I soaked all of this in in wonder. This is exactly the kind of thing that would be so easy to miss in a car.
At Koonwarra I took a short break before turning on to the rail trail, still chuckling at the town welcome sign. Without a doubt this is a town that was proud of its position on the trail.
As tired and super charged with scenery as I was, the eight kilometres from Koonwarra to Meeniyan took my breath away. The trail here passes across four trestle bridges with views over wetlands and flats alongside the Black Spur and Tarwin Rivers.
It is a fitting end to the day, and rolling in to Meeniyan (after admiring its very odd welcome sculpture) I made the call to cop out stay one night at the motel. My plan really was to camp as much as possible, but Freezing winds are still gusting at 40km and a dark, freezing gloom has descended.
Meeniyan’s free camping area, the one I’d intended to stay at, seemed uncomfortably close to residential houses for someone staying in a tent, not a caravan, and the only place with shelter from the wind was right up against the toilet block. And I’d had enough of toilet blocks for the day.
Read before
