New Places #2

Sunday afternoon after work we returned to a place Dave and myself had stumbled upon earlier in the week. It was a new track, where there once was an old track. It had been years since either of us had visited the place, and when we discovered an all new track, we came back for another hit. I took my film camera down for some photos.

Blue Mountains

When I was about two years old, my parents first took me up and out of the suburban clutches of the city into the blue haze of the mountains west of Sydney. Of course, being a regular two year old I lacked the ability to formally appreciate (and remember) where I had been. However, almost every year after that, sometimes more than once, our family would venture west for the day and make the trip up to Katoomba. We didn't have any relatives that lived there (obviously we didn't need an excuse to visit the place.) But who needs an excuse? The Blue Mountains are an amazing array of sandstone cliffs which have been chiseled away by rain, wind and sometimes snow, over the vast millennia that has been afforded to the docile continent that is Australia. They stand in a not-so-particularly-high position about 1200 metres above the Pacific, which lies about an hour east of the beginning of these mediocre peaks.

They are an unusual set of mountains to gaze upon from below. You get no real sense of the monster that lies beyond. They climb lazily out from Penrith, and make their way, blue-gum by blue-gum to the lofty peaks of Katoomba and Blackheath. Even then, when you step gingerly out of your car and look around you, you notice little has changed. The engine fan is still noisily whirring, giving you a slight idea of the hill you have just climbed. Beyond that, you notice the air is much colder, quite chilly. You rummage for your jumper, and wonder what the fuss is all about. Only when you venture a few kilometres out of town, do you suddenly realise what you are standing atop. Vast cliffs, stretching for miles ahead, huge vertical drops and deep valleys with the eerie, faint trickle of an enticing waterfall and river system below. This is why the Blue Mountains is so different. Perhaps the best way to describe them is understated.

Last Saturday, we gathered a few people together to try and explore one of the most well-known rides in the Blue Mountains; the Woodford to Glenbrook.

Tristan and Doug warming up for the 28km ride

Classified as a reasonably easy and straightforward ride, the idea suited us, because before we could explore the real hidden gems, it was obvious that we would be obliged to do the Woodford to Glenbrook first, to get our bearings in the place. It began as a light descent. We proceeded about 5 minutes behind a group of visiting tourists on K-mart bikes. Naturally we had to show them how real men rode bikes, so we made an effort to catch up to them and show them how much faster we were. This was effortlessly achieved with a bit of bravery, deft bike handling skills and some good crank-strokes.

After passing the inferior cyclists, we set about the riding process. after passing the St Helena track turnoff quite quickly, which I had mistaken for the halfway point, we were in high spirits. After taking much longer to reach the heli-pad (a landmark), and realising that it was actually this that was the halfway point, we sat down and had a bite for lunch. Although the ride was quite pleasant, it offered little in the form of views, and more importantly, it was still all fire road. We stopped briefly to take a few photos at a nice rock face on the side of the track, and kept moving. I had taken my film camera instead of the digi. It was lighter, and I felt like a change of scenery, and the joy of looking through a different viewfinder.

After almost 20km of fire road, we finally reached the singletrack. We took a moment to reflect on the expected greatness of what lay ahead, and dug in. The first corner taken sideways, with some loud yelps of encouragement we hit the singletrack flat out. Although it was pretty flat stuff, it was great fun. If you kept the pressure on, and cranked out pedalstroke after pedalstroke, you collected quite a bit of speed. This continued for many kilometres. Right at the end, out of nowhere, the track turned into a huge jumble of head-sized rocks. Coming in a bit fast, it was slightly overcooked, but after regaining some control, it became the best part of the whole track.

After stopping briefly for photos, we made it down and out to the carpark. After 28kms, the last 500m was by far the best, but overall it was an epic two hour ride. We forded the river, to be suddenly joined by the tourists we had so defiantly passed and overtaken. One of the younger boys then began charging up the most labourious and physics-defying climb this side of the Alps. Hairpin after hairpin, we had been warned to walk this bit, so we graciously did. The japanese boy from the tour group was nowhere to be seen, he was miles ahead, charging with all fury to the top on his $50 hire bike.

Lesson learnt? Don't fuck with the Japanese.

Old Places

Yesterday a few of us went down to a local trail nearby to have an afternoon of short runs. Mostly riding, but I borrowed the camera for a few quick photos.

New Places

Today we had decided to go and try find a new trail that a friend of mine had told me about a few weeks ago. Although he had never actually ridden the track, he knew where it was, and myself and Alan went for a trip down to the beaches to see if we could find it. After a few narrow hairpins, a vista emerged onto a well known lake, and we began searching for the trailhead. Within seconds, we had discovered an overgrown track, clearly neglected, which led down to the valley floor below. We hastened down and made our way on foot to the bottom of the track. It was pretty wild, but it was something different, and it had some very cool sections. So up top we unloaded the gear and went for a few runs.


Alan makes his way down a few roots and rocks to hit a quick left-hander at a new track.

Its amazing what you can sometimes find hidden in suburbia. I am currently working on an article called "Local Exposure" which is a bit of a take on the idea of 'local trails', places that we often ride when we dream of being somewhere else, but never really think twice about. Clearly this is one such example: someone had gone through considerable effort crafting their own home-grown trail, and it was great for a quick afternoon spin.

City at Night

I went down to Blues Point on sunday night to shoot some Harbour Bridge shots. I waited for about 15 minutes to get most of the last light out of the sky, and took about ten photos before I realised that two of the big spotlights illuminating the top arch of the bridge were not on. This gave the bridge an uncanny toothless appearance, which I had not noticed at all until looking at the photos on the little backlit screen. It's amazing how you can get so used to seeing something; a person, a place, a city, that you don't notice it change.

In the end I decided to swing around and take some photos of the view over the city from the same location.