Stage 1 - Melbourne to Ada Tree 74k - how did I get here?
Stage 1 out of the blocks: a full 1 km before a train jump to Lilydale, rail trail heaven and the hills of the Yarra Ranges.
Stage 1 profile showing the big climb out of Warburton in the afternoon heat. 32 and humid anyone?
Hoo-bloody-ray I’m on my way. The lead up to big things can always be a bit hectic - getting all those little things done that a little voice says cannot wait a couple of weeks - sometimes it can be so hard just to leave da house. It’s got this special power. What have I forgotten? What else do I need to do? A thousand little things kicking your mind to jelly. Ever kind Fi gave me a hug and treats and I left da house.
Even getting to the station - a full kilometre from da house - I could already feel all those house monster tentacles slipping off my spinning legs. Bye bye monster. To get a good start and get out of town, I took the train to Lilydale, on the outskirts of Melbourne. I love trains. It’s a good pace to see the countryside. You are going somewhere. You are on the move. At the crossings, they still toot their horns. You can even take your bike on the train and if you clip it with an octopus strap it won’t fall down.
The train tells the story of the city: blaring tv screens at the city stations, graffiti boards at Richmond and slow poke clacketty clack at Camberwell - when will they fix those lines? Past Ringwood, the train goes to a single track and they’ve still got those old fashioned single sided stations with the trees are leaning into the tracks from both sides. There’s something to be said for the leafy outer suburbs.
I think I managed to get everything done. I caught up with the Climate for Change (C4C) team in the city, got some moral support from my local state MP, Tim Read, and even stole some energy from the school climate strikers. I got my first messages in the orange book destined for my federal MP. “The young people of Australia are scared.” “Please make your constituents proud.“ “Our farms, fisheries and forests need less emissions from cars, cows, concrete and coal.” The March Gippsland bushfires even seem to have abated. Now I was really on the road. Phew.
My old uni mate Pete met me at Lilydale station. Exactly on time. We’ve done these meetups before. Just like when we met at the post office in St Brieuc way back on on 1 July 1995 (although I was a little late that time). Pete is good for that and it was great to have an old friend on the first day. We headed off down the rail trail towards Warburton, lapping up Victoria’s rail trail secret - a network of old railways converted over to cycling and horseriding. Majestic tracks with tunnels and trestle bridges, moulded and crafted around all obstacles, the incline never reaching more than 1 in 50, all just for cyclists. You are king for a day! (unfortunately, there’s a lot of train tracks out there that are not running and not rail trails either - please fix).
Rendezvous with Pete at Lilydale station
Pete didn’t have too much time so we stopped 10k down the trail at a cafe. We had earnt it. If I’d done this back at uni, we wondered, how many people would come on the first day? Plenty. Now busy, stuck in da house. Pete wrote in the orange book: “Even my 7 year old daughter knows it.” Pete is a great supporter of C4C.
I sat there in the rain thinking about the ride ahead. The house monster had gone but old man fatigue was creeping up behind me. The exhaustion of getting out of da house was catching up. The adrenalin was wearing off. I better hit the road. I ordered a big breakfast and watched the charging bar on my phone. Perhaps I should put the waterproof covers on my paniers?
Out on the trail, the drizzle gave way to a hot and humid afternoon, you know, the ones Melbourne is famous for on autumn afternoons. I had chosen to do the ride now to avoid Victoria’s summer heat and fires and NSW’s April frosts in the high country to come. Late March seemed about right; traditionally the best month in Melbourne with warm, stable sunny days and cool nights. Plus this was likely to be the last Parliament sitting. I could ride the corridors of power ringing my two tone bell, how cool would that be? How about this heat?
Now all alone, I found some rhythm on the long ribbons of road reaching into the distance. Not too fast, just trying to hang on to someone else. Not too slow, waiting for someone. But just right, my internal diesel clicking into gear and setting the pace. My pace. My legs started to free up, my mind following, allowing feelings to surface and ideas to fizz. This was going to be a great ride.
Out of nowhere, a speeding motorbike passed the other way. He can’t do that on the rail trail? I gave a ‘what gives’ wave but he just waved back. I guess you can do whatever you want these days. It wouldn’t be the last motorbike out on these trails.
Warburton. An old logging town reinvented as a Melbourne getaway. 40 clicks down, I stopped for some supplies to head into the hills. One thing I didn’t have was a map. I had my phone and I had a pretty good idea of where I was going but I need to stare at maps. I found a map showing the whole ride, including a close up of Gippsland and its grand forests. That would do. I sat down with a vanilla slice from the bakery and stared at the map. Slice slice baby (2 slices).
…….
How did I get here? My climate story goes like this. I grew up on a bush block just out of Melbourne and was always outside riding my bike. I think I always saw nature and outdoor experiences as something to be valued. I also loved weather maps - how I used to study the isobars and cold fronts on the weather maps in the paper. They don’t print them any more. In year 10 at school, The Age ran a greenhouse special in the Good Weekend. I was curious; I kept that edition. A little while later, when I was on university exchange in Canada, it seemed natural to do a research essay on the politics of the greenhouse effect. ‘Will anyone take planet earth out of the greenhouse oven?’ I asked. While I thought it was a serious issue, I forgot about it and went cycling around Europe.
Writing on the first Conference of the Parties in 1995. No one underlines headings anymore.
A decade later, I was cycling in Europe again, this time in Norway. Is there a better place to go cycling? No. As I was leaving to go home, I needed a book for the plane so I could read and force myself to stay awake. I spotted George Monbiot’s book ‘Heat - how to stop the planet from burning’. I like George, he does his homework and channels my thoughts. I devoured the book on the plane, jetlag minimal. The trick with George’s book is that he says, let’s forget about the politics and the science, what if we had to reduce our emissions by 90% by 2030? How would we just do it? What strikes you reading this book is you can’t just twist a policy knob or two, like tuning the radio, you literally have to stop this giant organism from breathing carbon. What are we going to breathe instead? I started paying more attention.
In Alice Springs I joined the local climate action group, we pushed the council on cities for climate action, and I started really looking into the science. I stared at the temperature graph for the last million years going up and down, up and down, just like I would stare at a map. Why did it go up and down in such tightly regulated boundaries? Would a little more carbon really send things haywire? I emailed my science nerds in Canberra. The problem seemed to be the pace of change. We are disturbing the system so quickly that it is overwhelming natural systems, which move much more subtly over epochs and dampen the ups and downs. The more I looked into this, the clearer I could see it. But gee I was having a good time, driving landcruisers into the desert and riding my bike to Ruby Gap.
Gum boot races in the backyard, Wargrave, UK.
In 2012 I visited my brother and his family in the UK. Naturally, it was raining. By day 3 the nearby river was flooding and by day 5 it was lapping at the door of the house. Flooded in for Christmas! What a hoot! Before the water got too high, we waded around in gum boots and had piggy back races in the backyard. With roads blocked, we brought in supplies along the elevated train line. We holed up in the house for days, eating Christmas dinner on the second floor, chickens squawking on the deck. But there was a less fun side to it too. Scientists said the crazy rain was impossible without a warmer world. I was looking around at our merriment and thinking is this what climate change looks like (for rich people)? What if my niece or nephew was washed away in the flood waters? The house was flooded for 6 weeks.
It’s always interesting what connects one person to one issue and another to something completely different. For me, I’ve always has a sense of fairness about environmental issues and being responsible for your actions. We face many environmental issues - it may be that exhausted soils, insectageddon or death by concrete get us - but for me the climate crisis is the contest at the gates of the empire right now. It’s the issue that challenges the very way we think about ourselves and it’s the issue that is most strongly resisted by the lords of the empire. It’s also the ultimate global problem. In the long run, your flight to Sydney really does affect every person in Iceland. I don’t think any other issue raises justice and responsibility for your actions quite like that. I have this recurring image that we have organised this massive party, and we know the house is going to burn down if we go ahead with this party. Everyone knows it. We are all looking at each other. Finally, someone shrugs and says “stuff it, let’s have the party”. it’s a pretty cool party hey? I am fascinated by our reluctance to be responsible for our actions.
Back in Aus, pulling these threads together, I wanted to get involved. Stop being a spectator. Al Gore was coming to town and I signed up for Climate Reality Leadership Training. I was on a table with other Melbourne people and made connections that I still have. The training was excellent and gave me a real boost, but somehow the mode of action didn’t quite settle for me. Shock and awe presentations might work for Al and his incredible presence, but it’s tougher for a quiet fella from a bush block.
Fellow trainer Katerina Gaita soon founded Climate for Change (C4C) - kind of Tupperware party meets climate change - where hosts gather friends for a facilitated conversation about climate change and how we can be agents of change. When I responded to the first call out for volunteers, Katerina’s passion and authenticity shone through. I’d found a place to be.
………
With vanilla slice in my belly, I could ride up that hill. Nothing like sugar to get sleepy legs going. I left town with the hot easterly still in my face, the incline getting steeper and old man fatigue lurking dangerously close. But I had a secret weapon: I had made it to the edge of the grand forests of central Victoria.
Yarra River (Birrarung) as rarely seen.
Soon Warburton gave way to the tranquil ripples of the Yarra River and 40m mountain ash saplings. What is that connection to trees? They say trees can ‘talk’ to each other, but can we talk to the trees? I think we can. I could feel my energy rise, the diesel kicking into gear. I was on the climb proper. The trees got taller and the incline steeper. The sweat was pouring.
Even though I have had my fatigue struggles - one of the purposes of this ride was to test that - I had planned some big hills. No point shirking and riding along busy highways. I needed to bring out my hill trick: podcasts. The flats are too fast to listen, but the slow grind of a climb is perfect to keep yourself distracted. In keeping with the theme of the ride, I downloaded some climate podcasts. There’s not a lot of good climate ones, but I found some to try.
I clicked on Climactic, a new Australian podcast featuring people and their climate stories, and listened to an interview with Richard di Natale, leader of the Australian Greens. I can relate to Richard, spending time in the NT and forming your views on the world working in outback towns dripping with heavy social issues. Richard said one thing that caught my attention: “challenge your MPs from all parties and take back what they say to your network”. We have a lot more power with our MPs than we think. Make them accountable. Use your network.
Out of nowhere, a 4 wheel drive came listing around the corner, having to correct a slide. Seeing me he slowed a little and as he passed by, I gave a friendly ‘what gives’ wave but he was too busy to wave back. I guess you can do whatever you want these days.
Hot and bothered on the climb out of Warburton.
The climb got steeper. Is it ever going to end? My back was hurting and little daggers were digging into my calves. The glands in my neck sore. Starting to hit the wall. Old man fatigue has his hands all over me. I haven’t done a climb like this for a while. I’m really sweating. I need a muesli bar.
I looked into the forest. Around me, ash trees raked into the sky, tree ferns nestled at the side of the road in the shadows, acacias grasped for mid-storey. A vitality and freshness in the air at the increased elevation. And no one else around. Birds and soft breezes for company.
Beautiful ascent towards the Ada Tree. Whose spirit doesn’t lift when you see these trees?
Three bottles of water and 3 snacks later, I groaned and scratched my way to the relative flats of the Yarra Ranges plateau. Trust my luck to have over 30 and headwinds for day 1. Finally, the junction with Big Creek Rd, back on familiar turf and a little downhill before the final climb up Federal Rd to the Ada Tree. I remembered the last time I travelled this road. Did it look different? Was there still water in that creek? How many times until I wouldn’t need a map?
I was approaching our secret little campsite, a little sassafras grove tucked away in a corner. What if someone was there? I was far too tired for that. As I arrived, I sounded my two tone bell and called out. No response, all mine. Tent, stove, food, bed. Survival mode only. Day 1 done. Before I fell asleep I thought about visit the Ada Tree in the morning and had the other vanilla slice. I saved one.
Home sweet home on the first night under the sassafras trees.