After a day off in Port Augusta, I was able on 5th September to face the prospect of the mountains of the Flinders Range calmly.
The advantage of leaving early means that one is already out of town before the rush-hour traffic really gets going. I kept away from the main road, choosing instead to take the old Wilmington road; the first time after thousands of kilometres on major routes. Rather bumpy but at least peacefully the road went on until it met the new road to Wilmington further up. From that point onwards it started to become mountainous. But as long as I can keep going and at the same time still enjoy it, it can’t be so bad.
The Mawson trail re-commences further north in the Flinders Range. Because I didn’t want to make such a large detour and had no idea how difficult the trail was, I wanted to wait until Wilmington before taking the trail.
The stretch to Melrose was actually only to test how well sign-posted and difficult the road was. Both were in the end no problem and I trusted myself to find the way without the detailed maps as, after each kilometre and after each turn-off, there was a sign-post. Furthermore the way was through wide fields and meadows and almost completely flat - compared to Munda Biddi, it was child’s play. In the early afternoon I reached Melrose but after a pleasant conversation with the owner of a local bicycle shop I decided to stay in this likeable little place. The camp-site was one of the most beautiful and cheap so far. It was not too difficult to see that Melrose wasn’t just a Mecca for mountain bikers
(The bike was made out of boomerangs in order to make you aware of the cultural history.)
as both the Heysen Trail (for hikers) and the Mawson Trail (for bikers) met here.
Both start up in the Flinders Range: the Heysen Trail ends south of Adelaide and the Mawson Trail leads directly to Adelaide. Some hikers had already put up the tents on the camp-site. I was, and remained, the only cyclist. The Australians tend to do more “bushwalking” (hiking) than cycling.
After Melrose it got more mountainous and the way more challenging. Generally I got a good view of the way there over each of the hills, which glow green and yellow (from canola) at this time of year. The scent made me quite woozy. Now and then the route went through replanted woods,
..... also here, on either side of the road, fences. That was what I disliked most about this stretch, that you always rode alongside a fence. It’s unimaginable how long this fence must have been. When there was a gate, it was bolted with a padlock, even when the official Trail led through it. That forced me to make quite a few detours.
In Bundaleer Forest one of these gates was right in front of a hut in which I wanted to stay for the night. For hikers there were steps over the fence but for my heavily-laden bike it was insurmountable. Luckily, on a side road, I found a few bushes out of the fenced area between which I could set up camp.
In the night it started to rain, quite heavily, and remained steady throughout the morning during breakfast and packing, until I got on my way. My assumption the day before that I should be very happy that itwas so dry was confirmed, as now the way was a real mud-bath.
After 10 m I could scarcely push my bike. The dirt had built up round the tyres and jammed the brakes. But after 500m, the worst was over as a strip of grass on the edge of the way made the pushing much easier. Later on the route I found more and more frequently these signposts (see photos), which were definitely justified!
Now and then the track led through villages, that all seemed the same as each other. All were established in the middle of the 19th century, and one had the impression not much had been done since then as if time had stood still, but now they had been dusted off ready for tourism. Every village was characterized by stone houses with picturesque decorations and nearly all had four churches; United, Anglican, Lutheran and Catholic. For a population between 200-300, quite a lot. Naturally each village had its own museum although it was it already one in its own right!
Melrose is apparently the oldest village in the Flinders Range, other villages can boast the title of the one with the oldest hotel, bar, general store, mine and so on. So each has something of its own to offer, not only its special charm.
I like these general stores, but sadly they stand little chance of survival. Also here, the people prefer to go to supermarkets in the big city and in some general stores the shelves are noticeably empty.
It’s a different story in the well-known wine districts, above all Barossa Valley and Clare Valley, which really profit from tourism. From Clare to Auburne the Mawson Trail follows the Riesling Trail. The way meanders smoothly from cellar door to cellar door for approximately 20km, nicely parallel to the main road. At last a reason for all the “Grey Nomads”, pensioners who have swapped their house for a mobile home, to take their bikes off their vehicles. I wanted to get through the expensive village of Clare, with its 4-star caravan park, as fast as possible and go on to Auburne, but first made a quick stop in tourist information.
Halfway between the two villages I realized that I’d left my purse lying in tourist information. So I went back quickly and luckily found it, contents still intact. After that I was so tired that I nevertheless took myself off to the luxury camp-site.
The route went on further over hills and through villages. In Riverton I saw Travis’s bike and his dog Cadel parked in front of a cafe. Of course I couldn’t just ride by; a longer break was called for. Sadly he was going on in another direction, being firstly not so fond of mountains and dirt tracks and anyway wanting to take a direct route to Horsham.
It’s the other way round with me. Where ever possible I prefer dirt tracks, except when they are too muddy. I simply like travelling as far away as possible from the traffic, to be able to ride along in peace and quiet. It’s just much more interesting, than only taking tarmac roads.
I arrived in Kapunde, one of the cutest, oldest villages, quite early and wanted to quickly check out how much the camp-site cost here. But then I saw a bicycle standing there, so that was one good reason to stay. Secondly, it was really cheap to camp there and lastly in the village there were real shops and free Internet.
The bike belonged to Iain, a Tasmanian, who was doing the Mawson trail in the other direction. These chance encounters are very useful as the information you get (which you can in turn pass on), you can’t get anywhere else. It’s not just information about the best place to stay the night, or stretches that you’d do best to avoid, but also I was able to find out more about biking in Tasmania, where I also plan to continue my journey.
On the next day I continued making appropriate variations to the trail. First through the so-called “German country”, the Barossa Valley which is one of the most well-known wine regions in Australia, characterized by German immigrants. Even though most of the German town names were re-christened during the 2nd World War (apart from Hahndorf), there are still a few German names around and the German influence is very obvious and goes beyond just Brezeln and Laugenweckle.
Following Iain’s advice, I didn’t take the “Rockery” road up; he had come down this and had some difficulties because of the steepness and large stones; but rather chose a route which was partly tarmacked. This proved to be quite steep, but the advantage was that I got a really good view.
Iain had already warned me about the locked gates. Here they had stiles on the side with an approximately 40 cm-high threshold. No problem if you’re travelling just with a bike, but once again I had problems with the bicycle laden with all my luggage. Always unloading the bike and then re-packing it was such a nuisance for me. Somehow I always got the bike over and only a bottle-holder got broken as a result.
Here it must have really poured with rain over the last few days. The way through the wood was like a swamp. My only goal was not to touch the ground with my feet. But shortly before the end I had to trust my left foot to make contact with it.
According to my map a camp-site was not far off, further into the wood, and that was actually my aim. But as I approached it it didn’t look so much like a camp-site, although a sign seemed to indicate as much. As there was a phone number on the sign, I thought I’d try calling it. My assumption was confirmed, it indicated that it was a camp-site but wasn’t one. So I was connected with the Ranger, who gave me the tip to continue a bit further up the mountain, where a hut with a W.C. and water tank were to be found. No-one would be using it tonight so I could stay the night there. That was fine for me, especially after I actually saw it.
It was in the middle of the wood, totally secluded with a fireplace outside and a small oven inside; it even had electric lights! As it was very cold, I made myself comfortable in front of the stove. And that’s all one needs, just peace and quiet and a fire; this is enough to occupy me for the whole evening. Many thanks to the Ranger from Cromer Shed, who gave me this wonderful tip.
On the last stage of the journey to Adelaide I spared myself part of the Mawson Trail in order to get round the locked gates. Even the stretch on the main road was beautiful, winding through a gorge and cliffs with very little traffic.
Before Adelaide the Mawson Trail meets the road again before merging into the Riverpark bicycle lane which leads directly to Adelaide on the Torrens River. Actually it’s really beautiful but after the last days in the mountains it seemed rather boring as I missed the challenge of the dirt tracks.
After the loneliness on the Mawson Trail with only small villages on the route, my arrival in Adelaide was quite a shock to me. There were simply too many people suddenly all around me. I was really happy when, having quickly found spare spokes in a bicycle shop, I was able to ride straight out of the town, up towards the south and the mountains. The view over the ever-expanding city was superb and I could breath again. In Blackwood with Helen, Robert and their 3 dogs I was able to re-charge my batteries in the fresh air and countryside where there were no crowds
Here I spent 2 lazy days, eating well and enjoying myself. On the last evening I was invited to the restaurant on Mount Lofti; a really luxury. Accompanied by the most wonderful view over the town, we had a delicious meal. Sometimes I ask myself how I came to deserve all this! Hopefully I can return the favour sometime. Many thanks to Helen and Rob as this break with good conversation, food and wine really did me good.
