The 4 hot meals of the apocalypse/Burra Explorer 300

If you were in an area of spectacular beauty and wanted to woo your parishioners back indoors every Sunday, how would you do it?

The people and priests of Points Pass pondered possibilities, and out of that process came this church.

Its got a golden hat!

Genius.

You barely even notice the rest of the magnificence.

Today was a rare 300 that I'd never really explored: some of the roads I knew of from grueling 600s; and had a set of particularly bad associations with.

But I had to find out: what was at the end of the world?

I had considered riding to the start, and set alarms accordling; but quickly moaned my way back to sleep; then in a fit of panic organisation, leapt into riding clothes for the drive. In my rush, I couldn't find matching gloves; so simply picked three and figured statistically, I'd probably have a pair. If not... oh well, I've been cold before.

It was projected to never get above 12C and had lows of 3C in Burra. You need gloves, you idiot

... was what popped into my head as I reached Gawler. Luckily, I found one yellow left hand, one blue right hand glove in the pile. Whew.

Determined not to make the mistakes of previous rides, I grabbed greasy McDonalds breakfast, figuring their orange juice was more sugar than fruit, forced myself to go to the bathroom (anyone who has ridden for 100km between restrooms will understand why this is an important and necessary detail, I assure you), and sat down at the start nearly half an hour early to chat with PBP machine, Matt Rawnsley.

If you haven't heard the name; think one of the fastest Australian PBP riders multiple times over.

I tried asking for advice, but he's never ridden one in the 90h limit I was aiming at, simply not having a good concept of what to do with the left over 40h he would have.

I was the only 300 rider, with Tom C from NSW doing a 200 on his much loved steel beast.

We set off, and I opted to be social; especially not wanting to blow myself up early on remembering the long slog of an Opperman past.

We talked for miles, of Whyalla and Port Adelaide, of his painting (he was a little quiet on this front but is an accomplished artist), and despite being a NSWer; he'd memorized the course.

We rolled to Kadina, then to Truro - it's been some times since I did a ride with controls spaced so closely; and despite taking on food I misjudged things.

A banana and a sandwich at the bakery, topped off water, which I had barely touched but was shedding liberally. Note to self: 3kg of water weight gained by Pale Ale the night before is not the best move for this ride.

From Truro to Eudunda were new roads, and I mentioned that I was keen to up the pace after Eudunda.

I pushed a little up a hill, and lingered a few seconds, Tom keeping a fairly good pace; when suddenly he dropped a chain just as I began to accelerate.

We shouted increasingly louder goodbyes: I'll be fine, enjoy your ride, it was nice to meet you!

... And I found myself alone. For the first time, I was descending; and despite the headwind my speed leapt to a cruisey 35-40kmh on some stretches.

Before long, Eudunda; which has a mild climb that feels like a nightmare, having only done it on a 600 x2. I waved at my favourite emu; a fenced in fellow who is definitely not a statue, but always hangs out in one spot.

Lambing season must have caused a little upset, with multi coloured sheep abounding - I imagined many awkward lamb questions around who their real dad is.

Having eaten just 30km ago, I blazed through the town - slight downhill encouraging me further.

Points Pass loomed, Tom's turnaround; and I pushed forward.

I stopped to photograph the golden steeple. 

For the past month, I've noticed a worried sciatic nerve sensation. After the Geelong Flyer, my right hand side was numb for some time. A few months ago, my mechanic adjusted my seat straighter: pain from my left knee decreased a lot, but has been replaced by this nag. When out on the CX; which has the gearing of a rusted over motor whenever it gets near a hill; I'd been triggering the sensation, but after a ride at O'Halloran Hill, it went away. At last, it had gotten better. This ride however had brought it back to my awareness, so I was stopped or doing on bike movements to try and hit trigger points. Nothing worked.

I pushed onto Robertstown; found a council bench and tried to alleviate the tightness in my lower back. With a gentle twist and satisfying crick; discomfort ceased almost instantly.

Thank God. In my haste, having found only mismatched gloves, I hadnt repacked ibuprofen.

Stop thinking, keep pedalling.

But it's so pretty.

Stop thinking, more pedalling!!

I mean, just look at this: sheep, sun, a literal canyon, this is a car advert

STOP. THINKING. KEEP. PEDALLING.

I'm at the end of the world.

Stopthinkingkeeppedalling.

How far is this horrible climb I saw on the map? This looks pretty, though I am really hungry.

Oh! I already climbed it!

I rolled into the pub, nearly missing the cyclepath shortcut, and asked if they had any food.

Lingering silence. The two bar staff looked at the menu, looked at the clock, looked at me.

Nope.

Ah. Lemonade and beer then I guess?

From Truro to Burra is just shy of 100km. I had some food on bike, but it was maintaining my fuel levels poorly. I faced another 100km back. FFFFFaaar out.

I sat for 45 minutes in the control, trying to push in sugar to my legs. The temp had dropped. I was shivvering, indoors. 10C is what Google reckoned it was, in full sunlight.

The little descent into Burra was going to be a climb, the long rolling downhill on the way transformed to slow grinding uphill, nibbling a little speed off here and there; like a hungry wolf pack trying to bring down a fat, succulent elk.

Eventually, I left. The liquids I took on gave me enough sugar to move, but also added excess weight.

I tried not to think about it.

I slowed and stopped for far too many photos

I admired scenery, not for its inherent beauty so much as it was possible to stop riding to look at it.

I wallowed in despair as I realised the wind had reversed direction, a headwind again.

Part of me wondered what happened. What had I done? Was it the jokes I made about Lutherans to myself about the golden topped church?

I looked for a sign of hope; but only found rolling floodways that were frankly struggling themselves.

On I plodded, the way back harder than the way out, the promise of Eudunda and salvation in my mind.

The sun set. I was given my sign.

If a VW Beetle can fly into the sunset, finishing this ride was no longer the least probable thing I'd bear witness to today.

I rugged up with my one final layer - it wasn't enough - and kept grinding. Robertstown again, ignore the warm and savour of the pub. Point Pass. KEEP going.

A flatbed semi trailer doesn't give me enough room - everyone else has given me a whole lane. I swear at him.

I keep watch for more cars, turning around to head check - and running off the road for a second as I drifted too far left. A sickening moment, some cursing, and finally I wrested control of the wild carbon beast back, narrowly avoiding disaster from my front wheel sliding out. I took the very middle of the road from then on in a fit of caution.

At last! A 80/60kmh sign! Eudunda and food! Sadly though, the distance is too short, I couldn't see the lights - it was simply a false prophecy writ in road signs.

Occasionally, a car would appear far off and above me, cruelly highlighting a mild climb to come.

Finally, Eudunda. I stopped at the Eudunda Club and ordered a hot meal, sat infront of a bar heater.

It was the best chicken parmigiana I have had in my life.

Reluctantly, I set back out again. 30km passed.

Eventually, I crested something that seemed familiar. It was where Tom dropped his chain.

I rolled gratefully down to Truro, decided it was probably all shut by now; and signed my own card.

I turned towards Nurioopta, where things were at last all down hill. My map wanted to take me a variety of extra ways.

I vaulted this on a disused road that had a closure on it for cars.

Climbed a hill extra, having missed the precise turn onto Stockport Road.

I listened to my audio book (Perdido Street Station), as the narrator spoke of eldritch horrors, mind devouring moths hunting the protagonist, the succor of a filthy city simmering in its own rank sewage and steampunk setting; of a giant world weaving spider obsessed with scissors; who would eviscerate someone to make a point in his inscrutable dream poetry fashioned dialect.

Needless to say, alone, cold and in the dark is not the time for such things.

The roll down Stockport Road was great, I would have preferred the highway; but I arrived in a part of Nurioopta I didn't recognise. At last, another bathroom!

A much needed break; I thought about the difficulty climbing I'd had and the advice to pack toilet paper on the PBP.

I self signed, got on the bike and... immediately ride past the OTR that was a beacon of warmth, hope, and food.

Doh! No time. KEEP going.

Tanunda flew past.

Why am I stopping at every church for a photo?!

I was back from the end of the world, I needed to get to the end of the ride.

Lyndoch. A turn towards Gawler I had only ever done once.

Uphill. Downhill. Uphill. Light low battery. Legs lower battery. Some faffing about. Accidentally switching off both front lights at once while going down hill for a second.

No moon.

Pitch darkness.

Buttons buttons buttons buttons where are the buttons oh- click: brightness again. Whew.

Finally, Gawler. I passed the spot that Mikhail and Steve had crashed at the start of a 400; flew downhill, through the deserted streets and past the thump of 80s Australian metal, some cover band having drawn in every local.

I finished at 11:45pm. This was a far cry from the 400 a month or two back.

It mirrors my lower speeds for the 200 I recently did.

And it means, frighteningly, day 1 of the PBP is going to be hell if there is headwind. Good thing I've trained for this, right?

Projections show my "surprise myself into things plan" should enable me to cycle forever, right?!

I can walk again today, so that's good.