A Family Convoy

There was a palpable sense of anticipation as we drew near the gates of the property “Glen Aston”. It was Easter Saturday and we were in the foothills of the Nandewar Range near Narrabri in north-west NSW. The property owner and her son, two of my cousins and their wives from nearby farms and a neighbour had gathered to see off we 21 riders and an additional two support drivers. Our first day’s leg was to Gunnedah, 95 kilometres of pretty, pleasant riding.

We were commemorating a ride my father had done on a Speedwell back- pedal brake model pushbike in 1935. Then 18, he had started from these same gates and ridden 50 kilometres to Boggabri on that first evening, and another 230 kilometres the next day. He spent a second, equally uncomfortable night beside the road at Muswellbrook with just a groundsheet underneath and a blanket on top. So when setting off on the second morning at a bit after 5 am, he resolved to keep going until he got to his parents’ place at Lidcombe. This he did at about 2:30 am, after a final day’s ride of 308 kilometres, 600 kms in all.

Dad rode so that he could attend his grandparents’ 60th wedding anniversary. After he died suddenly last year, at nearly 91 years of age, we resolved to do this ride as a fitting commemoration of his exuberant, energetic life. The three of my siblings and their partners who rode, and my husband and I, are aged between 65 and 50. Our children who rode were aged from 26 to 14. Previous to the idea of a commemorative ride being mooted, only one sister and I, and my husband Roger and our son Marcus rode pushbikes regularly. Once the plans were in place, however, several of the others obtained or borrowed bikes and most began to get in a bit of practice.

The highways were much quieter in 1935 and cars much slower. Terry Threlfall, a family friend, who had organised recreational cycling tours for some years before retirement, had helped us design our 2009 route. We had determined that nowadays there was no safe, pleasant way to ride from the Hunter Valley to Sydney, and so we terminated at Cooranbong after 420 kilometres. We rode on either quiet highway like the Kamilaroi on which we spent our first couple of days, or sealed back roads that led through farmland, vineyards and state parks and past open cut coalmines.

As Tour Director, Terry was adamant that this was not a race and nor was it only for the fit. Participation was the aim, for as many kilometres as people could manage each day. He rode “Tail End Charlie” on a bike with exceptionally low gearing so that no one’s pleasure was ruined by them feeling they needed to hurry. Two of the couples shared one bike per couple with each covering half the daily distance and two of the younger ones hitched a ride in a support vehicle if they felt tired. The couple who catered put out cereal and toast for breakfast and the makings for us to cut our own lunches. They brought most meals from home in a frozen state and supplemented them with fruit and salads. We stayed in caravan parks, either hiring cabins or pitching tents.

Our seven days were a glorious success. We saw kangaroos, a koala, an echidna, rosellas, parrots, galahs, valleys, rivers and hills. The camaraderie, the beauty and the sense of achievement meant that what was planned as a one-off is going to become a regular event.

Patricia Hayward, aged 55, is an enthusiastic road cyclist and suffers from rheumatoid arthritis

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