More notes from Down Unda, this time on a couple of rides last week (Feb. 12-16):
I made a couple of rides into the SW sector of the Gold Coast, each in the 75-80 km range. My route took me south towards the NSW border, and then inland through peri-urban countryside to Currumbin Creek. This is one of several small rivers which tumble eastwards towards the sea from the hills of the hinterland of the coast.
On my first ride, I made my first real climb in months, up the first grade of the Tomewin Mountain road, which ascends the outer slops of the caldera on the road to Murwillumbah. The climb is a short one, only a kilometre or so, just the first part of the 9-km stretch up to the ridge and then along to the NSW border. But, it is a tough one, a reminder that I still have some way to go in revering cycling fitness, and a reminder that averages can be cruel. Photo #12 below signals a mere 800 metres, at a manageable 14%, the background of green and gold showing the forest awash with mid-morning light. BUT. What the sign doesn’t show is that the first 400 metres, the bit beginning just after you’ve dodged a big and dangerous pot-hole shrouded in shadow which robbed you of any momentum at the start of the climb, is about 16-17%. Then, there’s a gentle stretch to let you catch your breath, before the final 300 metres or so, a genuinely more manageable 12-13%. Still, I was knackered at the top, enjoyed a rest and a snack, and decided to leave the ride along the ridge to the border for another time.
Just to complicate things, the descent can be perilous: A cyclist I met last year told me of a riding buddy who was nearing the bottom of this hill when a wild turkey flew out of the underbrush at head height, and knocked him off his bike. A year later, his recovery was not complete. I squeezed my brakes now and then to keep my speed down, not least because there’s also a T-junction stop right at the bottom of the last steep pitch.
I had left my departure on this ride a bit too late—early-morning grand-dad school delivery for the little ones—and my return leg was accordingly later, sunnier, and hotter than comfortable. Still re-learning how to manage all this stuff, I resolved to revisit the Currumbin road again, starting earlier and making some rock pools further upstream my turnaround point.
Along the roadside, there are no signs advising caution against rampant turkeys, but the fire danger warnings are blunt – see photo #13 below. On the day I made my ride, the needle, happily, was in the low-moderate band, the product of an overnight downpour. “Negligible” doesn’t exist, as you’ll see. “Catastrophic” is a sign of our changing climate—or at least, the gradual spread of settlement into forests. (More on that below.)
What’s beyond “Catastrophic”, I wonder? “Apocalyptic”? That might be in order, because last March, the region just over the caldera, towards Murwillumbah, had 400 mm of rain in less than 24 hours. The Queensland side of the ridge received a bit less, but the road towards the rock pools had to be substantially rebuilt nonetheless. With fire and flood already registered, the Coast is halfway to a full stable of the Horsemen of the Apocalypse. I'll be happy if the others don't show up.
The Currumbin Creek Road twists through forest and pastureland, shade alternating with sunshine, cattle grazing alongside, and as I ride west, the steep sides of the valley rise towards the south and the northwest. At this time of year, the vegetation is lush enough, but modest weathered farmhouses suggest that this is no easy place to make a living. (See photo #14 below.) Downstream, a few farms have been converted to horse pastures and stables, perhaps a better bet than dairy or beef cattle.
As I ride towards the pools for my mid-morning dip, I see that one old farm has been sold for high-end peri-urban “development”: “Premium Large Estate Lots” proclaims the sign. “Premium” is code for “very expensive”, and the first new driveways have been laid down. My guess is that the first big houses will appear shortly, and that the usual complement of high-end German sedans and SUVs will follow thereafter. This is a well-marked cycling route, so I’m hopeful that the drivers will be courteous. When I see farmland taken out of production to be replaced by ‘burbs, I’m reminded on Colin Fletcher’s retort to the old chestnut, “You can’t stop progress.” He said, “Maybe not, but you can redefine it.”
Happily, the pools' appearance cut short my grumbling, which was beginning to nudge towards existential despair. I enjoyed my brief dip, having most of the pool to myself. The water level was a bit lower, however, than on my earlier visits with our son and his family. They’re a local swimming hole, and across the road there’s a modest art gallery serving coffee and ice cream. For a visiting cyclist, it’s all quite delightful, not least because of the shade available. (See #15 below.)
One of the delights of these rides is the mix of names a rider sees and hears. I reach Currumbin Creek via the Tallebudgera Creek connector road—“Tally Creek”, in ‘Strayan—and the Tomewin Road in turn will take me to Murwillumbah in due course. Further north is Mudgeeraba. These are drawn from indigenous names, and after some practice are now beginning to roll off the tongue. One word I had heard before, however, was photo #13 below. “Piggabeen” can be heard around Christmas or Thanksgiving, commonly from someone flat on their back a couch, and it usually follows a deep and rueful groan, as in “Ohhhhh watta piggabeen!”
The road back north to Southport cuts through some older ‘burbs in the southern sector of the Coast, where gardens have been planted to threes and shrubs like jacarandas and frangipani. I stopped for a snack beside some of these, which left me all homesick for southern Africa. (Photo #16 below).
Reports to follow later from Tomewin Mountain road, with (I hope) photos of organic farms in the higher country, and bamboo groves higher still.
