After a surprisingly good sleep on the sagging MDF floor of the Trottage, I was up bright and early on Saturday morning. I'd been tasked with leading the group from Golembil to Builyan and back, then up through the tunnels to Barimoon and back down.
My mental picture was of a group of say 15-20 riders, so it was a hell of a shock to look out at a sea of lycra, somewhere around 70 people
Well I had a hi-vis vest, an EPIRB, and a sat phone, and two other vollies to ride on the tail, so after giving the crowd a quick briefing I set off down the trail.
With the trail surface just a little slippery in some low spots, and a couple of gates and deep (but dry) creek crossings in the first couple of kilometres, we were soon strung out quite a bit. After a stop at the Many Peaks station area to point out the water tank and turntable, then another pause at Deception Creek where a timber trestle bridge was buried to form an embankment, we rolled past the Trottage and up to Creative Ground Art Cafe (formerly Kirsten's Cottage).
I stopped in that afternoon and a somewhat shell shocked Natasha (the new owner) told me they had made 75 coffees in just over an hour!
We had been at the shop for quite some time without seeing the tail riders come through, and I was getting a bit concerned, not least as the first riders to arrive were by now ready to get moving again. Eventually they rolled up, delayed by sorting out a broken chain and assisting quite a few riders who were confused by insufficient signage at road intersections and got lost. We decided to split into two groups, and I would lead the first group back. I was held up a little getting away, and after stopping to clear some grass wrapped around my cassette I had a TT effort on my hands to chase down the electric assisted riders up ahead. For several miles I churned the pedals as best I could, feeling stronger than I had in a long time. I finally caught them a few kms from Golembil, and lead the group at a more sedate pace into camp.
Where there was a flurry of activity, as a rider in one of the other groups had been unlucky enough to suffer a broken leg through a fairly minor tumble, and was awaiting the arrival of the RACQ rescue chopper. In a rush I updated the organisers on where things were at with my group, refilled my water bottles, got all the riders who wanted to continue up the range through camp to the Glassford Creek bridge, did a quick sweep and then set off to be out of the way.
I'm happy to report the rider in question is expected to make a full recovery having had surgery the following day.
Now in all the hullabaloo, the one thing I didn't remember to do at Golembil was EAT. I remembered a kilometre or so up the track, but the first part of the ride was only 32km, and the remainder a mere 22kms.
Well I hadn't ridden up the range before, only down, and it's one heck of a climb, especially when everyone around you is on bionycles. I thought I was just a bit tired and rolling around tolerably well, but a kindly bloke from Townsville named Greg soon insisted on feeding me a handful of lollies. Within just seconds I could feel my head literally lifting, and with a bit of pacing and encouragement I was back into a useful condition.
Once we were back within reach of Golembil and Greg could be honest rather than encouraging, he said it was about the worst case of bonk he'd seen. "I was watching you for a couple of k and I could see you just getting slower and slower, and your head drooping lower and lower to your bars". I'm more than a little annoyed I didn't realise it myself (it's not as though I haven't experienced it before!) but there was a LOT going on that day, and I'm only human. I inhaled as much food and water as I could and had a fantastic hot shower to get myself ready for another evening of kitchen duties.
The drama for the day wasn't over, as the dedicated first aid officer in camp suffered a heart attack in the afternoon!
Luckily there were several nurses and doctors participating in the ride who came to the rescue, and after a short stay in hospital the word came through several days after the event that he had made a full recovery.
Saturday night was a lot easier though, as the beautiful roast veg and beef or chicken meals had been pre cooked at Golden Chicken in Gladstone and driven the 110km out to Golembil in foil trays packed in polystyrene boxes, so all we had to do was hand them out.
I took the opportunity to get in front of the microphone to thank the riders for their understanding and patience with the delays in the morning, thank the other volunteers for their efforts, and most of all, thank Greg for dragging me up and down the mountains
I had been hoping for an opportunity to do some astrophotography over the Glassford copper smelter chimney while there were a large number of other people around to deter attacks from yowies or god only knows what else might be lurking up there, but by this point the weather was starting to close in. On the plus side the light rain reflected the camp floodlights providing a great background from the main Gladstone-Monto Road.
As I was setting up my tripod a passing police car and an ambulance came to a screeching halt to work out what the lunatic was doing on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere, at night, in the rain
Back to the Trottage for sleep, there was still another big day ahead.
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