With long seemingly endless roads taking me to the horizon, and similar visual cues my mind wanders and escapes on its own journey. I see the long green grass and think back to rides previous. My first “epic” was as a 5 year old riding beyond the fence line of my house to the end of the street, never out of eyesight of my Dad. There was no path. Just a bumpy unpaved sidewalk with unruly lush grass. On returning from my triumphant ride I immediately asked my Dad when I could go again, and could I go a little further next time.
The afternoon stretch grew hotter and hotter as I grew more tired and dehydrated. To my right the Victorian Alps loomed in the distance. The modest hills would be tomorrow’s challenge.
I rolled into the supermarket in Wangaratta as the sun began to fall low in the sky. On checkout I asked if there was a pub in town. Judging by the expression on the attendants face I rephrased the question, “Is there a pub in town with accommodation?” Sure enough there was, and the sign out front indicated it was motorbike friendly. I began the unwind process for the day. Pull off my damp and sweat stained kit. Shower and wash kit. Dry clothing over the heater in the room, drink two bidons of water, scoff a bag full of sweets, repair the three punctured tubes from the days previous, charge my phone and GPS, walk downstairs to the pub and order nearly everything on the menu. All performed at a lethargic pace. Eat, sleep, repeat.