The Great Ocean Road, Victoria

19 January 2018

The coolish south-westerly breeze is immediately evident as I open the car door. Is it always windy in Torquay? Certainly the last number of times I’ve ridden The Great Ocean Road, the breeze has pushed in and up off the sea and up the cliffs to make it just so slightly more challenging. But it is not enough to dampen my enthusiasm for the grandeur of this amazing stretch of coast.

The Great Ocean Road presents a paradox, the rising and falling of the road a metaphor for its many guises, its masks, its tumult and its serenity. This iconic road can be a dark and angry place, unrelentingly harsh. I’ve ridden through hail upon its menacing edges and tried to navigate the outer shoulder of the road through uncompromising wind and icy rain. But the wonder of this coast is that it can also present a pageant of dazzling colours, grand views of a horizon, a blurring of sea and sky and exquisite scenery. Amidst such surroundings, the simple rider on the road can do little to deny its humbling effect.

Kaye and I have driven to Torquay to undertake this, one of my favourite rides – me in the saddle for the 95km-or-so ride to Apollo Bay and Kaye as steadfast support. This, of course means Kaye will be checking out the beach, finding a cafe for lunch, walking the foreshore, stopping at interesting places along the way and, at my entreaty, snapping a few photos of the journey. All in all, not a bad day to be a Support-Vehicle-Driver-Person.

I’m unpacked, changed into gear and having checked and double-checked I’ve considered all the essentials – suncream, earphones in ears, lights, water bottles and dates for energy. And a new addition, a cycling hat, to add some protection for the gaps in both the bike helmet and the hair coverage…

…and I’m off, leaving The Esplanade and the foreshore and turning up into Bell St. The day is really quite magical. It is one of those days where you imagine that anything is possible simply because there is sun on your back, strength in your legs and a brilliant outlook. This day is forecast to rise to about 40°C back home, but the sea breeze in Torquay is managing to sweep in a more pleasant 28°C. I’m smiling, almost giggling. A happy place…

The first part of the ride out of Torquay, along the Surf Coast Highway is uphill. Nice day, nice weather, hills can’t stop me now! Just under 4kms of gradually increasing incline, coupled with the occasional downhill moments. I pass the Bells Beach turn-off and chuckle. I chuckle each time I go past this turn-off because I’m reminded of the rather fascinating and perplexing portrayal of Bells Beach in the 1991 film Point Break, as if no-one will notice… hehe … This was an important film in the imagination of my youth, primarily because of the intriguing presentation of the two key characters, Johnny Utah (Keanu Reeves) and Bodhi (Patrick Swayze). The film seemed to propose that there is very little separating the good guys and the bad. I have since noticed that it was directed by Kathryn Bigelow of Zero Dark Thirty and The Hurt Locker fame and am now prompted to consider that perhaps Point Break, although clearly an action-dominated film, did try to thoughtfully trace some emotional tension within the perceptions of a very closed adrenaline-rush subculture. Bigelow’s characters seem to need to live on the edge, dangerously seeking the next surfing rush and she sets this in engaging psychological and spiritual contexts. Surfers weren’t just hippies that happened upon dangerous, fatalistic situations – in Bigelow’s film there was intent and purpose as an expression of a ‘belief’, a need to seek ultimate fulfillment – that they, incidentally, don’t seem to achieve; the next rush means the subsequent ones need to be exponentially greater still. I wondered if this emotional context and curious psychology was due to the female direction in such a genre. Anyway, the thing that makes me chuckle is the final scene, set in Torquay in the throes of the massive ’50-year Storm’. The setting looks nothing like Bells or a Victorian beach, let alone an Australian one – there are pine trees across a ridge in the background rather than brush and yellow sand. There are some really ‘ordinary’ Australian accents along the way…

I’m back on the highway – mentally, I’ve moved on from the 50-year storm – and, after a few lengthy stretches of about 7 or 8 kilometres, I’m heading into Angelsea. It is a sweeping downhill ride into Anglesea and I drop about 100 metres over the last 5km into this delightful little town. I’m still feeling great; a beautiful day and not too hot – the temperature held in check by the slight breeze coming in off the water. I mentally check off all the places that we’ve stopped at in Anglesea in the past. The coffee shops, the bakeries for focaccias and salad rolls, fish and chips, certain bizarre aspects of the room at the Great Ocean Road Resort,  the river inlet, the curve of the river towards the beach and, of course, Maids Pantry at the Anglesea General Store, where I know I can get a strong Allpress coffee. Good memories sparked by nice places. I round the bend and head up the Surf Club climb – a nice little 600-700 metre 7% climb out of Anglesea. It’s a tough one, I’m traveling at about 13kph, with little room for a bike and cars to share, especially at this speed. But I manage to get up here in under three minutes. At the top, I have to stop because the picture before me is stunning and it begs a photo, this photo:

And then I’m off again, looking out towards the distant Aireys Inlet lighthouse and the Eagle Rock cliffs. The ride to Aireys is a bit downhill and a bit uphill. I hot-foot it along the 8kms cruising up and down between about 35 and 18kph. I do wonder where the ‘hot-foot’ phrase comes from. My, my, we say some interesting things without thinking, don’t we? Who knows, it might be some historical reference to something total unacceptable in today’s culture…and here I am hot-footing…

I lick my lips and taste the salt blowing off the water. Or maybe that’s just sweat…I follow the beach for a while and then the road turns slightly inland. This part of the road has plenty of space on the shoulder and subsequently is great – easier to ride. I draw closer to Urquhart Bluff – I used to work with a lady whose surname was Urquhart and, in my inexperienced youth, I never knew how to pronounce it. So I just called her Marie. Then one day someone said her name, “Oh, do you mean Marie Urquhart [said…Err-Cardt]?” and suddenly, I could say it, although it took some practice – Er-Cut…Err-Cuddt…Err-Car-dt…Yes! Anyway, that’s what I think of when I go past this bluff. Not much to it, but there you go. Up the bluff ready to head down into Aireys Inlet and I pick up my speed. I flash – yes, flash – past the shops at Aireys (I’ve stayed here before and therefore feel I can access the vernacular) and down the hill next to the pub. This is a great slope and I reckon I hit about 60kph downwards towards the Split Point lighthouse turnoff…

…before a sensible thought comes over me and I brake for the snaking curve around the swampy creek crossing – not sure what the name of it is…I’m always traveling a bit quick – and up into Fairhaven.

Fairhaven. Home of the world’s most notable, unconventional, gravity-defying real estate:

Surely the inconvenience of such a living space outweighs the grandeur of the architecture? But it is a staggeringly unusual house, nonetheless. This is Eastern View, the beginning of the cliff rises of the Great Ocean Road.

I come to the memorial arch, consider stopping but don’t want to and, as I pass beneath the wooden construction that marks the more serious couple of climbs, I hope that Kaye takes a photo…(and she does; she takes many!)

I’m away, eager to get onto those cliffs. I pedal hard.

It is along this beautiful stretch of beach road that I encounter the most pernicious, dastardly, opposite-of-road-sharer driver on the Great Ocean Road. As I reach the western end of Eastern View (…which is quite humorous, when you think about it), suddenly a car comes too close. It is not a physical realisation, more a prickly preternatural sense. This briefest of moments, an infinitesimally short blink and I am aware that something has entered my defined physical space. Too close. Time seemingly stops, sound dulls, music distorts and slows, like I’ve ingested kryptonite. And then ‘snap’, almost as if a sharp click of fingers catches time and propels it back into the present. The surge of adrenaline, the pumping of the heart and the practical, the lucidity of mind kicks in – save the cheerleader, save the world! This happens in a split second; I grip the bike, gloved hands steadying the mechanical in an attempt to override the mental. Too close. Deep breaths. I am a believer in the understanding of well-used universal symbols and, in order to send a message, I chance taking one hand off the handlebar. I opt for the International Symbol for ‘Driving-Too Close-To-A-Cyclist’, which is a frustrated backwards wave of the hand and a little squeaky-like ‘yelp’ followed by a stern ‘HEY!’ of annoyance, uttered with knitted eyebrows for clear emphasis. Both hands are back on the bar, but I’m left wobble-riding in the patchy gravel and grass on the road’s edge. I brake, hold on and, like the weakened hero rising, surging up and through the cloud of depleted energy reserves, I scramble my way back onto the evenness of the white line. The only thing I notice is the white car and the first part of the number plate – 1IJ. Sadly, this driver doesn’t seem to understand universal symbolism and continues on their merry way. A truck passes, gives a sympathetic wave – we are consolidated in our understanding of the universe and its symbols – and, like my beating heart, everything starts to settle back into a harmonious rhythm. I’m prepared, after a few minutes to give the benefit of the doubt – I did grow up on cricket, after all, and when in doubt, it’s ‘not out’. Maybe the driver didn’t see me or maybe the driver just doesn’t care – I don’t know which is worse. With some deep breaths, I compose myself and prepare for Big Hill.

There’s a kilometre or so climb up and off Eastern View before the road twists slightly inland. This climb is briefly at 12%, so I give it a good burst of speed initially before it catches me and I sit back into a slower rhythm. There are some kids sitting up on this bluff and I give a wave. But they don’t wave back; funny, I thought kids waved at anything… This is known as the Great Ocean Road Climb – I’m not sure exactly why this is because there are multiple climbs along the road that could all classify. But, I suppose one might have gotten in first. At the top, I head downwards ever so slightly before beginning the shortish (a kilometre and a half) Little Hill climb. I like this climb; there is some lovely bush, it’s a nice windy road with a great hairpin bend and it just keeps going up. I reach Cinema Point and have always been curious about this spot and what is here, so I stop and take a photo:

Apart from knowing that this is Cinema Point and that I’m currently 95m above sea level, there is little else to see. I wondered if, when it was named and had a decent sign added, there was a vast vista of the Eastern View and the downward outlook. Now, it is trees. Which is not a bad thing; it is just a view of the the trees, that’s all. Onward. Upward!

I reach the top and pick up the pace on the flatter plateau. The road comes back to the ocean now and the views of this fabulous day are magnificent.

I continue on and reach the downhill section towards Big Hill and the information/memorial plaque that tells of the multitude of shipwrecks along this rugged coast.

This is a fast downward part of the road and as I flash past the plaque, I look to the space for cars to park to take a photo. I note a white car, driver out of the car, arms out and upwards in photo-taking pose. It is 1IJ! Oh, no! I realise two things at this point. One; I should stop and say something, demand my place on the road, point out the injustice that has befallen riders for years at the hands of the likes of 1IJ. And two; that 1IJ will now be behind me! Horror of horrors. I consider slamming on brakes, but it is past that point. I consider yelling about sharing, driving and universal symbols as I flash past, but that might be weird. So, I just glance at the driver. He gives me a friendly nod! The nod doesn’t look conceited or smug. Compelled by niceness, manners and perhaps an inability to have a confrontation with a non-roadsharer, I nod back.

Darn it! Ingrained, deep-seated congeniality! Got me again!

I ride down, pick up speed, am back next to the water and, before I know it, I’m into Lorne.

I like Lorne. Despite its pretentiousness, there’s cool stuff, like a suspension bridge and the ‘Lornedromat’. I ride the main street and turn down towards the Surf Life Saving Club.

At this point, I’m pretty sure that 1IJ will go past and I need to see where Kaye is up to. So, after fighting for space with some kids next to the shower/drink tap, I fill my water and text Kaye. She is still in Torquay, enjoying her walk and grilled fish! It is such a nice day that I’m more than happy to keep on going. So it’s a change of playlist, back on the bike, up the car park ramp and back on the Great Ocean Road to Apollo Bay.

The road winds around and drops to meet the St George River – a beautiful little spot as the river snakes its way around and out to the ocean and watchers at Teddys Lookout oversee my progress. This is a harder part of the road to ride – the edges are a bit narrower and the cliffs and hills a bit steeper. It is as I’m rising up, up and away from the river crossing that I’m once again confronted by 1IJ. I’ve plenty of space – the shoulder is wider in this spot and I’ve just passed the car park – but, yet again, there’s a sense of ‘dude…you’re too close’! Exasperatedly I raise my hand in what is ostensibly a futile gesture and I think I speak – a hoarse “give me a break” escapes. The driver, seemingly oblivious, waves. I don’t wave back, just shake my head. Benefit of the doubt, Paul, benefit of the doubt. At least – fingers crossed – 1IJ stays in front of me now. I head up toward the aptly named Mount Defiance.

Lorne to Wye River, Wye River to Kennet River, Kennet River to Skenes Creek. This coastal road is amazing today as each small checkpoint flashes by. I grind uneventfully up the spectacular cliffs and race down the faster, winding descents, marching up to the top of the hill and marching down again.

I meet some roadworks.

The signs are in Chinese – very clever, inputting Chinese characters into a mobile roadwork sign, I think. Then, I reconsider – probably no different to English characters. I stop at the red, there aren’t any oncoming cars as I wend my way up the side of the cars to the front. Odd, I consider, that on such a road, we wait for a signal that does not know if it is stopping anything. But I’m off again, holding up two or so cars behind me as I try to not hold up two or so cars and add a spurt of speed.

Leaving the roadworks, I press on and before I know it Kaye has caught up with me. A gentle toot of the horn, a wave (plenty of space as she passes, 1IJ!) and I know she’ll pull in at the next stop to say a quick hello. I speed up.

The weather is closing in, like my level of energy. It is still warm but this breeze has turned cool. Clouds overtake the sunshine and the sparkling of the sea gives way to some white caps. I see Kaye up ahead – she’s taking photos, these photos. Thanks for that, Kaye! She smiles, asks how I’m going, we briefly chat about cars that pass too close and she gives me some cool water. It’s not far now to Apollo Bay, so it is not long before I’m back riding again – only the briefest of stops is needed at this point.

The final 5kms into Apollo Bay takes me about 12 minutes. The cliffs are a bit tougher after 80kms and I’m pushing into a building breeze – stepping up from a breeze, perhaps, to a headwind. But before I know it, I’ve dropped to sea-level, and am racing the last bends and stretches towards the town. And then I’m into Apollo Bay. I’ve made it again!

I pass the Information Center and ride past the start of the Great Ocean Road Walk track. Then I’m heading up the main street. I check my phone, do a u-turn and head back towards our accommodation. Kaye’s already there and unpacked! I feel pretty good and have retained that sense of a ‘happy-place’ that I began a few hours earlier.

I’ve covered the 92km in 3 hrs 42 minutes, averaging 24.8kph. I’ve ascended 1032m – not too bad considering the highest point along this road is about 122m above sea level. The profile is amazing and still such an enjoyable ride.

It has been another classic – this has to be one of the best rides, certainly one of my favourites. There are always some eventful times on such a narrow, single-laned, cliff road and there’s some grittiness that is required to continually follow the ups and downs, both the physical and mental rises and falls. And still, I’ll be back again next year! Because I love it!

As always, it is Kaye who meanders, stops along the way, provides the iPhone pics, packs and unpacks gear for me – simply the best cycling support. I’m very grateful and very fortunate – thanks kindly.