The Delicate Sound of Thunder

Words by Scott Mattern, photos by Ready Aim Media

I’m in a remote wilderness area on my bike, and it’s oppressively hot and humid after the recent heavy rains in the region. The effort of cycling the last 70 kilometres has already led to my finishing of what I thought would be ample water to cover the whole segment. I have one final 10-kilometre climb with 600 metres of vertical before I reach the Klite Feedzone and can refill my bottles. Welcome to Thunderbolts Adventure, Type 2 fun at its best.

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In a way, a developing thunderstorm is akin to how a cycling adventure develops and takes shape. It can be felt as much as it can be seen. A brewing storm has distinct physical characteristics that generally manifest as a frenzied and often violent disturbance once Mother Nature unleashes her fury.

Not every trip can be called an adventure, just as not every rain cloud can be called a storm. In the same way that a collection of rain clouds form to make a thunderstorm, so an overnight bikepacking adventure is generally a series of small segments that combine to deliver a memorable and sometimes unexpected experience.

It could be a sudden variation from the planned route, a mechanical failure requiring some innovative repairs to continue, or the formation of a new friendship that will be the genesis of a story to be retold and hopefully, in time, laughed about. As an experienced adventurer once related to me, “A trip only gets interesting once something unexpected happens. It is how you deal with that adversity that defines the adventure and your character.”

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Cumulus

Warm air begins to rise. This warm air carrying moisture as it rises will begin to cool as it ascends, and with that the moisture will condense forming cumulonimbus clouds. Every thunderstorm begins with building of clouds, just as every adventure begins with an idea. Thunderbolts is an adventure ride built by Graveleur, a cycling community that is drawn together by one collective aim: backroad exploration.

The Thunderbolts is a route between Gloucester and Moonan Flats though a region known as the Barrington Tops in New South Wales, Australia. Like all good Australian stories, this one starts with bushrangers. Frederick Wordsworth Ward, more commonly known as Capitan Thunderbolt, is cited as the longest roaming bushranger in our colonial history. Ward roamed the same region the route traverses. He gained his nickname during one of his famous robberies. Described by a witness to his crime as “bursting through the door like the sound of a thunderbolt,” the name stuck and added to the rich history bushranger folklore.

The route is as wild as its bushranger history namesake, spanning a total of 250 kilometres with approximately 5,000 metres of elevation over two days. The ride is a tough but enjoyable semi-supported overnighter gravel ride.

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Mature

Updrafts and downdrafts begin to occur as evaporating and cooling of the air takes place below the cloud formation. The intensity and duration of these up and down drafts increase the storm’s intensity as it builds. This is when the storm is potentially at its most violent, striking the earth with the sound of thunder and lightning.

This year’s version of the ride has been preceded by unprecedented rain in the regions of New South Wales and Queensland, with some parts of the states experiencing severe flooding. The rain has left the route green, the gravel roads wet and tacky, and the rivers swollen. It’s a perfect canvas on which to paint an overnight adventure.

Although we’re warned of the potential for cold weather, a distinct possibility for this region, the morning of the ride’s start greets the 250 riders with mild, humid weather. A memorable bike trip is as much the shared community as it is the route, and Thunderbolts is no different. Spirits are high as brief sealed roads give way to the first of the dirt and gravel roads. Small bunches develop, and new friends are formed as the ride commences and rolls through to the beginning of the adventure.

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An adventure is generally a series of small events that combine to deliver a memorable and sometimes unexpected experience. This adventure commenced in the form of swollen rivers and wet, tacky gravel roads. These previously hard and dry gravel roads that rolled quickly now held tightly to tyres. The low river fords, previously rolled through easily with barely a wet sock, are now waded through with bikes shouldered, except a bold or foolish few who plow through in a sock-soaking fashion.

The morning rolling gives way to proper hills as the ride ventures into the backcountry. The heat of the day rises, and the three litres of water loaded at the beginning of the ride begin to evaporate as sweat. The hills rise and rise. The wet gravel road surface slips and slides underneath, and riding gives way at times to pushing. The heat is unrelenting, and I’m down to my last drops of water. There is water everywhere, but given flow through farming country, the potable nature of the water is for filters or iron-clad stomachs. Another 10 kilometres until I can fill up.

In the Barrington Tops, the road veers briefly into bushland and shelter from the heat amongst the towering gums. You can feel the call of bushranger country as the road gently inclines and then declines over the ridge. A pause to take in the valley below points in the direction of the pub.

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The next 40 kilometres of the ride whip by at breakneck speed as we’re tucked into impossibly fast gravel road ramps and kitty litter corners with the odd wash away, potholes to launch to the bottom of the valley, and the last of the sunlight of the day. Our weary bodies reach the pub around dusk. It’s time for a hot meal, cold beer, and a night under the stars.

Dissipating

Downdrafts are prominent as a storm dissipates. These drafts eventually cut off the feed of warm, moist air needed by the storm to continue. The thunderstorm weakens and the clouds move from threatening violence to a wispy calm and peace of the post storm.

The next morning is crisp but not cold. We break camp. The morning is cooler than the previous day, and the prospect of climbing back over the Barrington Tops via the same route in reverse is a much less daunting prospect. We warm our bodies back up on the initial ascent out of Moonan Flat. The gravel surface is just as perfect climbing as it was descending the previous evening. The building cloud cover is keeping the ride cooler but not cold. A storm appears to be slowly brewing, but for the moment it’s generating a welcome reprieve from the previous day’s heat.

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The 10-kilometre descent is like a wild, slippery dip with gravity working with you, not against you. It is the type of engagement in a ride that demands presence and no distraction from the task of descending. The gravel road undulates from the bottom of the hill with a general trend downwards. Except for the gentle headwind, the riding is easier than the previous day.

The river fords again require a deliberate wading through knee-high rushing water. However, with a day’s reprieve from the torrential rainfall, the flow is ever so slightly reduced, and we could enjoy the sensation of cold water on our feet without the fear of getting washed down river. The gravel gives way to sealed roads as the start and end point of the ride approaches.

As with the formation of a storm, up must have down. The route has been amazing, hills have been climbed, and rivers have been forded. The heat of the day evaporates as the expected storm rolls in and the first drops of rain begin to fall. The small amount of sealed road is the only thing between us and hot food, cold beer, and shelter. With arrival to the pub, the heavens open and the rain rolls in. Adventure has been had, stories are to be told, new friends have been made, and a sense of contentment derived from exhausted bodies is achieved.

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They say lightning never strikes twice in the same spot, perhaps just as no two adventure rides are ever the same. Perhaps that’s what keeps the people returning every year in ever-increasing numbers, riding to the delicate sound of thunder.

The Route

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