Number 1283. It’s not really all that exciting or memorable. Apparently, it’s a Virgin Australia Flight Number from Sydney to Hamilton Island, and a form you’ll need to submit to the Department of Home Affairs if you’re applying for a Training Visa, or a Temporary Activity Visa.
And as Will Levy from goodnessgravel informed me, it’s also the year, “Mongol forces invade(d) the Khmer Empire (modern Cambodia). King Jayavarman VIII decides to pay tribute rather than fight the invasion, buying peace and preserving the empire.”
Why are we talking about this seemingly random number? goodnessgravel assigns a number for life to every person who signs up. For me, 1283 is my number.
Headed to its northernmost stop in Glen Innes, I packed up the Flowmobile to see what goodnessgravel was all about.
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Undercooked and totally unprepared
Sitting a smidge over 1,000m above sea level, Glen Innes is about 4.5 hours from Flow’s Gold Coast HQ and about eight hours on the road from Sydney. It’s a lovely little country town, this time of year the trees that line the streets are vibrant with colour as they change for autumn.
While it’s not a race and there’s no running clock, the long 125km course sees 1700m of climbing (there’s also a 75km and 35km version that runs on the same day). It’s not the longest, hardest event out there, but it’s not exactly a walk in the park, either. Since my son was born two years ago, I can count on two hands the number of times I’ve ridden more than 100km—because #dadlife.
With that in mind, I was expecting a challenge, but so long as I didn’t chase on with the fast group and kept my intake of sugar-packed sweets up the whole day, I thought I could carb my way through. I mean, who doesn’t love an excuse to eat candy and doughnuts all morning?
This was the third edition of goodnessgravel Glen Innes, and over 230 riders registered for the gravel fondo. Levy tells us that about a third of that were women, and there were 100 riders from Queensland, one from Victoria, two from Western Australia, and the rest from NSW.
Only a few minutes after rolling out of the Showground — including the obligatory lap around the pony arena — we hit the first section of gravel. The world around us was shrouded in a thick fog. It was spooky cruising through unknown countryside with the road ahead shrouded under an impenetrable fog.
Cows and a farm truck seemingly materialised out of thin air on either side of the road as we pedalled on, and stronger riders would vanish into the great white abyss as they pushed more watts than I was willing to at this early stage in the day.
The beauty of goodnessgravel is that you find your people. With undulating terrain, the groups sort of self-seed, and you end up among the folks who are riding at your pace, whether you’re in the first hour or the fifth.
While the majority of riders — 200 in total — tackled the event on gravel bikes, there were 25 mountain bikes entered across the three distances and nine e-Gravel bikes, which Levy says is more than they’ve ever had.
“There were a few that did the 75km, but quite a few of the e-Gravel bikes did the 35km loop. Generally, their partner was off doing the bigger loop, and they came along to ride it on their e-Bike. It just becomes so much more inclusive when you have that option,” he says.
Party mix and the climb up Mount Mitchell
There are about 7g of carbs in one piece of Party Mix — obviously varying slightly based whether you choose a milk bottle or a snake. Most people can process between 60-90g of carbs per hour without getting any gut distress, so I knew this was the fuel target needed to keep my little underpowered lawnmower engine running. The drink mix I had in my bottles provided about 30g of carbohydrates. But with the temperature hovering in the low 20s, taking on too much drink mix would mean a lot of time spent looking for trees to water.
So I was going to need 6-8 lollies an hour, plus drink mix and anything else I could get down — we had a plan. This wasn’t an exacting nutrition plan, but it’s also not a race either. This was about making sure I didn’t bonk — a fate worse than death.
Mount Mitchell Road was the biggest climb of the day with extended sections over 12%. Fortunately, it came in the first 30km and was backed by an aid station with water, bananas, and drink mix. By the time we got here, I’d already put down a set of teeth, three frogs, a snake what I think was supposed to be a gummy strawberry and a third of a bottle.
The route for the day would traverse Ngarabal country, and their name for the area around Glen Innes is Gindaaydjin, meaning “plenty of big round stones on clear plains.” Rolling through open farmland, trees were sparse, but massive slabs of granite were plentiful. It’s not hard to see why the Traditional Owners named it such.
Meet goodnessDave
After the aid station you’re on a section of gravel that was officially named Mt. Slow Road, but it was anything but. The surface was sandy over hardpack, and it was fast, twisty, bendy, and grippy. I felt like a f**** hero and was flying along, ripping through corners. Gravel magic in the truest sense of the word.
This is where I linked up with Dave.
I caught Dave on the way down to the lowest point of the course. He lives in Freshwater on Sydney’s Northern Beaches and works in commercial real estate. Over the next few hours we tapped out the kilometres, and became fast friends along the outer reaches of the course — even though I didn’t actually learn his name until the aid station at 79km. We chatted kids, bikes, the Reserve Bank and everything in between.
The sun was shining, the scenery was beautiful, this was quite an adventure.
Rolling into the final aid station at 79km, I’d stuck to my plan to keep the carbs coming — mixing it up with a Clifbar, worth 40g of carbs and a banana, worth~25g of carbs. There was some fatigue, but all in all, I was feeling pretty good.
This aid station was fully stocked with water, drink mix, fruit, race nutrition, and a load of happy volunteers from the Westpac Rescue Helicopter crew. There was supposed to be live music, but unfortunately, a blown amp stymied the tunes. But not to fear, for there were cinnamon doughnuts.
If you have not already worked out, I am a child inside and love a good, sweet treat. So, of course, I was going to have a doughnut.
There was now a breath of wind on the course — or perhaps we’d been riding thus far with a tailwind, who can say — and it appeared we’d be pushing into it head-on for the remainder of the day.
Leaving the sugary oasis at the Red Range Community Hall, there was a pair of riders with about a 30-40-second gap up the road. Feeling the breeze coming straight towards Dave and I, we pushed on to catch the pair. The plan was to sit in for a bit and then carry on as a quartet so that if the wind picks up more, as the saying goes, more hands make light work.
While it was delicious, the doughnut was not sitting so well when we caught them. When the next gravel sector got a bit rough, our foursome became just a twosome, and Dave and I pushed onward.
Implosion imminent
As the kilometers wore on, I struggled to keep pace with Dave. The rubber band broke on a tarmac climb somewhere around the 100km mark. I kept churning and played leapfrog with a fellow who I’d chatted briefly with at the pub the night prior — I would later learn he was the publisher of Cyclingnews.com in its early days, a publication that I contributed to for years, and played a significant role in where I am today.
Over the last 30 km or so, the course dipped and weaved through sections of gravel, traversing its way back to the Showground.
I eventually caught up to Dave. I saw him walking up a hill, gingerly attempting to jump back on his bike at the top.
“Cramps,” he winced as I pedalled up.
I offered him a gel and waited for him, but he sent me on my way. A few minutes later, the gel clearly kicked in as he came rumbling past. A new man, albeit short-lived, as those rogue fibres in Dave’s hamstring weren’t quite finished with him yet.
I waited for Dave this time; we were in this together. We crested the final climb side by side and it was all downhill from there — literally.
Finish with a beer, a chocolate and a sausage
Bell ringing, live music playing, another lap around the area at the Glen Innes Showground and that was it. Challenge complete, Heaps Normal, Lindt ball and a Sausage with extra onion in hand, finisher pin in my number plate — pull me off the BBQ because I am well cooked.
I knew goodnessgravel was going to be a challenge based on my preparation, but I’ll absolutely be back next year. It was an adventure of the best kind — the scenery was spectacular, and so was the route. It was a test, but squarely in the arena of type 2 fun—never dipping into the, these-corrugations-are-so-big-I’m-going-to-nose-dive-over-the-handlebars, type 3 fun.
The event has also built a fantastic community of riders who keep coming back. Levy tells us 15 folks have done all three editions of the Glen Innes, and rider number nine — remember, you get your number for life — was among the crowd.
My last-minute decision to sign up for goodnessgravel Glen Innes also meant that I was flying solo, but I never felt alone. From other riders who also camped at the Showground stopping by for a chat and a beer to everyone out on course joking around, and the super friendly volunteers, Levy and his crew are onto something special with goodnessgravel.
The next goodnessgravel event heads for Mogo on 20 July 2024.
Photos: Outer Image Collective, Joshua Waugh, Flow MTB