Redemption, Doughnuts And Gravel In The New England Highlands | Colin returns to goodnessgravel Glen Innes

Flow Mountain Bike acknowledges the Traditional Owners of the Glen Innes and the surrounding area, the Ngarabal people. We recognise their connection to lands, waters and communities and pay our respects to Elders past, present and emerging.

Have you ever heard of the QL muscle?

I hadn’t until the day before I was to drive from Flow’s SEQ headquarters on the Gold Coast to Glen Innes for goodnessgravel.

The Quadratus Lumborum connects the pelvis to the lumbar spine and your floating rib. Its a key player in side bending, extending the spine and breathing — essential things for riding a bike. My QL muscle had decided to seize during the laborious process of dripping lube onto my chain, prepping my bike for the weekend. A last-minute osteo appointment and a lot of stretching had me able to once again bend at the waist, but definitely not back to 100%.

The most we can do is hope for the best, and it’s not a race anyway, so it was off to the New England Highlands of New South Wales for the fourth edition of goodnessgravel Glen Innes.

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Back in business with better food choices

This was my second year making the pilgrimage from the Goldy down to Glen Innes, and this year I knew what to expect. The course followed a similar route to last year, covering 122.5km and 1658m of climbing. It’s not quite the Dirty Warrny but a decent day out on the bike nonetheless.

Last year, I came in fairly undercooked and tried to eat my way through a ride fuelled by lollies and junk food. That worked until just after the second aid station when my stomach said no more with about 40km from home.

But this year I was back for redemption armed with a secret weapon.

Gels. Have you heard of them?

Formulated with the perfect ratio of glucose to fructose, maybe even a bit of maltodextrin and even some sucrose if you’re feeling a little zesty and a pinch of salt to save off the earth-shattering hammy cramps. It’s almost like they are specifically designed to fuel high-energy endurance output. Imagine that?

With a nutrition plan of a gel every 30 minutes and roughly a bottle an hour that would have me at 70g of carbs per hour — right in the window of being fuelled without risking an upset tum tum. My Wahoo Roam was set up with a twice-hourly reminder to get the message across — now we are cooking with gas….errr….um….carbohydrates.

Returning for my second year, I’d earned a gold number for my number place — 1,283 is my goodnessgravel number for life. When you sign up for goodnessgravel, you’re assigned a number that will follow you for every subsequent event you enter, red for your first one, and gold from there on out — Event Director Will Levy tells me they’re up to rider 1,630 with over 2,150 riders across the 15 events.

Glen de Ronnde

With a population of just over 6,000, Glen Innes is surprisingly high at 1,062m above sea level, and the small rural town is awash in vibrant poplar, oak and elm trees whose leaves are showing that summer has passed. Camping once again at the Glen Innes Showground, when I emerged from my tent the morning of the big show, my back was feeling a little crunchy. After some oatmeal and a regiment of callisthenics I remember from middle school gym class, things started moving again.

After a few folks nearly melted at goodnessgravel Orange, the prospect of a 20ºC day was looking pretty sweet. It was windy, but I also knew that there were shorter course options — 75km and 35km — and Levy always builds these courses so that there is a bail-out option should you have your fill and need to pull the pin.

The wind had been howling all night, and leaving town, some nasty clouds looked ominous on the horizon. I’d picked up Josh Waugh, one of the photographers covering the event — by bike. Last year, he’d ridden the entire 125km course and shot photos, taking nearly six hours! Not so keen for a repeat effort this year, he’d bitten off the 75km route, and was going to put more of a focus on shooting portraits of folks as they rode.

Glen Innes is remote, and when I left Josh at the 75km course turn-off, I found myself in no man’s land between groups. Wide open spaces barely begin to describe the scenery, and beyond a few stands of vibrant poplar trees at the edge of a few properties as windbreaks, there is nary an ounce of protection. It’s a brutal yet beautiful environment, and I watched the dark clouds lumber closer and, over the rolling hills, saw the flicker of a red tail light.

Target acquired, carrot meet stick, bait set, rile the wagon master — a reprieve, and a draft awaited if I could reel that blinky red light in.

Mounts Slow Road at hyperspeed

The thing about goodnessgravel is you find your people. The fast folks go up the road, the slower folks drop back, and the people in the middle find their way to the middle.

This is where I came across Ash, a Marine Engineer who’d come down from north of Brisbane to ride the event. We were matched well for pace and pushed through the next couple of hours. Ash had spent their formative years crewing superyachts all around the world with some wild stories about how the 1% lives — and being moored next to Vladimir Putin before he became the dictator of Russia.

Waiting at the first aid station are Kerry and Warren. I recognised them from last year, and this was actually their third time manning the Mount Slow Road rider reviver. Their daughter was involved in the Westpac Rescue Helicopters and she got them involved to help. They keep coming back because they enjoy meeting all the folks that come through.

At this stage, I’d eaten two gels as my Wahoo had commanded and barely touched my bottles. Better grab a couple just in case.

The Ngarabal Traditional Owners’ name for the township of Glen Innes is Gindaaydjin, meaning “plenty of big round stones on clear plains”. And here on Mount Slow Road, you begin to see this geology come to life. The speedy sand over hardpack gravel and that second gel hit my bloodstream. A net descent for the next 20km this section is like when Doc’s Delorian hits 88mph — you see some serious shit. And in this case, good shit! The side of the road is peppered with massive slabby boulders, the type that would make you salivate if they were dropped onto the middle of a mountain bike trail. But you’d better not spend too long thinking about that grippy granite, as that corner with loose sand over the top is approaching at 45kph.

Those dark clouds I’d been watching all day had arrived and we were greeted with spitting rain. The wind hasn’t gone anywhere, and depending on your direction, you’d either be doing 40kph and pushing 60 watts or meandering along a 20kph while pushing 400 watts.

Wahoo check: Eat! Okay, as you say, little beeping dictator. We’re onto number five now, or was it six? It didn’t really matter because my stomach was good, and we were feeling strong. The wind was still blowing, and the rain was enough to spot your glasses, but at least I had company.

Dough-nots | Trust the process and finish strong

Red Range is where it all unravelled for me last year. The siren song of fried dough coated in cinnamon sugar proved too strong. And as they say, a minute on the lips leads to being unable to stomach anything else for the next two hours, and a bonk so powerful they would have felt the shockwave all the way in Perth.

I could hear the Red Range aid station before I could see it, and there was a guitarist jamming out to a table full of sugary delights. Don’t even make eye contact with the doughnuts, you know better. Maybe just a little taste? What’s the harm right?

No! Top off those bottles, pound a gel and keep on keeping on.

It’s funny the things you remember the most clearly from events. For me, it’s the parts that hurt, and after my stomach turned last year, this section was seared into my memory. I could pick the exact spot where I started to feel nauseous and then when my power began to drop off. I remember exactly where Dave, the rider I spent most of my day with last year,  dropped me and the spot I found him walking up a hill plagued by cramps a few kilometres later.

But today was not a repeat of last year. Rolling through and feeling strong, even that prick of a QL muscle in my back had stayed quiet for the day. The sun was shining. Instead of getting dropped on the climb at about 100km in, I was the dropper — not on purpose, though. One second, Ash was with me, and the very next, they were gone.

EAT, my Wahoo commanded. I obliged. In case you’re wondering, the hierarchy of SIS GO gel flavours is Lemon & Lime, Orange, Apple, and Tropical; the rest are interchangeable except for Blackcurrant, which is THE worst one. That purple devil should be avoided at all costs, but I had a pocket full of them.

The mind games begin

As the course snakes its way back to town you’re greeted with road signs saying Glen Innes 14 km away, Glen Innes 11km away. Glen Innes 9km away. This starts with about 40km to go, and while it’s nice to know there is a rip cord to pull if you’ve had enough, it’s also a merciless mind game to play with yourself when you know there is still twice as long to go.

There was no point in making it back to the finish with any matches left to burn, so I started to turn the screws a little bit, but that was short-lived after some foot-out-flat-out cornering 10km from the finish.

Cool it big shooter. Let’s not get into a position where you’re picking chip-seal gravel out of your hip at camp tonight. Foot off the gas but don’t get passed. I managed to reel in a few folks on those final gravel sectors, and I rolled into the finish strong — with a bit of cash in the bank, oh well.

Lounging in the sun with a sausage, frothy beer, and Lindt Ball, Mr goodnessgravel himself presented me with the real prize of the day, one of the last cinnamon doughnuts that had come back from the Red Range aid station. Winner!

You can bet I’ll be back next year, and I’m also eyeing off the Parkes and Bulahdelah stops that still remain on the goodnessCalendar. I was faster than last year but still finished with a quarter of a tank of fuel. Next year, let’s cut a bit more time off and roll in just as the engine coughs because you ran out of fuel 20 min ago.

Photos: Josh Waugh / @jumpinanddieagain, Jim Baker / @jimabarkercreative, Paul Neal / paulnealphotos