X-Factor
We are in the middle of a deluge on the east coast of Australia. As I write this, our local creeks are thundering, our tanks are overflowing and flash flooding intermittently causes chaos on the arterials and motorways of the region. It’s very easy to find a reason to stay inside, drinking coffee and playing Nintendo.
Bike time is relegated to the shed, because short hard efforts in the rain, or longer, wetter, fire-road rides with friends seems like a pretty tough day out. It’s difficult to justify a few hours of fun in the singletrack for the havoc it can cause on our trail networks. Kit gets damp, bikes get dirty, bearings seem to always need replacing and it’s a ripe microcosm of heat and moisture for unusual fungus to bloom in your pants. Yuck.
Of course, it hasn’t always been this way. A month or so ago I was in Victoria’s high country, rapidly evacuating before a raging fire front became perilously close to Falls Creek, where I was staying. We had been in the grasp of one of of the toughest droughts in history, with 100% of NSW declared to be in drought, and over 60% of Queensland throughout 2018 and 2019, and this was just the result of a range of climate factors coming together to cause environmental combustion.
Even before firestorms that crippled much of NSW and VIC, riding was similar to being in an oven. The hot, dry climate confused many Brisbanites (we are after all, usually used to the humidity), and the soaring winds meant that at times the sky was brown with smoke haze and dirt. With a series of 40-degree days, riding options were pretty limited.
Sydney’s hazy air quality was reportedly worse than Beijing; international papers showed pictures of the Sydney Harbour, or the little that could be made out amidst the thick smog. Cyclists stopped cycling, wore strange masks, stayed in the gym or just got out there and embraced the potential damage the environment could do to their lungs.
Again we were kept away from the trails, but it wasn’t due to the wet, it was due to catastrophic fire safety warnings and poor air quality. Local trail networks and bushland areas were closed, even the trusty old fireroad loops weren’t open for business. Masses of tinder lined the bush, with many forestry areas unable to hazard reduction burn during cooler months due to increasing extreme conditions making the appropriate burn window smaller and smaller. Every crunchy leaf a reminder that the area is yet to burn, and it will… but when? Each ride sneaking onto the trails felt risky, with baited breath. Would we be caught on the trail? Is it worth the risk? It seemed like a better option to ride the bitumen through the urban areas we all seek to avoid.
Races were cancelled due to excessive temperatures, taking a single water bottle was simply ludicrous, and getting through a ride resulted in being draped over the couch, under the fan for as long as possible.
In these moments it almost seems like there is no perfect time to ride bikes at all.
Or is there?
As mountain bikers, we are adept at adventuring, being curious, finding different ways to do things and experiencing the elements.
Have you ever gone for a ride and just really wished you were at work instead, staring vacantly into the depth of an excel spreadsheet? No? Me either. Even on the worst days: 44 degrees of still, oppressive heat, or four hours trudging around chasing elevation on wet fire roads in monsoon season; there is always something to learn about yourself when you’re out riding the bike. Don’t be stupid, be informed. Sure, if weather is extreme the shed isn’t a bad option, but with mother nature being so moody right now, embracing the elements may be the only thing that allows us to keep riding, because waiting for that perfect day could take a while.