8 July 2026 – 101 kms – Annuello to Swan Hill
Wamba Wamba, Barapa Barapa, Wadi Wadi, Tati Tati, and Latji Latji Country
It’s the final riding day of the trip. You’d think we could casually pedal down to Swan Hill and enjoy our last day on the road. It will be sunny. There is no threat of rain.
But, no, that would be mistaken. That is just not the character of this ride. That is like driving a freeway, whereas this trip has been one of those where you always seem to be out in the lumps, bumps and weeds. This last day goes down as a string of challenges, just like so many days on this tour.
I sweep back the saturated tent fly door to see what the day has brought us. There was a chance of fog, and I’m curious to see if we are socked in or the sun has won.
Um, a bit of both. It is sunny, but there is fog settling here and there. Let’s hope it lifts.
I’m encouraged by the amount of traffic on the road – it’s a commute time and it’s really not too bad over there for a C-road.
I head off with lights flashing, even though the sun is well and truly up and the fog is not too thick to ride.
Because we are going south, we have a lot of steep little climbs and descents over the east-west trending sand dunes. Those are really not a bother, and I appreciate some effort so I can get warmed up. It was another 2C night last night.
The fog clusters and banks and lifts and settles. It’s a moving feast of conditions, but I’m comfortable with the sight distances.
What I’m not comfortable with is the shitty road. It’s a C-road which means its a major state route. But this one is just like a local road anointed with a status it doesn’t deserve. Oh, there are a few sections here and there for 500 metres or so that are up to a C-road standards where it’s been upgraded and the road is wide enough to have edgelines and a centre line. But much of it is so narrow it has no edge lines and trucks have chewed up the shoulder driving on it when they pass each other. The road drops down a foot or more onto the gravel shoulder and sometimes directly into 8-inch deep potholes. It sucks, basically.
So I’m riding that crappy road up and down the sand dunes, in the fog, with enough traffic that I have to be looking ahead and behind simultaneously all the time. Then, I have to drop off onto that terrible, beaten-up shoulder whenever a truck comes from behind, because the road is curvy enough and hilly enough that I don’t want to stress any poor truck drivers out. Please note, you don’t roll off on the shoulder here, you kinda ker-plunk or plonk or thump. I’m so glad I’m not on the touring bike today.
This pleasantness keeps up to Manangatang. This little town is a couple blocks long and is at a crossroads. It has a big grain silo site where there are at least 12 grain trucks waiting their turn to be filled. The town itself is a bit bedraggled, but it has a nice little park with a water refill station that does not work. You can also camp here. The pub has rooms available.
I stop and go in to buy some water and a juice at the takeaway shop. It is still very cold, but the sun has come out now, and my headwind friend is blowing all the fog droplets off the tree leaves onto unsuspecting people below. The fog is still about enough when I first arrive to create a visible mist with the sun shining on it.
The store owner says he’s had a lot of trouble with the eftpos connecting this morning, but my sale goes through. I tell him I have cash if it’s too much of a problem. It turns out that the main phone carrier in Oz has had an outage. A big outage that screws up tons of stuff for days – including causing all train services in regional Victoria to be cancelled for two days. Phew – glad I hadn’t booked the train for tomorrow!
South of Manangatang, the traffic is a bit lighter, the sand dunes aren’t so densely packed, the road is a bit wider and the sight lines are longer. You don’t have to be ‘on it’ and constantly watching ahead and in your mirror at the same time.
I enjoy the sun and the bright green grains growing in the fields on each side. The headwind is about 15-20kph, so it’s very annoying and enough to slow you down, but not so strong that you curse the positioning of the high pressure system as you ride.
At Chinkapook, we meet up with our outbound route in June. I stop here to drink and drink some more. I didn’t drink enough yesterday and I’m trying to make up for it today. It’s hard in winter because it’s too cold to get very thirsty, so it’s easy to get dehydrated.
Back into the wind, and more traffic than you would expect for a narrow, one-lane road not very close to any big towns. But Google, and Garmin I suspect, sends people this way to Swan Hill, instead of sending people on the two C-roads. So there’s a lot of non-local traffic on pretty tiny roads.
I would think that even though the distance is shorter, the time savings wouldn’t be too much because you have to slow down and then hang the left side of your vehicle onto the gravel shoulder every time you pass another vehicle. If all those cars were on the main roads, this would be really nice for cycling.
When I get up to the left turn at Chillingollah, I go straight. I’ve had enough of the traffic. My plan is to take the next dirt road to the south that parallels the single-lane sealed road. The VIC traffic website shows the road as open, and it’s had over a week to dry out from the last rain. I’ve not had enough low traffic roads on this trip, and I’d like just one final, traffic-free dirt road before I have to tackle that heavy traffic from Woorinen into Swan Hill.
The grain silos at Chillingollah seem to still be in use. All that remains from the old town/village are some building foundations, six or seven dilapidated houses and lots of car shells and junk piles. Not far down the road is my turn-off.
I get a few hundred metres down this road and see a “Water Over Road” sign. No worries. It is boggy ahead. I drop the bike on the road and walk up to the big puddle and have a look. It is going to be easiest to carry the bike around through the edge of the field on the right. No worries.
That is easier said than done. My fully-loaded bike with 3 litres of water is heavy to carry. I can do it for short distances. The distance required to get around this one means I carry the bike, stumble around with it on the soft ground (I’m trying to walk between the rows of crops instead of trampling them), set it down after 15-20 metres, then pick it up and repeat. It takes me about 7 minutes to get around the first bog hole.
I’m able to walk my bike around the next one just before the railroad tracks. Then we get some soft, slow riding on the red dirt. Then we come to another bog hole. Same procedure, but this boghole is longer and I have to walk over in the weeds where the ground is very uneven and squishy. Another 10 minutes goes by.
A bit further up, there is another boghole. I’m starting to question my decision, contemplate turning around, but then figure I’m committed at this point, and it should get better as we’re moving toward higher ground. This next boghole appears to have a firm bit around the edge that I can ride.
So I proceed. The only problem is that you only find out something is not firm enough to ride when it is too late. And so I bog the bike.
The mud gathers thickly enough to completely clog up the bike with about two revolutions. Ugh. I hop off the bike and roll/drag it to the end of the boghole. I find a stick. I commence cleaning up all the mud off the tyres, out of the brakes and from all the crevices between wheels and frame.
I try to turn the pedals without much success. So, without thinking about my crew, I flip the bike upside down, panniers and all. Thankfully, the guys ride low enough in front of the tent bag that I don’t squash their heads into the mud. But I am really angry at myself for not thinking about that and what harm I could have done to my faithful crew who have ridden at least 50,000 kms with me.
I clean the bike further. I can get the wheels to turn. I can get the pedals to turn. But I’ve messed up the derailleur and it wants to skip in all of the smaller diameter gears. Never mind. There is one gear I can use that is mostly acceptable.
I ride further. There is another boghole with a bigger one after that. Damn. I am really chewing up the time. If this goes on for much longer, I’m not going to make the caravan park before the office closes at 5pm (which is a stupidly early time for an accommodation provider to close, by the way). I’ve got no phone reception, so I can’t ring them either.
Oh well, if they don’t text me details, I can always just whack up the tent somewhere and chat to them in the morning. The amenities block there doesn’t have a code and I’ve already paid.
But this day is turning into so much more of a challenge than I’d planned. I’m going to be riding on that busy Woorinen Road in the dark. Again. Only this time it will be after sunset instead of before sunrise.
I pick the bike up and stumble through more weeds, water and bushes. Yes, I have to edge around bushes and try to lift the bike higher and over some of them while I skirt about the edges with my feet. This is hard, hard work.
I get to the next longer boghole. Same thing. Only this time, the mozzies, who have already been dining on my shins decide to be bold and alight on my hand on the seat tube. Oh, you little bastards! Bite me right there where I can see you but can’t swat you because my hands are full!
I finally give in and take off the panniers so they are ready to carry beyond the bog hole. I’m pretty battered at this point. Frustrated to no end. I really just want to let my internal ‘roar’ out. I just want to scream FUCK YOU! to all of the shitty things on this tour. All of the trip frustrations, all of the rainy days, all of the wind in my face, all of the waiting around on roads to reopen, all of the traffic and crappy little towns whose water you cannot drink.
It is all there, right under the surface ready to erupt, culminating in my attempt to have one nice little dirt road to myself on my final day. My emotional restraint is just about at its end, too. I’m a positive person by nature, I’m a glass half-full sort of gal. But right now… I am ready to scream gloom and doom and let out 5.5 weeks of anger and frustration.
I don’t do that. I record the video below. And then I continue carrying the bike to the end of the boghole.
I set the bike down and get ready to go back for the panniers when the road gods look down upon my poor little battered soul and….
Send me a farmer.
Yes, when I look up, there is a ute slowly splashing its way through the boghole. The farmer stops beside me. He asks if I’m okay or if I’m lost. I say I’m okay and ask if the bogholes go on much longer.
The farmer pauses and says, “yeah, all the way up to Bishops Road. Do you want a lift? I heading into Swan Hill. I can take you.”
I reply, “Oh, yes, that would be great. But not into town. Just beyond the bogholes would be enough.”
So I go back and grab the panniers, he moves some stuff around in the tray of his ute, I put the panniers on the back seat and we lift the bike up onto the tray and lean it against a tool box. No strapping down, no restraints. I kinda do wonder about it back there as we bump along, but it’s fine.
The farmer ends up taking me about 5 kms. That could have taken me another couple of hours. I ask him what crops he grows – lupins, legumes, wheat, canola and a couple others. The year has started off well except for the diesel crisis during sowing. What he most enjoys about living out here is the peace and quiet. He could never live in a city. He’s third generation farmer depending on how you cut it. The most challenging thing about being out here is the length of time it can take to get replacement parts and such. You have to go to Mildura or Bendigo to get anything and it takes so much longer to get things than it did pre-COVID.
I’m shy by nature. An encounter like this 25 years ago would have freaked me out. But I’ve grown so much over my career. I talk to all sorts of people from all walks of life all the time, from Joe Blow public at community sessions to the CEOs of local government to Ministers at state government level. I’ve interviewed all sorts of people, too. I’m comfortable nudging along a conversation with just about anyone these days. I don’t enjoy it – I’m still the most off-the-charts introvert you are ever likely to meet, but I’m comfortable with all of that at this point in my life.
The farmer (never exchanged names) drops me off at the next crossroads, shows me the GPS map of where I am and which turns I need to take, refuses to take any money and shakes my hand.
I reload the bike, have a snack and a drink of water and then head on. Bishops Road is freshly graded and rides pretty fast. Well, as fast as that one gear allows me to go. It’s acceptable, but it doesn’t allow me to pedal any harder than about 17kph. But that’s okay, one gear is infinitely better than none.
So I pedal into the wind, up and down those bright green cropped fields. Polisbet Road is a really rough road base in the centre, but it has a good strip down the side if you ride on the wrong side of the road.
Bulga Road eventually becomes sealed and I wave to the farmer as he passes going back the other way. We pedal those last 40 kms into town with the thought of being done with this tour firmly on my mind. I’ve ridden one-week tours. I’ve done month-long tours. I’ve done five-month tours. And never before have I wanted those rides to end. I was ready to keep going and going. But this time, I’m done. I’m ready to go home. Or back to Albury at least. I don’t have a home now.
The Woorinen Road is as busy as it was when I rode it back in June. I do have daylight this time though. And 100 percent of the drivers are patient and wait to pass when needed. I then ride back through the industrial estate, dodge two dodgy drivers that pull out in front of me, and then deposit myself at the caravan park. 20 minutes before they close. It is anticlimatic for a tour end. But it’s an end.
