Ni: J. De Belen
Sino naman ba sa ating mga siklista ang hindi na e-excite at kinakabahan sa tuwing may lakad tayo sa lugar na hindi pamilyar sa ating pang-araw-araw na nakikita. Yung tipong, ready na ang gamit mo kahit malayo pa ang araw ng iyong paglalakbay at ramdam mo pa rin ang kaba (lalo na kung malapit na ang araw ng pagpadyak) kung tama ba ang gagawin mong adventure. Isa si Justin sa mga siklistang sumubok maglakbay mula Sydney hanggang Gold Coast sa Australia. Sa biyaheng ito, naging malalim ang kanyang pagnilay-nilay ng nakaraan at ng kasalukuyan. Walang itinakdang plano (no formal plan) at tanging nais lamang ay mag-explore at magkaroon ng pagkakataon para sa pagninilay at personal growth. Ang mga susunod ay ang kanyang maikling istorya tungkol sa kanyang solo bikepacking journey sa East Coast, Australia.
Australia was a deliberate choice, not a chance destination. It was a place once called home for two and a half years, a place left abruptly, with experiences and lessons still settling in quietly beneath the surface. It was here that independence took root and where silence felt peaceful rather than lonely. Expansive roads, tranquil towns, and endless coastal landscapes offered a serenity rarely found in urban environments.
This journey became a return, both a physical passage and an introspective one. Unsupported, with only a loose itinerary and instinct for direction, the open road stretched north, inviting exploration. The route travelled from Sydney to the Gold Coast, cutting through a portion of Australia’s east coast and reconnecting memories with the present moment. Departure from Singapore carried with it relief, excitement, and a calm anticipation of stepping back into familiar surroundings.
Arrival was in Sydney with Caramel Camel, a rebuilt secondhand 2022 Marin Gestalt 1, upgraded with GRX RX600 components and carrying roughly 25 kilograms of gear. Personally repainted and intentionally prepared, the bike was both vehicle and companion, ready to meet the challenges ahead. Expectations were optimistic, a smooth and manageable ride at a steady personal pace. Reality, however, introduced a harsher truth. The combination of a heavily loaded bike, hilly terrain, and limited preparation quickly revealed itself. Training had not matched ambition, and the plan to cover over 180 kilometres on the first day became a true test of both body and mind.
Day 1: Gosford to Mungo Brush Campground
182km
1,162m elevation
12 hours to complete
The ride began at 7 in the morning, welcomed by unexpectedly cold air, a small mercy, as it helped regulate body temperature over long hours of cycling. Early on, it became clear the helmet had been partially damaged during the flight. The brakes were squeaky and less responsive, particularly on steep descents with a total system weight of around 130 kilograms. Despite the concerns, the crisp weather proved to be a blessing.
One of the largest climbs of the entire route came within the opening stretch, a sharp introduction to what lay ahead. Breath shortened, legs burned, yet the familiar scenery offered reassurance. These were roads travelled before. The sense of recognition created a strange comfort, strengthening resolve; this journey had been done once in another form — surely it could be done again.
The landscape unfolded endlessly, towering trees, open farmland, winding roads, and coastal air. Connections with kind strangers along the route offered moments of warmth and encouragement that contrasted beautifully with the solitude of the ride. Time management soon became an issue. Breaks, though necessary, had accumulated. The realisation came late; the final town before the campground was reached just as darkness descended. The remainder of the journey unfolded in complete blackness. Arrival at Mungo Brush Campground at around 10 at night, I was met with a relentless swarm of mosquitoes. Fatigue, damp clothing, and frustration filled the air while setting up camp. Yet beneath the exhaustion lay quiet pride; a monumental first day had been survived.
Day 2: Mungo Brush Campground to Taree
100km
864m elevation
8 hours to complete
The night at Mungo Brush had been both draining and restorative. Mosquitoes swarmed relentlessly, the rain fell intermittently, and the tent setup had tested my patience. Despite the discomfort, I awoke feeling partially recharged, though still conscious of the day ahead and of the long distances remaining on the route I had planned. The original plan was to ride to Bulahdelah and take a bus to bypass part of the route. Nearly two hours were spent waiting. When the bus finally arrived, boarding was denied as bicycles were not permitted. The refusal was disheartening, but it offered clarity. There were no shortcuts. Only riding on.
With determination renewed, the target shifted to Taree, where a train could be taken the following day. But for now, I’ll have to ride and find a place to spend the night in the far away town. The ride was physically demanding, particularly after the previous day’s exhaustive effort. I recalculated my pace and mentally prepared for nightfall. The hills were steep, and the loaded bike felt heavier with every kilometer. Yet, as I rode, a sense of acceptance gradually replaced my fatigue. There was no external pressure, no deadlines, only the simple, pressing necessity of forward motion. Each pedal stroke, once arduous, became rhythmical and manageable.
By the time I arrived in Taree, darkness had settled in. I checked into a motel, abandoning my original plan of camping, and allowed myself to rest. The night was a quiet affirmation: although the journey was far from easy, resilience was possible. I had been tested, and I had adapted in these two days.
Day 3: Taree to Coffs Harbour
+-220km
Negligible elevation
Train ride
After two demanding days, a train journey offered a necessary reprieve. The short ride to Taree station and the subsequent train to Coffs Harbour allowed my body to recover while providing the opportunity for observation and reflection. Passing landscapes at a slower pace revealed rolling hills, waterways, and quiet towns in a way that cycling could not. This restorative day emphasized that progress is not always measured in distance alone.
Day 4 Coffs Harbour to Maclean
40km
Negligible elevation
The morning was refreshing, and my train wasn’t until about 3 in the afternoon. For the first time, I could just be a normal tourist enjoying the beautiful town. I was greeted with a gorgeous view of the expansive sea, met by a long sandy beach.
Life here was simple and slow, everything I’d ever wanted but never really had. It was then that it dawned on me, with the departure of the train being so late, I knew that a night ride lay ahead of me once more. This time it would be a 40km stretch in the pitch black. The arrival at Grafton train station was weary. Night had fallen, and it was cold. Quickly, I unpacked my bike from the box it was put in for the train journey. In about 30 minutes, I was off on my bike again.
The road ahead was defined by darkness, silence, and the faint glow of a torch. Then came barking in the distance. An unseen dog, close enough to feel threatening, sent adrenaline surging. Pedalling intensified until the sound disappeared into the night. A lone gas station in the middle of nowhere offered a respite of bright lights and some semblance of civilisation. There, I attached a camping light to the bottom of my frame to give me just that little bit more visibility in this blanket of blindness.
Pedaling on, I eventually reached Maclean, probably with the biggest sigh of relief I have ever breathed in my life. I was once again met with the lovely people who call Australia home. Beer in hand and a room to stay for the night, what more could I ask for?
Day 5 Maclean to Mullumbimby
124km
606m elevation
By this time, it was already uncharted territory in terms of cycling for me. I’ve been here before, but not on a bike. I have previously been to Mullumbimby on a road trip; in fact, this ride has brought me through places I have visited in my past, a way to close off that chapter of my life once and for all.
Today’s ride would be much more forgiving, fewer hills and more flats, I could get on my aerobars and just press on while listening to my comforting music. One of my biggest considerations when planning the route was resources, specifically water. It completely escaped my mind to refill before I left the town. I was completely dry, with 20km left to the nearest town. Then, a truck stopped ahead of me, but when I asked for water, I was met with a stern no and some ambivalence as if I was a highway robber. Alas, I pushed on; we have all been there.
My eyes glowed; there it was, a massive sign assembled by two heavenly golden arches. It was a McDonald’s, 2km away. I almost shed a tear from pure joy. I had made great time, reaching Ballina in just a few hours. I knew that today would be one of my biggest wins; the pace was great, and the mentality followed. I pulled into town, and I was completely back on schedule. I strolled into the bar motel I had pre-booked back home. Tonight would be a night of ice cream celebration and recovery. The next day would be the final day of this adventure.
Day 6 Mullumbimby to Gold Coast
63km
400m elevation
The final ride began refreshed but touched with quiet melancholy. With only 63 kilometres remaining, each moment was savoured, knowing this chapter was nearing its end. The first section presented steep climbs, yet nothing felt insurmountable. The rest of the ride flowed along the coastline, open, vast, and breathtaking. Even as rain began to fall near Queensland, the growing sense of accomplishment remained undiminished.
Arrival at the Gold Coast was silent. There was no crowd and no applause. Only stillness, and the recognition that this journey, entirely unsupported, had been completed. Celebration, though solitary, was no less meaningful. The following day would bring friends, laughter, and the comfort of a campervan journey back to Sydney. Yet this chapter, the most personal one, belonged entirely to solitude, resilience, and inner strength.
In the End
This solo bikepacking journey along Australia’s east coast was more than a physical challenge. It was a quiet return to a place once called home and a powerful exercise in resilience, adaptability, and self-reliance. From long, demanding days in the saddle to moments of solitude, uncertainty, and quiet triumph, each kilometre reinforced a simple truth. Progress is not defined by speed or comfort, but by the decision to keep moving forward when support, certainty, and ease are absent.
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