Old Legs Tour Day Two: Warburton Bound – Tea, Rain & Rolling Banter
Day two kicked off with the time-honoured ritual of bike cleaning—a necessary evil after the previous evening’s impromptu mud spa treatment. Late arrival under rain at our rustic overnight spot meant the morning started with a chorus of scrubbing, and the faint hope someone would invent self-cleaning wheels soon. Spirits were instantly lifted, however, when Howard, inspired by his surroundings, burst into the full intro of the Beverly Hillbillies. By the third verse all were wishing the bikes had come from Texas too.
There’s nothing like Victoria to keep a cyclist guessing, and shortly after rolling out, the group hit what looked suspiciously like a dead end. Johno wished that Short Cut Selby was on tour, just so he could pass the blame on. Despite the set back, route advice was dispensed with the accuracy of Google Maps under a Mercury retrograde… until a better route appeared, saving both dignity and kilometres. Miracles do happen—even before tea.
Speaking of tea, it was served deep in the forest, with trees looming overhead like silent spectators to our weary attempts at grace. The mugs hadn’t yet cooled when the weather gods unleashed their next act: torrential rain. Pedalling through watery sheets on swampy trails, the Old Legs displayed their usual tenacity, which some in the group still call “stubborn refusal to admit defeat.” The only winner was the local laundry, but we’ll come back to that.
Relief came in the form of a scenic, flatter rail trail—a gentle stroll across misty valleys and leafy corridors that even made Alan utter “this isn’t too bad,” though his knees disagreed. We were impressed, by a young girl joined our peloton for a heroic half a kilometre before wisely deciding to leave the madness behind.
Lunch saw us arrive in Healesville—a bedraggled, dripping band in desperate need of both calories and a dry handshake. Luckily, Mike, always three steps ahead and heroically clutching a sodden bundle of lycra, had scouted out a laundromat. The sight of him wrangling Main Street’s laundry earns him the Hero of the Day medal, if not a new line in travel memoirs.
The afternoon ride, mercifully drier, meandered through rolling wine country dotted with vines and old sheds—some so picturesque Johno wondered if cyclists should trade lycra for winemaker’s hats. Banter kept the pace lively; Johno, still basking in England’s rugby victory over the All Blacks, laid it on thick to Howard, who handled the verbal tackles with more dexterity than some of the day’s puddles.
By evening, we rolled into Warburton, a town hugged by towering forest and watched over by a river flowing fast enough to launch a canoe, if not a tired cyclist. The air was cool, the scenery lush—a perfect end to a soggy, banter-filled day.
Today’s figures: 80km pedaled, 130 metres climbed, three renditions of Beverly Hillbillies sung, one laundromat conquered, and enough rain to water every vineyard from here to Melbourne. Only in Australia, only with Old Legs.
We do this in support of Zimbabwe’s Pensioners, please take the time to donate to this worthy cause. No matter the size of the donation, it all adds up and is appreciated.
Day 3: Warburton to Eildon – A Study in Frostbite and Foolishness
The day began the way all great adventures shouldn’t — at 3 degrees. That’s Celsius, not the number of brain cells left in our heads when deciding to start pedalling at 8 a.m. The forecast promised a maximum of 14, which sounded positively tropical by comparison.
It turned into a soggy slog, with 1700 metres of climbing — a personal record for Alan, Howie, and Macca. Johno, naturally, was almost certain he’d been higher before. Rain fell like it was sponsored, but salvation arrived in Marysville, where the pub’s open fire became the site of the fiercest battle of the tour so far. Forget sprint finishes — this was elbows out, bar stool strategy, and thermal real estate warfare at its finest.
Mid-ride entertainment came courtesy of Johno, who solemnly alerted the group to a “dead koala” that turned out to be a wombat. Not to be outdone by himself, he later spotted a white helmet everyone denied owning — before realising it was, indeed, his own. Nobel Prize for Observation pending.
Mercifully, the afternoon dried up, the mountains eased their grip, and we rolled into Eildon with something resembling dignity intact. Mike once again took hero honours for locating another laundromat — the man’s clearly on a clean streak.
The day’s tally: 1200 metres climbed, 120 kilometres ridden, and one public apology issued for yesterday’s missing zero on the elevation report. Accuracy may not be our strength, but enthusiasm certainly is.
Please donate any amount — $10, $50, $100 — every bit helps keep the wheels turning and the pensioners fed.
Day 4: Eildon to Yarck – Skyline, Wildlife, and Dead-Easy Downhills
The morning dawned suspiciously rain-free, prompting unnatural optimism and even some premature jacket removal. Spirits soared higher than our heart rates—briefly—until the first sequence of hills arrived to remind us why we never trust mornings, weathermen, or gradients that look reasonable on Google Maps.
In local wildlife news, Macca sighted a wombat that was still very much alive, unlike his own uphill velocity. At one point, he moved so slowly he reckoned the local flies filed past and asked for his autograph. Meanwhile, Alan decided to upstage Sir David Attenborough by scooping an echidna off the road—with motorbike gloves, because winter fashion is all about spikes and insulation. Hero of the Day status was immediately granted, although we’re still awaiting confirmation from the Echidna Union.
Skyline Road lived up to its billing—awesome vistas of Lake Eildon with a drop-off so steep, even our worries overtook us on the descent. Lunch was inhaled at Bonny Doon, with at least one rider still buzzing from a questionable downhill top speed.
Post-lunch featured a glorious rail trail. Farmland vistas and a heavenly tailwind conspired to deliver us to Yarck well ahead of schedule—leaving some wondering if we’d accidentally teleported. Or possibly just forgotten a hill somewhere.
Highlights included:
– One wombat, overtaken only by flies and Macca.
– Alan saving wildlife, and possibly fashion, in one fell swoop.
– The team reaching their destination before sunset, a stat that may never be repeated.
Donate to:
GoFundMe: Yarra Valley Old Legs Tour 2025
OR
ZANE Australia
BSB: 032023
Account No: 305217
Reference: OLT Yarra Valley
* Names and images may have been changed for privacy reasons
If you are already a ZANE donor, we thank you from the bottom of our hearts. If you are not a donor but would like to be, please follow the link below and know that every donation, however big or small, goes directly to where it is most needed. If you would like to help but can’t donate, please join the ZANE family and ‘like’ or ‘share’ our posts or write us a Google review – every positive step helps spread the word about the life changing work ZANE does.
Thank you – Nicky Passaportis ZANE Australia
Please donate to support pensioners struggling to survive in Zimbabwe
Any assistance is greatly appreciated and goes a long way to giving our pensioners a better quality of life and lift the pressure of money worries which is very debilitating emotionally.
(Donations made to ZANE in Australia, are tax-deductible)