The downhill daredevils who conquered The Clyde

"I nearly fell off my chair today reading your article because I spent a good part of yesterday transcribing a letter my late father Richard 'Dick' Woods wrote to his mother of the same trip in 1943 – but on a bicycle," exclaims Ryan.

And what a letter it is. Over seven gripping pages Woods provides a unique insight into not only the challenges of such a long bike ride, but also of a time before car was king on our roads.

Woods and his forester mate Alan McArthur set off on a Thursday afternoon from the Australian Forestry School at Yarralumla with the hope of riding to Batemans Bay, down to Bega and back up to Canberra via Cooma in four days.

However, it didn't take long until the cycling duo were behind the eight ball.

"I was flying down a hill, managing to dodge most of the stones, when bang, hiss, skid and my front tyre was a flat pancake," bemoans Woods of the first flat he received somewhere on "the rough track" [ie: the Kings Highway] between Queanbeyan and Bungendore.

The setback meant Wood and McArthur resorted to "an unusual tea in the pitch black, squatting on the side of the road, with the half gale whistling thro' the trees and the torch only used to find the food," before arriving late into Braidwood "for a hot bath and early to bed".

Battling rain, the next day the two approached Clyde Mountain with much anticipation, mainly the result of colleagues who asked quizzically before they'd left, "What, so you are going over the Clyde?'', suggesting it would be a pass "to be feared".

At first, negotiating the Clyde failed to meet Woods' lofty expectation – at least with regards to the size of the trees flanking the road. "The trees were fairly tall here, but rather disappointing as I was expecting too much," wrote Woods.

However, the Clyde did eventually deliver an adrenalin rush with two daredevil creek crossings (which several cars travelling on the same day aborted) closely followed by a near disaster.

"I heard a cracking noise [and] for several minutes thought it was my pedal then to my utter consternation, indignation, damnation and a few other 'ations realised that it was my frame — at least the bike's frame," scrawls Woods.

Dragging his broken bike into Nelligen, the publican, "found a steel plate which after a lot of hammering was somehow made to crudely fit around the bar," allowing Woods and McArthur to limp into Batemans Bay for their second night.

The bike was fixed "at a garage" the next day (allowing the duo time to admire the spotted gums around the Bay) but the delay resulted in the pair having to amend their return route to Canberra via Araluen and Captains Flat, instead of Cooma.

What's striking all the way through their Hardy Boys-esque journey is that wherever woods and McArthur stopped, the offer of mechanical help or food and water was never far away. Indeed, while pedalling back up through Araluen "they stopped at a house whose inhabitant was on his last legs" yet he still managed to offer the pair a drink, even though "to get water he had to drop a bucket down a well".

Complete strangers being receptive to the cyclists' cause is a point not lost on Canberra-based cycling historian, Dan Oakman.

"During the war years, there was petrol rationing so it was generally too expensive for people to have cars anyway, so bike tours became quite common," reports Oakman who is currently penning a book about long-distance cycling in Australia from the 1890s and 1940s which he describes as "the golden age for bicycle touring".

"Woods and McArthur were clearly willing to take a risk on such a long ride, partly because they knew they'd be able to get help along the way," he explains. "Back then almost every town in Australia had someone who could weld or put together a bike, so you could turn up to a pub and someone could fix it.

"It's not quite as easy for the modern-day cyclist," laments Oakman. "These days, outside of bike shops, it's hard to even find a spare bike tyre in a town.

"However, one aspect that has improved since the 1940s is bicycle technology, these two would have had pretty heavy set-ups … there was no aluminium or carbon fibre back then, just heavy steel."

Oakman is also a little surprised that in Woods' detailed letter there is no mention of horses. "As well as bicycles, a lot of people got around on horses in the war years. "There are even accounts during that era, and earlier, of road rage with horse riders complaining that cyclists are on their roads."

In fact, it's modern-day road rage, coupled with the dramatic increase in vehicle traffic, that has resulted in cyclists now being a rare site on the Clyde, with most mountain bikers instead opting for the safer route via Araluen to the coast.

"These days almost everyone rides to the coast via one of the dirt options," explains six-time Paralympian Michael Milton who until recently ran 'Ride the Divide' – an overnight cycling adventure from Canberra to the coast via Araluen.

"Nobody rides the Clyde anymore, it's far too dangerous," attests Garry James of Wright, who, apart from regularly tackling the six-hour route from Canberra to Moruya through Araluen, sometimes also rides down the Corn Trail to Nelligen.

One Canberran who definitely won't be attempting the ride to the coast in her father's tracks, no matter the route, is Sarah Ryan. "I've never tried it and never will," she explains. "You'd have to be mad!"

While this column is yet to flush out any more Canberrans who sport the same surname as their suburb (Simulacra Corner, February 16), Cathy Day reveals her birthday matches her postcode.

"My birthday is 29 March," reports Day, who lives in Oxley, and formerly lived in Wanniassa, both of which have 2903 as their postcode.

"A few years ago when living in Wanniassa, I had to create a password for something," reports Day, who decided to use Erindale2903. "The system came back and told me that I couldn't include my birthday in my password," reports Day. "I loudly told the computer that it was my postcode, not my birthday, you ridiculous machine, and then it suddenly dawned on me … they were the same."

Day often plays a game around the dinner table of working out where family and friends would live if their birthday matched their postcodes. "My twins should be living in a forest in NSW, my youngest daughter should be living on a beach near Byron Bay (very appropriate for her, I think), my mum should be living next to the airport in Darwin and my dad should be living in Belgium," muses Day.

This column's recent visit to the revamped Tathra Hotel (January 12) brought back memories for David Chatto who for many years ran The Harbour Master restaurant, "which used to be located just up the road from the pub".

Before performing at the hotel which was well-known for its lively late night gigs in the 1980s, bands would often grab a bit to eat from Chatto's restaurant.

"I especially remember Cold Chisel having dinner in our place one night," reports Chatto. "It was so long ago I can't remember what they had for dinner, but I do clearly remember the booze bill was good." Mmm … I bet it was.

Terry Beath of Melbourne who lived in Tathra from 1973 to 1975, recalls a trick he and other regulars at the pub would use to drink well past the pub's official closing time.

"The pub had a strict 10pm closing, so at about 9:45pm the publican would walk through the bar telling everyone to 'drink up, we're closing!'," reports Beath. "But we locals knew to sit quietly as the visitors exited and the curtains were drawn."

According to Beath, "not long after 'closing', having finished their shifts, the local police would change out of their uniforms and sneak through the back door," adding "we could then settle in for an hour or so of quiet drinking."

Meanwhile, the subsequent feature on the Bermagui Beach Hotel (The Buzz in Bermie, January 19) caused several readers, including Mike Fogarty of Weston, to reminisce about a family holiday to the landmark hotel in the mid-1950s.

"The locals were proud of their history and that Zane Grey had put them on the world's game fishing map," recalls Fogarty. "Our relatives staged a pageant and I was dressed as an American Indian, complete with a crepe headband, a feather, a scowl and a toy rifle … on a hot night, I thought I was pretty cool". But not everything went to plan at the beach for the Fogarties. "The burning sand scorched my feet, and dead magpies had fallen on the dunes, possibly from heat stress," he recalls.

To celebrate the Canberra Balloon Spectacular (March 9-17), for the next month your favourite photo quiz will test your aerial observation powers by featuring locations snapped by your Akubra-clad columnist during a recent balloon flight over our city. Weather-permitting, every morning during the festival at 6.15am, about 30 balloons from around the globe will inflate on the lawns in front of Old Parliament House. You can book your own flight with a local operator or watch the colourful spectacle for free. http://enlightencanberra.com/canberra-balloon-spectacular/

Clue:

Wind in the willows

Degree of difficulty: Easy - Medium

Last week: Congratulations to Richard Ware of Kambah for being the first reader to correctly identify last week's photo as a 'giant pencil' in the playground on Garryowen Drive, Black Mountain Peninsula. A first-time victor, Ware just beat Luca Biason of Latham, Tam Le of Franklin and Andrew Pearce of Crace to the prize.

How to enter: Email your guess along with your name and address to timtheyowieman@bigpond.com. The first email sent after 10am, Saturday 2 March, 2019 will win a double pass to Dendy - The Home of Quality Cinema.