Taking the Acheron Way

Thursday was just an ordinary day, but heavy with the knowledge that summer is coming. I could see it, by the gilt of the clouds reflected on my chrome headlight, forever ahead of me even as the miles dropped away. Like a vision of the future.

Out of the terrors of 3am I dragged myself at midday. Out of the clamour of the city I rode it all away.

Christmas Hills, Chum Creek and Myers Creek Roads, The Black Spur.

And then...

Sunlight and green, shadows and ash, water murmur and the constant hum of insect life as they sat suspended mid-air, in their colonies of light as I passed through The Acheron Way.















This narrow strip of tar winds a constant S through the flat forest floor of a dry rainforest, a mixture of great ferns and giant trees.

And then the dirt.





And more dirt. A constant weave of thick gravel, corner after corner, sliding the rear wheel to turn. Up one side of a mountain.

Over a Spur.

Then down the other. Still dwarfed by the green.







By day's end the bike was singing, dashing skyward up hills amidst the paddocks. A staccato blessing on the world.