The lake at Thredbo Village.Credit: Dallas Kilponen
Ben Stubbs discovers a thrilling Thredbo-based summer tour that is the equivalent of riding four kilometres of stairs.
I'm dressed like the tin man, covered from head to toe, with a full-face helmet, body armour, elbow and shin guards and gloves. I waddle around the Thredbo Village car park as though I need a good oiling. I wish it were Dorothy beside me, although as I get on my bike I console myself that I have Rob Tyler, my similarly dressed downhill mountain biking instructor for the day.
I've signed up with the South East Mountain Biking Company for a downhill mountain bike tour of the trails at the apex of the Kosciuszko National Park. After trying out at the "kiddy section" skills centre to see if I fall off the bike (I don't, for the record), Tyler and I grab our rides, suitably named Iron Horses, and cycle to a chairlift.
Catch a lift ... the easy way to the top.Credit: Steve Cuff
The best thing about this style of mountain biking is that there's no uphill pedalling. We start at Thredbo Village at an altitude of 1365 metres, jump on the chairlift with our bikes on our laps and zip to the top of the Kosciuszko Express at 1937 metres, a touch below Australia's highest mountain over the ridge at 2228 metres.
Outside the peak summer holiday season it is quiet here and today we have the chairlift and virtually the entire mountain to ourselves. The mountain riding season finishes in May as the first dustings of snow arrive and starts again in November. Thredbo has become a centre for adventure seekers, with the Australian interschool mountain bike contest taking place here every March and regular state and national rounds of the downhill championship attracting riders from Australia and overseas to the Snakes and Ladders, Hells Corner and Meadows trails on the mountain.
Our race-ready bikes cost more than $4000 each and have 20-centimetre shock absorbers for the bumps. I cradle the bike as the chairlift climbs past white fingers of snow gums, still bare from the 2003 bush fires, until we reach the summit. I know the saying, "It's just like riding a bike," although as I climb onto my Iron Horse, clad in protective armour, at the top of a trail normally used as a ski run, it really doesn't feel like it. It's 12 degrees and I don't know if I'm shivering from cold or nerves. Our trail to the village is the equivalent of riding four kilometres of stairs; professionals can do it in six minutes; we're just aiming to get down in one piece. Tyler and I cycle down a gradual 800-metre stretch of washy fire trails at the top of the course. He tells me to ride with my elbows out, as though I'm doing a push-up, and with my feet level across the pedals and my backside up off the seat and towards the back tyre for balance and to absorb the shock.
We start on the Kareela Path section and I follow Tyler's lead, bobbing along the single trail and leaning into the corners as best I can. I look a few seconds ahead as instructed and Tyler tells me to "feather the brakes rather than slamming them on" as we zigzag through the gums. We approach Bandicoot Corner, named after the cartoon character Crash Bandicoot, and I make it through holding on to my bike like a runaway brumby, forgetting to feather as I go.
I come to a stop at the top of the next approach and survey my options. It is a two-pronged section; there's a rock or a jump to navigate. Tyler vaults the jump with style and lands with ease. I follow on his heels at a grandmotherly pace, roll over the rock and skid in next to him, impressed with my ability to stay upright.
We pick up speed through Wombat Walk and slalom between the trees to the bottom. My body aches with the strain of the new riding technique although I do my best to stand on the pedals and coast to the finish.
Tyler and I ride the chairlift again and look across the sea of trees to Dead Horse Gap. He's worked as a mountain bike guide here for 12 years and despite the adrenalin and difficulty says that it really is a sport for anyone. "You just decide how far you want to take it," he says. "There are trails for all levels, just like skiing."
After mastering the blue run on that first descent, Tyler implores me to try the black diamond run to really test myself on the second ride. "You want to attack the course. Have your shoulders wide to soak up the bounces on the trail." I hope he can't see me sweating inside this armour as I puff my chest and nod.
"When you're riding you don't want to be saying 'ohhh' meekly as you approach a steep section. You want to grit your teeth and scream 'aarrrggghhh!' as you attack it," he says.
I'm buoyed by his encouragement and we stream through tight turns one after the other; my feet are on the pedals and I let the bumps travel up through my shoulders as I negotiate the course. It's all about momentum and as long as I keep going I'm OK. "Don't think, just do," I repeat to myself as we dip around the funnelling trail.
We approach Magnetic Rock. Tyler says it got its name because everyone pauses to look at the giant tor next to the track. I fall into the same trap, lose speed on the approach to this steep, rocky section and my front tyre wedges in a crevice. I yell "Aarrrggghhh" - hopeful that it'll make a difference - but it's too late. As if in slow motion I fly over the handlebars and thankfully don't put my hands out to break my fall. I slap the ground headfirst and my instinct is to spring up out of embarrassment, to see if anyone noticed.
I'm OK, if a little shocked by the impact, and slowly ride to the end of the section. Tyler is waiting at the next bend and he doesn't say anything. He knows that a big part of this sport is confidence, so he urges me to continue and we conquer the next trail, known as the Princess Highway, nice and slowly.
Downhill mountain bike riders have a reputation for being bad dudes with attitude, although as I watch Tyler sweeping the track for rubbish, chasing down riders who venture off the designated track and making sure loose rocks are back into place, he changes my impression. He lives and works on the mountain and takes pride in making sure it's safe and sustainable.
I groan as we arrive back at the chairlift and survey the scratches on my armour. Tyler is impressed that I've made it down the black run on my second ride. We take the chair again and I'm confident enough to try it one last time. We can't click our heels together, so we do the next best thing and head straight down the mountain.
"Don't worry, it's all downhill from here," Tyler yells, in a cloud of dust. I adjust my tin-man suit and follow him over the edge.
FAST FACTS
Getting there Thredbo is 500 kilometres, or a six-hour drive, south-west of Sydney. The closest airport is at Cooma, a one-hour drive from Thredbo Village.
Staying there Thredbo Alpine Apartments is at the base of the village with great views of the Thredbo River and mountains. Apartments have fully equipped kitchens, balconies, multiple bedroom options and parking, from $199 a night. See thredbo.com.au.
Riding there South East Mountain Biking has a variety of Thredbo riding options. The "works" package (including lift ticket, initiation and all equipment) costs $299 a day. See mountainbiking.com.au.
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