That’s wild

I need to tell you about a crazy thing the youngest did last week.

She cycled 500km to Wagga Wagga for the Gear and Beers festival, where she participated in the Dirty 130. As the name suggests, the event involves cycling 130km on dirt roads and drinking craft beer at the end.

I freaked out when she first told me, as she was planning to cycle to Wagga alone.

We were driving up to Newcastle to visit my dad when she announced her intentions and I started babbling about how dangerous it was. I asked if she’d heard of Ivan Milat.

“Hey Siri” she said.

Thank heavens, I thought, Siri will explain who Ivan Milat is and she will reconsider her plans.

But no.

“Play mum the Fleetwood Mac radio station” she said.

Which was her way of getting me to chill.

She told me she wanted a challenge. I asked why riding 130km on dirt wasn’t challenging enough.

Fortunately she found a boy who was mad enough to do the ride with her. The Tumut leg almost killed them. It was snowing at one point and she reckons she’s never been colder in her life.

Late in the day, she didn’t realise her cycling companion was marooned with his third flat tire and no inner tubes left.

Fortunately a nice bloke pulled over and offered to help. He drove 14km back into town, collected a spare inner tube from the youngest and headed back out to the stranded rider.

Such a kind thing to do.

That night they treated themselves to a motel room rather than the tents they’d been sleeping in previously.

And guess what happened the next day?

You’ll never guess.

My ex was driving down the Hume Highway to Melbourne to help the eldest move and spotted the youngest waiting to cross the freeway.

What are the chances of that?

He turned off and met her on the side road for a hug. He called me afterwards to say the youngest genuinely seemed overjoyed by her adventure.

Crazy kid.

It was a very stressful time for her mum, who kept forlornly sending “Send proof of life” messages that were rarely answered due to lack of mobile coverage or flat batteries or exhaustion.

I got the occasional food stop pic – apparently she was burning so many calories it was impossible to replace them. Dinner when she arrived in Wagga was steak and chips, half a pizza and garlic bread!

After having a rest day, she did the Dirty 130 race. She sent two words afterwards: “Finished. Dead.”

Then my ex picked her up from Wagga on his way back from Melbourne and gave her a lift home.

What a huge, unimaginable week! I seriously don’t know where she gets her elite athlete genes from.

Our ship just dropped anchor at Cape York so I’d better get cracking.

Have a great weekend!

Song of the day: Black Box “Ride on time”