Despite my best intentions, I'd been avoiding the Razorback. I was beginning to push my luck a little; Christmas to New Year always provides plenty of work for unmarried locums far from family, and I was beginning to have visions of an attempts on Christmas morning at 5am or on the night of 29th December at 11pm between work and flying overseas. I'd gone so far as to dig out my lights and make sure the batteries worked.

I hadn't scheduled this morning as an attempt. I had planned to join the group up Palmwoods-Montville, as per a typical Tuesday. Last night, a change of plan required I be home and fully functioning before 8am, ruling out the somewhat longer group trip. Still keen to work the legs, and with the challenge looming, I decided that I'd have a go at The Razorback.

So, on three hours sleep and a handful of leftover chocolate, I found myself rolling steadily to the base of the climb. It was 5:45am, windless with the clean sun steaming away the morning dew.

I decided that, if I wasn't to outthink myself, that not looking at my bike computer would be important. I would ride on feel. I stood up on a few of the earlier sections, breathing deep. A few walkers were on their way down, more than the number of tradies in utes whistling up. I passed the NEVER TIRE sign. The road felt good.

At the start of the main climb, just prior to the shop, I got jittery and slowed. My heart was beating hard enough to take my pulse by listening. From about four feet away. I turned the pedals more slowly, sitting and looking around.

I started to overthink things, "I only have three more chances; work's chaotic from here on...", "How will I write about failing from here?", "What if I get a flat?" It was a little paranoid, for sure. I shook my head out and rolled on up, past the turnoff.

At the shop, I reverted to stake-based goals. There were twelve before Hell corner, I think. Things got heavy, and by things, I mean legs, bike, body and breathing. I stubbornly grunted and ground Rosie up the road, standing and pushing hard. I stopped looking up. I watched the white line roll under the front tyre and strained against gravity.


I looked across the road at the arrow signs. They seemed too short. I was past them. I was through Hell corner! The road met me, and I breathed deeply. I expected to pop with every pedal push. I hurt. I stayed positive. I just focused on turning the cranks.

The next few minutes were achingly slow. I briefly spun up to a comfortable cadence and sat, before The Razorback reared its head and stood me back up, sucking at the air. I rode along the ridgeline, the sun pouring across my left shoulder, casting an exhausted, wobbly shadow across Razorback Rd. I looked back down; my computer said 8km/h, and I wondered how I was still upright.

At this point, my vision went a little foggy. I felt awful, sure, but I didn't think I'd pushed too hard. I couldn't work out why I couldn't see. I mean, the white line was there, rolling under my tyres, the air was fresh and tasty. I wibbled and wobbled on the tarmac. I felt bloody feral. In retrospect, the setting was picturesque, but I was in far too much physiological distress to contemplate appreciating it.


Then, after a period of numbness, I clicked. I was riding so slowly that my glasses had fogged, and hence couldn't see a thing. I felt steady enough to take one hand off the bars, just briefly. I saw a corner, saw my chance and snatched them away into my pocket. Unfortunately, my vision remained little blurry and I was stupendously nauseous. I thought, "I'm too far through to quit now. Suck it up. Keep going!"

Then, around the corner, I saw a building. It heralded the chute up to the summit. Just five hundred metres more.

The road narrowed and the trees crossed overhead. I spied the bridge across the road. The nausea evaporated, and I felt stronger, accelerating both against the flattening gradient and the likelihood of success.


A couple beginning the descent, breaking hard, flew past and called encourangement. I knucled down and rolled over the final road mark, battered. I had finished the Razorback.

I struggled to a picinic table and lay down, drenched, dyspnoeic and delighted. After recovering with the help of a full bottle of water, I took a few snaps, twittered and hopped back on the bike.

I rode down the Palmwoods-Montville Rd, revelling in the cool fresh air, dry roads. I passed several riders, "Good Mornings!!" aplenty. I drove home with plenty of fresh goals whirling around my self-satisfied brain, and wolfed down breakfast. The Razorback was Conquered.