RSF - The Off Road Cycling Club

The Adventure Starts Here


I thought of that while riding my bicycle. Albert Einstein - German Theoretical Physicist


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1988 Jan-Feb Vol 33 No.1

We were staying at The Chalet on Mount Buffalo and doing a bit of bush walking after 6 weeks’ cycle-touring in New Zealand, when a “cycles for hire” notice caught our eye. On making enquiries, we discovered that these were single low-geared mountain bikes of Australian manufacture. Hire was by the half-day, so we paid our five (Australian) dollars each and set off to explore some of the tracks that abounded on the plateau beyond walking range. In this area you have to remember to stick to the marked footpaths; otherwise you are liable to encounter something unpleasant such as the deadly copperhead snake. As it was, we met two of them sunning themselves on the path, nearly stepping on both.

1988 March-April Vol 33 No.2

Quinag stood out against a clear blue sky and, as my eyes traced along the two thousand feet of skyline, I wondered if there was anyone on top of the precipice who could see me. Having found the track again, it seemed a good time to rest and have a bite to eat. The sunlight reflected on the rippled water of the loch and turned it into a dazzling sheet of silver. A heather- lined layback from the track made an ideal windbreak and, lying in the sun, I all but fell asleep - peace, perfect peace! The new-found track was substantial, and I could see it rising towards the foot of a rock-lined pass.

1988 May-June Vol 33 No.3

 A couple who were camping came to meet me as I struggled over the last few yards and asked if we would like a cup of tea. While the kettle boiled we decided what to do next. It was now 10 o’clock and we still had 15 miles to the hostel albeit on a proper road, but there was no way we would get there before closing time. The good Samaritans offered us a lift in their van but we didn’t think there was room for us all and we felt it wasn’t the way to finish our epic day. Finally it was decided that Allen and Duncan should accept the lift and take our cards and book us in at the hostel. They also took all Sheila’s baggage, my front bag and panniers and Fred’s small panniers.

1988 July-Aug Vol 33 No.4

After reading Homer, I figured I was ready to tackle where it all happened, the Peloponnese. I have more than a passing interest in Greek history and Greece itself. This fact, coupled with my last very wet English holidays, was a good spur to pack my panniers and set off to explore in a hospitable climate. (Forget your mudguards but bring your sun glasses!) My main worry was flying the bike. On landing at Athens airport, however, I was to find that my ela borate “wrap up” job had succeeded, bar a slightly bent carrier stay.

1988 July-Aug Vol 33 No.5

“Oh, that’s a very sad story and I can’t tell you much about it. Go there yourself, be one with the earth, the stone and the water. Smell the salt air and you’ll smell history, touch the ruins and you’ll touch the ages, row the curragh* and be one with the very elements from which it all started and to which it all returns” Old Sean’s words repeated them selves time and again. Fate had put them into my ears when I met this remarkable man at Caherbullig. Cycling towards Slea Head I left my bike near Kildurrihg at the foot of Mount Eagle.

1988 Nov-Dec Vol 33 No.6 (Index)

To-day was different, but I couldn’t put my finger on it until Gordon Campbell led Allan McGibbon and myself above the river Ayr on the Mauchline road. That was it! Our wheels were turning east, away from the Galloway highlands and Carrick forests and coastlines for the first time since a Wanlockhead week end several months ago. We strode through a surreal landscape of black trees, autumn tints and mist, low and cool. Provisions bulged out of our saddlebags after we invaded sleeping Sorn village. Muirkirk was gained across bleak Airds Moss where trees are scarce and moss prevails

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