There was a surprise party for Duncan on Sunday night, and it was our job to keep him occupied all day. This was a good excuse for a late start to the day, with an ammended 10am meeting time at my place. Even so, I was still carbo-loading (egg and bacon hangover breakfast) and wandering around in my dressing gown when Pauly arrived. By the time we got the show on the road and picked the least direct route out of town, the others could be excused for wondering what was keeping us from the Yarra Glen rendezvous.

With the appropriate energy food (salami and salad foccacias and chocolate hedgehog) duly purchased at the bakery, it was getting close to midday, and time for a head count. Those present were MTB-OZ listees Pauly, Dave, Fruitbat and I, and non-listees Duncan, Mel, Joey and Jag. The day's mission was to be a loose interpretation of the Paul's Range ride from the ORCA book.

Dave made an early offering to the Gods of Stackingdom, not 500m from the cars. This is dirt road, not even firetrail, and we have the first and only bloodletting of the day. It was nearly as funny to watch as it would ha ve been for the others to come around the corner to see a pile of Dave and Norco in the middle of the smooth road.

I guess I was sufficiently psyched for the horror climb at the start of the ride, and it turned out to be less of an ordeal than I remember it being last time. There were even a few little descents which I'm sure weren't there before. In all though, there's not much that can be said about an unrelenting 8km climb on dirt road. Old man Pauly's knees and Joey's lungs protested, but we made it to the top.

The singletrack along the side of the main road at the top of the escarpment was thick goopy mud. There is no traction, and viscosity is our friend. The front wheel finds it's own path (whether you like it or not), and the rear wheel becomes a paddlewheel.

Past the timberyard, through the gate, and along the ridge firetrail was quite wet. But, as we soon discovered, there were lines around or between most of the big puddles, and the mud was starting to get damp-and-grippy, that lovely state between wet-and-slippery and dry-and-sketchy. We all agreed later on that the moisture content of the ground from here on was ideal for riding.

Something came over Dave on the first of the fast firetrail descents, and he was off in the lead pack with Duncan and the EFRDs, Joey and Jag. Fruitbat and I were flying, and we never had to wait long at all for Pauly and Mel. Mel had a scorcher of a day - hammering the fast descents, and attempting technical sections later like she never has before.

Short steep ups, long fast downs. Frequent and extended air time off the waterbars, and off any other little rise that had potential. I found myself thinking of Dave's old email sig, "ride like water", so I did. The track has so many sweet flowing lines it's just insane. Duncan and Joey played Dual Compressor games out in front; Dave, Fruitbat and I took turns following each other's frequently airborne wheels. The Plummet itself was also wet and grippy, and much more controllable than before. Even so, Jag nearly took me out as he flew past on the hairpin.

I'm still not sure where The Book says you're supposed to go at the Y-junction at the bottom of the plummet. Last time I did it, we veered left, and dirt-schmoadied most of the way home. I have a feeling the book says to veer right, but it is now quite irrelevant. While I was away, the others discovered the straight ahead option, which was variously referred to as "the gnarly singletrack" or "that stoopid singletrack". I think it was also once called "Cameron's Demise" in honour of an overly enthusiastic EFRD that they hooked up with the time they discovered the track. How could any another option be considered?

The singletrack is definitely not where The Book would say to go. Book tracks are often great fun, but never very technical. The Stoopid Singletrack was both. About two knobby tyrewidths wide, dug into the side of a steep hill by enthusiastic and rather talented trailbikers. Lots of loose rubble and rocks, lots of roots, lots of drops, roll-offs and hop-ups. Maybe, just maybe, all "doable". A few liftovers and lots of dabs, but buckets of good technical fun.

A tricky corner in a deep gully was a good chance to stop, take turns, and compare failures. I was determined to make a good go of it. Slowly, down the rutted droppy approach, in control...smack on the line through the corner, dump into granny ring, then gently, gently up the other side...a big wheelspin and I'm almost over but recovered, trackstanding on the steep mud. Slightly more pressure on the pedals and I start to move again, then another wheelspin and I'm on my arse, still clipped in and tightly gripping the Ourys. Bugger. There will be a next time...

The next tricky bit was an 18-inch drop over an ugly bit of log, on the side of a steep slope. The log looked like it would pierce your lung if you took the wrong line. Dave approached slowly, hopped a few times, pivoted his back wheel into position, then lost his nerve and bailed. Jag went for the other philosophy, approached at about 30 km/h, lifted his bike and landed on the back wheel in time for a slide around the next corner. He made it look easy enough that most of us had a go and nailed it.

The last few switchbacks and tree-tunnel run out were detracted from by a group of trailbikers who caught and passed us. The lead rider was good to watch, hammering through the switches in a spray of dirt, but they weren't really into sharing the trails. Hey, it takes all types.

Paul's knee ceased up again on the last dirt road climb, leaving him rolling around next to his bike. Joey and Jag showed us how to use up 5 inches of travel riding off a 4 foot drop next to the road, and Dave suprised us all, including himself, by taking the 3 foot end of the drop. The rest of us were just too scared.

From here it was fast singletrack beside the road, then a fast dirt road back to the cars. Plenty of mud to scrape off the bikes, but thick mud is much easier on bikes than the wet sandy slurry at Lysterfield the other week. I've made myself a deal to keep my cables going until the end of the winter mud season, then score myself a complete new set.

Foccacia and hedgehog was a suitable end to a fantastic ride. And Duncan seemed genuinely surprised to see us again, way out of context, a few hours later. Mission accomplished.

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