How far does your doorstep go?

Zorali Trailblazer Daygin Prescott reflects on a 13-day, 800km bikepacking and rock climbing trip from his front door in the Blue Mountains to the spires of the Warrumbungle National Park.

Words and photos by Daygin Prescott

Pack the bags, 3am wake-up for 8am flight, Uber to the airport, flight, layover, flight, pick up rental car, drive to the trailhead and the trip begins.

That’s the shape of most of my big adventures these days. Where the transit feels like I’m teleporting to a new place. And within all that transit is a dead space that seems to eat away at each end of our trips. I’ve wanted to explore what it would look like to start right at home. Much like that feeling of lacing up the trail runners at the front door and heading out for a morning run. Step out the door, the adventure starts, and you return right back home at the end, without any of that ‘dead space’ on either side.

Thinking back on what was meant to be a climbing trip, the memories which resurface aren’t distinctly about the climbing at all. Some of my favourite moments were in fact the journey to and from. All the unique postboxes along the country roads, ripping down pristine gravel roads as the afternoon sky is filled with pastel hues, sleeping under park benches in rural towns and enjoying far too many calories on our roadside snack breaks.

Living in the Blue Mountains gives us ridiculous access to adventures. Canyoning, trail running and rock climbing all accessed from the front door or with a very short drive. Squeezing in a quick afternoon lap up a multi-pitch or planning a full-day run through the mountains, there’s always something in the works and it’s usually just up the road.

Now, with a gravel bike in the mix, the radius for these adventures is drastically increased. I began to ponder, how big of a day could I have from home? Actually, what about something longer? Where’s somewhere I haven’t been? Could I link it up with climbing? Do my housemates want to join?

And that’s where the idea was born… in the kitchen. Myself, Tulli and Felix (my housemates) looked beyond the Blue Mountains, and as we zoomed out on the map, the Warrumbungles came into view. None of us had ever been there and all of us were particularly keen to sample the adventure climbing there.

Climbing rack, sleeping gear, camera gear and food. We packed light, sharing as much as we could: one tarp, one tube of toothpaste, one Jetboil and one repair kit. Wearing one merino layer for 13 days… unwashed.

It honestly felt strange, having gone through the motions of packing for a big trip, but then just riding our bikes out the driveway. We spent the first 40km travelling past our local grocery stores, friends’ houses and the trailheads of our favourite crags and mountain runs. Our first night was the most epic of the trip, camped cliffside overlooking the Wolgan Valley.

Day two took us into unfamiliar places. Riding gravel roads through the mystical monster-like boulders and fern-filled gullies of the Gardens of Stone. Riding along the sandstone cliffs until a sketchy descent took us into the Capertee Valley. This was my favourite riding of the whole trip. Flat, fast country roads with the mountains lining the horizon, a perspective of this landscape I hadn’t seen before.

The days following were spent as dirtbags: sleeping under park benches, raiding the lolly aisle of small-town general stores and just having a good fun adventure. And not much to report on, we certainly weren’t out there suffering, just riding our bikes. Late starts, long lunches and enough sugar to feed a village.

Some days, I forgot we were even going climbing. Others, it was all I could think about.

Most evenings we made it into a small town for a pub feed or at least a grocery store haul. Our last resupply was in the town of Gulgong, stocking up on six days of food to cover a couple of days riding, our time in the ‘Bungles and the first day of riding home. Thirty cans of tuna found their way onto our bikes.

After five days of country roads and farms, the skyline of the Warrumbungles appeared. These epic spire-y features very much lifted our spirits. We pulled up early and only gave ourselves 20km the next day, using it as a bit of a rest day before we started climbing.

Walking felt absurdly slow after being on the bikes for six days. We packed small bags and hiked out to Balor Hut. This was our base for the next three nights. We climbed Cornerstone Rib on Crater Bluff and Flight of the Phoenix on Bluff Mountain, both stellar adventure routes, not hard by any measure, just good, honest fun. It fit the whole tone of the trip: we weren’t out there suffering or pushing ourselves, just adventuring with friends, in good style.

The most memorable moment of the entire thirteen days came standing on top of Bluff Mountain, looking south. Nothing but flat country to the horizon, and somewhere beyond it, the sandstone cliffs of the Blue Mountains. At that moment on the summit, the whole transit out here replayed in my mind, a reminder of the essence of this adventure. We’d just climbed one of the classic rock routes in Australia and all I could think about was how epic the journey here was, and the fact that we still had to ride the whole way back.

Tulli, Daygin and Felix. Three housemates, one tube of toothpaste.

The ride home felt very much like transit. We swapped the scenic back roads for the Castlereagh Highway, choosing efficiency over scenery. Honestly, my butt was quite tender and the team were keen to get home.

However, much like the slow transition at the start, the landscape slowly welcomed us back in. Pieces of home start presenting themselves. The sandstone cliffs breaking the horizon, black cockatoos soaring above, lyrebirds singing and flowering roadside wattle. The smells, sounds and sights of the mountains welcomed us back home in a way no podcast in a car ever could.

Nothing about this trip was efficient, and that was kind of the point. Our transit wasn’t just the ‘buy in’ for the adventure, but rather woven right into it. In a time where life was busy for me, time outside was barely squeezed in between meetings, jobs and flights. Moving slowly through generally boring, flat farmland taught me something special. Riding our bikes with no real urgency, I noticed so many intricate parts of the towns, farms, roads and wildlife that I’d usually not even see or have the bandwidth to pay attention to.

And that was the one bit of gold I came away with. When we give ourselves time to move slowly, there is space created to notice things. That will look different for everyone but for me it was deepening a relationship with my housemates, admiring the most random post boxes, patting the cows, watching a small bird go about its day, and just being able to sit in moments rather than rushing onto the next one.

So, how far does your doorstep go? Mine is at least 800km.

We shared some gear between us, and divided it up to share weight. This was my first ever bikepacking trip, and although I have plenty of experience going ultralight for many days, I still learnt a lot about packing the bike, and which gear I’d leave or bring next time.

If you’ve got questions or are keen to chat about bikepacking, climbing, hiking or just general gear chat for adventures, feel free to reach out to me: @dayginprescott on Instagram.