In 1979, we were a crew in B Squadron, 2nd Cavalry Regiment (Holsworthy). We were young, fit, steely-eyed “Panzer Commanders”. Well, Al and Doc were – I was a brand new, baggy-arsed Digger!
Fast forward 40+ years, and while the “crew” had aged, the spirit remained intact. Our troop for this mission consisted of Al Norsgaard, a 72-year-old Vietnam veteran and my former Troop Sergeant; Robert “Doc” Ovenden, a 67-year-old Rhodesian Monitoring Force veteran and former Troop Corporal; and myself, now a 62-year-old veteran who did eventually become a “steely-eyed Panzer Commander” with over 20 years’ service. We traded the steel of the Cavalry for high-performance carbon road bikes, embarking on a 2,000-kilometre trek from Melbourne to Brisbane.
Our objective wasn’t just the destination. We were riding to raise money and awareness for Soldier On, an organisation that provided the vital scaffolding I needed during my own transition and recovery. Throughout the thirteen days, my Soldier On psychologist, Pauline, stayed in regular contact – a reminder that while we were pedalling across state lines, the real journey was often happening between our ears.
I hope to share a little of our epic journey as to what’s possible when you put your mind to task…
The Garmin wars and the hand of god
Our first challenge wasn’t a hill, but escaping the labyrinth of Melbourne. Leaving Laverton in the pre-dawn dark, we were at the mercy of our technology. We quickly entered a cycle of “We love Garmin” when it successfully navigated a giant ring road, and “We hate Garmin” when it dragged us 10km away from the Hume Highway for a “scenic” detour.
The physical reality of the journey hit hard on Day 1 near Whittlesea. We faced a brutal 13% incline. My heart rate was redlining, my speed was dropping toward “fall off” pace, and my legs felt like lead after having already done over 60km, knowing there was still another 60km to go. I was mentally preparing to quit when I felt a firm, steady pressure on my back. I thought for a second that I’d been visited by a higher power, but it was just Doc. He reached out, placed his hand on my back, and literally pushed me up that mountain. It was the first of many reminders that, in the cavalry, we leave no one behind!
The credo: eat, ride, sleep, repeat
By Day 3, we had settled into a rhythm. We didn’t think about the 2,000km total; that was too much to process. Rather, we looked at it as riding 150km per day, and we even broke that down further into manageable 50km “chunks” – one before breakfast, one before lunch, and one after lunch. We lived by a simple credo:
“Eat, Ride, Sleep, Repeat.”
The geography of Australia is a cruel teacher. We spent two days in Victoria, one in Queensland, and a gruelling ten days in New South Wales. Day 5 was our “Toughest Day” award winner: a relentless 155km push into Goulburn involving 1,750 metres of climbing. We spent seven hours in the saddle, grinding through fog and 0.8-degree temperatures. By the time we reached the 125km mark, my reserves and our legs were spent. But with our ‘never-say-die’ attitude, we climbed on. Our motto was “DFQ” – (IYKYK).
The flat tyre massacre
Though the hills didn’t break us, the punctures tried. We suffered through what we called the “Flat Tyre Massacre” on Day 6. Between Goulburn and Campbelltown, we had four flats in just 40 kilometres. We would set off, fly along with a tailwind for 10km, hear the dreaded hiss, and pull over. Doc and I became a world-class pit crew out of sheer necessity. By the end of the trip, our tally totalled 44 flats!!!
These mechanical failures were tests of patience, but they were often offset by the kindness of strangers. At a service centre in Tarcutta, a lady behind the counter heard our story and donated $20. At another stop, two “Grey Nomads” named Alan and Alan approached us; one handed over a twenty-dollar note, the other twenty dollars in coins. Just what I needed – more additional weight! Fortunately, I was able to hand it over to a “Loyal Wingman”, more about him in a minute. At the Jugiong Motor Inn, the owner donated $300! The funny thing is, it wasn’t about the amounts; it was the acknowledgement that what we were doing mattered.
Our “loyal wingman” (the support “grunt” and the roadside restaurant)
No Cavalry operation succeeds without logistics, and ours was managed by Dave, our “Support Grunt”. Dave was former infantry and a mate of Al’s. He was an unsung hero of the trek. He was our advance party, our scout, and our chef. On Day 8, as we rode through a miserable downpour toward Bulahdelah, we arrived at our planned stop at New Italy only to find it closed. Cold, wet, and flagging, we were met by Dave, who had scouted ahead, found a local shop, and returned with three pies and chocolate milk. It was a feast fit for kings!!!
Dave’s constant smile and readiness with water, snacks, and “Roadside Restaurant” setups kept our morale from sinking into the wet asphalt. Whether it was muffins at a truck stop or keeping the “war stories” flowing over a beer at night, he was the glue that held the troop together.
The reality of the road
A journey like this isn’t all sunshine and tailwinds. As I noted in my journal, the physical pain becomes a constant companion. There is “sitting pain”, “standing pain”, and the unique “waking up pain”. But more significant was the internal group dynamic. We have known each other, on and off, for over 40 years – most of that time after military service – and yet, interestingly, the old military hierarchies – Sergeant, Corporal, Digger – still exist under the surface. I felt as though I had no voice, being just a ‘baggy-arsed’ Digger.
On one particularly long day near Wyong, navigation disputes led to uncharacteristic tension. One member, frustrated by the indecision, rode off on his own. It was a moment that risked breaking up the group. But as veterans, we knew how to regroup. We sat down that night over a beer, talked it out with total honesty, and moved forward. We weren’t just three guys on bikes; we were a unit.
The “boredom” and the crash
Day 12 was a lesson in why you should never complain about a “boring” road. We were cruising on a pan-flat route, averaging 25kph, and I remarked to Doc how dull the hundred-kilometre stretch had been. Then the heavens opened. Within minutes, we were being blasted by the freezing spray of B-Double trucks. Our shoes were literally full of water.
Taking a “scenic” detour to escape the highway, we attempted to cross a wet wooden bridge near Pottsville. I felt my wheels slip but managed to stay upright. Behind me, I heard a sickening thud. I turned to see Al and Doc on the deck, still clipped into their bikes, with a tradie’s ute stopped just feet from their heads. The “boredom” was gone in an instant. Bruised and shaken, Doc looked up and asked with a grin, “Are you still bored now?”
Mission accomplished
On Day 13, we finally rolled into Brisbane. The final stats tell part of the story: 75.5 hours in the saddle, 13,500m of climbing (Mt Everest is only 8,800m), and over 32,000 calories burned each. We had raised over $2,000 for Soldier On, and more importantly, we had proved that the bond forged in B Squadron in 1979 was unbreakable!
Al, the 72-year-old Vietnam vet, finished the 2,000km with the grit of a man half his age. Doc, whom we nicknamed “Duracell Doc”, was a machine, powering up hills even when he was under the weather. And me? I was just the baggy-arsed Digger, grateful for my mates and the “Hand of God” that helped me right when I needed it.
We rode for those who can’t, and we rode to say thank you to organisations like Soldier On that catch us when we fall. We might be older, and our “armour” might be Lycra now, but the Lighthorse still rides!
My only regret is that we did not have an active ‘fundraising’ mechanism. Soldier On deserved a lot more than $2,000, and if the Lighthorse ever ride again, we’ll ensure the logistics of giving are as high-performance as the bikes.
Brett has supported Soldier On through a variety of fundraising ventures, including the production of a play, Blank Cheque, that shared elements of the veteran experience (pictured above).
You can support Soldier On with your own fundraising ideas and activities too – we’d love to hear your ideas!
