With the big five dams ride getting uncomfortably close it was high time to get out in the hills and practise feeling weak and miserable. There had been some discussion among the Coglioni Cognoscenti that the BWA event’s route was a little crude. The inevitable perusing of maps and composition of alternative routes taking in more and more of the minor dams in the Perth hills led to me proposing Bif’s little five dams ride as a warm-up for the big event.

Spunker had goaded me a week or two earlier into getting serious about organising such a ride, and he had made some grumpy mention about it not being planned primarily around breakfast as seemed to be the case lately. So my ride invitation concluded with the kiss-off “no duds or time-wasters” which reaped more benefit than I could have imagined. Not only did it help select five fine companions for my expedition, all happy to be prodded and bullied into trying to meet my unreasonable expectation of being back by eleven, but it proved that there is not a dud or a time-waster to be found in the C.C.C. ranks as Ted organised a rebel ride out to Mundaring Weir.

It’s worth saying that again: the soft option was a loop from Helena Valley to Mundaring Weir and back via Kalamunda.

The cycling gods were a little mocking of my arrogant timetable and so conspired wake both the Chicken and the Squirrel just as I was about to ride off into the sunrise. This put me in the embarrassing position of having to text O’Dirty to say I might be late. Luckily I had factored in a bit of faffing time so that and a bit of effort got me to the appointed rendez-vous dead on 5.45, just as the others were rolling up to the South Street lights as a bunch. I waved them to turn around and we began our long day via the Parry Avenue shortcut to the Roe Highway.

As the route was a mystery to all but me there was much speculation in the bunch as to which five dams would feature. In truth it shouldn’t have been hard to guess, with Mundaring Weir eliminated by familiarity and Serpentine Dam by lack of proximity. I did also have a “novelty dam” in mind but in the end I wasn’t completely sure how to get there and expected it would make the route too long so had dropped it from my plans. Maybe next time.

First stop was Bickley Reservoir, recomissioned as a “pumpback dam” in the 1990s, but a place I used to go swimming with the dog during its years in the water supply wilderness. Holding only about as much water as Perth guzzles in an hour it’s hardly a big player, but it’s a nice almost two kilometre climb up Hardinge Road past the adjacent recreation area.

I had contemplated taking us from there to our next site via some old access roads that look pretty passable on Google Maps but on the ground it appeared they were loose blue metal rather than tarmac, so it was back down the hill and around to Crystal Brook Road for some more serious climbing. I dropped my chain on the Kelvin Road approach so was in cranky catch-up mode for the climb, which along with less-unfavourable conditions than on recent visits got me up the one kilometre ten per cent pitch a dozen seconds quicker than I’ve previously recorded.

We regrouped at the top and began the long drag up Welshpool Road to the crown of the scarp. Near the top we slowly overtook a recumbent making a lie of the truism that trikes can’t climb. Regrouping again on Canning Road Digger shot off the front and I was forced to defend my role as ride leader by chasing him down. It was fortunate that I did as the turn-off to Victoria dam loomed sooner than expected and it was only his good sense in looking back and a well-timed shout as I got nearer that prevented him from overshooting.

Victoria Dam was built anew in 1991, so although the original dam was Perth’s first it was not known to me when I lived in the hills. Consequently although I had visited once by car I had never been there by bike before. It was still early enough that we had to scramble over the main gates to ride down to the carpark, from where the service road continued in a tantalisingly steep descent down to the dam. The road was barred and in a weak moment all six Coglioni became conigli at the sight of a simple sign banning entry by cyclists. At the end of the day this decision would save precious minutes, but in retrospect it seems a shame we didn’t sneak down and sight the water.

Next stop Churchman’s Brook Reservoir, which would be a novelty for me, but O’Dirty and Paddles had enjoyed a cool ride through the area last winter, and had still not stopped prattling about the perils of Peet Road in the ice and snow. We chose the quieter and more scenic route along Canning Mills Road over the straightforward approach via Canning Road and Brookton Highway, and we were soon on the perilous descent of Peet Road. Indeed it is steep, steep enough to keep this rabbit on its brakes most of the way down.

Churchman’s Brook Reservoir defies dam logic by being at the top of a climb rather than at the bottom where it belongs. But a fine long climb it was after giving up so much elevation coming down Peet Road. The long narrow valley of the brook made for picturesque cycling, and before long it was the ‘B’ team of Bif and Babel on the front while Digger and Paddles paced themselves up and O’Dirty hung back with Spunker to help curse the latter’s uncooperative drivetrain.

Not having visited this dam before I was almost tricked by the smaller run-off dams downstream into thinking we had arrived at our destination, but an official Water Corporation sign eventually announced the real thing. Uncertain of the topography Babel and I descended to what turned out to be a picnic area below the wall. Determined to sight the water we quickly turned around and started climbing back up to find the high road, only to be passed by Digger and Paddles coming in the other direction. I tried to gesticulate with my head and announce with some inarticulate babblings lost in the breeze that we were headed up to the wall and they should turn immediately up rather than carrying on down, but they were undaunted in their descent.

By the time we had admired the view, happy-snapped some evidence of our arrival and refilled our water bottles we were starting to wonder where the others had got to so we rolled back down to the entrance to find it deserted. As luck would have it we heard voices and found we had returned just in time to see O’Dirty and Spunker and his tweaked transmission disappearing up the road. The location of Digger and Paddles was unknown but it soon became apparent they had assumed Babel and I had headed off up the hill rather than to the dam wall so a quick call was in order to prevent them going any further astray. Luckily they had not yet reached the next turning and we were able to regroup once again and head south towards Wungong Dam.

After short but nervous transition across the Albany Highway into Admiral Road we started to get glimpes of the wall of Wungong Dam as we made a picturesque approach up the Wungong River valley. The gentle descent became rapid as we got closer, culminating in a quick drop towards the park that was rudely arrested by a pair of sharp speed bumps that none of us saw in time to slow down. We all got through unscathed and were soon on the sharp climb up to the dam wall. I dropped my chain again (note to self: make sure the front changer is properly set before the big five dams) and in my haste to rejoin the group became a little delirious as I started telling anyone who would listen (and no doubt many who did not) that I had been here before with O’Dirty on a Munda Biddi expedition. A dig into the archives proves I was confusing Wungong Dam with North Dandalup dam, which also explains why the gates on the wall were shut and there was not a wagyl to be seen.

Across the wall the road pitched up improbably steeply, with Spunker’s gradiometer peaking at a gear-crunching 16 per cent. Like all steep bits it was short and we were soon back on the highway headed for Canning Dam. It was a longer stretch this time, cowering in the verge as cars sped past at 80 and then 110. It was something of a relief then to reach the sheltered quiet of Canning Dam Road, at least until we got up to speed and the shocking aggregate had me wondering if the thread-lock on the faceplate of my stem was still in good shape.

From rough and narrow beginnings the road improved and opened out, and as it did it started to plummet into the Canning River Valley. I had intended to turn across the wall but with the only sign at the turn-off we swished past at 70 before stopping adjacent to the lower picnic area. After a brief nature stop we were off again, the peloton having taken surprisingly well the news that there would be no coffee-stop on the way home. At least I could offer some good news, knowing that there was no climb out from Canning Dam the way were going and it was pretty much downhill from here to the bottom of the scarp. With the southeasterly holding and our way home generally northwesterly the prospect for a brisk return leg was also good.

And brisk it was, with a nice run down Brookton Highway, a transition through the Kelmscott boondocks, and on to Ranford Road. While the latter is not the most enjoyable places to ride a bike the traffic mixes well with a good tail wind to get you fired up. Consequently there was the odd split on the way back but a long long wait at the Freeway intersection almost brought the caravan back up to Babel and your hasty scribe.

All in all it was a good tough morning’s work, and I was home only nine minutes behind schedule. It might have been a hundred kilometres short of the full Five Dams, but at least I got some good in some good practice suffering through a dehydration headache that afternoon.