Riders from either below starting point should arrive at Red Herring Fish Shop where we Brunch on the Brooklyn Pier from 9:10am where the MoKador is only average, but the hearty gastronomy is grouse.

ETR Hornsby 11:20am or Turra' midday. If anyone wants to return via Berowra Waters/Galston Gorge, speak-up at one of the Nosh Stops to ascertain who is keen.

Muggs’ inaugural three day sojourn to the Upper Hunter ‘twas a wonderful, pioneering experience, but alas, that Linger ‘n Die bluff remains unconquered.

1. cycling off to explore sights unmapped;
2. getting caught in a pelting rain shower; and
3. adding 30km to Day 2.

Miss Vicki eventually found 'em on her second search-party. The adventurous trio finally rolled into quaint Dungog with the shadows lengthening as dusk approached. A "powerful-parched" Simmo headed straight for the bar at The Royal to chew the fat with the locals, ending any flicker that the L & D mud-patch might be still on the agenda.

We encountered some marvellous new hills, most notably the dreaded Wallarobba about 30km from Dungog.  We imbibed abundant beer, slurped ample wine, sipped plentiful caffeine, gorged manifold cakes, but what the heck, it all felt good at the time. And work problems were an eternity away, thanks to ziltsch Vodaphone cell 'phone reception.

Back to the start. No one failed the cargo weigh-in as we packed our clobber into Nicki’s Wheels in anticipation of 110km to Wollombi – albeit Nicki was on assignment in Melb.  Miss Vicki offered to do the driving stuff to Wollombi, whereupon leaving us at MidCoast Petroleum Peats Ridge, she scurried thru to Wollombi and cycled 25km back to meet the head scouts – Whippet, Pete et al.

That night the War Office convened a clandestine meeting to determine what to do about Fraulein Anja's military medium cycling pace – a continuation threatening open mutiny as we’d likely not get to Dungog ‘til midnight. Delightful young lass she might be, but her idea of cycling wasn’t in Muggs Manuscript. Two choices emerged:

The wusses prevailed and Plan "B" was supported.

Sat morn from Wollombi

We learnt over breakfast that Anja favoured the latter option, but she wasn’t told about PJ's Plan "A".

Sat morn was a tad o’cast with Dirty Cheat volunteering the 27km driving shift to Cessnock - intent upon searching out a church. Upon his arrival at familiar Cessnock, the Seventh Day Adventists were conducting a service. He noticed two young chaps walking past the church. They were wearing white short-sleeved shirts ‘n tie, with those familiar rectangular badges pinned on ‘em. PJ, twigging that they were on a Mission from God, enquired, "What time does the Pastor finish his service?" To which one with a yank accent retorted, "We’re the opposition. We’re Mormons."

As it happened, PJ soon struck up a friendship with Sam, assistant pool attendant at Cessnock Swimming Pool, as Sam was training for the Forster IronMan, and PJ "chewed the fat" about him doing it back in ’89 when there were only 600 starters. Ipso facto, Anja was able to jettison her Graycross, to the delight of us all.

An hour behind schedule, and with slightly threatening skies, we high-tailed it to Kurri Kurri, where Pete, Anne and Simmo opted for the circuitous route via Morpeth. Which they latter assured us was well worth the extra 30km and the drenching when the skies opened when Whippet and Dirty Cheat were into their second round of middies.

Whippet and The Scribe had stuck to the scheduled route thru Maitland, delightful Patterson and onto Dungog, but not before scaling Wallarobba, that surely ranks alongside Bumble Hill as a killer climb.

After the rain shower, the sunset thru the gums on the mountains to the N/E of Dungog provided a striking silhouette on another charming dusk. Anja, who had spent the arvo squawking to Miss Vicki, did the market intelligence stuff by sussing out all Dungog's potential eating spots - which didn't take long. One of the locals told us that the Royal Hotel, where most of us were staying @ $22 p/h, incl breakfast, was where the action was going to be, ‘cause "they’ve got a band playing for St. Patrick’s Day." Notwithstanding the exaggerated expectation of "action", Dungog was a far cry from the throng due to an infestation of 1,200 cyclists when the Big Ride had stayed there barely 11 months earlier.

After discounting the restaurant at Tall Timbers Motel, where Simmo was booked, ‘cause it was too sterile and hardly a place to let your hair down, we settled on din dins at the restaurant at The Royal, ‘cause mkt intelligence provided "its better than the Bistro, although you’ll pay more". Could hardly call it a restaurant, however, the tucker filled a hole and the wine bill didn’t break the wallet. From memory we stopped at four bots of plonk, with Whippet, Anja and Vicki burning the midnight oil.

Sunday morn from Dungog

Thanks to the train driver of our diesel to Maitland for taking Happy Snaps of us just prior to rollout at 7:50am – a train we daren’t miss, ‘cause the next wasn’t ‘til 3:46pm.

Smack on 8:45am under a stark blue sky we disembarked at Maitland en route to Wyong - intent upon catching a 2^nd train back to Hornsby. Notwithstanding an Autumn nip in the air and a slight head-wind, we made good time to Kurri Kurri where we soaked up the morn sun over coffee ‘n cakes at another agreeable country style café.

Somehow after missing Brunkerville, by heading for West Wallsend, we were on a familiar south road further east twds Lake Macq where PJ found himself repeating the initial leg of Loop the Lake down to Morisset which he’d ridden only 7 days earlier, although Loop the Lake had seemed an eternity ago.

About 12:50pm with 70km on the dial and our journey completed we rolled into Nibbles Café just nth of Morisset train station.

Muggs hadn’t conquered Bloody Linger, but surely cycled some of the prettiest country side available in close reach of Sydney. Linger ‘n Die will be an annual March fixture on Muggs calendar, even if we never make it out twds Stroud to challenge that precipitous grade which as folklore has it, brought bullock trains unstuck last century.

Bruce's rap up of Sunday, 18 March, Marea's advertised short sortie to West Hd with a fix at Bonds Nursery

Marcel was on his mutant mountain bike, 700mm wheels, married to mountain bike hubs with disc brakes, ........Marcel could go on and on .....with further details should anybody have the time to ask. He definitely showed that the ability to pump legs up 'n down does carry over from mountain bike riding to road riding. He managed to scare some road racers by keeping up with them at one point.

The view at West Head was superb at 9am and the breakfast at Bonds Nursery on the return went down well. Peter and Paul had the logistics worked out, with their respective wives picking them up at West Head.