Ride Report – Kanmantoo · Harrogate · Woodside · Callington · Norton Summit
Ride Report – Kanmantoo · Harrogate · Woodside · Callington · Norton Summit
Saturday 13-12-25
Saturday 13-12-25 saw us rolling out from the Stirling Hotel for the second weekend in a row — clearly testing whether the locals were about to start charging us rent. This time, however, the numbers were well up, which immediately guaranteed two things: the banter would be louder, and someone would miss a turn at least once.
Route Commander Lockwood led the charge aboard the mighty Africa Twin, setting a confident pace and once again proving that big bikes can hustle when pointed in the right direction. Riding in his wake (quite literally) was Dust Captain Wilkey, also on a full-fat Africa Twin and doing a sterling job of ensuring no visor remained clean for long.
Rick flew the Yamaha flag proudly on the Tenere 700, continuing to demonstrate that the T7 lives perfectly between “this makes sense” and “this is probably a bad idea — let’s do it anyway.”
Adrian, Mark and Wayne kept the KTM presence strong, delivering the usual mix of pace, precision, and mild mechanical suspicion — because if a KTM isn’t being ridden hard, is it even switched on?
Rounding out the group, I brought along the baby of the bunch — the CF Moto 450 MT — punching well above its weight and doing its best to keep up without too much screaming or carrying on.
Rolling out of Stirling and heading down Mount Barker Road, the group settled quickly into classic Adelaide Hills rhythm — until yours truly managed to interrupt proceedings. The shout went out to slow down because, for the second week in a row, I had managed to lose my GoPro, this time bouncing down the road at roughly 80 km/h. Credit where it’s due: GoPro deserves serious praise for the Hero 12 — I’m doing my absolute best to kill it, and so far, it refuses to cooperate.
What followed was me pacing up and down the road three times in full riding gear, much to the confusion of passing motorists wondering why a bloke in a helmet was wandering around without a bike in sight. Just as I gave up all hope and returned to my bike, there it was — sitting less than two inches from my back wheel.
Back underway (and having lost radio contact), I soon spotted Rick hurtling toward me in the opposite direction — clearly volunteering to check on the idiot on the Chinese bike. A few kilometres later, I found the rest of the group safely pulled over, waiting patiently for said idiot. Regrouped and back in formation, we continued east.
The early kilometres threaded through a mix of flowing bitumen and narrow back roads that reward smooth inputs rather than heroics. Tree-lined stretches, tightening bends, and that unmistakable Hills feel that reminds you why you bothered getting out of bed early on a Saturday. Despite overnight rain, the roads proved surprisingly dusty, keeping Dust Captain Wilkey well employed.
Heading south-east toward Kanmantoo, the landscape opens up and the road begins to flow more freely. Long, sweeping bends replace tighter township roads, making this a favourite section for riders who enjoy carrying momentum. From there, the route continued toward Harrogate, a quiet stretch that felt a world away from the busier tourist corridors — calm, scenic, and ideal for regrouping, with wide views across rolling farmland.
The ride then tracked toward Woodside, briefly reconnecting with civilisation before turning east again toward Callington. It was on this leg that a pair of kangaroos, who never disappoint, demonstrated once again why they are among Australia’s least logical creatures — repeatedly attempting to hop straight through a fence. Despite this, the roads here delivered excellent surfaces, light traffic, and a natural flow that makes the section one of the highlights of the loop.
Callington itself sparked a unanimous observation: it desperately needs a bakery or café. As we rolled through town, a couple of the group lingered on the old Callington Hotel, openly longing for the day it reopens — the consensus being that the renovation has been dragging on for well over a decade. First licensed in the mid-to-late 1800s during Callington’s copper-mining heyday, the hotel once served miners, farmers and travellers before closing in the early 2000s and slipping into a long, unfinished restoration that continues to fuel rider-side speculation.
Leaving Callington, the road settled into a relaxed, flowing rhythm toward Nairn, skirting open farmland and pockets of native scrub that feel quietly remote despite being so close to civilisation. The calm was briefly broken by two classic Hills encounters — a lone turtle carefully crossing a bridge at a creek crossing, followed not long after by a snake stretched out on the warm gravel, both gentle reminders to keep the eyes up and the pace sensible.
Rolling into Nairn, the stop at Little Birdy Bakery proved exactly why it’s a firm favourite. The coffee was sublime, the food offerings consistently excellent, and it’s the kind of place that makes you forget the kilometres already behind you and start planning excuses to ride back.
From Nairn, the route turned west toward Norton Summit, tightening up through shaded sections and familiar backroads. The final leg felt like a proper wind-down — cooler air, tree-lined corners, and that sense of easing back toward Adelaide after a full day in the saddle.
We rolled into the Norton Summit Hotel to finish the ride, only to find a wedding in full swing, with several areas understandably closed off. Unfortunately, what should have been a relaxed end to the day was let down (for me at least) by poor bar staff attentiveness — enough to take the shine off an otherwise great location, and not somewhere I’m rushing back to anytime soon.
“221 kilometres, one escaped turtle, one airborne GoPro, zero regrets — just another Adelaide Hills loop that reminds us why Gravel Hounds keep coming back for more.”

Sterling & Southern loop around the Fleurieu
Date: 1 November 2025
Riders: Jonny (Route Commander), Barry (Trail-tool Guardian) Rick & Gravel Hound
Distance: Approx 275kms
"Don’t Rattle My Cage"
It was barely 8:00 a.m. at the Stirling Hotel, and the morning air was thick with the smell of coffee, chain lube, and bravado. The crew gathered: Jonny the Route Commander, Rick (fashionably late, though that tale’s best left for him to explain), Barry the Trail Tool Guardian, and yours truly, Gravel Hound.
The mood was high, caffeine levels decent, and everyone was eager to give these bikes a workout. This was shaping up to be one of those rides where reputations — would the bigger Japanese bikes be able to handle the Austrian pressure? — and fuel ranges and resolve were about to be tested.
The Austrian Uprising
We rolled out of Stirling and wound through Aldgate before ducking onto the tracks off Churchill Road. The two small Austrian warriors — a pair of KTM 390 Adventures — didn’t exactly charge off in front; more, they pushed the pace from behind, snapping at the heels of the bigger bikes like orange-clad terriers with something to prove.
Up front, the Route Commander appeared firmly in control, leading the Japanese contingent on the Africa Twin, with Rick riding shotgun on the Tenere 700 in a unified defence against the upcoming serious assault from the little Austrian missiles. They looked the part — broad-shouldered, imposing, and built for long hauls. But in the twistier dirt, the mid- and heavyweights appeared a little worried, because they knew the KTMs had a point to prove with Barry on a mission as he darted through ruts and puddles with effortless cheek all the while chewing on a Japanese dust trail.
You could almost hear the Austrian engineers somewhere in Mattighofen chuckling, “Lightweight, ja — but mighty fast!” (Pity they hadn’t done something with the geometry to make it resemble more of a true dual-sport bike. I know the learner and beginner market is probably where it was pitched, but if they try to keep up with their mates on the dirt it might demoralise them — and the sport could lose them. Come on KTM, sort it out!)
Through Meadows and Macclesfield
We skirted Macclesfield, hit a brief stretch of bitumen along White’s Road, then crossed Macclesfield Road again for another hit of dirt. The Route Commander kept us in line through the twisties toward Meadows.
Pushing hard were the KTMs, with Barry occasionally reminding the crew they were holding us up — punctuating it with his trademark quote: “Don’t rattle my cage unless it’s feeding time.”
And feeding time it almost was. By the time we exited Cleland Gully Road, a small detour had snuck into the plan (thanks, Jonny), but no one complained — especially once the smell of Compass Community Bakery pies drifted through the visors.
Lunch was the kind of simple perfection only country bakeries can deliver: flaky pastry, strong coffee, and stories that grew taller with every bite.
Post-pie, we pushed south past Spring Mount Conservation Park, where the gravel turned glorious — fast, flowing, and grippy enough to make everyone look like a Dakar hopeful.
The lush the Mount Compass region was once known for dairy farming and peat extraction, still a fair bit of dairy farming going on. Back in the early 1900s, the dark soil was being shipped north to enrich the gardens of Adelaide’s finest. These days, it enriches adventure riders’ souls instead.
Further along, at Yankalilla, we stopped for fuel and a cold drink. The 390s still looked fresh; but the bigger bikes sensed they were beat and looked like they were quietly considering a lie-down and a sports drink.
Austria 1 – Japan 0 (But Who’s Counting?)
The ride toward Myponga was nothing short of spectacular — rolling farmland, sweeping bends, and that classic South Aussie combination of gravel, gum trees, and grin. On the return leg toward Mount Compass, the little KTMs were having a ball. The Route Commander and Ricky pushed on a bit, finding our rhythm we all managed a spirited ride without getting too much out of hand.
The Africa Twin thundered along, majestic but most probably slightly out of breath, because the two pint-sized KTMs pushed it hard like a pair of orange wasps on espresso. Lightweight vs. middleweight vs. heavyweight — and this time the featherweights were calling the tune: “Don’t rattle my cage unless it’s feeding time!”
Heading Home
Back on familiar territory, we blasted along Bahloo Glen Road, skirted Keema Conservation Park, and carved our way through to Kangarilla, almost entirely on dirt. At the junction of Kangarilla Road and Cut Hill Road, I waved the crew farewell — my day was done.
As I turned the little KTM for home, I imagined the others finishing back at Stirling, helmets off, retelling the day’s heroics over a cold one — with Barry flying the flag for us KTM 390 riders and claiming moral victory, the Tenere managing to hold its dignity, and the Africa Twin muttering something about front-tyre pressures.
Final Thoughts from the Trail Tool Guardian
Barry, ever the philosopher, summed it up perfectly as we allowed the dust to settle on another fantastic ride: “Don’t rattle my cage unless it’s feeding time.”
Fair enough, mate — especially after six hours of dust, laughter, and friendly rivalry between the Austrian lightweights and the Japanese heavy artillery.
In the end, horsepower didn’t matter — it was all about mateship, mischief, and miles. And as every adventure rider knows, that’s what makes the dirt taste just a little sweeter.
Thank you as ever, Route Commander, for all your hard work. Barry and Rick — thanks for the company. Those of you who were absent, you missed a really great ride.
Crafers-Woodside-Nairne-Verdun
Date: 25 October 2025
Riders: Jonny (Route Commander), Barry (Trail-tool Guardian) & Gravel Hound (yours truly)
Distance: Approx 160kms
The Depleted Crew
It was a very depleted crew that rolled out on 25-10-25, the plan being a short spin on a new route that had come the way of Gravel Hound himself. Route Commander Jonny promised to sprinkle a bit of GPS magic to deliver something worthy of the effort — short enough to outrun the forecast storm, but long enough to justify a pie stop.
Only three riders answered the call this time, with the rest of the pack sidelined by milestone birthdays, outback flights, home-renovation chaos, and various interstate adventures.
For the first time since Andri’s upgrade to the Beamer, the two feisty KTM 390s found themselves squaring off against the mighty Africa Twin. With the old Tenere still convalescing in the shed, yours truly pressed Belinda’s bike into service — which seemed like a grand idea until the dash flashed a dismal 9.5 volts.
A quick jump-start got things barking again, and I figured the run from Mount Compass to Reynella would top the battery right up. It didn’t. By the time I rolled in, the poor thing was still flat on its back — another patient for the ever-reliable K-TEK charger.
Saturday Morning Salvation
By dawn, the charger had worked its magic and the little orange KTM fired up without complaint. The plan was simple: meet at Jonny’s and roll early to beat the rain. Naturally, I turned up fashionably late — just in time to witness Barry’s temperamental electronics throw their first tantrum of the day, not ten metres from Jonny’s driveway.
Once the gremlins were banished, we wound our way from Reynella to Woodside, the air thick with that cool, pre-storm tension that makes South Aussie gravel shimmer.
From Woodside, we pointed our front wheels toward Nairne, where the ride truly began. The stretch between those towns is pure Adelaide Hills gold — rolling farmland, weathered gums, and the kind of winding backroads that whisper just one more corner. Settled by German farmers in the 1830s, these hills still carry their old-world charm; stone cottages and historic bridges remind you that horsepower wasn’t always measured in cc.
Bulls, Gravel and a Bakery Worth Finding
The first gravel of the day revealed the 390’s nervous side — light in the front and twitchier than a roo at closing time. Even at my modest 5'6", the standing position felt awkward; taller riders would have looked like contortionists on wheels. It’s clear KTM built this one from the Duke platform — fun on the hardtop, less convincing when the road turns to ruts.
Still, it soldiered on gamely as we wound through farmland and open scrub, dodging puddles left by overnight rain. Somewhere along the route we stopped to greet two magnificent Highland bulls — broad-shouldered, mop-topped, and clearly used to admiration. They posed patiently for photos before losing interest, leaving us chuckling at their indifference.
The gravel gave way to bitumen again, and the lure of caffeine led us straight to the Nairne Bakery on the return leg. What a gem — friendly faces, top-notch food, and arguably one of the best coffees in the Hills. The Bacon Benny Roll deserves its own five-star rating; it’s reason enough to reroute any future ride.
The Run from Nairne to Verdun
From Nairne we looped west, dropping down Old Princes Highway before turning off toward Balhannah and Verdun via a patchwork of quiet backroads and short gravel connectors. It’s the sort of route that feels hand-picked for adventure bikes — gentle rolling clay sections broken up by tarmac sweepers, all framed by vineyards and paddocks dotted with curious alpacas.
The climb out of Nairne offers a stunning vantage across the Onkaparinga Valley before you dive into a series of shaded lanes lined with old gums and stone fences. The descent toward Balhannah is a beauty — fast enough to keep the grins wide, but technical enough to keep you honest.
we could smell the rain coming in from the west. A few stray drops spattered the visors as we skirted the edge of Hahndorf, then rolled down into Verdun, a little town that still wears its 19th-century roots proudly. It once served as a rest stop for bullock teams hauling supplies to the copper mines — today, it’s better known for its pub, and the kind of stone buildings that make every photo look like a postcard.
A Pint, a Mystery, and a Wrap-Up
Bellies full and rain finally catching us, we rolled into Verdun for a well-earned pint. The carpark was packed, yet the pub itself completely empty — a riddle no one could solve but none of us cared to. Cold beer in hand, bikes cooling outside, and boots squelching on polished floorboards — the perfect finish to a day that had delivered laughter, mild chaos, and a proper shakedown for the little KTM.
- Fun Fact: Nairne was one of SA’s first inland towns (1839), once home to a bustling flour mill that supplied early Adelaide. Verdun, formerly called Grünthal (“Green Valley”), was renamed during WWI — though its charm remains distinctly European.
When in Doubt, Flat Out
Pipeline Ride Report – Woodside to Gumeracha
Date: 18 October 2025
Riders: Jonny, Wayne, Barry, Adrian, Rick, Jason, and Gravel Hound (yours truly)
Distance: 256 km | Elevation
Gain: 4,699 m
Route: Woodside → Pipeline Trail → Gumeracha
A South Aussie Adventure with a Wild Twist
This one had it all — gravel, laughter, roos with a death wish, and a Tenere doing its best impression of a wounded warhorse. Our latest Pipeline Ride from Woodside to Gumeracha was pure South Australian gold: chaos, camaraderie, and a fair bit of mechanical mischief. From rabbit dodging to roadside tyre surgery, it was one of those days that reminds you adventure riding is equal parts skill, stupidity, and stubbornness.
The Early Miles
We rolled out of Woodside under a sky so clear you could see your own optimism reflecting back at you. Seven riders, full tanks, and the usual misplaced confidence. The first stretch was brisk — visibility down thanks to fog and cold enough to make heated grips feel like a life choice, not a luxury.
The gravel was fast and flowing, the pipeline humming away beneath us like an old mate keeping rhythm. Then, right on cue,
Jonny turned wildlife conservationist — by hitting a rabbit.
No damage done (to the bike, at least 1 rabbit with a very sore head, and by the next regroup he’d earned himself new status, although the name Barry was mentioned over the comms a lot on the subject of running things over. Spirits remained high, tyres were round (for the time being), and we were making great time.
The Puncture Incident
Not long after, enthusiasm got the better of me — again — and I found myself with a front-wheel puncture courtesy of a rocky section that looked friendlier than it was. With no shade and no sympathy, the crew gathered for the entertainment.
We picked the perfect makeshift workshop: a good solid post of a “No Motorcycles” sign. Naturally, we tied the Tenere to it like a naughty pony while everyone chipped in and got to work. The new tyre-changing ratchet got its first real workout in anger and performed flawlessly Rick seemed suitably impressed so that will do for me. Jonny supplied his overworked of late mini compressor and on we continued in search of caffeine and redemption.
Bakery Stop & Roo Chaos
The customary bakery stop didn’t disappoint —Well apart from me discovering the old girl was mortally wounded again with a stone through the radiator, pies, pasties, coffee soon put that into perspective followed by a rummage through the bin to find a suitable water container to be filled and used later on the journey. Now seven grown men having inhaled baked goods like they’ve got the munchies. Bellies full and spirits resurrected, we set off… for about twenty minutes. Then came Wayne’s kangaroo moment.
Out of nowhere, a roo with a death wish darted under his front wheel. Any sane man would’ve backed off — Wayne didn’t even flinch. He
rode clean over the top of it, both wheels on, both wheels off, and kept going like it was part of the plan. The rest of us were equal parts horrified and impressed.
It was one of those moments that starts with stunned silence and ends with someone saying, “Did that actually just happen?”
Beer, Brotherhood & 300 Bikers
By mid-arvo, we rolled into the Gumeracha Hotel, dusty, satisfied, and ready for a cold one. For a few blessed minutes, it was perfect — seven adventure bikes parked out front, the sound of clinking glasses, and that familiar sense of post-ride smugness.
Then the thunder rolled in — A very large contingent of leather-clad brethren on a charity run filled the car park in record time. Suddenly, our little corner of paradise in the spring sunshine was swallowed by a wave of Harleys, much chrome, and exhaust pipes you could lose a small dog in.
We took the hint, finished our beers, and scattered in several different directions homeward bound.
Limping Home
You’d think the drama was over. The Tenere disagreed. Somewhere between Gumeracha and home, she decided to start weeping coolant like a broken-hearted teenager.
After stealing the last of Jonny’s drinking water (cheers mate), I coaxed her back to the shed with the delicacy of a bomb technician. As I write this, a replacement radiator is on its way from Europe, hopefully with fewer emotions than the last one.
Wrap-Up
The Pipeline Ride dished up everything we love (and occasionally swear at) about adventure riding: mate ship, wildlife encounters, mechanical mayhem, and enough laughs to fill the next pub night.
Special thanks to the Klim Kaiser who not only shouted the beers but also bore the brunt of many a one liner with good humour and grace as always thanks guys for a great day out.
Unforgettable. Unfiltered. Undeniably adventure.
Just another day in the saddle for the South Aussie crew — and another story that’ll sound even better after two pints.
Cudlee Creek - Uraidla
The air was crisp at Cudlee Creek when the three of us — Jonny, Rick, and yours truly — thumbed our starters and rolled out. The chorus of exhaust notes echoed through the trees, a sound as welcome as the first coffee of the day.
From Cudlee Creek Road to Mill Road, we traced the early morning mist as it clung to the hollows, before swinging through Lobethal. This little Adelaide Hills town isn’t just another pretty stop — it’s steeped in Australian motorsport history.
Lobethal – The Spirit of Road Racing
Lobethal was a centre of German settlement and the home of one of Australia’s most famous road racing circuits. The Lobethal Grand Prix Circuit was a fearsome 14.1 km loop of public roads that ran from 1937 to 1948 and became known as the “Brooklands of the South.”
It was on this circuit that legends like Jack Brabham and Lex Davison cut their teeth, with speeds exceeding 160 km/h on narrow, bumpy roads bordered by stone fences and gum trees. The 1939 Australian Grand Prix was held here — the last time a true public-road circuit hosted the AGP in South Australia. Standing there today, it’s easy to imagine the howl of supercharged MGs and thundering Alfa Romeos echoing through the valley, just as we were echoing through it on our own modern machines.
From Lobethal, the ride picked up pace on Woodside Road, into Quarry and Harrison Roads, before zig-zagging our way along Kings, Burnley, Teakles, and Sandy Waterhole Roads. Each turn delivered a fresh canvas of rolling farmland and gum-lined straights. Dunn Road and Warmington Run reminded us why this region is Adelaide’s playground — fast, flowing, and almost completely empty.
On Brinkworth Range Road, we paused for the obligatory photo stop. Out here the horizon seems to stretch forever, and it’s not hard to picture the first pastoralists pushing sheep and cattle across these very ridges. This was Ngadjuri country long before Europeans arrived, and the quiet out there carries a weight of history if you stop long enough to listen.
After kicking up dust on Hoads Firetrack, Bottroff Hill Road, and Peaches Road, we made for Mannum and the welcoming smell of fresh pastry. The Mannum Bakery is something of a pilgrimage site for riders and travellers alike, and for good reason — hot pies, strong coffee, and a spot to warm the hands.
Between bites, we put the world to rights — discussing bikes, politics, and anything else that came to mind. It felt fitting, since Mannum itself is where river trade on the Murray really took off in the 1850s thanks to William Randell’s paddle steamers. Hard not to imagine them chugging past as you sip your flat white.
Bellies full, we resisted the temptation to take the direct route and instead stitched together a medley of backroads: Tepko, Hoffman, Kubenk, Rolland, and Pym Roads, each one a ribbon leading us deeper into the ride. Range Road and Steephill Road encouraged a cheeky bit of off-road corner-cutting — proof that a good ride is never about getting home the quickest way.
The final act ran through Harrogate, Wirilda, Pollard, Jones, and Military Roads, past century-old stone farmhouses built by early settlers, and then onto Monkhouse, Downers, and Gillman Roads. The closing run up Onkaparinga Valley Road and Greenhill Road was nothing short of glorious, bringing us to the Uraidla Hotel, where a cold beer under the verandah marked the perfect end to the day.
As we finally pointed our bikes toward home, we all shared that quiet post-ride satisfaction — dusty boots, sore shoulders, and the knowledge that we’d strung together one of those perfect South Australian loops. It was a reminder that motorcycling is about more than just machines. It’s about mates, history, and the simple joy of chasing the next corner.