It was on again.

In 2025, Dom (ZigZag) and I beat the train to Adelaide by a comfortable margin but through uncomfortable monsoonal rain out from Melbourne, and under circumstances where we had no idea where the train was after we saw it disappearing in the distance at Stawell leading to abandon the rambling route through the Adelaide Hills in favour of the Southeastern Freeway to address an unknown deficit.

The field expands

So for the second running, to address the train location gap, my brother Stephen would fly to Melbourne, board the Overland and report its progress.

Joining the chasers was John Barry — JB, FR1002.

And the prelude event, Coleraine FarRoad, brought another chaser, Perry Cooper — FR1004. After hearing what we had planned, he wanted in too.

There was room at the Melbourne inn. Perry had never ridden the Great Ocean Road. That settled Sunday’s route.

The preliminary event

The Great Ocean Road, ridden legally, is a considerably more sedate affair than I remembered from my early twenties in a Mazda 626 hatch.

Meanwhile, Stephen was flying into Avalon, creating an unplanned preliminary event: three motorcycles via the Great Ocean Road versus one older brother using Melbourne’s public transport system.

By the time we approached Melbourne, his bus had delivered him to Southern Cross. We still beat him to the hotel by about half an hour while he negotiated the tram network.

First blood to the motorcycles.

John, staying at our hotel, joined us at a Carlton pub for final planning. We agreed to leave at 7 am for the train’s 8.05 am departure.

Stephen’s station transfer — tram, Uber or walk — received the consideration normally reserved for a major infrastructure project. He chose walking. Departing 6.15am the next day to ensure no late arrival.

A small amount of pre-race shenanigans

Perry, Dom and I were also packed and downstairs shortly after 6.30. John sensibly stuck to the agreed timetable while we went for fuel.

Shenanigans started early as Perry dropped his bike after filling it avoiding an inappropriately placed witch’s hat. I almost joined him with a couple of others randomly placed around the service station.

With everything upright again, we set off passing under a Spencer Station bridge as the Overland arrived overhead.

There was our opponent. Looking annoyingly well organised.

We took turns getting breakfast while someone minded the bikes. John joined us, and Dom visited the platform. The driver was changing over at Dimboola and happily accepted the challenge that far.

At 8.05 am, a text arrived from Stephen.

The train was moving.

So were we.

Melbourne makes its contribution

Spencer Street showed us every red light. Would the train reach Adelaide before we escaped the CBD?

Fortunately, trains also take time to escape Melbourne. We spotted it approaching the freeway and pulled ahead.

This year the ride out to Geelong was not through a southern monsoonal, rather clear weather with only a maniac carting a semi loaded with chickens to be wary of.  The weather report had predicted some rain, but I had been hopeful up until departure that it would be fleeting.

Then I checked the weather radar.

Making the turn at Geelong, we were well in front, about 40 mins ahead of the train by the time Steve reported in that they were moving again. 

Making much better time westward than in 2025, assessing the approaching weather with some trepidation, we stopped before the northward turn to allow ZigZag an opportunity put on the last of his wet-weather gear. It was also a good opportunity to visit the bathroom.

On the road to Ararat, the rain had properly introduced itself and I had sent a message back to Steve to let us know when the train entered the wet.  That confirmation came just under 30 minutes later. The train was catching up.

The train has significant ability over this part of the country as the road system we had to follow is punctuated by level crossings and frequent stop and give way points, hence by the time we reached Ararat, we were only 10 minutes ahead of the schedule arrival time.

While making Ararat ahead of the train was a considerable improvement on 2025’s efforts, there was still no time to lose and after a few photos, we were on our way again.

Our man in the dining car

At Great Western, Stephen reported that the train was only about eight kilometres behind us. By Stawell, it was only a couple.

Plans to fuel as we entered Stawell would have to wait as we made a V-Line to the train station for an essential photograph: bikes with train.

It arrived with a toot from the drivers, who could now put faces to the idiots chasing them and a little towards the middle of the carriage collection was a smiling Stephen, dry and comfortable, waving from the dining car.

What a sight he would have seen. Four blokes, standing beside motorcycles absolutely soaked with rainwater still dripping from our clothing.

Photos done, we set off to refuel before eventually headed for Horsham. And despite its diversion north, the train well and truly beat us there, but we were still able to reach a level crossing on the outskirts of town just ahead of it.

More toots. More waving from Stephen.

Gremlins, plural

Turning our machines towards Dimboola, we made good progress chasing what I was certain to be the outline of a train before Perry’s Suzuki V-Strom began contributing some suspense of its own.

An oil warning light was playing up, possibly because of the rain. Dom stayed with Perry; John and I continued towards Dimboola.

Dom called to say Perry was going again, and they were following.

The train beat John and me into Dimboola but was still at the station when we arrived, with Dom and Perry still trailing behind. We pressed on, playing cat and mouse across to Nhill and arriving together in the town itself.

Meanwhile, Dom and Perry had arrived at Dimboola, catching sight of the winning driver after his stint waving enthusiastically at Dom in celebration of taking first honours of the chase.

At Nhill, we paused to allow the four of us to regroup. In hindsight, John and I might have taken our photograph and kept going, because foresight failed to anticipate the next gremlin of the day. And once again it was Perry’s VStrom and this time it was more serious - a radiator hose.

This one put an end to Perry’s chase, and he told us to keep going while he sorted it out. I was disappointed for him, and later than night was relieved to hear that help came from a nearby farming family that got him going again: Bordertown for the night, then Adelaide the next day.

Good people are out there in Western Victoria.

The train gets ideas

By the time the remaining three of us were moving again, Stephen had reported in that The Overland had opened a substantial lead, advising that he and the train were departing Bordertown in South Australia.

It didn’t end there with Stephen’s updates becoming less encouraging as we fought our way along the Dukes Highway. As we stopped for fuel in Bordertown, Stephen was reporting in from the other side of Keith – at least 50km away.

With fuel in and a snack consumed, we started riding our first section of 110 km/h road, which surprisingly started reducing the gap. A deficit of roughly 50–55 kilometres came down to around 35 by the time we were on the outskirts of Tailem Bend.

Unfortunately, slow progress and yet more rain through that town blew out the deficit again 40 kilometres – and that meant quite a lot of train chasing.

At this point, my money was on the train meaning that nnce again, our planned route following the railway through the Hills went out the window. There is probably a lesson there for the third running.

Adelaide, please cooperate

Sticking to the Southeastern Freeway, I had Stephen provide frequent updates coming as he could see our location and we could not see his. Forty kilometres became thirty. Then twenty-six. Then twelve.

By Stirling, it was looking remarkably close. And while the train still had its winding descent into Adelaide; our more direct route had peak-hour traffic to contend with.

Last year we had taken Cross Road to the Keswick Interstate Terminal. This time we continued down Glen Osmond Road towards the parklands and onto Greenhill Road, thinking that might be quicker.

It wasn’t.

After rain, warning lights and mechanical trouble, the result came down to Adelaide traffic, and we were in an impromptu carpark.

Gridlock always lasts less than it feels when you’re in it, and so the anxiety levels were peaking. But sooner than anticipated, we found some cleared rod and soon were turning into the station after some fortunate green light timings. 

Off the bikes at the much smaller, almost regional looking train station, scrambling to the platform was a simple affair from where we waited, still soaked but happy in the glow of victory over the train once again.

And this time, it was much closer with the Overland rolling into station less than 15 minutes later after over 800km of chasing.

Worth another go?

Absolutely.

Four riders, an enthusiastic train crew, a brother providing updates from the dining car and enough changing fortunes to keep us interested all the way across.

Stephen’s involvement transformed it. Getting his frequent updates on our relevant positions made every stop a decision and every update part of the story. I hope he agrees to reprise his role as Captain Slow in 2027.

Would we have beaten it following the railway through the Adelaide Hills? Absolutely not. It would have gone to the train, so some refining of the route needs to be looked at. Perhaps a compulsory transit through the town of Murray Bridge will make it a 50:50 opportunity. That will be for 2027, but having the data Stephen generated will allow better planning – that is for certain.

But a win for the bikes was a win. Although from Stephen’s perspective, spending a comfortable day warm and dry, with access to a dining car, I suspect he coped with second place.

Taffey