The Proving Ground: Why the Hunt 1000 is More Than Just a Warm-Up
There is a tendency in the adventure cycling world to always look for the "next big thing" overseas. We look at the Silk Road Mountain Race in Kyrgyzstan or the Tour Divide in the USA as the pinnacles of the sport. Because of this, events like the Hunt 1000 in the Australian Alps are often viewed merely as stepping stones—training rides to tick off before you book that international flight.
I believe that anyone who has finished the Hunt 1000 has achieved something truly amazing.
When I rode the Hunt in 2022, I wasn’t treating it as a warm-up for anything. We were just coming out of the COVID years and I had a newfound appreciation for the immense, rugged backyard we have here in Australia. I went in expecting a challenge, but the reality of the terrain, the weather and the isolation hit me harder than I expected.
In hindsight, having now completed the Silk Road Mountain Race, I can give you a concrete benchmark: The Hunt 1000 is about two-thirds the difficulty of riding in the Tian Shan mountains. While the altitude and language barriers make Kyrgyzstan a different beast, the mental fortitude required to push a bike through the jagged, unforgiving terrain of the Australian High Country is exactly the same. If you can handle the Hunt, you are ready for the world.
The Mechanic’s Confession: The Seduction of "Lightweight"
My core philosophy has always been simple: prevention is better than cure. As a mechanic, I preach reliability. And yet, even I am not immune to the siren song of marketing. Leading up to the Hunt, I fell for the allure of "lightweight" performance. I chose a wheelset that was fast and light, ignoring the fact that it had alloy nipples rather than brass and a lower spoke count than I should have carried.
The Australian Alps punished that decision on Day 4.
I was riding out of Omeo. The sun had barely risen, a cold drizzle was soaking everything and I had just started to build up some body heat on a steady climb. Then, I heard it.
Pang.
The sickening sound of snapping metal. I stopped immediately—a crucial habit—and ran my hand along the rear wheel. A drive-side spoke was loose. The break wasn't in the middle of the spoke; the alloy nipple itself had sheared off. I found a dry spot under a tree and took stock. I was cold, tired and regretting my gear choices. But this is where the "mechanic's mind" has to take over from the "cyclist's panic."
The Trailside Fix:
Preserve the Liquid Gold: I had to remove the tubeless valve to get the nipple out. I didn't want to waste my sealant, so I carefully poured it into a Ziploc bag I had in my frame bag.
The Surgery: I cut a small hole in the rim tape to fish out the broken nipple and insert the new one.
The Patch: I used duct tape to patch the rim tape, ensuring an airtight seal.
The Truing Stand: With the new spoke in, I put a tube in (just to get moving quickly and warm up) and flipped the bike upside down. I used a zip-tie attached to the seat stay as a makeshift truing gauge to get the wheel straight enough to ride.
Forty-five minutes later, I was back on the bike. But the lesson stuck: four extra spokes and brass nipples would have added negligible weight but massive reliability. Don't let the marketing fool you—on an expedition, strength is speed.
The Low Point: The Bite of Failure in the Jagungal
Physical mechanicals are one thing; mental mechanicals are another. My lowest point came on the final night. I had teamed up with Richie, an ex-military rider from Wollongong with an incredible capacity for suffering. We had been riding together for two days, pushing 12-16 hours in the saddle.
By the time we reached the Jagungal Wilderness, the weather turned. A massive storm rolled in and we spent the afternoon battling pouring rain and ferocious wind gusts. By 1:00 am, we were freezing. Richie’s dynamo lights were failing because our pace had dropped so low, so we were navigating technical descents using only my headlight.
Then, Richie crashed.
He was hurt, embarrassed and exhausted. We were both shivering uncontrollably. We knew there was a hut nearby, but it was off-route. Diverting meant risking a descent to a locked door, but staying on the route felt impossible. We committed to the hut.
Huddled in that shelter, I felt the bitter bite of failure. We still had 170km to go to reach the finish line by the deadline. I genuinely didn't know if we could make it.
But that is the magic of these events. You don't have to solve the whole 170km at once. You just have to survive the night. We slept for a few hours, dried out and woke up with a singular resolve: we are going to try.
How to Conquer the Hunt
If you are eyeing the Hunt 1000, either as your main goal or a stepping stone to the Silk Road, here is my advice:
1. Respect the Terrain (and Your Bike)
Do not bring a carbon gravel bike unless you are a glutton for punishment. The Hunt 1000 is a mountain bike route. I recommend a hardtail or a short-travel full-suspension bike (100-120mm travel). For tyres, 2.0 inches is the absolute minimum, but 2.25” or 2.35” is the sweet spot. You want volume and grip, not just for traction, but for comfort over 1,000km of corrugations.
2. Embrace the "Australian" Factor
There is a unique spirit in the Australian high country. It is almost impossible to drive to the places you will be riding. That means anyone you meet out there—whether they are hiking, riding or fishing—has made a massive effort to be there. When you are deep in the Jagungal, exhausted and dirty and you cross paths with another soul, you aren't just passing a stranger. You are meeting a member of a unique community of adventurers.
The Hunt 1000 will test your legs, break your gear if you aren't careful and push your mind to the brink. But if you can keep your head when the spokes snap and the storms roll in, you’ll find it’s one of the most rewarding journeys you can take.
Learn more about the event on the official website The Hunt 1000.
