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.