Yarra Ranges, Victoria

These places weren’t foreign to either of us. Brook, who mostly 4x4s, mentioned all the tracks he’d been on that detour off our route, and I had often pub hopped my way through these parts as an excuse to take the ‘long way home’ when out on my motorbike.

Today though, we wanted to make the most of what the hills had on offer, with all their coils and curves of bitumen and dirt. It was our first project together post-lockdown, and the open road – with its promise of fresh air and photogenic moments – was drawing us in as we took the highway out of Melbourne.

Warburton

Our first stop was Warburton. We watched as the sun rose over the horizon and the fog fell behind the hills, before heading onto the part of the drive we’d been waiting for. Starting with Acheron Way – 36km of winding gravel road that snakes along a river, cuts through a thick forest, and leads through to Marysville.

“It felt as humbling as it was exhilarating to be driving a path so wild and so encompassed by nature.”

As we got going, we slid up the bass on the EQ, paying homage to MF Doom with his ‘Best Of’ through the surround sound. We wove our way through the dappled light created by the mammoth gums that lined the track. There wasn’t another car the whole way, and it felt as humbling as it was exhilarating to be driving a path so wild and so encompassed by nature.

As Brook put the car through its paces, I gripped the grab handle. Noticing my white knuckles, Brook pulled over so I could take a turn behind the wheel. I jumped in the driver’s seat and couldn’t believe how well the car handled. It was like a tram on its tracks: it found its path and stuck to it.

Marysville

Our next stop was Marysville, where everything was still and peaceful and we almost lost track of time. We tucked into an early lunch at the bakery, hand-fed a friendly magpie, and filled up at a self-serve petrol station that looked like nothing more than a tiny shipping container.

“The manual handbrake and short, tight throw of the gearbox took me back to driving classic stuff.”

Towards Lake Mountain

From Marysville we headed towards Lake Mountain: a lookout and winter snow destination preluded by steady, sweeping roads. Our ears popped as we climbed in altitude, noting the extra challenge the colder months would add to the drive. But to us, the car was totally charming as we took corner after corner. The manual handbrake and short, tight throw of the gearbox took me back to driving classic stuff. The throttle felt punchy without delay. When I put my foot to the floor, it just went.

From a spot tucked behind a huddle of leafless trees and boulders, we stopped to take in the view. The distant mountains we had just travelled unfolded in front of us, the branchline mostly bare and fuzzy from the fires, but with signs of regrowth adding new life.

For our final stretch we decided to take the scenic route. Though the day was getting on, that feeling you get on day trips where you don’t want to return to the city – where you feel nostalgic for what happened only moments before – was starting to creep in. We shot past Kinglake – where the views down into the lakes still had a hint of fog from the morning – before taking one last love affair drive, known to most car and motorcycle enthusiasts, which passes by the old-world-charm of pubs like St Andrews Hotel, with their timeless hand painted signs.

Heading home

After a big day, we agreed to head to our local for a pub meal. We parked up over a parma and a pot to debrief, still buzzing from the drive, and full of that feeling you only really get from the open road.