It started with a message from my friend Paul. His mate from Sydney was flying down, keen on an overnight bikepacking trip somewhere in Tasmania. Where should they go?
It took me all of 30 seconds to plot out what I think is the ultimate overnight bikepacking trip in the state — a journey into one of Tasmania’s wildest and most remote corners. Naturally, I had to invite myself along.
Our destination: Strathgordon.
A road to nowhere in the far southwest of lutruwita/Tasmania, Strathgordon is famous for Lake Pedder, a place both beautiful and controversial. Its flooding in the early 1970s gave rise to the world’s first Green party — right here in Tasmania. Riding there isn’t just about scenery; it’s about history, wilderness, and the kind of adventure that tests you in all the best ways.
Getting There: Gravel, Hills, and Bush Mechanics
Because we live in Cygnet, the adventure started with forestry tracks to link us across the state. That meant gravel bikes — the only option when you’ve got long stretches of dirt before even hitting the road to Strathgordon.
The ride was big. 180 km and 4,000 m of elevation on Day One — not for the faint of heart. There’s no rhythm to this road. It’s constant ups and downs, the kind of terrain where you’re always either grinding uphill or freewheeling down too short a descent to recover.
To kick things off, Will’s bike (fresh off a flight from Sydney) started squeaking. No bike shops in sight, so a little bush mechanics sorted a bent disc brake. Then we were rolling into banjo country: 60 km of gravel bliss, a couple of hike-a-bike pinches, and eventually back out onto the tarmac.
Paul’s troubles started here. Turns out he’d ridden the first 80 km — about 5 hours — with a dropped seatpost. Knees don’t love that. The niggle quickly snowballed into something serious.
Into the Southwest
There’s something special about the Southwest National Park. Once you pass Maydena, you leave the last sign of civilisation behind. No shops, no houses, no petrol stations. Just endless bush.
The road climbs up, then suddenly drops into the Florentine Valley — a place that feels prehistoric, the kind of country where you half-expect to see dinosaurs moving through the mist. It’s one of the most remote roads in Tasmania, and also one of the wettest: Strathgordon averages over 2.5 metres of rainfall a year. That rain, mist, and shifting light only add to the sense of otherworldliness.
Strathgordon itself was built in the 1960s by Hydro Tasmania to house workers building the dams. Today, it’s little more than a handful of buildings and the Pedder Wilderness Lodge — closed for renovations when we rolled in, but kindly opened to give us a cabin. Without them, the trip would’ve been a lot harder. Dinner that night was with the hydro workers in their buffet hall. Imagine three muddy, tired cyclists wedged between high-vis jackets and muddy boots. We fit right in… sort of.
Day Two: The Long Way Home
The next morning, Paul’s knee had gone from bad to worse. He could barely load it, let alone climb the endless rollers out of Strathgordon. To put it in perspective: most of the road is made of 1–2 km climbs at gradients of 9% or more. Too long to punch over, too short to find a rhythm. Just the kind of climbs that shred quads — or in Paul’s case, a knee.
To make matters even more epic, the rain rolled in. With no phone reception and no way out but to ride, Paul limped along, effectively pedalling with one leg. Will and I eventually pushed on to Maydena to get reception and call Francine, Paul’s wife. By the time we reached service, my phone had more than 30 missed calls from her. Thankfully, she was already on her way to rescue him.
We waited in Maydena, damp and tired, until she swept in to collect him. Paul had made it almost the whole way there, stubbornly determined despite the pain. At that point, Will and I decided to call it quits too. This trip wasn’t about ticking boxes or bragging rights — it was about adventure, camaraderie, and the kind of wild, unpredictable experiences you only find in the southwest.
Why Strathgordon?
Because in a world where we are always connected, Strathgordon forces you to disconnect. There’s little to no reception, no services, no fallback. It’s just you, your bike, and one of the last truly wild frontiers of Tasmania.
The ride tested us — mechanically, physically, mentally — but it also gave us exactly what we set out for: an adventure. Two days, one night, into dinosaur country.
If you live in Tasmania, put it on your list. If you’re visiting, make space in your itinerary. Strathgordon isn’t easy to get to, but that’s exactly why it’s worth it.
Ride the Route Yourself
For those keen to take on this adventure, here are the exact routes we rode:
Be warned: these aren’t casual rides. Expect long days, steep climbs, and remote country where self-sufficiency is essential. But if you’re looking for one of Tasmania’s most rewarding overnighters, this one’s hard to beat.
At Eudaimonia, we believe rides like this are what cycling is all about — not just the kilometres or the climbs, but the stories, the friendships, and the moments you can’t plan for. If adventures like Strathgordon spark something in you, we’d love to have you join our community. Together we explore Tasmania’s wild places, one ride at a time.