Mount Feathertop - The Razorback (22km)

Alpine National Park
Victoria

Cramped in the front seat of a Fiat and the seat does not go back. The slack jaw glovebox refuses to close and my iced-oat-latte doesn’t fit in the cupholder.
We stop at Northland shopping centre to pick some last minute supplies. It’s thumping with business - utterly pulsating with screaming kids and overweight security guards in stab-proof vests. To cover ground more we split up and designate China Bar as the meeting point.
The Fiat doesn’t have an AUX input. What do you mean it doesn’t have an AUX input? These fascist car designers, you’d think the nation that invented Italo-disco would have the god damn decency to put an AUX port in their compact hatchbacks.

It’s fine, we’re still in the city and there’s plenty of stations to listen on the radio. Maybe it’s a good thing, hear some new music, but as Triple R fades into static obscurity I take solace in the seemingly perfect fidelity of ABC Classical. At least all the buttons will give me something to fiddle with.
Before our final ascent we stop for lunch in Harrietville. Mitch and I manage to wrangle the last two servings of the Sunday special - Roast Beef and veggies. It’s an absolute delight.

There’s always something weird about Ski-towns in the summer. Something you can’t quite put your finger on. Some kind of Sierra faux-vada vibe, the omnipresent expectation a bunch of frat-boys are about to come out, shotgunning Budweiser and yelling ‘Let’s Go Brandon’. Maybe it’s the steeliness of the shop attendants and bartenders who have stayed for the long haul in the off-season after all the Kiwi’s and Swiss have pissed off.

My legs feel like pylons and my pants are 100% Nylon. A sweaty glance at a beautiful Belgian man “Right on!” He says, silhouetted between walking poles straight from the Parthenon.
As the Razorback slinks through the mountains like a delinquent rats tail, one could only imagine checking their phone here.
Staying in huts that look like some kind of Unabomber day camp.
Waterproof socks are completely soaked through and it’s a long way back to the car.
Atleast I put these Solamans through something meaningful.