Trains and schedules go together like trains and – well – Michael Portillo. Sometimes these schedules are fastidious affairs as in Switzerland, while at other times they are indicative aspirations, such as upon the platform of St. Budeaux Ferry Road. The problem with fastidiousness is the absolute carnage when it all goes wrong, like that time when a few trains into Geneva were running ten minutes late. You could see the terror in the faces of panicked locals as they reached for their mobiles to share the drama with loved ones and remediate the knock on effects of being late for an overpriced dinner. Quelle horreur!

When rail lines have faded into obscurity and decades of bureaucracy and nimbyism have finally been overcome to transform them into a gentle thoroughfare for people power, you wouldn’t think schedules really matter. They certainly don’t appear on the jauntily repainted railway sheds and hastily assembled flower beds signifying the start of the line. But schedules matter on a rail trail, because you really need to time that break for morning coffee and cake.

This is why, on a sunny Sunday morning in January, I embarked on the Tumbarumba to Rosewood Rail Trail by going from Rosewood to Tumbarumba. Or to be more precise, Rosewood to Tumbarumba Bakery, the only cake stop in town. Twenty one and a half kilometres to burn a few calories, work up a hunger, and hopefully enjoy some pleasant pedalling as the countryside passes by.

It is astonishing to think this is the only rail trail in New South Wales. While the state once again proclaims its own exceptionalism in leading Australia out of the COVID-19 pandemic (by ensuring everyone gets infected and supports the economic activity of Chemist Warehouse), it is a laggard in the rail trail stakes. Compared with the mighty 145km Brisbane Valley Rail Trail, this effort is a wee path. But what it loses in scale, it makes up for in quality.

I’d say the route is comprised of three parts, though given I am doing the return journey make that six. From Rosewood, the going is easy, fuelled by that initial excitement which makes life on a bike feel good. Rolling hills that could have been transplanted from Devon snuggly descend to flat pasture. Horses and cows and sheep and tractors can all be sighted along the way. Accompanying the trail, the meander of Mannus Creek sparkles in the early morning sun and all of this is undeniably bucolic.

Eventually the trail crosses over Mannus Creek and the landscape opens up considerably. Already warm, I pause in the shadow under the bridge to feast on an orange. Surely this is a fruit that tastes one hundred times better as an accompaniment to exercise. Those half time oranges sure do make sense. But there’s another fruit appearing upon the horizon, with rows of grapevines cloaking the curves of a more distant range of hills.

The going is more exposed now and the incline seems – though imperceptible to the naked eye – more wearying. While the grapes never do quite make it down to the trail there is a blueberry farm on the other side promoting goods for sale. But even this is a little detour and I decide the sound of a gunshot from that general vicinity is enough to motivate continued pedalling. With little on offer between Rosewood and Tumbarumba, I do think there is a missed opportunity here: a pop up stall with fresh blueberries and chilled champagne.

Along the final stretch into Tumbarumba I could use some effervescence. It is uphill all the way, though uphill in that long, circuitous drag of an old rail line manner. But pleasingly it is also a bit more wooded and the passing shade and scent of eucalypts is welcome. You also start to come across more signs of humanity – walkers, people tending to chooks in a smallholding, the sounds and smells of timber being processed.

The trail terminates on the edge of town, high above the shops. So while the plunge down to the high street is most welcome, this – for me – is also of concern for the return. I can see some walking in my future. But in the present it is 10:24, perfectly on schedule to buy a coffee and apple turnover from the bakery. Oh and a real thing Coke and another cheap one dollar slice for the road.

There wasn’t really much to Tumbarumba but I was pleased to find a shady bench in a shady park with shady conveniences. It is the largest town around but that really isn’t saying too much. Still, it seemed amiable and well-kept and it wouldn’t be a bad place to linger longer. But of course I had a schedule to keep: the 11:17 to Rosewood.

Naturally the return was the inverse of everything that has gone before, though with a different angle it is amazing what else you can see. Best of all was the instant downhill where I really didn’t have to expend one kilojoule of fresh cream for five or six kilometres. After that, the earlier enthusiasm drains under a midday sun, and you start to develop a hatred of the e-bikers out for a jolly. My bike seems heavier, the chain rougher, the gears more grinding. Meanwhile my right knee creaks and my butt definitely feels more tender.

I was pleased for a shady rest spot to finish off my performance enhancing Coke at Wolseley Park Station. This was one of several stations that sprouted up to service the local farms, helping to foster small communities with a post office and village school and a dairy and a mechanics institute. If only those mechanics were on hand today to fine tune my derailleur. Still, at least the cows were still about, making some dubious noises. With five kilometres left, my mind turned to lunch.

The steak sandwich at Gone Barny in Rosewood was everything I had dreamed of and more. The more being the side of delicious, deep fried chips. I think, with my extras, this was one of the most expensive items on the menu, at a mere $15. It won’t win Michelin Stars (though that Michelin Man does look partial to a few chips), but as good, honest, tasty food goes, this was an outright winner.

Did I earn this feast after 43 kilometres, a large coffee, a larger apple turnover, a full-on coke, an orange and a few Vegemite Shapes? Oh I doubt it, but the whole point of doing these rail trails is to support these small regional towns, right? Gone Barny is a case in point. Now I leave full, feeling accomplished. Ready to schedule the next one.