motor-pacing, further honing his skills. By early 1924, he had become a regular fixture at the Exhibition Oval, smashing records and beating all comers. ‘Experience is making a wonderful difference with the Malvern lad who is sitting behind the roller with much more confidence than he did at the outset’, observed the Sporting Globe.11 Cycling fans also knew the talent pool that could be pitted against the likes of Opperman was relatively shallow, with many of Australia’s best motor-paced riders, such as Cecil Walker and Reggie McNamara, pursuing lucrative deals with track promoters in Europe and America. Naturally enough, by mid-1924, Opperman wondered if he too should look for opportunities abroad.
Opperman made inquiries with the Newark Velodrome in New Jersey, considered the cradle of American track racing. Unable to find a sponsor, he later heard from his friend Roy Johnson (also racing at Newark) that Walker, perhaps fearing Opperman as a rival, had played a role in scotching his attempts to get noticed. Yet, it is also likely that Opperman’s reputation hadn’t quite developed sufficiently to transcend national borders. He may also have lacked the flash and braggadocio that attracted American promoters. Small, presumably, must have been less enthusiastic about his great prospect leaving Australian shores with the Malvern Star business only just beginning to expand.
Missing out on the United States was probably a blessing. American promoters worked their riders hard, with many insisting on six nights of racing a week. The specialisation in short-format, high-speed racing would have left Opperman with little time or energy to develop and extend his endurance riding, which was emerging as his strongest attribute.
Opperman’s modesty masked an overweening ambition. At this stage of his life he did not seek fame, but he craved success in every field of cycle racing. He wanted to be a ‘versatile’ rider, a much used and highly valued adjective in cycling parlance of the time. At a time when very few riders in Australia or the world could truly claim dominance in more than one cycling discipline, Opperman wanted it all. The opportunity for international success was still some years away. Until then, Opperman would have to be satisfied with building his reputation in Australia. Small recognised Opperman’s restlessness and together they hatched a plan to dominate road cycling across the southeastern states, while still maintaining his place on the motor-pacing circuit.
There was soon another more compelling reason for Opperman to remain in Australia. One evening, as he finished work at the Malvern Star Cycles shop, he bumped into an old school friend. But Mavys Paterson Craig was not as he remembered. The pair had been friends since school in Glen Iris. Two years her senior, Opperman had helped Mavys with her homework. They attended Sunday school together and he had been a guest at her twelfth birthday party. Although good friends, they drifted apart when Opperman left school for the public service. Now sixteen years old, Mavys had grown into a prepossessing young woman – a petite brunette with high cheekbones, grey eyes and a sweet, winsome smile. Opperman, too, had changed. He was fitter and stronger than ever, his adolescent frame having developed into a leaner, more muscular physique. She had been following Opperman’s progress in local races and admired his athleticism. He was a young man in rude health with exciting prospects. More than this, however, she was attracted to his kindness, his quiet confidence and his readiness to stick up for the vulnerable, remembering how he once gave a hiding to the school bully.12 On Glenferrie Road that evening, they were smitten and began a quiet courtship.
His budding relationship with Mavys did not diminish his desire to train or race. Nor did it deflect him for the need to travel and compete outside Victoria. In the spring of 1924, Opperman systematically targeted the biggest races around the country, making his first foray north of the border to ride the Goulburn to Sydney road race.
Established in 1902, the race had become an institution. Like its southern counterpart, the ‘Warny’, it was raced in all conditions over appalling roads. On Monday afternoon, six days before the race, Opperman and his friend and fellow professional rider, Roy Johnson, cycled north with their few belongings in a satchel or tied to their handlebars. They covered nearly 500 kilometres to Gundagai by Wednesday evening and elected to catch the train the rest of the way to have two days of complete rest before race day.
All eyes were on the two Victorian cracks who ‘aroused considerable interest’ by their journey across the border.13 In fine weather, the riders commenced the legendary 214-kilometre journey. Opperman immediately ‘displayed his powers’ by setting an infernal pace, popping the weaker riders off the back of the scratch bunch. He punctured near Moss Vale and quickly replaced the tube. Further on, near Mittagong, a piece of quartz sliced through the wall of Opperman’s tyre. He replaced the tube and used his folded handkerchief to ‘boot’ the tyre wall. Unable to remount the tyre, he enlisted the help of another rider who had given up due to repeated punctures. As he descended the ‘long hills through Bargo he tore at thrilling speed, rapidly overhauling man after man in front of him’. By Picton he was third on the road. Making time, Opperman crashed heavily while descending the twisting Razorback Road, but recovered to gain four minutes on the leader. He pedalled with such fury that observers believed ‘he would crack up before the finish’.14 But his speed remained constant. He crossed the line first and with the fastest time, some thirty minutes ahead of his nearest rival. As the sporting papers saw it, Opperman’s victory had been achieved with ‘ridiculous ease’.15
The Victorian’s decimation of New South Wales’s finest exposed the very different riding and training cultures that had evolved in each state. NSW riders tended to ride shorter distances in training and push bigger gears. In longer and hillier races, like the Goulburn to Sydney, they rode half the distance at full speed and struggled to the finish as best they could. Opperman’s higher cadence, lower gear ratios (a practice he had adopted after learning about European riding styles) and his longer training rides were ideally suited to the tough climbs and longer distance of the state’s premier race. Riders in NSW soon adjusted their equipment and training regimes in an effort to emulate Opperman’s pace.16 When Opperman won the event five years later, at the height of his powers, he did so by only seven minutes, an indication of the rising talent in the state and its more responsive approach to cycle training.
In late 1924 his life resembled that of an itinerant worker, roving across the country from race to race. In the first half of the twentieth century, it was common for professional cyclists to ride to the start of major events, even if they lived interstate. It had the advantage of maintaining or boosting their fitness and (despite the additional cost of food) it was cheaper than the train, especially when a cyclist might have to go home for a few days only to have to return a few days later.
The race schedule may have been taxing, but Opperman was living the life of his dreams. He raced, trained and travelled with riders he counted as friends. He had attained a stratospheric level of good health and fitness. ‘I couldn’t get tired’, he said, repeating a popular saying used by racers who had reached a top level of endurance.17
Opperman returned to Melbourne for more racing and a few days’ rest before his next interstate commitment. Once again, he travelled by bicycle. Heading for Adelaide, he rode until he reached Bordertown and caught the train the rest of the way to avoid the near impassable ninety-mile desert. From the city, he cycled 150 kilometres to the start of the annual Burra to Adelaide cycling race, the most important race in South Australia. He managed third fastest, but lost to fellow Victorian Percy Osborn. Following the event, he, along with Roy Johnson and Ben Ogle (recently returned from racing in France), took the train to the Victorian border, and cycled southwest toward Warrnambool for the start of the Australasian Road Championship.
The combination of touring and racing made them fitter and lighter than ever. Indeed, it became impossible to put on weight and just satisfying their prodigious appetites became a serious preoccupation. In a café in Hamilton in Western Victoria, half a day’s ride from Warrnambool, they stopped for lunch.
They each ordered a serve of steak and eggs. While they waited for their meals, they devoured a basket of buttered bread rolls and drank coffee. After their meal and a second round of bread and coffee they requested another round of steak and eggs. The proprietor only had lamp chops. ‘They’ll do’, the trio replied. Yet another round of bread and coffee was demolished while they waited. When it came time to settle the bill, the owner was agog. He explained that he had fed farmers, shearers and jackeroos, all ravenous