"12-hour Melbourne-Sydney train ride embodies Lions tour spirit"

At 2:54 p.m., the interstate train from Melbourne to Sydney comes to a sudden stop. Sheep on the tracks. The jolt is enough to startle passengers, and one might worry for any British & Irish Lions supporters still recovering from the previous night’s festivities. Five and a half hours into a 12-hour journey—a less-traveled route through Australia—the train navigates the rugged terrain near Cootamundra Creek, narrowly avoiding trouble.

The question is: Why choose a 12-hour train ride over a 90-minute flight? The answer traces back to the day before, following the Lions’ second Test victory at the MCG. A fellow journalist, dealing with difficult news, sought comfort in movement, the passing scenery, and some companionship. Tempted by the idea of skipping airports and enjoying the Australian countryside—with the bonus of spotting wild kangaroos—they purchased tickets for A$99. A bargain—perhaps too good to be true?

Spending 12 hours in economy class wasn’t exactly appealing, but it offered a chance to experience a different side of the Lions tour—one without airport transfers, check-in lines, baggage claims, or taxis. Maybe that was the true spirit of the journey. If so, a 12-hour break would be welcome. The train wasn’t full of fans, but at least there were no former players promoting products onboard.

The start wasn’t promising. Scheduled to depart at 8:30 a.m.—ten and a half hours after the Test match—the train arrived late from Sydney, leaving a crowded platform frustrated on a chilly Melbourne morning. The appearance of a striking old steam train provided temporary relief. Once it departed, the platform thinned out, revealing a handful of Lions supporters. One wore a white blazer with a bright red dragon, though he seemed worn out. A few pairs and small groups, likely delayed by late bookings or budget constraints, joined the trip, but the energy came from four young Welshmen—though their stamina was uncertain.

Boarding time arrived, and a familiar face on the platform—Stephen Larkham—offered reassurance. If a World Cup-winning player chose this train, it couldn’t be too bad. As the journey began, one couldn’t help but imagine what difference Larkham in his prime might have made the previous night.

Seats were taken—separate at first, but a helpful passenger bound for Wagga Wagga was happy to switch, unlike the stern conductor. The first few hours passed quietly. Conversation was minimal; sleep and the long distance ahead took priority. The trip had begun, and the landscape rolled by.