Berowra sits on a ridge of Hawkesbury sandstone about forty kilometres north of central Sydney, and the old road that threads through it is what is left of the original route north before the freeway took the traffic away. That is exactly why it is nice. The big roar of trucks went to the motorway, and the old Pacific Highway alignment now carries local cars, cyclists and a steady trickle of riders who know it.
The country here is Ku-ring-gai Chase on one side and the Hawkesbury River on the other, and you feel both. The road runs along the crest, then drops in tight bends toward the estuary through rock cuttings, with eucalyptus and angophora leaning over and glimpses of the water between the trunks. The surface is mostly good, but sandstone country means occasional rough patches, leaf litter in the shade and damp in the shadier hollows. On a weekend morning there are plenty of other bikes, so keep a little in reserve for blind corners.
The town gives you what a finishing point should. Berowra has around four and a half thousand people and Berowra Heights, next door, a little more, so fuel, bakeries, cafes and a station are close at hand. The railway line runs through here, which tells you something: this was always a commuter-and-weekender sort of place, with bushwalkers heading down into Berowra Creek, the long tidal arm that feeds into the Hawkesbury.
If the day has been long, the pleasure of this spot is how quickly it takes you back out of the bush. Sydney's northern suburbs start without much warning, but for those first few kilometres it feels like a different country. In summer the early evening smell of eucalypt and warm stone is the thing I remember best, and in winter the road stays clear and dry more often than you would expect. Take care in the first rain after a dry spell, when the oil and dust make the surface slippery, and you will enjoy it.