Orford to Swansea (15 April 2009)

April 15 evening Journal.

Exhaustion. At the end of long days. Where my favorite three things happened before 12:30 in the afternoon. Sunrise beach walk. Feet in retreating sand. Hot shower, 7k up the road in Triabunna. Getting rid of yesterdays grime. About time. And, like a child being lead through the candy factory. A man standing in his doorway. “Here, try this one…” “And now this, it’s a different species.” Peaches. Figs, which I never knew to like. He said, “Now, since you are new to these, don’t eat too many at once.” Yes, especially if I’m camping away from toilets. “Kale?” Apple, grapes, yes, and two walnuts, recently blown from their tree. Generosity. Simplicity. Sharing abundance. Bio-dynamic with the help of chooks. Candice asking, finally realizing just what a chook is. Waiting out thunder, down pouring rain. In the bathroom “hallway.” Still smiling then. At a coffee shop, a long ago finished hot chocolate and smartie cookie. Not as big as the one I shared with Mr. Ew Sheep in Halls Gap when we snuck outside with cups of soy milk and said cookie to plan our Mongolia by horse Honeymoon. People off cycling in different places. Once the rain cleared, I thought I had to race it. Pedaling hard. Erratic wind. Pushing me. Halting me. Then knocking me sideways. The ocean views. Farmland. Fresh air. Freshest on this planet, I hear. From people who fed me hot cross buns for breakfast. After three servings of muesli. It was all I had left. Eating a second dinner at 2:30 in the morning. I had to, I was starving. Wide awake. The half moon. Ocean bays. Back to biking. I was getting agitated. Demanded to know where the Mayfield Coastal reserve camping area was. I wanted to be done cycling for the day. And I could see them, the dark clouds, they were coming. Faster. Harder. Only me and this stretch of pavement. White lines. So many branches I had no choice but to run over. Several times I lost concentration. Off to the side, swerving too widely. “Hello!” I made it to the camping area. Literally, was swarmed by ½ a dozen kids. Dirt on their faces. A dozen questions and people with family sized tents everywhere. Men, in a circle, drinking their beer, glancing at me. I stuffed a piece of bread in my mouth, a peach, some peanuts, and pedaled away. Yay intuition, yes, keep going. Go away. A rainbow in the sea. Green. Early evening, post rain light. No more rain came. Left me. Went over me. I never found the secret camp spot John, the peach man, told me about. Before I knew it I was in Swansea. I wanted a $30 B&B. I wanted Ron and Lola. And Dianne’s dining room. And the monstrous, warm bed In Queenstown. And the kitchen at Dave and Rebecca’s. I wanted out of the cold. Out of the wind, without having to talk to anybody. First I sat by a wall, overlooking water, views of Freycinet National Park. Agitated. Grumpy. Wanting to kick things. Whoever’s inside me, taking care of me. “Eat!” So I ate. Rode down to the backpacker hostel. Surprisingly nice. A young German learning the ropes, and the manager – who’s leaving in May to cycle from Darwin to Hobart. Other people’s kindness, making my grumpy mood disappear. Tired, yes. I am tired. Sunburned, wind burned. Well fed.

Orford to Swansea
Total K’s: 60.95
Avg Spd: 17.7 k/hr
Max Spd: 54.9 k/hr
Hours on bike: 3:25
KM scary hill rating: 1/7