Margaret River to Fernhook Falls with Bindy and Julia

How to summarize the past 8 days of bicycle touring with Bindy and Julia? The glee feeling of being on the bike again. First, I took a bus to Margaret River, to catch up with the other two who'd started earlier that week. While I was in Melbourne. Catching trams, eating at lentil as anything, standing in the hospital room with Paul. In Prevelly, 10k's west of Marg. River, we shared a house with 4 Israeli's who , over Bindy's lentil dhal and sticky date pudding, talked to us about politics, mandatory military service, white noise violence, and the pros and cons of living communally in Kibbuz.

Our first ride was nothing short of spectacular. Past towering Karri trees, down empty stretches of scenic highway. Zipping down to Augusta for dinner by the river. A call from a friend saying we could stay on Malloy Island. Little did we know, it would be 20k's in the dark to get to the ferry. Two minute ferry rides with stars all above us. And Bindy whispering, "our bikes are on a ferry!" Shelter and late start mornings with pancakes, peanut butter, and the scenic way off the island on a dirt track, past water and a goanna and there is too much to write.

Chester forest blockade where we camped. I didn't feel comfortable there, only partially because of fear of scabies from rotting carpet under a tarp. Run off water that we boiled and took for the next days ride. "Ahh! It tastes like tarp!" An entire day with tarp water. I thought about Paul every time I took a sip, knowing he'd appreciate the story when I had the chance to tell him. And then we rode 90k's to Warren National Park. Stopping in at an avocado farm along the way and the Zimbabwean owner saying, "no, just take them. And we can't eat all the oranges and kumquats from those trees." "We're going to have avocado coma tonight." That was Julia's second coma joke. Made without realizing, hey, Kelsey's friend was just there. I shook my head, laughed anyway. And we did, gorge on perfectly ripe avocados and $4 resort store white bread. We deserved it. After slipping and sliding and walking our bikes down the pea gravel of 'heartbreak trail.' Julia stacked it once, gave Bindy and me a thumbs up for 'I'm fine.' When I got down to here she exclaimed, "I only peed myself a little!"

We rested the next day. Contented ourselves with poetry sharing and nude river swims in the rain. Plus, dance hall dance hall every day and sharing experiences from our lives that aren't the easiest to tell. Climbing out of the Warren River valley wasn't as tough as we all thought. We only had to push our bikes up the steep slopes once. We stopped at the Dave Evan's Bicentennial Tree, where Julia could face her fear of heights and climb 75m to the top. We both made it to the first lookout landing and were both "I didn't like it. I don't like it." So we didn't go to the top. Too high to go on a metal rung ladder where with one slip, an entire body could go through. Down down. To the upward looking people and wooden planks below.

Onward to Pemberton. We had our fill of watching passing rain, eating home-made cafe brownies, checking in with loved ones and yay Paul ate his first 'real' meal and Ya Ya's hanging in there and Dad seemed happy in Bellingham except for the high winds that might blow the house away. After wedges and split veggie burgers and filling up low PSI tires, we rode away at 430pm. Peaceful ride to a random campsite we made up off the side of a dirt road. Giggling and farting and eating baked beans on free rolls Bindy obtained from the bakery. Three people in a two person tent. We had to. Cozy, and we spent 1/2 the next day waiting out the rain. Hills to Shannon National Park and pasta I wanted to cook and a hut to sleep in and then we rode here. To Fernhook Falls. In pouring, but abating rain. With wet bicycle face making on the downhills and pee stops 5 meters from the road.

And I think of Paul every day. Wish I could be there to tell him about all these details from my days. Increasingly, I think of home. The comfort I'll find in not being, constantly, on the go. Luke collected Bindy late in the afternoon. He didn't bring us cakes, but a giant chocolate bar and fruit. And now its just Julia and me. Making our way to Esperance, which they told me is French for hope. Just the two of us. Planning 180k riding days. With manic laughter and jumping up and down and at least once a day I feel so grateful. That I'm still in Australia. Living the life I choose, every day, to be living. Most nights I dream of Paul. Some are happy, but most are sad, stressed, somehow confusing. On long rides, I plot the x-mas desserts I'll make for him in late December. I told Julia last night that I don't think I'd be doing this ride if she wasn't here. That, emotionally, right now, it'd be too much. As much as this ride is for me. As much as it is for her. Really, its for you, P-funk. I'm cycling my way back to you. My beautiful, stubborn, giggidy goofball, bird loving, booger picking, judo-chopping friend. As I sit on this damp picnic bench writing this, a flock of red-winged fairy wrens and western spinebills are prancing around within two feet of me. I wish you could see them. Because it was you, and Lorelle, who introduced me to the idea of loving birds so avidly.

Paul Bailey Info

31 October

Some moments in these days are too much.
Changing trains, three times, to get to you.
With the pages of my book edging in sogginess from yesterday's bike ride in pouring rain.
I told you about it then. When my pants were dripping and my hair was wet, matted against my skin.
You stared at me with your one open eye.
I asked, "Do you recognize me, Paul?" You nodded.
Up and down. I took that to mean yes.
My body blurs into strangers.
Into park benches.
Train stations.
I have no idea how you're feeling.
Don't know a single thought you are thinking.
I only know that we were together.
Connected through that hospital bed and Trampled by Turtles in each of our ears.
Time alone. One on one.
I'm sure I've told you that's where I'm best.
Only myself. No social anxiety to express.
Last night, I dreamt you woke up.
It was rushed and tubes were pulled from your body.
It isn't fair. That's what I thought about the dream.
That's what I thought about you, now, barely moving
As Ya Ya kept my body from sliding down to the lanoleum hallway floor.
There are so many jokes to tell.
Memories of you where you've got me laughing.
But like the shadow of clouds reflecting on the train wait station window
The man in that bed
With blood stains on his teeth and "No Bone" written on gauze taped to his forehead.
I try. Every day. But I can't turn him into you.
Because I love you little darling
I love you till I die
Like the sun down in the valley
And the stars alone at night.

Mitchell River National Park

Early on in my Australia travels, I started writing down my top three moments at the end of each day, a habit I picked up from my Otesha friend, Libby.

Here are a few of the daily highlights from the past two months: driving up the west coast for 2.5 weeks with my friend, Jean. And 5 weeks of quolling around at Mitchell River National Park.

25 Aug.: 1- Zebra finches, a huge flock of them. At the Mullewa ‘waterfall.’
2- Mr. Roboto dance on side of the road (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UxGizBmcmpo) and (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pCbvarEidso)

26 Aug: Snorkeling at Ningaloo Marine Park. Fshhhh!

29 Aug: ½ nudie ocean swim. Beach all to myself. Dancing in the sand.

31 Aug: 1-Swimming in Jubura Pool. Dunking my head under. Refreshing after hiking in the heat.
2- Weebills. XOXOXO Flutter like hummingbirds.

2 Sept: Making it out of Hancock Gorge and the spider crawl area alive.
3 Sept: Tooting at bicycle tourist on highway towards Port Hedland. His big wave and grin. Yay.

4 Sept: Hitch-hiking to the Broome Bird Observatory
6 Sept: 1- Shorebirds in flight. Wow. Hundreds, maybe thousands, sitting on beach. Watching tide come in. Flock of gulls, terns (4-5 species), and black winged stilts. Mangroves getting covered by turquoise water. Red cliffs in the distance.
2- “dinner” with jean. Mud/caramel cake dessert.

7 Sept: Mango smoothie and ½ price chocolate muffin, sitting in café writing Libby a letter as the café closed. Felt like a refuge from Kununurra.

8 Sept: “So, In the last 5 years since graduating Uni, I’ve been working different field jobs, traveling, and doing other random things.” -Kelsey
“So, in other words, that’s a very pleasant way of saying you’ve been bumming around for the past 5 years?” –Richard, Annette’s other field tech.

9 Sept: Heat delirium at Mitchell River National Park…while it was still funny.

10 Sept: 1- Last night’s shooting stars.
2- sunset
3- watching my first quoll run away.


Sept: Mango fruit pop. Brought by Ranger John. After nap on floor of hut. After radio tracking de quolls.

15 Sept: Talking to WombatsRus on phone. I like her a lot.16 Sept: Annette cutting my hair. “This will be interestingggg…” 2 mins later, “hmm, these scissors are hacking more than cutting.” But she did a good job nonetheless. The mullet tail is gone!

17 Sept: 1-Dingo poop by Annette’s bed. Hehe.
2- Ranger John dancing like an Egyptian at the end of “Slum Dog Millionaire.”
3-DeAR RanGEr JohhhN. I savE yoU oNE PEECE cAKE. I’m SmArT!! AnD NIcE! LuV, QUoLL18 Sept: 1- Dance hall dance hall every day dance for Annette.
2 – Dancing to Old Crow Medicine Show before leaving for Heliwork BBQ. “Are you two ready now?” –John
3- “Noddy’s a show pony today.” –Annette

19 Sept: 1- Looking at massive amount of stars at Surveyor’s Pool. Talking to Bryn about: our families, pot/alcohol, random stories.
2- Journaling on my own for an hour. Poems. Good thing cause I thought I was going to lose my head from moodiness/heat irritability/etc.

21 Sept: 1- Freshwater crocodile sighting. While sitting and feeding bread to the fish by the Heliworks part of the creek.
2- Bryn saying, “I’ve got a new weapon for you.” “To give me or use on me?” “Use on you of course.” Then, when I was leaving, I went into the kitchen as he was making dinner and said, “So. Where’s your weapon?” “Oh yeah!” and he turned to the sink. That was enough to send me sprinting out the door. I was a good 10-15 feet ahead of him and he still got my back soaked. “The water bottle classic! Lid with a hole in it!” Plus one for Bryn in the MRNP weapon war. That 30 seconds of glee made my day. And got me out of my heat/internet induced funk.

22 Sept: 1- Suflur-crested cockatoo that flew to the tree right behind where I was having my snack. So beautiful! Even though they are everywhere in OZ practically, they are still one of my favorites.
2- Collecting Annette after she walked 6km to find CH. 16. Long day in the field today!
3- Napping, not sleeping though, under the fan. I imagined Pete coming to the doorway and me motioning, ‘come here.’ And giving/getting a giant cuddle. I just want a giant cuddle.

24 Sept: 1- Pete splashing/squirting me in kiddie pool. Feeling cool. Practicing our crocodile stealth tactics.
2- “Are you sure you don’t want a milo? Even if I twist your arm?” –John. Putting my arm out, “Okay, twist my arm?” Mmm, milo.
3 – Moon in the sky tonight.

27 Sept: 1-Mitchell Falls hike. Sitting at Little Merten’s after sunset. So many birds. Beautiful and peaceful, except for damned flies.
2- “How was your hike today? Hot?” -Paul. “I sat in the shade by the lagoon until it cooled off.” -Kelsey “Lagoon?” -Paul “Yeah….what? oh you don’t call it a lagoon?” -Kelsey “No, a lagoon is at the edge of a sea.” -Paul
3- Tim tams! In tea. After napping. “She’s so sweet when she just wakes up, isn’t she?” -Annette

29 Sept: Frogs on toilet seat.

30 Sept: Talking to Mr. Ew Sheep on telephone. I love my Be.
2 Oct: John pretending to be a quoll with buck teeth. Crawling up to the trap and scratching on the sides.

4 Oct: 1- “You’ve got to see the dingo poo I got today. It’s a ripper!” –Annette
“I’ve got to process those poos!” -Annette
2- mom/dad phone call
3- Driving home from Yalgie site after 7pm. Tree snake, owlet nightjars, bats, bandicoot, massive grasshoppers…all darting into the road causing Annette to swerve and or slam on breaks.

6 Oct: “So did you go out howling at the moon last night or what? It sounded like a baby elephant on the steps.” -Annette

7 Oct: Sitting in doorway and our friendly quoll, on the wood 5 feet from me. On his hind legs, waving like Spike. Sizing me up, reconsidering, scampering away.

8 Oct: 1- Morning yoga. Sun. Birds. Chanting.
2- Aboriginal art site at little Merten’s. Crawling around rocks barefoot. Quolls and eagles and swimming.
3- Pete pushing me in the heliwork swimming pool when I went to splash water on my arms.

13 Oct: 1- Aboriginal Art exploration with John and Annette. Dancing bradshaws. Special cave dwellings. Little boy at Kununurra backpackers running past me four times.
First time: He waves, I wave back.
Second time: He waves, I wave back. Smiling.
Third time: “I’m Tom!” “I’m Kelsey.” “Hi Kelsey! We’re playing hide ‘n seek!”Fourth time: “Hi again!” A still hand in the air.

From Mitchell River National Park to Perth

15 Oct.

Fast asleep by 8pm, awake at 5:45. I like that schedule. I slept fully, completely. In a large, blanket covered bed, with blinds to keep out the sun. Alone. With doves cooing – a sound from PHX, AZ. Another place I have once been. I’m glad I’m not there now. I’m glad to be here. I’m just needing – Rachel, Katie. A friend who wants to sit across from me. Listen and share for a very long time. Kim is busy. Everyone is so busy. I understand, I’ve been there too. But right now, my life is so simple. My days are so free. I just need to get on Goat, move my legs in circles. Not get trapped by staying in one little spot. A backyard full of dog-dug holes, roses growing up against a tin wall. Orange trees, lemon, and a cross between lemon and mandarin.
The view! From the hut doorway as I’d read or write – to myself or a beautiful friend far away. I’ll miss that view. Transition time. It hurts. A body with so much feeling. Every inch of my skin. The hairs that stand on end. Stomach aches. From morning hunger, mild anxiety. Soul gardening friends. Hands reached out. I borrowed a shirt from the closet of Kim’s guest room. The room I am sleeping in. The neckline has been cut away. Leaving shoulders tanned by a northern sun, bare. Begging for gentle touching. A resting hand. A little care. Innocence. In Tash’s hand-made skirt, that fits me so beautifully. When I suck my stomach in. Try to dance gracefully. But when I stood naked in front of the mirror, I saw collections of fat, unevenly tanned skin. A belly extended. Not even a baby in there. Criticism. But like I told Pete, there are better things to do with a life than spend 6 hours at a gym working out. Too much cake to eat.

Depression. That lurks around cement corners. Is this what’ll happen when I get back to Bellingham? The shock of not being on the move anymore. Will the friends I’ve been missing fill the gap of not traveling? I want movement. Exploring. In my body. On this planet. “How was your trip up North?” Already those 5 weeks have become a “wow, really good, such a special place up there.” No! It was not a one sentence, to be summarized, experience. It was the smell of rain on sandstone rocks. It was spotting quolls in the daytime – at Little Merten’s and down by the river while looking at crocodile tracks. It was Annette putting her hair up before getting in the shower, gasping at the first shot of cold water. It was her in a sunhat, laptop rested against her hip, walking back from the office or Ranger John’s hut. It was that night sky. The tiny bats and the silhouette of eucalyptus trees, shooting stars zipping by in the background. It was a cuddly man occasionally climbing into my tent after 8:30pm. It was letting my body feel everything it needed to feel – fear, anger, hope, joy. It was the beauty in someone asking me to say exactly what I meant in each line of a poem. It was the sound of helicopters. The blades whirling. Our fan, the one I spent so much time laying beneath, mimicked it so well. That place, in the Northern reach of the Kimberley. It was finches. Their chip chip chirping. Magnificent crimsons. Cuuuuute double barred ones. Long-tailed finches too. Even if no masked or Gouldians. It was the smell of fires that had jumped the King Edward River, and then the main road leading to the park. It was waiting, sometimes impatiently, for John – always jumping between all the things he wanted to get done. It was coming in late from the field and the phone immediately ringing, “do do doo di di.” Ranger john offering me and Annette a movie, a cold drink, some humorous company. Because that’s what we became. A make-shift, blurred role, quirky as all hell, temporary family. It was watching the dirt rinse off my body and down the shower drain. It was Annette cutting my hair on our porch. Me saying, “no, it has to be shorter, cut more.” The way it’d go all floppy and flippy every morning and Annette would exclaim at 5am, “wow, what a groovy hairdo!” It was tea leaves tossed out the doorway from a kettle Annette filled half a dozen times a day. I’m sorry, I can’t help it. I find it so heartbreaking when someone asks how something so amazing has been and all I say is, “good, incredible.” Maybe two or three other things. I don’t know why I don’t say more. And I know they’re satisfied. Free to walk away. In my mind I see green ants digging into my shoulders. Serves me right for crawling through tangles of monsoon vine thicket, just trying to get to those dang quolls. “You are a really feeling person aren’t you?” “Yeah. That’s a truth.” No, it was not GOOD up there. It was hot. Oppressively hot. It was peaceful. It was full. It was moon watching. It was barefoot rock climbing and feeling hard soil on the pads of my feet. It was a brief visit from weebills, all the others I missed. And a new bird species to admire, write down, nearly every day. It was Bradshaw figures dancing on the underside of a massive piece of rock. In my first ‘real’ conversation with Pete, he asked if I ever wished I had someone to share all those special moments with. He was referring to Tasmania. I said no, at that time, it felt right to be alone. I should have said, “the other night, 45 minutes before sunset, I went out walking down a slowly disappearing road. When I turned back, the colors of the evening making their final show, 2 red-tailed black cockatoos cooed and flew where moments ago the sun had just been. For the tiniest second, then, I wished someone stood next to me to see them go. But then I knew it didn’t matter. Because with or without someone, we are each completely alone.
I let those beautiful people under my sweaty skin. Ready to go or not, I’m always leaving. Looking for my country. When will I ever be home?

Kimberley Poem Writing

The days creak by. Baking cakes in the morning heat. Today's variety was carrot without a recipe. My mind is slow, wavering with silliness like the heat waves in the distance. It came out of the oven, melted in our mouths. Happy little dances I danced, standing by the door with the days hundredth sweat moustache beading upon my skin.

"A message from the old people through the flames of a bloodwood campfire. that too much town life, hunting in the supermarket, deep-freeze fishing and grog drinking ain't no good for your spirit. keep the homeland movement firing..." -Pigram Brothers

Bare feet on the dusty ground
With spiders and quolls, stirring in the rustling grasses.
The view through the doorway is one I would keep.
As the afternoon wind tousles gum tree leaves
The branches drooping just enough to say
you, you can look at me.
Close my eyes on a dry creek bed.
In the shade, cowering away from the critical sun.
Ants. Red ones. Tiny black ones. Green ones in a line on the trunk of that pale tree.
Lighter. Just me with the sound of birds calling.
This beautiful land. Mysteries I'm happy to know little pieces of.
The ants carry their dead. I don't know where.

My hair's grown thick and wild.
Curling erratically with the early morning humidity.
I try to pull it from my face.
Keep it from clinging to me.
I look out the doorway and all I see
is this place. Walking for 24 years before the power of space finally sunk into me.
In a country that will never be mine.
8 months wandering doesn't offer full belonging.
"I might fall in love with my country again, that's the only thing that could happen." A lie, one dancing on the string of a baby's star mobile.
One that such tiny fingers were miles away from grasping.
I think of home and dart to that South Bellingham beach. It has a name I can't remember.
And in the colder part of the year, no one is around. Only me, islands in the distance. And hidden, beautiful creatures. My fingers dip into grey water.
Being who I am now. I'd take my clothes off and wait for the thrill of my head going under.
Sense of space. The area my body fills.
Treading water lightly. My hands cupped full.
Full moon or the tiniest remainder.
It pushes and pulls. Dips my energy until I dance barefoot down a dark stretch of Chuckanut Drive Road.

(September 16, 2009)

WA birds (twit twit no twitter)

Mitchell River NP new species sightings in bold.

Varied Sitella
Green pygmy-goose
Torresian Crow
White-throated Honeyeater
Blue-faced Honeyeater
Red-collared Lorikeet
Australian Hobby
White-quilled Rock Pigeon
Pied (Torresian) Imperial Pigeon
Red-winged Parrot
Spotted Harrier
Crimson Finch
Barred Honeyeater
Silver-crowned Friarbird
Red-backed Kingfisher
Pheasant Coucal
Leaden Flycatcher
Black Grasswren
Spangled Drongo
Whistling Kite
White-bellied Cuckoo Shrike
Olive-backed Oriole
Rainbow Pitta (cute!)
Partridge Pigeon
Dollarbird
Tawny Frogmouth

Australian Ringneck
Darter
Little Black Cormorant
White Cheeked Honeyeater
Red-capped Robin
Australian Shelduck
Tree Martin
Fairy Martin
Zebra Finch
White-winged Triller
Emu (+babies)
Red-tailed Black Cockatoo
Straw-necked Ibis
Western Bowerbird
Black-faced Cuckoo Shrike
Little Pied Cormorant
Eastern Reef Egret
Singing Honeyeater
Pied Butcherbird
Ospry
Spinifex Pigeon
Mangrove Fantail
Red-capped Plover
White-winged Fairy Wren
Variegated Fairy Wren
Yellow-throated Miner
Spiny-cheeked Honeyeater
Weebill (KiloMikeinLove!!!!)
Peaceful Dove
Painted Finch
Rufous Whistler
Blue-winged Kookaburra (photo taken by Annette's field tech last year)

Rainbow Bee Eater
Australian Bustard
Brown Falcon
Yellow White Eye
Mistletoe Bird
Double-barred Finch
Long-tailed Finch
Great Bowerbird
Brown Honeyeater
Rufous-throated Honeyeater
Little Friarbird
Gouldian Finch
Brahimy Kite
Greater Sand Plover
Brown Goshawk
Sharptailed Sandpiper
Curlew Sandpiper
Black-winged Stilt
Red-backed Fairy Wren
Caspian Tern
Bar-shouldered Dove
Great Egret
Black Kite
White-breasted woodswallow
Restless Flycatcher



haha, just kidding on the Gouldian Finch, Dianne. Just making sure you are doing your reading!

KiloMikeWhattheCrike?

Ah, nothing beats a good sweat. Especially when your clothes are drenched by 730 in the morning and you can barely keep your pants up with the humidity trying its hardest to pull them to the ground. Its coming up on three weeks that I've been up at Mitchell River National Park chasing quolls around the rocky countryside: Today, we caught one of the girls to check her radio collar and got to see this:I hope you are oohing and ahhing, because those are some damn cute quoll babies.


When I'm not exhausting myself with Annette searching for quolls I might do something like lay under the fan, read a book, wipe off my sweat mustache, bake a cake, watch a movie at Ranger John's house (AC, yay), watch Annette dance strangely or dance strangely for Annette, or go to the river via helicopter for a fishing trip:
The rangers and helicopter men did not catch any fish (hard to when you are laying around like these 'working' folk). But we saw CROCODILE tracks. Yes, crocodile.

Yesterday, the helicopter crew filled up a kiddie swimming pool and we went swimming (aka: sitting in one foot of water) for an hour so life continues to be pretty good up here in the hot hot hot heat.


Quote of last week:

"Quolls aren't as dumb as people say. They've learned to come into the house, get into the cookie jar, eat the cookies, then put the lid back on!" -Annette, who definitely didn't eat all the cookies I made and knew that I would never do such a thing either.

Mittagundi Outdoor Ed. Center

Some places. Special places. Far away from any place I know. Red mailbox on the left side of sickness inducing windy roads. On the tail end of the flu, up in the mountains. On a bus, I slept through the trees, through the conversations with teachers and 30 chatty, intimidating 15 year olds behind me. Six hours later and I didn't think I was ready to be there. Out of my comfort zone. Again. It took longer than "usual" to feel like I fit in. Group talks revolving around four core values: respect, responsibility, fairness, and safety. The food came out and we all ate and ate. in a little log cabin called Ian's hut. Mt. Wills. Days for practicing our skiing. In the snow. Nervous, self-conscious. Going off into the snow gums, where I could fall over on my own. Brave kids. Starting conversations with me. It was much easier after that. Farm days. Fence clearing. Making bread, pizza lunches, and more and more desserts. Kids got sick. Got the flu. Up in the mountains, on our skiing adventure. The 'popular' boys. Segregated groups. Crude jokes and obscene gestures. Snow-women built in the snow. Mid week chats and the kids didn't mind. Wouldn't stand up the the popular view that making fun of others was okay. Disheartening moods. Frustrated leaders Back to the farm feeling utterly exhausted. It took time. But by the end I was in. "Cool enough" for them. I'm not sure that's even what I wanted, but it was a start to meaningful converstations. That group left and hours later another came in. Split into two. Immediately different. I was myself. 100% in my skin. Asking questions. Being silly. Open. Outgoing. I flip-flopped groups. Got attached to the 2nd group after two farm days. Compacting soil around a pig pen pole. Chase games and 'okay, the one who's not building mondo biceps has to tell the other's a story. and make sure the pole stays straight!' Ultimate frisbee. Elbow tag. Funny voices. Cross-dressing parties. 'Aquaman' in a bright red and blue wetsuit that really never should have gone on my body. The boys were hilarious, the girls too. And Lucy, one of the leaders, had Dennis and Declan cut her hair into the most hideous of mullets. My hero. Thank you's at dinner. Everyone was so grateful. So giving. Then off to the snow again. A last minute decision. After my last ski trip, I was so tired, didn't think I'd want to go. But I passed up less demanding days on the farm. To spend more time with, built more connections with those 14 kids who were already so significantly under my skin. Bigger slopes, warmer weather. A teacher from their school joining our group. New personality, a skiing expert. Reminded me in too many ways of a person I am quite happy not to remember. Tiredness seeped in. Colds got caught. Laying low, letting my emotional-blah day go its own way. Ski jumps. Open faced sandwiches. With peanut butter instead of cheese. Antechinuses back at the hut. Trying to sneakily eat our scraps of food. Stretching circles in the morning. After singing wake up calls. The withdrawn kid. I tried so hard, not hard enough. To talk to him. Help him open up. Beacuse it was in there, I'd already seen glimmers of it. But he kept slinking away. Kept keeping himself hid. Beautiful personalities. Kids I'd keep as friends. Long walks back to the troupies. Past melted snow, our skis in suitcases. Ticklish co-volunteers and oh those trees. The sun shining through. That shimmering green. My #1 favorite thing in this country. One last afternoon on the farm. An evening of chatting. Reflection. Meaning. What we have learned. The answers were so varied. For me, that teenagers weren't so scary. "Actually, you guys are pretty freakin' cool." Next, its the end of the world, you're taking your friends and family, what three other things, what three other values would you bring? One after the other the kids said trust, honesty, family. I took playfulness, a goofy, non-hurtful sense of humor. the ability to love myself, take care of myself - cause that took a long time to learn and I don't want to lose it. And hugs. Cuddles that make you feel safe, loved, connected. We journeyed five years in the future. Where we'd be sitting. What kind of chair. What kind of setting. Ssome kids were at uni, another was holding a baby. I was in my dead grandma's rocking chair. reupholstered, repaired. Rocking. with the smell of pine trees in the air. it was sunny, friends were there. Cooking, baking, flour in their hair. Kitchen dancing. I was 30. Through grad school. After biking BC or the west coast of America. Home. After all this time I was home. In my first few days at Mittagundi, my mind wasn't there. It was in Western Australia, up in the Kimberley. But it didn't take long before I was Right There. Looking up at such a starry sky as I brushed my teeth, peed by a tree in the middle of the night. Even if there are many things about the style of operation, hierarchy of organization that I wouldn't want to take from Mittagundi to my own outdoor/environmental education place, I'd take that magnificent sense of space. That feeling of little routines that become ingrained. That you miss when you're back in Melbourne, in a new suburb, in a home with electricity, in a double bed. Porridge every morning, two showers in 18+ days, three liters of water, supposedly, every day. Running, sprinting, in front of the departing bus. Waving crazily to those innocent kids. Jumping in the FREEZING river. Scrapes to the knee. Lucy, behind me shouting, "Hurry, get out! Get out!!" Sun on my bare skin. Coming through those eucalyptus trees. Space between buildings. Taking a poo on a composting loo with a view. Wood chopping, kindling. Open fires and wood burning stoves. Cooking delirium. Cause really, whose idea was it to make veggie burgers for that many people? Sing-song dinner presentations with Declan. "Oops, I did it again, sliced veggies all day. Stood in front of the stove. Oh baby baby. Oops, I think that its wedges. And veggie burgers. Ohh baby baby. Snot block for dessert! Flip me baby one more time!" The joking with the kids. Bill, the strongest of the group, convincing me he could spin me. Hold my wrists, twirl, let my feet wave behind me. I was wary, but I gave in, let him try it. Within a second I was in the dirt, on my back. All I saw was blue sky, the clouds passing above me. Deep belly, aching laughter. There is infinite value in that. Chasing chickens and dogs from the kitchen. I must of gained at least five pounds. "Thirds?" "Nooo, no way. oh, okay." The full Mittagundi experience. Ryan's bright green, skin tight ski pants. The value of not yelling at kids. Respect and letting them make mistakes. Not everyone thought this way. Hundreds of little things in 2.5 weeks. In a place built for learning.

mr ew sheep the movie

well, for those of you who've been dreaming of the full length movie version of the new south wales hiking extravaganza of mr and mr ew sheep, the day has come. and there is a competition to go with it, because i daresay, our current social system likes competition of all kinds, even those in the category of "useless." if you can properly identify the plot and at least two of the intricate themes laced throughout the film, you win you win you're the winner! best of luck.

A sneak preview....

Melbourne to the Blue Mountains

It was after the heat wave hell day. After one person was taken by two others to the hospital. After two Oteshalings laid sobbing on the floor. Scooped up by Candice, taken to a bed and fed electrolyte gels. It was after the next day’s debriefing. The sharing of what riding 68 kilometers in such oppressive heat had been like for each of us. It was after a community presentation of our skit, “Morning of Choices.” With the sun in our faces as we shouted our lines from a stage. To an audience scattered too widely across a large stretch of lawn. After we danced to another group’s puppet performance of “the Whale Wash Song.” It was when we were running across all that grass. Playing “hug tag” and “red rover red rover.” Showing off non-cartwheel skills and handstands where we couldn’t keep our feet in the air. We were happy. In my memory, I see us all smiling. Giddy. It was then. I took off running. Hoping to perform a perfect cartwheel. Something my body hadn’t done since I was seven. It went astray. I landed on a bended knee, in front of Be. Now I was almost her height, and on that warm, sunny, late afternoon, such a landing seemed suitable for only one question.

“Will you marry me?”

Without much pause, her hands came up to her mouth and she shouted, “Yes!”

Yes. I stood up, hugged her, her head next to my chest. In a quick conversation of who would take who’s name and who would be the Mrs. it came to be understood that we would take the name of our respective stuffed kids. Ew and Mr. Sheep. Mr. and Mr. Ew Sheep.

Nearly four and a half months since that fateful summer day, I found myself looking out a window, past an abundance of blurring gum trees. Straight ahead through the small window of the carriage door, I could see Goat’s bike seat. And when the door flapped Open. Shut. Open. Shut. from the jostling movements of the train, I saw the bright yellow Ortlieb panniers. A comfort that Goat was still standing. And that that image, those things, were mine.

“Birds came on the train.” I looked over at Paul, a mentally handicapped young man who’d followed me around the platform and now the train.

“What?” I asked.

“Listen, you can hear birds on the train. Down there.”

I turned around, but couldn’t see the budgies that chirped and tweeted in some downstairs part of our part of the train. I looked back at Paul and we both smiled.

“Only one more stop till Springwood. Our stop,” he informed me.

Only one more stop till Mr. Ew Sheep. A giddy wave of excitement swirled around my mouth, down my throat, and spread into my shoulders. As the train approached Mr. Ew Sheep Station, I went to Goat, de-wedging her from the bike area where I’d wedged her 1.5 hours earlier. The train halted. Doors opened. People eager to come on board backed up, letting me and the bike out. A look to my left. A look to my right. “Mr. Ew Sheep!” “Eeee!” She hopped towards me and I hobbled towards her. Hugs happened and then I went back to say goodbye to Paul. Then another hug with Mr. Ew Sheep and we made our way up to the surprisingly busy street. We picked up two hot chocolates and a piece of “chocolate mud cake? No, carrot cake. No, no, chocolate mud cake!” We arranged ourselves on the concrete alongside some benches. Happy. Launching into stories from our recent trips. Mine. Around Tasmania. Up and down hills in seven weeks. Grey nomads and dozens of friendly people. WombatsRUs gifts and the joys and sorrows of traveling alone. Hers. Nearly 2.5 months cycling from Port Augusta to Darwin. Early morning rides and middays spent in makeshift shade shelters, hiding from the heat. The limitless horizon, red sand, blue sky. Darting between rare clumps of trees, hoping not to be seen as they rushed into the desert, away from the highway, searching for a suitable nighttime camping spot. The joys of traveling with such an amazing friend. The exhaustion that occasionally came, having so much ground to cover. I listened and shared delightedly. Be slid the remaining ¾ of cake to me, saying it was mine, she was recovering from the flu.

I told her how I was supposed to be on a month long sugar free diet. After returning from Tasmania, I succeeded in going 2 weeks without giving in to any sugary temptations. Oteshaling Tash and I had a 36-hour break that got only a little bit out of hand. Homemade pavlova and carrot chocolate chunk cake with homemade icing. Dumpstered Lindt chocolates and overly sweet cookies. From there, we decided a month without sugar might cure us of such overly indulgent cravings. One week into it and I was lured. Offers of ice-cream and tim-tams abounded at Ron and Lola’s house in Albury. But I persisted. Denied all offers. “If I can make it through Ron and Lola’s tim-tam trap household, I can get through anything without sugar!” That’s what I really thought. But a voice in my head without a name whispered, “But You Haven’t Started Cycling Yet.” “Shh,” I insisted.

That was before Ron and Lola drove me to Yerong Creek. Before I spent 6 days cycling North, than East to the foot of the Blue Mountains, where I could catch the train to Mr. Ew Sheep. Before I was met with infuriating headwinds and persistent non-down pour days and nights of rain.

The trip never had a definite plan. After discovering that I couldn’t extend my working holiday visa, a new list of priorities put seeing Otesha friends at the top. That meant getting to Sydney and the surrounding Blue Mountains to reunite with Mr. Ew Sheep. After receiving a letter from Ron urging me to consider visiting, I boxed up Goat and hopped on a train. Albury was on my way. Three and a half hours after saying goodbye to Melbourne and letting views of farms and trees and fire remains whir by my eyes, I said hello to Ron and Lola. Nearly two months since I’d seen them as the toot tooted past me in their caravan on the highway out of Hobart. Since we’d shared one last cup of tea. Since Ron stuffed two last tim tams into my hands.

They treated me like “their daughter.” Touring me around town, sharing breakfasts, morning teas, lunches, afternoon teas, and dinners. I scanned over my New South Wales maps. Toyed with my options of how to reach Sydney. Bike? Bus? Train? Bike. Via the busy Hume Highway? Via hills and mountains and Canberra? Or going wide, to the west, via the Olympic Highway, Junee, Cootamundra, Young, Cowra, and Bathurst? After talking to Oteshaling Julia in Canberra and discovering that the next week wasn’t the best time to come for a visit, the cycling the ‘snowy mountain highway’ in winter plan was scrapped. The Hume Highway, main freeway hub between Sydney, Canberra, and Melbourne, was never a place I wanted to cycle. Even before the warnings and the ‘its too dangerous’es. So I chose to go inland. Despite the reprimands from multiple elders at the monthly dinner bash at Ron and Lola’s retirement village. A red-faced me being introduced during the welcoming speech.

“Today we have a visitor, Kelsey Maloney, from the United States, cycling around Australia.”

Even though, technically, I am in no way cycling around Australia. Only here and there. After food and sing-a-longs, two men came up to me. Shook my hand and said, “Welcome to Australia!” and wished me luck. More than one lady glanced at me then shook her head. A man with a large nose, an impressive amount of gray hair, sat across the table from me.

“I don’t mean to be patronizing. But, you are a little girl. Yes, you are a grown woman, but you’re a little girl. And you should not be cycling on your own.”

Maybe the man didn’t know. That was patronizing. Ron was drunk, leaning in on the conversation. Most of the people in the room with me were drunk. Maybe the large-nosed man too. Empty bottles of wine on every white table-clothed table. Not me. I sat there quiet. Kept breathing short, deep, calming breaths in and out of my nose. Kept being po-lite. My head spun. My thoughts and anger were loud. Fear mongering. Some men and some women. Wanting to keep me hidden. “Safe.” From all the “nasty buggers out there.” I know, I knew, there are always people who will disapprove. People who’d think it was safer to drink, smoke, drive, and laze their life away. I was not scared. Did not let his own fears infect me.

A day later, I hugged Ron and Lola goodbye. Clipped my feet in and pedaled away. Grinned at the light breeze against my face. The sun and the cows and sheep I passed. A hopeful beginning to six days in a row of constant cycling. Sixty-six percent of which I cannot accurately describe as enjoyable. First three days into an aggressive headwind. On the second day while eating lunch, I caved. A Lindt chocolate ball and ½ of a fair-trade milk chocolate bar. I did not feel guilty. Just knew, cycling and no sugar diets were not a thing I wanted to be doing.

The next two days brought much less wind, and much more rain. Plus an increase in the size and quantity of hills and a craving for peanut butter and pizza. The fifth day of riding, 106k’s from Cowra to Bathurst, started slowly. Even though the road appeared to be flat, or even sometimes downhill, I could not gather any momentum or speed. Somewhere in that first third of the ride, a tantrum escaped me. Pedaling as hard as I could into a brick wall, shaking the handlebars and aggressively squeaking Mrs. MooCow while screaming, “WHY AM I GOING SO FUCKING SLOW?!?” Immediately embarrassed, I glanced around, relieved that no farmers stood watching me at their farm gates. I finally decided to let the mysteriously sloped road win, and accept Granny Gear and Stewie as my only friends. Luckily, I had added motivation to get through the day. A warm house to go to in Bathurst thanks to Gary and Kim and warmshowers.org. It was here that I would ask Gary, a former nurse, about my swollen right ankle.

“Tendonitis!” he said.

“Tendonitis?”

“Have you been pedaling in too hard of a gear at all on this trip? That will do it right away.”

Immediately I thought, “No way! I wouldn’t do that,” but then I saw myself several days earlier, frustrated with the wind and screaming, “come onnnnn!” and pedaling as hard as I could, refusing to drop into a lower gear.

“Hmm, I can be stubborn sometimes.”

He recommended anti-inflammatory drugs and rest. Two-three weeks. I couldn’t sit still that long even if I really tried! I turned down his offer to drive me all the way to the train station at Lithgow, instead accepting a 25k compromise lift to O’Connell. Then I only had 50k’s of back roads with hardly any cars and only a gazillion hills to traverse to get to Lithgow. I tried to keep my left leg from over-compensating too much as I half-cursed my decision to ride. And I thanked the biking gods for keeping Goat upright as I zoomed down a monstrous hill at 75.8 km/hr. Upon reaching the Lithgow train station, I resigned myself to resting for at least a week or two, allowing my leg a chance to heal and giving Goat and me a break from each other.

Sitting in the fading afternoon light with Mr. Ew Sheep and chocolate cake made the exhausting past 6 days swirl around in my head with a lable of 'worth it.' It was a 40-minute walk back to our resting spot for the weekend in the Blue Mountains. After cooking up a feast with the seven other people at the hosue, we snuck into a room intending to sleep. Instead, we giggled and talked until 230 in the morning. And to think, I've always said I never wanted to get married!

the ride to lithgow

tash with goodies from our 36 hour break from our sugar free diet

mr. ew sheep with an awesome individual we found walking down the street. in a onesy!!

Radiate.

Give me. A mix of eucalyptus trees. Barely green.
Black trunks. Dead grass.
Piles of trash, scattered among the rails. Track side bush.
Eyes closed, the sun coming through those same trees.
Black, then spots of red. Clearing.
Third day in a row for such needed crying.
Tangled, collected together. Moments with so much meaning.
Hugs that don't quickly end. Hand as claws, rubbing, poking.
"You'll have to excuse us Anna..." But Anna just joined in.
Three way. Care. Affection. Love.
This delicate land. A handful of sandy soil.
Silver beet seeds tucked in just below the surface.
Gardening books, read resting in a hammock overlooking recently planted seedlings.
Seeds that grow.
Placed in the ground gently, hesitating.
Confidence found. Rebuilt, sometimes daily. In pedal spanners.
A compassionate friend.
We are alive. We are not dead.
So fragile. Yet we pave over it. Place heaps of steel on the surface of it.
Uranium mines. In the desert of South Australia.
Use up to 42,000,000 liters of water per day.
"And we rode around Victoria tyring to persuade kids to take shorter showers."
I do not want nuclear energy. Not powering any part of me.
Touch. Care. How can we give this land such little care?
Meat, slabs of it, I swerved, just missing it in the bike lane of Arthurton Street. It looked like a cow, what we call beef.
Once living, now dead, forgotten. Rotting. Left for wide tires,
a scavengers feast.
It was raining this morning. 7am. Still dark.
Now its clear. Radiant. The blue. The shining.
I want to crawl into it. The soil, green leaves. The marshy weeds feeding into that stream.
Covered. Wrapped. Cared for. Loving.
To put my feet in motion. Confront the things I find most frightening. Letting "fear of..." rest. Alongside that persistent feeling of "I have no place. I have no home."
"Lola! We're gonna have a visitor." In his tone of voice.
To know, someone really wants me here.
Give me.
The smiths on a moving train.
Memories of dancing. A spirit laughing.
Patience. Time. To relearn such valuable states of mind.
A few sulphur crested cockatoos in the sky.

28 May 2009

Food waste and rescue, Melbourne style

About two weeks ago I went to a short talk by one of the founders of FareShare, a Melbourne based organization that rescues 'to be thrown out' food and prepares it to be served to people in need. The commercial and industrial sector in Victoria alone throws out 140,000 tons of food, per year! Combine that with the ~$600 worth of food that the average Australian throws out each year and we've got a lot of unnecessary waste piling up! FareShare has rescued nearly 97 tons of food this year and given away over 327,000 meals. Woohoo.

Last night I had the opportunity to be on the up close and personal side of food waste.

At 12:30am I texted Christine*, a friend of the urban wwoof hosts I am staying with in Melbourne: I'm near the 67 tram stop, hopefully I'm in the right spot?

12:31am: c u in 2

I let out a nervous giggle, glancing around at the suburban strip mall to my right and the lanes of nearly deserted highway to my left, feeling like I was about to take part in some serious crime-making.

True to her word, Christine pulled up in a black van two minutes later. "Kelsey?" "Christine?" I hopped in the front seat. Talking with Christine came easily and only stopped when we pulled up along side a Coles Supermarket. "You have a headlight?" "Mmhmm." "Gloves too?" "Yep."

We walked casually past the lit up staff room straight for "the golden bin." Aptly named for the treasure trove of edible food resting inside. "Um, so, do you have a typical procedure for going about this?" I asked. Christine explained how one person would go around the edge of the dumpster, handing anything worth saving to the other person to put in a box. Then she'd climb inside and dig deep, salvaging as much as possible.

As she leaned over the edge and stated rustling past the cardboard and black bags full of trash, I stood on my tiptoes to get a peak at what lay inside. Soon enough, Christine was handing me all sorts of items. Bananas, barely a day past being perfectly ripe. Dozens of small potato chip bags. Lindt chocolate bars only a couple weeks past their expiration date, but otherwise fine. Seemingly fine bags of pasta and lentils. Several plastic wrapped organic pieces of squash and pumpkin that would need to be eaten pretty soon. Packaged avocados. Biscuits. Crackers. Tins of fruit and vegetables. Towels. A Pinnochio DVD. Toothpaste.

Over the next 3.5 hours we drove to approximately 7 dumpsters, backtracking to some that had workers around on our first try, collecting enough food to feed 15 people for a week, at least. Every bin felt a bit like Christmas morning, not knowing what goodies would be inside. It was both fascinating and appalling.

Now, groggy after only 4 hours of sleep and a belly full of an urbanly gleaned lunch, I feel grateful for having had the opportunity to dive into the underground culture of sustainability. Every day since stepping foot on this Australian land, and many before on other continents, I am reminded of the myriad of ways we can each tweak our lives and let go of misguided judgements to build community and lessen our negative impacts on the planet.

*name changed, just in case

Tasmanian Awards and Winners

It took a while to tally the results, but its finally finished... the 2009, KiloMikeEcoBike Tasmanian Awards! Don't worry, we all win, except that Rossarden hill and the road out to Eddystone Point Lighthouse.
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Best Cheerleaders: Great Australian Bike Riders (Takone to Tullah)! Way to go, you guys really know how to make a cyclist feel good!

Most needed and appreciated cup of tea: Ron and Lola at the Derwent River, ~5ks from Lake St. Clair Ntl. Park. And several times thereafter!

Best Cafe: Exetor Bakery. Donuts, berry turnovers, chocolate mint slices. I'm lucky I stopped myself there. All cyclists must stop! That sign should be on their door!

Best Pancakes: TIE! Rick's in Tullah and Dianne's in Strahan. So much pancake love, thank you!

Best blackberry picking and the most motivating "be the change you want to see in the world" lifestyle: Nick and Michelle. Organic gardening, yoghurt and soymilk making, biking and public transporting, climate change educating, bike safety advocating, humanuring, community building...yay!

Most gracious welcoming of a stranger in a tent camped on their property: Rick and Barbara! Plus, most delicious raspberries and homemade jam!

Favorite "luxury" items: Real towels and a pillow!

Kids most capable of making adults laugh: Ellen and Sam Hillcoat

Most illusive Australian Marsupial: the wild common wombat! You got away from me this time, but I still adore you and hold out hope for a sighting in other parts of Australia.

Best campfire meal: The Anderson's "hippy soup" at Mt. William Ntl. Park

Most luxurious bath: St. Mary's at Sally and Michael's house

Most loving hug: Jane, when walking up to her door and her coming outside and saying, "oh, come here, we have been reading your blog..." followed by the warmest, kindest hug

Most thoughtful responses to KiloMikeEcoBike blog entries: Dianne

Most stunning paintings seen on trip: Raymond and Helena. Not to mention, my wonderful hosts to my favorite town of the trip. Its got atmosphere, history, and stunning colors...Queenstown!

Most re-energizing family: Dave, Rebecca, Sarah, Katie, Claire, and Roseanna Boyle/Green. You guys came at just the right time!

Best question: Year 3-4 student in Hobart, "But, do you ever go on holiday?" "This is my holiday! And in a way, my entire life is my holiday!"

Most relaxing spot: Family 'shack" at Connellys Marsh

Best day trip: Strahan to Ocean Beach. Bird life, seals, mostly empty beach, peace.

Most ambitious business pursuit of the year: Dianne, founder of WombatsRUs, providing funny signs, edible treats, and encouraging text messages aimed at making Tassie cyclists happy and well fed.

Best backpackers: Swansea! Clean, warm, and NOT filled with drunk travelers, hooray!

Most gruesome hill: Rossarden, 7k climb

Best reward on top of a hill: Phil and Margaret, BB and Ali in Rossarden

Best tim tam supply: Phil and Marg

Best chocolate cake: Heather

Best sleepout: John, Gill, Ellen, and Sam's cubby house overlooking the Tamar River

Most thoughtful going away card: Ya Ho Tash! Full of warm fuzzies that kept my spirits up in some of the tougher Tasmanian moments.

Worst road conditions: C840 to Eddystone Point Lighthouse. Boo corrugated boo sand pits!

Best cuddle: Mater the Wombat at something wild wildlife sanctuary

Best unexpected ferry companions: Ted and Jane

Worst singer ever heard: Me, apparently. According to Alice in Deloraine. I know, I was shocked too!

Funniest text message received: "I woke up really needing to poo today and thought of you...Love, Julia."

Best garden gift surprise: John's in Triabunna. Peaches, apples, figs, and more!

Best tour guide: Phil on the tour of Rossarden

Most appreciated and happy run in with other cyclists: Jessie and Karon, 8 k's from Forth, 18 k's from Devonport.

Best weekend getaway: Cradle Mountain. Thanks Janet and Alice!

Most outstanding bike: GOAT! With zero punctured tires on some seriously rocky roads. At first I only liked you, but now I think I love you. Thank you, Goat, for transporting me safely all around that beautiful Tasmanian state!

And two awards that were impossible to distribute due to dozen way tie: Most spectacular bike ride and most welcoming, warm-hearted host. If you gave me a bed, a corner of floor, a place for my tent, or a warm shower and a few hours of company, then please know that you hold a very, very dear place in my heart. I was constantly wowed and made to feel very loved along my journey. So yay, all you folk in Tasmania, you win!
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Statistical extras during 50 day journey:
# of wahoos: 148
# of middle of the night pees (no, not IN the bed): at least 40
# of day hikes: approx. 8
# of times reached for granny gear: 784
# of tim tams consumed: approx. 23
# of ice-creams consumed: approx. 15
# of falls off bike: 2
# of cry times: approx. 3
# of peed pants times due to laughter: i really think its zero, i'm getting good!
# of hills walked up: 2.45. Hobart suburb street to Rebecca's place. Wielangta Forest Reserve dirt road full of steep, non-grippable surface. The final 200m to Jess and Matt's in St. Helen's. So steep!

Cradle Mountain to Devonport (3 May 2009) and readjusting to Melbourne

3 May 3:45 pm

I did it! Devonport, Tasmania. Full circle, sitting outside the post office waiting for Karon. Four hours, 15 minutes till ferry departure. Stunning, downhill ride with occasional uphill bursts. A superb finale ride. I'm having trouble concentrating. Traffic and girls in a sporty car with loud "gitchy gitchy ya ya yaaa" music playing. Three guys drinking beer in the hotel pub across the street. Revving engines. Old ladies walking by, commenting on the weather. "Cool." I'm pretty freakin' cool. I'm so proud of myself. 1,700k's. Mega hills. Corrugated, sandy dirt roads. Camping alone, identifying birds, long day hikes, and dozens of strangers I was lucky enough to meet. Karon and Jessie met me about 8k's from Forth. "You're too fast!" they shouted as they waved hello. We stopped along the side of the road to properly meet each other and chit chat. And then an easy spurt into Forth where I unloaded some of my stuff into Karon's car. They headed towards Leith to get some extra K's in and I headed up my last Tasmanian hill. A mild, 2-3k one. Ocean views and rolling farmland. Not much could have wiped that smile off my face. But now I'm here. And its sinking in. No more Tasmania. I hope Karon gets here soon, its cold and I don't like this corner of Devonport. Too much noise. Back to the big city tomorrow. Even more noise and fashion and out of rural, wilderness land. Seven weeks.

9:45pm

Writing on the ferry is bound to make me sick. But I need it. The writing and the recalling and all the images rushing through my head. If I don't write it... I have to write. Falling asleep with tears just escaping my eyes. No more empty stretches of road to sing along. Wahoos, things I'd normally be too shy to shout. Sense of place. To fall so in love with a place. Today Tasmania gave me my favorite scene on one of the rushes downhill: the intensity of green. Layers, gum trees up close. Bright. Dark. Like so many rides before. I could only glance, let it sink in from the corner of my eye as I'd brake to keep myself on my side of the road. Curves. Bends. Heartache. There is a German word for that. Linda, Anja, and Jens taught me it. Somehow I've forgotten it. But it's necessary now. People who ask questions. Then give me space to share. Reasons to dream. No matter how ready I am to rest for a few days in Melbourne. This place. These people. Ingrained. Such endless giving.

4 May 7:52am Melbourne

My emotional wobbliness seems to have settled now that I'm off the ferry. Sitting by the beach with a celebration breakfast: the very last of my muesli, peanut butter and nutella sandwich and the chocolate Janet gave me at Cradle Mountain. Hooray! 1,721.68 k's. My first solo tour! Somehow the process of finishing something is always harder than the actually being done. As I disembarked the ferry, I saw another young cycle tourist up ahead. He waited for me and told me he'd just finished a three week blitz around Tasmania going clockwise. And he had severely underestimated the hills. We just got into the rhythm of talking when he said, "Oh, there's my mum!" She seemed so happy to see him and gave him a big hug. I felt like I deserved a big hug too, but of course didn't get one because I was a complete stranger. I bid her son farewell, and now wish I'd asked him to meet up because it would be a tremendous help to my 'debriefing' process to be able to go through Tasmania with someone else who just cycled there too. But once again, its just me. And damnit, I feel a little sick from all the chocolate. It'll pass. Debrief. What do I do? Journal. Re-read. Talk, share. It's amazing how one 11 hour boat ride can make it seem to far away already. It was wonderful having Ted and Jane (friends of Dianne and Karon) on the boat to talk with for a couple hours before attempting sleep. They were a perfect summary of the type of people I'd met along the way. Warm-hearted, spirited, oozing of positive energy. Sleeping was okay. Tossey-turney, but the night went by quickly [There is a tractor "plowing" the sand at the little beach here. Which has got to be one of the dumber things I've seen recently.]

5 May. 8am

Gratitude. There is no other word to sum up how I'm feeling this morning. I slept in for a surprisingly long time (nearly 7:30! An hour longer than usual!) and woke to find a note from Tash. "Morning Pumpkin!..." A sweek wake-up note is definitely one way to start someone's day off right. And then, without getting out of my make-shift bed on the floor, I grabbed the letters Heather and Andrew sent me from the States. Felt like Christmas. Letters are my all time favorite form of long-distance communication. After savouring those, I got up to go to the toilet, then made a cup of tea and rushed back with the scissors to open the package from Andy. A post-card with two javelinas on it which at first I thought were ancient, large wombats that are now extinct. "How did he find this!" I thought before I recognized the Arizona animal. And the book, "the God of Small Things," which I started to read in Oregon last year, but didn't because I was off of reading then, running around like a goof with all those weirdos in the field. And a chocolate bar. And a bell for my bike: a cow's head! I was laughing big time when I saw that! It's perfect!

Yesterday was a collection of every emotion possible. From quite sad early in the morning to at peace with being back in Melbourne and delighted with myself for what I'd just done to happy to see Ange at the Otesha office and talk about how Tasmania was, what's been up with Otesha and Ange herself to thrilled to see Pip and Anna outside the hari krishna veg. restaurant where we were all hugs and then huge plates of $5 food (of which I had 2). And then I was off, attempting to cycle the 30k's to Tash's place, SE of the city, with no map of that region and 2 lines of directions to get onto the Burwood Highway. I would have had no trouble if I followed the directions, but I found myself on a bike path and thought, "Oh. This is nice, I'll take this east for a while then cut south and find the freeway that way." Uh huh. I overestimated my sense of direction and made a nice semi-circle loop back towards the city. But even so, I ended up on Toorak Road, which turned into the Burwood Highway. Goodbye quiet, empty Tasmania, Hello chaotic road rage city! One guy trying to turn right had his window down and practically roared with anger. At least it made me laugh, cause I was feeling that way too! I was pretty cranky and emotional by the time I got to Tash's. But when she opened the door and gave me a massive, long, beautiful hug, it all melted away. I cried a little and we didn't say anything, just hugged. I couldn't have asked for a better welcoming. And she painted a sign that said "welcome home Kelsey!" that I saw as I walked past the kitchen. So incredibly thoughtful. We had cups of tea and I ate some toast with veggies. Then we went to juggling club! I felt shy and awkward , but then got over that and had a giggly great time learning to juggle three balls. I haven't got it yet, but I'm making progress and it feels attainable. Something juggling has never felt like before! Then, exhausted from the day, Tash and I collapsed in the chairs of the UNI lobby, waiting for the FreeFoodMonday to be served. Mmm, another veggie feast. Delicious! Feeling like a zombie after dinner, we drove home and got ready for a wonderful sleep. Yay!

Cradle Mountain to Devonport

Total K's: 93.60

Avg Spd: 19.2 k/hr

Max Spd: 66.1 k/hr

Hours on bike: 4:51

KM Scary Hill Rating: 3/7

Total Tasmanian K's: 1,721.68!

Deloraine to Moina (1 May 2009)

Big day! Closed roads. Return of the mega-hills. A nasty headwind. And the best tourist trap I've encountered yet!

I figured the most direct route to Sheffield (town of murals) while avoiding the main highway would be to head 7-8k's west of Deloraine and get on the C163 at one of two roads. I turned onto the first road and there sat a policeman in his car next a "road closed" sign. "Really? Road's closed?" "Yep. But maybe try the next main road up, that should be open." Hmm, okay. I went to turn around when a half dozen pumped up cars go racing by. Mmhmm, interesting. So much for the policeman's knowledge of the roads, the next road was closed supposedly as well. I rode up to the first dirt driveway and pulled out my maps. I had basically three options:
A) Ignore "road closed" sign and continue with original plan. Dart off road into bushes should any race cars head towards me.
B) Ride the 8k's back to Deloraine and get on big, mean highway to Sheffield.
C) Go the "scenic route" via Mole Creek and skip Sheffield all together, or cut back towards Sheffield at a later point and add 10-15 k's to the trip.

Always being one for safety, I chose option A, 1/2 naively thinking I could go along unnoticed and 1/2 thinking this was pretty stupid and dangerous cause who knows what Tasmania lets its racecar drivers do. Well, option A didn't last long. Two k's further up the road, the street was blocked completely with 2-3 dozen spectators watching cars rev up, zoom by, rev up, zoom by. Car racing has got to be one of the most ridiculous wastes of energy for the sake of "sport." After some super cool young blokes told me it wouldn't end till 1:30 and that there was a back way, but I'd probably get lost in the bush, I backed up and pedaled back the way I'd come from. Down to option B and C. Clearly B was out since I am not a fan of backtracking or big highways. Left with option C, I cycled towards Mole Creek shouting, "Bring it on, Tasmania, bring it on!"

And Tasmania did! With the Honey Farm!!! When I first saw the signs for "honey" and "free tastes" I thought, oh no, I am not falling for that. Get off my bike for a few samples of honey and a shop shouting, "buy! buy! buy!"? But then I saw the next sign: "Honey ice-cream." EERRRRTT. I was in! I sampled about 12 types of honey and was wowed by the cinnamon and lemon honeys the most. Mmmm. At the counter there were 6 types of honey ice-cream. "Um, I'll get an ice-cream too." "Okay, one scoop coming up." "No, two, definitely two, I have a big day of bike riding ahead." Leatherwood honey flavor and chocolate honey. Yum! I win! Best ice-cream in Tasmania I'd say. After enjoying that special and unexpected treat, I consulted with the map again and saw I had two options.

A)Go the scenic, scenic route with more hills and more k's to get to Moina.
B) Cut up the middle road that would put me 5 or so K's W of Sheffield and on a more direct route to Moina.

B! I knew there was a big hill on this road too and I wan't disappointed. Luckiliy, I took the jacket off before the starting the Gog Range climb because I was beat red and sweating up a storm right away. But after 3k's it was over and I was rushing downhill. Wee! The terrain was very undulatey (I know this is not a word, but I like the way it sounds) and on one short, steep hill I swear my front tire actually came off the road for a second! As I was riding up to the intersection I wanted I felt pretty pooped, realizing my honey and ice-cream energy had been used up long ago. Sheffield or no Sheffield, that was the question. Half of me said, "C'mon Kels, this is your last weekend in Tasmania, go see the murals!" while the other half said, "Who cares! It's at least an additional 10k's. If you don't go you could possibly cycle all the way to Cradle Mountain instead!" In the end, I decided that if the sign to Sheffield was less than 5k I'd go, more than 5k I wouldn't, and if it was exactly 5k, I'd stop and think about it. Sign: 4k. "Dangit!" But I went. Sat in the mural park and had 2 sandwiches, the orange/lemon cake from Alice and Janet's, and 5-6 dried pieces of papaya. Usually my energy would rebound pretty quickly, but not this time. I walked around to see the murals up close, then took a short walk around town to see some of the building murals. Some were really beautiful and others, bleh, really unrealistic. I left feeling like it was the sort of town you'd need at least a couple of days in to fully appreciate it.

Leaving Sheffield, with 30 or so K's till Moina is when the headwind really kicked in. It had been around earlier in the day, but hadn't really slowed me down much. Its a tie between strong headwind and corrugated, sandy, dirt road - I'm not sure which gets me crankier faster. Once the larger hills started rolling along, my energy kicked in - go figure! There were a few gradual climbs before a superb, windy zip down. "Wahooo!" I'd been warned about what was on the other side of the downhill: "a pleasant, 6k grind up." An hour going that slow and the talking to self gets more interesting. I was too out of breath to sing, so I recited bits and pieces of poems I could remember. A bird would chirp and, "oh hello, where are you, I can't really look now." A bull ant on its way across the street, "oh, hi! I'm so glad I didn't squish you!" Who knows what else I started talking to or about. Lots of "way to go! you are awesome! you can do this, if you did the Rossarden hill, you can do this!" This was the first big climb where I stood up a tiny bit to get going faster. On other big hills, I was too scared of running out of energy. Eventually, I could see it, the sun blasting its setting way through the trees and the cafe/hotel Janet had told me about, the seemingly only populated building in Moina!

It was 5pm and while I might have been able to make it UP to Cradle Mtn. before dark, I'd had enough. A guy from the hotel came out to see if I needed anything and I told him I was waiting for friends and was about to come in to see if I could wait inside with a hot chocolate. "We're actually closing for dinner. I can bring you one to go?" I said no thanks, he could save the cup and sat outside. An hour later it was dark and cold and finally the hotel people came out and said I could come inside, if I sat in the corner! Wouldn't want a dirty, smelly, mismatched cyclist to offend the proper dinner guests now would we! I ordered an overpriced hot chocolate and was happy to hear Janet and Alice pull up a half hour later. We loaded my bike on top of her car and were off to the Waldheim cabins at Cradle Mountain. Go figure that we would get stuck behind the "Night Bus" for the last 10 k's and so it took quite a long time to get there. "Night bus." Searches for wildlife with a massive, blinding spotlight on the side of the bus, another stupid thing!

Once we got to the cabins we were met by Brad, Ros, Sean (age 8 or 9), and Hugh (age 4, i think?). Everyone gathered in their cabin while I sat on my bunk in the other cabin getting a few things together. Almost went off the emotional deep end due to tiredness and hunger until after a few sobs I told myself, "Just cook some pasta. Eat!" And so I did and was restored to normal. The first and last time I wait two hours after riding to consume my food! I managed to somehow stay awake for a hilarious game of speed monopoly (Australia version) with Brad serving as the aggressive banker and time keeper: "Who's turn is it, roll! Okay, you owe him $140k. Ros, help him count his money. Janet, c'mon, your turn, lets keep this moving." And I'll just say, it is a sad world we live in when monopoly places the Great Barrier Reef as the cheapest piece of property on the board.

Deloraine to Moina
Total K's: 87.33
Avg Spd: 15.1 k/hr
Max Spd: 57.4 k/hr
Hours on bike: 5:44
KM Scary Hill Rating: 5/7
KM Scary Wind Rating: 3/7

Deloraine, Meander, Kiddy times (29 30 April 2009)

Well, after yesterday's lazy day of stretching, reading, and exploring Deloraine, this morning I biked to Meander, about 17k's south, to talk to Alice's class (age 9) about my bike trip and different ways we can have positive impacts on the environment. It's amazing how different each group of kids I've spoken to have been. This was a great group, and while there were no requests for me to ride my bike, they had lots of bike 'accident' stories to share and like usual, lots of questions. A really great way to finish up my last week in Tasmania.

Mr. Sheep, on his way to talk to some kids about the thrills of cycling

Well, I'm not quite done with Tasmania yet. I've got a bit of biking to do over the next three days. Tomorrow I'll bike from Deloraine to Moina (via Sheffield) where Janet and Alice will pick me up on their way to Cradle Mountain. I'll spend two nights there with them and another family and then bike from Cradle Mtn to Devonport (via Moina, Forth, and Wilmot and thus officially cycling all the way around Tasmania without any gaps)! And somewhere along the way to Devonport I'll hopefully run into Karon (cyclist friend of well known WombatsRUs representative Dianne) and have a companion for the last 20-30ks into Devonport. And then the evening ferry back to Melbourne for some much needed catch up with fellow Oteshalings. Woohoo!
Deloraine to Meander Primary School
Total K's: 41.5
Avg Spd: 19.7 k/hr
Max Spd: 45.8 k/hr
Hours on Bike: 2:06
KM Scary Hill Rating: 1/7