Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Monday, June 8, 2009
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.
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!!
“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.
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!!
Monday, June 1, 2009
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
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
Wednesday, May 20, 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
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
Monday, May 4, 2009
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.
---------------------------------------------------------------
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!
----------------------------------------------------------------------
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!
---------------------------------------------------------------
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!
----------------------------------------------------------------------
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
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
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
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
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Sidmouth to Deloraine (28 April 2009)
Places we end up. Here. Deloraine, Tasmania, Australia, Earth. First, lovely, warm-hearted hosts to say goodbye to. A+ bike rides. Stunning river roads. Mad dogs to avoid. Huge brown ones, leaping over their gate to chase me down the street. Growling at the fence, rottweilers, luckily not jumping over anything. One way to get my heart rate up. And me smiling and shaking my head when they let me get away. Exeter turn off. Hungry cyclist in a bakery can cause a lot of damage to wallet. Turning off onto remote country roads. Paved, yay. Undulating hills. Nearly 30k's and “I'll stop at the top of this hill.” Chanting myself upwards with “I. Want. That. Do.nut. I. Want. That. Do.nut.” Mmm, donut. Shimmering green farm hills with dozens of sheep. Blue and sun and chilly in the shade. A racing cyclist passing me by. Looping back, am I okay, yes I'm okay, just finished my lunch. As he cycled away I gawked and thought, “I want calves like that!” 1500 k's later and my legs do not look like that. More hills to come but I like them now, so it was fun. Dead hawks, twisted, splayed, missing head. Butterflies, grasshoppers, alive, teasing me. Flocks of rosellas and yellow-tailed black cockatoos so close. So stunning. The feeling of fall. Yellow leaves, wind. “It's seasonal.” The smell and the whirring. This isn't Bellingham and I'm not cycling to an apple farm. Memories triggered by familiar scenes. Busier roads and farmlands and don't ask me why I didn't stop at the public toilet in Westbury. Crouching behind my bike on a gravel turn-off. I don't think anyone saw anything. Choc. Mint slice. Happy moments. Before the sun went away and it got cold. 7 k's left to Deloraine. Rivers and this is it, you've seen Tasmania. “Take it in. Take it all in. This is a time that will not come again.” Very aware of my dwindling time here. To Janet's place and searching for the key she left for me. Ravioli dinners and yet another friendly, caring person to spend my time with. Showers, dancing, and sleep with Mr. Sheep, the usual favorite things to look forward to post cycling.
Sidmouth to Deloraine:
Total K's: 76.84
Avg Spd: 16.3 k/hr
Max Spd: 49.3 k/hr
Hours on Bike: 4:41
KM Scary Hill Rating: 2/7
Sidmouth to Deloraine:Total K's: 76.84
Avg Spd: 16.3 k/hr
Max Spd: 49.3 k/hr
Hours on Bike: 4:41
KM Scary Hill Rating: 2/7
Sidmouth Days with Gill, John, Sam, and Ellen (26 and 27 April 2009)
After dinner, playing “I spy.” “I spy with my mind's eye.” “I spy with my little eye something starting with “ch.” Ellen sounding out “ch.” Something outside. “Chair?” No. “Something that grows.” “Chives?” No. Sam asks, “Chulips?” “Yeah, chulips!” Birthday parties for six year olds. Chocolate cake and siting around a table listening to children stories. Then sea kayaking in Alaska and avoiding bears. Bon fires in the evening. “Dad, can we get the explosives out now?” ?? Pancakes again in the morning. Cozy cubby sleep outs. Day trips along the river up to Narawntapu National Park. Coast treks. No wombats to see, though pademelons, wallabies, and plenty of dazzling sea. Ice-creams on a bench in the sun. Exhausting rides back to my cubby house, but friendly faces and kids and adults laughing into hysterics.
Sidmouth to Green's Beach (via Beauty Point) Day Trip, RT
Total K's: 65.46
Avg Spd: 19.2 k/hr
Max Spd: 47.6 k/hr
Hours on Bike: 3:24
KM Scary Hill Rating: 1/7
Sidmouth to Green's Beach (via Beauty Point) Day Trip, RTTotal K's: 65.46
Avg Spd: 19.2 k/hr
Max Spd: 47.6 k/hr
Hours on Bike: 3:24
KM Scary Hill Rating: 1/7
Bridport to Sidmouth (25 April 2009)
Dear Tasmania,
Congratulations. I don't know how you've done it, but you've turned me into a hill lover. I'm not sure exactly when it happened, but glancing through old journal entries I see that as far back as April 1 (Queenstown to Lake St. Clair), I listed climbing up the hills as one of my favorite parts of the day! And then on yesterday's ride again, thoroughly enjoyable! This is worth mentioning, Tas, because I used to go to great lengths to avoid any sort of uphill back home in Bellingham, WA. Zigzagging through neighborhoods, taking the long way home, complaining bitterly about the final, 200m uphill stretch to reach the garage. So really, thank you, Tasmania, for turning me into the best hill-climbing cyclist I can be.
Sincerely,
Kelsey
PS: Now, please don't go crazy, out of control with hills on my last few rides since I've told you this. Keep it within reason. Thx.
Bridport to Sidmouth
Total K's: 73.18
Avg Spd: 16.5 k/hr
Max Spd: 48 k/hr
Hours on bike: 4:24
KM Scary Hill Rating: 3/7
Congratulations. I don't know how you've done it, but you've turned me into a hill lover. I'm not sure exactly when it happened, but glancing through old journal entries I see that as far back as April 1 (Queenstown to Lake St. Clair), I listed climbing up the hills as one of my favorite parts of the day! And then on yesterday's ride again, thoroughly enjoyable! This is worth mentioning, Tas, because I used to go to great lengths to avoid any sort of uphill back home in Bellingham, WA. Zigzagging through neighborhoods, taking the long way home, complaining bitterly about the final, 200m uphill stretch to reach the garage. So really, thank you, Tasmania, for turning me into the best hill-climbing cyclist I can be.
Sincerely,
Kelsey
PS: Now, please don't go crazy, out of control with hills on my last few rides since I've told you this. Keep it within reason. Thx.
Bridport to Sidmouth
Total K's: 73.18
Avg Spd: 16.5 k/hr
Max Spd: 48 k/hr
Hours on bike: 4:24
KM Scary Hill Rating: 3/7
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Blackmans Lagoon to Bridport (24 April 2009)
Yay. Now I am here in Bridport. Its a rainy day and I am thrilled to have a short cycling day today. Tossed and turned all last night again, not due to paranoia, just couldn't sleep. I am actually very proud of myself for getting through the night without any freak outs. This was only my second time camping completely alone without anybody else nearby, and my first time in Australia. Camping alone is definitely not where I feel bravest. But even so, I tucked my tent away in the trees and stayed awake as long as possible to try and avoid the restless, middle of the night (lack of) sleeping. So much for that idea. The sunrise was once again beautiful and it was so nice seeing all the black swans out on the lagoon. Plus, half a dozen swallows darting around, which maybe, just maybe I will be able to identify when I look in my book later today.
I got in at 10am, after meeting Jeff 10 ks from town who was out cycling for his daily exercise. He escorted me into town and showed me the best place to get ice-cream. And now I am looking forward to a warm shower and some food (real food, then yes, ice-cream). The simple things in life.
xoxo.
Blackmans Lagoon to Bridport
Total K's: 27.09
Avg Spd: 17.8 k/hr
Max Spd: 42 k/hr
Hours on bike: 1:31
KM Scary Hill Rating: 0/7
I got in at 10am, after meeting Jeff 10 ks from town who was out cycling for his daily exercise. He escorted me into town and showed me the best place to get ice-cream. And now I am looking forward to a warm shower and some food (real food, then yes, ice-cream). The simple things in life.
xoxo.
Blackmans Lagoon to Bridport
Total K's: 27.09
Avg Spd: 17.8 k/hr
Max Spd: 42 k/hr
Hours on bike: 1:31
KM Scary Hill Rating: 0/7
Deep Creek Campground to Blackmans Lagoon Campground (23 April 2009)
23 April 1:30pm. Gladstone
Tired! Want to be done cycling. Just want to read book and sit in sun. And sleep. I did not sleep well last night. Had strange dream of not being able to move or scream and wild animals coming up behind me, in my hair. I've had that before in some form, like absolute, paralyzed terror or something. Blehk. The sunrise sky was beautiful. Had a cup of tea with the Anderson's while eating my delicious muesli, had more powdered milk than usual and my last smooshed and oozy banana. Yummy. I left around 9:30 and the road: I thought it would be better once on my way to Gladstone, but if possible, it was worse! So sandy. So corrugated. Funny that I was listening to Beach Boy's "Good Vibrations" this morning while packing up my stuff. I stopped at 24k to food up and the Anderson's came by. They slowed and Calum shouted, "want some cake?" Me? Cake? They gave me the rest of what they had, told me to have a good ride and be careful. As I left, I stood there grinning, taking a giant bite of fruit cake. Yet another amazing set of people. The road continued to suck and several times I had to get off my bike and walk since the sand was so deep. Big hills or corrugated hell? Tough choice. At least its something different. Wow, I really don't want to cycle anymore today.
6:35pm. Blackmans Lagoon Camping Area
Wow, I am tired! But glad to be camping for free even if I'm a little on the scared side. "Think brave." Every thing will be okay. There are so many noises in the Australian bush. Banded Lapwings yapping their heads off. Kookaburras. Swans. Crows. Parrots. Wallabies hopping/thudding around my tent. I like having them around. And who knows what else. That's all okay, as long as there are no scary, bad people. And no pine cones/branches falling on me or the tent (or Goat). Once I got started after Gladstone, (which was hard to do! I sat on the swings for a while before getting enough momentum to get up.) I zipped along. I don't know where all that energy came from (cake?), but I was powering down then up the rolling hills, and when the road turned into dirt, that didn't stop me - 20-25 k/hr. It was awesome. I missed the turn-off for the camping area I was intending to go to, but its good cause it was a dozen or so more Ks out there and this one is only 2 ks from the main road to Bridport. Which is where I will head tomorrow. Even though my body can physically cycle day after day, it gets a little pooped. And I am in need of many long massages after what these dirt roads have put me through!
Deep Creek to Blackmans Lagoon
Total K's: 79.51
Avg Spd: 15.8 k/hr
Max Spd: 52.6 k/hr
Hours on bike: 5:01
KM Scary Hill Rating: 2/7
Crap Road Rating: 5/7
Tired! Want to be done cycling. Just want to read book and sit in sun. And sleep. I did not sleep well last night. Had strange dream of not being able to move or scream and wild animals coming up behind me, in my hair. I've had that before in some form, like absolute, paralyzed terror or something. Blehk. The sunrise sky was beautiful. Had a cup of tea with the Anderson's while eating my delicious muesli, had more powdered milk than usual and my last smooshed and oozy banana. Yummy. I left around 9:30 and the road: I thought it would be better once on my way to Gladstone, but if possible, it was worse! So sandy. So corrugated. Funny that I was listening to Beach Boy's "Good Vibrations" this morning while packing up my stuff. I stopped at 24k to food up and the Anderson's came by. They slowed and Calum shouted, "want some cake?" Me? Cake? They gave me the rest of what they had, told me to have a good ride and be careful. As I left, I stood there grinning, taking a giant bite of fruit cake. Yet another amazing set of people. The road continued to suck and several times I had to get off my bike and walk since the sand was so deep. Big hills or corrugated hell? Tough choice. At least its something different. Wow, I really don't want to cycle anymore today.
6:35pm. Blackmans Lagoon Camping AreaWow, I am tired! But glad to be camping for free even if I'm a little on the scared side. "Think brave." Every thing will be okay. There are so many noises in the Australian bush. Banded Lapwings yapping their heads off. Kookaburras. Swans. Crows. Parrots. Wallabies hopping/thudding around my tent. I like having them around. And who knows what else. That's all okay, as long as there are no scary, bad people. And no pine cones/branches falling on me or the tent (or Goat). Once I got started after Gladstone, (which was hard to do! I sat on the swings for a while before getting enough momentum to get up.) I zipped along. I don't know where all that energy came from (cake?), but I was powering down then up the rolling hills, and when the road turned into dirt, that didn't stop me - 20-25 k/hr. It was awesome. I missed the turn-off for the camping area I was intending to go to, but its good cause it was a dozen or so more Ks out there and this one is only 2 ks from the main road to Bridport. Which is where I will head tomorrow. Even though my body can physically cycle day after day, it gets a little pooped. And I am in need of many long massages after what these dirt roads have put me through!
Deep Creek to Blackmans LagoonTotal K's: 79.51
Avg Spd: 15.8 k/hr
Max Spd: 52.6 k/hr
Hours on bike: 5:01
KM Scary Hill Rating: 2/7
Crap Road Rating: 5/7
St. Helen's to Deep Creek Campground Mt. William National Park (22 April 2009)
Its amazing how much other peoples energy affects mine. I try to stay in tune with myself, but its so easy to be thrown off balance. Mind was kind of blank for lots of the ride. had to consciously direct myself away from paranoid 'attacker' thoughts. The road was pretty good until the turnoff for Eddystone Point Lighthouse. That's when the corrugated, sandpit hell began. Wow, it made me cranky and my body can feel it tonight, ouch. Finally made it to the lighthouse carpark. Only two fishermen bringing their boat out of the water. I rode up to the lighthouse and was hit with an intense amount of loneliness. There were pieces of dead birds everywhere and the lighthouse door was locked. "I miss my dad. I want Dad here." A connection to driving down the Oregon Coast with Dad, I suppose. The ride to the campground was a bit better. On the way there I said to myself, "I want a family." Ask and you shall receive. The only other people there were a couple and a young girl. Calum, Lucianne, and Morag, originally from Scotland. Super friendly. Fed me 'hippy soup' which was delicious and so much more appealing than sandwiches! Sat around sharing stories - Calum spent 6 months cycling through Nepal and India on a single speed, crazy! And now he does lighting on all the Survivor sets, how cool to get to go to all those places! I'm so glad I feel safe tonight. Amazing stars.
St. Helen's to Deep Creek, Mt William National Park
Total K's: 61.79
Avg Spd: 14.2 k/hr
Max Spd: 116 k/hr? Hmm, Mr. Bike Computer most have gone a little cuckoo on that crap sand road.
Hours on bike: 4:19
KM Scary Hill Rating: 3/7
Crap Road Rating: 4/7
St. Helen's to Deep Creek, Mt William National ParkTotal K's: 61.79
Avg Spd: 14.2 k/hr
Max Spd: 116 k/hr? Hmm, Mr. Bike Computer most have gone a little cuckoo on that crap sand road.
Hours on bike: 4:19
KM Scary Hill Rating: 3/7
Crap Road Rating: 4/7
St. Mary's to St. Helens (via Mt. Elephant Pancakes and the coastal A3)
"Pancake hill or hungry flat - the cyclist's dilemma."
Indeed. But my thoughts as I reached Mt. Elephant Pancakes were exactly these: "No way! No wayyy!" That, by Tasmanian standards, was a baby of a climb! "Do I even deserve to eat gourmet pancakes after such a paltry effort?" Going down the hill on the other side, I can see what all the fuss was about, but wow, I was shocked. Goes to show you (and by you I mean me), that hills I worry and stress about end up being a piece of (pan)cake! Harhar. Yet all those surprise hills wipe me out me out completely! Maybe cause this was the beginning of the day... But so easy, I can't believe it. And the two pancakes I had were very tasty. Though they should be called crepes. Because American style flapjacks are the real 'pancake' in my mind, and that's still where my devotion remains.
Now, I didn't write much else about this day in my journal so what can I remember? Hmm, must have been a nice ride. I stayed with Sally's son and girlfriend in St. Helen's and we went out to the coast for a quick look and had a yummy veggie/pasta dinner. And oh how I love big beds that I can sleep diagonally across!
St. Mary's to St. Helen's
Total K's: 65.77
Avg Spd: 17.6 k/hr
Max Spd: 49.2 k/hr
Hours on bike: 3:43
KM Scary Hill Rating: 2/7
Indeed. But my thoughts as I reached Mt. Elephant Pancakes were exactly these: "No way! No wayyy!" That, by Tasmanian standards, was a baby of a climb! "Do I even deserve to eat gourmet pancakes after such a paltry effort?" Going down the hill on the other side, I can see what all the fuss was about, but wow, I was shocked. Goes to show you (and by you I mean me), that hills I worry and stress about end up being a piece of (pan)cake! Harhar. Yet all those surprise hills wipe me out me out completely! Maybe cause this was the beginning of the day... But so easy, I can't believe it. And the two pancakes I had were very tasty. Though they should be called crepes. Because American style flapjacks are the real 'pancake' in my mind, and that's still where my devotion remains.
Now, I didn't write much else about this day in my journal so what can I remember? Hmm, must have been a nice ride. I stayed with Sally's son and girlfriend in St. Helen's and we went out to the coast for a quick look and had a yummy veggie/pasta dinner. And oh how I love big beds that I can sleep diagonally across!
St. Mary's to St. Helen's
Total K's: 65.77
Avg Spd: 17.6 k/hr
Max Spd: 49.2 k/hr
Hours on bike: 3:43
KM Scary Hill Rating: 2/7
Monday, April 20, 2009
Rossarden to St. Mary's (20 April 2009)
The most peaceful, uneventful ride I've had thus far. And for once, I don't have gazillions of things I want to write about. Very happy to be staying with Sally and Michael here in St. Mary's, friends of friends of friends of friends (Ange - Nick - Dianne - Phil/Margaret - Sally). I've been passed through the cycling circuit now to the Tasmanian volunteer ambulance circuit! Wee-ooo!
Rossarden to St. Mary's
Total K's: 49.85
Avg Spd: 17.7 k/h
Max Spd: 55.6 k/hr
Hours on bike: 2:48
KM scary hill rating: 0/7, the glory.
Rossarden to St. Mary's
Total K's: 49.85
Avg Spd: 17.7 k/h
Max Spd: 55.6 k/hr
Hours on bike: 2:48
KM scary hill rating: 0/7, the glory.
Sunday, April 19, 2009
Rossarden (19 April 2009)
"You are looking a bit tired, though not as bad as you did yesterday!" -Phil
"You alright? What's wrong - where you going?" -Phil to me when I stood up after sitting at the kitchen table for two hours reading his "life story."
"Yes, fine. Some people have to go to the toilet sometimes, you know."
"Oh, yeah. Well, we could get you a commode!"
Some people are too amazing, peculiar, fascinating, and lovely to try and explain through words.
Today was a much needed second rest day full of: crumpets, tim tams (oh yes), hot chocolate, reading Phil's memoirs (so interesting! if only everyone i knew would write theirs. mom, dad. cindy, andy. gram, grandpa...do this!), biscuits, tea, cat cuddles, laughter, rest, and a drive down the windy, steep hill to a "blessing of the path" ceremony in Cleveland for a historic, convict built chapel with cakes and hot chocolate. I won't comment on how such eating habit can lead to stomachaches!
Margaret and Phil. Rossarden Hosts of the Month! Though they did force A LOT of those cookies on me. They kept pulling out secret stashes of tim tams and other sweets like they thought I was a never-ending cookie disposal!
And they thought I was weird sucking tea through a tim tam! Here's Phil eating a banana and margarine sandwich! 
See Phil, I will put disgraceful photos of myself on the internet too!
Contemporary art. Cookies other than tim tams can be eaten the same way (sucking liquid through center), though they leave a much bigger mess in your tea cup and disintegrate into your hands halfway to your mouth. making you look like a sloppy, uncivilized, american guest.
mr. sheep relaxes by the fire. he really lives the good life.
So, Margaret and Phil, thank you very very very much for having me stay in Rossarden and letting me steal your cat's bed for three! nights. I enjoyed all the birds and wallabies and possums out your window, reading Phil's memoirs of course, and the gracious supply of tim tams and hot chocolate. Thank you. (Even though you slice bread with scissors, Phil!)
"You alright? What's wrong - where you going?" -Phil to me when I stood up after sitting at the kitchen table for two hours reading his "life story."
"Yes, fine. Some people have to go to the toilet sometimes, you know."
"Oh, yeah. Well, we could get you a commode!"
Some people are too amazing, peculiar, fascinating, and lovely to try and explain through words.
Today was a much needed second rest day full of: crumpets, tim tams (oh yes), hot chocolate, reading Phil's memoirs (so interesting! if only everyone i knew would write theirs. mom, dad. cindy, andy. gram, grandpa...do this!), biscuits, tea, cat cuddles, laughter, rest, and a drive down the windy, steep hill to a "blessing of the path" ceremony in Cleveland for a historic, convict built chapel with cakes and hot chocolate. I won't comment on how such eating habit can lead to stomachaches!
Margaret and Phil. Rossarden Hosts of the Month! Though they did force A LOT of those cookies on me. They kept pulling out secret stashes of tim tams and other sweets like they thought I was a never-ending cookie disposal!
And they thought I was weird sucking tea through a tim tam! Here's Phil eating a banana and margarine sandwich! 
See Phil, I will put disgraceful photos of myself on the internet too!
Contemporary art. Cookies other than tim tams can be eaten the same way (sucking liquid through center), though they leave a much bigger mess in your tea cup and disintegrate into your hands halfway to your mouth. making you look like a sloppy, uncivilized, american guest.
mr. sheep relaxes by the fire. he really lives the good life.Friday, April 17, 2009
Swansea to Rossarden (via Royal George and Avoca) 17 April 2009
Rather than head directly up the east coast as planned, I decided to cut inland for a few days in the most direct route possible to Rossarden. Town of about 70 people, including Phil and Margaret, friends of wombatsRus superhero, Dianne: 
hehehe, just be glad i didn't put the one of you in the nightgown up!!
Part one: Swansea to Cranbrook:
Flat, speedy, sunny, happy
Part two: Cranbrook to end of dirt road before Royal George:
Dirt road take 2. Beautiful! Well maintained. Big hill climb, but pleasant. Hardly any traffic. Seas of trees!
Part three: End of dirt road to Avoca:
Headwind + stomachache = sure-fire way to ruin a miraculously flat, traffic free 30k stretch of road. KiloMike miserable! Though this little bus shack made it into my top three highlights of the day for allowing me a 10 minute rest from the wind!
Part four: Avoca to Rossarden :
Dirt road, just a little. Then pavement. And with only about 15 Ks to Rossarden to go, the absolute last thing any exhausted, seriously in pain cyclist wants to see:
Steep, wahh.
All in all, a very painful ride. But lucky perhaps, because if I had stuck to the east coast, I would have reached the infamous Pancake Barn on top of Elephant's Pass with a stomachache, the horror! Instead, I arrived at Phil and Margaret's home just as it turned dark, exclaiming to Phil coming out to greet me, "I have never been so happy to be somewhere in all my life!" After trying deliriously to hold up a conversation, I had a magnificent shower and some eggs and toast. I hadn't eaten since 12 when some combination of normally ok food items did me in. So even with a stomachache, though it was better, I was hungry. I fell asleep the moment my head hit the pillow. And this morning - gone! Yay! My legs were so tired last night that I had trouble even sitting down on the toilet! But they are feeling good again this morning, amazing how bodies work. I do like my rest days, though, so Rossarden - rest here I will! Phil gave me a lovely walking tour of the town, detailing where the old tin mining area was and all the accompanying barracks and buildings. And Margaret just stuffed me full of soup, homemade macaroni and cheese, and apple pie.
I told Phil and Margaret (originally from England) that I was a vegetarian. And Phil says, "Hmm, vegetarian. Do you eat bacon?" "No." "You eat chicken?" "No."
Swansea to Rossarden
Total K's: 87.02
Avg Spd: 12.8 k/hr (gotta love it!)
Max Spd: 53.9 k/hr (in the near dark, in the cold, praying that a wallaby didn't jump out spastically on the road)
Hours on bike: 6:46
KM Scary Hill Rating: 5/7 (only two hills, but that 2nd one... killer)
KM Scary Wind Rating: 4/7
KM Scary Stomachache Rating: 4/7
hehehe, just be glad i didn't put the one of you in the nightgown up!! Part one: Swansea to Cranbrook:
Flat, speedy, sunny, happy
Part two: Cranbrook to end of dirt road before Royal George:
Dirt road take 2. Beautiful! Well maintained. Big hill climb, but pleasant. Hardly any traffic. Seas of trees!Part three: End of dirt road to Avoca:
Headwind + stomachache = sure-fire way to ruin a miraculously flat, traffic free 30k stretch of road. KiloMike miserable! Though this little bus shack made it into my top three highlights of the day for allowing me a 10 minute rest from the wind!Part four: Avoca to Rossarden :
Dirt road, just a little. Then pavement. And with only about 15 Ks to Rossarden to go, the absolute last thing any exhausted, seriously in pain cyclist wants to see:
Steep, wahh.All in all, a very painful ride. But lucky perhaps, because if I had stuck to the east coast, I would have reached the infamous Pancake Barn on top of Elephant's Pass with a stomachache, the horror! Instead, I arrived at Phil and Margaret's home just as it turned dark, exclaiming to Phil coming out to greet me, "I have never been so happy to be somewhere in all my life!" After trying deliriously to hold up a conversation, I had a magnificent shower and some eggs and toast. I hadn't eaten since 12 when some combination of normally ok food items did me in. So even with a stomachache, though it was better, I was hungry. I fell asleep the moment my head hit the pillow. And this morning - gone! Yay! My legs were so tired last night that I had trouble even sitting down on the toilet! But they are feeling good again this morning, amazing how bodies work. I do like my rest days, though, so Rossarden - rest here I will! Phil gave me a lovely walking tour of the town, detailing where the old tin mining area was and all the accompanying barracks and buildings. And Margaret just stuffed me full of soup, homemade macaroni and cheese, and apple pie.
I told Phil and Margaret (originally from England) that I was a vegetarian. And Phil says, "Hmm, vegetarian. Do you eat bacon?" "No." "You eat chicken?" "No."
Swansea to Rossarden
Total K's: 87.02
Avg Spd: 12.8 k/hr (gotta love it!)
Max Spd: 53.9 k/hr (in the near dark, in the cold, praying that a wallaby didn't jump out spastically on the road)
Hours on bike: 6:46
KM Scary Hill Rating: 5/7 (only two hills, but that 2nd one... killer)
KM Scary Wind Rating: 4/7
KM Scary Stomachache Rating: 4/7
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Swansea Lazy Day (16 April 2009)
High winds today so I am staying put in Swansea. Treating myself to massive scoops of ice-cream and a pillow, a safe bed. And then again, the curious question of where to go next. East West North. Long days. Short days. I like this feeling of being able to go anywhere.
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
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
Connellys Marsh to Orford (14 April 2009)
Dirt in yer face. Or – Who’s idea was this? Or – How slow can you go?
Good thing my sense of humor came along for the ride today because it was… an experience.
Imagine this: You get a 9am start after a relaxing morning by the sea. You drop a box off at the post office in Dunalley, sending Tash in Melbourne the few excess items you don’t need – but have been carrying for the last 3.5 weeks anyway. Like, somehow, you know, today is a day you can no longer afford to have any extra weight. You take a pee/food/stretch break at Copping before turning on the C335, a dirt road where all your dreams can come true.
Ah, dirt roads. Really, they are so nice. Especially when they aren’t just any dirt road. Oh no, this is a bumpy, pothole filled, loose rocks everywhere type of dirt road. You get to go at a slower pace. Appreciate the wind more. Not to mention all the dust blown up by passing cars. And if that wasn’t enough dirt in yer face, take the opportunity to swerve into the 5-inch deep bit of gravel on the side of the road and body slam yerself right into that lovely dirt. Just be sure to do this on an uphill, traveling at a pleasant 5 k/hr to avoid any serious injury. At the top of this climb, you get a good look over Marion Bay. See, that’s what you came this way for! Well, soak it in, it’s the last ocean view you’ll see from this dirt road.
but have no fear, just pull over (careful in the deep gravel), eat a carrot and some nut mix, check the map again, and off you go you wonderkid, hill tackler, you. You’ll show that mountain who’s boss! On the way up, be sure to let out a wahoo and celebrate just how slow you can go, 3.9 km/hr, you rock!
i climbed up all this way to thumbs lookout, and it looked good from here, no need to go 2ks on a side road further up!
Of course all that effort comes along with a terrifying descent where the road gets bumpier and the rocks bigger. Even though you have to stop several times for fear of over heating yer tire rims (does that actually happen?), and even though you become incredibly cranky and only want off this damned road, you soon see a sign that says “Orford” and the most beautiful thing of the day. Sorry stunning gum trees along the way, but the pavement wins! If you make it the last few K’s in to Orford with only a scratch on yer knee, a 1cm thick coating of grime on every inch of yer skin, and a ½ smile still on yer face, well, congratulations, you get to be yer own hero for the day.
And as a real reward, the caravan campground you planned to sleep at will be closed, and you’ll meet another pair of ‘grey nomads’ who’ve found a free camping spot just a couple 100 meters down the road. After pitching yer tent, you’ll gladly take the two apples they offer you for dinner and don’t you ever forget how delicious muesli and powdered milk can be at the end of such a day. And the sunset- pastel sky, bay, Maria island, wow, this really is yer lucky day.
Connellys Marsh to Orford
Total K’s: 57.50
Avg Spd: 12.3 k/hr
Max Spd: 49.9 k/hr
Hours on Bike: 4:40
KM Scary Hill Rating: 6/7 (with the downhill worse than the up)
Good thing my sense of humor came along for the ride today because it was… an experience.
Imagine this: You get a 9am start after a relaxing morning by the sea. You drop a box off at the post office in Dunalley, sending Tash in Melbourne the few excess items you don’t need – but have been carrying for the last 3.5 weeks anyway. Like, somehow, you know, today is a day you can no longer afford to have any extra weight. You take a pee/food/stretch break at Copping before turning on the C335, a dirt road where all your dreams can come true.
Ah, dirt roads. Really, they are so nice. Especially when they aren’t just any dirt road. Oh no, this is a bumpy, pothole filled, loose rocks everywhere type of dirt road. You get to go at a slower pace. Appreciate the wind more. Not to mention all the dust blown up by passing cars. And if that wasn’t enough dirt in yer face, take the opportunity to swerve into the 5-inch deep bit of gravel on the side of the road and body slam yerself right into that lovely dirt. Just be sure to do this on an uphill, traveling at a pleasant 5 k/hr to avoid any serious injury. At the top of this climb, you get a good look over Marion Bay. See, that’s what you came this way for! Well, soak it in, it’s the last ocean view you’ll see from this dirt road.
So steep, how did I do it?
Oh, that's better, phew
The one, lovely, motivating ocean view
yes, soaking it in!
After several more hills and some scary, bumpy descents, you make it to the Wielangta Forest Reserve Picnic sight. Just in time too, you are starving. How you ever lived without daily peanut butter and nutella sandwiches before, you’ll never know. You try to relax a little here, but you are lucky to meet the most persistent and annoying bumble bee on the island of Tasmania. So after repeatedly telling it through clenched teeth, “Idontlikeyou. Gooooaway,” you give up and get on yer bike. You rush downhill only to be greeted by a monstrously bumpy and steep slope. “Crap!” You cry out for granny gear, but its too late, and you have the chance to nearly face plant again – and again, as you try to re-start. No, no. Loose rocks and steep = pushing yerself (and bike) up the hill. Be glad you got that practice in Hobart as yer calves quadruple in size and you wonder, who’s idea was it to take this route!?
Oh, that's better, phew
The one, lovely, motivating ocean view
yes, soaking it in!
A plummet into treeland
nutella, peanut butter, mmm
Now, in case you are having so much challenging fun on this dirt road, which of course you are up to this point, why don’t you miss the turn-off to the less hilly, ocean view, soon to be a paved road? Well, this is yer lucky day, that turn-off isn’t signed! Even when you come up to a road that you think must be it, you’ll pass it, cause again, surely, such a road would have a sign! As a reward for yer chosen path, you get a never-ending climb UP! But before you start this climb, you’ll see it coming from a distance on a rare, ongoing stretch of flat road. You may be close to tears and feel like chucking your bike in the gully:
nutella, peanut butter, mmm
but have no fear, just pull over (careful in the deep gravel), eat a carrot and some nut mix, check the map again, and off you go you wonderkid, hill tackler, you. You’ll show that mountain who’s boss! On the way up, be sure to let out a wahoo and celebrate just how slow you can go, 3.9 km/hr, you rock!
i climbed up all this way to thumbs lookout, and it looked good from here, no need to go 2ks on a side road further up!
And as a real reward, the caravan campground you planned to sleep at will be closed, and you’ll meet another pair of ‘grey nomads’ who’ve found a free camping spot just a couple 100 meters down the road. After pitching yer tent, you’ll gladly take the two apples they offer you for dinner and don’t you ever forget how delicious muesli and powdered milk can be at the end of such a day. And the sunset- pastel sky, bay, Maria island, wow, this really is yer lucky day.
Connellys Marsh to OrfordTotal K’s: 57.50
Avg Spd: 12.3 k/hr
Max Spd: 49.9 k/hr
Hours on Bike: 4:40
KM Scary Hill Rating: 6/7 (with the downhill worse than the up)
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