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| At Cape Byron looking at the endless beach |
TO LISMORE..
I finally managed to find some weather assisted motivation to move my lazy butt out of the campground at Byron Bay and on to the road west and the "real" start of my trip.I must admit I wasn't feeling the best as a few of my fellow campers decided to have an impromtu farewell session the night before and a bottle and a bit of red wine isn't the right kind of carbo loading for someone who doesn't drink much anymore.I must admit I had enjoyed my time in Byron hanging out and chatting with a few of the characters at the campground/RV Park.My neighbours were a young Norwegian couple who were based in Sydney studying and had taken some time off to go for a drive up the New South Wales coast.They were awesome company and I think they loved listening to this old guy talk about the "olden days" in the 80's when I first started backpacking and bike touring.Another resident of our little patch of ground in the park was an Aussie chef named Matt.He was in Byron working at one of the fancy restaurants in Wategos' Beach,where the rich and famous hang out.We had a lot in common as I had spent years working in major hotels and most recently in a place not unlike the restaurant where he worked.Unfortunately the nature of small.boom town,resort destinations is that affordable accommodation is often hard to come by and so Matt was living in the campground full time.I could relate as back in '88 I lived in my station wagon for a few months while I was working at the Mirage Country Club in Port Douglas.Back then there wasn't much in the way of accommodation to fit all of the workers in town so a lot of us lived rough.If you can calling living on a tropical beach rough.
As I rolled out I met a couple of young Canadian cyclists who were heading the same direction as but as we swapped stories about our travels, I secretly hoped that they wouldn't ask me to join them as I had steeled myself to a day of quiet suffering and didn't want to have to try to keep up with a couple of fit young dudes.Thankfully they told me they were going to the beach first so as we rode out of the campground and into downtown Byron I was happy to see them turn left towards the beach while I made the right hand turn to join the coast road,through the beach suburbs,down to my turn at Bangalow Rd.
It didn't take too long for my extreme lack of fitness to become plainly obvious as on the very first short sharp hill I slowed to a crawl and thought to myself "This isn't good".I struggled on though and slowly made my way up the coastal range that borders Byron Bay to the west.I had a great photo opportunity at the top of what is known as Hayters Hill as there was an awesome view of Byron Bay,it's lighthouse and the sweeping beach that stretched north, as far as the eye could see.Unfortunately it was at that moment that I realised the battery in my camera had gone flat at the previous nights gathering and the realization that there would be no photo's that day left me feeing a little disappointed.Hayters Hill was a good name for that place as it was not only was the first time I couldn't get some happy snaps of some really beautiful contryside it was also the first hill I walked my bike up on this trip.
The next few kilometers were easy rolling downhill to the funky town of Bangalow.It is one of those tiny out-of-the-way places that are the highlight of most tourist drives on the east coast of Australia.Old world charm mixed with new world hippies and upmarket cafes make for interesting viewing but for me,on that day,I was more a nusance than an addition to the quriky little village .The main street was so narrow and situated on a steepish hill that my turtle-like progress was causing the morning tourist traffic to back up behind me.Instead of having the time to look for a cafe for a morning coffee I felt pressured and rode on over the top of the hill and out of town.
From Bangalow it was a nice flat section before yet another pitchy hill loomed in front of me.I was finding that anything up to 7% grade was okay but once the road pitched up past 9% I was struggling.The next hill topped out at around 11%.Ordinarily these sort of hills wouldn't be too much of an issue but I was woefully unprepared for this trip and hadn't done any bike training in months.Add to that the load of around 40kilos I was dragging along behind (not to mention the 20 kilos attached to my frame by way of pudge) and it was always going to be a tough grind.I remember speaking to my friend Keith in Coolangatta about trying to physically appreciate just how much weight I had put on and when I broke it down and asked him to imagine the 10 kilo weight vest I used to have in Surfers Paradise he shook his head.I then asked him to imagine doubling that weight and that was the extra I was carrying on my body.So the next time you check your bags at the airport just think of me carrying the equivalent of your 20-25 kilo checked bag evenly distributed around my carcass....Fucking ridiculous!!!
It was on that hill that my game plan for the first few days changed a little.I pulled over and sat myself inside one of the roadside fruit and vegetable stands that are so common on the side of the road on the east coast and thought about a new plan of attack.It was obvious that I wasn't fit enough to pile on the miles that I had wanted to each day during the first 300 kilometers that it would take to crest the Great Dividing Range and so that section would have to be spread out over five days or so if I were to remain uninjured.I had to check out of the miles per day attitude and form a new attitude that these hills,while super hard could be just what I needed to get my strength up for the rest of the ride.With that I hopped back on the bike and slowly made my way over the climb to the town of Clunes.
Riding through Clunes was the second time that day when I wished my camera was working as in the main park of that tiny town was a Christmas Tree made out of old kids bicycles.It was about three metres high with all the bikes painted white with the occaisional red,green and blue handlebars and wheels.I have no idea how many bikes where part of the tree but I decided that I liked the little town of Clunes and that tree put a smile on my face, for a little while anyway.
Not long after Clunes I was through the coastal range and on the plains heading into Lismore.I hadn't planned on staying in Lismore at all but after the morning I had gone through,hangover and all,I rolled into the first caravan park I saw.It was only just after 1pm and I had only cycled 47 kilometeres in just under four hours.I couldn't believe how hard it had been and thought that surely things would pick up from here.How wrong I was!
After setting up my tent and having a shower I went for a walk to bet something to eat and was surprised to see so many parks around the little section of Lismore where the caravan park was.Even more surprising was the fact that they were all being used at that moment by what must have been the local cricket league.The caravan park had cricket oval on three sides and so,after finding myself some lunch I sat down and did something I had not done in a long time,I watched a small town cricket match.Don't know who was playing but it was pretty entertaining watching the locals do thier thing.There wasn't the finesse of the international standard that we see on the television here in oz all summer but I must say some of the tantrums I witnessed that day would make for great prime time viewing.
After the cricket it was off to my tent site where I started chatting to the nice old Swiss lady who was living there in her caravan.She was part of what we call "The Grey Nomads" here in Australia and they comprise of a multitude of retired folks who travel the country for months on end,in some cases all year.We were joined by her neighbour and the three of us sat there for a couple of hours discussing our various travel stories with both ladies giving me all kinds of advice on the road I was soon to ride.We even saw those two Canadian cyclists ride by and I imagine that, unlike myself they made it to Casino that night as scheduled.
I had a great time talking to those two women and it reminded me why I was out here in the first place.Meeting people was half the fun.
TO CASINO...
The next morning I struggled to get up and pack up my things having not had a very good sleep.I had been sunburnt pretty badly the day before and was feeling the effects of sunstroke.Even though it was a cool morning I had been burning up all night and was feeling a little sick.It was about 7:15 when I said goobye to my Swiss neighbour and rolled out of the caravan park and through the quiet Sunday traffic of Casino.
I knew that the 30k from Lismore to Casino was pretty flat and thank heaven for that as I wasn't feeling good.The nice morning and lovely views of the wide expances of farmland were lost on me as I rolled along dreading the coming heat of the day.The temperatures in the region had been around 36 celcius which means a radiant heat off the ground of much higher temps and today would be no different and the morning heat had already started to take its toll.
It was just before 9am when I rode into the outskirts of Casino and pulled into the carpark of a truckstop.I parked my rig and went inside immediately buoyed by the refreshing cool, blasting out of the airconditioning vents.I wandered around aimlessly with the shop assistant asking me a couple of times if I was okay.I bought a couple of things and went outside.In the heat,I immediately felt ill again.Then I saw a caravan park across the road.I packed up my stuff and rode over stopping at one of the small cabins to ask the young girl making up the cabin if there was any room.
She asked if I meant in the tent area and I said that I wasn't really that well and wanted something with air-conditioning.With that she waked me over to the small office that was thier reception and said that they did have a couple of cabins empty right then.I asked her the price and she said that they were $70 but before I could even tell her that it was too rich for my budget she continued by saying she would be able to give me one at the $50 price of the budget cabin as I would have to wait a couple of hours for one of those and I didn't look that good.She asked what I was doing and after chatting for a few minutes was more than happy to help me out and I couldn't thank her enough.She walked with me as I rolled my bike over to my cabin,locked my bike up and hauled my trailed inside.I turned on the aircon,had a shower and fell asleep for about 5 hours.
I didn't leave my little cabin for the rest of the day and spent my time either eating,watching tv,internet surfing,drinking coffee,napping or any combination of the above.By the time the evening movie on the television had finshed I was feeling much better and prepared my things for the morning before going back to bed.
I finally managed to find some weather assisted motivation to move my lazy butt out of the campground at Byron Bay and on to the road west and the "real" start of my trip.I must admit I wasn't feeling the best as a few of my fellow campers decided to have an impromtu farewell session the night before and a bottle and a bit of red wine isn't the right kind of carbo loading for someone who doesn't drink much anymore.I must admit I had enjoyed my time in Byron hanging out and chatting with a few of the characters at the campground/RV Park.My neighbours were a young Norwegian couple who were based in Sydney studying and had taken some time off to go for a drive up the New South Wales coast.They were awesome company and I think they loved listening to this old guy talk about the "olden days" in the 80's when I first started backpacking and bike touring.Another resident of our little patch of ground in the park was an Aussie chef named Matt.He was in Byron working at one of the fancy restaurants in Wategos' Beach,where the rich and famous hang out.We had a lot in common as I had spent years working in major hotels and most recently in a place not unlike the restaurant where he worked.Unfortunately the nature of small.boom town,resort destinations is that affordable accommodation is often hard to come by and so Matt was living in the campground full time.I could relate as back in '88 I lived in my station wagon for a few months while I was working at the Mirage Country Club in Port Douglas.Back then there wasn't much in the way of accommodation to fit all of the workers in town so a lot of us lived rough.If you can calling living on a tropical beach rough.
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| Farewell drinks with the neighbours |
It didn't take too long for my extreme lack of fitness to become plainly obvious as on the very first short sharp hill I slowed to a crawl and thought to myself "This isn't good".I struggled on though and slowly made my way up the coastal range that borders Byron Bay to the west.I had a great photo opportunity at the top of what is known as Hayters Hill as there was an awesome view of Byron Bay,it's lighthouse and the sweeping beach that stretched north, as far as the eye could see.Unfortunately it was at that moment that I realised the battery in my camera had gone flat at the previous nights gathering and the realization that there would be no photo's that day left me feeing a little disappointed.Hayters Hill was a good name for that place as it was not only was the first time I couldn't get some happy snaps of some really beautiful contryside it was also the first hill I walked my bike up on this trip.
The next few kilometers were easy rolling downhill to the funky town of Bangalow.It is one of those tiny out-of-the-way places that are the highlight of most tourist drives on the east coast of Australia.Old world charm mixed with new world hippies and upmarket cafes make for interesting viewing but for me,on that day,I was more a nusance than an addition to the quriky little village .The main street was so narrow and situated on a steepish hill that my turtle-like progress was causing the morning tourist traffic to back up behind me.Instead of having the time to look for a cafe for a morning coffee I felt pressured and rode on over the top of the hill and out of town.
From Bangalow it was a nice flat section before yet another pitchy hill loomed in front of me.I was finding that anything up to 7% grade was okay but once the road pitched up past 9% I was struggling.The next hill topped out at around 11%.Ordinarily these sort of hills wouldn't be too much of an issue but I was woefully unprepared for this trip and hadn't done any bike training in months.Add to that the load of around 40kilos I was dragging along behind (not to mention the 20 kilos attached to my frame by way of pudge) and it was always going to be a tough grind.I remember speaking to my friend Keith in Coolangatta about trying to physically appreciate just how much weight I had put on and when I broke it down and asked him to imagine the 10 kilo weight vest I used to have in Surfers Paradise he shook his head.I then asked him to imagine doubling that weight and that was the extra I was carrying on my body.So the next time you check your bags at the airport just think of me carrying the equivalent of your 20-25 kilo checked bag evenly distributed around my carcass....Fucking ridiculous!!!
It was on that hill that my game plan for the first few days changed a little.I pulled over and sat myself inside one of the roadside fruit and vegetable stands that are so common on the side of the road on the east coast and thought about a new plan of attack.It was obvious that I wasn't fit enough to pile on the miles that I had wanted to each day during the first 300 kilometers that it would take to crest the Great Dividing Range and so that section would have to be spread out over five days or so if I were to remain uninjured.I had to check out of the miles per day attitude and form a new attitude that these hills,while super hard could be just what I needed to get my strength up for the rest of the ride.With that I hopped back on the bike and slowly made my way over the climb to the town of Clunes.
Riding through Clunes was the second time that day when I wished my camera was working as in the main park of that tiny town was a Christmas Tree made out of old kids bicycles.It was about three metres high with all the bikes painted white with the occaisional red,green and blue handlebars and wheels.I have no idea how many bikes where part of the tree but I decided that I liked the little town of Clunes and that tree put a smile on my face, for a little while anyway.
Not long after Clunes I was through the coastal range and on the plains heading into Lismore.I hadn't planned on staying in Lismore at all but after the morning I had gone through,hangover and all,I rolled into the first caravan park I saw.It was only just after 1pm and I had only cycled 47 kilometeres in just under four hours.I couldn't believe how hard it had been and thought that surely things would pick up from here.How wrong I was!
After setting up my tent and having a shower I went for a walk to bet something to eat and was surprised to see so many parks around the little section of Lismore where the caravan park was.Even more surprising was the fact that they were all being used at that moment by what must have been the local cricket league.The caravan park had cricket oval on three sides and so,after finding myself some lunch I sat down and did something I had not done in a long time,I watched a small town cricket match.Don't know who was playing but it was pretty entertaining watching the locals do thier thing.There wasn't the finesse of the international standard that we see on the television here in oz all summer but I must say some of the tantrums I witnessed that day would make for great prime time viewing.
After the cricket it was off to my tent site where I started chatting to the nice old Swiss lady who was living there in her caravan.She was part of what we call "The Grey Nomads" here in Australia and they comprise of a multitude of retired folks who travel the country for months on end,in some cases all year.We were joined by her neighbour and the three of us sat there for a couple of hours discussing our various travel stories with both ladies giving me all kinds of advice on the road I was soon to ride.We even saw those two Canadian cyclists ride by and I imagine that, unlike myself they made it to Casino that night as scheduled.
I had a great time talking to those two women and it reminded me why I was out here in the first place.Meeting people was half the fun.
TO CASINO...
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| Casino |
I knew that the 30k from Lismore to Casino was pretty flat and thank heaven for that as I wasn't feeling good.The nice morning and lovely views of the wide expances of farmland were lost on me as I rolled along dreading the coming heat of the day.The temperatures in the region had been around 36 celcius which means a radiant heat off the ground of much higher temps and today would be no different and the morning heat had already started to take its toll.
It was just before 9am when I rode into the outskirts of Casino and pulled into the carpark of a truckstop.I parked my rig and went inside immediately buoyed by the refreshing cool, blasting out of the airconditioning vents.I wandered around aimlessly with the shop assistant asking me a couple of times if I was okay.I bought a couple of things and went outside.In the heat,I immediately felt ill again.Then I saw a caravan park across the road.I packed up my stuff and rode over stopping at one of the small cabins to ask the young girl making up the cabin if there was any room.
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| My little cabin in Casino |
I didn't leave my little cabin for the rest of the day and spent my time either eating,watching tv,internet surfing,drinking coffee,napping or any combination of the above.By the time the evening movie on the television had finshed I was feeling much better and prepared my things for the morning before going back to bed.
TO TENTERFIELD...
I rolled out of Casino at about 8am feeling much better but still wary of the heat I knew would come during what was looking like a hilly day.
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| Rolling hills with the Great Dividing Range ahead |
About 30 kilometers in I rode past a traffic construction stop which was on an uphill (making everyone wait an eternity) and when I passed the "stop and go" guy he said,"Mate,wait 'til you see the bloody hill that is just around the corner". Sadly he was right and about a kilometre after passing him I started climbing.At first it wasn't too bad but then the legs started to die and the heat started to tak its toll.I ended up breaking the climb into sections and riding to reach one point before stopping to catch my breath.That little, high intensity workout, lasted a full hour and by the time I reached the top 4 kilometers later I was fried.It was cool to stand at the top looking back at the country I had ridden through and way off in the distance I could see Mt Warning past which I had ridden on my first day from Coolangatta to Wooyung.I hadn't really ridden very far but it sure looked a long way fro the top of this hill.
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| At the top looking back toward distant Mt Warning |
We chatted for a while about our trips and gave each other tips on everything from equipment, to diet, to budget,to wild camping and he gave me some great info about what was ahead for me.After that he was gone,off to Brisbane and then home to get back to his "real life".
I was glad I bumped into him and as always it lifted my spirits to meet another cyclist out there in the middle of nowhere.Unlike him though,I wasn't flying around the place but crawling and about 5 kilometres later crawled into a rest area on the side of the road the meagre total for the day hitting almost exactly 50k's.I had taken the best part of six hours,half on the bike and half off, to cover the distance I used to be able to run in much less time.
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| An old homestead |
That bus driver and I chatted about all things to do with travelling around the Aussie Outback and we swapped stories about our travels and even came up with one coincidental fact that we had both driven across the country to be in perth for the America's Cup back in '87/'88.We talked about how so much has changed in what for us back then were small "nothing towns" that are now tourist hot-spots.He assured me that the next month of my trip would see me pass through many town that were falling victim to that development as so many people walk off the land and relocate on the coastal resort towns down the east coast.I had seen a bit of that during my long ride in 2009 and I was sure it would be no different in the part of Oz that I was going to see very soon.It is a shame that more folks don't make the trip out into the bush to see some of the famous country towns that are so much a part of Australia's modern history but sadly the tourist dollar doesn't find its way out there too much.If it weren't for the Grey Nomads I'm sure things would be a lot worse.
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| Just in case I was lost,a big friggin map |
I had fully intended to get up before sunrise to get a start before the sunrise but the fog covering the area put paid to that plan.It wasn't until about 7 am that the fog lifted enough for me to head out and about 3 short kilometres down the road my legs started to hurt.The bus driver the night before had told me that the town of Tabulam was only about 9k's away but what he didn't tell me was that there was a great big hill between the two.After a 3'k climb it was straight back down to the tiny town where I turned off the hwy to go to the local store to buy some fruit and eat my breakfast.I really wanted a nice coffee as I was a little sick of the instant stuff I was carrying but it wasn't until I was just getting ready to pedal away that the Tabulam Cafe started to open.Too late!
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| Had the place all to myself |
Very soon after the road tilted up and stayed that way.In my head I was supposed to climb a hill and then descend into Drake but the hill never ended.On and on the bloody thing went as the sun rose and started to bake me.I had earlier that day decide to trade in my t-shirt and put on my full sleeved ,white,surf rashie and it worked a treat on my burned arms and neck but meyface was getting brutalised,even with 50Plus sunscreen.
The ride became a bit of a joke as I went back to the system of riding seated as long as I could before switching to standing and then stopping for a rest.Every now and then I would reach a flatter bit thinking this would lead to that descent I "knew" was there but it never came.Twice I lay on the side of the road to recover in the shade one of those times was to eat some more and have a nap.That ended up pissing me off because as I was napping my rear tyre went flat.So back to my resting spot to change tubes and get attacked by a persistant horsefly.
I knew that the village of Drake was only 31 kilometers away from where I had camp the previous night but it was taking forvere to get there.Five hours in fact and it was just about noon when I finally reached the little village and lay down in the shady park in the center of town.I had ridden 31k's in five hours!! Are you kidding me?!
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| The Lunatic Hotel Drake |
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| Win a generator at the Christmas Raffle,Of course! |
After lunch I went straight to bed to escape the heat for a couple of hours and then resurfaced for a little walk around town.As expected the walk didn't last long and after ten minutes it was back to my dorm to do some laundry and do some work on my bike.The bunkhouses were actually two shipping containers that had been fitted out pretty well to house four separate rooms,two for two people and two for six people.Over the top of the containers was a huge insulated shed the back of which housed the bathrooms and showers.It was a pretty sweet set up really and I understand that they are very popular with the biker (as in motorbikers) crowd .Apparently they consider this part of the world awesome riding country.My legs told a different story.With my chores done I went to the pub to check out the cricket on the television and make use of the hotels WiFi to update this blog.
I sat at a table in the main bar near the T.V and got to work adding the days misadventures to my blog but it wasn't long before one of the locals came up to me and asked if I wanted to join them outside.I had met Steve earlier in the day when he came to fix the broken light bulb in my dorm and I thought it was nice of him to ask me to join "the locals" out on the back patio of the pub. As I followed him outside I braced myself for the inevitable.There is one thing that never changes with time and that is the insular, closed minded attitude of many folks who have spent most of their life in isolated rural areas.Australia is not the only place that this happens but it is where I have experienced it far more than anywhere else.Today would prove to be no different.
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| The container bunkhouse all to myself.. |
Steve set about introducing me to the assorted group of locals who had clearly started their pre-dinner drinks,post lunch and along with the introductions came the usual "what do you do for work?" and "what are you doing here?" inquiries. As I have worked in many and varied fields over the years I often tailor my answers to fit in with the "mood" of the group.I figured this lot would be much happier with a guy who is a "Hotel Guy" as opposed to a " Massage Guy" so I went with that and it was well received.Unfortunately the matchy-matchy,colour co-ordination of my Australian Green and Gold shorts and Salomon trail runners had a couple of the folks offside immediately.Wearing the white ankle socks was just like poking a bear. When Steve mentioned I was riding my bike across the country,two of them got up and walked away.I'm not making this shit up! Hell,when I first moved to Australia to go to boarding school in Sydney when I was 11 years old,I used to get beaten up because I wore white socks.This was nothing new to me and I had expected it.
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| The container bunkhouses with the pub in background |
The best crack was one old guy saying,while staring at my shaved legs,that he was sick of cyclists slowing him and other truckers down on the narrow roads around the district and that he had no sympathy for the ones who get hit.I just said "Well mate,why don't you just go grab yourself a nice crowbar from your truck right now and come hit me in the back of the head with it." to which I added " or do you only feel really fucking brave when you are in your truck and attacking us from behind?" Steve cracked up laughing and a couple of the others loved me giving it to him but the old bloke wasn't amused and joined the others at the cool kids table.I thought it best to make a hasty retreat , excused myself and went to the dining room for dinner.
The rest of the night at the Lunatic Hotel went well with an awesome pub meal and some great conversation with some of the less ignortant locals who were very interested in what I was up to including the young publican who asked all kinds of questions about how we cycle tourists do our thing.He was amazed that I knew so much about the route and roads that I had never been on and I showed my the website I follow that has all the details on it.He couldn't believe it, when after he told me that Drake was only at 400 metres or so and that I had still to climb another 400 metres to get to Tenterfield,I told him I knew that but did he know I had already climbed 2,000meters to get to the 400metres of Drake.I said there is a big difference between driving and riding a bike and each little hill adds to fatigue of the day especially when you are dragging as much weight as I was.He laughed and said he had seen many fancy caravans blow their radiators trying to get over the last steep hill into town.I told him that I knew exactly how they felt.
As I filled up on a great dinner I heard the crowd getting very rowdy in the main bar as a pool competition got into full swing.I thought that maybe it was time to get the hell out of there and the piercing drunken screeching of a couple of the local indigenous ladies only confirmed my thoughts.I had spent a lot of time in country pubs in Queensland and even worked in one at the rough , bauxite mining town of Weipa in the Gulf of Carpentaria and so crazy behaviour is nothing new to me but it is always a bit of a shock when you hear it again after a long time away.I any bar in the city most of the patrons at the Lunatic Hotel would have been kicked out but here,in the small town Australia,the rules are different.I was wondering exactly how many times one of the women could call her pool partner a "Useless fucking cunt" at the top of her voice before anyone even really noticed.I mean,not even the parents of the kids sitting in the dining room (which had an open bar to the pool area) seemed to blink at what was going on.I left them to it and walked the short distance to the bunkhouses as the racket of what sounded like two drunken Cockatoos fighting, echoed into the night.
I woke up very early the next morning having organised myself the night before.I wanted to get out of town and up the steep range that started just outside of town and the best plan was to start before sunrise.When I was in Casino I had read the elevations a little wrong and was expecting a hellish time of it on the ride into Tenterfield but when I checked at Drake I realised that the worst was almost behind me and that the first 10 kilometres would be the worst followed by 40 kilometres of rolling uphill into town.It was my plan to push on past Tenterfield and climb even more towards Glen Innes some 90 kilometres further along the range.
I was really surprised how easy that first 10 kilometres were and I even had the chance to chat for a while with a trucker who was having his breakfast,standing on the side of the road next to his truck.He shook his head at me when I rode up to him and even offered me some cereal.I declined the cereal but happily stopped for a while to chat with him.It was a nice break and even nicer when he told me that I was nearly at the top and the worst was behind me.Ten minutes later I pushed off up the hill to Christmas wishes from the truckie,thinking to myself that this would be a great day.It was also the coolest day of my trip with full cloud cover and light mist through the range.Bliss!!
The rest of the ride into Tenterfield was exactly what I though it would be,just a lot of rolling hills and with my legs starting to come good I was finally starting to enjoy myself.The cool weather and change of elevation also saw a couple of changes on the road beyond the temperature.For the previous few days the heat exacerbated the almost constant smell of death on the coming from the side of the road.Rotting corpses of Australian wildlife litter the verge of country highways and while the "big kills" can be smelt from vehicles,on a bike every single little creature can be noticed in various states of decay.I will say though,it is far better than the smell of urine,which was the most common smell on the highway down the coast during my last long ride in Australia.
The sounds were now different too.Gone was the incessant drone of thousands of Cicadas,a deafening hum that sounded like powerlines at full charge,replaced by the orchestra of Bellbirds sending each other melodic Morse-code through the forest.If it weren't for the bloody Horse-flies the ride through the forest of the range would have been almost perfect.Almost perfect isn't too bad though and I was a very happy boy to roll through the wineries on the outskirts of town and find myself over the top of the Great Dividing Range and in Tenterfield by around 9am.
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| Sunrise over Drake |
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| Halfway up the range out of Drake |
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| Farmland that goes on forever |
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| Top of the Great Dividing Range |
Once in town I found myself sitting with a cup of coffee by my side in the driveway of a local gas station.It wasn't long before people started asking me what I was up to and such was the interest that two separate people asked if they could take photo's of my bike and trailer.One lady walked by,into the store and I joked that we modern homeless people were well equipped these days and she saw me drag my laptop out of my bag.When she came out she stood by me and asked what I was doing and I told her about my trip.Eventually the subject of why I would want to do it came up and when I told her it was for not only my physical health but my mental health as well she told me that she was a local Pastor and that she wished me all the best of luck on my journey,with that she placed her hand on my head and gave me a blessing right there in the driveway.That was a first!
While I sat there on the kerb,finishing my coffee, I happened to glance up at the sign of a motel next to the gas station, it was the Peter Allen Motor Inn and suddenly I remembered where I was.This was the home of the Tenterfield Saddler,grandfather to the great Australian entertainer Peter Allen.Not only that but the town which is known, thank's to one of the greatest political speeches in Australia's history,as "The Birthplace of Our Nation".
There was so much more to this town than just a short stop on a highway to somewhere else.This town actually means something to our nation and to blow through it without exploring it would be a great loss.I can ride a rotten highway anywhere in the world but there are only so many historic towns like this one and only so many chances to take the time to learn about the part they played in our nations develpoment.I would be a fool to just ride on for the sake of "adding miles".I am not that guy.
An hour later I was rolling my gear into a room at the Peter Allen Motor Inn.I had finished "The Grind" up to the highest point on my ride and now it was time to soak in some of our past before I dropped over the other side and into my future.
While I sat there on the kerb,finishing my coffee, I happened to glance up at the sign of a motel next to the gas station, it was the Peter Allen Motor Inn and suddenly I remembered where I was.This was the home of the Tenterfield Saddler,grandfather to the great Australian entertainer Peter Allen.Not only that but the town which is known, thank's to one of the greatest political speeches in Australia's history,as "The Birthplace of Our Nation".
An hour later I was rolling my gear into a room at the Peter Allen Motor Inn.I had finished "The Grind" up to the highest point on my ride and now it was time to soak in some of our past before I dropped over the other side and into my future.
