DOWN THE OTHER SIDE...

I felt more than a little sad to be leaving Tenterfield as I had enjoyed my time wandering around the historic little town learning all about a few of the great characters of Australia's history.As is usual in most country towns the people were very friendly and none more so than James who,with his wife,own the Peter Allen Motor Lodge where I stayed for those few days.James is an avid cyclist and was very interested in my trip,my bike and my trailer set-up.I gave him the grand tour of all my gear and explained the why's and wherefores of all the gear and how it is used.We spent some time discussing races and the Tour Down Under,Australia's premier road stage race held around Adelaide in South Australia every January.He said that as it was kind of on my way that maybe I should detour from my route and check it out.It was the first time I had though of that but dismissed the idea pretty much immediately.

 Early morning outside Tenterfield

   It was then that he told me his wife was,at one time,a triathlete who had raced for around ten years.She loved the sport but sadly couldn't race anymore.I asked why,immediately regretting the question when he explained that a couple of years before while they were on a training ride,she had mentioned that she had a headache.About two minutes later.he said,she had fallen off her bike and was lying on the road motionless.It seems she had developed a blood clot in her brain stem and it rendered her partially paralysed.To this day she couldn't walk without her walker and her whole left side including her face would never be the same again.I guess the easiest way to describe it was,she had a stroke.

  A little later that day I met her as she was shuffling through the motel carpark and we had a little chat about my trip and her days as a triathlete.Here was a woman who had finished Ironman Bussleton and Ironman Australia in fine times, now finding it a struggle to walk across a parking lot.It just didn't seem fair and I thought again about the death of Craig Percival a few short weeks ago and how we really should try to make the most of our lives while we can.She actually asked me if I would like to spend Christmas with them but I said that I would have to move on in a few days as I was already,far,far behind schedule.They are a lovely couple and the "mates rates" at the motel were very appreciated as I think they both kind of understood what my trip was all about.I finally told James,after yet another day hiding from the storms,that he should kick me out and while he didn't do that he did make sure that he was around to say goobey and wish me luck.

  That mornings ride out of Tenterfield was awesome.Originally I had planned to ride to the next major town of Glen Innes but after checking out the elevations on my favourite mapping website, Ride With GPS , I realised that if I went an alternated route I would start to drop down the other side of the Great Dividing Range instead of climbing for another day.It was a no-brainer and it wasn't long before I was freewheeling down the mountains towards the little Queensland town of Texas some 140 kilometres away.A very ambitious goal considering the low mileage I had managed thus far on my trip.

  After two days of storms this was a nice sign

   The first 50k through ever descending rolling hills went pretty quickly and I was enjoying the morning when I came upon a group of people on the side of the highway who clearly weren't enjoying their day at all.I could see the group from a distance running on and off  the highway into the bush behind a truck and the weird thing was that they each seemed to be wearing the same outfits,overalls and a dark shroud over their heads.As climbed the small hill where they were stopped I could see another truck off to the side of the road listing at a very steep angle.The boxes scattered around the ground next to the truck gave it away and my guess was confirmed when I rode up to one lady and asked what had happened.It seemed that they were bee-keepers and were in the process of moving a bunch of hives when their truck got bogged in the road,sodden from the previous two days rain.The truck had shed a fair bit of it's load and there were angry bees everywhere.I was advised that it was probably a good idea to get going before I became the centre of the little buggers attention.I didn't need to be told twice and made my way up the rest of the climb to be greeted by nothing but what looked like a long downhill before me. I stopped by the side of the road as it followed a ridge downward and had breakfast while checking out the view of the farmland far below.Down and down and down I rode speeding along as the heat of the day grew.At this rate I thought I would be in Texas by 2pm and was in great spirits as I turned at the bottom of the ridge to join the Dumaresq Valley and follow the river of the same name ever downward for the next 20 kilometres.

 Looking back to the Great Dividing Range.Long downhill morning.

   One little highlight of the day was helping out a little soul who was wandering around where he shouldn't have been.As I came flying down one of the long descents I spied,of all things,a little turtle sitting in the middle of my lane.I slowed down,turned around and rode back to put him in a safer place but not before seeing a car miss squashing him by inches.I picked him up and put him on the side of the road ( in the direction he was heading I hoped ).I waited to see of he was going to poke his head out and perhaps wander off but he kept himself tucked into the safety of his little shell house and just peeked out at me from inside.I could relate as I often retreat to the safety of the indoors,away from the world and prying eyes,often not poking me head out for days at a time.My good deed done,I was off again for the ride down the valley towards Texas.

     At just over 80kilometres into the day I felt a little off and rolled to a stop at a shady spot on the side of the highway.I lay my bike and trailer down and sat on the ground and immediately though " I am going to be sick!" With that though still in my head I started to projectile vomit what must have bee close to a litre of fluid.I thought " Christ that was impressive" and continued vomiting until my breakfast had also come up and my stomach was empty.I lay there for about twenty minutes wondering what the hell was going on as I tried to get some fluids in.It was already starting to heat up and everything by way of my nutrition was now keeping the flies happily busy a few feet away.

My little friend peeking out from under his shell

    The town of Bonshaw was around 30 kilometres away and I set off with the goal of making it to there where I could have a rest and eat something.The road had flattened out and was now passing through a wide agricultural valley with very little in the way of shade and as it started to heat up I felt worse.I did stop for about thirty minutes and have a dip in a river that I crossed which helped a lot but I knew that now it was going to be a long day.

   I made it to the tiny hamlet of Bonshaw around 2pm,parked my bike and lay down on the long bench that stretched the length of the little country store, cum gas station, cum bottle shop. cum hairdressers.About ten minutes had passed before a little old lady came out and asked if I was okay.I said I would be fine in a while and I got up,went into the store and bought the only things that appealed to me at the time,a Coke and a Mars Bar.Once I started to cool down I realised that I had covered 110kilometres for the day and all things considered was pretty proud of myself even though by anybody's standards,for a seasoned cycle tourist, that isn't a long ride.While I was there I chatted to all the customers as they came and went and slowly but surely I started to feel better.By 3pm I bought another coke,ate a tin of tuna and a banana and was off again into what was now the blazing heat of the day.

   I figured that I would be in Texas,another 30 kilometres away by 5pm which would mean a lazy 15 kilometres per hour.How wrong I was!As soon as I rode off the heat overwhelmed me and I started to suffer.For the next four hours I rode slowly from shady spot to shady spot where I would lie down and try to lower my heartrate.Sometimes I rode 4 kilometres before a break and sometimes I rode to the next shady spot a few hundred metres up the road.Twice, the only way I could get up a hill without spiking my heart-rate was to walk.I had been in this situation before when I lived in Port Douglas in Far North Queensland when,on a particularly hot day I passed out on my bike and it took me two hours to ride the 16 kilometres home.This was twice that length and I was struggling.Now I could have camped anywhere on the side of the road but I was now dangerously close to running out of water and wasn't very well.Cramping had set in on both legs and I wanted to get close to town in case I was really sick.

 About to begin the last long descent of the Great Dividing Range

   At just before 7pm,almost 12hrs and 141 kilometres after leaving Tenterfield, I pulled into the rest area I had been trying so hard to reach all day.That final 30 kilometres had taken me four hours to ride and I was feeling very,very sick.I rode up to a nice patch of grass under a tree and lay down for the next 30 minutes.

   I was brought back into some vague form of consciousness by a guy who was parked in his caravan not far from me. He asked me if I was okay and I just said that I was really heat stressed and very dehydrated.He went over to his caravan and brought back a cold bottle of water and said if you need to fill up all your bottle just come and see me.I thanked him profusely as,out here,water is a precious gift,something that was not lost on me.I would have loved to relax and just lie there but I could see that there were some storms coming and in my fuzzy state I hastily put up my tent and covered it and all my gear with my two tarps.I grabbed some of my awesome Mee Goreng noodles and rushed off to the park shelter to cook myself dinner as the storm approached.

    By the time I had finished my noodles it was dark and all I could do was crawl into my little tent and lie there as the rain tapped lightly on my tarp, a light accompaniment to the crashing  thunder claps of the storm now drifting past the town.My longest day thus far was done but I really hoped that the days experiences were to be the exception and not the norm.

 Camp in Texas just before the storm

    The next morning I decided to hang out at the rest area in Texas and recover from the previous days illness.I hadn't slept well at all and was still feeling fried so I figured I should go check out the town and get something to eat.It was already hot as I rolled into the small main street of Texas and I was beginning to think I might be out of luck as it seemed that 8:30am was a little early for the population but thankfully one café was open.I locked my bike up and went in,asking if I could plug my computer in while I ate and thankfully the young girl behind the counter said yes.For the next two hours I tried to eat my way through one of the largest "Big Breakfasts" I have ever seen.I knew that I needed to eat but also knew I must have really stressed myself out the day before because just eating breakfast had me sweating and feeling a little light headed.I did manage to get some writing done and did my usual obsessing over the road ahead online.



Welcome to Texas

 Texas itself is like so many small country towns that are ever so slowly dying.The population of around 700 in town is mainly employed by the farms and associated industry such as the large feedlot just outside of town which employs a large percentage of the population.Again it is the Grey Nomads who provide a lot of the revenue for the local,businesses but if the ridiculously low house prices are any indication people are not in a hurry to move here.In Texas the average price for one, two bedroom apartment in Sydney will net you around five,two bedroom houses on a decent patches of land here in town.Just crazy!I heard a story of a lady who bought the old church in the town of Bonshaw and converted it into a two bedroom house for $50.000AUS, a third of what it would cost in Texas so I guess location matters in the bush as well.

  The rest of the day was spent lying the  river next to the rest area,sleeping and chatting to the other  folks camped out with me.It was a fun day but I was never really able to get away from the heat of the day until finally, just as the sun started to set,that the weather turned cool as a strong wind blew through camp dropping the temperature dramatically as a different weather system passed overhead.



 


 Some of the countryside reminded me of sections of Oregon

 I lay down in the "rapids" of this river to cool down

  

 My view of the world lying on the side of the road

 Well I am nearing Texas.

 Riding from shady spot to shady spot

 The bike with all the gadgets

 Late afternoon just outside of Texas..

 

THE GRIND



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.

   

  Farewell drinks with the neighbours

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...



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.



  My little cabin in Casino

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.

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.

Rolling hills with the Great Dividing Range ahead 

The first hour or so was great with rolling hills and lots of great views of wide open farmland full of cows and cockatoo's screaching above.It wasn't long after that when the hills started getting a little steeper and a little longer.I had originally thought that I might make it to the town of Drake,some 80 kilometres away as I was feeling better than the day before but my legs didn't react well to the steeper of the hills.


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.

At the top looking back toward distant Mt Warning

The long descent down the other side was fun if not a little scary with the trucks overtaking me on the narrow roads but I managed to make it down and was greeted by some flat roads for the next few kilometres.It was during that time that I met a cyclist going to other way.he was an Englishman named Alan who had been on the road in Canad,the USA and Australia for about eighteen months and man did he look it.He was wearing his helmet like the Japanese students here in Australia do and that is loosely tied so it sits on thier back.That kind of gets around the helmet laws but won't help if you hit your head.He wasn't wearing a shirt and was lean as can be an dark brown from weeks in the Australian sun riding up from Melbourne.In other words like the famous "Mad Dogs and Englishman out in the Mid-day Sun".

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.



 An old homestead

It was about 2pm by the time I had all my stuff sorted out and my tent up for the night and I spent the rest of the afternoon,eating and drinking about 4 litres of water to replace what I hadn't been able to out on the road.I chose this rest area because it had toilets and running water,the tables,chairs and general awesomeness of the place was just a bonus.I did though enjoy chatting to a bus driver who was hanging around waiting for the local school busses to arrive during the post school childerens home delivery.Seems the busses from Casino or smaller schools would ferry some kids to this rest area and then two other busses would haul them home to the farms in the local area.Life in the bush!

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.



 Just in case I was lost,a big friggin map

Once the sun started to set I got myself ready for bed and took my mind away from the next days concerns by watching a movie on my laptop.Oh, how touring times have changed!

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!
  

 Had the place all to myself

There are a few things in this world that scare me and heights off structures is one of them and when I came across the bridge leaving town which crosses the Clarence River that fear gripped me.It wasn't such a high bridge but the fact that the deck was made of old boarding covered in tar is what got me rattled.There was no riding across as there were too many wide gaps between the boards and this was recognised by the sign asking all cyclists to dismount.That would have been great if there was a footpath but this was a 200 meter one way bridge which I was now picking my way along while semi-trailers thundered by.Not much fun!   I survived though and pedalled on like I had cheated death,well in my eyes anyway.

  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?!
  

 The Lunatic  Hotel Drake

As  lay there I realised my face had copped a hiding in the sun and I now had a blister on my nose which was a bit of a concern.Last thing I wanted to get was an infection on the road.I washed my face in the public toilets but it didn't help and it just stung.Across the road was the infamous Lunatic Hotel/Motel Drake and I wondered if something I had read was true.I wandered over and left my bike(with another flat tyre)in the park and asked the lady behind the bar if they had campsites of cheap accomodation at the hotel.She said there were no campsites but they did have four bunkhouse rooms at $25 a bed.She said that I would most likely have a room to myself as it was mid-week.I said "Sold!"She showed me where the bunkhouses were and within an hour I was unpacked, showered and in the pub having lunch.

 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.
  
    

 The container bunkhouse all to myself..

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.

    

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.   

 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.

     

 Sunrise over Drake

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.

 

 Halfway up the range out of Drake

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!!

 

 Farmland that goes on forever

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.

Top of the Great Dividing Range

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.


         

  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.

  

 

 

BYRON BAY

  Back in the 1980's when folks in Australia heard the name Byron Bay, images of skinny,threadbare hippies,swaying serenely to the hypnotic sounds of Bob Marley ,shrouded in a cloud of Ganja smoke,thier dreadlocks matted and stinking of the smell of Patchouli.The idea of 'Free love" was still a reality and the  Krishna philosophy was a part of life and not just an historical oddity lost on most who travel the "Hippie Trail" today.Like with most things however, time changes all and the free love of the commune has made way for the love of consumables and  hippie philosophy has made way for the yuppie pretence.

 Main Beach Byron Bay

  It is quite sad really but Byron Bay is not alone in this transformation.When I first moved to Cairns in 1985 to live on tiny Green Island,the alternate lifestyle wasn't alternate,it was the norm.The north of Queensland was still largely unkown and the now trendy town of Port Douglas consisted of pretty much two pubs and a pie shop.How things have changed.

  Across the country too,people in the far flung town of Broome were living blissfully unaware of the apparent "need" for development and civilization.When I spent the Christmas of 1987 camped out in a station wagon parked by Cable Beach there were no fancy resorts,just one caravan park,a couple of pubs and the small row of stalls selling all things related to the pearl trade for which Broome is famous.It was bliss!

 These three towns are now dramatically different with Byron Bay,of the three,the colossus of change.

 Now where is this? Thailand?Bali?Byron Bay?

 

  Don't get me wrong,Byron is an awesome place to visit but like most tourist towns,the essence of the place soon gets lost once the streets are lines with chain stores,upmarket restaurants,fancy bars and ridiculously overpriced coffee-shops.What was once "special" is replaced with generic replicas of every other place that is trying to be as special as the next.That is the price we pay for popularity I guess ,I just wish that some of these places weren't THAT popular.

   My stay in Byron Bay has well and truly made me realise just how unfit I have become as I am now out of the hibernating fashions of the Blue Mountains and into the almost naked fashions of Aussie beach culture.It is pretty hard to hide the pudge when your are at the beach swimming.I figure that the only positive behind the sad mess that I have become is the "before" and "after" photos should be interesting.I am hopefully looking at losing as much as fifteen kilos between now and when I join the tourists in Western Australia feeding the famous wild dolphins at the beach in Monkey Mia.Having fresh fish thrust at me by a sunburnt Backpacker would be sad evidence of my failure but I am hopeful I won't be mistaken for a stray Minke Whale,just a very hungry guy with cyclist tan lines.

 The "Hubb" of Byron Bay

  Training rides continue as I deal with the incredible heatwave hitting the coast and the concern I have of climbing the Great Dividing Range has been replaced with a very real concern of getting hit by lighting during one of the many thunderstorms that are terrorising the region.One American tourist died in his tent not far from where I am after a lighting bolt hit the tree he was camped under,the surge passing through the tree,into the ground and through his tent.In my campground in Byron a tent inhabited by four female Schoolies was hit and the campsite destroyed.Luckily it was during the middle of the night and the girls were in the pub getting drunk.When they arrived home they found their gear floating in a huge puddle where their tent used to be,all their electronics fried.The only girl I spoke to about was surprisingly cheerful saying "It's okay,we go home tomorrow and now we don't have to take so much stuff on the plane". Gotta love the simplicity of youth.

 Interestingly for me,that storm is the one thing that has broken the ice between myself and most of the others who are staying here.As someone who is old enough to be the parent of most of the inhabitants,I'm not really very high up on the social scale and as is the lot with many single men my age,I am pretty much invisible .I get a lot of "what is that old guy doing here?" looks and apart from an Argentine asking me about the cricket game I was watching on the communal television,nobody had spoken to me in conversation for three days.The joint experience of surviving that epic storm changed all that and now I have had a bunch of fun swapping travel stories with a few of the youngsters over a glass or two of wine.

 One thing that has remained,the traditional Aussie Pub.

 The loneliness of travelling as a single,middle aged person is quite real and I often get quite sad when I see couples or groups of friends doing their thing exploring the world.That little factoid, I know, is quite the opposite to that most of friends think life is like for me.I always have people comment on how awesome my life is when they see my travel pictures on Facebook or my stories chronicled in blogs,the reality, I often tell them, is vastly different.Interestingly once I am out in the middle of nowhere the loneliness tends to disappear as it is around others when I am reminded that I am by largely by myself in life's little adventure.

There is much truth to the saying that "A crowded room can be the loneliest place in the world"

This is one place that is all Rainbows and Unicorns 

Filling in time in Byron isn't hard and I tried to do my best to play the tourist while I was there.One day I made the obligatory trip to the lighthouse just to say that I actually rode from there and then did the bike tour of fancy Wategos Beach  where the rich and famous have their holiday houses,down to Tallows Beach for a swim where my Epic Ride stone sign was made seven years ago and then down the cost to Lennox Head and back.Another was spent in a coffee shop setting up this blog (which I might add takes an inordinate amount of time so I hope it is appreciated) while swapping stories with the passing parade of customers.

   It was during that day when I was asked again about my trip and again the name of Greg McDermott and his ride around Australia was mentioned.In the conversation the gentleman I was talking to mentioned another amazing effort that he had followed earlier in the year,that of Ultra-triathlete Craig Percival and his challenge of doing 8 ironman distance triathlons in 8 days in all 8 States and Territories of Australia,all for the purpose of raising funds for the John Maclean Foundation.He was so amazed that anyone could do such a thing and he wanted to know if I had heard of Craigs effort.I very sadly had to tell this poor guy that just the day before I had received the news that Craig had died as a result of complications resulting from a knee operation he had undergone a few short weeks before. I told him that I knew Craig and that our little world was crushed by the news.Craig was such a fine example of the very best a person could wish to be and it just wasn't right that one such as he should be taken, not just from us, but his wife and two small children.It was actually that shock which kept me in Byron for two extra days as I paused to reflect on life and just how fragile it can be. I do have quite a few revelations to tell but I'll leave those for a little further down the line when the long and lonely road presents me with the right words..
Read about Craig's 8in8in8 Challenge here.

    Until that road is clear and safe it is all about staying here and making the best of the weather.That,can get pretty hard to do after a few days when the novelty wears off and everything you have with you starts to absorb the moisture coming out of the sodden ground.Just a few hours of sunlight to dry things would be nice.

     As you can probably tell,I am a bit of a fair weather cyclist and that is only partly because and am getting way to soft in my old age.The main reason is the safety factor.I have been hit by cars far too many times to be bothered going into battle with motorists when the weather is nasty and they can barely see out of their windshield.It is bad enough riding  in good weather in this country.I will say though that the treatment I get from motorists improves greatly when I am touring mode and loaded down with bags and my trailer as opposed to being , "one of those Gay looking guys in Lycra".I haven't quite worked out why that is but  I really do suspect that the "lycra factor" holds some truth.

*(Insert change of topic here due to rainy day with nothing to do)*

   As I have mentioned, I do actually have an event to train for in Rio in April and that thought both haunts and motivates me.It is a long race and one that I really don't want to turn up to fat and unfit for this one in the way I have for the last few years of competitions.A lot of what has become the root cause of that has been the ongoing battle I have with depression.When it hits it can hit very hard leaving even the most menial of tasks seemingly impossible to tackle.I remember years ago when I first started feeling the effects of it I would find myself getting ready for a training ride with all my gear ready and I would sit on the couch to put my shoes on only to "wake up" hours later wondering what the hell happened.Sometimes I can sit thinking about doing something for hours and hours and hours only to head to bed instead.This can go on for weeks and that is the main reason I am at where I am right now.One day a friend of mine Glen Prior finally coaxed me out of the house for a ride and I think it shocked him to see how much I struggled to keep riding even at the slowest pace.I was literally talking to myself out loud trying to focus and to stay out there.I remember stopping again and again before finally giving up and making the turn for home.Poor old Glen,I felt bad for him as he didn't know what to do.

  At the registration of the Ultraman Canada Triathlon Championships  I met author Jim Gourley who was in town shadowing the race as research for his book "The Race Within:Passion,Courage,and Sacrifice at the Ultraman Triathlon". As Jim and I were talking the discussion my depression came up and he was fascinated by my openness about my struggle.I mentioned that this illness was actually quite common in the Ultra-fraternity and that for many the "pain" of training is much easier to deal with in masking the pain of the illness.He was staggered to hear that in the six weeks previous to that event I had done absolutely no training as a huge dark cloud had hung over me pretty much forcing me to bed for the duration.He promised to do some research into the condition and how it relates to athletes and include it in his book.Sadly for me and those who could have learned a lot from his words,the publishers imposed a word limit on his book and that section was dropped.

Craig Percival and Myself are featured

That kind of crippling effect is exactly why I am out here on this ride.I need to separate myself completely and force myself to get out and train.This trip is that training.I have done it before and it would have worked a treat had it not been for one little accident.In 2011, I had gone through a terrible time after a relationship break up and was desperately suicidal for months.To change my way of thinking I hopped on a plane and flew to Anchorage in Alaska to compete in the Midnight Sun Marathon after which it was my intention to ride the length of the Alaska/Canada Highway.During the marathon I stepped off the trail and twisted my knee injuring it badly enough that I couldn't run  and walking was painful.I could still ride though and for the next five weeks made my way through Alaska,the Yukon Territory and Alberta before an incident on the road with a truck on a rainy day (does this sound familiar) saw me end that ride by bussing it to Calgary to be with my Ultraman crew who drove to Penticton for the race.

I know that during the first two days most folks were shocked at how well I was doing having finished Day One and Two of this race (which I have won twice) in 4th overall.Some started wondering if I could get myself on the podium yet again after a long time just barely finishing but I was concerned about my knee.My concerns were well founded and despite all the hard work I had done to drag myself out of the dark hole I had been in,despite all the hard work I had done to get fit again,I couldn't run properly.The nature of the injury meant that I could lightly jog the flats but only walk the downhills.Running uphill wasn't a problem but on that course,downhills matter.In the end I finished second to last on the day and dropped from 4th to 14th overall for the weekend.It was a bittersweet result as I knew I was fit enough to do well but I had to be happy with just finishing healthy and back in the groove.That groove became a canyon as that race was the last time I was even close to being fit.Surgery to repair the knee followed my return to Australia and since that day I have been on a  slow, intermittent,downward spiral back to the dark places I have known so well.
        Even though I have done a few "short" rides since ( Singapore to Hat Yai in Thailand and a couple of laps around the Pacific Northwest in the USA) I haven't returned to the expedition style of ride that helped so much in 2011.I am hoping that this chance to ride away and force myself to physically suffer for weeks on end will turn things around the way it did in Alaska and Canada.I  guess we will all find out in  April when I line up for the UB515 Brasil Ultra Triathlon in Rio.This opportunity to go to Rio for this race was just the tonic and motivation I needed and I thank the organisers for the invitation. They don't yet realise just how much they may have helped me.

How long will this  highway rejuvenation last?That I can't tell you.....As Long As It Takes!

Check out the UB515 Ultra Triathlon race website here


 



  




 

TO THE START IN BYRON BAY

     It is funny that I don't consider the ride started until I actually leave Byron Bay and head west toward Lismore as I actually rode here from the Gold Coast in Queensland.I spent a week in Coolangatta visiting a friend,visiting my dentist and most importantly getting used to the heat of South East Queensland.Having been based in the Blue Mountains west of Sydney for the last two years I had become very used to the chilly temperatures that are normal in the Upper Mountains at any time of the year.The week before I left I was happily wearing shorts and T-shirt with temperatures in the single digits Celsius so arriving in Queensland where it was in the 30's was a shock to say the least.

At Kirra Point leaving the Gold Coast

     I did a few short training rides in and around the Gold Coast Hinterland which just confirmed my almost total lack of fitness on the bike.It is interesting how things do change and your fitness comes back to you as by the time I left Coolangatta for the short ride to a campground in Wooyung only 44 kilometres away I almost felt like a cyclist again.It was a very short ride but it took me along a road I hadn't been on for many years and the beach and campground there are pretty awesome.It also made for a good way getting used to dragging my trailer behind me and of testing out some of the new gear that I bought for this trip.

     Like my reluctance to go high-tech in my triathlon life, my bike touring is no different.I hate spending good money on fancy-pants stuff from high end stores when you can get equally functional stuff from cheaper,no frills outlets.My one caveat is if there are sales going on and that is where I went silly ( for me anyway) in the Mountain Design store in Katoomba.They were having a huge sale to celebrate the opening of a new store and like a hungry seagull at the beach I swooped in for a steal.

    During my last long ride, down the Alaska/Canada Highway, I went a light as I could and didn't even take a sleeping bag or sleeping mat.I just had the clothes I was wearing and a light sheet to cover myself with.Man how I suffered on the cold,cold ground!! None of that was going to happen this time as I do expect to be on the road for about eight weeks.A sleeping bag,a sleeping mat,a new CamelBak Mule backpack,a couple of compression bags and even one of those totally stupid collapsible special high-tech,rocket science coffee cups were soon stacked on the counter in front of a very flustered young Russian sales lady.Like most Russians (yes I know I am generalizing but I have been to Phuket) she was a cranky lady and not really too enthusiastic towards me until I happened to mention I was a cycle tourist and one of my dream trips is to ride the Road of Bones from Magadan in Siberia.That put a smile on her face and as we chatted about all things Gulag'ish ,she found every conceivable discount possible and I was happily on my way.I reckon it worked out that I got the CamelBak Mule and the stupid rubber cup for free! Score!

 Hastings Point looking back toward Kingscliff
 

 My tent however was purchased, true to form, at "Big W" in Tweed Heads for the princely sum of $12 Australian, add to that a couple of silver tarps to cover the tent during bad weather and to form a shelter during the day.I love this set-up and fail to understand why folks spend a shitload on tents,unless of course you are climbing Everest and weight "really matters". I have used this set-up for over a decade and stayed warm and dry during epic storms in all kinds of locations around the world, from Kicking Horse Pass on the B.C/Alberta border to the Al/Can in Teslin, Yukon Territory. From Tropical North Queensland to the misery of a summer storm on the banks of the Red River in Ontario. I was toasty warm in the high Andes in winter and just yesterday lay comfy cosy watching the  The Expendables 2 on my laptop here in Byron Bay. The thing that does piss me off is that I have all this crap and more in storage in Penticton, Canada  but the cheap-ass in me tries not to think about that.

   The following day was another 40 or so kilometres to the town of Byron Bay which went as easily as  expected and I rolled into town a happy lad at around 7am a straight to a coffee shop to get my morning jolt and to do some internet surfing to find a campground. Luckily for me I did find one very close to downtown that had a spot available and I booked it straight away. I say luckily as my arrival in Byron coincided with one of Australia's craziest traditions, "Schoolies Week", a three week period at the end of each High School year when the graduating masses head to selected locations around Australia and South East Asia to get shitfaced. For my Nth American friends, imagine Spring Break for High School kids. It is madness!!Throw in the usual throng of Euro Backpackers and a marijuana enhanced local population and you start to get the picture. What could possible go wrong?

 The mouth of the Hastings River

  From the coffee shop it was off to the park at  main beach at Byron where the remnants of the previous nights celebrations lay all around like a scene from a disaster movie. Motionless humanity dressed in now crumpled finery, slowly getting toasted by the rising sun while the locals tiptoe around them to get to the beach for their morning swim. That scene never gets old and it was among our nations, motionless hope for the future that I was approached by a man who was very interested in my bike and trailer.

 I am used to people asking me about my trailer and my bike set-up. The number one question I get asked when people find out that I am off on a long ride is, as I mentioned before, "Are you doing it for a charity or a cause?".This man was no different. I said no and continued to tell him that I was just doing it because I wanted to get healthy again. He mentioned that he had been following, on the radio, the ride of a guy who was riding around Australia for a "Youth off the Streets" charity in Sydney.  I said "Funny you should say that, I know him, his name is Greg McDermott and I was just messaging with him on Facebook an hour or so ago." He was amazed. We talked about Greg's ride for a while and I explained the differences between having a vehicle following him as crew and my dragging all my gear along solo. They are two very different animals and Greg had ridden nearly three times the distance I was to ride but he did it about the same time I was planning to take.As I said two different types of ride.We chatted for a while about my past rides and the differences in each country as I rode through and after a while his family dragged him away. He wished me luck and was off.I stayed by the beach for a while looking at the Cape Byron Lighthouse in the distance wondering what was in store for me once I pushed off from that spot in a few short days time.

 Check out Greg's story here...   https://www.gregmcdermott.com.au/

 That brings me to an interesting difference in how folks look at long distance rides and/or adventures. I am of the old school adventure ilk who love an adventure for the sake of adventure. Part of that adventure is the character of the person, the places and the people that they meet along the way. I love to learn about the person and the places that are so much a part of each individual expedition and the romance of the cultures they are immersed in as they travel on their way.

 Looking back at Mt Warning

 These days there is a new type of adventurer, the one to whom time over distance is the be all and end all of the trip. I'll give you a couple of examples from quite well known adventurers. Firstly there is legendary Ultra-Cyclist Mark Beaumont who has penned three books about his attempts at break several cycling world records. He has ridden around the world,ridden the America's and most recently broke the record for riding the length of Africa from Cairo to Cape Town . In his book "Africa Solo" he wrote that on occasion he felt like a "asshole" for not taking the time to share his ride with those who had helped him along the way. He was so focussed on breaking the record that he completely missed the "heart" of the countries he was riding through and the opportunity to share moments with those who were truly interested in him. He made the same comparison that I do, that there are some who like to tour and immerse themselves in the place they are travelling through and there are those who just race the clock. He races the clock and as he ages he questions if that is the right way to go.

  Actor Ewan McGregor,during his hit adventure documentary "The Long Way Down", where he and his rogue best mate Charlie Boorman ride motorbikes from Ireland to South Africa, also questioned the toll that riding miles for miles sake was having on him.He said that he couldn't see the point of just trying to make a specific place each day due to filming schedules when those schedules meant they weren't really seeing the countries they were riding through.It was shortly after that revelation that they changed the way the rest of the documentary was filmed.

 Camped at Byron Bay

 Indeed, even closer to home for me.The now famous Trans America Bike Race,a solo and unsupported race across the USA, is the new standard for adventure cyclists but I fear it has lost something along the way. My friend, celebrated author and ultra-triathlete Wayne Kurtz did this race last year and I followed his (and others)  progress daily as they made their way across the country.The thing is,as much as I enjoyed it,I have little idea of what he went through during that 7,000 kilometre ride.I know some from his Facebook postings but I don't know anything about the country he rode through.I know nothing of the culture he was absorbed in nor anything about his day to day struggles.I know that he will eventually pen another book that will fill in the blanks but he is most likely one of very few who do.Even the documentary that made this event famous falls very short of focusing on anything but "the race".For some that is great and that is all they need.For me,I need more,I want to feel part of it,to almost be able to close my eyes and be there with that person as they face the challenges of each day.To be able to see the country through their words and feel like I am part of the adventure.

 That is what I hoped to bring people in the assorted ramblings that made up each one of my previous blogs and it is what I hope to bring to you few who might follow this latest of my growing meanderings around our big wide world.