Starting 2012 on the bike: Brisbane, Byron & Fraser Island

After Christmas in Melbourne I packed the bike up again (getting good at this) and flew up to Brisbane to catch up with Lochy again. We jumped in a 4x4 and took the boat over to Moreton Island for the New Year. It was a great few days of exploring, sand boarding, body surfing, cool (but not quite cold) beers and frequent attempts at surf fishing which resulted in a lot of lost worms and 1 tiny fish we I had to throw back. Still I’d like to claim a win based on the one fish over nothing for Lochy.

Hello Byron, so much more satisfying to arrive by bike!

After New Year I was itching to get back on the bike, Christmas and summer holidays merge into one for Australians so there was no chance of finding work before at least late January. I rode down to the Gold Coast to catch up with Melissa, skipping the glitzy theme parks for some time in the surf, then trying my luck at getting into bars in Flip-Flops – 1^st time I’ve had to worry about anything like that for a while. One night was enough in the party haven and I was back on the road to Byron, passing sleepier areas of the Gold Coast & Northern New South Wales with coastal views, beautiful beaches and golden sands. At Byron I met up with Lilli, another Aussie friend from London and after throwing the bike in the back of the car I jumped in the ocean to wash the sweaty road off. Another relaxed night at the Beach Hotel followed – no problems with flip-flops here!

Rolling past, rather than up, the Glasshouse Mountains

After cycling almost 200km south, there was not much exciting on the map for another few hundred kilometres, so I decided to hitch a ride back to Brisbane and head north instead. Over the next 5 days I joined the backpackers and other travellers jumping from the coast to inland fruit farming areas and back again. The glasshouse mountains looked spectacular from the valley, but the steep slopes and late hour made a ride up into them unappealing. Onwards to the Sunny Coast, I battled through the commuter and holiday traffic, but certainly preferred the feel of the beach towns more than the glitzy Gold Coast. I had to relax a couple of days in Noosa to allow my mobile to catch up with me – somebody had kindly removed it from the charger to hand in at the campsite lodge, which only opened 2 hrs after I left! I consoled myself with some more bodysurfing, kayaking over sting rays and partying with the backpacker crowd. Back on the road the next stop was Gympie, another non-descript inland town with fruit farming nearby. Finally I had a hot ride into Rainbow Beach – one of the few Gateways to Fraser Island, where after cycling through the sand dunes of the Great Sandy National Park in the heat of the day I rejoined the backpackers at Dingoes and signed up for a 3 day, 2 night Fraser Island Tour.

The Sunshine Coast lives up to its name

Noosa Main beach at 5pm, too cold for most of the locals

Getting into trouble with the backpackers at Noosa Nomads

The road to rainbow beach - watch out for wild horses!

Take the 7 biggest guys on the trip and pack them into one 4x4 with one lucky girl

I should have realized I was in for a rough ride over the next 3 days as soon as I heard the heavy Irish accents belonging to half the 40-strong group, maybe I should have protested when my group was put together with 7 heavy lads and one girl in a cramped 8-seater 4x4, and finally I could have run a mile when together we ordered 6x 4 litre cartons of “Goon” (cheap boxed wine” that “may contain traces of fish”). I opted for cider and avoided the hangover inducing goon, which was a good call as warm cider tasted a lot better than warm Aussie beer! After our equipment check and a briefing warning of all the dangers of driving on the Island it was time to jump into the 4x4; feeling polite and hardly knowing anybody I took my time only to find everybody else had scrambled and all that was left was the driver’s seat – guess that was mine! Fortunately despite having driven maybe 3 hours in 6 months, we managed to survive the first few hours on the island as I revved the engine, skidded through soft sand and bounced over hard inland roads to Lake McKensie. The Irish didn’t disappoint and the nights were messy, but the days were amazing too – sunsets over the ocean, dingoes roaming the camp, clear freshwater lakes and amazing views. We each took it in turns to drive and I never got behind the wheel again, but we all survived although some inspired more confidence than others. Arriving back at Dingoes I was shattered but managed one more night with the Irish, but the early start heading north the next day was going to difficult!

When we left I was last to get in the car, guess which seat was free!

4x4s can also be useful for propping up goon filled Englishmen

Heading out in the morning along Fraser Island

Relaxing in the fresh waters of Lake McKenzie

Champagne Pools, sadly filled with saltwater

Don't walk, but sitting watching for sharks is fine...

Dingo! Fraser Island

Fraser Island was all too much for some

Sydney to Melbourne: Back on the bike for Christmas

So after 3 and half months of adventuring it was time to get a job and earn some coin again. Fortunately the job didn't arrive immediately and I had lots of fun hanging out in Brisbane, search for jobs in city parks (on the free wifi), hanging out with my friend Lochy at his luxury apartment and pool. The Brisbane job market was slow going so I took at awesome weekend in Byron Bay, hanging out with Lilli, spying breaching whales off the Eastern most point off mainland Australia and narrowly avoiding a late night visit to Cheeky Monkeys. After a couple of weeks it was time to leave the tropics and head for Sydney where Todd was kind enough to put me up whilst I continued to search for jobs. 10 days later I decided I needed another hobby to amuse myself so took up surfing with a weekend's lessons with Ryan out of Manly beach; a long and crazy night out with the backpackers and the rediscovery of good (never again) made the Sunday's 9am surf lesson a rude awakening to say the least.

 

Back on the long and open road

Of course immediately after I found a new daytime hobby, I job found its way to me, just as I was enjoying a winning session watching the Melbourne Cup, though the $4 I won didn't even buy a schooner of beer. The next six weeks it was back to the desk job with the very occasional Sunday morning 30 mile ride down to La Perouse. I'd have ridden more but the 6am Sunday morning starts that suited the guys with young families didn't necessarily suit me, my first trip came after about an hour's sleep. After 6 weeks' work I'd gone through a couple of beards, a few nights on the town and piled back on a few of the pounds I'd lost in America. My contract took me up to a week before Christmas and with nothing better to do and a family half a world away, I could think of nothing better to do than load up and jump back on the bike. I targeted the Coopers, great family friends, 1000km along the coast in Melbourne, and based on my form in America I naively thought that'd be easy in a week. Of course I wanted to have a good send off from Sydney so the night before I left I headed out on the town with some of my new water polo team. I even deliberately went out in shorts trying to get an early night, but after missed train connection, wine in hands and teppanyaki the bar still let me in. half an hour later the night took an interesting turn as the Budweiser girls took a liking to us and in return for a $20 bucket of beers they ensured we won a $200 bar tab…

Of course, I never saw any...

So my 1^st tour in Australia didn't start so well, as I completely failed to meet my intended 8am departure and instead ended up of the train to Kiama at about 2:30pm! To be honest, that train ride may well have been the hardest miles of the trip and I felt a lot better when I jumped on the bike and headed 20km down the coast to Gerringong and fish & chips supper. I rolled the tent out for the first time in 2 months and just in time for the rains to start pouring down – didn't matter though, I was knackered and I slept like the dead.

NSW sunset 

In the morning, the rain was still pouring down, creating a small moat around the tin roofed camp kitchen. It was clear that I was the only one stupid enough to get up in this weather but I had a long day ahead and very few miles behind me so I wanted to get going. A tailwind must have been pushing me along as I cruised along the flat behind 7 mile beach and into Nowra for a coffee with Sigrid & Dom, a couple of Warmshowers hosts who'd offered to put me up but given the nature of my departure there was no chance of me making Nowra by nightfall. Sigrid & Dom's bike tales made my jaunt across America seem like a couple of laps round London's Richmond Park. They'd been all over, every holiday they took seemed to involve bikes and they'd covered tens of thousands of miles, all at their own pace. Their stories reminded me how great the bike is as a vehicle for exploring and experiencing places, the tales they told were really engaging and I found it hard to leave. Back on the road the rain was still pouring, it only stopped long enough for the clouds to part as I climbed a long hill and the local fly population took quite a liking to my sweaty face. Most of the day is spent rolling over hills, enclosed by the branches and the smells of forests of eucalyptus. The body's still suffering from the combination of Sydney partying and 2 months off the bike. Eventually I persuade myself to part with $5 for a small Gatorade (it was $3 for 2 litres in America) which sorts me out. After a short lunch at Ulladulla I roll on past small cove and beaches, each hidden over the brow of a hill, and into Bateman's Bay. Tonight I'm staying with friends in Denham beach with a grand view of the ocean from the back balcony. They searve up a feast of Eye Fillet Steak & Hollandaise sauce – might not be any sports nutrition books, but it damn should be! 95 miles today was tough, but tomorrow's going to be worse!

Bateman's Bay at the end of day 2, legs slowly returning

Single lane bridge on over Wallaga Lake day 3's long ride to Merimbula 

It's hard to leave in the morning, the rain's back with a vengeance and looks like it's set in for the day. Waiting for it to stop is useless so at 8:45 I roll out in my waterproofs along the coast road although the beach is obscured by more eucalypt forests. The weather breaks after 20km just as I ride up Deua river from the mouth into the town of Moruya – cruising past elegant black swan, the first I've ever seen. After Moruya, the road cuts inland and turns distinctly lumpy, nothing's very high but it's hill after hill in to the arty town of Bodalla for a sausage roll (Australia does make exceedingly good sausage rolls!). I roll on through Narooma, but don't see anything that takes my fancy for lunch, only when I'm a few miles down the road do I realise it's another 20 miles to the next town by which point I've done 68 miles! Despite plenty of wildlife signs on the road there's not a sign of anything edible as I turn off the highway for Wallunga Lake. A narrow road leads through coastal forest before sweeping down and over a single lane wooden bridge across the lake. Pelicans and black swan bathe in the rare sunshine as I continue across the lake on a causeway, then up and over Wallunga Heights with sweeping views of the ocean and down into Bergamui for another lunch of fish & chips by the harbour. Tonight's target is Meribula, another 45 miles down the very lumpy coast road, you certainly earn the spectacular ocean view here! With the road bucking up and down, it feels like Highway 1 on the west coast of California, but this time I've got 1 day's riding rather than 10 weeks behind me. Just as I'm thinking that a cocktail is the last thing I need, I stumble into Mimosa Rocks national Park with steep winding hills through dense forest growing on a sandstone outcrop. The scenery is fantastic but I don't get time to contemplate it as the road plummets into Tathra.

Over the Walaga Lake's bridge

I could have stopped here for the night, but I'm nothing if not stubborn and I'm determined to stick to the plan. I quickly refuel on ice cream and tackle the crazy steep hill out of town that from the bottom looks like a cliff face. At the top there's the option to drop down into the port, an option I decline and instead head on along the higher coast road. Approaching 100 miles the hills get worse and I find myself standing and pumping the legs up hill after hill of 10%+, maybe I should have sorted out my gears before I left! The downhills are crazy though and I hit a new touring record of 50.8mph down one of them, clearly I'm so tired I don't want to waste any speed by braking! Finally the road drops like a stone into Meribula and I find myself slamming on the brakes as I hit a 50kph zone at closer to 70kph. I find a hostel behind the beach and waste no time in locking up the bike and running for the ocean to wash off the day's salty sweat with salty ocean. It's exhilarating, and already a lot colder than Sydney. 112.7 miles and almost 8,000 ft of climbing for the day made this the 2^nd hardest day on the road since New York and certainly a triumph for mind over matter.

Merimbula's inviting beach after a long, hard day on the road

I wake up in the dorm I had to myself and can definitely feel the exertions of yesterday. Another quick dip in the ocean soothes some of the pain, or at least has me worrying about the cold water instead. From Merimbula the road hugs the coast (and bucks up and down) for a little longer until heading inland for a couple of days at Eden. I imagine Eden was very picturesque, but being down a steep hill, I decided to press on. After 25 miles I hit a truck stop at Kiah and, given the sign claims it's the last shop for 100km I decide to stop for 2^nd breakfast / early lunch all in one. A big, burly ex-trucker serves me a huge burger and proclaims that the steep hills are behind me!On I roll to the state border and plenty of photos by the state sign – a reminder of the US. The first town I came to in Victoria was Genoa, not at all like the Italian port and more like a mid-west ghost town. There was once a thriving town here with post office, restaurants, gas station… now all these were provided by the pub that was only just surviving. Arriving around 2pm, the pub was open but nobody was cooking so lunch was a coke and 2 packs of crisps. The bar lady was as surly as they come but was kind enough to show me to the water tank to refill my water bottles with collected rainwater – no chance of mains water out here! The ex-trucker may have been lying – after Genoa the road wound up and up through Mt Alfred National Park with gum forests enclosing the road all the way. Finally the road crested at Mt Drummer, all 360m of it (feet sound so much better!). The day ends at a $10 camp ground in Cann River. Run by the pub it gave me a good excuse for a cold beer after another hard day. Strolling along the river I even heard a Kangaroo – the closest I’d get on this trip. At around 8:30 the mozzies attacked so I dived into my tent to sleep off the ride; my legs were feeling stronger but my arse was now suffering, long slow hours in the saddle were beginning to take their toll.

Happy Christmas Victoria!

Cann River

A Taste of  France on the Victoria Coast

The princes highway continued its way inland through forests which were beginning to get a bit samey, after 30 miles or so I had the chance to duck off to the coast and took it, although in the end it added an extra 10 miles. It was a blessing to get away from the highway with its tight curves and huge trucks and the coast made it worth it. Cape Conran revealed miles of sweeping golden beaches backed by lush coastal forest. The road ran 50m inland, promising sights of wonderful wildlife but sadly they were all hiding from the midday sun. Frenches narrows just before Marlo were stunning lakes at the mouth of the river; viewpoints from the road gave a view along the coast from 50m above. A light tailwind heading up the river valley encouraged me to keep going and I felt I as flying at 20mph for the 10 miles into Orbost. The old East Gippsland railtrail heads out of Orbost and I tried to pick it up immediately but after a couple of miles it as beating me up so bad I jumped back onto the highway through to Tostaree then jumped back on the railtrail to Nowa Nowa. By now the trail was easier as it headed through head high grass, The breeze from my riding set off clouds of white butterflies then pushed my onwards. Old trestle bridges peppered the trail, sadly all no out of bounds meaning I had to plunge down gullies hard on the breaks and use all my gears to scramble up the other side. By the side of the trail I found a shy echidna who curled up in a ball on my arrival. I stopped long enough to see him crawl off into the forest at a pace akin to a tortoise. The day finished after another century at Bruthen, the promise of a Brewery I never found was too much, but instead I had to settle for the local pub filled with the bakery girls’ Christmas party. The party was going strong when I arrived at 6 and by 7 they were dancing on the tables. This might sound like a welcome sight to a lonely cyclist, but instead they scared the hell out of me and I quickly scurried back to the campground and instead chatted to some ex-truckers camped up for Christmas even though they only lived 15km away.

Cape Conran

Frenches Narrows

East Gippsland Rail Trail, sadly  he bridge was closed

An Echidna on the rail trail would be a new way to get a puncture

The next day I popped into the bakery for breakfast and as greeted by some world weary faces from the previous evening. Rolling out of town I spotted the brewery, 50m past where I turned around the previous evening, alas at 8am it was closed. After a couple of small climbs the land flattened out into diary plains, with the wind behind me I was flying along again. I take some backroads out of Stratford to be off the highway again and almost get lost amongst the cow fields but the blazing sun keeps me on track. By now my nose is crimson and my lips are puffed up from the fierce Australian sun which gets stronger the further south you go (lack of ozone), I’ve even bought an ultra-cool visor to try to shade my face. Eventually I climb out of dairy country and up past Yallorn North Brown coal mine, which is trying to rebrand itself as “clean” – it’s not and is a huge scar on the landscape. Victoria’s trying to build a new energy boom off this stuff in the image of WA & QLD, I have to hope they fail. A last stop at bogan paradise Lake Narracan – jetskis tearing up a stunning lake surrounded by forest. Overnight at the campground by the racetrack in Moe, 125km out from Melbourne the town seems to be dying a slow death everywhere except the racetrack and adjoining casino which are huge!

Lake Narracan, Bogan Paradise

Early start at 6am on Christmas eve, the winds behind me and I’m determined to cover the 80 miles to Melbourne as fast as possible. Other than the first 10 miles it’s 2-3 lane highway all the way, with narrow bridges and gradually increasing levels of traffic. 2^nd breakfast after 46 miles means it looks good for lunch in Melbourne. 3 lanes become 4 with lots of traffic lights as I approach the city and I’m eventually forced off the highway with 6km to go as bikes are banned from going further. On the back lanes I find that City girls don’t pack the same weight as country girls and Melbourne’s fashion for tight lycra is more than a little distracting. I finally roll into South Yarra, hot & very sweaty (too sweaty for a hug) at 1pm just in time for a well-earned lunch!

Celebrating Christmas Melbourne style!

After around 1,000km in a week, I feel I’ve got my cycling legs bag, though it was painful stuff earning them. I’ve also shed some of the “desk weight” and happily tuck into a huge Christmas lunch kindly put on by the Coopers. Stranded Brits came from all over to join the party and I spent Christmas day eating, drinking, jumping in the open air spa and dodging hailstorms as Melbourne’s famous weather finally gives out on me. Boxing Day at the MCG for the cricket rounds off an awesome 10 days and work again seems a million miles away, but it’s time to pack up the bike again and head north – next stop Brisbane and New Year on Moreton Island.