An accident in search of Bundaberg Turtles

My time away from the working world was again running out & I had booked a flight back to Sydney 3 days after Fraser Island to get back on the job hunt. The plan was to take a couple of days to cycle up past Bundaberg to Mon Repos to see the turtles laying eggs on the beach, then roll back to Bundaberg the next morning, pack up the bike and jump on a plane back to the real world. I’d even found a bike shop in Bundy and confirmed that they had a bike box for me.

Back through the Great Sandy National Park

With all that in mind I set off from Rainbow beach after a predictably boozy send off and 3 hours sleep. I agreed to race my room-mates to Bundaberg; they all thought I was mad. The rain started as soon as I ducked out for breakfast and after waiting out the torrential downpour, I started back through the Great Sandy National Park in a heavy drizzle, passing wild horses (or “Brumbies”) casually grazing on the roadside. I got a toot from one of the Fraser Island guides as he sped past me in his pick up but otherwise it was a pretty uneventful day spent trying to suppress the terrible feeling of tiredness I had after 4 nights of little sleep. I pressed on to Childers in the hope of getting most of the miles done today to give me more time on the coast. After almost 100 miles in persistent drizzle I was shattered, but I still had to find somewhere to stay in a backwater fruit picking town, full of backpackers that were pretty much on their way to bed by the time I arrived ready to start their shifts at 5am the next day. After setting up camp in the rain I had just about enough energy to roll back into town and grab dinner, but as soon as my head hit the fleece that does for my pillow I was fast asleep.

  With few miles to go I allowed myself a lie in and headed back into town at 8:45am. I decided to jump off the truck heavy Bruce Highway and take back roads through to Bundaberg. Again it was drizzling and quite cool so for once I had my waterproof jacket on top of my bib shorts & singlet. The narrow back roads wound through farmland and then took a straight line across a vast floodplain. Unfortunately I wasn't the only one who liked the idea of back roads and there was quite a bit of traffic to add to a few farm vehicles going about their daily grind.

Helmets are awesome - Smashed at the front & back!

After about 25 miles of riding, I was more than halfway to the coast and maybe 10 miles shy of Bundaberg. Standing water covered the road and passing cars were kicking up a reasonable amount of spray – nothing unusual though. On a long straight stretch of road I saw a big truck headed towards me kicking up more spray and despite the very light drizzle I was happy to have my waterproof on. I quickly realized that I’d meet the truck at a narrow cut where the road bridged a small culvert. After 7,500 miles of riding I could tell what vehicle was approaching from behind and how long it would take for the to reach me by the sound of their engine approaching. Hearing a car coming from behind, I instantly knew that,, unless the car slowed down, it would also meet me in the narrow cut at the same time as the lorry, and as there was barely room for two cars, there’d certainly not be enough room for a lorry a car and me on my bike. I didn’t fancy being forced off into the ditch and gravel of the culvert so as I’d done many times before, I moved about a foot & a half into the road well in advance of the bridge to show there was not enough space and force the driver behind to slow down and let the lorry pass before overtaking. 10 seconds later I reach the culvert and get hit from the front by spray coming off the lorry, no worries there, but all of a sudden I feel something push at my back wheel from behind and, although hardly able to grasp it, realize the car behind has run straight into the back of me. Next thing I know I’ve skidded to a stop on the tarmac and I’m instinctively scrambling off the tarmac onto the gravel verge. From the shock & adrenaline I’m able to quickly assess the situation; I’ve in little pain but some stinging from heavy grazes on the front of both knees, I don’t appear to have been knocked out but my attention is quickly drawn a gaping hole behind my right knee where the skin has been sliced open revealing the inside of the joint. Having just scrambled off the road, I ignore the little voice in my head telling me not to move and quickly bend both legs to check they still work, thankfully they do and I wait expectantly for blood to start spurting out from the wound. Fortunately it doesn’t and I lie back down as the first drivers arrive on the scene to see what I look like.

At least Trevor came off unscathed

I’m able to speak to the drivers lucidly, and simply stare disbelieving at the back of my knee as a couple call for an ambulance and another covers my head with an umbrella. There were quite a few cars following the truck so I quickly draw a small crowd. I’m able to dispatch people to find my most important belongings that have been scattered all over the road by the impact. I’m told my bike is smashed up but can’t see it. The driver who hit me comes over and apologises, he’s shaken up too and appears quite sketchy but there’s nothing that can be done now; however, I’ve no idea what he was doing to not see me on a long straight road and literally drive straight into the back of me. A teenage girl of about 15 is standing close to me staring with terrified wide eyes and open mouth, so the accident and/or injuries must have looked spectacular, feeling concerned, I reassure her that I’ll be ok.

I might need a new back wheel!

The ambulance takes an age to arrive, probably about 15 minutes, and they waste no time in questioning me on my condition plus name, day of the week, location etc.. They take a little longer getting me into a neck brace and onto a body board, but my body’s still numb to most of the pain. As I’m being put in the ambulance the police arrive so I’m able to give them a statement and arrange for some council workers who stopped to take my bike into Bundaberg so I can collect it later (the police refused to take private property), my various bags were thrown in with me. The paramedic cuts me out od my cycling gear – my Spokeasy jersey is no more – and starts his various checks. With all the rain, and little clothing, I was cold and the few blankets in the ambulance were not enough to warm me up. As we approach the hospital I quiz the paramedic on my condition to check I'm likely to survive this one – my blood pressure is ok, there’s no visible damage to the interior of the knee (tendons, bones, blood vessels) and no signs of internal bleeding. To top it all, My heart rate’s down at 67 bpm, so all this cycling must be doing something for my fitness.

Into A&E I spend the next couple of hours staring at the ceiling with medics busying themselves around me. I get a spinal check including having to squeeze the doctor’s finger as it’s poked up my behind. The grazes on my knees are worse than I’d notices, there are some deep gashes about 5-10mm deep from gravel and they’re full of dirt so I’m put on an antibiotic drip and given some local anesthetic as the doctors try to scrape off the worst of it, but I’ll still need to go to theatre for a thorough clean up and stitching of my right knee. Eventually I’m rolled off to x-ray where a grumpy but funny American guy contorts my body in several awkward positions to take over 10 pictures which fortunately come back clear so shortly after I’m taken off the backboard and able to sit up and observe my surroundings. I realize that I must be ok as my thoughts stray from my injuries to whether there might be any cute nurses that might look after me!

Just a small graze on my left knee - you should have what the road looked like after!

After a couple of hours I‘m taken up to theatre where I turn down the offer on general anaesthetic and instead take the lower body epidural  to be administers by a “small” needle. As I’ll lose control of my lower body for a few hours it’s suggested I take a pee before I go in; I’m unable to pee sitting down so struggle to my feet for the first time since the collision creating a wave of pain and a few drops of blood on the hospital floor. Lucky I did though, I pass about a litre which would not have been pleasant later on.

Arriving in theatre I create a bit of panic as I almost pass out as they sit me up to give me the epidural (I’d not eaten or drunk since 9am and it was now around 4pm); some happy gas (oxygen I presume) and a glucose drip sort me out and the start injecting my back with anaesthetic ready for the “small” epidural needle. When it come’s it’s like a rod being forced into my spine and I’m convinced it left more of a bruise than most of the injuries from the accident. The epidural does a good job numbing my left leg, but my right leg, the one with the gaping hole in it, retains its feeling. After a protracted wait, they go with some extra local anesthetic so I can still fee them scraping around behind the curtain set up at my waist.

Still winning despite the injuries!

Soon enough everything’s stitched up and bandaged so the major drama is over. I’m wheeled out onto the ward and get my own TV, but predictably for Australia, nothing’s on. The nurses help me gather my stuff and I’m able to check through it for the first time and am reassured that everything important is there, including my phone, so I’m able to phone home to present them with the situation now that everything is ok. I’m still hooked up to a drip and repeatedly block the flow my moving my arm, sufficiently so for the nurse to show me how to restart it myself. I’ve also got a fancy bed that be angled all over the place, but curiously it appear to occasionally vibrate without warning. This happens a few times before I realize that it’s not the bed at all, it’s me farting, just I can’t feel enough around my backside to tell!

My Queensland Shark Bite!

My jacket must have helped me slide across the road...

The night was a little rough; dull pain all over my body meant that I could never get comfortable and hardly slept. In the morning I’m able to get up and walk around gingerly and start sorting through my stuff. Looking at the damage to various pieces of kit, I’m able to reconstruct what happened immediately after I was hit. The car hit my back wheel, smashing the rim into 5 pieces (this I found out later), tore the rear rack to pieces and sent my bags flying everywhere, but only irreparably damaging the bar bag. My helmet was smashed at the front and the back, suggesting I was thrown back into the windshield (apparently smashing it I later found out) and then either forward or over the top, hitting the front of my head on the road and obtaining a few grazes to my face. In addition to the cuts on my knees, I had a grazed hip, cut elbows and possibly a cracked or bruised rib; my jacket was shredded on the back and had holes at both wrists and elbows, lucky I was wearing it… Al this suggests that after I hit the tarmac I must have bounced, rolled and skidded to a halt on the road and effectively put on quite a show for anybody watching.

I had to dress my wounds every day or so, not exactly a chore I relished!

In the early afternoon I was released from hospital just in time to miss my flight so I checked into a motel right opposite the bike shop. The council guys kindly dropped my bike off that afternoon and I was able to take it straight into the shop to get an assessment of the damage. The back wheel was obviously smashed to pieces and the rack was no more. Additionally the front wheel was bent beyond repair, bit remarkably the Reynolds steel frame and other components had survived; turns out I really bought a hardcore touring bike. Several weeks later I would get the wheels rebuilt around the same hubs, replace the rack and ride off again along the Great Ocean Road. As for the turtles, stubborn as ever, I refused to be defeated and managed to talk my way onto the tour the next night. In significant pain I hobbled he mile into town in about 40 minutes and caught a bus to the coast on another wet and cold evening. At the Mon Repos turtle reserve I was welcomed as the guy who got hit by a car and settled down to wait for the action to start. A false alarm at around 11pm was followed by a long wait, so long I eventually fell asleep and waking with a start I managed to find out my group was on the beach and fortunately I was just about able to quickly hobble down to join them. What followed was definitely worth the effort – The turtle we were viewing was followed up the beach by 4 others within 50m of shoreline, all laying large clusters of eggs – 2 of them in locations where we had to relocate them. After laying, our turtle looked even more tired than me and took a nap on the beach. By this point I was really fading and fortunately the ranger hurried the turtle back to the ocean and I was able to make it back to the motel for about 4am, fortunately I was so tired I had no problems at all sleeping.

A leatherback turtle laying eggs at Mon Repos Sanctuary - made it all worthwhile

Fortunately, I came out of the accident none the worse except for some pretty impressive scars around my knees. I had the stitches out 10 days later, but the gashes on my left knee took 4 weeks to fill in and heal up and several months later I still have a funny looking knee and a scar that I’m claiming to be a shark bite I collected surfing in Australia. I was able to find some work almost as soon as I returned to Sydney and was moved across to Melbourne where I was able to get back in the pool and playing water polo as soon as the knee healed over. Shortly after I got the bike fixed up and started riding again, capping it all off with a 3 day ride down the Great Ocean Road to prove I was fully back. Looking back, I was certainly lucky, but the helmet probably saved me, so more than ever I’m an advocate for cyclists wearing helmets. As for drivers who drive straight into the back of cyclists on long straight roads, Ill leave you to imagine what I think of them!

Instead of doing all this cycling simply for fun I'm also raising money for the North Staffs Adventure Playground where my handicapped sister used to attend. They continue to do great work with handicapped and special needs kids and adults in the local area and woulld really benefit from any donations. Thanks to all those who have already sponsored me and contributed to the North Staffs Adventure Playground - I'm hoping to hit 1000 pounds so please donate using the following link:

http://www.justgiving.com/BigRedOnABike

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.

A short ride to the Bay of Islands, NZ

Auckland – Mangawhai Heads – Whangarei – Kerikeri - Paihia


Arriving in New Zealand, the plan was to catch up with friends, watch some rugby, drink some beer and put my feet up for 10 days or so after an exhausting 3 months in America. The last time I watched England at a world cup was in 2003 and we went on to win it, so the omens were good. It all started so well; England scraped a last minute win against Scotland (waiting to peak at the right time); My amazing hosts, Cat & Emily, threw us an amazing party even if most of them did dress as scots for the big game. I caught up with old friends now settled back in New Zealand and even squeezed in a winning return to water polo in the Auckland social leagues. The one thing I'd failed to do was put my feet up and rest, but to be honest I felt pretty good and was itching to get back on the bike.

Cat & Dave, dangerous Irish hosts!

After 77 minutes of biting my nails, England finally scored a try to defeat Scotland!

What I hadn't factored in was that normal people go to work Monday to Friday, and come Monday morning there was nobody left to play with, so instead I jumped on my bike and headed north. Unfortunately to head north, I first had to head west, the only viable way out of the city on a bike. A storm was brewing but fortunately the wind was at my back and it drove me out of the city as if it didn't want anything to do with me anymore. Unfortunately later in the day, I'd have to turn back eastwards to reach the coast north of Auckland and the wind would get its own back on me. Having ridden across North America, a short 96 mile ride to Mangawai Heads should have been no problem at all. However, New Zealand through weather at me worse than any I'd ever seen in America, driving rains, blustery winds, blowing me and my 45kg loaded bike all over the road. Descents became pretty hazardous as the rain impaired my vision and swept across the road and the wind blew my line all over the place. Waterproofs were useless, the rain found its way through in no time. And in all this I got a puncture (the first for 1,000 miles) and then another, and another still. By the time I arrived at Mangawhai Heads I was almost white with exposure and my host had started worrying if I'd ever show (I'd have called if it wasn't too wet to use my phone and too cold to stop). Emily's Mum gave me a bed a great feed in Mangawai, conversation was so good that she even managed to stop me rushing off in the morning and instead we headed out for a walk along the beach, meeting all the locals as we went. Mangawhai was stunning; the waves looked very inviting, though I suspect they would have also been a little cold!

Longview Estate Vineyard

When I finally got on the road it was fortunately the calm after the storm and the coast road north out of town was gorgeous, back on the highway the ride was uneventful, with a short stop at the Longview Estate Vineyard just south of Whangerei. Unfortunately wine tasting wasn't enough and I ended up carry a bottle of wine for the rest of my NZ ride! Into Whangerei I found a great camping spot in the park and headed up to explore Whangerei falls, a beautiful little spot of course at the top of a nice hill! Unfortunately not much happens in Whangerei on a weeknight so there was no more partying for me.

Up and over the hills to the Bay Of Islands

 The next day was a change to ride along the coast to the Bay of Islands – hill after sweeping hill revealed views of little coves and rolling waves as the coast road hugged the shore. Definitely worth the detour off the main highway. I finally came in view of the Bay of Islands and caught the short ferry ride across to Opua followed by a stiff climb out of the port. My destination for tonight was just outside KeriKeri at the B&B next door to a house my sister still owns from her time spent here, but the main road seemed the easy option, so instead I headed past the Waitangi monument and off onto forest tracks north of Paihia. The forest was awesome, full of tree ferns, but the tracks were not the best, both me and the bike took quite a battering in the 10 miles it took to get out the other side and I looked like I'd been for a mud shower when I finally turned up at the B&B. My hosts were fantastic, and I heard a great many stories from around the world, and gained great insight into the value of New Zealand milk – the land of the most productive pasture in the world! I even got a trip by car to see more of the coast the next morning, sadly the weather didn't oblige and mist shrouded the views.

The sun even came out for the day along the coast into Russel

Happy Days with the sun in the sky and smooth tarmac under my wheels

Descending into the Bay of Island

My hosts Tom & Audrey in Kerikeri

There was still time for me to fit in the short ride to Paihia, a kayak around the Bay of Islands and a night at a quiet hostel before jumping on the bus back to Auckland. After 300 miles or so I'd at least worked of some of the previous weekend's excess and felt ready to go again, sadly England didn't perform in the rugby and me life as a good luck charm was over. My final days in NZ were spent either dressed as an 80s rockstar or catching glorious Snapper in the bay. Next stop Australia and, after 3 and half months, I'll be trying to get back into the working world!

Winning in the rockstar look at Jon Bon Jovi singstar house party

Greg too me fishing in the bay and caught a snapper

Dinner was fresh Snapper