Good-En-Tag!
First up, thank you to everyone who writes back, it really make it feel like our suffering days are for the collective good; if there was no one laughing at my pain what would be the point of me suffering, I might as well be at home watching TV or playing Nintendo, it would certainly be a lot safer and easier. Also it is nice to know you enjoy reading nonsense.
[o yes, on a side not, may claimed they did not receive my first story, check you junk mail, I’ll include it at the bottom of this one if you are interested]
On with it Mantis!
The deserted 25km of switchback infested downhill was rewarding payback for the mornings climb through thick forest. Cruising into town and in need of a water bottle top off we swing into Whitfield’s only general store. One of those that have enough space for an indoor roller-rink yet only has one fridge, one shelf of non-perishable goods and a few coffee tables. Despite the obvious struggle to survive the proprietor is cheerful and chatty. In between rinsing the dried up juice mould out of our crusty water bottles for us, she questions, “heard the forecast?” “No,” we reply. “Ohh, 2 inches of rain predicted for tonight, likely flash floods and dangerously high winds.” “Thanks for the heads up, doesn’t sound like optimal camping conditions does it.” “Certainly doesn’t, make sure not to camp near a low lying stream or trees that might blow down.” “Thanks!”
Downing my 8th Advil for the day; it is our first day back on the bikes since having to give up a few days previous. I still really shouldn’t be peddling, and I’ve still no clue as to what’s happened to my achillis or why the shooting pain but it doesn’t seem to be anything handfuls for pain killer can’t get me through so we’re peddling on. We’ve already done 70km and I feel about ready to quite but seeing as there’s all this rain on its way we figure we really need to get this upcoming dirt road over with before it bogs out and becomes unrideable tomorrow. That means another 50km, shit. It’s a good thing I’m an idiot or I’d probably get on a bus.
At first inspection the dirt road appears good, maybe even first class dirt, how lucky we are. But then, of course, a km in it changes to poor and the rather rapidly to piss poor. It’s absurdly steep uphill and we are no longer really riding on what could be classified as dirt, it is more 10 million years of sedimentary rock layers have been rotated from horizontal to vertical and then a grader has attempted to scrape them over into something resembling smooth; didn’t work so hot. But then as we are the luckiest people I know I assume it’s not gunna stay like this for ever and so after breathing in our fair share of vehicular dust bombs (the kind where you hold your breath as long as you can but then are eventually force to draw in a lungful; holding on hand over your face, as if this really accomplishes a thing, you think ‘nose or mouth? which is going to do my lungs the worst harm’ testing our your noses cilia you take a deep, though even after only breathing in through you nose your mouth teeth and tong are caked in crunch grit) the hill crests, the vertical sedimentary rock gives way to an acceptably decent gravel surface and we’ve got 7 or 8 km of coasty downhill, parallel a rushing river, past gorgeous lush green farms of every variety from grazing cows, sheep, llamas, emus and camels to walnut, chestnut and hops farms to vineyards and apple orchards, (anyone want to go in a be an Australian farmer with us?)
Finally at 5:30pm after 116km and 7 hours in the saddle the gravel turns to pavements and we snag the first available semi flat patch of earth to set up camp.
“Don’t you think this end of the tent looks like it’s gunna be in the huge puddle if we get those two inches of rain?” Rachael questions. “Nope, not really, looks like the water will flow right past to me.” Mantis replies.
And rain it did, falling all night so intensely it was difficult to get any sleep. Waking for the 10th time, as the rain droplets got so huge they were forcing themselves though our fly, to the feeling of miniscule water droplets moistening my face, I notice something odd. (Sleeping on a therma-rest for anyone over 6 feet is a trade off, do you want your head or feet off the end? I personally always go feet but as I only sleep on my back sometimes my heels get sore when we are camped on gravel.) Falling asleep my heals were going numb but now they feels as though they’re on a gorgeous bed of grass. Wiggle, wiggle, wait a minute, feels more like a…unnnnzippp, click goes the headlamp, that’s not grass it’s 3 inches of water. [One point for Rachael.] Amazingly the bottom of the tent is so waterproof it spends the whole night acting like a life raft and keeps us totally dry.
Packing up in the rain and riding in it for 5 hours has a few trying moments, but mostly it’s downright stupidly fun. We’re having more fun then anyone else we see all day, including other travellers dry in their monster 4x4 pop up campers. They tell us how the rain sucks and there is nothing to do when it is raining. We just step back out into the deluge, hope on our bikes spraying and endless stream of rear wheel rooster tails and laughing.
Love Rachael and Mantis
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The Last Story if you didn’t get it first time:
Lying here on bed rest, under a nurses watchful eye I now have a far greater appreciation for the often-quoted phrase, ‘careful what you wish for!’
As a warm up to our Indian tour we’ve first dropped anchor here in Australia where we’re spinning our legs from Melbourne, a 1000km or so over the Great Dividing Range to Rachael’s home town of Pambula.
Since draining the pipes, turning the thermostat down to 48 degrees F and bidding NH’s winter good-bye I’ve been keen to inform of our progress but every night I go to lift my pen it just feels to heavy. This I’m attributing to the fact that the trip is progressing to smoothly, I’ve nothing worthy to scribble.
Sadly the flight over was simple, one may have even called it relaxing. Lucking out with exit row seats and evading the expected $400 excess bike charge plus popping two sleeping pills and an equivalent number of G-N-T’s I awoke refreshed in a foreign land.
Frustrating it was that the Melbourne logistics meshed like well oiled gears. We avoided customs inspection with a few strategically timed smiles. On top of that Ben and Janel, Rachael’s cousin and his wife were waiting at the airport with two vehicles to whisk us and our 200lbs or so of gear away to their apartment where we were able to relax among friends for a day and a half; virtually eliminating jet lag.
Worst of all, our first three days of riding and camping went off with out a hitch and were actually rather enjoyable.
Day one: Rode on a converted train rail trail through gorgeous farm land with out passing a single car all day.
Day two: Rode through a specular National Park over a 1000m spur. The riding was tough but there were 6-foot diameter trees everywhere you looked to take our minds off the climb. We had the road virtually to ourselves save the few hundred motorcyclists who used the twisty switchbacks for racing practice and the poor bloke who came into a corner too fast, sliding off the road down a drop and into a stump, that will him to slow down.
Day three: Peddled through flat luscious green farmland, found another rail trail, ate ripe apples off branches overhanging the road and had the sun and wind at our backs all day.
Day 4 and 5: Relaxed with Beck and Grant, Rachael’s sister and her boyfriend at his parents home atop a knoll surrounded by specular farms, pristine water ways, king parrots, happy cows and an infinity pool.
Inconveniently I have no motivation to write when travels are going so smooth.
"I WISH I HAD SOMETHING TO WRITE ABOUT!"
Day 6: We’re ready to cast off from our luxury post and get back on the road. But the pain in my achillies that’s been nagging for the past few days all of a sudden rapidly escalates and by km 7 I can go no further. If not for the fact that Beck was riding with us for the day I’d surely have thrown a tantrum but in trying to project and air of self control I simply declared, ‘I'm f-ed and can go no further,’ hobbling off the road I gently place my wheels in the grass and await rescue.
Shit, now i have something to write about!
Gazing out to the distant luscious green farm covered hills I’m back at the pool in my banana lounge icing my achellies under the watchful eye of nurse Rachael. Longing again to be 18 and invincible I reach for my now not so cumbersome pen.
