Hello, my name is Mr. Mantis.
Today we are going to learn about [‘chhuupp’ (the wall sized world map is pulled down from the ceiling) ‘thwap…thwapp… thwappp (after letting a third of the map back into the case he’s got it to stay down) (Reaching for his pointer stick) ‘Donk’ (the end of the pointer misses it target by about 3000miles,) ‘shhhuuuckk’ (Mr Mantis draws his pointer west across the Indian Ocean)] AUSTRALIA!
Are you aware that Australia, as it is in the Southern hemisphere, has the opposite seasons to us here in the northern hemisphere? So when it is winter here, it’s summer over there. Raise your hand if you think that means that in February Australia should be at the peak of their hot season, as in shorts during the day and sleeping in the nude at night. [Everyone raises their hands], I thought the same thing, and it seems like that is the way it should be, but…sit back and relax, let me tell you a story…
Riding into the, ‘blink and you’ll miss it’, town of Bonang we are rubber legged and ready to quit. We’ve already ridden 95km, all of which have been uphill and it’s approaching 5pm. Ultimately we’d wanted to get a bit further as we’ve only got another 150km before reaching our final destination of Pambula and we figure if we could do 120km today we’d get there tomorrow otherwise it will probably take us two days to get home. ‘Umming’ and ‘Awwing’ for a few minutes we decide to call it quits, we are both pooped plus I’m on my 8th advil for the day and it is starting to wear off.
Cresting the towns only hill we are instantly drop jawed and bug eyed, not at the stunning lush iridescent green farmland but by the enormous plums of black smoke billowing endlessly into the heavens. “H-F-S” I say out loud.
Mantis: “Good heavens, what have we here; be that Satins lair on yonder hill side?”
Rachael: “I think that is a bush fire Mantis!”
Mantis: “Should we G-T-F out of here!”
(Medieval travellers as we are, we’ve got no cell phone and Bonang’s got no pay phone plus there are no houses around except the single one across the street and we just watched the whole family jump into their car and speed off.)
Mantis: “Think they were evacuating?”
Rachael: “Umm.”
Mantis: “Don’t you think they’d have bothered to at least screamed out the window, ‘peddle for you lives stinky hippies’ on their way by if it really was a bush fire?”
Aside from the billowing black plums we’re also freaked out a bit as just the day before we’d peddled through 30km of bush that had been torched just weeks prior, where fire fighters were still quelling hot spot smouldering stumps and flair ups. And we’d been told that all burned without warning in a matter of hours. (Sheizer! Get me a Redbull and Nintendo, this real life shit is dangerous, Where’s my Wee-Fit bicycle.)
The only way to figure this out is to flag down the next car and ask.
Standing by the road for ten minutes, watching the forest burn, no one drives by. Then there are three cars in a row. To the last car, which happens to be a Forest Service vehicle, I practice my best Crossing Guard, holding my arm out straight, hand perpendicular, ‘You! Stop! Now!’ Looking at me like I’m special they both wave back, then picking up what I’m laying down, the driver slams on the brakes.
Smiling and in matching one piece orange fire retardant jump suits, they salute, “G-day, what’s up?”
Turns out it is a ‘Fuel Reduction Burn’, they assure us it is totally under control and will be completely out in a few hours.
Thanks orange rangers!
On with the business at hand.
Scouting for a good flat chunk of grass to call home for the night our eyes fall upon the town meeting hall. And for obvious reason they land there as when I said, ‘blink and you’d miss it’, I really meant it, Bonang’s only got this one building; no other shops, go gas station, no nothing, just one building with a couple bathrooms off the side. The grass is flat, there’s a water tap, and we could camp behind the building where we aren’t visible from the road and conviently the place is locked up and empty. Looks perfect, so we pull around back, drop our bikes and within seconds it looks like there’s been a bi-cycle (get it) pile up. The lawn is strewn about with helmets, gloves, shorts, shirts, sleeping bags, food bags, a tent, 6 brightly colored cycle bags, another 6 water bottles, therma rests, a stove, flip flops, a coffee peculator, maps, books, towels plus two semi conscious bodies napping in the sun.
Just as we begin to dose off, ‘cruuunnch’, a car pulls into the gravel parking lot out front. Though we are completely hidden we figure we should walk around and exchange pleasantries before they stumble on what probably looks like a cross between the end of a cheap strip show and pirate thieves diving up their latest booty.
“O, Hello”, jumps the startled lady as we come around the corner. Explaining ourselves, she happens to be the one in charge of the building and assures us it is fine to sleep out back and if we want we are welcome to set up our tent inside and use the kitchen.
We decline, but stand around and chat a while as she’s extremely friendly, reminding us a lot of a good friend back home, Gail, which in itself isn’t odd but just a few hours earlier we’d passed a cyclist who looked exactly like Gail’s husband Brackley, humm, maybe everyone does have a double out there somewhere. (What’s my double up to?) From Gail we learn a lot including the towns history; prosperous farming community until the past droughts which put many farmers out of business, forced to sell cheap the land was snatched up by greedy Corporate Pine Plantations. This has brought the towns population way down, in fact Bonang has just joined schools with the neighbouring town to form a school k-7 with a total of 16 students; not many friends to choose from. Gail is one of two teachers and also the town bus driver. How interesting, thanks Gail. Nice to meet you!
After a water bottle wash up, some pesto and fresh noodles for dinner and a walk down the road to check on the blaze it’s off to bed.
Wearing all my cloths including wool socks, inside a sleeping bag with the drawstring around my face, so only my nose is sticking out, and another drawstring around my neck I’m still freezing all night long. Hello, I’m supposed to be sleeping in my birthday suit not a down mummy sleeping bag.
Zzzzzttt, Zzzzttt; 6:30am the alarm buzzes, relieved the miserable night is over I slap the silence button and we both clamber out of our sacks emerging from our tent into a world of icy white; not snow but not far from it, we are in a cloud so thick our movements are restricted almost as if we are under water. Not only that but it is even colder outside then it was in; we pull on our rain gear, biking gloves and I even put on my helmet over my plastic hood for extra warmth. Collapsing the aluminium tent polls with sopping wet hands feels like I’m putting my hands into a bucket of dry ice.
Anxious to get some blood flowing and hopefully bring our temps up we divy up the pirate booty, chomp down a PBnJ and jump on our steeds. Faster then you can say “why the F is it so damn cold, I thought Australia was warm in the summer” we start to warm up, that is except for our feet which are almost numb and our hands, ‘hands’ I couldn’t have even told you I had any. On the verge of tears, my fingers turning white, we pull over. Wishing we just had gloves I figure there must be something in our booty that will suffice. Hum…White bread? Probably warm if I jabbed one hand in the bag but then my other would still be freezing, we wouldn’t have any lunch and I’ll probably crash. Bike tube? No. Patch kit? Nope. Apple? Nah. Sleeping bag? Warm but probably more dangerous then white bread. Ah-Ha I’ve got it; my two pairs of dirty underpants. Tightly wrapping them around my hands I look like Edward Under-hands. Rachael having already solved her cold digit delema with an extra pair of socks, we jump back on our bikes. Not bad actually, 7 day old sweaty ball underpants work ok for keeping your hands from falling off, shit maybe I could patent this.
We pass a possie of high school kids waiting for their hour and a half bus ride to school.
Mantis: “Is this abnormally cold for February?”
Kids: “Nap.”
Rachael: “I’ve got socks on my hands its so cold.”
Mantis: “And I’ve got dirty underpants.”
Kids: Bewildered, crack up laughing.
Still in the icy cloud, drafting Rachael along a flat gravel road it quickly becomes apparent why no one else has previously patented Edward Under-hands. Coming into a corner Rachael slows down; in my numb state I had failed to notice that basically thumbless with Under-hands I can’t operate my breaks, ‘F’. I’m slightly to her left and with only a few inches between our wheels I’m kind of trapped. I can ride off the road, down an embankment and into a cluster of trees below, most likely breaking my neck, I can stay on course and crash into Rachael, probably taking us both out or I can veer right hoping my front tire doesn’t collide with her back one. Ehh…Our tires rub hard and I start to loose my balance, as I throw my small mass ass left Rachael happens to take a hard pedal and pulls away from me, wildly swerving out into the road I manage to stay afloat, ‘S’. Down with Edward Under-Hands! I’d rather be cold and in pain.
Pretty quickly the sun revels itself, burns off the cloud and we are in the midst of the most gorgeous day of our trip. It’s hot, hot, hot, there are no clouds and we’re peddling through splendid forest and field. Only taking quick food stops and a few moments to gauck at my first wild Emu’s we pedal, pedal, pedal and by 5:00pm, after an incredible day of riding and 150km we’re pulling onto Rachael’s families road.
Arriving a day early we’re expecting to surprise but alas as we’ve pulled this stunt on so many occasions they are actually expecting us. The table is already set for 5 and there’s even a welcome home cake in the oven.
Home at last!!
So…there you have it. February or not, unless you were born with a seriously thick woolly birthday suit, remember to bring some warm gear Down-Under.
Love US
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