Brizvegas, borderlands and big hills!

Well my friends, I made it to Brisbane! And ticked over 1000 solo kilometres today, so have crossed a couple of big milestones today. Time to relax (not that that's really a change), restock my energies and start plotting where to next. I've covered a fair bit of ground, geographically, symbolically and mentally since my last post.

As is becoming habit, I'll give it to you in a nutshell (macadamia nutshell to be specific) first:

26/5 Sawtell-forest near Grafton (~69km)

27/5 Forest near Grafton to Woody Head (north of Iluka) (~95 km)

28/5 Rest day at Woody Head

29/5 Woody Head to Broadwater (~61km)

30/5 Broadwater to Byron Bay (~57km)

31/5-1/6 Rest in Byron

2/6 Byron to Chillingham (~67km)

3/6 Chillingham to Ashmore- crossing the Qld border via Natural Bridge

4/6 Ashmore to Mt Tamborine (Hell Climb) (~40km)

5/6 Mt Tamborine to Beenleigh and train into Brisban (~30km)

Crossing the border was a day of contrasts, and got me pondering borders, lines and mountain ranges. Getting over it meant my biggest, steepest climb up to that point, culminating in a 25% slope, which I confess reduced me to pushing a stage of it. Looking back into NSW, I felt a sudden stab of affection for my home state. Having mostly thought of my travels as being in my home country, it wasn't until then that I had an awareness of moving further and further from home. All of a sudden I am putting mountain ranges and borders behind me, and looking down into the rain-veiled hills of NSW I realised I didn't know when I would be back.

I've never really placed much importance on borders- a political construct, a line on a map. In Australia, they seem particularly arbitrary, where you really can imagine that someone had fun with a pencil and ruler, with the occasional reluctant squiggly line as a head nod to geography. It sometimes seems that state borders mean nothing more than different coloured number plates, slightly different road signs, different words for individual serves of fruit juice, and varying incarnations of the same poorly written newspapers. Yet I think there are deeper differences, albeit subtle, difficult to put your finger on. Like you're viewing the same country from a slightly different angle, or you've woken up in the same house and someone has shifted all the furniture a foot sideways. Which must sound incredibly dull to a European, used to taking a step and speaking a different language, seeing the world in a different way. But my point is, maybe our borders do mean more than I've generally thought.

Maybe it has as much to do with geography as anything, with the weather and topography carving slight but inevitable differences in our psyches. Of all the state borders I've crossed, I think this has been my favourite, because it was actually based on something real-the Border Ranges. Perhaps even more so than the River Murray, which looks more or less the same on both sides. The first people I talked to in Queensland (4km in at the Natural Bridge National Park) spoke of the (rainy) weather leaking through from NSW, as if affronted by such an inferior import sneaking over the border. And despite initial cold and rain (the bits that leaked over the range) it was true- I rode from rainy NSW to sunny Queensland.

I also felt changed by the crossing. From doubtful and trepidatious at the bottom, with warnings of steepness from a local I spoke to ringing in my ears, and intimidated by the new knowledge that this climb is 'part of the international training circuit' (way out of my league, right?), to invigorated, confident and with renewed belief in infinite possibilities after breakfast on the border. After that I went singing down the green rainbow filled valley, and felt I could be the only person in the world. I then celebrated with a relaxed stop at Natural Bridge national park. Oh Rainforest. The newness of my surroundings was confirmed by immediately seeing two new (for me) bird species- logrunner and emeral dove.

The next day, lulled by my border exploits into a false confidence in my hill capabilities, I decided to tackle Mt Tamborine for good dose of rainforest before heading into Brisbane. A few people had commented on the steepness of the climb, but that happens for every hill and you get so used to people telling you you're crazy that you just stop listening after a while. Well, already not in the best of spirits after taking 2 hours to shake off Gold Coast roads and traffic, with their creepy sterile new retirement villages stretching into infinity, I realised at the sight of my first 'Very steep climb ahead' sign that I may have been about to get more than I bargained for. My not-so-fresh legs burned, protested and faltered early on. If I hadn't already come up and down a steep 1km climb I may well have retreated, back to a flat highway, a train, anything... But onwards I reluctantly went. After various tactics, including walking, pushing, pulling and looking forlornly at passing utes with empty trays (perhaps I could feign mechanical failure for a lift?) I settled on 100 pedals, stop for 10 breaths, 100 pedals and so on... inching my way up the mountain. Gone was any previous effort of putting on a smile for passing traffic (gotto keep up the image of cycle touring)-this was painful and I didn't care who saw my grimaces. I fell to my usual tactic of hiding my grumpiness in food- budget for the day be damned. When I found a bakery I ate cake, a nut stand, I ate nuts and when after 3 long hours I found a fudge shop at the top, oh boy did I eat fudge.

So yes, some days are hard. Some days my body sings along and I just don't want to get off the bike, but days like yesterday I drag my muscles kicking and screaming, 'just a little further'. It's a continuum, and luckily most of my days have been towards the happier end. But perhaps it is only on the other end that I can learn certain things about my own nature, power and potential. But I'm in no hurry to repeat it.

I am aware there is a bunch of ground I haven't really covered in my writings, focussing more on these dramatic Queensland hills. Well, I can't give all my stories away for nothing, but here is a grab bag for you:

In the past couple of weeks I have ridden long stretches of expansively flat river delta roads. I have wondered whether I am that character from a Douglas Adams book who is a rain god without knowing it, eventually realising when I saw a weather report that it wasn't just me, it seemed to be raining everywhere. I have been stung by a bee on the foot moments after pondering the deliciousness of walking barefoot, and moments before watching the full moon rise dripping honey into the sea. I have ridden through sugar cane and banana country and partaken in local delights from roadside stalls, that in some areas seem to be outside every second house (how wonderful that they survive here,where in other areas they have become uneconomical, mainly I believe due to repeated thefts- are these more honest roads or are these volcanic soils just more drippingly fertile, producing surpluses to be shared?). I have enjoyed brief interludes with friends- Tony and Tim from my Otesha travels, dear Jen from Sydney, who came to 'visit' my moving home en route back from Qld. I have been willingly waylaid in Byron Bay for a few days, seduced by a cuddly poodle, a very comfortable bed and good company. I have fallen deeply into Love in the Time of Cholera, gobbling down pages in rests by the roadside (and feel I may never have made it up Mt Tamborine if I hadn't been buoyed by the love finally being requited after 80 long years that felt like it). I have slept on the verandah of a lovely village community centre, feeling at home surrounded by community gardens and environmental education signs. And I have eaten a lot of bananas (perhaps my next song will be an ode to the banana, or to porridge, I can't decide...)

Almost always going in the right direction and other adventures

Well, I feel almost like I haven't earned another entry, this past week has been so luxurious and restful. But I guess that's part of my point in travelling 'slowly and curiously'- that cycle touring doesn't have to be a macho, sweating, strenuous leg-pumping rush, but can actually be a really lovely holiday. I've also been making the most out of a string of contacts along this beautiful stretch of coast, as I know that the further I get from home the less frequent will be the familiar faces offering warm beds.

So, here is my week in a nutshell:
Wed 19th- cycled ~85 km from Port Macquarie to South-West Rocks (the last 40km flat as a pancake!)
Thurs 20th- exploration day in SW Rocks
Fri 21st- Cycled ~40km to Grassy Head
Sat 22nd- Cycled almost 80 km to Bellingen (with an involuntary detour and double-back via Bowraville)
Sun 23rd- rest day in Bellingen
Mon 24th- Rest and exploration day in Bellingen with my lovely cousin Kate
Tues 25th- Cycled ~30km to Sawtell to stay with the lovely Arthurs, friends of Mum and Dad, and their three crazy beagles.

It's interesting, living without deadlines, that I still seem to be good at creating things to rush for. Ferries with limited timetables, or a chosen destination for the day, with accidental sleep-ins and delays thrown in meaning that it ends up being a squeeze to get there in daylight... Has this been my way of living for so long that I can't help creating deadlines for myself? Or is it a necessary way of keeping momentum and motivation? I think it might be a little of both...

I did find myself involuntarily racing the sun on Saturday when after some energetic hill climbing on my chosen back-road to Bellingen I discovered that the rest of the road was actually non-existent, having been blocked by landslides about a year ago- the sort of information you just don't get from a wiggly line on a map. Fellow cycle-touring friends, Mel and Be, have the maxim 'you're always going in the right direction'. Normally I think this is true, but found it a little difficult to convince myself that when I suddenly had to back-track 10 hilly kilometres and my leisurely 50km day suddenly turned into almost 80km. But there's nothing like the motivation of a friendly face, warm abode and tasty dinner, and I pushed on, and was greeted by a picture-perfect sunset as I rode the last few kilometres up the verdant and humming Bellinger valley. If we want to play the happy game, I guess you could say I've learnt to ask locals about back-roads, or 'at least now I can say I've been to Bowraville'. Or you could just let me be a grump and log those couple of hours up as a waste of a lamington (my 'fuel' in Macksville before this particular detour- and I know it's not exactly low GI).



Despite these manufactured deadlines (which I do seem to be getting slowly better at shaking off), this week has had plenty of timeless wanderings and spacious adventures. The textured pocket-like beaches of South-West Rocks were my very own playground for a day, clambering over great basalt staircases, lazing on almost-empty stretches of sand, but for a couple of fisherman, and plunging into the frothy waters of the Gap Beach, which was saved from development years ago thanks to the efforts of a group of locals, including my hosts (my dear friend Perdi's parents, David and Karen). Later that day David, a fisherman took me for an outing in his boat, mentioning that we'd probably put out the lines and catch some dinner too. Some of you may have been surprised in my last entry to read of me eating fish, having been vegetarian for some twelve years now. Well I was rather surprised myself, after dabbling a little in pescivory, to find myself suddenly pulling in fish after fish after fish. A little overwhelming for this little inlander vegetarian! I confess after the excitement of the first few I started quietly willing the fish not to bite, a little guiltily knowing it's how David earns his crust. But luckily for David, and not so luckily for the fishes, marine cross-species telepathy is not one of my talents, and we caught plenty for dinner, plus bait for later fishing. And I do admit that dinner that night was pretty darn tasty, especially with the spectacular views from the boat still whirling in my head.
(This is a view of the Gap Beach)


In other watery adventures, I had a lovely afternoon canoeing with my cousin Kate on the Urunga estuary yesterday (azure kingfishers, a mangrove heron).. watched a whale flip-flopping its tail at Grassy Head, and have spent some delicious hours lazing by the glassy Bellinger River.
So much space and time for adventures and dawdling, and yet still covering ground. Onward, northward! I'm definitely reaching the land of t-shirt weather, bananas and tropical fruit -mmm I had a star-fruit from a roadside stall dripping down my arm for morning tea today- I could get used to this.

And some more photos...

More to show you my bike set-up than anything else. It looks like a lot! But there's nothing in the back-pack on top but my sleeping bag. And I'm comfortable with what I've got now, was a bit worried it was too much at first, but I'm still getting up the hills... Gratuitous rainforest pattern shot.

Crowdy Bay National Park makes me happy.

Echidnas make me pretty happy too.

Me with the lovely Helen in Forster, on her sunny, ocean-view balcony. This also shows you my riding outfit, which I feel like I can do ANYTHING in- blundstones, UV workshirt and shorts (not padded, my seat is comfy!). What with the short hair and hairy-legs it also means that people often address me as 'mate' , which suits me fine.

Here are a few photos, in reverse chronological order for some reason.
A dingo in Myall lakes.

My first camp spot! Anna Bay.

Farewell picnic!

Oh gawd, how will it ever all fit?

The dingo ate my blundstone (almost), and other adventures

So I'm a week and around 300km into my journey and already collecting a swag of stories, which I need to unload a little so it doesn't get too heavy and weigh down my already laden bike. I'm already settling into a rhythm of life on the road- resting and rising, packing and unpacking, solitude and company, movement and stillness... It is amazing how quickly a way of life can become the norm, with past ways of being somehow unimaginable..

Well the most boring stories are chronological, which is a challenge for my often linear mind. So I'll give you a skeleton first on which to put some meat.

The week in a nutshell:
Wed 12: Train to Newcastle, ferry to Stockton, cycle (~40km) to Anna Bay, where I camped in the forest.
Thurs 13: Cycled to Nelson Bay (~10km), caught a ferry to Tea Gardens, and cycled to Mungo Brush/Dees Corner in Myall Lakes National Park (~21km)
Fri 14: Exploration day in Myall Lakes NP
Sat 15: Cycled ~90km to Forster
Sun 16: Cycled ~60km to Crowdy Bay NP
Mon 17: Cycled ~40km further into Crowdy Bay NP
Tues 18: Cycled ~40km in the rain to Port Macquarie, where I lashed out on a youth hostel to escape the damp, and now sit in an internet cafe.

I was a bundle of nerves and anticipation as I wobbled towards Central last Wednesday morning, unaccustomed to the fully loaded bike (front and back panniers and handlebar bag). "Aack, do I have too much stuff? Where will I sleep tonight? Will there be enough daylight to get some km under my belt" (I was of course leaving later than planned, distracted by breakfast with friends and last minute bike-maintenance)... all these and other silly worries were jumping around in my belly. Not helped by a man on the train telling me 'you won't find much in Anna Bay', my planned destination for the day. After some smooth and soothing pedalling (despite the not so soothing military jets of the RAAF base in Williamtown roaring overhead), I discovered that he was wrong. There is sand in Anna Bay. Lots and lots and lots of sand. And some lovely forest too. I romped on the dunes for a while, pretended to be in the desert (a head nod to the lovely Kaitlin for that one), and even did a handstand or two (those familiar with my aversion to upside-down-ness will understand the momentousness of this occasion). Day one, and so many more to come!

After spending the past month in Sydney (and years before that), I'm certainly enjoying the change of pace, and the surprises I stumble across as I move through the landscape. Unsurprisingly, many of these have taken avian form, such as the friendly but forlorn (fishing-line tangled) brush-turkeys, blue faced honeyeater, azure kingfishers and whistling kites (one of which I swear has followed me ever since) in Myall Lakes NP. Then there was the veritable gaggle of noisy friarbirds and other honeyeaters in Crowdy Bay NP, flying in a crowd ahead of me, as if laughing and greeting this ridiculous two-wheeled creature- 'Alice is coming', 'Alice is coming'... I'd almost be fooled into the impression that my strange appearance made their day, but who would I be kidding? There was too much nectar to be guzzled in the fully-flowering banksia scrub, too much delicious cacophony to be made for that to be true. But they sure made my day.

That was just one of the many wonders that bound my heart to the beautiful Crowdy Bay NP. Watching an echidna stretch its nose skywards while walking up to drink in stunning views from the headland that is Diamond Point are a couple more. Perhaps topping it off is this morning, when I watched an osprey, brahminy kite, Australian gannets and endangered little terns all fishing at dawn, while dolphins surfed beneath them. As for animal encounters of another kind, a dingo took a liking to one of my boots left at camp while I was off wandering the beach in Myall Lakes (watch out for the upcoming opera- the Dingo Stole My Blundstone!). Thankfully, a kind fellow camper retrieved it, and I continue well shod. In another effort from mother nature to gently remind me it's not all osprey and dolphins, it has also rained every night so far, but she has normally been considerate enough to let me reach the last few mouthfuls of dinner before opening up the heavens.

I have already had such a heart-warming taste of the generosity in strangers I have heard other cycle-tourers speak of. There are the small and nonetheless appreciated acts: retirees helping me lug my gear onto and off of the Port Stephens Ferry, short and encouraging conversations with curious strangers, or a free ferry ride and bottle of water at Bombah Pt in Myall Lakes. Then there are those who really go out of their way. Here I need to introduce the unlikely souls from the Raymond Terrace fishing club, whose palatial tents and towering trucks I suddenly found my little tent surrounded by on my second day camped in Myall Lakes. 30-odd fishermen and their families wouldn't exactly be my chosen campground companions, but I was already established, what could I do? Everything has its upside though, and although I didn't have the serenity I dreamed of in leaving the city, I was welcomed in, fed freshly caught fish (thanks Steve), bbq'ed banana and plied with home-made slices and freddo frogs for the next day's riding. In return they demanded songs on the ukulele, and took a liking to my cover of 'I Like Birds' by the Eels, requesting it three or four times. A situation I could never have imagined. As for the rest of the night, as our bedtimes differed somewhat, all I can say is thank goodness for earplugs.

The other generous soul who has brightened my week is Helen, my first warm showers host (www.warmshowers.org). And what a lovely warm welcome to warm showers, and what a lovely warm shower I enjoyed! Also appreciated were the hearty meal, game of scrabble, chats, and meeting her friend Henry. Having completed a masters in international relations, Henry has concluded that everything that happens is about oil, and declared war on cars. Initially unsuccessful in job-hunting, he has decided to cycle to Perth instead! Now there's a role model for you! Good luck to you Henry.

For anyone feeling postally inclined, on the cards for the next little while are Grafton, probably Yamba and Broadwater.

Oh and my apologies again, I forgot to bring the camera cord along, so still no photos! Soon!

Cyclically yours,

Alice and Wren

The adventures begin

Hello friends! This is where you can follow my adventures as I travel around various bits of Australia on my trusty two-wheeled companion, Wren. But before we get into the adventures themselves, I suppose a bit more about this whole venture is in order.

Who? Just me and a bike and the many friends we will no doubt make along the way.

Doing what? Cycling, wwoofing, learning, sitting, eating, sleeping, playing, singing, exchanging, exploring...

Where? Well I'm starting in Sydney and headed north. Then following my nose- who knows what delicious places I will stumble upon.

How? Slowly. While this is certainly a relative thing, it is more about a frame of mind. I'm not interested in setting any records, or having an impressive average km per day. I want to go my own pace, zig-zag and back track and loop the loop. I want to have the freedom to stay a while in places I like and be open to opportunities as they arise. I want to go down tempting side-roads so often rushed past in the obsession with Getting There. Or to put it another way, I want to go fast enough to get places and slowly enough to see the birds.

Why? In a flurry of night-before preparations and anticipation, tiny nervous voices are asking the same question. And so the much louder excited voices remind me of the many reasons:

• Because I've been telling too many people my plans to 'cycle for a year' for too long and am too proud to back out now!
• Because I believe there has to be a more satisfying way of travelling than whizzing around on huge jets and waiting for your soul and body-clock to catch up. Not to mention a less carbon-intense way.
• Because cycling makes me happy!
• Because Australia is amazing and diverse and heart-achingly beautiful, and has so much to teach me.
• Birds!
• Because after cycling Melbourne to Sydney with the Otesha Project, cycling for sustainability (www.otesha.org.au), I've well and truly caught the cycle touring bug.

There are many more,but I'll leave it at that for now, I'll save my words for the actual adventure.

Oh but one final word to whoever may happen to be reading this. If you know someone I should meet, or are someone I should meet, or have a favourite part of the world or any other little tips about where I am going (eg. for now the coast from Sydney to Brisbane)- get in touch!

And for anyone interested in using the postal system (another slow and wonderful thing) to send me news, love and poems, each time I'll post I'll list a couple of towns on my itinerary for the next couple of weeks.

Thanks to all who came to my farewell picnic this evening (on a hill in Sydney park, with a view of the city lights, sunset and huge smoke plume from a bushfire, it was quite a location), and to the moblong crew for giving me a home for the past month. There is so much happening in this city, and so many wonderful friends, it is a bit hard to tear myself away. But the open road calls, and I look forward to leaving the honking peak-hour traffic a mere memory.