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TASMANIA SAGA
< 1 2 3 4 >The ferry.
Tasmania, there was a plan in the beginning. It wasn�t very complicated. I was to jump on a boat, arrive, work for a couple of weeks, bicycle around a bit, work a litle more. Go back to the mainland and decide what to do from there. Things don�t always go as planned I guess, even when the plan is a loose as that. I spent far too much time there in the end but that can�t be changed now. I went for the reasons any tourist or backpacker would go. I went because it was there. This story really starts out in Melbourne on the night that. I left.
It was three o�clock in the morning, I had four hours before I had to leave to go to the ferry, my bicycle was in pieces, and my laundry was still on the line and quite damp. I was a little stressed but not overly. This is a usual thing for me, to have something to do and not to do it at the right time or not do it at all. I was watching some cult movie on SBS hoping everything would right itself or at least that my laundry would dry a little more. About four, my movie had ended and reality was starting to creep into the crevices of my lazy mind. It was time to get back to packing. I started with my clothes. The lack of a dryer was a great hindrance. I resorted to the iron, hoping that I could dry them enough this way that I wouldn�t have to worry about mold. There were only two things wrong with this plan. One, anything thicker than a T-shirt will not iron dry, Two, I am the world slowest ironer. I spent nearly an hour ironing all of my clothes. I had a lot of clothes.
I now had a mere two hours and everything was still outside of my bags. And my bicycle still needed reassembling. The bicycle wasn�t as easy as usually would be. I had some new attachments for it. My plan was to get around by bicycle when I arrived in Tassie. I had to make some modifications to my bike to accommodate this plan. I had purchased the cheapest parts to do this. I was suffering for this of course. What I had bought was not fitting onto the bicycle. Earlier in the day I had dropped by the Hardware store to remedy the situation. I had come back, checked to see if the parts would work now and I had left my bike in pieces on my relatives back lawn. I just couldn�t be bothered to finish then. It was dinnertime! At five twenty, I had finished the bicycle. I soon decided I was ahead of the game and sat down to watch some more TV, I didn�t need sleep really. It was too late anyway if I fell asleep now, I wouldn�t have no matter how loud the alarm was.
With the bike put back together and laundry done. The rest of the packing took minutes. I still waited to the last minutes available. About seven AM I rolled out on my improved bicycle, loaded with stuff to go onto the ferry. My Aunt and Uncle�s house is about 6 k from the center of Melbourne. I had not once went into the heart of Melbourne on foot. Even with the bicycle I had always taken the train. It was just easier; it�s hard to get lost on a train. I left on a Sunday and there weren�t any trains operating this early in the morning. Instead of looking at a map, I followed the tram tracks into the city. This worked out well until I had to make my way to Port Phillip, where the ferry was. This is when I got lost. I did several circles around Albert Park. I was told that the turn off was somewhere near this building. Eventually, I found my way to the coast by a combination of going in one direction and trying to follow the smell of salt on the air and I finally noticed the gigantic arrows with the picture of a ferry on them. I made it in plenty of time.
There wasn�t anything special about the ferry terminal. The only thing that stood out about it was its lack of being special. With airports and train and bus terminals you usually get some architect with some grand idea of what a stopover on a journey is. This was a stinky pier with a ramp. The way this was advertised, I expected some sort of grand walk to the ship; with pink marble columns fake plants. I didn�t even get to walk onto a bridge to board the ship. I had to load my bike with the cars. It did give me a chance to meet the other cyclists though. There where four of us in total. We all took the time to look each other�s bicycles up and down and comment on each other�s methods of packing. We ranged from someone with $600AU dollar panniers to me, who had spent a mere $60AU dollars putting a rack and buying front panniers on my bike.
I was on the ferry and ready to go. After a tour of the ship and noting where all of the restaurants and restrooms where, I fell asleep in a plastic chair outside on deck nine. Most of trip involved some sort of napping or reading until about noon, when I thought I�d do another little walkabout. I found myself in a deck with an outside bar and a couple of guys doing various covers on acoustic guitars. I spotted one of the cyclists I had met in the morning. I walked over and sat said hello. Her name was Nikki, she was going to Tasmania to do a couple of weeks of cycling in Tassie. She was in the process of writing a guidebook to cycling in Northern Australia. She had been having a bit of trouble with her co-writer, they had been arguing to the point where one of them had said �FINE! I�ll see you in two weeks!� The other (Nikki) had responded by going to Tasmania. We spent the rest of the daylong trip talking and listening to the guys on the acoustics. At the end of the trip we exchanged e-mail addresses and she promised she�d send her notes to me from her last trips in Tassie.
The arrival in Devonport took place at Dusk. The ferry, gigantic and well lit, stood out like a beacon in the middle of the river mouth where it was docked. The town was not nearly as impressive. I followed Nikki on the bike to the other side of towns where we parted ways. The place I was planning to stay was called Tasman House. In the guidebook it had been advertised as a place where you could stay in old nurse�s accommodation. There wasn�t really any more information on it available before I had booked it. I chose this place for one reason and one reason only; it was the cheapest. I arrived in the dark to see a looming white institution-like building with every window lit. People buzzed back and forth in front of the open doorway and the smells of a dozen different budget meals wafted out. I staggered in, shocked by the havoc in the kitchen and common room. I met the manager of the place, paid for two nights and asked �Is there any apple picking available in the area?�
�There sure is!� she responded �Get on the bus at a quarter to seven tomorrow and you�ll be right� I bought a can of instant spaghetti and ate it like it was the last I�d eat for weeks.
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