|
|
 |
 |
 |
 |
Free Wheelin - November 2001 |
|
24th November 2001 On the road again....
Following several months of fun and frivolity, the day has finally arrived when I must move on. Two days Alina, was the most interesting goodbye. After my official 'going away' get together, we were somewhat worse for wear. Sitting by the lake at Pheasant Farm, just myself and Alina, I unwittingly upset her by what she called a "total character assassination". She had been due to interview me and cancelled it twice because she was too busy, or 'just couldn't be bothered' (her words). I was annoyed and told her that she had possibly missed out on an interesting interview. What I didn't tell her, 'until a few days later' was that I had been all wound up about the interview and that, as I was moving on, I was going to answer the questions everyone had been asking, "why was I on such a krazy journey ?". Following this "assassination" I was 'shocked' but appeared un moved by the tirade that followed, oh she was pissed. It was one of those moments when you knew, big style, that you had over stepped the mark. It was pitch black and all I could see was the outline of her face, the anger echoed in every deliberate word she sang out. The four letter words came out thick and fast, each one with more intensity, I listened. After she finished, we sat quiet for a while before I finaly told her my thoughts and what was on my mind. Sorry Alina. We changed the subject to a more ambient topic and decided it was time to vacate the side of the lake. We both, drunk and unsteady, mounted our steeds, the trusty bicycle. It was the wee hours of the morning when we cycled the 5km to Alina?s house. Once there she introduced me to her fathers home made vodka. Wow, it was smooth. |
| Top of Page |
|
Sunday 25th November 2001 (Tununda - Walker Flat, Cycle time 5hr 45min, Distance 107km)
From Tanunda I headed for Nuriootpa and turned right for Angaston. The 10km or so to Angaston was gentle, a good warm-up. It was cool and overcast with frequent light showers. I cycled through Angaston and turned right which took me past Greg's house. He was probably still curled up in bed, and followed the signs for Swan Reach. The road was up hill but quite easy going. I reached the summit which overlooks the Murray flats. I braced myself for a 5km twisting down hiller. The next town I reached wass Sedan, a back water with very little of interest. There is a petrol station with a collectable & second hand shop - I couldn't see the difference - and an hotel. The road now gently undulates through mallee scrub until reaching the ferry that takes you across the mighty Murray to Swan Reach. I left the Barossa at 8:30am it was now 12:30, I covered 78km in four hours - including a half hour break- an average of 22km ph From Swan Reach I turned towards Walker Flats, 29km further south. It took me just over 3 hours to get there, an average of only 13km ph. As soon as I turned south I was confronted by a head wind, slowing me down considerably. Walkers Flat, a collection of Murray River shacks and a 'Seventh Day' camp ground. Which on entering (I didn't know it was Seventh Day) I did suspect something, I noticed a framed stencil on the wall of one of the recreation huts, it depicted some very weird looking gods. It looked as though it was a relic from bygone hippy days. Eventually, while trying to find someone who could tell me "it was ok to pitch my tent". I was approached by a touron (a cross between a tourist and a moron) . He quickly proceeded to tell me that the camp was a Seventh Day Adventist Camp, I wouldn't be allowed to stay, that there was another camp ground 5 mins along the road. That was the end of that conversation I pitching my tent on the banks of the Murray, for free... Monday 26th November 2001 (Walker Flat - Tailem Bend, Cycle time 6hr 15min, Distance 89km) After a light breakfast and feeling confident, I cranked my way towards my destination, Tailem Bend. I wasn't in a hurry, the lights don't go on until after 8pm. I had loads of time to take in the scenery etc. Huh! I wish, I hit a head wind straight away which slowed me down to only 11kph. Fine I thought, shouldn't last long. How wrong I was, this wind stayed with me all day. The road was heavily undulated, in fact I felt like I was on the worlds scariest roller coaster ride the only difference was, I was on manual power While coming through Mannum I was stopped by Leonora and Fran, they were out for an early morning strol. They asked how I was doing for water and offered to let me fill my bottles at their house. They told me Alan, Frans, husband would be at the house, "just tell him we sent you". When I rocked up he was watching the cricket, I mentioned that we never get any Scottish sports coverage here. Well, it just so happens that he (Alan) had put in the Scottish league football results in the sports section of the Advertiser. Alan had just started working at the Advertiser, as a reporter in the sports section. Leonora and Fran arrived back a few minutes later, I had a coffee and answered the usual array of questions. I told them my planned route, along the Great Ocean Road, Leonora excitedly wrote down her sisters address and phone number. Louise lives at No. 1 Great Ocean Road and Leonora would be there in about a week, if I could make it I was to pop in for a coffee - I only had about a thousand kilometres to go. It's those sorts of encounters that make the cycling fun, after a few hours pushing against the wind a friendly helpful face is a welcome sight. I left the house about an hour later and pedalled on through Mannum and caught the ferry back across the river. Pointing the bike towards Tailem Bend, my next destination. With 60km still ahead of me I found the most comfortable gear, a low one and tried to relax into a steady 12kph. Even on the down hill it was pointless to shift up gears, the next hill wasn't far away, I chose to take it easy and use the downhill to catch my breath. Due to my tight budget I planned on cycling through Tailem Bend to some bush camp, but as I reached the outskirts of the town I spied a campsite. My brain got excited at the thought of a 'long' hot shower, I paused for five minutes telling myself NO! Then my srong will caved in, I found myself a comfortable camping spot under a tree OUT of the wind. I had my long, very hot shower, my aching muscles soaking up the warmth. I arrived at Tailem Bend at 4:30 tired and in need of sustenance. The campsite looked nothing special until I wandered up the back. I was perched on top of a cliff over looking the Murray, and several small islands dotted across its wide expanse, I sat for a few hours just watching. Top of Page No point in whingeing, again I just settled down to a steady pace. Toddling along, I encouraged myself by noticing that someone had been along and ironed out most of the wrinkles in the road. So with a mostly flat terrain ahead of me I sung, "Riding along on my push bike honey, I feel so lucky as I'm riding along. Round wheels go, round, round, round, down up peddle, down up down, I got to get myself to policeman?s point before the sun goes down. Wishful thinking, my third day fighting against a head wind and my legs didn't want to know. Well, they hadn't worked very much over the past 7 months, what can I expect? There was nothing of much interest on the road, oh, apart from the 'pink lake' the colour was caused by the high levels of salt and some bacteria, it was quite a stunning sight. It took me six hours, stopping frequently to give myself a break from the wind, to cover the fifty six kilometres to Menengie. Cycling the last few hundred yards through the main street to the Albert Lake caravan park, was a killer. Now I am on a very tight budget of only $10 per day, however, I needed a day off and some comfort, (my justification). I booked myself into a "caravan" for two nights, at $30 per night. Yes, I felt guilty, but was I comfortable.... I settled into the caravan at four thirty, went to the local butchers and bought a couple of chicken schnitzels and some sausages. Made myself a feast and crashed out early. Just after six pm, I gave myself a shake and went out into the sinking sun. The caravan park was situated on the banks of Lake Albert. The wind had I went back to the seclusion of my caravan and poured myself a 'rationed' Dalwhinnie 15 year old single malt sent to me by brother Gordon. Cheers Gogs. With a whisky 'or two' in hand I cheered myself up by listening to a tape borrowed from Alina, 'Six stubbies with big Al'. What an interesting mix of music. From Jewish polkas to the Rastifari Elders singing, ?The lord is my shepherd' and Ewan McColl singing 'I maun hae a wife'. It was brilliant! Top of Page The sky was clear and the wind, for a change, behind me. The road was a God send, mostly flat all the way through the Coorong. By lunch time 'twelve noon' I had covered 55km. There were a few factors here, apart from the weather and terrain, I had also made a conscious effort to make sure I was eating properly. I think Tuesdays effort, or lack of it, was due to 'not' eating properly. Today I had a good breakfast and made myself a packed lunch of cheese and vegemite sandwiches. I stopped frequently to nibble. One time while stopping for a breather - every ten kilometres or so, a white car pulled up beside me. A guy pokes his head out the window and says, 'hi Malcolm, it's me'. It took me a few seconds to focus, well you don't expect to meet anyone you know out here in the middle of nowhere. It was Craig, Faiths son, the lady I had been staying with for he past couple of months back in the Barossa. Craig was in the area working. He was just as shocked as I was. Before I left the Barossa, I told every one I was going across the Hay Plains to Sydney. I was way off track, at some point along the road I changed my mind and headed towards the coast and the 'Great Ocean Road'. We stopped and chatted for a while, it made for a pleasant wee stop. I stopped for lunch at Policeman's Point, which was no more than a road house. I sat outside in the sun eating my peanut butter and honey sandwiches. Before leaving I thought I should get more bread for the evening. I went into the deli and bought a loaf of, FROZEN bread. It was all they had. They said it was the only way they could sell bread. I reluctantly took the bread, it had probably been in the freezer for months. Ten kilometres further down the track I stopped at another roadhouse 'Salt Creek'. I wanted to see if they had a more detailed map of the Coorong area. I wanted a map which showed the National Parks in more detail, and to see if there were any suitable places for bush camping. However, the woman behind the counter, dressed like one of the Beverly hillbillies, didn't have a map. All she said was, "I think you cyclists are crazy and need to see a psychiatrist". I agreed and asked if there was one available. Pushing on 'without' a map, watching the time, the day was getting on. I decided I would take the 'Old Coorong Road' it was a small side road that twisted its way through native bushland. There was bound to be a secluded patch of ground for my tent. Even though the authorities made a big mention of this road at the last information stop and with the wonders of modern technology 'Sign Posts' I missed the turn off. However, it was still early enough and I felt fine. By the time I noticed I had missed the turn off, I was only fifty kilometres from Kingston SE. It was 3:30, and at the rate I was going I could be in Kingston in about two and a half - three hours, which would still give me plenty of time before the lights went out. I decided to make Kingston my destination for the night. But, by five thirty I was knackered. It was time to find a camp at the side of the road. Well, I had covered almost 120km by this time, not a bad day, I thought, and better not to push it. Just before six, I found a spot, well hidden and just a few metres from the road. By six thirty I had my tent up and was sitting with a nice hot cup of green tea. That was after I spilt two pots of boiling water!. At least the water helped kill several huge biting bull ants, there was millions of them (slight exaggeration). Bush camps are great, if you don't let the noises bother you. All night wild animals, kangaroos, possums, Beetles, Spiders and god knows what else are out foraging for food. Every cracking twig wakes you with a start. A possum for instance makes a low growling sound, like a lion gone wrong. The first time I heard it, I almost wet myself. You hear a thump, thump, thump and look out, its a huge red kangaroo which stops nonchalantly and stares as if to say, "look at those weird humans, hiding in that green tent under the tree, as if we can't see them". Then you hear a scratching sound, looking for the source you discover its a large dung beetle. Scratching away at the tent saying, "let me in you insignificant low life human, me and my mates want to scare the shit out of you". I thought the tent was being attacked by swarms of angry mozzies after I killed one, or several hundred of their mates with my 'Bushman Plus' mozzie killer. But no, there was no need for fear, the deafening sound spattering of my tent was just plain boring rain. I fell back into my comfortable slumber, well as comfortable as I could get in my wee cocoon. I was on the move, as usual, early and as I cooked my breakfast and started the daily task of packing up, the dark clouds hanging over me, let loose. I had to rush around gathering every thing and throwing it into the tent. It was only about 7:30 but I started the rainy day argument in my head. Will I move on, won't I move on. Its an argument that always comes up when you know you are heading into a wet and windy day - or when you can't be bothered. The rain passed as quick as it came and after packing my wet tent, at 8:15 I continued south. It wasn't long before I wished I had stayed put, the wind was blowing, Oh, a good gale force anyway. well maybe not gale force but it was a strong head wind, again I was slowed down to a crawl. I was travelling on the Southern Ports Highway' highlighted on my map as 'A touring route. The road was flat and boring until I reached Mt Benson, which wasn't so much a Mount but a small hill. Struggling up the hill was a change to struggling against the wind. On top of Mt Benson the scene changed into something more familiar, a vineyard and winery. It was very tempting but I restrained myself from going off the road to taste the wines, that would have been the end of my day. Instead I struggled on looking forward to the pleasant down hill run; it didn't happen, Mt Benson went up but didn't seem to come down. Optimistically I thought I would reach Beachport today, however as I approached Robe and the eighty kilometre mark, I decided I had had enough. Besides, cycling along the road I heard a scraping noise coming from somewhere on the bike. Do you think I could find where it was coming from? No! I cycled a few more k's and the noise was beginning to annoy me. I checked the panniers were not rubbing against the wheels etc. But couldn't find anything. Then just as I was about to remount, horror struck, I had my first broken spoke. Oh no! it was on the rear wheel which meant that I had to take the cassette (gear rings) off. Never mind I told myself, 'I didn't have the tool to carry out the operation' I'll stop of in Robe there MUST be a bike shop there... The people at the campsite were very helpful, but no there wasn't a bike shop in Robe. Colin one of the park owners asked some of his mates if they had any tools I could use. No luck. I had to take the chance and cycle to either Mt Gambier or Hamilton, which every route I decide to take. Go to > - December 2001 |
| Top of Page |
|
This document maintained by [email protected].
Material Copyright © 2000 Malcolm Campbell
organising and packing, a trip to the big city, or the town as so many country folk prefer to call Adelaide. A week of saying goodbye to all he wonderful people I have met. Colin Beer says that, "for someone who doesn't like goodbye's, you seem to be saying it enough". With some people I said cheerio three or four times, each one with a glass of beer or wine in my hand.