Free wheelin around the world cycle tour on an orbit bike

Saturday 1st December 2001 (Day off)

Robe; Situated on Guichen bay, about 350km south of Adelaide. The bay was named after Admiral de Guichen in 1802. In 1846 Captain John Hart was commissioned by the South Australian government to find a suitable place to build a port, Robe was the chosen spot and named after Major Fredrick Holt Robe, the then governor of south Australia in 1847. With increasing prosperity the population grew rapidly. It was a popular arrival port for many Irish and Scottish families in 1855 followed by a large number of Chinese immigrants making their way to the Victorian goldfields. In one year alone there were 17000 Chinese immigrants passing through the port at Robe. Robe was a free port and the Chinese were trying to evade paying the Victorian Government Tax of $20 per Chinese landing in that state. The $20 equalled their fare to Australia. The Chinese then walked the 150km to the unguarded Victorian state border. Robe had a colourful past part of which was it's canning plant which canned swans, sold as 'Robe Geese' and Parrots 'as Robe snipe'.

Much of the town has stayed the same, the old buildings have been restored, but the port became a fishing port and then a seaside resort, but has kept its charm and character.

I took my day off as an opportunity to explore this wee toon starting with a walk along the ragged coastal path. A narrow gravel path twisting its way through saltbush and scrub with smaller dirt tracks leading to the cliff edge. The views were awesome however the sun and the overcast sky didn't make for good photographs. As I walked my phone went, it was Chris from New Zealand, asking a few final question before she leaves to catch up with me in Melbourne on Christmas day.

I paid $7.50 for a small bit of grass at the campsit, but the setting was good. I was surrounded by tall gum trees and lush tropical vegetation. My only neighbours were Len and Anne from Melbourne. They were on a six week camping holiday. In their fifties, I could see they were used to the comforts of home, they had everything with them. I'm sure I saw the kitchen sink tucked away in a corner of their tent; A tent the size of a house.

I had tea with with my good neighbours. Anne had cooked a healthy portion of steak and vegetables, which were washed down by a couple of glasses of wine while we exchanged stories and laughter.

Sunday 2nd December 2001

(Robe - Beachport, Cycle time 3hr 30min, Distance 53km)

6:30am, the heavens opened up, the thunder crashed wildly above and the lightning gave the trees a ghostly glow. The whole show went on for about two hours as I sat in my portable shelter. At this rate I wasn't planning on going anywhere today. However, as I was doing some house work, or should I say tent work. You know, the chores you have to do, to keep the small space you have from becoming over crowded. I was tidying up and packing things away when before I new I was rolling up the tent. At 11:40, the sky still heavy with rain clouds I decided to move on, see how far I could get before I was drowned.

I didn't get far; the wind was blowing in gusts, the rain stayed away, but it was definitely cool. For the first time I cycled with longs on (as opposed to shorts) and two 'T' shirts. The day didn't go too good, I only managed 52km before I exhausted myself fighting against the wind. I booked into a campsite in Beachport. I was having my tea in the camp kitchen, and was approached by someone who had passed me on the road, she handed me a 'mug' of port saying, "that must have been hard work today, you deserve this". How kind and thoughtful some people can be. I accepted the drink and the woman left never to be seen again.

It's those wee things that make the effort worthwhile, knowing that some people out there appreciate the hard work in pushing those pedals. There again maybe; hopefully, in the next few days the wind will be in my favour and I will glide on for 100km plus easily in a day.' It's good to dream....'

Tuesday 4th December 2001

(Millicent - Mt Gambier, Cycle time 4hr 35min, Distance 69km)

I left Millicent a 9:20 after some procrastination; the weather was still wet, cold and once again windy. However I wanted to keep going, I wanted to reach Mt Gambier today, not for any other reason than the fact that it had already taken me 10 days to get as far as I had hoped in five or six days.

After my beans on toast, I studied the map of my route and discovered that there was a place called 'Glencoe' some 12km from my route. I decided that I would take the detour and check the place out, find out if there was any connection with Glencoe in Scotland. The road up to the village trailed through a huge Pine and Native forest, this helped the cycling because for I was sheltered from the wind. The pay back was, I had to climb 'mile hill' . I've had steeper and longer hills to tackle in NZ, but my low gears were playing up today, I was getting worried that I would have to change the chain rings etc. I had to cycle in second gear, which made for tough, hot cycling - who said you get used to it.....

Glencoe was no more than a few houses and a deli come video, come post office and petrol station. I asked the woman behind the counter, where the name 'Glencoe' came from. With an uninterested sigh, she said, " Oh, I don't know, its been called Glencoe for years". That was it, she didn't want to talk anymore.

I bought a bottle of Coke and a pie, went out side and sat munching away when, John and Mike came around the corner. They said the usual hellos and asked the now tiresome questions - I'll maybe design myself a small information leaflet that I can hand to people. As usual I gave my answeres, what I was doing and where I was going. Mike and John were visiting Glencoe; they were interested in some second hand place, which was closed. We had been standing chatting for half an hour when John asked if I liked mushrooms. Strange question I thought but I said yes. He then showed me some huge, dinner plate size mushrooms, and told me that just past the woolshed, following the route for the public conveniences through the gate, there was a patch of these wonderful mushrooms. They jumped into their car and just as they were about to leave, John rolled down his window and asked if I would be in the Mount (Mt Gambier) tonight. I said I would and he handed me a bit of paper with his phone number saying, "when you get there, give me a call and we'll put a snag on the Barbie, then left.

I went to where he told me the mushrooms were, they were huge, I picked three one of which was the size of an oversized dinner plate and set off down the road, none the wiser about Glencoe but with a bag full of goodies.

I didn't find out much about Glencoe but my 12km extra was not lost. I aimed the bike towards the Mount and happily cycled on. I reached Mt Gambier at about 2pm had a quick look around, checked my Email and paid a visit to the tourist information. I hesitated before calling John, I didn't like the idea of imposing myself on total strangers, but then I thought what the hell. I called John who was happy to hear from me and said he would come and pick me up. I said no, I would cycle after all that is what this trip is about. Okay, he said, "I will wait ten minutes and come and meet up with you, we live at the top of a hill". 'Isn't it always the way...

I managed to reach his street just he I was coming around the corner. I followed him up his drive and into the house where he introduced me to his wife, Helen. We had a coffee and started chatting the usual getting to know you stuff. Later Mike came round and Helen prepared a dinner of BBQ'd Kangaroo, Chook and Snags and we sat down to a lovely dinner washed down with red 'Chateau De Cardboard' wine. It was a pleasant evening, which finished with a game of darts in the shed.

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Wedensday 5th December 2001

(Day off)

Helen and John were up at six am for work, John a prison officer and Helen a care worker for the aged. I got up and had a coffee with them and after they left I got myself organised. I still had a bee in my bonnet about Glencoe. First step, the library, there they only had one book that mentioned the Glen and that was about a school reunion. I asked the librarian if she could help, she looked through the computer and on the shelves but, no, there seemed to be nothing. She told me that the local historian would be in tomorrow morning. So I arranged to come back early next day.

It was time to visit some of the local attractions, first destination, the Blue Lake. The lake was only a few kilometres out of the main town but as I passed the many shops, I spotted a computer supplies company. I about turned and went in. I was approached by a person I thought to be a sales assistant who asked if he could help. I asked if they had any cables for a Psion, knowing full well that the chances were very remote. We looked on the shelves at the various cables and no, there were none. After explaining what I wanted the cable for, Andrew took me into an office and proceeded to check his suppliers on the net for the part. No luck, until he spotted 'Widget.Com' a company I had used in the UK. Success, they had the part, oops, could I afford it. The screen came up with a price of $60 and Andrew said he would order it; I hesitated and asked how much it would be with his mark-up on it. He said, no, no, I'll get it and you can have it at that price, he got his credit card out and ordered the item for immediate delivery. Then he said, 'come on I'll take to see the lakes'.

We jumped into his car and he drove me around the lake. I mentioned to him that I was trying to find out about Glencoe, instantly he said I know someone who may have the answer and proceeded to dial a number. A voice came over the phone, ?Hi its Sandy here?. After some pleasantries, Andrew explained why he was calling. Sandy said that Glencoe was named after the Glencoe in Scotland but didn't have any more details. Andrew asked if he was at the winery, Sandy said yes, Ok we'll be there in ten minutes. My phone rang, it was Alina confirming that she would be arriving at 2pm tomorrow, I felt really pleased and looked forward to seeing her.

After our visit to the lakes Andrew asked if I had seen the old prison backpackers. I had heard about it but had not been there. Me neither he said, lets have a look. The Jail was impressive, each cell was a room that sleeps either four or two as a twin, and they had their own open dunny and washbasin exactly the same as when the prison was used. The building was a Jail from 1830 until it closed in 1995. Every thing was kept the same, the courtyards, the doors etc. The chapel was now the breakfast room, they had a restaurant complete with bars and gates, I was impressed.

Our visit around the jail took a half an hour then Andrew took me to see Sandy Haig of Haig Wines; He, Sandy, is also the local justice of the peace. An older fellow of about seventy but with energy and enthusiasm in his voice. Sandy was waiting by the vines as we arrived and introduced himself to me as I got out of the car. We went into the winery and chatted. Sandy was from the Mount but his forbearers were from Melrose, he had been to Scotland a few times, we exchanged stories excitedly. Eventually I got round to saying that I was interested in tasting his wines - as you do!

Haig Wines was a small concern with only ten acres of vines. Sandy poured me the first Chardonnay which was as expected 'Dry and Fresh' then he gave me Andrews favourite, late harvest Chardonnay, wow, it was good, it didn't taste like you expect, there was no dryness but a mellow buttery fruit flavour. I asked how much a bottle would be, ?I was thinking of Alina's visit'. Sandy said no, you don't have to buy one, here a present from me. Andrew and I thanked Sandy and left, as we drove down the drive Andrew said he was going for lunch, my shout Malcolm. We went for lunch to a very nice wee (expensive) place. I was taken back to the store we shook hands as I thanked him for his hospitality. I cycled off back to Maroonga Crescent, what a day.

Helen was sitting in a chair looking very tiered when I got back. We had a chat and a few wines and she soon perked up. John came in at nine thirty and after a few coffees we all jumped in the car and went to Umpherston sinkhole. The sinkhole was a cave filed with water at one time many years ago, but the roof collapsed leaving a huge hole at the bottom of which was a small lake. Today due to the water level decreasing the hole is dry and has now been landscaped with tropical gardens and viewing platforms where you can feed the many possums that now live in the hole.

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Thursday 6th December 2001

(Day off)

I said my goodbyes to John and Helen at 7am, had a shower and packed the bike, phoned the Jail and after some internal wrangling 'I knew I couldn't really afford it' I booked cell. I headed down to the library to see Ron Thomson, the local historian. He wasn't there, the rain kept him at home. However the very helpful librarian phoned him and asked if it was ok for me to speak to him. I was passed the phone and Ron with a thick Aussie accent introduced himself. He has been in Australia for 40 years but originally came from Inverness. I asked him about Glencoe and he confirmed that it was named after the place of the same name in the Scottish Highlands.

In or around 1840 a wealthy 'titled' man by the name of, Leake, (he bought his title form the monarchy of the time) came across to Australia and bought eighty square miles at one pound a square mile and started a cattle station. Leake, though I couldn't find any information to give me details, had ancestors whom were linked to the Glencoe massacre that?s why he called his station 'Glencoe'. The final part of Leakes estate was sold in the 1930's for a huge sum of money. Satisfied with the information, I traipsed around the town waiting for Alina to arrive on the two o'clock bus.

It was a miserable grey day with intermittent, heavy showers. Alina was not impressed when she arrived, she was tired and grumpy. Six hours in a bus after a sleepless night would make anyone irritable. It was good to see her again even though it has only been eight days since I left the Barossa. First stop, the coffee shop, a relaxed cafe where we sat in imitation leather sofas sipping creamy coffee and doing the general casual chat. Then we headed of to where she was to be staying for the night.

I didn't tell her where she was going and she looked very tense. I did assure her that she had her own bed, that eased the tension a little. The look on her face as we walked up to the entrance of the prison was, well, shocked. The courtyard with its high wall topped with razor wire and small patch of grass where inmates would sit in the summer. The blue cell doors made loud echoing noises as the banged closed. I have to admit, I was excited about the whole prospect of staying her, but it was eary. At firs Alina wasn't so impressed, especially when she saw the small cell that we were sharing. The two single beds, an improvement from the old prison beds, so they told us. They were rock hard but more comfortable than a mat on the ground. Ant the toiled, complete with loo roll holder, sitting there just inside the door. Alina's mouth was agape, she was gob smacked. I, trying not too laugh, told her not to worry, there were other amieneties. After she was introduced to a few of her fellow inmates, she relaxed and began to enjoy the place.

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Saturday 8th December 2001

(Mt Gambier - Portland, Cycling time 6hr 15min, Distance 102km)

With Alina back in the Barossa I had nothing to hang around for. So after a breakfast with Marlies, a heart surgeon from Germany, I headed for Nelson, it as 9:40 am.

As I cycled along I thought about Alina and her hesitation. I can understand having to take time to decide whether or not to go cycling around the world, especially since the thought had never entered your mind until some one put it there. For me there was no hesitation, I didn't take the time to think. If I had I may never have embarked on this krazy adventure. But I got the feeling that Alina's hesitation was more to do with relationships, "does he expect me to sleep with him, Is there more to this than just traveling, does he think there is a closer meaning.... etc. We talked until the small hours on Thursday, or should I say Friday morning, about various issues. I explained that I was not asking you along for any other reason than the fact that I would like her to come along and that I thought we could both help each other achieve some of what we want. Being a journalist, she may have been able to help me update my website more often... or even help me get some publicity/sponsorship.

I reached the Victoria border by twelve thirty, as I was setting up my tripod for the customary 'cross border pictured' a car pulled up and the lady got out and asked if I wanted a hand to take the photographs. While I positioned myself at both the 'Thank you for visiting South Australia' and the 'Welcome to Victoria' Signposts she took the pick. As usual I was asked an assortment of questions, which I answered in my normal happy way, but as we were about to part the woman gave me a great big hug and said, "You take care of yourself" and left. It was the definite and authoritative, motherly way in which she mouthed the words that stopped me in my tracks for a few seconds. I was dazed as she watched me cycle off

While it was quite cold today, the wind, all be it a head one, was light and the going was smooth and comfortable. I reached Nelson by one o'clock and for the first time in ages stopped and had an hour for lunch. There wasn't much to see, a river with a few hire boats and the visitor centre. It was fine for me. At two o'clock I set off again, with several honey sandwiches in my belly, I was refreshed and ready to pedal.

The rest of the road was quite good going, it danced along nicely. I was about thirty kilometres from Portland when a car pulled up beside me, a thin acne infested face hung out of the window. In a thick Dutch accent the face asked if it was on the right road for Portland. I answered yes, but the face repeated itself again and again. Kept asking the question. There were four of them in the car, two guys with their girlfriends, I thought they were just taking the mick out of me and as I was so tired and couldn't be bothered with the clowns, after answering the same question three times, I smiled and stuck the 'V' (peace) sing up at them. The lump of acne hanging out the window looked genuinely shocked, I moved closer and mouthed, yes - this - is - the - right - road - for - Portland. Ah good, said acne before adding, "you cycle". I was going to say, "no stuppid, this is a car" but that may have really confused the issue and anyway, I didn't have the time or inclination to spell out every word.

I set up bush camp, some ten kilometres outside Portland, a cold, damp and eerie spot with too many mozzies; it was free. I quickly pitched my tent and made myself a big pot of pasta with onion, carrot and black bean sauce, 'delicious'. I was camped about two hundred metres from the main road in the thick of one of Victorias many state forests, it got dark very quick and by 8:30 I was falling asleep to the sound of Kookaburras doing their chimpanzee impressions. In the distance there were a couple of very unsettled dogs barking, they became more distant as I drifted off

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Sunday 9th December 2001

(Portland - Warrnambool, Cycling time, 6hr 45min, Distance 126km)

I arrived in Portland early; it was seven thirty in the morning. A large shipping town, which on first impression looked as if it had been through the best of its days. As I cycled towards the sleepy main street I was shouted across to a guy raking in a bin. He asked me where I had been and where I was going; as I approached I couldn't help but notice the missing teeth, black eye and stitches on his forehead. He was collecting cans and bottles out of the bins quite a profitable pastime. The cans and bottles were collected and taken the hundred or so kilometres to South Australia where they were exchanged for 5c each. I didn't ask but it looks to me that he had been fighting over territory. I didn't hang around to find out.

The weather was fine the road, fast, for a change. I was speeding along at a rare rate. Tramping along, my mind in a world that only I can see, I hear this buzzing coming up behind me. As usual I didn't look around but moved in closer to the side of the road to let, whatever, past. It didn't pass, it was 'Jorg' from Germany on his solar powered recumbent. Looking very relaxed and unburdened, Jorg came up level with me; he had just come from Adelaide where he finished forth in the Alice Springs to Adelaide solar bike race. He told me as we, ' I ' pedalled along, that he was studying engineering in Germany, this was his project but he needed to go back home and make improvements. I kept up with him for about ten kilometres then the sun came out and he switched into motor mode and sped of over a hill.

I finally arrived in Warrnambool at four thirty after one hundred and twenty-six kilometres. I was knackered, booking into the campsite I met a couple that I had the pleasure of talking to in Robe. Well it wasn't that much of a pleasure, arrogant bunch of shits... I found a spot in the camp ground and proceeded to pitch my tent, the couple came over and insisted on chatting for an hour, yes I did feel like telling them where to go but! I didn't. Finally they left to do their own thing, I pitched my tent and crawled in, I was totalled, I lay in the tent dreaming of easier days when the phone rang. It was Chris, "Hi Malc, what sort of towel should I bring?". What, I was speechless, we are going to be on bikes, who cares what towel you bring, as long as it can fit in your panniers with the rest of your non-essentials; I was too tired for chat, I lay dow and slept for an hour. I stretched myself from my cocoon, and looked over the hedge I was hiding behind, Oh, No its acne and his friends.
I made a quick escape to an irish pub in town where I sat sipping a beer and writing my journal. Sitting in an Irish pub in Warrnambool listening to an Irish music jam session, its bril. Accordion, cello, guitar, fiddles and flute.... A bunch of guy's 'n' gal's sitting around tables chatting, laughing and playing music. It was a good relaxing way to end the day.

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(Warrnambool - Princetown, Cycle time 5hr 35min, Distance 96km)

At eight in the morning I quietly cycled past the campsite office, they were still asleep, I hadn't paid for last night's paltry pitch. $11 for a square the size of a dole cheque. It was raining but the wind was in my direction, my mood was good and I felt ready to tackle the elements - I think! Heading east on the B100, the going was easy; I made good time with an average of twenty-two kilometres per hour. The flat road was quiet. Reaching Nullawarre, a small one street town with only a couple of houses and a cafe 'with free internet'. I stopped for an hour. Checked my Email, had a coffee and biscuit. Alina had sent me a couple of Emails one was to say that she would 'probably' join me at the end of January.

The main attraction of the Great Ocean Road started another twenty kilometres down the road at Peterborough. The setting changed quite drastically from grass and wooded pasture land to the jagged

edge of the Australian mainland falling off into the south pacific. The water was a pale turquoise blue with thundering white foaming waves; it was easy to see how eighty ships had been wrecked along this coast. The next forty or so kilometres were slow going, I took the time to bask in the splendour of the sights, and use three rolls of film.

First stop was what is still called 'London Bridge' though the arched walkway going over to the huge limestone rock, fell down a few years ago leaving many 'Tourists' stranded on the rock, they had to be air lifted ashore. The best was 'The Arch' which is another gigantic limestone rock; waves constantly crashing against them, had formed an archway through the rock giving you a fantastic photo opportunity. All along the Ocean Road were spectacular rock formations and photo opportunities, I stopped at them all. I met a couple of lassies from Darby in England who thought I was mad doing what I was doing. I seemed to bump into them at every stop. Linda and Liz were on a whirlwind four-week jaunt in a car around Australia and had been to all the main attractions. I told them I was stopping at Princetown and if they were there I would join them for a beer. They complained about the lack of support from fellow tourists at the various pubs visited along the way. I said I would try and remedy that.

I arrived at Prince ' town ', well a couple of shacks, a motel and a whopping population of six hillbillies!. I booked myself a cabin, it was the same price as camping. In these small backward places they tend to charge as much as they think they can get away with. Linda and Liz booked into a room at the motel $50 to lay your head on a pillow. The only difference between my cabin and their room was a TV and a kettle. However when we were all settled into our respective accommodation, showered and smelling of fresh country air, we went to the bar where the two girls bought me dinner which consisted of Pizza and chips washed down with a couple of beers. Thanks guys... At eleven PM the new owner of the establishment chucked us out, we were the only customers that evening, apart from four guys who bought a carry out pizza.

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Wednesday 12th December 2001

(Princetown - Apolo Bay, Cycle time 5hr 45min, Distance 86km)

After a quick breakfast with the Darby bombshells, I coasted down the hill to the main road taking me over Laver Hill. What I was about to tackle I had been warned about by various travellers passing in the opposite direction. I was informed that it was a gruelling climb for some twenty kilometres. I thought to myself, it shouldn't be a problem, I had climbed many hills in new Zealand. What I didn't think of was the seven months I had just had without the bike.

I started the climb fairly fresh and full of vigour, it wasn't long before I resembled a soggy chip. I met Andrew, a young cyclist on a three day trip to Warrnambool. He had just come down from Laver Hill where he camped last night. When asked the question of what to expect, he just answered, "it's a bastard". Even with such strong words, I still thought, "och, people are always making mountains out of mole hills".

It was a bastard! just as you think you have reached the top of the hill, you turn the bend expecting to be propelled at great speed down the other side. But no, its another climb. The road did go up for about twenty kilometres then I got a short respite before the next climb. I covered eighty six kilometres today, sixty of which were like the contours of a crumpled news paper. It was like you worst and best memories of your first helter skelter ride, a long tiresome climb to the top then a breakneck ride to the bottom, which was over before you know it.

I was travelling through some dense rain forest, there were Wallabies, Koalas and a menagerie of exotic birds flitting back and forth; the sight and sounds made the task bearable. The road finally tuned in my favour as I neared Apolo Bay, a five kilometre downhill ensued. After stopping to take a few pictures of the bay from the top of the hill, I went full tilt, pounding those pedals, heading downwards the bay.

Apolo Bay, a small seaside resort, very warm and welcoming, the waves rolling into he circular cove, crashing from the green-blue of the ocean into brilliant white froth. The sound had a relaxing effect on my pounding pulse, the light sea breeze cooling my sweltering body. I had covered eighty six arduous kilometres, I was ready to crash.

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Thursday 13th December 2001

I didn't move too quickly this morning it was overcast and threatening rain. I took my time packing but eventually at nine I was hitting the tarmac. Next stop 'Geelong' one hundred and seventeen kilometres following the coastline. I turned the bend at the base of the cape and was now heading north east, it was tremendous, I had a decent tail wind which propelled me along at speeds exceeding twenty kilometres an hour. I was ecstatic, screaming my yeee ha's and woooo hooo's as I sped along. The road reminded me of the west coast of New Zealand, the terrain was similar. I knew I would still have some climbing to do. It didn't matter, the flats and the low angle on most of the inclines still allowed me an average of fifteen - twenty kph.

The previous eighteen days struggling against gusty head winds had helped build my strengh and stamina, I felt good as the white lines whizzed by under my wheels. On some of the down gradients I was reaching speeds of forty kph without too much effort.

The coastline changed as I left Apolo Bay from jagged cliff edges and crashing surf to golden sandy beaches and mellow rolling blue surf. As I was making good time, I stopped to appreciate the atmosphere, take some pictures and inhale the fresh sea air. Today I was enjoying the ride, stopping regularly and chatting to other out of towners, exchanging travel stories and Email addresses.

I arrived at Torquay, the surf city of Australia, it seemed like an exciting town with a fifties feel. Surf shops filled with boards and clothing for the enthusiastic surfers. On first impressions I thought I might stay here for the night, moving on to Geelong early the next day. However standing in the information office waiting to find out what sort and price accommodation would be, I got kind of aggravated with the pretence of the place. The guy behind the counter, took his time serving a girl that came in at the same time as myself. He was giving her detailed information, too much information, for her plans to take her visiting brother on tour along the Ocean road. I say this because watching him he was ogling at her oversized breasts and shapely body. Now I'm a guy who has been known to do the same when an attractive and shapely girl is in my presence. However, I had just cycled a hundred kilometres and was a bit tetchy. When he finally came to attend to my measly inquiry. He was short, to the point and already looking at the next girl to walk in the door. All too soon I was handed some leaflets, not given any real information, or information that helped in any way. I left the information desk non the wiser and just a tad cheesed off. I went into the library and checked my Email which helped get me back on top, Joanna had sent me a funny Christmas cake recipe.

It was five twenty when I left the library, I stood for another five minutes deciding whether or not to try and make it to Geelong. Still smarting from my encounter with the deviant shop assistant, I made up my mind to pound those pedals for another hour or so. To my amazement I still had power left in my legs, they carried me up the B100 at an astonishing rate. With twenty kilometres to cover, and, a few hills, I checked the time and pushed like hell. I made it to Geelong with a record average speed of twenty five kph; now I was knackered!

The first campsite I arrived at was the 'Barwon Caravan Park'. The office was closed due to the annual camp barbecue, there was a number to call but I decided to pitch my tent and see the management in the morning. I found a spot just opposite the camp kitchen, a square building with all the necessary amenities and outside were two large coin operated barbeques. As I pitched my tent, residents started to gather outside the kitchen and a couple of guys started putting up a marquee. I went for a shower and on my return the crowd was now numbering thirty or forty bodies, all holding a bottle's of beer. As darkness started to fall, eight thirty, the camp owners turned up in shinny four wheel drives and proceeded to unload a heap of steak, chops, sausages and burgers. I had turned up just at the right time, within an hour the BBQ was in full swing, people munching and swigging At ten oclock the band 'Hot Pot Blues' started, they were already sozzled. The band, a group of four guys, all relics from the bygone hippy era, started with a loud and exaggerated call, "SHLUUUURP". This came to be a regular announcement as the night wore on. The idea behind the announcement was a request for everyone to take big shlurps of their drink, band included.

The band were all drinking beer with rum and coke chasers, Rick, the sound engineer, had left Wales in 1988, stopping a year in each country on the way to Australia, when he arrived in Geelong in '95' he got settled and enjoyed the place and hasn't moved since. The lead singer 'Wanger' as he was known, looked and dressed like James Ballushy of the blues brothers fame. His dark suit looked as if it had been around the block a few times. By the end of the night, one thirty in the morning, he ended up sitting on a bale of straw, slumped over and singing some real soul blues. The other three guys I'll call Ken, Joe and Dave. Dave was the spitting image, looks, sound and mannerisms of an old friend of mine called 'Dave Mac'. Ken was the odd one out he looked like a 'Rastafarian' his long dreadlocks hanging wildly, he wore wrangler jacket and jeans to go with his 'not so shiny' cowboy boots. Joe was new to the band and wasn't too sure what he was doing, I sat talking to him before the band started, he was nervous and actually quite shy to be hanging around a bunch of rowdy, 'shlurping' piss pots.

As the night wore on and the band members more drunk, the music improved, but at one in the morning I gave in.

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Friday 14th December 2001

At eight o'clock I was awoken to the sound of the park staff cleaning up the bomb site left behind last night. I got up had a shower then cooked myself a huge bowl of porridge and honey, I was set for the day. I thought I should hang around Geelong to see the town. It was a two kilometre walk to the city centre. The campsite was situated to the south of the city in the suburb of Belmont, tucked in neatly by the river. It was a short walk to the road bridge which led straight into the centre. The river was quite busy with the local university rowing teams out practicing. At the north side of the city was the harbour, a well landscaped and clean area, busy with tourists and locals lounging around reading papers, playing with their children or just sleeping in the warm morning sun. I asked a couple of young skate boarding kids to help me take a few pictures. I walked along the pier and sat dreaming, feeling lucky that I am able to enjoy the slow, unhurried pace, the tranquillity of the moment.

The city centre itself, was nothing special, like most cities it looked run down and grimy. Though I did see one of the local council workers scrubbing down a brick wall, you know the sort that surrounds the flower bed in the pedestrian areas of any city. He looked totally bored and un hurried in his task. I couldn't blame him, he was scrubbing with no more than a nail brush, what happened to modern technology and pressure hoses?

I went into the National Hotel, a backpackers, a well lived in bar that smelt of fun and great evenings of drunken debauchery, I liked it. I spoke to the barmaid, Liz, who's family came from Strathclyde and shared the same surname 'Campbell', I felt right at home and enjoyed a couple of small beers and a bit of humorous chin wag. I asked Liz if there was any work in the hotel, she gave me the number of Matty, the guy who does all the recruiting and asked me to call back after six.

I slowly walked back to my hovel and waited patiently for six o'clock. When the time came I called Matty and asked if he needed any staff, he said, "not until after Christmas when I loose a few" Ok I'll call back after the festivities. He said, "Well why not come in for a chat and a beer, so I can see the head that's speaking" Ok I'll come in the next few days. Yeah, Matty said, "but don't bother with a CV or any of that shit, I don't read them". "Don't worry, I don't believe in them either, they are just lie sheets" I replied. "Excellent, we are on to a good start" .

I did plan on going in to see Matty tonight, but another couple of campers, Andrew and Greg from Norwich suggested getting some wine in. I said it sounded like a good idea. We walked across the road to the bottle shop and chipped in five dollars each to buy a four litre cask of 'Chateaux De Cardboard' and sat till the wee hours solving the problems of the world and getting looped.

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Saturday 15th December 2001

After a bit of deliberation I made up my mind to leave my gear and catch the train into Melbourne. Have a quick look around, check out some of the backpackers and generally have a day off and a ride in a train. Melbourne is an hour from Geelong by train, I sat updating my journal and watching the country side with it's small towns slide passed.

Finally - a place where Christmas is a happening thing. Walking down Bourke Street, the main drag in Melbourne, throngs of fellow humans, children screaming and parents shouting, were jammed together, faces pressed against festively decorated shop windows. Here, at last, was a Christmas atmosphere. Speakers attached to lamp posts were bellowing out the old favourites, though surprisingly enough, I didn't hear Bing Crosby and white Christmas, I guess it's not one of those things Melbourners want to listen to, especially seeing it is the start of their summer. I say supposed because the weather is still not what a blue skinned Scottish person would expect of summer in the southern hemisphere.

I wandered down to the end of Bourke Street, the clouds above grey and heavy. After popping into several shops on my way, I happened upon the 'Elephant and Wheelbarrow' Mmm, I thought, should I take a chance and have 'A' beer. Well you know the answer, I ventured in to an old worldly British looking bar, the staff kitted out in red tartan waist coats. That was the first thing I spotted, but then on to more important things, the beer. They had Tenants Lager and McEwans Pale Ale which you very rarely get on tap in Scotland. I knew I shouldn't and at seven bucks a 'pint' I felt ill, not at the price, but at my weakness, I went weak at the knees and had two. Well, my legs were like jelly, I had to sit down, and just as well to sit down with a beer. The atmosphere in the bar was good as you would expect in a city pub. I decided to ask about work, the Scottish guy behind the bar informed me that I needed a CV. I asked if I could speak to someone, he said no, the lady that deals with recruitment 'Cas' just takes CV's and picks the best ones. It's a strange thing in Oz, every company I have spoken to require a CV, apart from the National Hotel...

One of the reasons for coming to Melbourne by train today was to visit the 'Friendly Backpackers Hostel' I had picked up a leaflet a few days ago, it sounded good and if I was to move to the big city I would need a reasonable place to stay over Christmas. The front of the building was nothing special, a glass door opened to a stairway at the top of which was the reception. I climbed the stairs and to the left was a corridor which led to a lounge area and to the right Brahim sitting casually at the reception counter. I felt comfortable right away, there were other travellers coming and going, the lounge area was alive with chat and giggles and the place looked generally, like organised chaos, I liked it already. I spoke to Brahim, who was friendly and informative, he suggest I look at the rooms. They had large and small dorms, the large slept twelve, the small six. The rooms were as you would expect, small but clean and tidy. The price was twenty dollars a night or one hundred and twenty six for the week.

After my two pints of beer, it was time for food. Melbourne has a huge array of restaurants, cafe's etc. I chose to keep it simple, and affordable, I went to Hungry Jacks. First stop the loos, huh, I thought, they were locked. On the door was a sign telling me I had to ask one of the staff to let me in. The young but large smiling lobby hostess unlocked the door and let me in. Afterwards I had a fit of the giggles as a constant stream of desperados 'male and female' with the urgent need to relieve themselves, traipsed up and down the stairs looking for the key lady. She spent most of the time running up and down the stairs unlocking doors; how come she manages to keep her size!

I've been fed and watered, now for the tour of this metropolis. Along with thousands of Christmas shoppers, the sun came out. The sky clear, my head fuzzy and the air filled with exhaust fumes, I ventured forth. Like any busy city, Melbourne at first sight looked disorganised and grubby. There seemed to be an awful lot of women, sitting in the various open air plazas, starring into the nothingness of an empty sky. All with paltry expressions that conveyed some incomprehensible misery. I stood watching for a few minutes, they were young girls but their expressions never changed. Then suddenly as if an alarm went off in their head, they broke out of their trancelike state, got up and hurried off into the crowd.

Most of my time was spent going in and out of camera shops, I was trying to get a reasonable price for developing my films and putting them onto CD, my cheapest price was forty three dollars for four films.
It's quite strange, I have always thought of myself as having a good sense of direction, but here in the southern hemisphere, just can't seem to work things out. It was time for me to head back to the train station so after a quick glance at the map to find out where I was, I marched off in the direction of Melbourne Central station. After walking for about half an hour I realised that something was wrong, I checked my map, and Yes, I was heading in the wrong direction. Sorting my bearings out again, I marched on, again my sense of direction failed me. First I was heading too far south, then too far west, then I was going in a big circle. It took me an hour and a half to get to the station, only to find out that I should have been at Spencer Street station.

I asked one of the station staff what would be the quickest way to get to Spencer Street He said, "go to platform two and take the next train to - North Melbourne". Arriving at North Melbourne station, I asked how to get to Spencer street station, "go to platform three and take the next train to Spencer Street". Finally at the right station, I was told to go to platform two for the Geelong train. I arrived at the platform and asked a rather perturbed looking attendant what time the train for Geelong was. "Huh, six o'clock, you've just missed it", was the tiresome reply. It was 6:01. I was directed to platform seven to catch a 'blue' train for Warrnambool, leaving in forty minutes. It took me over two hours to finally sit my bum down on the right train.

I arrived back in Geelong at about seven fifty, checked my map and headed of in what I thought was the direction of the National Hotel. I wanted to meet with Matty the owner. Wrong, again my sense of direction failed me, more trips around the houses. Maybe our brains get used to the magnetic fields in our respective parts of the world, and when travelling long distances they get cross wires and confused.

The National Hotel was quite busy when I got there, it was now well after eight o'clock. I asked for Matty at the bar and the girl pointed to a hard looking guy who seems to have forgotten that we left the fifties a long time ago. Matty was tall and rugged looking, his arms littered with tattoos, his thinning black hair was greased and combed back in a quiff. An ageing rocker who looked as if he had been through the tread mill of life. I went over and introduced myself, his response was direct but friendly. He informed me that he had a full compliment of staff at the moment, but if I had come in earlier, I could have worked tonight. As we were talking a young girl, probably in her late teens or early twenties, came over and whispered something in his ear and at the same time rubbing his thigh, it was time to move on.

Standing at the bar waiting to get served, a greying Aborigine with dark confident eyes, introduced himself as Lee. After the usual generalities he said, "that would be a Scottish accent" More a statement than a question. I confirmed that he was correct and he explained to me that he had Scottish ancestry on his mothers side. I looked at him quizzically. He said its true, we are related to that Scottish rogue, err, Macgregor. What Rob Roy Macgregor, I asked. yes that's him. I laughed, no way! It's true he said, we've traced out family history, we have the family tree back home, if you don't believe, I'll bring it into you. I said, "it must have cost a fortune to trace back so far", Yes, he returned, "it took six months research and cost us $700". I smiled and tried to change the subject. "So what sort of work do you do?" "I am at university, studying teaching and social science, It's been hard, my last paper I had to submit three times to get a pass. On the third attempt, I told the teacher that if I didn't pass this time I would shove it down his throat. I passed". "Oh, not because I threatened him" he added quickly, I worked hard on it and passed with flying colours. We sat quiet for a bit, then he put on a sad sullen look, "I'm going to a funeral next Friday, my daughters, she died on Wednesday. Considering he had just been joking and laughing, then had a sudden change of direction, I didn't believe him. His next task was to say he was broke and couldn't afford another beer, he would have to ask Matty for a loan till next Thursday. It was incredible, all those different conversations were to try and get a free beer, I told him that I was a poor traveller and couldn't really afford to buy myself a beer, then walked away.

Next stop at the bar was Gary, a computer programmer who had come over here fourteen years ago from Newcastle. At last a sensible intelligent conversation. Gary worked on network solutions and writing programs for retail outlets. We had a few beers and chatted about technology and the industry in general, then he offered to meet me at six o'clock tomorrow evening to load the software I needed onto my 'PSION'. I bought the computer in Adelaide, I hoped it would allow me to update my website easier.

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Sunday 16th December 2001

An easy, hot and sunny day, I took my time getting organised before heading of for a casual cycle around the area. First stop was the Barwon Falls, just ten km west of the city along a narrow tree lined path. The falls weren't anything spectacular but the tranquillity and just listening to the sound of rushing water and watching a couple of weird looking birds trying to catch small fish was good for me. The serenity was short lived when a couple of screaming kids turned up. I re-mounted and headed towards Corio Bay, a further ten km along the road.

It was was bright warm, the bay with its beaches and harbour areas was busy. Parents, families and children running amuck. Screaming for ice cream and lollies. The shoreline cafe's doing good business probably for the first time this season. There were a few families having their Christmas parties, their tables and chairs decorated with an assortment of festive decorations. They pulled crackers, wore party hats and at one table, santa came to visit. Ringing his bell, the children ran to him as he handed out small packages.

It just didn't seem right, Christmas and Santa, 'In the heat of a summer sun' where was the snow or even the frost. Eating roast turkey under an umbrella by the beach, it just wasn't right. I watched the scene for about an hour, enjoying the fun and frivolity, watching the children play and the adults sipping slowly on ice cold beer. Then it was time to go and meet up with Gary and to install the software onto my computer. I met up with him just after six o'clock, it took us two and a half hours to get the software up loaded, we did spend some of the time on idle chat and down loading more software from the internet. Just before nine I went across the road to the National, the same faces were milling around, there was a guy with his guitar making some sort of sound on the stage, no one was listening. I had a couple of small beers and headed home, content with my day out.

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Monday 17th December 2001

A lazy day of visiting the library, checking my Email and just generally lounging around snoozing.

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Tuesday 18th December 2001

Time to hit the road again, I wasn't getting much luck on the work front, not that I was trying that hard, I just wasn't motivated enough. Geelong was a slow moving but cheery wee place, but it didn't do much to excite me. I was up at five thirty quietly packing my gear. After the usual breakfast of porridge I rolled out onto Moorabool Road, going towards the town centre, turning right to head for Queenscliff and my ferry to Sorrento. I had a choice of routes to Melbourne. I could either, take the Princes Highway, which would be busy with comuters heading to work. Or I could

As I boarded the ferry, I realised that I hadn't paid for my nights at the campsite, I could go back, 'I thought'.

The ferry cost $9 and took about forty minutes to cross the Shortland Bluff to Sorrento. The sun was hot and the sea shimmered pale greens and blues. On disembarking, I was approached by to girls, Liz and Gail, they were from Port Lonsdale, just south of Queenscliff. They were out for a days cycling, again I was asked the usual questions and told to keep safe and enjoy my trip. As I dry land, Gail came to me and handed me a leaflet advertising a Dolphin swim, a four hour boat trip to swim with the dolphins and seals that were out in the bay. The company was run by herself and her brother Rob. She said, "I am inviting you on this trip because I like you". That was quick I thought, we had only met for two minutes. "The next trip is tomorrow at twelve thirty, we have the wet suits. Don't think about it just do it, give me a call". I said I would think about it and give her a call anyway. We then went our separate ways, me supposedly heading to Melbourne and the girls heading to the point, what ever that was.

I set my course for what I thought was Melbourne, pedaling through the Sorrento main street, a delightful town with a definite Mediterranean feel. Lots of kerb side cafe bars and speciality gourmet shops, I couldn't stop to browse and anyway I had no money. Pedalling happily along the road and who comes out of a side road but Liz and Gail. "Hi, Malcolm, I was just wondering if we would meet again and here you are" shouted Gail. "Where are you going" she continued. "I don't really no, I guess this isn't the way to Melbourne". "No, are you going to join us out at the point?" asked Gail. Well why not, I said.

There was quite a few climbs on the way to the 'Point' and my gears started to play up, the chain was slipping on both the front and rear cogs. It looks as though I am going to be forced into replacing the whole set chain rings and all. However I pushed on. Neapean Point was, up until a couple of years a go, a restricted area. It was an old world war two gun emplacement that had land mines throughout the scrub. It has now been cleaned up but still there are unexploded bombs being found and every where are signs saying "Danger Unexploded Bombs, KEEP OUT". Keeping to the designated tacks, we cycled the six or so kilometres to the Point. Stopping of to look at various bomb shelters and gun emplacements. The view from the top was quite spectacular and the whole peninsula was a rabbit warren of tunnels where soldiers slept and ammunitions were stored.

We headed back into Sorrento where Liz and Gayle were going to catch the four o'clock ferry back to Queenscliff. We just had time for a coffee and sat outside of one of the many cafe's. Gayle asked what I was going to do now, I explained that it wasn't worth me going much further now, so I would just find a camp and decide what to do tomorrow. She asked if I was going on the boat trip tomorrow. I said it sounded like a good idea and maybe I should. "Then you are just as well getting the ferry back with us and you don't have to camp, you can stay at my place" Gayle enthused. "Oh, I don't know" I didn't like to impose" was my reply. But then I found myself cycling down the hill to the ferry terminal and buying a return ticket. I guess I was staying at Gail and Hank's (husband) place.

Names - Gayle, Hank, Rob, Jenny, Sally, Elise, Cameron, Dannie, Jamie.
Gail and Hank were going out to their daughter (Sally's) award night, so I was left to my own devices. The award night was for performance at school. Sally ended up with one of the top achievers awards, she will have to go to government house to collect it. They never got home till late, I was settled in my tent.

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Wedensday 19th December 2001

Sleeping in someone's back garden is always a bit uncomfortable, not that the sleeping arrangements are any different, but in someone's backyard. You feel as if you are imposing, not because they make you feel that way, but you are on their turf, too close to their lives without being in it, An outsider on the perimeter of the family.

I was up at about eight, there was already stirring's from the house, Hank had briefly said goodbye as he headed of to work. He was a landscape gardener, his busy period about to end, everyone, he said seems to want their garden done before Christmas. As I pulled myself from my cosy nylon cage, Gayle stepped from the house, a bright cheery smile and said, " Morning Malcolm, how did you sleep". Fine, I said. Then Sally, Gayle's daughter came out, again, a huge smile, beaming, said, "morning, did you sleep Ok?". Yes, I answered. It felt so good, all these smiling happy people around me. They wore colourful happy clothes that matched their happy smiling features, it was just great.

After a cup of coffee, I accompanied Gayle while she took her youngest (Elise) to school. We then went on to Rob and Jennies (brother and sister in law) for a coffee. Again the atmosphere was an exciting and happy one. I arrived just as Rob was taking the children to school, they all said, "Hello Malcolm" and were off. Rob and Jenny had a lovely, lived in house, where the living area was up stairs so they could make the most of the spectacular views they had across the bay. Again, a lovely couple who couldn't do enough for you, nothing was too much trouble, not that I asked for much. But their presence and attitude to me being there was relaxed and , well, it was like I had known them for years. Jenny and I stood chin wagging for about an hour, forgetting that she was supposed to be making breakfast. Finally Jenny got round to making Gayle and I breakfast, she laid it on the table and said 'enjoy' then had to go out.

By the time Gayle and I got back to her office it was about ten thirty, the phone had been going non stop. It was quite exciting, the buzz of the place and the enthusiasm Gayle showed for her work.

At twelve twenty we got in the car and headed to the port where Rob, Jamie and Danie were getting the boat ready for the trip. There was already about twelve people there, excitedly buzzing around, changing into their wet suits and jumping on and off the boat. The air was a stir of excitement and commotion, people sh

outing back and forth. "Have you got this" or "Oh, I forgot to and do we need?" On the boat, off the boat.

Gayle rushed around taking payment from everyone, $75 for trip and swim, $35 for trip - no swim. Danie was in the caravan handing out wet suits, I was handed a fetching little number, Black with a sky blue stripe down the sides. It was tight, we were all, 'especially the ones that hadn't donned a wet suit before' struggling with the things, trying to pull the oversized condom suit over our shoulders.

On the boat, I met another five people from Scotland (all girls), four from Australia, the rest were from other parts of the UK. Every one of them laughing and giggling as they introduced themselves to each other. The sky was clear and the sun already hot, Jamie came out with a large tub of sun protection and handed it around saying that we should all use plenty, the sun WILL burn today. We set off, Danie introduced the crew and explained what we should expect from the tour. That done and everyone beginning to relax, we all wandered around the small boat. I say small but that's only because I don't know much about boats or what is big or small. It had a license to carry forty passengers, however, Rob had explained to me that they were happy with about twenty five people, it was more comfortable and manageable.

First stop, 'Popes eye' a small marine reserve, a miniature version of the 'Great Barrier Reef'. This stop had a two fold purpose, one was to let us see the reef and fish life as we snorkelled around it and two, to get us used to the snorkel and mask, the wet suit and the 'cold water', admittedly, it wasn't North Sea cold and didn't take much getting used to. The reserve as I've said was like a miniature reef, there wasn't a lot of coral but the specimens of sea life were many and varied. Looking down into the clear waters you could see all sorts of crustaceans, the colours were awesome. The Popes eye was also the place where we had our first 'Duck Dive' practice. Have you ever tried duck diving with a rubber and very buoyant suit and flippers wrapped around your body, it was not easy. In fact, I just couldn't master the technique, every time I took a dive, my legs flapping like mad on the surface, I got a mouth full of water and some notably funny looks. I asked why they called it 'Popes eye' but know one new.

Next stop, Seal swimming at 'Chinaman,s Hat' so called because of the shape of the structure that the seals rested on. About five km out in the bay, the hat rose from the ocean floor. The seals, big fat lumps of furry blubber, sunning themselves. Standing on the bow of the boat watching them jumping in the water, playing around was fine, until we went down wind, the smell was awful, it was like smelling lumps of rancid fat.

Again we all donned out masks and jumped in the water - with the warning not to try and touch the seals. As about fifteen of us bobbed up and down with the swell of the water, some of the young seals jumped in and began swimming around us. Diving in they would swim down, turn on their backs and swim under you their black onyx eyes smiling up at you. We all swam here for half an hour which was long enough because the current coming around the structure was strong we were constantly fighting against it.
As we climbed back aboard the boat there was hot tea and coffee served, the esky was filled with cold drinks for those who preferred.

Next task was to find the Dolphins, they hadn't been sighted all morning. Milling around on the boat eating fresh sliced fruit, eyes scanning the surface for a glimpse of a fin. We trailed around for twenty minutes when Rob got word from another boat that the Dolphins had been sighted just out of the bay. Stepping up a gear we headed out of the calm and into the swelling waters of Bass Strait the third most dangerous stretch of water in the world, so I was informed. Some eighty ships had been wrecked here over the past hundred years.

We spotted the dolphins but all we could do was look, the currents being too strong for swimming. Everyone, cameras in hand, spending reams of film Ah-ing and Ooh-ing. It was interesting to watch faces beam with excitement, some had never been this close to a Dolphin. There was a shout from Rob as he enthusiastically told every one that the Dolphins were heading back into the bay. The boat was turned about, the long rope thrown in behind us. Back in the calm waters of Port Philip Bay, the Dolphins were again sighted, and ten people lowered themselves into the surf and hung onto the floating rope - you are not allowed to free swim with the Dolphins - bobbing up and down, like peas in a boiling pot, masks on. Danie, our look out, would watch the Dolphins and as they swam towards us, would shout, "Look down, Look Down, Quick". The ten people being bounced around by the current would stick their heads under the water, the Dolphins would swim below, very close, almost touching. After ten minutes of this the next group would be lowered in. The first lot came out, beaming, big cheesy grins, waving their arms as they explained what they saw, "that was awesome" they would exclaim.

After everyone had a dip with the Dolphins it was time to head back to port. Relaxed the whole group discussed their day out and how great it was, well worth seventy five dollars. A few Email and phone numbers were exchanged then they all went their own direction. Their day of excitment never to be forgotten. I helped Rob, Jamie and Danie clean the boat, my payment in return for an exciting afternoon. Rob was taking me back to Gayle's place where I was to have dinner with the family. I didn't make it in time, Rob who doesn't normally drink much, invited me for a beer. Three hours later I was dropped off at Gayle's, Sally was there with her boyfriend, everyone else had gone out.

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Thursday 20th December 2001

As I crawled out of the tent, Hank came out of the house and invited me in for breakfast. Everyone was there, Sally made thick fresh fruit smoothies and a plate of fresh diced fruit. I was being spoilt, it was time to pack up and move on. I could have stayed here for ages, it was so comfortable, friendly and had a great happy atmosphere. Slowly, after breakfast, and very hesitantly I packed my bike. It was almost eleven when I said my goodbyes and hit the road. Not exactly sure where I was going, should get the ferry back to Sorrento and stick to my original route, or head to Melbourne via Geelong? Taking the time into consideration I decided on the Geelong route. It only took me one and a half hours to get there and after a light lunch, I pondered on what I should do. The whole trip has been great but I seem to be lost at the moment. Chris was coming from New Zealand for a few weeks, we were to meet in Melbourne, but Melbourne, like any city was expensive and I still had a week to hang around. I was short of money and thought I should get some work, but the only place I expected to get work was Shepparton, some two hundred kilometres north of Melbourne. What a dilemma!

I made up my mind that it was too late to cycle to Melbourne, so I took the train. I paid, reluctantly, my twelve dollars for the ticket and awaited the train. As the train rolled into the station, the guard on the train opened the cargo carriage door and shouted, "is that bike going to Melbourne" I confirmed that it was and boarded. I was asked again the usual array of questions and the guard said he had been to Scotland several times, he loved it. "Have you bought at ticket" he said. "Yes, I've got it here" I replied. "Oh, that's a pity, I would have let you travel for free". Bummer, I thought.

Getting off at Melbourne, I went to the information desk to enquire about trains to Shepparton, the guy at the desk was unfriendly and threw his words at me. "Next train, six fifteen, twenty five dollars plus three for the bike" I thanked him for the information, though he didn't deserve any courtesy at all. I went out of the station to find a bank to see how much money I had left. If I cycled to Shepparton, it would take me two days to get there, two possible working days. If I take the train it would cost about thirty dollars and I may not get work at the end of the line. I was standing pondering over my decision when an elderly man approached me making a statement about the weight I was carrying. He asked me where I had come from and where I was going. I told him that I was standing here wondering whether or not to go to Shepparton. He said, " I'm from Shepparton, it's a lovely place and there's plenty of work". That was it, I made the decision to get the train to Shepparton.

I was standing in the queue to board the train when I was approached by another guy who asked how the cycling was going, he said he had cycled all around Australia and gave me a copy of an article. He had been falsely, for the past twenty years, diagnosed as a schizophrenic and done the trip in aid of the condition. He gave me his number and said I should call him just after Christmas. As I stood talking to him, another guy with a bike pulled up alongside of me. He had a strange vacant look, young and skin head he stood staring. Eventually as I said cheerio to the other guy, I said hi to Paul who came on the train behind me. He didn't say too much, he had been drinking and for some reason, I didn't trust him. We walked through the carriages looking for a seat, the train was busy. I deliberately found a seat next to two other guys, away from Paul.

Tom and Jack my companions for the journey, joined me in some lively conversation, covering management technique to the weather. Leaving the train, I exchanged phone numbers and Email addresses with Tom and Jack then headed off. It was getting dark and I hadn't a clue where I was going, I didn't have a map of the area. As I cycled off into what I assumed was the main street, taking a guess I turned left. It was a good move, not far down the road was a stretch of bush land and a small lake, there is always a place to camp near water. I carried on around the lake and found a campsite.

As I crossed the land bridge over the lake to the campsite, Alina phoned. She had a few burning questions to ask, one of them being quite a concern. What if we are in the middle of nowhere and your kidney fails? I knew the question had to be asked and answered, I had thought about it several times. Not really sure what to say, I tried to reassure her that it was not an option, it wouldn't happen, if things started to go wrong, there would be plenty of warning. I wouldn't want to put her or anyone through that sort of situation. But I also said that nothing was guaranteed, we don't know what was going to happen tomorrow, and, I would definitely let her know if I felt that things were starting to deteriorate to a stage where I couldn't go much further.
As I stood on the banks of the lake, a bike pulled up beside me, it was Paul. We cycled into the campsite together found a pitch and set camp. Paul was in Shepparton to find work also. Instead of getting out my camp stove, I accompanied Paul into town and to Hungry Jacks, it was now about 9 pm. In the dark and after a feed, we headed back to camp where I imediately got comfortable and crashed out.

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Friday 21st December 2001

Up early and ready to go to the Harvest Office, again Paul was there with me. It wouldn't be so bad, but he was so slow, I had to repeat myself constantly and still spell out what I was going to do. At the Harvest Office, Jenny took our registration forms and gave us the number of Jim Vagelatos of 'Vagelatos Fruits'. She also gave us a sun hat and some sun block, I don't know what we needed them for, I've seen warmer weather in Scotland at this time of the year. I phoned Jim and told him that I 'had' picked Apricots before, 'I lied'. He said to meet him at eleven thirty.

Paul and I went back to break camp and pedaled some ten kilometres to 'Vagelatos Orchard', Paul still following behind, constantly talking and mumbling to himself. Jim an Australian of Greek origin seemed a very serious character. We were 'TOLD' to put our bikes in the shed and follow him. He gave us each a picking bag and quick instruction on how to work a tractor. He pointed us in the direction of the trees, told us to colour pick and he would see us later. That was it, we were starting, we would find out about wages and accommodation later.

The fruit was plentiful but mostly green, We were to work our way down a row of trees. Working one side each. The going was slow, it took me three hours to pick one bin at twenty eight dollars each. I didn't mind, it was my first time fruit picking for twelve years. But Paul who done it all year had constantly reminded me how fast he was, he had only picked half a bin. As it was our first day I didn't mind helping him finish his bin, besides he said he would shout dinner. We finished at about four thirty, Jim was in the shed, he glanced at our fruit and just said, "it's too fucking green, I need colour". Then he told us where we could camp, and emphasised 'several times' that we were to keep the place clean. When I saw the amenities, I laughed, they were disgusting. Jim had just bought this part of the orchard and he hadn't had much time to do anything with it. He must have been joking when he said to keep it clean,

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Saturday 22nd December 2001

Paul and I started at about seven, Scot, Mick and Millie, the only other pickers, had already been at it for an hour. Jim none too chuffed at out late arrival, started our day with a lecture about starting when the sun came up and picking the right colour. He also added, "And I want the bins full".

The fruit was coming on slow, we had to search around for the required colour which took up most of our time. Paul was becoming a pain, I would be picking trees way ahead of him, I would then cross over onto his row and work back towards him, he was moving slow. Because were sharing a tractor, we needed to try and keep up with each other. Next thing I new, he had jumped onto the tractor and headed of to a new set of rows. I was stunned, I had a full bag of fruit whioch I had to lug about one hundred yards across ruts and puddles etc. I caught up and being some what annoyed said, "what the fuck are you doing?". "Oh, I thought you were finished" came the reply. "Did you ask? No, you didn't" Paul then explained, "I just wanted to get this lot finished and get back to camp". I said, "that we weren't finished a row until all the ripe fruit are off the tree". He said he would come back and help but I told him not to bother.

I had made up my mind that I wasn't going to work with him. I finished my bin, he still only had half, and told him I would see him later. On the way back to camp I bumped into Jim, he asked why I was finishing so early. I told him what had happened and explained that I couldn't work with Paul. He said that he thought he was my mate, that we phoned up from the harvest office together and that we cycled in together. He also informed me that he was about to get rid of both of us because we were slow and only working half the day.

I was quick to tell him that I only met Paul on the train and that we, were not mates. Okay, he said, I will get rid of him tomorrow and you can work with Scot, but no fucking about. Back at camp Scot and I sat down with a beer, it was only about one thirty in the afternoon. We were discussing what was happening at the orchard when Jim came around the corner, "what are you guys doing, sitting drinking piss, I've got trees with fruit going off". Paul had not filled his bin properly and there was still another row to go, he decided he was finished. In the kitchen later, while Scot and I sat having tea and chatting, Paul wandered about mumbling to himself, he had lost it.

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Sunday 23rd December 2001

There was no work today, the fruit wasn't ripe. Jim came to the camp at about ten o'clock and told Paul to pack his gear. Paul, none too happy came to me and said, "that's it, we have to pack up and go". "What do you mean?", I said. 'Jim' told me he didn't want us here and just to pack up and leave"
Well, I said, I am not going to panic, I will hang around and talk to him. Paul, returned with, "I'll just hang around as well, I'll wait for you". I told him he didn't need to bother, that I would catch up with him later. But, no, he was insistent on waiting.

I just couldn't get shot of him, I was about to tell him to beat it - it's not the sort of thing I like doing but I thought it was necessary, I needed to earn money and he was becoming a liability. Just as I opened my mouth to speak, Jim came over and looked at Paul, "What are you doing, why haven't you packed yet? I am not going to pay you until you are ready to leave". Paul said, "But what about Malcolm?". Never mind him, you just do what I have asked you and don't argue, that's how you get into trouble". I felt sorry for him, but at the same time I knew it was his own fault. The evening was a lot quieter, I bought a few beers and Scot and I sat chilling out as the sun went down.

Up 'VERY' early, five am, the lights were still out, I had a light breakfast and made up some sandwiches. I met Scot and we both walked into the orchard to start the day. We had discussed last night that we would focus on the job in hand and try and earn some decent cash. It was a hot but reasonably successful day, we picked three bins each. Not as much as we would like but seventy five dollars in the hand is better that twenty five. Jim for once was also impressed.

Christmas day, yeah haaaaa! well maybe not. Scot and I sat in the camp, Mick was away visiting friends. I only had enough money to buy a slab of beer yesterday so we sat supping on tinnies.

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Wedensday 26th December 2001

I moved, reluctantly into the 'Stray Leaves' Caravan park and booked a cabin, Chris was arriving later. I would have rather stayed out at the orchard but firstly, the train from Melbourne was not arriving until eight thirty in the evening, it would be too dark to cycle the ten kilometres back to the orchard. And secondly, it was Chris's first night, the orchard camp didn't have any hot water, the gas ran out two days ago. The campsite seemed Ok, the cabin had all facilities, cooker, microwave, fridge and toilet and shower, cost not bad at forty eight dollars for the night even though I was only paying twenty dollars a week at the orchard.
I settled myself in and made my special meal in a bucket. Rice, Pasta and vegetables cooked with chicken stock, Garlic and a pinch of Chile. A big pot of chunky soup, what more could you want? I picked Chris up at eight thirty and we sat till he wee hours munching on soup and talking.

Work on the orchard was not consistent, we were on for two days and off for three. I was looking around for other work, however, the Apricots in the area are about the same. If they are ripe the fruit is small, if the are large fruit they are not ripe and the other fruits were on due for picking for naother two - three weeks.

I took Chris to see the Orchard camp but she doesn't like the idea of cycling the ten or so km into town on her own, she wants to stay at the 'Stray Leaves' camping. We booked in for a week, forty five dollars, which I wasn't too keen on. However, it is her holiday as well.

After only a few days I began feel uncomfortable with the idea that I was going out to work and leaving Chris to fend for herself. But, if I don't work then I have no money and I won't be able to do very much. She hasn't even been here for a week and already there is tension, mostly I guess caused by myself. I feel a bit bad that we are not doing what we planed on when she arranged to come out, that is cycling to Sydney. The campsite wasn't too bad and when we got to know a few of our neighbours, things became more relaxed.

Most of the other camper were also here for the seasonal work. Some of them have spent their whole working life doing fruit picking. It can be hard work but once you get the hang of it and can move at a reasonable pace, the rewards are good. You can hope to earn between five hundred and a thousand dollars a week.

Free Wheelin - December 2001