Well, we did another bike ride and a splendiferous day was had by all (Both of us!).
I was up at 5:45 and Steve turned up at 6:15. We proceeded to have a great manly bonding discussion about where to put my bike. Steves was on his bike rack (where else), attached to the tow ball. My bike however, fortunately does not have a crossbar as per normal bikes, so wouldnt fit on there. I say "fortunately", because if you are male, and have at some stage slipped off the peddles and landed on a crossbar (who hasn't?), you will know how it feels. If you are female, I can only leave it to your graphic imagination. Let me tell you though, that when you land on said crossbar, it would bring a tear to a glass eye!!
I definitely prefer my nuts uncracked, and just as they are.
Anyway I digress....
We threw my bike in the boot, and we were away. It was a good day for a ride, a little overcast but warm and dry. When we arrived at Newport, we parked just across the road from a pub called 'The Newport Arms' (cunning). We unloaded the bikes and then Steve pulled out four hot cross buns, and handed me two. This was a bit of a worry, because I didnt know if he was really early for next Easter, or really late for the last one. I inspected proffered substances (complete with butter) and finding no green cultures growing, or anything wriggling, I decided he must be early. A tentative lick had my mouth watering, so I woofed them down and they never touched the sides. Yummy... have to look after the inner man don't you???.
We were soon off and riding. There were lots of dogs walking their owners (is the glass half full or half empty?), that we smiled at, and gave a cheery "good morning" to. Life was good for the first couple of kilometres until we came to this hill.
WOW... talk about steep. I looked up it and expected to see Angels at the top with harps, playing a lullabye.. We attacked it with gritted teeth & determined vigour (as resolute Ozzies do), only to come to a dead stop after a hundred yards. This hill must have been at least a kilometre long, and was bloody hard yakka just pushing the bikes up. All to soon we were a dripping lather of sweat.
Determination however prevailed and having finally conquered it, it was an easy ride across the top. We then went whizzing down the other side, gripping the handle bars like our life depended on it (which of course it did!!)
At about a quarter of the way we stopped for a quick drink, then moved on attacking more hills towards the lighthouse, which was our ultimate goal. At the end, we rode until we ran out of road (He's a poet and didn't know it!!), and still there wasnt a sign directing us to the lighthouse. There was a woman, son, and daughter, walking down the beach, so we asked them the way up there. They were Americans, but knew the way, and pointed down the beach. The woman said "you won't get your bikes up there", the son said we would. The daughter said nothing only fluttered her eye lashes, tried to look coy and beautiful (as teenage girls do (if my memory serves me right), as we ogled her breasts which were virgin, pert, firm, unadulterated, perfect, untouched, ......... Oops, where was I??
Oh yes..... O.K..... We found that if we stuck to the water line, we could cycle down the beach which was a real blast. As soon as we started up the track though, it was obvious that 'Mother knows best', and the kid either had no idea or a death wish. We soon lobbed the bikes in the bushes, covered them up, and walked up the hill. The views on the way up, and at the top were spectacular. The lighthouse was a work of art, made of sandstone blocks in about 1900 or something. Of interest was a nearby grave of one of the first lighthouse keepers the inscription was magic, and food for thought, it went.....
All ye that come my grave to see
Prepare in time to follow me
Repent at once without delay
For I in haste was called away
After a sit down in the sun, and a rest we decended, and took a ride along Palm beach, a stop for a cup of cha in a cafe,and then we hit the road, and headed back. Going back seemed easier than the leg out for some reason, maybe we had gone numb or something. We had a stop on a beach to cool down, and then went for the last hill. It beat us (another big dragging one) but the walk up was pleasant. Down the other side to the car, dump the bikes, and then over to the Arms for lunch. Rather
than tell you about the Arms (A Sydney icon) there's a link to look at, at the bottom of the page.
Though it has beautiful scenery, I must add, six of us booked a meal in the Terrace restarant once for a birthday
celebration. The service was shocking and when we finally got our entree's (Starters to the Americans) well over an
hour later, they were all mixed up, nothing was what we ordered, and one had a long blonde hair in it. We walked out
not paying for any of the drinks (including two bottles of wine), or what we had eaten so far.
Still a nice view though.
Click for the Arms >>> |
