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Last day of my holiday. Two weeks seems such a long time when it involves an escape like the bike trip. My paper journal is full of empty pages from last week, but that never seems to work, I either leave too much or too little space, or I just don't get around to revisiting the days — time just keeps flowing forwards. At least the electronic one doesn't get its pages wet or have problems with cheap paper and felt-tipped pens — on the other hand, I don't think a handheld PC would have stood up to last week's deluge!

Chores in the morning then up the street for bike bits and to discuss my cracked helmet straps at the Trek shop. They were very helpful, Luke took the helmet to show to the Limar rep. who should be in next week. No problems about it being just over a year old. The rep. is all-powerful with the brand, and will probably just replace the strap harness on the spot.

Then off to Groovetrain for coffee and newspaper and a catchup, before jumping on a tram into the city, last chance to wander around before going back to work. An amazing change from last week to be in the crowds and bustle of lunch-time in the CBD. Music kept popping up and reminding me of things, a t-shirt across the tram with “Death or Glory” across the chest had me humming the same song by the Clash, then a fire engine and smoke in Bourke street got me started on “London's Burning.” Two blocks on and a busker is playing “Danny Boy” on a violin, a song that has strange affiliation with the NSW bike rides, owing to an occaision long in the past when the mayor of some small town got up and sang it on the podium, starting a tradition which had continued to this year — except that this year the mayors in every single town were too busy to visit the ride, more important was grovelling to their constituents to get re-elected on Saturday.

I've been listening to a lot of music since getting home, seems to be the same every year, or every time I go away. Endless cover-band renditions of Brown Eyed Girl and To Her Door start to get to you after a while...

Back in Melbourne, miserable weather and all! Somewhere around Seymour the sun came up on a dull grey sky. Cloud turned to drizzle turned to rain — welcome home to Victoria! Somehow the train managed to run an hour late, I tried to call Jo to let her know, no luck, there's mobile phone coverage for people driving up the Hume highway, but none for those in the trains.

  Today: 47km
  Trip: 381km

Where?

Gosford, Berowra.

  Today: 77km
  Trip: 334km

  Today: 74km
  Trip: 262km

Where?

Newcastle

  Today: 0km
  Trip: 188km

Things continue to improve. Its a sunny day, breakfast at a reasonable hour. A visit to a laundromat and a coffee in Beaumont street. Definitely an improvement.

In the afternoon Ron and I trundled into town on Big Bertha for a beer at the waterfront brewery, then along the sea-wall to the lighthouse, and around the point. Eventually we ran out of path and Ron tried to take the flexy old tandem over a skate-ramp, but sanity prevailed and he pulled out at the last moment. Me, I just hung on and pedalled!

  Today: 73km
  Trip: 188km

Stuff-ups and more stuff-ups! Up at 4am as the cooks got up and started to prepare breakfast. A quick pack up and dress, then down to the showground in the mill owners 4WD. Put the bags down in a corner where we could see them and started on the bikes, preparing and loading them into the trucks. Within minutes the sheep-like hordes had dumped bags on our bags and buried the lot.

Two luggage trucks, a cattle truck and the tipper were filled — hordes arriving and pushing and shoving. Good bikes and twenty kilogram monsters, desperately trying to pack them to minimise any damage. 70... 30... 23 into the sag bus trailer, then only seven left, flat on a layer of bags in the luggage compartment under the coach. Dozed in the bus to Raymond Terrace, then sat waiting, waiting, waiting for the other bus and our bags. Half an hour later we finally gave up and headed off. JB said he'd take care of the bags for us. Turns out there were there all along, one of the BNSW staff had moved our bags from the bus to a truck and not told anyone! Along with that they managed to lose JB's helmet and shoes, so after working all morning to pack 1,200 bikes, he didn't get to ride his own!

Rode today with rocket-Rod, he's from Wellington and grew up in Newcastle and around this area, so knew all the details about the roads and towns, where to go when we got to the towns, and where they used to ride a few decades ago. An enjoyable ride, doubly so to be finally back on our bikes, but very humid after all the rain.

Coming into Newcastle we must have zig-zagged all over town to avoid any sign of a main road or a right-hand turn, it got to be annoying in the end, and thoroughly disorienting.

Party night before the rest day tomorrow — I don't know why I botther going to them some times — the same sad cover bands, the same guys dressing up in women's clothing every year. Turn around to go home and the best stuff up of the day happens. There was a bus in from the campsite to the club, but no transport home! Several hundred people, half of whom have no idea where they are, are now expected to walk a couple of kilometres home at midnight through a dodgy part of Newcastle while dodging the abuse and cars of the local hoons. Thanks BNSW, magnificent organisation there!

  Today: 5km
  Trip: 117km

There was little to do all day except walk around town and look at the floods. Some of our more quick-witted friends ignored the BNSW organisers, arranged to have their bags taken in a van, and rode the 100+ km straight down the highway to Newcastle. Others, who had friends in the area, arranged to be picked up and taken there in cars. The rest of us sat around wondering what miracle of logistics was going to occur that would take over a thousand wet and pissed off cyclists, their luggage and their bikes, away from the flooded back roads, and over a hundred and twenty kilometres to get them back on the planned route.

We walked around the streets and looked at the flooded gardens.

We sat in the pub and looked at the flooded river.

We sat in the coffee shop and looked at the flooded streets.

All praise went to the owner of the sawmill! From losing half a day's production yesterday he got the staff to make the mill safe, let the entire ride stay the night, then arranged to work a half shift between nine and four today, cleared up again and gave the mill back to BNSW for the evening meals and shelter for a second night!

Alex shuffled up to Rod and I just before dinner with a twinkle in his eyes. “Guess what guys, I think we've been asked to volunteer...” Sure enough, then there came the big announcement: First thing in the morning the bikes were going to be loaded into trucks, the riders were going in busses, and we were all going to Raymond Terrace, then to ride to Newcastle. Impressed by JB's ability to pull order out of chaos, BNSW had asked him to oversee the loading of all thousand-plus bikes into the trucks again! JB agreed, but on two conditions: First, get him the same guys who helped him yesterday, two, BNSW volunteers to stay off his back and out of his way!

Turned in for an early night, knowing we'd be up at 4am to start the loading.

Where?

Bulahdelah

  Today: 36km
  Trip: 112km

Breakfast took longer than anticipated, the weather saw to that. Ominous dark clouds threatened while some chose to pack up before eating, others chose to eat first and pack later. I was one of the latter group, not only had I not packed up, but I was only just joining the queue as the downpour began and put a delay in the procedings. The sudden deluge caught me between toilets and breakfast so I huddled under shelter to wait it out, then managed to grab some food, eat and pack in hurry all while not getting too wet.

The rain stopped for long enough to allow us to pack up, then Doctor Alan and I headed out under very dark skies. Stopping to wait for the police to allow us across the river into Forster we glanced back to see ever darker clouds gathering ominously. A flock of pelicans sat on the sandbank beside the river, very strange in appearance as they sat facing directly towards us — into the rain — beaks half open, maybe catching the fresh water. Finally we were allowed to cross; light showers, heavy showers, turning to torrential deluges for the rest of the day.

Punctures galore in the wet, after pumping my front tyre up it at a rest stop it went straight back down again as we were leaving town — luckily next to a boat showroom where we sheltered under a huge awning, repaired the puncture and joked about taking a boat the rest of the way...

At Bungwahl we stopped and stood around in the mud for a while then started to head off, only to find that we were prevented from getting back onto the road. The police had decided that with torrential rain, a narrow road, one thousand five hundred cyclists and a small number of local motorists, that they couldn't safely continue the ride and so 1,500 cyclists had to stand around for up to five hours in pouring rain while buses were organised to take us the rest of the way to Bulahdelah! A few shouting matches between BNSW staff and police, assorted people calling each other idiots. Meanwhile the vast majority stood and dripped and shivered, St Johns ambulance staff treating the worst affected.

Trucks were hired on short notice to carry the bikes, of course these were whatever was available, so there was no chance of any of the bikes being well protected! There was no organization to packing them either, until JB grabbed a dozen of us and took charge, doing his best to minimise the damage and get us out of there before nightfall.

A complete catastrophe of a day. Somewhere through the afternoon one of the VRA volunteers found us a packet of jelly snakes — the only food for a dozen people in four hours!

Finally we'd packed the last of the bikes into the last of the trucks, seven hours of walking around in pouring rain. Totally exhausted, we piled into the mini-bus for the trip to Bulahdelah and the show-grounds, to discover that we had to find our luggage and take it up to a sawmill that the owner had volunteered the use of. A freshly scrubbed, warm, dry BNSW staff member told us: “Don't worry, we'll take care of you when you get there, there's hot showers, accomodation's been arranged, you've done a fantastic job...” We staggered out of the bus into the mill to find every last square inch of space occupied, all rooms in town occupied, and a total lack of interest in any BNSW staff member we could approach. No showers, these were back at the showground that we'd just left! No accomodation, that was all full. No food, we'ld missed dinner! Four of us marched off with our bags to a likely looking corner, barricaded ourselves in and got changed, then managed to get the scrapings of dinner.

Accomodation for the night was the carpetted floor of the manager's office. Three or four of us sharing with some of the cooks from the catering firm, cooks who would be getting up at four a.m. to start on the breakfasts....

As organizational stuff ups go, it was one of the more impressive ones I've ever been involved in!

Where?

Tuncurrey, Bungwahl, Bulahdelah

  Today: 74km
  Trip: 76km

Either the beer or the travelling had produced a killer headache, tend to think it was the latter since I always seem to end up with a stiff neck and a headache after sleeping in buses and trains.

Steamy and humid all morning, then a bit of a cooler change after the lunch stop. For the first half of the day I rode by myself, trying to shake off the headache and in no mood for company. Caught up with Dr Alan and Ron for the rest of the ride, down to the coast and into the wind. A couple of beers in the Tuncurry bowls club and then back to the campsite to set up the tent just ahead of the rain. Then nothing to do but sit and watch for an hour or more waiting for the shop to open to buy a towel to replace the one I'd left at home so I could go and have a shower!

Back over to the bowls club after dinner for a few more beers, too far to go to walk into town, and the clowds looming overhead looked too dark and ominous.

  Today: 2km
  Trip: 2km

A foggy morning in the Southern Highlands as it became light enough to see from the train, then a seven a.m. arrival at Strathfield for 07:30 departure on the North Coast XPT. Homeward-bound ferals everywhere on the platform, chuffing away on joints and bongs, oblivious to the “No Smoking” signs, but no more oblivious than the rest of the population with their cigarettes.

While waiting I sat and chatted to three other people destined for Gloucester, travelling with a Bike Friday tandem and a Birdie — two folding bikes that become more and more appealing every time I travel and have to go through the hassles of boxing a bike and transporting the box...

A morning trip up through the central coast, warm sun through the windows making me drowsy, the sights and names of places bringing back flickering memories of visits to this part of the world three or four years ago. Staff on the train were bemused that so many people were heading for Gloucester, its a tiny little town with very few passengers normally!

Step out of the train at Gloucester station and nearly melt — after almost sixteen hours in air-conditioned transport, the humidity and temperature were quite a shock. Assemble the bike from the box and ride off in jeans and boots to find the campsite. I guess that BNSW had assumed that everyone would be arriving by bus or car, since there were no directions or maps available for anyone arriving at the station.

This year BNSW had decided that there would be no riding on the first day; maybe the hassles of arrival, registration and riding were too much for some people, maybe the local chamber of commerce wanted us to stay longer and spend more money... Registration was intended to occur in the morning, finishing at noon, so I'd thought that by arriving by train I'd be one of the last. As it was, my train arrived ahead of the buses, even though they left Sydney at six a.m.! In any case, there was nothing much to do for the afternoon but sit in the pub and drink beer and catch up with people from previous rides.

Too much beer in the afternoon, too little sleep the night before, after a brief visit to the pub this evening, I retired to my tent for a good night's sleep! Apparently the publican repeated his strange behaviour of a previous ride visit, after putting up the money to hire a band and advertise for people to visit, he promptly closed the pub and kicked everyone out at eleven o'clock without having applied for an extended license!

Where?

  Today: 0km
  Trip: 0km

Seems strange having a day or two holiday before I go away on a bike trip. Usually I've finished work one day, gone home, packed up, got to whatever transport is required, got to the start and got on my way... it all seems very relaxed this time!

Tried — and eventually succeeded — in getting Telstra to change over the phone numbers from my old SIM to my new one. For about ten minutes the guy in the shop repeated the same procedure over and over again, swapping SIM cards in and out of the reader, all the time while the software kept stating "no reader attached to computer". Eventually he gave up, disappeared into the back of the shop, then came back with a fancy model phone that can read and write SIM cards, and did it that way. Maybe the ancient unpatched Windows 98 PC with IE 5.0 had finally died, maybe it was a victim of the latest Bagle computer virus.

A long and lazy lunch at Kojo Brown; eating, drinking, watching the world go by and reading a bit of Reflections on a Marine Venus. The book is Mediterranean, the weather and my mood feel Mediterranean, the people near me all Mediterranean, but I'm here in Melbourne, and noisy traffic and bad architecture bring me back to reality.

Australian Geographic seem to have sorted out our subscription woes — issues #72 and #73 never turned up, but I got home to find #74 sitting in the mail box, which reminded me to phone up and ask for a copy of to be sent out — I couldn't do this back in December when I called about #72 because at the time it was too “soon.” No problem, #73 will be on its way on Monday.

An article on the 1000km Bibbelmun track in West Australia — Perth to Albany — took e back to our honeymoon last year. A 6 to 8 week walk, maybe two or three weeks cycle trip — it would be great to combine it with a trip over on the Indian-Pacific train. There was even mention of Gary the mad ranger from Walpole Wilderness cruises!

A fascinating and disturbing article about death in there too. At first I didn't read it, then started to and put it aside, then read it fully. All part of the whole “avoiding death” thing that they were speaking of. It's come up before — I've never been exposed to death, no elderly family nearby, no experiences in it. So strange, but maybe quite common with families being spread out over the countryside in the 20th century.

Evening time and its finally time to leave for the start of the bike ride — and nothing is ever simple. Spencer Street station looks like a bomb — or maybe a bulldozer — has hit it, only about a quarter of the station is open, the rest is site-sheds and hoardings and construction works. Tonight's train to Albury has been replaced by a coach — due to track-work caused by a derailment last week, so there goes any chance of having some leg room. I took one glance at the soggy sandwiches in the dingy café and asked for directions to the nearest edible food — two blocks away on King street, but well worth the walk for a tasty, hot, falafel roll.

For reasons known only to the railways, they insisted that the bus leave half an hour early, consequently it arrived in Albury half an hour early, so us passengers had to spend 45 minutes standing around on the platform before the XPT finally departed for Sydney. This departure seems to have been carefully designed to occur after the 11:30 closing of the dining car, a car that is only open when the train is moving, resulting in no food or drink being available to the passengers!

At least its a train that I'm on for the rest of the night's travels up to Sydney and not a coach. There's a reasonable amount of leg room and I can stretch out a little to get some sleep — something that seems hard to come by in the economically-rationalised designed-for-legless-midget busses.

Success, success! Mr Damage is running again. I have bled my clutch and I am not bleeding from the knuckles — unlike some of my many other attempts at performing feats of motorised mechanics. After belting it with a bloody big lump of metal, the recalcitrant screw in the clutch-fluid resevoir could be undone, and then everything was by-the-book. New fluid in, assorted squeezings, bubbles and squirts everywhere, old fluid out, and finally a clutch that clutches — as it's supposed to.

Not bad for day one of a two week holiday. Hope the rest of the fortnight is so productive...

Six o'clock in the evening, first day of my holiday, the phone rings. It's the account rep. from our anti-virus software company — there's something evil afoot — a new version of Bagle. Why does this always happen as soon as I go on leave? People are starting to suspect that I only ever go on leave in order to allow my evil twin to release a virus.

Last day of work — Yay! I'm feeling relaxed and in a holiday mood already. Its a shame Jo won't be coming away though.

Lunch in Cinque Lire — this could get addictive — as well as quite cold in the winter unless they can close in the walls, the premises seems designed solely for summer weather. Good tasty focacacias, cheap glasses of wine and magnificent coffee. Definitely addictive.

Interesting discussions going on in news:aus.bicycle at the moment, even though I don't really have access to a news server to follow it. Seems that police turned out in large numbers for last Saturday's “Hell Ride” and some of their behaviour bordered on harrassment and entrapment. Multiple police cars and motorbikes followed beside and behind the ride, officers leaning out of car windows taking photos of any and every rider who crossed into the middle lane, motorcycle cops shooting off ahead to push the pedestrian walk button at each set of lights, then trying to catch riders ignoring the red light!

Hell Ride

loosely organised bunch ride that rides every Saturday on Beach road in Melbourne, typically flouting red lights and maximum two-abreast laws as a fast training ride for road racers and others who like the atmosphere and that style of riding. Any motorist trying to use the road at the same time is inconvenienced.

Critical Mass

loosely organised bunch ride that rides the last Friday of the month at various places around Melbourne, typically flouting red lights and maximum two-abreast laws as a friendly protest ride for assorted activists and others who like the atmosphere and that style of riding. Any motorist trying to use the road at the same time is inconvenienced.

Both the above groups seem to view the others as wankers: one as a bunch of lycra-clad tour-de-france wannabes, the other as a bunch of unemployed ferals. The motorists and talk-back hosts of Melbourne — they're having trouble telling them apart.

Yes, the Hell Ride has probably got out of hand. Yes, there are too many guys with too much testosterone in there. Yes, they ignore some road laws. However, the ride is some form of institution, there are probably better uses of public funds, and the police involved are hardly acting ethically or in a way likely to attract any kind of sympathy!

...

...

Off for a walk today. Prerequisites were that it wasn't somewhere that we'd been before, it had to be interesting, and it had to be easy enough to get too. One of the “Great Ocean Road Walks” seemed to fit the bill — a loop between Skene's Creek and Apollo Bay, so into the car we got...

Grey skies in the morning, grey skies all weekend, we left the sunblock and hats at home... driving towards Apollo Bay the sky cleared, the sun came out, the temperature rose, and worst of all, most of the four-hour walk was out in the open, unprotected from the sun. Both of us got sunburnt, Jo on the shoulders, me mostly on the forehead and face.

Parked at the end of Wild Dog road, where it joins the Great Ocean road, and headed off up the valley, following the creek. In only a couple of minutes we were away from the noise of the traffic and could have been anywhere. Much the same as everywhere else we've been this weekend, fruiting blackberries were in abundance, together with quite a few apple trees grown from cores discarded out of car windows — none of the apples were quiet ripe, very tart and too tough to bite into.

Eight in the morning and Jo is still sound asleep, I'm wide awake so off I went down the street for a walk along the beach and some time to myself. Eight people in the house crowds on my nerves at times — especially when the youngest them can wake you up screaming and the next just behaves like the three year-old that he is!

Walking through the campground I saw a couple who were cycle-touring, tents and bikes and gear and parts of a “ROAD-TRAIN” sign picked up from somewhere in the outback... I thought of stopping to say hello but walked on by and left them sitting quietly enjoying the morning. On the way back the campground was still full of people and noise — all except for one tidy, vacant block. They'd packed up and moved on.

Lorne; petrol, one dollar per litre; milk, two dollars per litre; coffee, $AU15 per litre and the piece de resistance, tomato sauce, $AU40 per litre! A bizarre bit of maths that came to me as I stood in line in the bakery for a pie.

Standing-room only out on the Lorne pier for the fishermen. With up to six rods each its amazing that there are any fish left, and that they can avoid tangling around each other as they try to catch them.

Back at the house, seven of us jumped into two cars and drove off to Blanket leaf picnic ground to walk down to Cora-lyn cascades — Jack and Will, John and Kath, Jo, Ann and I — a major undertaking when two of the seven are toddlers.

This was the same walk that Jo and I had attempted a year or two ago at the end of winter when floods and fallen trees made it nearly impassable. The track downstream of the cascades still looked impenetrable, we'll have to try the rest of the walk one day... For today, it was enough to make it to the waterfall and have lunch on the rock and watch the native fish in the creek, then walk slower and slower back up the hill towards the carpark — little voices claiming more and more stridently that they were tired. Along the way there were fungi and tree ferns and small birds nests to catch the eye, a half-rotten bridge that wobbled alarmingly, and two strange birds perched on the path that allowed us to get quite close before scurrying off into the underbrush.

Still time at the end of the afternoon to stop and pick three ice-cream containers full of blackberries from the roadside. Not quite as luscious as the ones down by the river, but infinitely easier to get to!

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!. Walking along the path we looked up to see a pair of Gang-gang cockatoos (Callocephalon fimbriatum) almost within arm's reach, busy cracking open the hawthorn berries and showering us with bits of tree. The male was too high to photograph — a shame, they are magnificently coloured — but I could reach the camera up to get a clear line-of-sight to the female.

Three hours later when we walked past again they were still there; still gorging themselves on the berries.

I guess I must be a thief. I guess that's what the Australian music industry is telling me anyway. I tried putting the four new CDs from last weekend into the PC in order to read the track info into my local CD database — Johnny Cash has no problems, the Paul Kelly CD won't read, won't even play. Closer investigation shows that it is copy protected which explains why it keeps skipping in the CD player at Lorne and the CD player at home. Thanks Mr Kelly, I'll be taking it back on Saturday and getting my money back. I'd let Mr Kelly know, but apparently his website [http://www.paulkelly.com.au/] doesn't accept feedback.

Ow! Ripped off by a snack-food company. Or ripped off more than usual! Curiosity got the better of me and I thought I'd try the all new all-singing, all-dancing flavour-enhanced and life-beautiying Wicked Cheddar Twisties. Too late I noticed that while they're the same price as the ordinary Twisties, and that the packet is the same size as the ordinary Twisties, the packet only holds 30g rather than 50g! I must get into the snack food business, at $50 per kilogram it must have quite a profit margin...

Mmmm, flavour enhancers 621, 627 and 631, mineral salt 339, food acids 270 and 330, and colours 129, 150 and 116. No wonder they taste so good. They even come with whirly little plastic things to play with on my desk.

[http://www.tazos.com.au/]

[http://www.yugioh.com/]

Another day out riding, another stupid driver goes screaming around me and turns left, missing my elbow by fractions of an inch and screeching around the corner to get in ahead of the traffic coming off the lights on Waverley road. Guilty-looking woman in a 4WD, (Vic. SSO-217>), I guess at least she looked back in the rear mirror to see if she'd killed anyone....

Which reminds me that Mr Policeman didn't ever call me back to follow up on the road-rage that I reported. Not really surprising when a description of a motorist threatening to kill you with a car is rephrased by the coppers as “we can't do anything about someone swearing at you.”

The newspapers seem to be relying more and more heavily on spell-checkers and less and less on proof-reading articles. There was a masterpiece today that provoked much mirth on various cycling mail lists:

[http://news.com.au/common/story_page/0,4057,8831097%255E13569,00.html]

Costal areas on cycle watch

  By RAJIV MAHARAJ
  March 1, 2004

A low hovering over the Top End may yet develop into a category one cyclone...

I do not think that is the word you meant to use...