Epilogue

To attempt to get a wider audience I put some posts on social media. One of which was quick and easy to compile and post was using Instagram. Instagram suggests you should put hashtags on your posts. I’m pretty hopeless at this but I did add #yorkshiremanabroad as it appealed to my pride at hailing from God’s own county and the suggestion that there was danger, audacity and adventure by being away from the hallowed turf.

Imagine my surprise when I was clear of Canberra I got a new follower. He was a casting agent for a TV show. I paid little attention to it until Jerilderie when I got a request to talk on the phone. Now you have to remember that I had enough on with cycling, camping, feeding, writing a blog and, frankly, coping with the tour to be overly excited. So eventually the call takes place, as I’m leaving Jerilderie I mention I’m free and we could speak. When I left the town on a sleepy Sunday morning I was keen to get cycling to beat the inevitable heat. So stood on the hard shoulder feeling the temperature rising as I speak to Andy about his opportunity isn’t where I want to be.

Andy is casting for Rich Holiday Poor Holiday, a Channel 5 show that also has been put on Netflix. He likes this slightly eccentric Yorkshireman who’s riding with a rear view mirror attached to his spectacles through bewildering heat to Adelaide from Sydney. He asks me a gazillion questions and wants me on the show. However, he wants the family as well. I’ve never seen the show and have no real idea of what the plot entails.

I wrap things up and say I’ll ask the family. Obviously one member of the family is rather preoccupied with a new baby to be considered but maybe Anna and Katrina? The show’s proposition is that they send rich folk on a poor person’s holiday and vice versa. The reaction of the participants is the entertainment. It seems I’m a rich person and I’d have to find 16 unpaid days for filming to go on a naff holiday. The thought of slumming it in poor accommodation had a great appeal rather than another night in a tent but it’s not compelling is it?

If you’re an influencer or a very sad self publicist it may be an opportunity you’d jump at. For me then my inner Jonathan Edwards was not activated. Katrina quickly responded saying that she was not up for ‘camping on the Brecon Beacons’ and Anna was intrigued enough to watch an episode to see what it was all about but wasn’t interested afterwards. So I emailed Andy declining his invitation. In years to come if my Favourite Eldest Daughter ever asks what I did for her then I shall quickly remind her of the time I presented her with a passport to a career on the silver screen and she said no.

I mooched about Adelaide before returning. I’d got there with too much time to spare and as the temperature was 38°C it wasn’t a lot of fun outside. In planning my route from Sydney I never thought there was so little between Mildura and Adelaide to detain me or even offer up a place to stay. Adelaide’s a modern city with plenty of green spaces but a return visit isn’t on my mind.

The flights back to Manchester went smoothly but over 20 hours of flying is hard work. Back home I discovered I’d lost half a stone in weight, which is pleasing but watching it go back on won’t be!

Needless to say I’m wondering where to go next.

Truro to Adelaide (Frewville) 58 miles & 358m climbed

My sleep patterns have been akin to a baby over the month. I’m usually spark out by 7.30pm and awake, bright as a button, at 4.30am with an hour awake somewhere in the middle of that. When I awoke at 3am in the morning it was to messages from an Australian mobile number asking me to call. I thought there was no way I’m doing that! However the messager did ring after 7am. It was my Indian landlord saying the credit card I paid with on Booking.com had been declined? We agreed I would pay in cash and his ‘helper’ was being despatched to my ‘cupboard’ to collect the readies.

Wondering if this was a fraud taking place I called Anna to have her check the credit card statement to see if indeed it had been a successful transaction. It transpired the card had been cancelled. I coughed up the cash.

At 3am I also booked some Adelaide accommodation. Not the best time to do this stuff but needs must!

On your last day, on the bike after such a ride, it does have a ceremonial procession feel about it but it was still a demanding ride. The road climbed out of Truro but then I hit the flat on a hard shoulder where the surface was such that Max Verstappen would have been drooling. This led me to Nuriootpa where when I stopped to look at Google Maps to find breakfast a teacher asked me about my trip. It was outside the school entrance and he was ushering the sprogs inside. I’ve seen a lot of school children in the morning on this tour and I’m always slightly surprised to see all the boys in shorts all the way up to 18 in age, but why not?

After a leisurely stop it was clear to see I was in wine country.

I was still on the A20, that along with its miraculous hard shoulder, suddenly became a six lane motorway. I trundled along until I got to the start of the northern Adelaide conurbation. However, it was still 30 miles to my hotel, just south of the centre. The A20 continued to the centre but became a fast ring road with little in the way of cycle lanes. The centre of Adelaide has tree lined streets and some old buildings but on these outskirts it was tyre depots, second hand car dealers, manufacturing units and endless McDonalds and busy intersections.

When I got to the City I came off my old friend, the A20, and now, following Sat Nav, found my way to the hotel.

I had got a splendid room for c£400 for four nights, about £100 below the going rate. This discount was courtesy of Booking.com who through my prolific use I seem to have accumulated discount benefits. (The city is expensive at the moment due to a month long festival (of the arts) in Adelaide.)

The next day was my birthday, sixty nine, and as has been kindly put, I’m now into my seventieth year or as my Favourite Youngest may summarise ‘eighty minus eleven’. Well, after the 1,045 miles I feel there’s life in the old dog yet. The next day a vital task was to get a bike box.

I had the chore, after getting a free box from a bike shop, of carrying this two miles back to the hotel! It’s a bit small but one way or another it’ll all cram in. Then followed laundry, shopping and sleep.

The next day saw me get the bus into town and I mooched around. The centre, bathed in hot sunshine, is attractive spacious and greenery isn’t too far away.

Some refreshments were taken in a beautiful arcade.

And if I can’t find a car museum what’s the next best thing?

So I have two more days to see the Adelaide Oval (although don’t mention England cricket at the moment), the river, the Botanic Gardens and other assorted sights. However I will sign off now.

Thank you for following. It’s been a blast and I know over the following months I’ll reflect on the many Aussie people I met/talked to, John in Canberra, the kind interest in Blighty from family and friends, the country life with its contrast to the diverse cities, the heat, some of the beauty of the countryside but the thousands of square miles of scrub/bush, the well equipped campsites, the two kangaroos leaping alongside me, the early morning bakeries with their sandwiches (mainly egg and bacon), the growling monster trucks 24/7, the unforgettable/unforgivable Macquarie Pass, the early starts and the fact I didn’t damage my passport!

I’m a lucky boy. Hasta la vista.

Paringa to Truro 107 miles & 827m climbed

It was cold in the tent first thing. I never expected that! With a plan for early starts it means you have to pack and break down the tent in the dark. I managed to do this. It helps having no close neighbours to annoy, except the 18 wheelers on the A20 (and they can’t hear you.)

The start was through Renmark, a built up area and even though the early morning traffic was intense it was nice to have something to look at. Even a little agriculture came back into view rather than the open scrub land. However soon I had cleared the town and was back out on that hard shoulder that had now re-appeared as a rough asphalt track. Some genius, working for South Australia’s equivalent of the Highways Agency, had laid a hard shoulder from different material to the carriageway. Think of the saving! It was awful and shook the bike and me. I reckon I rolled at 2mph slower: generally not a big deal if you are moving at 60mph but significant if you’re moving at 12mph.

As a consequence I rode on the carriageway until I espied a vehicle bearing down behind me using my rear view mirror and then I hopped back over the rumble strip onto the ‘track’. This regime was demanding and needed a level of concentration and so no music or podcasts for me all day.

Lunch came into view at a service station at Waikerie and my specially made cheese and tomato sandwich scored 8.5/10. From here it was 26 miles to Blanchetown. By now we’re hitting mid 30°s temperature wise and cycling is a grind. I push on.

Blanchetown, in a valley down to the Murray River, arrives after 77 miles.

After a long search up and down steep hills in the small settlement the campsite comes into view or not. Despite the checks and confirmation that looked very shut to me.

I cycled up the hill to the Blanchetown Hotel to implement ‘Plan B’ it turns out they’re just a pub and restaurant. The landlord shares his ideas on accommodation options and they’re another 30 miles away, or as he ruefully commented ‘a forty minute drive’! He also commented there were hills to negotiate.

A little crestfallen I regroup and as Mao Tse Tung once opined ‘the longest journey starts with the first step’ and it’s back on to the A20. I bought some water at a petrol station and pointed my trusty steed west again.

At this point I must mention my relief and delight at my fitness. I was often feeling weary but the legs were strong, knees uncomplaining, the back didn’t hurt and I could always press on. I carry too much water on the bike, however, to run out means going further forward or stopping altogether are both dangerous. Better the weight than the thirst. My bicycle hadn’t missed a beat throughout the ride. By now it needed servicing but it’d get me to Adelaide. Thank you Cycle Heaven bike shop in York!

So first up were some roadworks. Over a couple of miles they were resurfacing and it was passage by convoy and enormously dusty, clearly not a concern if you’re in a truck can 10 feet up. After this it was 400m of climbing. I hadn’t done this since earlier on the tour!

At a Rest Stop (this is just a lay-by often with a bench, a gazillion ants, poor shade and litter) I stopped and with my friend Booking.com booked a miserable looking motel in Truro. By now I wasn’t overly fussy about where I’d lay my head but as I was arriving after 6pm some certainty appealed.

Pushing on the heat faded but the rolling hills keep appearing and then I rolled into Truro. The only motel is a fairly down at heel affair where Reception is locked and the mobile number I’m instructed to call has a voice mail message. Strangely, I’m not anxious, after 107 miles I’m just knackered and happy the ride’s over.

I get a call back from an Indian chap and he instructs me to sit tight whilst help is being sent to open up. This arrives and I’m let into a shoebox of a room. I ask about food options. There’s always the petrol station, she says, and the pub up the Main Street may be open.

So showered I wander down to the pub. Is it open?

It was and I ordered a couple of pale ales and some fish and chips. A fair reward for a long day. A surprisingly happy ending.

Early morning texts and calls are to follow from the landlord courtesy of Anna’s cancellation of the credit card…

Mildura to Paringa – 87 miles & 391m climbed

There was no escaping that the stretch from here to Adelaide had little to see and big distances between the towns. I hadn’t easily completed long distances on this tour because of the heat and now it just had to be done. I left the motel at 5.50am, well before daybreak. To accomplish this meant fitting lights.

I’m very reluctant to cycle in the dark because of safety but on Mildura’s residential streets it was quiet (and cold 12°C!) and seemingly safe. There were a few joggers and cars about. I thought if I left so early I’d minimise my exposure to the heat and given that it was Sunday the A20 wouldn’t be busy.

As I get to a junction to join this main artery road my mobile buzzes: a WhatsApp message. I hadn’t spoken to Anna as I’d wanted be off. It must be her. However, I stopped to check it. It was from Lyndon, a fellow music scribe and a kind supporter of my travel blogs. He passed on the information that an American music podcaster, friend, ‘good egg’ and seriously ill man had passed away. He had an aggressive cancer and it had taken him in weeks. I think he was only around 60 and had retired to pursue some hobbies and now this. Awful. Another friend and close friend of my wife had, the week before, advised that she was dealing with cancer again. I’m so lucky to do this but the real world will always intrude. With this sadness I pedalled on deep in thought.

I complained about the quality of the the hard shoulder to Mildura but from Mildura it was fine and I sped on and by my first stop at 9.30am I had 36 miles ‘in the bank’. I stopped at a tatty truck stop and had a coffee and sausage roll. I’m afraid most snacks in Australia involve beef, pork or chicken, oh and of course, cheese. Naturally none of this is fresh but nicely processed and out of the freezer.

Now this diet is very much an American one. The Australian large distances from fresh food opportunities, the need for fast food and the tastes of the customer are adjacent. Also, in terms of ethnicity, so are the proprietors: Indian. They are prodigious acquirers of truck stops, small supermarket franchises and hotels. It’s always men over 30 years old working all the hours available in these distant places. I salute their industry.

(Sandwich update. I bought one from Subway the night before. Tuna, of course. By the time I got to it. It was maybe 4/10. Message ends.)

My destination was in South Australia, where I gained half an hour due to it being a different time zone. As a State they are vigilant and determined to stop the import of a certain type of fruit fly. This fly lays its eggs in fruit and so you cannot bring fruit or vegetables across the border. Dutifully, at an earlier Rest Stop, I ate my banana and nectarine before approaching the inspection point on the road. I was pleased to be waved through but given there were lanes for trucks, camper vans, caravans and cars I did remonstrate that if they were taking this control matter seriously there should be a bicycle lane. Obviously they thought the heat was getting to me and smiled weakly.

Anyway I cycled on and by lunchtime I reached a town, Paringa. Here it was (Sunday) sleepy and mid 30°s and I chose to camp even though the local motel was attractively priced. My Indian host said my pitch would be A$45. I disagreed and pointed out that I didn’t need a ‘powered’ site. I hadn’t had space in my luggage for a TV, air con unit, fridge freezer and microwave. He saw my point of view and reduced it to A$35.

The site was well appointed but terribly hot. I tried lying down in the tent to discover it was a sauna. From here I went and jumped in the small swimming pool to cool down. After this I gave serious thought to making some dinner at the site ‘cook house’ but the haze of flies helped me make a decision to go across the road to the pub for a meal and pint.

On the next table there was a couple from Adelaide. I asked about whether there’d be camping at a town further up the road, Blanchetown? They said yes, as did a lady I phoned in Blanchetown and so did someone at the bakery the next morning. I climbed into my small abode feeling happy about today’s ride and that tomorrow looked straightforward. Oh how wrong you can be…

Rest Day – Mildura

For possibly no good reason I felt behind schedule and felt even worse about the rest day when the next morning I discovered how cool it was! I needed my fleece as I strolled to find breakfast. I found it and my microbes cheered as I treated them to muesli, yoghurt and fresh fruit!

However in the picture is one of my errors: the caffeinated coffee. (In the afternoon I attempted forty winks and I think this drug prevented sleep.) So after breakfast I ambled down toward the river where there was a Saturday market.

I’m sure the attendance was helped by the cool temperature. Mildura is a sizeable Victoria town with a lot of residential housing, The two big reasons it’s on the map are the fruit industry, which is vast, and employs many folk and attendant support services (and an armada of trucks ferrying the produce on the main highways.) The other draw is the Murray River that makes it quite a tourist spot. My Aussie pals from Barham (Barram!) were headed here and all the folk on my subsequent paddle boat jaunt were out of State tourists.

In the centre were many food outlets, in fairness nothing very upmarket, and regular shops such as supermarkets.

After a quick look at the stalls, mainly of local crafts, I went to find my 19th Century paddle boat for a trip on the Murray River.

She’s now diesel but once was steam and plied her trade on the river hauling timber, today it’s tourists. We had a nice couple of hours going through a lock and cruising along the river before being disembarked.

I mooched about in the afternoon and avoid lots of steps and come 5pm, even though not particularly hungry, I found a restaurant for a pizza and fries. Food is fuel and then I found myself in bed falling asleep just after 7pm! I wanted a good sleep to achieve a catch up and to set me up for some long rides to Adelaide. I was still concerned about the heat and the difficulty of getting to Adelaide with so few good camping or hotel stops. This was churning through my mind as I drifted off.

PS. I have been creating some social media to complement this drivel. My first wife studied my output and commented that my video and images with music was sufficient without my ‘talk’ videos. Nobody likes honesty do they…

Barham to Wood Wood – 67 miles & 156m climbed

I was sorry to leave Barham, it was idyllic beside the Murray River. However, it does give me the opportunity to briefly talk about the wildlife, not the cuddly chaps we all want to see but those hateful ones with six or eight legs.

At the site at dusk and dawn I got bitten to death. I did apply some spray on my legs but I still got bitten on my elbows and hands. This had me searching out my medical container in the tent to rub on some after bite cream. This is a constant campsite hazard but even if you’re not bitten by mosquitos other insects get everywhere! When I emptied my washing from the tub at the launderette in Deniliquin a large dead cockroach beast suddenly appeared. Needless to say it was very clean and if it had got soggy the spin programme removed all moisture. In Barham, at a bakery, I reached into the zip up part of my wallet where I keep change. Out came several coins and a small spider. As I was in a food shop I quickly swept it off the counter and went into my best Morris dancer impersonation as I attempted to follow and stamp on it.

However if those occurrences are intermittent then on the road any time I stop to, say, find my sunglasses, grab a Haribo, switch off a podcast etc I will immediately have flies on my face. The blighters are often in my eye socket or on my cheek walking toward my eye socket. You get used to it but it’s not fun. Also don’t get me started on ants…

So after a coffee and my daily bacon and egg sandwich I trundled along. The start is always at a reasonable temperature and you’re fresh. However eventually the sun starts to beat down, the headwind always appears and to add to all this then the locals had been talking about how hot this day would be. They were not wrong. This was at Swan Hill. Look at the temperature on my computer:

I drink, drink and drink all the time. Earlier blogs images show all the water I carry. I also have some electrolyte tablets I add. When I get to my destination I keep drinking until my urine changes from the colour of Scotch whiskey to weak tea. It’s vital. However your appetite falls off a cliff and I do carry stuff that I do fancy even if it’s energy bars or sweets.

My biggest hope on the road is that I can often find shade and a seat/bench. These are few and far between. However, to climb off the bike and sit on another type of seat in the shade is a real delight.

Today I had some serious miles to complete. Late in the afternoon the campsite at Wood Wood came into view. The site mainly accommodated fruit pickers/ machine operators who worked shifts. The Murray River has an immense amount of fruit cultivation.

I checked in at the Office and bought some baked beans to have with some bread. Very kindly, as it was the end of the day, I was given a free steak pie! The camp fee was only A$21. The owner was an Aussie but married to an Englishman. She told me about visits by her in-laws from England. Apparently the father and step mother were sweeties but the mother and step father were pains!

However, what an evening it was: still 40°C and the site had no air conditioned rooms to escape to. I mooched about absolutely fried. I drank two litres of water and pop just rehydrating from the ride. It was miserable and oppressive. As nightfall began I crept into my tent and lay there and perspired. I even popped out of the tent to remove most of the fly sheet.

However soon the wind picked up dashing the loose fly sheet everywhere. I got out to secure it again. Sleep was a fitful affair but by early morning the temperature had fallen and I even found myself inside my sleeping bag.

Wood Wood to Robinvale – 61 miles & 159m climbed

Robinvale to Mildura – 55 miles & 243m climbed

So in a scene from ‘Groundhog Day’ the day started with a bacon and egg sandwich. Frankly at this rate I will return to Blighty clucking and snorting due to my massive consumption. I think the type of person who starts at Stupid O’Clock (trades or ‘tradies’ as they’re known here) has this diet. What I would give for granola! However, fortified, I got on the road and headed north.

This day wasn’t scheduled. I omitted the ride from Wood Wood to Robinvale in my scheduling, I’d assumed I’d get to Mildura today. I have ‘float’ in my total programme but I would have rather have not initially got it wrong and lost a day! I was riding up the Murray Valley Highway and it offered one stop before I climbed into Robinvale. A coffee and a Bounty, in air conditioning was just what the doctor ordered.

Along the route there were many fruit farms. Produce included citrus fruits, avocados, chilli’s, grapes (table and wine), olives and nuts. By the time I got to Robinvale I came across many fruit pickers around the town, noticeable by their ethnicity and hi viz clothing. The nationalities included Fijian, Chinese and South Asian and one person I talked to said aboriginal. It seemed a miserable job but judging by the scale of production I’m sure most of the picking was automated. It was high season, for picking, almonds and pistachios.

After last night’s energy depleting campsite experience in the heat I decided I needed air conditioning and opted for a cabin at a campsite. This, in reality, was like staying in a caravan and would also facilitate an early getaway the next day.

Checking into my shed I was offered some grapes.

So I was off by 7am to Mildura. This time along the Sturt Highway (no, not Stuart!). I stopped to buy a sandwich (5/10) in the town and some other folk at the cafe were interested in my ride. I even had my photo taken and got engrossed in a discussion on the specification of tyre I was riding. That was nice.

What a horrid road. A single carriageway with often missing hard shoulder. This was not fun and one humongous truck got so close that I nearly lost my balance as I got caught up in his draught at 60mph. Where there was anything like a hard shoulder then my old friend the rumble strip appeared. (This was the worst road I have ever ridden in Australia. Sadly I think it continues past Mildura when I resume my ride.)

I’m resilient about cycling with traffic but I do like a sporting chance at safety.

If the truth be told the heat climbed again and I got to Mildura shot. The ride to Wood Wood had come at a price. My average speeds are good but that’s mainly due to no climbing. When I came to inclines I slowed and I knew I needed a rest day. I booked a motel and decided to flop, meanwhile outside the temperature soared.

However, lest I leave you glum at my weariness I was lifted by finding another car museum on the way into the town. You may or may not know that Australia had two dedicated manufacturers, namely Holden (eventually bought out by General Motors) and Ford. Both now no longer manufacture in Australia with Holden shutting its facilities in 2017. There is great nostalgia for this brand and hence the museums.

Deniliquin to Barham – 55 miles & 40m climbed

So a confusing start to the day. I bowled into the local bakery and approached the lady who made sandwiches to get a tuna salad. However, the lady redirected me to a bloke (in a hairnet) along the counter who was to take my order. He did, but wrongly! Not to worry because the sandwich lady heard me tell him what I wanted and was on with it. However, she had no tuna! Either the trawler had not docked on the Edward River or no one had been to the local supermarket. So I had cheese, however, she did ask in distress (directly to me rather than through the bloke (in the hairnet)) ‘no meat?’ Sadly not but in order to restore her equilibrium I ordered a sausage roll. I feel wearing a former hat I could make manpower savings in the bakery.

With this sorted I got on the road and knocked off the miles. It was a more interesting run than the previous days with a few things to see including an irrigation channel! I even found shade to scoff the sausage roll and make a meaningful start on the Haribos.

Barham was a picture and if it hadn’t been so hot then a place to hang about in. However if the little town was lovely the campsite was sensational.

As I do I struck up a conversation with some older Aussie blokes, who kindly enquired as to my ride. In reciprocation I enquired as why so many former Australian cricket captains cried in TV interviews? This led to a suggestion that the title of ‘whinging Poms’ fitted well when we complained about the scurrilous stumping of Bairstow by Carey in the recent Second Ashes Test. Rest assured dear reader I corrected them on their understanding of events! We parted friends and enjoyed our bants. They should pass me on the road tomorrow if a passenger car door opens dangerously as they pass then I may have misread the spirit of our meeting.

Oh, and I nearly forgot, the sandwich was 6.5/10.

PS. The Aussies weren’t all bad. When I returned from Barham after a pizza they put in a beer in my hand and we resolved conundrums such as the vast quantity of coal fired power stations in China heating the planet (with Australian coal), the limited adoption of solar panels on Australian residential properties, how the younger mortgage holders didn’t know how lucky they were not to have had 19% interest rate mortgages decades ago and whether carp would eat a slice of bread if lobbed into the Murray River flowing past at our feet. All too soon their wives called them for dinner and I dived into the tent to look at the inside of my eyelids.

Rest Day – Deniliquin

First things first. The town’s name comes from a white Australian mishearing the name of a local aboriginal elder. I must admit it sounds like the away captain of a visiting quidditch team to Hogwarts. The town sits on the Edward River and this water is a vital part of the local farmlands through irrigation channels.

The river flows through the town and looks idyllic. It enables quite a bit of bathing and water sports. Its muddy appearance is blamed on carp. They’re not indigenous and not loved or eaten! I don’t think they help but there’d need to be a lot of carp to colour it. All this was explained to me by Margaret and Sonya at the Information Centre who patiently answered my questions about the town’s history and livelihood.

Deniliquin’s existence is based on farming. Sheep and beef are vital and they roam and produce good meat, merino wool and dairy. Then there’s dry crops (crops that rely on rainfall such as cereals.) That leaves crops that need copious water from the river. Rice, surprisingly to me, is an important local crop and one of the largest processing plants is nearby. Cotton is a new crop that they manage to grow without its usual massive need for water. It was all interesting as was the various pestilences of fire ants, mice, rabbits, rats etc that literally became plagues at various times. Drought is a concern but flooding is a bigger problem but somehow farmers all seem to make a living and they generate a need for services and the existence of the town.

A few folk drift in and out of this Information Centre and I believed the ladies enjoyed answering all my questions and displaying their immense local knowledge.

It wasn’t all educational though and I managed to combine a trip to the laundrette with some bike maintenance.

Here I met Jean who was cleaning the shop. This was one of four jobs she did during the week. She was born and bred in ‘Deni’ and seemed one of the hard working and non-grumbling folk you find around here. Remorselessly cheerful she told me of her four adult children and what they all did for a living. Added to that was her 97 year old mother in care who required her attention. A busy life: she needed a rest day! If there are any people who make the world go round then these are they.

Clearly breakfast was on my mind…

Back at the motel with my clean washing I put my feet up and then typed ‘museum’ into Google Maps. Result! I found a car museum called The Depot. This was a family collection beautifully displayed. I particularly loved the Australian vehicles.

Now I’ve found a car museum I feel my work is now done in Australia. If you know me then such a collection is nirvana.

A bit like a Sunday night at home then despite there being the remaining hours of the weekend your thoughts turn to work tomorrow. Back at the motel I folded my clothes, stuffed my panniers, looked at tomorrow’s route, had a quick call with Anna, typed up this drivel, had my beef pie, potato salad and tomato and thought about getting on the road and heading toward my third State of the trip, Victoria. an early start methinks.

Jerilderie to Deniliquin – 56 miles & 51m climbed

Sunday is certainly a day of rest for most in Australia and places shut. But what about my breakfast? I’d noted that the bakery was shut on a Sunday and was advised by a check out assistant, at the local supermarket, that the BP petrol station on the outskirts was the place to go on Sunday morning. This place was a 24/7 truck stop and so the Sabbath was irrelevant. Some place had to be open to fuel the trucks and truckers who barrelled through this part of NSW day and night.

So Tony was a happy boy with a bacon and egg sandwich and some things for lunch.

It was a still, cool morning and I sped along. I knew after about two hours things would change, I’d start to become weary, the heat would arrive and the monotony of this dreary stretch of road would start to pall. There was nothing new in this but the nature of these settlements meant there was nothing for 56 miles to stop for, it was a grind all the way through with nowhere to stop and sit or any shade.

However before I got to this point I had a few cattle to negotiate. These boys and girls (?) were either side of the road and presumably crossing it. With the odd car coming along they kept off the tarmac and I nervously pedalled through them. They were skittish and would break from their grazing into a panic and start running. The chance of a half a ton of meat running into me at 15mph was not a happy prospect.

As I’m cautiously cycling through them up behind me comes an 18 wheeler. Needless to say he’s in no physical danger should los toros charge him. Being a pillock he wants to overtake me, after all he can save a nanosecond on his 300 mile journey if he gets past the cyclist! He does overtake and I continue slowly until clear of the cattle much relieved.

I did mention sponge in my last blog. An old trick for a numb butt is to sit on a car wash sponge. I deployed this down my shorts. It was a kind of fix and life was easier. It also helped that there was no climbing to do. Gradients make you press harder into the saddle as you push on the pedals up a hill.

I’d identified Deniliquin as a place for me to stay two nights in a motel and chill a little. It eventually came into view and so did the Deniliquin Bakery where I treated myself to a Tuscan Chicken pie and a coffee ice cream. Being too early for check in at the motel I cruised around this little town. It looked lovely. A good pick I must say.

Temora to Narrandera, NSW – 83 miles & 494m climbing

Narrandera to Jerilderie, NSW – 68 miles & 176m

It’s not often I wake to horse’s hooves on the gallop but in the dark on this oval sand racetrack a horse was following an ute. I was staying at this stadium. It was a hot morning and as I wandered around unpacking my tent and getting ready to depart I didn’t put on my jersey, it was very warm. Poor Trigger, no wonder he was out doing circuits in the cool/dark.

Loaded I faced a long day, I was worried. Not least because there were several routes I could pick to Narrandera all indirect and some carrying the risk of being dirt tracks as opposed to tarmac. Anyway I first trundled into the town centre and bought some lunch before heading out.

The first couple of hours on most days are easy: the wind is down, the temperature early 20s and my butt and legs are not complaining. On this latter matter they were quite tolerant for up to two hours and then I knew I was in for a long day. I also knew I wouldn’t pass any shops or restaurants for the whole day. I had to carry enough water to see me through. I suppose in desperation I could have found a farm house, which were few and far between and well set back from the road and was anyone in? However, I carried over four litres on the bike (which I drank as the temperatures eventually hit the mid 30s.) Riding on the flat the weight is less of an issue but water still weighs about 1kg per litre. The surrounding land seemed mainly scrub. Some had harvested crops but the other land looked like grazing albeit now parched at this time of year.

I ground on wondering if I should have chanced the odd dirt track to reduce the distance and listening to podcasts until my AirPods ran flat. Podcasts today included ‘The Price of Football’ and the ‘History of England’. One is a forensic analysis of the finances of English football clubs and the other is the long slow demise of Charles I through the long English Civil War. As I plodded along I noticed to my delight/thrill two kangaroos bouncing along in a field. The overtook me and when ahead they leapt the low fence, crossed the road in front of me and disappeared into some bushes and trees. It’s taken a lot of miles in 2020 and this year to see them although Heaven knows I am into double figures seeing road kill.

It’s clear that the afternoon sees winds rise and inevitably it has to be a headwind. I reached Narrandera out for the count due to a 45 mile grind into this steady breeze. Also reappearing is that horror – the rumble strip. This is a popular US feature where drivers presumably lose concentration as they drive deserted roads at 70 or 80 mph. This strip is meant to drag them to their senses and make them concentrate keeping the truck on the road. For a cyclist it means that when combined with a negligible hard shoulder you spend a lot of time balancing the bike on a foot wide strip of tarmac or driving on the road.

Now I know you think I’m a gritty Tyke but I just happened to stop, to reconnoitre my evening accommodation solutions, near a motel. Noting my Finance Director was still asleep and unable to dissuade me, I dived in and for £50 got a room. Tony was a tired boy. Please forgive me.

I feel walking is good for tired cycling legs and I washed up and then ambled into Narrandera and had some fish and chips at an RSL.

You can make a faster start in the morning if you don’t have to pack panniers and a tent and it wasn’t long after waking I’m asking for a tuna mayo sandwich at a bakery. A very pretty young girl served me and with short sleeves proudly displayed her ‘sleeve’ of tattoos. What was she thinking? I despair. Yes, I know, I’m old.

However, those lovely folk at TalkSport were covering the Leeds Utd vs Leicester City match. I joined the commentary as Leicester are missing gilt edged chances in the second half to increase their 0-1 lead. On a long hill we not only equalised but took the lead. It’s truly troubling how this bloody football team can make or ruin a day. For those fans back in Blighty I knew their weekend would now be perfect.

After this initial climbing the road was flat but the countryside offered no shade just wide open spaces with no trees near the road. By the middle of the day my tuna mayo was torturing me to be eaten (5/10) from my pannier and stopping in bright hot sunlight I quickly devoured it. Again, I must stress a regular calorific consumption is not an option it’s essential.

Jerilderie eventually came into view. I’ve cycled 497 miles so far. For A$32 my landlady, Ali, found me a piece of grass with a tree to afford some shade. Before showering I cycled down the wide open vista of a Main Street to the centre to find a supermarket. Tonight I was going to make dinner and I needed some bits including a sponge (more will be revealed.)

As I’m cruising around I found a Leopard tank, water skiing on a lake and lots of graphics and old buildings concerning Ned Kelly and his gang knocking over a bank and staying in town for three days in 1879 as they toured the area generally killing and robbing. The town seemed very proud of this association! These towns are set in the middle of wide open spaces of arable and livestock farming activity. The town inevitably simply exists to service the population involved in the farming. So there was a small hospital, a school, vets, doctors, a post office, garages, petrol stations etc. The settlements are 60 to 80 miles apart. In between there are farms with vast acreages.

Near the campsite was a sports club that offered a/c and ice cold beer. However, before 7pm I found myself asleep in the tent. Oh so nice.

Angels of the Black Top

Canberra, ACT to Harden, NSW – 77 miles and 1,147m of climbing

Harden to Temora – 53 miles and 567m of climbing

I was worried about the ride from Canberra. I had ‘spent’ a lot of fitness getting to Canberra and had had a brief but lovely time whilst there but I didn’t rest and the quads really ached! The start was flat and cycle paths abounded in this well laid out city. However, soon the road started to rise but with the weather overcast and relatively cool I made it to Yass without too much distress. Here I asked a pedestrian which was a good cafe and following her advice I can confirm she was right, the chocolate muffin was exceptional. The further I got away from Canberra the more I ended up in the country and I found myself on the small chain ring spinning away.

The roads were wide with easy climbs but long fast descents. It was here that I lived in fear of my AirPods falling out and for me never to see them again. I listen to music or podcasts. On the latter it’s either the English Civil War, Leeds United or politics.

I have only two fears on a bike. One is cycling through a tunnel. The traffic noise is terrifying and if the tunnel has an incline you feeling like a target as you pedal at 5mph whilst a truck bears down on you at 60mph in the darkness. The other terror is a unique to Australia: crossing the lanes a motorway from the hard shoulder. The Aussie road designers configured a cheap solution to exiting to a town on the other side of the four lanes. It was simply turning across traffic into the central reservation and then waiting for a gap to cross. This Russian roulette involves 18 wheelers doing 80mph and cars going even faster as you attempt to find a gap in the traffic to make it to the central reservation. I have a slow, badly balanced bike to get across the four lanes. Fortunately Anna doesn’t read the blog!

An obvious delight in store was my lunch from last night and I eventually pulled off the road near the grave of a 19th Century highwayman. He met his end here after seemingly causing havoc and death wherever he went!

So despite the distance and climbing: a combination of a day off the bike, eating well on the road and cooler weather I pedalled into Harden and found the caravan and campsite immediately. Finding anyone to check in was difficult until I rand a telephone number and a young lad ambled out of a caravan. He said the fee was A$42 but on seeing cash agreed to A$40, frankly given the quality of the site it was too expensive. However, I was a long way from an alternative. It was a shabby spot with a weary and dirty washroom. My pitch was fine but ultimately too near the main road. The 18 wheelers thundered past until the early hours and to cap it all off it was a nearby railway line. This had a long slow departure at 00:35 I recollect.

You can eat in most small towns at the ex-Servicemen clubs. They have a bar and restaurant where you can get a beer and meal for less than £15. I found one here and ate my fill before returning to see if my laundry had dried. It had and despite the astonishing and awful noise the swarm of cockatoos were making in the trees I crawled into my little tent. I listened to the trucks and trains until eventually I succumbed to sleep.

In the morning I packed and found a wonderful bakery. Here I was asked by a chap about my tour. He volunteered he had a lot of motorcycles and had ridden a 1942 Harley Davison 5,000km last year on a charity ride for The Flying Doctor. He showed me a photo of a barn full of motorbikes. I don’t think he was short of a bob or two! Sadly the reason he was in Harden, with his wife, was to attend a funeral for another of the riders who was, at the time, in remission.

By way of preventing complacency the Angels of the Blacktop served up, on the supposedly easier day, a climb of 260m in the first 10 miles. Also it was a lot hotter than the day before and I started to fade badly. I don’t think I ate well on the ride and the heat rose to 42°C. Sometimes I’m only human, obvs. However I got to the show ground at Temora and found a pitch near the new modern washroom for A$15.

In fact the supervisors of the site came round collecting the dosh and I struck up a conversation with Garry and Joan. Both were retired and interested in my bike ride. It surprising what people tell you! Their gay son lived in Ealing with his partner and they’d been across to the UK a few times. Garry had worked for P&O and his son for Intercontinental Hotels. They eventually left advising I remain vigilant for the deadly brown snakes! Thank you (!) and I did keep my tent zippers tightly shut. The night was sweltering and my flannel jim jams were stored away as I chose my birthday suit until about 3am when the temperature fell from sizzle to warm and I slipped into my sleeping bag liner. Sorry, I know, too much information…

Again I had found earlier a club and had a good guzzle before returning to the tent. The next day offered my longest ride of the trip so far. Deep joy.

Canberra

Checking into an apartment I immediately spread the contents of panniers around the place and extracted all my laundry! Yes, I washed it all. Even though I wash it every night at a campsite I couldn’t turn down the opportunity to put it into a washing machine and clean it properly. I was staying in the centre of Canberra and around my accommodation were many shops and malls.

There were also many restaurant options. My main shopping interest would be supermarkets. I’m always looking for things you can ‘add water’ to. Carrying some tins is attractive but they’re heavy! When I leave Canberra the adventure will start with towns few and far between and the ones I visit will be small with few shops or facilities. I will miss the luxury of choice.

Canberra has a population of half a million (quite small) and is the seat of the Australian government. It ended up as the capital at the turn of the 20th Century after Sydney and Melbourne couldn’t decide which city should be the capital between them on an ongoing basis! A compromise was Canberra. (Seems a bit like the nonsense of Strasbourg being a part time seat for the EU along with Brussels.) It’s a modern place by virtue of its age and has a garden city layout. It certainly had a calm ambience; a lot less frenetic and diverse in folk than Sydney.

In the morning of my day off I visited the very disappointing and half closed National Museum of Australia. The two positive ‘takeaways’ were that it was free and the toilets were nice. They revisit the story of the indigenous people. Clearly the European colonisers stole, killed and abused the existing First Nations. It’s a disgraceful and maybe an unforgivable story, not least the stealing of children from their parents and attempting to make them behave and grow up like the white population. It’s all on record. Australia now struggles with its history and I’ve heard or read about this history forever. Whether the lot of the indigenous people is positively served by this is something I’m not convinced about. You can only feel guilty for so long before the world moves on. If it hadn’t would we ever have forgiven the Germans and Japanese for their WW2 atrocities and genocide?

(However, I don’t live in Australia. I must have some humility in that my response is based on my background and knowledge.)

Anyway I had an appointment with John Hunt. John was an over confident public school boy who Ealing Technical College had found digs in Southall at the start of his HND in Hotel Management in October 1973. In the same house, lodging with the family Bonicci, was another young public school boy, a long way from Leeds: me! John escaped the awful Bonicci’s and got digs in Ealing; I quickly followed in my 1965 Triumph Herald. Obviously this is a friendship that’s endured and whilst I was interested to see Canberra I’d mainly swung past the city to meet John.

Ever the organised curator of a fine programme we met at the Australian War Memorial, which doubles as a museum to the 103,000 servicemen who’ve died in all the conflicts the government has sent troops to fight in. After a look round we joined their daily Last Post Ceremony. It was powerful and moving.

The bond between the British and Australians (and New Zealanders) is complete over the blood spilt in various conflicts but I never quite appreciated the fight they had against the Japanese. A nation that in WW2 fought with a barbarism that would match ISIS.

(I remember my father talking about a garage in West Yorkshire, in the 1970s, who wouldn’t let Japanese cars in their workshop. The owner had been a POW and was unable to forgive their treatment.)

So after that wonderful experience we wondered back into the centre to find a bar John knew. Sadly he didn’t know where it was though and by the time we climbed onto our stools with some pale ales I was on my way to 23,780 steps for the day. Some rest day!

Dinner was Asian/Chinese and delicious. You may ask how John finds his way to Canberra. his talented wife, Mary, is a grand fromage at the British High Commission looking at development in the Pacific Islands. John works part time, online, with a company in the UK whilst fitting in tennis, walking, cycling, facilities management and preparing itineraries for a number of Brits, like me, who pass through.

Ever the host and casting a parental eye over my welfare he called for a doggy bag and I left with the remains of the meal neither of us could finish/face. This would be real boon the next day.

So John called an Uber and I returned to my apartment to worry about tomorrow and the 76 miles it threatened. After Sydney, the climbing challenges and then Canberra I felt the real Australia was about to present itself.

Easy Tiger

Moss Vale to Goulburn – 50 miles and 763m climbed

Goulburn to Canberra – 55 miles and 443m climbed

I have in my mind’s eye, as I was thinking about my tour, what a great campsite is and this was. Reluctantly I made a leisurely exit in the mist and set sail for Goulburn.

It’s hard to get fit for a 1,100 mile bike ride. I simply try and remain fit prior to departure knowing that I’ll survive or get fitter as the weeks elapse. However, yesterday was pleasing in that I got up the Macquarie Pass but it came at a cost, my legs were now sore. Today I wanted minimal climbing. So I opted to go down the motorway!

On most motorways in NSW you can ride on the hard shoulder. The shoulder is wide, usually swept although the proliferation on bolts, kangaroo carcasses (seven seen so far) and broken bungees are prolific. Of course road builders minimise the gradients and it’s an easier ride. Less comfortable are the vehicles passing on your right at 70mph plus but they’re a long way from you.

One really pleasant bonus was motorway services. Of course a nice roadside cafe with real filter coffee and home cooking may have been more desirable but a cheese and tomato sandwich and an air conditioned seating area are not difficult compromises.

Arriving in the medium sized Goulburn I found the centre and a ubiquitous Coles store. It seems that they and Woolworths have coverage of the country and, as supermarkets go, they’re quite well stocked. I ventured in and bought a meat pie, bread rolls, bananas and peaches for dinner. I then pedalled off in search of a campsite on the southern outskirts. I made a mess of the navigation here and found myself retracing my route up some unforgivably steep hills before the entrance came to view.

From here the weather made a challenge of washing clothes. It started very hot and sunny (good), became furiously windy and blew my coat hangers off the line (challenging) through to a heavy downpour (bad). I wash my used kit every night. I carry the concentrated washing liquid you use in your washing machines. A little goes a long way in a hand bowl.

As I’m carrying out my chores in the ‘Amenities’ block Terry comes into view. Terry’s a chatty 66 year old burly former miner. With his wife he pulls his caravan to a selection of sites camping for a few days before moving on. Like many retired folk he also has a part time job and his is driving a concrete mixer. It’s not for the money he says. He’s interested by my cycling and touring and it gives him the opportunity to tell me about his motorbike touring days and his e-bike that he hauls around on his truck. As the wind picks up and I worry that my lightweight tent may be picked up and disappear like a kite and so I have to breakaway. He seems disappointed.

Washing and dinner completed I found my way into my tent before 8pm and shortly thereafter I found myself looking at the inside of my eyelids.

Early to bed means early to rise. Early departures are cooler and can get you to your destination in good time. So with this in mind I was back on the saddle before 7.30am and again on the hard shoulder. Canberra offered a rest day and the meet up with a very old friend. In fact all the way back to 1973.

The legs were better and the route easier. In line with all the thought processes of a pessimist I rued the steady descent into Canberra knowing that my eventual northern exit meant a steady climb!

Eventually I left New South Wales entered Australian Capital Territory state and entered this large open city with wide cycle lanes. As the country’s capital it looks quite grand with lots of offices, probably many of them international and governmental organisations. Tonight was a hotel, yippee!

Up, Up & Away

Wollongong to Moss Vale – 48 miles and 1,143m climbing

So I woke up feeling hungover after minimal sleep thanks to my noisy neighbours. Their stupidity and inconsideracy was astonishing. I was leaving the site and the potential for future abuse wasn’t a problem for me. ‘Reception’ was shut and so I couldn’t complain but I later emailed the site office outlining the miserable night. I received a prompt reply advising they’d grip it. I hope they did.

Meanwhile I looked at my pre-planned route and decided to abandon some of the nice country lane detours and to cycle down the calm Princes Highway. This made it quicker and less hilly.

Cycling navigation Apps have an algorithm to avoid car traffic. That’s logical but for a cycle tourer with many miles to do you often can’t tolerate the stopping and starting of cycle paths and their meandering routes. I had to get a move on. I had planned all my rides with Ride with GPS under the tutelage of my appointed ‘Tour Digital Navigation Consultant’ (Nick from Harrogate) but I always knew I would adapt. Interestingly enough Nick always planned on the ‘car’ route option rather than ‘bicycle’.

Not having breakfast I stopped at a McDonalds and had a large gross type of breakfast burger. I need the calories but I won’t ever eat anything like that again! Now replenished I set my sights on reaching ‘the wall’. The story is that inland from the coast the terrain rises 700m in the form of a large cliff. In a car, by driving a long way south or north, you can do this more easily but ultimately you need to ascend to the Highlands.

My route, which was the one all the Apps couldn’t avoid, was the Macquarie Pass. This joyous road was 6.5 miles long and via a tortuous set of hairpins, at a fairly constant 10% gradient, it achieved the 700m.

In 38°C I wended my way up with several stops. On this gradient my heavy bike is very skittish as regards balance as there is 20kg of luggage on the rear wheel. I rode at 3 or 4mph for over a couple hours. This route was a jolly good outing for Saturday motorbikes who zoomed noisily up the pass; they weaved in and out of the cars and whistled three feet from my hip at 30mph. It was awful, not least the sound that suddenly appeared from nowhere and was always distracting.

As you cycle you don’t properly know when it ends but remain hopeful that you’re getting near the top on each bend you turn. A check on that optimism is the smell of overheated brake pads on the vehicles descending. Obviously there was a long way yet and judging by this burning smell I could tell that vehicles had been standing on their brakes for miles.

A few club cyclists went past on their carbon road bikes. Two quick lads shouted ‘Allez, allez, you’ve got this!’ as they sped quickly past. I appreciated their encouragement. Emerging eventually at the top I found the Robertson Pie cafe. I kid you not. So gasping for air and needing to replenish the two and a half litres of drink I consumed I popped in. Along with the water I indulged in a peaches and cream pie. As fab as this was it wasn’t sufficient reward.

Pretty jiggered I laboured on for another 15 miles to the town of Moss Vale. Here I pulled into a calm yet well set up campsite and erected my little tent. I’d spoken to Barbara the day before. She’d said if I got there by 4.30pm she’d have a space. Frankly if I’d got there by 7pm I’d have still had a field! It wasn’t busy.

The kitchen or ‘cook house’ had a microwave, hob, kettle, fridge, toaster, benches and tables. All I needed. However, I chose to dine out at The Returned and Services League of Australia club (RSL). It offers a bar and restaurant as well as karaoke (!) and some sports facilities. They are plentiful in the country and I’ve visited before. The dinner selection was wide, the food not fancy yet delicious, the setting comfortable and the beer cold. I became a temporary member and was in.

Back at the campsite I got talking with some Queenslanders from Rockhampton, a place Anna and I stayed in April. They’d come to the Highlands to escape the summer heat on the coast. Typical of many sites are residents who are contract workers. In the cook house on my return were three young guys in hi viz. They were working on a railway contract nearby but all came from Newcastle, just north of Sydney. These boys worked late and rose early. This was a Saturday night and when asked if they missed home they just shrugged their shoulders. They went where the work was.

I dived into my tent and enjoyed nine hours of solid sleep. Bliss.