So with 353 miles under my (reducing) belt I had breakfast, at the hotel, and was out into a very quiet Vichy. The reason for this comes later.

After the dilapidation of Thiers then the outskirts of Vichy were neat, tidy and cared for. I’m not enthusiastic about cycle paths but if this was to lead to Rotterdam then I might not complain. Rotterdam was to be my ultimate Continental destination. After badgering P&O (the ferry operator) on Twitter it appears that they will not be opening the Zeebrugge, Belgium route to tourists any time soon. I always suspected it didn’t make money as the ferry only ever seemed sparsely occupied on my many crossings. The pandemic has turned ‘bad’ into ‘disaster’ no doubt. As you can see below the suburbs were attractive and again spookily empty.

Before long I was away from the city and into the countryside. The brutal hills of the Massif Central were behind me but I was regularly climbing and accumulating impressive height gains (today was a bonkers 1,525m). You may think the following sign is a ‘red letter’ day. I think you’ll find most cycle tourers expect that ‘what goes down goes up’ and so it’s hard to enjoy this brief plummet. Even though I had been on the bike every day I think yesterday’s minimal riding had been restorative.

From terrible average speeds here I was nicely into double figures. Below is a canal path I cycled over. I would eventually have my time on them.

The eating plan is to have one hot meal a day and to eat whilst cycling as well. At night, on the campsite I’m always pressed for time and so maybe a whole baguette, a tomato and a large chunk of cheese might suffice (plus a cake if the boulangerie obliges). A French staple lunch time is ‘Plat Du Jour’. Many bars or restaurants do them. It’s reasonably priced, has little or no choice but is served quickly. The latter service is to accommodate the busy person who wants to be back behind his desk or shovel loader steering wheel. Here are three course and the bill I found at a restaurant:

The damage was reasonable, n’est pas?

Gone were the gorges or mountains but rolling hills. All were given over to cereal production. Now the day and lunch had made things idyllic and a good mileage was being achieved. However I identified Le Creusot as a place to stop over. I got there and there was no camping, a hostel or hotels that I could find. I was looking for smaller places. The reason for the latter lack of open hotels was because today was Bastille Day. It’s a bank holiday and a lot of things are shut. It is France’s National Day and it’s origins go back to storming this Paris fortress/prison in 1789 and was, in effect, the people rising up against the monarchy.

So using my Apps I’m all over town trying to find a roof over my head and time is elapsing. I ring Anna and ask her to book an Ibis hotel a further 14 miles south. This meant going backwards, not a happy activity but needs must.

A giant steel press at a roundabout. Love it.

Just before getting to the hotel I found some food. After this distance and being late I could have eaten a horse. Actually I have seen this meat on the menu. However, not at McDonalds.

Checking in to the Ibis was a trial. It had been paid for on line, by my bride, but they made me pay again. I had further meetings with other staff who spoke English, but I expect I’ll have to resolve something between Ibis, Amex and Booking.com when I get home.

I was happy to check out from Fawlty Towers and descend to Vichy. This would truly get me clear of the Massif Central (yippee). Before I left Thiers I saw one of many monuments, as seen all over France, to the fallen soldiers of WW1.

It’s still staggering to think despite the enormous human cost of this war to Western Europe (and the British Empire) that by 1939 another greater conflagration would take place. So breaking a golden rule of not cycling on a rest day I I pedalled into the spa town of Vichy and headed for Decathlon. The town is sat on the Allier river.

I had time to kill prior to check in at my new hotel and did some shopping at this sports retailer. At the checkout there was an automated till and frankly I couldn’t follow the signage and abandoned that option. The lady behind me in the queue saw me moving away from this machine and said something in French I didn’t understand. I was happy to queue elsewhere and said. “Merci, je suis Anglais”. She then just said “Aww mayte, I can help you”. Who knew that Australians could speak languages other than English? Anyway she helped me complete the transaction and I told her of my being in Australia in March and where I’d been. When I mentioned Melbourne she was gripped with horror and referred to the current lockdown there. I let it pass but Australia has only had 116 reported deaths but France has had over 30,000. I know which is safer.

So another rest day job is washing (properly) my kit. I would have liked to have included the kit I was wearing but a night in the cells was too high a price to pay, not least because Anna had already paid for a room. However I couldn’t easily fathom out how you got soap powder from one machine and paid in another and what you paid with – card, notes, coins… At this point a helpful lady grabbed my notes and gave me back some coins. Err, well she didn’t as she’d worked out I was a dork and so she bought the soap powder, put it in the machine and then programmed the machine and started it. Merci beaucoup! She could have been Ann Widdicombe’s sister…

This done and a sandwich consumed it was a time that I could check in. I loved the hotel although getting the bike into the lift was memorable.

(In fact I liked the hotel so much I donated, on my departure, a USB adaptor and iPhone charging cable). Later I drifted around the centre of the town and it was very much a relaxed spa resort.

However, the town has a dark history. It was the seat of the collaborationist French regime during WW2. When Germany occupied France in 1940 the north was occupied but the south or ‘Vichy France’ was allowed to run itself under German instruction until 1944 albeit with diminishing authority. The seat of government was placed in Vichy, not least because it had sufficient space to host this ‘government’. I imagine the options were limited for the French given the German victory but this government collected more Jews than was strictly necessary to satisfy the Nazis (only 3% survived the death camps) and was otherwise ultra conservative: divorce wasn’t legal! It also controlled the French fleet, which probably explains why Churchill sank it. To add to its troubled past then amongst the several towns they’re twinned with it includes Dunfermline.

However that is history. Today it is an attractive place and I hope to visit again.

Interestingly the weather was a lot cooler and I was quite chilly in the tent overnight. I’ve a lot of clothing solutions and if I know it’s coming then I can prepare. I didn’t (!) and kept waking up…doh.

The start was an unremarkable 270m climb. I just know it’s coming now and so do my legs. Lord knows what I did wrong in a previous life to deserve these climbs.

However despite this I was chipper because this was the last day before a ‘rest day’. The Central Massif was ending and whilst it was up and down the brutality diminished. I didn’t start with any breakfast but found a boulangerie en route for croissants and a very tasty quiche lorraine. You can see some customers disregarding wearing masks or keeping the required 1.5 metres let alone there only being two allowed in the shop. I’d say in bigger towns there is more interest in the masks. In the countryside it seems very optional.

I even found myself poodling along in a delightful gorge for the river Alagnon.

After following the river I had to leave it to go north east to reach Thiers. The change in direction meant a little more climbing and certainly less settlements. As I ground up through one small village I noted that there was a large flat area with many trees giving it shade. Beneath the trees were maybe 60 people at three large tables having a Sunday lunch. I think wine may have flowed because as I cycled past I drew a great response of cheering and clapping. I gave them the ‘Royal’ wave back.

I was otherwise some what on edge as Leeds United we’re away at Swansea City. I kept stopping every 10 minutes to check the score. At 80 minutes at 0-0 I lost a sufficiently good mobile signal to get updates. This coincided with my descent for 2 miles. As I’m in this delicious free fall I heard my phone go ‘plinky plinky plink plonk’. This is a WhatsApp message being received. I knew it must be Anna telling me Leeds had scored at the death. Coming to rest I had a sufficient signal to look at the App. Very thrilled!

So why Thiers? Well it looked a big town on the map and had some medieval buildings that maybe indicated it was an interesting day to spend a day off the bike at. The reality was a virtually abandoned hill side town with a thriving commercial life flourishing below. The hill side ‘centre ville’ must have been abandoned after the war and it really appeared quite derelict.

I expect that after WW2 people wanted better housing and the centre of time was antiquated. To add to this I imagine jobs migrated from the centre as well.

My hotel was expensive due to the lack of choice! Even more galling was that if I’d called in rather than book it on line I could have got my room at two thirds of the price.

The manager (and chef) was pleased to see me and ultimately hard to shake off! I was in need of a shower and he kept badgering me about all sorts in torrents of French. My retort of ‘la plume de ma tante‘ to everything he said confirmed, in his mind my complete mastery of French and so he rabbited on. The upshot was my agreement to dine in the hotel. In fact the wisest thing I did in Thiers. I went for a stroll had a quick beer and returned to a delightful treat:

I’m starting to think hotels now do stuff that’s not needed. A small provincial hotel has few staff and so who would answer, let alone, use the phone?

It was obvious that my ‘rest day’ in Thiers would be a waste. So tomorrow I’d pedal down the hill to Vichy.

As I’m washing my bidons (behave) in the morning a bloke at the next basin strikes up a conversation. You can tell he’s French as he has a moustache and is a millennial. Which other nationality wants to look like their great grandfather? Butchering the French language with my failed O Level French I tell him of my journey whilst he expresses awe and respect. I would have liked to have pointed out that last night’s beauty sleep was delayed because of him jibbering onto to his mate until past eleven. But it’s not British.

The first stop was Marvejols.

Quite a small but delightful spot very busy with a Saturday morning market. It still amazes me that the French would queue for various parts of small dead animals that you’d only contemplate consuming on ‘I’m A Celebrity Get Me Out Of Here’. So with a safer coffee and croissants consumed I left town and hoped the road would continue to be flat.

Nope. For the next couple of hours I climbed upwards by over 500m. Despite not getting the French O Level then I had more success with Self Pity and after reaching the top I was ready for the A Level. This is not the way to start a day.

So with this tiring start the next attraction was finding Chély d’Apcher. This attractive, yet industrial town is twinned with a local town to where we live, Tadcaster. We live 9 miles away. Tadcaster has three breweries but is frankly mainly a selection of empty shops, bakers, charity shops and down at heel pubs. It’s caught between two bigger cities and it’s glory days are well past. Twinning as a popular activity came about after WW2 between French and German towns as they attempted to heal the divisions. The towns usually have something in common. I could see no similarities here.

So onwards the road ran alongside the A75 motorway.

However, one notable detour was deep into a valley where this magnificent construction straddled the gap.

I left this valley needing crampons. Sadly I was truly shot. The mountains and miles before had rendered me totally depleted. I struggled into the nearby town of St-Flour and then staggered up another spiteful hill to a campsite nearby. (I’d climbed 1,222m today). I would always hope to ride further than this. After all the heat then today had been cooler mainly due to a constant headwind. Let’s see what tomorrow brings.

The start was delightfully flat. My intention is head due North. As always it was warm and dry with a wonderful blue sky. Despite this great beginning I was jolted out my happy state by a brutal ascent to Compeyre. This was the usual uphill slog to a medieval village on top of a hill. Very quaint but not important so early in the day with so far to go.

I extracted myself from this small settlement and then consulted my ‘dangerously’ inaccurate Garmin for a direction north. It advised that this could be achieved with an immediate 1,000m climb. Funnily enough I thought differently and found myself cycling through the sensational Gorges du Tarn. The Tarn flows down this gorge enabling fabulous views and lots of canoeing. More to the point that whilst the road slowly rose it was virtually flat. The scenery was to die for.

The road had early 20th Century tunnels carved out.

The gorge sides towered over the river.

Along the route there were a few cyclists. One lady on an electric bike played leap frog with me as we stopped to take photos or in my case rummage around in my panniers for another energy bar. It goes without saying that I’ve not come across other cycle tourers on the trip so far.

The gorge ends at Sainte-Enimie. I stopped and had a cycle tour staple – omelette and chips (no photos because my phone was on charge, what do you mean we all know what fecking omelette and chips looks like?) There are a couple of ways out of the gorge. They both include 400m climbs. Yes, I know how to enjoy myself! Replete with a full stomach I began a slow ascent. I stopped at 200m up to take a shot of the recycling depot. Well, I didn’t really I had to call ‘FYD’ to give an opinion on engine size for the new car and it’s here I stopped.

The views were staggering.

I did get over the lip of the gorge at 900m only to find that I had another 100m to climb before the deserved descent. (The day racked up another 1,057m). Next was finding a campsite for the night. Looking at my selection of Apps I chose a place in the small town of Chirac. Much to my relief the Boulangerie in the town was open. I made vital purchases.

These campsites should be bursting on weekends but they’re empty. It really is the stay at home Dutch who’ve left the gaps. The site owners usually give instructions on check in where you can pitch but this year they all say ‘wherever you like’.

A real novelty was a picnic table. (I quickly appropriated that). Beside it was a barbecue. These are very unusual for anywhere but Australia. All this for €10.20 for the night.

With the likely admonishment of my Leeds Beckett University nutrition experts I knew I had to get some breakfast. Going north from Octon was a good start as it was handily placed (and beautiful).

I was quickly in Lodève and found some breakfast (and a working plug socket).

I had lost one of the pads that keep your spectacle lens off your nose. I luckily found an optician next door to the breakfast stop and popped in. They replaced the missing one gratis. How kind.

The way north today was difficult! There is now a motorway (A75) that everyone hops on and it takes them through the mountains. The step down in terms of road after this four lane joy is onto tortuous B roads.

This whole range of mountains I’m negotiating over several days are called the Massif Central and it is a large area. Today I couldn’t take the motorway and so consulting Google Maps, my Michelin paper map and my Garmin Sat Nav I could see no way but to go climbing. In fact I was sent up 600 metres in 35 to 40°C and the gradient averaged between 5 and 8%. It took me around 3 hours to complete 15 miles. The only traffic I saw were road repair contractors! The roads were on occasion ropey but it appears no one uses them apart from stupid Englishmen!

I pushed and pushed when the gradients went above 10%. Eventually I breasted the top and sped down to Le Caylar where I found shelter from the sun and a sandwich. In fact I sat in the cafe coming out of a heat haze. Overall for the day I climbed 909 metres; mainly in one ascent. The route now was to follow a service road beside the motorway. The destination was Millau. The town is famous for its bridge. This crosses the Tarn river and it’s tallest pillar is 343 metres, it’s the tallest bridge in the world. It was designed by a Frenchman and Norman Foster. It costs a lot of money as a toll bridge but I dare say they will be paying it off in decades time.

I had a wonderful descent into the town, by another road, and ended up in McDonalds at about 4.30pm. I thought this was a good evening meal solution. I have to say that their food is dreadful compared to years ago. I even had to chase an oik around the restaurant with my original fries… “froid, monsieur”.

There were a number of campsites; all next to each other. I chose a smaller less highly rated one. The more highly rated the more facilities and so more noise and excitable children.

After my chores I had a beer at the bar and kept tabs on Leeds United vs Stoke City by my sports app on my phone. 5-0, so pleased or relieved. Four gut churning games to go…

Apart from missing Junction 24 on the M1 and taking another 18 miles to turn round the drive to East Midlands Airport was straightforward. Anna was happy to take me and the drop off was quite simple at this small airport. The flight was barely occupied.

I’m not sure why so many people have dropped out but it made the flight painless and my bike box was waiting for me on the carousel as I cleared Passport Control. Not often I can say nice things about Ryanair… I asked one of the Carcassonne Airport staff if I might reassemble it inside the terminal rather than outside in the sweltering sun. No problem. Happily the bike went together well and I was off… to Decathlon.

This is a sports good store. I needed a gas canister for my camping. From here I wandered in circles around the town before finding my hotel down a back street. This was to be my first experience of how the French control the virus. At best it’s ‘lip service’. I was asked to sanitise my hands and follow the inevitable tape on the floor. After booking in I found myself up 3 flights of stairs in a reasonable room. The hotel only had four guests and so why I had several hearty hikes up and down I don’t know.

La Cité is a perfect fortification in Carcassonne. I’ve been about three times previously but it was nice to visit again. There were a few French around but the usual British voices were not to be heard. We’re still not travelling. The economic hit to these tourists spots must be gigantic. Anyway I had some pasta and then returned for a workout up the stairs and off to bed.

At 8.10am I was ready for the off. Pleasingly the start would be flat as I headed east. Traffic was light and the odd British, Belgium or Dutch number plates were a rare sightings. It was idyllic cycling beside the Canal du Midi. However I was only on the gravel footpath briefly before taking the road that ran beside it. This tremendous canal construction feat dates back to the 17th Century and was built to connect the Atlantic (Gironde River) with the Mediterranean. It’s 240 kilometres long.

The bright blue skies were with me all day and the scenery was green and fertile. Vineyards were visible as far as the eye could see. The upshot of this flat run was 44 miles at 13.7 mph. That’s motoring in Touringville! I stopped for lunch in Capestang, a well known stop for the tourist hired canal boats that cruise the canal.

It was starting to become very hot. In fact unbearably hot. I suddenly found my self climbing for a couple of hours as the temperature reached a bewildering 44°C. I felt the energy draining out of me and my legs. Sacre bleu!

I knew it’d be hot but this was stupid. My destination was all about a campsite I’d found near a lake. That sounds exquisite but frankly it was the only one I could spot as I planned my route.

I really started to die on the bike. It wasn’t helped by running low on water. At this temperature you drink every 5 minutes: you have to. I carry just under 3 litres and replenish when I can. However sometimes there is no water to be found. To add to my misery the road continued to climb! At 6.10pm I’m worrying about finding the campsite when my favourite youngest daughter rang to discuss car finance. I may have been a little pre-occupied and grumpy (quelle surprise). Fortunately I’d found some water. I’m not sure if it was drinkable but it sure tasted good.

Not without quite a bit of ‘going round in circles’ malarky I got to the campsite and parted with €19.00 for my pitch. In fact the owner wanted €19.02 but decided to make the magnanimous Gallic gesture and write off the balance (as I didn’t have the correct change). The site had solar power to heat the water and operate the bathroom lights but there were no electrical sockets.

Let’s hope my iPhone and Garmin battery last until I can find a socket! I rang the ‘FYD’ and completed the conversation on the intricacies of buying a car. Frankly she’s frighteningly sorted and I had little to add to her forensic analysis. I mean who turns up at a car showroom with a laptop to run through the figures with a salesman?

The pitch was fine, the laundry was done and after some pasta I fell into a deep sleep.

(The Grey Nomad goes to France)

Anna, when I was about to go to Australia in February, decided to book some flights to Carcassonne in the south of France for July. This was mainly to put something in the diary. She rightly noted that I was heading off for some sun (and pies) and that she deserved a holiday to look forward to. Carcassonne is a grand town with a citadel. This is an ancient 13^th Century fortification in the centre of the town. Within this fortification there are cobbled streets, churches, bars, hotels etc. It is a special place. We’ve been on several occasions. When the pandemic struck we just left the flights in place not knowing when the borders would open again.

When the chance to fly arrived Anna felt leaving the UK so soon after my father-in-law being widowed wasn’t timely. (He’s doing remarkably well so far thankfully). So she’d pass up the holiday. I was happy to reschedule but there was no chance of a refund and to move the flights involved overcoming two obstacles. The first was being able to contact Ryanair and then paying considerable amendment charges. The latter were prohibitive when you note what we paid for the original flights pre-Covid-19 before the hikes. Anyway I decided to go and so the tour starts from Carcassonne airport next week. I am a man of lists and using this I have extracted all my necessary clothes and items for the trip.

In a couple of weeks of pedaling or so I hope to arrive at the northern coastline. Exactly where depends on which ports have ferries sailing to Hull in England. At the moment only Rotterdam is open in The Netherlands but I’m hoping Zeebrugge in Belgium opens. This should be around 1,000 miles. As always I will be camping. However, there may be a few slates over my head if the weather turns very inclement.

Just north of the city are some demanding mountains and so I’ve decided to initially head east and then north. This way I might limit the climbing necessary to make progress. There are no major cities on my route. However the regions I’ll cycle through will be green and ancient. I expect sunshine, fresh bread, delicious wine, unfussy campsites, indifferent locals and empty but steep roads. When I get further north I may follow the Meuse river into Belgium. I’ll worry about the detail in a few hundred miles time.

I shall be taking my iPad and writing about what I see. As always it’ll be grand if you join me.

Australia Blog 18

I thought I would split my post between a travelogue summary and then a cycling report. The travelogue summarises my thoughts about Australia and my cycling report includes some statistics and detail about the riding.

Travelogue

For whatever reason I never took to Melbourne; every one tells me it’s marvellous. Its an impressive city on the Yarra river and both the buildings and the water are tall or imposing. Like all cities it belongs to the under 30’s. They populate its streets and the food, shops and spaces belong to them. Melbourne is ethnically diverse. I well recollect Australians at the next table chatting away in Mandarin or Cantonese and I later heard that Melbourne is the largest Greek town after Athens. Diversity is the reality and future but it wasn’t the Australia I came to see. I wanted to see how it made a living, the life it’s non-urban communities lived, its landscapes and foibles.

I eventually put the city behind me and got into the Victoria countryside. Here were fields and animals. Everything was parched but this was the vista I expected. Small towns with a pub, a few shops, a fire truck building and a community centre were the norm and I ploughed north. After Wangaratta I deviated off the beaten track and ended up in Walla Walla. This was small town Australia. Hard working, no frills, a little bit down on its luck and miles from anywhere. I started to get the feel for the country and its people. Leaving Victoria was by the direct Hume Freeway a large artery of a dual carriageway heading north and then east toward Canberra and Sydney.

My luck ran out with the weather. When it rains it isn’t drizzle but hours of heavy falls. Riding beside this road with its spray and unnerving drafts from 34 wheel trucks made me climb off and catch a bus from Gundagai to Sydney. I hate to do this but I saw no point in suffering for the sake of it. Sydney was magnificent. Lots of history, fine architecture, a staggering harbour and sunshine. From here the ride north, in New South Wales, was hard but early morning games of school boy cricket and joggers or recreational cyclists on outside seating drinking coffee made me think there might be something to this life. Continue reading Australia Bike Ride – Epilogue →

Australia Bike Ride 17

After failing to eat properly the night before I was delighted to discover this seemingly ramshackle general store in Kin Kin was a top cafe.

When I turned up last night it seemed improbable that they could russle up this omelette:

This was a sight for sore eyes. I asked inside about my nocturnal American friend. Yes he was known. His name’s Jim Wonder. He lives about 4 miles out of town and has been caught stealing showers and water before. They knew of his conspiracy theories and pre-occupation with artefacts. I feel I may have ‘grassed him up’ after discussing his ablutions last night but he needs to stop creeping around like that.

Fortified I headed north. Within a few miles I spent 10 minutes pushing the bike up an 18% gradient. Whether a help or a worry my Garmin Sat Nav does provide guidance that these enormous climbs are coming:

Continue reading Australia Bike Ride – Kin Kin to Maryborough – 77 miles & Tour’s Finish →

Australia Blog 16

Well in the first mile I had to push the bike twice up gradients too steep (to cycle) with a heavy bike. This was not a good start. The weather now seems hot and sunny, that was certainly more like it.

The town planners had cobbled together some routes for cyclists in the north of the city: the usual hotch potch of dedicated paths, park shortcuts and pavement riding. After a gazillion traffic lights I made it to the Gympie Road heading north. Up until this point I’d spent more times waiting on pavements or on the road for traffic lights to turn green.

After about 15 miles I was heading into the smaller suburban towns. I was not allowed on the Bruce Highway. This meant a very windy path north. Leaving my directions to my Sat Nav I could be going anywhere…

I passed by a set of monuments and graphics to the Navy. The portrayal was accessible to school children. Very touching and effective. This was Moreton Bay. Continue reading Australia Bike Ride – Brisbane to Caloundra – 73 miles & Caloundra to Kin Kin – 77 miles →

Australia Blog 15

A routine on a rest day of sorting my laundry was followed by toasting some bagels I’d bought the night before. Hotels ‘work’ but they are mainly rooms. At a hostel there are more facilities at a better prices. The Kookaburra Inn rated highly on my Hostelworld App. It deserved it.

The bike’s been brilliant over the 1,000 miles but I needed some adjustment on the gears. I rang a bike shop and they said just ‘drop in’. This I duly did. The short distance from the hostel was balanced by the enormous short sharp hills I had to deal with. Parts of Brisbane remind me of San Francisco with the rises and falls. At the bike shop I got talking to another waiting customer, Brian. He was familiar with Cairns and was shortly to go back on holiday up there. As I left he stopped me. “Don’t forget to put on your helmet” or you’ll be “chipped” by the police. In Australia it’s compulsory to wear a helmet when cycling. I think you should always wear a helmet when cycling but I’m doubtful it’s a good use of police time.

With the gears adjusted (they removed two links and adjusted the rear mech) I returned to deposit the bike at the hostel and set off on foot to find a ferry. This I found…. it was free! I was intending to ride it all around the river but only managed one stop to South Bank. Continue reading Australia Bike Ride – Brisbane Rest Day →

Australia Blog 14

The first 30 miles came for free. I started with a breakfast muffin and a real cup of coffee at the local bakery. The barista was an Irish lass. I’d forgotten how nice proper coffee was. The miles were ‘free’ because on the Pacific Highway they were easily achieved. I stopped briefly on the motorway:

On entering Queensland I was kicked off the motorway. I’m not sure why but the level of traffic went up dramatically as I approached Brisbane, which may be a clue.

I’m quietly amazed that I have been allowed to ride this Highway. Unless you’re experienced and have resilience then it is not a good place to be. I’d hate many cyclists, I know, to be soldiering along it. This eviction coincided with my desire to look at the Gold Coast. I started at North Kirra Beach.

I went slowly on the beach cycle paths and gazed at the ocean. Even more attractive were the many apartments and houses built just behind the beach.

Continue reading Australia Bike Ride – Brunswick Heads, NSW to Brisbane – 102 miles →

Australia Blog 13

A chap, was wandering about near my tent doing some site maintenance/gardening. When asked, he said I might see kangaroos nibbling the grass the next morning. Excited, I arose next morning, with camera poised, to hopefully find Skippy having breakfast. As you have correctly deduced, Skippy was dining elsewhere.

My tent was not completely dry but it was better than having to endure torrential downpours. I had my porridge and packed everything away. Most mornings and nights I’ll catch up with Anna via a call on WhatsApp. As always I’m anxious to get off, I have a long way to go. So I hooked up the bluetooth headphones and set off cycling and talking to her. The road I was cycling on should have been quiet given that it was Sunday. It was, relatively, but it was only a two way road, due to roadworks, and the traffic was bunched. Our conversation was fine but I don’t think she was encouraged to join me on a future expedition as she heard the roar of the trucks or pick ups as they went past. However, this passed a pleasant 6 miles for me before we were done. It still seems more than odd that I’m starting the day and she’s finishing hers.

I added to my sustenance in Woodburn. The weather now was squally and a morale boosting pie seemed a good move. This chap below is a ‘breakfast pie’. So lots of eggs and bacon? Well of course but sat on top of minced beef and gravy. Australia’s culinary imagination, as always, to the fore.

Continue reading Australia Bike Ride – Woombah to Brunswick Heads – 78 miles →

Australia Blog 12

Rolling out of Coffs Harbour was hard! For all the engineering delight of The Pacific Highway in making sure it was as flat over hundreds of miles I found myself spinning the granny gears to leave the town behind. Being Saturday the traffic was lighter, which was just as well as a bicycle doing 4mph up a hill with no hard shoulder with trucks is not a great combination.

However after this rude awakening the usual pattern emerged of a sunny day with a large road in front of me and my lonely place on the hard shoulder. It has to be said that there is little debris on the shoulder bar stones. Road kill has stopped and the only other comment is that the odd bits of metal are usually originating from truck bodies or the straps they use to secure their load. In this fairly easy fast rolling situation I put on my headphones and listened to another podcast. After a good start, when she took over the show, Laura Laverne on Desert Island Discs has lapsed into interviewing fairly dull ‘woke’ worthies. I think the production team who I expect find the guest and then see if they’ve got an autobiography (for research purposes) all live in London have never been further than Netflix out of the capital. The mindset of all these guests is wearily unrepresentative of the nation.

I felt virtuous because I had eaten grandly the day before and was benefitting from all this fuel intake. It works. The error is to mistake ‘good days’ when you don’t eat copiously for the norm. I seemed to cycle well when I rode across the USA but I lost one and a half stones (c10kg). When I once told another more informed cyclist he commented that I must have lost muscle mass? It made me think again. The other challenge is the loss of appetite. At home after a bike ride in winter I’ll return ravenous to empty the cupboards and fridge. Here, rather than feeling hungry, I just know I must eat.

That being said when I got to Grafton I pulled into McDonalds. In line with the Master’s instructions I just look for calories. I had large fries and a chocolate milk shake.

Continue reading Australia Bike Ride – Coffs Harbour to Woombah – 88 miles →