Hospitals wake early and by breakfast, at my hotel, Anna advised on WhatsApp that the consultant had done his rounds and that they wouldn’t operate and insert the pins. The reason that we eventually extracted was that they needed the bed. Had they decided to do the operation then Anna would have had to stay until the swelling of her ankle went down and then there would be further time after the operation in the hospital before she could fly. They had 60 beds at this small hospital and 46 were currently filled by tourists. (It does make you wonder how many hospital beds are filled by tourists in a major attraction like London, albeit the visitors are not probably skiing or walking up and down mountains: it must be hundreds.) So, with this development I called the emergency medical number for our travel insurer – World First. As it is with these organisations they sub contract the trickier medical bit. This medical insurance was provided by Collinson.

They were responsive and opened a case file. The next step was for them to receive a hospital medical report and for me to complete an accident form. They would then decide the best solution. Their reassuring approach made me feel that I was working with a partner and I trotted off to ask for the medical report. However, from here it was frustrating during the day, to create a dialogue between the hospital and the insurer. Obviously we wanted it moving quickly. The initial problem arose when the hospital wouldn’t provide a written report but would discuss it on the phone. That was irritating but they gave us a contact telephone number to call them. That didn’t connect! I found this out by ringing up Collinson at midday and asking how they’d got on? “Oh, we rang and rang but couldn’t get an answer”.  Calming myself I thought why didn’t you ring me back to get the number checked? Moving on, I did amend the number after pressing the hospital for the correct one.

Not all of my calls were easy with Collinson as the quality of phone signal in these areas was patchy and usually you’d drop off the line at a vital point when you were discussing details. Also, when you went back to Collinson you’d have to go through their protocol of re-affirming details before they would put you through to the case handler you were initially speaking to… “Case Number, name of claimant, date of birth and country where the claimant is claiming from”. Now if this sounds a bit ‘clunky’ rather than such a big deal by this stage you know you holiday is over and delivering a solution for your bride is the only focus. Resolving bureaucracy, language barriers with the Austrians, knowing virtually nothing about ankle breaks or their rectification and not least the pressing importance of a timely intervention being met. Add to this the sorting of this out on busy streets with poor mobile telephone connections in burning hot sunshine and knowing time is of the essence made this into an interesting and intensive activity.

Meanwhile I’m on the bus down the 13 miles of valley to the hospital to see Anna, who’s languishing in her two bed Ward with a testy elderly Austrian woman who snaps at the staff and demands coffee and biscuits at precise times in the morning and afternoon. I christened her Helga. One nurse was admonished for not placing her morning newspaper on her bed rather than a table. However, despite this less attractive side to her personality she spoke a bit of English and liked my voice! She told me and the nurses about my dulcet tones and wondered if I was an actor? In fairness, it was an easy mistake to make. On every visit Anna’s calm, well cared for and knows that despite my impatience a solution will come to pass.

After my visit I trooped up to bus stop in the heat, past the delightful lake, where Collinson rang to say that they had now spoken to the hospital. Yippee.

Laura still had details to sort with the hospital and was also disappointed they wouldn’t operate. I had this conversation at the bus stop on the main road as buses and concrete mixers are grumbling past. “Can you hear me?” “Yes, Laura”. The upshot was that if they couldn’t persuade the hospital they’d fly us home. It might seem obvious given our policy but in a state of heightened anxiety this was a comfort. She’d call tomorrow giving me the plan.

I continued up the valley to Hinterglemm and showered for dinner. The breakfast, lunch (pack up) and dinner were fabulous. Given Anna’s absence I’d had to explain to the waitresses and other Inghams holiday makers what had happened initially and given them a day by day report. This was whilst downing a large beer. I suppose this counts as holiday?

Back in the room I had a long accident report to complete and send along with passport details so that new airline tickets could be booked. Was it all straightforward from here with so many transfers and handlers and how would York District Hospital respond with no prior contact when we turned up at Stupid O’Clock with a broken ankle? Anyway that was tomorrow’s challenge. Now it was sleep.

Returning quickly to Anna she was sat on the ground with her legs stretched in front of her with a badly swollen left ankle. It had ballooned in barely seconds. She was in considerable pain, nauseous and couldn’t move the ankle let alone contemplate standing up. 

Beside me was the kind lady who’d called me back. She was an Austrian school teacher who was staying locally with her teenage daughters at an apartment they had in the area. She spoke excellent English, as did her daughters, and assessing the situation that Anna would need carrying down or up the path to a road where a vehicle could access, she rang an emergency number. The person on the end of the line needed directions to where we were and as she spoke German she stayed to facilitate the navigation. It was a blessing to have such assistance.

In about 25 minutes a man appeared and quickly looked at the ankle, presumably confirming Anna needed hospitalisation, and then started to assess the best routes to get her to a vehicle (on a road). From here the lady and daughters said that they could do nothing further, accepted my profuse thanks and went about their original walk up the mountain. Who said there are no angels in Austria? 

In the meanwhile, our official Mountain Rescue man called up another four rescuers who appeared with a stretcher so that they could safely secure Anna onto it and drag her off the mountain. It was about three or four hundred yards downhill to an ambulance.

I was surprised to see a Police van and the ambulance when we got clear of the forest. Anna meanwhile had been jogged around on this bumpy slide but was bearing up and urged me to give some beer money to the hardy souls who’d dragged her off the mountain. The Police just needed to know it was an accident rather than anything more sinister and they were soon on their way. The paramedics loaded Anna up and were off. I’d asked to go along with them to the hospital in the ambulance, 13 miles down the road in Zell-am-See, but was denied. No doubt some protocol.

With her in the best, safe hands I trudged the mile or so downhill back to the hotel to collect some things for her including her Global Health Insurance Card (GHIC) and then hailed a taxi to take me there. Needless to say my mind was flooding with the minutiae of being able to support Anna. For example it seems that several local businesses hide behind (imho) poor mountain internet signals to operate on a cash only basis. The taxi cost €65 in cash. This would be recoverable but how much cash would I need during this crisis to get about etc.? Where was an ATM?

On arrival at the hospital I was directed to the A&E waiting room where passing across the GHIC was met with relief. (I’m sure they would have taken care of the emergency without the opportunity to reclaim but taking away potential problems was a good move.) I was comforted that she was in capable hands but what was happening? Eventually Anna WhatsApp’d me. She’d broken her ankle in two places and was fully X Ray’d but would need an operation to pin the bones. This was when fuck met my old boots. I’d known things were amiss but this was very serious. I went up to the Ward.

As always Anna was calm and resigned to this issue but had to be on an infusion of pain relief for the ankle as it had been ‘reset’ in the correct alignment with lots of pulling and pushing that necessitated a very painful injection. We both quickly agreed that I would have been a hopeless coward had I had to go through this procedure. The initial advice by the hospital was that they would carry out the operation two or three days later.

Her accommodation was a bright, airy and modern room for two female patients with its own loo and shower. There was a TV attached to the bed which was very functional and moved up and down on the push of a switch. The view from the hospital window was sensational.

Floating around were various nurses and other staff. There appeared to be no deprivation or shortage of medics albeit no one would want to be there.

There was nothing more to do and as it was clear she’d be there for some time I took a long list of things to collect and return with the next day. We both started telling the tour operator, family and friends about events on WhatsApp and I returned to the hotel. This I decided to do by the free bus that ran along the valley. It meant walking a mile to the bus stop from the krankenhaus (yes, it sounds like a cartoon name for a hospital) and in the 30° heat/sunshine I caught the bus in a fairly sweaty mess back to Hinterglemm.

So, everything was under control? However, tomorrow a proverbial stick would be thrust into the spokes by the hospital.

To be continued…

So the present Mrs Ives felt that we should follow the 2022 footsteps of our youngest (and husband) to Austria for a walking holiday. Being a part time guide I had the kit and so off we went flying into Salzburg and then took a bus ride with Inghams to Hinterglemm. 

The last time I was in the Salzburg area I was cycling back to York in 2018 from Croatia. The country is undoubtedly beautiful. I’d also spent a lot of time (a long time ago) in Austria or dealing with Austrians. They are or were pre-eminent in making furniture components. It was all familiar and attractive to me. The resort lay at the top of a valley in the west of Austria equidistant between Innsbruck and Salzburg. It was a Saturday when we arrived and town was jumping. The whole place is set up for tourism, whether winter skiers or summer walkers (or mountain bike riders.) It’s chocolate box pretty and the surrounding mountains are awesome.

There must have been a weekend festival as the crowded streets were teeming and the natives were to be found in local garb albeit often the worse for wear as they copiously imbibed. If their merriment was fun to see then the oompah music wasn’t. It amazes me how Austria ever made it to the 21^st Century if this is what they like listening to. Granted it isn’t complicated as each tune was the same as the last one, give or take an odd toot. This cacophony was usually underpinned by a tuba and led by an accordion.

A musical highlight amongst this teutonic torment came when breaking away from this formula they played Smokie’s 1972 hit ‘Living Next Door To Alice’. (Sorry, I’m a geek I know this stuff.) It was a tolerable rendition that was enlivened by the crowd adding at the end of the chorus ‘Who the fuck is Alice?’ A sentiment I could relate to. Anyway as some of the crowd drifted off weaving to their accommodation we also crossed the road to our hotel that sadly was close to the noisy revelry. This din continued until 1.30am I am told. Frustratingly, for Anna, I was well asleep drifting off trying to recall the band members of Smokie.

Breakfast was splendid but passage to the buffet reminded me of the Austrian no nonsense approach to people in their way. This was to ignore them and barrel on. I found this intolerably rude, not least when I stepped aside and there was no ‘thank you’. I too did contemplate barrelling through but chickened out at the thought of being impaled by a plate of scrambled eggs, hash browns and the funny little things the Austrians think are sausages approaching me at 15mph held by a burly Frau with the sense of humour (and the manners) of a pedal bin. 

After breakfast we met with the guide who told us about the walking routes and distributed maps. From here we walked to a cable car and ascended to the top and strolled around.

There were separate paths for all the mountain bikers who were togged up in elbow and knee protectors along with full face helmets. Clearly these chaps had speed on their mind and as us cyclists would say it was very ‘technical’ as the paths wound tightly down the slopes. 

Our initial exertions resulted in a pit stop for a cold soft drink and we solved Austria’s national debt crisis in one fell swoop by paying for the drinks. (I know we talk about the cost of living crisis and inflation in the UK but this place is on another level.)

After this we descended back to the town by walking and using the cable cars.

By this stage the legs are advising that this walking down hill malarky is tiring and tricky but with one small section to go before we reached the bottom we were mercifully out of the very hot sun in a wooded area that had a windy, in places steep, path that was covered in tree roots. I was walking ahead of Anna and was around a corner when a lady walker came back shouting for me to return as “your wife has fallen”. 

…to be continued

To complete and continue our May and June 2024 American adventure I have written a couple of posts, this is the first.

From Memphis we drove to Nashville and took an internal flight on Southwest Airlines to Savannah, Georgia. This internal carrier slightly excited me because 40 years ago when I was doing my MBA they were a case study as a low cost airline taking on the established, larger players. Clearly they’ve done well to be still hanging around as some of their competitors have gone such as Pan Am and TWA. One notable part of the experience was being told by the air hostess to sit wherever there was a spare seat on boarding.

From here we went to stay with my niece, Victoria and her husband (Ben) and son (Henry). They have been here for some time as Ben works as an expat for a large UK company that manufactures and sells in the USA. Victoria works in interior design and young Henry, complete with American accent, goes to school in the town. Savannah is lovely as a coastal resort, university  town and the home to the third largest container port in the USA. On this latter point you can see ships coming and going but otherwise the town seems quite separate.

The weather continued to hot and very sunny and we had a grand time with some family neighbours out and about on a pontoon in a sail to Little Tybee island.

Ben and Victoria are keen cyclists, who wouldn’t be on flat pothole free roads in sensational weather? I went out with their club on Saturday morning and as Ben disappeared to ride at 21mph I hung grimly onto Victoria’s wheel for 47 miles. It reminded me of Australia but a lot faster!

After our busy schedule in Nashville and Memphis (and lots of driving) it was nice to chill in luxurious surroundings before leaving to pick up a car and drive toward the Great Smoky Mountains. (Yes, the ‘e’ disappeared sometime ago, very troubling to a grammar pedant like what I am.)

Leaving Victoria we drove north to Spartanburg. This was a couple of hundred miles, it’s here that rain fell, about time (!) although it was still warm. We’d switched between eating out or catering for ourselves in apartments for breakfast or evening salads. After a few days on the road eating out starts to wane. On this night we slouched out to the magnificent Waffle House, a well known nationwide cheap greasy spoon. I do worry that the ingredients are full of all sorts of chemicals but it does the job and I always console myself that I’ll eventually be back to a less toxic diet. When we did shop there was often an ‘ethnic’ aisle in supermarkets mainly humouring the large Latino diaspora and Brits. Frankly the further north we got into the Smokies the ethnic aisle had a further reach around the store as some of the products could have been expanded from Latino and British to Hill Billy and Red Neck!

The next morning we were promptly up to the nearby BMW plant for a tour ($10 each). Here they make the X Series from the X3 upwards. It’s a vast assembly and paint plant where they ship over 400,000 cars a year with 60% exported including back to the UK. They’ve invested $12 billion here since the plant was opened in the 1980s. We were lucky enough to see the fixing of doors, rear hatches and bonnets to the car all by robots. The lifting, placing, alignment and fixing was done by these massive arms that swung around with precision and grace. There were several lasers ensuring the component was a perfect fit. We also had a video, a look at the paint process and then were given a medallion. Sadly this didn’t come fixed to a gold chain for me to wear with an open neck shirt.

From here in North Carolina it was back to Tennessee and the Smokies and maybe a bear or two?

Thanks to the App for UK’s sports radio channel TalkSport I was able to listen to some of the Championship football Play Off Final. The rest of the match I followed by looking at the BBC Sports website. I never had any serious conviction that Leeds would win, and they didn’t. After the result I was comfortably numb. Leaving Nashville we had a brief stop in Franklin before arriving in sleepy Memphis in our Subaru Outback.

In a straight line on the Interstate the car was fine but worryingly redolent with all sorts of baffling safety features that flashed up with irritating regularity on the dashboard. Lane control alerts, a speed pegging back cruise control if you got too close (100m) to a car in front, nasty bleeping if the car was switched off and you hadn’t restored the gear stick into ‘Park’, bleeping if the door was open when stationary, only opening one door when you pushed the button on the key fob; not all the doors. I came to hate it. On my own car at home I’d managed to switch all this Nanny State crap off. I would still be in Nashville had I attempted to fathom out how to do this on my Subaru.

I say ‘sleepy’ Memphis, the Downtown area was deserted and this was Memorial Day weekend. It should be jumping. This day commemorates all the fallen military. It was nine years since I’d been here and I thought it was going to be buzzing like Nashville: I was wrong. Also Anna had read that personal safety due to robbery and violence was something to concentrate on. The violence statistics were awful for the city. I’m not cavalier about what I wear or carry when out. I’m never anxious but thoughtfully aware. However, on an early stroll along the Mississippi we cut away from the river and climbed up toward a plush housing estate.

As we’re wandering along Glen and his wife Vicky greet us. He’s 83 years old (he told us twice) and a long term resident after a military career, a colonel no less. As we exchanged pleasantries and we say we’ve come from Nashville and music is our reason to visit. In a flash he’s onto his iPhone and produces a clip of a song by Glen and the Graduates, a sixties pop song. Glen apparently turned down a record contract to pursue a military career when a fledgling pop star. Who knows if he’d have made anything of himself but it was a great tune. As we’re digesting this he goes on to recount a recent local tragedy where a man is walking with his wife and small child nearby when they’re held up at gun point. The man was shot and lost his life. He talks of America in chaos with divides in society. Another vote for Trump, especially when you read the back of his calling card.

They depart, to continue their walk, urging us to be careful. Gulp!

I have to say the weather has been beautiful but hot and the evenings delightful. This led us to visit Beale Street. The history of music and important careers being nurtured here are part of blues folklore. The street has a few bars, a lot of gift shops and not many punters. I recollect it was a lot more vibrant. We did venture into the most famous bar, BB King’s Blues Club, to dine and listen to the band. The bands were sensational but they didn’t play any blues, I think the audience, all tourists, liked the rock covers they played. The vocalist could really sing with a great delivery.

We visited the National Civil Rights Museum. This is one of the most impactful collections I have ever visited, it was my second visit. It merits a compulsory visit in my not so humble opinion. Outside was a lady protesting about the museum gentrifying the area and masking so many troubling issues for all the Memphis residents. She’d been there for 36 years and on establishing my nationality proudly advised she’d been in The Guardian and met Harry. (Neither of these events ticked my box!) We had a back and forth about her point of view and I quickly felt I had got in a discussion with the local loony and was trapped. As I walked away she broke into God Save The King. Cuckoo.

Despite the poor press Memphis seemed fine and again all the folk were deferential, courteous and kind; so much for threats. Anna had checked out concerts to discover that Lionel Richie and Earth, Wind and Fire were playing at the local arena. At $58 for two tickets how could we not go? Break Wind and Fire were a 10 piece with now only three original members.

They had the crowd up from the get go. It’s quite a sight to see the heavy frames* of many of the 19,000 audience gyrating. For me the sound mix was terrible with the voices and horns sounding muted and tinny over a steady thunder of over amplified drums.

Lionel Richie fully adopted a Southern persona, a little different to when we saw him in Sheffield! He, and his sound, were magnificent. You should see him. Toward the end he went into a philosophical muse about the world post Covid and everyone getting along. The black woman behind us repeated his words, like a call and response in a church. When he finished she turned to leave the concert and reached down put her hands on each of our shoulders said “I love you” and was gone. Only in the South, only in the South.

In a cafe in a chap asked me about my shorts. Clearly he was impressed with my sartorial elegance. I told him the brand and we parted only to bump into him later with a couple of his pals. They advised us they took their vinyl to the Crosstown Concourse to listen to them on an immense hi-fi system. The building was the former Sears catalogue building that once serviced a nationwide mail order business. Clearly we all know how that ended. This listening room was donated by a Memphis luminary and in comfort you could listen to your music. We said we’d meet them there. We did and heard some Black Sabbath, Lemon Twigs and Elvis Costello with Burt Bacharach. One of the chaps started somehow on politics and started to vent about Trump. I changed the subject but I only mention this to confirm how vocal and public people are about their views and there’s little accommodation of their opponents.

Other museum visits included the Stax record label museum, the original home of legends like Otis Redding, Isaac Hayes and err… Lena Zavaroni. This is a terrific stop.

As part of a pilgrimage I again visited Sun Studios. Here Elvis Presley got his break and we got a number plate! We’d parked up outside a garage and Anna, concerned that we had parked in someone’s spot ask an employee if we were allowed? James Dean (Moss) not only confirmed it was but regaled us with his Mancunian heritage, something personally I would have kept secret, and then dived into his car to give us a number plate off a recent car wreck. As with all these older blokes we got a life story… 78 years old, had retired, had got bored (as not enough to do around the home or at his church) and so he’d found another job. Reluctantly he released us to visit the museum!

When not absorbing culture we had a less frenetic time and I’d managed to find a couple of second hand record stores to spend paltry amounts on records by Billy Preston, Sharks and Blood, Sweat & Tears.

I like my history and we went to the Cotton Museum. Cotton was a vital 19th and early 20th Century crop that provided a great living to all but the black slaves and their descendants. The museum dwelt on this, its demise and move to California where technology and mechanisation make it a very different affair today.

From here it was back to Nashville to fly to Savannah, GA to see our niece and husband. It is, as they say, ‘all go’.

*Obesity is commonplace here ranging from overweight to morbidly obese. It would not be uncommon for a couple in their 50s to pay $20,000+ per annum as a premium for their health care insurance. The high cost must, in part, be driven by the health issues that this weight contributes toward conditions such as diabetes, cancer and heart disease.

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.