Wednesday, July 23, 2014

Mt. Garnet to Cairns

Well, it happens sometimes, that a journey ends and the post tour events tumble in in such rapid succession that one fails to update her blog for some time. That AND it is surprisingly challenging to find a competent internet connection and computer at the same time in far north Queensland.  Needless to say, I did make it to Cairns.  Over a month ago, after a thorough exploration of semi-interior Queensland, the Atherton Tablelands and Cape Tribulation with my French Tandem pals, Stephane and Manue.  

Friday, June 13, 2014

Charters Towers to Mt. Garnet

Once upon a time, about eight days ago, three bicycle tourists headed north from Charters Towers into the Queensland bush. They each suffered their own form of fatigue, related in some way to long days on the road in kind of rough conditions.  This being the case, and with water sources every 100k, they broke the next sections into reasonable chunks.  42ks here.  75ks. A 43. One 64. A 40. 47. 58. 66. 
They saw many beautiful things during these days:
Blonde winter paddock grasses
Massive four-legged creatures with floppy ears and broad nostrils   
Red winged parrots and puffy white clouds



 They hauled extra liters of water into their bush camping spots for idyllic showers in the afternoon sun.  They chatted with farmers whose land they stayed on. They laughed heartily along with the calls of crows and antics of apostle birds and sulfur crested cockatoos.  


Their moods went up...into peaks of delirious sillies where they practiced their Australian accents, or played cow patty war.

And their moods went down...retreating to the safety of their tents for entire afternoons. One cried tears for home. Another, perhaps the same one,  had an internal tantrum when her tent tried to blow away during setup, again. Another didn't say anything for what felt like an entire day. 

But even when their muscles said, "please! No more!". Even when their rest spots got filled with dust from a parade of turning road trains. Even when the trees offered fake shadow from the blazing sun and the clouds fake rain, to cool their sweaty skin, they carried on. 

Because, you see, there was one catch. Between where they left and where they were going and the eight days in between, there was only one town: Greenvale. 150 people. "Big town!" They'd heard one traveler say. "BIG! With a big shop, oh yeah, plenty of food."  They weren't sure where he'd been traveling or for how long, but they were sure any food that was there would be expensive. 

In Charters Towers, they had arrived at the BIG shop (truly), one hour before it closed for the evening through the next day, Sunday.  In a bit of a frenzy, they bought food for the next day's rest and the four after that prior to Greenvale.  At the time, they'd cursed going into the shop with empty bellies.  Ravenously filling their carts with noodles and cookies, discount yoghurts, veggies, and kiwis.   And again, two days later, when one's panniers barely shut and things were bungee chored to every available space, she joked, "I think I accidentally bought enough food for the whole eight days!"


But accident... not!  Because that one big shop in Greenvale? That town where they had a gas BBQ at the park, and a swimming pool that was disastrously closed in "Winter." Where they hadn't seen a drop of water in months," yet watered one tree and the street for hours and cleaned the "caniveau" out with a power  hose operated by a man in high work boots and short shorts. Well, that one food shop in this town had boxes of cereal  for $8 and canned corn for $3. The vegetables and bread were due in Monday. And it was Thursday so...
they left with a dozen eggs. 

"I think we have just enough (to get to Mt. Garnet, the next town" ) the two said. 
"Oh, I should have plenty," the third said.  "it'll be a lot of couscous and honey, pasta, and quinoa for the last two days, but I have enough."
Yes, the cookies were all eaten , save for five, carefully and painstakenly , for the final days ride.  The carrots and apples long gone. They fried an egg on the last of their bread on the free BBQ and then continued on into the bush. Honeyed couscous is tasty, problem being it does not last long in ones belly.

They were hungry and dreaming of a real shop with real cookies.  Green vegetables.  Flavorful things.  All wishing they'd been able to hide a hidden treat in some pannier, Some crevice. 

And so, this is where the story truly begins.

The three cyclists sat at the covered picnic area of 40 mile scrub national park.  The sun had gone fishing in big pools of grey and hadn't been seen in a whole two days!  They were cold and still hungry and even found little dead worms floating in their tea water.  Discouraged and down, at least one of them started to slunk around. 
A cruel one joked, "must be time for dessert!"  
The slunked one cast up her heavy eyes for a moment then settled them back to the ground.  She knew she had no dessert.  
"Kelsey," one said, "we actually did hide something to have for just now."
She bolted upright. "What?  Really?! How!!  What is it?"
"Yeah, it's in the bag on the bike still..."
"Which pocket?" She skipped to their long red bike. 
"The main one, you won't miss it."

And behold:

Writing prompt: "Luxury beach resort."

That's what all the signs said. Back when I traveled on a busier road. Back where the water was turquoise, clear, or blue.  Something real and swimmable.  Not something only kept in tanks.  Kept locked away in pipes with spickets near signs of: NON POTABLE WATER DO NOT DRINK.
 "Do not drink."  "Do not drink."  

I took a wrong turn or a right one, if you don't believe in wrong. The water hadn't fed the grasses so they weren't turning green. The other people I saw had tans across their faces like the worn leather of their pickup truck seats.  No, there are no bikinis out here.  Just a two lane highway called "the great inland way."  Kangaroo limbs all splayed or mashed or pecked, now resting in some black kite or crow's belly.  Yes, kangaroo limbs instead of beach towels. Road trains instead of surf boards. No houses with sea-view balconies along the road.  No children with ice cream smeared on their faces.  People say "there's nothing out there!" Or "that's sure a long, empty stretch of road."  They are so right.  They are so wrong. Because in nothing is everything. A dozen feathers caught in snags of bristly grasses. Near a million red ants in a patch of red soil. More like sand.  So fine it flies like some sort of signal when you hold up your fingers, rub them together, and watch the dust fade off to another piece of land. 

Because in nothing is everything. The sound of ones own breathing.  Horizon far far, too many kilometers to take in with one seeing.  "Luxury beach resort."  With their food and their special holiday packages.  With their blondes and their jellyfish nets.  With their promises of relaxation and splendor. Well, I am blonde too and the great inland way beat life into me. Cry close to everyday with fatigue, but how can you really explain...
Eagle eyes locked on yours
The empty grace of a repetitive prayer
How can you really explain ...
I don't want no stinkin luxury beach resort. 
Even with the folded white towels. 
Even with the free buffet downstairs. 
I'll take the low groan of cows
And the hiss of a camping stove
And solitude, solitude
Prayer to be saved from, to be returned to, to be saved from, to be returned to
The gift of sweet, sufferable solitude. 



Saturday, May 31, 2014

Charters Towers, QLD



K--

I saw a woman on a bicycle today with yellow panniers
and I thought it was you.
When I remembered you
aren't here,
I cried.

Miss you.
-A

For Anni.

My panniers aren't yellow here. 
Borrowed, they are grey and made of fabric. Ripped in one place, duct taped for repair. 
My panniers aren't yellow here. Borrowed, they are tearing at the seams.  Stuffed full of food for four days into Queensland's unpopulated and unknown. 
A food list too long to list. But Nutella. Peanut butter. Quinoa. Store brand chocolate chip cookies. Bread, cheese. 
No, no bright yellow panniers here. 
Grey ones, not waterproofed.  Lined with grey trash bags and filled with all my things. As if it was going to rain out here. 

You asked how I was.  Anni, I am borrowed panniers, bursting at the seams.  2500+ kilometers cycled.  Two months and one day.  500 in the last six days. With two Frenchies, Stephane and Manue, on a tandem recumbent. Kilometers rolled by. In grasses and rivers, all dry. In black cockatoos, tails bright blood red.  In bush flies swatted, swarming in the morning. In sun rising, riding on my own, first to leave camp. In sun setting,  laughter of friends made over a stretch of road with 7 curves and 100 times as much straight away. 

Anni.  Bursting. My muscles are exhausted from Bike heavy: 4 days of food and ten liters of water for every two days.  The first three I was all exhilaration. Energy. Manue joked, "you were so fast on those hills.  This is you on Nutella!" But yesterday: 105 km of no motivation. Little rhythm.  That I found was hard to come by. But still going. This I love.  Terrain changed. Greener. Tree-ee-er. The battling voices, "oh, I am so tired. I can barely move. I hate this. Agh." And ,"but look, kels, it is so pretty here!  Look at the trees, the dark clouds! It could rain.  Look at the green, the beauty!" And,  "I know, it is so pretty but I'm too worn out and grumpy to even take it in." Yes, This I love.  When I've arrived in Charters Towers, at the end of it. Perseverance, I love.   Accomplishment, I love.  Doing what I once thought scary to do.

Carried. Bird calls whistled back to the parrots, the magpie larks, the brolgas flown in flocks, grey wings out across the infinite blue sky. 
I am borrowed.  Another eucalyptus tree.  A heart.  A monster.  A landscape.  Land. Trees and sought after shade patches and yesterday I was so tired I thought, 'hmm, what if I try resting my eyes for just a bit.'  And I could still ride straight!  Well, mostly. A swerve to stay on the road and 'maybe that isn't the best idea.'  Four days of quiet road.  Red backed fairy wrens. One broken spoke. Solitude. And company. 

I haven't had a hug since Biloela. I wake most days by five. I have a weird collection of tan lines.  And this morning I get to share breakfast with the two French cyclists, and a Belgian one too, Ludo, who has ridden for the last three years.  In this town, where we will all take a rest before the next long, 'empty' stretch. 

How am I doing?  Well, in other words, I am doing quite well.  I love you.  And how are you?


Stephane and Manue


30 ks northeast of Capella

three people, two bikes, a lot of stuff

the flies were kinda intense this morning

100 ks out of Charters Towers

Ludo takes a picture of the frogs/ see below

frogs in a drain

Mr. Sheep and Blue study the way north

Tuesday, May 20, 2014

Gayndah to Biloela

Biloela. 
1044pm.  Past my cycling bedtime by any means.  But i had an afternoon nap so deep that I woke thinking it was morning.  
Biloela means sulfur crested cockatoo.  Sulfur crested cockatoo in the language of the people who once lived here.  Before the land was cleared. People I rarely see. My favorite Australian bird from my first trip here. Still a favorite.  White under belly. Loud screech. A reminder, always, of the light. 

Be, my beloved friend and outback cycle touring superstar, says what someone once said to her,  "when you're  at your end, ready to give up, so over it, that's when you know the adventure's just getting started. "

John, my best bellingham botanist friend, writes and says of solo, adventure travel, "There are those days when you say to yourself, "What am I doing this for?  Why am making myself suffer like this?"  But then the next day or perhaps even not until the next week a stranger will show you such wonderful kindness and love.  Or you experience an amazing adventure that you couldn't even have contemplated in more comfortable environs. And you'll say to yourself, "Perhaps this is why." "

Back track four days ago and I was ready to chuck my bike on the train. Say this is too crazy. No thank you. Remote Queensland go away. 

But in comes the botanist with his encouraging email at just the right time.  In roll two French cyclists on a tandem recumbent bicycle who pull up next to me at a picnic bench.  Eating multiple sandwiches, we go over and over the roads on the maps. "There is no good way to go!" We all exclaim, laughing.  And, "no wonder we see no other bicycle tourists in this part of Queensland."  

I ask Be how much water she carried for 250km stretches with no towns, running rivers, or homes. 

And in come Rick and Linda.  At a rest stop I'm camped at and they are only stopping for a cup of cocoa on their way home. Would I like one?  Yes!  They live in Biloela, the next town, would I like to stay with them when I pass through? Yes!  Two people. Quiet over cocoa, opening their home and hearts to me over two days. Two days full of rest and "can I help with dinner?" "No, you just sit down, let yourself be pampered for once, Kelsey."  Two days full of local coal mine tours and views, an eisteddfod, soup sandwiches porridge.  Two days of laughter and stories and an ease of us all doing our own thing.  "Perhaps this is why." 

Yes. However far I've ridden. However many bush flies I've swatted at and cursed.  All the fears risen for close looking at.  All the pulling in and hiding inside myself from people I love most.  All the quiet nights tucked in my tent beneath stars and sky. This is one why. Because of the love people pour into my heart by sharing their most beautiful, ordinary lives.  

Thursday, May 15, 2014

From Ipswich to Gayndah, Queensland

Friendly homes to stay in.  Rail trails.  Paddock trails.  Solo camps.  Bug bites.  More friendly caravaners.  Ducks in trees.  Forest living.  An old friend, a new friend, and a campfire.  Outdoor bathtub.  A labyrinth, prayers, and courage.  One too many fear mongerers, strangers met upon the road, full of condescending tones.  Moon setting, rising full.  Horse hooves.   And rainbow bee-eaters swooping over the pond.

And sometimes it looks like this:

"I hate this right now," she said.
"You hate this right now," he said.
"I FUCKING HATE THIS RIGHT NOW," she said.
"What do you hate?" he asked.
"I hate that I am so tired.  That I can't take a shower.  That I can't fully relax.  I hate the loneliness that's here and the flies and the gusts of wind.  I hate the hot and that stupid look I get sometimes.  The one that comes with a tilt and a shake of the head.  From people in their cars or workers on the street.  The look that seems to say, 'you bloody idiot...'"
"What else?" he asked.
"The sound of the trucks.  The brakes.  Them speeding up.  The halting gush of wind when they're coming from the opposing direction.  I hate doing this alone.  Right now.  Right now, I hate being alone.  I hate that I'm out of chocolate.  I hate that there is no easy way to get from here to Cairns.  I hate that a part of me wants to give up.  I hate the smell of the cattle trucks.  That cattle have to be jam packed into and zoomed around in huge trucks.  I hate that I'm fucking writing a conversation like this as if its a suitable substitute for real company."
"Is there anything you don't hate right now?" he asked.  "It's okay if there isn't, some moments are like that."
"Well.  I don't hate the birds calling.  Don't hate that I have a skirt to wear.  Don't hate that there are other campers at this rest stop.  That I bought ingredients for a fun dinner tonight that doesn't involve lentils, rice, or quinoa.  Don't hate those tiny yellow butterflies that were flying all along the highway today.  Don't hate any of the butterflies, actually.  Don't hate the friendly road construction workers.  Don't hate my bike.  Can't hate my bike.  Because it's carrying me so far.  Same for my body.  Can't hate my body.  Don't hate the view to my right.  The grassland and the gum trees.  Don't hate knowing that I'll see my friends again.  That this bike trip isn't going to go on forever.  Don't hate this bike trip most of the time, you know?" she said.
"I know," he said.
"Don't hate you," she said.
"I don't hate you either," he said.
"I feel a tiny bit better," she said.
"See, its as good as having a friend right there!" he laughed.
"Pff..." she said, rolling her eyes and giving him a 1/4 smile.

And sometimes the world of bicycle touring looks completely different after a solid cry and a restful afternoon writing, watching birds, and having a positive chat with the neighboring caravaners.  And the next day, I land in the home of a friend's sister where I get to take a shower and wash off three days of biking/camping grime and then play stuffed animal catch with a three year old.  Sun setting over the flowering grasses and cattle fields.   

Thursday, May 8, 2014

Dear Queensland. Letter One.

Dear Queensland,

I know I've only known you for 2 days, but I have quite a serious crush on you.  Yes, I know my affections on this bike tour have proven fickle, thus I will wait a few more days before calling it L.O.V.E.  But upon our first meeting, you offered me a 20k downhill on a road with hardly any traffic (and zero trucks!).  Through magnificent rainforest.  With bell miner birds sounding off the entire way.  Then you rolled me through green farmland with a gentle tailwind.  Then up over Mt. Barney View Road, which was rather steep, mind you, but empty!  Well, save for the construction crew all along it, but they were mightily friendly: cracking jokes about me not being up to the speed limit, topping up my water, and all smiles, waves and encouragement.  And even when traffic picked up just slightly on the road to Boonah, your motorists seem all too pleased to oblige by the new traffic law of giving cyclists 1-1.5m of space.  What a delight!

And then!  Today!  I rode from Boonah up some rolling hills and was feeling rather week.  Dizzy, even.  "What's wrong with me?" I thought.  "Must be tired from the 105k yesterday.  All those hills.  And it is rather hot though only 930 in the morning..."  I wasn't feeling very fit at all.  So to pass the time until the next little town, I started playing a game.  A game I used to play with Adam when we were within an hour or so of the end of any big hiking trip.  Simply explained, the game is this:  "If you could eat ANYTHING when we get out of this wilderness, what would you eat?" 

Yes, I played this game with the upcoming "town" of Kalbar.  A risk, as I knew not what Kalbar might have on offer.  Could be as little as a small, overpriced convenience store.  or as big as a bakery making all of its own goods.  A bit wishful in my thinking because, you see, in my survey of Australian bakeries on this bike tour, I have noticed that your country is having nothing short of a bakery crisis!  Too many times to count, I walk in and there they are:  shelves filled with the exact same items as the last bakery:
-sagging vanilla slices
-cakes with smurf blue icing
-big loaves of bread unwrapped on the back shelf as if hot from the oven.  But no!  Not hot!
All these items were made in a factory.  Somewhere.  All the same.  All characterless.

You can be sure that once I caught on to this calamity (I admit, it took a 1-2 disappointing buys to realize what was going on!),  I do not donate my dollars to such places.
Where have all the true bakeries gone, Queensland?
"A dying breed..." so say the BAKERS OF KALBAR!
Queensland!  Exactly what I wished for in my game appeared!  Big, warm, freshly made muffin!  Veggie sandwich!  A bakery with life!  See, you are only getting me to like you more.

You've put your best foot forward.  I know you are probably as complicated and moody as me and there is no telling how I will feel about you in 3 or 5 or 20 days time.  But for now, I love you so.

xoxox,
Kelsey





more photos added on to this album here:

Monday, May 5, 2014

Halfway Interlude: Glenugie, NSW


Like November back home, the cold weather has come.  Only it stays warm during the day.  Sun goes down, heat goes with it.  Borrowed layers of fleece and long pants from Annette.  Wool socks on my feet.

A shift.
A change.
A cooling.

One week rest at a sort of half way point.  Between where I am going.  And where I started.  Albion, Victoria.  Melbourne.  31 days ago.  Waking at what seemed an early hour then.  Dark.  Panniers on bike already. 6am.  Julia and Hayden in their robes- frazzle-haired, sleepy eyed.  Hugs to say goodbye.
31 days ago.
Train to Bairnsdale where the feel of the trip got set.  At Flinder's St Station.  Platform 12.  When I met a woman who I talked to for most of the three hour train ride.
About children's books.
About grief and loss.
About the way we live our lives.

31 days ago.
When I still noticed nearly every kilometre gone by.  When I glanced over my shoulder more.  Side to side. Still getting used to this thing I was doing.
31 days over hills into valleys.  Friendly fellow campers.
Rain came.  Tendinitis and the coast.
In and out of quiet side roads.  National park campgrounds.
Keeping more and more to myself.  Further north.  Into Congo for rest and musical treats.
North.  Busier streets.  Fellow campers not so friendly.  Maybe me not so friendly.

And then Pip.  Wombarra.  A dear friend to stay up late laughing and talking with.  Talking past the surface.  Past the middle.  Into the place of fuel for me.
Pip to Celine.
Friends friends friends.  Never will I underestimate the power of beautiful, loving, supportive friends.
31 days.
Another train.
And a fellow cyclist met on a three minute ferry ride.  Eye contact made.  held.
Dmitri!  Riding the same way as me!
But about 2x as fast.
Ferry disembarked, we sat in the wind, at a picnic bench by the water.  All exclamation marks over solo touring:
the mood swings!
the talking to ourselves!
the food!
the mood swings!
the laughter!
the insanity!
He'd already ridden 130+ k's and his day was ending.
3pm and I'd spent the morning in Sydney with Celine and Taihel.  Ridden 1km from the Newcastle train station to the ferry.
Day beginning.

31 days.
From  my love of central NSW into fear.
Fear.
Fear.
Kelsey Maloney.
   Meet a snake bigger than you.
   Cars and trucks too.
   Bigger than you.
$55 caravan park campsites turned down.
Ritz.  Posh.  Attitude.  Of touristy, coastal northern NSW towns.

Ride.  Ride.  Farther.
Leaving something.
Going towards…
Something.
Warm shower.
A bed.
Hosts telling stories while stirring spanakopita filling.  Riding with me into the next town.

Ride.  Ride.  A short day?  No, keep going.
Flat, river road rides.
Horses.
Cows.
Birds on wires.
All in time.
To Glenugie.  To here.  For now.
One week resting.  Mid way.  Half way.
One week and a friend from the Kimberley.   Nestled in among a patch of subtropical rain forest.
Hands in garden soil, tugging roots of tiny weeds.
Five types of honey eaters up in the trees:
Lewin's
White Cheeked
Brown
Yellow faced
And blue faced.
And the scarlets I missed.  Saw a streak of red flow in to the blooming paperbarks.  Lost in there.  Missed it.
But a cattle dog.  Rowdy and getting reprimanded hourly by Annette.
But a cat.  Grey with a split lip and a puffy tail.
Chasing the dog in the paddock as the sun goes down.
Bats in twilight and the moon growing fatter.
Waiting on letters from the States yet to come.

Interlude.
Cause now….one days ride from Queensland.
A place that looms ahead as:
Massive
Mostly empty away from coast
Crocodiles up north
With only crap roads!

But what will it really be?
A warm showers host three days ride away says, "watch out for the red haired copper here, in this little town, who hates cyclists."

But what will it really be?
Probably not as scary as I've made it out to be.
It will be cold in the Great Dividing Range. At least in the mornings.
There will be hills.
There will be beauty and most likely some struggling too.
And me.  I'll still be me.  Continuing on.
Letting go of five nights of bicycling dream anxiety.
Me.  hugging Annette goodbye.
Going back to my own company.  My own rhythm.
the mood swings!
the songs sung every morning!
the talking to myself!
the in my tent, asleep by 730!

31 days.  From Melbourne to the northern edge of New South Wales.
32 (ish) days to go.  Through an Australian state I've never before set foot in.

Queensland, I'll be good to you.  You be good to me.

Wednesday, April 30, 2014

Photos

A link to photos on picasawebalbum:

https://plus.google.com/u/0/photos/115159451836848718207/albums/6008271958341276977?authkey=CMWgn6LG-K2vmgE

Pacific Highway

Dear Pacific Highway (Highway 1),

I am writing to inform you that I will no longer be seeking your company for the remainder of my cycling trip to Cairns.  Though you have offered me many scenic sightings (diamond python top on the list) and sent me off in the direction of many beautiful coastal side roads, you yourself are something else.  I don't mean to be rude, but you are rather inconsistent.  One moment you offer those cyclists traveling upon you a spacious shoulder, oftentimes even clear of debris such as trees, branches, and bushes.  But as soon as one begins to rest in this offering, you take the shoulder away.  At bridges.  During passing lanes.  And on curves, of all places!  I can see you are trying.  I traveled through many of your construction "improvement" zones.  You are making valiant strides, yes!  But it is not enough.  You've had me praying for my life one too many times.  And that blind, curving hill out of Coffs Harbour!?  That was the worst!  Did you see how close that truck came to me?  You were right there, so I am sure you did.   Despite all your coastal offerings and split highway upgrades, I no longer wish to be friends with you.  I know you might try to protest and say, "But wait, I will be different in Queensland!  I even have a new name!"  I've heard only worse things about you as you wind your way north and so I have already made arrangements with your inland, mountainous cousins.  Don't think big hills scare me, Pacific Highway, you have prepared me well.  I wish you well and may you be kind to any future cyclists who dare to ride upon you.

Good day,

Kelsey M.


good natured Australians

April 27th:

Thunderstorms. 

This is new. Thunder, lightning, hail, heavy rain.  All the familiar friends of a thunderstorm.  
I've typically been exceptionally spoiled by the sun gods on cycling and bushwalking ventures. For example:  seven weeks cycling Tasmania-2 days rain. Three weeks hiking North Cascade Mountains in WA- 1 day rain. One week hiking west coast Vancouver Island- 20 minutes rain. All places known for their more than fair share of the wet mind you. 
so I wonder, "what does one do in a day of predicted scattered t-storms?" 
Wait for a gap, I suppose. 
But funnily enough, of all mornings to have to wait out a storm, guess where I am?  The garage of a retirement village abode in Hallidays Point, NSW. 

Yes, I stopped for a late lunch at a picnic/river fishing spot north of Forster- Tuncurry and an older gentlemen, Steve, came up to me to ask many questions.  I was rather heat/traffic overwhelmed and food underwhelmed at that moment, so after a minute he let me go on my resting/picnicking way.  However, as I went to leave he said, "where do you think yall get to now?" Tapping his watch.  "Ya won't get to Crowdy Bay national park like you wanted, it's too late!"  He went on to tell me of all the caravan parks up ahead off the main road. "Yea, you should go there.  If you go to this one, ya could swing round our place for a nice dinner.  Or you could sleep at our place.  In the garage.  Family is in town, so we'd have no other place for ya. Or do ya prefer caravan parks?" 

I'd sleep in a garage, no problem.  So I rode the fifteen k's to the 'village'. Whereupon I received a shower, cakes, tea, dinner, rock melon and ice cream, and delightful company in Steve, Eleanor, their son Brian and his wife, Cheryl, plus two sons.  Delightful company by all means.  And Steve is an amazing photographer and had a box full of Australian landscape shots from eight continuous years traveling around the country with Eleanor.  I kept getting travelers glee then envy at all the beautiful places here.  Had to keep laughing and reminding myself, 'oh, I am traveling through incredible places right now!'  

So I wait out the storm. Repack my bags extra waterproofingly well. And hope for shelter as needed when I hit the road. 

Central NSW


April 23rd.

Dear Central New South Wales Coast,

Continuously flat roads! Quiet, scenic byways!  Small passenger ferries across rivers and bays!  Walking tracks that are old fire tracks with no cars allowed!  Sunny days!  Calm, empty beaches for lunchtime swims!  And the wonder and beauty of Myall Lakes National Park!  Congratulations, you are now one of my favourite cycling destinations.  Today was a 10/10 in the cycle touring world…and top it off with a walk/bike/boat in only campsite right on Myall Lake with three!!! azure kingfishers blitzing around as I made my dinner by the lake's edge…!  You know how to make this cyclist very pleased indeed.  Given that this is only day two of the 2nd leg of my trip to Cairns, you have set quite high standards for the remainder of your state.

Thank you and sincerely,

Kelsey M.



from the congo to myall lakes national park

Oh dear.  Tis quite difficult to keep blog updated on this cycle trip.  Hard to think of what to say about 2 weeks ago when I have trouble remembering what happened yesterday.  Here is a little photo journey through the last couple weeks.

Depot Beach.  A suitable rest place for a day after leaving Congo.
Took a side road off highway called "monkey mountain" which was disconcerting at first.  But luckily the climb was not so bad and the road was empty!
After a few more days riding, I found Pip!  An old-time Otesha friend.

And then in Sydney, Celine!  Another Otesha friend:


The Gibber Trail in Myall Lakes Ntl Park
A most friendly bush turkey at Shelley Beach Camp
Myall Lake

Friday, April 11, 2014

Pop Quiz (Bairnsdale, Victoria to Congo, New South Wales in 7 days)



A pop quiz for you.

1) If you are in Melbourne and your goal destination is Cairns, and you have from April 5 till June 8 to get there,
would you:
a) catch trains up eastern coast, perhaps hopping on and off at popular destinations along the way
b) fly directly to Cairns after spending more time in Melbourne with friends
c) hitchhike, much to a big frown on your mother's face
d) ride your bike!

If you are restless for lots of movement, adventure, and challenge, combined with a deep love for wild places and cycling, you probably chose d!  Like me!

2)  Having chosen to ride to Cairns, gathered up the same bike you rode around OZ on 5 years ago, borrowed panniers from friends, and had a box full of pivotal bike gear odds and ends sent from home...  for the first leg of your journey (to Sydney),
would you:
a) ride the whole way along the coast highway at a leisurely pace
b) ride up through the highlands via Victoria's "best kept secret," the Barry Way, for remote mountains, steep dirt road climbs, and views of the Snowy River and THEN cut to the coast
c) go inland via a route you've already done

B?  Oh good, me too.

3)  What is your preferred reward waiting to greet you on top of a big, long, tough hill climb:
a) a group of women just finishing a yoga retreat smiling, clapping, and cheering, "Hooray!  Wow!  Good work!  You made it!"
b) Two yellow-tailed black cockatoos low in the trees RIGHT by the road.  Screeching and flying by as your ride past.
c) One lone grey kangaroo.  Sitting.  Watching.  Waiting.
d) A family of wallabies
e) Dirt road changing into paved road
f) A magnificent, winding downhill decent where the wind rushes against your face and you don't have to pedal once in 10 minutes
g) "Who needs a reward?  I love the uphill part!"

4) Upon waking early, early in the morning on day five of your trip, in your tent at Jacob's River campsite, which would you prefer to find on your tent:
a) Ants.  Medium sized.  Red.
b) Spiders.  Several.  Small.  Venomous-ness unknown.
c) This:

A goat moth (?)

d) all of the above

5) Which are the most common moods experienced during a typical day of bicycle touring:
a) grumpy, exhausted, exhilarated, awed, grateful
b) bored, restless, apathetic
c) silly, tired, hungry, humble, proud
d) a and c

6)  In a week of backcountry / small village camping, how many nights out of 7 would you expect to be offered and served dinner and or warm drinks/cakes:
a) zero.  you smell, your stuff's exploded everywhere.  nobody is coming near you.
b) 1-2
c) 3-4
d) 5-6
e) all 7!  people love you!

Well, you might EXPECT zero, and be prepared for such, but never underestimate the friendliness of strangers.  Lucky for your belly, unluckily for the weight of your panniers, the answer is D! (Thank you Jampal and Siba-ites, Robin and Gerald, Helen and Pat, Gillian and (?I'm sorry I forgot your name), Helen, Peter and Sue, and Paula and Jock!)

Final question!
7) Bicycle touring is a most fulfilling way to travel:
a) True!
b) False

Thank you for your quiz time.  You have now earned a rest day!

 More pictures of trip....

Sunday, March 16, 2014

wilson's prom national park

She wakes up early.  Still dark out.  No birds singing or cooing.  She wakes early.  No matter that she went to bed at 12.  No matter that she tossed and turned all the night before, sleeping less than not.  Too hot inside, couch cushions soft.  Growing more and more restless.  Missing hard ground.  Crash of waves.  Bugs between the fly and tent screen.  She wakes up.  In a west melb. suburb.  Bed to herself.  Pulled in around a stuffed sheep and a blue kitty.  No want to communicate with anyone.  No want to be brave for anyone. Period soon.  These feelings of contraction.  She knows.  She knows.  She knows.
Tries to sleep again.  No.  No sleep.

Some ease between the up and down?  Flight gone missing and land mines still claiming limbs.  Ozone. Whole.  What is it?  No more than a half glance and a hi from most bushwalkers passing by. "AWKWARD," her insides screamed.  A coworker at the bakery once said he never felt awkward.  That that word was overused.  What is awkward?  Its a twisting of the insides, a shrinking away while trying to reach.  Reach.  Reach.  "I want to connect with you!"  New friends.  Friends of friends.  Randoms walking by.  No words said.  Eyes diverted.  "Keep to myself."  She knows how to keep her own company.  Knows how to be her own best friend.  Ride the waves of exhilaration, loneliness, peace and overwhelm.

She knows.  She knows.  She knows more than she speaks.  In a world that demands of her: speak! explain! reason! show.exactly.what.you.mean!
"Can't," she says.  Won't."
Squatting low in the grass.  Dusk colors of grey sky, dark greens and browns and one wombat with his short legs, stumpy and nibbling in the grass.  Stillness everywhere between them.
Can't tell you.  Can't speak or even move the way yellow-tailed black cockatoo screeches swell up the cells in her body.  Can't say.  Can't explain.  In a world full of do do do.  And she pauses to watch a long fuzzy caterpillar crossing crumbling rock and golden soil.  And she stands with her shoulders finally dropped.  In some sort of conversation with a gang gang cockatoo.  Flown into the loneliness room so her heartmonster could find his way out of there.



Wednesday, March 5, 2014

how to get into the birding spirit

first:  find an enthusiastic friend known from years ago, with color coordinated style

second: drive to primo bird habitat on outskirts of australian city with ample amounts of wind on an early autumn day

third: oooh and aww and bounce around gleefully at all the varieties of ducks, shorebirds, geese, birds o prey, songbirds, and LBTs you get to see  (though unfortunately declined up close photographing)

and finally:  celebrate at home with no hands dessert - home-made vegan chocolate-cherry cake!

birding spirit achieved!

(big thanks to Hayden and Julia for their fine hosting and photo taking capabilities)

Thursday, February 13, 2014

an adventure in leaving: the spilling room

The Spilling Room.

No heartmonster can go in this room alone.  They go in pairs.  Usually holding hands.  Sometimes the room is deep blue with black and turquoise swirls.  Or sometimes variants of purple.  There’s a couch or a cozy pillowed and blanketed corner. 

They sit.  They touch.  Left thigh to right thigh.  Hand in hand. 
One goes at a time.
With words and tears and images and direct memory transferred across the spilling lines, he shares….whatever memory or experience needs sharing and full knowing.  Yes, the spilling room catches all that is stored in our livers, our bones.  If and when a heartmonster so chooses, he can spill it to another: all color, sensation, all vividness, all hurt.  And even the pieces he doesn’t remember.  So he doesn’t have to remember it alone.

And once it is spilled, it’s spilled.  It’s done.  As fully as the other heartmonster knows the direct sensation, memory, feeling of that moment, once they disconnect – left thigh away from right, hands no longer held- it’s gone.  It’s not his.


And so the heartmonsters look at each other.  Deep doe eyes as all heartmonsters have.  And without even knowing the extent of what was spilled anymore, they love each other a tad more wildly and a tid more wholly than they could have before.

---------------

“In love with everything,” she said.  “Completely.”

And she meant it.  In a state of some stun.  No words to draw pictures of her meaning. 

“Spilling room?” he asked.  
She squeezed his hands and so they went there together.