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

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.  

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.   

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:

https://plus.google.com/u/0/photos/115159451836848718207/albums/6008271958341276977

Grevillia (locality)

May 6, 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.