Albany - Margaret River

Cycling along the coastal roads from Albany to Margaret River was spectacular. It was almost exclusively national park forests, or at the very least farm land with native vegetation intact. My legs were rejuvenated and I flew through the towering Karri forests (Eucalyptus diversicolor), Jarrah forests (Eucalyptus marginata) and ancient Tingle tree forests (Eucalyptus jacksonii). I stopped in at the tree top walk just near the township of Walpole to admire the enormous old Tingle trees with hollowed out bases from years of fungal and insect attack. The road was perhaps as hilly as I had yet encountered, but my mood was soaring and I relished the climb in order to fly down the other side. I loved waking in the mornings weary-eyed only to be truly wakened by the rushing cold air of a descent bringing water to my eyes. It was invigorating.
Camp spots were only too easy to find throughout this stretch, and I found myself waking to stunning views everyday. I found no need to pay for any accommodation and did not miss the luxuries of everyday life in the slightest. To add to my soaring mood, I was offered at least one beer each day by passing tourists. People were so friendly and I scored food and company to boot.
The tiny towns along the way were full of character, and I spent the time to nose around talking to locals. By this stage my budget had tightened necessarily and so I kept a safe distance from the pubs at all times to ensure the safety of my hard earned money. This decision closed the door to one of my favourite social outlets, but I managed to make friends all the same.
By the time I was nearing Margaret River however, my mood was starting to fall. I was becoming tired of the road and sore from the seat. By the time I entered Augusta I barely looked up to enjoy the scenery. I satisfied my hunger, visited the toilet and I was off.
My plan in Margaret River was to follow the trend and buy a bottle of red wine, find a caravan park, shower and finally relax.
It was still relatively early in the morning as I rode up the driveway of a picturesque winery to pretend I had half a clue about wine. The gentleman offered me some tastings and soon we were deep in conversation. His name was Guy (pronounced 'Gi'), a french man and his wife operating the vineyard for nearly 30 years. He was an avid traveller and took an instant liking to my bike journey. He gave me a discount on the bottle and at the last moment decided to provide me with accommodation in his guest house on the winery. The guest house was exceptional. That night we pulled the cork from several bottles of extremely expensive wine, enjoyed a tasty hot meal (my first hot meal for many moons) and plunged into heavy conversation. Although Guy was a little blunt with his opinions, he was very well educated, and I learned many new things that night.
In the morning I was showered, powered and ready for the next leg into Perth.
That expensive bottle of wine was like buying magic beans, and I had climbed the beanstalk to stand on top of the world again. What luck.