Where oh where is Gulnare?

Finding the train to Melbourne took much longer then expected, and Dave was happy when it was finally all sorted. However, this delay pushed my departure time backwards also, and I wasn't on the bike seat until nearly 2pm, and unfortunately I still had 100km to ride. Finding my way through Adelaide was a nightmare with road closures galore in preparation for the upcoming V8 super-car races. My map was of terrible resolution, and I found it very difficult and time-consuming to find my way out. A few hours later I found myself surrounded by paddocks once more, but this time... they were filled with prickles. 6 punctures and hours later it was cold, dark and I couldn't find the camping grounds for which I was headed. This was my first experience by myself and I was worried and irritated. I found a small sports oval for a school in a tiny town and camped there, ready to be packed up before first light.

I woke up as scheduled in a determined mind-frame. The sun was out, my legs were fresh and I knew exactly where I was going. But... another four punctures later and I was fresh out of spare tubes. My tube repairing capabilities are limited and I was very concerned. To add to this worry, the trailer on my bike somehow managed to bend the back wheel axel on my bike, making it near impossible to ride. The weight of my problems and the trip itself were hanging on my shoulders and when I finally reached the Gulnare pub, I was shaking with exhaustion. It had been a hot, long day. The pub itself was the only building that I could see in town sill in operation. Old, sun-bleached buildings with the paint writing faded and peeling of the general store, hardware and post-office, stood seemingly forgotten in the main street. The pub however, had a fresh coat of paint and a small crowd of local smokers sitting down chatting loudly along the veranda. On cue they all fell quiet as I rode up to mount my bike against the pillar next to where they were sitting. This was my test. So I ordered a pint, introduced myself to everyone individually (in my most Australian manner), and sat down to join them. Within minutes they were quizzing me about my journey and sharing stories of their travels. They were all farmers and enjoyed the chance to scare me with horror stories of trips across the Nullarbor. 

The bar-tender Neil, and a few others invited me to a workshop, where my bike was looked-after and totally fixed. Then back to the pub to drink away my worries. I was left in the pub that night with the keys to all the locks, a shower, free beers, a place to sleep, power to charge my equipment, and a renewed enthusiasm for my adventure. 

I had been spoiled, and it couldn't have come at a better time. 

    

Adelaide

A stifling 37 degree day welcomed Dave and I into Adelaide city. From Mt Barker it was only 20km's of small hills, followed by an exhilarating 10km descent filled with stunning views of the city. Blood pumping fast we flew into civilisation, passing poor suckers riding back up-hill looking hot, tired and envious. But we had earned this small pleasure.
We checked into a small back-packers in order to explore the city free of our bikes and luggage. We didn't think very highly of the city.
Later that arvo we bought some beers and took them back to our room where we met our roomies. They were two french girls of around our age. We all spent some time getting to know each other, but somewhere between the beers, our giggling fits and their boring, arrogant nature, they hated us.
Before things became too sour we dashed off to enjoy a quietish night out in the city dancing, drinking and having a good time.
Adelaide city had been average, and this was the end of the road for Dave, who caught the train home the next day.  He had been easy to get along with and had great motivation to start peddling each morning.
Riding solo was going to take some getting used to.

Mt Barker

Careful preparation and detailed planning led Dave and I to tackle the Adelaide hills on a 39 degree day, with limited water, and no realisation that we were climbing the Adelaide hills at all. My memories of riding that day are few and sketchy as I mustered all my energy and might to erase them. Long hours of climbing and falling drenched in sweat, covered in sores from horrible chaffing, trailer feeling more like an anchor, eyes obstructed by sweat, knee sore and stiff, mouth complaining like a little girl. We were both fighting serious demons. But as we came into Mt Barker, and found a public toilet for a 'basin shower' , we were set to celebrate our efforts. A few jugs later our silly behaviour was begging to show. Either you are a cyclist or a drinker, the two don't mix well. We remained in relatively good shape however, and made friends with a couple of local guys our age: Phil and John. After this things really did become silly and we woke up on the front lawn of John's house, tents half erected. His girlfriend Rachel had him sorted, so we were to sleep on the lawn like naughty dogs... but we didn't mind. In the morning he made us breakfast and we were able to shower. Some chatting revealed that I had pushed Phil down a steep hill in a shopping trolley (which hit a pole at the bottom throwing him into the bushes unharmed) and Dave had snuck off early to go to bed without a word.
Mt Barker had agreed with us, and it was only a short, down-hill ride the next day into Adelaide..

Wellington

As Dave and I had found a very handy tail-wind to help push us up the map towards Adelaide, we were able to burn 150km's in one day past Kingston SE. That night we camped on the side of the highway, exhausted and hungry, but feeling very accomplished with our efforts. The road had been long and strait, which was a welcome relief for my struggling knee. The next day we flew through the Adelaide Plains, which were utterly uninteresting, so head down, I stared at Dave's back wheel the entire time. Utilising the strong tail, we pushed out 110km's at an average of 30km/hour. When we entered the Wellington entrance - a ferry across the Murray River - we hit the pub for some cold refreshments. Dave was becoming a little sick from some dodgy food we had eaten, so we went to find somewhere to camp on the river. Fortunately, in our search for a camp spot, we came across some of the wildest, strangest people we had ever met - they were rough as guts. Due to our polite approach and shabby appearance, we were welcomed to camp on their front lawn right on the river. Their family had owned the entire street for generations. However, we could stay there only on the condition that we showered, joined them for a hot dinner, and sat up drinking their beers... Alot to ask from two hungry, smelly, thirsty boys indeed!! We soon discovered that we would not be doing much talking as they ranted on and on later into the night. Their tales were tall, and sometimes made no sense at all. They were not even slightly interested to hear about our biking trip, which suited us just fine as we were buggered anyway. Mick - the tree-cutter 'by trade', Tina - the industrial spray-painter 'by trade' (clearly the fumes had taken their long-term toll on her brain), and Ferret - a nomadic oil-rigger. That night as we crawled into our tents, Dave hurried into my tent in a panic to whisper that Mick was standing on his porch watching us like a hawk. He had conjured images in his head of the witch in Hansel and Gretel, fattening us up before turning us into a tasty stew. Mick's watchful silhouette turned out to be a statue.
Breakfast was ready for us with a packed-lunch the next day. We left with promises that they were welcome at our place in Melb any time (lies).
A humble family with small brains and big hearts.

Snakes!!!

So far I have encountered some beautiful snakes along the way. Mostly brown snakes, although in Port Pirie I saw a striking tiger snake (striking in colour, not in action). The first live snake was just before the 12 Apostles. Dave must have frightened it as he passed, so as I came along behind him it struck out at my bike, scaring me half to death. I'm sure I ruined his toothy smile, as my bike is rather harder than my leg. Sorry bud.

South Australia: Beachport!!!
After the incredible mental and physical challenge of the very first day (perhaps one of the worst in my life), finally things have come together nicely; far less sore, more organised, fitter and happier all-round. Although it is worth noting that I'm still sore most days, smelling worse everyday with minimal washing, perpetually tired and hungry, and still feeling anxious of the profundity of living on the road.
My blogging has been slack as I didn't have my computer until recently, and now my battery is nearly dead, so I will endeavour to update very soon, with a few pics.
Peace out, Tom

The Starting Line

As I rolled out of my driveway under a clear blue sky on the 12th of Feb, 2012, I felt alive, excited and full of trepidation. My new address: Number 1 highway, Australia. 
Pushing the peddles alongside me was my friend Dave. He had vowed to join me in my adventure on the leg from Melbourne to Adelaide. A fantastic effort, and a great help for me. Neither of us had any training under our belts, and with 20,000 odd km's ahead of me, I was relying on blind hope that my body would withstand the physical punishment. 
I had been planning the trip for some time, but the dream took shape very quickly without my realizing it. Suddenly I was telling people that I wanted to ride around the paddock. Suddenly they were asking me when? Suddenly I was giving them an answer... Suddenly I was leaving! So as usual for me, the planning stage was short and incomplete. Perhaps this lack of organization will catch up with me later on down the road, but better not to think about it yet...

Sitting atop my hybrid 'Scott' bicycle, pulling a 35kg trailer behind me I finally had all the gear I needed to survive the next 10 or so months on the road. Items included a tent, sleeping bag/mat, thermal clothing, not nearly enough jocks and socks, a camera, a computer, a solar panel, some maintenance equipment, maps and a few odd bits and pieces. My belongings were few, and I held everything with value and respect. I would have to look after my possessions.

Leaving for an extended holiday from the front door of my house was a strange experience, and I wondered what I would look and feel like when I arrive back at this house, 10 months down the track. The promise was made: no shaving or even trimming of the beard was allowed. This was going to be interesting.

Note: My computer is having serious problems so I will not have it for the first few weeks of the trip. Therefore this blog will not be updated until I have it up and running once more.