I stood on the 2nd of July at Canberra airport, awaiting the arrival of Sean. Short, confusing messages left on my phone told me to expect a hire car. The cleared carpark provided no protection from the bitter wind. I looked to the sun, trying to work out the direction, but the
clouds quickly swept to steal my warmth, and with it my minds ability to focus on anything but my bike box as a wind break. Sean arrived, in his hire car. The code of messages deciphered to being the story of an early morning appointment between a kangaroo and the front of his forester. Lesson from meeting-first impressions on Sean only last until the panelbeaters. Why my first reaction is to ask how the kangaroo is I don't know. I think because it was Sean. He would get his own tomorrow.
Having been dropped at Towrang by Sean, unpacking my bike box, which held all but a bike, began and then, after table tennis of course, packing began. But I was soon to find Andrew had already prepared the bike...and basically everything else! Sean left for Sydney, organising to pick Paul and Andrew up from Taralga tomorrow. I slept well thinking how this preparation thing is a piece of cake...
With the packing of the next morning having been made easy, the challenge lay in the task of looking down the driveway towards the approaching wind, hills and general unknown that would follow. The slight excitement of the adventure and the whole lot of belief in the cause was all I had to turn the first pedal. Fortunately it was enough. It moved. We made our way towards Taralga through winds from every direction. Upon a rest I decided to take a look at the map while Paul and Andrew ate. I opened my trusty handlebar bag, opened my map and ran my finger across for scanning eyes to follow. Barcaldine...Emerald...Roma...Brisbane. Ah. That's a Queensland map. The NSW one still sitting on the table in the warmth of the house. Oh warmth. To think how much I have taken your accessibility for granted. We made Taralga and the lure of warm indoors did not need to be discussed between us, a blink and we were there. Inside the information centre I found my map I needed and we headed to the local store. There our minds began to calculate the math of how much we need to spend in order to remain within warm walls. It involved a lot of sugar. After hearing of a campsite 3kms down the road that's where we headed. I made the most of Paul and Andrew to set up my campsite, though upon questioning Andrew's ability to light a fire - out came the fuel. Lots of fuel. But even the fuel had no interest of burning in the cold wind. Eventually it came to life and so with smoke stung eyes we waited for Sean.
On the edge of tomorrow's headwind he arrived from the north. He exited the car with a laugh I heard as an evil cackle followed by words that penetrated as cold as the wind. 'I think you'll do about 40kms tomorrow with those hills! Oh and it's snowing!' I glared. Yeah and how's the kangaroo Sean? I didn't say it. We spoke briefly then said goodbye. I retreated into my hollow tent with the warm sounds of the fire carried away on the wind to ears less in need of company. But it wasn't an effort to sleep. In middle of the night I woke to look around the rim of the tent that was glowing surely too bright for the moon. I opened my tent and stared into a spotlight. I thought about approaching the light but it was too early in my trip to end. A voice sounded weak amongst the elements. 'How's it going? You sure picked a night to do this!' I reply politely to questions for a minute or so to this glowing symbol of midnight confusion until, finally I ask and discover it's the police. All ok, he'd just seen the fire, I slept again.Morning came and surely enough it was bitterly cold and those winds kept my own company lonely.
The ups and downs of the road provided no rhythm for unfit legs. I thought I had passed the hills Sean spoke of, and as I rode upon a ridge with amazing scenery the day grew brighter. That was until I passed into the Abercrombie river valley. As I road down the hill I saw what I thought was a tar cliff. No. That was the road. I had no gears for such so it was off the bike and pushing, Sean's laughter ringing. I pushed on through the day, seeing Dad and Uncle Neil (not much) further down the road. With a chat for moral and some sugar for a boost I continued up my hills. Sugar was welcomed after discovering just how many of Mum's muffins Paul and Andrew had eaten while I was staring at my Qld map. The idea of setting up a tent in the wind wasn't so appealing so when I 
stumbled upon a shelter facing the right way for the wind and rain I settled in with a fire and my bed.
The 3rd day brought the prospect of Oberon by mid-morning, a town where the reason could be excercised. The rain and wind held off and the morning, though icy was starting better. As I turned for Oberon I joined the Katoomba to Bathurst 'Scenic Road'. Within 4 mins I had been mooned and shown a stern middle finger from passing cars. As for locals walking the street I recieved one and a quarter smiles. Cold Sunday mornings seemed too much for any icebreaker I could muster. Then as I return to the cruel seat of my bike, hoping the chill of the morning air is focused to frostbite upon that exposed rear I again pass the sign 'Scenic Road' and have to wonder how long until a bypass is put in. Onto Bathurst where fortunately nicer weather and welcomes awaited.
Beyond Orange for the next two days the riding became easier. The hills flattened which was a major relief. Just beyond Orange in a rest area I met a family of 3 (Victoria, Damien and Laura) who have been travelling around in the car, with the two dogs for the past 18 months. They were to find themselves at this rest area for the next 5 days as Damien and Laura studied for year 12 exams. Not a bad learning environment I thought.
Onto Wellington where I met Mark, a local who told me about the town and unfortunately his motorised push bike...temptation is a horrible thing. It was then to Dubbo where the local paper was good enough to help out by interviewing me to raise awareness. The number of trucks grew, many transporting livestock. To those who haven't travelled on a pushbike, you haven't felt alive until passed by a cattle truck to be coated by the dampening mist that trails. The mist you can only hope is from a more mysterious source than 5 out of 5 senses suggest. With 120kms covered I made camp contented with feeling a little fitter. The moon rose to be seen by eyes to tired to be worthy of such a view. It's glow however did provide a perfect silhoutte for the mouse above my head, fortunately on the outside.
The next morning I woke to find the mouse in my trailer bag.
What's worse was it had eaten my bread and taken a decent amount of a fruit muffin! But it didn't get the cheese I had in there! What happened to that theory? The days riding started with my first flat, which, to be honest was a good thing. It helped me overcome the fear of the tight fitting continental tyres. The next two punctures within 10kms however were very draining. After pushing my bike with the 3rd flat into Gilgandra in need of food I hit the bakery to eat away my sorrows. After I met some lovely locals and sat in the beautiful sunshine and fixed the flats. Quite enjoyable actually. After some amazing scenery and hilly afternoon riding that comes with being around the Warrumbungle National Park area I camped up on a hill. It was cold again. As I lay in my tent for what must have been 10mins trying to convince myself to roll to the side and brush my teeth I managed to open tent and my mouth to begin brushing. As I did of course a truck pulled up beside the road, filled with cattle odours that wafted into my open mouth. Serves my laziness right. As I returned to my tent the truck remained. Sleep wouldn't come to the sad rhythm being tapped out by the cows feet. The noise grew over the quiet, distressed moos of the cattle. The nights delicate, once comforting silence had been torn by the trucks that hold this country together, and their cargo of cattle that never had a bed time until it was broken. It was therefore a relief to arrive in coonabarabran where the butcher advertised meat locally born, raised and killed. Here I met Aden, the 'first person in the world, to be the friendliest person in Australia'. We spoke for a while, I did my shopping, then left. I asked a local on the way out "Is it about 120kms to Narrabri?" To which the answer came "Yeah but that's in a car, don't know about on a bike."The next morning I rose in the Pillaga Nature Reserve. It was the first morning that felt like the outback. The creek beds were dry and native wildlife was everywhere. After this outback feel, entering Narrabri I saw a sign for 'Highway Tourist Park'.
This seemed all too appropriate for most who never do leave the highway. After an interview with Virginia for the paper, and then a bbq for my lunch where I spoke to Bill and others having a NAIDOC bbq, I was on the road again. A tailwind whipped up and I flew towards Moree. With Mt Kaputor to the right and endless fields of wheat to the left it was amazing riding! Even a puncture didn't ruin it. I camped that night to an amazing sunset, and some carbonara.
The proposed plan of Moree thermal springs never came to be. But I headed into town and met some of the nice locals and travellers which was great. A tough rest of the day made amazing when I saw emus including a male with its 5 little ones! An incredible site! Camping that night a little short of water I approached a family in a caravan nearby who were more than happy to oblige with plenty of water. They were headed from Wollongong to Airlie Beach for a day trip!Aiming for 280kms over the next two days I left before dawn towards an amazing sunrise. Headed for Goondiwindi I'm not sure how I did it, but missed the border signs! But a photo by a river later was revealed to have been the unmarked border, so I was in Queensland. A stock up at the local bakery (only thing open on a Sunday morning) I headed off again, making great time. Thinking these two days may not be as difficult as once thought proved correct when not too long after Goondiwindi my trailer snapped!
After an attempt to splint it with tyre levers and cable ties proved unsuccessful I turned to looking for a lift to Toowoomba. After a few hours of over-exaggerated waving and pointing to the bike, to which many people still just smile and wave back (I turned the bike upside down even though it wasn't the problem, adjusting like a carefully thought out advertising campaign. Some return of waving was still seen) and meeting many interesting people not headed to Toowoomba, Terry pulled up. As he was only headed a short way down the road he was more than happy to give me a lift to the Toowoomba turn off. After a good chat I was dropped off and spent another couple of hours waiting until Oscar pulled over. 
He was returning to Brisbane from his parents 10000acre farm near Moree (which has an 1880 Cobb & Co pub on it for a house!) and was more than happy to drop me off...not just in Toowoomba but right to Peter's door via my terrible directions! Then even made a donation!Now I find myself at Peter's place organising myself to hit the road again, most likely on Thursday morning. I have travelled around 1100kms, but ridden 900 of those. Ben has taken the trailer into his work today to see about welding it back together so fingers crossed for that! Fundraising hasn't been as easy as I thought though I have met some incredibly generous people. I am learning a lot about the details of the cause on the road, though i'm still no expert. You certainly get some interesting point of views!
Andrew and his Dutch friend Guus fly into Mackay on the 1st so I have riding company until Cairns and Port Douglas which should be excellent! Should hopefully update before I leave here or, if not then from Mackay around the 1st. Thank you to everyone for their continuing help in raising awareness! Take care!
