...

....A night of rain and eating at Sth Mission Beach was left behind as we headed towards the walking trails through rainforest. Here Guus demonstrated how he would make living in the Rainforest stylish with the simple features of your average dried fern. (I'll have to get Andrew to post photos). With the Bianchi gears deciding here was a good a place as ever to give way I was limited on gear choices...fortunately I only needed one for the following hills. From Mission Beach the road wound its way along the coast before heading into countryside that rolled like Tasmania with hints of rainforest.






























A flat tyre for me and Andrew decided it was time to make a banana smoothie...this involved knives, forks and whatever other weapon could be found being thrown into a milk bottle and shaken with a banana. It worked suprisingly well (note:almost anything is impressive when cycling).

Back onto the highway for 8kms then onto Canecutters way, a quiet, winding, not flat (as promised by a man who's hair softly waved as it was graced with the presence of airconditioning) road which led us to Paronella Park. A night tour followed by the fascinating story of the day tour and we bid our farewells to Peter over our BYO food at a cafe lunch (the brush turkey had started on the loaf of bread without us the night before...just to add to the cheapness of the whole event). From here the only way was up and so we headed for the tablelands. The tough climbs made worth it from the spectacular views. As Guus took a canopy walk Andrew I took advantage of his absence and found the supply of choc chip cookies. As we sat waiting his return Karen and Bruce from the Marlborough petrol station walked past! A quick catch up on travels and Guus returned, unfortunately too alert to not see the small pyramids of crumbs that surrounded us.

We climbed again, and again, then once more up a 5km 10% hill to reach an amazing view point. Here Bob pulled up to see if we required any help...of course not. Bob drives of...I pick up my bike and bob the trailer snaps! A different place from last time but on the same piece of metal!

It was then to the nearest farm with a shed and we left the trailer behind and headed for the Millaa Millaa falls loop. I enjoyed watching Andrew and Guus ride up the hills with luggage (including some extra stuff of mine). This was how I imagined my time riding with them would be! This is the way it should be! The Millaa Millaa falls loop began and the best road I have ever ridden on stretched out before us down the hill. With a full moon rising on the right and the golden glow of a Queensland sunset from the left we had entered paradise. A camp at the first of three waterfalls and Andrew's trek to the top of the hill to call Paul (soon to be arriving in Cairns and hiring a car) to inform him of Bob's departure from our travels. The next morning we headed to the second of the waterfalls which was just as, if not more stunning and then back along the road of rolling green to Millaa Millaa falls. As Guus headed to the water the magic of motorised transport arrived with Paul behind the wheel. After Paul forced us into the icy water for a swim under the waterfall we headed to pick up the trailer for repair. A visit to the Dairy Centre nearby and we were headed for Cairns and comfort. Guus and Andrew's diving refresher course wasn't available so with the bends likely to occur in diving Guus booked skydiving for himself. He headed off the following morning as we prepared how to tell his parents. It was then to the bike store and welders. Extra metal for strength was added to Bob and then it was too the (very tourist based) esplanade to meet slightly alive, slightly more shaken Guus. Peter arrived that night at 1am and the next day the task of organising the chaos we had unleashed upon the hotel room began. Finally we are ready and it becomes apparent Peter and I are the only ones on the bikes today. With 150kms ahead of us a two man team time trial was in order and that's what we did. The stunning coastal scenery towards Port Douglas was still appreciated as we aimed for Mossman Gorge for lunch. The roads became quieter as we headed to the foot of the hills and into the Gorge. Once again our vision was consumed by rainforest. Towards the Cape Tribulation ferry where the road became a little narrower and a motorcyclist didn't hesitate to yell 'you're asking to be killed riding here' as he road past. Beyond the ferry the cycle of 2 mins of cars then 30mins of silent roads awaited. Unbelievable cycling! We made the camp ground and slept soundly. Peter woke to his own Birthday celebrations of sweet chili sauce on cheese. We later made it up to him as a feast was prepared...by the freezers icecream section at the supermarket. A walk to cape trib beach then it was to the ferry where all but I (catching up on diary) went on a croc tour. A little worrying to hear that saltwater crocs 'enjoy' fresh water occasionally. Then to Wonga for carbonara birthday dinner for Peter...though there was a problem. I had taken it upon myself to buy the ingredients, though without pasta it is a little hard to make it a meal. But sure enough the kiosk had pasta for sale. Tomorrow it was Guus's birthday so we rested our stomachs while watching the hilarious stance and dance of the peacocks.

Travels to the Tropics

By the third day in Toowoomba the craving for adventure subsided and the comforts of four walls had set in. The hospitality of warm surrounds with the sound of company at Peter's place would have allowed for perfect recovery. That is at any other time of the year but this, for this was Tour time. Contador, Lance, Cadel, Schleck's one and two, the updates I had received had never quite been enough. To watch their pain was more enjoyable than ever. The daylight hours I saw were spent between my phone and the bike store. Andrew and Guus had now planned to hire a car and meet me in Townsville on the 2nd of August rather than Mackay on the 1st. 400kms further north. Ben's work had fixed Bob for free so again I heard the road conjuring a revised planned path to victory. The weather came into play as the morning I left the sunny skies gave way to a rainy, windy day. I had the pedals in motion by 10am and the rain cleared so I was off along another driver declared 'flat road' (I will stop listening one day...) Leaving the comfort became easier through an organised stay at the Greenhalgh's north of Gympie only 3 days away. My new cycling sandals that had arrived in Toowoomba felt amazing and hence were one of the simple things ones mind plays upon up hills. A nice campsite with lyrebirds was a welcoming return to life in a tent, with of course the all too common midnight high-beam curiousity. Nanango welcomed me the following morning with the advice 'Take a rest day today, these winds will destroy you'. Fortunately the winds were more in my favour than against so on I pedalled. That was for 300m until the peanut wagon called. There Barbara donated some sensational peanut brittle to the cause which, with all my restraint, was still gone by the following morning. Further into town I met Michael who also rode a bike with a trailer. Well, a 5 speed trike with a two wheeled trailer where over time rust had taken over the more reliable process of welding. As I complimented his 'scrap aluminium collecting' vehicle the conversation steered, uncomfortably for me, towards how much better his setup was. I really shouldn't have mentioned my trailer broke. The conversation then turned to health as he announced over his greatly protruding stomach how the diabetes figures amongst Australian kids 'frankly scared him'. As the morning air became increasingly lined with his alcohol tinged breath upon which words of terrible political advice rolled like a rusty 5 speed I bid farewell and headed for Goomeri. A bbq and a campsite 36kms away resulted in my biggest day yet at 140kms. It was then on to the Greenhalgh's where Darren, Melinda, Zolton and a late breakfast of bacon and eggs awaited! Having not seen Zolton in 7months he had grown a lot. Needless to say endless hours of entertainment where found in his company! With amazing soup for lunch and crepes for breakfast the proposed leaving time of 2pm soon became 4:30 as another lunch was offered down the road at Henry and Margaret's. The hospitality once again seemed insane to leave however after being loaded up with 3 containers of lunch left-overs it was now or never. Darren's company on his bike until the highway, a tailwind and great campsite that night helped. The next morning Maryborough was the target and with the tailwind having waited for me it was an easy one, leaving me enough time to chat to locals (one informing me of every possible way to beat a corrupt system-'fight corruption with corruption!' He announced in a chant that rang without repetition) and enjoy some shade in the park. Maryborough primary was then very welcoming, with even a donation of home cooking for dinner! The next day I headed for Bundaberg, passing through Childers where I was warned by a few locals I would 'never make it'. Upon mentioning I had already ridden so far and that 50kms wasn't too bad they were silenced for a moment before the shaking heads resumed. 'Nup...not Bundy'. On the road north I crossed paths with southbound Andy, the first touring cyclist I had seen. As he rode unsteadily towards me down the highway I saw light puncture his silhouette between one arm and the handlebars, noticing he rode with only the one. 'Yeah I broke my arm so I'm riding from Gladstone to the Gold Coast to get the cast taken off.' Upon stopping he was attacked by cramps. 'I'd just been drinking and smoking too much. All that bad stuff.' Being a seasoned veteran of just over two weeks I assured him it gets easier. It was then on to Bundaberg into headwinds where too much icecream and of course ginger beer was consumed. As the sun departed from my vision which clearly hadn't been connected to my brain, or had been blocked by a haze of sugar, I realised I was in a park in the middle of town. The logical campsite then presented itself in the form of children's play equipment. After lying down then scanning around I noticed I lay perfectly within the vision of a security camera. I could only hope no guards saw, or thought it was too obvious to be any more than an early morning hallucination. Two hours into my sleep I was awoken by a familiar wurring sound. I seems I lay in the bmx arena for two teenagers. They seemed quite happy to ignore my silent presence as they jumped on the slides around me. I could only close my eyes hoping not to be run over. After an hour or so of practise they left, the sound of wurring wheels soon to be replaced by screeching bats. Sleep eventually came until I was awoken by a rooster from the 'free zoo' next to the park. I didn't mind, I wanted to leave on light anyway. However when I looked at my clock 2:30am glowed back and the roosters, not understanding the joke would have been equally as effective if they had stopped then and there continued until 6am. With this uninspiring night I felt less than prepared to talk at Bundaberg East State School that morning. Onto Agnes Water where a rest day awaited. At the campground I met Graham and Margaret who provided plenty of tea and conversation over the next day. With the local tavern unable to get sbs I was back to the unsatisfying updates of the tour. Then, with the much needed rest day over so soon it was to Agnes Water primary where, with much struggle I reached the place the children had gathered upon the hill. It was then for Calliope by 4:30 where I had planned to find a quiet place to plug in my phone for the pre-organised Koorie radio interview. Unfortunately I am not as organised and as I went from shop to shop trying to find one appropriate I finally reached Deslie and her clothes shop. Obviously confused by such a strange request she agreed and allowed me to plug in my phone in the back of the shop, next to her son on the internet. 'Fantastic' I thought, the relief obvious as I pulled out my charger. I plugged it in. Darkness. The power to the shop went out. We looked at each other confused, found the circuit breaker and flicked it back up. I plugged in my phone again. Darkness suddenly returned. Flick again, the till printing out coded receipts. A process of elimination revealed the power board to be the most likely source. I plugged my phone into another plug. The lights stayed on. I breathed a sigh of relief as my phone flashed 'charging', but only for a moment. My charger died. Deslie hunted for a charger she was sure she had and eventually found. It didn't fit. I decided to make the call anyway on the limited battery I had. No answer. Try again. No answer. Deslie in the meantime found the correct charger but mine had decided to start working. It was after 5 and time to close the shop. In desperation I tried the number once more. An answer! 'Could we do the interview tomorrow morning Stephen?'

The Mont Ventoux stage of the tour required a breaking of the budget in Rockhampton as I checked in to the YHA-filled with all the characters I had hoped for. It was however quieter than expected as I entered at 3pm to soft words and heads in hands. The night before seemed to have declared this a hangover hostel. Heavy heads declared me insane some period of time until finally sensible conversation (well as sensible as conversation was ever expected to get) was pursued. It felt good to alter perceptions on ways of travel. Two Irish guys commented "Now that's something you can talk about in 50 years time. We'll just say 'I dunno, I got drunk, I think I had a good time'". Shame I think they were too drunk to remember this moment of realisation. Most of the guys were there to find work, and as their conversation turned to farm employment such observations were made: "If you can't kill a cow and eat it you shouldn't eat meat. Besides it's the food chain anyway. We eat them, they eat us." You get the idea. In Alwin from Holland I found my helper in reserving the tv for Le Ventoux. We watched the stage while convincing another guy it is worthy of it's reputation. By the final kms of the climb he had agreed and we all went to bed in the early hours, tired but I was satisfied.
An early start and hills awaited. My first flat of the trailer tyre was downhill and resulted in some dangerous fishtailing. Changing the tyre was what I had expected from the bike tyres as I snapped a tyre lever. Further up the road I met Tom who was cycling from Cooktown to Canberra with a titanium bike and all the touring parts I didn't have. Onwards and the rain set in and the first offer of a lift was declined. Oh how I regretted that decision when 5kms down the road a rear spoke broke. 'No worries' I thought as I pulled out my tool kit. Spare spokes and spanners were removed from the tool kit but would not go in the wheel. It was a drive side spoke I had broken and didn't have the cassette breaker I needed. After hours of unsuccessful improvisation a lift was sourced through 'Shorty' to Marlborough service station where I was sure I could find a tool to do the job. Nope. A night spent sleeping out the back to the all too familiar sound of trucks and 5 hours of asking for a lift the next day resulted in suggestions such as 'If you're religious, pray!', meeting Bruce and Karen and then a lift through 'Damo'-searching for work driving trucks, preferrably road trains outside of a city. With a tailwind and perfectly sunny day it was hard not to wish to be on the bike. A bike that worked. As the outskirts of Mackay came into view Damo's dreams sunk with every foot that pounded a footpath. 'I was hoping for a main street with a shop and a pub and that's it.' He saw visions of an idyllic Queensland lifestyle dilute into a population already searching. I saw a bike store and a way out of this car. An expensive trip to the bike store and a bit of extra weight in tools later I was on the road again. Calen school was the next stop with extremely short notice. Here I was informed by a young student that I was riding a girls bike. "Is it a girls bike?" I asked clarifying for myself what I'd heard. "No" the girl replied "It is a girls bike." "Oh" Can't argue with someone of such certainty. With the next day bringing a 3 hour stop in Bowen with the very welcoming Bowen State School, the local paper and lunch I still managed almost 150kms-the tailwind helped to say the least. At Bowen for lunch I met Charles who now just travels around, correctly informing me 'It's so much better than waiting to die.' That night next door neighbours to my tent Debbie and Peter told me as most do "I admire you but I wouldn't want to be you." Then headed inside their caravan to roast pork and cake. I limp to Ayr State School with a flat tyre and after talking head out to fix by the school entrance near the shade. I'm not sure how I ended up with 3 leaks in the one tube but after fixing all of them the valve snapped off so I was left to face the stampede of the final bell. A few flats down the road later I decided to give up on riding for the day and found a camp site in a recently planted cane field, fixing flats by a setting sun. The next morning, putting the wheel back on the local farmer stopped as he passed for the 4th time and I really wanted to be on the road. Eventually I got there and was riding smoothly until another 2 flats closer to Townsville. With some caramel topping, milk, fruit cake and biscuits my worries were gone as I fixed punctures in the shade. Here my first opportunity to see harley tourers stopped was hopefully my last as conversation barely flowed over their bikes, struggling to find anything more in common than the fact they own vehicles too proud for silence and their combined vocabulary of 3 words. Riding into Townsville felt amazing and another flat tyre was fixed beside a manmade waterfall. A swim and talking to locals was a relaxing end to the day as I headed for a park the Information lady said I should be able to camp in after dark. Deciding not setting up a tent would be less obvious I rolled out the sleepmat, confident no one had seen my movements as I lay behind a toilet block. The grass was so soft I barely needed my sleepmat and I lay drifting, watching the last of the colour fade from a beautiful sunset. Sleep consumed me. at 12:20am I was woken by a 'Psssss!' It returned to silent so I ignored it. This time something hit me 'Psssss!' I looked up...nothing. Something wet hit me and the noise didn't stop. Townsville's 12:20am sprinkler system had started, though it was closer to a fire hose. The dampness left for 5 seconds and a tired mind barely had to convince a drained body that it wouldn't return to this angle. Wrong. This time a proper soaking. Maybe it was a complimentary rinse this city provided for those who wash their clothes in the ocean. Maybe not. I had to move. A piece of dry concrete looked appealing and with an awkward shuffle I was there. Nope...The angle widened and I was soaked again. On the other side of the toilet block wall I found my shelter, but as the wind picked up and drops were blown over I could no longer care and sleep came again. Now the temptation lay in whether to tell Andrew and Guus of this 'magnificent campsite' and stay awake to watch the midnight commotion. They were to arrive that afternoon and the lack of riding to be done that day bought the temptation of Castle Hill. It loomed over Townsville city in a defiant stance ready to acquire new knowledge. The knowledge of whether I had yet become an insane cyclist. I had, for something left me no choice but to ride up it. I don't know why I didn't leave the trailer behind, maybe that's more to blame on genuine insanity rather than that of a cyclist. Either way the view was as rewarding as I had hoped. Back in town I met a man on a bike, who upon asking many questions about touring informed me he was also going to ride around Australia. His trailer however was home made from steel and 'plywood to make it waterproof'. The connection on his bike for his trailer gave more than enough indication of the quality of the construction and I could only hope he was of strong character. Two hours of waiting at the airport that evening saw Andrew and Guus arrive, 2 bike boxes within the smallest car available. With a 20 minute setup declared ridiculous by a setting sun we left by dark, Guus without helmet or lights, on the wrong side of the road, with his face being attacked by a map. I enjoyed drafting them all the way to a campsite on the other side of the city, a supposed 'industrial area with fences'. When we arrived at this area to discover it was farm land we rode down a dark road, only avoiding creeks for campsites. Guus saw a gate and announced for the second time 'Here! There's a fence!' 'What is it with you and fences?' 'Crocodiles don't go through fences' With that we set up camp and andrew cooked. The road we were told by a local to have 'nothing there, you don't want to go down there' seemed, after 10pm to become one of the busiest roads in Townsville, with more than its fair share of cars with midnight high-beam curiousity. The next morning we headed through town and for rollingstone for lunch. After deciding a hat would be a good idea Guus soon found one beside the road. As we closed in closer on rollingstone talk of food and all Guus must try took over. There it was a swim in the river as the temperature of the day rose. After telling Guus he must try beetroot we opened some at lunch. 'Oh is that the red one? We have that, we call it redroot.' What a shame they don't have pavlova, lamingtons and our favourite types of icecream. Only they are allowed now. Later that afternoon Guus declared a rest and we agreed, as Andrew pulled down a side road out of some sugar cane walked Peter, a 19 year old cyclist from Melbourne. After some rockmelon Peter decided to ride with us for the rest of the day. Stunning scenery, the first crocodile signs and a furious pace finished the days riding. We arrived in Ingham and proceeded to use the one free electric bbq in town. Only it was situated in the middle of the main divided street in town, upon a hill, with a light just for extra attention. It was then to the sports ground where a grandstand provided well sheltered sleeping. The next day again had the scenery but this time with the hills. A 12% pushing the limits of the Bianchis gears. Peter decided to abandon plans of Wallaman falls to join us to Mission Beach. A two hour lunch stop that day at a fantastic spot before heading for Tully and of course, rain. After all this town had 7.9m in one year! It was then onto Sth Mission beach and passing hilarious cassowary signs. The undercover bbq area hosted us that night as Peter slept in the roof........

Apologies for the lack of updates, things have been slightly chaotic since Toowoomba. In the past two days we have been to Cape Tribulation and are now headed west until Peter, Paul, Andrew and Guus depart on the 14th. I will fill in up to that point asap with stories of more broken trailers, the best cycling road ever, Guus' rainforest outfits and now Paul returns to tell me of his epic staring contest with a snake. For now we have 900m to climb today which sort us all out. Until then!

Goulburn-Toowoomba

The roads grow busy as the sign shows 'Toowoomba - 23kms'. I know there are hills approaching but my legs feel good. Though my eyesight is like looking through bug stained glass, the trucks are quiet and the temperature feels airconditioned to the ideal. I smile as I glance over my shoulder to look back at what I've achieved. The smile fades as my eyes find the bike and trailer sitting comfortably in the back of the ute. Oscar's voice filters back in through my disappointed, though slightly relieved stare. 'So where in Toowoomba does your brother live?'

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!

Goodbye comfort. Hello...?

There had only been the one type of farewell I was aware of. The one where the return will be to the familiar territory in which friends reign. With this view I would say I have never personally struggled with goodbyes. For even with change how could lives tie so securely with such little knowledge, with so many years unknown? For such to exist within it has to have been constructed from the beginning, where ties have become strong by growing together. It is when one is discovered to have done so, goodbyes become daunting, the attempt to come free of what has grown to be as it is. Would you remove a branch from a tree and think the travelled eye wouldn't notice something missing? The leaves can be picked, for the tree sheds them anyway, none to be missed in colder, quieter times so long as those branches remain. Stronger branches will even cling long after life has left. But contrary to many thoughts, a gaping hole is not what is left. It's a sinking feeling that this wasn't forced upon you, and that what there is to arrive to upon return may not be what it was, what you had wanted. So you must hope for what you will, but permit no regrets to follow.

Riding begins tomorrow! 'Gusty northerly winds, rain and snow' predicted! Not to mention the top of 8degrees...should be an interesting start! Andrew shall hopefully post the first photos later in the day for me! My eyes are suggesting an early morning finish to packing...advice I have no choice but to take. Other than this though all is falling into place...everything seems to have come together very well at the last moment as it always does. The next from me will hopefully be Toowoomba, around 1100kms away from this outer-Goulburn based start. Until then...

Preparation

Preparation, according to the Collins dictionary is 'the act or process of preparing'. Quite lazy. The definition according to the Stephen Collins dictionary however is somewhat different. It involves three crucial steps:
1. Equipment - being 800kms from the bike you are to ride.
2. A strict diet - replacing main meals with profiteroles, and
3. Training - Not using cruise control will assist in foot muscle development.

I have been asked quite often what worries me about the trip. My usual answer is semi-sarcastic involving Ravenshoe, Qld's highest town, and crocodiles. The desire to get on the road and start raising money and awareness has refused my head the spare time to think. But now that things begin to come together such thoughts are dawning on me. I fear that I can't see bike shorts as anything more than public underpants. I fear my inability to function beyond the comfort of a bed on cold mornings. But most of all, I fear my craving of vanilla thickshakes during riding may result in some sort of bloated, lethargic drowning. These are the fears that currently plague my mind.

Thank you to all who have donated so far! It has been a great start and has me really looking forward to raising more money and awarness on the road! I hope to up the target soon after leaving! An article in the Monash leader should be out next week on my ride and the cause which can do nothing but good for raising awareness. Fortunately I have done about as much organisation as I can for the moment so will spend this last week collecting as many donations as possible!

3 wheels, 6 months, 16 000kms

"Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry, and narrow-mindedness" - Mark Twain

Those who have travelled surely know the feeling. It descends as the silence of the night comes. A silence one hears every night as the traffic fades and the days curiosity leaves the local dogs. It is part of the routine of a life in suburban Australia. It isn't so much a definable feeling, but as the scenes of the day replay through a tired head it builds, then, by morning it has faded again. And so the new day begins and so the process goes. Another routine to add to an overburdened life. Then the day when, seemingly without warning routine will snap and the words will leave your mouth. "I'm off." No questions, only a statement. For there is no need for questions when your head has toyed with the idea for this long. Yes 'seemingly' without warning it has come, but it has lured you ever since you set foot in your door on return from the last time those words were mentioned. Maybe it's the 'cheap flights' emails you receive. Maybe the plastic travel shows on TV. Or maybe the signs off the freeway that you travel every day to work. That 45 degree angle on a green sign that leads to somewhere new. If routine hadn't set this drive to a glazed expression and a depressed radio, a snap surely would have been forseen. So before those glazed eyes the harshness of the freeway, all metal, concrete, tar and air conditioners fades to become a delicate line upon which routine travels, between the safe and the unknown. This is how it normally strikes. But this time was different. It was not a decision solely based on these feelings. Yes I am not one for routine, but 16 000kms was not the first thing on my cards as a holiday. Do people donate money for someone sitting on a beach with a guitar, drumset and book, doing occasional day bike rides? Maybe I should have asked that first! But a test is what this cause needs and deserves. And seeing this country at the pace of a push bike is what I need to see the cause.

Now the 3rd of July approaches at a quickening rate. Time moves faster than my hands can tick off a list. The wet season up north looms as an unfortunate deadline. It is not something I wish to get stuck in. Come the 3rd however I imagine my vision of a map will become much more focused on the next 20kms rather than the 3000kms above me. Just the road and I. Perhaps the fact the second day of my ride (the day Paul and Andrew turn around) is independence day is rather too appropriate. Though as the kilometers wear on I feel my legs will find their own independence as they become separate from myself, both in pursuit of different agendas. As I prepare, and as it all comes together, everything slowly begins to turn, somehow becoming related to the approaching trip. I glanced up from the mocking odometer of my van last night to see a car pass with 'Don't follow me, I'm going fishing' printed proudly across the spare tyre cover. I've never been one for fishing. Though the idea of tranquil lakes and peaceful surrounds is not a concept I'm opposed to, I just haven't been drawn back. Most fisherman will tell you that it's not the catch that they enjoy the most, it's waiting. Yet without the flurry of water, the moments of struggle, the glint of a knife blade, and the altered surface of the lake I feel few would return. This indeed could be why I myself am not lured towards it. Nothing bit. Travel, for all it's similarities is however something that draws me back (ever since a three month trip of Europe). But maybe that's because I feel there had been a flurry (Heathrow airport), a struggle (Prague airport) and though fortunately this story lacks the knife blade, such a trip could surely do nothing but alter ones view of the world. Yet maybe the fact I don't know how to kill a fish says more than anything. For what is the point of altering a view without the knowledge of how to use it for change or nourishment? All I know now is that it isn't that hard to make a difference. I leave with the view to change rather than be changed. Well, I'm giving it a shot.

Oxfam Australia is working in Indigenous communities to help improve all the basic rights other Australians take for granted. They are, in Oxfam's words 'the most disadvantaged group in the country in terms of income, unemployment, imprisonment, child protection, health and wellbeing indicators, life expectancy and education.' This is what I am intending to raise money for. Also on this ride I intend to raise awareness for Oxfam's 'Close The Gap' campaign, which is working to close the massive 17 year life expectancy gap between indigenous and other Australians. It primarily aims to address such issues as health, housing and education. In the crucial area of health, indigenous communities are to have greater control and participation in the delivery of health services. The Government is being called upon to help with all these issues and have the gap closed within 25 years. You can help through signing the pledge at http://www.oxfam.org.au/campaigns/indigenous-health/take-action/sign-the-pledge.php . Hopefully the awareness I raise can help make it less than 25years! Thank you to all who sign and/or donate!

Donations can be made through:

http://everydayhero.com.au/gearedforchange