The best thing to do after a riding
ordeal like I had just experienced, is to not go anywhere near a bike
for awhile. It hurt in too many places just thinking about it. My
bike was left on the roof of the hotel and did nothing for 3 days
except rust. That wasn't an act of vengeance or neglect. I had
covered it with a tarp but the bike had managed to shrug it off
probably 5 minutes after I went to great lengths tying it down.
Adam had come to Lismore to join me and
Brad in a blow-out worthy of the 210kms I had ridden getting there.
Unfortunately Brad isn't the most reliable character and forgot about
the world in general on the day we had all planned to get on it. With
unscripted shenanigans never making it to the page, Adam and I were
left to entertain ourselves. That wouldn't have been a problem if it
didn't rain like a dam had burst above us!
Has global warming brought monsoonal
weather to lower latitudes? I know there is supposed to be some rain
around while flowers bloom and birds and bees go in for XXX
throw-downs, but that's Spring. This is summer. Isn't it hot
normally? How much could it have changed since I lived on the East
Coast? Last summer started with half the country under water, but I
didn't think much was added to that after summer started.
Luckily enough Adam and I were able to
find enough enjoyment watching life go on at the service station
across the road from our hotel window. Enjoyment is probably not the
right word, well, definitely not really as not a fucking great deal
happens at a service station. Had I have planned to spend the day in
a hotel looking out the window, it would have been grand as it
delivered on all it promised. Having planned for things a little more
riotous, the 2 man hotel room party wasn't quite as Studio 54 as I
would have liked.
The following day we headed over to
Amanda's place and hung out in her plush, verdant garden as long as
the rain held off. I implored Adam to stay longer now the weather had
improved marginally but his work wouldn't accept rain as a good
enough reason for a sick day. He headed off mid noon giving me a few
hours to get drunker than I should have and count the times the
weather alternated between raining and not. Final count: a lot.
Mands came home flushed with finishing
another draft she is writing about Indigenous entrepreneurs in
northern NSW and decided to get drunk too. Not wanting to miss out on
the way Mands was pouring glasses of Frangelico, her two flatmates
Paul and Vanessa soon got involved as well. Impromptu celebrations
are the best and having not seen Mands in 3 years added more
sentimental value to getting rinsed.
The next day it was raining and it
didn't take much convincing from my hangover to stay another day. I
still had my crutch in a sling and the bike needed adjustments I was
too hazy to do properly. Mands took us all out to an unsign-posted
waterfall only locals visit and I had a ball jumping into the chilly
water from a 5 metre ledge. That night nother vego feast was prepared
and a movie was chosen over another night of over-indulgence.
The next day it was raining and it
didn't take much....hang on, that was the day before. The only
difference now was I couldn't put off leaving any longer. Mands had
initially offered to ride with me for awhile but an imminent holiday
left her with too much to do. Both flatmates said that were going for
a bike ride and I was humbled by that act of solidarity. Until I
realised they were going to the warm and sheltered confines of a gym.
By the time I had packed my bag, the
skies had cleared a little. Something blue and intriguing could be
seen through the occasional breaks in the clouds. The countryside
around Lismore is beautiful with green pastures, dark and mysterious
macadamia orchards and gently undulating hills. That it was not
raining for the first time in awhile certainly painted a pretty sheen
on the landscape.
It pelted down for the 10kms leading
into Woodburn, but the last 11kms to Evans Head were clear. It's no
lie to say how much the weather affects the quality of the outing.
Rain turns a fun ride into an ordeal akin to being waxed or watching
'Glee'. No rain, as I have forgotten what clear skies are like, makes
the ride so enjoyable you hardly realise you are doing all the work
yourself.
I put my tent up in a cosy corner of
Evans Heads' only caravan park and marvelled with pride at a better
erection than I had managed on first try. I had procured another gas
canister in Lismore and was thrilled with how well the stove worked
once you were able to attach it without threats of violence. I
perambulated along the esplanade and watched surfers brave rough
waters around the mouth of the river while I failed to understand how
people could want to swim when the general environment was providing
so much saturating entertainment.
When I returned to camp I met another
two riders, proving that I wasn't uniquely idiotic. When I saw that
he was carrying loaded panniers as well as an overloaded trailer, I
realised my idiocy was actually quite mundane. I made up for that the
next morning by stepping on my other pair of sunglasses and breaking
them. Always one to follow one folly with an even better one, I then
stood on my Lanacane as I stomped around cursing anything that
wouldn't argue back. Three quarters of the tube found its way onto my
pillow and a chaff free sleep has now been guaranteed for my ears.
It was an ominous sign but the day
turned out to be divine. That's what I have decided to call any
sunshine I see until it becomes a more regular part of the new and
not-improved summer. I did my first leg on the Pacific highway and
was pleased to find that the shoulder was as wide as a car lane for
most of the way. The traffic was constant and travelling at speeds I
can only envy but the potholes were minimal and less crater like than
the road leading into Lismore. Were my mother not reading this I
would have detailed how close I came to being a twitching hood
ornament again 10kms outside of Lismore.
I turned off onto Iluka Road hoping to
hit the sort of back roads that bicycle touring is all about. I knew
there would be more pot-holes but that was a small price to pay. Big
holes are easy enough to ride around, with a cut lunch and a water
bag. It's the small ones that cause the most grief, largely for the
effect the have on my rear view mirror. Being mounted on my helmet
due to lack of space on my handlebars, the velcro attachment is as
safe as a paper-mache bank vault. Bumping along extended rough
patches makes the cars behind appear like they are approaching along
a carnival like bouncing castle.
I stopped in at Bimbimbi for lunch and
as is becoming the norm, a kindly old soul came over to tell me how
much of a fool I was. Apparently he has travelled extensively enough
to know that it is hilly in every direction, even out to sea. As he
detailed the superhuman efforts I would need to employ were I not to
take his advice and hop on the nearest train, his sombre gravitas had
me wondering if he was just on his lunch break from the nearest
Information Centre.
Feeling satisfied that he had put
enough fear of God into me to convert me to the Liberal Party, he
wandered off and I pondered how many positive people there actually
were in the world. I always thought I was pretty positive until being
so doubles as a form of prayer for things to be better than what
others tell you they won't be. Perhaps I just need more motivation in
the form of trying to prove negative people wrong.
Soon after leaving old mate to brag to
his wife how he had set a young fool straight, I was rewarded with a
wonderful meander alongside the Bundjalung National Park. Dense bush
of palms, ferns and eculypts crowded over the road whispering secrets
of evolutionary strangeness that a passing cyclist could never grasp.
I had seen a koala the day previous which was strange enough for
being alive, seeing as all other animals I found were just
decomposing by the side of the road. The Koala did move as much as
road kill though as it was probably off its tits on eculyptus oil.
Iluka was like Eden when I arrived.
Rosellas, corellas and lorikeets nibbled at anything edible
unconcerned by my passage. Adorable little plover chicks chased after
butterflies under the ever watchful eyes of their mum. Streets and
houses seemed to have sprouted out of the ground and reflected the
organic nature of the hobbits Shire.
A ferry is necessary to take me across
the river to Yamba and I had unsurprisingly left myself with a 2 hour
wait until the next one. A caravan park sat near the pier and the
time seem best spent settling in there for the night. Unbeknownst to
me, a small patch of Eden costs $38 to sleep on, rivalling the
biggest rip off I have known that was $40 for a dorm bed in Lake
Mountain, Tasmania. At least I got a comfy bed and a roof over my
head there.
I thought old mate was joking when he
checked me in, and I simply stood mute as I imagined all the
ingenious witticisms I could cut him down to size with were I more
confrontational in nature. Granted it is a nice park, but really,
$38? What drugs is this guy taking cause I want some to justify the
price. Instead I had to settle for a 2 hour hot shower and I plugged
in every electrical gadget I owned to charge to 500% capacity. A
thunderstorm is predicted for the night so if my tent is not
protected by a force-field throughout, I'll be asking this Bill Gates
wannabe how he manages to keep a straight face while taking to your
wallet with a shovel.
