Trips End - What a ride!

 Blog 14

May 25 Monday, Jugiong to Yass

For a couple of months now I’ve had this unsettling sense that I’m being stalked

Emerging from our motel room in Jugiong we cycled about a kilometre back into the village to an attractive little cafe for our breakfast. It was very cold and we were keen to sit inside and found ourselves a long table and with 5 people already seated on it. To our surprise, we were greeted there by name, although we didn’t recognise anyone. It turned out they were Rotarians from our presentation at Coolamon and we had a very pleasant breakfast chatting to them, mostly about farming again. The bowls of granola we ordered were very generous (as usual Joyce was overfaced with the serve and got them to put half of hers into a container for later consumption) and probably the best we've ever had, so we were reluctant to leave. 

Old Hume Highway

Old Hume Highway could use some attention

We wrestled with the route we were planning because the most direct route was entirely on the Hume highway and not a very appealing prospect. Several alternative options took us on long diversions and we were not keen to do more than what was strictly necessary, so we compromised and set off down the Hume Highway initially, hoping to take some short diversions later. What puzzled us, and our breakfast friends, was that the GPS appeared to show a bike lane alongside the southbound carriageway of the highway and none of us had ever noticed one when we had driven on the highway. I suddenly tumbled to what the US GPS satellites were doing. US imperialism! They were trying to send us along the hard shoulder of the wrong carriageway, which I confirmed by reversing the direction of the proposed trip, from Yass to Jugiong and the bike track followed the northbound carriageway instead. 

For the first few kilometres there was absolutely no option to the Hume Highway, so we took the road shoulder on the northbound carriageway, and this was actually very good, apart from the deafening noise of the traffic. It was a very wide, free of debris and we were well separated from motor traffic. Some distance along we noticed that we could turn off the main highway onto the old Hume Highway, which ran parallel for many kilometres and this we did until it suddenly became a rough, steep 4WD track. The GPS didn't seem to be aware of this so, seeing two men standing outside a nearby barn, I went to get some local info.. They told me that this four-wheel-drive track only existed for a few hundred metres and was the result of a lot of earth from the highway roadworks being dumped there years before. The man I spoke to had a huge white moustache and an amazingly battered bush hat, which looked as though it had come over in the First Fleet. It was such a splendid old hat that I asked if I could take a photograph of it (and him), and asked him how old it was. He thought for a moment, scratched his head and said that he reckoned it was three and a half years old. Check out the photograph - it must have seen some action!

The bush hat - 3 years old and looks like it arrived with the first fleet

We were able to push the tandem over the four-wheel-drive section and continue along a completely deserted section of the old Hume Highway, past mounds of dumped whitegoods, for many more kilometres before rejoining the main Highway again. Along this next main highway section we again came across a rich vein of plastic bottles half full of Lipton's iced tea. Homo Nullarboriensis is on the march towards our nation's capital. The government should be alerted.

On the lookout for a quieter alternative to the highway, we turned down a road, which was recommended by the GPS as a cycling route. This initially seemed to be a good choice but, after 3 km, it ended at a quarry gate with a sign ‘Beware of blasting.’ The only alternative from this point was an unmade goat track, which seemed to wind its way over distant mountains. We returned to the highway again and soon passed over Conroy‘s Gap at 650 m altitude before turning onto the Yass Valley Highway. This took us to our destination in Yass, where we were booked into an Airbnb described as a ‘very comfortable granny flat’ and it did not disappoint. It was exactly as described on the tin. It was very spacious and very comfortable without being luxurious.

As we approached the address of our very comfortable granny flat, there simultaneously arrived two other cycle tourists, amongst only the handful of cycle tourists we've noticed in the entire two months. This couple were from Canberra and I had a brief conversation with them, hoping to catch up more fully over a meal in Yass in the evening. They were guides on cycling tours in northern Italy but based in Canberra and just out for a weekend jaunt. 

Arrangements to meet for dinner in the evening unfortunately didn't work out - I think they got too comfortable in their first port of call - the pub.

 

The owners of the B&B owned a Maremma, a sturdy Italian dog known for its fierce defence of any animals or people that it has bonded with. I knew they are used to protect sheep, goats, cattle, chickens and penguins but was surprised to learn that, in Italy, there is a tradition of leaving them in charge of the brood of children whilst parents go to work. It seemed very attractive dog, corralled behind a low fence, but I was reluctant to stroke it in case it took my arm off. Our host reassured me that Brandy was completely harmless and very friendly to strangers such as me, and so it turned out. 

Conversation then turned to our host's recommendation for the best place in Yass for an evening meal and there was no hesitation, Yazzbar, reached by an easy 1km walk through the high school grounds. It was a good recommendation. When we arrived it was almost full, at 5.30, and they were in the middle of a poetry reading. The ambience was industrial chic with an emphasis on cocktails rather than food and it seemed completely out of place in a country town like Yass, but was probably supported by weekenders from Canberra. The tapas were excellent and we had a lovely evening there.

Sunday, 26 May. We woke up to freezing fog and had to make our way along the Valley Highway, which was narrow, busy, hilly (had to control the speed to barely more than walking pace even on descents so I could see what was happening) with a non-existent shoulder. The whole section between the B&B and the return to the Hume Highway was absolutely frightening but the sun finally came out after about an hour and a half and the fog lifted. We cycled on and made very good progress to Gunning, where we diverted off the highway into the little village for lunch before returning to it for the section over the Cullerin Range, the highest point on the Highway. Here, at 790m, was an extensive wind farm.

Arriving in Goulburn, we passed the big Merino and took the obligatory photograph en route to our accommodation in the Abbey Motel, next door to the Cathedral. We rather expected it to be a budget motel and were pleasantly surprised to find that it was quite upmarket. Goulburn Rotary had negotiated a special deal for visiting speakers and we were the beneficiaries. We quickly settled in, showered and made ready to go out to the meeting, which was at the Goulburn Workers Club within easy walking distance. At this point we hadn’t met anyone from the Goulburn Rotary club, but when we arrived we were greeted by Steve Ruddle, the president, and about 40 members, so it was a big meeting. Mostly, when we’ve been hosted, we have found out a lot of background information about clubs but, on this occasion, we really didn’t have much time to talk to anybody about what their projects were, how they raise money and all the usual things that we ask about. However, one priority, as usual, was to discover where to go for breakfast the next day as there was, unusually, no information in the motel. The consensus was that a cafe, Roses Cafe, directly opposite the motel reception, in a repurposed Catholic school adjacent to the cathedral, was THE place for breakfast in Goulburn.

On Tuesday morning, Roses Cafe was a revelation. There was a huge display counter full of beautifully presented food at one end of a cavernous school hall which put us in mind of up market cafes throughout Europe. We had never seen anything quite like it in Australia so took advantage of a leisurely breakfast there to refuel before the next 90 km journey. Again, this was mainly along the Hume Highway, pausing at Marulan truckstop for coffee on the way. The entire Hume and Federal Highways between Sydney and Canberra is tree lined, designated Remembrance Driveway and was opened by Queen Elizabeth in 1954 as a memorial for the fallen service personnel Second World War. I have to say that I didn't notice any obvious tree plantings but was probably distracted (distraught?) by simply trying to remain alive, threatened by dense, fast moving traffic with a great conga line of trucks travelling two abreast. The noise was deafening as we rode along the shoulder, but at least it was easy-going for the most part, except where the traffic engineers had introduced an element of Russian roulette, just to spice things up. There had been extensive resurfacing of the main two carriageways, but not the shoulders, resulting in a very significant step, or kerb, between shoulder and carriageway running parallel and just to the left of the rumble strip. This 'kerb' was anything up to 7cm high and was not a problem as long as we didn't need to turn across it (even a 2cm step approached at a shallow angle will cause a bike to crash). So, then, no problem...except that the shoulder disappeared at each bridge and bridges occur in the valleys, just at the point when cyclists are cranking up maximum speed to get up the next hill (MV2 , momentum, is the cyclists friend and every scrap of extra V helps). I don't have a mirror and couldn't hear a word of what Joyce is shouting above the roar of traffic so didn't know if there was a 110kph B double truck bearing down on us as we had to edge back into the traffic over this lethal kerb. The only sane solution was to stop and wait for a chink in the traffic...at every bridge. And grind up the next hill without the benefit of momentum. It was no wonder that we saw not a single other cyclist on the highway.

The GPS showed an alternative route as we approached the last 20 km into Bowral, passing through Sutton Forest and Moss Vale, and this was a lovely, quiet route except for heavy traffic in the village of Moss Vale. Finally made Bowral and passed the Bradman Museum, following the GPS instructions to our next hosts, Don and Chris. Well, our GPS certainly got to the correct road, but failed to note that the road was transected by a creek and, after we had pushed the loaded tandem up a crazy steep road looking for number 122, the road ahead was permanently blocked. The far end of the road could only be accessed by, you guessed, cycling back down and riding round three sides of a square to access from the far side. The perfect end to a trying day. 

Don, retired lawyer, and Chris, retired teacher, proved to be delightful hosts. We had a very pleasant time chatting to them I was most taken with a beautifully constructed wooden clock, which Chris had bought years earlier from Hamilton in Tasmania. Building a wooden clock had been my ambition for years, abandoned when I realised I could not achieve the necessary precision with my amateur woodworking skills.

Don was apologetic and prepared us for a very ordinary meal at the Bowling Club in the evening but, in the event, the meal was rather good. There was a big turnout with other guests including a couple of facilitators from the  Rotary Schools Science and Engineering Challenge being run in Bowral throughout the week.

We got excellent feedback at this meeting and a generous donation but, a couple of days later (this blog is running a week behind time), we were warned to expect another generous donation...of Covid. Eleven members went down with it.

On Wednesday we had a long discussion with Don about our route to Penrith and planned to follow his advice, informed by local knowledge. It was going to be a long day, 110 km to Penrith, but our GPS told us that we could do most of it along bike tracks, which shadow the highways. However, it was a bit complicated initially and we made slow progress overall during the day, even though we were dropping 600 m in altitude. Traffic was very busy (the new normal) and, disappointingly, before losing any altitude, we had to climb over Mount Gibraltar to reach Mittagong. Then it was quiet roads following a railway to Thirlmere, where the New South Wales rail museum was located. This had a number of steam engines, which feature in an annual 'Huff and Puff' run where people run 6 km and try to beat the steam train. My money is on the train.

Picton was our lunch stop amidst busy traffic and then onto Camden, skirting Liverpool to Narellan. This little suburb was an absolute nightmare of navigation with an endless succession of traffic lights and junctions and the GPS telling us to keep swapping backwards and forwards across the main road to follow a bike route. We would have been far quicker and safer to follow the roads signs for Penrith. We lost a lot of time, maybe as much as an hour.

Emerging finally onto the Northern Road, the A9, which had a parallel bike track in excellent condition, we started to feel we were again making progress. However, we noticed that nearly all the cyclists that we encountered (not many) were not on the bike track but taking their chances in the bus lane on the busy highway and it soon became apparent why. The bike track kept crossing from left to right of the highway and each time it crossed we could be faced with as many as seven separate pedestrian activated traffic lights making progress agonisingly slow. As the daylight faded we began to panic that we would not arrive in time for what promised to be a very important meeting with three clubs and the national Rotary End Polio Now co-ordinator from Melbourne invited. We phoned our host, Jean, to warn her and pedalled on furiously. It was fully dark when we arrived in Penrith feeling horribly stressed (did I mention we also had a slow puncture?) only 45 minutes before the meeting was due to start. Our host, Jean, was waiting on the end of her road anxiously looking out for us but was very gracious and seemed more concerned with calming us down (thanks, Jean, we needed it) though it was obvious that she, too, was very stressed. It turned out that, quite apart from the extra guests, she had organised a large number of excellent raffle prizes. There was clearly a lot hanging on our timely arrival, which we achieved somewhat breathlessly.

It took us some time and a couple of glasses of red to steady down and enjoy what was a very successful meeting and for Joyce and I the realisation that we had achieved our objective of cycling 3000 km, visiting over 30 Rotary clubs and raising funds in excess of $35,000. Funds are still coming in from clubs that we visited earlier and even from clubs that we didn't visit, so it’s difficult to know what the final figure will be. I'm not sure if Bloggies know that the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation has pledged $2 for every $1 we raise so that adds up to a very healthy total.

After the meeting, Jean invited Murray back to her house where we had a very convivial evening with Jean and her husband, Luciano, and we spoke about our plans for the next day. Looking at the weather forecast it seemed that our dream run of over a month of cloudless, windless days was over and rain was expected on Friday afternoon. We spent a nanosecond weighing the weather, the slow puncture, the traffic and our urgent desire to put our feet up before deciding to throw in the towel in an orderly fashion after we reach Liverpool, about 35km on excellent segregated bike tracks. No further interest in dicing with death in Sydney traffic, we would call for a maxi taxi to take us to our final destination at my niece's place in Bonnet Bay. 

On Thursday 29th we left Penrith to retrace our route along the A9 cycleway and then turned off towards Liverpool along another cycleway until we came to a major shopping centre where we heaved a sigh of relief, climbed off the bike, ordered a coffee and phoned my niece, Stess, to tell her of our decision. She very generously (can't tell you how grateful we were, Stess) volunteered her husband, Paul, to come and pick us up in his ute, to save us ordering the maxi taxi.

Arriving at Stess‘s house, it only remained for us to leave the tandem in their garage until the following day when I would pack it into cardboard bike boxes ready for transport on the plane back to Launceston. We took Stess, Paul and her two boys out for a meal in the evening and that really marked the end of our adventure (if we'd been flying Virgin instead of Jetstar, there could have been another chapter of woe).

Some of our Bloggees have asked me to resend a QR code to facilitate donations and I'm happy to do that but we’re very conscious that we sent begging letters to most Bloggees two years ago, before the Nullarbor, and that prompted some very generous donations. We don’t want to pressure anyone to donate again unless they are really committed to the cause and, obviously, those who haven't yet donated, please consider drawing down on your life savings.

I've enjoyed writing these discursive ramblings. Hope you've had some entertainment out of them. The stoker, a very enthusiastic tandem rider (she must be, she always says she likes to see the back of me), reckons, 'Never Again'. But she would say that, wouldn't she?