The Cycling Adventurer
Bicycle Touring
East Coast 2001
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The Cycling Adventurer |
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Bicycle Touring |
East Coast 2001 |
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Team Kalangadoo goes east
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Date: 14-17 July 2001
Just occasionally, there is a day when everything goes absolutely right. The rain clears, the fog lifts, and the sun shines. The wind subsides to a zephyr. Traffic is limited to a few vehicles with courteous drivers. And a great bunch of people set out on a three-day adventure.
So it was as the seven-member Team Kalangadoo assembled at Campbell Town on the morning of Saturday 14 July for a three-day loop across to Swansea and down the East Coast to Hobart. The team comprised:
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Actually, things had looked pretty grim the previous day. Dave said it rained the whole time at Bagdad. I had chosen to ride from Hobart to the start location. I stayed on Thursday night in Oatlands in after a day of beautiful weather. The next day's leg to Ross was in the rain — the first I had experienced in four months of various short and extended rides.
After the obligatory pre-start coffee-chocolate-tea at the Mobil service station in Campbell Town, the K-Team set forth on the Lake Leake road. The surrounding hills were still shrouded in fog, but thin patches of blue started to appear in the sky. Hope literally was on the horizon. It wasn't too long before we stopped to get off the first layers of clothing.
A quick look at the map (the ONLY map in the group, because we did know where we were going, didn't we?) showed we were in for some climbing. Darryl had travelled the road some years ago when in a four-wheel-drive, and could remember one climb, then another, but that's about it. What's the old cycling story? Never believe a car driver's description of a road? Hmmm. Back to the map!
The highest point near Lake Leake was Rawlinna Hill, at 750 metres, and the road ran right next to it. The consolation, we supposed, was that we were starting at something around 100 metres or so above sea level at Campbell Town.
The first climb came, and came, and kept coming. It wasn't too bad, really, and with laden bikes, it was a case of head down, select a low gear and keep a constant cadence upwards. There was a brief downhill and a flat section, before the climb resumed.
Was that coffee the breakaway could smell?
The group remained fairly close together, although a breakaway formed on the last segment of the climb as its members believed they could smell coffee at the Kalangadoo Roadhouse. "The roadhouse is on the junction of the road that goes into Lake Leake... we'll meet you there", came the call over the shoulder of one of the breakaways.
We arrived. Yes, guys... junction, trees, rocks... but no roadhouse! The back three rode onwards on the bitumen in trepidation, until a sign indicated "Roadhouse — FOUR kilometres". Yes! Never believe a car driver's instructions! Nor the noses of some coffee-deprived cyclists.
Sadly, Kalangadoo was not the thriving metropolis with rich coffee aroma that it promised to be. Lack of patronage appeared to have sent the roadhouse operators broke, and it was closed, but due to reopen under new management... in August.
So out of the panniers came the victuals and water for morning tea, as a motley crew sat in an old rowboat in a small park area at the eastern entrance of the roadhouse. The break presented an opportunity to inspect Linda's latest luggage suite... a fine collection of red, waterproof Ortleib panniers and duffelbag — together probably worth more than all our bikes put together, and certainly very flash. "Just call me Hyacinth Bucket... that's Boo-kay," Linda said in her pronounced but rarely used English accent.
Well, the trusty map suggested that because we had dropped down from our first climb, we might be in for a longer, harder one up Rawlinna Hill. It certainly looked that way as we departed the Kalangadoo Roadhouse straight uphill. We passed a standpipe on the side of the road. We were told later that the pipe had been there for 26 years with a continuous flow of water out of it, but the lack of rainfall had caused the flow to stop not long previously. Only the most recent rainfall had now restored it to overflowing.
Climb, climb... cli... wait, what's this. The group's stopped, and it's flat! Wow! That was either a lot shorter than expected, or I am getting fitter. All right, it was the first option.
It's all downhill from here
Anyway, the sign said something like "Highest Point, 680 metres", and on either side was the famous "M" Road (the "M" stands for McCabes) which is the subject of a future ride. Little did we know standing there what lay before us — a 22 km downhill all the way to the Tasman Highway! What a thrill! Time for slipstreaming, and some high-speed manoeuvring. Darryl's speedo tipped 73 km/h, mine a paltry 69. And, anyone who doubts the 26" Conti Town and Country are a good-rolling touring tyre, Darryl and I almost left the others for dead on our way down the hill.
Someone mentioned at the top about looking out for the look out. I wasn't on the ball and sped on past, but Darryl was and I saw him turn in. I hit the brakes, did a U-turn and wandered back up to take in the vista of the East Coast, spoiled by the terribly disgusting mess of beer cans right below us.
Back on the bikes, the only other interruption was negotiating around or over the carcase of a very big roadkill
kangaroo, before hitting the Tasman Highway and the quite boring pedal into Swansea.
This time the smell of coffee was real, and we stopped at the Left Bank Café. Anyone into the Hobart arts scene will remember Subi Mead as a former director of the Salamanca Arts Centre. Now she and her partner have established the Left Bank, borrowing not a few ideas from the successful Machine Laundry Café in Salamanca Square.
The coffee experience was something else, especially for the machiatto virgins among the group. The lemon tart was judged as delicious, and I've never had hot chocolate like that before. If you are in Swansea, the Left Bank is thoroughly recommended (and no, we didn't get any discounts or freebies for saying that).
Our destination was the Spiky Beach reserve (on the opposite side of the highway to Spiky Bridge, no less). Dave and I stopped to stock up on water. East Coast drinking supplies were still very uncertain with E. coli contamination because of the drought, and it was necessary to buy casks of water at around $5 for four litres to be entirely
safe.
The real reason for lagging behind the rest of the group, though, was to get some other casks... of the vino variety to keep the peloton entertained during the evening.
On arrival at the reserve, a quick scan of tent site possibilities revealed a cosy little section atop the cliffs. Darby was particularly
adventurous, with his tent precariously erected on a small tor above the water. Very Mediterranean!
Tents went up without a hitch, and everyone got down to the serious business of eating and drinking. Tony kept telling Linda to get the firewood together, but Linda steadfastly concentrated on other tasks at hand. So, eventually, out came three candles, which served as the ideal focal point. Who needs a fire, anyway?
The group wandered down to the beach and wondered at the stars which were so bright that even though the moon was not up yet, they provided enough light for us to dispense with torches. It did rain overnight, but no-one cared as we all slept on the remnants of the adrenalin rush from such a magnificent day of cycling.
Day 2 — A roadside pedal rebuild gets Linda going again
We packed up next morning without too much urgency and trundled off down the highway headed for Orford. We stopped off at Buxton House to have a look
at the old stables (about twice the size of the house itself), and the old flour mill across the road . These are the sorts of things we pass by in our cars, and perhaps never even register their existence.
A bit further along the Tasman Highway, we diverted on to Saltworks Rd to have morning tea on the shores of Little Swanport bay/lagoon.
We were entertained by the odd mix of grace and clumsiness of the several pelicans. In flight they are graceful. Their take-offs, though, are somewhat haphazard.
Linda was starting to have trouble with her right pedal (protesting at all the attention the Ortleibs were getting, perhaps). When the squeaking become louder, we thought Darby's bike might be suffering also. But, no, Linda was finding it harder and harder to spin as the pedal started crying "Enough!".
A roadside strip down and rebuild revealed the outer ball bearings had dropped out of their races and carved a new channel in the plastic body. We put everything back together as best we could with some grease, and luckily Linda was able to make it all the way on the rest of the trip without further problems or noises. I did most of the work beside the road and astounded a few with how simple the job really was.
Sunday's highlight, however, was stopping at Glenys and Cliff Townsend's home in Orford for what is becoming a traditional home-baked bun and coffee for this tour group. Glenys, who rides all over the East Coast as Orford's branch of the Hobart Walking Club, was a magnificent host and regaled us with plenty of stories. Cliff filled us in on a few of the missing info links about Kalangadoo.
Arrangements were made for them to come around to our barbecue at our overnight stop on a block of land owned by a friend of Darryl's. We'll forget that it was half way up a steep hill. Better to get the climb over at the end of a ride and start the next day downhill, I always say.
Day 3 — On the way home
The barbecue was a great success, and everyone was under canvas by 9.00 pm. We got under way the next morning by riding into Orford and stopping for coffee at the corner café adjacent to the bridge over the Prosser River in Orford. It was not a recommended place based on the service and the poor quality of the beverages (although this might have changed since the writing of this article).
The morning was colder than cool, but we negotiated the Prosser River stretch of the Tasman Highway without dramas from log trucks. This is quite a difficult section because of the steep rockface on one side, a rock wall on the other, and a narrow 1960s-style two-lane road in between. We were delayed by the reconstruction works on the western end, but even so, we made Buckland in good time, and had a better coffee-chocolate break than at Orford.
The weather remained cool and a headwind started. The muscles just did not want to work. Still, we all made it up the Break Me Neck and Bust Me Gall Hills, then headed off via White Kangaroo Rd for the Richmond Bakery to refuel.
At this point, we bade goodbye to Dave, who headed off on the Middle Tea Tree Rd for his Bagdad home, and Darryl, Tony and Linda who went home via Grass Tree Hill.
I eventually let Darby and Clive escape (after five days of riding I had just enough "fuel" to get home without overdoing it) on the Richmond-Cambridge road.
However, the unanimous opinion was: "What a great trip!!!!"
* About those nicknames
It's worth explaining the nicknames mentioned at the start of this story:
© 2001-2006 Rowan Burns — The Cycling Adventurer |
