Yes, Tony Cook led the way on yet another highly successful Tour de Tamar, albeit without trusty partner Linda at his side. Linda elected to stay home for the first time in nobody-knows-how-many rides to recuperate from her first round of chemo-therapy for breast cancer. Everyone wishes her all the best on her personal ride to recovery.

I thought I would take an extra day and make my way north independently and by bicycle by making it as far as I could on the Friday then have a short hop, skip and jump to the official start at Evandale.

Alas, it became obvious on the Friday afternoon that the wind gods were not going to blow any goodwill this weekend. I strained a ligament on the outside of my right knee climbing up the Mud Wall (Mudwalls Rd hill), so all in all, I decided to stop at the Oatlands YHA. The hostel is an interesting time warp back to the mid-1980s, run by a woman called Marj. I called in here, too, on my return from Perth in 1997. It even had an old sewing machine that made quick work of repairs to seams on the insides of the thighs of both my bike shorts.

I got back on the road reasonably early the next morning, but way, way behind schedule. The hop-skip-jump had now become a yawning chasm of about 110km. Oh well, I knew my contingency plan had some hope of working. Let's see… Daniel Murphy or Darby Munro were just as likely to pass by in their cars and offer a poor, bedraggled rider a lift.

Sure enough, the plan worked, and about 20km after Oatlands, Daniel's yellow station wagon pulled up ahead. In went the bike and panniers and off we went to Evandale, with the obligatory stop at the Campbell Town bakery thrown in for good measure.

The starting point for the ride was Kevin McBain's place on the outskirts of Evandale. Kevin is owner of McBains Cycles and is a great friend of Tony's from their days in bike racing. He is not a touring cyclist, but does permit people on Tony's Tamar Tours to park their cars at his home for the duration.

The group ended up being yours truly, resident wine expert Darby Munro, Tony Cook of course, Daniel Murphy giving faithful old Christies Blue a workout, Kevin Dunn joining us for the first time, Annie Fowles, also a first-timer (just to find out if she would like extended, self-supported touring), Clive Jackson about to show us just how damned tour-hardened he has become, Dave (DC) Tucker getting I shape for his new bush job, and Chris and Mary Rathbone rounding off the Peloton of Ten.

By this stage, the wind had really picked up from the north-north-west, so an executive decision was made to slide into the ride rather than attack it… we all headed for the Evandale Bakery just around the corner. Evandale, by the way, is the venue for the annual World Penny Farthing Championships.

After about 30 minutes, and the inevitable push into the headwind had to be faced. The paceline set forth, and headed for Launceston through Kings Meadows. Surprisingly, the Saturday lunch-time traffic wasn't too bad, and we were on to the West Tamar Highway in what seemed no time. It was hard work against the wind, but we eventually made it to Rosevears and the first couple of wineries.

There are no names mentioned for obvious reasons, but the first winery was an out-and-out tourist trap that had staff behind the counter not old enough to know how to drink wine, let alone advise on its quality, and wine which was, well, not among Tasmania's elite. And, those who partook had to pay for the elusive pleasure!

The second winery was far more to everyone's liking, with a television even appearing from nowhere to entertain those suffering from AFL grand-final-day withdrawal. Notably, however, both these wineries were on the side of some hugely steep hills. The show-offs made it to the top without a break in pedalling; the others wandered in pushing their bikes. Annie dumped hers at the bottom of the hill at the second winery and walked.

With just about everyone fortified, we rolled back to the bitumen, continued north along Tamar River, and ended up at Paper Beach. Tony, Daniel and I, as the three hardiest adventurers continued further to seek out the ruins of an old flour mill on the banks of the Supply River, then skirted back along the foreshore walking track to the beach.

The local council obviously had heard we were coming, because it erected "No Camping" signs near the toilet block — an entirely undesirable place to be. Around the corner, though, was a beaut spot that was flat, grassy, and right on the water's edge, with water tap close by, and no "No Camping" signs. The tents were up and Trangias on the go with nary a wink of the eye. We don't need signs to tell us where the best camping spots are!

The wind seemed to die right away, and with clear skies and a few stray snores wafting across the moonlight, everyone had a good night's sleep.

The next morning (Sunday) dawned OK. There was a light wind, and after breakfast we were on the road 30 minutes before our scheduled departure time of 8.30. There was a brief shower to encourage riders to don jackets which were peeled off again a short time later.

We skirted along the shoreline under the Batman Bridge and headed north to Beauty Point and the wineries in between. First up was Holm Oak, a delightful spot, then Tamar Ridge, Joe Cromy's masterpiece in economies of scale. Those who tasted the Tamar Ridge wines also were impressed. At least the winery wasn't located at the top of a steep hill.

[Cromy, a European immigrant, made his money in butcheries, and on retirement bought the Tamar Ridge property, planted vines, and built a large winery. I think in the year after our visit, Cromy sold Tamar Ridge of a large conglomerate, and I haven't been back since because of that.]

We trundled into Beaconsfield for lunch at one of the local hotels. The counter meals were of excellent value. It seems you have to go to the country these days to get good old-fashioned huge servings of meat, vegies, salad and the trimmings. Vegetarians, block your eyes now… the mixed grill comes highly recommended!

No-one departed complaining… except maybe a Hardly Davidson rider; probably because an oil line had come adrift from his machine, and I counted about 10 people (me included) ask him if it was his bike out front and did he know about the huge pool of oil under it. There were no such serious mechanical problems for hardy touring cyclists!

We stopped off in Beauty Point, ostensibly to have a look at Seahorse World. But with a $15-per-person entry fee, we passed. It seemed too expensive with not really that much to see. I mean, just how much of a tourism feature can you build around a seahorse breeding facility. Someone quite rightly made the point that if it was $5, the business would have netted $50 because we all would have gone in; in the end, it got nothing. Seahorse World eventually went into receivership, so our perceptions obviously were similar to those of other visitors.

My plan was to stock up with dinner supplies at Kelso, but the takeaway shop was poorly stocked, and everything was behind glass. The restocking plan was put on hold in the hope that Greens Beach would offer better returns. Fortunately, it did, with a friendly, well-stocked little shop.

We headed out to West Head to locate a campsite. Tony was most concerned that we find a spot where we would be safe from the local young crowd making mischief on a Sunday night ("bogans" is how he describes them). We tried along the old she-oak forest on the ridge, but there was nothing really suitable, so we opted for the cleared sites at the bottom of the hill, and organised a "watch" for the local yokels.

The air was electric — literally — by the time darkness came. Rain and thunder and lightning followed. Darby pulled out a tarp which he strung up between the trees and provided some shelter from the vertical elements. A few glasses of wine were sipped by all, although a cask of white bought from the Rosevears Hotel seemed particularly unpopular. More about that later!

With the lightning show on its way, the group decided to walk along the beach. After a bit of rock-hopping (quite difficult in the dark with a small torch), we eventually made the beach and watched the amazing sights of lightning forks spread right across Bass Strait. It was truly incredible. Well worth the $15 Seahorse World would have charged us to watch! Then it rained. Hard. Tropical rainstorm type of rain. For all of four minutes.

We made our way back to the campsite, drenched. We arranged ourselves under Darby's tarp, which was quite humorous in a way — we already were soaked through and we were protecting ourselves from the rain. Oh well.

Then, sure enough, Greens Beach's young brigade stirred to life. A Lite-Ace van with four locals pulled into the car park. They got out, oblivious to our existence and went up to West Head to catch the last of the light show. They came back shortly afterwards, climbed into their van, circled the car park and suddenly their headlights lit up a group of spectators, all lined up and intently watching their every move… much like fans in a grandstand at the football. Needless to say, the van scarpered out of there very quickly!

Well, Monday brought the wind again, but this time it would be on our tails all the way back to Evandale. Wow! Two days of hard work for one day of pleasure, riding at 35 to 40 km/h on the flat!

We set course on the West Tamar Highway and broke naturally into three groups: The B-Team, the A-Team and the Pro-Team. The Pro-Team (Tony, Clive and Darby) dashed off into the distance. The B-Team (me, Daniel and Dave) dropped off the back of the Pros after about 20km. The B-Team (Kevin, Mary, Chris and Annie) brought up the rear at a much more casual and saner rate.

But the pressure must have really been on out front, because this was the day when Tony showed very definite signs of sweating with big swathes of moisture in his armpits. We all gasped: "He's human, after all". And to top that off, Daniel surprised all by shading out Tony on the climb out of Kings Meadows. Having said all that, though, I must point out that there are regular stops to regroup and do a head count - in fact, every half hour or so, unless a coffee shop beckons a little further along the road. No-one has got lost at any time on any of the group rides I have done with the Salamanca group using this stop-and-wait policy.

On packing up in the morning, someone checked the date on the rather dreadful cask of white wine. Packed February 2000. That made it well over 18 months old. That means oxidation. That means yuk!

We halted at Rosevears Hotel where the culprit cask was bought, and Darby put his wine knowledge to work to negotiate a replacement cask for the one that was off (I can attest to how off after a putrid half-mouthful at Paper Beach). Darby walked out with a red cask in hand, hugely pleased with his negotiation skills.

"What's the date on the cask, Darby?" someone called.

"Er, er, February 2000… oh…"

He went back inside, and came out a few minutes later with a cask with a date that at least had 2001 in it. Darby was to relive this little adventure a few nights later at his local Rotary Club meeting, costing him a fine or two in true Rotarian tradition.

It really was a great run back into Launceston. I don't know what the average was, but it must have ranged between 17km/h for the B-Team through to 25km/h for the Pro-Team. We stopped for fuel at McDonald's, the antithesis of everything cycling, but heck, we deserved the rewards a Big M, fries, a Flurry and a Shake can bring.

A reminder of just how we had benefited from the wind on this day came when we turned west at Evandale on to the road to Kevin McBain's house at Evandale. It was right into the teeth of a howling gale.

Back to Trip Links

Top of Page