Day 8 - Tea Gardens to Budgewoi

Distance: 116.2Km's
Pain Factor: 6 out of 10
Magpie attacks: 1
Cow sightings: We're not in Kansas anymore Toto!
Accommodation Highlight: Oh man, bling accommodation compared to what we have been having, but also the most expensive of the journey.

http://www.strava.com/activities/191512799

An interesting day. You win some, you lose some, and today was like a roller coaster in that respect.

But first my guts. They weren't right today. Breakfast bucked the normal trend of a healthy bowl of carbo-rich, energising muesli. I instead doubled up on two of my guilty pleasures - a blueberry muffin and an slice of banana bread. This was only because the muesli option wasn't available that morning. Anyway, that shit must have stuck in my stomach (no pun intended). The only thing that mattered on my body for the first 2 hours of riding was my stomach. I hit a service station about 20kms out of Nelson Bay. I chose (wisely) to hang here for 20mins or so.

Anyway, back to the start of the day. Today was the only flat tyre I had - but even this is a little dubious. Upon leaving the motel I noticed the front tyre was flat. When I changed it, the tyre seemed fine, but we noted the valve was a bit bent. So I am not going to include this as an official "flat".

Today started a little differently. First task of the day was an easy ferry ride from Tea Gardens to Nelson Bay. For those not familiar with the area, you will see, we have a legitimate reason for not riding this bit...

 

The Ferry ride was quite enjoyable and a nice way to start the day. We kept one eye on the sky. I spent the majority of the journey on the phone to Dad.

It was a simple process....

Boat arrives...

 Bikes go on boat....

Boys enjoy boat ride (except for one wanky tourist on board)....

Boys get off boat....

Now. I have already explained the first part of my journey out of Nelson Bay so we will leave it at that except to say...


- I hate Magpies (1 attack)
- I hate the wind (head wind persisted).
- Though a couple of fighter jets overhead (presumably based at Williamstown airport provided a momentary distraction.


So once I solved my bowel issues, the ride into Newcastle was fairly benign. I followed the GPS, but did make an executive decision to ignore it when it was taking me to Stockton, just north of Newcastle, which I knew was a point. I assume the GPS knew of a ferry I didn't. I went around the ports of Newcastle and then started entering Newcastle...

...I should have continued to ignore my GPS and follow that sign to Charlestown, which I knew very well was on the south side of Newcastle and where I needed to go. The arrow shows my "desired" route. The red, where I rode.

Yes, tour de Newcastle. Right through the city, and up every fucking hill the GPS could find to make me go up.

So as a Wollongong boy born and bred, it is my god given right to hate "the other steel city" north of Sydney. I'm sorry Newcastle, but I don't like you - dodgy GPS or not.

I eventually found my way to Darby St, which is the hip place to be street in Newcastle. I was over my 3 hour (must have lunch) mark and my radar was set to cafe. But I was not in the mood for a hipster cafe and rode past all the funky looking ones. Just when I thought I'd missed my chance I saw a rather unassuming place that looked like it had seen better days. I can spot a coffee machine from 200 meters without glasses. "This will do" I thought. I walked in. Dude looked dodgy. Place looked dodgy. A shrine to surfing awesomeness of a time gone by. This however was a lesson. Don't judge something on first impressions. The coffee was awesome. The wrap (complete with fresh cooked chicken) was awesome. And the dude gave me two of his left over hash browns. We got talking. He was fascinated in my adventure (that is, after serving as the 10th person on the trip to ask me if I knew my bike likes were still on - THEY ARE LED's I DON'T CARE!!!). 

I knew what lay ahead of me. The Old Pacific Highway, around Glenrock and up through the hills of Charlestown. I told surfer dude this. A look of "processing" crossed his face. He grabbed his iPad and proceeded to show me the "Fernleigh track". An old train line converted to a bike path he explained (he also told me how he used to ride it with an ex gold medal winning paralympian). "16km's long and it will take you all the way to Belmont", he told me. I am smart enough to know that like me, trains don't like hills, so this was a sure bet. Furthermore, I'd spoken to Santo just 10mins ago. "How many km's have you done?" he asked. From memory I'd done about 62kms. "How many have you done" I asked. "82" was the reply. Now Santo is quicker than me, but my tour de Newcastle put me woefully behind. 

I thanked my new friend and off I went. As usual, lunch was like turbo boost and I felt great. His instructions were sound and I found the Fernleigh track.

Fucking wow. This thing rocked. Now, back at the start of this post I said you win some, you lose some. I have explained my losses today. This was a WIN. Big time. This was one of the most awesome parts of my entire ride from Brisbane to Sydney. I hit it with speed. I had a grin from ear to ear. I was enjoying the ride. Indeed it was a converted train line. None of this roads + cars + trucks + pollution crap. This was smooth riding through what bordered on rainforest. Newcastle, we (Wollongong) have a coastal bike path, but yeah... you win...

The start of the track, which commenced at the Adamstown station - you could still see the train line and crossing from the station that headed off to this line.

This was magic, an old tunnel that I had to ride through...

In several places along the ride, they left evidence of the old railway line, which was an awesome touch...

 Some of the old stations were even left....

It was sad when this track ended (at Belmont) and I had to get back onto Shit (aka Pacific) Highway.

It wasn't so bad though. I got to Swansea in next to no time (another Magpie attack of course). I had to wait for the bridge which was open. And it was about this time I made the fatal assumption that Budgewoi was 10 minutes up the road. WRONG.

The ride to Budgewoi was on the Old Old Pacific Hwy and Old Pacific Hwy. It was mostly "Meh". I was pretty spent, but was in that zone that if I needed to go another 50kms, I could have (the diesel engine was well and truly warmed up). I do not know how I didn't get a puncture on the old Pacific Hwy. There was that much shit and glass on the road it wasn't funny. I could only assume the Kevlar lining in my tyres was doing it's job. I knew there was two ways into Budgewoi, I turned off where I "thought" one way was, but checked with a local who was manicuring his front garden (very helpful I may add). This was a valid way (dodgy locals probably didn't want council to put a direction sign up for fear of the passing through riff raff... like me... taking this route). A toot from a P-plater later (no idea why) and I was in Budge upon Woi. This was motel accommodation and far beyond our normal standards. By far the best accommodation of the trip and the "hefty?" price of $75 each to match. Santo, you did well....

I rode about 10-15km's more than Santo today, thanks to my tour de Newcastle.

The last night of our trip was an enjoyable one. Other than being a bit tired I felt fine. I still resisted the temptation to "get on it" though and indulged in just two glasses of wine. Dinner was a motel room picnic after visiting the local Coles. Sydney was within one day's ride away. I finally felt confident I had this one in the bag...


Oh and it was tonight my weight loss was painfully evident. My jeans were falling down and upon proceeding to tighten the belt, I realised I was already on the smallest hole!


Captain Justin.

Day 7 - Taree to Tea Gardens

Distance: 117Km's
Pain Factor: 8 out of 10
Magpie attacks: Nil
Cow sightings: Unknown, could not verify if they were cows or houses through the driving rain.
Accommodation Highlight: A heater located in the room to dry our sopping wet clothes! Yay!

http://www.strava.com/activities/191512476

Today was an interesting day, as far as rides from Brisbane to Sydney go. As expected, the start was tough after the epic effort the day before. Looked out the window. Skies overcast but no rain. Old man wind; present and accounted for. Fuck him.

We departed and followed the Pacific Hwy. Again I broke the ride up into section. Nabiac, would have been our destination this evening and it was only 30 odd km's down the road. After a start of around 17km/h average, the diesel engine began to warm up and I was up to the more normal 20 to 25km/h soon enough.

About 15km's out of Nabiac, a dude pulled onto the road on a mountain bike from a property up front. He saw me, stopped, then when I passed he pedaled up behind me, and kind of stayed there all the way to Nabiac. He was using me as a wind block to drag him on. Ordinarily after a few km's I would have told him to pull out and take his turn up front. But this was my ride and I wanted to do it completely unassisted (I even declined offers from Santo to drag behind him for a while). Anyway, I eventually forgot about him and next time I turned round he was gone (presumably found his destination). I had no intention on stopping at Nabiac, but I found Santo at a coffee shop on the side of the road taking a phone call, so stopped.

We agreed to keep on to, and meet up at Bulahdelah - a solid 50Km's down the road. All this time the sky got greyer, and greyer and greyer. Trees and trucks were my respite from the rain. 

Just 5km's out of Bulahdelah it began to rain and I stopped at an emergency truck stop to put the rain jacket and pants on. This thus also meaning I had now used everything I packed in the panniers for the ride. The moment of contentment at my packing prowess lasted about 2 or 3 seconds. I inhaled a banana, I dropped an energy tablet and pushed on. The rain was light but just as I pulled into Bulahdelah the heavens really opened.

We had a decent stop at Bulahdelah as there was much contemplating on whether to push on to Tea Gardens - making Tea Gardens would put us a full day ahead of schedule. This was the cause of our (my) anxst:

Yep, look closely and Bulahdelah and Hawks Nest (Tea Gardens) is under there. Somewhere.

While it rained, the wind was manageable. I felt the energy in me to go on. However, my preference was to stick to the Freeway as the intended route added many kilometers and hills. As a result of our experiences outside of Taree, we were armed with the knowledge of what sometimes constitutes roads in these parts. We made inquiries, consulted Google and yep, dirt road (at least to the Ferry crossing - which would have been a cool moment). We unanimously agreed dirt + rain was not good and we would loose too much time so the freeway it was.

Decision made. We kitted up and pushed on. It was pouring with rain already and I got a good hard long look at what looked like a very pub lodgings in Bulahdelah. I resisted.

 

How heavy did it rain you ask. This heavy...

It bucketed down. I was soaked right through to my bone marrow. I wished I had mud gardens, the rooster tails sprayed right up in my eyes. I couldn't see shit through my glasses. I was sure it was going to hail. I could only imagine what the passing drivers thought as they passed me.


I hit the turn off to Tea Gardens - thinking it would be an easy run downhill to the coast. It wasn't. More hills and undulations with one big sucker right before town. I didn't know where Santo got accommodation so I passed through Team Gardens and onto Hawks Nest; only to find he had accomodation back at Tea Gardens. The local pub again, but accommodation bordering more on motel. This photo doesn't do it justice, but I was a drowned rat when I arrived.

...Let the battle to get everything dry for tomorrow begin!

We must have looked a site each evening - both of us with the legs up against the wall was a daily routine (one of many routines that I am sure kept me going).

 The pub grub was great. I indulged in an apple crumble. We even got talking to a family planning on moving here from Queensland.

This happened again outside. Nice to be inside, but we were that wet on arrival, it wouldn't have mattered if we got caught out in it.

Despite two heavy days in a row, I actually felt pretty good this evening. I must have "pushed through it". Oh and I REALLY felt the legs this morning - I could feel the kilometers in them and what I think was minor muscle tearing in the quad's).

Justin - wet & waterlogged.

Day 6 - Kempsey to Taree

Distance: 124.9Km's
Pain Factor: 12 out of 10
Magpie attacks: Nil
Cow sightings: 118 (119 if you count the dead one)
Accommodation Highlight: Fairly benign, and while the shower was nothing fancy it was one of the best I have had (alone) in my life.

http://www.strava.com/activities/191512189

"Roads,  where we're going we don't need roads"

..spoke the great Doc Brown from Back To The Future. And indeed, for the first 20km's out of Kempsey we were on dirt roads and tracks that qualify more as mountain bike tracks. Though they were marked with road signs, and I am sure in these parts they are perfectly good roads. Though, the penny did drop at one stage for me, when I realised my strategy of choosing "bike" when mapping a route on Google maps does not necessarily mean it is for road bikes.

So we followed the GPS out of Kempsey, which took us towards a bridge that we were convinced was just a railway line. As we got closer, Mr GPS got the last laugh; there was indeed a walkway on it. Rattly and VERY dodgy, but a walkway nonetheless. The GPS then took us through some of the finer (not) backstreets of Kempsey, then off-road, then bush-bashing.

This was the motorway we took out of Kempsey, just after the tollway:

This was actually one of the better dirt roads we were on - one of the later ones was more like a mountain bike trail, which when you are on a road bike with 8Kg's worth of pannier luggage, it is not fun.

Unfortunately Santo got a pinch flat front tyre on a downhill dirt section. This was just past the dead cow. As he changed it, I took the opportunity to put the toilet roll I'd carried for the last 3 days to good use. I taught the bush who was boss.

In 2 hours we only covered about 20km's and it became painfully apparent that  most of the road to Comboyne, (our next scheduled stop) would be gravel. We consulted the GPS and phone maps and took evasive action to get back on the main road and make up for lost time. We decided to skip Comboyne and head for Taree. Those 2 hours on dirt, I would later find, drained me a whole lot more than I realised. More depressing is that once we found our way back to the highway, it was only 17km's back to Kempsey!

The headwind was still painfully present, but we found some respite being on the main road. Tree clusters and passing trucks provided most of the protection. Per my strategy, I set small goals; "Get to the Port Macquarie turn off", was a matra I repeated for this next leg of the journey. I made Port and indulged in a quick roadside break (Santo was already way down the road).

Here I am, with my favorite subject matter in the background, proving I really was on a bike, somewhere between Kempsey and Taree. I tend to look like a criminal when I grow facial hair.

I guess long distance cycling can be a lot like jail time. You have a lot of time to think. It was around this time a great revelation came to me. One that had been of great significance to my life over the last 5 or 6 days...

...the Magpie attacks were subsiding.

I deduced this could be attributed to our gradual movement south. Spring had sprung closer to QLD but not yet on the mid-NSW coast. Springtime is new baby bird time, and I could only deduce that the little demons of death had not yet broken forth from their shell cell.

As I was now well and truly aware of, my body needs more than just the "on the move" grazing and the 3 hour mark means I need something more substantial. I pulled off at Kew, approaching 4 hours with NOTHING in the tank. I downed a rather lackluster chicken salad and gulped about 1 litre of water - all while watching that sky and wondering if I was going to pay the price of taking this 20 minute break.

I eventually cocked my leg back over the bike and lumbered on. I wondered if I'd made the right decision to push on from Kew as I felt lousy, but Santo was a long way down the road and I'd committed to Taree. The diesel engine eventually warmed up. I found my cadence and pushed on. The turn off to Taree is a solid 10km out of town and that was the longest 10km of my life.

...The winds picked up.
...It started to spit with rain.
...I was completely spent. I had nothing. I was running on pure desire
...for that warm shower when I hit Taree.

I rolled into town, and the sixth sense kicked in as to which pub Santo chose. I pulled up. I almost fell off the bike in complete exhaustion. This was the single most painful moment of the ride for me. I wondered if I had gone too hard and left nothing for tomorrow.

Oh boy that shower was good. I got in, fully clothed, rested my head against the wall and just stood there for 5 minutes. I eventually undressed and cleaned the kit. Legs up on the bed after this ride was bliss and I was tired. So so tired.

Nonetheless, I dragged myself up and we went for a walk, knowing this was good for me. The Manning River at Taree is quite stunning, though on approach something didn't look right. And, we were right. The river was in slight flood, it had broken its banks and was lapping up over the grass. Don't know if this photo does it justice. Maybe I was just so shagged that anything that didn't involve a bicycle fascinated me. You know, I was SO tired, that in crossing the road I voluntarily chose not to jaywalk in front of oncoming traffic (that on any normal day would not be an issue for a strapping, young & virile beefcake like myself) for fear of not making it in time!

While walking along the river, Santo implanted the seed (in my mind). Pasta for dinner. Today was eat out night (based on our lets not be too predicable rotation of eating in or out).

The place I got my drink of life (aka Coffee) at right across from our lodgings was also an Italian restaurant (with Asian chefs just to keep you guessing). The prices shocked us on first glace - more like Sydney prices! But I didn't care. I could have eaten the ass out of a low flying duck. We ate like kings. I can honestly say this was THE best Italian I have ever eaten at a restaurant. Al dente pasta. Perfect portion size. Just the right level of spice, meat and flavour. Just what the doctor ordered.


Justin out....

Day 5 - Urunga to Kempsey

Distance: 86.9Km's
Pain Factor: 10 out of 10
Magpie attacks: 1 attempted (see below)
Cow sightings: They got blow away
Accommodation Highlight: Picnic dinner on the floor using a towel for a rug closely followed by the first night with our own bathroom.

http://www.strava.com/activities/191511913

The warning was there the night before when I received this Facebook post from my cousin in QLD (while I was showing a toilet in Urunga Pub who is boss - yeah you didn't need to know that, but I thought I'd throw that one in).

...trouble brewing.

I can tell you we didn't catch the rain. But we caught the wind. Oh my o my o my did we catch the wind. Headwinds of at least 50km/h, gusting to cyclonic.

I managed to capture this shot in the nick of time. Trust me, it ended badly....

We tracked along the Pacific Highway, following the Nambucca River to Macksville. 

Look, I managed to catch a good photo of one of those distance signs in it's native habitat. This one had three legs, no doubt as a result of the in-breeding in this area.....

Poor old Macksville bore the brunt of my bowel movements again. Literally a dump and run. In reflection I feel bad, I should have at least bought a Red Bull or something to contribute to the local economy.


It was from Macksville that the wind really picked up. We moved onto the Upper Warrell Rd (which again I think is just an old arm of the Pacific Hwy). It was a picturesque run, overlooking the new Pacific Highway. Unfortunately it was hilly. It was exposed. And it was windy. I began to look longingly at the new highway and wondered if that would have been the better option. To rub salt into the wound my chain wrapped around my rear spokes and I spent 10 minutes trying to get it out. Gloves covered with grease, a snotty nose, wind, hills. It was doom and gloom.

...and it did not get better.

For about the last 25km into Kempsey, it was hell. HELL I tell you! For these 25km there was no respite. It is flat with no trees for wind protection. I had to conjure all my mental and physical energy battling the headwind. In calm conditions, I would have been pedalling at about 25Km/h. With the headwind, I was happy if I could maintain 13km/h. It was darn right depressing the amount of energy I was using only to go so slow.

- The gusts were so strong, sometimes I came to a complete standstiil.
- Shouting vile obscenities at the wind did not seem to help.
- I actually enjoyed the moments a truck passed as they created about a 0.67 second respite from the wind
- A magpie attempted an attack from downwind. The only moment I managed to half crack a smile when it was obvious it's aerial assault was doomed to fail - it could not even fly to me!
- I actually had to stop and recompose myself I was sooooo frustrated. I grabed a banana - it wasn't ripe yet. You know when half the peel stays on the banana. I tossed it into the wind in disgust.

Eventually I made it to Kempsey, where Santo was waiting for me at the McDonald's. I arrived, literally ignored him and matched straight inside for a coffee and muffin. I inhaled those and lay exhausted on the hard Macca's bench.
"We're staying here" I declared. I think deep inside even Super Santo was happy to pull up stumps. While I had some energy left, the amount we were burning to conquer the headwind was a waste. Unfortunately this put us back to par, as the wind took back the 30 odd extra kilometers we stole the day before. Kempsey was where we were scheduled to be tonight.






Again, the first pub with accommodation was suitable. Time had surely forgotten this place, but I must say the hospitality was great. Here we are trying to fit in at the local bar. We were quite aroused by their fine collection of old planers.

We had our own bathroom, but I don't know what I liked more - the stainless steel recess or the boogy-green tiles on the bathroom wall, which were, albeit for a very short period, very hip in a time gone past... I assume.

I'm sorry for the quality of this photo - but here here is our picnic dinner, cheese, dips, chips (and the whips came out later). Keep in mind that this was on the floor of a pub accommodation room - so the towel/rug was an invaluable accessory.We gorged liked kings and it was a good recovery from an extremely tough day's riding.

<Sigh>ning off,
Justin.

Day 4 - Grafton to Urunga

Distance: 119.8Km's
Pain Factor: Started an 8 out of 10, ended a 6 out of 10.
Magpie attacks: Nil
Cow sightings: 18
Accommodation Highlight: Urunga, thought to be a two bit town on the Pacific Hwy that no one stops at was actually really nice. I think we were the only ones staying at the pub, so the entire top floor and shared amenities were ours, all ours, mwhahahaha!

http://www.strava.com/activities/191511610

After strategically preparing our breakfast in the shared kitchen to avoid our over zealous "friend" we sneaked out of our lodgings, and set sail for Coffs harbour. A rough start for me today with the cold appearing to move from head to chest. I was not a happy camper for the first 30 minutes of the ride. I felt down about 20% on energy and the bushman's hanky got a real workout (no doubt Santo got a good running commentary of my condition over the bluetooth headset). Added to that, the ride out of Grafton was up hill for the first 5 for so Km's. Heading out on Armidale Rd, our route was the Orara way to Coramba, then the Coramba Rd would would take us into Coffs.

So I have an obsession with distance signs. So what!? I've had it all my life. I deal with it! I find them a great way of proving where you are and where you are going. And yes, be warned, you will be subjected to more of these in future blogs. The ones above are not all that common; you usually see them just out of town or something. However, "most" of you should know about the little triangular ones that are far more common and are usually spaced in 5Km intervals from the next major town or city. For example "CH 45" - Coffs Harbour, 45km away.

45, 40, 35, 30....

These ones I don't like on a bike. You see, you are going just slow enough to get a good, hard long look at those little fuckers juuuuuust to remind you how long it took you to cover those last 5kms. You have no idea how many times I did those countdowns. Sometimes I swear a number got repeated just to piss me off even more.

For me, today was one of those days where I felt like a diesel engine - hard to start, runs shit cold, but once warmed up it's fine - just don't stop it. So, once I started feeling ok, I was too scared to stop so I just going and the first stint saw me put in a solid 3 hour stint. There were several tiny sleepy villages along this route, Nana Glen, Coramba, and Glenreagh. Glenreagh claim fame to this thing, which I swore was a big dingo on approach, but apparently it is a "Golden Dog". Anyway, the big dog didn't really warrant a stop for me (remember the diesel engine) so here is snap I lifted from a Google Search for you to make your own assessment.

For my non-Aussie fans, a phenomenon swept through Australia in the 60's, 70's and 80's where every town had to have a "big" something, big pineapple, big banana, big merino etc... usually based on a recognition of its local industry and the size of which could be directly correlates to the severeness of the towns inferiority complex.

The phenomenon is well and truly over. But some towns still live the dream and refuse to remove these eyesores. Take a quaint little town just up the hills behind my home town of Wollongong. This place is really nice with hipster cafes and pubs, and it's need for a "big something" has well and truly passed. Yet, still sitting right in the middle of town is their "big potato", which in my book is actually a giant turd. You be the judge.

 ..But I digress.

Time for a few more on the road photos. Here is one looking back into town, just as I'd passed through Coramba:

..And the rig having a rest while I sat and munched a banana looking back into town:

There were some decent hills and undulations towards the end of the ride and I knew I was several hundred meters above sea level. Coffs Harbour is right on the coast (duh) and I found myself longing for each corner to open up to a nice easy ride down to town. This did come, but very abruptly about 3 or 4Km's from Coffs, it lasted about 5 minutes and would be perfectly suited as one of those kamikaze sled board tracks.

Santo and I re-grouped on the outskirts of Coffs Harbour. There was still plenty of time left in the day and a decision needed to be made if we crack on pull up stumps in Coffs. This decision was based mainly around me (and my cold) since SuperSanto probably could have ridden directly to Sydney.

As I was beginning to find, grazing while riding was not enough for me and at the 3-4 hour mark I needed a substantial meal. I had a chicken salad (basic country style) in Coffs and it perked me up no end. Re-energised we pushed on. We followed the GPS map to the coast and road out of Coffs around the airport, down through Sawtell and along the Pine Creek Way (basically the old Pacfic Hwy right next to the new one). Progress and time is a fascinating thing. Along this ride we saw evidence of the very old, old (which we were on) and new Pacific Hwy - 3 upgrades over time. No doubt a fourth will run through at some time in the future.

The sun was shining and the ride out of Coffs was most pleasant, which included a nice ride along the Belinger river and over the old Belinger Bridge. I remember this bridge on our trips to QLD when I was very young. Can you believe this was the main route between Sydney and Brisbane...?

We eventually rolled in Urunga at which point a decision was needed to push on to Nambucca Heads or stop here. There was much to'ing and fro'ing. Eventually a decision was made to go on, until I got 200meters down the road and saw the sky. A quick check of BoM on my phone (gotta love travel in the 2010's) and indeed... trouble brewing. Being a bit careful with the chest cold, I called Santo and declared we were stopping here.


To the passer by, Urunga is not much. You can literally see one riverside cafe and a couple of petrol stations from the <busy> Pacific Hwy. But roll the 1km into town and wow, what a nice little hidden gem. The local pub was again our lodgings of choice. I would actually stay here (in Urunga that is) for a holiday in future. First port of call in Urunga was to switch from the throat cough medicine to the chest cough medicine. I got the usual friendly country help, and the girl was most confused when my only priority was a plastic bottle (which I later explained was because I had to carry the bastard on a bike and didn't want the weight of glass). I enjoyed the night in Urunga. A great big pub meal, Kookaburra and Kangaroo sightings a plenty and a great walk along this massive long wooden walkway across the marshland out to the ocean. Up, Up, Urunga!

(I took photos of the 4 or 5 Kangaroo's we saw gracing on the above walk, but yeah, like the Internet needs more photos of Kangafuckingroos).

I am, you are, we are Urunga!
Justin.

Day 3 - Casino to Grafton

Distance: 101.8Km's
Pain Factor: 7 out of 10.
Magpie attacks:1
Cow sightings: 243
Accommodation Highlight: Tie between the overly friendly SIX MONTH resident of the pub or the awesome staircase out back, bathed in sunshine that allowed us to dry our riding clothes in about an hour flat.

http://www.strava.com/activities/191510971

We were far enough into the trip now that routines were starting to form:

- The daily battle to wash and dry our riding kit in time.
- Santo regularly arriving in town first, thus becoming the accomodation scout.
- The unpacking and strategic re-packing of our pannier bags.
- The daily "charge-off" - an attempt to charge multiple lights, Garmins, headsets and phones off the feeble few power points our luxuriously challenged lodgings would prove us.

A few routines we alternated, just to keep things real spicy, like eating in and out on alternating nights...

Anyway today, navigation wise, was pretty straightforward - a direct southerly run down the Summerland Way. A mildly undulating run, with limited <and very accomodating> traffic. Average speed was relatively high. 101.7 of the 101.8km was on the Summerland way. I couldn't get this song out of my head the whole way (watch it if you know what is good for you!)

Muppets - Moving Right Along

...Sweaty selfie on the Summerland Way - Sydney bound, somewhere between Casino and Grafton:

 

 And here are some totally non-staged photos of us, not far out from Casino:

Mixed dried fruit and nuts, stashed in the back pocket of my cycling jersey became my staple ride diet. Unfortunately, I accidentally bought the kind with white chocolate buttons in it. With experience comes wisdom, and I can tell you that chocolate does not cope well in ones sweaty back jersey pocket. Thus I was resigned to the activity of separating them out each evening. This became a nightly ritual of mine, such that when that supply ran out and I bought a fruit and nut mix only, I had a feeling of emptiness when the separation activity was no longer required.

Here is a photo of me separating the white chocolate buttons ready for feeding to my pet Santo. 

A well earned coffee and fizzy bubblech at the end of the ride:

 




Vertical signage in a state of disrepair - a fail-safe of acceptable lodgings for two boys and their bikes:

And a sighting of the common "Santo" known to occupy the hallowed hallways of such lodgings:

Fuzzy Bear Justin.

 

Day 2 - Beaudesert to Casino

Distance: 129.6Kms
Pain Factor: 8 out of 10.
Magpie attacks: 5
Cow sightings: 4857
Accommodation Highlight: The massive old school pub veranda our $30 each a night room opened up onto.

http://www.strava.com/activities/191510971

<<begin rant>>
Fuck you Magpies. There, I said it. Useless rats with wings. Do you stupid, uninteresting, black and white oxygen thieves really think I give a shit about your babies in your nest? I'm on a bike. I'm not stopping, so leave me the fuck alone.
<<end rant>>

5 Magpie attacks today. Though these must be lazy northern country magpies that had perhaps had too many XXXX's the night before, since they did not actually "get me", rather fluttered and flew around my head in a "threatening" way. Little did they know I had a weapon on my side. The sun and my shadow. I could see the stupid feather covered lumps of turd approaching just by looking at my (and their) shadow on the road. Thank you Mr Shadow.

Anyway, today was the border crossing from Queensland to New South Wales. Though it would seem us New South Welshmen are not welcoming of Queenslander's as rather than a "Welcome" sign, there were a about 3 cameras. Given that it was a very quiet country I could accept the lack of a welcome sign, but the cameras? I could only assume this is a well known point for illegal border hops?

Here is the entry point facing back into Queensland:

And here, the view of people trying to enter NSW:

My journey took me along the Mount Lindsay Highway in what was a relatively smooth sailing journey (bar Magpie attacks). The journey started in it's usual way with chit chat over the bluetooth headsets between Santo and I. As usual though, SuperSanto gradually pulled away and I was soon greeted with the crackings of a faint bluetooth reception so it was music time. It was around this time that the oddities in our Garmin's (despite being loaded with the same routes) sunk their first blow. At a little town called Rathdowney I noted the distance on the road side signs to my next "if I'm having a heart attack stop here" town, Kyogle, was a solid 30km more than anticipated. Realising I should have taken a turn further back, I discovered an option from Rathdowney to get onto this road and cut out the extra 30km's. I inquired of the route of two old ladies working in a petrol station, who after laughing at what I was about to attempt said "that way is shorter, but more hilly". I made the quick assessment that hills in old lady terms were mere mole hills for a strapping young lad like myself and I was on my way.

..I soon discovered the old ladies were right. One hill even had a warning sign indicating a 19% grade for 1.5kms. With a bike weighing nearly 20Kg's, I admit I walked that bad boy.

Today was a big day, 129.6km's crossing over the border ranges with 1231m of vertical climb. Unfortunately, Santo was already too far down the Mount Lindsay Highway and covered over 155km today. I actually found Running Creek Rd and Lyons Rd (where I crossed into NSW) quite a highlight of the trip, it was about as country as you get with meandering road, open fields, woodlands, forests and those cattle grates on the road, so good for a road bike without suspension!

 Other highlights of the day include:

 - a chain rapped around the spokes in the middle of woop woop that took 5 minutes and a sinking feeling of disaster to repair.
- A chinese-come-Thai-come-Chinese-come-Thai restaurant with an identity crisis which turned out to be not so bad.
- It was a Sunday so the moto's were out in force (all willing to give me a wave)
- Minor cramping (which I was shocked to learn later would be the only case of which on the entire journey).
- A cafe in Kyogle that could easily fit in to a hipster suburb in Sydney - great coffee and a brown rice, pumpkin and kale salad that rocked!

Leaving Beaudesert (and sadly Bo Jenkins) behind:

Border ranges national park:

On the Summerland Way (I was on the reserve tank at this point):

Justin "Summerland" Saunders.