Countryside Riding

The forecast has been for rain, and a lot of rain. Heavy showers, the forecast said, so we are seeking cover for a few days, where we can rest our legs and enjoy being still for a few days. Deloraine is our goal, so we set out from a few days rest by the lake.

To Sheffield

We had been told that it was mostly downhill to the lake from Sheffield, and it was not; it was a mixture of down and up hills, ending with a 5 downhill at the end. It was a marvellous ride, descending to the lake, which is why we had decided two nights, because when we left we would have to ride up the same 5km hill.

It has taken us until midday to be ready to leave. Our excuse is that there is no deadline to checkout, like at a caravan park, but the real reason is that we are dreading riding up the hill. Collectively dragging out feet, if you will. Now that our panniers are packed, and our bikes are loaded, we have run out of excuses. It is time to ride.

It is a gentle ride for the first 3km, the road winds, with wide bends, around farm land and past a winery (only open on weekends) and below trees that hang over the road. We cycle past some council workers, fixing the road, who give us a smile and some small encouragement, remembering us from the camp ground below.

Ezekiel and Levi have disappeared around several bends, they want to conquer this hill, aiming for the entire ride with out any stops (Levi stopped once, and Ezekiel twice). No need for encouraging our boys on the hills, the challenge before them is all the encouragement they need. I am sure they are out looking for Bragging Points.

I asked Ezekiel, afterwards, what he remembered of the hill, he said "Easier than I thought it would be. A lot easier. Hard and tough. But easier than I thought it would be."

I asked him to close his eyes and remember:

"The first part was bush that looked like jungle, the second but was just through farms.

"Blackberries by the side of the road. A fruit tree. Farm lands, animals, houses, trees. Lots of road kill."

The second part of the hill was tough. About 2km of gradient that pitched between 8 and 12%. Sticking to a steep grade for the last 1/2km, it didn't quit but Jacqui and I did, the weight of all our gear making us use our feet, rather than wheels. I even asked Joash to walk beside me, just to lighten the load.

The sticky roads, returning to Sheffield were made easier by the thought of camp for the night. Once in Sheffield we stocked up on food, walked the streets to see some of the murals, and setup camp on the Tasman Trail.

Downhill to Deloraine

We were told that the road from Sheffield to Deloraine was "mostly downhill", and it was downhill on some bits, in other bits there was some steep hills that separated our cycling caravan. The hills were less severe than we have ridden before, so while there is a small amount of whining, we all change gears and get to the top.

Once we are beside the river the hills disappear, and the road follows the valley, flowing with gentle slopes, with the steep gradients rising beside the road, so we do not have to ride them.

The road passes some small houses, cracked walls, slanted porches, with vines creeping from the ground to cover a steep-pitched roof. A man stands in the doorway and waves as we ride past, members of our caravan waving back.

We turn right and head over a bridge to Kimberly, our stop for lunch at the warm springs.

Warm Springs

Water. My family loves anything to do with water. Waves at the beach, jetties in a lake, or thermal warmed springs. As we found today's lunch stop, thermal warmed springs make an excellent swimming spot.

Just off the main through road, from Latrobe toward Elizabeth Town, there is the small town of Kimberly. No shops, just houses, a Telstra exchange, and some warm springs, down a small street and off the path a little-ways.

The water is calm, an odd coloured sludge sits on the water's surface, and a smell of warmed sludge that is not too overpowering. Through the crystal clear water we can see the plant life growing below the surface, and the two springs, bubbling like a gentle simmer, pushing puffs of sand out as the water rises.

Bike shorts come off and everyone gets in. The water is warm, not hot. The older boys drift into a deeper part of the thermal pool, daring each other to be the first to get to the spring. Surprise sounds come from their mouths as they feel the odd sensation of the moving sand, and before long all three of them are playing games in the water.

The swim is refreshing, the warm water and the summer sun, after a morning ride, was perfect preparation for the afternoon on heavy roads, which included: an elderly couple who stopped to take photos of us riding past; riding on the main highway (which was buzzing with trucks going fast); stopping for ice cream after a big hill.

Deloraine

I cannot ride ride a hill without thinking about going back up it, so it is unnerving to be descending into Deloraine, the road is at a steep pitch, and we are braking while going downwards. I almost stop to make sure we are heading in the right direction, just to make doubly sure we didn’t have to ride up it.

The grass is green. The trees sit below huge trunks, green leaves blowing in the breeze. The street is busy with cars driving up and down the roads. A steep decent down to the caravan park is lined with old houses, and big trees, the brown we have been so familiar with, riding along country roads, has been replaced by bright green.

The caravan is park is along the river. A slow flowing, and wide river passes right in front of our camp. Ducks waddle up to greet us, probably wanting food, their loud noises and friendly manor show they have been around lots of people before. The children feed them apple cores, and are surprised when they are eaten so quickly.

Kentish Park: Just beyond West Kentish

The road down to the lake is beautiful. Trees stand tall above the road on one side, and on the other the land drops away into damns and driveways, to houses and horses. Over the far side, where I would guess the lake is, the hills rise up again, trees tall and dark, gradually fade to a hazy blue as they meander toward the horizon, where the hills eventually stop.

We arrive at the lake at dusk, the sun has fallen below the hills and we need to hustle to get our tents setup, but before we do we stand and look around at the place we have cycled to. Trees grow tall from the dry ground, moss grows under bushy trees, where the sun doesn't shine. The road leading past the boat ramps and through to the higher camping grounds is edged by one hill, littered with small camp fire marks that have been burnt into the grass, indicating people camped here before. The higher camping grounds, which are accessible by steep, gravel roads, are too far away from amenities.

We turn our backs to the camping ground and look to the lake, it is flat, a light breeze blowing ripples across the surface, which is reflecting the tall trees and houses that are on the opposite bank. Two jetties reach into the water, floating on the surface, the boys have already stated their intentions of jumping off the end, and we have not yet got our tent setup.

It is time to hustle and beat the oncoming dark. Setup tents, organise dinner and look forward to swimming tomorrow.

Friends and Shared Experiences

We always meet interesting people when we are travelling. We have chatted to brave locals who have come up to chat to us, usually they had seen us riding about and were curious enough to ask questions, we are hard to miss. "What were you thinking?" they ask, trying to understand why we are cycling.

I say “It seemed like a good idea.”

Without fail, they add “At the time?”. I shrug, nope, not really. “It seemed like a good idea” is my answer, because even after riding about in Tasmania we still think it A Good Idea.

Other people understand why we are cycling, these include other cycling tourists. I met Jeremy and Faustine while getting groceries in Sheffield, they rode into town, bikes under the familiar load of Ortlieb panniers. I chased them down and asked where they were heading. They were heading to the same campsite we were staying at. It was a great joy to see them arrive in the afternoon, after I had returned with the food, while having a swim, and they walked out onto the jetty and said "Hi."

We shared an evening meal with them, talking about their travels, our travels, the roads and places we had all seen. They had been riding in New Zealand, then Sydney, a road trip through central Australia, and had been at least a month in Tasmania, on bikes. We always seem to meet warm and kindhearted people on the road, Jeremy and Faustine are two more to add onto our list of Road Tripping Friends.

It makes me wonder why I do not talk to people in my home town. I don't know if I would approach a stranger with loaded panniers just while I was shopping. I would like to think I had to courage to do so, now we have joined “The Club”.

Relax and Unwind

Our two days by the lake is wonderful. The sun shines on the water, there is not much wind creating a stunning view, that is interrupted by a few people launching boats for water skiing or fishing. The view returns to normal once they disappear around the corner to explore places on the lake we cannot see.

While not swimming the boys play games with sticks, and a game they made up called "Ninja". Joash and Elijah dig in the red clay, their shorts are forever stained with the red sand from sliding, and etching and digging, with tent pegs they found, in the red clay and brown grass. Adeline potters about between games, or sitting with mum, she flips characters like Jekyll and Hyde, going from nice Adeline who helps us cook dinner to "bored" Adeline, who throws whatever she can get her hands on.

We take a break from riding after a couple of days, taking care to listen to our legs and minds, so we don't wear everyone out. Being happy, and making sure the children are happy, is something we make sure to focus on. We could "crack the whip" and ride a long distance, but that has never been the aim of our trip. So, while we are here, by the lake, we will enjoy the view, the swimming, new friends, camp cooked food and quiet days as much as we can.

Not Tired Yet

The boys are in their tent talking about far future adventures. One suggests that they are going to find a sponsor, then find an old bike - the oldest bike with pedals - and then ride around the world on it. "I guess they are not sick and tired of riding their bikes, just yet." I think to myself.

As the elevator man said… “Going Up!”

The road side is littered with bottles, papers, with cans and wrapped from fast food restraints. Dead wildlife, wallabies, birds, including a dead kookaburra. All signs that humans have forged a pathway between two towns. There is no shoulder to ride on, so we squeeze as close to the gravel as we dare, hugging the edge whiles cars and trucks race past, some more patient than others.

The road is winding, round long bends that pass between trees. Up sloping hills and down the other side, twisting away from us as we follow, never knowing what to expect around the next bend. The scenery is changing, the dry grass replaced with trees.

Pines tower above us, as the plantation falls into the valley below. Continuing up the hill, above us on the left, are gum trees, their slender, white trunks holding grey-green leaves in the sky. Behind me Levi and Ezekiel talk about the Tree War, Gums against Pines, lined up in rank and file to set against each other. The road and the power cables keep them apart. Who will win? I guess time will tell as the lines converge - which will not happen while humans have separated the Lines with power and road.

Jacqui keeps on lamenting about Tasmania not having passenger railways. We are stopped for lunch at Railton and two freight trains go past, "How I wish that Tasmania had passenger trains. We would definitely take it somewhere." She says, her legs are not looking forward to the afternoons ride. The clouds have blown past to give us another warm day, the sun shining down upon us.

Then we go up

The boys are riding well. We have not ridden much back at home, just short rides to the shops and to Pa and Ma's house, sometimes we ventured out on a longer ride, down to the beach for a swim, or into Geelong for some clothes. Riding in a hilly terrain was uncertain for all of us, especially with all of the gear we have to carry. Considering the kilometers we have done, and the hills we have climbed everyone is riding well.

As soon as the road pitches upward we all find what will work for us, and then stick at it. We all have different experience and skills in bike riding, so we do not expect everyone to stay together on a big hill, but at certain points of the hill, or at the top, we will wait and catch our breath together, oftentimes cheering for those who come up at the end. Touring and going up hills is not about speed, it is about sharing the same experience, at our own pace, and arriving at our camp for the night at the same time.

This afternoons hill snakes it way through plantation trees. At the bottom the winding, narrow road is lined with towering pines. As the hill nears the top the view changes to empty, bare hills, with stumps and trunks scattered over the hills, the empty patches encrusted with wood shavings from where the tree have been cut.

Ezekiel and I have found a nice patch of shade to stop in, I take a drink and see Elijah and Adeline asleep in the trailer. Zeke jumps down and picks some blackberries from the bush that has grown on the fence. They taste sweeter than the ones back near our house. Levi joins us, riding up from behind us and samples the berries as well. We talk about the logging and how disappointing the view is now and agree how magnificent it would be if we could still overlook a forest of pines.

We set off again, up the hill and around a corner. The top has some wonderful shade, which we stand under and talk while Jacqui, Joash and Nathanael go through their own pain to get to the top.

What the Car Drivers Say...

Never trust a car drivers opinion of the hills. Google maps will give you an indication to the gradients, Strava is more accurate. Talking to cyclist is helpful, and talking to touring cyclists, who have ridden the roads, is the best way to gather terrain information. But car drivers enjoy the hills in a different fashion to bike riders.

The ladies at the information centre told us it was mostly downhill to our camp ground, 14 kilometers away from the town where we brought groceries. It sounded like a great ride, but it was not.

The road leaves the town down a hill, and turns into West Kentish Road. West Kentish Road flows like ribbon, laid over the hills of three valleys, up and down, and up and down, and up and down. We had ridden up a long climb to get into Sheffield and then had to press through the hard roads, as the wind blew colder and colder. Our bellies crying for food, our legs sapped for strength, creating on difficult hill only to see the road descend into a valley, and rise on an even steeper slope on the other side.

The boys don't complain, instead, they cheer each other on the charge forward, racing down the hill and then find a groove on the ascending roads. Their eagerness is encouraging.

As we walk our heavy loads up the last climb of the day, a short hill that is more than 10% for 400 meters, we are met by a farmer who is outside working. He informs us that it is only 5kms to camp, and all of it is down hill, but "All of it is up hill on the way back." After a short chat about our story we ride down, the boys relishing the road, every twist and turn as we fall onto the lake to setup camp.

On Concessions and Consequences

From Port Sorell and around the river is Narawanpatu National Park, a place that Jacqui would really like to go, a place with animals of all kinds to see in their natural habitat. For myself, I have a few issues with going off around to the park and the planned journey afterwards. We had a few discussions about it, trying to understand our points of view. It is not going so well.

Frustrated conversations. Heated explanations. Jacqui wants to go because it was one of the top three national parks in Tasmania. I don't want to go because it is a few days without civilisation, on roads we don't know, where we would have to carry food and water. I think it is too much, too soon. Jacqui thinks it will be beautiful, so it would all be worth it.

We look over maps. We investigate the gradients and the hills we have to climb. After a long day riding our legs feel dead, combined with the information of distance and gradients the path to the national park seems too difficult. Not so much the getting there, but the where we will go after. Even going another way towards the east coast seems daunting, and “just like that” we seem all out of places to go.

After some thinking, Jacqui suggests another route, back to Devonport and through to Sheffield. It is a plan we both seem at ease with, heading toward some nice towns, with some historic places to see around that area.

So we ride again

They say the air in Tasmania is fresh and clean, and you can notice it as well.

Heart thumping in my chest as we climb up another hill, the gradient reading on the GPS says "4%" after climbing up a 6-8 percent grade. Legs ache and we continue to push, Joash is yapping in the bike carriage, playing a game with some Zoobs, and Adeline has finally fallen asleep, her head tilted against the plastic window. I take a huge gulp of air, my muscles relax as I let the air flow out; yes, the air is certainly fresh and clean in Tasmania.

It was a long climb out of Port Sorell with all our gear, and Zeke and I are waiting at the top looking back toward the national park, and out over hills towards Devonport, which we still cannot see. We can see the others, coming up toward the top of the hill. We climb as we can, going up hills at our own pace. We do not fight for first place, we just fight to get to the top.

The wind is pressing against us for the ride back toward Devonport. Pushing us back from where we started, like the wind was willing us to stay on the coast. We ride into the wind, savouring the down hills and pressing through the ups. The wind blows, from any direction to slow us down. We see the water, as we crest the top of hills, the wind is blowing with nothing to stop or slow it from the northern coast.

The sun beats down against the tarmac, the heat bouncing and hitting us from all angles. The shade, which there is plenty, was taunting us from the other side of the road, the sun not low enough to coax the shadows over to our side where we are riding. A sheen of sweat coats our skin and when the wind blows it keeps us cool, and it also works against us.

Elijah, who has been on the tag-along bike first up this morning, tells Jacqui, "Always, we are going up or down."

Say Sorry, One More Time

I will forever be sorry for my next mistake, and Jacqui will probably not let me live it down, either. I have a good reason for my decisions, but it doesn't make up for all the hills we have had to ride, when we didn’t need to, after riding up hills all morning. I could be certain that this will become a choice I made that will come up in future arguments, and used against me.

At home, the water is southward from our house, and while I know that east and west are still the same direction, I have been disoriented since our arrival in Tasmania. We have ridden with the Tasman Sea to our right, and while I thought we were riding east, we were actually going west. This is important because of the location of East Devonport.

There is a sign at the roundabout that points to East Devonport and another that points to Devonport City. I check the map, a blue line leads us around the roundabout to the left, up a hill, and to Devonport City. So I lead off to the left, just like the map says, and I do not go to East Devonport, because that is on the wrong side of the Mersey River (at least in my disoriented mind it is).

Jacqui yells out, but I have checked the map and I am sure this is the way to go. If only I had known we were heading for East Devonport. We are riding up another hill, Jacqui is at the back planning on how hard to kick me in the shins.

Just so you know, the road to East Devonport rolls along the coast, has no hills, and would suit out tired legs. The way I have lead (or followed) climbs two short and steep hills to get us to the same place. The Same Place.

Finally, after a long morning of riding, and two unessecary hills, we roll down into East Devonport. Nathanael looks down the hill, turns to Jacqui, and says "This makes it all worth it."

Jacqui looks back at him, and through gritted teeth, and with a angry hiss says "No it doesn't." It also doesn’t help that we were not going to the National Park, and that was because of me, too.

Luckily for us (me, lucky for me) we meet a new friend at the shop where we are buying lunch. She chats to Jacqui about our future path and points us down the road we should ride, with less hills.

Return to Latrobe

It feels strange to return to a town we bypassed a few days ago. I never thought we would get back to Latrobe, but with our changing schedule, we have found an easy camp for the night.

As I set off to find food, Jacqui takes the boys down to the old wharf for a swim. It is a wonderful location, the estuary from the Mersey River runs right down here, and a deep part of water is inviting the boys for a swim. To add some fun to a great swimming hole, some people that our boys had been playing with at Port Sorell had a family day down at the same park and were already jumping into the river.

A bridge that crosses the river is a jumping platform, as long as the boys check for kyaks and canoes first. The old wharf is a jumping platform, a quick run, a small leap and a big splash into the refreshing water.

More than an hour was spent jumping, and yelling and splashing about in the water. It was a great way to finish a long day, but may not have been the best way to rest for tomorrow. Though sometimes, while it is not resting, forgetting about tomorrow is the best kind of rest.

Port Sorell Noodles

Sometimes what you need is a quick and easy meal that brings joy when you think about eating it. Tonight we felt like noodles, as it was the first time we have made them, we thought we would share the recipe, named after the town where we first enjoyed them.

Also note these meals are to be enjoyed by two adults and six hungry children. You can adjust to suit for any number of people.

Ingredients

• 15 Packets of Instant Noodles with no seasoning
• 2 Cans of chicken or tuna
• 1 Onion
• 4 Cloves of Garlic (adjust as needed, we had two children with runny noses, so we added a little more)
• Small Amount Ginger
• Dribble Olive Oil
• 2 Liters of Water
• 2 Pak Choy or Bok Choy

Preparation

1. Crush and roughly chop the Garlic and Ginger. Slice the Onion into strips.
2. Put a dash of olive oil into a pan and put the Garlic, Ginger and Onion into a pan on low until they are browned.
3. Add the two cans of chicken or tuna. Use Sweet Chilli flavoured chicken to add extra spice. Turn up the stove to give it more heat.
4. Pour in the water. We needed about 3/4 full so when we added the noodles it would mostly cover them.
5. As the water heats cut up the Bok Choy and add that into the pot.
6. Add the noodles, enough to fill the pot.
7. Bring water to the boil and cook the noodles.

Once served, stand back because the hungry hordes come flocking in for their feed.

Seconds

The wonderful thing about this dish, is that we used half of the noodles for the first serve, so we just topped up the pot and kept on cooking.

1. To the left over soup add more Garlic and Ginger.
2. Add more water and another can of Chicken, if you have it.
3. Tell the hungry children that seconds will be ready soon.
4. More Noodles into the pot.
5. As it slowly cooks on the small portable fire, tell the children it will be ready soon.

Again serve and watch them disappear.

The Departure: Part Two

Dear Adventurous Reader,

The second day was as eventful as the first, with new experiences, early days and tents been set up in the dusk - yes, one night into the camping part of our trip and we arrived late. It was worth it, as we stopped at a park for hot chips in bread for dinner.

Up and At Them

The alarm sounds early. A musical tone singing at the end of a dream, that brings me back to reality, and slowly, one by one, we woke up to start the second part of the beginning of our Tasmania trip.

Jacqui and I have spent two nights up late packing panniers, we are still getting a feel for what is right - what pannier should hold what. This morning those late nights paid off as we managed to wake, dress, pack what was left over and load our bikes within 60 minutes. Granted, this did not include packing tents (staying in a backpackers was nice), but we are off and riding nice and early.

It wasn’t raining when we got outside, but the grey clouds, flecked with dark grey patches, drifted in the sky. A light mist of rain in the air, threatened our ride, bringing back memories of yesterday's Grand Depart. Jackets on. Adeline is yelling, protesting about joining Elijah in the bike carriage, so we strap her into the Orange Bike Seat, and head out into the early morning traffic.

Through the streets until we get back to Beach Parade. A tail wind! Thank Heavens, a tail wind. After yesterday's "all weather riding" we got a tail wind in the morning and took full advantage of it, just like the Lycra clad road cyclists that speed down Beach Parade, we form a line and push hard toward the Spirit of Tasmania. Gears click behind us, as commuters speed past our long caravan. “Have fun at school.” one Gent said... If only he knew.

The bikes took us past all the cars waiting to board our vessel, which is a fantastic thing about bicycles.

Customs. Waiting. Empty kerosene from a bottle. Waiting. Parking. Embarking. Excitement.

Boat Rides and Boredom

The ferry is long and large, just right for exploring, after we eat breakfast. We forgot to bring food, between packing and organising, and getting ready, we forgot to get snacks to take with us. This little mistake will cost us during the voyage.

Travel Tip 1

Be okay with making mistakes, you can always fix them up the second time. If there is no second time, then you can only make the mistake once.

We ordered breakfast, the younger boys already showing signs of what kind of day it would be, Grumpy and Fussy were brief guests at our breakfast table.

There is only so much exploring tired legs can do. We walked a few steps and watched as the city of Melbourne faded behind us, the grey clouds blanketed the sky and eventually the cold wind forced us to turn inside. During the trip in the shelter of the Port Phillip Bay we walked through the ferry finding the cinema, the toilets and the food places.

We pass through The Heads and into open sea, the boys disappear into the cinema and I walk outside onto the deck, standing against the rail, the wind buffeting against me, thumping in large gusts. The waves break at the bow, huge white and rolling away from the ferry as she moves toward Tasmania. From up here, seven stories above sea level, the water seems so small and so vast.

I look out to the horizon, wondering what country is in that direction; wondering if I would find land at this longitude or just myself again, on this ferry. How many butterflies are flapping their wings to bring us this wind breeze?

The deep blue water meets the light blue sky, in a solid and clear horizon. I have never been in the open sea, the vastness of the ocean scares me, plus I get travel sick, but standing here on the deck of a ferry, in the open sea, I can appreciate the beauty.

Apparently being stuck on a ship with movies to watch, food to eat and card games to play is "boring". Levi informed me of this as we were nearing the end of the ride, so I asked him to come out and watch the coast of Tasmania grow around us.

Arrival

We arrive in at Devonport, at the mouth of the Mersey River, at the end of the day. We cause some hassle for some other cyclists because they had to move our bikes, we are photographed by a Japanese bicycle tourist who appreciates the size of our convoy, and we roll away from the dock with everyone happy to be off the water.

Down the main street of East Devonport we see a sign for Fish and Chips and decide that it would do for dinner. We tour around to three caravan parks, the first is too full, the second is closed, but the third is just right.

We pitch our tents as the light fades, and the sun falls behind the hills, across the Mersey River, behind Devonport city centre. We finish setting up as the ferry departs for the night journey, open waters and Melbourne by the morning.

A long two days behind us, we fall asleep, in Tasmania.

The Departure: Part One

Dear Adventurous Reader,

Today we departed on our bike adventure. It rained and rained in the morning, while we walked around the house gathering and yelling, sorting and eating, packing and building our bikes. Bits and pieces from our previously assembled test run were repacked as we were beginning our month long trip bicycle touring in Tasmania.

We Arrived To Where We Were Heading

I am sitting in a dark room, on the third floor of a backpackers in St Kilda, Melbourne. The children are asleep, or trying to sleep in the air conditioned room. Jacqui is catching up on Facebook. We are tired, with another early morning tomorrow, as we embark on the final step of our departure toward Tasmania.

Tomorrow is the final step, because today we started our departure, it was a two-part series. The first begun with a ride in the rain, a ride in a train and a ride through the wind to our small room for the night. It was not an easy day, as I envisaged it should have been, but adventure couldn’t wait for nice weather.

Departure: Part One

It was too early to get up, so I slept in. I push my wake up time back, trying to make use of the limited space in my bed to catch some more rest, but it doesn’t work. I wake, walk down the hallway, trying to assess our status for leaving at 10am, “Are we packed?”, “Did we do enough last night?”. I put on some bacon for breakfast, clean the coffee pot and get that going, I think I need a coffee this morning.

Panniers and bags lay on the ground in the living room. They are mostly packed, but need a final eye before we seal them to begin. Outside the clouds are dark and a light, misty rain turns into something heavier, falling harder until Grandad calls it “Real Rain”. Not what we planned, rain and mud and cold and wind, but we can’t even think about the weather now, too much to get ready. It will clear up, right?

Grandad helps with breakfast. Nan plays a game of Ticket to Ride, the last for a month, with the older boys. Mstr. A stamps and sings, while the boys ask for quiet. Jacqui corals Adeline, while somehow managing to continue the packing we need to get done. This is standard operating procedure around our house, a beautiful mess.

Kathy and her kids arrive to wave us goodbye, taking the attention of the boys for a while as Zeke shows off his backflips on the trampoline. We call them back and start loading up the bikes. The clock gets to 10am, and keeps on ticking as our departure time leaves us behind. The rain starts up again - unplanned, but not entirely unwelcome.

Try as I might, I have never been able to control the weather... Actually there was this one time that a brother, a friend and myself did a rain dance so we could play the computer. But, beside that single incidence, there has never been an example of the weather bending to my will or command.

These plans of cycle touring do not wait for the weather, actually they take place in spite of the weather. We couldn’t wait, indeed we had to start our first leg during a break in the rain, waving goodbye to those who came to see us off; Kathy and her children are fantastic friends who saw that our adventure needed a fanfare to depart. Pa came down to wave us off. Nan, Grandad and Mstr. A joined the chorus as we wobbled up the hill away from home.

What is this Riding in the Rain Business?

We usually avoid riding in the rain. Miserable and dreary days are for boardgames and watching Peppa Pig. Today we rode through the rain and puddles and mud, we wore our jackets and we got wet, everything got wet. By the time we got into Geelong the rain had moved on, but we had got to the first destination of the trip.

South Geelong station was turned into a resting point and drink station as Josh and Jem were waiting for us. Long streamers and waves and drinks of juice for the kids.

Warm drinks in the hands of the boys to fight the cold and the train arrives at the station. We rushed and pushed to get everything onto the train, as the conductor made his announcement of departure. We have a lot of gear to load on at a short stop, I didn’t have time to say goodbye before the train pulled out of the station and we were on our way.

It was not raining as we moved on after lunch. It was windy. It was so windy that the sea was full of kite surfers jumping and flipping over the waves along St Kilda beach. The boys watched and wished they could join in as we pedaled down Beach Parade, “Whoa! An Astin Martin!” one boy shouted. So many things to see.

Finished, but Only Begun

That was our first day, done and dusted as the saying goes. We got wet but we got here, to our small room in the backpackers, ready for an early morning for Part 2. The room is messy as we hung the clothes out to dry, reducing the ceiling height to suit Adeline. Our panniers are opened and on the floor and it is getting late.

Tomorrow we wake early to once again load up our bikes and get to the docks.

On Vortexs and Control

Dear Adventurous Reader,

Sometimes it is difficult to explain how things have been for a week, especially when there is a roller coaster happening while life is moving forward. Even with as much as I know about the earth, which is not much, I know how I want things to work - or, I know how I want them to work and they never do.

I know the the earth revolves around the sun. I know that it takes one day for the earth to spin on its axis. I know that each day has the same amount of time in it as any other, but some days seem to be a continual spiral, the earth spinning tighter on itself, like water spiraling down a plug hole. Until it is gone into the abyss, joining knotted hair and other disgusting things that have been washed down with the water.

This has been how I have felt in the past week, the ever tightening spiral gaining momentum as we gear up to head off travelling for a month. Still, “things” seem to work themselves out, as much as they can.

Rack Recalled, No Replacement

The rack recall notice we found gave us some hope, after a phone call and a small fee to expedite the shipping. It is one week later, on a Friday, and we still do not have the replacement rack, I am not convinced that the fast shipping was put into motion. It didn’t matter, as the replacement rack would not work with our setup.

Jacqui and I had many discussions about what to do, about how we should change our setup to accommodate our little boys, and we couldn’t find one path to settle upon. It lead to frustrated discussions, and a lot of “Don’t you think…” and “I don’t think you…” in heated tones as we tried to sort out a mess (that had been already solved, and then broke) with a tight deadline.

I visited my Dad’s old friends, who have spent years working with metal, to seek a professional opinion on what to do. One said we could do some TIG welding, and the other suggested we run as far as we could and consider other options. We did the latter, deciding not to risk an updated and untested rack in the wilderness. So now, to much sadness (because we loved our previous setup), we will be taking with us a bike carriage for the younger two boys to swap between riding the tag-along and sitting in the carriage.

A friend has lent us a carriage that is larger than ours. Joash climbed in with a huge grin, because there is more space than in our tiny carriage. There is also more space in the back, which Jacqui has already found a use for - I am not sure what to think about having more space on my bike, I am carrying enough already.

Yes, this is a fallback from our previous requirement, that the younger boys must be able to ride. Although, it is funny how things work, early on we wouldn’t have continued with our plans to ride if we couldn’t get the two younger boys onto tag-along cycles. We have been forced out of our requirements to take another route, and it may work out to be better.

Trains Were Cancelled, Then Reinstated

V/Line decided to have track works this weekend. The weekend were were planning to depart we were going to ride into Geelong, take a train up to Melbourne with all our gear. The trains had been cancelled and we were suggested to take a bus, something I was not keen on doing.

I love the romance of rail travel, even if it is boring commuting, I would rather a train than a bus. My suggestion was to transport our gear up to my brother’s house and then ride into Melbourne city Sunday morning.

Turns out that Cadel Evans has some swaying power, and because of the Cadel Evans Great Ocean Road Race the trains have been returned to regular running services. So our departure can proceed as planned, and we forgo a back-and-forward morning transporting bikes up to my brother’s house, because I didn’t want to put our bikes on a bus.

Feeding the Rancor

The past few days, with things falling into place again, “things” have managed to unwind themselves from a strong vortex and we are starting to feel excited about our trip, again.

For me, my excitement is tempered with stress, because work is still screaming for attention like a caged and hungry Rancor. So you will have to excuse me while I get my nose back onto the grindstone, because besides work we still have to pack our bags.

Changing, Before We Begin

We are short of one week before we leave on our travels. Sorting things out, organising a short set of menus, Jacqui is spending a lot of time finding a path that will get us to places she has marked. I have been working, trying to finish off a project that has been chasing me down like an angry wolf.

Two nights ago I found a post from November 2013 (Recall Information - Tailwind Rack) that made everything unravel. The rack we had fitted to the back of my bike (codenamed Papa Bear) was recalled, citing hidden cracks, breaking while riding and injury to either rider as a result. Needless to say our excitement balloon deflated while we discussed options.

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One of the items mentioned in a previous post (Requirements Just to get About) that we thought the little boys should ride. The last thing we want on a bicycle trip is the little ones to be disappointed that we are going to ride, so we planned some elaborate bikes to get us about.

The difficult bike to build was for me. It was to carry Adeline, Elijah, a few panniers full of gear, and myself too. We talked to a few shops in Geelong, but no bike store clerks would agree that it could be done; a tag-along cycle and a baby seat on the same bike. We felt all alone, a family trying to plan a trip and no-one to help.

We know that things will not go to plan, but when something falls apart before we have had the chance to start, well, that “stings”.

We came across The Family Ride, and after reading their posts we felt comfortable that it was an “Every Mom/Dad for themselves” game. With that in mind, we started shopping in Melbourne and found a bike store that was willing to help.

Enter “Commuter Cycles”. They didn’t shy away from the difficult nature of our bike build, said it could be done, and it was. The bike was not an easy build, and did not come cheap, but Will worked some magic and got us on the road. For that we are forever grateful.

This made learning that the rack was unsafe and recalled difficult to comprehend. We know that things will not go to plan, but when something falls apart before we have had the chance to start, well, that “stings”.

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It is better to find out that your bike rack could break, rather than finding out that your bike rack has broken. It was the only thing Will from Commuter Cycles told us to keep our eyes on - the weakest point of the build was the rack - citing the rack is light and could bend or flex with too much load.

We had planned to have Joash and Elijah ride with us, rather than sit in a bike trailer waiting for their time to ride. At this point, with a week to go before we leave, we are hoping that we can get things fixed up before we go. If everything falls apart Joash and Elijah will have to change between riding and “relaxing” (that is a nice thing to call it), but we are going to try for that not to happen.

I contacted Burley and they have been helpful in all the ways they can. No-one is listed as a Burley dealer in Australia, so we have to deal with them direct, over an ocean. Expedited shipping, phone calls at strange hours, and a little prayer for the shipping stars to fall into place. We hope to be back up and ready by late next week, just before we go.

So far we have a good feeling that things will work out. Things always seem to work out, or should we say, we take what we can get and that always seem to work. We are not at panic stations yet, and we’ll see how this next week works out as we gear up to launch next weekend.

Needless to say, that however it works out, we are all excited.

A Fall. A Crash.

Dear Adventurous Reader,

Today’s post is not about adventure, but enduring difficult times. It is about a crash that Elijah and I had on our bikes, and how things are tough when they don’t seem to be going right.

It is 9:30 at night and I am sitting on my bike, attached to a trainer. It is cold, for a summer night, there is a slight breeze, a few stars are out against the darkening canvas sky. I am riding my trainer, I hate riding my trainer.

Sure, cycling trainers have a purpose; time trial practice, riding inside when it is snowing, intival specific workouts. But I am not riding my trainer because I am preparing for a race, I am riding my trainer because Elijah and I had a crash, my wrist is fractured and I need to ride because I have been sitting still for a long time.

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So many things can go wrong; too many things can go wrong. In talks about cycling we haven’t discussed broken bones and how we will handle them, it is not something that we felt we should discuss - the only person to break bones riding a bike is Dad, the boys seem to be made of rubber.

It is not that we don’t want to be prepared for the potential of a crash, it is just not something we have considered up until now.

Ezekiel, Elijah and I were out riding the Rail Trail. Gravel track with a slight uphill gradient. I was assisting Elijah up a hill, his front wheel drifted below mine and we went down.

It wasn’t a “touching of wheels” like Phil and Paul would say, we weren’t fighting each other for position in a sprint - it was Elijah’s front wheel going under mine. I won’t forget that moment I realised that we would crash: trying to manage an unmanageable situation; the weightless feeling as I knew I could do nothing to stop it; the praying that I would not hurt Elijah as I fell. Going in slow motion and full speed at the same time.

Then the bang as my helmet hit the ground. Nothing hurt, in the moment of the crash, that would come later.

We came down hard. My bike was tangled in his, Elijah’s leg was under his bike. He started crying, and I shook off the crash, amazed that I was not knocked unconscious (last time I crashed I was out for at least two hours). I crawled over and checked him: legs fine with two knee’s of serious gravel rash.

Ezekiel rode back to us and told me that I fell on Elijah. We sat for a while, Elijah crying, his knees hurt, and they hurt even more when he looked at them and saw the blood. I checked to see if he could ride home (the pro’s always say “Get back on the bike and then find out how you are really feeling”), but he was not too keen about that, so we sent Ezekiel off to go get Jacqui and the car.

We ditched the bikes and I carried Elijah back to the road.

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It has been five weeks since we crashed and it has been very difficult to stay motivated. I was just planning a full month of riding to work and fun rides with the family when the crash happened. In that time we have been building our bikes, organising where we will stay and talking more about it - so we have been wanting to ride. And, yet I cannot.

Jacqui has ridden some longer rides with the big boys, and I have driven the support vehicle - which I have to say is not fun, I miss riding. I miss the chance to unwind after a long day of work, to de-stress from the problems of the day. I miss the chance to push myself until my legs burn and I cannot ride fast anymore.

In the nights, when the little ones are asleep, I sit on the trainer, trying to find those feelings riding a bike brings me. I do not find those feelings riding my bike on a trainer. Like a mirage shimmering in the distance on a long desert road, inviting and a false hope.

Elijah recovered once his wounds were bandaged.

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One thing we have learned with six children is that even the best laid plans can fall apart. My way around having our plans destroyed is to not make plans, that way I are not disappointed when they do not happen.

Of course not making plans is idealistic. We have plans, I had plans before the crash to be riding more. That is why I have been disappointed about the way things have gone in the past month. So, all I can do is keep turning the pedals, on my bike attached to the trainer. I keep on moving because in my mind I have kilometers of riding in Tasmania drifting on my mind.

Unexpected terrain. Unexpected weather. Unsure how out traveling children will go. So many unknowns, so it seems like the one thing I can do is get ready by riding - how ever I can do that.

The sky is darker now. More black, no clouds as the stars shone bright against the darkened sky. The half-moon sits just above the roof of the house and it is glowing a wonderful yellow in the clear night. Maybe this is not so bad after all.

Who am I kidding? Yes it is. Riding a trainer is torture.

A Long List of Requirements Just to Get About

Dear Adventurous Reader,

Contemplating our bike setup for our family bike ride has been time consuming and has taken us down many roads. It's not as easy as just buying bikes and putting panniers on them, we are a large family - two adults and six children with three children below 7 years of age. Riding around with all of us, aiming to cycle anywhere from 20km to 40kms in a day, would be expecting too much of our little ones.

We are hoping this to be a fun trip, so keeping the weight down and enjoying our days riding is important. We are not planning on loading up the older boys with too much (they will carry what is needed of them, but not be pack-mules just because they are there), so that excludes attaching trailers to distribute our weight.

So What are we Looking For?

What are our goals for creating a happy caravan of riders?

One: A baby seat is required

In our short rides that we have done our Baby Girl tolerates being a trailer for a short amount of time. It starts exciting and falls into a terrible idea about 40 minutes into the ride; Toys, books and shoes are thrown from the trailer with abandon, dropping onto the road or path as we all ride onwards.

To create happy travels for our youngest she needs to be more involved into the ride and that means a bike seat.

Two: The Boys Need to Ride

Boy Four and Five are capable riders at their young age of 6 and 5. They are both determined, and headstrong, and for the life of them they will not be seen lazing about in a bike trailer when they could be riding with everybody else.

A few weeks ago we rode a bike 16kms down to Queenscliff. Boy Four rode down on his own bike, while Boy Five followed on a Trail-Gator. On the way back, our 5 year old rode all the way back with his older brothers and I didn’t see him until we got home about 20 minutes after them - Boy Four rode on the trail-gator. It was an impressive performance from both of them.

Getting them to go for a ride when they are sitting in a bike trailer is beneath them. It is a discussing thought that they will not entertain, choosing to stay home in protest.

While they have to ride, they cannot do 20kms a day, so to create happy travels for our younger boys they need to ride and not be stuck in a trailer.

Three: The Older Boys Shouldn’t be Overloaded

Nothing would be worse than to expect our older boys to carry a large portion of our weight. Carrying their own weight is fine, helping with food is fine, but carrying one of the boys because we cannot fit it onto our bikes is not acceptable.

To create happy travels our older boys should feel like they are involved in the hard work but not be used like pack-mules.

Four: We Need to Carry Our Stuff

We are not close to fine-grain details on everything we need to take just yet. We do know there will be a lot to carry. But we need to be able to carry it all, ideally without backpacks.

Talking at Bike Shops

Our setup discussions raise many eyebrows in bike shops. Thin, wiry bike clerks who ride fast in group rides and challenge Strava KOM’s have not, in my experience, tried to setup a caravan of bikes for a family with children ages 2 - 11. Two children, maybe, but not three under 7.

I had been in and out of many cycling stores to find a way to get us all around, and most of them ended with the clerks smiling, or chuckling, suggesting some thoughts that seemed like the wrong fit for us, and then wishing me good luck on my quest.

Tandems. Bike trailers. But not tethering a trailer to a trailer bike, that cannot be done (according to the clerks I spoke to). Side cars. Panniers and a baby seat? “Sure” Panniers, a baby seat and a trailer bike? “No way.”

They have helped me to think out of the box a little, but nothing “sung”. There were no ideas that grabbed me and screamed “That!”, they all seemed like boring solutions that didn’t think outside “the box”.

Looking for Help

We have done a lot of trawling the internet for ideas and solutions to our traveling setup. It is not a simple problem to solve, and finding the right search terms often leads to internet battles between bike trails and baby seats being more safe.

Here are some of the sites that we came across to give us more information and helped us dream a little bigger.

• 10 Tips for Bike Touring With Kids
• Bicycling with children
• Getting Hitched
• One Week Bike Tour in Tasmania
• Essential Gear For Adventure Cycle Touring

Other Families

Bicycle touring with young ones is not new. We are not too much into uncharted territory here, I wouldn’t expect. This all feels remote because there are not many places that can help me answer questions. But that is why the internet is an amazing place.

A few accidental searches lead us to The Family Ride who toured with children around the age of our younger kids. Reading blogs gave us ideas and made us feel more comfortable with doing something different. They made us feel comfortable with making choices to build something for our family, rather than buying pieces suggested by bike clerks.

What are we building, you may be asking… Well, there are many pieces to the puzzle, some a sorted out and others are being sorted out. Stay with us and find out more, in our next adventure.

The Beginning of Our New Adventure

Dear Adventurous Reader,

It has been awhile since our last adventure, when we set out in our van to see what would befall us, exploring the country that we call home yet never ventured past the eastern seaboard. Since we have been home we have been planning our next travel but nothing was falling into place.

There is a plan taking shape, it is happening behind us as we are searching and finding what we need to know. The plan is still hazy, but bits and pieces are starting to show and then get nailed into place as we see how it is taking shape. It is different to what we thought it may have been, and most of us are okay with that. Most of us…

Our old plan was to join our friends in Guatemala and we could think of nothing that would be better than months in a quiet village, hanging out with good friends, and enjoying a country we have never been to.

We started thinking about it. Then we started talking about making it happen, but it never moved passed the talking stage. It never felt like there was anything behind the talk to make it escalate into plans; no weight or substance.

Our dreams kept growing. The trees, the air, the adventure. Jacqui was reading blogs from families that traveled through Guatemala and quickly fell in love with the idea of going there. “Just think of all the ruins we could explore.”, “It is a beautiful place, here, look at this photo.”

I kept working. I kept trying to think of ways to change our income, change what we did so we wouldn’t come home to an empty wallet for months - which is what happened last time. A feedback loop grew, and I started getting stressed, worried and concerned that I wasn’t doing enough.

So while Jacqui grew to love the idea, I was growing to hate it.

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As One Door Closes…

Years ago, when we talked about bicycle touring, it was determined to be an unacceptable form of transport. But as we have come to read more stories of families touring online, and met more people who have done in overseas, we have come to like the idea.

With one door (appearing to be) closed, a second opened up when cheep tickets came on sale down to Tasmania over summer. Tasmania has been a destination we would like to venture around, and $5 tickets for children means that it was a small amount compared to what we could pay other times.

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So did we take the easier route? Did we give up? Did we pivot and change direction because the first plans were too hard? Are we missing out?

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28 days of cycling through what will be a beautiful state of Australia.

Our three older boys recently purchased new bikes with their paper-round money, and those bikes have found a purpose in becoming bicycle-touring steads. We are still trying to figure out the logistics of getting around with everybody else. Logistically traveling with three younger children and two adults is confusing every bike shop employee that we talk to about it.

It is a new frontier, a new battleground, building something from the ground up. It seems traveling with so many children is not something commonly undertaken, and there's not very many resources for how to get around that. So would appear where on our own, at least for a little while.

But we are planning a trip, and making things happen. It feels good to have something to plan for, knowing that something is going to happen and traveling is not years away (something that I fear).

So join us, would you Adventurous Reader? Join us as we find out what it is like to cycle for a month with six kids, it should be fun.

New York, New York

We arrive in New York City at lunch time, heavy packs weighing on our shoulders, like a bad conscious we carry them around for the afternoon, trying to see the city but weighed down with our stuff. If there ever was a pictorial description of the western world, it is us... Carrying packs filled with stuff, inside a city surrounded by wealth. Our packs force us to make decisions about what we will do until we can check in to our apartment.

Check In and Back Again

After finding a laundromat we check in and then catch the subway back into the city. The trains run with out delay, swaying back and forth as it rockets underground.

Times Square is a symbol of all the wealth (read: all that is wrong with advertising), spent in glowing neon signs and moving billboards. People stand on the side walk, yelling to us as we pass by, trying to engage with us so to reveal in their services. A comedy club, a gentleman’s club, fast talking and quick hands trying to gain our attention.

The lights glitter, selling technology, style, fashion, food and sex. The size and scale is appealing and appalling at the same time. Tempting and yet repelling. The smell of flame-grilled steak calls our name, as we begin to feel hungry.

Rockefeller Center has some ice skating on when we get there. Performances by people we do not know. They twist and move gracefully while we look around, finding the flags and the golden statue more interesting. The Centre doesn’t feel as it has the same sense of grandeur as I did while watching the end of Home Alone 2, but the signs made me think of 30 Rock which made me happy.

Checkpoints

The skyline above us extends up and up. Buildings towering above us, enclosing in the sky and making it a thin slither of blue between the man made buildings. God has an obstructed view of what happens on the streets around New York.

The Empire State building has a classic noir feeling, marble floors, hard edges corners, I feel using the word “Baby” at the end of my sentences. There are straight lines everywhere. Hard edges, hard marble.

Another security checkpoint. Another line. Standing in line to see a nice view feels like a waste of time. Stand, wait, move forward a little. Step by step, edging toward the elevators.

80 floors. A few seconds. A wonderful view. The lights from below sparkle, mile after mile they stretch out toward the horizon. Takings photo doesn't give enough charm to the scenery. We stand as the wind blows from the south, whistling against the thin metal cage. We walk around the side to see as much of the horizon as we can.

There is another line to stand in going down.

Central Park

I am familiar with Central Park from the first Ninja Turtles movie. The blue stone fence brought back memories from when Casey Jones attacked some low-life scum-bags.

I am amazed by the contrast of the city against the park. The paths stretch for kilometres, running around lakes, beside roads and around baseball fields, and yet on every side the park we are surrounded by a concrete jungle, apartments and places of business that stretch into the sky.

Bullets Over Broadway

There has always been some part of me that didn’t like the idea of watching a Broadway musical. I do not know if it was because of the years I spent growing up with my sisters doing calisthenics, or because I had never taken the chance to spend a few hours watching a show.

A fast talking man approached us about getting tickets. He approached us while we were watching the Broadway price listing tick over, sliding up close by and asking a quick question to a pair of suckers. He suggested a few shows, trying to fast talk us into tickets. “You sure you wanna see something like that one? We have some cheep tickets to a comedy show, or a gentleman’s club” - I guess we look either cheap or on a night out away from our wives.

No. We tell him that we were trying to decide what to see, the pressure of a sale never motivates us to make a purchase. “I understand. Look, I have some tickets here to a show called Bullets Over Broadway, Woody Allan wrote it, That Guy from Scrubs has a lead role. Funny and serious, right up your alley. Tickets half price - whadda say?”

No cash, no worries. He would walk us down to the closest ATM and stand by while we get money out. While Roger got the cash I searched the internet to try determine if they were a credible company - with no results.

Everything about this situation felt odd, a forced sale with a motivated salesman. Despite the uneasiness we purchased the tickets, figuring if they were worthless we’d have a story. For the remainder of the afternoon, before the show, we were worried if out money had been exchanged for fake tickets.

We ended up being in the orchestra rows. Sitting on the floor with a great view of the performance. Bullets Over Broadway was entertaining, the songs were fantastic and catchy (you can see one here Let’s Misbehave I enjoyed Helene’s accent). It was a good introduction into musicals and I am very glad we went.

Cronuts

A quick morning train ride and we are standing in line for a Cronut. A fried croissant-doughnut pastry that looks like a a thousand leaves of glorious food. It is supposed to be amazing, but I am thinking about how my hips are going to look, surrounded by more fried food. I will make a resolution to catch up on exercise when we get home.

We stood in line, waiting and hoping that we would be allowed to get some. There is a line every morning until the limited number of Cronuts are sold. We were in the last batch, four people from the end of the line, but went in under the understanding that we may miss out.

It was not to be and we got the second last pair of Cronuts. We sat at a table with chess embedded in the concrete, sitting below bare trees with tiny, new buds, the sun shines in a street basketball court behind us. The Cronut is the king of all fried goods. The pastry is fantastic, encasing a pineapple gel the drips from inside. The sugar, the scenery and sitting in New York. New York.

I realise once again, sitting there with Roger, that we are doing something grand. We are in New York. New York. The city that has songs named after it. New York, on a Saturday morning eating Cronuts.

Washington, The Museums and the Nationals

We walk down the street to the intersection which is blocked off by yellow tape that reads “Police Line Do Not Cross”. Police officers are standing around inside the tape, talking. A crime scene, bright and early on a cold morning in Washington DC.

I read about many shootings in America, but I never imagined that we would be less than a block away from a man who was shot. The Washington Post had a report - Man fatally shot on street in Anacostia - and of it we have heard nothing more.

We talk a different way to the station this morning, walking down “W” street, instead of “V”. Walking down the streets, past houses and people as they get ready for their days.

Museums

Body scans. Bags open. Belts off. Walk through the X-ray machines. Talk to the guards, who are poking a stick around in my bag, to make sure I am not hiding anything illegal. I don’t feel safer entering, I feel a little violated.

Every building of interest in Washington DC requires a scan to enter. We have two days to see the sights, and we are visiting many of the major memorials and museums, we have been scanned so many times that it feels normal. Been searched this frequently shouldn’t feel “normal”. I guess this is the Freedom that I have heard America talk about so much…

Holocaust Museum

We were told in North Carolina to visit the Holocaust Museum. We find the building, have our belongings, as a planned stop we It was an overwhelming experience, fantastic in how it was presented and devastating in the size and scope of the lives that were murdered. I knew about the brutality in the war, but I never imagined just how big, and devastating it was; how planned and precise the murders were.

We enter the display via an elevator that takes us up to the top floor. We are given a small card that tells the story of a person that survived the horrors of a Concentration Camp. Then we are lead into the museum, which tells us the story of how the Nazi regime got into power.

The displays are engaging and explain step-by-step how things got so bad. We spend time reading displays, watching short movies and moving through the museum not saying many words.

American History Museum

The Smithsonian Museum of American History is a wonderful place. From the first display I was hooked by the stories and displays around the place. Walking into the darkened section to see the original Star Spangled Banner was just the start. 13 metres long and under a blue light to preserve the fabric of the flag. It was huge, an inspiration, a surprise to be standing beside a piece of history.

Then walk from the Tea Party and some Boston history, through life in the 1800’s, to General Washington. We stop and look at General Washington’s actual uniform, and along side in a glass case, his sword. We read history, consuming the words and the visual artefacts.

The Civil War showed us nonpartisan history. It seemed strange to have no bad guy in the process - usually wars have a Good side and a Bad, fighting against each other. Yet the Civil War was presented in a way that both sides had heroes, and the villains were absent.

We finished for the day in the Second World War display and vowed to return the following day to continue on into the Cold War.

Capitol Building

The Capitol Building is surrounded by tourists, walking in small groups with a guide leading them around. In pairs, dotted about the building are guards, probably discussing their lives, but standing with rifles waiting for the slightest situation to begin. Despite all the tourists, this is a place of business.

Once again the scale of this place sends me into a mental shock. From a distance it looks small, up close it appears majestic, regal and huge. It gets bigger was we walk behind the building. A huge stone covered square extends behind the magnificent sandstone building. Tall columns hold up the roof, the has a statute carved above the main entrance. The American flag waves in the wind, a gentle breeze pushing it in the wind.

Library of Congress

The Library of Congress has limited viewing area on the inside, but what we can see is beautiful. The paintings on the roof, the gold leaf covered plaster flowers covering the domes, the patterns on the floors. I recall All The Presidents Men, a movie I love, as we look down upon the main reading room.

The Gutenberg bible, read about exploring the Americas, and have a look at Jefferson’s library.

Air and Space, Naturally

The afternoon we went through some museums. The NASA Air and Space museum kept us occupied for there hours. We took in the engineering elements of the space and flight exhibits at a slow pace, reading the details about flight and looking at the displays with interest.

It made me remember The Right Stuff, it is a movie about the Space Program and here real items that were used, including the Bell X-1, are right in front of us.

After that we spent time walking through the Museum of Natural History. Again the size of the exhibits and the detail that they went into was fascinating.

We were kicked out of the Museum of American History as they were closing early. This was most disappointing as we were catching up on what we missed out on yesterday. Through the World War 2 memorial and just getting started on the Cold War when we were ushered out.

Ball Game

We walk into downtown and find a taco place to stop for dinner. We enjoy the lingering evening and discuss heading back earlier to get some rest, because of travel the next day and so we aren’t out in the streets after dark.

Back to the station and while we on the train a public announcement comes over that there is a ball game on tonight. Red caps and jackets stand on the platform of the next station and with a brief discussion we decide that we will go and see what a ball game is like.

We follow the caps and jackets off the train, up the escalators and to the stadium. Washington are playing Miami Marlins in opening week. We buy tickets, grab a cap and jacket (so we don’t feel left out) and find out seats. We are a long way up in the stadium, but it gives us a good view of the game.

The game drags. Washington down on the score board and not bringing a good showing. Wind blows through the stadium as the game wears on. We are charged too much for a hotdog, and getting bored like the other spectators around us. A hit in the eighth inning turns the game around, Washington gets the lead and the stadium erupts.

We get home later than we had planned, but it was worth it to see a ball game.

Washington, The Memorials and Long Streets

Washington is on a scale I never thought it would have. No television shows I have seen paint such a marvellous picture as walking through the streets. The buildings feel as if they are cast within an Ionic dreamscape. Everywhere you look is an important building, or something of historical significance.

Our train pulls into the station. We disembark and find our way into the streets, below the gaze of the solemn faces above us in Union Station. Outside, it is cold, overcast and late in the afternoon. With full packs we decide to walk to our AirBnB for the night - 7km away.

Memorials

I stand in front of the Lincoln Memorial. His face crafted in stone and etched in eternity as a president who survived the Civil War but not an assassins gun shot. Each part of the statue looks as if it was crafted with a fine eye for detail, from his boot that hangs over the edge, to the hair on his head. I wonder if the artists took shortcuts when working on the hair we cannot see.

We turn to leave Abe’s stollen face and turn towards the Washington Memorial, a great distance beyond the Reflecting Pool outside. I shake my head in disbelief that it can be this big. So much history, so many years. I have not seen revolutions like this city has been through, wars, upheavals, dreams...

Washington seems to be crafted in time, on a scale I keep trying to comprehend, but can’t seem to get my head around. Abraham Lincoln was carved from 28 blocks of marble in New England and then transported to Washington where he was finished. Marble from four states was brought in to create the memorial. A scale I cannot comprehend.

Martin Luther stands stoic, over looking a sea of faces, all individually coloured, gathered to reflect on the life of a man who marked his place in time. Jefferson stands surrounded by his quotes that pushed for education. Roosevelt sits upon a wheel chair looking upon the bronzed bread lines he saw happen within his own country, under his rule.

Each memorial speaks to a historic figure, in a time that has not been forgotten because of strong leaders.

If the quotes of those who have gone before us echo among the hallways, and those of today fall upon deaf ears, what kind of generation are we raising? What kind of culture are we cultivating? What kind of people will we leave after we have passed from this mortal coil?

Blossoms

The cherry blossoms are out. The white and pink flowers have budded on the trees, a stark contrast to the brown branches that would have filled the sky a month or two ago. The cherry trees line that lakes and surround the FDR Memorial, which Roger and I walk through, absorbing the quotes and looking at the statutes of Franklin Roosevelt around the memorial.

Nights

We have returned to the Lincoln Memorial to see what it is like under lights. The view has softened a little, but his resolve has not. The view of the Washington Monument is even more impressive, the long tall column - that was in the background of all our walking through the day - shines off the still Reflecting Pool. We cannot see the peak of the Washington Memorial through the top of the pool.

We walk homewards. The dark city streets pass below our feet. We chat about our plans for the next day, things that caught our attention, thinking of the West Wing.

We are staying in Anacostia, a suburb that is feels a little odd. The streets have broken bricks, the sirens ring in the distance. We feel safe, but there is an odd undercurrent, a unexplained feeling that something isn’t quite right.

We walk past a sign that says “You Are Entering A Drug Free Zone”. We make a quip about necessity for a sign like that. We stroll past a few men standing behind a car. The group are not very loud, but they look like they know each other. A man walks towards them, with a greeting.

We get inside and put our bags down after a long day. Sitting down after strolling 27kms around DC. Two shots sound from outside. Roger walks back into the room asking if I heard the shooting. About ten minutes later sirens are heard in the street.

Busy day in DC.

Today, In Transition

We are in transition today.

Emotionally, I feel exhausted. The week gone by has had so many things happen and I am juggling tiredness and missing my family.

We talked with our Scottish family, getting to know them while sitting on the porch, taking late into the night. Enjoyed meals in the lovely weather that was unseasonal for the North Carolinian's. We met and spent time with new family from the South, talking with new friends and seeing where Thomas and Sarah would be living.

Long days exploring new cities and long nights talking with family. Sounds like a holiday. But after all spending so much time with families I have been missing mine. If home is where your heart is, then I think it is 16,000 kilometers away.

Jazz, in a Brewery

Last night Ron and Sharon took us out for dinner in Winston Salem. Daniel was playing drums in a jazz quartet for the evening and we were invited to attend. Jazz in a brewery and restaurant was too much to pass on, so we joined them.

A quiet night out was exactly what I needed mentally to tackle getting over the past week. Being out was like a mental debriefing after what was a busy, engaging and fun week. Long conversations with good food, good company and wonderful music.

Jazz floated through the air. Sonorous music weaved in syncopated patterns as we enjoyed locally brewed beer and hearty meals. The setting was perfect, dark wood floors, high ceiling with wood paneled walls. It felt so homely that it encouraged discussion, and relaxation, which we did.

Ron and Sharon were great hosts, we even had time between sets to talk with Daniel about music and life.

As a last night in North Carolina it was perfect.

Woke to Rain, to Catch a Train

There was a fast dash to get coffee from downtown as we headed toward the station this morning. We said our farewells to Ron, who had ferried us to the station and then we waited for the train.

The rain was heavy and cold. The strong wind felt like it was carrying icicles as it buffeted us while we stood on the platform.

It hit me at that moment that I was embarking on something I had wanted to do for a long time. A train journey in America. There is something romantic about a long-haul rail journey that tugs at my desires, even after commuting every day for almost three years.

Joining me on the journey is my brother, Roger, who also shares this romantic vision of long-haul rail journeys. Maybe that was built up over the late night discussions we had when we were younger, talking in the darkness of our bedroom.

Moving On

The long haul part is giving me time to reflect on the past week. So many new things to see, with the comfort of family to show us around. So many new people to meet, all with the common interest of a wedding. It also helps that we are a little odd, speaking with a foreign accent. Everything, including the weather, seemed to be perfect - The kind of “perfect” that makes you think about making the holiday destination your life.

I miss my family. Every day I have awoken to a new experience that they have missed. Watching the squirrels dance in the branches, Southern Food (which I am sure I will blame for an increase in body fat), and that first feeling of walking into a Walmart. Something new that I have not been able to share with them, I am sad that they miss that, I know how much they love that feeling too.

There is more for us to do on this trip. It is time to move onwards, to start our planned journey northwards. Away from new places we had made to feel like home, and into the unknown. Change, change once more.

Wedding in North Carolina

The day of the wedding has arrived. It is barely dawn, the cloud outside is thick and the breeze is cold. The temperate in the room is cold and I am awake before my alarm is set to go off. I wonder if Thomas is awake yet.

Today is starting early for us, but it started earlier for the Bride and Bridesmaids. Their scheduled time to wake up was 06:15, I was still sleeping then. Downstairs, in a place that everyone can see it is an excel spreadsheet, labeled the “Master Plan”. It lays out the schedule for the day, where everyone is to be and what they are required to do.

Roger and I get ready and walk down to the Faust’s house. Ron is walking around in his red boxer shorts, organising breakfast. Thomas is chatting to Mum when we walk inside, he is eating breakfast and drinking coffee. He doesn’t look nervous at all. We take some of the left-over breakfast that the ladies had started on for breakfast and enjoy some of Ron’s cooked bacon.

For the Groom and his men, the first item of the day is some photos. Our sister Purdey, the Photographer, arrives and things get serious, breakfast is forgotten and we are required to be in position for photos.

We start by posing, stand about near the stairs, get dressed in our suits, smile and laugh, and then help the groom get dressed. Yes, despite the fact that Thomas is 25 and has been dressing himself for at least 10 of those years we are to help him get dressed.

We four groomsmen help Thomas put on a jacket, smile and stand close. With the Groom’s photos finished Purdey disappears to the next place on her schedule. We finish breakfast, finish getting our suits on and leave home, according to the schedule.

The Castle

The grounds for the wedding are beautiful. Thin trees, bare from a cold winter, surround the grounds of a castle. The ground is covered in leaves that had fallen months ago and had been covered with snow. The nice weather during the last week brought the green leaves, and small flower buds out from their winter slumber.

These trees surround a castle which was converted to host weddings. Wooden palisades and a small pond are at the bottom of a long path which separates two wedding venues. The castle, which makes a lovely spot for photos, and the upper venue, with large glass panes opening onto the wonderful trees, castle and pond outside.

We followed Purdey around and stand for photos. Hide behind trees, stand on the bridge, smile. More photos. More photos. We try and relax, even though it seems difficult. The wind is cold and the suits don’t stop the chill from coming through.

The sun shines from behind the clours and we sit on the rocks, waiting for the bride and her maids to walk down the path to join us for more photos. The groom is blindfolded for the ‘first sight’ photo, and then the whole wedding party walks around the castle for more photos.

The Ceremony

The ceremony is both beautiful and funny. The bride walks down the isle in a flowing wedding dress to meet her waiting groom. The pastor talks about their life between two countries, how they met, how they dated and how they got to be standing in front of everyone here. After the confession of love and the kiss, the bride and groom update their Facebook relationship status from the alter.

Beautiful and funny.

The ceremony was broadcast over the internet, for all of our immediate family, who could not make it to America. At 2 o’clock in the morning, sitting under heavy covers they watched a wedding ceremony on the other side of the world.

We moved right onto the photos after the ceremony, in accordance with the Wedding Time Schedule. The photos were done in an ordered fashion, we did what we were told and they were over with no hassles. Then it was on to the reception.

Music. Dancing. There was plenty of food and lots of talk. We celebrated the bride and the groom. We talked to new extended family and friends and tried to soak in the culture of weddings in the US of A.

I assume that because of the plethora of embarrassing tales from their younger lives, the speeches from the Matron of Honour and the Best Man took place at a small family gathering last night. Today the Father of the Bride, the Father of the Groom, the Bride and the Groom each gave their speeches.

Between the speeches and goodbye circle, while sitting back watching the MC pass the microphone, I realised that it would be the last time I saw Thomas and Sarah for a long time. I made my brain slow down and repeat, “This is the last time, for a long time, that I will see Thomas and Sarah.”

Since the first invitation to be a member of the wedding party, traveling 16,000kms overseas, and standing beside Thomas as he was married, I had not thought about the bittersweet departure. After all of the things that had happened, everything we had talked about, at the finish of the reception I didn’t know how long it would be before I saw my brother again. I had never had to consider that before.

The reception ended soon after the speeches and dancing, good things cannot go on forever. The Bride and Groom said goodbye and then departed, they did have a long way to drive to find the coast for a week away.

Lifting and Lilting

It felt like a the pressure of the wedding had been lifted, but there was a sadness in the empty place. The reason for traveling overseas had finished, we had come all this way to have it finish so soon. Months of build up and planning, all done a week after we landed in America.

There was something to look forward to. Left over food and drinks back at the house of our new extended American family. Southern food and southern hospitality.

Greensboro - North Carolina

A dull roar of traffic is faint and distant. Birds chirp and sing in the wonderful spring sky, hiding in the dull tree branches. Flowers have blossomed in the trees, the tiny yellow buds pop open to get as much of the sun as they can.

We have been in Greensboro for a few days, tackling jet lag and talking to family, extended family and American friends. It has been fun. Today different groups went in different directions and I am by myself, walking to the mall.

A mailman with a broad smile carries his satchel back to the small US Mail truck. A man, with his light southern accent says "Well, it's good to see you again." Everyone seems polite in these parts.

Squirrels bounds over the grass. Their light feet catching my attention as they scurry away from me as I walk down the street. They look cute, that is an illusion, small cute animals that appear everywhere usually are pests.

It is 80 degrees out today. If you wanted to paint a picture of spring in Greensboro, this is it. It is beautiful.

Today I am walking the streets to find a store. I started in a small neighbourhood, away from the traffic and busy roads. Google Maps helping me set a path towards my destination, four miles away. The cars get louder as I find my way to the main roads.

I have trouble crossing the roads. There are lines on the street for pedestrians, but not many lights to signal me to cross safely. I can’t remember which way the cars are coming from and end up running to get out of the way of turning vehicles as they make unexpected turns.

After finding the store I try to find a snack at Ben and Jerry’s. I can’t make a decision and feel uncomfortable with standing around, so I ask for a bottle of water. It seems that Australian “water” is pronounced differently, so I repeat myself. The attendant looks at me and questions, “Do you mean Warder?”. I nod.

Language differences are subtle in these parts, but fun to navigate. My accent stands out I catch myself feeling like a stupid Australian when I speak in public. But I like that, I do enjoy being different especially with everyday language. Still, no-one has asked where I am from, I want to tell a story so I want someone to ask.

From the mall I walk Downtown to find a coffee shop. The sun is wonderful, all the talk we had about ice storms and freezing cold has been turned on it’s head. I am walking and it is beautiful.

I walk down the main street of the town of Greensboro, the buildings have grown tall. The streets are busy with cars. I check the map to ensure I am heading in the right direction. Without too much time passing, walking past some chain-food places, I arrive at the coffee shop where I can do some work.

More Timezones than we can Handle

It is 12:18 pm, just after midday your time. It is 20:18 our time. We are sitting in an American Airlines airplane making our last transfer on the third aircraft of the day. It has been a very long day.

I awoke at 5:15am, after a restless sleep, never feeling that I was actually sleeping. I got up and put on my clothes layed out the night before. Levi and Nathanael woke up to their alarms to say goodbye, we hugged in the dark and I left with my backpack.

Purdey and Phil were waiting with Lottie. We continued driving in towards Geelong and picked up grandma, who made a wise-crack about us being 5 minutes late. As it turns out we got 5 minutes down the road and she remembered that he coat was hanging on the door, so we turned around and drove back to pick it up.

The road to Melbourne airport had little traffic and made the way up easier. We found a park in short term parking and made our way into the terminal to wait for Roger to arrive.

Check in. Five travellers. Lots of bags. Everything was checked and ready with little hassle.

Plane flights are exciting because of the destination. The journey, the plane flight, is as boring as you choose it to be. I have not travelled across this many timezones before and do not know what to expect. Will I feel tired or sick?

Tomorrow will be a single 24 hour period, in the same Timezone. I am looking forward to that.

Beginning. Without the Ones I Love

I cannot explain the mixed emotions I am feeling right now. Tomorrow morning, at 5:30am I leave my house for almost four weeks. It is a planned journey to be in a wedding party for my brother Thomas. He and his wife-to-be are exchanging vowels in North Carolina and I was asked to be in the wedding party - a duty that will be shared with my brother Roger. We planned a trip over there to see some sights and to be where we need to be.

But I am sad.

I am sitting on a bean bag, in the little boys room, writing. I feel like this will be a trip in a foreign country, without my favourite people.

I looked back over the photos in my iPhoto albums and all of them have my family. Photos of the boys growing up, photos of them as babies. This will be the longest I have been away from them since three years into our marriage, when I went to Singapore, and a lot has changed since then.

I am not feeling excited. I am not feeling elated. I am feeling sad. I am leaving behind my family. I leave behind those who have supported me, who talk to me, who share life with me.

How will it go? I am unsure. I am looking forward to it and dreading it at the same time.