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On November 29th I said good-bye to New Zealand and boarded a plane to Tasmania. I booked this ticket months ago before even leaving Canada - a requirement of the New Zealand visitor's visa to have a departure flight pre-booked. However, I was regretting this decision and wished that I had changed my destination to Melbourne instead.
When booking the flight it seemed like a reasonable idea to cycle tour Tasmania after I was finished cycling around New Zealand. In reality, that was an overly ambitious, perhaps even stupid, idea. What was I thinking? Maybe I thought that by the time I finished cycling New Zealand I would have developed superhuman strength and endurance. This was not the case. Not only was I over cycle touring, my bike cost me a whopping $160 to fly with. The idea of cycle touring one additional kilometer stressed me out so much I had decided to abort cycling all together. I had no idea how I was going to travel with a bicycle and not ride it, but that was certainly my stubborn and foolhardy plan. Of course, it would still come in handy for commuting - just not touring. So why didn't I just cancel my trip to Tasmania and avoid this mess? Sheer laziness - I hate dealing with airlines.
Allow me now to flash forward two and a half weeks. It is December 15th and I am reluctantly boarding the Spirit of Tasmania ferry. "Relucant?" you may be thinking. Exceeding all my expectations, I had an amazing 2.5 weeks, and I with a heavy heart, watched Devonport fade into the distance as the ferry made it's steady way to my next destination - Melbourne. And for someone who was initially unexcited about visiting the small Australia state and island, I found myself tearing to the roar of the rumbling engine as it departed the Devonport dock.
Not only did I accomplish much more than expected in Tasmania, but I also travelled a lot of emotional miles as well.
Before even checking into my hostel I met another Canuck named Dennis. After sharing a pint and getting acquainted we decided to rent a car and do a road trip for a few days. We packed tonns into a short time - Hobart is much like St. John's, Newfoundland, and they even have their own "signal hill" known as Mount Wellington where we got pelted with hail in horrendously cold and strong winds (home sweet home, I thought); we checked out an animal sanctuary where we fed some kangaroos; visited the awesome Museum of Old and New Art (check it: Mona.net.au); spent hours visiting the World Heritage Site, Port Arthur, which is the site of the penitentiary where convicts were sent and the reason Tasmania was colonized; drove up the east coast taking in the beautiful scenery including the Bay of Fires; and ended in Launceston where we crashed a birthday party and danced all night.
After Dennis and I parted ways I still had ten days to kill and lots of ground to cover. But how was I going to travel when I was so set on not cycle touring?! After some internal dialogue, which I will spare you the details on (it wasn't pretty), I convinced myself that a ten day cycle tour would be an easy accomplishment having just done a couple of months worth.
Wrong.
Let me expand:
When I was in New Zealand, 80 km cycle days were a norm. I didn't much think about it, I would just get on my bike and cycle. But that was then, and things change. When I left NZ I mentally checked out of cycle touring. And as with most efforts, the mental challenge of a difficult task is just as important, if not more, than the physical aspect. I could barely manage to cycle a measly 20 kms. I hated every second of it. The best part is, other than my mental state, the conditions were incredible (what I wished for in NZ) - sunny days, warm temperatures, easy terrain. None of which mattered. Too me, in my state of self-created negative energy, my bike never felt so heavy, the flies never so thick, the magpies never so abundant, the air never so humid, and the sun never so hot - completely intolerable in every aspect.
Cycle touring is much like a relationship with a partner. At the beginning everything is euphoric and enjoyable. But after a while when the honeymoon phase ends and you really get to know each other, things start to go sour. At this point it's best to end the relationship before you forget all the good memories and replace them with a boiling pot of bitterness and resentment. I was left with only one option - I had to break up with my bike. If not a full break up, a one year separation at least where we are free to see other people. There's a backpack I want to ask on a date.
After a mere 4-5 days of cycling, I caught a bus to Devonport. It was only 65kms away or an $8 bus fare. I would have paid much more. To me the cost was not for my transportation but the cost to save my sanity.
Best decision ever.
I stayed at a hostel and just took it easy for a few days. I relaxed, partied, decompressed. Part of me just wanted to feel like a "real person" again. I say "real person" because after living out of panniers, wearing sports clothing, and overall feeling like a dirtbag for so long, I craved normalcy. I wanted to feel pretty again. (sidebar: cycle touring is not for the high maintenance woman or man.) Anyway, it was just what I needed. Because, believe it or not, after just a few days (including a little romance which helped to boost my spirits) I was antsy to get going again! I planned a nice and easy two day tour. And you know what?.... I actually enjoyed it.
That two days was filled with lots of adventures encluding freedom-camping in a field with a bunch of sheep. I saw some beautiful things and sweated out all (okay, most) of my previous stresses. God, it was good. The next day I went to Hawley beach - a destination suggested by Geoff and Judy (who I'll tell you about another time; Judy is a fellow Newfoundlander living in Tassie.). Hawley beach was a dream. My intention was just to stop there briefly and to keep pedaling further. That didn't happen. I jumped in that cold salt water (too cold for the locals) and with it came nostalgic memories; because if you didn't know, a Newfoundlander's blood is half salt water. I later saw a large lizard on the beach which kicked me back into reality and reminded me that I am indeed in Australia. One ginger beer, a punnet of strawberries and over an hour of riding I was back in Devonport and preparing to catch that ferry the following day.
Ten days already? Part of me felt like I was there a year; part felt like it had just begun. I had quickly grown to love that little island. I should have known I would - I've not been to one yet that I dislike. I had so much more to discover in Tassie, but felt content with the fact that I got to experience all that I did and never bothered following my initial instinct to cancel my flight altogether.
- comments
Mom Thanks for the laughs.....so enyoyed this blog!! SO-O-O miss you!!!!!! Stay safe my little girl!!!!....You look like you did as a little girl in that picture........always my little girl!XXXXXXOOOOO
Marnie Love it! Glad you are relaxing in Oz now.
joan nicholl Jessica, Jessica, catching up on your blog. OMG. I know one thing, you DO have willpower. You lost me at Hello. lol. Anyway, when Do you end this glorious trip of yours, when and where do you meet your parents/????? Take Care, love Joan.