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.