Devonport to Port Sorell
Today was the day we decided to move on, to get our cycling trip underway. There was excitement to be riding our bikes, as we packed up and ate breakfast, enjoying the time at the caravan park before we moved onwards. The planned road before us included a chocolate factory, so we are eager to get going.
Off we Ride
Down the down, past the shops and onto the road out of Devonport. Devonport, a town we stopped in to fix some computer problems and to rest, and not to rush. We stayed in Devonport for three nights, remembering how to organsise traveling food, it is difficult to not have a pantry of food to eat, I guess there are some benefits to living in an abode.
The computer issues were fixed by a new charger and some work has been completed, which means that we can move out onto the road and I am not carrying the weight of expectation of work to be completed with me.
The road out of Devonport is along a river as we head toward Latrobe, the road rises and falls along the waters edge, the sun bristling off the ripples in the water. The boys are riding down the road with songs of joy in their mind, wheels spinning and happy words being spoken.
We roll not too far down into the Information Centre at Latrobe, a green lawn lays all around an interesting looking market place, we park our bikes and sit under the shade. Jacqui and the boys venture off to look for a platypus, and Adeline and I sleep under the shade.
Chocolate
Through the town of Latrobe and back up the highway toward Devonport is [Anvers Chocolate Factory][http://www.anvers-chocolate.com.au/]. The museum is a small room with a brief history about chocolate, which is close by to the viewing room, which we all stand at, watching chocolate moulds being made, which of course makes us want chocolate, so we walk off to the testing room.
Ice cream in the sun is a wonderful thing.
We sit and discuss which direction we should go, and the choice was made to avoid the highway. Back to our bikes and back from where we came to find the turn to Port Sorell.
The road meanders along for a bit before a yellow sign that says 10%.
Up a Steep Slope
When we go up hills, in the lowest gear, pulling and fighting and tugging the weight behind me, I think in poetry and poems, and sonnets and songs. It is beautiful. My mind wanders between thoughts of suffering and pain, words drifting upon my thoughts like a nirvana or an oasis promising life but giving nothing but false hope among the pain of climbing hills.
I glance down at the GPS. 8%. 9%. 10%. At any greater than 5% for a few hundred metres I don't care for how others are going. I push forward, turning the pedals over and over, how I wish that I could turn the pedals around to match my heart rate. I stop, drink, and catch my breath, and finally start moving again, with a grunt and a tug to get everything moving again.
The boys ride past, low gears and with determination. They disapear around a corner, the hill is steep, 10%, and I cannot see the top. They push onwards, bikes and panniers swaying as they climb the steepest hill they have ever been up. Jacqui is behind, stopping to catch her breath, and behind her, on the tag-along bike, a little voice is saying "Come on Mum. Let's go!"
Hills are hard on a carbon fibre road bike. Hills are harder when we are under full-weight, pushing onwards to our camp, fully loaded panniers and a trailer on behind. We knew we would have to ride up hills, at this stage we are not bested or beat-down by riding up hills, but gradually bit by bit we inch to the top. Ezekiel and Levi are waiting at the top in the shade of a tree, Nathanael is down the road and we call him back to wait for Jacqui and her Tag-Along-Elijah.
This hill will be included in tales we tell of our adventure.
Roll into Town
Port Sorell reminds me of St. Leonards, a small town back near home. It is on the beach, small roads with no shoulders run right next to thick, brown grass. The caravan park we are staying at is less than a short walk to the beach, just walk over some sand dunes and the the crystal clear water is waiting for a swim.
Elijah likes that park over there, he likes the "wings" and the "swide" and "dat ding over dere", to which he is referring to a see-saw that is raised from the ground. He enjoys being close to the beach, having just had a swim and come back to the camp kitchen for lunch.
A family who we met at a park in Devonport said that we may just get to Port Sorell and decide to stay for our whole trip. At this stage we cannot disagree.