25 Do's and Don'ts For Cycle Touring in Tasmania With Kids

Do be aware that many caravan park receptions close at 5 or 6pm, not 8pm like The Mainland.

Don't ride past too many play grounds without stopping. You need to keep your littlest travellers happy.

Do remember to look tired (not difficult) and smile sweetly at the caravan park receptionist. They quite likely will give you a discount price.

Don't miss stopping at the ice cream shop when you've just ridden up a big hill. The $36 will be worth it.

Do take plenty of snacks with you on riding days. Hungry cyclists are unhappy cyclists.

Don't forget to sample every ice cream flavour available before making your final choice. You want to be sure you choose your favourite.

Do leave plenty of time for picking blackberries. Particularly in February. The state is covered in them.

Don't forget to roll up your food panniers properly before storing them in the vestibule of your tent. You don't want the possums to break in during the night and try to steal your food.

Do take plenty of snap lock bags. They will be useful for everything from butter to washing liquid, and mobile phone protection to accidents in undies. And blackberries, for later.

Don't forget to always zip up the screen on your tent. It would be most unfortunate for a white tail spider to creep into your sleeping bag and bite you on your ankle while you sleep.

Do be sure to check your shorts for scorpions if you happen to leave them overnight in the vestibule of your tent. That could turn nasty.

Do buy lunch at bakeries sometimes. Think of it as "petrol" money if you are having trouble getting out of motorist mode.

When visiting Sheffield, don't forget to go to the fudge shop. It might be expensive but it will be just what you need at the top of a long hill.

Do keep your camera handy at all times. You never know just when the scenery will turn from lovely to stunning and you'll want to take a picture as soon as possible.

Don't forget to swim at every opportunity. You never know when the nice warm weather will turn cold.

Don't leave your bike trailer open at night when camping in the bush. There will be possum poo inside in the morning.

Do allow the children to collect feathers. They are lighter and more packable than rocks.

Don't leave the five year old in the trailer with the two year old for too long. He will teach her all his worst words; "Bum head", "Butt head", "Stupidest", and so on.

Do stop by Port Sorell Lions Caravan Park. At $20 a night it's hard to beat. Kids stay free!

Do take notice of what the Asian kids are cooking for their dinners. They may inspire some new recipes.

Do give your left-overs from tea to some foreign fruit picker kids. It will make their day.

Don't listen to car drivers tell you about the hills. They rarely know what they're talking about, or they remember the road is more downhill than it actually is.

Do talk to other cyclists. They are very interesting and will tell you lots of helpful things.

Do keep in mind that all hills (eventually) will have a top. At some stage you will get to roll down the other side.

Do start up conversation with people at the playground. They might just invite you to stay a night at their house. And cook you an awesome tea!

The road once ridden, for the last time

The first time we were in Port Sorell it was summer. The tents were close to the water, the boys were swimming every day, we played in the soft, yellow sand, under the sun, and enjoyed playing chasey the caravan park playground. Port Sorell was a haven, and we all looked forward to our return trip.

Our second time in Port Sorell is for resting. The clouds are grey, and even bring a small shower on occasion. The water is cold, and the boys are using the jetty for fishing, rather than to jump off. The camp kitchen has been used for a retreat, from the rain, and cold, and to rest our weary legs. It is different the second time around, more relaxing and reflective, after almost riding 500km in the past four weeks, but it has left us planning and scheming for the next trip.

Out with Elijah

The beach stretches before me, birds are floating on the water, or standing on islands of sand that are in the water with the tide being so far out. The only person in front of me is Elijah, hopping and running along the sand, chasing seagulls away and asking me to catch up. We run along the beach, feet falling into the soft, sinking sand.

We are on the wide open beach, on a cloudy afternoon, running Elijah's "Tiger Tanks" dry, so he will be more calm back at the park. When we walk and I am thinking about the trip, what we have done, how far we have ridden, the people we have met, and how we have enjoyed what we have done. Then we run, again, down the beach, chasing the gulls.

There is a sand bar, it is across some shallow water, and Elijah has started walking. He looks back and says "Come on Dad." I hesitate, not sure if my clothes will stay dry, "Come on." He says again. I follow him into the cold water, step by step the water gets deeper and I pull my pants up to my knees. The water level stays the same from half way across all the way to the sand bar, Elijah says "Dee, I doled you.", he has a slight, sly intonation when he knows that he is right.

The tide is coming in, and we are walking back. The "Dinky Dand", as Elijah calls it, is still soft, so we try to retrace our steps, jumping on our footprints, so we don't sink as far, it works until we start running, racing each other to the jetty where we started.

The road back to Devonport

A new day, our last big ride in Tasmania, back on the road we have been on. Last night's rain has cleared, the sun is trying to break through the clouds, and we are eager to be riding again. We take our time packing, we stop at a skate park for lunch, and we start off on the road out of Port Sorell.

The road back to Devonport is the same as it was before, except for a right hand turn, which avoids the hills and Jacqui kicking me in the shins. We find it easy to ride, save the wind, which blows a hearty gust toward our faces, but with legs of steel we ride onward.

It is the end that is different, we do not ride through Devonport, we stop at the house of some new friends. Very New Friends, as we have met them on two occasions before, the second we were invited to stay at their house for the last night, making our Ferry travel easier. Every time we think of it, we smile, new friends are easy to make with a cycling caravan.

Our first night in Devonport, after arriving on the ferry, we stopped for an easy dinner of hot chips. While we were at the park Jacqui got talking to a couple who have 5 boys, who were intrigued in what we were doing. Our second meeting was after a difficult day of riding, and Jacqui needed a friend to talk to (not me, I was not a friend because I had chosen the wrong road to ride, and it had hills). That last meeting was where Deanie left us her number and offered us a place to stay on our last night.

After the ride to Devonport, with the head wind, we arrive at our New Friend’s house, riding up a steep hill: so steep Jacqui needs Levi's help to get to the top. We say "Hi" to our hosts, covered in sweat, and they still invite us inside.

Talking with other people about their lives is fascinating, I love the give-and-take with stories, as we talk about fun and exciting things that we do. Fun stories about children, about places and about people, about everyone’s travels and the difficult things that have happened.

We talk with Deanie and Adam about many things, once the children have gone to bed. They tell us about their house, their downsizing progress, their life living in Tasmania, jobs and the amazing views from their house.

Coming to an End

So the trip, our riding, has come to an end. Besides a short ride down to the ferry in the morning, we have finished our riding in Tasmania. We do not feel that the terrain was too difficult, indeed we enjoyed the riding up the long, winding hills, down the long roads, descending into the valleys; up to short and steep roads that forced some of us to walk, and along the long roads that we could ride with speed.

The road has been how we have approached it, with a steady mind and thinking about our destination, focus, and planning based on how we are all feeling. It has been hard, at times, but the pain has subsided and we got where we were heading. The feeling of accomplishment, of riding roads, carrying all our gear, and being able to make it, has helped us along the way.

One Last, Long Day

We saved the longest distance for last, and this morning we are making sure breakfast is big enough to get us half of the distance to our planned stop for the night, Port Sorell, once again.

We have been shown some wonderful hospitality by Tamar Valley Christian Fellowship, just outside of Exeter. Ruth and Shane, our previous hosts at Launceston, suggested we could stay, organised our stay, and it was fantastic. The kitchen helped us cook wonderfully, and we didn't set our tents up, instead we slept on the floor inside, with the intention of leaving earlier.

We left earlier than our normal 11am time and departed upon the long, long road before us.

The Road from Exeter

Down from Exeter the road falls, a low road that rolls past more farms, brown grass and cows. Truck whizz past us, some taking care to change lanes and others zipping past closer to us, at times I mutter curse words, and other times they come spilling out - I would imagine not too many cyclists are going to be slowing down trucks on this road, some patience would be appreciated.

Farms roll along beside us, houses are small and close to the road. Hills built on hills, the brown grass drops down a rise and leads to trees on the hill behind, that rolls further still behind that, to the furthest hill, that reaches far beyond us. We drop down after a short climb, into the small town of Glengarry. Jacqui zips up behind us, all smiles and happy, "that was fun!".

We had been warned about The Glengarry Hill, and it was not nice to our legs. A gentle road out of the town heads upwards, it flows around a bend, between the trees that reach high, and then around another, which exposes the steep incline.

Zeke and Nathanael had ridden away at the bottom of the hill, and Levi and I can see they have stopped before it gets steep, recovering their breath for the next big push. They leave before we get there, slowly moving up the steep slope. Adeline is asleep in the back, Joash is yammering to himself, and I am puffing, and sweating, and waving over the road, as my bike swerves at the slow speeds and under the heavy weight.

The road sits at a steep pitch for 350 metres, hovering between 10 and 11% all the way. It is so hard a truck slows down behind me, gears crunching as the driver tries to find the easiest for the hill. I pull over into the grass and the truck engine roars as it drives past us. I welcome the rest, puffing on the side of the road, but will use it as an excuse later on when the boys ask how many stops I made.

Down and up, with the thought looming that we have to ride up to get into Frankford. So we go down, roll for a way, and then the Up starts. Not very steep, but the road is hard to ride, and we break into groups, again. The grey clouds that have been threatening rain, all morning, are moving in, drops of rain start to fall, but not very heavy.

At the top we stop, Ezekiel and I, and the rain starts. Rain coats on and we wait, talking to Joash, who is in the trailer. Up the road we see a couple on a tandem leave a café, we recognise the bike from our prior meetings; we had met them while getting on to the ferry in Melbourne, waved to them as they rode away in Devonport, and Joash and Elijah saw them this morning as we were getting ready to leave, they rode past our evening stop.

With the rain falling we decide some hot food and drinks at a café sound like a marvellous idea for lunch.

Out, and Up from Frankford

Jacqui said she thought the town was long, and she was right, Frankford is Tasmania's longest town.

The road drops out of Frankford, a fast descent. But it raises up a wonderful climb, the road winding up a gradual slope. The sun was out after this morning's rain, and this seemed to be the epitome of was everything a ride should be.

Pine trees on one side of the road stood tall above us, the enchanting smell of pine drifting over the road like incense heating over a candle. On the other side the road dropped down into a valley, first into farm lands, and as we climbed higher into groves of gum trees, mixed with pine. In some places the trees in the valley thinned out enough to look down into damns, with still water.

Beneath the summer sun we rode, Zeke and Levi on my wheel, as we look about each of us take turns in pointing out things we like the look of; the views, the tree, the smells. Everywhere around us is beautiful, and the road just drifts up - we are climbing but the view is a wonderful distraction.

We come out of a corner and the road stretches up in front of us, straight as an arrow. A constant slope, not pressing too hard. At the top we stop and wait for our tail to catch up.

Up the Last, Big, Long Hill

A few downhills, speedy and fast. Then past some forest, which has been cut down, the sight is so barren, the land covered with stumps and wood chips and felled branches. "It is so ugly." Said Zeke, "I don't know why they do that."

Three, that is the magic number today, we were told it was “two”, but that was wrong. Over the third bridge and the road curves around a bend, then up again. 'It won't go on that long.' I think to myself, after being told the hill after the second bridge was bad, if only I knew.

Around another bend and the hill kicks up, the slope steepening as it climbs to the top. It is a long drag up too, the tail end of the day and our legs aren't too fresh. It keeps going, and behind me a truck grinds it's gears and stops, Levi goes past saying "The truck has stopped.", and indeed it has. I pull over, allowing the driver to find a gear and get started, loud as it drives past us, creeping up the hill.

I start up again, hoping the top of the hill is around the corner. It can't be, I still hear the truck, in a low gear, as it goes up the steep hill, where I can't see it. The hill keeps going, around one corner, and then another, before cresting near an intersection.

Back to Where we Started

Our reward for the day, our thought for getting through the hills, was to return to Port Sorell, a place we enjoyed at the start of our trip. At Port Sorell was a nice pizza shop, which added to the reward.

We were all happy and relieved to arrive at Port Sorell Lions Caravan Park, a long day of riding behind us. Jacqui walks up the steps and talks with the owners, who are happy to hear about our travels. We check in, set up tents and relax for the evening, ordering pizza and chips and thinking back on all we have done to get where we are.

Beaconsfield Mine and Heritage Museum

Long brick walls, with huge windows, rusted pipes that once held water, returning from an old steam engine room, that powered old engine yards. Greens trees dotted around an old mining facility, creating a clash of natural environment against crumbled industry infrastructure.

The pump shed collapsed. Huge brick walls lay in a jumble, like they weighed nothing at all, it looks like a giant has walked past and pushed the wall over as if it was Duplo. Steel rods, that once held the wall rigid, are bent like young willow branches, and as the years have passed trees and vines have grown over the red and crumbled bricks. It has not fallen onto flat ground, the angle the old wall lays on is steep, and below the rubble the ground falls away into an abyss; the rubble is held in place by years of weight, and steel, and luck.

Places marked "out of bounds" are like scenes from a Narnian story, secret walkways that lead into unexplored territory. Past the warning signs the cool air is welcoming, the rubble is misshapen and vines grow against the rock, creeping upward and upwards, to the top of a wall about four stories above me. A concrete boulder stops the path as I wonder if the Great Lion will greet me, and take me on an enchanted adventure.

Through a native garden, the water system is on and the ground, covered in moss, is damp. There is a pillar at the top, with ferns growing all around, so green and unexpected, with ruins and old places. I could get lost in all of the hidden places.

Old, very old

Jacqui plays an old pedal organ, while Adeline sits on her lap, slapping the keys. The boys try on some wigs, and look very cute. Nathanael and I sit down and watch a video describing how the Batman Bridge was built, it crosses the Tamar River, not too far from Beaconsfield.

Outside, among the boilers and steam engines there is a button, a press of the button and water starts to fall into the top of a large wheel. The bucket fills, the water starts pushing the wheel around, it gathers speed, turning round and round, moving cogs and belts that turn pistons that move heavy weights, that crush rock. The weights pound, making a large racket. then silence, the water has stopped.

Adeline squeals, one of her brothers had pressed the button and it was “My turn!”, the water starts up once again, then the wheel and then the noise.

Old, but not too old

My children have never had to use a phone with a dialing circle. Place a finger into the hole above a number, drag it around to the marker, and let it wind back to the start. Levi stands in front of an old cradle phone, and I ask him to dial 403, he is confused, and looks at me as if I should explain this ancient technology to him.

“It’s not that difficult.” I say. “Just put your finger in the number and drag it.” He does, the phone winds, and he smiles. “It takes so long to dial zero.”

I am not sure if I should be feeling old.

Old switch boards, red phones, and the possibility to send a telegraph. All old gear once used in the mine, technology had advanced so much in the last 100 years, flashing so fast past us we hardly notice when something new has become old.

Collapse

The Beaconsfield mine collapse was all over the news in 2006, it gained interest from all over the world, even the Foo Fighters wrote a song dedicated to the miners.

At the museum there is a whole room dedicated to the story, as told from the point of view of the miners, trapped underground for weeks, and personnel working at the mine. Newspaper clippings, a replica of the hole they were stuck in, the uniforms they were wearing, and a timeline to show what happened.

The display is not intense, it is not a ride to show thrills, but a thorough display of the facts. As I read about the event, it brings back memories of what happened, of news events, of how it captured the world's attention.

The mine was closed in 2012

Not only where we stand, on the mine site, but also far below the town, is the mine. The depth below our feet, how far they mined for gold, there are shafts reaching almost 1400 metres down below. A kilometre on a horizontal axis, like a road or river, I can visualise, heading down 1400 kilometres, under the rocks, and dirt, and clay makes me feel uneasy.

Trucks are down in the mine, taken in pieces no bigger than a dining table, and they never come out again, too expensive and not worth enough money. In fifty years, if the museum ever offered guided tours, there would be trucks, over half a century old, still down there.

A video shows how the staff worked below the surface. How they blasted, and dug, and engineered, and how everyone worked together (from the engineers to the miners) to source, and find, and mine the gold. In a tonne of rock, on average, they would get 7 grams of gold. All that work for 7 grams.

Fin

The Beaconsfield Mine and Heritage Museum is fun and informative. It was an excellent way to spend a morning, our children loved exploring in the past and learning about the present. We all loved the mine information, but the historic pieces, and the old mine buildings, grabbed our attention the most.

Slow and Steady Drops the Pace

Clouds. Rain. Clouds. Rain. I am glad we got the tents away before the wet begun, but now we are ready to go, and the rain has started. The boys take it as a sign to run off and play, being distracted at the task at hand, but they are with friends, so we let them go.

Today we have a planned ride, but we are not sure if we will make it that far, we aren't too worried about it though, a leisurely pace should suit us for a few days. Considering it is midday, and we are still wrangling kids to get going, we may not make it the planned 50kms.

Short travels

We wave goodbye was we leave down the steep driveway, our friends yelling “Good bye” as we head on our way. Jacqui and I talk about how glad we were to stay with Ruth, Shane and their children, we all enjoyed their company and a few days to stop and enjoy the surrounds.

The road before us feels daunting, with the distance we have planned, but we don't have any places to be, so there is no rush. A few steep inclines, and many downhills, rolling and rolling. The biggest issue is navigating the busy streets and impatient cars, trying to make sure the boys are in the right spot, waiting and watching for cars, on roads that are as unexpected as the drivers.

By lunch time, only a few kilometres from our morning’s departure, we decide to go a shorter distance for the day. Aim for Legana and tackle the other 30kms the following day - 50kms doesn’t seem like a long way, with a few weeks of riding in our legs, but to make more than 35kms in an afternoon, when we aren’t in a rush, seems like a silly idea. So we change our destination, relax, and enjoy the ride.

The afternoon’s travel is excellent. A wide bike lane heads out of Launceston on the West Tamar Highway, plenty of room for cars and trucks to travel past us, and we follow the road where it leads, through small suburbs and out the other side, and out past a wildlife reserve, where we stop for a walk.

Legana is not far from Launceston, but is our camp for the night. Too easy.

On to Beauty Point

The sun was not in the open when we woke, it was behind the clouds and it felt cold. At the breakfast table the sun burned through the clouds, and it warmed up in an instant. It has been like that since, warm sun shining, hardly a breeze in the trees.

Packed and ready to leave at a suitable time we ride out of the caravan park and back onto the highway. It was suggested to us that we take the road that goes down along the Tamar River and we are glad we have done that. It is a beautiful day, sun is singing through the trees, casting dark shadows across the road. The grass is green and the water on the Tamar River is still. Everyone is in high spirits, enjoying the weather, the view and the riding, none of them demanding much of us today.

We ride up, away from the water, a short jaunt down the highway, avoiding rushing truck drivers as best we can, and into Exeter. We decide to stop and enjoy “A Cyclists Stop”, our first for the trip, at the Exeter Bakery, ordering cakes, coffee and chocolate milk. We sit in the sun, critiquing the baked goods, and suggesting that we should start “The Cyclist’s Review”, a website dedicated to reviewing Coffee and Cakes from Bakeries we ride to (turns out it (has been done)[http://www.patisseriecyclisme.co.uk/], but is not working).

The road from Exeter is, once again, nice rolling country roads, but here the drivers are a little too close, and the trucks are a little too fast. It is tight riding, and after a few stops for blackberries, we thread our way into Beaconsfield.

We stop for food, and visit the museum (it is a brief stop as we earmark this for our return the following day), before continuing on toward Beauty Point.

Fin

Chicken burgers for dinner tonight, in preparation for tomorrow’s ride. Foraged fruit for dessert, some of the roadside apples combined with a big bag of blackberries, when the roadside has no stalls you can make do with bushes and trees.

We have a great discussion with a man, who along with his wife, is finding a love for travelling. It is funny how the road will change your perception of people, usually things are not just business as usual, but different and odd, and there is always something to talk about.

We sink into our tents, after a shower, knowing that tomorrow will not be a bad day of riding, it is not far and the road is not demanding. Sleep falls upon us, quickly.

Launceston - What We Did

Launceston has been a wonderful place to spend some time, even though we have not travelled into the town at all, beside to see Cataract Gorge. We were offered a friend’s car for a few days, so we have had a good rest and seen some sights.

From Launceston we have managed a few adventures to close by towns, and some not so close by. We have rested, met new friends, played with friends, and enjoyed our stay. Tomorrow we move on, but we have seen a lot while in town.

Cataract Gorge

The parking meter had run out of paper, and the path from the car park to the main desk is a long walk down, steep hills, and a long walk back, up steep hills, to put the excuse note on the dashboard. So far, everywhere in Launceston is hills upon hills, drive down into the city, drive up and then back down again to get to Cataract Gorge, and steep.

The sun was bright, the grass was green and the view was picturesque. What looks like a lake, but is a basin, was still as glass, a long suspension bridge spans the water, stretching between two sides of the river. South Esk runs below, where it flows onwards, ending where it joins the Tamar River.

The pool, which was free of charge, and looked inviting in the perfect conditions, had taken the fancy of the boys - who decided that walking in such perfect conditions was not the thing to do for the afternoon. We suggested a walk, the idea was greeted with joy, and after crossing the suspension bridge, any further walking was considered “protestable action”.

“Let’s go up to the lookout.” We suggested. The protests came flying back from the majority: “No! It is too steep and scary.”; “How far is it?”; “Why do we have to go up there?”

We ventured up one lookout before finishing the walk, the shortest walk we could take. Under the sun, gum trees and blue sky, nestled between steep hillsides, with the sun shining, and no wind blowing, and Adeline ready for a sleep, it was perfect for swimming.

Jacqui and Adeline napped. The boys played in the pool. An afternoon spent well, and enjoyed below the warm summer sun.

Penny Farthing Championships

We spent a day at the Evendale Village Fair, where we watched the National Penny Farthing Championships. Old steampunk style cosplay, penny farthings, ragtime music, a large market, and bike racing on penny farthings.

We met Jeff, a rider from New South Wales, who was participating for his third year and eager to do more riding on his penny farthing. We had a good discussion about how he built his bike (from a NSW TAFE course) and looking for another builder to build his next frame. I didn’t know there was such a big following of Penny Farthings in Australia, and a passion for racing on this size.

Meeting New People

A bike was leaning against a wall at the fair, and I wanted to meet the rider, panniers front and back, a bag over the top, and some cool looking mud guards. The bike was painted in fantastic colours, and the helmet, slung over the handlebars, was more decorative than the frame. But the cyclist was nowhere to be seen.

Half-an-hour later a cyclist was standing beside the bike, and that is how we met Patrick, a Seattle touring cyclist, who was heading back to Devonport for the Monday Ferry.

Patrick told us about his adventures in New Zealand, how he had worked in Southern Tasmania, and his plans to ride a lap of the Pacific Ocean. Meeting touring cyclists on the road, is like meet long-lost kin, plenty of discussions about the road, and the fun that is had.

Hills, All By Myself

I rode some of the hills of Launceston, all by myself. Down to the city and then up and around to Cataract Gorge, over to [Duck Reach Power Station])https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Duck_Reach_Power_Station) and back home again.

I had no camera, no phone, and after a few days of driving a car, riding those hills was exactly what I needed. Those hills, the views I saw, they are all for myself, and for my memory.

Time with New Friends

Jacqui met Ruth and her children while they were living in Ocean Grove for a few months, they had come to home-ed sport. When we knew wee were coming to Launceston Jacqui sent a text message to ask for some caravan park recommendations, and they had a better idea, why not stay with them for a few nights?

We pitched our tents, beside their bus (that they live in), on the grass and stone behind a church, on a hill, in Blackstone Heights. A wonderful location, with excellent hosts. They leant us their car, which allowed us to explore more that we would have seen (like St. Columbia Falls), and they had children who loved to hang out with our children. A trampoline, some DVD’s and some excellent food - what more could be asked for?

The children played board games, watched movies (and we have been hearing Open Season quotes since then), set off the church alarm, played hide and seek, jumped on the trampoline (which included jumping from a ladder onto the trampoline) and whizzed around the car park on a Green Machine bike.

We are so grateful for Ruth and Shane opening up their home to us, mostly strangers, who sent a TXT message. We will think on their kindness and friendship for many moons.

Moving On

Still our time here has come to an end, we do need to keep moving, and tomorrow we shall do that.

St. Columba Falls

We are driving a car, on a cycling trip, and I am disappointed. For your sake, Dear Reader, I will not begin to explain my views on this, suffice to say Jacqui has called me a “purist”, with frustration in her voice, and I think she was holding back. I do not claim to be easy to live with.

On Borrowed Wheels

We are borrowing a car to see more of Tasmania than we could have in a month, and the first pace on the list is St. Columba Falls - located on the East Coast of Tasmania, not too far from St Helens.

The roads in Tasmania are different to those on the mainland. On the mainland, if a road is 100km long it will take an hour to arrive. In Tasmania, if a road is 100km long it could take 2 hours, as the road traverses hills and vales, mountains and creeks, and winds in an indirect path, before arriving at the destination.

Our journey to the east coast is close to three hours, filled with: yelling and bored children; the “feeling” travel sickness (thankfully not the “doing” of travel sickness); calls of “I’m Hungry”; all the things that I remember about long car rides, but probably shouldn’t.

Take a Break, Take a Tuna on a Crunchy Biscuit

Around us the air is fresh and smells like rainforest. Ferns grow under the canopy of gum trees, moss covers the ground around the tables, and the breeze carries a refreshing chill, that feels relaxing when I take a deep breath.

In the trees birds sing and chirp, calling one another with a sonorous note. The children are thinking out loud as to how they will assemble their lunch. Joash and Elijah sit next to me, enjoying their bread rolls, Adeline joins us, pushing Joash off the table to gain a seat next to her Dad.

Pathways Downwards

We walk down a path, uneven in spots where the rain has washed away the pathway. We start to walk below ferns that are taller than us, getting closer to the noises of a stream, and in the background, there is a sound like music playing, the waterfall.

The stream flows over rocks, ambling along, over moss covered rocks and fallen tree trunks. The river water is dark where it gets deeper after a fall, before running below a bridge to the next place of steady flowing falls.

The trees stand apart over a bridge, blue sky and fast-moving clouds can be seen. We look up to see trees growing through the gaps, pointing in many directions, they are covered in green, climbing vines and moss. A yellow and green glow where the sun is shining from the leaves.

The falls, St. Columba Falls

Torrents of water flood over the rocks of St. Columba Falls. The water doesn't cascade down, it rumbles; Crashing and thundering, creating large plumes of water vapour as it streams down the 90 meter waterfall.

The water mist fills the air, billowing away from the craggy rocks, which lay in unpredictable places, etched away by years of water flowing over them. A sign nearby says that the waterfall has never run dry. 220,000 liters fall per minute, over the fall, in the winter time, I cannot imagine the noise that would make.

Fences are always in places to prevent adventure

The main stream of water rushes by the children, who have gone past the barriers to sit closer to the water. They are sitting on rocks, throwing stones and sticks into the water, if we aren’t swimming in water, then we are throwing thing into it.

Fences are always in places to prevent adventure. We are getting strange looks from people who watch us slide off the walkway, to experience the waterfall a little closer.

Sandy Shores and Swimming

On our way back to the car we stop at a sandy shore, a small beach front that leads to the brown, river water. Tops come off as, one by one, the boys venture into the river. Deeper and deeper they go, dancing in the spot as the cold water passes by.

An "embiggened" game of "Pooh Sticks" begins. Joash and Elijah pick up fern branches and throw them into the river. The sticks flow, with the water, below the bridge, down to a gentle fall, where they are caught by the water and put into a barrel roll as the water rushes by a rock. The boys giggle, and run off to get more sticks.

The bigger boys have lost bravery. There is a whine if someone splashes, a cry if they get too far into the river, and the water reaches past their knees.

Many minutes pass, until, Nathanael dives under. He stands on a rock and flows with water, a dive, his head under, then he surfaces, a full 10-feet taller than his brothers (for being the first under).

Levi cries out, "Nathanael, I was just about to do that." As if he deserved to get wet first with all of the “Undecided Standing” he had been doing, dancing about, encouraging himself to go in. For the first time in a long time, Levi lost at “First One Under”.

Jacqui said "Well, it's a perfect remedy for hot feet.", talking about her feet being in the cold water. I think that the falls has been a remedy for so much more than hot feet, hot tempers from the long car ride have been soothed, bored minds have been entertained and we feel refreshed being in the rain forest.

Easy Days, Resting Ways

We are spending two nights in Longford, not to rest, but to find some things to do in an old town. Last night we went for an evening meal at the Longford Hotel, but what else is there to do around Longford?

Longford, Down to Brickendon Estate

An old country lane, lined with hedges that are cut with square edges, trees bend over the top creating a nestled canopy, and a harvesting tractor driving in the opposite direction toward us. This is the scenery, on an overcast day, as we ride to an old convict farm, so we can walk through an historic landmark. Brickendon Estate, about 5km out of Longford.

Built in 1824 it is a farm and Manor house, now operated by the seventh generation in the family, with three generations living in the Manor house (three generations sounds familiar to us). Old buildings, printed on our guide map, come to life when we walk through the old grounds. Old mills, barns and a small house with two rooms, long sheering shed, blacksmithing shed, a chapel and a chook yard.

Turkeys roam in the yard, 'gobbeling' along as Adeline squeals in excitement at the size of the birds. The chook yard is full of chickens and ducks, with chicks of different ages. The boys, who have chickens at home, love feeding and investigating the different breeds of the local fowl. “I think this one is like Pirate Pete.” says one boy.

We walk into the first house built on the farm, by the initial owner, Mr. Archer. Through the low doors and into a short hallway, that separates his two rooms; one for sleeping and one for cooking. Each room has a fireplace, the kitchen fireplace is deeper to allow for a cooking pot, and each room has a chair to relax in. A narrow bed is up against a window, and a small table with a few things scattered over the top.

Houses were so small, no waste, and only a small amount of space for personal belongings, so different to what we call a “house” these days. It makes me wonder, how many of today's houses will stand like this in 180 years time?

It would appear that the Archer’s of Brickendon treated the convicts, who worked for them, as helpful and punishment was only for the worst of offences. No worker went hungry, is what the pamphlet said, because a hungry worker does not work as hard.

We ride over to the Manor house for a walk around the grounds. Such a nice place to see, the trees in the manicured gardens almost glow with pride, the roses smell as pretty as they look, and the orchard is full with fruit trees, the fruit hanging low in the branches. One blackberry bush had grown up in to a tree, which made it look like a blackberry tree.

On the Road, The Next Day

The sun is bright this morning, no clouds hinder the streams of light as they fall upon the tent, warming the inside so it is uncomfortably stuffy. It is a "two coffee" morning this morning, a late night working means I am feeling tired when I wake.

Zeke asks for the key to the toilets, and one by one, the boys all disappear (hopefully after they pack their bags) to wake with the morning television shows. I forget how some morning television will encourage the boys to wake early, and then leave us with tired and grumpy children when it is time to move on.

We are not rushing to leave the park today, but we also do not wish to stay long. The planned route for the day will take us to Launceston the back way, avoiding the main road, and almost directly to our stay for the next few nights.

We ride across a bridge, trucks trying to pass us from behind, while we look below to see Viaduct Corner, a part of the old race track. The out of Longford and up a short hill, before a long, easy fall to the turn off the main road.

Here, the road lays before us, long and lazy. It is an easy roll down into some gullies, and back out the other side. Farm yards stretch for miles toward the mountains on one side, and on our right the farms climb up over hills, brown grass and horses in the paddocks.

The road is still long and lazy, passing over an old bridge and up below trees that create a canopy above us. A pig chases us along a fence, the canopy shading us from the sun that has been pouring down all day. Below the trees, it is the perfect farm lane.

Around bends and finally an ascent of a a last hill into the south end of Launceston. The boys are surprised, only did 20kms today and that was all. Levi, sounding incredulous, “What? Is that it? We are at Launceston already? It feels like I am just getting warmed up.”

Time for a few days with some friends.

The Long Way to Longford

Our tents are nestled under a huge tree, jumbled with other people's tents - owned by fruit pickers on working holidays. Our bikes are fastened, with a bike lock, to the same tree we are camped under. It was raining, big heavy drops falling on the tree, and we are not wet, we had managed to get all the way into Deloraine before the rain started to fall.

What to Do in a Day

Down a path toward the sound of rushing water is a small park, with a steam engine. The steam engine is behind bars, a sad place for an old, stately engine, but there it sits. A set of stairs lead up to the cab, every other area of the engine is blocked off, just in case someone gets hurt, I guess. The boys don't mind too much, they climb aboard and start to play a game; coal shovelers, drivers and brakes men.

From the park we hear the sound of running water, the river that runs past our campsite meets the falls here. It flows faster, over rocks and concrete edging, as the river drops away, down to lower waters. On the opposite bank we can see where the water was once directed toward a water wheel, there is no wheel now, just an old mill-house with odd painted weather boards. It seems a waste, in an older town, that there are old places that have not been fixed up and made like the older days.

We walk over a bridge, suspended over the flowing water. A small exercise park is entertainment as we challenge each other to do sit-ups. One, two, three. How many could the boys do?

A platypus? Perry the Platypus?

We are big fans of Phineas and Ferb, a television show about inventions, play, busting and mad scientists fighting an animal secret agent, Perry the Platypus. When I say “big fans” I mean we can watch that show an awful lot in a week, the boys love it, Adeline enjoys it and we all get a good laugh at the jokes.

One of the main attractions to the park we are staying at is that it is close to the river and in this river are platypus. Platypus that have “been bold” (as the caretaker says) and coming out between 4 and 6 pm, to feed.

On the way back from the park the boys walk along the river, trying to spot a swimming platypus. Excited whispers come from up ahead and Zeke is standing with his hand out, pointing at the water. Everyone joins him, trying to follow his pointing. Some bubbles float to the surface, and not too long afterwards up pops a platypus. It sits right on the surface of the river, and then dives back under to continue the search for food.

Back on the Road Again

Rolling roads greet us out of Deloraine, farm hills roll around us, flowing up to rounded peaks, covered in cows and brown grass. The roadside is lined with trees, green hedges and small houses. A butterfly floats in front of my bike, dancing upon the wind with fluttering wings, before moving off toward the trees.

The boys wouldn't have been grumpy this morning if they had realised how easy the road would be. Sun shining, gentle wind blowing behind us, hurrying us onward, along the back country roads. We are riding along the old highway, there is only a 30cm shoulder to ride on between the road and the grass, so we stay between two sides; as left as we dare, and as right as we dare.

Rolling Roads is the perfect description for this terrain. They are not heavy to ride, our wheels spin as freely as the sunshine, the tyres singing as the nobbles zip over the bitumen. We roll down a small hill, and over the top of the trees, in front of us, an old bluestone church stands, the top of the tower standing above the bright green leaves.

Lunch is enjoyed at a beautiful park, once the centre of town activity, archery, dancing and stalls at a market. A brilliant green mat of grass reaches all over the Villiage Green, a park and a tall tree keep the children entertained while Jacqui and Joash return with rolls for lunch, and a few bakery goods, in celebration for our 13th wedding anniversary.

The afternoon ride is wonderful. Sun shines heartily, warming our smiles and quickening the roads. We ride past more farms, hills, and are passed by a few drivers, who find is annoying being on the road.

Longford

We roll into Longford and find the caravan park. The owners are wonderful, giving us a few hints on places to see, and even offering to book is a table at the Country Club Hotel, for our evening meal.

With tents setup and the sun shining we head off for our evening meal. The hotel is full of racing memorabilia, stories and photos from when Longford was home to “Australia's fastest road racing circuit”. An old racing car, that we can see from the front of the building, was the perfect distraction while our meals were being prepared.

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.

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.