Hope is on the Road Ahead

Dear Adventurous Reader,

We are leaving Vancouver during rush hour. It is not the best of ideas, but we had to collect food and some equipment for our road trip, and it made sense to do that on our day of departure. Shopping on the first day of a long road trip is a hindrance, but due to a busy work schedule in Vancouver it was impossible to do this shopping before. I lament our departure time, as we pull up behind a long line of cars, until we get into the commuters lane and start bypassing all the cars with only a single driver.

Gradually the city is left behind. The tall buildings, the road exits to suburbs and neighboring cities, are all behind us. All that joins us on the journey is the rows and rows of cars. The tallest landmark on our horizon is no longer man made, it is the glacier that is near Mt. Baker, in the United States, and it beckons us to adventure. We are driving across Canada - though we left a little later than planned.

As we get closer to Abbotsford we are stopped behind lines and lines of traffic. A city-themed traffic jam stretches before us, and the sun shines upon our car making us feel hot. We have left Vancouver, we have not traveled as far as we wanted to, and we are stuck in traffic. Time to give up on making progress, and find a place to camp.

A small town of Chilliwack has a camp ground close to a low-running river. It smells like dead fish, but the view is very pretty, with the trees lining the mountain behind us. We have Campers Spaghetti for dinner, made beside the river. Eating beside the river sounded like a good idea, so we moved the food over to cook, then we smelt the river and looked upon the carcasses of dead fish but were not bothered enough to move away.

We wake in the morning and pack up. It is cold, and the overnight has caused condensation on the inside of the tents. Jacqui is making room in our trunk for full bags, food, and tents, the boys and I allow the tents to dry in the sun. We get into the car for a long drive, and discover the engine light is glowing. Fantastic.

Words of Uncle Josh hit us like a sledge hammer - he has a way with words - “If you see an engine light, stop and get it looked at.” We find a mechanic, then we find a way to burn hours in a small town until a spot opens up for the car to be looked at.

Thinking Aboot Lemons

I spend the next few hours thinking about the car we have purchased. We wanted a car that would get us across Canada and to get us about during winter. A car that could take us southward towards North Carolina, and keep us dry and warm. I am not sure if this fits the bill, not yet - I think we found a lemon. A big, hulking massive lemon. With rusted sills and underbelly, rolling suspension and an uncertain amount of issues that appear when we have only just started our long journey across Canada.

We didn’t feel like we had much of a choice with cars. We wanted a car that could fit us all in (eight seats and all our luggage), a car that could drive long distances, a car that could fight through a winter storm, and after all of that, come out the other side. A Suburban sounded excellent, on all accounts, except it is American, with a reputation for being a bit average.

The car we purchased found us. We had a look around, but this was the car with the puppy-dog-eyes that we couldn’t say no to. Historically, for us, these are the cars we buy and they have not let us down. This small issue of an engine light is not counted as “letting us down”, but it doesn’t build much trust.

We talk to our friends who own Suburbans, they all tell us that the engine light comes on “All the Time”, but it just keeps on driving. Again, sounds great, just not building much trust. American Engineering - maybe it is just the car telling us that the engine is running?

Hope is on the Road Ahead

The mechanic finds nothing wrong that will hinder our journey. The light comes on because of an oxygen sensor near the catalytic converter. He noticed a few things wrong with the underneath, which he fixes, and we are back underway again - at 5:30pm.

We drive on to the next town, so that we have made some kind of forward progress. Always forward, when the journey is so long. The next town is called Hope, and with a name like that, we take it as a sign of things to come.

Exploring Bowen Island

The Ferries come and go at the Horseshoe Bay Marina, so it would be silly to miss a trip on a ferry to see a near-by island.

Exploring Vancouver Aquarium

In Stanley Park is the Vancouver Aquarium. A visit, and explore, was in order.

Exploring Lynn Canyon

Lynn Canyon is close to the town, with one super cool suspension bridge.

Exploring Whytecliff Park

Whytecliff Park is in West Vancouver, a long walk from Aunty Margot's. We explored.

Exploring with Cousin Jesse

There were happy trails with cousin Jesse, where we explored the forest behind Horseshoe Bay.

Family, Fun, Vancouver

Aunty Margot lives in Horseshoe Bay. She lives, with her son Jesse, in a small, two room apartment that overlooks the comings and goings of the ferries at the terminal below. It is a picturesque scene, with the hills climbing up and around in a bowl that encircle the town on every side, except where it opens into the marina and out into Howe Sound.

For some crazy reason, Aunty Margot has allowed us to stay with her, in her apartment, for two weeks after we arrive in Canada. We exit the limo that brought us from the airport and carry our bags up the long street, stopping when the weight becomes too heavy to lift. The walk feels like eternity after a long flight, customs and figuring out how to get to Horseshoe Bay.

Down the back stairs and inside, where we are greeted by Jesse - a tall man, with a slim figure and a Canadian Chin. He smiles and invites us in, as we allow the awkward greetings to pass between us all, until the stories begin and we find our family connection. Not too long after Christina arrives after school, and hugs are exchanged with more stories that again draw us back together.

It is amazing how distance can’t break the bond of Family. Family is more than skin deep, it runs in the blood. After a few stories we were comfortable, and hanging out like old times (the “old times” were from a few years ago when Margot travelled with Christina and Jesse over to Australia).

Margot came home from work and it was a party all over again. The sun set behind the hills, shining a dim light on the bay below while we ate dinner, sitting in chairs, watching the ferries in the bay below, and telling stories about our travels and the day that each of us had.

Injuries

The first adventure down to Horseshoe Bay begun with Adeline falling head first onto small stones, and cutting an indent into her forehead, she made herself bleed. The deep cut was clean, no stones were embedded in her head, and she didn’t put up too much of a fuss after the band-aid went over it.

A few days later the boys were off adventuring in the woods, and Someone flicked a wasp away that was bothering them. Being close to a hive, and agitating a wasp is a bad idea - the wasp will call the others into the fray. The wasps in the hive got mad and set off in pursuit of their attackers, five Australian boys who had never seen a hive of angry wasps. Panicked, yelling and screaming they run back to the house, and right inside with mad wasps climbing on their hair and clothes.

Elijah was left behind in the panic, and got stung on his head twice. Nathanael gained the runners up prize, getting a sting on a knuckle. We killed 9 wasps inside the house, it could have been worse. Next time they will have to stay outside, so not to bring the wasps inside to share with everyone else.

Jesse came to the rescue, bringing vinegar to calm the stings, and a smile to say that it was perfectly normal to be set upon by wasps - the key is not to agitate them in the first place. He also had a few stories about times he had been walking in the woods and got stung too. Before long all became calm again, and Elijah started to feel a little better.

Up to Whistler

The trees are tall, and thin, covered with green. Green, green and more green. There is more green than I have seen in such a long time. The trees are green, the grass is green. We drive on through the scenery that doesn’t stop changing, Howe Sound, the islands, the cliffs of Squamish, and the long roads that wind up to Whistler.

There is no snow. There is green, and there is mountains. Off in the distance is a glacier. A glacier - you will have to forgive me for being so excited about seeing a mass of ice on top of a mountain, I am new to this whole “mountains, snow and frozen thing”…

The road is wide, and we take the gentle curves around the mountain as we head toward Whistler. There is no snow on the road, only long stretches of grey that is nestled between the tall trees of green. It is a beautiful drive from Squamish, and the boys had taken the opportunity to stop yelling at each other for a while, and to look around outside.

We finally find a car park, it is busy and look around to see women covered in mud, running up the mountain side. Mudderella is either getting started or finishing up in the car park at Blackcomb. We find a gondola and ride down to the town of Whistler. Mountains bikes and dirt covered riders descend the mountains, then wait for the ski lifts to take them back to the top to do it again. The boys all ask if we can hire bikes, so we let them investigate and on hearing the prices they decide, instead, to save their money.

The mountains stretch further and further up into the clear blue that stretches over us. The green and brown trees line steep mountains, which are separated by long stretches of grass that will become ski runs in the winter. The autumnal sun streams from the clear sky, casting a warm yellow glow over everything, a gentle breeze passes between the shops and pubs, all filled with people.

We walk the streets, past the expensive stores, along the pavement that is soon to be covered in snow. Here, with nothing to do but walk, we have found a wonderful place to window shop, and to soak in the atmosphere of a town buzzing with activity. Relax, chilled out on such a beautiful day, it is easy to see why so many people are here.

The playground gets huge points, if you are in the area with kids, we could have spent longer playing there…

Family

This was not all that we did in Vancouver. The most memorable for us was spending time with our aunty and cousins - our family. The older boys went hiking with Jesse, hunting for mushrooms in the forests that grow around the village. We all were invited to a school fate, where we spent tickets in exchange for fun things to do, or eat. We sat on the kitchen floor, talking into the night as long as our tired bodies would allow.

We allowed the business of the day to be reduced to words in each-others ears, sharing tales of adventures (past and present), sharing jokes and sharing our lives together. It was a little tight in the small apartment, but that made it more memorable, and we enjoyed the benefits of spending such a rich time with family.

From Australia, to New Zealand and on to Canada we have been welcomed into the home of family, and made to feel like part of the clockwork that continues on around us. The “ties that bind”, the blood in our veins. Family, all over the globe.

Exploring Horseshoe Bay

We explored Horseshoe Bay, where Aunty Margot lives, to see what the village had to offer.

A Little Different, And Great Friends

Dear Adventurous Reader,

We are flying over the mountains of New Zealand, the Alps that line the west coast of the South Island. The white peaks reach up, from a long way below - they feel as if they are trying to touch the bottom of the plane. The mountains don't do that in Australia. We try and find a way to look out the windows, leaning over passengers to grab a sneak-peak of a new country as it comes into view.

The flight was long. For a first flight, for any flight, the children were fantastic. Standing in line, waiting in a row and following orders. They sat on the seats, didn’t climb about or yell and scream, they were well behaved and it was a great relief - I didn’t expect bad behaviour, just sometimes new things bring about unexpected actions. I felt the tension ease as we begun the decent into Christchurch, we made it without having to apologise to any other passengers.

Even through customs, which was long and boring, after an early morning and a long day - everyone was denied sleep by hours of exciting and new things - we made it to new soil, a different country, and were welcomed at the airport by our long-lost friends Eileen and David.

The boys were super excited to get back “home”, because waiting for them were Simon and Reuben. Simon and Reuben are close friends of the boys, they moved back home to New Zealand a few years ago. Due to a series of fortunate events, our tickets managed us to spend a week in New Zealand. An Unexpected Journey, with our friends having space to house all of us - incredible. We altered our plans of a direct flight to Canada, and took the adventure that came to us.

I’ll just point out that we have rather awesome friends. David and Eileen were game enough to host our horde. Maybe the didn’t know what they were getting into having us on site for a week.

New Zealand Difference

Things are different in New Zealand. The house have strange roofs, and the the blocks have yards. The people say “‘ey?” and are nice and smile when walking down the street. The wind is cold, and the mountains that line the backdrop remind me that I am no longer in Australia.

Bordering the town, on the north-west side, of Rangiora, maybe one hundred kilometres off in the distance, are mountains, tall enough to be draped in snow. Our home and everything around it is so flat, in comparison, and the mountains, covered in snow at the beginning of spring, seem to me an odd occurrence - the locals probably wouldn’t even notice.

The town feels both large and small. Population wise it is the same as our home town, but it has lots of shops and a larger town centre. People drive on the correct side of the road, and there are cycling lanes that have cyclists in them - it is so flat around here that riding would be a great way to get about. We have found the local Countdown (Safeway back at home), and a library that has some cubbies to crawl inside and read.

Hanmer Springs

Aqua-blue water winds around the smooth pebble-lined river, ice melt pressing through the wide river bed. White rolls of water press over the pebbled river, as it twists between the mountain range that we are driving between to get up toward Hanmer Springs.

The water is hot, springs warming the water from below the surface of the earth. People stroll about in bathing suits, stepping into the warm water from the chill-day air.

The large pool at the bottom is filled with children, and shortly after setting upon the waters (for we all wanted to swim) the life-guards call us all to exit. A poo has been found in the pool. Emergency evacuation, for ‘it’ and all of us. So, as a group we set upon warmer waters, finding spas and pools that have a temperature of more than 25 degrees.

Adeline and myself found that the pools of warm spring water, cascade into pools below, either going down rocky waterfalls, or long canyons. If you start at the top, you can crawl on your belly down from pool to pool. Stopping for a relaxing sit along the way. On our way down we meet Joash and Elijah, who join us until the water slides seem like more fun.

The second evacuation call, upon our return to the Pool Pool was sign to pack up and leave. A wonderful drive back down the mountains, descending roads we had climbed to spend a wonderful day.

Ashley Gorge

The “hulls” (say it out loud, and you will get the accent correct) wind up and down, covered with trees and a misty rain that quietly falls. There is no wind in the trees, only the sound of birds chittering. The boys are building a long, stone weir into the river, dropping stones large and small onto into a neat pile, and then jump out of the way of the cold water as it splashes upward.

Eileen stands on the dry stones, passing more rocks along the long line of boys who arrange, or drop the rocks, into place. The boys are always yelling some form of command to each other. "We'll get to the other side!" One suggests, but Levi brings the voice of reason, "Nah we won't. It's too far."

Joash has started his own wall, in another place, away from the water to keep himself dry. He had been building with everyone else, but decided that the splashes were to be avoided.

Here the hulls are tall around us, steep and lined with green trees. The green of the grass and trees is new to me, I have seen green trees before, but this lush, green colour shines from everything. It is beautiful to look upon - “The grass is greener on the other side (of the Tasman Sea)”, as the saying goes.

Friends

What brought us to Rangiora was friends - friends who had moved back to New Zealand, with a sea separating us for a time. The Unexpected Journey to New Zealand was something the boys looked forward to, and the week with Simon and Reuben and Zoe, David and Eileen, was refreshing, but also fun for everyone.

The Difficulty is in Leaving

The plane is waiting on the runway. My eyes are tired, stinging from the early morning, the long drive from home to the airport, and the long wait. Rush to the airport only to wait in long lines, following other people who also rushed to the airport, only to wait. We have our seats, the ones we booked months ago, and we are waiting to depart.

I look out of the window, watching the rain fall on the tarmac and dribble along the plastic windows; long trails left behind the beaded drops of water. Outside is Tullamarine, and beyond that Melbourne. For the past 33 years Melbourne has been the largest city closest to home, and once the plane lifts off the ground, it will fall behind the horizon until we return, we are not sure when that will be.

In my tired state I think of changes I want to make to my fitness. “I should start running along the beach.”, and I think about the path between Ocean Grove and Barwon Heads, the salt bush trailing along the dunes, the dark sea as it stretches beyond the edge of the world to Tasmania. Can’t do that, I won’t see Ocean Grove for a year.

Maybe I could ride - I tend to get fit faster if I ride a bike. The rain falls heavier onto the outside window, as I realise that I sold my bike and have the cash stashed in my wallet.

Changes. These plans for fitness visit me multiple times a week, and for the first time I cannot predict what I will be able to do. I cannot change my actions, or imagine starting down any path because I cannot imagine our destination. Can I ride a bike, or go for a run? Even before then we have to cross one of the longest countries in the world. Maybe I could run from bears?

A few nights before this same understanding had come to me, while I was watching the bonfire flame dwindle in the cold night air. Everything will be different, things will change, and I am unsure what it will look like.

Friends, family and fire

The boys don’t need any encouragement to light sticks on fire, especially when the pile is super high and we have friends coming over to stand around burning embers, and talk, late into the cold night. Tonight we are having a bonfire to say farewell to our friends and family.

Two days ago the boys carved sticks into spears, and tonight they are sitting in the paddock pushing the sharped ends into fire lighters. Lots of sticks, one for every child, are set alight and then heaved onto the bonfire.

The fire burns, taking up the refuse, and sending long tentacles of flame into the air. We all move closer to feel the heat, stepping out of the cold breeze, and the kids walk around, inspecting the fire to make sure all of the sticks will catch fire. “It’s not as good when we used bows and arrows last time.” Levi tells me. “But, it was okay.”

Friendships are made in times like these. Long, lingering discussions, that start in small gatherings, and grow deeper as time pulls you closer together. Conversations that start around small things (like a bonfire), and grow bigger, delving deeper into more personal topics. I remember two years ago standing around a fire like this with the Millers, listening to Roger and Tony talking about ‘Murica and politics.

Life is like that, small things grow, and in time you realise that a friendship has started, where there was none before. Time, and stories, have twined together to bring you closer to the same place. Growing together over time, makes parting so difficult.

And family. We would not be the way we are today without them. We share a property and a house with Jacqui’s parents, and live less than a kilometer away from my parents. We catch up with our siblings on a regular basis, and share a meal and a laugh with them. We are in regular communication with at least one brother or sister, and love spending time with them. If family are friends you don’t get to choose, then we couldn’t have not-chosen a better bunch to hang out with.

We have spent the last few months thinking about saying goodbye, and due to packing and thinking about getting around, we have not thought about “the dreaded goodbye”. Yet, standing around the burning sticks, with family and friends, it is hard to not think about it.

I look around at the bonfire and see faces of people who have built up our community. Our closest friends and family, who have stood besides us, or listened to our woes, or given words of wisdom. Our support, those who have given things more precious than we can ever say thank you for - their time. Our community, that we will not see face-to-face for a long time.

We will be on the road and not see these dear people. It made me feel sad, made me feel like I wanted to stay home and not travel. “The idea was great, the plans were fun, and the trip would have been the best thing ever - but I’m good thanks. I’ll stay home, and we’ll travel a little later on.”

Adventure is Upon Us

Running from bears? What else can I expect from a tired brain? Getting up at 4:00am has made me wonder about fitness while we sit on the edge of the biggest adventure our family has been on. I shake my head, and rub my stinging eyes.

“Joash, press pause and look out the window.” I say across to the window seat. He has settled down to watch Thunderbirds on the screen in front of him. The engines wind up, and start thundering, he smiles and looks as the plane starts down the runway, pressed back into his seat from the acceleration.

“This feels weird.” The boys all say as the plane lifts from the ground, weightlessness for a split second as the plane departs home soil. “Home soil”, down below is Melbourne, the city growing further away, as the plane pulls the wheel up and takes to the skies, off toward New Zealand, then Canada.

Down below are all the people, friends and family, the places we know and love, all of them getting smaller as the plane departs Home and takes us onward, toward the unknown. The one thing that we take away with us, from all those we hold dear, nothing can take away, is the memories we have created together. They are coming with us, and will eventually call us home.

Another Adventure Upon Us

Dear Adventurous Reader,

It has been a long time since we last wrote, and we have missed you. Time passes by, leaving us to take care of the immediate things, and neglecting those that don't yell enough for our attention. While there has been plenty of things yelling for our attention, writing a new post to give you an update was not yelling loud enough. Sorry.

Hopefully we can make it up to you. We have plenty of tales to tell.

Empty Corner of the Internet

This little corner of the internet has been void of stories containing adventure in the past months. Adventures have been less-grand, and more day-to-day, slipping in between the gentle flows of life. Work, school, sport and other things have taken our time. But, in the quiet, since we last spoke, an adventure has risen and taken us in.

Travel is something we always wanted to do, using the world as a form of education, and seeing the places where people around the world live - either by birth or by choice. Since our first trip in a car we have wanted to see some of the world with our children, but have never had a way to do it. Then, in the past few months a trip was planned, and the way became clear.

And so, we are off on another adventure. Not the short kind where we pack in ten days to drive around half of Australia with friends we met two months before. Not the second kind, where we cycle unsupported around some of Tasmania. The long kind, that had lots of planning, and tickets to foreign countries.

Yes. We are heading overseas. With six children. It will be fun.

Offshoring Our Adventures

We returned from Tasmania in March, summer passed us by, autumn came, and we begun hibernating. We wanted to start planning our next adventure, but decided that it would be great if we could keep saving our money to head overseas. Living in Australia can be expensive, and while we live cheaply at home, being on the road and limited in what we can carry, means that traveling (either by car or bike) brings our cost of living up.

So we waited, and talked about what we could do.

As our talks started to move past “thinkings” and into “plans” we started sending emails back and forward with friends and family, first gentle questions, and as time passed, more serious questions about visas, and clothing. New Zealand, Canada, United States, all covered with our first thoughts, and all within our first lot of tickets purchased.

From Talking to Tickets. It all happened so fast that it seemed strange to talk to other people about. I would say “We have tickets booked to Canada.”, and then feel guilty about mentioning a “plan” out loud. Like I was breaking an oath.

When it is a plan, all words and thoughts, things can change and not effect life, as you “try a thought on to see how it looks” (as John Roderick would say). Once the tickets have been purchased though, it takes on a new and different shape. From Plans to an Inescapable Truth. It sounded like the right thing to do before we made the purchase, how can it feel so strange after exchanging cash?

The Yelling. The Yelling.

Where did I start? Oh yes, the yelling.

We have been surrounded by yelling. Yelling for passports and checking on the visa situation. Yelling for work, and organising what we would be doing. Yelling for saying goodbye to family and friends. And what should we pack?

We have made lists, and we have forgotten them. Creating new lists in their place. Lists quell the yelling for a time, but it is still there in the background. Behind the kids, and the birds, if you stop long enough you can hear it. “Are you ready?” Eventually the panic rises enough, and quiet is filled with more yelling.

Everything has been yelling for our attention, my head hurts and I want to find a dark and quite room just to write. But, as of tomorrow, the yelling should change, because we begin our adventure.

Change. But not stop. It might even be a little different. I might even get the change to write to you a little more, Dear Adventurous Reader, and that would make me feel happy.

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.