Dshipton

2012-06-04T01:55:00.000-07:00

Please note that you can now find me on www.morninggloryphotography@wordpress.com or
www.facebook.com/morninggloryphotographyaustralia for lots of photos and stories.
David

the perfect ride

2012-04-16T01:58:00.000-07:00

Autumn Leaves - Maleny

What makes a perfect ride? For everyone it is different. I think most people riding on two wheels would agree curves are a prerequisite, but there are so many other factors involved because riding a motorcycle stimulates so many senses.
Last year I spent 5 days winding around every mountain I could find between Melbourne back to Brisbane and although I enjoyed the challenge I was extremely happy to find some pretty back roads that allowed me to kick back and enjoy the scenery. Those back roads are my favourite, but its nice to cover some distance quickly with short bursts along the freeways with smooth bitumen and wide lanes.
One of my other joys is the aroma that varies between the salt laden coastal runs and the distinct earthy hues from the country. Even the mulch on the gardens mingle with blossoming flowers to give a vibrant and fresh experience.

Looking south toward Coolum

The final sensation is the visual. From the thrill of winding around a sparking blue ocean to the panoramic vista on top of a mountain range. Equally breathtaking is the green countryside and valleys on inland trips with contented cows and livestock littering the gentle rolling hills.

During spring the flowers blossom as a ride through Grafton in October will attest with Jacaranda's flouting its beautiful purple buds. Higher in the ranges a different story is told. Armidale, more like an English town is famous for its maple trees splendid in spring and subdued in autumn as the broad leaves turn yellow and brown before dropping, littering the surrounding grounds.
All this is great but where do you find all of that in a day ride?
I am so lucky to live in the beautiful town of Noosa, the northern end of the Sunshine Coast, so on a sunny morning Cooper, my son and I headed south along the David Low Way which follows the beautiful Sunshine Coast through Coolum down to Mudjimba - 30 odd Kilometers of pristine coastline with waves rolling in over blue ocean before throwing its white foam onto the golden sand.

Vineyards looking over Glass House Mountains

Passing the Sunshine Coast Airport there is a short stretch of brand new, clean black bitumen with stark white lines marking the dual carrageway and framing the path leading out to Palmwoods before leading into a narrow, twisting path up the Blackall Range exiting at Montville, a pretty little tourist town with plenty of craft shops selling mostly timber products.
We carry on though, riding across the top of the range looking over the flat strip of built up coastal real estate to Coopers favourite town Maleny. To be specific, the Collin James Cafe sell a home made ice cream rendered from the local jersey cows that rivals any that I have tasted, and whilst I sipped a cappuccino Cooper eagerly indulged in the tasty treat. This town is packed most weekends with bikers interspersed with people enjoying the variety of interesting clothes shops and organic stalls lining the main street. Several years ago there was much controversy when Woolworth's built a supermarket over the Obi Obi creek, the home to local platypus, a blip in the landscape of this hippy town, priding itself on its alternative lifestyle.
Outside, I take some time to reflect on the large maple trees on the high end of the street. The cooler mountain air has begun to turn the broad leaves a golden brown, still too early to have dropped they hung on the trees like ornaments, shading the streets in the hot summer days now past.
Leaving Maleny, we headed out along the western ridge now looking over the rolling hills and green county side we enter into with relish.

Colin James - A must stop in Maleny

The next 50km to Kenilworth runs through little country towns such as Connondale and winds gently through the stunning green country across small wooden bridges and ambling brooks and creeks. With leathered speedsters whizzing past we take our time, savouring the beauty of the landscape matched only by the pleasure of passing through on the rumbling of our Harley Davidson Road King.
The final leg back to Noosa leads past parks and bed and breakfast cottages to the left contrasted by cross country heaven evidenced by the number of trail bike trailers parked at the base of the range leading back up to Mapleton on top. We cruise back, following the Mary river along the valley through Eumundi, quiet today without the markets open.
As we pull up into the driveway I am thrilled by the completeness of the ride and the senses fulfilled in the four odd hours we have been travelling. Surely if ever there was a perfect ride we just rode it!!

Plastic in the ocean

2012-03-18T04:06:00.001-07:00

Noosa Suf Festival

This past week the Noosa Surf Festival has been running. It is a very big, if not relaxed event, more like as the name suggests a festival rather than a competition. One of the stands on the beach which drew my attention was Take 3, a group of people dedicated to cleaning up our beautiful beaches and spreading the word on behalf of the silent oceans and animals slowly being strangled away by our collective waste of plastic congregating in the ocean and on our foreshores.

timber boards and natural resin

Tim and Amanda were both very friendly and motivated to the cause. Amanda enthusiastically explained that despite everything she carried as a surfer and Mom, she could still find space in her fingers to collect three pieces of rubbish on her way, hence the name Take 3. They also ran a film and information evening which we attended with a talk and viewing of a movie called "Bag it"
I was pleased to see the "J" at Noosa was well attended and indeed sponsored, including a company that builds surfboards from timber with a honeycomb core to lighten and then glassed with a natural resin and bamboo matting, making the whole process friendly to the environment and to the manufacturer. I couldn't help thinking that riding a wave on one of these boards would be even more special.

The team from Take 3

We have all heard of the Guyra's of plastic swirling around different parts of our major oceans and I for one have felt a little better for my cleaning up my beach efforts each morning. What struck me during the movie was the initial problem of our lifestyle, the actual usage of the rubbish in the first place. Our two major contributors to the whole plastic issue are plastic bags and plastic drink bottles. I don't think that it would surprise to many people that literally billions of these items are used once and then deposited into land fill in one way or another every day. Even despite the recycling efforts to reduce some of the waste, most of it ends up in the environment to spend hundreds of years slowly breaking down. It is unavoidable then that a good deal of it will end up uncontrolled, flowing into our waterways and thus into the ocean to do untold damage right down to our micro plankton.

Without going into the nitty gritty of the problems, I made a decision to action three things. To stop using plastic bags, to stop drinking bottled water and to pick up three pieces of rubbish every day. The last one is going to be easy enough, and even the plastic bottles can be changed and stopped with only a minor adjustment. The more challenging part is to stop the bags. I am notorious that despite my best intentions, in forgetting my cloth bags, so with new vigour I have put plenty in the car.
My first foray was worth a mention. I headed off to our local butcher for meat. Armed with containers to put the meat into I proudly gave my smiling assistant the containers to save the plastic bags. With a twinkle in his eye he enthusiastically said no worries before putting my purchase on a plastic bag to weigh before depositing the meat into my container and throwing away the bag!! I guess I still have some work to do there!
Without wanting to bang on too much I would like to encourage everyone to do three things
1 - Replace plastic bags with cloth bags. They are much sturdier and hold more meaning you need less.
2 - Replace plastic drink bottles with glass or steel bottles. If you don't like your tap water buy a filter.
3 - Pick up 3 pieces of rubbish every day. Get into the habit, no one will probably notice but you will feel better for it!!

For more information visit www.take3.org.au
Each morning I post a sunrise photo on my Facebook and Twitter sites to remind everyone what a beautiful world we live in and to make you smile and appreciate the day a little more, so please take a look and"like" to see every day.

come like my site!
http://www.facebook.com/morninggloryphotographyaustralia?ref=tn_tnmn

Morning Glory Photography

2012-02-17T13:21:00.001-08:00

Sun Salute

Life is exciting isn't it!
Two years ago I began taking pictures of the sunrise to basically let people know I was still around and share my favourite part of the day. I also wanted to try and draw attention to our beautiful environment and be a small voice for it.
Last year the local ABC radio station began to post my morning pics and so began a time of mutual backslapping and appreciation. Rob, the presenter has been really encouraging and supportive in my creative efforts and taking this whole thing to a new level.
Turns out Sunshine Coast tourism are very interested in my photographs and the support base through the radio Facebook page has been ultra encouraging.
So here I stand now on the cusp of a new and surprising venture. I have always thought the world to be an oyster of amazing possibilities just needing to be opened, but as I dip my toe into the world of web pages, promotion and general profile lifting I feel like Im standing on the edge of the Grand Canyon of opportunity and whilst very exciting more than just a little daunting!
With the help of Rob I am also looking at being able to begin some clean up campaigns beginning with Fraser Island and Wide Bay Bar area giving this whole energy some credence for the initial vision.
I am trying to take little steps and I am sure there will be some falls on the way so I appreciate your patience and feedback as I enter into the unknown.

I love my I phone and its attachments

One other issue for me has been that being a tad lazy on the organisation front I have always taken my pics on the I phone so I could download them from their rather than having to come home and put on the computer to send which seemed like too much work. I am not sure if anyone else cares but I have started carrying around a real camera and booked into a photography course which I am very excited about and so not all of the pics will be from the phone now. I will try to tell when they are not but please enjoy anyway. One of the pleasures for me is to find something beautiful in each day and share. No two days are the same and some days, lets face it are more challenging than others!!
Please feel free to visit Morning Glory Photography on Facebook - leave a comment or press the like button or share with your friends if you think they will like, but most of all ENJOY!!

Behind the dunes at Sunshine Beach

Back to the hot room!

2012-01-24T00:45:00.000-08:00

I like to think I am a proactive kind of guy. This is a milestone year for me, I cant believe I passed forty nearly a decade ago, and although I feel in better shape now than I did back then something inside me is a little nervous about this one. I have been practicing Bikram Yoga now for two years and it is a testament to my general health. Alongside the radical transformation of my diet I have daily been stretching my ever so tight sciatic nerves in a slow but continuing effort to gain flexibility. It has had its benefits. My back has never been better and the use of core strength has been nothing short of a revelation. Certainly, I have not had an exercise related injury in that time. It has also had a positive benefit to my other pursuits, surfing, paddling and even basketball and tennis have been turning back the clock with yogas help.

Sailing however, has been another story. Being 193cm means I never quite have enough headroom and so I seem to spend most of the time slightly bent over as to protect my forehead from the ravish’s of the beams supporting the deck above. I was really looking forward to spending quality time aboard my boat over Christmas and even had planned some yoga stretching as part of the quiet holiday routine.

Life aboard has a lot of benefits and my muscles appreciated the manual labour of heaving up anchors, winching sails and pulling on the oars of the dinghy rather than starting the motor. Stretching however, wasn't one of them and each day I could feel my back gradually stiffening up. Sure, we tried to do some stretching on the beach like we planned and whilst it should have been ideal my mind was elsewhere, leaving my poses shorter than they ought have been.

By the time we got home getting out of bed and even alighting the car required some effort to get past the stiffness in the back and my body was screaming out for a decent stretch. Strangely though, I was having trouble getting my head into gear, maybe it was the hot summer days or the distraction of all the boat work I was inspired to pursue. I had eaten really well and the activities had lifted my spirits, all I needed now was for my back not to have me acting my age!

So this morning as I ached my way out of bed and began preparing my sunday morning coffee, I knew what I needed. It was funny then that I thought I might head down to the beach to greet the sun before realising there was a better place for me to be.

Despite the fact that I was stiff and struggled through the 90minute class it was so good to be back and as I headed home I felt refreshed and alive like only the hot room seems to be able to do and ready to renew my relationship with the mat!

It is often said in class that yoga will have the chiropractors chasing you and I often smile and think sure, sure, but you dont realise how true it is untill you stop and see how quickly the body goes on holidays!

Christmas Goose

2012-01-11T12:49:00.000-08:00

I am sitting here watching my cousin Simon play with his 12yr old daughter Natalie. She is her fathers daughter as she nervously jumps off the side of the boat into her waiting fathers arms. Together he passes on the skill of rowing the dinghy and coaxes her through the pulling and pushing action required to propel the inflatable dinghy in a forward direction. She proudly exclaims her dad cooks the best scrambled eggs ever and even her mother is chastised for criticising her hero - Dad!

It is said that for boys, their most influential person is their mother, or at least a female to nurture them through life, the opposite example of what is happening before me. Whilst this may be true I cannot help but think about the most influential female in my life. I loved her since I first lay’d eyes on her, full of rubbish floating around in her bilge as the rain poured in through the holes in her roof.

I lovingly restored her over 8 years to be the pride of my fleet. She gave us safe passage in 2004 as we left Sydney and cruised up to Lizard Island in Far North Queensland and then became home until 2010 providing me an Island of refuge in times of troubled waters.

It hasn’t been all plain sailing. Like all females she requires plenty of attention and can let you know if she hasn’t received it. Whilst others have competed for my attention she has always seemed to win out in the end. That in itself has created various forms of conflict, despondency, rejection and pain, but still the reality is she depends on me and me ultimately on her. Sailing is in my veins and despite everything else I am drawn to the ocean like a moth to a flame, knowing that whatever the consequences I cannot be myself without it.

Tin Cn Bay sunrise

I have been living the life of a land lubber in a normal house with unrestricted water, showers, electricity, heating, cooling, rubbish removal and everything we take for granted for two years. Cooper, my son, having grown tired of the lack of space and general boating life vowed last year that for christmas holidays his only request was not to go anywhere near the boat! I hope that one day he will see the value and pleasure of boating life, but in the mean time we have taken our adventures on the road with a motorbike and tent searching different states, cities and towns in a fruitful quest to quench the thirst of travel. My sailing adventures with Eva have been absorbed sailing my friends beautiful Benetau 48 with all the modern creature comforts and space to burn in exotic locations up and down the East Australian Coast, caught up with his enthusiasm and willingness to make it really easy for us.

Meanwhile, my Goose has laid unattended and alone, its once proud paint and brightwork fading and covered in the droppings of the birds making the most of her layoff. With a quick visit whenever I can find time, my once pride and joy has become more a symbol of neglect, making the energy required to initiate restoration and full use of her all the more daunting.

So for better or worse we decided to make the overdue run up to Tin Can Bay where the lure of the Great Sandy Straits, Fraser Island and most importantly calm water and beautiful beaches beaconed in all but the foulest weather. One of my issues has been that all our sailing grounds, although beautiful, are also fraught with uncomfortable conditions the majority of the time making for unpredictable and and often unacceptable anchorages. Tin Can Bay was a logical new home for Wild Goose, within a reasonable driving distance and an easy sail to readily accessible stopovers. Maybe from here we can invite guests out without making them violently ill and throwing them off their beds at night!! Oh how I miss those quiet anchorages down the Hawkesbury River.

This amazing storm passed through on our second night

As Australians celebrated Christmas morning with excited children finally ripping open their presents that have been sitting ever so tantilisigly under the tree for several weeks, we leisurely made our way north to where the Goose was waiting eagerly for our arrival, wagging its tail in the 30 kt southerly wind winding down through Rainbow Beach and the coloured sands. Despite the wind and distance dinghying out to the boat it was reassuring to note the lack of waves or swell save for the chop whipped up by the bullets of wind as they angrily swooped over the sand bar and knocked a fine spray off the surface of the water. I was thankful to have taken the opportunity to sail north from Mooloolaba when we did because out to sea 5m waves courtesy of cyclone Fina had totally closed the Wide Bay Bar making any chance of arrival from the ocean now impossible.

Having had the chance for all but a scant clean on the way up we spent two days resupplying and cleaning the superficial crust off the boat before weighing anchor for our two week reconciliation.

Oh how sweet it is to fall in love again. To have the mask removed and secure the time to just soak in the joy of life aboard!! Despite the TV blowing up on the first night, the prop being so crusted with barnacles we could barely move, and running out of water on the third night, we were out sailing, beginning our new adventure!! As a violent storm passes over us and we fervently catch water, it strikes me how polarising boat life can be both emotionally, physically, mentally and even life stylly(I know, I know).

On one hand Eva is watching TV on the new HD flat screen, with full surround sound, and I surf the internet for weather, Facebook, etc, as you would anywhere. On the other, I wash the dishes in salt water before giving them a fresh water rinse in order to save our vital commodity that we have been dingying over from Kingfisher Bay Resort in our spare drink bottles!

sunset at Kingfisher Bay

Our days are spent swimming, paddling and reading with sundowners and showers at the resort before paddling back for dinner and movie as the generator hums away on deck. Its been so long since we’ve had such contentment and relaxation and I remember how good life can be aboard and the opportunities it can provide. Suddenly my to do list for the boat is being filled with enthusiasm and vigor again and with the prospect of so much more I look forward to tackling the tasks with relish. Eva has brought into the regime and suddenly the inside of the boat is sparkling as only she knows how, with plans and aspirations of her own; there is a wind of change around the Goose and it is all fair and sunny. I dive on the hull and clean the prop and scrub the scum line. The Goose seems to be preening in the attention.

The Barrett Family

As Simon and his family Kiersten, Natalie and young Ethan venture over on their runabout to spend two days with us, cleaning and preparing for guests forces us into a more thorough clean. At the end of the session the only reminence of the mould and dust is the lingering smell of bleach that gives away our cleaning endevours. Still, there is a new freshness to the teak and beech floorboards and stained timbers that give the boat so much character. as our guests arrive we settle into a less introspective time as everyone explores and takes in their new surroundings and conquers the fears of the new environment. All the things I take for granted are like a new miracle for them to behold and make an adventure off!

I was soon gushing with excitement as they first reeled in horror at the realization that the blanket of moving darkness on the waters edge were thousands upon thousands of soldier crabs marching in formation on the low tide mark. Their panick was soon turned to fascination as the harmless crabs drilled themselves into the soft white sand so as not to be squashed. Fascination quickly developed into curiosity as they held these brightly coloured crabs, being tickled as they attempted in vain to spin into the cups of their innocent hands.

A beach lined with soldier crabs!

The two days passed all too quickly and everyone seemed comfortable with the new surroundings and we agreed that there was much more exploring to be done and fun to be had at another time.

As the Barrett family headed home I think we were all enthralled with the bonds and familiarity of both the friendships forged and capabilities of handling the various craft surrounding us!

After 5 glorious days mixing boating serenity with Kingfisher Bay hospitality it was time to replenish our supplies (not the least our water) and head off to our next major destination.

Fraser Island is the worlds largest sand island and is basically shaped like an enormous wedge. The southern extremity is the pointy end from where it expands out to around 90km at the northern extremity. Facing the north west it is perfectly protected from the prevailing south east trade winds, leaving a beautiful beach dropping into turquise water for as far as the eye can see. Think of those TV travel shows with people travelling half way round the world and spending thousands of dollars for some remote slice of perfection and you are on track except this is right on our back doorstep!! We found our spot with our nearest neighbours around a kilometre away and spent three days swimming, playing and combing the beach, left alone save for the occasional fishing boat passing by. This was our utopia.

Our Utopia!!

Eva and her Bo Derek moment!!

I took Eva here first several years ago in July during the annual whale migration. The mothers use this enormous protected bay as a playground for several months to feed their calves and prepare them for their long journey south to the cold waters of antarctica. Although empty at the moment, half way through the year the bay is full of these magnificent creatures allowing us and the the fleet of whale watching boats to get close and for us to stand awe of these truly magnificent levethians.

Right now though, we get to soak up the sun and chill out in what we believe is our own slice of paradise as the sun sets somewhere over Bundaberg and the sky turns a rosella pink reflecting the extraordinary colours through the usually white sand!!

Sunset over Platypus Bay

Its strange how perceptions change at the point of turning the bow for home. Suddenly the focus shifts and I find it difficult not to start thinking about what is waiting for me when we get back. Even so, this has been a wonderful break and as we begin to retrace our steps and pick the favourable conditions to sail back in I am salvating at the thought of spending a lot more time it this truly remarkable waterway in the ensuing twelve months. We still have three more nights of magic on the way home and the oportunity to catch up with our new friends in Tin Can Bay and even a shower and meal at our now Yacht Club before leaving our beautiful boat and packing the car in preperation for the

Thank you sv Wild Goose, you do us proud.

Merry Christmas

2011-12-24T01:04:00.000-08:00

Well friends one and all, Merry Christmas!! I sit in my study waiting for Santa to visit the street having watched a mixture of people displaying extra ordinary acts of Christmas gratitude whilst others buckle under the pressure of the festive season!
Clyclone Fina(now ex) is lashing the coast with extraordinarily good waves with a good dousing of rain to boot, meaning we have had some great surf at Noosa Point. Wild Goose (my boat) is nestled safely under the lee of Fraser Island and waits our arrival.
As our German festivities wind down and we prepare for two weeks out on the boat, I have some time to pause and reflect on 2011.

The highlights for the year include's our motor bike ride from Brisbane to Adelaide and back taking in the breathtaking eastern seaboard, the Great Ocean Road, Kangaroo Island and so many legendary places on the way. Nearly 4000km were filled with bonding, bends and endless country towns and incredible coastlines. Having spread the journey over 6 months gave me ample time to plan and visit many places and was a definite focus for an extended time.

Stepping off the bike for a moment there was also a fantastic week at Airlie Beach for race week and the subsequent adventures bringing Razzamatazz back to Mooloolaba. Mike, Banjo and Mal put a taste for racing and the comradeship back that I had long forgotten.

Two years ago I decided I would take a picture of the sunrise and post it on social media to;
a) remind people that I was still around
b) inspire people to see the beauty of each day
c) Having been reminded of the beauty to be motivated to clean up even just a little bit.
Who would ever have guessed my humble action would lead to so much involvement with our local ABC radio broadcaster, a calendar and the early mumblings of a book! Such a long way to go but I am so motivated and appreciate the generous response from my morning photos!

The other creative side is this blogsite and to that end I am humbled that over 2,500 people have taken the time to read my stories. I am very conscious that there is a lot out there and try to keep my stories as interesting and informative as possible.

So as we head off to celebrate the past year, I look forward to 2012 with optimism that although there is so much stuff going on around the world, that we live in an inherently beautiful universe which has so much to offer if we can raise above all the rubbish trying to bog us down and get out there where the sun shines and the world shows its power and glory and majesty if you care to look!!

Please enjoy and I look forward to sharing my adventures in the new year
Thank You,
David

Rockhampton to Bundy Bash

2011-10-25T05:35:00.000-07:00

North West Island

We all hear stories of the difference between potential and reality, and as an eternal optimist I guess I spend most of the time dwelling on the potential side of things which suits me fine. Sometimes however, reality jumps up and bites me firmly on the backside.

Some of my most treasured cruising destinations lie in the stretch of water between Hervey Bay, north to the Whitsunday Islands. Included in the area are places that are inaccessible to people without boats and the ability to be self sufficient. There is no tourist investment so they are not promoted by anyone. Places like the Percy and Duke Islands in the North are beautiful anchorages lined with white sand and water clear enough to see the array of marine life that happens to float by. Below them are Port Clinton and Island Head Creek which are off limits at certain times because they happen to lie in the middle of a military training reserve, but when the military are not wreaking havoc are stunning locations that seem a world away from the exercises that get carried out there.

Just below them are the Bunker Group of which most of the pretty Islets are off limits in a strict marine park environment save for a couple of gems. These include North West Island, Lady Musgrave and Lady Elliot

Lady Musgrave Island

With Razzamatazz, my friends beautiful Bavaria 48 foot yacht, sitting in Yeppoon and needing to come south on its way to Sydney, I gladly volunteered my services, dreaming of the opportunity to spend some quality time in this magic part of the world. I sold the concept to Eva with a plan for a leisurely cruise down to Lady Musgrave Island for an overnight stop and the chance to take a bottle of wine to the beach and watch the turtles nest on the remote shore at sunset. Maybe, with a good run we could even find time for some snorkeling on the reef. I always enjoy negotiating the small entrance into the lagoon and anchoring with a 360º view of the ocean crashing onto the reef protecting the turquoise water inside, miles away from civilisation and free from the world. The second day plan was a run into Hervey Bay via the waters off Platypus Bay, playground of the whale's who stop there with their calfs to build up enough strength before making the long journey into antarctic waters. Both of these trips I have done several times before and although a longish stretch, the Razzamatazz is a bigger and faster boat capable of covering the distances.
Part of these exercises is the logistics of a one way trip to the boat and then transport back to your vehicle home. In this case we were already at the finish end so it was a simple matter of a Greyhound bus from Hervey Bay with a driver that passed away the boredom of the 7hr run by giving commentary all the way to Rockhampton. As with my experience of these things we arrived in Rockhampton at 7.20pm with the last connecting bus leaving for Yeppoon at 6.30 leaving us with a $150 cab fare out to the coast. Undeterred, on arrival at the Rocky coach terminal Eva negotiated with a backpacker company picking up two people in a bus heading for Emu Park for us to hitch a ride with them, leaving us with a much cheaper taxi fare at the other end. Our driver, a young English lad, keen to catch up with his mates at the pub after the run put his foot to the floor and we rattled and bounced our way through the darkness only to see the blue flashing lights of the local police who didn't seem to appreciate his cavalier enthusiasm. Eventually we were dropped into Emu Park, a small village which was deserted by this time (9.00 pm)

Percy Island

Eventually a cab ferried us to the marina where we busily prepared for our early morning departure.
By the time my 3am alarm rang out the sound was lost to the rumbling of the diesel engine as we motored out of Rosslyn Bay Marina and straight into 15knots of wind on the nose! The forecast was still insisting that the breeze would back further to the east and my hope was that as daylight warmed up the land, we might actually see it backing further again from the north, giving us our armchair ride south. My hopes were still not dented as a storm cloud swallowed up the sunrise and then soaked us for the privilege!
The Keppel Islands slid relatively effortlessly behind us as we punched our way on. It was apparent even then though that my hope of Lady Musgrave was not going to happen. Never mind I thought, my back up plan was almost as nice. Pancake creek lay not too far south of Gladstone and would provide great shelter surrounded by lovely beaches and a magnificent headland, so I altered course and soon enough we were crossing the Tropic of Capricorn. I have always been fascinated by this circle of latitude even as a small boy. There a 5 significant circles of latitude including the equator, tropic of cancer north, the tropic of capricorn south and the the two poles. The tropic of capricorn represents the most southern latitude that the sun can appear directly overhead. Sitting at approximately 23º south of the equator we share the circle with the Andes in Argentina and Chile, the Kalahari desert in Namibia and the Kruger National Park in South Africa. (forgive me for not mentioning them all) and I always feel the need to acknowledge its crossing even when I fly over it by plane. Cape Capricorn, our landmark, is a steep, barren headland that people attempted to settle on a long time ago and there are still visible remnants of the carving of rocks and lines that were layed to tie the ships alongside and drag the materials up the the steep embankment to build the lighthouse and small community that existed to keep the beacon lit.

Cape Capricorn

On this day however, it was overcast and the whitecaps persisted in blowing the spray onto our demoralised faces.
Having passed the cape we altered course enough for us to be able to pull some sails up and we motor sailed right down Curtis Island and the entrance of Gladstone Harbour. A major shipping channel, we needed to pull the sails in and slog our way into the tide throwing up a short and nasty chop reducing our headway to crawling pace.
As the sun began to sink alarmingly close to the horizon it was clear we were not going to make either Pancake Creek or the small town of 1770 by nightfall. The good news was that the coast veered significantly south allowing us to turn the motor off and sail. Not only was this significant for our sanity, it also helped relieve the problem that we did not have enough fuel to motor all the way to our destination.
The sailing did wonders for Eva's seasickness and she perked up immediately even to the point she insisted on cooking us a beautiful and much appreciated dinner which we ate as the sun sunk below the horizon. With the last dashes of pink in the sky I was wondering how far we could get before the sun reappeared on the eastern horizon.

Sunset off Bustard Head (Pancake Creek)

Really? Its 3 o'clock!!

Unfortunately it wasn't long before the breeze veered back into the south east, the same direction we needed to go and the long dark night passed closing in on the unlit shoreline before digging back out to sea, forcing us to sail two miles for every one gained in our southerly quest.
I have never been so grateful to see the first signs of light penetrate what was a pitch black night sky giving me my first point of reference for the past 12hrs.

And so my question from sunset last night was answered. Exactly 16.7nm north of Bundaberg was the answer and so my next decision was made through the fog of three hours sleep in the last 40 odd hours. We needed to pull into Bundaberg for fuel, with a decision as whether to continue or not made after that.
In an attempt to preserve the alarming low amount of fuel we had left, we inched our way painfully into the breeze which was rapidly building again into our frustrated faces.
At 10.45 we finally tied up at the marina, where once the boat secured I fell asleep with the soft clean pillow approaching my salty unshaven skin, but I was in no mood to care, it could be washed later!
The boat is safe and I'll be back next when the wind direction has a N in it!!

Sunrise video

2011-10-10T04:36:00.000-07:00

As probably most of you by now would have figured out, each morning I get up and trot down to the beach and take a photo of the sunrise. Why do I do it?
Well, for a start its not to try and make anyone jealous or prove any silly games of one up man ship, its because I am an early riser by nature and I find so much solace in that part of the day. No matter what has happened the day before this is a new day! It is a clean slate free from any of the baggage or emotions from the past. It is ready for us to make of it what we will. I get so much peace at that time of the morning and am constantly amazed by how many days are spectacular.
So my friends, this is my humble little offering to those who care to take the time to have a look each day or at this video to such an apt song. I hope you find it inspiring, beautiful or even just a time for a few deep breaths to remember how good life really is.
thank you
David
sunrises (please click on this)

Ps. This is my first attempt at posting a link so I hope it works. Please let me know if it doesn't happen!

Strength, fitness and flexibility

2011-10-07T17:45:00.000-07:00

Looking at my blog site Bikram yoga is the first thing that I mention. I was thinking of changing it around as at the moment I am trying to take a more balanced approach to life and not go five nights a week as I have for the past eighteen months. Then I got absolutely hammered in a recent class and as I showered after, I remembered, this is why its front and centre in my blog header!

I was always skinny

I was always the tall, skinny one growing up. The beanpole who looked like I would break in half if someone looked at me the wrong way! As a youngster I would somehow curl up on whatever boat I was sailing taking my cue from the ropes on deck. Even as I left high school I was 190cm and still couldn’t manage to raise the scales to 60kg wringing wet.

My only saving grace was that in yachting leverage is everything and the fact that my disproportionate, lanky legs allowed my to swing further out from the centre line meaning boats could be sailed flatter and faster

Just after leaving high school I moved into a much bigger, faster class of boat, and although having filled out a little I simply wasn’t strong enough to deal with the class’s extra weight and pressures. Really wanting to break into the class I took myself off to the gym and took a season to prepare myself for the extra challenge. Over the next ten years I was able to excel and I prided myself on being one of the fittest and strongest sailors competing.

Trouble was, I only trained specifically for my boating, focusing on upper body strength. Allowing my torso to remain straight and my arms to do all the work meant I utilized my leverage to the maximum. That however came at a cost. I had no flexibility, and as my strength built I would constantly be dealing with niggling injuries and despite the best efforts of my physio’s, stretching remained boring and just not on my radar. To make matters worse I had an accident on the water that involved spending half a day in hospital with no movement in my legs, forcing me to consider life as a paraplegic. Luckily it was just a shock reaction and full movement returned but my back would never be the same again.

My sailing career in full flight

Middle age spread is a term I hear bandied around a lot. Apparently its an insidious disease that has no cure and just cannot be stopped. After retiring from my professional sailing career and getting involved in more domestic life the weight suddenly piled on. Being tall I could carry the extra 50 odd kg with no more than empathetic understanding from peers going through the same problems. I hated it and knew that despite the social understanding of its occurrence I had to do something about it.

Although divorce perhaps not the most desired solution, it certainly has the benefit of weight loss, well, for me at least. Living on my yacht again I had never plumbed in hot water so each morning for 6 months I would lie in bed thinking, I can stay here for an extra hour and have a cold wash out in the open, or I can get up, go to the gym and enjoy a warm shower after. Funnily enough, at the end of that time I had hardly missed a day in the gym, and long after the hot water had been installed I was in such a routine and could see such a difference that I was addicted to my morning workout.

So here I am. I've been skinny, fit, fat and now bulked up and strong. I stretched just enough to keep injuries at bay although my back periodically still played up on me.

As the cycle of life continued to turn I became more and more interested in yoga. John, a work colleague was training to be included in the Australian track and field team and was a huge inspiration. I kept meeting people who’s life perspective and body form I admired all sung the praises of this mystical and passive exercise I didn’t understand.

All the universes aligned when I met my partner Eva. She is a yoga junkie whose journey had led her to Bikram Yoga.

Bikram yoga is a series of 26 postures all done in a room heated to 40º with 40% humidity.

I was assured there was no chanting or weird stuff, just a good solid 90minute workout.

Lying on my towel covered mat in the dense heat reminded me of being in the tropics on a really hot day, and as I prepared for my first class I closed my eyes and thought about swaying palm trees and surf crashing on white, sandy beaches. Turns out I was the only thing swaying as I huffed and puffed my way through 90minutes of discomfort! Whilst everyone around me seemed to rotate gracefully and almost effortlessly into these impossible positions, all I could think was, I can press 130kg and pulldown 280kg, how come I cant stand here with my arms over my head for a few minutes!

And so began my journey in life with yoga. I have since included some more traditional yoga to help improve my understanding of the postures but am drawn to the heat and challenge of the heated studio. I am still nowhere near the most flexible person in the room and it would be so much easier to give up and go back to a gym and the familiar rewards it offers, but that is not my path. I have also been able to take away so many lessons into my life outside the room I often wish that I had started a lot earlier.

The breath is such an important part of life. We all do it all day, every day, so the ability to stop struggling and allow what we have so naturally to take us places our will power never can is, and probably always will be my biggest source of learning and wonder!

We have such a strong core. It holds our body together and allows us grace and fluidity, yet we focus on muscles and external power to the detriment of the source that makes everything else possible. Not using our core is like treating the symptom rather than the cause, but like most things important remains in the background and needs to be sought. Once tended to, will help solve so many other issues.

Integrity of posture has always been a mystery to me. Like most of us, I tend to be goal orientated and so when someone says for example, touch your toes I struggle and strain to touch my toes and I get frustrated because I can’t. The situation and ego is made worse when seemingly everyone around can flex so effortlessly which makes me struggle even further, when really it doesn’t matter, what matters is the journey to the toes, being kind to my super long legs and just breathing till I can.

One of the things I have had trouble getting my head around is the whole concept of using postures to cut off circulation to specific parts of the body (internally and externally) before lying down to let fresh oxygenated blood rush into the starved organ/limb to help revitalize and heal it. With that is part of the dialogue which says posture is more important to depth. My egotistical world of striving for maximum depth just means that because the posture hasn’t been achieved the circulation has not been cut so the healing benefits are not maximized. So I have to swallow ego and constantly adjust for alignment and breath whilst allowing depth to find itself (despite the fact that the person alongside has effortlessly folded themselves in half!).

Yoga is a journey!

When I trained at the gym I could not seem to dip below 100kg. Instructors assured me it was because muscle is heavier than fat and so not to worry. Still ,some of the little rolls remained and didn’t want to shift. Eva, who is a nutritionist changed my diet completely, basically removing all sugar from the diet. What happened was nothing short of amazing. With no weights the bulk quickly disappeared and suddenly maintaining 80kg was no problem. What also went were the sugar highs and lows that have dominated my whole life!

Although the bulk disappeared my strength remained as the benefits of yoga lengthening and redefining muscle tone kicked in. Still paddling my surf ski, I actually started going faster as I began to utilize chore and muscle without the burden of weight and bulk.

After two years of Bikram Yoga at Noosa and Nundah (both fantastic studios) I am by no means an expert and the steps forward are small, but the journey is evolving and I am constantly amazed at what the human body is capable of. From just being able to get my hands down past my knees, on a good day I can actually touch my toes. More importantly, in two years I have not had any back trouble, and I feel healthier than ever before. There are so many good and beautiful experiences to be had out in that big oyster called life and yoga has become an integral part of the shell!

Namaste

Two boys on two wheels continued- Melbourne to Noosa

2011-10-05T03:58:00.000-07:00

Beautiful NSW South Coastline

As we cruise up the highway the road is straight and smooth. I can feel the warmth of the sun through my leather jacket and on my thighs covered in Kevlar and denim. The warm air funnels up through the bottom of my jeans and open visa on my helmet. The intercom is quiet as we both lose ourselves reflecting on the past eight days as we effortlessly cover the final 60km’s of our journey from Melbourne home to Noosa spanning 2000km as the crow flies but closer the 2500 following the coastal route we embarked on. It is such a pleasant change from the rain and freezing temperatures we experienced winding through the mountains yesterday and we are in no real hurry to reach the end point.

This time last year Cooper and I undertook our first major bike trip around northern NSW. I remember at the conclusion there had been an unmistakable bond despite the long hours of silence. This ride seemed to have built on that.

“what was the most exciting thing about the trip?” I ask.

“Definitely running out of petrol and having to hitch a lift to and from the bike” he answers

enthusiastically.

“Best part of the ride?” I push

“Riding with Mark across the Harbor Bridge” is the immediate response.

“Most fun?”

“Going Ice skating and playing with Mia and Eva’s rabbits”

“Worst part?”

“Yesterday in the cold and rain”

I agree with him.

It seemed hard to believe that eight days ago we boarded a Qantas plane from Brisbane early in the morning, arriving in a chilly Melbourne airport, immediately reaching for the jumpers we had dutifully packed in the warmth of QLD spring. After picking up the bike we grabbed some lunch and set up our new intercom system made available by the full helmets appropriate for such a trip

Our first stop was across town at some old friends of mine. The last time I had seen Jonathon and Julie they had one baby who slept in the pram as we stayed up late watching Hey Hey its Saturday and then rage (music video show) on TV till the wee hours of the morning. Today as we pull up out the front of their house Joshua is busy with University studies and their other three children are fine young adults. We have only a brief time together and with sadness we left for our first stopover, Philip Island.

Philip Island is home to a colony of penguins that at this time of year come ashore, walking up the sand over to mate and lay their eggs in the dunes protected from the southerly winds that on this night chill to the bone. After seeing the first few rafts make the dash up the beach we decide to follow their lead and head for the protection offered on the sheltered side of the tourist filled stands. I was pleased to see them, but after our ride and with our garments not stopping the cold winds from penetrating to the core, having to face so many tourists was more than enough and I was pleased to head back to the local Pizza shop for dinner and finally to the Seahorse Hotel which was our home for the night.

Indeed the morning revealed Philip Island to be a beautiful, green and open Island with a country community feel to it as we walked into town for breakfast and then proceeded to its other international landmark....its race circuit.

Philip Island Town

Hosting the Moto GP motorbikes in mid October each year there is also a host of other motor sport activities during the year and we cruised the perimeter unable to take a lap as it is basically closed to the public.

The next leg took us through some spectacular countryside on our passage to Lakes Entrance. On the way we managed to find a detour out to Wilson’s Promontory. It is officially the last point before leaping off across the Bass Strait to Tasmania and harked into to my sailing days so I was curious to get a land perspective. It was a spectacular National Park with a beautiful camping area at Tidal River at the end of the promontory. It was a shame that we could not spend more time exploring out here and I would love to come back

Road out to Wilson's Promontory

I don’t want to let out this little secret but I feel I must let you in. Governments seem hell bent on building bigger, straighter highways that are quicker and safer and more accommodating. Having steered all the traffic here they spend all their resources policing and slowing people down leaving long, straight passages devoid of any character or even towns. The only respite seems to be mega service stations with a plethora of fast food convenience stores to fill stomachs at the same rate as the cars tanks.

The good news is however, that the old highways are well kept and far more interesting roads. Sure, there aren’t as many passing opportunities, but then again you don’t need as many because there are less people to pass. They also lead through delightful little towns that appreciate the people who make the effort to say hello.

The signs are there, brown rectangles usually marked as tourist drives or scenic routes. Every now and again we took one that lead out to a beach or vantage point and involved a small dig back, but even then someone was always there to give you the tip of a better locals road to get wherever you wanted. Before ending up at Yarram we had a beautiful ride through towns such as Venus Bay, Sandy Point and Foster. Having spent the day fossicking around these towns it was time to push on to Lakes Entrance and as the south east er blew in and the afternoon sun quickly lost its heat we settled into our cabin at the caravan park with fish and chips and a hot shower.

The Morning broke clear and warm without a hint of the breeze that made the evening so uncomfortable. We enjoyed stretching our legs and walking into town for our morning meal.

Flowering Australian Wattle

Lakes Entrance Marina

Blacks swan and sonates

Keen to get moving we left Lakes Entrance for another legendary fishing town, this time over the border into NSW- Eden. This whole ride was basically through national park and involved a 50km detour from Genoa into Mallacoota another town with a reputation for its sleepy beauty.

Having filled up at Yarram the day before we left thinking we could get fuel at a number of towns on the way. Having passed through Orbost I thought I would get fuel at the next town. That was fine except that it turns out the next town with fuel was Cann’s River 60km away and we had enough to get us around 48km! The ensuing 48km was spoilt as we came into “town” after “town” with a small cafe but no petrol! Eventually we coughed and spluttered to an untimely halt as the tank dried out and we reluctantly pushed my pride and joy onto the side of the road and began thumbing a ride into town. I must say that this was totally new territory for Cooper and there was a slight panic in his demeanor which turned into fascination as the next car that came past stopped and gave us a ride into town. Queenslander’s on their own adventure they took us in their stride and although their names and details are lost we will always appreciate their kindness and generosity.

Even the wildlife enjoy the view!

The United Service station at Cann’s River was much better prepared than us, and as we sheepishly approached them they pulled a Gerry can of the shelf and, as if it happens all the time(which they assured us it does) thrust it toward me and asked for my credit card as security. Having filled the canister we got a lift with some guys overloaded with dirt bikes returning to Melbourne from a wild weekend and in less than half an hour was back by the bike. Cooper was in awe of these guys and was so excited to have had a ride with them.

With a full tank of fuel we were on our way again thankful that no further incident had occurred and a new protocol for refilling was established!

Mallacoota

I have the bike book by Henna called 200 top rides which dedicates 6 lines to the 27km between Genoa and Mallacoota. It was one of the nicest rides so far and deserved more space. A good road full of twists and bends with minimal traffic through State Forest was both beautiful and fun and passed all too quickly. Camping at Mallacoota is on the river where the park has accommodated the fishing boats with pylons for campers to moor their boats to. A short walk takes you into the small but ample shops for all the requirements you could need. At the end of the river waves crashed on the beach providing the perfect backdrop.

Beautiful camping site

Despite the distance needed to travel each day we seemed to be constantly on the move and so all too soon it was time to hit the road. As sad as it was to leave we were excited about the prospect of the ride back to Genoa and then on to Eden. Having crossed the border into NSW we checked into the Fountain Caravan park in good time and loved both the setting and size of our cabin in this open green park filled with the sound of bell birds. Situated on Lake Curaio there is a boardwalk that leads out to the beach and a connected walkway along the sandy beach littered with people fishing.

Eden Fishing Wharf

Our morning exploration took us down to the fishing wharf, the maritime museum and Twofold Bay. The riding over the past three days had been so scenic and fun that I thought it couldn’t possibly get any better but Eden’s special atmosphere was not left lingering for too long as the ride to Ulladulla led our way through beautiful national parks down to stunning beaches and pretty towns such as Pambula,Merrimbula, Bermagui,Bateman's Bay and Mogo. The days ride finished all too quickly and we pulled into our cabin in Ulladulla complete with a mini putt putt course which Cooper was keen to take full advantage of.

Twofold Bay

Memorial to lost sailors

The morning broke with ominous clouds and the feeling that the winds of change was in the air. We left Ulladulla at eight with a special mission.

An old friend Mark and I had caught up recently at a family gathering. We used to ride sports bikes a life time ago and although our choice of bike may have changed over the years, the desire for a road trip had not diminished and hearing of our adventure had taken the day off and ridden down early from Sydney to meet us at Kiama. Known for its blowhole that funnels the swells that crash into the rocks and converts them into a massive explosion of spray enhanced by the booming sound that reverberates around the ledge! With the roads damp and sky overcast we spent a fantastic day riding through Wollongong with a special section of road built out over the water to avoid the rockfalls from the cliffs that has covered the old road. That lead up to Stanwell Tops giving a wonderful vista of the cliff faces north bordering the Royal National Park plunging into the deep blue Pacific Ocean.

View from Stanwell Tops

The Royal National Park, established in 1879 is the worlds 2nd oldest national park behind Yellowstone in the USA. It was heritage listed in 2006 protecting its 15,091 hectares from the continuous urban sprawl of Sydney only 32km to the north. We spent the day negotiating its moss covered roads blocked from the sun by a canopy of trees. Lunching at Bundeena tucked away opposite Cronulla beach and looking down Port Hacking it was hard to believe that the city was so close.

With the clouds giving way to light rain we rode into Sydney
and to Coopers delight we passed the Opera house and crossed over the coat hanger (Sydney Harbor Bridge)riding side by side under the massive grid of grey steel arching way over our heads. Heading over to the Northern Beaches we said goodbye to Mark and continued to the Schaffler’s house at Church Point. Michael is Coopers God father and been my closest friend for twenty years. Rebecca, his beautiful wife along with Mia and Eva his daughters were waiting expectantly for us. Cooper bonded immediately with the girls enjoying the relaxed atmosphere.

Cooper,Mia and rabbits

With a wet and windy day forecast we decided to give our backsides a break and stay for the next day. All the kids had a great time playing with their rabbits and cats, only broken by the prospect of a session at the ice skating rink. Whilst Cooper went with the girls to the rink I cleaned the bike and caught up with a good friend from work.

Day 7 looked distinctly brighter and less windy than the day before so after some sad farewells we picked our way through Ku ring gai National Park, usually filled with cyclists up to the highway north. Our only stop off was to show Cooper the house I grew up in.

One of my claims to fame is having grown up with the Jackman family. Cricket, football, frizbees and playing in our pool with a young Hugh, who could have ever guessed he would become an international movie star and all round hunk of the world!!

Gotta love hotels with these!

View from the top of Gloucester Range

Taking an exit off the freeway we headed out for a more sedated pace taking the back road out to Gloucester via Lake Maquarrie, Hunter Valley and Stroud through a scenic if not bumpy road north. It seems that after all the energy expended at the Schaffler’s it was prudent to stay in the town famous for its bush ranger Captain Thunderbolt and its early gold exploration.

The next morning looked decidedly threatening as we rode out of town preparing to take on the Gloucester Mountain range that took us to the plain land leading to Walcha and Armidale. Having reached the summit we took some pics before what turned out to be our most miserable ride of the trip. Having told Cooper about the long, flat country full of horses, cows and sheep he was sold the sucker punch as the rain began to fall as steadily as the temperature dropped. By the time we had completed the 150km to Walcha we were so wet and frozen that it took me ten minutes to thaw out my hands enough to remove my helmet and another hour and a half ( and two coffees and a hot chocolate ) to get to a point where I could even consider riding again. Fortunately the rain eased and we were satisfactorily thawed enough to continue to Armidale where, although really pretty we pressed on, making a bee line for the drop down into Dorrigo and the promise of warmer temperatures. Cooper was a trooper through this and I appreciated his unwavering enthusiasm despite being cold and wet. I was very proud of him and his attitude.

Del Fuego - Worlds smallest motorbike museum

Dorrigo sits on the top of the dividing range and overlooks the volcanic perimeter down to the coast. it is also home to Del Fuego, the worlds smallest motor cycle museum. As the sun began to dry the road and warm our souls we stopped here just as we had on our trip last year and considered it an annual pilgrimage. We changed into some warm dry clothes and watched the football Grand Final.

Rest stop by Mclean River

The final run of the day took us down the other side of the range on a small, windy, soft edged and mostly unmarked road through sub tropical rain forest through to Grafton on the edge of the Mclean River. I was so exhausted both mentally and physically that by the time we settled into our hotel room, a cup of warm tea and biscuits were all I could manage before we both found solace in the warmth of our cosy beds.

The last day of our adventure broke without a hint of precipitation from the day before. We decided to bypass the national park through Mt Warning and the Gold Coast and take a leisurely cruise home.

Airlie Beach Race Week

2011-09-19T00:30:00.000-07:00

Racing in Whitsunday's is spectacular!
Sailing has been very good to me, it has allowed me to visit some really beautiful places. None have been any better than the Whitsunday's, a boating playground that stretches from Mackay in the south to Bowen in north. Its epicentre is Airlie Beach on the mainland with a string of beautiful islands protecting the waterway, each one a cruising paradise on its own and helping to form the Greater Barrier Reef. Hayman, Hook, Whitsunday, Linderman and Daydream Islands have coral filled surrounds with rocky formations and heavily forested protection from the south east trade winds that blow predominately all year round in this latitude.

From a yachting perspective it is quite a technical place to go racing. The big tides that run through the main channel and around the Islands combined with the wind shifts bending through the valleys and bouncing off the cliffs of the small landmasses littering the water makes for decision making that belies the overall beauty and laid back nature of the area. Hamilton Island has an international airport, marina, and is a microcosm for bare boat charters and holidaymakers in general. In September it is over run with an international yachting regatta now hosted by Bob Oatley, the owner of the Island and also of his maxi Wild Oats. Hamilton Island Race week is a week long event for the rich and famous and where normally beautiful yachts look small.

A maxi lies in waiting at Mackay Marina

For as long as this regatta has been running there has been a more humble "other regatta" from the less ostentatious Airlie Beach Yacht club on the mainland. With a casual bar and welcoming spirit this regatta began as a bunch of cruisers out to enjoy the company of visitors filling in time. The first rule back then was you couldn't cross the finishing line without a topless maiden doing their best figure head impersonation! Like all things, the racing has become more and more serious in the ensuing decade or so to the point now that although not attracting the maxi yachts, it is considered a big regatta in its own right and a great tune up for the ultra competitive one design fleets. Learning the tricky patterns and subtle nuances of this waterway is critical and what better way to get some extra practise by joining the 250 odd fleet registered to match wits in the warm tropical water and enjoy the festivities this great club can offer as the sun slips behind the mountain ranges to the west!

My days as a racer are by and large complete. I prefer these days to use my skills to navigate out to beautiful Islands with desolate beaches. To travel when the conditions are fair and relaxed rather than just bashing for the sake of bashing. To enjoy the company of friends and loved ones snorkeling or padding or sipping a drinks with an umbrella in it. Having said all that I still love the water and the cruising lifestyle. just not the focus on how fast you can get there. For some people though there is a definite exception.

One of the reasons I consider myself so fortunate is looking at my best friend Mike. I have known him since we were both in our teens and even from an early age his energy and insight were remarkable. Over the years he has proven himself not only to be a successful businessman, he has become a dedicated husband, loving father and considerate and generous friend. He is also an adventurous soul and for years he has dreamt of sailing his yacht to an exotic location to compete in one of these world class classics. Five years ago he drew the line in the sand and after much preparation his dream came to fruition. Having already enjoyed an epic adventure sailing his Bavaria 48 "Razzmatazz" North from Sydney (a passage of around 2000kms) it was time for us to make our way up here to join Mal, Col, and Mike(2nd one) for four days of racing and frivolity before the partners and wives arrived for the second half of the week to show us up!

Our skipper - Mike

So it was that we arrived to a festive Airlie Beach yacht club looking over our racetrack on a beautiful late Thursday afternoon. Marques had been erected and music was filling the bay as crowds of yachtsmen and women, most adorned in their team gear gathered in anticipation for the week ahead celebrated with cool amber from the sponsors.
There is nothing like the excitement/tension of a marina filled with yachts the day and even morning before racing and I headed down the dock soaking in the adrenaline of people scurrying about, bending their racing sails onto the fine spars, dodging wheelbarrows of anchors and bedding being removed to lighten the vessels up and watching the last minute repairs and maintenance being carried out with renewed enthusiasm on the eve of racing.

Media helicopter swing by for some action for nightly news

I won't bore you with the race intricacy's except to say we had four perfect sailing days in beautiful sunny warm conditions with the trade winds turning on a perfect amount of wind for us to relish the conditions.

Mike(2) enjoying the ride before an injury cut short his time

Our teamwork and subsequent results also improved with each outing as we gelled into a team showing in our ever improving standings.
Each night after the"Razz" was tucked away we returned to the sponsors marque for an in depth breakdown of the days racing whilst a talented and beautiful female singer performed in an ever decreasing amount of dress! By the end of a racing day the focus of the discussion as we motored back to the marina was centred around what she could possibly be wearing that night! After the racing talk was exhausted we would all go into town to sample a varied fare from one of the many restaurants on offer in the packed hub of the towns activities.

Mal was an inspiration sailing with a broken arm!

Here on the eastern seaboard of Australia there is a thriving back packer market beginning at Bondi in Sydney's Eastern suburbs and ending up in Cairns in the far North Queensland Tropics. Along the way are such treats as Byron Bay, the hippie centre of Australia and a beautiful spot to try your hand at surfing. Fraser Island the largest sand island in the world and home to the only pure breed of dingo, and the Whitsunday's with its centre piece the stunning Whitehaven Beach rated as on the best beaches in the world. As a result the town caters for the masses of young tourists with an ample choice of bars and hangouts with energy to burn for the party revellers to socialise all through the night before recovering in the huge waterside lagoon in the morning. As we made our way home the streets were filled with people staggering from one venue to another, all pumping out music to a variety of tastes. Just being there made me feel old and out of place!

Col and I teamed up as trimmers( he did the hard yards on the Genoa)don

On the passage up Mal, who sailed with Mike and Col, had a serious accident which resulted in him being evacuated by helicopter off the boat to Bundaberg Hospital. Mikes wife Rebecca went into overdrive making sure he was transported back to Sydney where she further organised the best surgeons to mend his badly broken arm. During the accident Mal managed to bend a winch handle that defied belief and thus, it was agreed the bent handle should be framed and passed on from crew to crew as they did their best to out injure each other! Mal's extra eyes and input proved a valuable asset to the crew despite his broken wing.
I am still not sure if it was with relief or sorrow (or both) that on the second day of racing he was able to pass on the "bent winch award" to the second Michael who managed to cut his foot under the toes during a tack just minutes before the second race. With blood pouring all over the deck it was decided to withdraw from the days racing and after bandaging up the severed foot sent him to hospital where 6 stitches were attended to his wound.

What this meant was that we suddenly had an opportunity to sail out to Hayman Island for some snorkelling and a relaxing swim for the afternoon. A man down our sympathies went as far as dropping him off and organising transport to the hospital whilst we enjoyed a perfect sail out to this beautiful nook! Having anchored away from the tourist boats gathered we pulled out the masks and fins and sampled some of the delights of coral coast sailing, gliding over coral heads watching colourful fish darting around its perimeter. I was especially pleased as this was an unexpected opportunity for Eva to sample this renowned area. Her one outing to join a race had turned into an experience she will never forget.

As the final days of racing for us completed and we swapped our crew position for Rebecca and the other girls we had a close tussle with several others before crossing the finish line ahead of them I turned to see Mike standing near me with a beaming smile of satisfaction. The pressures of work commitments a race course away I smiled, he looked truly happy and satisfied. Although we didn't set the racing world on fire, we did bond with some people I will be honoured to call friends. Most of all though I will always remember the look on a mans face that I care deeply about and know that I was a part of sharing his yachting journey and dream. I know this because just the day before as we hovered over some fish with masks on he looked back at his boat and remarked to me..."this is your fault you know, you and your sailing. I love it!!"

Germany (part 2)

2011-09-16T14:37:00.000-07:00

As I sit here, its mid March and two months have passed since we have returned. Although summer has given way to autumn it is still 36 degrees at five o clock and I sit by the open window hoping to get some relief from the stifling heat from the zephyrs of breeze wafting off the water across the road. Morton Island is picture perfect, tainted red under the fading sun across Morton Bay. In the back yard Eva and Monica (Queen Mom) are lying on their recliners trying to catch the last rays of sun on their sweat glistening bodies. I continue to be amazed at the novelty of the sun to them and their attraction to it. As an outdoor lover, I am constantly trying to protect myself from the sun and can’t believe that people would voluntarily subject themselves to the big yellow ball in the sky. Then again, it wasn’t that long ago, on the other side of the world when I was transfixed by the languid sunlight that slowly lit the ground at some point in the morning and faded equally indistinctly later on!

Just before we left someone wrote a message on twitter that read “I want to live like a European.” I wasn’t quite sure what they meant but over the next two weeks in my trip I was to get a fantastic insight.

Families, you’re born with them and sometimes even stuck with them either way!

As we alighted from the train in Neuenburg we were greeted by Eva’s father Heinz and Auntie Hedda, and had my first opportunity to practise my rehearsed greeting, “Guten tag Herr Fischer, schern ze kennet ze lernin. (Hello Mr Fischer, pleasure to meet you). With no eye contact and minimal hand shake I was a little thrown and wondered if I had blown my first phrase. Still, I seemed to have some time to ponder as we headed out through a snow covered field, opting not to take the main road, the van struggling through the white expanse alongside cross country skiers and very happy dogs!

Herr Fischers back yard

My first impression of Eva’s home town was of a small, flat suburb, with low set houses on their own distinct plot of land, all under a blanket of white snow. Herr Fischer’s home was a single story building with a large concrete basement. It didn’t take long to realise that he was a meticulous, practical man. Heinz was a man who loved to travel, and why not. His house sits in the South West corner of Germany on the boarder between France and Switzerland and a great jump off spot to Italy and the heart of Europe. It wasn’t surprising then that the walls were adorned with maps of his travelling haunts. Of more interest were the globes and maps of the world, Australia front and centre of the big globe in our bedroom!! As an engineer his home was truly a “mans home”. The first thing I noticed was how practical everything was. He has taken a place for everything and everything in its place to another level. The toilet seat lids had all been removed, as had the shower fittings so you had to sit in the bath to reduced splash. There were purpose built fittings on the cooking range hood and even especially made housings for the vacuum cleaner and its parts! It took me some time to realise that the rails in his car roof were to house his hat whilst driving!

There’s nothing quite like visiting the town you grew up in. There’s an old familiarity that just cant be ignored and as we donned our coats, gloves, scarf’s and hats we headed out into the afternoon fog and took a walk literally down Eva’s memory lane. I really enjoyed sharing a slice of her past as we walked down past the shops stoping to say hello to their keepers now being run by the owner’s children Eva went to school with. We past the church’s with their spires and familiar bells before cutting back through the cemetery to her father’s house. It seemed surreal as everything was enclosed in fog and covered in snow and eerily quiet. I was the obvious tourist as over the next few days I ran around through the fog and snow taking photos! I took particular amusement at the hotels leaving their perfectly set outdoor furniture as if expecting someone would remove the two feet of snow on the tables and chairs to sit in this most unappealing setting. Instead I headed for the warmth and ambience of the well worn inside décor! As I sipped on my cappuccino I had plenty of time to let my already overactive imagination run wild thinking about what it would have been like back in the eleven hundreds when these beautiful buildings were first established. What would have been served? What would they have been wearing and how the conversations would have sounded like? By some miracle these cafes and bakeries had survived bombings from the war and the ravages of time and human intervention. Indeed, I began to understand that life here existed as it did for generations past and accepted as the way things were done. Sure, there had been advancements and growth but all within the context of a long history of custom. Over the next two weeks we made frequent visits into France to visit Christmas markets at Colmar, to visit relatives in Mulhouse where we were again invited in without reservation and served a most delicious and well prepared meal with all the trappings despite obvious disconnect.

I made a point of walking each day from the café in our town across the Rhine River into Chalampe, France and back just for the novelty of it. Each day the snow reduced revealing the true nature of the town. Covered in snow it was pristine, but now it looked like the morning after the night before, hung-over! The bare streets were covered in litter and rubbish. Sylvester (new years) was a maelstrom of random fireworks set alight by seemingly every house in the town and set the night sky alight till the early morning. Seems no one thought to pick up their spent packs and even now the streets and curb sides were riddled with their remnants. Even the Christmas trees as tradition would dictate were disrobed of their decorations and cast onto the sidewalk waiting for the local lions group to swing by and take them away on their truck!

A longer trek than usual took us through Bad Bellingen (striking a familiar accord with one of our favourite towns in northern NSW) through to Rheinfeldon on the German/Swiss border. After crossing the cobblestone bridge lined with old punts that were originally used to cross the river separating the countries, which had now been transformed into garden beds, we crossed into a magical world that had been spared any of the misery of the war and bombings and into a fairytale of quite possibly the most elegant and beautiful town I have ever encountered. From its narrow cobblestone roads lined beautiful doorways, intricate bay widows and facades with elegant lighting, watering troughs and ornate signage and trinkets. The whole town has this magical feel that to try and describe is beyond this humble wordsmith.

Another unforgettable trip took us into Staufen, originally inhabited by the Romans with its prominent castle sitting on the peak of a vine covered hill overlooking the rest of the town originating in the 1100’s! Great care has been taken to preserve this wonderful town by its proud community. Unfortunately, some exploratory drilling nearby allowed underground water to expand the rocks and very foundations of the beautiful town and despite attempts to halt and repair the problem many of the centuries old buildings are scarred with cracks and splits over the walls and foundations. Again, I was transfixed by the beauty, age and character of this most romantic little town.

Not so little was Freiburg, the major nearby city supporting a major university and all the trappings of its vibrancy. We visited its Munster (Cathedral) and enjoyed a traditional Bratwurst (sausage in bread) in the town square bathed all too briefly in pale sunlight shared by as many people as could possibly squeeze in and take advantage of it! There we also did some major damage to the credit card with the discovery that German sizes have enough variation to accommodate me and my extra long legs!

We also indulged in a trip to Engelberg (Angel Mountain) for some high altitude skiing. Two hours of driving took us past Sempacher See, a most beautiful lake in Switzerland, amongst a most extraordinary landscape of rolling hills and barns straight out of my childhood books. All set with the backdrop of the snow lined Alps towering behind. At above sea level it allows all year round skiing and was my first experience of revolving gondolas to take us to the summit. Two things will stay with me from our day on the angel mountain. Firstly was the yodelling music being piped from all the lift stations around the mountain, crass anywhere else, but perfect here in Switzerland.

The second was the proficiency of the skiers. I consider myself an above average skier, but here I was just another hack amongst a set of precision carvers. It was truly a joy to behold. All too soon we were off the mountain and sharing hot chocolate around an open fire outside the pub at the mountain base. As the sun set and the magic of the lights reflected around the snow we made our way back to meet up with Nicola and her young son Fynn in Lucerne. An enjoyable night was spent with Fynn surprised that I could actually play the old guitar they had lying around and I’m sure everyone will be thanking me for teaching him “Knockin on Heavens Door” which I must have repeated one hundred times during the night!

One of the Local traditions passed down from the Romans is the spring bathes. Scattered through out the Black Forrest/Rhine valley area are natural springs which the Romans initially used for bathing, socialising, healing and re energising. Even Roman emperors made the trip to Germany for their mystical powers. Although their structures are now merely preservations of the past, the spirit and traditions continue today in the modern and luxurious versions we spent days in.

As Australians we enjoy sunshine and warmth basically all year round. Europeans, and specifically to me, Germans, on the other hand, have four distinct and beautifully different seasons and have a lifestyle to match the climates. Winter is a time of rest and restoration and a major part of that is the spring baths scattered around the Black Forest. So it is then that the baths retain an element of calmness and restorative uniqueness within their precinct and once inside that quality makes the visit a truly unique experience on numerous levels.

The first thing that is really obvious is nudity. We westerners have an almost repulsion to it with a strong association to sexuality. Germans on the other hand, have disassociated the two and seem very comfortable with stripping off in public and is fundamental to enjoying the baths. Having entered the baths you shower and leave your clothes in lockers taking only a robe, towel and your book, magazine, drinks and snacks with you.

With the snow piled over the outdoor settings outside making a picturesque scene through the glass panelling we settled into the deck chairs overlooking the huge pool complete with spa nooks in the corners, dipping into the warm spring water between saunas and resting rooms spread throughout the complex.

If I can start with the fore mentioned resting rooms, if there is general respect for quietness in the general area, these places demand it. The rooms are themed with choices such as a Japanese Room with slatted beds in a bamboo hut nestled amongst a ornamental traditional garden and my favourite, a water themed oasis lined with waterbeds to relax on whilst several fountains diffused the quiet and enhanced the absolute tranquillity. Whilst many read and couples canoodled, I must confess to falling into as deeper sleep as I ever had under the blanket provided.

We have all experienced sauna’s I’m sure, typically a wooden box with seats and a heater on which you occasionally pour cold water to steam up the room. Here they too were several steps further down the line.

Protocol 1 NO CLOTHES. As the body heats up and sweats it dissolves any toxins in the body and clothes only serve to trap them back against the skin neutralising any benefits gained from the sauna. You do however keep your towel between you and the wood, feet included.

Protocol 2. Quietness and sombre respect for the room is paramount. Talking if required to be kept at low tones and volume as not to disturb other patrons.

Having got that out of the way, sauna’s were themed and at certain times during the day everyone clambered for their positions for the special treatment.

There were several variations but essentially they proceeded like this: With everyone perched on their bench the attendant would introduce themselves and explain what they were about to administer. Usually it would be fragrant water of pine and lemon, or fruit of the forest, apple, strawberry, mint or lavender. Once introduced the door would be opened and using a towel as a fan, fresh air would be waved into the room. Satisfied of air quality the door would be closed and the scented water would be poured over the coals and the attendant would use their towel to fan the sweet aromatic fragrance around the room carried on a wave of hot air that would singe the nostrils and throat as you sucked in the beneficial and pleasant steam. This would proceed for several rounds, sometimes with the fruit of whatever was in the water being passed around to eat to enhance the experience further. Once complete the attendant would leave to a round of polite applause followed by the participants who would sit in the snow or wash in the ice cold water outside!

Two experiences are worth a special mention. The first followed the fore mentioned protocol except that the water was stained with honey and each person is given a tub of it to rub onto the body to mix in with the sweat from the body heat. To my surprise the honey was immediately absorbed by my skin leaving it perfumed and strangely moisturised from the experience. It was fantastic.

The second was in a sauna made of salt crystals where the heat was transmitted through sound waves as a series of symbols were sounded throughout the room followed by the sounding of a giant gong. Whatever the heat did didn’t really matter, it was an awesome experience.

My only embarrassment came when having a icy cold shower. With my eyes closed I lead with my head toward the freezing gush of water. As I finished I turned off the fawcet and shook the water from my hair leaning forward. I opened my eyes to find myself inches away and staring straight at the erect nipples of the young french woman beside me. As I looked up at her she just giggled and with a O la la skipped off seemingly as amused as I was embarrassed!

Even the pools were so different here. You entered the warm water inside the building and swim through a tunnel outside with only your head exposed at any particular time. There were even underwater beds that you could lie on and watch the world pass by as the spa bubbles invigorated your very essence!

Soon enough it was time to leave and I was surprised at how quickly our 10 hour days had passed in the roman baths. Now it was time to move on reinvigorated and recharged from the experience.

As we packed our swelling bags and bade our generous host’s farewell we headed back to Hotel Forelle in the black forrest to spend time with our friends and wind down there before heading of to Frankfurt and a big bird to takes us home.

Christians firetruck from 30 m above!

One particular event cannot go untold. Christian, our friend here is the fire chief in his town of Buhl one of his responsibilities is to train young children as the whole service is on a volunteer basis and is taken on by the community in general. As happens on a youngsters birthday, I joined the crew as they picked the boy for a special ride back to the station for training in the fire truck. So as he got the special treatment I sat and watched with amazement as Christian negotiated the narrow, windy streets in a truck that only just fitted between the parked cars and vexed drivers. At the end of the night with the truck still parked in the centre of the compound we hopped into the cage and he extended the ladder until we were perched some 35m above the ground! The view was breathtaking watching the trains busily commuting around the outskirts whilst the church bells tolled from the towers clearly audible over the hustle and bustle of the streets camouflaged somewhere under the lights radiating every colour imaginable. As a breath of icy cold air sent a shudder down my spine Christian, a grin from ear to ear waved his hand in a sweeping gesture and said.. “Welcome to MY Buhl”

Of all the hopes and dreams of our trip I never expected this and I will always remember this as a very special experience amongst all the fantastic places and people we met along the way!!

New Zealand - North Island advendure

2011-09-13T00:19:00.000-07:00

Aukland Harbour!

The last time I went to the North Island city of Auckland in New Zealand I was a naïve, wide eyed teenager winging over the ditch, proudly wearing my emblazoned Australian blazer. It was 1980 and I was following the path of my boyhood hero’s Ian Murray, Michael Coxon and a host of other 12’skiff sailors competing for an Interdominion championship, effectively our world champs.

Having secured the highest prize in my yachting life, the occasion was only dampened by the cold I had picked up on the way over and as the entire team bussed our way north to the Bay of Islands for a post regatta tour, I spent the three days huddled up on the back seat feeling miserable, staring out at the lush green country side through red, watery eyes.

Although I have visited the South Island several times since, the Northern Island had remained a proud, if not faded memory, so with an upcoming work conference approaching we decided to hire a campervan and spend the weekend revisiting the Northland Region and checking out this magical cruising grounds.

The only thing we had booked was the Jucy van that was to be home for our adventure and a small hotel in which to spend the Friday night to give us a good rest before heading off. Having landed in Auckland, we were delivered to the Travellers International HoteI to a small and dingy broken down room. Eva carefully laid upon the bed and gently pulled up the covers as not to disturb the mites and lice that had already booked in there!

our first breakfast stop

Needless to say we left early the next morning and set off on our adventure along highway 1 north. With the novelty of our campervan still fresh in the cabin we pulled off at Orewa and enjoyed breakfast at Oliver’s Café on the waterfront. After stocking the fridge at the local supermarket we took the next exit from the freeway heading back toward the coast. Snell’s beach was not dissimilar to many of the places we were to visit. Indeed the road wound around the coast highlighting many bays and inlets protected by the points and Islands repelling the majority of the swell rolling up the eastern seaboard. The only difference with this one was two sailboarders chasing a pod of playful whales around the bay! A stones through North was the pretty little town of Matakana. We spent several hours frolicking around the funky Black Dog Café with its wall of quotes and mirror tiled walls which were groovier than it sounds, and homely gift shops.

The Highlight however was the local cinema with its cosy bars and massive fireplace in the foyer even more appealing with the chilly breeze and scattered showers outside. After checking out the water bubbling through the rapids circling the town before passing by the willows and boats tied up to the pontoons sloping down the green embankments.

even the toilet blocks here were unique!

With the afternoon sky giving way to evening we pulled into the car park at Lang’s beach, a peninsular separating the calm lake from the surf beach. As surfers braved the cold water and winter winds, a final rainbow crested the setting sun. After enjoying dinner in our dinning van we set up the penthouse (against the advice from Jucy) and bunked down for the night. The penthouse is the cabin bolted on to the roof of the van and opens electronically. Although it has plenty of length for my 193cm frame it is quite narrow and whilst protected on the hard cover side, the vinyl canvass dripped from both condensation and the showers that scudded through during the night. It was also a challenge to get two bodies up the ladder and settled into sleeping positions!

Breakfast al la jucy van!

The morning broke clear and we enjoyed a pleasant breakfast before heading off on day two of our adventure. Once again the road took us back to the highway north until we took our next exit at Whakapara which led us through some spectacular country and thoughtful architecture up to Russell in the Bay of Islands. The whole drive I could not shake the thought that this was perfect motorbike riding country with good roads, little traffic and beautiful, varied scenery. Like the Great Ocean Road, the 130kms took most of the day on account of the windy terrain, but what a treat to arrive. Situated in the heart of the bay of Islands on the eastern peninsular it had a distinctly colonial feel reinforced as I filled our van with fuel from the oldest petrol station in New Zealand.

We had a walk up to flagstaff Hill with a panoramic view over the whole are and was the scene of dispute for sovereignty between the Maori’s and British colonial invaders with the flagpole, the centre of controversy being erected, then cut down only to be replaced and cut down again several times before agreement could be reached. As the weather closed in we retreated to the Duke of Marlborough and its fireplace for lunch before heading south.

Having satisfied our curiosity of the East Coast and not being one to retrace steps, we took a ferry crossing at Okiato to Opua for a jaunt down the West coastline.

Flagstaff - Bay of Islands

Russell

Looking from the warmth of a fire!

Buffeted by the Tasman Sea the west coast was vastly different with black sands and unfortunately for us driving rain and strong winter winds not exactly putting out the welcome mat for us. After a pub dinner we headed for one tree point for a suitable place to stay the night.

Hundertwasser toilet block

And from the inside...

Unique window

After looking at several spots I found a little track leading down to an opening protected by a big dune on one side and thick bush line on the other allowing perfect quiet from the howling wind and privacy from the houses overlooking the bay. All was good until I realised the opening was a small launching spot for boats and kayaks. Not wanting to risk the high tide floating us away I began to reverse up to find my gravel road was actually sand and that without the help of something more adequate we were going nowhere!

At eleven o clock at night we decided to make the most of our spot and stay the night. Help would be more forthcoming in daylight hours. During the night I thought I could hear rain on the roof only to be confused by what must be rain, the breaking sun revealed rain with the heavier drumming being hail beating on us!

Walking past the waterfront houses looking for an appropriate “Victim” to help us with our plight we came across a front yard housing a tractor! Perfect I thought, then the owner magically appeared Neil blissfully unaware of what was about to unfold for him. Having explained our plight he immediately sprang into action as though this was not an altogether event, with 4wd, straps and hooks!

In less than ten minutes our green van was back on bitumen and we were ready to go except that New Zealand hospitality doesn’t end there. Neil welcomed us into his beautiful home, fed us, brewed coffee and showed us around and poured over maps giving local insights we relished. We are really grateful for his help and at the circumstances which led us to meeting a really good man with a heart of gold. We hope that he will someday visit and allow us to reciprocate his hospitality.

With the weather improving (a little) we found some really interesting and curious spots like the Hundert wasser. Friedensreich Hundertwasser was a contemporary if not controversial architect/artist born in Vienna. He immigrated to New Zealand in the 1990’s where he lived until his death in 2000. We marvelled at his innovative and colourful toilet block and buildings using coloured bottles as windows and ceramics throughout. One needs to stop here if only just for the novelty. It has never been so much fun for a pit stop!

Of other significance was the Café Utopia just south Kaiwaka. A constant work in progress the concrete ship was as novel a spot for coffee as any I have been and once you enter the magic begins and the main road is left an imagination away.

As if marking the last spot of our adventure we relented and followed the main highway south back to Auckland where upon handing back the keys to our Jucy Van were generously chauffeured to the hotel where my conference was due to allow me to digest this wonderful country, people and adventure.

We cannot thank enough Jucy for the well thought out and presented van and transportation and Neil who not only got us out of our pickle but was unbelievably generous and welcoming- a big thank you!

PS- I am looking at organising a motorcycle tour here in February (summer). If anyone would like to join me please let me know so I can organise some deals etc.

Adelaide to Melbourne via Great Ocean Road

2011-09-11T04:12:00.000-07:00

Adelaide to Melbourne

It is said that to repeat a procedure a second time is much more efficient than the first because most of the learning has already been done. So it proved to be with this, the return trip after Cooper and I trailed the path from Melbourne to Adelaide during the Easter break earlier in the year.

Adelaide

30th August – McLaren Vale

Standing on the front door of spring, it was time to raise my motorbike out of its winter hibernation where it had quietly sat at my patient friend Joanna’s house in Adelaide and begin its 3000km journey home to QLD.

As Eva, Joanna and Elson socialized in the living room I unburdened the bike from its covers and riding gear I had left to dry after my Kangaroo Island experience in early June. To my delight the battery eagerly glowed in all the right places and the beautiful, shiny 1600cc engine sprung to life at its first beaconing. After the usual checks were completed I joined the team for a scrumptious dinner, relishing the opportunity to catch up with dear friends who I usually only get the chance to speak to over the phone.

September 1st – Spring!

8.00am

As the bulk of commuters headed off to work, we headed into Adelaide with a different agenda. First stop was breakfast at the East Terrace Continental (ETC) overlooking the Botanical Gardens. To prepare ourselves for the 400km ahead we took a walk through Rundle mall and checked out the limestone museum, churches and university that helps make the city the enchanting environment it is.

Following the coast

Soon enough we found ourselves following the coast down the Fleurieu Peninsular past Glenelg and Brighton out to the gem of the region McLaren Vale.

McLaren Vale

The whole region is littered with some of Australia’s best and most renowned vinyards. Mclaren Vale, known specifically for its fine reds and dinning is harder to eat and drink your way through town than it is to walk it! Having satisfied our palettes and sent several boxes of wine to the Sunshine Coast we continued our march east to Victor Harbor.

Victor Harbor

Passing over Mount Compass we wound our way into Victor Harbor for some lunch and a stretch of the legs before heading off to Goolwa. Goolwa sits on the Moyne river and for me is best remembered as the location for the movie Storm Boy, a classic book penned by Colin Thiele which made a big impact on me as a youngster. With the sun making better time across the horizon than us we left the pretty town all to quickly to cross the long stretch of salt land to Kingston, our coastal overnight stop.

On the way over Cooper and I had headed inland on the advice of the touring guides who described the stretch as boring and uneventful. As we raced the sun the salt land had filled with water leaving the Coorong alive with the sounds and antics of the birds on the water turned red from the reflections of the setting sun.

Friday 2nd September – Kingston - Port Fairy

Having traveled the better part of 500km the day before and still trying to thaw out from the cold overnight air we were a little stiff as we climbed aboard for our second day contemplating another long run over the border and into the Victorian town of Port Fairy

Robe

Robe should have been a short run from Kingston and the tensions (and sore bottoms) were exposed when I took a route that added another 50km. Having stopped for petrol Eva walked into town to get some feeling back into her posterior giving me a head start on coffee and breakfast! A beautiful town with more to offer than Kingston we reluctantly saddled up and took the scenic route through to beautiful Beachport, the blue lake of Mt Gambier, Neilson and Portland, racing the setting sun into Port Fairy.

Saturday 3rd September –

Port Fairy - Apollo Bay

Satisfied with a huge steak at the Caledonian Hotel where we stayed and a fitful night sleep it was time to get up and watch the pretty town come to life as the sun heated up the limestone buildings framed in their manicured gardens.At the Hub we conveniently found space on the

couch by the log fire discussing with the locals the AFL football results and how warm it was with the sun coming out! The Harbor is a picture of tranquility and serenity lined with boats tied to the wharf straddling to the houses taking advantage of the vista. All too soon it was time to head off to Warnambool, the self proclaimed Capital of the Great Ocean Road!

We brunched at Simons at the local surf club overlooking the bay. We were on lookout for Southern Great Whales but alas none were forthcoming this particular morning.

The Great Ocean Road

After 900 odd kilometers of relatively unbroken road we wound off the rolling paddocks of cows and farmland into the precipice where the sheer limestone rock rises dramatically out from the unrelenting water creating ever changing sculptures in the rock formations around this spectacular coastline.

Bay of Islands/Martyrs

Here we were on and off the bike every 300m or so as different vantage points gave different perspectives. The last structure is the London bridge which is still impressive despite having half of its top collapsing into the sea in the early nineties.

12 Apostles

The most famous collection of formations on the coastline, there are now only eight remaining but never the less are a major tourist drawcard for good reason.

Loch Ard Gorge.

Named after the schooner that was dashed on the rocks here in a horrible storm in 1878. The ship sailing from England with a crew of 36 was predominately carrying the Carmichael family of 18 to stay with their sick father. With the ship stuck firmly on Mutton bird Island the few life jackets available were handed out to passengers leaving the crew to fend for themselves. Unfortunately it didn’t help them much and all but 18yr old Eva Carmichael perished, desperately clinging to parts of the ship as it broke up. The fate of the crew was no better with 35 crew doing the honorable thing and going down with the ship. As young Eva drifted between the rock formations Tom, a young seamen who had miraculously washed onto the small beach saw her plight and swam out and pulled her ashore before scaling the cliff to find help!

Today, with a light offshore breeze and no swell, it was hard to look past the sheer beauty mother nature had offered us.

Port Campbell

Smack in the middle of the cliffs there is a little oasis called Port Campbell. From seemingly nowhere man has included a swell prone jetty and surf club on a beautiful lawn overlooked by a hotel and a variety of cafes and take away outlets.

Apollo Bay

Despite having only travelled less than 150km in the day we were seriously running out of sunlight again so we bypassed Cape Ottaway (see easter ride story) and made our way through the State forest and Great Ottaway National Park to Apollo Bay

Apollo Bay - Queenscliffe

Seaview Motel.

Set back from the main strip we stayed at the Seaview Motel. I mention them specifically because on both trips they gave us generous rates to their lovely units and more importantly allowed me to park the bike in their garage leaving me a remote key for private access. As both times we had overnight rain it was very much appreciated. Both Tracey and Luke were very accommodating and friendly to our cause.

A gem of a ride!

Having donned the wet weather gear with some light rain on departure we enjoyed a sparkling and magic ride as the road hugged the coast. North of Apollo bay the limestone and its characteristics are left behind and replaced with rolling green hills and valleys jutting out in a more random manor into the ocean. The coast from here is known as the Surf Coast with Torquay being the pinnacle as the birthplace for surf companies such as Rip Curl and Billabong.

Lorne

The 45kms from Apollo Bay to Lorne is never more than a stones throw from the ocean and as we ducked and weaved around the headlands and inlets the road slowly dried out leaving us with a spectacular view of the scenery ahead and out to sea. All too quickly we found ourselves at the seaside town of Lorne and warming seats at the the bathers pavilion right on the water sipping white wine with our fathers day meal listening to french music softly filling the air! Life surely doesn’t get much better than this!

Monday – Mornington Peninsular

Ferry Ride across the Bay

After an enjoyable and soothing ferry ride across Port Phillip Bay from Queenscliffe to Sorrento I was stunned by the beauty of this eastern side of the peninsular. With its obvious wealth and prosperity it enjoys a majestic view over a waterway which today was bathed in sun and crystal clear water lapping onto its sandy beaches.

Melbourne Revealed

I have never quite got melbourne. Sydney has the familiarity of home, Brisbane is built around a lovely waterway breaking up its intensity. Adelaide is small and beautiful with its wide, tree lined streets and Perth has a nice ambience to it. I have always wanted to like the capital of Victoria, but I have never felt like I understood it. As we cruised out to Portsea and looked at the spectacular coastline north it was almost matched by the architecture of the mansions sharing the view and the impressive variations of protection from the road and public. Not as much a fronting as interesting and austere.

The final run

As we covered the last 80kms into Melbourne we followed the coastal path taking us up through Rye, Rosebud, Dromana, and Mornington. The whole coast was a glut of beauty with its seaside towns backing onto the bay with the famous beach sheds nestled into the tops of the beach lines. I have only ever heard of them so I had a much better appreciation of them and how their owners might come down for a day at the beach already having their toys and necessities waiting for them. AS the traffic slowly built up and the number of traffic lights indicated how close we were to our destination we met up with friends Axi and Farzard back where it all began for me at Easter- the West Beach Bathers Pavilion for some lunch

on the deck soaking up the sun on this spectacular Melbourne day. All to soon I left Eva,Axi and Farzard for the storage shed at Tullamarine, a short ride from the airport . Having tucked my bike away it was time to fly home and start preparing for the next part of the adventure. 10 days travelling the 2000km from Melbourne to Brisbane following the legendary NSW south coast before traversing the great dividing range through to home!

If anyone has any comments or enquiries about the trip or would like some advice in organising their own adventure here please feel free to drop me an e mail at

d_shippo@yahoo.com.au

David

To do

2011-09-07T04:58:00.000-07:00

Sorry folks I have been a bit quiet. I have been on a lot of adventures of late and am currently working on store about New Zealand, Hamilton Island Race week and my ride from Adelaide to Brisbane. Please be patient and I will let you know when it starts coming together

Kangaroo Island Ride

2011-08-06T14:52:00.000-07:00

Sunrise - Kingscote

"Life is a journey, not a destination". Everyone knows this cliche right? Because it is so true we try and abide by the sentiment and balance some time amongst our work, family, long and medium goals to smell the roses along the way. Sometimes however, life has a way of taking the statement and slapping you in the face with it!

In my case it was my trip to Kangaroo Island, 160km's south of Adelaide and at the foot of the Fleurieu Peninsular. The Island itself, at 150km x 60kms is the third largest island in Australia behind Tasmania and Melville Island off Darwin in the North. With my bike being stored in Adelaide and the opportunity to attend a work conference I stayed for the weekend and planned my trip to the Island famous for its New Zealand Fur Seals and Australian Sea lions, the Admirals Arch and Remarkables rock formation, a smaller scale version of Ullaru.

With my work commitments completed I headed off expecting a leisurely jaunt south. What I got was so much more. Adelaide is surrounded by hills and the road quickly left the suburbs behind and gently undulated through grazing land leading toward the coast. The roads are wide and smooth and the the bends sweeping with the hills gently giving a glimpse of ocean before angling back into the valley's only to reappear closer to the deep blue ocean. I marvel at Australian town names and its so cool to travel through towns such as Myponga and Yankallila! Before you reach the coast the trip has another little surprise in the form of Mclaren Vale, a town renowned for its world class wine.

Meandering through the hills

Myponga Reserve Wall

After Mclaren Vale the road leads back to the coast and hugs the coast, escorted in with pine trees lining the sandy shore on one side and the hilly, grazing land on the other through to Point Jervis and the jump off point to Kangaroo Island. After checking in I had some time to appreciate how nice the trip had been and was still buzzing at its beauty. Whilst checking in I was greeted (again) by super friendly staff who had been admiring my bike and commenting on the QLD numbefr plates produced more maps and tips of magestic rides in the area. Sitting down pouring over them a biker on the next table sat down and reitterated what I had just been told and my natural enthusiasm went into overdrive as Ray, a retired 70yr old local showed me his favourite rides around the whole peninsular. Suddenly I couldnt wait to get back and continue exploring!

At the ferry

Soon enough the Ferry arrived and a easy passage was made on a glassy ocean basking in the fading sun. The ride from Penneshaw, the ferry,s landing spot to Kingscote where I was staying is around 60km in length and as the sun set over the water (unusual for us East coasters) I didnt have time to check for the green flash as the sun touches the horizon for I was was on high Kangaroo allert. Like most animals their favourite time to graze is sunrise and sunset and knowing their unpredictability I certainly didnt want this adventure to be ended prematurely by a twitchy kangaroo.

Saturday morning broke calm and clear. Looking out my window at first I thought I was seeing the reflection of the radiator burning in my room, but my heart leapt when I saw it was the clouds over the wharf not my heater creating the spectacle outside! In a flash I was chrging across the road to the park to witness a most beautiful sunrise. The local seals seemed to be more intigued by me and leisurly swam around my vantage point even lifting themselves out of the water to get a better look. The look was completed by a cocking of the neck accetuating their large brown eyes and thick whiskers.
Keen to make the most of the day I braved the morning chill for breakfast at Pardana, the settlement in the centre of the island. Typical of this places not much was open and the local pub everyone recommended was not open but looked like a spot much more suited to a couter lunch or dinner so I filled up with a big serve of bacon and eggs at the bakery just down the road.
I had left early as I was keen to get to the commercial sites before the tourist buss's arrived and so by 10 I was at the Flinders Chase National Park. Home to the Admirals Arch and Remarkable Rocks. After paying my entrance fee I left taking on several Cape Barren Goose birds making me think of my own Cape Barren Goose "Wild Goose" swinging happily on her mooring back in QLD.

Cape Barren Goose

The 15km ride to Admirals Arch was windy and fun and before I new it the closed in brush made way for a windy and exposed cliff face with its small hardened scrubs and rocky outcrops being hammered by the powerful swell rolling in from the southern ocean. As if by design, areas of smooth rock paved its way up from the depths making an ideal landing point for the seals littering the foreshore. Also adorning the point was an obligotary lighthouse now fully automated behind the timeless structure

Arriving at Penneshaw

Cape Du Coedic

Admirals Arch

Leaving Admiral Arch I headed down the road to the Remarkables, a unique rock structure formed by molten rock slowly cooling under pressure to leave hard granite that over millions of years surfaced to form these maginificent structures. This was the same process in forming as Ularoo, and although no where near as large remains an interesting and bold structure. The rocks themselves are topped off with a covering of Lichen which give a red tinge like a natural color co ordinator finishing off a ornamental feature!
In trying to get involved in some photography here I came unstuck when my new camera and stand were picked up by a large puff of wind and smashed it against the rocks!

Road leading out to the Remarkables

The Remarkables

My next stop was appropriately named Seal Bay and it was fun to watch these curious animals surf in the clear ocean, rest on the beach and follow playful cubs wrestling on the beach.

I returned early enough to miss the sunset animal peak hour and settled into an early nights sleep after pizza. As a gale blew up with rain squalls blown in by the ferocious wind I rested in peaceful ignorance!
There was no doubt about my clothing for the sunday ride back to the ferry. Everything warm I had under my wet weather gear! I was pleased to be sitting on a 350kg bike and not on a sporty featherweight as the strong gusts of wind buffetted through the trees lining the path back.
Having seen Kingscote I was keen to explore Penneshaw so I thought I would breakfast there. Unfortunately, nothing was open and I was only saved by the friendly lady at the bottleshop who moved some chairs and a table inside and kindly allowed me to eat my pie and drink in the shelter of the bottle shop! Hardly a classy act but I was hungry enough not to care.
My ferry ride back was the opposite of the one over not just in direction. Sitting waiting to enter the ferry I was covered not only in rain but spray from the waves breaking on the rockwall giving some respite for the ferry. Having secured the bike in the hold and taking my seat upstairs we headed off and as the catamaran ferry punched its way into the considerable swell that had developed it wasnt long before most of the passengers were reaching for the sick bags provided.
Conditions on the mainland were no better and as I wound my way back I found some sadistic pleasure in the wind and fog and rain, simply enjoying the fact I was on an adventure and had been lucky enough to witness so many great and beautiful things over the past weekend. I decided to put the suggested routes on hold for a better day head straight back to Adelaide, a warm shower and a plane home where the sun shines and it is considerably warmer!

Meandering through the hills

Great Ocean Road Adventure

2011-04-26T03:50:00.000-07:00

12 Apostles

I blame this bike riding on Peter Moore whose book Vroom detailed his travels around Italy on a Vesper.. In 2009 I happened to have four free days in the US and was looking for something to do. Inspired by his book I decided there could be nothing more American than reviving my old biking days and heading off for a free spirited adventure. So it was then that I headed off on a Harley Davidson Road King to spend four wonderful days cruising down the West coast of the USA. During that ride I got to thinking about the great riding we had back here in Australia and the top two rides were Melbourne's Great Ocean Road and basically the whole of Tasmania.
Not long after I returned I was seduced into purchasing my own Harley and, despite the Midlife Crisis jokes I endured, I loved (and still do) my riding in QLD. However the "cruising spirit" that still runs deep within wanted to explore further and as I delved into possibilities it happened that work put on a conference in Melbourne the days before Easter! That was it, I booked my bike in with bikenut transport and set about trying to put into place the logistics required to make it happen.
As I sit here in Brisbane airport, my bike almost there, my helmet and gear waiting for me at the conference hotel, and Cooper due to fly in on Thurs morning, my heart is aflutter. Another extraordinary dream is about to come to fruition and also setting off a succession of adventures for the year ahead. We are planning on spending the next four days following the wild Victorian coast buffeted by centuries of weather blown up from Antarctica. We are in the zone of the roaring forties where since my childhood I have read of mariners coping with the cold, wild winds and huge ocean swells roaming undisturbed with only Tasmania, New Zealand and Cape Horn to break their relentless march through the Great Southern Ocean.

Ready to leave Melbourne

Our travels will take us into the Great Australian Bite with its dramatic cliffs and sandy protected beaches. A feature is the 12 apostles, 12 giant limestone formations sitting just clear of the cliffs in defiance of mother nature herself. Sadly, four have succumbed to the relentless pounding, leaving eight magnificent structures to brave the elements.
Set amongst the unforgiving territory there stands a tough fishing fleet, hardened by the conditions but coerced by the bountiful fair abounding in the turbulent waters. This has lead to scenic boat harbours nestled into strategic points and lighthouses marking their way.
If this sounds a bit romantic and like a fairytale, then lets wait and see. I have never been there and I am painting my childhood fantasies for you to help set the mood for my excitement. During this time we plan to cover around 1100kms to Adelaide, leaving the coast at Mt Gambier on the Victorian/South Australia border and heading up through the vineyards of Coonawarra before a reunion with my American trips partner in crime!

Coffee on the Bay- St Kilda

The Day broke bright bright in Melbourne on the day of departure. With a few hours to spare before Cooper arrived I made my way to the only familiar bit of Melbourne - St Kilda. In My past days as a professional sailor racing down by the pier it was a pretty seedy part of town, but things have changed now and and has been transformed into a trendy seaside town and I had to while away a pleasant few hours at the West Beach bathers pavilion. The coffee wasn't to my taste but I enjoyed sitting over the sand listening to classical music and watching several energetic dogs doing their best to wear out their owners!
Soon enough it was time to head out to the airport to pick Cooper up and and head south where the bells beach bell was tolling!
The freeway south was both busy and uninteresting. If the rain had drenched this stretch of earth it certainly didn't look it and as the traffic thinned we found ourselves on the genesis of the Great Ocean Road and the Surf Coast entrance to Torquay and Bells.
Torquay is the base for surf companies such as Rip Curl and Billabong and there is a plethora of major outlets sweating on Kelly Slater, Mike Fanning and the crew coming for signing day. We purchased our 50th anniversary competition shirts and made our way out to Bells to check out the action proper!
The competition site at Bells Beach is accessed via several tracks leading down from the cliff tops which provided an excellent vantage point to watch several heats of surfers making the most of the 2m swell wrapping around the point before smashing onto the sheer cliff face stretching North providing a dramatic backdrop to the heat of battle.
I was conscious of how far we had to travel and so all too quickly we rode off into the fading light with ominous clouds building off the coast..
As we reached Angelsea we stopped to put on our wet weather gear and just as we set off again it began to rain and never let up the rest of our ride to Apollo Bay. By Lorne, a really pretty town, the light had all but gone and I was frustrated that we were now not only riding in miserable conditions, but that we were also missing some of the prettiest coast with a great swell running.
Eventually we pulled into our booked hotel and unpacked. Our hosts kindly moved their car from their lock up garage and allowed us to park both locked away and out of the rain!!
Apollo Bay was certainly a beautiful town in the morning light and despite the intermittent rain we walk down to the cafes on the Esplanade and settled down for breakfast.
Here we had our first taste of Victorian hospitality. As Cooper went to order the lady next to us commented on what a good mannered boy he was. this lead to a conversation about or trip and possible future plans. Without hesitation Lorraine gave me her number and e mail address and offered to store my bike at her and her husbands(a bike enthusiast) house!

Apollo Bay

If the stretch between Torquay and Apollo Bay is called the Surf Coast, the next section is as aptly named the "Shipwreck Coast". In the centuries following Cook's discovery of Australia in the1700's, this piece of coast was the first seafarers would come across after 7 - 8 months at sea. This unforgiving coast made for certain calamity to any unwary or unfortunate vessel and over the years there were plenty. With no escape from the water, most of the crew and passengers met an unfortunate end along with

At Bells Beach

the floundering vessels.
Several key light houses and signaling posts were quickly set up to help aid ships navigation and one of those was the lighthouse and signaling station at Cape Otway. We exited off the main road and found our way through the Eucalyptus and Gum trees littered with Koalas happily resting in their Eucalyptus leaf drugged state. Now a maritime museum we climbed the lighthouse and marvelled at the changing ship to shore communications. At the advent of the station, a flagpole was erected to display signals by appropriate flags. This was replaced by Morse code followed by telex and fax. communication now is by long and short wave radio and satellite phone.
Also of note there was also an aboriginal heritage camp their which shed an enormous amount of light on the surrounding area. The region to the north is predominantly sandstone. That changes however south of Apollo Bay where Limestone becomes the significant rock formation which provided both the fabulous formations over the next one hundred kilometers and the stone for the buildings in both South Australia and Victoria.

I liken the Otoway national park to the Big Surr in the US ride. As if anticipating the need for a break from the buffeting the coast dealt out, the highway hits the Otway National Park and immediately furrows through magnificent rain forest offering protection from the wind and giving a treat for the senses. As the aroma of eucalyptus mixes with the earthy natural mulch, it gives off a refreshing and calming change from the salt blowing in with the the heavy maritime air.

Cape Otway Koala

Although the cliffs remain constant heading south, the waves are broken up before smashing onto the cliff face by enormous pillars of limestone. Immediately south are the famous 12 apostles followed by "London Bridge", all the more apt since half of the structure has since fallen down!
Further south again is the Bay of Martyrs, hundreds of smaller rocky outcrops littering the bay.
Our journey was constantly being broken as we pulled over, removed helmets and gloves, took photos and returned!

London Bridge

Bay of Martyrs

If Torquay is the heart of this coast, then Warnambool is its origin. It was the first bay set up for safe navigation and where supplies and cargo both human and solid were dropped off. I was looking forward to visiting this town and there was a certain amount of anticipation as we approached. In reality though, it was too big to be quaint and full of character, but not big enough to develop its own bustle and personality. We kept riding around looking for something but alas we found nothing. There is a laser light show at Flagstaff Pt but persistent rain and desire to get dry and warm kept us tucked in our hotel room. Early next morning we drove down to the harbour and had breakfast at the surf club watching as bare bodies braved the 14 degree temperatures to plunge into the 12 degree water! Adding to that it was the only surf club I have been into with an open fireplace as a centrepiece.
A short ride following the coast we came across Port Fairy. A small coastal town that was everything Warnambool was not. It was a Saturday morning and the town markets were humming with activity and yachts of all descriptions lined the wharfs running through the town, their wet weather gear drooped over the rigging in a forlorn attempt to dry in the weak Easter sun. We were only there half an hour but I was already besotted and vowed to stay here on the return trip.

Port Fairy

Our next stop was at Portland, a return to the larger commercial town with a huge breakwater enclosing the expanse of water and creating a calm playground for the residents. Here, over lunch we mat John, a visitor and soon to be Harley owner. Waiting on the delivery of his Street Glide we chatted for some time before exchanging numbers and promising to share a ride when back in Melbourne. Here, as with the whole of the trip the Road King seemed to attract plenty of attention and photographs, with no end of friendly banter and appreciation of what a father and son on a Harley were doing here!

Water frontage - Nelson

From Portland we had two options as we crossed the border into South Australia to Mount Gambier. Off course we chose the coastal path that lead to the tiny town of Nelson with its houses anchored into the riverbank but essentially counter levered over the water. An ice cream and photos and we took our first major turn west, leaving the winding coastal road and blustery maritime air for the immediately more tranquil inland air and long straight roads leading us to South Australia. We covered the 100kms to Mount Gambier in the blink of an eye and immediately came across its gem. Mount Gambier is an extinct volcano and its peak is an enormous crater filled with that volcanic deep blue water that one could only imagine how deep but gives the impression of being bottomless. Around its rim were some really pretty houses. We were on a mission now to complete the last one hundred kilometers before darkness and the threat of Kangaroos so we left all too soon for Narracorte. The straight, flat roads made the trip pass without incident and after travelling 350km in the days run we were happy to order pizza in house.

It was a fresh, sunny Easter Sunday that greeted us

entering South Australia

from our warm hotel room and as we packed there was a new energy and excitement. The quietness of four days of father/son bonding was to be replaced with lots of children and people. Joanna's children Konnor, Jordan and Elise were waiting with all sorts of balls and games and so we were now on a mission. We did however, treat ourselves to an Easter Egg having found its way into our packs before we left.

With more long, straight roads I was able to take in more of the surroundings. Coonawarra is a famous wine region hosting vineyards from some of Australia's top drops. Penfolds, Lindeman and
Yallumba are some of the names that have helped made the region famous, and although we didn't stop at any of the cellar doors available, rows upon rows of vines camouflaged by rose bush's, willows and maples with leaves turning gold, and green pines made for a magnificent backdrop. Approaching Adelaide we began to meander along a broad highway meandering through the green fields and verandered buildings perched on magnificent blocks of manicured gardens. The riding was easy and fun with cornering allowing good visibility and duel lanes keeping oncoming traffic clear.
Compared to Melbourne and Sydney traffic, Adelaide is wide, relatively free of traffic and generally easy to get around. Its streets are lined with trees and the houses seemed to pride themselves with stone veneer fronts and fine gardens. It is obviously a great climate for growing roses and they adorned the fine gardens in all their array of colours and varieties and scents, making riding through them both visually and aromatically appealing. .

Blue lake-Mount Gambier

Having arrived and immediately being swamped by children, our days consisted of basketball, football, tennis, and general play. Except for some pics of the Panda's at the zoo I will leave our magnificent journey there. Four wonderful days together meeting incredibly friendly and helpful people liiving out childhood dreams and learning some history and geography on the way.
We look forward to many more opportunities on the return home, but for now we fly back from Adelaide, happy, content and satisfied with an Easter that had a lot of everything.

West coast USA on a Harley Davidson

2011-04-04T23:28:00.000-07:00

The Coast of Highway 1 has it all

I consider myself more of a boatie than a biker. I am most at home on the sea and have an affinity with the water. Still, the moment you press the run button and the starter motor whines, catching the 1800cc engine causing it to throb into life, has to be one of the purest, almost sensual sounds I know. An inner spirit is unleashed and thrust into being which is I think, the essence, magic of riding a Harley Davidson.
After wrapping up four days of conference in San Francisco I was keen to explore the much acclaimed United States West Coast and I figured what better way to see it than on a Harley. I had never ridden one before, my experience is on sport bikes, but somehow the road king cruiser seemed the right choice for the occasion.
So after some e-mailing to California Motorcycle Adventures (CMA) here I was being introduced to the gleaming chrome and black beast hung low on it's white walled tyres.
My plan was not to try and cover so much distance, rather explore the most popular stretch as far south as Morrow Bay around 300 miles south of San Francisco. Ilene (from CMA) also recommended a ride home via the mountains and Californian desert would make a worthwhile round trip. I didn't book any hotels and departed on a Friday afternoon with a small bag of clothes, a suggested itinery and a head full of dreams and aspirations.

Me the bike and the open road!

My first destination was Half Moon Bay, a short drive down the coast on a fairly easy stretch of highway and scenic mountain roads meandering down to the home of Mavericks, a legendary big wave location and a sleepy working marina that a friend had kept her boat in before crossing the pacific to Australia.
As the yellow ball of sun retired over the ocean to the west I parked myself down by one of the big steel pots at the Half Moon Bay Brewing Co. With the coal fire warming the evening chill I tucked into fish and chips downed with a locally brewed beer. The full moon rose behind the mountains and the band rocked on into the night, this was going to be one hell of a ride.

A hot coffee was top of agenda as I headed south the next morning.. Otherwise sane people covered head to toe in thick rubber sat out in water chilled by the arctic currents. The air refrigerated by the cold water also known as the Pacific Ocean rushed by my face. After my morning caffeine hit I headed south, the warmth of the sum a welcome relief on my hands. Soon the traffic thinned out leaving room to open out and appreciate the desolate coastline stretching before me. At pelican point I cranked up the i pod and left my singing to be blown away with the passing breeze, I felt alive and vibrant. I was living the dream. Cruising the west coast on a hog; surely it couldn't get any better than this.
All too soon I was in Santa Cruz. As I made my way to the northern tip and natural bridges it struck me how protected we were from the stiff N/W breeze that had followed me all the way down. It was warm and the surfers and kayakers paddled around in glassy water disrupted only by the kelp and elephant seals rising slowly with the gentle swell.

When planning the railway in the early eighteen hundreds they decided to build two separate, unlinked lines, one for the common folk to Santa Cruz, the other, for the well healed further south to Monterey and Carmel. Santa Cruz is home to a playground of amusement parks and roller coasters. It is also famous for it's massive pier- the boardwalk, included in various movies and a song from under it. Off course I had to sit under it and absorb it's words, still relevant today. Lunch was a clam chowder at the end of the pier.
After a pleasant couple of hours I continued south toward it's up market neighbor. The only notable stop was at a bar frequented by traveling bikers. In the heart of the artichoke country, I lined my bike up outside “The Whole Enchilada”, a small dark bar with every possible piece of wall and ceiling covered in one-dollar bills. I took a quick lap, pushing through the sea of leather and bandanas before deciding to hit the open road again.
The rest of the journey to Monterey was pretty uneventful and I was pleased to arrive and have a look around town including a trip out to the lighthouse and a fabulous tour of the foreshore. There was some outlets in the old fish cannery and the wharf was full of tourists but I'm guessing the locals didn't spend much time there so I went in search of their hang outs.

Heading out early I pulled into Carmel for my obligatory coffee and chat. This was going to be an exciting day. Everyone I had spoken to had raved about the one hundred odd miles of coast winding through the Big Sur National Park.
Carmel was indeed a beautiful and picturesque town with lovely architecture and well maintained seaside houses. The early morning sun cast a warm hue across the beach and swells as they came to rest on the sand. Early walkers lined the tide line with their trained dogs obediently following on their leads.

No sooner had I left Carmel than the magic began, a concrete bridge spanning a cove on the cliffs introduced a day of magnificent road that hug the coast line, mainly being cut out from the cliffs that rose majestically out of the ocean and towered high above. The bitumen undulated as it wound around the headlands leaving breathtaking views the whole way. I seemed to play leapfrog with other bikers and travelers stopping to take in the vista.

Early Morning Carmel

The only break from the coast was through the Big Surr town where the coast was swapped for towering pines and forest, its aroma as distinctive as the scenery. Somewhere in the bends I found myself deep in the seat and at one with the machine underneath me.

Monteray

The Boardwalk - Santa Cruz

Marina Headquaters

Road undulating around the cliffs

I also came across a beach literally covered with elephant seals. Covering themselves with sand to protect them selves from the sun, any movement meant trampling over the surrounding seals wallowing on the sandy shoreline.

San Simeon bay was another highlight. With a jetty originally build to bring in supplies and the hardware to build nearby Hearse Castle, an eccentric millionaire who wanted to replicate some of England’s castles.

Cayucos is another small coastal town just short of Morrow Bay and prides itself on its quieter pace. I really enjoyed a late lunch and local beer sitting by the bar overlooking the sparkling bay. It was really noticeable by now the handshakes and language had changed dramatically since leaving San Fran and I enjoyed sitting and observing the interactions of the
locals.

San Simeon

Still buzzing from my ride and bar experience I nudged my way the last 5 miles to Morrow bay, another pretty harbour protected by a huge rock that dominates the landscape. A local band was gigging out on the waterfront and I couldn’t disguise my pleasure from such a fantastic day.

Cool Bridge on Higway 1

Morrow Bay

After a restful sleep I was up early churning with anticipation of the day ahead. Up till now I had no exact locations to find or destinations to meet. Today I had to leave the coast and take the road less traveled back to the bike shop. In reality I couldn’t even remember anything about the bike shop having left excited and pre occupied by the prospects ahead.

If the coast road was scenic and encouraged regular stops and photo opportunities highway 25 was a riders road. As the highway wound its way up into the hills and out into the desert, the road was relatively wide and visibility clear. It was warm and there was no fog that had routinely found its way across the coast. With almost no oncoming traffic it was the perfect road to just let the bike grip the road and feel the curves. There were no stops for photos, or slowing for RV’s, just a glorious ride home.

I did stop by the Pinnacles National Park for a walk and opportunity to stretch the legs with a hike out to the caves and have lunch, but basically it was just a sensational ride on a bike that was as comfortable to ride as the seat I was parked on.

The last hour found me on the 101(N), the freeway back to San Francisco. It wasn’t the 80-90 m/h I was doing that concerned me, it was the big utilities rushing by at about 110m/h I found daunting. I wasn’t in a hurry and to be honest wasn’t looking forward to either giving this magnificent bike back, or having to try and find the bike shop.

This Guy captured my idea of California !!

Eventually I did both and now as I reminisce over the trip of dreams I must thank the crew at California Motorcycle Adventures for a beautifully turned out bike and helpful service and attitude and all the friendly people who helped make this a trip of a lifetime.

Germany (part 1)

2011-02-25T22:21:00.000-08:00

The 22^nd of December was a special day: It was the summer solstice (Most sunlight hours in a day for the year). It also happened to be a full moon. Of more significance, it was also a lunar eclipse, it was the first time all these stars had aligned in 2000 years!! Of equal significance to me, I was off on my maiden adventure to Germany. It was still surreal as we packed our bags to head off to the airport sweating in long pants and shirt in 30 degrees clutching our jumpers, scarf and coats in preparation for the weather that was awaiting us in Frankfurt!

The eight hours to Hong Kong was incident free with an amazing sunrise as we tracked North West extending the sun sitting on the horizon trying to lift itself up and over by around two hours!! Even at Hong Kong Airport there were only the hint of change with free internet everywhere and the aroma of noodles filling the terminal looking out over the smog hiding the city and mountains apparently behind. It was only as we approached the Lufthansa boarding gate to try and secure some exit row seats that the changes became apparent. Firstly, the entire population at the lounge seemed to have grown by two feet. Secondly, the hair color had lightened considerably, and lastly, a look of suspicion and determination was unmistakable as we all clamored for the sought after seats.

The Lufthansa Aircraft to propel us through the next 13hrs to Germany was probably once the pride of the fleet. 20 years on however it was showing its age with small screens at the front of each bulkhead barely viewable and table trays warn and almost unusable. The service and staff were friendly enough but it was obvious that some serious upgrading was overdue.

Sitting beside an animated Italian shoe designer living in China I was also distracted by the gripping finale of “The Book Thief”, which helped the hours drag by with bouts of sleep-deprived coma sprinkled throughout the flight. Nevertheless, I enjoyed the thought of Inland China sliding by underneath us, and being served a tasty dish of diced chicken whilst banking left over Katmandu for the last leg into Germany!

By the time we touched down and secured the German stamp in my passport it was 8.30pm and despite an overwhelming sense of tiredness I was appreciating the blurred scenery from the back seat of Tamara’s Audi A4 as we hurtled down the autobahn at 180km per hour!

It was hard to believe that only twelve months ago Tamara and her sister Jacqueline and husband Sven and brother Marco had been with us sweating out a Brisbane Christmas as part of her adventure around Australia. Now here we were driving through the snow sodden terrain, her eyes sparkling and her enthusiasm infectious as she introduced us to Christian her boyfriend. Having met him on returning home from her trip, I had the feeling he had heard as much of us as we had of him and so the get to know you period was easy and relaxed.

My new friend Christian

Next morning we opened the window of our room to look out over a roof covered in snow to a valley as serene as it was white! Chimneys in the gaggle of steeply pitched roofs were releasing smoke wafting straight up in the calm morning grey. There was a stream meandering through the village on the other side of a snowy paddock at the base of a mountainside covered with pine trees hosting clumps of snow on the needles. There were no cars, people, animals, birds; just a peaceful quiet start to the day.

It was way beyond my reality to be getting up at 8.00 with no hint of any sun for the foreseeable future, so after a shower it was time to meet our hosts and begin my first day of exploring!

Tamara’s Family is fourth generation owners of the Forelle (German translation; trout) guesthouse in the tiny town of Hundsbach in northern tip of the Black Forrest. Built in 1871 it is a popular guesthouse in summer catering for families hiking, riding, fishing and generally getting away for pleasant country weekends and relaxing holidays. Harking back to a time when family holidays were spent in Germany its low ceilings and wood paneling was warm and inviting, surrounded by windows looking over the panorama mentioned above. On the balcony outside was a big fish tank housing large trout, some of which were bound to end up on our dinner plate before too long.

Forelle translates to Trout

Tamara at the Forelle

Our Hosts, Tamara’s family, Ingrid, Ralph, cousin Karen and Grandmother Oma were waiting for us when we emerged for breakfast, already the kitchen was in full swing and I was about to be introduced to my first of three weeks of German breakfast. We are not the usual cereal kind anyway, preferring an omelet for protein and sustenance, but this was certainly neither of the above. Laid out were a selection of cold meats, salami’s and Bratwurst with cheese and an array of bread only some of it I recognized. Still, it was delicious and under Tamara’s observation also included soft boiled eggs in a cane basket wrapped in a purpose made doona which reminded me of a tea cozy! Coffee with cream was plentiful and was a treat from our usual routine. In particular the Laugen bread (imagine pretzel in a loaf) was worthy of being hunted down and consumed every morning and was great both with savoury and eggs as well as sweet with jam.

So began 5 days of being fussed over and spoilt rotten as guests nothing like I have ever experienced. It was a cross between living with the familiarity of family in a commercial hotel. English was barely spoken but we managed to figure out some basic communication whenever Eva or Tamara was unavailable to act as translators.

Eva had booked a hair appointment with another of her Australian guests from the nearby town of Buehl so after dropping her off, Tamara and I headed through the fog, winding our way through Sasbachwalden, a beautiful town complete with classic Tudor houses which the Black Forest is famous for. With visibility still limited we continued up and into sunshine and Mummelsee, a tourist mecca for the well healed a long time ago. Rumour has it that the lake beside the hotel was filled with mermaids who were looked after by King Neptune who delighted in filling the guests with rich’s and prosperity. This however was abused by patrons who took advantage of the lovely water creatures causing the king to be angry and cursing the building. It managed to survive several fires and WW2 bombings and is a popular hotel to this day. Many Divers have perished trying to recover the rumored wealth lying at the bottom of the very deep lake. On this day it was frozen over and our goal was to stay on our feet over the ice!

Mummelsee

Looking over a sea of fog to France

We proceeded up the mountain to Untersmatt, a little ski field sitting at around 1300m and far away from the commercial operations I had ever experienced. It also had a clubhouse for a motorcycle club to take advantage of the winding, undulating roads perfect for a two wheel adventure in the warmer weather.

Looking back over the valley I began to get a feel for the geography. The black forest itself sits in the South West corner of Germany and is a rectangular area of around 200kms by 60kms covering 12,000 square km’s with an elevation of 1500m at its highest peak. The Western length of the forest drops down into the Rhine Valley, a lush area perfect for growing grapes and farming in general. The natural border between Germany and France is the Rhine River, in itself a hub of commercial shipping and activity between the two countries with the landscape being mirrored on the French side of the border and perhaps more famous for its wines than the German counterparts. From my feet at the base of the ski field laid a thick and flat sea of fog with the French Alps rising from the serene expanse in the distance.

Christmas Markets

– A German tradition and one which I had heard lots of! This was to be my day of reckoning!! We wound our way down the mountain to Baden Baden, where the festive atmosphere lead us to a large parkland brimming with music and lights under which rows of stands were set up completing the ambience with the aroma of BBQ Bratwurst, fresh bread, cheese and food I could only guess at! Interspersed were vendors selling Gluehwein. Traditionally, a warm red wine infused with spices, perfect for the environment we were in. Over time it has evolved with plenty of variations to work our way through! About this time I felt the need for a quick pit stop, so excusing myself I ducked into the Casino and headed for the rest rooms, not usually a place to come unstuck I confidently entered the signed area to be confronted by two doors. On one there was the letter” H “and on the other “D”! This was a new one for me and I was a little thrown, where was the plaque of the little man or woman to give me a clue? I waited a while thinking some one must surely exit and point me in the right direction but as usual when in the situation NOTHING! Things were getting a little more pressing so a decision had to be made. I reasoned that I had been practicing Herr (Mr) Fischer (Eva’s dad) so my punt was H for Herr! Somewhat gingerly I walked up and peeked through the door ready to beat a hasty retreat if the H was for her… With great relief I had indeed picked the correct door and a new lesson had been learned!

Now thats a BBQ

Getting friendly with the locals!!

And a beer with Santa

Returning to the fray we enjoyed a wonderful night of bustling Christmas cheer, exploring further into the town where the bars and buildings were filled with Christmas cheer. Of particular note was the bar set out as a winter garden with ornate displays of all things Christmas including Santa stopping for a well earned drink where you could join him and one of the 6 star restaurants by the markets with the advent countdown calendar lighting up the front rooms!!

The town of Baden Baden was obviously a wealthy town and I discovered that there a more millionaires here per capita than anywhere else in Germany. Most of them are Russian mining tycoons. The Russian Orthodox Church is also renowned for its gold and lavish décor although I never actually visited it.

It also has a Catholic church that I did visit and the foundation stone was laid somewhere between the 8^th and 10^th century!!

staying warm in Baden Baden

Baden Baden literally translates into bath/bath and was where the Roman’s, recognizing the healing power of the thermal springs came to ease their aches and pains. Caracalla, the Roman emperor even came here to relieve his arthritic aches.

Although taking a pounding in the 1500’s and 1600’s and severely pillaged at that time by the French, it was rediscovered in the seventeen hundreds as a spa town and was visited by the queen of Prussia in the early nineteen hundreds to improve her health. At that time it also became a popular place for celebrities attracted by the hot springs, casinos and luxury hotels along with its race horses and gardens. In the 1850’s and 60’s it came known as the European summer capital. As luck would have it, the town escaped bombing in the first and second world wars and remains as a showpiece of history, culture and beauty today.

Baden Baden Thermal Bath

Littered throughout the Black Forest, the natural warm springs are a popular place for locals and tourists alike to escape the winter cold and relax in another world. I would like to expand on these further later on but it was fascinating to lay eyes on the incredible structures blowing stream into the cold night air and see the old Roman bricks on display showing the remnants of such historical significance! I had never actually laid eyes on anything so old in my life before and my imagination began to run wild at the thought of men in tunics and feathery battle hats running over the same cobbled stones I was standing on!

Christmas traditionally in

Germany

is celebrated on the 24^th of December with Saint Nic and has only recently been confusing children with the American “Coca Cola” invasion of Santa coming on the 25^th. On this 24^th we woke to a thick layer of snow covering everything outside our cozy perch in the lodge!! The tiled Roofs were now white as was the road leading into town. I was surprised to see the trout in the fish tank on the balcony huddling around the air filter, the only thing stopping the tank from freezing over! I could hardly concentrate on my Breakfast as the snow continued its endless pursuit of covering everything whilst we ate. By the time we had filled our stomachs the driveway was barely visible and seeing our generous hosts busy trying to clear the driveway we decided this was our opportunity to combine being useful with my desire to get in some exercise! After 2hrs of shoveling snow I was drenched with sweat underneath my waterproof clothes and with a shrug of defeat I retreated without any evidence of our labor on the driveway! From that time on I reduced my expectations and decided I would take the role of only clearing the guest entrance by the front door.

fighting the losing battle to clear the driveway

By early afternoon and without any break from the snow Eva, Christian and I headed out for a walk around town and managed to combine it with some tobogganing down the deserted roads and pathways! Whilst our hosts cooked and slaved over Christmas preparations, I settled in with hot chocolate and Lindser Torte only breaking to set the table for the feast ahead.

Hundsbach

Last year I had been the only Australian from a table of eight people sharing the traditional German Christmas feast prepared in 30 plus degree Queensland heat and consumed surrounded by fans to both cool us down a little and keep the flies off our meal. This year I was again the only Australian in the group of 14 for this gathering. How different it was though this year. With the snow relentlessly tumbling down outside and the heaters working overtime to keep our 150yr old building warm, the roast Goose, red cabbage and Knoedel all seemed somehow so much more appropriate and I decided there and then that our next Christmas in Australia was going to be conducted our way, with cold meats and salad!!

Having made the mistake of consuming too much of the main meal, I was stuffed beyond comprehension getting through the most wonderful array of sweets served for desert!

Another German tradition I struggled with was that of opening presents in the evening after the meals was finished. Presents were served out in the way we would but by ten in the evening for me the energy had got up and gone to bed where I was looking forward to going. It seemed such a shame that after all the thought and effort that had gone into them they weren’t appreciated in the way I was accustomed to. It was really nice to speak to my son Cooper on the phone though and I have to admit to being thoroughly content after helping Christian dig out his car and tucking myself into bed.

Out Forelle's front door

The 25^th stumbled into light still snowing and I sat by the window appreciating both my Australian heritage and the vista before me in the quiet of our Christmas morning far from home as the snow flakes continued to dance past my window and nestle onto the piles of its comrades outside.

After breakfast we set out to meet Sven and a heavily pregnant Jacqueline at their house. We agreed that we would drop in by the local ski field to check out prices on the way through in preparation for the next days skiing. Having arrived however, the whole area was covered in beautiful powder snow with the bordering pine trees drooping under the burden of so much snow. I could hardly control myself and so Eva and Tamara left to visit family leaving me with several years of pent up excitement and the most perfect conditions you could imagine! Booking in I was charged 20 euro’s for the skis and when I went to buy a 4hr ski lift pass the attendant asked why only four hours? “Because its 11.00 and the ½ day pass doesn’t start till 1.00”

“Close enough for me” he commented, so another 15 euro’s later and I was let loose spending the day alternating between the groomed runs on soft dry snow and busily negotiating my way between the pines with only the tips coming up every now and then under the knee deep powder until ten o clock that evening where the gang had congregated in the glass bar at the bottom of the hill busily dinking their Gluehwein from the warmth of their vantage point. After joining them for a few drinks to ease the pain of my ripped up ankles I noticed that my German really improved with the restrictions of my fear of not getting it wrong and offending anyone dulled by the drinks “I had to try whilst I’m here”.

Sampling the local with Svewn and Marco

My second day on the mountain was glorious. We woke to blue sky and the dazzling reflection of snow everywhere. Another 100 photos later and Eva and I headed out again with perfect visibility and fresh, groomed snow. From the top of the lifts the view was spectacular looking out over the Rhine Valley and over to the French Alps so clear in the distance. We spent the day skiing and eating at the café who’s walls were covered in the horns and skulls of different animals mounted as trophy’s. Truly a taxidermists pride and joy!

It was such a joy to share both the skiing and experience with her that by the time we had stripped off the boots and ski gear and were back to Forelle I was a bubble of joy and contentment.

This was going to take some beating. As the German banter washed around me I struggled to even look interested in keeping up with our most generous hosts. As I checked outside one last time before bed it was snowing again!

Buehl town centre

Our last morning here in Forelle and it was time for me to step up to the plate! We bid our sad farewell to Ingrid, Ralph and Nan and met the rest of the clan at Peters Café, their preferred bakery before catching the train to Eva’s Fathers for the next stage of our adventure. It was here that the magic of Buehl came to life. Covered in snow and dazzling under the sun with clear blue sky as a backdrop another 100 photos still couldn’t do the place justice. Having had the luxury of everyone ordering for me it was time! I confidently grabbed my wallet and ordered my cappuccino and Berliner in my best German, paid and waited as the patient waitress filled my order. The coffee might have been terrible and the orange cup an assault to the sensors but there it was, my first order and I was so proud!! Never mind the waitress shaking her head and everyone laughing at me, I was on my way.

It wasnt great coffee but it was my first German order!

Stay tuned for the continuing adventure as we head down the French, German, Swiss border.

Toowoomba floods

2011-01-30T15:19:00.000-08:00

I remember watching in horror as the first pictures of Toowoomba in full flood were shown on German News. I was half way round the world and it seemed impossible that a town on top of a mountain range could be so devastated by water. Surely that can only happen at the bottom of a mountain or on flat plain land? Who can forget seeing cars being washed own the brown rapids and houses picked up from their stumps like match box’s?

Less than three weeks later and having returned to our moldy but intact home, we decided to take an impromptu drive up into the mountain range to see for ourselves how a deluge of water could so devastate the “Garden City”. We have been hearing over and over that locals wanted people to return and support them by spending money so we took up the excuse for the road trip.

Checking out the Wyvenhoe Dam

After negotiating some roadblocks and detours we eventually wound or way through incredibly green countryside to the Wyvenhoe dam where the first signs of damage came apparent. The brown water now safely below the spillway had left tide lines we were to see so many times in the trees way over our heads!

Much of the road winding up the final stretch of mountain had been washed away with huge escarpments of hill dislodged over the bitumen. Still, as we arrived in the city itself on dusk there was little evidence of destruction and the town seemed void of distress.

We checked into a motel and ate a delicious meal at a very busy Thai restaurant recommended by the reception.

smelling the roses at the scented gardens

coffee at Angels

Sunday morning broke clear yet windy and so we checked out and saunted up to the Angel Café for a coffee before heading into the main street for breakfast at the Oxygen café. Having satisfied our stomach’s we headed up to the scented gardens. Toowooba, near the top of the Great Dividing Range sits at around 700m above sea level, free from the humidity of Brisbane and substantially cooler. It hosts many parks and is famous for its rose gardens sprinkled throughout town.

The Scented Gardens is a park with open grassy stretches and picnic areas set amongst colorful garden beds filled with roses and other flowering plants I am to ignorant to be able to name but old enough to thoroughly appreciate! In one corner there is a Japanese Garden complete with pond and bridge. Surrounding the garden (and many of the others) are pretty cafes and eateries for those not taking advantage of the park facilities.

The Japanese Garden

Leaving, we drove by the railway where the first real signs of the flood in town were apparent. Its so hard to imagine watching a trickle of water running down the middle of the stream that not long ago the water was sucking trees, roofing iron and debris over the buildings around us leaving the reeds as a tide line way over our heads!

The nearby Myer building and Macdonalds had all gone under and We were amazed to see them trading as if nothing had happened whilst the coffee club and shops closer to the creek were still an absolute mess.

devastation like this everywhere!

Water was over this bridge!

After visiting more beautiful parks and taking in the aromas of the different varieties of beautiful flowers completed with bands setting up their equipment under the shade of the tree’s it was time to make our way out to Crows Nest and Holland’s winery. Robert, the owner was an amiable guy who was living out his retirement dream, creating wine from his block of paradise! He was also a collector of Arnott’s biscuit tins and didn’t mind a chat. Maybe that was because we were the first visitors he had seen in over two weeks but I had the feeling he was pretty keen to chew the ear off anyone who would listen about his wine! Two hours and half a dozen bottles of wine purchased later we headed out knowing we once again had to do some retracing as all the roads out were closed.

Robert and Eva and the collection of tins

This however, did give us the opportunity to stop for a late lunch at the Black Forest Clock tower for a late lunch. Again, set in the backdrop of a charming nursery, we appreciated both our savory waffles and ambience of the plants and late afternoon sun.

The drive down the mountain through Murphy’s and Postman Creek was where the damage was most apparent. As the creeks continued down the steep mountain side the tributaries combined into the destuctive tsunami, cutting a swathe of destruction first through Murphy’s Creek where houses were wiped out and the creek still had roofing iron and debris wrapped tightly around the trees and embankment’s, again with brown mud covering everything and showing a tide line that I couldn’t imagine even seeing it with my own eyes. I wondered if this is what the surface of the moon looked like.

Lunch in the gardden

As we dropped further down into the Lockyer Valley and Postman’s Creek, there were cars stacked on cars bent around huge gum trees and black butts. It was the place where nine people had lost their lives and there were concrete slabs beside pools where houses had once stood, now they were so bare that there was no longer any signs of a building at all!! Only around the bends in the rivers and wedged high above the creek bed were the twisted remnants of destroyed lives. It was eerie and I felt a bit embarrassed and almost guilty as we drove through the carnage around us.

Roses Roses Roses

Having cleared the foot of the mountain we bounced our way home, amazed at the sight of every creek bed for the next 120kms. Every one had been gouged out and all the trees and growth on the banks were bent and crumpled and covered in mud. Nothing appeared to have escaped the hand that forced itself over it. Roads were carried away with the bitumen pushed to one side exposing deep holes and gravel traps for the unwary.

By the time we returned home to the humidity by the water we were appreciative of our life here, in awe of mother nature, devistated for the people who have lost so much and amazed by the resiliance of the peoples and community in the face of so much adversity.

Turtles at Mon Repos

2010-12-16T00:08:00.000-08:00

We are on a combined work country trip and school holiday adventure!! First up are the turtles laying their eggs on Mon Repos beach just out of Bundaberg. Not quite the same as viewing on a remote Island from the yacht, but certainly easier. It was a warm, humid evening with the threat of lightning not far away!

Then there is the BIG section of the trip. Australias obsession with all things big is something we have decided to take on for fun and an excuse to travel

The BIG barrell

the BIG bunyip

The BIG mandarin

the BIG banana

the BIG prawn

the BIG orange

Cania Gorge Ride

2010-12-12T14:50:00.000-08:00

Big Foot, Cania Gorge

I’d like to take you on a journey, stepping back in time around 500kms from Brisbane. Where the petrol station closes on the weekend because, it’s the weekend. Where the pub is the only establishment in town open and where the oversized steaks on a huge plate with vegetables are only $17.00. People here still base values on family and friendships, rather than property and investments. Out here the supermarket closes at midday on Saturday because… it’s the weekend and everyone should be out doing other things. Obviously people are out doing other things because the main street is completely absent of any sign of life.

I have travelled extensively North through the scenic mountains of the Sunshine Coast, bursting with vegetation as you course through the valleys and trace along the ridges of the mountain ranges, overlooking the volcanic peaks scattered through the plains running east to the coast. More people are killed here on motorbikes than anywhere else in QLD, but I suggest that’s because more people get away on weekends here than anywhere else.

A run down South leads through more glorious riding landscape. Places like Mt Tambourine, Currumbin Valley and the natural Bridges down to Mt Warning and Byron Bay, who could ask for a more pleasant touring country side?

Cruising in the country

My riding buddy, Jean Marc and I had been looking at other places to visit and struck on the idea of combining a longer ride with some walking at Cania Gorge, 25kms out of Monto around 550kms north west of Brisbane. The Great Dividing Range runs 3,500kms along the entire East coast of Australia and is the fourth longest mountain range in the world and produces a unique geographical occurrence. The moist air flows from the ocean west, until it climbs up the range and thins, expelling its now overburdened load of moisture over the eastern areas, leaving its western boundary devoid of most of its precious cargo. Thus the climate and relevant geological differences have a clear line of demarcation from east to west. Ten years of drought have also taken significant toll particularly on the western side of the range. However, all the recent rain around QLD has turned the dry and brown landscape into a green wonderland, and having seen the transformation of the coastal fringe it was an ideal time to send the front screen west into the unknown.

Jean Marc at Nanango

So at 5.00am on a drizzly Saturday morning we met at a service station just up the road to avoid making any more noise than we should (and annoying our neighbours) and headed west on our eagerly prepared Harley Davidson Road King and BMW GSX 1100 tourer motorcycles The spray from the rear tyres billowing a white silhouette of spray from the rising sun behind, as we chewed on the fresh morning air still clinging to the overnight rain. After a quick stop at Woodford, we wound our way up over the range where the vibrant green nestled amongst the lakes and dams made way for the rolling expanse of hills and pine forests.

Over a coffee at the bakery in Nanango, a town priding itself on its forestry and logging heritage we met Ray, an amiable old retiree who knew everyone that passed by from the council cleaner to the guy across the road buying the paper from the newsagent. ”Went to school with him and became a race caller” he informs us.

“Remember him in primary school forty years ago, he was pretty skinny then” he comments on another.

I asked him if much had changed in those fifty odd years, to which he replied,” its changed heaps, I used to know everybody back then, now I only know half the people!” I knew that it was true by what Id already seen.

Jean Mark summed up the 260km stretch to Monto as “moving through air”. My backside summed up the three continuous hours as “numbing.” Certainly the countryside was scenic enough, and I was taken by the signs to the Big Orange and Big Mandarin indicating the regions history for growing citrus in combination with Australia’s obsession with things “BIG”. I was keen to stop at Mundubbera one hundred and twenty kilometres short of our destination, but with plenty of fuel left in the tanks and the highway now bypassing the town we rode on, my backside too far in REM sleep to notice.

As we approached Monto, dark, threatening clouds were gathering in front of us, so as a precaution we stopped at the Big Bunyip to don the wet weather gear. The Bunyip was a mystical aboriginal figure that legend says would steal fish and animals from the billabongs and dams in the surrounding areas. Later on, even the passing drovers blamed the Bunyip for stealing cattle and sheep and would avoid the area.

With the Bunyip

Having avoided the wrath of the Bunyip we cruised into Monto. By one in the afternoon it was already a ghost town. The Grand Hotel on the main street was the only sign of life and was thus the obvious choice to fill our rumbling stomachs. Its weatherboard cladding and yellow sign written stripe occasionally covered with flapping black plastic below the accommodations balcony. The publican was glued to the TAB screen and his matronly wife cooked and served us our hearty steaks in a friendly but typically country no frills manor.

Having satisfied our hunger we rode the last twenty five kilometres into the Cania National Park. Smaller than its counterpart the Carnarvon Gorge further to the North West, we quickly found our caravan park accommodation and checked in, picking up the appropriate walking maps and information. Eager to stretch the legs we took several trails leading up to the “Big Foot” and “Giants Chair” overlooking the red cliffs of the

Gorge opposite.

Kangaroos, a Frenchman and camera!!

Our next dilemma was what to do for dinner. Our original plan was to drop back into town, but the road out was dicey at best and with nothing open anyway our only choice was a sumptuous feast of kit kat chocolate and biscuits. We scavenged some tea bags and added milk to our purchases to round out our meal.

Being the bikers we are, we ate, showered and were tucked in bed by eight o clock!!

Sunday morning started with a blanket of fog trapped in the gorge with the magpies and currawongs unmistakable over the kookaburras laugh echoing through the eerie fog.

We left the campsite early for a run out to the Cania Lake. Certainly scenic and perfect for some photos, we took the opportunity to try our best at glamour photography with the riders the only thing spoiling the shots of the beautiful bikes!!

Lake Cania

Having completed the shoot we took on the remaining walks to the overhang and dripping rocks, both being a little disappointing compared to their Carnarvon counterparts. The walks themselves though were very pleasant and we enjoyed the opportunity to stretch the legs and take in the peaceful ambience of the easy walk through the sub tropical rainforest.

Having showered, finished our tea and biscuits and checked out, we safely negotiated the narrow road back to the highway and off for lunch at Mundubbera and the Le family Café. Again the heart of citrus country was devoid of people except for a few young boys clamouring for the attention of the pretty waitress about to knock off for the day. We appreciated the steak sandwich and coffee before continuing south on a very pleasant stretch of road.

One of the features of my Road King is cruise control, and we agreed on my taking the lead on these stretches to regulate our speed, not that we had seen many police or that we were ever going to break any records, but the technology just made it that little bit easier. Certainly the extra time and more relaxed state we had acclimatised to allowed me to take in the green countryside just that little bit more. There was no denying the colour, green hills undulated around us with trees and cattle scattered around the vast expanse and there was no hint of the brown, drought ravished countryside that had caused so much consternation for such a long time, but still, it was not the fertile ground of the coast with the vegetation pulsing with life and seemingly on an eternal mission to reclaim any land cleared for human existence. It was more an understated grandeur, not unlike the people we had met so far!

Having ridden through some showers, and with a massive storm building in front of us we decided to break our trip one more time and stay the night at Goomeri, just 200kms from home.

An approaching storm

Our hotel had just been vacated by 100 Vietnam Vet bikers who had enjoyed their Christmas party hospitality there and so after our accommodating host moved all the furniture had the opportunity to park our bikes under cover from the approaching storm.

Our Grand Hotel theme continued with our Goomeri version meal served over several games of pool and friendly banter with the locals all wearing Acubra hats and checked shirts!

Our spontaneous stopover gave us the opportunity to revise the last leg of our trip and so we decided to detour off the main road east and head through the Jimna forest and Jimna bisecting the beautiful Mary River to the east and the logging forest to the west before returning to the main road at Kilcoy. This was great in theory, but as we exited the highway there was a sign warning that the next 88kms were gravel! I immediately pulled over, there was no way I was going to put either me or my bike over those conditions! Jean Marc eyes lit up, salivating at the prospect so we decided to go our separate ways, him via the gravel and me by the bitumen.

As we discussed our plan a litter of dumped kittens tumbled their way out of the long grass! Six pairs of tiny blue eyes looked up to us crying meekly with the innocent certainty of rescue. We could hardly carry six fragile kittens all day on the bikes and at 4.30am there were limited places to take them. We contemplated taking two with us but couldn’t bear to play god and decide which ones to leave. At the point of reckoning a school bus heading out on his run pulled up and after explaining our predicament kindly took all six as presents for his unsuspecting passengers! So as Harley, Davidson and his four siblings began their new adventure we also went our separate ways, our plan to meet back up at Kilcoy 150km away.

On my own for the first time I thoroughly enjoyed the descent through Nanango, Blackbutt, and the Burdekin back into the lush pastures of Kilcoy.

I was feeling very at home in the deep seat of my bike but very conscious of the possibility of unpredictable kangaroos feeding at the side of the road prizing my confidence and backside from the bike!

After a coffee recounting the trips and fortunes of our kittens we headed back skirting around the Summerset Dam, the sun hot on our backs with the apparent wind we created breaking the still air lingering over the water to our left. I vowed to do this ride more often as we wove around the lake to the left with the vast expanse of grazing land lying at the foot of the mountains to our right, an awesome sight from behind the open faced helmet.

Soon enough we were back in rainforest with the whip birds and Lyre birds calling out from the canopy above the narrow road that twist’s its way for around 15km up to Mt Glorious. The last time we rode here it was in July and was wet and cold, this time the road was dry and the air fresh, I think I spent the whole way whistling with delight.

After breakfast at the summit of Mt Glorious it was time to head home. This was it, the finally leg of our fine adventure. Soon enough we stopped at our first set of traffic lights in over one thousand kilometres and as we waved farewell I was thinking of letting my backside return to normal, unpack and open the maps to prepare for our next adventure!

Plastic in the ocean

2010-11-03T22:18:00.000-07:00

As some of you know already, I am a beach walker. Thats right folks, I am one of those do gooders that walk my adopted beach every morning picking up the rubbish that is left, washed up or just magically appears over night! For some time now we have been hearing of this big vortex in the middle of the pacific full of plastic, and thought, why cant we just send a flotilla out to pick it up? Well folks I understand now why that is not as simple a solution as one might expect.
Let me use as an example an innocent plastic bucket. It could be a bag, a crate, drum, whipper snipper chord, bottle top,.... anything plastic.
The forementioned bucket, relatively soft and plyable washed around in the ocean soaking up the sun where it goes hards and cracks and eventually cracks. Still relatively large and although ugly, not likely to danger birds or fish.
Forward some more time and a tad of surfing and maybe even a few encounters with rocks and the now brittle plastic smashes into smaller and smaller peices untill eventually they are tiny, bite size morsels for everything from birds and fish, right down to being mistaken for micro plankton eaten by everything from whales to the bottom of the foodchain fish, eventually finding its way to the top!
My point friends, is that plastic does not disintergrate like food products into usable helpful waste back to nature. It merely becomes smaller and smaller pieces of plastic doing more and more damage to our environment, beautiful wildlife and even harder to collect.
So floating around in the ocean, in land fill and littered along our roads and countryside is ever decreasing bits of plastic doing increasing amounts of damage!!
Please think about that next time you pass a brightly coloured object and put a smile on yours and my face by picking it up and disposing of it in a more appropriate venue.
Thank you in advance

October Storms

2010-10-14T18:19:00.000-07:00

Back from our ride just in time for the torrential downpour which has flooded half of Brisbane! Combined with the strong winds that wreaked havoc on the beach was an abundance of litter, platic containers that originally housed pont plants were the main offenders. Ironic that we plant trees to help the environment then leave the plastic to flow into the rivers and onto the beach! I am reminded of some of the beautiful beaches in Northern QLD all covered with similar litter washed in by the ever present SE trade winds and stong tides in the area. We all know of the plastic vortex in the middle of the Pacific yet I fear that is just the tip of the plastic iceburg much closer to home!