Stories from Bernie's new trip - heading "down under" to explore Tasmania
Sheesh! Last time I wrote you I was waxing poetic on Tasmanian country roads. Just to show what wonderful things they lead to, the gravel road I followed lead me to a 30-foot open whaleboat, an overnight stranding that amounted to a modern day cast-away status – and a trophy at Australia’s southernmost regatta. All in the same boat….
I know. It’s a lot to digest. But first some clothes washing is in order. Stay tuned…
Worry Wart Factoid: Fear not, I’m fine. After the whaleboat adventure, I loaded up my trusty bike and resumed my journey toward Hobart. There, on Friday, April 28, I depart for North Carolina.
Map note: the map below shows where the Capricornia made shore in her unexpected Bruny Island landfall.
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Sheesh Bucky! The ten dollar bike and I have been traveling around Tasmania for going on half a year now. Which means it’s time to think about heading home to North Carolina.
Yep, on May 28 I depart Hobart, Tasmania for the long wing home.
Still before I hit the road, I decided to take one last ramble over the hills. That means meandering over the mountain range that separates Tasmania’s west and east coasts. As usual, I’ll try to stick to gravel roads and paths where possible. Because that’s where the groovy signs and people live.
My departure, too, means that your chance to receive a genuine Postcard From Tasmania is drawing to a close. Yep, still a few days left to sign up for a little hand written correspondence from the island under the Land Down Under. I’m hauling around some pretty cool cards from all around Tasmania, any 3 of which would look great on your fridge or office desk. Here’s more on how to get that going…
And finally, I’ll write more shortly on what’ll happen when I return to North Carolina. Plans include a program called Tasmania: a Man, a Devil and a Ten Dollar Bike. Stay tuned for details….
Have an adventurous day!
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People wonder. How do you live on a bike without refrigeration? It’s as though the Big Chill is some invisible cord that tethers people to civilization.
For most things, it’s not required. Oats, vegetables and eggs don’t cooling if consumed in a timely manner. Milk comes powdered and the taste of a fine whiskey is only enhanced when drunk at outdoor temperature – especially after 8 hours of pedaling.
Which brings up meat. And for that, there’s smoke.
On my bike I carry a hand line. This allows me to catch fish as I travel. Still, sometimes I catch more than I can civilly dispose of in one meal. Which, in the absence of refrigeration, calls for smoking. Not that kind of smoking. The other kind, like with a camp fire.
Here then, in a pictorial essay, is a quick guide to Pedal Power Fish Smoking.
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In less than a month, I return to North Carolina. My half year bike voyage of Tasmania will be over.
To sear some final southern ocean images into my brain, I spent 5 days camped at Macquarie Beach, west of Strahan. Each day I walked the beach looking for something to bring home in my brain. For you, I took a photo. Here, with a minimum of description, were the solitary objects I found.
There is not photo for Day 6. I broke camp and headed east toward the Tasmanian interior. I’d found what I was searching for.
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Recently, on a steep descent outside Tunnel, Tasmania, the pedals on my bike, which should stop spinning when you stop pedaling, went into overdrive. Like an imp of satan had taken over the pedaling, the pedals took off at a blazing, ankle breaking speed.
Luckily I don’t have toe clips, those cage-like thing that hold your feet to the pedals. So I just lifted my boots off the cheap plastic pedals and let them thrash around until I coasted to a halt
Seems the freewheel, the part on the back wheel that lets you coast without pedaling, had failed.
Months earlier, I’d interviewed a fellow named Ludo Mineur in Hobart. Known as the Alpaca Man, he’d invited me to visit his home in Sheffield. Which happened to be only a few day’s away.
So, careful on the downhill runs, I pedaled to Ludo’s to affect repairs.
It’s something you learn early on when traveling with unreliable equipment. Make lots of friends because you never know when you’ll need to call on them.
There, in Ludo’s driveway, I affected what’s become the sort of bodgy repair that’s kept my ten-dollar bike going. The type that, when they say, as they say a lot in Tasmania, “she’ll be right” you think, “well, maybe….”.
Because Sheffield doesn’t have a bike shop, I decided to repair the freewheel repair myself. When I unscrewed it, I found all the bearings gone.
This was all happening in front of Ludo’s garage door. Which just happened to be open. And in which I spotted a scrap of wire.
The wire seemed the same diameter as the b
Verdict?
The repair worked beautifully to the end of Ludo’s driveway – where the bearings in the rear wheel failed.
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At the controls is Blackie Stewart (Corinna, Tasmania)
It struck me as curious. How does a Tasmanian river come to be called the Pieman River? Recently, while spending some time with the crew of the “Fatman” ferry, Tasmania’s smallest, remotest punt, I found out why.
In the interview you’re about to hear, I’m hanging out with ferry operator Blackie Stewart in the Fatman’s wheelhouse. After he’s explained the punt’s workings, he moves onto the river’s name.
Ready for the sorta’ creepy story? Then click the audio player below.
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