I knew what that meant.  Another flat tire.  And to think we hadn’t even hit the road yet.

Gently stirring the concoction of instant oats, milk powder, raisins and sugar that would be our breakfast, I pushed our mechanical troubles to the back of my mind.

With the constant drone of traffic on the nearby A1, we’d slept fitfully.  I yearned for the backroads.   Another gulp of thick black coffee and I’d be better ready to face the day’s minor calamities.

My customarily dependable Koga was letting me down.  Big time.

Broken spokes, a chain that skipped and slipped every time I attempted a gear change, a back tire that stubbornly rubbed against the brake pads,  squeaks and rattles that attested to seven years of use and abuse.  My trusty stead was getting tired.

And flats.  Not just a measly one or two a day.  Three, four even five punctures per day were bringing us to a grinding halt.

Just a few of Eric’s many ‘essential’ tools! It’s no wonder our panniers are packed to the brim.

Bundled together, these minor inconveniences left us frustrated and confused.  Ill-tempered, too.

The clatter and clamor of the A 1 added to the aggravation.  Massive trucks roared past from dawn to dusk, paying little head to two lowly cyclists.  Podcasts helped. We are both unrepentant audio junkies.  Our i-tunes subscriptions are nearing 100 and we’re still on the lookout for more.  Current events, stories about strangers, international news, interviews, science, history, live storytelling.  We just can’t get enough.

But I digress. ( That happens when you’re as passionate as I am about podcasts.)  Without a steady stream of stories in our ears,   the ride up the A1 would have been pointless.  An overdose of bitumen and boredom.

So, here’s the takeaway from four futile days on the A1:

•  Major highways are no place for bike touring.  You knew that, right?  So did we.  But sometimes it’s just easier to follow the fat red line on the map.  Those skinny white ones take a lot more work.  Truth be told, they’re usually worth it.  TAKE THE LONG WAY!
• Things are always look better with a little perspective.  Weaving through roadworks yesterday afternoon after having waged war with the 5^th flat of the day, I plunged into an appalling mood.   24 hours later, after a little comfort and pity from our Warm Showers hosts here in Mackay, things are looking up.   I’m not quite so surly today after having devoured ¾ of a chocolate mousse cake and taken some time off the bike.Food and rest work wonders.  So does a bit of peace and quiet.

• Bike touring always means good days and bad (unless it’s summertime in France).  It’s best to stay a bit Zen.  Situations inevitably improve.  A spectacular sunrise will kick off the day.   A stranger will offer you a cold drink on a hot afternoon.   A family of kangaroos will come darting across the road.

You’ll be reminded why NOTHING beats life on a bike.

The A1. Don’t do it. One of the busiest highways in Australia. You’re tempting fate each and every time you do battle with the trucks.

A milestone! Rolling across the Tropic of Capricorn. Frost on the tent is finished for a while..

Even on the A1, sunrise in Australia is unbeatable.

If I’m to keep my sanity, we need to get back to roads like these very, VERY soon.

Intrepid Canadian Loretta Henderson is cycling the world. SOLO.

Since 2009, she’s pedaled through 30 countries on four continents.

This is her story.

Loretta’s highly entertaining and inspiring bike touring website is Skalatitude.com.  Here you’ll find hilarious tales from her bicycle tour plus links to  more Women on Wheels.

Listen to more Touring Talk Podcasts:

The Tropic of Capricorn’s not far now.  A week’s ride perhaps.  Less if we push it.

The mist will wear off soon and then it'll be another beautiful day on the backroads.

A rare patch of pavement--gravel has been the norm for much of the way.

There’s a chill in the air when we launch into our day of pedaling.  It’s not exactly Bondi Beach weather, but hints of hot weather ahead appear.  A cactus begins popping up here and there, we spot our first bottle tree near Biloela, the air conditioning is cranked up full force when we slip into the local IGA supermarket in search of half-price vegetables.  (The best deal is a pitiful cauliflower on the block for AUS $6.59.  We leave empty handed and I’m subjected to Eric’s rants against price gouging for the next 20 kilometers.)

It's always exciting to watch the change of scenery unfold so slowly. Bicycles really are the best mode of transport to see the world.

We haven't seen this sort of landscape since our ride through the outback of Western Australia 6 months ago.

Days are dreadfully short now.  Winter is clearly on its way.  Darkness has crept up on us a few times and we’ve had to dig out the lights and reflectors.  In these parts, it’s a long way between towns and starless nights are impenetrably black.

One night we were offered a bed.  We’d pulled into the old timber town of Jimna late afternoon.  The paved road stopped there.  Just a narrow strip of gravel ahead, winding its way through the forest. The place looked deserted and kind of creepy.  Scenes from the gloomy Lars Von Trier film Dogville flitted through my mind.  Jimna felt like a place where one might get trapped, surrounded by locals with a touch of the sinister.

As we pondered a map of the area, an SUV pulled up.  Eric sauntered over to see what was up.  Probably the usual queries—How far have you come?  Where are you riding to?

I was fatigued from all the ups and downs and couldn’t be bothered to drag out my friendly tourist persona.  I jammed in my earbuds and listened to Jian Ghomeshi interview some woman about her ‘month of madness’ due to her brain ‘being on fire.’

The SUV sped off and Eric was back, grinning.  “Alright, we’ve got a place to sleep.”

He was pleased, probably because he’d have a place to charge up all the electronic devices.  I could feel a headache coming on (dehydration most likely—the water we’d topped up with at a farm tasted bad and I’d hardly drunk a drop all day) and the thought of a warm bed was enticing.

Ross and Robin (the couple in the SUV) had a place just down the road.  We’d been instructed to make ourselves at home, they’d be back in a couple of hours.

I continue to be amazed at how trusting people can be.   No one seems to worry that two innocent looking cyclists might turn out to be thieves, psychopaths or insufferable bores.

We ended up spending two nights in Jimna.  It was a quiet community of loggers and urban transplants, people weary of the rat race in search of solitude and a simpler way of life.

The kind of place we might settle down in one day, when our wanderlust has run its course.

Ross and Robin saved us from another night in the tent!

But for now, there’s still much more of the world to explore.  We may be in Australia, but it’s really Japan that’s on my mind.  After nearly nine months of the familiar Anglo-Saxon way of life, we’re hungry for a change of scenery.  The bright lights of Tokyo beckon.  Just a few more weeks of country roads and a steady stream of cows, horses and kangaroos.  Soon we’ll be speeding down multi-lane highways, jostling with crowds, and slurping noodles in busy markets.

I can’t wait.

A nice spot to pitch the tent at one of Australia's 24 hour free rest areas.

Won't be seeing many of these for awhile. I must say I won't miss the stench of road kill that's been rotting for a few days.

Always nice to rock up to a tiny town and camp next to the local church. In Japan I've heard the best stop to camp is at the local park.

Doubt we'll be running into these sort of characters in Japan.

Typical Australia! I'm sure we'll be pining for such landscape after we're back in Asia for a few months.

Battling logging trucks as we leave Jimna.

A pit stop at the tiny community of Legume, just before the last big climb of the day up to Queen Mary falls.

The simple life.

There were tumble-down general stores and tidy parks.  Grey nomads pulling caravans and weathered cowboys working the range.

There were leisurely mid-day picnics and long, cold nights huddled in the tent.  There were misty mornings of impossible beauty and successive hills of minimal merit.

This part of Australia looks so much like the American West! True cowboy country.

Getting up early in spite of the bitter cold usually pays off. Misty mornings and soft sunlight make for a great start to the day.

Bumpety, bump much of the day as we trundle along the backroads.

Horses, cows and the occasional sheep--fun to shout at and greet as we pass.

At day’s end there was the usual hunt for a safe place to sleep.  A nearby creek meant water for washing up.  A bush camp meant a silvery moon and a million stars.

A night in the town park meant a sturdy picnic table and real toilet facilities.  Locals never complained, not like in New Zealand where freedom camping is frowned upon.   Or in the US where the local sheriff might pay you a visit if you pitch up behind the local ballpark.  Nope, Australians are down with wild camping.

Camping in small town parks has two clear advantages over pitching up at an official campsite--1) It's free and 2) It's a whole lot quieter--you've got the whole place to yourself.

This is not the Australia of postcards and travel brochures.   Kangaroos bouncing along or, more commonly, flattened as road kill, were the only sign of Down Under.

We are, in fact, making our way up the Great Dividing Range.  What Australia’s mountains lack in elevation, they make up for in length.  The range stretches more than 3,500 kilometers from the northeastern tip of Queensland, runs the entire length of New South Wales and into Victoria before it peters out into the plains.

Sure, it isn’t the Rockies or the Andes.  We topped out at an elevation of around 1,200 meters.  But after week of rough gravel roads, we’re ready for some rest.

Life’s become one big blur and that’s a sign to skid to a halt.  For awhile, at least.

Making our way towards Ipswich and a day of rest. We'd planned on taking a paved road, but it was closed due to bush fires and a landslide--we ended up taking this beautiful road and didn't regret the extra time and effort

We are always grateful to our many hosts from Warmshowers.org and Couchsurfing who have kindly opened their homes up to us. After a week or so in the tent, nothing beats a roof over our heads and a comfy bed for the night.

After a good rest in ipswich with Maria and Ian, we'll be ready to hit the road for the final push to Cairns. No time to waste as our flight to Japan is in early June--still around 2,000 kilometers to tackle.

After working till mid-life in relatively stressful jobs (IT and law), Dave and Nancy decided it was time to live some of those dreams they kept talking about doing ‘someday’.

They took a 20 month break from the rat race and rode from Australia to Asia and around Europe.

This is their story

Nancy and Dave’s bike touring website is: LeaveWithoutPay.com

Listen to more Touring Talk Podcasts:

“Are you going to attempt to cycle all the way up there?”

“No, not attempt.  I AM going to cycle up to Hanging Rock!”

I was fed up with people doubting my abilities.  Telling me a place was ‘too far’ or ‘too remote’ or ‘too difficult’ to get to.

We WOULD cycle to Hanging Rock, dammit!

And we did.

Tackling one of the many steep hairpin turns on the ride up to Hanging Rock.

It was steep—a 600m altitude gain in 10 kilometers.  The well meaning woman in the SUV was right about that.  But the Hanging Rock climb certainly was do-able.  Reaching the top was merely a question of cranking the pedals slowly and consistently.

Conquering Hanging Rock is exactly like cycling around the world.

There’s no need to be a super athlete.  You don’t have to possess rock hard calves and look good in lycra.

All you have to do is wake up and hop on the bike.  You pedal for a couple of hours, snap some photos, take a break, eat far too much with no sense of guilt and then hop on the bike again and pedal some more.  And then you do that again and again and again.  Eventually you’ll reach the end of one continent and then another and then another.

Soon the countries will start piling up and confidence will increase.  You’ll know that with determination and persistence you’ll always reach the top of the climb, the other side of the desert or the end of the continent.

Mission accomplished for the day-- we set up camp near Hanging Rock.

Hanging Rock is situated in the New England Tablelands, a place of misty valleys, winding roads and impossibly green paddocks.  The Tablelands is also known as the Big Sky Country and with its cattle ranches and cowboys is not dissimilar to Montana.

As far as I’m concerned, the Tablelands is cycling perfection.  First of all, it’s remote without being completely isolated.  The roads are lightly travelled and unpaved for much of the way.  One could spend weeks bumping along old forestry tracks and rolling over fertile farmland.  Every day or so you’ll stumble across a small settlement with a friendly grocer and an Anglican church.  There’s sure to be a pub, too, where you can drop in for a refreshing pint.

Lots of farmland and winding empty roads.

Share the Road! Mostly cows and sheep to worry about in this part of the country--road trains are pleasantly absent.

The Tablelands has a few friendly General Stores where you can pop into if supplies are running low.

Country roads galore!

A friendly cowboy drinking coffee at a local cafe--could be Montana!

This time of year the region is ablaze with color as the leaves take on beautiful golden, amber and scarlet hues.  It’s cold, too, with temperatures plummeting to well below zero.  By 5 PM the sun was low in sky and it was time to start slipping on layers.  After dinner, the cold became too much and we plunged  into our thick down sleeping bags and hibernated till daybreak.

If the sizzling Outback is Arizona, this part of the country is more like Maine.

Autumn is in full swing in the Southern Hemisphere.

Cold weather camping--makes me almost miss the heat and humidity of Borneo!

True New England colors!

Biking one of the many forest roads that criss cross the New England region of NSW.

When will you stop cycling?

The request was pleasant enough, but I was still worried.  Nobody likes to be stopped at immigration.

“Have you been to Australia before?” “Yes, for three months back in 2012,” I replied, trying to sound cool and casual.

“Are you working in Australia? “No, of course not.  Just cycling.  It’s a big country.  We went down the west coast, now we’re going back up the east coast–heading to Cairns, then on to Japan.”

“I see.  I’ll let you in this time, but remember this is a tourist visa.  You’re not meant to be entering and exiting Australia on multiple trips.  An there’s absolutely  No working.”

One hurdle down.  Now we just had to clear customs.  The Australians, like the New Zealanders, have strict rules about what can be brought into their country.   They’ve got a reputation for being strict on cyclists.  Any signs of dirt on the bikes and they’re sent for thorough inspection.

“Are those mountain bikes?”

“No, they’re touring bikes.”

“Any dirt, soil or plant products?”

“They’re clean, sir, very clean.  We know the rules.”

“Alright, go on through,” and with that we were set free in Australia, without even a cursory inspection of the bikes.

It was late and I’m married to a cheapskate.  And you know what that means.  We spent the night at the airport.

Lucky for us, we’d discovered sleepinginairports.net.  Apparently there are thousands of freeloaders like us worldwide.  People who don’t want to pay for a taxi or a hotel room and prefer to sleep at the airport.  The site is chock full of reviews of the best nooks and crannies to curl up in to catch a little shut eye.

We found a 4 star review by Annabella Rose suggesting we head to the Virgin domestic terminal and down the escalator to the Krispy Kreme outlet.  We were promised a relatively quiet spot with no announcements and a long comfortable couch seating three.

When we arrived, there were easily 50 people snoozing in the environs.  Obviously, we were not the only ones to consult the sleepinginairports.net site. Within minutes, we had the mattresses set up and make shift tarp draped over the bike boxes.  It was actually kind of cosy.

The price was right, but we'd have slept much better if they had dimmed the lights.

By 5 AM workers in smart uniforms were trudging down the corridor.   Under his breath one of them muttered, “These goddamn backpackers are going too far, they’ve set up a bloody tent.” We quickly broke camp and shuffled outside to assemble the bikes and ride into Melbourne.  Glenroy, actually.  A nondescript suburb.

Life on the road wears you down.  It’s not so much the physical aspect of cranking the pedals–that you learn to deal with fairly quickly.  What’s exhausting is the constant change of people and scenery.

In my perfect world, I’d cycle nine months a year, and take three off.  I know, that probably sounds self-indulgent.  Perhaps even lazy.

But that’s the truth.  You need time off the bikes to rekindle a love of touring.  Otherwise it can become monotony and routine.

Glenroy turned out to be a good spot for some down time.  It’s boring, which suited us perfectly.  Our Warm Showers hosts couldn’t have been better.  Peter and Maggie are laidback and easy going.  They didn’t mind that I made a massive mess in the kitchen.  (As long as something tasty came of it!) We could be just who we are, no need to impress or share tales of adventure.  Best of all, there was Zeus,  the family bulldog.  Zeus and I went walking every evening.  Life felt pretty normal.  The routine was comforting.

We might have stayed longer (Peter and Maggie permitting), but Cairns was calling.  We’d booked a flight to Japan in June and there were still many kilometers to cover up the east coast to Queensland. To be honest, it was tough to get back on the bikes.  We even had a false start.  We set off one morning, biked about 5 kilometers and came back.  Peter and Maggie didn’t mind.  I baked a loaf of bread , took Zeus out for a walk, fixed some enchiladas and we said goodbye again the following day. That time we really left.

The Koga proudly posing in front of a Melbourne mural.

There are several hundred hills separating Melbourne from Sydney.  After New Zealand, you’d have thought we’d be used to climbs.  Not so.  I doubt I’ll ever embrace the lung-bursting, thigh-burning pain and suffering of successive hills.  Give me a nice 4,000 meter pass to conquer!  Now, that’s fun.

There was one fairly flat stretch out of the last 800 kilometers: The East Gippsland Rail Trail!  That was fun.  Rolling through the red gum forest we trundled across timber bridges as we made our way across the Snowy River floodplain.  Late in the evening we even caught sight of some wallabies (or were they kangaroos?) hopping across the trail. Even though it was Easter weekend, the trail was blessedly deserted.

The camping couldn’t have been better.  We set up the tent in a wide clearing and settled in for the night as the chirping of the birds morphed into the screeching of insects. Pure bliss.   If only the rail trail stretched all the way to Sydney and we didn’t have to veer back on to the Princess Highway.

Some nice country roads--perfect rural cycling in East Gippsland.

Biking past an old stretch of railway on the East Gippsland trail.

Freedom camping isn't banned in Australia! A nice change from all the rules and regulations in New Zealand.

Australia's version of the Timber Trail.

Rolling ever closer to Sydney--just got to keep our wheels spinning.

Cycling through one of New South Wales's many national parks--more hills as you can see.

Even though it was taken in the middle of summer, the weather was very springlike.  I hope this shot inspires you to hop on your bike and RIDE!

“When the spirits are low, when the day appears dark, when work becomes monotonous, when hope hardly seems worth having, just mount a bicycle and go out for a spin down the road, without thought on anything but the ride you are taking.”

― Arthur Conan Doyle

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There are so many choices that it’s sometimes hard to know where to start.  Here are some ride suggestions to help you with your planning.

Top 6 favorite New Zealand rides:

Danseys Pass

Danseys Pass (elevation 935 meters) is reached by a narrow unsealed road that passes through high country pastures.  It’s a great place to absorb the peace and solitude of rural life.  The road links Naseby and Ranfurly in the foothills of the Kakanui Mountains between Central Otago and North Otago.  It’s steep and rough  in some stretches so be sure you have tires that are up to the job.

Biking down Danseys Pass

The Catlins

The Catlins Southern Scenic Route has been described as “one of the world’s great undiscovered drives.”  Well, ride in our case.

Tucked away in the southeastern corner of the South Island, you’ll find some blissfully peaceful cycling far removed from the hustle and bustle near Queenstown.

Beteewn Balclutha and Invercargill you’ll get a good dose of stunning coastal landscape and dense temperate rainforest.  If you’re lucky, you may even spot a yellow-eyed penguin.

The Caitlins are infamous for wild weather and heavy ocean swells, so make sure you’ve got your rain gear handy.

Bike Touring near Curio Bay in the Catlins, South Island, New Zealand.

The Timber Trail

The Timber Trail is one of the most recent routes to be added to New Zealand’s growing network of cycle tracks.

It’s remote.  Much of the trail traverses native bush. It climbs steadily along the western side of the Hauhungaroa Range following an old tramway line once used for logging.  There’s a forbidding tunnel to navigate and the fascinating Ongarue spiral to climb.  But the best part–by a long shot–is the half dozen suspension bridges.  They’re some of the longest and highest in New Zealand.

 

Get an adrenaline kick on one of the Timber Trail's many suspension bridges.

Ride details here.

The East Cape

New Zealand’s East Cape has been ranked one of the world’s top coastal cycling routes.

The 330km stretch of State Highway 35 connecting Gisborne and Opotiki traces the wild Kiwi coastline as it dips and climbs against the backdrop of Mount Hikurangi and the Raukumara Range.

This far-flung farmland region feels a little like 1950s America.  It’s a place of general stores and old fashioned cafes.

The East Cape is the Maori heartland.   It’s home to some of the oldest indigenous settlements in New Zealand.  Unlike the rest of the country, it’s Maori–not English– you’ll most often hear spoken on the streets of the small coastal settlements.

 

Quiet roads of the East Cape.

Check out these great resources for planning your New Zealand Bicycle Tour:

Classic New Zealand Cycle Trails–the BEST guidebook for biking New Zealand

Official NZ Cycle Trails Website

Travelling Two’s NZ Cycling Route Info

NZ by Bike