On the road

From one “safe house” to another on day one, I cut across the Eastern suburbs of Melbourne from Base Camp - my sister Diane’s place in Eltham, to Launching Pad - the home of the sensationally hospitable Peg and Ian Shepherd in the South-Eastern suburb of Mentone.  Heading out of Melbourne the next morning, I negotiated an endless stream of trucks for the first couple of hours.  After Cranbourne, the road widened and felt safer, but the trucks persisted until I turned east for Korumburra.  The South Gippsland Highway was still busy with private cars.  This was a quiet rural area last time I came this way, but the development has been intense.

At Koo-Wee-Rup, I climbed an observation tower, and got a glimpse of the flat, shiny expanse of Westernport Bay to the south.  The information board at the base of the tower provided a potted history of the district, featuring a portrait of an Aboriginal elder from the 1880’s and his “lubra”.  The portraits, taken from a newspaper of the time, bordered on the grotesque, with absurdly exaggerated features.  I’ve noticed this often in 19th century drawings and paintings of Aboriginal people.  The artists seemed to have a need to denigrate their subjects, perhaps to help justify the dispossession, theft and murder being carried out by the rest of white society.

 The Koo-Wee-Rup noticeboard presented the portraits without comment, followed by a heroic account of the draining of the huge swamp that dominated the area before European settlement.  No doubt this ambitious undertaking was a boon to the growth of farming in the district, but it almost certainly destroyed a major source of food and other necessities for the local Aboriginal population.  Needless to say, this “downside” wasn’t mentioned on the historical noticeboard.

 In total, on the day, I rode 100 kilometres to Korumburra in South Gippsland.  That was probably too ambitious for my first serious day’s riding in ten months.  I was already exhausted before tackling the foothills of the Strzelecki Ranges in the last 30 km.  The climbing really challenged me, and I limped into Korumburra after dark, stiff and sore.  To add insult to injury, the campground turned out to be at the bottom of an enormous hill, making it difficult (but not impossible) for me to struggle back up into town for a drink later.  I had a long, hot shower, a cup of tea and some pasta before crawling into my thermals, my sleeping bag and my tent.  A beautiful, clear night after a cool, sunny day promised a frosty morning, so I made sure I was prepared.

The South East Gippsland countryside is lush and green, flat to undulating - a rich agricultural district.  The towns of Korumburra and Leongatha are pleasant and prosperous.  The building of freeways and arterial roads has put them within reach of the south-eastern industrial suburbs of Melbourne, and no doubt there’s a growing population of workers who commute to that Stygian zone of tilt-slab factories and nose to tail semi-trailers, then return to the relative peace and serenity of the South Gippsland towns.  Travelling through them on a bike, though, is less peaceful than it once was.

In the early hours of the morning, the wind began to rattle my tent as a warmer air mass moved over the State.  A milder morning, cloudy but dry, promised a reasonable riding day. 

Still a little tired and sore, I decided that the 50 kilometres to Foster would be enough for the day.  A few kilometres beyond Leongatha, I discovered the excellent Great Southern Rail Trail: the bed of a disused railway track converted into a bike path.  Three hours of leisurely riding on the hard-packed dirt surface through bushland and farming country brought me all the way to Foster - the turn-off for Wilson’s Promontory (The Prom), the southernmost point of the Australian mainland.  I greeted half a dozen cyclists headed the other way - not long distance tourers, but locals out for a day ride - and had lunch in a picnic shelter on a ridge overlooking The Prom.

  By the time I reached Foster in mid-afternoon, the clouds were heavy and threatening.  I was tempted by a cosy-looking backpacker hostel, but the thirty dollars they were asking seemed excessive, so I decided to camp.  As it turned out, the tent site at a local caravan park was nearly as expensive as the backpacker, but it was too late to go back by then:  I was ready for sleep.

The rain didn’t eventuate, and a fine, sunny day with almost no wind and only an occasional paltry attempt at a shower saw me cover a pleasant 70 kilometres through green, undulating farmland. 

I considered staying in the pleasant town of Yarram, but it was still early afternoon so I pushed on to the tiny township of Woodside.  A local football match seemed to be engrossing the entire population - Woodside Wildcats versus - who cares!  So, after a cold beer in the nearly empty pub I rode on towards Sale, determined to bush-camp somewhere in the State Forest along the way.  As soon as the sun sank below the trees, the temperature plummeted, and my legs chose the same moment to tell me enough was enough.  I took the first forestry track on the left, put 100 metres or so between me and the road, lit a fire and put up my tent.

I quickly realised it was going to be a very cold night.  I read by the fire until it seemed late enough to climb into my thermals and sleeping bag.  When I checked the time on my phone, it was 7:00 pm.  Oh well, might as well go to sleep.  Two things prevented me from sleeping long and peacefully: I couldn’t get my feet warm, and an army of wombats shuffled and snuffled and grunted and scratched outside my tent ALL NIGHT.  Bloody nature!

The morning was clear and sunny, and freezing.  Who’s idea was this winter bike tour anyway?  I made porridge and tea on my spirit stove and set off for the large regional town of  Sale.  The day stayed fine and clear, but a strong, gusty North-Westerly wind hammered at my left shoulder all morning, taking much of the pleasure out of riding.  After an early lunch in Sale, which was largely closed for business on a Sunday, I set out to follow the Princes Highway North to Stratford, then East to Bairnsdale.  The wind picked up,  and the highway traffic was annoying, so I impulsively turned East on rural roads to cut through to Bairnsdale. 

At first, the tailwind was exhilarating, and I became confident of making Bairnsdale easily by nightfall (5:00 pm in these latitudes at this time of year), but the road became hilly and kept swinging around to the North, and I was battling the wind again.  Having ridden 120 kilometres, I limped into town an hour after dark, exhausted and chilled to the bone, and completely violated my principles by checking into a motel, luxuriating in a hot shower, then heading to the RSL (Returned Services Club) for a rubbery roast (which I enjoyed) and a few revivifying ales.  A very fortunate chat with the barman revealed that there’s another rail trail, this one 97 kilometres long, from Bairnsdale all the way to Orbost.   No highway traffic for the next couple of days!  But I will have to bush camp again, so before I leave, a pair of seriously warm socks is going to be acquired.