More lambs, some islands and a seal.

Posted on September 4, 2016 by FAT Bike Adventures

A different country, even more lambs, I was in heaven. Their cute little tails wagging as they pummelled their poor mothers dry of milk, I couldn’t help but be distracted by them as we climbed what NZ was famous for, hills! It seems that over here we are either going up or down, it is only on the beach that the riding is flat. It is as if someone got a piece of paper and crumpled it, no skerrick of land left untouched, by hills or by sandflies! On that note, I wish to proclaim sandflies as the most hideous creature known to man, biting any section of skin left unclothed and demanding at any time of the day or night to be scratched as they produce the most insatiable itch on earth. These tiny bastards will rob you of hours of sleep without even being in your tent. If you thought mosquito’s were bad, think again!

Fresh out of Auckland, and well and truly sick of winter, we headed north, to what was proclaimed as ‘the winterless north’ and ‘sub-tropical NZ’, I sit writing this blog inside a backpackers as it pours down outside and we contemplate having ice-cream and chips for dinner from the reception instead of walking back to the tent to get the food pannier. Thankfully in our new country’s favour this is only the third day of poor weather in three weeks, so the statistics are looking significantly better than Australia already!

Rain before our arrival had turned the farm land green and lush, everything was thriving, except my legs. Has anyone seen my hill climbing legs? I think I left them at home…

It has taken me three weeks to find them, up several steep coastal hills, mountain passes and lengths of soft sand, but I’ve found them now and they are stronger than ever, until I have a day off, then they’re useless again.

I will never tire of seeing islands off the coast or long rolling hills, mountain tops, quaint country towns or the endless sea as I reach the top of a country, where I ultimately end up peering out across the expanse in attempt to see my own island home.

Our plan for this little country was to cycle to the top of the North Island and then follow the Tour Aotearoa route to the very bottom of the South Island before making our way back to Auckland via a different route. We have now made it to Cape Reinga, having already experienced some stunning scenery, and will now begin the trek south. It was to begin with 80km’s of beach, our longest stretch yet. We would enter the beach via a stream that ran alongside the biggest sand dunes in NZ. Our first day was a blast, the sand was hard, the wind was at our backs and we encountered several baby seals. The first came up rather unexpectedly, and once spotted we both came to a screaming holt, no more than 60cm long, a juvenile for sure, high up the beach and with a look of sheer exhaustion. Despite his pleas to be left alone we were certain we were doing the right thing, screw evolution this guy was cute and we had to save him! It turned out to be the funniest thing that we have witnessed on the road, the seal would get up waddle three steps and try to catapult himself into the sea, which at this point was still sand, after realising his fate he would let out a big sigh and refuse, like a stubborn child, to go any further. We continued this three step, flop, process for 30 minutes, until our little guy reached the waves. Our concern grew when the first wave swept over him and he did nothing, I attempted to give him a helping hand only to be shown his teeth, but as a few more waves crashed in he was able to propel himself forward and then proceeded to roll and tumble with delight, flippers raised in what we believed was thanks. I screamed with joy like a proud parent, full of triumph and elation to have saved a life.

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An end and a new beginning!

Posted on August 10, 2016 by FAT Bike Adventures

It’s crazy to think of myself as busy. What on earth could keep me from blogging when the only thing we do in the day is cycle and make camp? Well, several things really, we have spent the last month riding through very average weather, comprising of hail, relentless rain and gale force winds. We have also, despite the weather, spent much more time exploring our surroundings, taking our time to jump of the bikes and explore during the day and then disappearing to investigate our surroundings once camp has been set up!

The last month has brought with it a series of endless scenic highlights, geological marvels, weather phenomenons, and natural wonders. From the remarkable signs of erosion in the rock formations along the Coorong, to The Twelve Apostles along The Great Ocean Road, the road continued to contrast pine with rain forest and mountains with rugged coastline.

As we had a schedule to adhere to we found ourselves cycling for two weeks straight without a rest day, often waking to the sound of rain on the tent and having to drag ourselves out of bed, the day ahead holding little promise. It all wore a little thin and we were both well and truly ready for the week off we have lined up in Melbourne.

That week has rejuvenated our desire to travel and whilst we didn’t get much down time between buying a new tent, sorting out gear, washing clothes, scrubbing the bikes, setting up four tyres tubeless, and catching up with friends and relatives, it’s been really nice to be stationary and have somewhere dry to get everything organised and watch a bit of the olympics.

We now have less than 24hrs before we fly to New Zealand for eight months, everything has been stripped and cleaned and packed, ready for the next adventure. It is hard to believe that we have now been on the road for six months, ridden over 5000km’s and made several life long friends. As a couple, many ask us how we survive without killing one another on the road, or how often we fight. The truth is that with every day that goes by it is even easier to live on the road together, every day we love each other that little bit more, everyday we begin to understand each other more than we ever did when we were stationary, everyday we become better at communicating, everyday we become that little bit more accepting, and everyday we grow stronger as a team, a team that can tackle anything, do anything, achieve anything that we set our minds to. We can’t wait to explore the land of the long white cloud, hills and all!

Lamb rescue no. 3!

Prevailing winds…

Victor Harbour

Granite Island

Looking back over Victor Harbour from Granite Island

Erosion of the granite rocks.

Granite Island

Stealth camping right by the beach.

Sunset after a rain storm.

Going down.

Cloud train!

Coorong

4000km selfie!

Coorong NP

Sandstone erosion

Stuck in the tent.

Cracked clay pans.

Exploring the salt estuary

Winding along.

Precision riding.

Jetty, Robe-SA

Angry man didn’t like the hills.

Lake Robe.

Beachport, SA.

Camp near Beachport.

Mount Schank

Exploring the rocky beaches of Port MacDonnell

Any road, any time.

Collection of pipi’s

Nelson, SA

Trying to warm up with some very wet wood.

Our favourite kind of roads.

Tarragal Caves, VIC

Cape Bridgewater, VIC

The petrified forrest

Portland, VIC

Shortcut along the beach.

Childers Cove, VIC

More rain on the horizon.

Stealthy camp.

Bay of Islands

The Grotto

The Great Ocean Road

Mini hail.

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Loch Ard Gorge

The Twelve Apostles

Top of Laver’s Hill

We never lie about the rain.

A morale booster.

Descent into Glenarie, SA

Glenarie, SA

Rugged coastline

Mait’s Rainforest Walk

View of Apollo Bay in fog.

Apollo Bay, VIC

Von Muller Creek, excellent free camp.

Twins.

Our own private waterfall.

Winding our way along the coastline.

One of the many scenic lookouts.

Wow.

Fox!

Unperturbed by our presence.

Sheoak Falls, VIC

Exploring the beach.

Double back.

Torquay, VIC

Port Lonsdale, VIC

Catching the ferry to Sorrento.

Boat house.

Pretty starfish.

Sunset over Rosebud, VIC

Stark contrast.

Stopped to explore

Melbourne cityscape

Tumbleweeds at sunset.

The Milky Way over the Coorong, SA

Robe, SA

Bunkered down in Milicent

Umpherston Sinkhole- Mount Gambier, SA

Umpherston Sinkhole

Cave gardens.

Blue Lake, Mount Gambier-SA

Tower house.

Blue Lake.

The elusive blue robin.

Blowholes, Cape Bridgewater, VIC

I’ll make my own path.

Tower Hill, VIC

Childer’s Cove, VIC

Exploring again.

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Razorback

Lorne, VIC

St Kilda, VIC

Flinder’s St Station, VIC

Hello dirt road my old friend.

Posted on June 28, 2016 by FAT Bike Adventures

The rain continued for the next week, on again off again, making sure nothing was ever dry. We reached the big smoke and took rest for a few days whilst we rejigged the rigs, bought Adam a waterproof rain jacket and swapped my “hobo” look for panniers, tucking everything now neatly inside so that nothing was hanging off. It seemed that we swapped 5kgs of useless stuff for 5kgs of new and exciting goodies, marking our 5th parcel back home since starting. By now we were starting to feel like we had our gear under control. We had learnt the hard way that the definition waterproof is a loose one and have also sought to simplify how things are packed.

Upon climbing out of the Adelaide Hills, after spending three days in dry accommodation, it began to pour. Nothing says fun like climbing in a rain jacket, and despite buying what seemed like the most expensive Gore TeX jacket, Adam still sweated his way to the top wet on both sides. In true cycle traveller style we made camp in Belair National Park, ignoring the no camping signs and instead just rolling out the mats under a shelter as we watched a further 20mm of rain fall.

Suddenly we were off the Mawson trail and back in civilization, and with civilisation came people in cars try to get places as fast as they could with no real concern for us cyclists. At the first sign of dirt we detoured off the rat race road and onto the path less peddled. We both sighed with relief as the constant barrage of cars stopped and those that did pass, passed with care.

I always knew the Mawson Trail would test me, having toured 5000kms on tar without Adam, I had always been a little adverse to dirt roads, with their corrugations and mud and the potential to get lost. Now I wished we could link them up all the way through to Melbourne, but alas, being more populated dirt roads were few and far between. We would just have to stick to secondary roads as much as possible.

Either way we are free, free to do as we please, make camp as we like and eat as much as our little hearts desire, which is a lot more than you could ever imagine!

Burra

Headed to Clare on the Mawson Trail

Still muddy after 5 days of dry weather!

Crop rows.

Green rolling hills.

Lamb rescue no. 2 (found this guy on the wrong side of the fence)

Looking back over Burra

Down into the valley

Grass trail anyone?

Angry man going fast.

Rail trail into Clare

Riesling Rail Trail

Riverton, SA

Riverton countryside.

Marschall’s Hut

Sunset at Marschall’s Hut

Looking out over Riverton.

Marschall’s Hut

Ready to go.

Wonky pole.

Beautiful riding.

The top of the climb looking out to Adelaide

Looking back to where we came from.

More mud.

Fresh crops and blue skies.

Shady dirt roads.

A bit slippery underfoot.

Grid-Iron Angry Man

More crops.

Left or right?

Whispy clouds.

Ugh!

Shelter from the rain comes at a cost.

Rain at camp.

Green crops and rolling hills never get boring.

Gorge Rd headed into Adelaide

Last stretch of the Mawson Trail (ironically on tar)

One dry reserviour.

Go that way?

The end!

Gorge Rd, Castambul.

Riding into Adelaide along the river.

Raining again.

Middle of Adelaide.

Adelaide Post Office.

Navigating the streets with a loaded bike.

Bet they’ve never seen two FAT bikes in a room before!

Climbing out of the Adelaide Hills.

Looking back over the city.

Belair NP, seeking shelter from the rain.

Marge the rains are here.

Cyclists take CAR!

Hahndorf, SA

Treating ourselves to a German lunch.

Yeah there’s a free spot in plot number 87.

Rolling hills on our way to Meadows.

I found my road.

Picture perfect.

Downhill and dirt roads, our favourite.

Looking out to Lake Alexandira near a deer farm.

Camp for the night.

Too much to capture.

About to drop down into Strathalbyn.

Wooo!

Strathalbyn Soldiers Park

The castle (St Andrew’s Church, Strathalbyn)

Old abandoned mortuary… shelter for the night.

Adam doing the house work.

Thanks for visiting Burra, here’s a hill to savour.

Climbing out of Burra.

Admiring the cacti.

Wind farms in the distance.

Top of the hill.

Clare, SA

Our first frost, the tent stood up by itself.

Icy

Riesling Rail Trail.

Bridge crossing.

Barossa Valley Wineries.

Snack stop!

The many colours of sunset.

Marschall’s Hut.

Ah.

A haze ring around the moon.

Cosy fire for two.

View from Marschall’s Hut

Another of the many wineries.

Burnt pine forest.

Bridge near Cuddley Creek

Kangaroo Dam

The end of the Mawson Trail.

Camp 15km’s out of Adelaide.

Fog in the valley.

Alas more rain.

An eerie morning in the cemetery.

Riding along.

A patch of sunshine.

One of our top views from camp.

Two years ago I travelled through Strathalbyn solo.

I liked it so much I brought Adam back.

FAT bikes leaning on shit.

Strathalbyn Soldier’s Memorial Park.

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Silver linings.

Posted on June 9, 2016 by FAT Bike Adventures

I had become an expert on squally rain, I knew what clouds in loomed in, I knew it’s colour and it’s sting, how it turned fingers icy and numb, and how it relentlessly blew aimlessly on the breeze eventually soaking anything in its path. But alas how could I not be an expert on something that I had ridden through for almost two weeks. Since leaving Wilpena Pound in the Flinder’s Ranges we had been subject to constantly imminent rain, clouds would linger over head, waiting until we were almost at camp for the day, or would begin their deluge when we had planned our lunch, they were consistently inconvenient and completely inconsiderate of our lack of a fixed abode under which to seek shelter. For days on end everything has had that slightly to reasonably damp feeling, from socks to shoes, to jackets and pants, and more often than not our portable home would be saturated from the minute we set it up till the minute we packed it down.

These times make up the lowlights with ease, but they are also surprisingly interjected with sudden and unexpected highlights. Cue yesterdays 50km/hr tailwind! Whilst we yet again had to divert from the sodden clay ridden impassable Mawson Trail we instead found ourselves at the perfect trajectory to the wind. There is nothing better than screaming down a hill at 51km/hr, with the rain lashing you eyes and obstructing the view, to then breeze up the opposing hill at 43km/hr on a loaded FAT bike. And how grateful I was to be on that FAT bike, with wet roads, significant gusts and limited visibility I was glad to have a fist sized contact patch with the ground and a very surefooted bike underfoot, yet again the Muru Witjira Overlander passed with flying colours.

We have now encountered several extensive patches of red clay that when wet become a quagmire. The ‘bog’ is impenetrable, sure you might make it 400m, but you will be walking the other 800m to the other side, and you’re lucky if a stretch of it is that short! Like sculptors clay it wrapped itself around our wheels before moulding itself to our forks and cranks before finally working its way between every link of our chains. It was a predicament that was solved only by hightailing it back to the tar, the only prospective place that we could ride unhindered. The unrelenting bouts of rain meant that we missed almost an entire section of the Mawson Trail. We found ourselves constantly battling the question as to whether we risked riding into the unknown; onto roads without a close exit path or whether we just stuck with the safe and boring option of the highway. Every time a decision had to be made the rain would come on cue as if reinforcing our choice to take the easier, safer option. We felt a bit like frauds, and a lot less like adventures, and a lot more like pansy’s, but there is nothing fun nor enjoyable about pushing your bike through long arduous stretches of red clay, nor is there anything seemingly amusing about being soaked to the bone and shivering in the cold whilst doing this. By the time we had reached Melrose my rear hub axle bearings had given out to the 6000km’s they had endured, although I still believed the countless corrugations that we’ve done in the past month to be the primary precipitating cause for their imminent failure. Like my hub bearings I too was sick, after days of riding in the cold with numb fingers and a constant chill a head cold had instilled. Four days later I’m still trying to shake the thing but I’m grateful that we made it back to the old railway hut at Hallett to once again seek shelter from the gail force winds and rain.

This weather doesn’t shy us away from touring though, it mearly makes us heavily contemplate our gear choices. Adam currently has a very un-waterproof rain jacket, and we both have very un-waterproof shoes. But we are astounded with our Sierra Designs tent which has held up in every scenario we’ve put it through thus far. We too have been glad that we have all of our clothes and bedding in Sea To Summit dry bags which gives us complete peace of mind that when we get to camp everything in these bags will still be dry no matter what. I am currently contemplating swapping to pannier for my bike and removing the rather ad hoc look I have going with everything dangling off my rack, for this we will only be choosing Ortlieb, the industry standard for waterproof and durable panniers. We are yet to find suitable gloves for the cold and wet that still provide enough dexterity to ride in, but on the other hand our waterproof Sealskinz socks have been a must have, as has all of our collection of merino clothing, which we have been able to layer, is anti-bacterial and doesn’t stink and dries with ease.

Neither of us had any idea that South Australia would be this wet or windy in winter, coming from the coast typically winter was a much dryer affair, perhaps its a meteorological phenomenon and not the predicted trend, either way we will be taking track conditions day by day until we reach Adelaide.

For now we will bide our time, waiting for a break in the weather to wash our bikes in town, before heading off yet again into the unknown. All I can say is that no matter how miserable it is outside or how poor the track conditions are there will always be something to brighten our day. Be it a trio of lambs bounding across a paddock playfully or an assistive tailwind, or a treat at the bakery or a warm brew of coffee, there will be always something around the corner, waiting for us when we least expect it and need it most to spur us along once more.

The squally rain begins!

Adam assessing the situation.

Re-entering the mud on the Mawson Trail

Strom front approaching camp.

Well weathered rock.

Sheep track to camp.

Storm shelter to wait out the rain and wind.

Kinda dry and kinda warm but still smiling.

Cloud formations that caught the eye.

Gloomy skies.

Iluka Bluff

The pound almost swallowed with rain.

Rawnsely Bluff

This was before the mud!

Climb up to Rawnsely Park looking out over the ABC Range.

Rawnsely Bluff in all its glory.

The elder range, view from camp!

Wilpena Pound view from camp!

Moralana Scenic Drive, spectacular views, very corrugated!

Views from the trail.

Silhouette of the pound.

Us and the pound.

Wilpena Pound, SA

Sunrise over Rawnsely Bluff

Moody skies.

Camp overlooking Wilpena Pound and the Elder Rane

Rawnsely

Panorama of Rawnsely Bluff.

Cloud shadows.

The track beginning to become sticky!

Not getting any better,

The sun trying to break through.

Mountains everywhere.

For once things were green.

Corrugations on the trail.

Other side of the Elder Range.

Wet weather gear’s a must.

Rolling hills make up for the corrugations.

How long till we get wet?

The trail once more.

Ruins at the foothills of the Elder Range.

Look a windmill!

The track makes its way through farm property and quickly deteriorates.

Our road came to a dead end so we pushed the bike across a river and over these sandstone waves.

Aren’t you glad to see the hut even though you’re soaked and in poor spirits?

A welcomed sight.

Sunset at Mayo Hut, the road turned to slop not long after we got there.

Mayo Hut

Starscape

Morning sun on the cascading hills.

Headed to Hawker.

Rain ahead?

A dry trail!

3000km’s shot!

He’s still smiling, clearly it hadn’t rained enough yet.

Rocky outcrops.

No pot of gold for us.

Springfield Station sheering shed.

‘Springfield’ Station

When it’s dry it’s dry.

Climbing slowly.

Scenery to die for.

4G cattle grid, ‘beam me up scotty!’

Stealth camp out of Hawker.

Mountains out towards Craddock.

Shadows.

Wilochra Plain

Descending into Mayo Hut

Mayo Hut, a welcomed sight.

The rain coming, chasing us to Mayo Hut.

Showers dotted all around us.

Oh no.

Not this again.

Wilochra Creek, SA

Showers in the distance, again.

Story book clouds at sunset

Yellow-Footed Rock Wallaby

Warren Gorge, SA

Dutchman’s Hut

Dutchman’s Stern, SA

A common sight.

Our kinda road.

You know where we are going right?

Wilochra Creek, SA

Probably more rain.

Back on the tar.

Nice riding again.

Sun rays breaking through.

Kanyaka Ruins.

Bottle camouflage

View from camp at the farmer’s gate, trying to hightail it back to the tar.

Ah shit.

Keep it cool.

Wilochra Creek crossing near Simmonstown.

Camp at Warren Gorge.

Dry river beds are common.

Camp by the side of the road, yet again avoiding the rain.

Dutchman’s Hut, checking provisions and using the power!

Thunder rolling in the distance.

Not happy, Jan!

What mud?

Oh that mud!

See, that mud that you picked up!

Calm before the storm.

Typical cycling conditions at present.

Farmer’s Gate camp.

Outside Melrose before it rained.

Melrose Bike shop, very quaint, super cool!

Sigh.

Warren Gorge.

Damn you Mawson Trail and your mud!

Kendall and Wesley, a pair of NZ cycle travellers we met and fixed their gears for.

Farmer’s Gate with one muddy bike.

View from Farmer’s Gate camp.

Warren Gorge.

Ready to go.

Follow the path.

Camp Mt Remarkable National Park.

Running from the rain!

The old and the new.

Electric blue cloud.

Welcome back to Hallett.

Bike stripped ready for a wash.

More rain any one?

Muddy Muru!

Nudie bike no. 2 and gear explosion! Bunk’s at Hallett Railway Station Hut.

Dirt trails with a view.

Posted on June 5, 2016 by FAT Bike Adventures

Every trail brochure you read markets you something different, picturesque views, awesome single track, cosy huts, challenging but rewarding climbs, the list goes on. I call this the highlights list. And what every brochure, website, information board or tourist guide fails to tell you is the lowlights. The kilometre long patches of sticky red clay that will clog up your wheels and leave you pushing your bike for miles until you reach a track that gets you off the trail and back to the tar, the only place where you know you will be able to ride your bike for a continuous period of time. Or the rain, that comes down like a bucket of water or just miserably showers on you all day even though the brochure said that this was the right time to go. And it definitely leaves out the stretches of really steep narrow winding track that you have to haul your stupidly laden bike up. But this post isn’t about the lowlights because during this section of trail it didn’t rain (much) and it wasn’t that windy, and we didn’t have to push that much and the scenery was amazing! I’ll write about the lowlights for you next, when the weather turned sour and we ended up checking into a pub for a cosy bed and somewhere dry whilst a head cold began to manifest itself inside my teeny tiny head (true fact I have an infant’s size helmet!) and began to ravage my exhausted body.

From Parachilna the world unravelled itself at our feet, we cycled off into the sunset and found ourselves greeted with a free place to make camp at the foothills of the Heysen Range and the road into Parachilna Gorge. What lay inside, blew both of our tiny little minds; rock formations 600 million years old were all around us, revealing secrets of the past including how the mountains were formed and eroded, and of times when the ground we cycled on was once covered in water and glacial ice. The Adelaide Geosyncline is thought to bear witness to some of the oldest visible rock formations found on earth today. We crawled for hours in dry river beds lined with more rocks that we could register. We picked them up and fussed over them like we had never seen rocks before; round rocks, flat rocks, conglomerate rocks, layered sedimentary rocks, rocks with quartzite, rocks with copper, rocks with fossil imprints, rocks streaked with haematite, there was so much history jam packed into such a relatively small area.

Because of the scenery and the geological significance of the Flinder’s Ranges we choose to take the dirt road slow, pausing to absorb moments that took our breath away and allowing ourselves time to contemplate our meaningless existence. The trail flowed through valleys and climbed once more revealing to us views of Wilpena Pound, yet another geological phenomenon.

We made a point of taking a day off at Trezona Camp in order to explore Brachina Gorge and took another day off at Wilpena Pound to go hiking into the Pound. The trail up until this point had proved itself mostly ridable and very enjoyable. During this section we also crossed the Heysen Trail, the hiking version of the Mawson, which ran parallel at times. However the Heysen Trail comes with the added bonus of having water tanks and huts littered along it and thankfully the Heysen Trail welcomes Mawson Trail users to share in these huts and water as long as water is used conservatively and huts are left as found.

There is so much that words can not describe and that only pictures can begin to explain and even then we were never able to capture what we were witnessing and experiencing.

The road ahead of us was dotted with little huts to rest our heads, the path less travelled to ride and quaint little towns to explore, what on earth could go wrong…

Parachilna

Heysen Range from Parachilna

Suunset over the Heysen Range

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Aroona Valley

Brachina Gorge

Spider monkey.

Exploring!

Suddenly you feel like an ant.

Not a bad spot to have lunch.

Rocky river beds.

Learning to stack rocks.

Brachina Gorge Road

The creek crossings were short and sharp.

Wilpena Pound in view.

Yanyanna Hut

Panorama of Wilpena Pound.

Heading into Bunyeroo Gorge.

Bunyeroo Gorge.

Acraman Campground.

Sometimes the view makes it hard to ride.

Mudstone “moon surface rock”

View of St Mary’s Peak

The track changes again, rutted this time.

Angry Man visits Wilpena Pound

Track into Wilpena.

Mawson Trail, really? Not touring friendly.

Wilpena Pount Resort Camp.

Hill’s Homestead inside Wilpena Pound.

Hiking in Wipena Pound

View from platform one of Wangara Lookout

View of the inside of the pound from Wangara lookout

The winds of change.

Posted on May 10, 2016 by FAT Bike Adventures

The weather had turned tempestuous to say the least, gale force winds were now accompanied by squally patches of rain. For eleven days the average wind speed had been greater than 20km/hr, we had rested for four of those days when the wind became to great to cycle through, unfortunate for us the prevailing wind for the area was either a North Westerly or a Westerly, these were of course the only two directions we seemed to be travelling in. Three days of rain had ensured that everything was now wet, including the trail we had intended to ride. Cue our 5km stint on the Mawson Trail before a swift exit back to the tarmac! Our introduction to the outback red clay soil was not amiable, the clay decided that our wheels should not go round and round and instead the became 3” rounder and jammed in our font forks. We lugged the bikes off the trail and searched around for a stick to pry the clay off with, with a significant lack of sticks we turned to rocks, with a lack of decent rocks I resulted in using my hands, making an absolute mess of everything I touched.

Had it of not been for this unplanned stop we would not of come across a lone lost lamb who had strayed from its herd during the storm, it called out to us and came hurtling towards us on wobbly cautious legs, we herded it like untrained sheepdogs, bumbling and fumbling until she was in our clutches. Heart racing and shaking we held her close to our chests and shielded her from the harsh wind and squally rain as we deliberated on what to do. The nearest farm house was at least a 2km walk there and back and we had no idea if it was occupied or if the little lamb even belonged to them. We were both dead set against leaving it to find its own way so our only option was to door knock with our lamb and see if we had any takers. Nestled in Adams arms she nibbled on his jacket and sucked on my clay covered thumb as we walked, growing more use to our company as we went. Part of me was sad when the first farm house took her in and my baby animal experience came to an abrupt end.

Upon returning to the bikes we had decided that instead of continuing towards Old Mount Bryan East School, which was another 30km’s up more clay ridden roads, that we would head north to Hallett where an abandoned railway station had been converted into free accommodation for those hiking the Heyson Trail and those cycling the Mawson. It was sheer luxury, four walls, a roof, a potbelly stove, tank water and bunk beds, we were in cycle traveller heaven. It was always our intention to have a day off on Monday as we had heard of a low pressure trough that was moving through and bringing with it a series of bad weather, our problem at the minute being that the poor weather was predicted to drag on all week with yet again more winds forecast but they were now in excess of 30km/hr for the next four days. During the days that we stayed put the winds had ultimately peaked at over 90km/hr, non-conducive to cycling in any language.

How long do you stay put? When do you decide is the wind speed low enough to brave it for a day of cycling? We had been travelling as low as 6km/hr on the bikes in the headwinds we had faced over the past week, that meant that even a short 40km day could take us over 7hrs!!! The only solace we had over the past eleven days was catching up with my parents as they descended south from the Flinders Rangers on a caravan adventure as we were making our way north, they treated us to sandwiches and a baked dinner to die for, followed by apple crumble and chocolate only to top it all off with bacon and eggs for breakfast, Adam’s favourite! It was right in time for Mother’s Day and made for a great evening and catch up.

So for now we are just taking it one day at a time, assessing the wind every morning when we get up. We have now drastically revised our itinerary for the Mawson Trail, scaling back our days to 35km lengths incase we are met with constant unrelenting winds for the remainder of the trail. It has been decided that what sections we miss due to the rain making the track unridable we will attempt to complete on our route back down towards Adelaide. It looks like it could be a hard road ahead and quite possibly the winds might never be in our favour.

Morgan to Burra

Our first glimpse of mountains in over a month!

Mmm…mountains…mmm…downhill

Storm front rolling in.

Sunset- Hallett, SA

Camp at Cadell Sports Ground

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

Fossils, evidence of the once inland sea.

Crossing on the ferry to Morgan.

Surprisingly empty bench.

Morgan lookout.

Morgan wetlands.

Back to desert scrubs, high winds and rain.

Abandoned ruins of an old water tank and windmill pump.

Only a few flies around here.

Sunset in our camp beside the highway.

But he can run the pants of a kangaroo.

Most interesting sign thus far.

Hard to capture the magnitude of the landscape.

An example of 1.5m passing distance.

Booker Boo

Rolling hills.

Old mine ruins Burra.

Wind farms mean…WIND!!!

Our first Mawson trail marker.

Oh no! Sticky icky clay means tyres don’t go round.

Peeling the clay off.

Red clay stretch that we had to haul the bikes out of.

Cutest little guy ever.

Looks like we are now running slicks!

Old Railway Hut, Hallet, free for hikers on the Heyson Trail and cyclists on the Mawson trail.

Rain pelted the winds of our dry warm hut.

Designed to kill.

Posted on May 2, 2016 by FAT Bike Adventures

These last six days have proven to us that everything in Australia is designed to kill you, or at it’s very least it will make its very best attempt to harm you with all of its might. Take the bull ant for example, with the ability to grow to 40cm’s in length the little blighter has the ability to grab its victim with its large jaws allowing it to stab its potent stinger into the sucker that’s standing on it’s nest. The venom injected will cause the bite to swell and throb and itch for days on end. Of course, new to these giant bull ants we both wandered unsuspectingly right on top of one of their nests, I sustained three bites whilst Adam got away with only one. We sulked back to camp with our tails between our legs, nursing some very sore limbs.

Then came the 120km’s of corrugations. And I don’t mean the little corrugations that you can just glaze over and they are all over, I mean deep, rough, stretching to each side of the road, completely unavoidable corrugations. Stretches of which had us coming to a halt as the jarring motion became too intense and was attempting to unseat us from our bikes. We cursed and we swore and I begged for the road to turn back into tarmac.

This section of road was also devoid of any tree’s, or any tree that we could see and thought intersected the road only ever turned out to be a figure of our imaginations much like the three mirages we saw in the heat of the day (since when did we get 30ºC days in April!). With shade non-existent our arms blistered and peeled, and our mouths turned so dry that we were never able to suitably quench our thirst. Under what trees we did find laid every spiky bush known to man, rendering standing difficult and sitting almost impossible. I did make an attempt to dine seated for lunch only to be poked in the ribs by one plant, stabbed in the ankle by another and be surrounded by more aggressive looking ants, only then to be met with the difficulty of getting up without shoving my hand down on more spiky plants.

As you can imagine if the spiky plants were attacking us they were sure as hell attacking our tyres. At last count Adam had close to 50 cat’s eye thorns in his front tyre alone. Our morning ritual now typically consisted of inflating all four tyres on our bikes, thankfully we weren’t running tubes and most of the time the sealant would plug the holes left by the thorns otherwise our wheels would have spent more time off the bike than on. Nonetheless with all the holes we had been poking in them our tyres were now all low on sealant!

After the spiky plants came the rain. We had not had rain for two months now and we were desperate for some variety from stinking hot or very windy. The rain sought to teach us. It made ice for us and hammered it down on our tent for a solid 10 minutes, creating a waterbed out of our floor and sending a river of mud right under our tent. We had huddled in the middle of the tent during the deluge praying that the wind, rain and hail would not tear it open leaving us helplessly exposed to the elements. Our tent performed better than either of us had given it credit for. It withstood the rigour of the 60km/hr winds with ease, it blocked out every ounce of water than flowed underneath our tent and it barely even noticed the hail. Although I wish not to test it with anything much bigger. We praised our tent several times that night and were even more grateful for our selection when we found out that a couple of fellow cycle travellers who were in the same storm had a tent pole break and tear a hole in their tent, all after they had just had their previous set of tent poles replaced!

The following day brought a significant crosswind with 45km/hr gusts, thankfully the gusts were attempting to push us off the highway and down the shoulder, unfortunately the next day they flipped around on us and continuously attempted to push me into the path of the traffic. Somehow my measly 90kg combined bike weight was not enough to keep me safe from the clutches of the wind, and on two occasions I had to come to a complete stop in order to stop myself falling off due to it’s force.

Despite our countries attempts to kill us we will soldier on, tomorrow heading again into nothingness, riding the 130km stretch to our start on the Mawson Trail at Burra, SA. Where we will have no maps because Australia Post decided that we could not receive letters at a nominated post office via Parcel Collect and that they would instead return them to our home address for us! Here we go, plodding aimlessly into the desert without a map.

The Old Mail Rd, VIC

Desert.

Spiky plant no.1

Spiky Plant no. 2

Corrugations upon corrugations

Camp at Ned’s Corner, VIC

No entry, shooting in progress.

Erratic path of the moths.

Sunrise on Lindsay Island, VIC

Water bottle line up!

Perentie tracks leading right to the Muru!

The only ounce of shade!

Deep corrugations that threw us around.

Ahhh…tar….

Lindsay Island Sunset over Lindsay River.

John and Colleen a couple we met canoeing the Murray.

Mr Percival in flight.

Camp at Holder Bend, SA

Bridge over the Murray to Renmark, SA

Lightning storm

Murray the multiple stick fetching dog!

Marge the rain’s are here!

The road builders pushed the suck button.

How many do you want?

Angry Bull Ants!

Spiky spiky pant!

Cobdogla, SA

Ned’s Corner sunrise.

Coffee time!

Stark contrast, if you don’t water it, it doesn’t grow.

Dust storm from the wind.

Holder Bend, SA

Cat’s eye infestation.

The mud that took an hour to hose off.

Lightning storm.

A perfect Sunday.

Posted on April 24, 2016 by FAT Bike Adventures

The flat road started to undulate once more and the landscape unfolded before our eyes as we rose over each crest. What seemed inhospitable, barren and desert like was apparently a harvesting oasis for oranges, grapes, almonds and pistachios. Both of which we have gorged ourselves silly on after finding several abandoned orchards and vineyards along the way. The is nothing sweeter than the taste of fruit freshly plucked from a tree. For days my hands smelt of orange citrus and all I could think about was where the next tree might stand. Having cycled for three weeks straight without rest we were finally having a day off in the town of Wentworth, we situated ourselves at a free camp just down from Lock 10 and the Wentworth Weir not far from the junction of the Darling and the Murray River’s.

We revelled in the idea of not having to pack up camp and cycle on the next day, although we were still out of bed at half past sparrows fart, stoking the coals of last nights fire, our first fire that we’ve had on the road. I was educated on the art of fire making, soon learning the difference between a white fella’s fire and a black man’s fire, white fella makes a big fire with lots of light where you have to sit back a long way and your backside gets cold, black fella makes a small fire with lots of coals allowing you to sit close and be warmed from the heart.

Due to the almost unnoticeable change in the landscape around us for the last few hundred km’s we had become bored with cycling in general. The free camps by the river often made up for a long day’s cycling into a prevailing headwind but still failed to completely tend to our tender rears and wandering minds. We longed for mountains, hills, dirt, scenery, ruins, something, anything to look at other than desert weeds and red gum tree’s. Which is why I think our morale levels picked up as we pondered maps of the Flinder’s Ranges. We had planned to cycle alongside the Murray River until Morgan, SA, where we would then divert and meet up with the Mawson Trail at Burra, SA. From here we would ascend along the trail and then descend back down towards Adelaide via an alternative route. The idea of gravel trails for endless kilometres seemed desperately inviting.

Our idea’s of the Murray River Trail had been idealistic but not realistic. We quickly learnt that if we were not a stones throw away from the river then it may as well have been a kilometre away, and even when it was right next to us sometimes there would be a flood bank so high that the view of the river would be obstructed. Notions of running alongside the river for boundless stretches soon became a delusion as we found that even the few dirt tracks that ran for purposeful distances (longer than 5-10km’s) often still did not hug the river closely enough to keep it in view for more than a 200m stretch. We soon found ourselves on highways without any shoulder travelling between towns that were situated on the banks of the river, finding out that any alternate route either lead to a dead end, spurted us in the opposite direction or left us uncertain as to whether (without buying 10 maps) a dirt track passed through to the next town.

But for today at least we didn’t have to worry about anything at all, the solar panel was out recharging the batteries, the washing on the line, we would check over the bikes and laze about camp, it was the perfect Sunday.

Murray River, Nyah-VIC

Free camp at Nyah.

What me? Steal food?

Flat and boring.

Dusk.

Grapevines for endless km’s.

Robinvale, VIC

Side of the road camp.

Sunset over Mallee Country.

Houseboat entering Lock 11, Mildura.

Houseboat exiting Lock 11, Mildura.

Old Cottee’s Building

Full Moon- Merbein, VIC

Merbein, VIC

Camp at Wentworth.

‘Ruby’- Wentworth, NSW

Dinner!

Flat.

Posted on April 17, 2016 by FAT Bike Adventures

Since leaving Albury eight days ago we had risen and fallen a grand total of 75m over 400km’s. I had forgotten what the word flat meant, having just climbed over the snowy mountains and all. We were now faced with endless expanses of nothing, flat, long, straight, nothing. Farmland stretched for miles around, shawn wheat fields left and right, often ravaged by whirlwinds of dust, the only thing that seemingly had any life was the cat’s eye plants that littered the sides of the road, our brand new tyres that we put on in Albury now had more holes in them than a sieve, thank god for sealant and having them set up tubeless again!

A complimentary headwind accompanied this flat and desolate road, and when it didn’t come from the opposite direction it instead came from the side and proceeded to blow us across the road in either direction, it was relentless and inescapable, and it broke us time and time again. Just when we through it had died down it would pick back up with forceful gusts that had us at an almost crawl.

For five days we battled it head on, cursing our own existence and the road ahead of us. On the sixth day we took a dirt track by the river, the first that actually ran through to a town rather than finishing in an abrupt dead end. We enjoyed it as it blissfully ran along the edge of the river, it was made of soft compacted dirt and was easy to ride on, and our headwind was gone. These were the trails we had imagined riding along when we had first contemplated doing ‘The Murray River Trail’. But in those first 20km’s we were blissfully unaware of what we were approaching. What lay ahead was 55km’s of immeasurable corrugations, cluttered with golf ball size chunks of granite. The scenery around us went from luscious green eucalyptus forest to what Adam described at the ‘toxic wasteland’ where everything seemed to be devoid of life. The mighty Murray River river was still plagued with blue-green algae rendering it unusable, now classed as a significant risk to humans and animals, and it was advised that contact with the water be avoided at all costs. Adding to the dismay of the algae ridden river it appeared as though the tide was out. Banks showed severe signs of erosion but the water level sat drastically below the tops of these banks, proving that once the water had come so high. The river bed lay cracked, desperate. Birdlife petered out the further downstream we got and of the 50 campsites we passed all but two were abandoned. Everyone and everything had fled from the river and everything was feeling it, the little towns dotted along it especially.

We finished out 75km stretch of dirt with a sigh of relief, FAT bikes or not corrugations are always unpleasant. The towns continue to be small, two man and a dog size, and I write this blog in the shade of a community hall whilst Adam finishes off the washing that I started. Camp for the night appears to be a gravel patch by the banks of the Little Murray River from here we will head on to Swan Hill tomorrow.

I remain longing for hills, I continue to scan from them on the horizon in hope that I will pedal up through a cutting and be greeted once more with a stunning panorama before winding back down the other side, standing up and stretching all of my muscles, ready again for the next climb.

Camp at Barooga by the Murray River.

Sight of the first paddle steamer.

Sunrise- Murray River, Barooga

Random warning sign in the middle of flat nothingness.

Flood irrigation channel.

This was all there was to do at Picola!

Paddle Steamers, Echuca

Echuca Wharf

Remnants of an old barge.

Another beautiful spot by the river, this time with chairs!!!

Endless nothingness.

The nice dirt road.

Masters Landing.

‘The toxic wasteland’

One of the countless bends of the Murray.

Ahhh…chairs!

Adam cycling along next to the Murray.

Dry.

Sometimes we are coming.

Sometimes we are going.

Blue-green Algae

Yucky river.

Port of Echuca

Warning signs are littered along the side of the Murray.

Flat boring desolation.

Lake Tutchewope

Oh look flat again!

Sock tan anyone?

Salt crust on Lake Tutchewope.

Tumbleweeds.

Riding into the big blue yonder.

Washing day.

The kindness of strangers.

Posted on April 9, 2016 by FAT Bike Adventures

It’s not until you experience the world first hand that you come to realise that it really is a good place. That not everyone is an arrogant self-centred ignorant maniac. The warmshowers community is one of like minded individuals who all have a passion for cycle travelling. They are the community amongst which we feel most at home. Many would argue our version of home, stating that a home had to be a fixed dwelling. We care not for traditional definitions. Home for us is our bikes, home is where they take us, it is where we are when we are on them.

This week home for us was sharing someone else’s home. Warmshowers (like couch surfing but for cyclists) is very reciprocal in its nature, travelling cyclists are hosted by cyclists who have or want to travel themselves, many of which who have previously repaid this hospitality and in tun used it when they were travelling. It has already lead us to many new friendships. Adam was getting some new wheels shipped to Albury so we knew we would be off the road for several days setting them up, but a manufacturing anomaly with Adam’s front hub meant that our 4 day stay extended out to 7! We are forever grateful to Fiona, Travis and ‘Patch’ who took us in for that week, and repeatedly told us that it didn’t matter that we had to stay another day, and then another! They were the most gracious of hosts, kind, knowledgable, and more than giving. That whole entire week would of been a complete nightmare had it of not been for their help. The warmshowers community is a multi-cultural community, it also encompasses people of all abilities. Our stay with Fi and Travis allowed us time to bond with ‘Patch’, their son with autism. He welcomed us with open arms, just in the same way we had accepted him, he had accepted us. The connection we build with him over the week touched our hearts. We can’t wait to see pictures of all three of them touring the US in three months time!

We receive a lot of hospitality and kindness from the warm showers community, but we also receive a lot of interest from the public. So far we have been shouted a coffee at a quaint cafe in Bundanoon, thanks Leah. A kind couple boiled a pot of water for us when we reached 1000km’s. Tim was concerned about our water levels and gave us 2L bottle of apple juice just out of Thredbo, he was another avid cyclist. Jack was diabetic so he played easter bunny and gave me his stash of chocolate at Towong, he was travelling around on his horse drawn cart. By Jingelic we must of looked hungry because Jeff shouted us each a bacon and egg sandwhich. And Travis couldn’t get enough of us and dropped off some doughnuts on our first day back on the road!

We continue to been proven time and time again that all is not lost in the world and we look forward to all of the encounter that we have ahead of us that will touch our hearts and show us why we are doing what we are doing.