The Midlands ~ AUS Post #34

April 23 - May 2

Lake Leake ~ Anzac Day

We came to Lake Leake expecting to leave the next day for Campbell Town but soon learned from the campground hosts that the following day was Anzac Day, a national holiday, and probably not one to be traveling on the highway. Without question, we booked another night and moved our camp further up the hill. The ceremony would take place at the campground bbq area and we were now invited to attend.

With our food bag depleted, we became regulars at the Inn. The day before we had our first Parmy since arriving in Australia and were back for a second round come lunch time the next day. Parmy’s are somewhere between a staple food and an obsession that we still really don’t understand. But with no burgers or salads on the menu - Parmy it was.

Before returning to the Inn for dinner, we walked down to the lakeshore to catch the full moon cresting the horizon and were immediately transfixed by the shimmery glow dancing between the starkly relics steadfast in their watery grave.

The small campground filled up overnight, while others walked or drove in from the fishing community and surrounding area on the morning of Anzac Day until a gathering of 60 or more were assembling down the road. As we watched the proceedings, I was reminded of Veterans Day celebrations with my father, a WWII veteran. I think he would of appreciated that we found ourselves here on Australia’s memorial day.

The next morning we were greeted by the most amazing sunrise before packing up to brave the main road into Campbell Town. A few short climbs later, we were rewarded with a 5 mile winding descent into the valley of the Midlands, home to sheep graziers and cattle farms.

Campbell Town

In Campbell Town, we were again faced with “self-contained” regulations on campgrounds. After checking out the local park setup for self-contained camping, we decided to book a hotel room. We spent the next day roaming the streets and exploring the history of this colonial town built almost entirely by convict labor. Off in the distance, we could hear bag pipes playing and followed the music to the center of town where two ladies were just packing up their instruments in the park. They had been warming up for the bagpipe competition the following day. Having an opportunity to experience some local culture, we booked another night at the hotel and took in the performances before moving on.

Red Bridge - oldest brick bridge in Australia

Leaving Campbell Town, we were now zig-zagging our way on quiet roads through farmland flanked by mountain ranges that faded from view as we pushed further into the Midlands. The Macquarie River, we first saw in the hills a few days before, was no longer a choked trickle in a dried out river bed. It had transformed into a crystal blue lazy river meandering through the valley. With the hills now behind us, the wind picked up to slow our progress, giving us time to take in the pastoral landscape unfolding before us - just us, the sheep and the cows.

“Next Level” Gear Wear

Halfway between towns, Nivaun called out wondering what was clicking on my bike, only to realize shortly after - it was his, not mine. Now acutely aware of the constant clicking, the dread set in - was it the bottom bracket, the crank, or my worst fear, another cracked frame. We had been so fortunate up to this point with the only mechanicals being ones that were warranted based on general wear of the drive train and tires. This one was unexpected.

Our river-side campsite on the Macquarie River

Once we were settled in at the Longford caravan park at the edge of the Macquarie River, we booked a couple nights to give Nivaun time to go over both bikes and diagnosis the mysterious creak.

After an overhaul including new sets of brake pads, it appeared the bottom bracket was the culprit and not something we could easily find before reaching mainland Australia.

If that wasn’t enough, our bomb-proof tent, revealed its achilles heel, the zippers on both our inner tent doors began to fail. It appeared we were in for another round of “whammies”. After a frantic online search for why zippers fail - we learned that the zipper pulls stretch over time and a possible remedy was to pinch them just enough that they would engage again. This seemed to fix the issue, but only temporarily. According to Hilleburg repair instructions we needed to routinely brush the zipper teeth to keep them free of dirt and eventually replace the zipper pulls which meant detaching the end of the zipper and then sewing it back to the tent - nothing we wanted to attempt on the fly.

Faced with bigger gear problems than we could of anticipated, we began, again, to mull over whether a trip home to deal with this ever growing list was warranted before our visa ended.

Longford

The next day we took a test ride on the local bike trail to enjoy the fall colors and visit some of the historic sites around town while we continued to contemplate our situation. Longford is home to the convergence of the Macquarie River and the South Esk River, a Railway bridge from 1871 and many other buildings built by convicts in the 1840s. The cemetery includes many prominent local families including James Brumby, noted as the settler who left behind horses to roam free in Northern Australia and from then on were referred to as “Brumbies”.

It was May 1st and the season I had longed for was clearly in full swing - my seasonal body clock now fully restored. Fog hung over the river each morning, shrouding the sun until close to mid-day, and when the sun dropped below the horizon in the late afternoon, the crisp air turned to frost each night.

After brushing the frost from our panniers and waiting for the sun to break through enough to dry the tent, we packed up and pulled onto the main highway in the direction of Deloraine. Just a few meters out of town we opted for an alternate route weaving through farmland, only this time we were stopping periodically so Nivaun could adjust his bottom bracket.

Deloraine

We arrived in Deloraine just before dusk to a caravan park alongside the Meander River, only this time we had another cyclist for company. Earlier that day, she had stopped to check on us after seeing we were pulled over on the wrong side of the road in the ditch with bike tools in hand. She was also on her way to Devonport to catch the ferry after riding solo from Melbourne to visit her daughter in Hobart. The last time we had met up with anyone else cycle touring was in New Norfolk over two months ago. Way overdue for a cyclist bonding moment, we instantly fell into a free-flowing exchange of all things cycling - gear, routes, adventures…

We awoke to another brilliant morning bursting with autumn colors, frost and fog, and joined the birds at the water’s edge to soak in the sun’s first rays. Today was the final push to Devonport and the end of our cycling tour around Tasmania. After discussing routes with our new cycling friend, we aligned on a route and decided to ride together - a first for us this the entire trip and it felt like a perfect way to bring it to a close.