Victoria ~ Reading the Signs
May 24-27, AUS Post #38
We were excited to spend another night in the Great Otway National Park, before making our way north to Victoria’s mountain bike town, Forrest. From there, our route would turn west through farmland on the way to Adelaide, where we planned to the ride the Mawson trail. Anticipating by the time we reached the end of the Mawson, we would apply for another year and continue riding further west. Underlying our plan was the persistent hope that we could somehow resolve our gear issues along the way and put off making a trip home until next year.
Meeting Wild
Since arriving in Australia, Nivaun had remarked on more than one occasion how incredible it was to see Cockatoos and Parrots flying free. Neither one of us are official birders, but Australia makes it almost unavoidable. The variety of birds and bird song that fills the air on a daily basis has become one of our most treasured experiences - well…with one exception, the Sulfur-crested Cockatoos incessant squawk.
Under the watchful eye of the King Parrot
From the moment we rolled into the Big Hill campground, five King Parrots perched high in the Gums surrounding the small campground were surveying our movements. Their brilliance was striking even from far below. We didn't have to wonder for very long whether they would approach us looking for snacks, as we had been told this was a regular occurrence.
An approaching rainstorm kept us at the campground the next day, and by mid-morning, we were the only ones there. It was then, the parrots decided to make our acquaintance. Their expectant looks from nearby posts wore us down quickly. Fortunate for them, we still had an apple in our stash. As much as the thought of these birds being conditioned to humans was a concern, the opportunity to interact with them on their terms was something truly special.
We then spent the rest of the afternoon wandering the campground, appreciating our surrounds on a macro scale before the second wave of rain arrived, continuing on through the night.
Back Splash
Emerging from the tent the next morning, it was instantly apparent why each of the walk-in sites was outfitted with a wooden tent platform. Unfortunate for us, the platform was a postage stamp, compared to our tent’s footprint, so we had to pitch it on the ground. Instead, we used the platform as a table and pitched the fly over it which worked well for cooking dinner as the steady rain set in.
But overnight, it appeared, each drop of rain that pounded the perimeter of our tent - splattered, half-way up the sides (no less), a gritty mud that clung to every fiber. It took several rounds of spraying and wiping to loosen the grit before we could safely pack up the tent. This, on top of the fact that our tent zippers were already malfunctioning, was not helping matters.
A “Not So Gentle” Track
While exploring the area around the campground the day before, across from the entrance, we discovered a side road just a few meters away. We had been dreading the thought of getting back on the main road to ride over 30kms to the town of Forrest. From what we could tell, this side road had several tracks branching off it through the forest that would eventually intersect with the rail trail into town. After weighing the “unknown” with the alternative of riding uphill on a winding, busy road with no shoulder - we made the obvious choice, and headed across the road, knowing whatever risks awaited us in the forest, paled in comparison to those on the bitumen.
The side road was well graded making for easy travel, but upon inspection, the first couple tracks raised our doubts. Either unmarked or overgrown with trees down, we began to wonder whether any of them would allow us safe passage to the valley on the other side. After debating over the entrance to the fourth track, although gated, it seemed in reasonable condition, we pushed around the gate, hoping for the best.
The surrounding forest and the brief glimpses into the ravines below made the uphill slogs and mud slips almost tolerable - until…Nivaun realized at the top of one of the brushier gullies, the lens cover to our 360 camera was missing. Upon further inspection, the culprit had left its indelible marks across the lens, rendering it useless, leaving Nivaun in disbelief. The number of unexpected gear failures had reached the point of exasperation - a supposedly irreplaceable bottom bracket, our highly-prized, bomb-proof tent zippers failing, and now the bush had marred our trail camera. It was too much.
As we crested the last hill and emerged from underneath the forest canopy, we pulled off the track for a mental, more than physical break, gazing across the vistas of the valley floor, ourselves unscathed and only slightly muddied. Perched atop the hill, sitting at the edge of the forest, after leaving the coast just a week ago, we were entering the realm of farming communities outstretched before us in every direction. Cows and sheep would now dominate the landscape which meant any wildlife encounters here, would be on human terms.
Tree plantations and farmland beyond the Otways
Before us was a well earned descent on bitumen into the valley, where our first rail trail in Victoria would take us to the mountain bike town of Forrest. As we reached the edge of town, the fall colors of the Northwest I had been longing for were in full display along main street.
Can’t see the “Forrest” for the Trees
Arriving in Forrest, our minds were far from the town’s main attraction, with one exception - the brewery. We were now solely focused on gear replacement/repair and for that we booked a cabin to be able to wash the tent, clean the zippers and try to find a shop that could order a replacement bottom bracket. Added to the list of gear replacement - the floor to our Feathered Friends sleep system (only available in Seattle) had worn thin - as was our patience for finding a solution to all our gear issues.
After further deliberation, when we combined our repair list with the inevitable deadlines for renewal of our mail forwarding in-person at the post office and renewal of Nivaun’s drivers license - a plan started to take shape, predicated on one thing. I needed a place to stay in Victoria, while Nivaun went home to take care of our ever growing to-do list.
It was only about two weeks ago that we were in Tasmania saying farewell to our new found cycling friend returning home to Yackandandah, when a mutual offering was made - “if you ever find yourself in the neighborhood, we would love it if you would come stay with us, so we can show you our home patch”. I had hoped one day that would be possible on either end.
All it took was a phone call, and our plan was set. Nivaun would fly home in early July for two weeks and I had a place to stay with our new friends in Yackandandah.