TT Report, Day 1: Help Me, Obi-Wan Kenpostman, You’re My Only Hope

In my last report I said I am in the running for Worst Bikepacker in Australia. Here’s further evidence of that: on day one, I made it 30 seconds from my front door before technical problems set in. 

In this case the front door was the Smuggler‘s Rest, a B&B I chose on the name alone. I had hoped for a hive of scum and villainy, perhaps with a proprietor polka-dotted with bullet holes and stab wounds. But I got someone much better than that. Her name is Irene and I could not possibly have asked for a more generous host.

On my first night, Irene had me over for wine and dinner. (I say first night, but there was only supposed to be one.) There I met the adorable Penny and Chanel, and while Chanel was trying to lick me to death, Irene and I talked about her many world travels and a few of mine.

That night I reassembled Booster, packed her all up, and was ready to go in the morning. Irene gave me a box so I could mail my laptop home, wrapped in a T-shirt from the wonderful Benny's Bike Shop in Auckland. Now everything I own fits on my body or my bike.

Irene also insisted on driving me to the post office once she saw how few places there were on Booster to put a box. I didn't want to impose on her hospitality any more, but one of the rules of this adventure is you've already signed yourself up to do something really hard, so allow yourself to take easier paths.

At the post office we meet Nice Postman Ken, who gets to talking with us. The trailhead for the TT is right across the road from the post office, and I told him that's where I'm headed, and he says "Oh, don't go that way. There's a bull up there and he doesn't like bicyclists."

Ken and Irene get to talking about other ways to get up there. Because of course they do, because every single person I've met here is friendly and helpful. At some point Ken says, "Oh, wait, do you know Gary? He's sure to know about this." And yes, Irene knows Gary because of course she does.

She doesn't have his phone number, though. Bad luck. But this is Tasmania, so she just drives me to his house and we knock on the door. Gary tells me three different routes to get up to the trail, including a backroad along the Esperance River that avoids both the bull and the steepest climb. Because of course he does, because no one here seems to have anything on their schedule that they can't push off to help a stranger. 

So it's back to the Smuggler's Rest, where despite the name no one has absconded with Booster. Irene actually gives me a hug and a kiss goodbye and off I go.

Cut to thirty seconds later, when my GPS compooter tells me my next cue is 245 km away. This is approximately 244 km off target, as I can see the mountain I’m heading for. 

I double-check it. Yes, it's kilometers, not meters. Worst Bikepacker I may be, but at least I know my metric system well enough to have mastered the difference between 1 and 1000. So I fiddle with the compooter a bit (no luck), then see if the phone can do any better (nope—it wants me to take the highway, not the trail).

But hey, this is an adventure. Plus I figure Nice Postman Ken and Nice Rando Gary have given me better intel than the machines could give me anyway. The Tasmanian Trail Association has posted markers along the way, so all I gotta do is find one of those.

Which I do, and I follow it to the next one, which leads to a big paddock behind a locked gate. The TTA has provided me a key--the trail crosses private land several times--but it doesn't work this time, because some new guy has bought the land and they haven't yet worked out an arrangement with him for riders and hikers to cross his property. (You know what would be really good at preventing those? An irascible bull.)

So I ride back down the hill and try one of the backroads. No dice. Check the compooter again. 245 km to go no matter what direction I ride. 

An hour later I'm back on the coastal road and I see Chanel and Penny walking happily along with Irene at the other end of their leash. She flags me down, Chanel starts licking me to death, and I tell Irene what's going on. "We're going out," she says. I assume she’s talking about her friends. She says, “We are going out. Be ready by 5:30."

So out we go, to the River Run Lodge where the first round is definitely on me. They serve a mean vegetarian Buddha Bowl, plus an apple cobbler to die for. The place has a Cheers kind of vibe: everybody knows your name. Warm, dim lighting, hardwood everything, and in less than an hour you feel like you've been hanging out here for years.

Then it was back to the Smuggler's Rest, where I wrest one critical detail from Google about my GPS problem. The compooter can't give turn-by-turn directions for any route longer than 200 km. And look, I know I'm bad with electronics. Tech and me, we don’t get along. But I don't know why anyone would get a piece of technology working and then google "is there an undisclosed length limit after which this gadget’s most important function will stop working?”

Anyway, better luck tomorrow, right? Get off to an earlier start. Got the new maps loaded, separating the Trail into segments the compooter can handle. Definitely not gonna blow a pinch flat 90 minutes in.