TT Report, Day 3: Da Bears

I've been reporting more thorns than roses so far, because they make for better stories. I should say something about what's going well too, huh?

Honestly, most of it. Lots of beautiful birds I don't recognize. Lovely little farms, one after the next, and behind them the blue silhouettes of mountains waiting patiently for me. I can't believe how much stronger my legs are than they were just a few days ago. Riding uphill all day has whipped them into shape. 

And it really does feel like it's uphill all day. The net elevation gain for the Tasmanian Trail is in fact close to zero, because Dover and Devonport are coastal towns. But the total elevation gain between them is sixty feet shy of Mt. Everest. Just shy of 29,000 feet, which means I'm also losing about 29,000 feet, so why does it feel like I'm climbing all day?

Well, duh. On the Stromtrooper (my motorcycle, jealous as hell and languishing about 10,000 miles away) I could take the climbs and descents at the same speed. On Booster, not so much. Six miles uphill at six miles an hour (I'm slow) is an hour of riding (I'm great at math). The same six miles downhill are closer to 36 mph, so for every 70 minutes in the saddle I spend 60 of them climbing.

So like I said, the legs are getting stronger, fast.

There are still thorns. My GPS problems continue unabated. Dover to Geeveston is 28 km by trail, and I covered 53 km to get there. Needless to say I will rely primarily on ink and paper from here on out. I could do with a few more of those beautiful trail markers, though, especially at the intersections where it's not so easy to tell the difference between the established path (which the TT generally follows) and the offshoots (one of which cost me a 14 km detour to a dead end). But if you're counting, yes, that's three days to cover 28 km. Worst Bikepacker in Australia award, coming right up.

But everyone is generous all the time. In Geeveston, the campground is closed but a lovely little B&B called The Bears Went Over The Mountain opened its doors just for me. They were closed, as were all the other places (it's off season), and the proprietor was out of town for a family birthday party. But someone at the Geeveston Town Hall called her for me, and she said if I could wait until six o'clock she'd have a room for me.

Incredible! Who does this? Apparently everyone in Tasmania except for that one bull. So three cheers for Audrey and the Bears. I asked her if everyone down here really is this nice, and she said oh yes, all the mean ones moved to the mainland.

Anyhow, the ride from Geeveston to Judbury was a bear of an uphill slog. So, so often, this ride feels so, so unmanageable. I didn’t train enough, I didn’t prep enough, blah blah blah. The negative self-talk comes so easily. But then I crest the summit and all of sudden I’m in the Shire. Sunlit fields, greener than green. Unkempt grassy hills framing graceful curves of smooth dirt road. Little calves suckling at big fat cows, both of them caught just perfectly in the late afternoon sun. I want to stop the bike every minute to take a picture, because with every turn the valley is more beautiful than it was a minute ago.

The difficult parts of this have been so challenging, but the best parts of it have been so much better than the challenges are challenging. Trying to do a thing I’m not sure I can do, and then seeing it done... it's the purest high I know. Physically and emotionally. The sunset seems to stretch out forever, so there’s all this time to pitch my tent, strip the bike, get dinner going.

And then I’m warm and dry in my sleeping bag and it doesn't matter how cold it's going to get. Pitch dark and I hear the cows clumping around on the other side of the fence, as I’m boiling another liter of water to fill the Nalgene I’ll keep inside my jacket. A couple bags of rooibos in there for a warm little nip during the night, and then to reheat come morning for breakfast tea. It's everything I could want in a day.