South Australia, December 2017, and I ride the coastal route from Adelaide to Melbourne via the Coorong and the Great Ocean Road that features prominently in the world cycle touring atlas. People come from all over the world to experience it, but……be aware these roads were not designed with cycling in mind. Most of the time you will be travelling on narrow and busy main roads that don’t have a marked shoulder or even a verge that you can safely escape onto, and you will also have to contend with some large vehicles, such as the monster three-trailer timber jinkers that run between Mount Gambier and Portland.
Tuesday 28 November, 2017. Adelaide to Murray Bridge |80 km|
[Very warm, but excellent cycling through the Adelaide Hills. Separate bike path or mainly good shoulder]
It was a gorgeous, cloudless, and get this – windless – sunny day and 28°C when I left Phil’s Airbnb home in Parkside at 7.45am. The first 16 km to Crafers were all uphill, but don’t pay any attention to the locals telling you that you can’t ride up the M1 motorway; you can – there is an excellent independent cycleway alongside it.
The Old Mount Barker Road from Stirling to Nairne is particularly scenic, and is an absolute joy to cycle on. To get on to it, you have to go straight through the roundabout at the end of the Crafers Cycleway, follow the ‘M1 East, Murray Bridge’ sign but then veer off left onto Piccadilly Road at the last chance of turning off before the expressway. Then, at the next roundabout take the second exit.
By the time I got to Nairne at 11.00am, and having only travelled 40 km, the batteries were already looking pretty sick, with only 10 km of indicated range left. This didn’t make any sense, but I decided to stop and charge anyway rather than risk being stuck out somewhere in this heat without shade.
Beanie, an avid cyclist, came up for a chat and kindly offered a chillax at her place, but as my Aunt Mary in Murray Bridge was expecting me and she’s a bit of a worrier, and because I really wanted to push on to Wellington after catching up with her, I had to politely decline. In another life, meaning now that I am wiser and more relaxed, I’d have just called my aunt and stayed on for a bit. But if you ever find yourself needing a house painter in the Adelaide Hills area, call “Go Girls” in Nairne!
Jeff, another cyclist, more of an MTBer (that’s Mountain Trail Bike rider) and someone who has done the Mawson Trail a few times, also came over for a chat and we went into the details of the BOB trailer hitching system. I’m thinking more and more that my faithful little Topeak Journey is simply not up to the job, and I might order a BOB Ibex (the suspension model) for delivery in Melbourne. He even went off and brought back his BOB to demonstrate that it could work with my axle. I’ll keep you posted. [ed. it never happened because I couldn’t find a dealer who’s import it].
The weather was really heating up by the time I left Nairne – high 30s now – and. having just traversed Eyre Peninsula in similar heat without cold water, I was so glad to have purchased two, 1-litre, ‘Klean Kanteen’ insulated flasks from the Scout Shop in Adelaide, that I was now able to call upon for a refreshing slurp every few hundred metres. I refilled the flasks with chilled water and got an ice cream at the general store in Kanmantoo. (By the way, I also bought a small spherical compass at the Scout Shop in Adelaide that I glued to the head frame just behind the handlebars and is now one of my favourite pieces of kit).
It was still a long and hot 30 km along the Old Princess Highway to Murray Bridge, past the old copper mines and Monarto at the top of Callington Hill. Monarto was planned to be a new city to take pressure off the ever-expanding Adelaide region, but they only got as far as planting a lot of trees and it is now the site of the open range Monarto Zoo stocked with African wildlife.
At the last corner before my aunt’s place, as I was taking my phone out of my pocket to double-check directions while haring along, it slipped out of its cover. So I smashed the screen again, didn’t I? – only 4 days after getting it replaced in Adelaide from the last time I dropped it back in Tallangatta six weeks ago. After checking in at Aunt Mary’s it was downtown to get an cheapo temporary replacement phone from Telstra and send mine off once again for repair.
At the Telstra shop, the shopping centre security guy made me walk my bike out of the complex and chain it up at the entrance, and as I was wheeling it out….the rear wheel simply dropped completely off! The lug on the trailer mount hadn’t been seated properly into the drop-out slot when a new chain was fitted yesterday – dangerous, huh!
Wednesday 29 November, 2017. Murray Bridge to Parnka |108 km|
[A very hot day in the high 30s; flat road with a poor shoulder and verge, little traffic]
I didn’t get away from Murray Bridge until after 11, and boy, was it hot! High 30s, maybe 39 degrees. The first 20 km to Jervois was good riding in spite of the heat – 24 km/h in Turbo mode, 10th gear with no wind. After that, it was still OK going, with no verge to speak of but practically no traffic either, on the back road as far as Wellington.
On the way to Wellington I dropped in to visit my widowed Aunt Pat, who is the only family member that still lives at the dairy farm where my mum grew up. The farm itself is now long gone out of the family but Pat still lives there in a house opposite the main homestead where I spent many a school holiday with my grandparents. I like Pat, and I’m glad I pulled in – no dirty little family secrets emerged however 😑.
The Wellington punt (upgraded in name only, to a ‘ferry’ these days) has hardly changed since my childhood, except its now free, and I crossed the river there to head on down south to Meningie on my journey towards Victoria.
After I rejoined the main Princess Highway (the ‘B1’) after the ferry, there was some north wind either behind or across me, and I made excellent progress to Meningie where I recharged in a BBQ shelter in the town park whilst weathering a short thunderstorm. The steak sandwich I got from the takeaway across the road was OK – only $6.50, but the steak was as tough as old boots – and I replenished my cold water supply again with 2 x 1.5l bottle at $1.80 each.
Meningie is a very pleasant little town on the shore of Lake Albert, which is part of the final overflow system of the River Murray as it tries to wend its way out to sea. It is definitely worth a stop-over for cyclists if the timing is right, but I myself quickly high-tailed it out there at 5.15 pm because a good trailing breeze had suddenly sprang up from the north and because a local sage told me this portended a major storm brewing from the north.
Well, that storm front that was so menacing at Meningie turned out to be a bit of a dud. I copped neither the deluge nor much of the wind-assist afterwards, and only experienced that quick thunderstorm that started while I was still charging-up under the shelter before I hurriedly skedaddled.
It looked like I was going to get only about 100 km range, which wouldn’t have been enough to get me to Policeman Point where I was planning to overnight. So instead, I scouted out another likely place, and at 6.30 pm went 4 km off-piste into Coorong National Park where I camped beside the Coorong at a place locally known as Parnka.
I was greeted on arrival by a huge kangaroo and a sleepy lizard (proper name, shingleback skink: Tiliqua rugosa). The lizard was too shy to have its picture taken.
Thursday 30 November, 2017. Parnka to Kingston-South-East |108 km|
I had a good sleep out there at Parnka, communing with nature in my little tent, and being serenaded by the booming Southern Ocean surf on the other side of the Coorong all night long. The Coorong, by the way, is the name given to a 130 km narrow body of fresh water fed with flows from the Murray River and cut off from the ocean by a narrow ‘neck’ of pristine sand hills along its entire length.
I was up and gone by 6.30 – and could have easily made it 5.30 – but I was low on water and wanted to give time for the Policeman Point store to open. But what the hell! – there is no store at Policeman Point as it turns out – just a pub, and it was closed anyway, so I pushed on, waterless.
I was at the settlement of Salt Creek, 40 km further on, by 8.15, and waited until 8.30 for the store there to open. I got a so-so hamburger, one small bottle of coke and one of Bundaberg-brand pineapple fizz, 2 x 1.5l of plain ol’ chilled water and, rather bizarrely on my part, a six-pack of small ‘beer sticks’ (salamis), all for the exorbitant price of $46. Water at $4.80 each, versus the $1.80 I paid in Meningie, sets the price-tone.
Still and all, the person looking after the shop, a young English lass, was lovely and I have no complaints – it would have been an awful ride without that chilled water, and once again I congratulated myself on the purchase of those brand spanking new insulated thermos flasks.
Some interesting ‘artifacts’ in the Salt Creek store, that’s for sure! They had for sale 4 of the biggest salamis I’ve ever seen – not just one but 4! – a major stock problem I’d have thought, but no, the shopkeeper assured me they are in big demand from all the recreational fisherfolk on the Coorong. There they are: hanging down the side of the Jim Beam fridge. Massive!
Another little snippet I found interesting was that in 2013, an empty lifeboat from a shipwreck that occurred off Tristan da Cunha, 8,000 km away in the Southern Atlantic Ocean, got washed up on the local beach after a 23-month trek across the seas. Why do I find that so fascinating? And another strange thing too, was that some French tourist couple posted a letter – that the owner proudly displays – to say their child was conceived at Salt Creek! Actually I felt sorry for them as a couple – I mean how could they pinpoint the occasion so accurately, unless of course they sent half-a-dozen other similar letters to other places they’d also stopped at along the way, just in case.
The range of 110 km I got on the batteries was good considering the conditions (flat, but no helping wind, mainly TOUR to TURBO modes in gears 9 and 10), but unfortunately I needed 125 km range to get to Kingston, and without much interesting in the way of intermediate stop-over points, by 12 pm I elected to charge-up at the 110 km-mark at the Coorong rest stop. An instant horde of sand flies descended upon me, but the “Bushman Plus” spread-on ointment works a real treat I can tell you, and I had no further bother from any insects after liberal application to all exposed parts.
Just before my charging stop, I’d come across another cycle tourist going the other way (North) and I pulled over for a chat – not that she (it turned out to be a ‘she’) was very chatty. It was a young German girl who’d left Robe that morning and was intending to make Salt Creek for the night. Good on her! That’d be 100 km for the day; OK, only travelling light, but, unlike me, no battery assistance. I really do admire such people. Apparently, she’d spent 3 hours battling strong head winds to get from Robe to Kingston (41 km), or so a guy I met in the Kingston caravan park later told me she told him. But hey – travelling in the opposite direction, I sure never got the tailwind that goes with that!
I pulled in to the Information Office in Kingston and they enthusiastically gave me the lowdown on the local caravan park, where I ended up staying, but it was quite decrepit by the standard of caravan parks generally. A pity, then, that they never mentioned the spanking new council-run RV park which is only half the price, is much nicer and is in the centre of all the action. I only found about it when I trekked up to the pub for dinner (schnitzel $10), saw the RV park across the street and the couple at my table happened to be staying there.
Petty politics! I was later told the town folk are against the RV park because it is not good for (ie. taking away business from) other local businesses, but to my mind the bigger picture is that, widely promoted, it would be a boon to tourism in the town. It’s not going to fail (its already on all the grey nomad camping apps) so embrace it, I say. As for the caravan park where I stayed: it has just changed hands – the previous owner saw the writing on the wall when the RV initiative came to fruition and bailed out.
Friday 1 December, 2017. Kingston SE to Beachport |102 km|
It rained throughout the night and in the morning it was cold, wet and miserable with a strong breeze from the south, so I waited until 9.30 to see what the weather was going to do before making a move. It did clear up a bit and the tent had dried out so I decided to go for it – straight into the teeth of a 35km/h head wind. I managed 17-19 km/h in TURBO mode, gear 7, which combination surprisingly resulted in the adequate range of 90 km.
The scenery is pleasant too, except for all those annoying signs everywhere declaring the area to be off-limits for gas extraction. It reminded me of all those “nuclear-free zone” signs you used to see in the 80s – whatever happened to them? I guess someone realised nuclear medicine is actually very beneficial. The blue sign below wasn’t annoying – just humorous: a marketing idea that didn’t go anywhere, perhaps?
Robe is a real gem of a place, much better than Kingston – why didn’t I stay here last night? Four caravan parks to choose from, but I just settled for a 3-hour stopover to charge up the batteries down at the marina, using the two power outlets behind the Fisherman’s Memorial – very convenient – while having a (very ordinary) chicken schnitzel burger and chips ($15) at the Marina Café. One of the charger leads must have fallen off pretty much as soon as I’d started charging though, as only the one battery was charging until I spotted the problem after nearly 2 hours.
Then it was out of Robe and into a real ball heart-breaker, heading directly into the teeth of that strengthening southerly again. I tried to keep in TOUR 7 at 19 km/h for long stretches to eke out the batteries, but they still expired 20 km before Beachport and I had to stop at an unsheltered rest stop for 1½-hours in the howling wind while recharging them on the generator.
Beachport is also lovely (though not as nice as Robe!) and I stayed at a nice caravan park on the ocean beach. I had a beer at the pub, which was lively at 8 o’clock on a Friday night, and then it was back to the camp kitchen for pasta salad and a KitKat while working on this blog. I was in the groove and wanted to work on longer, but the kitchen had no doors and it was freezing cold.
I mean, just what were they thinking! A brand spanking new building with deliberate wind funnels built into the centre of the northern and southern sides (the prevailing wind directions) – stops it getting smelly in summer, I presumed, but the owner told me next morning it was because of fire regulations, because of the gas BBQ inside. But there’d other design solutions for that, I’m sure.
Saturday 3 December, 2017. Beachport to Mount Gambier |102 km|
When I woke up at Beachport I felt no urgency about my day’s ride. I needed to be in Mount Gambier when the Post Office opened on Monday to collect my repaired phone, and there was only 100 km to cover with 2 days to do it in. However, with the weather so unpleasant, I eventually did decide to push on and get it all over and done with in the one day.
So I left Beachport fairly late, after the wind, still blowing as strongly from the south as it had done all night, had dried out my tent from an 8am rain shower. I had a pasty for breakfast ( not a proper Cornish pasty, mind you, made with lard and crimped down the middle, but a not-too-bad version of the usual filo one you get these days), and some kind of a hybrid apricot Danish/ iced cream finger bun thing-a-me, plus iced coffee and the Weekend Australian newspaper.
This meant a 10.30 departure into driving rain and a stiff breeze. The intention was to make for Southend, a settlement at the southern extremity of Rivoli Bay, the bay on which Beachport is situated at the extreme northern end. My logic was that Southend would be protected by its headland from this southern gale, which might even blow itself out today, and then I’d have an easy 50km ride into Mount Gambier tomorrow (Sunday).
But no, the wind was even worse than yesterday – stronger at 35km/h and more directly into my face – and the rain showers kept up for the 25 km to Southend, (the last 6 km of which need to be retraced to get back out onto the main road again).
I’m sure Southend might be pleasant enough in good weather, but it rained the whole 5 minutes I was there, and I formed a negative impression of it. It had that decrepit air about it that I don’t think will improve with the weather. I noticed the beachside holiday apartments for rent are called Costa Plenti – hahaha – an inside joke, perhaps? No vacancy either, by the way.
So off I was back on the road again. I stopped for a bite and a break under a shelter at the quaint little village of Rendelsham and noticed that the rear wheel was coming loose again, and that the rear tyre was going flat, and duly rectified same.
It was then only 20 km to Millicent, where I had a very welcome charge-up out of the elements for 3 hours at the friendly Tourist Information Office. The batteries had completely drained inside 40 km – my worst result ever, and that was with a lot of hard-slogging in the less-intensive SPORT and TOUR modes too, to try to conserve them a little.
The wind only got stronger while I was waiting in that cosy information office in Millicent and I departed from there with a great deal of reluctance into head winds peaking at maybe 45km/h. I stopped once more – at a service station in the middle of a pine plantation, for a battered sav (deep-fried hot dog saveloy), a KitKat and an Iced Coffee, and for a bit of wind respite, and then hammered on into Mount Gambier.
I was continually fretting about battery levels and jumping between modes to try and eke out the mileage, and crawled into Mount Gambier on the last kilometer of indicated range, and with aching legs – I probably would have been much better off stopping again for another recharging session.
I checked in to the grandly-named but not-so-grand Grand Central Motel in the CBD of Mount Gambier for 2 nights at $80/night, and then promptly went over and pigged out on the sumptuous salad bar at Macs Hotel while my roast pork was coming ($15 plus $7 per pint of beer x 2).
-ends-
#37 Adelaide to Mount Gambier |502 km|
12,002 km in 111 days of cycling