#40 Tasmania’s East Coast |579 km|

There was no longer that lurching tension between wind, wave, swell and propeller, so I knew the good ship Spirit of Tasmania had delivered us safely to Davenport, even though I thought I was still asleep.

Route Maps. Devonport to Grindelwald ; Grindelwald to Bridport ; Bridport to Tomahawk ; Tomahawk to Policeman’s Point ; Policeman’s Point to St Helens ; St Helens to Mayfield Bay ; Mayfield to Hobart

Thursday 21 December, 2017.  Devonport to Grindelwald |145 km|

My two random cabin-mates, who’d both thankfully taken top bunks leaving me to choose between the bottom two, were presumably still asleep.  I hope so, and hoped that my coughing fit at 1.20am hadn’t been too disruptive for them; I also had the horrible thought that it was me snoring that actually woke me up (and them too?) at 6am.  Anyway, I played schtumm until the 6.45 arrival announcement, and then felt permitted to rise and gather up my stuff, even though I kept it quiet and dark.

It was chilly and blustery in Devonport and I loitered around town until well after 10 – had a so-so toasty at the bakery, filled the jerry-can with petrol,  looked for a buff to replace the one I left at Justine’s house, got a new (red ) trailer flag from the impressive Derrico’s Bike Shop to replace the yellow one that had mysteriously gone missing somewhere since Melbourne without me even noticing, and went to the Information Centre for some route ideas (utterly useless!) – before heading off west along the north coast into a strong westerly wind.

It then occurred to me that westerlies probably prevail in Tasmania – what with the Roaring Forties and all – and that I’d be better off heading east, so I did a U-turn after 17km and back-tracked to Devonport and then trundled on further east, hugging the north coast as far as Port Sorell, where I recharged the batteries on the generator for a couple of hours at a BBQ shelter near the beach.  The countryside was interesting, in there being more intense and varied cultivation than I’m used to seeing on the mainland.

 

The contribution to “information” at the Glengarry tourist information office was that there is a tourist information office in Exeter, but at the latter the lady there didn’t know much either, and she was rather snooty to boot.

I had to recharge some more at Gravelly Beach, where Wiki Camps advised me there is free camping, but its really just a carpark and only suitable for RVs, so I trundled on, and on a whim pulled into the private caravan park at Grindelwald, where an unpowered site, delivered with a smile, cost $27 for the night (a “special deal, normally $35”).  A rip-off really, but I did charge up on the next-door vacant powered site anyway.  The camp kitchen was, well, basic is the kindest word, but it was getting some use and I did enjoy a meal in convivial surroundings with some fellow travellers, with provisions I had stocked up on at the Woolworths supermarket 3km back up the road.  But to cap it all off, some deep-sleeping ignoramus’s alarm radio went off at 2am, serenading me with crappy music for 2-hours in sleep mode – didn’t bother them obviously, but it sure kept me awake. (I know who it was – the young French couple who came in late and pitched tent near me – but they weren’t interested in admitting culpability next morning).

Friday 22 December, 2017.  Grindelward to Bridport |125 km|

And so on to day 2 of my Tasmanian trip, Friday, 22nd December, with an easy and pleasant run into Launceston, where I bought that Buff, and a Card Reader to transfer photos from the camera to the computer, and then it was back up the other (eastern) bank of the Tamar River estuary through some very hilly terrain and against an ugly cross-wind to Georgetown.  The old girls in the Info kiosk there were no help but at the “Hub”, the library/council office in the centre of town, the librarian was helpful and also let me charge up on their power for 3 hours, and then it was on eastwards through more hilly country, but with a largely following wind at least, to Bridport.

Bridport is a substantial town with all amenities and has a working fishing industry and well set-up tourism infrastructure.  The caravan park hugs a few kilometers of picturesque coastline past the industrial-looking port area.  The camp kitchen is on a par with the Grindelwald one  – worse, if anything – and the site was non-descript like the previous night’s too, but a relative steal all the same at only $20 (and it was indeed powered, at least).

Saturday 23 December, 2017.  Bridport to Tomahawk |50 km|

I kept it to only a short ride of 50 km today (and that with a tail wind except for the last 7km) to a beach camp at Tomahawk.  My right knee was by now quite swollen and painful, due, I guess, to the heavy going over the previous 2 days (145 and 125 km, and with strong head winds for a lot of it).  It was paid camping ($15), and you really don’t get much for your money, except a place to pitch a tent.

Sunday 24 December, 2017.  Tomahawk to Policeman’s Point |77 km|

The road from Tomahawk to my next destination, Policeman’s Point at the northern end of the Bay of Fires, was mostly dirt but also mostly flat and downwind, and made for a terrific day’s riding.  Flat, that is, except for the hills into and out of the settlement of Ansons Bay, that were the hardest yet I’ve had to negotiate.

Monday 25 December, 2017.  Policemen’s Point |no cycling|

Policeman’s Point is a free camping area, with a brand new and scrupulously clean toilet block but no other amenities at all: just a couple of dozen camp sites tucked in amongst the trees on the southern shore of the narrow channel entrance to Ansons Bay, and I stayed 2 nights, which included Christmas Day.  Didn’t feel much like Christmas, but together with my two neighbours, Craig and Pete – who’s idea of setting up camp was to simply stop driving their camper ute – we had a celebration of sorts around my campfire involving a lot of Jack Daniel, Jim Beam and Ouzo (like, a bottle each).

Tuesday 26 December, 2017.  Policeman’s Point to St. Helens |45 km|

I made another short day of it, riding-wise – only as far as St Helens, where I had a relaxing day in a cheap and grotty motel room watching the cricket on TV and chugging cans of JD and coke.  The two bikies with noisy Harleys from the room next door – Dingo and Steve – invited me over to share a big platter of food and watch some of the cricket, so that was nice.

Wednesday 27 December, 2017.  St. Helens to Mayfield |140 km|

Back to some decent distance again after 4 days of scant travel.  I had a fantastic ride down along the coast with following wind on a cool day.

Bicheno is a lovely town, Swansea less so, but the lady in the IGA there suggested a free camping area called Mayfield about 15km further on so that’s where I stayed the night.  It was good too.  Even the bunch of drunken hoons – 10 young guys in matching blue budgie-smugglers, with a rented minibus and 5 tiny tiny $12 Aldi tents  (what was this, a Christian outreach group, or what?)  didn’t bother me too much with their inane hoot-hoot-hooting chugalug drinking games and 80s revival music going full blast, nor the 3 lots of ‘half cab-plus-a- swag blokes wif their wimen’ who parked right on top of me.

Thursday 28 December, 2017.  Mayfield to  Hobart |126 km|

Between the noisy neighbours carousing till 1am and the rain that started in earnest at 4am I didn’t get too much sleep at Mayfield beach.

The rain stopped at 6 and when I poked my head out it was calm and surreal, so I made a quick getaway as soon as the tent dried out.

I powered on to Triabunna, which, except for the wharf precinct, is fairly uninspiring, and hence on to Orford where I charged up on the beach in probably the nicest surroundings I’ve yet done so (except maybe Tewantin in Queensland), and even went for a swim.

And then the big challenge!  It’s a hard, hard ride from Orford to Sorell, with a lot of long steep hills on a narrow busy road with no shoulder or verge.  Rack your brains to think what you might need to buy at Buckland, because there’s nothing then till Sorell and the road becomes even more difficult.

The snooty old woman in the Info office at Sorell wasn’t at all helpful and even sniggered out loud when I said I was looking to book accommodation in Hobart, as though it were a preposterous idea to even think such a thing.  At this point I could have gone east and down the peninsula to Port Arthur, or even earlier at Triabunna I could have taken the ferry to Maria Island, but I’ll leave these to a later time.  I did however, in spite of the sniggerer, manage to book a “villa” in Hobart for 5 days, and in doing so upped my average daily cost of Tasmanian accommodation from $22 to $160.

The ride across the Tasman Bridge was hairy in 55kph winds from the south, and I was expending a lot of energy in battery-saving mode too, to avoiding having to recharge again as I was on the cusp of running out.  My accommodation wasn’t exactly what I’d expected from my rushed booking, but it is lovely and well-presented nevertheless, just too big and unnecessary, and a little bit away from the CBD.  Know anyone looking for a place to stay?   It has 3 bedrooms.

Friday 29 Dec. to Monday 1 January, 2018.  Around Hobart |74 km|