As the Spirit of Tasmania pulled away from the pier I watched from the deck. There is something romantic and final about leaving port. Returning to my recliner with an ocean view (a deck chair by the window by another name), I found it occupied by a large and vexatious women.
“There’s plenty more” she said.
“Yes but this ones mine, would you like me to help you find your own seat?”
She declined my offer and left huffing and puffing only to haunt me later in the evening snoring like a wounded animal!
I met a couple of other touring cyclists: Pascal from Switzerland, who’s touring kit included a meter long retractable depth indicator that he said was to test the river crossings. It seemed rather cumbersome , perhaps he also used it to beat off those pesky Russian Vodka drinkers in Uzbekistan he talked about. The other cyclist was Joey from Holland who brought along his trout fishing gear.
The three of us conferenced our Tasmanian adventures over coffee in Devonport, exchanging numbers with a vague plan to meet somewhere on the road. Joey headed to the Great Lakes, Pascal to the West Coast, while I headed off out of Devonport via secondary roads; the Meander Valley Road and The Heritage Highway.
The weather, which had been overcast, cleared as I rolled along through gorgeous countryside. Farmland full of contented looking cows and sheep, little hamlets and towns. I flew by LaTrobe, Deloraine, Westbury, Garick, Perth and Longford, where I am camped for the night just below the junction of the Esk and Macquarie rivers.
The Caravan Park is cheap, well appointed and friendly. Stands of elms are dropping their seed bearing leaves, they fall like snow so numerous they have banked up in drifts around the Park .
The weather forecast is cycle friendly- gentle breezes from the North West along with a temperature of 23 degrees is expected for tomorrow.