In the early days of rail travel, it was thought that the human body couldn’t withstand speeds in excess of 50 miles an hour. Apparently, doctors claimed that irreparable damage would be done to one’s internal organs. They said we simply aren’t designed to travel fast.
Nowadays, we think nothing of flying across the skies at supersonic speeds or zipping along the highway at 100 kilometers an hour encased in a metal and glass, air-conditioned bubble.
On tour with fully loaded bikes, we travel at an average of 15 km an hour: Part of, not separate from, the natural world we are moving in. My senses have become attuned to the environment. I recognize the fox scent, bird calls, and gecko clicks. I feel the wind and watch the sky. See, hear, smell, touch, taste; embracing it all without fear and accepting what the day’s ride offers.
In the mornings we wait for sunrise before cycling off and know the places where the kangaroos or wallabies are most likely to cross the road. On clear nights we use the Southern Cross as a reference point to study the consolations, sometimes rewarded with a shooting star. Casuarina trees, bloodwoods, and lemon-scented gums all have a particular unique aroma that changes during the course of the day.
Up and down the rises and cuttings, following the colors of the land through a succession of micro-climates.
Cyclists are the natural inheritors of the classic Australian rural legend of the self-sufficient bushman, At one with the world and happy in their own skin taking life as you find it at one with the moment.