Kitabı oku: «Granny by Pushi around in Australia», sayfa 7

Then he grins. He also pumps me neatly much air in the tires, so my Conti tires should only run on the narrow, uppermost trace. I am blown away! Finally my bicycle is roadworthy again. Now I can confidently continue my heavy bicycle tour with a clear conscience and knowledge.

The young man's name is Carrick. His mother is half German and half Russian. He speaks some German. But we talk only in English. And when I ask him what I should pay him for all his time and effort, he says: "Oh, just give me $ 25" pocket money, I offer him, he refuses and smiles kindly at me. Yes, there is such a thing in Australia! From the courtesy and helpfulness of the people here on this giant island, I am constantly surprised and thrilled! With full loaded bicycle I drive under Carrick's waving in the direction he shows me where the Mountaineer shop should be.

I find that even after several kilometers. Geelong is a fairly large city. In the shop there they have rain trousers in Goretex or normal. The Gore-Tex pants costs nearly $ 200. This is an exorbitant price for me. And the other, non-breathing rain pants, the half. But anyway, since I sweat when it rains as a result of my athletic movements, pants are therefore also from the inside wet, because prevents the evaporation of the rain outside, I decide not to buy rain pants.

But then I remember my nightly freezing and ask for a budget, but warm sleeping bag for from 4 ° C cold. He shows me two of them. Both look the same, only the one is reduced by $ 150. This is of course only of interest to me. It will keep me warm up to this cold stage. I buy it, drive straight to the post office and send souvenirs, already used bicycle maps and the light summer sleeping bag home. Three months it has time to go home by sea.

Now with a very good feeling and less luggage on the bicycle, ameliorate me in the right road, the Bellarine Highway, and I role in the cycle lane to the east signposted Queenscliff. Here I want to build up my tent at the caravan park. If anyone should imagine that this highway - just like the other ridden - was said to be flat, then I have to teach all a lesson. It's now up everywhere just uphill and down. Today it was made me even as on the Alaska Highway: After some time, I am so jaded that it no longer takes me to the next mountain I ever see when I have just climbed back a nervous or emotionally. The feeling I suggested from tete. Better that way for me.

But since it is warm and the sun is shining, I roll also this mountainous route and reach Queenscliff early in the afternoon. Upon arrival at the caravan park - behind it lies the Bass Strait, the sea - I am treated like a queen, because I mention there at the front desk that I am straight with my 75 years on the road with my loaded bicycle, to cycle around their big, huge Australia. A couple of friends of the owner can be photographed with me - like the owner -. They wish to buy my book when it is completed in English. And the owner personally takes me to a cabin where I may sleep. She also ordered the book and writes me as girlfriend her email address on, so I can her notify. Of so much kindness today I am blown away.

Over the Mount Martha

13.02.2013: Queenscliff – Hastings: 63 km

In my new sleeping bag, actually a winter sleeping bag, I do not feel cold. So cuddly soft and warm I did not sleep long, long time. At 7.00 clock I leave happy and grateful this regal caravan park, where I was quartered and slept royal. My path leads me in a straight line down to the harbor. The first ferry I have not reached this morning due to my many photos. Is no matter. Soon I see the 7.00 am ferry coming from a distance. The sun is shining from a clear blue sky. The short waves are hitting the shore. There is wind force 6. It really is no matter. I do not want to go with a small sailing ship, yes.

As the first passenger, I can use my bicycle on the big ferry and park on the left side. Soon, I climb to the upper deck. There I sit with another young woman alone in front on the bow. The warm wind blows in my face. My yellow fleece jacket, which I have done healing the zipper again, is warming up. And through my pink blouse the wind can not get through. It is uniquely beautiful here. The crossing takes 45 minutes to Sorrento on the Mornington Peninsula. As the last passenger I push my bicycle from the big ferry. I ask a young man to show me the right road to Mornington. Indeed, it is seen here in two different directions. He shows with his hand onto the left and assured me: "This road goes on completely flat plane." He runs well every now and then with the bicycle: "I counsel, you need to sign up with your mobile phone at the hostel in Cowes."

"My money balance is depleted at the moment. I need a phone shop from Telstra to reload money on it."

He explaines it to me: "Also, there are other shops to buy food." It fits perfectly, because my Weet-Bix and my bunsbread rolls are eaten. I need supplies.

That all young men are thrilled of me with my loaded bicycle, I experienced again and again as now. Stephen askes me a lot about my tour. When I tell him that I think about writing a book, he wrote his email address on a paper. I can notify him immediately the same if it is present for sale.

So I roll off. In fact near the coast I cycle on flat level ahead. Many cyclists race also here along at great speed and greet me with a smile.

And when I find the shopping mile, I push it along to the Telstra shop and let me beam $ 30 to my phone.

Finally I can make calls again. In the next shop I buy food. Thus the panniers are heavier. But what must be, it must be level. Eating in restaurants I can not for financial reasons. My next wish is an internet cafe.

So, now the day may come. My route continues towards Mornington. Then the first turn comes for the route to Hastings. This is the road that leads to the other side along coast. To avoid the short and prolonged mountains - I imagine it - I drive the route to Mornington further north and land on the wide side stripes of the M 11. Makes cycling well. Then the road turns left to Mornington.

But what's coming, that's not exactly to my taste. Now it goes up the Mount Martha. That's what I did not want, but can not turn back. I am already too far in the north. So I turn off the feeling and cycle automatically forward. It is high and getting higher. My bicycle runs well and my legs create the challenge.

When I arrive Mornington - downhill - I am looking for the turn-off to Tyabb. I appear it after some time. But now what will happen to me, is the hardness. An infinite builds up steep mountain in front of me. The road C782 shows no shoulder, not even a narrow edge strip. Boldly I switch to a low gear, then getting easier and easier and easier. But this mountain is not to conquer by me. Approximately the last 100 meters I have to push demoralizes in addition to the strong rush. But this mountain is coming to an end. The next piece, and all the other mountains I can do well and get the caravan park of Hastings in the early afternoon.

Soon my tent is standing in the hot sun. And I am now set for colder weather or at least colder nights with my wonderfully warm sleeping bag. But again, such a warmth or heat?

14.02.2013: Hastings – Newhaven: 45 km

In the night I wake up. Lightning flashes in my tent. Hopefully there is no storm. This line of thought will not let me sleep. If my laundry is already dry? I go out. Yes, it is. I do it into my little lowrider panniers. Then I get the appetite for bread with lots of butter and garlic reports.

At 4:00 am my alarm clock shall wake me up. But it does not. I must have come in the night against the small button. But I wake up that way. Without glasses, it looks as if it is 4.20 clock am. Oh, I think indeed I can slow start packing up my stuff. After some time, everything is there. It grumbles. Hopefully no thunderstorm!

When everything is mounted on my bicycle, I put it up against a house wall, visit again and see the plumbing on my watch. What? It is an hour earlier than I thought?

Outside, it's still totally obscure. The sky is drawn. What should I do now? I have already put my key for the large recreational room into the mailbox of the office. So I have no other choice than - with yellow fleece jacket today in light summer wardrobe - to sit on a chair outside. It blows a chill wind, whistling through my thin bike shorts. So I build up my large plastic bag with the wind blouse and wind vest and put it over my legs. Nevertheless, I continue to feel cold.

Slowly the sky is clearing. As in the dark wild animals are running and jumping over the road, I can not drive off in the dark, yes. Now, the first trucks thunder along on the far thoroughfare. If these drive, no more wild animals come to the road, I realize objectively, get up, attach the large plastic bag back on the rack, put on the lights and push slowly my bicycle to the thoroughfare. Only at the mouth I thrash slowly. I am freezing due to lack of sleep and hope to be warm again by cycling. The yellow fleece jacket keeps me warm, but not the thin bike shorts. It must just go like this.

It takes quite a while before I reach on the harbor in Stoney Point. A smiling employee of the Maritime Administration, who is standing in his house, is interested about my bicycle tour and talks with me about it.

It is still more than an hour before the ferry comes here and will go. The sun comes slowly with its golden rays over the cloud edge. A great sight!

In the café-restaurant I may buy my tickets for me and the bicycle. Now I see a relatively small air-cushion boat control this port.

"This is the ferry," says the worthy love man and hands me a very strong expander if one should break from my two and even a small plastic box with plaster. I thank him. He is obviously happy to have made me happy.

Now still appears a man of an official car and asks me: "Where are you from?"

"From Germany."

"Me too," he says brightly. "I emigrated to Australia in 1960 and I am very happy here."

Then it's time that I push my bicycle to the applied small boat. That swims rather deep alongside the quay. After I removed my many panniers, three young men of the crew pick it down the steps including my panniers and put everything back on the boat. At the onset of sunshine it takes off and runs first to French Island, where all passangers till two women and me go from board. The boat continues its journey to Philip Island where I go off - but only under the assistance of the crew.

I am cold, although my little thermometer shows me 23 ° C. I slept too less and consequently I have no momentum. But it will hopefully come.

This port city is Cowes and is the largest town on the island. From the port, I put my heavy bicycle up the hill into town. According to my map Newhaven the little village is where the hostel is, where I signed up by phone yesterday for one night.

The road runs mostly downhill, not getting what was promised on the phone. That was certainly a driver who never took true the hills. The side stripe is full of small stones. But rather take it slow than come between the cars of the rush hour.

The sun is shining. There is hardly anything new for photographing here, only road information signs.

Before a chocolate factory I stop and walk into it. I need spiritual refreshment. Inside my eyes stick back to English Cream Tea to my great joy. I order it for me. That it is not as good as in England, I do not care. The scones taste definitely just as good. The English tea tastes delicious and builds me up. And the scones caress my heart. I will be a person again.

I slowly roll further, seeking my place in Newhaven and the hostel that I also find after some questions.

When registering, I hear that visiting the penguin parade does not cost $ 15. The price is not together with the minibus transfers. It again costs there $ 30. This is not my budget. This joy I shall forget. And because a bed is cheap in a 12-bed room, I book myself in it.

The spagetti in tomato sauce out of a can do not taste and lie heavy on my stomach. But it is full. So I am tired. I can not buy this food again. In addition, it has become clear to me that I no longer purchases in the future the next morning meal for two days. I will make it like the time on the TransAmerica tour in the USA where we always shopped the food for the evening, morning and during the day just before the finish. In this way, my panniers are facilitated.

Thus writing this my eyes close constantly.

15.02.2013: Newhaven – Foster: 109 km

In the morning I carry very quietly my panniers out of the bedroom and place it next to the elevator. First I eat in the kitchen. With the lift I put all my panniers down to the floor. When I am going to put them onto my bicycle, from somewhere a cockroach is running to me. But yet it should not crawl into one of my panniers! Them I push with one foot always a little further away from it. It bothers tremendously my unpacking. But finally I made it and can push the bicycle forward to the unoccupied desk and past out.

The sun is already shining. My thermometer shows 22 ° C. So it can go! Cheerfully I cycle towards the bridge, after which I have later to turn east. It takes a long time. A long working site I must pass by and with the cars on gravel. But sometimes to the end and the large roundabout on to the East is also visible.

It feels good to ride. The slopes are moderate. I come down to the coast where I can ride along. The morning sun is shining towards me. In Wonthaggi I turn left and drive on to Inverloch. There is currently a cemetery gardener working near the road. And since I am not quite clear, I think today after Foster - south or north - I climb off and ask him about it.

He looks at my map and tells me: "Do not cross over Leongatha. This is too much of a detour. Turn it already half way on to Koonwarra and from there on the main road coming from Leongatha, to the right. The four kilometers go back to the right direction Meeniyan and Fish Creek. In this way you avoid the very high mountain between Meeiyan and Foster. And this route leads along over Fish Creek on a fairly flat landscape."

That sounds good. I thank him and ask, "Where are your ancestors from?"

"150 years ago from England, Scotland and Ireland. My name is John."

We shake hands. Then I cycle on. It's 10 am and the temperature roses to 30 ° C.

Happy, to explain this new and better route, I drive along the B460. Suddenly at the left it is a dead echidnas. I photograph it. A beautiful animal! Too bad that he had to die. Then lie at a greater distance two wombats on the street. Unfortunately, even dead.

Now I reach the junction between Leongatha and Foster, arrange me a traffic awareness and drive south, hoping to turn right. Yes, I think in a bend, do not watch further up the street number and am glad now soon to reach Fish Creek, from where it then goes only to Foster.

The dead wombats previously on the road are not everything that takes me mentally: In a departure I see on the white dashed line in the middle of the road a blue bird that looks like our kingfisher. He was stuck by a car on his rump and can not leave. He stands on his two feet, additionally supported on both sides by his blue wings as props on the road, holding his head fully in the height and stands there with open beak on the road and riveted. It never would be able to live without his backside. Terrible, so an accident of a little bird that has done nothing to anybody. This image will never get out of my head. Some time later is ripping a long lament the silence.

At a new sign I notice that I am on the road to Inverloch. But that can not tackle it. Why that? Right next to me is a Hall of Middle Tarwin. And then everything is clear to me: I should not have take the first turn to the right, but only the second. How should I go now to Foster? All the way back? I do not really want to, but do not back down, according to Inverloch. As I see on my map that here a narrow side road leads to Middle Tarwin to my otherwise correct street. Fortunately I think soon and look forward. Unfortunately, I become slowe down by the strong south wind that aroses at noon.

The road actually goes quite well and approximately 10 km to reach the intersection of Fish Creek. Now the wind was suppressed. I try to bend me as much as possible over my racing handlebar to offer him not so much attack. But that do my panniers enough.

But eventually after a lot of ups and downs to reach Fish Creek, I stop at the roadhouse and drink there a double cup of hot, sweet coffee with milk. Oh, that is good! I buy there also grapes and eat them.

As I stand outside in the Gippsland Highway and begin to move my bicycle up the mountain, two women arrive on their loaded bicycles. While one of them moves to the square left, I talk to the other in English. Somehow for me it was as if they are German and ask: "Where are you from?"

"From Berlin."

That is great! Finally, I can talk in German . When they hear that I want to go to Foster, they decide themselves to lead me to the embankment which is disused and trimmed there for cyclists and walkers. I have heard of this bicycle route at the roadhouse by Sue. But I could not believe this road. But of these two women, Hilde and Barbara, I will know better. They have come this far and they also want to continue it to Foster, because I am heading that way. In the morning their way leads to south and my further east.

I entrust myself to them and roll behind them. This way is a winner for bicyclists like me! The fact is, that the storm can not reach me here, because the forest at both sides. The surface is clean and flat as concrete. But this is just totally tight rolled, white sand.

Since I never cycle on gravel, I get off at road crossings as they roll with their mountain bike tires over it. In this way I stay something back. The last time before Foster I ask Hilde, who is waiting for me, whether she can photograph me via video with my camera. Yes, she does. Finally I have a video of me again.

After about 13 km we reach Foster and drive all three to the caravan park where we share a parking space for rent of $ 40 for us. Soon stands the tent of the two women. For me it takes longer. These two, Barbara and Hilde, were first on New Zealand and had been watching the area by bicycle. Now they want to get to know Australia. They have time till until November. They want to go from here to the Great Ocean Road and later on the Stuart Highway north to Darwin and from there, they hope, also on to Perth. Who knows, maybe we'll meet there together and can pass this difficult course?

I am hungry and eat. It has become cold. I have put my yellow fleece jacket on. What luck, I can slip in my nice warm sleeping bag and sleep after dinner. Crickets are chirping outside.

16.02.2013: Foster – Yarram: 54 km

The night is unusually hot: 20° C. I lay naked on my pad. The good, warm sleeping bag is like a long roll at my back. I can not sleep well. I wake up at 4:00 am, back on, touch my heart and deside just to start. Then I remove my tent inside and stuff everything into the appropriate panniers. The sanitary facilities also receive visits from me. With my loaded bicycle I want to start. A look back to the big, dark tent of the two Berlin women, then I slowly push my bicycle from the caravan park. The black and white bird, the Australian magpie, logs timid. Would it like to say good bye to me?

The sky lightens just at 6.15 am, as I look for the right direction to Yarram. But it brightens up pretty quickly. No wind. But I need my fleece jacket for the slopes, so that the wind will not whistles through "joints and marrow".

It feels good to ride. The route leads through a rightmost panel landscape, while the left is forest. Soon it seems to the left that it looks like there were standing "Scottish mountains" without trees, round and only covered with grass. Today on Saturday the traffic is limited. The road condition is good initially, later scary bad.

In front of Welshpool left hand side of the road an injured wombat is sitting and looks at me for help with his brown globular eyes. I can not help him, but will give to the next man the information about him, so that he calls the Wildlife Aid center to pick him up and maintain let healthy again.

And another route continues an echidnas left on the grass strips around and is looking for food. I of course immediately put my bicycle off to photograph him. He remembers running into the deeper grass, sticks his head in there, only to see is his handsome gold-black-white hedgehog dress. I hope he stays alive. This car traffic on the road, I see no chance of survival for him. But I would not take him high to put him on the other side in the ditch. That would have been the same. And here where he is, is a bush hedge. My hands are tied. I am already sorry.

Today it flutes only now and then an Australian magpie a greeting for me. The road is very, very defective. Vast has holes on it. I would not like driving a car or motorcycle there. I myself can choose well a gap there between with my narrow gauge.

In Alberton, the small town of Yarram ago, a small department store is on the right as everywhere on the road in places where you can eat and buy everything. It's 10 am. Since 4 am I have not eaten. So I imagine my bicycle out to the wall, go in, buy for today and tomorrow, and let give me a sandwich with ham and fried egg.

The hostess asks me: "Where do you want to sleep this night?"

"In Yarram I want to build up my tent on the caravan park. But there it is so terribly expensive."

Since she recommends me: "Look only at the second caravan park, Rosebank, Yarram. Which is much nicer and has a gracious hostess."

I promise and thank her for this good information.

So I cycle off again and reach 6 km later Yarram, where I find this caravan park. Yes, here I can live! The landlady is looking for me for a soft, deep grassy place for which I need to pay only $ 17.50 per night. Therefore here I want to have my weekly rest day tomorrow.

When my tent is standing, I grab my little computer and I want to see if my friends have written. But my eyes fall close like always. So I go into my tent and go to sleep.

Unfortunately, this tent space has a big disadvantage, that it is in the scorching sun and my tent was along with me. I was so tired and I lay down to sleep in it, fried. I wake up soaking wet with sweat. Along my body the sweat flows down in the towel, I now always put on my pad. But since I am only wearing a bra and panties, I can not leave my tent, because the dripping wet body, I can not draw dry clothes on it. So it is, I have to wait until the sun disappears behind the tree edge in front of my tent in direction west. The australian magpie flutes a song for me. I love it.

I have it behind me. What a blessing. Sweating should be healthy yes. My towel is soaking wet and my body dried again. There are no longer 40 ° C in my tent, but "only" 27 ° C. Really enjoyable.