Rockhampton to Bundy Bash

North West Island

We all hear stories of the difference between potential and reality, and as an eternal optimist I guess I spend most of the time dwelling on the potential side of things which suits me fine.  Sometimes however, reality jumps up and bites me firmly on the backside.

Some of my most treasured cruising destinations lie in the stretch of water between Hervey Bay, north to the Whitsunday Islands. Included in the area are places that are inaccessible to people without boats and the ability to be self sufficient. There is no tourist investment so they are not promoted by anyone. Places like the Percy and Duke Islands in the North are beautiful anchorages lined with white sand and water clear enough to see the array of marine life that happens to float by. Below them are Port Clinton and Island Head Creek which are off limits at certain times because they happen to lie in the middle of a military training reserve, but when the military are not wreaking havoc are stunning locations that seem a world away from the exercises that get carried out there.

Just below them are the Bunker Group of which most of the pretty Islets are off limits in a strict marine park environment save for a couple of gems. These include North West Island, Lady Musgrave and Lady Elliot  

Lady Musgrave Island

With Razzamatazz, my friends beautiful Bavaria 48 foot yacht, sitting in Yeppoon and needing to come south on its way to Sydney, I gladly volunteered my services, dreaming of the opportunity to spend some quality time in this magic part of the world. I sold the concept to Eva with a plan for a leisurely cruise down to Lady Musgrave Island for an overnight stop and the chance to take a bottle of wine to the beach and watch the turtles nest on the remote shore at sunset. Maybe, with a good run we could even find time for some snorkeling on the reef. I always enjoy negotiating the small entrance into the lagoon and anchoring with a 360º view of the ocean crashing onto the reef protecting the turquoise water inside, miles away from civilisation and free from the world.  The second day plan was a run into Hervey Bay via  the waters off Platypus Bay, playground of the whale's who stop there with their calfs to build up enough strength before making the long journey into antarctic waters. Both of these trips I have done several times before and although a longish stretch, the Razzamatazz is a bigger and faster boat capable of covering the distances.
Part of these exercises is the logistics of a one way trip to the boat and then transport back to your  vehicle home. In this case we were already at the finish end so it was a simple matter of a Greyhound bus from Hervey Bay with a driver that passed away the boredom of the 7hr run by giving commentary all the way to Rockhampton. As with my experience of these things we arrived in Rockhampton at 7.20pm with the last connecting bus leaving for Yeppoon at 6.30 leaving us with a $150 cab fare out to the coast. Undeterred, on arrival at the Rocky coach terminal Eva negotiated with a backpacker company picking up two people in a bus heading for Emu Park for us to hitch a ride with them,  leaving us with a much cheaper taxi fare at the other end. Our driver, a young English lad, keen to catch up with his mates at the pub after the run put his foot to the floor and we rattled and bounced our way through the darkness only to see the blue flashing lights of the local police who didn't seem to appreciate his cavalier enthusiasm. Eventually we were dropped into Emu Park, a small village which was deserted by this time (9.00 pm)

Percy Island 

Eventually a cab ferried us to the marina where we busily prepared for our early morning departure.
By the time my 3am alarm rang out the sound was lost to the rumbling of the diesel engine as we motored out of Rosslyn Bay Marina and straight into 15knots of wind on the nose! The forecast was still insisting that the breeze would back further to the east and my hope was that as daylight warmed up the land, we might actually see it backing further again from the north, giving us our armchair ride south. My hopes were still not dented as a storm cloud swallowed up the sunrise and then soaked us for the privilege!
The Keppel Islands slid relatively effortlessly behind us as we punched our way on. It was apparent even then though that my hope of Lady Musgrave was not going to happen. Never mind I thought, my back up plan was almost as nice. Pancake creek lay not too far south of Gladstone and would provide great shelter surrounded by lovely beaches and a magnificent headland, so I altered course and soon enough we were crossing the Tropic of Capricorn. I have always been fascinated by this circle of latitude even as a small boy. There a 5 significant circles of latitude including the equator, tropic of cancer north, the tropic of capricorn south and the the two poles. The tropic of capricorn represents the most southern latitude that the sun can appear directly overhead. Sitting at approximately 23º south of the equator we share the circle with the Andes in Argentina and  Chile, the Kalahari desert in Namibia and the Kruger National Park in South Africa. (forgive me for not mentioning them all) and I always feel the need to acknowledge its crossing even when I fly over it by plane. Cape Capricorn, our landmark, is a steep, barren headland that people attempted to settle on a long time ago and there are still visible remnants of the carving of rocks and lines that were layed to tie the ships alongside and drag the materials up the the steep embankment to build the lighthouse and small community that existed to keep the beacon lit.

Cape Capricorn

On this day however, it was overcast and the whitecaps persisted in blowing the spray onto our  demoralised faces.
Having passed the cape we altered course enough for us to be able to pull some sails up and we motor sailed right down Curtis Island and the entrance of Gladstone Harbour. A major shipping channel, we needed to pull the sails in and slog our way into the tide throwing up a short and nasty chop reducing our headway to crawling pace.
As the sun began to sink alarmingly close to the horizon it was clear we were not going to make either Pancake Creek or the small town of 1770 by nightfall. The good news was that the coast veered significantly south allowing us to turn the motor off and sail. Not only was this significant for our sanity, it also helped relieve the  problem that we did not have enough fuel to motor all the way to our destination.
The sailing did wonders for Eva's seasickness and she perked up immediately even to the point she insisted on cooking us a beautiful and much appreciated dinner which we ate as the sun sunk below the horizon. With the last dashes of pink in the sky I was wondering how far we could get before the sun reappeared on the eastern horizon.

Sunset off Bustard Head (Pancake Creek)

Really? Its 3 o'clock!!

Unfortunately it wasn't long before the breeze veered back into the south east, the same direction we needed to go and the long dark night passed closing in on the unlit shoreline before digging back out to sea, forcing us to sail two miles for every one gained in our southerly quest.
I have never been so grateful to see the first signs of light penetrate what was a pitch black night sky giving me my first point of reference for the past 12hrs.



And so my question from sunset last night was answered. Exactly 16.7nm north of Bundaberg was the answer and so my next decision was made through the fog of three hours sleep in the last 40 odd hours. We needed to pull into Bundaberg for fuel, with a decision as whether to continue or not made after that.
In an attempt to preserve the alarming low amount of fuel we had left, we inched our way painfully into the breeze which was rapidly building again into our frustrated faces.
At 10.45 we finally tied up at the marina, where once the boat secured I fell asleep with the soft clean pillow approaching my salty unshaven skin, but I was in no mood to care, it could be washed later!
The boat is safe and I'll be back next when the wind direction has a N in it!!

Sunrise video

As probably most of you by now would have figured out, each morning I get up and trot down to the beach and take a photo of the sunrise. Why do I do it?
Well, for a start its not to try and make anyone jealous or prove any silly games of one up man ship, its because I am an early riser by nature and I find so much solace in that part of the day. No matter what has happened the day before this is a new day! It is a clean slate free from any of the baggage or emotions from the past. It is ready for us to make of it what we will. I get so much peace at that time of the morning and am constantly amazed by how many days are spectacular.
 So my friends, this is my humble little offering to those who care to take the time to have a look each day or at this video to such an apt song. I hope you find it inspiring, beautiful or even just a time for a few deep breaths to remember how good life really is.
thank you
David
sunrises (please click on this)

Ps. This is my first attempt at posting a link so I hope it works. Please let me know if it doesn't happen!

Strength, fitness and flexibility

Looking at my blog site Bikram yoga is the first thing that I mention. I was thinking of changing it around as at the moment I am trying to take a more balanced approach to life and not go five nights a week as I have for the past eighteen months. Then I got absolutely hammered in a recent class and as I showered after, I remembered, this is why its front and centre in my blog header!

I was always skinny

I was always the tall, skinny one growing up. The beanpole who looked like I would break in half if someone looked at me the wrong way!  As a youngster I would somehow curl up on whatever boat I was sailing taking my cue from the ropes on deck. Even as I left high school I was 190cm and still couldn’t manage to raise the scales to 60kg wringing wet. 

My only saving grace was that in yachting leverage is everything and the fact that my disproportionate, lanky legs allowed my to swing further out from the centre line meaning boats could be sailed flatter and faster

Just after leaving high school I moved into a much bigger, faster class of boat, and although having filled out a little I simply wasn’t strong enough to deal with the class’s extra weight and pressures. Really wanting to break into the class I took myself off to the gym and took a season to prepare myself for the extra challenge. Over the next ten years I was able to excel and I prided myself on being one of the fittest and strongest sailors competing. 

Trouble was, I only trained specifically for my boating, focusing on upper body strength. Allowing my torso to remain straight and my arms to do all the work meant I utilized my leverage to the maximum. That however came at a cost. I had no flexibility, and as my strength built I would constantly be dealing with niggling injuries and despite the best efforts of my physio’s, stretching remained boring and just not on my radar. To make matters worse I had an accident on the water that involved spending half a day in hospital with no movement in my legs, forcing me to consider life as a paraplegic. Luckily it was just a shock reaction and full movement returned but my back would never be the same again.

My sailing career in full flight 

Middle age spread is a term I hear bandied around a lot. Apparently its an insidious disease that has no cure and just cannot be stopped. After retiring from my professional sailing career and getting involved in more domestic life the weight suddenly piled on. Being tall I could carry the extra 50 odd kg with no more than empathetic understanding from peers going through the same problems. I hated it and knew that despite the social understanding of its occurrence I had to do something about it.

Although divorce perhaps not the most desired solution, it certainly has the benefit of weight loss, well, for me at least. Living on my yacht again I had never plumbed in hot water so each morning for 6 months I would lie in bed thinking, I can stay here for an extra  hour and have a cold wash out in the open, or I can get up, go to the gym and enjoy a warm shower after. Funnily enough, at the end of that time I had hardly missed a day in the gym, and long after the hot water had been installed I was in such a routine and could see such a difference that I was addicted to my morning workout.

So here I am. I've been skinny, fit, fat and now bulked up and strong. I stretched just enough to keep injuries at bay although my back periodically still played up on me.

As the cycle of life continued to turn I became more and more interested in yoga. John, a work colleague was training to be included in the Australian track and field team and was a huge inspiration. I kept meeting people who’s life perspective and body form I admired all sung the praises of this mystical and passive exercise I didn’t understand. 

All the universes aligned when I met my partner Eva. She is a yoga junkie whose journey had led her to Bikram Yoga. 

Bikram yoga is a series of 26 postures all done in a room heated to 40º with 40% humidity.

I was assured there was no chanting or weird stuff, just a good solid 90minute workout.

Lying on my towel covered mat in the dense heat reminded me of being in the tropics on a really hot day, and as I prepared for my first class I closed my eyes and thought about swaying palm trees and surf crashing on white, sandy beaches. Turns out I was the only thing swaying as I huffed and puffed my way through 90minutes of discomfort! Whilst everyone around me seemed to rotate gracefully and almost effortlessly into these impossible positions, all I could think was, I can press 130kg and pulldown 280kg, how come I cant stand here with my arms over my head for a few minutes! 

And so began my journey in life with yoga. I have since included some more traditional yoga to help improve my understanding of the postures but am drawn to the heat and challenge of the heated studio. I am still nowhere near  the most flexible person in the room and it would be so much easier to give up and go back to a gym and the familiar rewards it offers, but that is not my path. I have also been able to take away so many lessons into my life outside the room I often wish that I had started a lot earlier.

  The breath is such an important part of life. We all do it all day, every day, so the ability to stop struggling and allow what we have so naturally to take us places our will power never can is, and probably always will be my biggest source of learning and wonder! 

      We have such a strong core. It holds our body together and allows us grace and fluidity, yet we focus on muscles and external power to the detriment of the source that makes everything else possible. Not using our core is like treating the symptom rather than the cause, but like most things important remains in the background and needs to be sought. Once tended to, will help solve so many other issues.

      Integrity of posture has always been a mystery to me. Like most of us, I tend to be goal orientated and so when someone says for example, touch your toes I struggle and strain to touch my toes and I get frustrated because I can’t. The situation and ego is made worse when seemingly everyone around can flex so effortlessly which makes me struggle even further, when really it doesn’t matter, what matters is the journey to the toes, being kind to my super long legs and just breathing till I can. 

One of the things I have had trouble getting my head around is the whole concept of using postures to cut off circulation to specific parts of the body (internally and externally) before lying down to let fresh oxygenated blood rush into the starved organ/limb to help revitalize and heal it. With that is part of the dialogue which says posture is more important to depth. My egotistical world of striving for maximum depth just means that because the posture hasn’t been achieved the circulation has not been cut so the healing benefits are not maximized. So I have to swallow ego and constantly adjust for alignment and breath whilst allowing depth to find itself (despite the fact that the person alongside has effortlessly folded themselves in half!).

Yoga is a journey!

When I trained at the gym I could not seem to dip below 100kg. Instructors assured me it was because muscle is heavier than fat and so not to worry. Still ,some of the little rolls remained and didn’t want to shift. Eva, who is a nutritionist changed my diet completely, basically removing all sugar from the diet. What happened was nothing short of amazing. With no weights the bulk quickly disappeared and suddenly maintaining 80kg was no problem. What also went were the sugar highs and lows that have dominated my whole life! 

Although the bulk disappeared my strength remained as the benefits of yoga lengthening and redefining muscle tone kicked in. Still paddling my surf ski, I actually started going faster as I began to utilize chore and muscle without the burden of weight and bulk.

After two years of Bikram Yoga at Noosa and Nundah (both fantastic studios) I am by no means an expert and the steps forward are small, but the journey is evolving and I am constantly amazed at what the human body is capable of. From just being able to get my hands down past my knees, on a good day I can actually touch my toes. More importantly, in two years I have not had any back trouble, and I feel healthier than ever before. There are so many good and beautiful experiences to be had out in that big oyster called life and yoga has become an integral part of the shell!

Namaste

Two boys on two wheels continued- Melbourne to Noosa

Beautiful NSW South Coastline

    As we cruise up the highway the road is straight and smooth. I can feel the warmth of the sun through my leather jacket and on my thighs covered in Kevlar and denim. The warm air funnels up through the bottom of my jeans and open visa on my helmet. The intercom is quiet as we both lose ourselves reflecting on the past eight days as we effortlessly cover the final 60km’s of our journey from Melbourne home to Noosa spanning 2000km as the crow flies but closer the 2500 following the coastal route we embarked on. It is such a pleasant change from the rain and freezing temperatures we experienced winding through the mountains yesterday and we are in no real hurry to reach the end point.

This time last year Cooper and I undertook our first major bike trip around northern NSW. I remember at the conclusion there had been   an unmistakable bond despite the long hours of silence. This ride  seemed to have built on that.

 “what was the most exciting thing about the trip?” I ask.  

“Definitely running out of petrol and having to hitch a lift to and from the bike” he answers 

enthusiastically.

        “Best part of the ride?” I push

“Riding with Mark across the Harbor Bridge” is the immediate response.

        “Most fun?”

“Going Ice skating and playing with Mia and Eva’s rabbits”

        “Worst part?”

“Yesterday in the cold and rain”

I agree with him.

It seemed hard to believe that eight days ago we boarded a Qantas plane from Brisbane early in the morning, arriving in a chilly Melbourne airport, immediately reaching for the jumpers we had dutifully packed in the warmth of QLD spring. After picking up the bike we grabbed some lunch and set up our new intercom system made available by the full helmets appropriate for such a trip

Our first stop was across town at some old friends of mine. The last time I had seen Jonathon and Julie they had one baby who slept in the pram as we stayed up late watching Hey Hey its Saturday and then rage (music video show) on TV till the wee hours of the morning. Today as we pull up out the front of their house Joshua is busy with University studies and their other three children are fine young adults. We have only a brief time together and with sadness we left for our first stopover, Philip Island.

Philip Island is home to a colony of penguins that at this time of year come ashore, walking up the sand over to mate and lay their eggs in the dunes protected from the southerly winds that on this night chill to the bone. After seeing the first few rafts make the dash up the beach we decide to follow their lead and head for the protection offered on the sheltered side of the tourist filled stands. I was pleased to see them, but after our ride and with our garments not stopping the cold winds from penetrating to the core, having to face so many tourists was more than enough and I was pleased to head back to the local Pizza shop for dinner and finally to the Seahorse Hotel which was our home for the night.

Indeed the morning revealed Philip Island to be a beautiful, green and open Island with a country community feel to it as we walked into town for breakfast and then proceeded to its other international landmark....its race circuit.

Philip Island Town

Hosting the Moto GP motorbikes in mid October each year there is also a host of other motor sport activities during the year and we cruised the perimeter unable to take a lap as it is basically closed to the public.

The next leg took us through some spectacular countryside on our passage to Lakes Entrance. On the way we managed to find a detour out to Wilson’s Promontory. It is officially the last point before leaping off across the Bass Strait to Tasmania and harked into to my sailing days so I was curious to get a land perspective. It was a spectacular National Park with a beautiful camping area at Tidal River at the end of the promontory. It was a shame that we could not spend more time exploring out here and I would love to come back

Road out to Wilson's Promontory

I don’t want to let out this little secret but I feel I must let you in. Governments seem hell bent on building bigger, straighter highways that are quicker and safer and more accommodating. Having steered all the traffic here they spend all their resources policing and slowing people down leaving long, straight passages devoid of any character or even towns. The only respite seems to be mega service stations with a plethora of fast food convenience stores to fill stomachs at the same rate as the cars tanks.

The good news is however, that the old highways are well kept and far more interesting roads. Sure, there aren’t as many passing opportunities, but then again you don’t need as many because there are less people to pass. They also lead through delightful little towns that appreciate the people who make the effort to say hello.

The signs are there, brown rectangles usually marked as tourist drives or scenic routes. Every now and again we took one that lead out to a beach or vantage point and involved a small dig back, but even then someone was always there to give you the tip of a better locals road to get wherever you wanted. Before ending up at Yarram we had a beautiful ride through towns such as Venus Bay, Sandy Point and Foster. Having spent the day fossicking around these towns it was time to push on to Lakes Entrance and as the south east er blew in and the afternoon sun quickly lost its heat we settled into our cabin at the caravan park with fish and chips and a hot shower.

The Morning broke clear and warm without a hint of the breeze that made the evening so uncomfortable. We enjoyed stretching our legs and walking into town for our morning meal.

Flowering Australian Wattle

Lakes Entrance Marina

Blacks swan and sonates

Keen to get moving we left Lakes Entrance for another legendary fishing town, this time over the border into NSW- Eden. This whole ride was basically through national park and involved a 50km detour from Genoa into Mallacoota another town with a reputation for its sleepy beauty.  

Having filled up at Yarram the day before we left thinking we could get fuel at a number of towns on the way. Having passed through Orbost I thought I would get fuel at the next town. That was fine except that it turns out the next town with fuel was Cann’s River 60km away and we had enough to get us around 48km!  The ensuing 48km was spoilt as we came into “town” after “town” with a small cafe but no petrol! Eventually we coughed and spluttered to an untimely halt as the tank dried out and we reluctantly pushed my pride and joy onto the side of the road and began thumbing a ride into town. I must say that this was totally new territory for Cooper and there was a slight panic in his demeanor which turned into fascination as the next car that came past stopped and gave us a ride into town. Queenslander’s on their own adventure they took us in their stride and although their names and details are lost we will always appreciate their kindness and generosity.

Even the wildlife enjoy the view!

The United Service station at Cann’s River was much better prepared than us, and as we sheepishly approached them they pulled a Gerry can of the shelf and, as if it happens all the time(which they assured us it does)  thrust it toward me and asked for my credit card as security. Having filled the canister we got a lift with some guys overloaded with dirt bikes returning to Melbourne from a wild weekend and in less than half an hour was back by the bike. Cooper was in awe of these guys and was so excited to have had a ride with them. 

With a full tank of fuel we were on our way again thankful that no further incident had occurred and a new protocol for refilling was established!

Mallacoota

I have the bike book by Henna called 200 top rides which dedicates 6 lines to the 27km between Genoa and Mallacoota. It was one of the nicest rides so far and deserved more space. A good road full of twists and bends with minimal traffic through State Forest was both beautiful and fun and passed all too quickly. Camping at Mallacoota is on the river where the park has accommodated the fishing boats with pylons for campers to moor their boats to. A short walk takes you into the small but ample shops for all the requirements you could need. At the end of the river waves crashed on the beach providing the perfect backdrop.

Beautiful camping site

Despite the distance needed to travel each day we seemed to be constantly on the move and so all too soon it was time to hit the road. As sad as it was to leave we were excited about the prospect of the ride back to Genoa and then on to Eden. Having crossed the border into NSW we checked into the Fountain Caravan park in good time and loved both the setting and size of our cabin in this open green park filled with the sound of bell birds. Situated on Lake Curaio there is a boardwalk that leads out to the beach and a connected walkway along the sandy beach littered with people fishing. 

Eden Fishing Wharf

Our morning exploration took us down to the fishing wharf, the maritime museum and Twofold Bay. The riding over the past three days had been so scenic and fun that I thought it couldn’t possibly get any better but Eden’s special atmosphere was not left lingering for too long as the ride to Ulladulla led our way through beautiful national parks down to stunning beaches and pretty towns such as Pambula,Merrimbula, Bermagui,Bateman's Bay and Mogo. The days ride finished all too quickly and we pulled into our cabin in Ulladulla complete with a mini putt putt course which Cooper was keen to take full advantage of. 

Twofold Bay

Memorial to lost sailors

    The morning broke with ominous clouds and the feeling that the winds of change was in the air. We left Ulladulla at eight with a special mission.

An old friend Mark and I had caught up recently at a family gathering. We used to ride sports bikes a life time ago and although our choice of bike may have changed over the years, the desire for a road trip had not diminished and hearing of our adventure had taken the day off and ridden down early from Sydney to meet us at Kiama. Known for its blowhole that funnels the swells that crash into the rocks and converts them into a massive explosion of spray enhanced by the booming sound that reverberates around the ledge! With the roads damp and sky overcast we spent a fantastic day riding through Wollongong with a special section of road built out over the water to avoid the rockfalls from the cliffs that has covered the old road.  That lead up to Stanwell Tops giving a wonderful vista of the cliff faces north bordering the Royal National Park  plunging into the deep blue Pacific Ocean.

View from Stanwell Tops

The Royal National Park, established in 1879 is the worlds 2nd oldest national park behind Yellowstone in the USA. It was heritage listed in 2006 protecting its 15,091 hectares from the continuous urban sprawl of Sydney only 32km to the north. We spent the day negotiating its moss covered roads blocked from the sun by a canopy of trees. Lunching at  Bundeena tucked away opposite Cronulla beach and looking down Port Hacking it was hard to believe that the city was so close.

With the clouds giving way to light rain we rode into Sydney
 and to Coopers delight we passed the Opera house and crossed over the coat hanger (Sydney Harbor Bridge)riding side by side under the massive grid of grey steel arching way over our heads. Heading over to the Northern Beaches we said goodbye to Mark and continued to the Schaffler’s house at Church Point. Michael is Coopers God father and been my closest friend for twenty years. Rebecca, his beautiful wife along with Mia and Eva his daughters were waiting expectantly for us.  Cooper bonded immediately with the girls enjoying the  relaxed atmosphere.

Cooper,Mia and rabbits

With a wet and windy day forecast we decided to give our backsides a break and stay for the next day. All the kids had a great time playing with their rabbits and cats, only broken by the prospect of a session at the ice skating rink. Whilst Cooper went with the girls to the rink I cleaned the bike and caught up with a good friend from work.

Day 7 looked distinctly brighter and less windy than the day before so after some sad farewells we picked our way through Ku ring gai National Park, usually filled with cyclists up to the highway north. Our only stop off was to show Cooper the house I grew up in. 

One of my claims to fame is having grown up with the Jackman family. Cricket, football, frizbees and playing in our pool with a young Hugh, who could have ever guessed he would become an international movie star and all round hunk of the world!!

Gotta love hotels with these!

View from the top of Gloucester Range

Taking an exit off the freeway we headed out for  a more sedated pace taking the back road out to Gloucester via Lake Maquarrie, Hunter Valley and Stroud through a scenic if not bumpy road north. It seems that after all the energy expended at the Schaffler’s it was prudent to stay in the town famous for its bush ranger Captain Thunderbolt and its early gold exploration.

The next morning looked decidedly threatening as we rode out of town preparing to take on the Gloucester Mountain range that took us to the plain land leading to Walcha and Armidale. Having reached the summit we took some pics before what turned out to be our most miserable ride of the trip. Having told Cooper about the long, flat country full of horses, cows and sheep he was sold the sucker punch as the rain began to fall as steadily as the temperature dropped. By the time we had completed the 150km to Walcha we were so wet and frozen that it took me ten minutes to thaw out my hands enough to remove my helmet and another hour and a half ( and two coffees and a hot chocolate ) to get to a point where I could even consider riding again. Fortunately the rain eased and we were satisfactorily thawed enough to continue to Armidale where, although really pretty we pressed on, making a bee line for the drop down into Dorrigo and the promise of warmer temperatures. Cooper was a trooper through this and I appreciated his unwavering enthusiasm despite being cold and wet. I was very proud of him and his attitude.

Del Fuego - Worlds smallest motorbike museum

Dorrigo sits on the top of the dividing range and overlooks the volcanic perimeter down to the coast. it is also home to Del Fuego, the worlds smallest motor cycle museum. As the sun began to dry the road and warm our souls we stopped here just as we had on our trip last year and considered it an annual pilgrimage. We changed  into some warm dry clothes and watched the football Grand Final. 

Rest stop by Mclean River

The final run of the day took us down the other side of the range on a small, windy, soft edged and mostly unmarked road through sub tropical rain forest through to Grafton on the edge of the Mclean River. I was so exhausted both mentally and physically that by the time we settled into our hotel room, a cup of warm tea and biscuits were all I could manage before we both found solace in the warmth of our cosy beds.

The last day of our adventure broke without a hint of precipitation from the day before. We decided to bypass the national park through Mt Warning and the Gold Coast and take a leisurely cruise home.