Trust a local or trust the map?

I certainly didn't spring out of bed on Day 3, but unlike days when I say to myself 'I'm going to get up early and go for a ride' and hit the snooze button and remain snug in own bed, I woke at 5.30am with no hesitation of getting up.  In factone thing I like about this trips is you HAVE to get out of bed and ride.  

In a stupor I slapped on the last remaining Assos chamois cream/ass butter, pulled on my hand laundered C.T. kit ,  stumbled down the pub stairway in the dark.

The sprinklers in the park across the way was the only sign of life. I rolled a short way down the main street and found a beacon of hope - The Narra Bakery.

Ordered my now standard triple of HCT sandwiches, muffin and coffee.  Ate, with minor thoughts flickering between my ears.  Tired, sore, hungry.

It seemed a little darker than the previous morns and a quick look at my watch, and clock on the wall showed half an hour difference. I'd travelled through time!   I set upon my steed as the town garbo's stepped in to order their breakfast.

As I left Narra',  passing the sign indicating all the next towns on the route the wind changed momentarily and it was pushing me.  Elation!  The temptation to motor along was quickly dismissed, and just as quickly I found the wind in my face again. Perfect circles of lavender crops was a nice distraction from the sweeping curves of of burnt tread on the bitumen.

For the trainspotters, here is the map of the actual route taken (as opposed to resting in Goolwa where the day's ProTour TDU had ended)

View Larger Map

The loneliness of the road was apparent this morning. It was dark, and not helped by the blanket of heavy cloud that tempted to burst.  I decided to listen to 'country radio/ABC News' and found the voices in my ear a pleasant distraction.  Even if the news was on relevant to thearea, it was an insight to how isolated people are in the country.  Thephone reception had been consistently poor as soon as I got out ofBallarat, and it was quite often none at all. The lavendar crops hadbeen replaced by rows of grape vines as far as the eye could see.  Iwas in Keppoch Valley, home to many of Australia's wines ofdistinction. 

Often when you reach a little town such as Padthaway you are given a choice of places to 'dine'.  The GeneralStore or the Petrol Station/Deli in the case of Padthaway. 

I chose the later, and was greeted by Chopper's doppelganger.  I asked 'Chop' if I could fill my bidons using his tap. 

'Nope.'

'You're on tap water? '

'Yes.'

After ordering two HCT toasties an apple and banana and the biggest bottle of water from Uncle Chop Chop - I paused for a second and decided to ask his thoughts on directions to Meningie.

'Why'd you want to go there?'

'Well, Im going to go Goolwa and it seemed like the best way there'

'You're mad.  The road is terrible, it goes up and down and up and down. Your best bet is to go to Wellington via Tailem'

Bearing in mind that Chop had been in a very good paddock, and probably not turned a pedal since 5 I dismissed his course immediately. 

'But it said it was flat on the map?   Oh well, where's the next place I can get water?'

This led to a brief history of the area, and how towns were set a distance of 50km apart, or back in the day a day's travel by horse. 

Uncle Chop had me thinking... Would the road REALLY be bad? 

It was a unexciting slog along a very straight stretchs of flat road with the invisible enemy a constant reminder to keep push/pulling on the pedal all the way to Keith.

It was at this point of the day, around 11am when I had reached my planned destination for this solo epic.  Not to let that get me down, since day three had always been the shorter day I found the biggest bakery in Keith and ordered lunch.

Toasted chicken avocado foccacia, Shepherds pie, muffin, coffee gatorade.   Numbly munching down on the food before me, there was a crash outside.  The Bakery's A frame sign and been blown into the middle of the street by the wind.

(fookin great...)

I watched as folks looking like Michael Jackson as they leaned into the huge gusts of wind.  Someone was watching, and laughing at me I was sure of it. Knowing full well that sitting on my hands was only going to make things harder, I swallowed my last bite and hit the road, bars pointed straight into the teeth of my enemy.

Another pain in my saddle was Duke's Highway.  No longer following the lesser taken Riddoch, I had many a truck coming in both directions.  I should mention that given the opportunity EVERY truck passed me in the right lane.  Forget what you've heard, these are the gentleman of the road, or maybe it's because I give them a wave (a cycling tip I passed on to Wade)

The most ridiculous thing I saw today, and didn't take a photo of was the 'WATCH FOR CYCLISTS' sign that was totally blocked from view by a tree.    

 Unlike yesterday, today was no visual feast.  It was flat, and dull would be a kind description.  The Silos along the railway would indicate another town/place to stop for water but gone were the undulating hills, and country lanes.

This was a slog.

Tintinara was the next port and I stopped into the supermarket for a banana (unripe), apple, and chocolate ice cream.

As I went through the checkpoint I could hear a drumming on the roof.

'Is that rain?'

'Yep, there's a storm coming' 

With the floury taste of banana in my mouth I decided it was time for coffee.   $3.90 and it was probably the worst of the trip.  I took my time over it, stretched the legs, and watched the coffee sign flap in the breeze while thunder cracked overhead. Again, I was faced with the obvious solution to the problem, and sitting on my hands wasn't it. Into the storm I go.

The great thing about the high wind was the storm quickly swept by, and revealed a gorgeous day and extremely hot sun.

I stopped at the Coonalpyn Garage against a corrugated iron fence to fill my bidon.

I lady approached me from the garage with a water bottle.

'Is there something wrong with the water?' I asked.

'No, just thought you might enjoy this more.'

The single act of generosity from a complete stranger made my day, and was a highlight of the trip.

The pedals felt lighter, and at this point I had to decide.  Do I take the road WEST to Meningie, or follow the road N.WEST to Tailem onto Wellington.

I looked down the road in the direction of Meningie (50km) and the wind had an audible roar to it. I looked to the windmills, a blur of iron blades.

Easy decision.

Trucking with the cross wind to Tailem was the course, and deal with the headwind at the turn to Wellington (10km). It was around this time that I realised the GPS on my phone calculated distance 'as the crow flies'.  From Coonalpyn, Tailem and Wellington were the same distance... but I know that was not possible as the turn for Wellington was AT Tailem.  The GPS was a great aid, but I quickly learned that locals don't lie, and the roads signs only lie a little.

For the distance that stretched the way to Tailem I was leaning into the wind, fighting with the bike to keep it upright.  This was like wheel boxing and the wind kept punching from the left, throwing me closer to the procession of trucks and cars flying by.  Somehow I clawed my way to Tailem and made the final turn into the wind to Wellington (10km).

That distance might usually take you 20 minutes, but with the wind literally halting me on the bike, I was lucky to nudge 15kph.  I fought tooth and nail all the way to the punt at Wellington.  My goal (The Pub) in sight.

(Massive sigh of relief)

I told the punt driver I'd come from Narracoorte and he exclaimed how his brother rode from Sydney to Adelaide in 4 days, a week before his 63rd birthday.

I later discovered in the pub that the punt driver was full of it, and that if I'd taken the original course via Meningie, the Peninsula to Hindmarsh Island, and across to Goolwa I would have been great dissapointed.

'Why's that?'

'There is no bridge to Goolwa. Not even a boat!  You would have had to have ridden all the way back around'

I was devastated. 

I ordered another shandy from the bar to wash down the last of my parma.

Bridge or no bridge I was on target to reach Willunga Hill for tomorrow's stage of the ProTour, and though tired I felt pretty good.

Another day, another 250km... No big deal.

I was getting the hang of it.  I'd ridden in 3 days what the Pro's were riding in the whole Tour Down Under.  Not to mention they did it in a bunch, with support vehicles, and not having to carry 7kg on their back.  They did it at twice the pace, but they were packing carbon.

Officially my TDU was over, but there was another day to Adelaide proper, watchin' the big boys race, and a mere 150km to come.  

HEY!  Aren't you Lance Armstrong?

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To think he used to ride a Merckx.... 

On a side note, if anyone has travelled between Goolwa and Meninge I'd love to hear about it ;)

Melburn's Premier Cycle Rallye.

For those of you who have been there since the beginning when Ugly and I organised a the 1st Melburn Roobaix in 2006, you have probably been waiting for this moment, maybe even more than Christmas.

In 2006 I was shocked when we reached the entry limit of 100.  Then 200 in 2007.  300 in 2008.  400 in 2009...

One this is certain.  It is always different.

All I can say at this stage is it will NOT coincide with the other Roubaix.

Need a taster?

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