A week after the broken crank incident at O'Reilly's, I decided to join some friends to hike the finally re-opened Warrie Circuit in Springbrook National Park. It was closed for two years because of a landslide, and after the rain in the week leading up to this day, I thought they might close it again. Fortunately, that hadn't happened by the time I got up there. Of course, I was also hoping the ride up the mountain and back would be clear of mechanical problems, after three on consecutive weekends, I figured I was due for a change of luck.
That wasn't on the cards as it turned out, this time a brake pad slid out of the shoe, which hampered my braking on the 19% descents after ascending Best Of All Lookout at the summit. I'm just glad I decided not to try to overtake the car that held me up on the way down (before I had discovered the problem). Still, at least this one didn't stop me from completing the ride, or the hike. The waterfalls turned on a spectacular display, among the best I've seen at Springbrook (which is saying something), along with wildflowers and the occasional bit of wildlife not seen anywhere else.
Along the way we passed the bottom of the famous Goomoolahra Falls (immediately below), at the top of which some idiot got drunk one night and walked off the cliff (despite it being fenced), and fell 100 metres to his death. There was no danger of that today, but it's been a long time since I was able to access the lower part of the falls. It was certainly worth waiting for. A memorable day at one of my favourite places in the world. The only downside was a leech bite that got infected and hung around for a while. That said, it didn't stop me riding a century a week later (ride report to follow).
(note from mom: some of you have asked for pix of Sammie and Avalon, so here are a few of "day in the life...")Back to ME: I'm totally flummoxed by this new thing that seems to dwell here now. But I'm starting to get used to her, even though I make my dominance at this place well-understood heheh! 
For instance, she played with this old toy that I didn't particularly care for anymore... except when she decided she liked it.
Yeah... you know your place dear sis! Good job!
You know, you smells really funny.
(Avalon: I can't help it, I'm little and need you to helps me get the odors of a real doggeh like you!)
Here - look at me run real fast!
Uh oh... what's that??? It's new... and pretty scary.
I'll protect ya - it's just a new pail where Momzers puts our... well... you know!!! I thinks I'm doing pretty good, even though I'm flummoxed!!
Some time ago I made a relatively lengthy post on this blog detailing some of the reasons why cycling is such an integral part of my life. Yesterday I was reading an excellent post from Jill in Alaska on a similar theme. Her post mentions something that I had overlooked -- the fact that I find myself relatively reluctant to talk about my riding to people who don't ride.
The simple fact is, I've come to the realisation that people who don't ride on a regular basis just won't understand. That's not intended as a vitriolic or condescending comment, it's just a fact of life. If I try to explain to someone that I'm planning to ride over 300km on Saturday night, or that I rode hundreds of kilometres last weekend in temperatures up to 40 degrees C, or that I crossed about five mountains in the process, it's fairly obvious what sort of reaction I'm going to get. Indeed, I've even noticed this from a lot of other cyclists here on the Gold Coast where the overriding cycling philosophy seems to be "only in certain designated areas".
So I just ride, and don't bother explaining it to anyone, save the two or three regular readers I have here. For me riding is also an escape, an escape from an increasingly plastic world in which everyone is masquerading as whatever they feel as though "should be" in order to be popular (and expects me to do the same). A world in which so many things are over rated just so that they can be sold. When I ride I can just be myself for a while, without having to worry about everyone else's vain pretences.
It also provides stability in a world in which everything seems to be in a state of flux. People coming into your life and leaving all the time -- often I don't even bother trying to stay in touch anymore as it just seems like delaying the inevitable. The very world around me is constantly changing. Even on my rides this is noticeable -- dirt roads are being paved everywhere, suburbia is expanding, the hippie mudbrick cottages in the hinterland being replaced by charmless Mcmansions.
In such a world, it's the basic act of riding that never changes, the feeling is as great as it always was, and this provides some stability, some certainty in a time when everything else seems fleeting. The combination of elation and exhaustion at completing a century that crossed three mountain passes, or reaching that campsite on a tour after being belted with 90km/h winds and driving rain. It's this that keeps me going, and this that I can only get through riding a lot. It's this, or the promise of this, that keeps me going through everything else. It's this that makes me look forward to my next ride, my next escape.
This morning I woke up not feeling very good. Stomach craps, diarrhea, and possibly one or two other things that I didn't notice. I decided to attempt a ride anyway, simply because I can. The opening was extremely sluggish (I later realised this was largely because that was where the wind was coming from), but I started to feel better when I hit the hills. The 14% climb loomed about 5km before Canungra, but strangely, it just didn't feel that hard today, and before I knew it I was through the town and on my way to the big climb of O'Reilly's.
Actually, this climb isn't so bad, the gradient is fairly easy in the early section (even if it does that for 15km), and while I didn't seem to have the motivation to really attack, I still seemed to be making surprisingly good time. Through the false flat, and into the ancient Antarctic Beech forests at the top, then onto the final assault of the mountain, the last 7km of the climb, where things get a little steeper in parts. Strangely, the steeper it got, the better I felt. The final act of this one is a steep section that the locals refer to as "Big Bertha" -- they claim it's 25%, but I think 15% is more realistic. Either way, once I got sight of the top, I was able to power over it, and crest the summit. After applying sunscreen, it was time for a descent, back into the town of Canungra, where I had a decision to make -- just how would I go about finding the extra miles to make up a century.
To the north loomed Mt Tamborine -- the road to get there was once rated in a magazine as one of the ten hardest climbs in the country -- and I suspect the person who wrote that article wasn't doing it as their "second" climb. After giving it much profound thought (i.e. "Ahh, sod it!), I decided to have a crack at it. The gradient on the road out of Canungra is 9% (according to the signs). Shortly after the Mt Tamborine turn-off, a sign says 12%. Around the next corner, another sign says 14%. That's the way it went for the entire climb (which is, in reality, only a few km long) -- 13%, 12%, the final assault of 14%. Actually, the final assault can be a problem -- it's a single lane section controlled by a set of lights at either end. If one is to do it without stopping, you can't afford to mess around.
I thought about attacking it, but that thought lasted only as long as it took me to feel the lactic acid of two mountains in my legs -- I opted for clinical rather than aggro. I must have made it look easier than it felt -- at least that was the impression I got from two motorcyclists at the other end. Now I could see the top, Mt Tamborine, this climb with the such a vicious reputation, was about to crack. I shifted upwards and finished the job with a traditional victory salute (a solitary finger raised). It was done. After a beautiful lunch on the mountain, and a screaming descent on the other side with sweeping views that lasted forever, I had one final enemy -- Wongawallan. I don't understand this climb, it's not big (only 130m), and it doesn't appear steep, but it always poses a problem. I'm not the only one who says this incidentally.
There's no point riding Wongawallan to survive -- you won't. You must attack, take it as a personal insult that this petty climb at the foot of Mt Tamborine would dare get in your way, it's the only way. By this stage my legs felt like lead, but Wongawallan, too, fell under the on-slaught. A few other foothills to Oxenford, and the edge of suburbia -- now I realised, that for the first time today, I was about to have a tailwind. After laughing in the face of a moron on Hope Island, who took about five years off his life by getting really angry about the sight of a bicycle on the road, before realising that either way, he was only going to go as fast as the rest of the traffic, I returned to Paradise point and charged down the coast.
Around Runaway Bay I had a minor problem -- I felt as though I needed to eat a muesli bar, but I'd eaten way too much on Mt Tamborine and didn't think I could eat one without throwing up. Then I began to realise that to do a ride like this, after the start I'd had, was something I may never do again. I was inspired, I shifted up a gear, and took off. It wasn't long after this that I had the pleasure of picking my way through the traditional Sunday afternoon gridlock on the Gold Coast, passing hundreds, possibly thousands of cars that were stuck (suckers!). I suddenly forgot that I was tired, although after I made it back home, I suddenly remembered again.
Beyond that there is little to tell, but if anyone is still reading this, I'd like to know something. I thought diarrhea was supposed to weaken the sufferer, not suddenly make them stronger and able to go further. How did this happen?
This is how our animals are keeping warm during the winter. Princess, the loner cat, is the only one missing. She sleeps in the barn by herself.
Woke up to a golden sunrise this morning … none of the pastel pinks and lavenders of yesterday.
We hurried through breakfast to get out there while the sun was still shining. Didn’t quite make it, but the sun peeked through occasionally, so we’re not complaining. Besides, the afternoon was filled with sunshine, making us a couple of happy campers.
We went our separate ways this morning — I strolled along Pensacola Bay … only 2½ miles (4 km) this time; Mui did a 10-mile (16 km) trike ride. Then we joined forces at home, putting out the awning and enjoying the warm afternoon and light breeze until the late afternoon chill drove us inside.
Since it was a quiet day with not much to write about, I’ll just share some photos from my walk this morning and call it a day.
No mirror-smooth waters on the Bay today.
As the light changes, so does the colors and mood of Pensacola Bay.
We’re late … we’re late … for a very important date.
While these two willets were rushing off to find breakfast …
… this willet was patiently waiting at the edge of the surf for breakfast
to be delivered by the waves.
At least one of these willets isn't going hungry. Can you see which one?
The small shorebirds were busy flitting about and weren’t about to stop and pose for me. The pelicans, on the other hand, having had their fill of the bounty of the bay, were pretty relaxed, preening their feathers near the pier. They were quite tolerant of my presence, allowing me to slowly approach and sit with them for a while.
All of these brown pelicans are juveniles …
… except for the one on the right, which is a non-breeding adult.
I have to admit that is my favorite photo from today’s stroll.
This Portuguese man o' war is not afraid to show its feminine side with a
fringe of pink frills along its sail.
On my way back to the loop E beach access, a cacophony attracted my attention. Several hundred feet off shore there was a bird convention in the making.
All those tiny white dots out there that were raising such a ruckus …
turn out to be gulls (I think Bonaparte’s) keeping company with some
loonsMergansers.
The gulls take off in a flurry of white, leaving the
loonsmergansers behind.
[thanks, Judy for the correction.]
26-second video of Willets feeding; with a snippet of the gull and
loonmerganser convention at the end.
(My videographer was off triking, so you’ll have to excuse my amateurish efforts.)
And to show that it’s possible to capture wildlife photos from our campsite …
I heard this armadillo scratching around a tree behind our site. It did not
cooperate for a photo op, but you can make out its head and ears if you look closely.
(Unlike the armadillo we came across the other day, this one stuck around for a
while, and even allowed me to approach within a reasonable distance.)
I found these visitors perched on the top edge of our wetbay door when I opened it.
I thought green tree frogs at first, but they seldom come down apparently except to
mate; so I’m not sure. There were four of these tiny critters, but two of them hopped
away in the time it took me to get my camera. the one on the left is today’s “The End” shot!
Thanks to those of you who pointed out that my erstwhile secretary gave the wrong link to that Ms. Twitter thingy - but somehow, some of you found it, or else there's magic going on in cyberspace. Due to your kind efforts, I now have 25 votes and a couple of days ago there were only 7! I can't thank you enough for helping me out - and I'm adding the correct address at the bottom. (If you feel inclined, doggies can vote every day, but once is a dream, and big licks to you all!) Onward to less self-indulgent posts! 
