Australia and Tasmania: A last social visit, and packing up

Alas, my time was almost up in Australia. Work was very stingy with vacation days, so I was lucky just to get two weeks, but I would have rather stayed for another month at least. I only saw a fraction of Tasmania, and barely got outside the city of Melbourne. It was still a fabulous trip though.

Celia and her friends had been very generous hosts. I felt a bit ashamed that I ate so much of their food and occupied so much of their space without having anything to give in return, so I treated them to a pile of fancy chocolate snacks from a local shop, and left some extra money behind as well. Their hospitality made the logistics much easier, and their conversation set a kind of template for me, making all of Australia seem like a friendly place.

All of these things look amazing, but my favorite is the middle shelf. Those are chocolate bags filled with goodies. Yes, the bag itself is chocolate!

Hardware all packed up to fly out!

In case you’re wondering how a mountain bike fits into an airline-size bicycle box, here’s a photo of my packing job!

Celia was doing some traveling of her own, and was unable to drop me off at the airport, but it was no trouble to call a taxi and shove my big bicycle box into the trunk. The flight home was long but uneventful. I had plenty of time to take stock, and so I did:

How does Australia/Tasmania compare, as a bicycle touring destination?

Well, my experience as a world traveler is not much at this point. But from the perspective of an American, I can confidently say that it’s a great place for a long or medium-length trip, if you don’t mind the marathon plane ride. It’s a whole new continent filled with native English speakers, distant enough to be exotic, but familiar enough to be very easy to navigate. The most “foreign” thing to get used to is the inverse flow of the traffic, and even that just takes a day or two.

There are certainly much cheaper places to travel, and I wouldn’t want to fly here for anything less than two weeks because of the up-front cost of the plane tickets. But that is literally the price you pay for familiar Western civilization. You can get fresh water and flushing toilets every day, find any spare equipment you need easily, choose from restaurants serving familiar food, and pursue a variety of tourist-oriented activities wherever you go. And if you show enthusiasm for what you find, the locals will show it right back and be so helpful that it’s almost a bit disorientating.

Basically, if you want to try someplace outside your home country, but want the least amount of hassle when you get there, Australia is your place. (I’d place Canada second because the terrain is rougher in Canada, the weather is more dangerous, and frankly, there is less variety of terrain, animals, and attractions.)

How does the trip compare to others, in terms of expense?

The flight out was a punch in the finances, for sure. Also, once I arrived I found that cost-of-living expenses were higher than back home, though not by much. Celia helped immensely of course. Staying in her spare room saved me hundreds of dollars, and in retrospect, I should have gifted her more money before I left.

But anyway, the ballpark estimate for cycling Australia is easy: Plan on spending about a fifth more than you would back home, in a place with the same population density. So if you’re in Melbourne, expect to spend about 1.2 times what you would in, say, Los Angeles. In Tasmania, raise that to about 1.4 times.

Do you plan to go back?

I would love to fly my upright bike directly into Tasmania and cycle around the island, for about a month. I think that would be just about long enough to thoroughly explore the place, and I could come full circle and fly back out of the same airport.

I explored Melbourne a fair amount and there is definitely more to see there, but if I returned to Australia it would be with my recumbent bike, to attempt a journey through the interior. That’s a whole lot of flat road and long miles, and the recumbent would be a better choice. Relative to other places in the world though, it’s low on the list.

It was a perfect choice to get good experience dealing with air travel and navigating an unfamiliar land, but honestly, I feel like I’m ready for something more … what’s the right word … “technical” now.

Better alone, or with a partner?

Generally a subjective thing, but I do have some input here.

Melbourne, and the coastline around it, and the lands beyond it that aren’t too deep into the interior, are surprisingly easy biking and have plenty of resources, but relatively few options for camping. You’ll find it easy to keep the same pace with a companion, and have plenty of cause to stow the bikes somewhere and check out some cultural attraction, and when you do you’ll usually want a room which will cost more than you’d like — but that cost can be chopped right in half when you’re traveling with a friend.

If the country were cheaper, and the nature more densely packed, and the roads more complicated, and the camping easier, and the population lower, I’d recommend going solo, for the introspection and the flexibility and the bigger sense of adventure. But unless you’re crossing the interior, Australia has more to offer a group.

What’s next?

Well, all my vacation days are gone and I’ve got a lot of financial and social things to attend to. So I probably won’t go on another complicated trip for a while… But damn, if I’d known how interesting Tasmania was I would have booked another week there anyway.

Distant Touring With The iPad

An iPad is a bulky device, relative to a phone. How well does it perform as a piece of kit on a bike tour? Well, that answer is bound to be a bit subjective. Here are my own impressions.

I used mine extensively when traveling in Australia. My local host Celia took me to a phone store where I got a month-to-month data-only SIM for the iPad. So for 25 bucks, I was able to use the 3G in the iPad all through Australia, including Tasmania.

I used it every day, multiple times a day. I used it to find motels and restaurants, read local news, chat with people on AIM, make reservations and book tickets, send email trip updates from cafes, look at my environment in satellite and street view, etc. It’s even got Skype on it, which is MUCH cheaper for international calls to the folks back home. When the battery was low I could (slowly) charge it using the same adapter I used for the phone, saving a bit of weight.

In restaurants it was a conversation starter. I used it to show people photos from back home. Played a little jazz on it when I was relaxing. I used it with Celia to co-plan my outings the day before, since it was big enough for both of us to see and easily poke at the same time.

I placed the iPad in a saddlebag on the bicycle. Whenever I wanted to know where I was, what was around me, where I needed to go, et cetera, I had to go through a short routine: I stopped, walked around to the back of the bike, fetched the iPad from the bag, and used it while standing there over the rear tire. When I was done I packed it away and got back on the bike. Not a big deal, as long as I don’t have to refer to it often, and as long as I’m in a low-crime environment.

(I had an iPhone on the handlebars but it was for the wrong kind of network, so I couldn’t buy a SIM for it in Australia. The only reason I brought it at all was to use it as a music player while riding.)

The one thing that held me back when using the iPad was that I couldn’t immediately call ahead to the hotels I found that didn’t offer digital reservations. I’m pretty sure some cleverness with Skype would have solved that problem.

So, would I travel with an iPad in the future? After all of these use cases you’d think my answer would be an instant “yes”, but here’s the thing: If I bring a laptop, and I already have a phone with a data plan to tether it, then I just don’t need the iPad. … And I am a huge nerd, so a laptop is probably a given for almost all long journeys.

It’s worth noting one more difference between an iPad and a laptop: You stand a chance of charging the iPad with a solar panel. You could conceivably go camping in the woods for a couple of weeks, and use your iPad the whole time, while the laptop would die after a day or two. But on the other hand, when you’re on a bike trip, you’re on roads – and where there are roads, there is almost always electricity nearby. You’d have to be a very particular individual on a very particular bicycle trip – say, a gadget hound meandering through Kazakhstan – for that to shift the balance.

If I had a phone but could not bring a laptop, would I want to bring the iPad?

That’s a more interesting question. Different people have different ways of navigating or documenting their travel, and personally, I’m used to having a laptop, and would still want to do all the things I usually do with it. Most of those activities are difficult or uncomfortable on a phone screen.

With the iPad along I could:

  • Import and store photos from my camera without filling up my phone.
  • Edit and organize those photos more easily than on the phone.
  • Type journal entries and emails, and chat using instant messaging, a lot more comfortably and quickly than on the phone.
  • Research my route a bit more comfortably. (Any notes and screenshots I take will sync over to the phone.)
  • Relax by watching movies and TV shows a lot more comfortably than on the phone.
  • Conduct video chats more comfortably.

In summary, it’s mostly a matter of comfort. Is that level of comfort worth the extra one pound that the latest iPad weighs? For me, the answer is yes. For others, perhaps not.

Australia and Tasmania: The Flight In

I had loads of time at the checkin. A visa to travel in Australia cost 25 bucks at the counter. There was no need to stamp my passport – the records were stored electronically. All these fresh, blank pages would have to remain blank, for now.

I stood in line for almost an hour, and I swear, the music played over the loudspeakers was deliberately selected to turn human brains into soggy mush. Overwrought love ballads and face-punching anthems about partying. First time, that Lady Gaga song is catchy. Second time, it’s a chore. Third time, it makes me grit my teeth and look for the speakers so I can cut them. I wore my headphones and listened to my own music, and felt better. In fact, since I had all day, and was officially on vacation time, I was in quite a good mood, despite my surroundings. I bopped along to my music and shoved my bicycle box ahead of myself on the carpet until I got to the front desk, where I checked the bike with no extra fees. The box was oversize but it qualified as “sporting equipment”. Hah!

The checkin line was long, but the security scan was easy. I grabbed four plastic trays, for my backpack, laptop, ipad, and shoes, and was through in a few minutes. I had no suitcase to be rummaged through, and I drank the rest of my water and pitched it into the trash just as I got to the checkpoint.

While walking around the LA airport I noticed something strange. I was surrounded by all kinds of people, but I noticed a “type” of person – a sequence of people so similar that they made a repeating pattern. The best name I could think of for the the type was “poodle women”. They had many of the following traits:

  • Soft sweatpants
  • A “clever” tattoo half concealed
  • A flawless and suspiciously even dark tan
  • Eye makeup
  • Long hair – blond or with bleached blond highlights
  • A shape conveying a slight aversion to exercise and a slight excess of drink (or, if you’re on a college campus, she’s in shape.)
  • An aloof, unfriendly manner, belying a nervous fear underneath.
  • “UGG” boots

She will not smile at you, she will not look directly at you except to check whether you are looking at her or to stare you down, and if she is in conversation, it will be with someone who looks just like her, about something totally inane. I saw five young women like this as I walked around the airport, so similar they may have been from the same family. What gives?

As the plane moved into position I saw an incredible sequence of blinking lights, strips, colored bars, and wavy lines on the tarmac. Each signal has a meaning that pilots or other airport staff need to know, and I imagine it takes a lifetime to learn all the details. And that is possible, since the system has been around for a lifetime at least. It certainly couldn’t have started this complex – it must have ratcheted up as the years went by.

I was flying V Australia, and the first thing I noticed were the instantly adorable accents of all the staff. I always listen to Pete Namlook’s “Autumn” on my iPod as a plane takes off, since it’s the perfect looong instrumental buildup, airy and profound, but I had to pause it for a while just to listen to the flight attendants talking. I’m sure in a few days of immersion this will not sound as unique, but for now, it tickles my ears.

Another thing that tickled me was the introductory video they broadcast on the displays embedded in the seats. “These long flights can knock you about a bit,” says the announcer. “So be sure to keep limber, by getting up and walking around the cabin when you can, and drink plenty of water.”

About 20 minutes into the flight, the girl sitting next to me pressed a few buttons on her display and began playing a 3-D driving game, using the control pad mounted just below. A driving game, in a seat-back display, on a plane. Worlds within worlds, maaaaan. While she played I noticed she had a scarf tied around one of her wrists. A motion-sickness pressure point, or just a fashion accessory?

V Australia also has adorable corporate banter on their dining utensils. This is the first time I have ever seen copy from an international airline that contains the phrase “No, you know what, screw it.”

It was cramped but livable. I listened to “The Wee Free Men”, then a big chunk of “Hat Full of Sky”. I didn’t want to bust into the new Pratchett book until I had reacquainted myself with the main character, Tiffany Aching.

The enormity of what I’m doing still hasn’t set in.  I’m traveling 8000 miles in 14 hours of flight, to a country on the other side of the Earth.  And I’m doing it because I feel like it.

I slept unevenly for quite a while, then woke up and looked out the window. I think this is somewhere over Fiji.

The little seat-back computer says it’s -48 degrees Fahrenheit outside, at 36,000 feet. Carraaazy, man.

A little heart of ice formed in the membrane between the two windows. Awww!

As the day brightened up and we passed over mainland Australia, the clouds got more serious.

Everything looks so flat from up here...

Descending now, but still quite a long way up…

Crater Lake To Stanley : Afterword

I went on vacation to get away from it all and I certainly have. I’ve also had plenty of time to think about what I’m doing and why, and it’s occurred to me that touring by bike, especially alone, is a unique experience, and the way that experience feels depends mostly on how populated the route is. I put together a route that was sparsely populated, and hopefully flat.

Unfortunately, the flatness part turned out to be inaccurate. I’ve spent eight hours on the bike most days, and probably almost half of that time toiling slowly up hills steep enough to require first gear. Part of the problem is that I didn’t survey the area I would be biking through with my own two eyes, and instead I relied on Google Earth, which reports height data correctly but only to a certain granularity. It smoothed the hills right out of most of the terrain I examined.

The other problem is that I thought I would be able to go up shallow hills with no trouble at all, but I underestimated the drag that all of this hardware creates on the bike. Unfortunately, there wasn’t anything I could do about it. I went through my packing list many times, and aside from one pair of ski gloves and a couple of pairs of shorts, there wasn’t anything that I could have left out. I had to carry at least this much weight if I wanted to camp, and I had to be able to camp if I was going to travel through wilderness.

Speaking of camping, I’ve very much enjoyed the seven days that I was able to camp. The sites have been lovely. The gear has worked well, too. The tent is easy to set up, the sleeping bag is warm and roomy enough, and the mattress is easy to deploy. But the tent, bag, and mattress are very large items. They occupy the whole back half of the bicycle, with just a little space remaining for laundry and a spare tire. Combined, they also weigh more than everything else I brought, so I’m riding with at least double my usual weight. The consequence of this is that I spend a long time crawling up hills that I am interested in for significantly less time than it takes to climb them. It’s also a problem when I’m going down the only paved road, and roads that branch off it may lead to interesting things, but they’re all gravel or dirt and would be brutal on my tires. So I’m very disinclined to actually explore these side roads, and I just keep trucking along instead.

But despite the weight, I actually made excellent time. In addition to being ridiculously comfortable, the recumbent bike also carries the weight of luggage much better than an upright bike. None of it is on the handlebars, and most of it is lower to the ground. The only downside is the additional sun exposure you get from being in a reclined position. I spent two weeks riding through desert, and discovered that sunburn is much more the problem than the heat is. If I have almost all of my body covered by thin cloth, I can keep cool by dumping water on myself and letting the constant breeze created by the motion of my bike evaporate the water. I actually end up cooler than if I was standing around in shorts and no shirt. In the town of Christmas Valley I bought a pair of glove liners that cover my hands, and so the sunburn on my hands was a temporary thing, but the burns on my nose and cheeks got pretty severe, and I had to tear up one of my spare shirts to make a second, heavier bandanna for my face.

But seriously, I should have expected this, because I am deliberately biking through desert, and during the hottest time of year, and I’m doing it during a time when the UV exposure is bad enough for the weather service to publish a health alert about it.

I budgeted 30 miles a day maximum for most days, and it turns out that even with all these hills in the way I can actually pedal the bike for a full eight hours, and take myself fifty miles or more, provided I take time to stretch, and lie flat on the ground every once in a while. Of course I have to be careful lying on the ground because every time a car comes by the driver gets worried that I have passed out in the heat. So, in practice, I can lay down for about ten minutes average, and then when I hear a car approaching, I have to get up and act like I’m rearranging my luggage, because if I don’t, they’ll stop and I’ll feel bad for making them stop and they’ll feel silly for stopping, and yadda yadda.

One time I was just leaning against the wheel and didn’t bother getting up, and sure enough the car stopped. I had to thank and compliment them for stopping. The last thing I want to do is erode their willingness to help, since it might save my life one day.

In summary, it was a lot easier than I expected, and a lot of fun. Would I do this again? Definitely. If I had the time, I would do it every couple of months. Not this exact route again, but something like it. Or something longer.

Crater Lake to Stanley: Let’s go!

I deliberately chose a route that went through some of the most remote geography that I could find, up to the limits of my gear and carrying capacity. I wanted to get out into the middle of nowhere, and encounter as few people as possible on the way.

I tried to make a route like that through California, but all the sparsely populated parts of California are sparse for good reasons. They are all either too steep, too dangerous, or unpaved. One of the reasons I settled on Oregon – the eastern portions especially – was because it appeared to be the flattest and also some of the most remote territory I could find without having to deal with transporting a recumbent bike on the train system.

It is possible to transport a recumbent bike by train, and start a trip that way, if you’re willing to assemble the bike right there on the platform, then fold up the box and haul it to a post office. However, I got lucky on my trip: My father agreed to meet me at the train station with his truck, into which I’d packed the recumbent a few months earlier.