October 9, 2011 Filed under Amused, Uncategorized
Here’s the route I will be taking for this adventure:
It’s approximately 1600 miles, and a whole lot of it is downhill. Check out the elevation graph:
I hear the wind blows West to East across the plains, and that will help as well. I’ve budgeted for 50 miles a day. Am I being too optimistic? We shall all find out together!
The following account first existed as a chat session between me and the lovely Erika, so the pictures aren’t in chronological order.
I’m in Sheffield, Tasmania, at a local rotary club diner. People’s local accents are so thick here that I can only barely understand them. You ever have one of those dreams where people speak to you, and you can hear every sound clearly, but not a single word emerges? It’s like that. It’s English – the words are all English – but unless I concentrate really hard, they all run together into a kind of vocal slurry. To add to the surreality, the folks at the bar just fired up the jukebox and it’s blaring honky-tonk music.
I’ve been riding all day and seen AMAZING THINGS!
Bizarre stands of trees, neat spiders, a whole mess of mud crabs wandering around, a beautiful swampy region, a pooped dragonfly that walked on my gloved hand for many photos, a lakeshore TEEMING with tiny frogs, so thick they had to hop out of the way en masse with each footfall, wild parrots, a local bicycle race, wild CHICKENS, a big ol’ snake sunbathing, many tame llamas and cows and sheep, a freaking SKINK (recently dead in the road, alas), ants as wide as my thumb … HUGE buggers! … Geese and trails of goslings, enormous ferns … Oh and at least five dead marsupials by the side of the road that I couldn’t quite identify. And I only rode through a tiny, well populated piece of Tasmania, too.
Traveling by bike is the shizzlick.
Dude. Just look at that. Lush and foreign-looking – unfamiliar plants all around – but with each plant filling a niche so it all adds up unmistakably to a riverbank.
And here I am riding straight through a thicket! This is a stand of Ti trees, I believe. They look just like ginormous shrubs. In both of these scenes I could hear a very intense, high buzzing sound, from all the millions of insects in the vicinity. It was much louder than any equivalent sound I’ve heard back home.
Oddly enough, I didn’t get bitten by anything. I didn’t see a single mosquito either. Wrong season perhaps.
Here’s another view of those trees. They’re very top-heavy. It’s like they’ve evolved to compete for sunlight very fiercely with each other, and their tactic versus other plants is to grow so close together that they starve out everything beneath them.
And, the swamp is very mucky! Good thing I’ve got nice new shoes to go stomp around in it with.
Go ahead and try to count the crabey crabes in this picture!!! 1. They’re purple, and 2. They’re numerous.
It’s CrabeOpolous! I looked out at the mudbank in front of me and saw at least A HUNDRED of them moving around. They blend in very well. They’re Camocrabes! Precisely the color of the mud. I bet it didn’t take many hundreds of years either, for the birds to apply enough selection pressure, in isolation on this island.
As I watched, they competed for territory by waving their claws up in the air at each other, in a kind of haranguing gesture that put me in mind of a New York pedestrian arguing on a crosswalk. “I’M WALKIN’ HERE!!!”
Which reminds me. I need a cheap t-shirt of Christopher Walken with his arms up in the air, and the caption, “I’M WALKEN HERE.” Make it. Make it now.
I will buy it.
Time for another round of CrabeCount 2011! Twenty at least! And lots of pointy snails!
By the way. I call them crabes, instead of crabs, on account of a joke Ken Bell and I made in our UCSC days, about twelve years ago. We originally found the spelling in an old Red Meat comic. Imagine a four-year-old running around shouting, “OH NO! CRABES!”
These fellows were all hanging around scooping bits and pieces out of the puddles left by the receding tide.
Skink!
Skink, with bike tire for size reference. They’re portly little guys. Looks just like the live one I saw at the Cal Academy.
They’re pretty low-key as far as lizards go, but you wouldn’t wanna get chomped by one without gloves – it could break the skin and transmit disease. They have tiny teeth but robust jaws, like the alligator lizards they resemble from the forests I tromp through back home. I used to catch alligator lizards by grabbing them in one hand and then offering them a finger from my other, which they would bite and gnaw harmlessly on for a little while, exhausting themselves into docility. Then you could just carry them around and show them stuff. You wouldn’t want to try that tactic with a skink of course.
Around here, bugs just fall out of the sky and land on you as you go. I hear it’s a good thing I didn’t smoosh this guy because the species lets out a repulsive stink.
I was biking slowly up a long hill, and I glanced to my left over the edge of the embankment into the woods, and I saw a CHICKEN HEAD looking back at me.
I thought “what the heck is going on here?” and stopped. The chicken head turned to follow me.
I thought “it’s picture time,” and I unwrapped the camera, put it on, took off the lenscap, and flipped the on switch, and the whole time, the chicken stood there gawking. So I started talking to it and walked closer. The chicken held its ground as I walked to the edge of the road, and over the edge I could see a second chicken, just ten feet into the woods.
I took a few photos, chatting the whole time, then walked back to the bike and got out some chocolate mint popcorn I’d bought earlier that day. I threw a few bits out, and the chickens stepped eagerly up to the bike to investigate. They didn’t eat the popcorn – must have smelled wrong – but they stood there while I got a few more photos.
I didn’t have the resources to adopt chickens just then, though I was tempted, so I said goodbye to them, ordered them to stay out of the road, remounted the bike, and rode on.
I saw so many things today that I would have NEVER seen if I’d been in a car, or on a motorbike … and I’d never have seen it all if I’d been walking.
Note: NOT forced perspective. The small ant was barely larger than the large ant’s head.
This is a bull ant. I hear that being bitten by one is quite painful. I stayed a few steps back out of respect for that.
… Then I turned over some bark and found an ant nest.
Gah, look at all those ants. They were dragging their eggs around to hide them – an act that almost evoked pity in me until I remembered that even without disturbing them, they would have happily chewed my leg off. If I’d laid down on their nest they would have cut me into sections and fed me to their larvae.
Near this pond I found many wondrous things. I have some sound recorded for you, of the various birds and bugs making noise.
I captured it on my phone but the environment was so quiet that it still came out quite well.
A FROGIE! Striking pattern with the green stripe down the side. I’m pretty sure it’s this species.
The lakeshore was teeming with them. Every few steps, I saw them jump out of my way in groups of two or three. Their tadpoles fluttered just under the water. If this is an indigenous species, it’s been unique to Tasmania for a long time … Amphibians cannot cross ocean, so this frog can only be here by means of plate tectonics or human interference. (Salt water is lethal to amphibians at any life-stage.)
Here’s a frog still in transition. This would have been a better shot except I had to go with the preliminary, because when I got close, the little bugger bounced right off that tree and leapt into the water in less than a second, in one emphatic squiggle.
Honk honk!!
A dwagginfly perusing the marsh.
Nice catch, eh? Now check this out…
And that’s why I love this camera.
This guy was clinging to life even though he’d been smacked by a car and damaged his “lungs”.
When I picked him up he had ants all over him already, trying to dismember him, but I shook them off and crushed them. He had just enough strength to hold on against the wind. I set him down to ride along the back of my bike for a while. One last trip through the air. About half a mile later I checked, and he was gone.
Also found this critter. I usually don’t photograph much roadkill, but I was a bit taken by the things I found today.
A companion blue wren, this one in the marsh. Alive and well.
This fly would make a tasty snack for that wren!
The marsh was a fascinating place to explore. The sheer density of plants and the unstable ground made it into a kind of maze, and you know how I love mazes!
Often the best way to proceed was by walking from one fallen branch to the next.
When I emerged, I had streaks of pollen on my clothes. Good thing it wasn’t the kind that gave me sneezing fits.
And now, apropos of nothing, it’s a little gnome treehouse shrine hotel! WTF?? Well, why TF not!!
Also apropos of nothing, the All Saints Church of England Cemetery. Maintained by the Central Coast Council and the family of Ernest Mason, who is buried somewhere around here in an unmarked grave.
Did I mention sheep? Well then, it’s about time I did.
Sheep gotta have big rolls of toilet paper. Gotta.
(Yes, I know; it’s hay.)
I find this Humerus.
WHAT crossing?!
I also find this Humerus.
The road towards central Tasmania. I didn’t go very far inland – not enough time, and too much altitude change.
The farmland is quite pretty here. The stripes of different foliage are intense and the soil is rich.
Guess the crop.
Give up? It’s poppies. Serious Business in Tasmania.
Generating electricity is also Serious Business here. This infrastructure is attached to a hydroelectric power station.
Massive power lines march the energy away to the coastal cities. See those white cement markers near the base of each pole? I’m pretty those are to stop the locals from running donuts around the power pole and possibly smacking into it.
The ferns can grow pretty large here.
Celia tells me this is a Banksia tree. She used to have a fear of them because of how they were depicted in a well-known Australian childrens’ book. The little tufts of leaves on the branches were said to be tiny demons that could jump off and cause mischief.
Here’s a closeup of the little demons.
And now, CrabeCount 2011 Part 2, The Crabening!
A broader view of the delta, with the tide all the way out. An awful lot of mud crabs live here.
Just after my midday snack, as I was biking along listening to Terry Pratchett’s I Shall Wear Midnight on the iPod, I came across a bicycle race.
So I joined in. Well, more like, I rode ahead, and was then passed by every single cyclist, and then passed again as they rode back down the hill.
My race time wasn’t improved by my tendency to stop and take photos of everything. Here it looks like the woods were damaged by a brushfire, then filled back in with ferns.
As the day passed into evening, the trees cast cozy shadows over the farmhouses.
Sunset in Sheffield. At this point I’ve finished my fish and chips from the rotary club (they were decent, but the chips were too soggy) and checked in to a motel. To my great surprise the drinks in the mini-fridge came with a note saying “These are complementary, for our thirsty travelers.” First time I’ve ever seen that before. I was so impressed by it that I told the owner of the place.
“I salute you!” I said.
“Why thank you!” he replied, grinning.
And thus ended my first full day in Tasmania.
I woke up after uneven intervals of sleep, packed up pretty efficiently, and was off by about 7:10am. I was worried I might be late, but I drafted just behind a large bicyclist, while a third cyclist drafted behind me, tucking me into a cushion of roiling air that greatly reduced my energy expenditure. I covered four quick miles this way, and gave a friendly nod to the cyclists as I turned off their route at a stoplight.
From there it was only a couple more miles to the terminal, where I took an elevator to the second floor and bought a last-minute ticket. My eyes felt strangely sore and tired, so I changed shirts and washed up in the nearby bathroom. The car exhaust perhaps? Pollen?
To board, I rode around in a loop through the end of the pier and back, past a long line of cars.
I left my bike just inside the gate.
Away we go!!!
Onboard the ferry, I went through the cafeteria line and bought a fountain soda, since in Australia they are all flavored with cane sugar. This makes them a unique treat for an American, for whom all sodas, canned or otherwise, are made with high-fructose corn syrup. Corn isn’t heavily subsidized elsewhere in the world, so it’s just as economical to use cane sugar here. Hooray!
Of course, a few sips in, and I began to get that vague fuzzy-headed glycemic reaction I always get from soda nowadays. … So most of it went into the trash can.
What shall I rap about to-day? Ah yes, the lovely ocean-going experience aboard the Spirit of Tasmania! Thank you, rap angel!
Nobby’s Nuts. How cheeky. The second I saw this I thought of Lt. Cprl. J.W. “Nobby” DeNobbes Esq. I hear the advertising used to contain the phrase “Nibble Nobby’s nuts!”
Nothing to do on board except write, think, read, nap, and walk around. On, and shop. In the boat gift shop I bought myself a Tasmania hat, to compliment my Alaska hat.
Watching the people walk around, I have some bizarre thoughts. Many of them would be impolite if I voiced them.
For example, on the enclosed landing between two decks, I noticed a large plastic sign standing upright against the far wall. At the base of the sign was a gap, through which the floor was visible. In this narrow stretch of floor between the sign and the wall, a man had laid down beneath a sleeping bag. He was tall, dressed in cheap rugged clothing, tanned, and in good shape, and appeared to be in his mid-30’s. He also clearly had not bathed for a while. Curled across him, also beneath the sleeping bag, was a young woman, in her mid 20’s, dressed the same way and looking just as unkempt. Her head was on his chest and she had one leg thrown over his. The man and the women were both attempting to sleep.
Watching them, my mind went in many directions at once.
“They must be on a low-cost adventure. I wonder how many countries they’ve been through?”
“Why are they asleep? It’s ten in the morning on a Friday.”
“Wow, it appears their only footwear is flip-flops.”
“They must not be from around here – they’re actually embracing. So far Australian society has shown to be unapproving of public affection. I bet Kashy is right. I bet the San Francisco Bay Area is the most touch-friendly English-speaking region on Earth.”
“I bet the woman is deeply attached to the man, and sees him as a free spirit and a rebel and a protector all at once. I wonder if she’ll still be with him in five years, when he’s exactly the same as he is now but 40 years old, and she’s still in her 20’s and evolved into someone else? Probably not. Funny how from the outside, it seems like many relationships appear to just be temporary mutual exploitation. I’m sure these two people are a lot of things to each other but primarily, the woman gets a tourguide, and the man gets a sex partner. I’m not condemning it, exactly. I’m just observing it.”
“I wonder if they are bothered by being that dirty, or if they’re just used to it by now.”
“I wonder if they paid to board.”
This all took about 15 seconds to think as I stared at them from the foot of the stairs to the next floor. Probably the only thought I could speak aloud and not be stared at for is the first one.
Other thoughts:
I should have brought a kilt. That would be amusing to ride around on a bike with, as well as amusing to lounge around on this ferry boat with.
My laptop is one of about fifty opened on this deck alone. Most of the other laptops are dinky little netbooks, and are being used to play movies. I’ve seen two iPads so far. The prized spots around the ship are the tables next to electrical sockets. There are no “official” charging stations so you need to wander around until you spot a free socket. Almost all of these are manned by serious-looking geeks, hacking and occasionally looking up like meerkats on alert.
I have three days in Tasmania, and I really wish I had my camping gear and my recumbent so I had enough room to carry it. Or perhaps better, a local friend I could share residency with. I got very lucky meeting Celia … she saved me a huge amount of money, and eliminated a massive amount of confusion. Just picking me up at the airport she saved me a sixty-dollar cab ride.
And then, on an upper deck, staring out to sea, getting way cerebral:
Here’s a question you can learn something by asking yourself. What does it profit you to be who you are?
Literature is full of stories about passionate heroes who are driven to accomplish glorious feats, or die in a blaze of defiance. People love to hear about these characters, sure, but I wonder how many of these tales exist because writers like to write about them. Put another way, I wonder how much of history is preserved simply because it impresses writers, and how much is lost and plowed under and untold because no writer saw a personal profit to it.
If the answer is “a lot”, then what should one do with that information? Add more skepticism to history? Live to impress writers?
I say: Look for an alternate way to define your life, as an adult. Step out of the frameworks offered by stories, and out of the hamster wheel of ever-increasing qualifications and wants and cut a middle path. Because life will definitely end up either too short, or too long, to neatly encapsulate your goals.
Wise-sounding people all around you will proclaim that “the journey is the reward,” and quietly believe that the lesson of their advice is to trick yourself into enjoying the same work you would otherwise pursue in misery. They see it as self-deception.
I think a better way of phrasing that advice is, “find a journey that is rewarding.” Or as Chairman Mao put it: “Work hard; make progress every day.”
Boy, it sure is true what my sister said. Wherever I go, I bring myself along with me.
Here’s a trip. You are looking at this picture on your computer. The picture was sent to you from a repository somewhere in a midwestern data center. The picture was taken by my digital camera on a ferry boat between Tasmania and Australia. In the picture is a television receiving a satellite feed. The feed is of a local news channel, which is currently showing a weather report. The graphic in the weather report was given to the news channel by a weather station, which generated it on a computer. The computer used data gathered from thousands of instruments and probes all over the continent of Australia, as well as at least one satellite in space. I typed this caption about half an hour after I took the picture, on the upper deck of the ferry boat. Hours after that I, I combined the caption and the photo in Aperture and then sent it to Flickr via the internet connection at my hotel room in Tasmania. And here it is. Just think of all the hundreds of details and steps I left out!
A first view of Tasmania from the deck. Or, as the little kid standing next to me said, “Look mummy! Is Taz Main Nun Nan! Taz Main Nun Nan Nan Nan Num Naaan!”
The coastal town of Devonport.
One of the crew, guiding the boat up the river delta.
From the port it was only a short ride over the river to my motel.
45 bucks a night, at the Formby Hotel. Spartan but serviceable. And so, the adventure continues!!
This is the Melbourne Night Market. The primary attractions are greasy food and clever t-shirts.
This is the Melbourne Night Market. At first glance, one could assume that the primary attractions are greasy food and clever t-shirts.
Nice to see gangs of motorbike riders on this side of the Earth too. They look a bit cleaner and nicer than their American counterparts.
Nice to see gangs of motorbike riders on this side of the Earth too. They look a bit cleaner and friendlier than their American counterparts.
Check out those huge boxes of vegetable oil. Make way for greasy food!
Check out those huge boxes of vegetable oil. Make way for greasy food!
... And clever t-shirts!
… And clever t-shirts!
My mission, as given to me by the locals, was to attend the Night Market and procure a sausage-inna-bun. At first I thought I was out of luck...
My mission, as given to me by the locals, was to attend the Night Market and procure a sausage-inna-bun. At first I thought I was out of luck…
... But then I found a booth with plenty for sale.
… But then I found a booth with plenty for sale.
Sitting on the ground chomping food is apparently a Night Market tradition.
Sitting around on the ground chomping food is apparently a Night Market tradition. Can do!!
The evening's entertainment was a klezmer/gypsy band hailing from Russia.
The evening’s entertainment was a klezmer/gypsy band hailing from Russia. Hey look; more redheads!
... Accompanied by a wedding dance.
The performance included a traditional wedding dance.
It was a fun way to spend an evening, and it got me thinking about all the things that I would insist a foreign visitor go see if they were staying in Oakland. One of the local farmer’s markets? A ride in Bike Party? A walk around Lake Merritt? The botanical gardens? These are all things that I enjoy as a local, and in that way they constitute both local color, and a good time in general.
But then I thought about what happens when I go traveling: Often there are small, surprising experiences that affect me in ways no one could predict. A local might direct me to an event like the Night Market, knowing I could enjoy things as they do, but what about my own biases and history?
When I visited New York I was told, “You’ve got to see something on stage here. It’s a classic and unique New York experience.” With help from my sister and our hosts, I got to see Les Miserables live on stage, and I enjoyed that for sure. But one of the most insightful experiences I had there was when I got up in the morning seeking breakfast, and walked in the deep shadow of the towering buildings for less than half a block before I ran into sidewalk deli that was crammed so full of produce and candy and drinks and papers that there was hardly room to breathe inside, and a guy in a suit was having an animated conversation in Italian with the guy behind the counter.
That little experience gave me a sense of uniqueness of place, and of history, and of my own limitations, all at once, and I remember it just as clearly as I remember anything about my time in New York.
As a local, well-established in your own environment, what are the experiences that you can recommend for visitors that are not just a good time, not just impressive or unique, but are truly insightful? Experiences that might lead a visitor to some new personal understanding?
Tough question!
These crosswalk signs are all over the city, and I find them very cute!
These crosswalk signs are all over the city, and I find them very cute!
Celia took me on an adventure to the local shops. “Hipster”, here, doesn’t seem to have the instant negative connotation that it has been accumulating in the ‘states.
THE CANDY AISLE!!!!
OMG!!!
I bought five candy bars here, all types I’d never seen before, and was so impatient to try them that I chomped one during the walk home. Tasty stuff!
Sticky fig pudding, OMG!!!
No, I didn’t buy it, but I was very amused to see a freakin’ FIG PUDDING invoke internet buzzwords to describe itself. I wonder how long we’ll wait before a supermarket product like, say, hand soap, bears the acronym “OMFG”. Or, a package of bologna proclaims “WTF???” (That would be appropriate.)
This bank NABbed some of my money as I was withdrawing it.
Hey, man, don't let life get you down. Just remember, everyone's a winner at the REJECT SHOP.
Hey, man, don’t let life get you down. Just remember, everyone’s a winner at the REJECT SHOP.
This shop sold a flashing LED Fish-and-Chips sign that I subsequently saw hanging in at least five shops around greater Melbourne.
Several of my adventures took me down the bike paths that connect most of the parks in Melbourne.
Several of my adventures took me down the bike paths that connect most of the parks in Melbourne.
Here’s one of the routes I took.
Just as much litter in these parks as any park in Oakland, unfortunately...
Just as much litter in these parks as any park in Oakland, unfortunately…
Again ... eight thousand miles away, and this could be a photo from Oakland.
Again … eight thousand miles away, and this could be a photo from Oakland.
Vacant land may be a rare opportunity in WestGarth, but who would want to build over that fine graffiti? They might attract the wrath of EKSIT !
Vacant land may be a rare opportunity in WestGarth, but who would want to build over that fine graffiti? They might attract the wrath of EKSIT !
Gay couple confidently out in public? If so, I find this encouraging.
Gay couple confidently out in public? If so, I find this encouraging.
I don't know what it means, but it's fun to look at.
I don’t know what it means, but it’s fun to look at.
Pigeons: The same the world over.
Pigeons: The same the world over.
Taking a post-ride break at the entrance to Celia's apartment. I had the Secret of Mana+ album playing on a loop in my headphones the entire day, and now it's thoroughly associated with this little warm, sunlit alcove.
Taking a post-ride break at the entrance to Celia’s apartment. I had the Secret of Mana+ album playing on a loop in my headphones the entire day, and now it’s thoroughly associated with this little warm, sunlit alcove.
One night Celia and I visited a friend’s house, and she spotted a huge spider on the wall. Spiders are Serious Business business in Australia – there are some common species that will cause necrosis from a bite, or nerve damage, or even kill you. Back in the ‘states I do everything I can do rescue spiders in the house, provided they don’t try to creep into my bed or establish themselves near it. Here, the rules are different. You don’t want critters this lethal anywhere near your living space.
Celia immediately removed her shoe and issued a smackdown.