Roadtrips

All the work doesn’t make much sense if you don’t treat yourself now and then, so over the last few weeks I’ve been exploring the greater Brisbane area. Sometimes by train, sometimes by bike. I already knew the Gold Coast, I was there in May for a conference, but I went back again. Friday I took the train, had to change twice, even got on the wrong one once, so I arrived about 2 hours later. Checked into the hotel, 34th floor, ocean view. What can I say? Room? The apartment was bigger than my flat. In the evening I went out for some really good Indian food, then straight to bed, only to be woken by the first rays of the sun in the morning. Wonderful! Spent the whole day strolling around, walking along the beach and so on. I like the Gold Coast, a bit too busy for my taste, but that’s how it is. No idea how I spent my time there, but it was relaxing. Sunday was the same. In the evening I went to the casino and played a few slot machines. They call them “pokies” here, and it’s a real problem in Australia, lots of retirees just sitting around. I had no clue what I was doing, but suddenly my machine lit up. The granny next to me looked over and said, “I’ve been playing for 25 years and never had a major win.” Beginner’s luck, I guess. Let’s just say that weekend was free for me, food included.

Monday morning I caught the train back, left at 5 a.m., and was at work by 6:30 sharp. In my pants pocket: a roll of cash that I carried around with me all week. Only Thursday evening did I take it to the bank. Or rather, to the ATM. Problem was, the money had been rolled up in my pants all week, so when I tried to feed it in, the machine spat it out again and again. After 5 minutes, the ATM door opened up without my money inside and stayed open. Only after I canceled the process did my card come back and the door closed, without crediting my account. A bit confused, I withdrew $100 and re-deposited it, worked like a charm. Slowly I started to feel uneasy and called different bank numbers. Always stuck in automatic forwarding loops. After about 10 calls, I finally found the right number and someone actually picked up. “No worries, mate. Just go to the branch tomorrow and tell them what happened. The cash is in the machine, we’ve got it all on video.” So I did. They asked how much, in what denominations, and by evening the money was back in my account. Not a small amount, either. Easy. That’s just how things work here. I’m getting used to it. Same with taxes, you can file them online in an hour. Okay, not much data privacy, but still, so simple.

The next day (Saturday) I set out by bike heading north. My goal was Noosa Heads, about 170 km. Normally no problem, but I’m not fit. The start through Brisbane was nice, then across a bridge to Redcliffe, really beautiful. But of course headwind all the way, and it’s the season when magpies attack cyclists. Yes, the rumors are true, they go straight for your eyes. The first one only tapped my helmet twice, then gave up. The second one went for my eyes. After I threw something at him, he backed off. I guess I earned his respect, and he definitely earned mine.

Then came the bush track. Ten tough kilometers, right after the Glass House Mountains. Those volcanic peaks I need to explore properly sometime. Before that I discovered a lovely café with mountain views. But then: 10 km of rocks, puddles so deep you’d sink in, mud, and finally I ended up with a flat tire. Limped into Sunshine Coast just before sunset, patched the tire right on the beach. The flat tire theme is getting annoying, I need to fix that somehow. Can’t find tubeless sealant or tubes with removable valves here. Well, I’ll be in Germany soon to shop. Slept in a hotel complex near Sunshine Coast, Italian restaurant attached. Let’s just say “Italian-style” (that’s how it is everywhere here), but I was hungry and the room had a whirlpool.

Next morning, 30 km to Noosa with a tailwind, beautiful. Noosa itself is nice, but I had no time, had to head home. The return trip was brutal. About 120 km headwind, no joke. The stretch up to the Glass House Mountains was smooth asphalt with bike lanes, just the constant wind was killing me. The 10 km of bush track, at least no headwind. I reached the same nice café just before closing. And guess what, another flat tire, again on the back wheel. Changed it and fought the headwind to the next train station, finally. Hopped on the train, done. Nice trip, I’ll have to do it again. Would be easier if train stations were more spread out beyond Brisbane. I noticed that again on my next trip, but more on that later.

The weekend in between my couch finally arrived, at last a piece of furniture! Six months without one was terrible. You don’t know what you have until you don’t. Bought a TV as well, and finally my place feels like home again. Still, nothing compared to my old couch in Germany, model “Moritz.” I really miss that one. But that’s life, I had to emigrate. More about that another time, when I can be more honest with myself and the circumstances. Not yet, I’m still too hurt. Someday I’ll forget, and look back at my time in Essen with a smile. Maybe. Maybe never.

This weekend, or rather this Saturday, I wanted to check out the west and the hills around Brisbane. On the map it never looked impressive, so I had no expectations. What can I say, the way there was already exhausting, I’m just not fit. Then it went uphill, curvy, steep, 2 km at 16% gradient, switchbacks, in the rain. Oh. My. God. Why only now? It was brutal, pure suffering, sweat pouring, trembling, weakness, but amazing. I was dead. Not fit at all. On top it was cool and misty, rainforest atmosphere. Then down the other side, a crazy descent, steep, winding, fast. I need to do that with a camera sometime, absolutely epic. Suddenly I was at Lake Wivenhoe, a completely different landscape, almost like steppe, and everywhere smelled of fire. Eventually I saw why, fields were burning, and nobody seemed to care.

I had run out of water long ago, checked the map. Next town looked close. An hour and 25 km later, I finally reached the first settlement since Mt. Glorious. Straight into the petrol station, grabbed water and milk, sat down to cool off. Looked at the map again, no way I’d make it home before sunset, but Ipswich was about 30 km away. From there, a train back. While studying the map, locals came and checked out my gear. That’s when I noticed why cars had been honking at me, there’s a trail parallel to the road, an old railway line: the Brisbane Valley Rail Trail. Gravel, 170 km long. Oh my god, I need to explore that one someday.

Eventually I continued towards Ipswich, only to get, of course, another flat. About 4 km before town, in the dark. Changed it, made it to the station. Ipswich looked nice, I’ll have to see it in daylight sometime. Plenty left for me to discover here over the next few years before I move on again. Until then (or in between).