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I’d been on the road over a year. The funds were running low, but my spirits were still high. Mariane, a feisty 4.11 ft french woman and I were meeting again in Thailand after a few months on our own. We were both at a crossroads to find what was next. Talk of teaching english somewhere in Asia, perhaps Mariane would move on to get her yoga certification. Either way, any chance of me going home was less than slim. So our brains started storming. Our values and reasons for loving the road came down to the simplicity, balance, and love of cultures. To break the stereotypes of how the media portrays cultures and actually meet the local people. So we thought about hitching back to Europe, but that would be too fast. Then we thought about busing, too expensive. Then it hit us, what about cycling? Immediately we felt ecstatic. Cycling would allow us to meet the people on our way, see the colors passing us by, smell their streets, nature, food and be apart of their lives. Also to go at our own pace and use our own energy. We wanted to start where Mariane and I met, Australia, where it all began, so three days later we flew to Melbourne to start preparing.
We had a lot to learn; Mariane had never even owned a bike. I had never cycled more than a mile or two. We had no idea if people out there even did stuff like this. After we decided to do this trip, we’d met one Australian guy who was cycling and sailing to France. Seeing him out there cycling across the world was our signal that it was possible and that this was what we were suppose to do. The questions of how to change a tire, what kind of gear we would need, what kind of bike, and where to begin all flushed to us, but we knew we’d figure it out. I knew, with Mariane, we’d figure it out.
After months of hard work, our Extra Small “Vivente World Randonneur” bikes arrived at the shop. Our sleeping bags were purchased, the tent was received from Mariane’s mom, we ordered our Brooks seats, and we figured out that those bags on the sides were called panniers. So we got some of those too. We quickly started to meet people who had done bike touring, we found websites, read blogs, and I watched a youtube video on how to change my first tire. Somehow we’d also landed in one of the most popular mountain biking communities in Australia. The knowledge was before us and everything was flowing. With cyclists all around us we agreed on a couple things: to learn as much as possible about bike touring and to never succumb to wearing lycra.
Still, we haven't ridden more than the 6 kms to and from work everyday, so we needed a training trip and what better than the 151 mile coastal ride of Great Ocean Road in southern Victoria.
We packed all of our gear and by all of our gear I mean, the cooker, sleeping bags, tent, food, ukulele, journals, fire poi, clothes, and water. We brought everything we planned on taking with us on the official start. Our loads were heavy, but the steal frame would hold us just fine.
Rain greeted us on our first day in Torque, luckily we had our new raincoats to shield us and kept going. The roads were busy with massive tour busses pulling us with their gusts of wind as they passed us by. The small winding road didn’t provide much of a shoulder, but we were sure it was fine, they’d see us. When the rain got too heavy we decided to splurge and dig into our $10 a day budget to get a coffee and wait it out. Nothing like the cozy space of a cafe and ceramic cup of coffee.
After our break we moved on and kept going until the sun started to set. Angelsea, a small coastal town would provide us a bush big enough to hold our bikes, our tent, and a spot for us to use our cooker for the first time. The sleep was good and our first trip was underway.
The next day, we hit the road with our trusty paper map. I loved getting glimpses of the never ending crisp,blue ocean. We started to pedal our way up the first bigger hill, mostly having only ridden on flat terrain, we embraced the first incline. The road was pretty clear so we had space to be in our zone, focus, and finally reach the top. With a deep descent we hooted and hollered all the way down. Loving the wind and the fast roll. The 15 second free fall felt good. Moving forward, we quickly realised something didn’t look right. Checking and double checking the map, we’d gone the wrong way. Only able to laugh at the quick decrease of that freeing feeling, we made a break. Soon thereafter, a truck pulled up and we hitched a ride to the top, convincing ourselves that this was part of the adventure too.
At this point in the training trip, we were still learning what millage was possible. Perhaps the weight would change, the terrain would make a big difference of course, but the ability to plan distance was unknown to us. Today’s goal didn’t look too far though, and yesterday we were able to cover some decent ground, so we hoped for 60 km today. Hitting the road, the 17km, 1,400 foot elevation gain, started our mental game in full force. I focused on each pedal, every 3 meters, every breath, and every target reached, to move just a little bit forward. Our energy was decreasing quickly and the weight of our load was becoming more present. I began to reconsider everything I needed. Slowly, slowly we made progress, stopping for some trail mix, pushing forward, breath heavy, sweating profusely, dry throats, and then, the peak of Laver’s Hill. Looking down, I decided to put my helmet on. The curves bent us quickly around each corner, passing the lush forest, massive tour busses, and speeding trucks. I felt free, scared, and so much accomplishment. We were doing it. After 30 km that day, we’d met half of what we’d wanted too, but our bodies we’re finished. We set up camp and promptly passed out.
Moving inland to loop back towards Geelong, the scenery changed from deep cliffs overlooking the sculptured limestone of the twelve Apostles to barren and dry. The atmosphere became eerie, leaving a knot in my stomach, but our water bottles were low and a farmer’s house was near. Knocking on the door, there was no answer, but we could hear the machines running in the cattle barn. Peeking through the screen door, we called “Hello? Anyone around?” Just then, someone 5 meters ahead of us, looked in our direction and ran down the stairs. We sped walked, or rather ran back to our bikes. We can get water in the next town over. The whole area seemed empty. The houses abandoned, the town just a handful of people in sight. I’m usually the one getting scared or letting my imagination get to me, but when Mariane was just as sick with fear as I was, I knew it was with reason. Unfortunately, the sun was setting and we needed to start looking for a camping spot. Nothing felt good, not the bush that hid us and, let us hear every passerby, and definitely not the forest on the edge of town. Back within the group of trees seemed to be the least obvious though. At this point we had to go with the place that gave us least amount of fear. Mariane and I set up nearly in silence; every twig cracking, every car passing just a little slower than the rest, seemed to give us away. Deciding better not to use too much light, we did our best to sleep. Our minds were racing, exhausting us enough to sleep until the first crack of dawn when we got the hell out of there.
As the days went on we discovered we could do 100km on a flat surface, we felt confident on the shoulder, and we were finding our rhythm each day while staying on budget. On our last day we decided to celebrate with a little break at a coffee shop. Each of us got a large Americano and started to sip the only coffee we’d had since the rain storm on our first day. The effects of caffeine started to buzz in our fingertips, in our eyes, in the way we spoke, our energy. We’d clearly detoxed everything out of our bodies and the high was intense, but we weren’t in the forest surrounded by lights and trans music, we were on our extra small touring bikes. We’d done it, we free camped, tracked kilometers, evaluated weight, distance, food. We finished our first and only training trip. Next, we were off to Brunei. The start of the most fulfilling cultural experience of my life. Not knowing then, that Mariane and I would lose faith in each other, I would hit rock bottom, and learn the most valuable lesson of my life; about myself, and my bike would be stolen, bringing a group of unlikely locals together to bring it back to us.
But we didn’t know that then. What we did know was that we were accomplishing everything we set out to do six months earlier. We were cycle touring.