Winter Is Coming. Obviously.

Game of Thrones bandwagon title!

After two years in Tasmania, I've decided I enjoy all the seasons pretty equally. Especially as we actually have four so you never have time to get tired of any particular weather. Distinct changes in season remain a novelty when you're from Perth. But if I had to pick a favourite, I'd pick Autumn because the turning leaves, cool gusts and soft light combine to soothe my Celtic DNA. I love to push my face into the crisp evening air and inhale the promise of winter deep into my lungs. I love to arrive at my destination with pink cheeks and wind-curled hair. And I love to cycle in Autumn! The Turners Beach to Ulverstone Path seems to be at its prettiest during this time so Ginger and I were on it the second things tipped over into 'tights weather'. For me, not him. Although, no judgement if he ever wants to wear tights. Different strokes, etc.

I tried to take pictures in transit, with a lot less success than other bicycle bloggers. My rolling selfie game is weak. Also the front facing camera on my phone is not nearly as nice as the rear. (Insert bum joke here.)

Ginger over my shoulder.

I taught myself to arm knit off the YouTubes and
made this snood/Infinity Scarf.

Autumn colours and an excuse for scarf wearing.
What more could I want?

Burnie Bicycle Picnic - Summer Edition.

What better excuse for a summer bicycle picnic than owning a picnic basket and a bicycle? How about perfect Saturday weather and a new floral dress? Honestly, any reason for me to eat egg sandwiches. Yes, I was THAT kid who always ordered smelly egg sandwiches on canteen day. Fortunately it didn't result in ostracism, it just meant nobody ever wanted to share my lunch. (Good! My lunch is mine! Back off!) But my love for egg sandwiches is so bordering on the unholy that I probably would have defiantly borne any loneliness regardless. Anything for that sweet, sweet, mashed up egg and mayonnaise. EGG SANDWICHES 4LYF. What was I saying? Oh yes, new dress:

And perfect summer weather. Burnie shared path is short but smooth.

It was a warm, direct sun sort of day so Ginger and I sunscreened up and made the brief trip to Burnie Park for frittata, the blessed egg sandwiches and little cakes from the Farmers Market. Burnie Park is surprisingly interesting for its diminutive size. It has a pleasant display of roses, war memorial, a tree trail, the original tavern building, plenty of playgrounds, some peacocks (sadly in an enclosure due to the highway being right next to the park), ducks on the loose, a lake and a hidden waterfall best viewed on foot, only a hundred metres or so into a rainforest. The picnic area is actually the most boring part, being next to the car park. But the trees are large and shady, the grass is soft and you can see the ocean sparkling in the sunshine. Plus everything is great when there's egg sandwiches, RIGHT?

Very briefly considered designated picnic table.

Post picnic we managed to run into another West Australian transplant so we all adjourned to nearby Makers Workshop for coffee by the beach. It's very easy to segue into these kinds of lazy afternoons in North West Tasmania. Just another reason why summer here is superior, egg sandwiches or no.

Admiring my new yellow straps outside Makers Workshop.

Wheels on Fire.

Not too long ago, Ginger and I were taking a jaunt along the Turners Beach/Ulverstone path when we saw the most spectacular sunset over the fields. It was so striking that everybody we passed on the path had either their phone or a camera out trying to capture the mist gently curling around the long grass.

Once we tore ourselves away from the photo opportunity (sadly we were only phone equipped) we reached the end of the path and discovered the 'mist' was actually smoke from Turners Beach petrol station that was going up in flames. As Australians we should have recognised a smoke reddened sunset when we saw one but as said smoke was strictly confined to the fields, the smell didn't carry to the path. I'm sure there's a profound remark to be made here regarding beauty in unexpected places but I'm not the fart joke connoisseur to make it.

(Not)Sitting on the Dock of the Bay.

With record rainfalls for the month of August (which is not yet over) and even a few flakes of snow making an appearance within 20km of my North West Tasmanian town (very, very unusual), there has not been much winter sunshine of late. It's hard to believe that just a couple of weeks ago Ginger and I were boasting about crisp yet sunny afternoons in defiance of the season. Now it's ALL RAIN, ALL THE TIME and I struggle to snatch some vitamin D between storms. While I am actually enjoying the rain I have misplaced my giant and ridiculous bicycling poncho and the weather report has been fairly useless at predicting showers so that any leisurely cycling risks a soaking. Aye, me! I'll just have to gaze longingly at this collection of Autumn/Winter beach themed rides from the last couple of months and keep hunting for that poncho!

First: Ulverstone Pier in late Autumn by the River Leven. Contrary to expectations, Leven does NOT rhyme with 'seven'.  Allegedly it is actually pronounced 'Leevin'.

'Bad Cat' on the water, how droll.
Better than Bad Wolf, I suppose.
DOCTOR WHO JOKE NERD LEVEL UP.

They serve nice iced coffees here at 'Pier01'.

Next, a Winter afternoon in Burnie that ended in the best possible way: Meeting Ginger for fish and chips.

Rain threatened but never made it to land.

The sad end of Burnie bike path.

Lastly, to give you an idea of just how much hydrogen and oxygen has been cascading out of the sky over Tasmania, here is the waterfall near my town (Guide Falls). Captured last weekend BEFORE we broke rainfall records:

 

And here's me for scale, a fair distance away because the spray was so mad I could not get closer:

That Coat Pregnancy is actually pocket distention, I swear.

Devonport Bicycle Path Picnic.

Last month Ginger and I decided it was high time we experienced both the Devonport cycleway and our new picnic blanket. So like the Middle-Middle classes to which we aspire, we bought some extra special treats from Burnie Farmers Market, packed up the basket and bikes and drove East to grab a perfect piece of the new Winter sunshine.

This is what a fortnightly Treat Buying Expedition looks like.
And also why I am fat.

Devonport (third largest population centre in Tasmania) has an almost fully formed cyclepath network, the council has a pretty decent transportation strategy and the vision to implement it, if not the funds to make it as smooth and continuous as Perth. The section we chose was the Don to Devonport trail, running from the middle of town out along the coast and finishing at the Don River Railway tourist attraction.

The middle of Devonport is not your standard town centre, it's also the arrival point for the Spirit of Tasmania ferries; luxury passenger liners sailing from Melbourne to Tasmania, transporting Grey Nomads and their caravans. You can even walk off the ferry and hire a bicycle or bring your own if you're up for some touring. One of them was in port when we arrived so we stared at it for a while. We also stared at the ugliest lighthouse I have ever seen.

Spirit of Tasmania, Pashley in Picnic Portage Mode™.

Be more quaint and less functional!

Sculptures on the Mersey River path.

We were both eager to have lunch sooner rather than later so I saved most of the route documentation for the journey back from Don. The path led us along the Mersey river through the heart of Devonport and out to the recently refreshed waterfront. There you'll find a burger bar, playground, toilets, beach showers and the bluffs. Also the attractive Mersey Bluff lighthouse if you divert a bit but we were hungry so we rode on.

The beach on the return trip.

The way there, where Devonport meets the sea and I photograph
shifty looking men exiting public toilets.

Briefly considered this beach picnic spot.

Once we left the beach, the path quickly became empty and wound through some rapidly changing landscapes. After the typical gum trees and shrubbery of the main beach we encountered these oddly manicured looking 'transitional' flora, still right next to the ocean though it was hidden from us by their dense canopy and the rise above sea level. (Even though we didn't seem to climb) They looked like they'd spent a lot of evolutionary energy adapting perfectly to the windy, salty bluffs. The first trip through was at high noon so they looked especially odd without shadows, I photographed them on the way home at about 4pm.

The rounded foliage gave way to an open view of the ocean and a brief flirtation with the suburbs before plunging us into some straight-up temperate rainforest. Here we started to descend. I wish I'd taken a picture of the zig-zag trail but the trees made it basically impossible and riding down it was far too much fun to stop. There were swoops and little wooden bridges all through it and I rode with a smile plastered on my stupid face even though the entire time I was dreading hauling the Pashley back up. This rainforest section of the path was quite narrow, unevenly surfaced due to tree roots and very busy with joggers and family strolls in some sections. I was pretty glad to have the weight of the Pashley rolling tank-style over bumps; although I discovered on the way back that a big enough bump will knock a hub brake right out of your front wheel. Fortunately the counter-discovery was that you can just pop it back in with your fingers.

Well after the zig-zag, a return to flat land.

Eventually the forest thinned out, the tree trunks became more spindly and we were expelled into the carpark of the Devonport Aquatic centre before returning to the trail. We were crossing train tracks still in use but there was plenty of signage on the official crossing points. Towards the end we could see we'd left the coast entirely and come up next to the Don river. On the way back I made Ginger hold the Pashley upright (fie on the included kick-stand!) while I took a picture of the afternoon view, wood smoke was sitting like mist in the valley as the sunshine waned.

"Hold my shit while I capture nature."

"Done."

At last we reached the Don River Railway leisure ground, just in time to see a delightful display of steam (not a euphemism) before 'Getting our Picnic On' (totally a euphemism). Next to a car park. Oh, well. It's a Car, Car, Car, Car World after all. But we had the whole place to ourselves and the banks made it remarkably peaceful. It was very tempting to fall asleep in the sunshine and we were very full of Ribena and cakes so we had a nice rest.

Don River Railway. We've been on the train. It's worth it.

Not using the creepy picnic shelter.

The not quite distant enough tranquility of the Don River Railway car park.

Idiots doing Picnic in public.

The Tourism Tasmania version.

The winter sun combined with my wool tights for a toasty fat bottom.

Another Tourism-ready view.

Sadly, we could not tarry because I had to get the Pashley up the zig-zag and back to town. I actually managed to do it without once getting off to push, though I've never before spent so much time in first gear! We reached Devonport with enough light to spare for a quick spin on a breakwater to mark the setting sun.

As far as you're supposed to go.
There were fishermen/women climbing over the rails anyway.

Public art unimpeded by railings.
(No, I didn't climb over.)

Mersey Bluff sunset before the drive home.

Last of the Summer Whine.

I am not a hot weather human. It has taken moving as far away from the baking pavements of Perth as I possibly could without changing countries for me to view the sun as something I may occasionally enjoy rather than constantly fear. Unfortunately, Tasmania had a record breaking heat wave in January with Hobart sweating through 42 degree, bush-fire-filled days while I was down there. Fortunately for me, ordinarily I live in the magical weather bubble of the North West Coast where temperatures never exceed 30 degrees celsius nor drop far below zero. So once I was back in my bubble, I declared we should take advantage of the kinder, gentler summer and embark upon a lazy ride complete with copious refreshments, minor photography and incidental product review.

The 'incidental product review' was the Memories Bottle baskets.

They proved quite excellent.

Doing my part for Tasmanian population growth, I imported my immediate family from Perth in October 2012 and left them to ferment in the North coast splendor of Ulverstone. Once they were sufficiently boozy, I forced them to join me and Ginger on a summer ride to Le Mar café at Turners Beach. This was our first high summer in Tasmania and we made the trip on a deliciously temperate mid 20s day with barely a cloud in the sky. My Mother, Father and Brother all brought their bicycles with them from WA and had a history of two-wheeled transportation so I did not anticipate any problems. Cue problems.

It seems the family that rides together, gets a sore backside together. I forgot that it had been some years since my Mother had used her bicycle for daily transportation, she also had a wrist injury that day which made squeezing the brakes difficult. My Brother was primed having already explored the path alone. My Father approached it with the enthusiasm of an excitable Boy Scout, albeit a Boy Scout with an aged pension. Ginger and I drove our bikes (it always pains me to type that, we never had cause to in WA because of a more comprehensive infrastructure) to Ulverstone and were greeted by the cheerful sight of a rag-tag bunch of family cycles waiting in the sun.

After a fair measure of both dilly and dally about tyre pressure, helmets and attire I led the charge to the nearby path, freewheeling gleefully down to the Leven River. With a sea breeze blowing, the cloudless sky yielded perfection. My only complaint at that time was that my brimmed hat could not be worn. The sad little visor on my helmet did nothing to keep the sun off my face, I had to hope sunscreen was enough.

Green lingered in some fields, others were completely yellow.

Ginger's Classic Al by the River Forth.

Brother, bicycles.

The caravan parks on the way to the main path were full of caravans, a thing we had never before seen. Lots of families were camped right next to the beach, revelling in the hot sun. When the wind dropped, it was indeed hot. Not Perth hot, not 40+ record breaking hot but enough that you started wishing for the wind to return. I knew that when we stopped we'd actually have to cool down, something I had not needed to consider since we left WA. We arrived at Le Mar with minimal fuss and everybody ordered a cold drink and a hearty lunch. Anywhere with an all day breakfast is my kind of place and the pancake stack was monstrous, piled high with Tasmanian berries.

Father wears his helmet by the River Forth, dares the environment to give him a head injury.

Dry fields, fat bottoms, plenty of sun.

A quick stop at the public toilets near The Gables and then we set off for home. This is where saddle fatigue and sun caught up with us. Once you've passed it, it's very easy to forget the buttock adjustment period from the first couple of times you exceed a few kilometres. Even with a cushy seat (on bicycle and yourself!) the sitz bone will eventually have a say. And it will most likely say, "My ARSE!" Thus began an increasingly slow journey home with a rest stop at every bench along the path so that my Mother could take time off from her saddle and my Father (despite not being as sore or tired) could remind us that he was over 70 years old. Of course at every rest stop I became subject to the sun as the lack of movement and shade made me overly toasty. Ginger and Brother were given leave to go on ahead while I dutifully stayed behind, vowing to revise my acceptable maximum temperature to 22 degrees on cloudless days. Eventually the town was reached but the jolly air with which we'd set out was in danger of souring so I made a lone detour to the supermarket where I took full advantage of my new baskets and gathered afternoon tea supplies.

Pictured: Mood souring.

Solution: Food as reward.

A round of turkish delight flavoured cupcakes and a pot of tea soon had saddles a distant memory. My parents even declared they'd like to do the path again which just goes to prove that sugar cures everything.