Nethercote Falls

Having already hit the wall once this morning (on the bike), I must have been so exhausted that foolishly I agreed to go for a walk to Nethercote Falls.

The walk wasn't far, nor was it hard.  We didn't have to bush bash.

But 10 metres from the picnic table my leg muscles gave out.  That was it, couldn't make another step.  Felt like the whole show was just going to buckle.  I could still "shuffle", which I did to the picnic table.  Then I ate

and rested,

and enjoyed the view.

Wind in my hair

This morning we rode our bikes, 9 kilometres, to breakfast.  It was wonderful to feel the wind in my hair.  (I now have some hair, and there is enough airflow through my helmet that I can actually feel the wind in my hair).  And the breakfast was fabulous too.  We went to the same cafe as last year, and I ordered exactly the same breakfast.  Delicious.

Then we rode the 9 kilometres back.  More wind in my hair.  Some tiredness in the muscles too.  And then my husband spied a shortcut.  What is it about my husband that prevents him from sticking to the well trodden, safe, easy path?  Every single time we go somewhere, anywhere, he manages to get us bush bashing.  It's just not a trip out, if we don't end up somewhere off the track at some point.

In this particular case, a sandy vehicular track veered off the main road and we followed it.  My thin tyres were sinking into the sand.  Then, we saw a steep climb up ahead.  My husband sighed, and turned his bike around.  He is human after all.  (Although, I bet if he was with his mates they would have ridden up it.)  We continued along the well trodden, a.k.a. easy, path.

About 50m from our accommodation there is a steep pinch in the road.  It goes on for about 30m, but it gets you into bottom gear, and out of your saddle.  I hit that pinch, and I hit the wall.  That was it - my limit.  Of course I still rode up it.  Mrs 70% went out the window.  If I wasn't breathing and concentrating so hard I would have heard my naturopath going "tsk tsk" in the background, arms folded across her chest, fingers tapping.  But ... my muscles were crying.  Not just hurting.  Crying.

Holiday riding

We get to horse ride pretty much every weekend.  And we ride for however long we want.  And whereever we want.  We have access to unlimited trails in a state forest.  So when we go on holidays, you would think that we would do everything other than riding horses.  You would think that.

But, no!  We are on holidays and we have to go on a local trail ride.  And it's not some high country adventure ride.  It's the usual, one horse after another, plod-a-long.  Actually, for Sabina, it's perfect.  She gets the challenge of riding a bigger, stronger horse than Tornado.  I in turn, get to observe how she tackles that challenge, and what are her biggest issues.  In this case, the horse finally figures out that it's stronger than Sabina, and when we go through a field of lucerne it stops to graze.

For my husband and I it's nice enough time out, although we could have got the same out of riding our bikes or kayaks.

Back on the bike

I decided to finally brave the bike and ride down to the local shops.  To the chemist to be exact.  I got dressed in all my lycra, and off I went.

It was, oddly enough, just like riding a bike.  What was probably more interesting, was my visit to the chemist.

I parked my bike right out the front of the chemist shop.  I had forgotten to bring a lock, so I kept a very close eye on the bike, while waiting for my prescription.

One man appeared to be very curious about my steed.  He gazed at it from every angle for about 5 minutes.  I half expected him to go for a test ride.

Then, another man also waiting for his prescription, struck up a conversation with me.  "You should read Lance Armstrong's book", he sidled up to me.  Now, I am not sure whether it was just the lycra that caught his attention, or whether he figured out I was still recovering from chemo.  (I still had my helmet on, so you couldn't immediately tell I had mega short hair.)

"I have", I responded.  "Very inspirational."

The conversation didn't end there, and I was quite glad when my prescription was handed to me, and I could get out of there.

On the way home I was still enjoying my riding.  What bothered me is that I had no idea how much I could push it.  Would riding up that steep hill be too much?  Is this a "good" distance to ride, or is it the tip of the iceberg?  How far do I have to ride to feel happily tired?  (As opposed to stuffed.)  I used to know all these things about my body.  Now I'm lost.  It's all become a new frontier.

Creatures of the night

We're off on our annual family holiday to Merimbula.  We have chosen to drive up tonight, rather than during the day.  It's a bit of a trade-off.  Sure, at night you have to keep vividly awake at a time when you would normally be asleep, but during the day?  During the day you have to cope with endless caravan of grey nomads, boat enthusiasts and holiday makers, who all seem to be on a sightseeing tour rather than focussing on getting to their destination.

So we drive when no one else dares.  Well, that's not entirely true.  The boat ensemble seems to be out in full force.  The bigger the better.  We marvel at their size as we pass them one by one.  And in the end we all rock up at the same petrol station in Bairnsdale anyway.  Although I must admit that with our rooftop load of two kayaks and two bikes we are somewhat cautious.

In Bairnsdale we change driver, and hit the forests.  The road winds, the fog descends.  We wind with the road, left then right.  Sometimes we slam on the brakes as the fog is too thick to make out which way the road will turn.  Then we turn and keep going.  No crowds, just the road and us.  No limits.

A smigin after 3am we arrive at our destination, greeted by three roos on each front lawn.  We unpack the essentials and hit the pillow.

Friend or foe?

Mum and I drive up to the farm. We pop a few things in the kitchen, then I put my riding boots on and wander outside.

I'm in that wonderful fuzzy world of my own, thinking about what I need to do when a sixth sense stops me in my tracks. Motionless. I've got no idea why I've stopped. Slowly, I climb out of my little internal world, and proceed to look around.

Carefully I gaze at the path, and notice a scaly abnormality. A snake. Lazily strung out across the path and part of the garden. My husband has seen him (or her, I guess) around here before. I take two large steps back and look for something to throw. I find a flimsy piece of bark. I throw and just manage to lightly touch the snake. He stays put. I stomp my feet. I find another piece of bark. Eventually, with all the time in the world, he moves along.

I run inside, boots and all, and show the slithering scaly reptile to my mother. I get an earful about keeping the grass short, and keeping the kids out of the grass. Even if it is short.