Granny by Pushi around in Australia

01.02.2013: First rest day in Elmore: 0 km

Only at 6.30 am I awake. This is a very good sign! The clothes layers have not missed her warm effect. No wind shakes more my tent. But from outdoors also no sunshine falls through my tiny tent window. The sky is yet not really bright. No little bird sings. On my thermometer I see 10 ° C, remain lying snuggling and am glad of my life that I do not need to get up today so early and to ride off.

Finally, I tear me together and go to the sanitary arrangements! While I stand now here with my just unpacked small notebook at the board on which babies can be wrapped, the nice lady from yesterday enters again. She talks to me very in detail about my distance guidance. She and her husband have gone with the caravan also already around Australia.

She knows a lot from this vantage point and gives me good tips. I would have pressed her best! She calls Sue. I may say “you” to her. She asks for my email address and is very much interested with her husband in my second leg of the journey. And if I have sometimes problems, I should write to them by email. They will help me. She is again an angel on my long bicycle trip. Thank you very much!

I am surprised all the time at it, why here the birds do not twitter and flute. Overnight it was certainly also too cold for those. Understandably. And with this storm they can probably keep even hard on the strongly branches swaying to and fro. How then, besides, still twitter from the most full throat and passion? This has probably passed to them. I also had not done.

While everywhere to Echuca the Gallahs populate the trees and the air with their shouting, there are in Echuca almost only the white cockatoos. Thus who had complained before to the noise of the gallahs, that should be taught here of another. These do a noise still much bigger. But a laughing hans nowhere is a guest in the trees. I am tired and go to sleep.

02.02.2013: Second rest day in Elmore: 0 km

Except sleep, eat, drink, bought another very good warm jacket for in the morning and in the evening, nothing else has happened. Tomorrow I would like to cycle to Warnambool in several day stages further to the Great Ocean Road. I hope that it does not go too precipitously over the mountains.

At 6.00 am of Australian time I am arranged with my daughter Gudrun and her both small daughters Anna-Lena and Marie by Skype. A whole hour we talk by video between Spain and Australia. What can create the technology everything! I am inspired! A really technology with the Skype! Many thanks, you engineers whom you have created this!

And I do this Skype conversation by accumulator; since my family would like to see my tent and my sphere. Thus I walk with it on the caravan park to and fro. They are inspired! Only my accumulator became of it quite empty.

And while I stand there in the sanitary arrangements, a lady enters the space who has put up her tent just with her husband beside their car. She comes at close range from Rotterdam in the Netherlands and had often cycled around the Isle sea. This was a distance for a brief day, but with a miraculous view always on the water with its water sportsmen.

However, she herself does not cycle with pleasure. She is a painter. Also here she exercises her hobby. Then her husband passes away, for example, only here in the area of Melbourne where it is wonderful. There is held and painted. In the next morning she would like to dismiss me.

A look to my computer – the orange lamp colour has changed in green. The accumulator is charged. Thus I go to the tent, pull all my warm things about one another and crawl like a thick metric ton in my – luckily – wide sleeping-bag.

Across the watershed in direction southwest

03.02.2013: Elmore – Castlemaine: 88 km

At night I dreamed that I stand here in Australia with the famous talkmaster Gerd Hausotto at a canal which is covered on both sides high with reed. And while we talk, a big container ship drives past us. We turn round and look behind to it. But what stands there in completely big characters crosswise at the back of this ship?

HERMINE VON STAMPA

IN AUSTRALIA

I look very bewildered to Gerd Hausotto. He smiles. The big ship passes on the canal and disappears behind reed.

When I creep at 4.00 am in the morning out of my tent, put my flip flops at the feet and take directly a look to the sky, the cross of the south stands quite clear over me. And now the full moon has shrunk to the half moon. Yesterday he still stood vertically in the sky. Today at night he lies like a bowl crosswise at the firmament.

I slept wonderfully. No cold wind whizzed by my tent. I was also drawn very warmly. At 6.15 am I push by break of dawn – no, aurora – my loaded bicycle off the caravan park. Both nice women who wanted to dismiss me, actually still sleep.

Calm. The sky colours slowly change indeed more and more intensely orange. It cycles very well. I can do substantially a lot of speed. Every now and then a car drives past me. When the sun scales the horizon, I take a photo of it and cycle further.

At 8.00 am there awakes the wind. The warmth of the sunrays and the coolness of the night fight with each other for the prerogative. Today this swings slowly high. Now the birds also begin – we announce to carol the magpies – shout for joy. I admire these black-and-white birds very much. They can play the flute so melodically and snap how yodel in two parts.

With this line of thought the time trickles away. I see on both sides stubble fields, grazing sheep and wine plantations.

When I arrive Bendigo, I find a cycle path in the whole town on my way. Racing cyclists pass away in groups or only in the sunshine on their valuable bicycle and in their coloured tricots. Yes, with such a light bicycle I could also take up more speed. But I am quite contented with my long-term tempo.

Bendigo is a pretty and bigger town. But from now it goes „to the thing“ what concerns the area. Now it becomes mountainous. Luckily Malte Wiedemann from Hamburg had recommended me to let build the quite small gearwheel of the Hardo Wagner's bicycle on my old racing bicycle of 1985. Now with it I can master the coming mountains well. „Many thanks, dear Malte!”

8 km before Castlemaine I am steered on another street. In the next town, Harcourt, I descend in front of a small shop in which one can receive everything. I must first console myself of all after these mountains with food. Here it gives to my bright joy potato buffer. In addition I let still roast fried eggs. And what I never did, but, nevertheless, on this tour is, that I buy a Coka Cola and drink it.

The woman who produces food in the kitchen starts talking to me. She is completely inspired by my bicycle tour and tells me that her son had done a round trip by bicycle around Europe – in three months. I praise him very much. He has also earned this. And when I ask this woman, who is smiling at me, from where are her forefathers came to Australia, she tells me that her father came from Scotland.

And when I tell her that I had cycled by bicycle in England from Land's End to the last house of Scotland in John O'Groats and that Scotland is very nice, she is completely inspired. She calls to me her given name Amanda and asks for my email address to be able to talk furthermore to me. And when I tell to her that I write about this bicycle tour a book and now she seems also in it, she would later also like to buy the book absolutely.

So I leave very happy and something recovered the shop, swing once more onto my heavy bicycle and roll along the next 8 km till Castlemaine.

In the interim I have put up already my tent on the caravan park.

When I come to my tent, a young cat strays there around and might absolutely with me into my tent. However, I do not want this and scare it away. It comes again. I hunt of it. When I lie in the darkness so really nicely warmly in the sleeping-bag, I am surprised at a sudden, bright noise.

And what is that? Suddenly the small cat stands in my pretent and hits the claws of her little front paws under loud meow in the aviation grid of my tent. Well, however, there the fury packs me and I hit with the level hand against it. It frightens her so much at it that it disappears really completely.

04.02.2013: Castlemaine – Ballarat: 89 km

At 6.15 am I leave by 10 ° C with bicycle lighting the caravan park by aurora and calm. My legs have recovered. The new day can come. The cold creeps through my thin summer-bicycle gloves. Forward I had sent the warmer ones from Perth to Townsville. I clench the teeth. Fortunately, I do not freeze in the upper part of the body on account of the warm pink jacket. From the inside I accept the sweating with pleasure.

By such an early hour few cars go. The street 300 can be driven well. For my purposes the street signs are complete enough. Here I need no JPS. Every now and then an Australian magpie plays completely briefly the flute. But with this cold the birds have no fun after singing. Totally understandably.

My street from Castlemaine indeed leads slowly uphill. I can serve also well the circuit of my bicycle with more precipitous passages. The departure is short. I pass away on a plateau. On both sides I see yellow grass.

The street passes away like an avenue between trees. The morning fog still lies like cotton all around on the nature. Far away I see other small mountain hilltops. It is great fun to cycle here – till the street then stretches in almost endless height. Wood and quiet surround me, until sometimes every now and then a car drives past me.

Actually, it looks thus like in our German low mountain ranges, here only eucalyptus trees stand instead of our birches, pines, beeches and oaks. The sun has already risen, however, no wind rises. Pleasantly. But then it goes with me to valley. I deeply lie down in the racing handlebar and race at high speed down.

By the fact that I bend deeply forwards I shoot almost like a ball in the depth and can come up without stepping at least by my swing to three quarters without stepping the next piling up gradient.

When Daylesford appears, finally, before me, I register to my left side a blue wall which stretches straight across the horizon. What is that? Is that a cold cloud bank which is pushed by the Indian Ocean on the mainland? Will expect me cold and rain on the Great Ocean Road? These would be no pleasant views.

In Daylesford I urgently need rest and sit down in a café and let give me an omelette. I freeze. Why? I do not know it. I drink hot, sweet milk like dying of thirst. It really begins to warm up my inside. And then the waitress puts to me the omelette on the table. I ask her: „Is the dark whom we can see on the left a cloud bank?“

"No", she replies, „this is a mountain back.“

Now definitely I am better again. Well fortified I tackle the town mountain. On top a warning stands about snow and ice. The speed should be adapted.

Endlessly long I roll to valley. That is the fact that I must drive up from this depth again. This still recurs 3 to 4 times. Then a longer, level distance joins. But then the next long gradient expects me far up. From there on top I look far in the mountainous country. In order to take photos I may not descend. In addition I am already too tired.

By this height shortly before and to Creswick blossoming potato fields apply to my left side. Also the weed which grows here in the road edge looks like at home. Only the trees exist almost only of young eucalyptus. Slowly it becomes warm. My thermometer points 21 ° C. This temperature fits exactly to the "home" potato fields. Every now and then black and white coloured cows stand on the pasture. But predominantly the farmers breed here the black cows of the French.

Because my legs are quite rather tired, the remaining distance of 18 km to Ballarat stretches very much in the length. With Ballarat it concerns a big town. It still lasts surely long, until I reach the town inside. Till then still no caravan park sign has appeared.

The tomorrow's distance of 125 km does not go for me from the head. I do not create that with this mountain position. There something must happen. A bus passes me in the town. Whether does one take me to Mortlake?

After another time by riding my bicycle into the city center I find on the left a sign to the tourist information. I follow it and enter there. Four nice ladies try by computer, phone and briefcase of information to help me as I can put further humanely the distance to Mortlake. They call at the bus society. Taking there an unpacked bicycle is rejected.

As a result I push my bicycle to the bus depot approx 200 m away and ask in the counter whether the next day a bus takes me to Mortlake. But this does not go. These buses own no freight space under the seats. In addition, taking a push bike is forbade legally. I should go again back to the information and allow to check whether there is, nevertheless, a small caravan park on the way.

I enter the information again. The nice ladies look at me and collapse all equally questioning. They find out on the Internet about Skipton whether there is a place to stay. If there is, it decided too expensive. There they come on the flash idea that I own a small tent which may be put up there on the lawn beside the golf course. An excellent idea! Tomorrow I will do this. In this manner the long distance to Mortlake is cut in two humanely mobile stages.

Now here I need in Ballarat a favorable place to stay. Most favorable I can live in the Western Hotel. One lady announces me there and tapes to me on the local town plan the route which I must go along to come there.

In order to cycle I have with the best will in the world no more desire. My body asks always after a bicycle tour for a rest. Thus I push my bicycle in the right direction. Because the cross-road does not appear yet, I appeal to a lady. She still lives behind the Western Hotel and wants to bring me there.

This she also does, while she tells me that her daughter spent the Christmas and New Year's Eve in Germany with a German she got to know here in Australia quite happily. Germany is very nice.

In the Western Hotel the young landlord receives me quite friendly. He gives me a Coke which I drink up like a drowning in a train. Then he shows me my double room which I may only inhabit. He also shows me from here on top, how I can come down into the backyard to my locked bicycle to drag my many panniers up on stairs without carrying it through the guest's space.

All up here is soon concluded and my bicycle on the lockable backyard. Now, however, I must hurry up; since I am arranged with Gudrun in Spain by Skype at 5.00 pm for the next video for facebook. But I can not create this in this small time. With half an hour of delay we make up for it. The video is taken up by Gudruns computer. Tomorrow she will put it then in facebook.

Because tomorrow I have to drive only 52 km - who knows how mountainous this distance is - I do not need to start already at 6.00 am. I am totally broken!

05.02.2013: Ballarat – Warnambool: 21 km

While I stand stark-naked in the washing room before the showers, the door suddenly rises and a tattooed, medium young man might in. „Hallo!“, I say, „uno momento. You can immediately come in.“

The door shuts. I slip quite quickly in my pajamas and let the man enter. "Sorry", he thinks quite embarrassed.

„Oh this is quite okay in such a way“, I answer.

Shortly he has disappeared again and I shortly after also to draw me. Besides that, my dirty bicycle clothes from yesterday I take in the hands. Now I also know, which is why I froze yesterday so much. My warmer bicycle trousers and the warmer bicycle shorts are still bathed in sweat. Today this is why I must dress me with the quite thin long bicycle trousers with the quite thin small bicycle underpants.

Soon I carry my panniers and bags down to my bicycle in the court. We have only 12 ° C. But today they do not disturb me, maybe only in the hands on account of my thin summer gloves.

Yesterday the young landlord painted for me on a paper the road which brings me to the Glenelg-Highway. Today on this I cycle till Skipton, to set up my tent for the night in the wild park. Today it is cool and hazy.

There lasts a whole time, until I bump into this highway. Then westwards it goes. Here long road trains and all kinds of trucks roll. But for me a side stripe with a very smooth surface is available. It curls well up. The cars still drive everything with light. Is it foggy now or hazy? I do not know it. My hands freeze. Luckily I own the new pink jacket. In it it is poodle-warm to me.

When I cycle in such a way, there honks from the back a truck. Hello, I think. Why that? Nevertheless, I cycle courteously on the side stripe. But the truck honks not only three times, but slowly goes beside me and on the right on a free place. Out rises the long-distance lorry driver's driver who came today early to the washing room when I was responsible there.

Smiling he asks me: „May I take you to Warnambool? Our landlord told to me about you and that you are on the way to Warnambool.“

I am happy and flat. Well, of course there I do not say "no". This man is so strong that he can lift my high loaded bicycle – without my handlebar bag and the two lowrider bags from my front wheel - high on his follower. I would never have held this for possible! I praise him. So he drives with me through the early morning hours. Soon the fog disappears. The sun shines. Slowly the country becomes flat.

We both talk excellently. In this manner I learn. how it comes that the Australian trees grow again after a forest fire. Every now and then there stand on both sides the charred eucalyptus trees which show, however, everything a thick sheet roof. I ask him: „How does this come? If with our trees in Europe the bark is burned or is damaged all around, the tree dies without fail because between the bark and the wood the juices are transported by the roots till the sheet points.“

"Yes", answers my male angel. „Here with these trees the juice is carried by the roots up to the sheet points in the middle of the trunk. Therefore, they survive the heat and the fire.“

I am dumbfounded. „I never have heard this. Here the dear God let grow another kind of trees. - Jason, in Australia all prices are so terribly high. How can you pay that, actually? Or are you all so rich?“

„One should undertake no holiday traveling or bicycle tours, always stay at home, cook his food, have possibly an own garden for vegetables and if it goes, he shall sew and knit his clothes.“

“This is such as back in the past, Jason. “

“Yes.”

In front of us we see small mountains on which trees sporadically stand. Jason tells: „Actually, the mountains were bald. But the birds distributed everywhere the undigested seminal punches as well as on these mountains with their fertilizer. Therefore, there grow trees.

The birds substitute for the gardeners. – And tomorrow where are you driving down? You should use absolutely the possibility in Geelong and go with the ferry to Tasmania. There you can have a look at this absolutely wonderful island. Later you would be sorry not to have done it. “

With this new possibility in the head to enrich my bicycle tour in Australia I sit dreaming beside him. He passes his car-street atlas of Tasmania to me. „Have an exactly look in it and also do it!“

We talk excellently. On the way it is unloaded and gone on. At noon we reach by beaming sunshine and a look over the blue Indian Ocean Warnambool. In the main street my angel holds and gets down to me my bicycle. „This is quite a lot heavy“, he thinks appreciatively.

"Yes, I know. Thank you for taking me to this town. Later you get a book that I am writing about this bicycle tour and have translated it into English. After all, you will now also perpetuates in it. "

Moreover, he is very happy and gives me his business card. He also gets one of mine, if one should be lost from both. And suddenly honking "my“ truck driver rolls on.

The next problem is: Where can I set up my tent or sleep today? The hostel from two years ago no longer exists. At the Backpacker Hotel no one picks up the phone. I should go there the same time. It is not far. But I can not find it and ask another friendly woman. She points me the caravan park on the coast. I am standing to call by telephone the caravan park. Because I can not understand the woman there, I ask this kind woman, to make the call. She accepts and shows exactly how to get there, because I am already at Lake Pertobe.

It's not far. So I roll over there and get a pitch for me. An employee who is to ensure cleanliness, sees me standing on this place and wonders why I always look down at the ground. He comes with his little vehicle approaches and asks me: "Why do you not want to set up your tent?”

I show him the rough underground and the sand. “No, here I can not set up my tent.”

He is willing to help me, because he is with enthusiasm why I am riding my bicycle with panniers. He also is an enthusiastic bicycle rider. And when he hears that I am from Germany, he tells proud to me, that he has two bicycle friends, who also took part at the Tour de France.

Then he remembers my problem and promised me to choose together a really good grass court for me on this great caravan park for the night. And we find it. It goes with the small car back to my bicycle. My luggage is loaded and I can go ahead of him to the new little home. There, I thank him. He wants to announce my new stand at the front desk. And then he disappears waving.

Before I put my small laptop in action, I go first to the Indian Ocean and take a photo. He lies in front of me in all its beauty with bright blue water and tipped with whitecaps waves rolling onto the shore. Surfers are lying in the surf on their surfboard and ride off the waves. A wonderful sight, this ocean!

I am now fed up and tired and go to sleep. The surf roars up here. The wind will probably blow again through my tent. As precaution I must put all my thick clothes about each other to keep me warm at night, when the Antarctic air then finds its way here.