Port Welshpool & the Spew Cat

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(Photos to come)

We departed Cann River after fixing a leaking oil line on the Guzzi. The wind had picked up again and promised to buffet us again all day. The countryside made for an interesting ride, open farming and grazing land, interspersed with thick forest country, then back to the farmland again, then some scrubby coastal land.

6 Tonne Tree Root

We made a stop at a small town called Nowa when we saw a "wood carving display" sign. It turned out to be really interesting. The main items were polished tree roots of amazingly twisted shapes and an incredible variety of colours. It was intriguing to see how beautiful the hidden part of trees can be. All of the carvings were from trees that had died natural deaths. There were a variety of woods, like - Blackwood, Red River Gums, Forest Red Gums, Huon Pine. One particular huge tree root on display weighed 6 tonnes and came from a tree that originally soared 70 metres in height (about 230 feet), imagine the noise and impact when it died and hit the deck in a storm! The owner of the carving centre told us it took him more than 1 year to polish and buff to the state it was now in. We had cups of tea and cake imagining how this tree must have looked in the forest.

The carving centre/tea rooms backed onto Lake Tyer. The owners dog politely escorted us escorted us for a walk to the lake. On the lakeside it was freezing cold, drizzling rain and blowing a gale, but we could imagine it must be a lovely spot on a nice day.

The Delights of Port Welshpool - No Rooms at the Inn!

We battled gale force winds from Nowa, through Lakes Entrance then onto Port Welshpool. The drizzle had now turned to very heavy rain and the "joys" of motorcycle touring were replaced by a strong desire for a warm pub, a cold beer, a hot meal and a comfortable bed. When we arrived in Port Welshpool my first thought was "what a strange place" (apologies to anyone who lives there). I was puzzled why the company that runs the Sea Cat picked this place as the port to run its service between Tasmania and the mainland. The other sea carrier, the Spirit of Tasmania, runs out of Melbourne. Sure, the twin hull vessel gets you to Tasmania in 3 or 4 hours compared to overnight from Melbourne, but why Port Welshpool? The town boasts two shops, two caravan parks and one pub, plus the Sea Cat Port. The town is also completely exposed to Bass Straight, which if you are unaware is Australia's roughest, wildest, most untamed stretch of water. It separates Tasmania from mainland Australia.

We headed directly to the pub and asked about a room. The publican told us they were over booked because the previous days Sea Cat voyage had been canceled due to rough seas. He suggested we try the caravan parks, he said normally he would call them for us and see if they had vacancies but "the phone lines have been out for 2 days thanks to the wind. Back on the bikes and we battled the gale to the nearest van park, no cabins, no vans "we can only offer you a tent site". The van park owner also told us "you won't do any better at the other van park either, the town is full". He did kindly offer to run us around to the other van park in his car to check, he obviously took pity on us. At the other van park a tent site was all that was on offer and it was a lot more exposed to the elements than the first van park.

Erecting the tent was a challenge, it was now dark and we were not too happy. Our two person tent is simple to erect and also designed to withstand some reasonably string winds, so we were happy to to finally get our gear inside and hope the rain stayed out. Still dressed in our bike leathers and rain gear, we took an adventurous walk to the pub. We had no way of cooking anything except our fuel stove, which would never work in this gale, plus no food supplies anyway.

At the pub there was a huge crowd of yesterdays Sea Cat passengers, plus the ones for tomorrows crossing. We had a few beers, warmed ourselves by the fire and then enjoyed a great steak. Now, please remember this is March in Australia - it is summer not winter - it should be about 26 degree C, not 6 degrees outside! The publican also told us that the wind had been gusting up to 120km/h for the last two days. What a paradise this Port Welshpool was proving to be!

Our walk back to our campsite was certainly an adventure. We were walking directly into the gale and at times being pushed backward. It seemed to take us hours to cover the 1.5 kilometres back to our tent. Ooops - did I say tent? What was out tent, was now a flattened sheet of nylon pressed up against my motorcycle! We did our best to re-erect it and tie it off to the bikes. Inside it was cold, wet and so noisy. We looked at each other torch light and laughed at the forlorn start to our Tasmanian motorcycle adventure. Lorenza laughed even more when I said "its lucky we love each isn't it, this would be the perfect excuse for a divorce if we didn't!"

We did manage to get some sleep, still dressed in our bike leathers, wrapped in our sleeping bags, with our wet weather gear on top - very cozy. I last words before nodding off were "things can only get better from here", Lorenza's only comment was "yeah - right, they better!"

God really does ride a Moto Guzzi!

How can the weather change so quickly while we slept? We woke up at 7.00am and noticed there was no wind, no rain and a strange orange ball was in the sky that felt like it was radiating some warmth. I awoke to proof that, like I had often said in the past, God does ride a Moto Guzzi, why else would he have changed the weather over night? Could the Almighty really have listened to my prayers for a calmer day for our crossing of Bass Straight? Surely this was proof that a humble motorcyclist like me could actually communicate with the Bloke upstairs - thank you!

I hate packing away a wet tent, but there was no choice. In fact, there was no choice with packing away a wet sleeping bag either, or sundry other bits of wet gear. I was not going to complain - the gale force winds were gone and the sun was shining on Port Welshpool - it actually looked like a pleasant little town this morning!

The Spew Cat

When we planned our trip we mentioned to a few folks who had been to Tassie recently that we had booked on the Sea Cat. Their comments "have fun, buy some paper bags!. We took their advice and had brought along a supply of seasick patches to stick behind our ears. When we lived in North Queensland we did a lot of ocean going sailing and were confident we would be ok.

We lined up at the dock to entrust our motorcycles to the vehicle storage area in the hull of the Sea Cat. Turned out to be lots of racing motorcycles on trailers being loaded on board because the Australian Superbike Series was racing at Baskerville, near Hobart the weekend coming. There were also some other touring motorcyclists lined up with us - Graham (from Riverwood the neighboring suburb to where I grew up) with a BMW R80GS, Cheryl with a Kwaka 500, Andrew with a Suzuki GSX1100, Francis with a Z900 Kwaka. Before we even got on board we started having some fun because a rider who will remain nameless had a supply of cold beer and some calming, green herbal cigarettes for us all to imbibe.

Once on board our Captain announced that the crossing should be "... challenging, the wind may have dropped off on land, but on the Straight it is still a bit stronger. But, our staff will ensure you enjoy your crossing as best as they can". Lorenza did not seem to feel anything, she sat inside reading. I spent most of my time on the rear deck sucking in as much fresh air as I could, while looking at the horizon. I was offered a beer and some more herbal medicine, but declined. I was very, very happy three and a half hours later when we landed in Georgetown. Lorenza grinned at me and asked, sarcastically what's wrong Petal, you look a bit pale".

Back on land, with the bikes unloaded from the hull we had to push start Lorenza's Morini. All of the touring motorcyclists on the crossing agreed to head to the Georgetown YHA. We registered at the hostel, did some shopping and all pooled our resources to cook up a group dinner. Some of the race bike owners also joined us at the hostel and gave us some Pit Passes for the race meeting.

Also at the hostel was Bill from Byron Bay, who was ready to busk his way around Tasmania, having arrived with a guitar and five dollars in his pocket. Plus not return ticket. After our meal, Byron Bay Bill, did his best to entertain us. We all chipped in a few dollars for his efforts and said secretly to each other that this was probably the last good meal he would have based on his singing and playing ability. 10 out of 10 to Bill for effort, but sadly minus 100 out of 10 for talent. Cruel, but true! Oh, did I mention I am a musician? Remember that saying about pride and what comes next? I borrowed Bill's guitar and foolishly knew I could run off a few blues tunes before bed, thanks to way too many beers, too many herbs and those seasick patches, I fumbled my way through Robert Johnson's "Come on in my kitchen" and was glad I had another means of financial support than the one which Bill had opted for. Good night!

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