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Got up early and had breakfast twice, or more precisely, cocopops in the cabin and toast and coffee at the cafe.

At the petrol station, had the interesting experience of the service station attendant zooming off in his old Holden Premier before he served me. So I had to fill my own tank. There was an old lady in the office so I gave her the $20 and hoped that it would get to the dude when he came back. Probably.

After that, I drove down to Frecyinet National Park. I intended to do the saddle but knew I am out of shape. So I did the easier trails first to determine if I was fit enough to even try. The easier trails turned out to be okay, so I gave the lookout a shot.

After an hour, I made it. I’ve got the photos and sore legs to prove it. I’ll really pay for it tomorrow.

After descending, I was hungry, so I checked out Left Bank in Swansea, like my dining companion from Mt Elephant suggested. I had an excellent lemon tart and long black. I’m glad I did as Kabuki, an excellent guest house cum Japanese restaurant was closed for Devonshire tea. 🙁

Moving along, there were several really nice bays, but time was short. So I kept on driving. I even skipped Richmond.

Luckily, I was in time for the free beer! Yay!

Had a slow breakfast, trying to find a suitable C route to get to the Pancakes place. The only downer was that the pancakes place was not on the map, which was alarming. It’s Elephant something, and it wasn’t there. After breakfast, I checked out and went shopping for some new CD’s as the ones I had been played to death. The chick in the music store was a bit weirded out by my choice of The Messiah, Mozart’s Requiem (a snap at $10), a 3 CD hard core techno collection, and a Paul Oakenfold CD (which was on special). I’m not terribly sure it was probably the best mix, but their classical music selection was pathetic, and I really didn’t want some Shostakovich as I’m not particularly familiar with his music. When you play the Requiem, the hairs on the back of your neck stand to attention. Amazing piece of music. Either that or I’m playing it too loud.

I needed real coffee, and badly. I wanted (and ordered) a long black, but the dude serving the coffee decided I needed a double espresso instead. My body really appreciated it. Wired me up for the drive.

I took the A3 out of town and crossed my fingers I’d find the brown tourist sign for the Pancake place along the way. If you’re thinking I talk too much about food, you’re right. My normal method of navigation in foreign parts involves McDonalds, but Tasmania is sadly lacking them. Plus when I’m here, I like C roads. So I’m always on the look out for the most interesting place to have a good meal, maybe take a photo or two, and not get gastro.

The A3 is an excellent driver’s road! It’s also a very scary road for mortal drivers. Unlike most main roads between towns, this one twists, bends, goes up mountain goat tracks, and down dale. It has 100 km/h speed signs right in front of 25 km/h 270 degree bends, sort of a road engineer’s joke to weed out stupid people. It’s like a 161 km advanced driver’s test. I loved it. I took some photos at various look outs, which will be posted here when I get off my big fat behind.

Unfortunately, Tasmania is being raped by the wood industry more than ever. They are merciless. They’ve taken to putting up signs about when the land was pillaged, and when it will be harvested again. They have no shame ‘ more than once I came around a corner to a lunar landscape of utter ruination (sort of similar to the famous photo of Tanguska where a meteor wiped out an entire forest, but this was worse as the low life humans don’t clean up properly), go around another corner and there’s beautiful lush rainforest of world class beauty. What’s even more offensive is they’re planting non-native fast growing uni-species pine where normally there’d be rainforest, ferns and ancient trees, plants and shrubs of zillions of species. Tasmania is wasted upon Tasmanians.

Feeling a bit down, I had an excellent lunch at Derby, which is a lot smaller than the big dot on the map. The old tin mine’s museum had a tea room, and I had a largish pastie with an even larger fresh salad. Nice, and set me up for the rest of the day.

Pressing on, I zoomed through St Helens, and saw the Tasman Sea (big salty water thingy) for the first time since Burnie. Theoretically, I could see it at one of the lookouts I stopped at, but the day was too gloomy and hazy to actually see Flinder’s Island and Banks Straight.

After passing Ironhouse Point, I had to make a pit stop as the baked beans (I was traveling alone, remember?) had kicked in good and proper. After using the facilities at a beach camp site (do you know there are free camp sites all around Tasmania? Some with facilities, like this one. Wow.) Anyway, my Evil Plan’ to moon the Pacific came to fruition. The water was cold though, so I gave that up as a joke before I had full retraction. I love absolutely deserted beaches. Enough said, or I’ll scare the more delicate readers.

Then I found the Pancake place. It’s on top of Elephant Pass, and has spectacular views of the coastline. I met and had pancakes with a lovely lady from Canberra who was riding around on a sorta holiday whilst her tame (or not so tame) scientists were dragging themselves around regional Australia, in this case, Tasmania, with a traveling science show. We had a good talk, and I gave her my copy of Salmon of Doubt as she mentioned she had nothing to read at night, and I know how boring that can be, even with baked beans for entertainment. I hope my book goes to a good home. I think so.

The lemon pancakes were every bit as good as I remember, but the semi automatic gunfire in the background wasn’t. My dining companion thought it might be construction, but no one goes ‘psht!! psht!! psht!! psht!! psht!! psht!! psht!! psht!! psht!! psht!! psht!! psht!! psht!! psht!! psht!! psht!! psht!!’ in less than a second with a nail gun. Not unless they’re very drunk.

Tasmanians. It’s wasted upon them.

The road leading up there is just marvelous. It’s part of the Targa Tasmania route, and for good reason ‘ it’s just one of the world’s best driver’s road ‘ if the Hume Highway or your favorite stretch of straight Interstate is a difficulty level of one (even including the need to stay awake from boredom and counting the speed traps and playing ‘spot the hidden cop car’), this is a difficulty level 9 road; no Armco, just little white sticks indicating the side of the road and a 100+ meter plunge into thick forest. The road quality is good without being brilliant, and just wide enough for two cars or one truck. Luckily, there were no trucks. As usual, the road was nearly abandoned except for me. I love that.

After descending this wonderful road, I dawdled to Bicheno. It’s weird letting people pass me. I’m in no particular hurry, and although my new car is nice and everything, it is not a 1.8 litre turbocharged hoon-mobile. So I let people pass me. Whoosh. I even let an old 1960’s vintage Rover pass me. He was really pressing on. Must have had an appointment with a fish or something.

Checked in to the caravan park. Next time I think if I’m not doing the bookings, I’ll mention ‘B&B’ explicitly rather than saying ‘I’m easy. Anything’. I’m glad I’m in a cabin, not a unit or a caravan or tent, though. B&B’s are about the same price as a caravan park’s self-catering cabin, and way nicer in most cases. However, I can’t really complain as I’m not paying for it, I suppose (this booking is part of my boat fare).

Bicheno is a nice sleepy seaside resort town. Lovely beach views, freezing cold water; English tourists would be right at home here. I had a choice of French restaurant or Australian pub meal for dinner. I took the pub meal. I tried eating outdoors, but there were too many feathered rats outside. Once the other two gentlemen drinking outside had tactically retreated indoors, it was like Hitchcock’s The Birds, but with seagulls. I had to move in or jealously guard my food and beer from the aggressive winged rodents. Oh well. Next time.

Did the Sage-Tas thing. I always appreciate free food and beer. It turns out that I can’t attack WebGoat properly. I’m lame!

I got to see the last part of The Bill. Score!

I should probably explain what happened after Sunday, but by comparison to Sunday’s excellent day, I didn’t actually achieve much on Monday.

Waking ridiculously early (for a holiday), I awoke to find it sort of snowing. I believe the term is sleeting, but it is just cold and wet to me. I slowly ate my cocopops waiting for the rain and sleet to stop. At 10 am, I checked out and started to drive towards the Cradle Mountain national park ‘ my intention was to check out the mountain and take some photos. However, the sleet had turned into alternatively heavy and light rain. I hate being wet, even if I have warm dry clothes in the car. So at the general store, right before the entrance to the park, I regretfully turned around.

I had to drive from Cradle Mountain to Launceston, using my preferred C road strategy. Which is not a problem when the road leading from the national park was a ‘C’ road for at least 25 km in the wrong direction and around 50 km in the right direction.

I drove towards Moiha, sort of aiming at Sheffield. After about 30 minutes, the sun came out and I kicked myself. I didn’t really have enough fuel (to be safe) to go back, even if I had the time.

According to the map, Sheffield has robot tigers, and who doesn’t want to see robot tigers? Taking the slightly longer route allowed me to dawdle nicely. I took some time out to check out Mt Claude, and got a great shot of the car against a quarry wall, and some more pylons for Paul, including one very untraditional style of pylon, which I am sure he will burst with excitement over.

Anyway, once I struck Sheffield, it turned out to be a bit of a washout. Most of the tourist traps were shut, and after a few too many ‘Closed’ signs, I didn’t even bother looking for the robot tigers. I pressed on to Elizabeth.

Elizabeth and I have history. On one of the first trips I took to Tasmania many years ago, Dad, me and my brother had to go from Launceston to Devonport to make a plane as we’d missed the one leaving from Launceston. If you ever wonder why I never miss planes, although I’m perennially fashionably late for everything else, it dates back to the traumas of standby staff travel with my parents in my childhood.

Anyway, instead of getting a bus, or anything really obvious like that, Dad decided that the three of us should hitchhike as we apparently had plenty of time. So anyway, after many hours, we had reached Elizabeth. Elizabeth is only 51 km from Launceston. Tasmanian drivers statistically never pick up hitch hikers. Whilst we waited for the bus we should have caught in the first place, we had some lunch at the Elizabeth pub.

I decided it was time I had lunch there again. Not a thing had changed d’cor wise. The food had changed from Australian pub meals to pies and pasties. The day I was there was the owner’s last day ‘ after some 60 odd years in the family, they had sold up. There’s a bit of history for you.

Work rang up on the mobile ‘ the first mobile coverage I’d had in nearly a day and a half and probably the last people I wanted to talk to. A customer who I am dealing with next week tried bringing forward the appointment’ via phone and on my holidays.   

I headed on the A1 to Launceston as I had a date with a hotel room. Driving in a relatively straight line is weird after all the squiggly bits. Driving at the speed limit was a sensation, as well. Bored now.

After checking in, not much happened, so I went and saw Kill Bill as an excuse to turn off my mobile phone. That’s a great film ‘ go see it. Afterwards, I returned to my hotel room with Chinese take away and read the rest of the Salmon of Doubt. Sad ending. Doh.

Well, it’s like day three of my Tasmanian trip, and I’ve got a lot to blog, but as I’m on a piece of wet string I wont bother. Much.

There will be photos added when I get back, but for now, you’re going to have to use the power of imagination to fill in the blanks.

On Saturday, it came as a shock to various friends and family that I was going to Tasmania, so sorry to all and sundry if I managed to overlook this minor detail. 🙁

The main thing is that I’m here now. But like most decent stories, let’s start at the beginning.

On Saturday, Luke, Inger and Plaugue Boy (aka Brendan) came over for a few minutes to exchange the crackWest Wing editions. This it turns out is A Very Good Thing, and A Very Bad Thing. My addiction is now such that I have a strong desire to leave Tasmania immediately and see the beginning of Season 2 at Luke and Inger’s. However, I also know that although they might use thousands of hamsters in little generating wheels for electricity here in Tasmania, they also have a supply of the most addictive series I’ve seen for a while. Not even a backlit Willow in a translucent summer dress in a fond lesbian embrace compares. Hmm my secret shame.

Anyway, so I get on the boat, armed with Season 1.5. I watch Season 1.5. I go to bed. A drunk guy turns up and is apparently sharing my cabin. So much for secret plan titled “naked Andrew moons Devonport”. He’s not having a good time of it, and decides to go “brurrrrp … eewwww”. Well, I’m going ewwww as the beery burps are getting more intestinal as time goes on. Luckily, the dude doesn’t barf, as I’m known to want a sympathy barf if someone else doing it nearby and the fragrence d’barf wafts near me.

Come 5.45 am, muzak starts. I could kill Spirit FM, but I think karma would probably accrue negatively my way. Apparently the (male) DJ moons as the latte bitch at the Spirit FM coffee house (they do pancakes, too). I almost went there, but decided that without weapons it would be messy and I would still be decaffinated at the end of it.

Bought a road map instead and immediately used it to find the nearest McDonald’s and sort out where I needed to go. So I went on my little hoon down to the first of many waterfalls. When you see the images, there’s like waterfalls. And gardens. It was good, and I got a little sunburnt in the car as I had the roof open as it was a glorious Sunday morning.

After seeing Leven gorge, I found the nearest devonshire tea place and had a not quite Devonshire tea. It was these little pastry things with caramel, and for some unknown reason, they didn’t have Earl Grey. I thought that would be illegal in Tasmania, but apparently not.

So anyway, drove off in the general direction of the Wrong Way, and promptly had to back track. It’s not as if premium petrol is easy to find or anything. Luckily, the C roads in Tasmania are gorgeous and empty. I hate to have an accident cos cows can’t dial 000. Lots of cows and sheep.

Got some beautiful shots of pylons. Don’t ask. Paul will be excited.

Eventually got through to Burnie, and promptly decided to check out the paper factory. Closed. Checked out the cheese factory. Open. They had this great smoked cheddar I can get at my supermarket, but they had run out. Oh well. Denied.

Moved on the Annleigh Gardens, and had a great lunch there. After gorging myself stupid on a salady thing (plus a small shepherd’s pie), I checked out the garden. Photos here soon, promise. Let’s just say that the garden is very nice and proof that you too can have a major garden if you have five acres.

Zoomed along the C roads again until essentially forced to take a B and then an A road to get to Cradle Mountain. Being a sort of ski field some part of the year, I felt it a good idea to get there before dark as I don’t have chains. It turned out I didn’t need any, but I needed good eyesight just in case a cow or two was across the road, as it’s that part of Tasmania where there’s no fences, just griddles to stop the cows walking to freedom. Cows must be dumb.

Cradle mountain was good, but I had crap service at the devonshire tea place. Almost walked out before my scones came, but they came in the nick of time, and plus the time was passing quite quickly as no longer had any West Wing to watch, so I was reading “Salmon of Doubt” by well, Douglas Adams. I had bought this book some time ago in a 3 for 2 sale at Borders, and hadn’t gotten around to reading it.

<- kick self Get this book - it's excellent. The only bizarre - and I mean bizarre - thing is the service order at the back of the book. Douglas Adams was a raving, enthusiastic, proselytizing atheist. If atheists had such a position, we'd vote him Pope. After the little white puff of smoke, we'd have to ... anyway, that's not the point. He had a memorial service. In a church - St Martin in the Fields to be precise. I wonder who thought it be a mighty fine idea to bring the priests along? Obviously no one who actually knew him. I'd hate to be the priest writing that eulogy... Anyway, finished the book tonight after the SAGE free beer thing, and feeling a bit down. Not only because "Salmon of Doubt" is essentially missing an ending, and an author, but there was no lesbian action in the Bill. Apparently I missed that on Saturday night's episode. Always the way. I find it extraordinary that someone like Douglas Adams turns out to be a bigger procrastinator than myself. He had a real fear of writing, and would often need people to put him up in hotels and stand guard to ensure he met deadlines. I wonder if they were good hotels in sunny locations. Then again, reading the draft of the three books tied together for the beginning of the Salmon of Doubt, sometimes I get the impression that I could theoretically write better than that, given enough time. bwwahahahhahahahahaha! I wish.