Something close to my heart happened on the weekend. I did a double parkrun Australia milestone on lovely Ngunnawal and Ngambri Country at Mount Ainslie parkrun. 250 parkruns, and 100 volunteer occasions.

Back on the 27th September 2014, I went to my first parkrun — on Dharawal Country at Sandon Point parkrun — thinking that (as a single person in their early-mid 20s) there would be a whole heap of (hopefully also single) hot, fit guys. I was wrong. There were lots of mums with prams, and old guys. But I didn’t look back. I was hooked. If I could help it, I didn’t miss a week.

For lots of people, running (including parkrun) is about numbers. But there are some things numbers can’t capture (read on).

The numbers:

• 250 parkruns.
• 100 volunteers. 57 of which were as Run Director (first RD 21st May 2016).
• I got my 100th run and 25th volunteer milestones around the same time.
• 199 parkruns at Sandon Point parkrun.
• 24 different event locations, including 1 overseas in Copenhagen.
• PB: 18:40 at home on Sandon Point turf on my 10th run there. That means I haven’t PBed in 240 runs!
• I’ve been under 20 minutes at 7 of the 24 different courses. Shellharbour parkrun’s devious course eluded me by three seconds, and that was the first time I’d taken a few walking steps at a parkrun because I was that buggered!
• I was the first person to cross the line at Sandon Point, Blue Gum Hills parkrun, and Lithgow parkrun once each.
• I’ve still got the Sandon Point record for the highest number of gendered first finishers (i.e., I’ve been the first female more times than any other female, but also my number is higher than the equivalent for men — Tom has been the first male across the line on 71 occasions).
• 1 bird poo attack from the skies. On the day of my 100th run. And that was an insanely windy day too. Their aim was exceptional.

My family.

• There are the Jen & Jims who will never forget your birthday.
• There are the Michael Hickmans who are 89 and still running, and who insist on a hug, even pushing into a conversation to demand that hug.
• There are the Cherie and Daves who strategically plan their running and volunteering so they could do their 250th runs together.
• There are the junior runners who you don’t realise look up to you.
• There are the invisible superheroes who are there each week and do the start/finish area set-up without even being asked or seeking thanks.
• There are the Nikkis and Ernos who have nearly as many or more volunteer occasions than they do runs.
• There is team Bradley with their “voluntolds”.
• There are the Rays who take a water station to the T on ultra-hot days.
• There is only one Brenden. There is also only one Charlie.
• There are the people who you can always depend on to heed a last-minute plea for volunteers.
• There are the people who entrust you with their secrets about how running is one of the things that keeps them grounded and able to function for the day and week.
• There are the people who entrust you with their children and let you push them in the pram (to be fair, it is a huge bonus for that parent to not have to struggle along with a pram).
• There is the whole Sandon Point parkrun community who will not laugh at you and your enthusiasm for dress-ups, but laugh with you.

My last run at Sandon Point before moving away from my ‘home’ was wet. Very wet. Beyond wet. So wet that I called the Run Director of the day, Claire, while looking out my kitchen window at the rivers running down the street to ask if she was going ahead or cancelling. She asked me what I’d do. Honestly, I was on the fence. We went ahead. I remember at least a couple of people (aka, other crazy souls) who came commenting that they were only there because it was my last one. My response was, “I’m only here because it is my last one!”. But run — or slosh — we did.

I’ve been back to Sandon Point twice since leaving ‘home’. The first time it was just as wet as the ‘last’ week. The second time it was much nicer, and the closest to celebrity status I’ll ever get. There were so many people that, when they saw me, screeched, “IT’S AMY!” (you have to imagine it with a crescendo). It really hit home how much of an impact I’d been having on peoples’ lives, without even knowing it.

[Also, a little note on my appearance in the photos — I am extremely unhealthily lean in most of them. In some of them, I am not as lean, but still probably don’t have an adequate amount of body fat to be considered healthy for a female. Don’t aspire to it, please]

Inspired by Tessa Boyd-Caine’s recent piece on structural determinants and privilege, and the fact that my [new] job has had me reading about wealth, privilege, power, inequity, etc. for the past three weeks, I decided to reflect on these things in a similar context to Tessa — my experience of COVID infection. Also like Tessa, my symptoms have been mild (even milder). A slightly not-normal throat was the first indicator (but even when I would have been infected but undiagnosed, I still managed to run my fastest parkrun since March 2020!), and then some nasal congestion that mostly finds its way out in the morning. Energy levels are 99%, although I did need a lie down a couple of days ago in the early afternoon when I was literally falling asleep standing at my computer. So, overall, I’m doing well. A friend asked me how I was coping with isolation. I replied that I was bored by the change of scenery. She pointed out I was better being bored than bedridden. Personally, I’m pretty proud at how I’m going, given the psychological intervention I’ve had in the past 24 months or so about my obsession with needing to move (you can read more about my obsessive “too healthy” habits in older blogs here and here).

I live in a building that I can’t meaningfully complain about. Sure, there are some odd design features that I wouldn’t have done that way if I were designing the place (no flyscreens — what’s with that? Has Ngunnawal Country an absence of flies and other insects?), but overall, it keeps me safe, warm, facilitates necessary self-care activities such as cooking and cleaning, allows me to express myself, rest, and for this week, work. My flatmate and I have separate bathrooms so that makes isolating a little easier, and they have a full-time job that means we don’t see each other much during the day anyway. There is an abundant balcony, that despite being predominantly south-facing, means I can absorb some vitamin D each morning and get some fresh air.

I rolled straight from one full-time job to another three weeks ago. The people here at my new one are incredibly lovely (the old ones were too!). I feel terrible that I unknowingly might have exposed them to COVID while I was infectious but before I had any symptoms. When I emailed to notify them that I had tested positive, every single person responded telling me to shout out if I needed anything delivered — knowing that being new to this city means my personal networks are not as extensive as the ones I left when I moved. Fortunately, the flatmate is very generous in offering to help too, and their own recent infection means they’re at a relatively low risk of contracting it again right now. Many of my work colleagues also told (or firmly instructed) me that I didn’t need to work and should be resting.

Since March 2020 until moving and starting this new job, I worked from home in a stable job that no one could take away from me. In fact, my hours increased from part-time to full-time. I had the agency (and trust from my supervisors) to work when I wanted, which allowed me to work unusual hours and free up time to spend most of every Friday volunteering at an urban farm not too far away. The benefits that the social exposure on those Fridays brought to my sanity during lockdowns cannot be underestimated, even for an introvert.

In contrast, other people have been forced to continue face-to-face work, either through decision-makers’ choices about which industries and businesses should remain open throughout the pandemic (even throughout lockdowns), or through absolute necessity — without it, they would not have been able to pay bills or put food on the table. These people face increased exposure to, and thus increased likelihood of contracting COVID, curtailing their subsequent ability to work and potentially resulting in longer-term impacts such as the ongoing effects of ‘long COVID’. Obvious examples are casual and gig economy workers whose hands were mostly tied — we still wanted our take-away food delivered (while happily yelling at food delivery riders to “get off the f*&%ing road!”).

The pandemic has been tough for everyone in a myriad of ways, but I always saw my position in it as relative — and relatively, what I consider, privileged. Relatively, I was completely fine and had nothing to complain about (although, friends did tell me it was okay to not feel okay). In the earlier stages, I was worried not for myself, but for the shameful number of people in our society that were already reliant on charitable food services who were facing increased challenges nourishing themselves with the closure of community kitchens and from empty supermarket shelves that were left in the wake of the people with an income that allowed them to stockpile and left nothing but the most expensive brands of pasta on the shelves.

As a single human, it was beyond my capabilities to make any long-term, meaningful difference to those people’s lives. Their situation is not one of their choosing — no one would willingly elect to experience food stress and insecurity, to need to choose between eating or heating, to commit crimes simply to stay alive.

Their situations are a result of the structural determinants of health: the socioeconomic and political context, structural mechanisms, and matters of power, money, and resources. The World Health Organization’s Commission on Social Determinants of Health calls for us to tackle the inequitable distribution of power, money, and resources. As I’ve discovered in my limited three weeks of reading, these things can be hard to ‘grasp’, let alone ‘tackle’. So, how do we do it? Three weeks in, I’ve no idea, but stay tuned for some answers.

Three times in the last (roughly) 10 months, I have had someone ask me if I am pregnant. Two of these were to my face, directly from the person’s mouth to my ears. The other was the person asking someone else who knows me.

For those who want the punchline, here it is. Don’t ask. If someone wants you to know, they will tell you (or they will tell everyone through social media). If it is the latter, they don’t really care if YOU know. You as an individual.

For those who want to read my reasons why you should never ask, read on.

What bearing does someone else’s potential pregnancy have on your life? Sure, it might bring you some additional joy, but your life definitely isn’t going to be any worse if they’re not about to bring a small human into the world.

I am at the stage in my life now where “all” of my friends are having babies, so I don’t speak from a place of ignorance. I’ve had friends tell me early on, before the “safety zone” has arrived. I’ve had friends tell me a couple of weeks from their due date, and everywhere in between (or even after the birth). The thing that doesn’t change, no matter when I find out, is my ability to be excited for them and their family-to-be.

These three people who asked me are what I would classify as relative strangers. I’ve exchanged a few words with the two who asked me to my face, but the third I’m actually not completely sure who it is, other than someone at the gym who I’ve clearly never exchanged a word with. Those few words (or none at all) do not qualify you as an appropriate person to ask if someone is pregnant. It is never appropriate. If they knew anything about me, they would know that is a ridiculous question to ask. If they knew anything about my personal relationships, they wouldn’t even ask because they would know the answer is ‘no’. If they knew anything about my [rather pessimistic] perspectives on bringing children into the world they will inhabit, they wouldn’t let those words spill from their mouths. If they know so little about my life, why does my potential pregnancy have any bearing on their life?

Why does my body impact your life? Yes, I put on weight since about that 10 month ago mark. Because I NEEDED to. How many people do you know who admit to having experienced COVID-spread. And no, I’m not meaning they are an unfortunate soul who contracted the disease. I’m referring to the lockdown “I didn’t do exercise and rekindled my love for [insert junk food name here]”. Do you go asking all of those people if they are pregnant?

Both lockdowns saw me obsessively exercising as a way to get out of the house. The first lockdown put me back to the closest I’ve been to immensely underweight since my lowest of lows in 2014 (read my earlier blog for more on those issues and thoughts).

In 2021, I managed to put on weight, after receiving orders to do so from my psychologist and an exercise physiologist. And I kept this weight on. Woohoo for me! Unlike most COVID weight gainers, I biologically needed to do so. Yes, I put on weight (all of about 5kgs). But you know what? Scans at the end of 2021 showed that I’m still in fat-deficit. You asking someone recovering from disordered eating and/or exercise habits could be the difference between them getting [closer to being] better or relapsing to the unhealthy habits.

So, is this the image of someone who is pregnant? It could be. In my case, no, it isn’t. It is the image of someone who is working toward breaking detrimental exercise habits that result in the biological impossibility of me ever falling pregnant. It is the image of someone who has put on a bit of weight that brings them to the threshold of having nearly enough body fat to get her period back.

Again, is this the image of someone who is pregnant? That isn’t your right to know. If they want you to know, they’ll tell you. So don’t ask. Ever.

The beach at Wollongong harbour was covered in thousands and thousands of tiny, round white polystyrene pieces. Like snow. But completely not like snow because snow will melt away. That polystyrene was going nowhere.

I went to Levendi cafe and asked for their dustpan and a plastic bag. The lady asked me how many bags. I said I would take one to start with and see how I went.

Not long after I started, a lady came down and asked, “what is it? Why is it here?” Buggered if I knew the answers to those questions. The one thing I knew was that it wasn’t meant to be there and shouldn’t be there. That lady stood there awkwardly for a minute or two and then said, “yeah, I have some time”. Turns out she was a tourist. Thank you for giving a shit about a place that isn’t even your local territory.

That lady was the start of the movement — it wasn’t me — it was the first follower (ref: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lbaemWIljeQ)

Next, a lady who was in the cafe when I was asking for the bags came along. She had a tiny infant strapped to her chest and she still offered to help out. I know she took some photos too and I’d love to get those off her, so if you read this and hear of someone else telling the story that might be her, please ask her to get in touch with me.

At this point, when I looked up along the beach I wanted to cry. There was so much of it.

As time went on, more people stopped to help. I don’t know their names, I might not recognise them if I passed them in the street again, but I am immensely thankful to them for stopping. I do know one guy from our usual Friday morning swims in the Continental Pool. We both sacrificed our swims on this particular day. Also a shout-out to Angela for stopping and for her shocking but stunning photos of the aftermath. Other photo credit goes to Zoe for the progress shots.

There is no particular chronology to my memory of events because it was simply: pick up tiny pieces of foam, put them in a bag. But people stopped for as long as they could and I appreciate it immensely. Someone that came along had the light bulb moment that what we were picking up was beanbag filling. Freaking beanbags. It was stuck to the seaweed, it was crammed in among the rocks at the southern end and impossible to reach, it was pushed under the sand where people had walked on top of it, it got sucked back into the ocean with a bigger than usual wave. The army didn’t discriminate by polystyrene status — we were picking up cigarette butts, string, glass, bottles, miscellaneous plastic.

The morning got even more depressing when the Wollongong harbour hero came along. I refer to Paddleboard Geoff. Now that I’ve properly met him, I have found out that Geoff is out there every day and often multiple times a day picking up rubbish from the water in the harbour. He doesn’t need to take plastic bags with him to put rubbish in, because he always finds enough bags already in the water. So, while it was a highlight to actually meet Geoff (I’ve seen him at work before), I say it was depressing because he told the beach army that he had found five — FIVE! — of the bags that originally contained the beanbag filling. Geoff headed back out onto the water, via picking up the pool scooper from the Continental, while the beach army soldiered on.

One lady told a story about a beanbag breaking in her pool. She said that 10 years later, she found a rouge piece floating. 10 YEARS! Still there. What will you find on Wollongong beach in 10 years?

As the minutes ticked over more and more, I didn’t feel like crying when I looked up along the beach. I was beaming from ear to ear because there was so little evidently visible. The power of a movement. It took one crazy (or ambitious) girl and a tourist.

It was amazing to see the people who would come down to ask what we were doing, hear our answer, say something like, “Oh, but I have to go meet someone”, and stop to help anyway.

I am thankful to the lady and daughter who came along and helped, but more because they gave me sunscreen. I hadn’t expected to be spending my morning like this and could feel the burn developing. This was one switched-on young girl and gives me hope that the future generations might not mess up the future planet with plastics and other things as much as we have done. Among the army were some school teachers, so I’m also hopeful that having them enriching the lives and minds of our young ones, there might be a change for the better coming soon.

I picked up my first piece at about 8:00am.

I stopped just after 10:00am.

2 hours of collecting.

In that time, I estimate between 15 and 20 people stopped for some amount of time. Imagine if that movement hadn’t started — if I had been the only one. 2 hours by 15–20 ‘people hours’ = all my day gone. But imagine if everyone that walked past stopped for just 30 seconds…

By the end we had at least 7 doggy poo bags, 10 white bags, a large black garbage bag (pictured), an Aldi bag and others that I know people had already put into the bins because I didn’t manage to intercept to ask them to keep the bags for a mass picture.

Geoff returned with his collection from the paddleboard but despaired that he couldn’t reach much of it because it was clinging to the hulls of the boats and trapped between the boats and the walls. I heard from Geoff later in the day and he said that he and his wife spent another 90 minutes on the water collecting another bagful. I know that he went out again today armed with the kitchen colander.

There is still lots of foam there: under the sand, between the rocks at each end of the beach, clinging to the hulls of the boats in the harbour.

So if you have 30 seconds, take a small bag and stop by to pick up a handful. Take a sieve and go fossicking in the sand to get the pieces that have been pushed down below. That one handful is one handful less in the ocean.

***And if you hear of some fool boasting about the fantastic practical joke they played, poke them in the eye for me. Please and thank you***

A long time before departure

In June 2015 I met another Australian, who was at the time cycling around Iceland. The intervening time saw Michael cycling across the Eurasian landmass, arriving in South East Asia before Christmas in 2017.

At a time more proximal to departure

Near the end of 2017, Michael asked if I was going to my parent’s place in Kempsey (about 30–45 minutes north of Port Macquarie on the NSW north coast) for Christmas. I was. He asked if I wanted to cycle from there back to Wollongong with him (a tad over 500km going the most direct route according to Google maps). His sister lived in Canberra, so he was heading there. After hesitating for a day I said yes.

Before Christmas, I got my bike serviced in Wollongong before packing it in a box and taking it on the train with me to mum and dad’s. That involved more effort for packing than usual because it is not like suburban trains where you can ride your bike on. You have to take it as checked baggage. I had to borrow a tool to remove the pedals, drag a box home from my local bike shop and disassemble the bike and cram it into the box.

Before departure

Michael arrived in the vicinity of mum and dad’s place on Christmas Eve. Dad and I cycled north to Frederickton, meeting him at the highlight of the town — Freddo’s Pies — and then escorting him back to Kempsey.

Boxing Day morning I suggested to dad and Michael that we go out for a ride on the trails near the house. This was a nice idea until it started to rain. Michael was always a long way behind dad and I so we did lots of cycle-wait-cycle-wait. We went to the Maria River. As we were heading back to the house, the rain got heavier and heavier. Going downhill toward the creek/flood area, I managed to get a flat tyre in mum’s bike that I was riding (I was on that and Michael was on mine). We were about 3km from the house so I said I would run back, pushing the bike. That was fine and I was still moving faster than Michael. As I was coming down the driveway there was the mother of all thunderclaps and lightning, right overhead. My face and mood changed immediately from ‘haha, this is so funny how wet I am getting’ to ‘oh shit, I’m about to die. And so are dad and Michael’. Dad had to wait for Michael to show him the way home and once again they were so far behind me. I was really worried. Fortunately, none of us did die.

Later that day, after we had dried off, we drove north, headed for Wooli, where Michael and I were booked in to do a scuba dive on the 27th. However, he had contact from a high school friend who had moved to Woolgoolga so instead of coming with us, we left him at Woolworths in Woolgoolga to meet up with his friend. We parted, agreeing that he would contact us if he wanted to be picked up when we were heading south to Kempsey, or he would make his way back there in time for he and I to leave on the cycle to Wollongong on the 29th or 30th December.

Mum, dad and I arrived back at their place on the 28th and still hadn’t heard from Michael.

He replied on the 29th while I was in the shops with mum getting food supplies for the trip. His message said he was feeling lethargic and that his friend had driven him to Port Macquarie to see a doctor (not sure why they went all that way instead of to Coffs Harbour) and that he might get a train all the way to his sister’s place in Canberra to recover. I was stumped. Receiving this message in the supermarket at the very moment I was debating over what combination of nuts and dried fruit to buy for the trip. I put the shopping back on the shelves.

Back at the house, with reassurance from mum and dad, I decided to give the cycle a go by myself. I planned to leave the following day. That afternoon (29th December), dad was generously cleaning my bike after the muddy ride on the trails and a section near the derailleur snapped.

That was another blow. I sat on the ground and somehow didn’t cry. We knew none of the bike shops in Port Macquarie would be open New Years Eve so that only left us with the next day (30th) to get down there and hope someone had availability and the parts to fix it. That evening, mum and dad got out all the maps and helped me plan my route. Dad found a website and app that would be useful — NSW Coastal Cycle Trail. We planned out a 7-day trip, being conservative on the distances because I didn’t know what I was capable of in a day, that would get me to Gosford. From there, I would get a train back to Wollongong because I wasn’t very keen on cycling through Sydney. I wrote all my directions down on paper so that I didn’t have to rely on having a phone with sufficient battery in it.

On the 30th December, dad drove me to Port Macquarie in time to be there as shops opened. The first bike store (one of three in town) we went to was closed. Our second stop at Graham Seers Cycles was more successful. The guy finished working on the bike he was on and then fixed mine straight away. $120 or so later I was rolling by 10:30am. Back at the house I got my things together and prepared to leave the next day.

Gear and food on departure and picked up along the way. Red = not used on the trip

Day 1–31st December 2017–93km — Kempsey to Indian Head Campground, Crowdy Bay National Park

8:45am leave mum and dad’s

· Panniers and backpack stuffed full. Backpack strapped to top of rack. It was hard to even push the bike when walking, let alone balance and start cycling!

· I successfully made it up the big hill (not in lowest gear) and turned on to Maria River Rd. It started raining along there and the road being 99% unsealed meant that the hard work dad had gone to cleaning my bike a couple of days earlier was all undone. He had said something about the road usually being in better condition on the Hastings Council side compared to the Kempsey Shire side. I thought the first part on Kempsey side wasn’t too bad so was looking forward to the latter section. Unfortunately, on this rare occasion, dad was wrong. It was worse — more rutted, more bumpy.

· It stopped raining at some point.

· At one stage I realised the bolt had wriggled out of the problem spot that it does on my rack. Luckily I had been sensible enough to bring a couple of spares with me from Wollongong. I had to remove the backpack and pannier to get at it, and with no trees on the side of the road to lean the bike up against, I had to do all this straddling the bike to hold it upright between my legs. One of the many cars that passed stopped and the driver asked me if I needed any help. I asked if they happened to have any electrical tape or similar handy. The woman in the passenger seat rummaged around for a little while and then produced a roll of masking tape and gave me the whole thing. I wrapped some around each bolt to give me a safety net.

12:10pm ferry to Port Macquarie

· Was grateful to get to the sealed road again for the short section from the end of Maria River Rd to the Hibbard ferry that would take me to Port Macquarie.

· The sign at the ferry said it cost $3 for motorbikes, so I expected to pay the same. It was coming toward my side as I arrived so it was not a long wait until we crossed. The ferry man let me go for free. A lady in a car on the ferry asked me where I am from. I told her. She seemed surprised — it was because I was wearing my German Gymnaestrada shirt. She was from the Netherlands and her daughter lives in Towradgi!

· Once on the Port Macquarie side of the Hastings River I sought out a store where I could get more bolts because I now only had one spare. Autobarn — nope. Supercheap Auto — nope. So that meant I had to venture up into the hills and the industrial area to Bunnings. Success. (Retrospective note: did I use any of the new spares? No!)

· On my way to find bolts, a man pulled his car over to the side of the road, got out and waved his arms to stop me. Bugger you, ruining my momentum. He asked (what became a very common question) where I had come from and where I was going. He offered accommodation for the night. Thanks but no thanks. Not staying with a older male stranger! And it was only the middle of the day. I had many hours of cycling left ahead of me.

1:45pm Matthew Flinders Dr and Ocean Dr

· I missed out Port Macquarie town centre: a) because I’ve been there enough; b) because the route there was out of the way now that I’d been to Bunnings. I headed straight for Ocean Drive.

2:00–2:40pm lunch just past the golf course

· Camels opposite the golf course.

· I stopped at a moderately-sized patch of pull-over space next to the road, just past the golf course for lunch. Not scenic but there were some birds and as it turned out, there was nothing else for the next stretch of road.

· Lunch was leftover chilli, boxed cheddar, pumpernickel bread, hummus and carrot. That boxed cheddar is one of the nastiest ‘food’ products in the world. But stubborn me had bought it so I would eat it. I estimated quarters of it and knew that meant it would all be gone by tomorrow night and then I could buy real cheese.

· Only about 16km from there to Grants Beach, which is where I had originally planned to find some camping for the night, so I realised I could make it much further.

· It started raining and was very wet again after lunch.

3:15pm Lake Cathie

· It had stopped raining by now but the grey skies did nothing to sell Lake Cathie as a holiday destination. There were lots of people in the estuary; swimming and fishing. Refilled my water at the water bottle refill station.

4:20pm North Haven

· Seemed like a nice, quiet place to live compared to Bonny Hills, which I had just passed through. Lots of housing developments occurring at Bonny Hills.

· Had a pretty interesting pain in my right leg and hip.

5:30pm Indian Head campground

· I stocked up on water and washed my bike a little at the service station in Laurieton, then continued south to Crowdy Bay National Park and unsealed road.

· I intended to stay at Indian Head campground. On the road up, there were three naughty young men collecting firewood. At the campground there was a sign saying you need to pay at Diamond Head campground. I couldn’t be bothered going back there to pay so I figured I would pitch camp and then pay in the morning if a ranger came around. The vibe didn’t seem to bad there, conscious that things could have been loud for New Years Eve — a few family groups, one playing cricket, and a few camps of young adults or people my age or a little older. I set up near a few other smaller tents in the hope that section would be a bit quieter. Shame that I was near two smokers then. Ugh.

6:30pm all set up

· I had misplaced my hand capes though! Retraced my steps across the campground and found them. Phew.

· My neighbours were a young couple from Brisbane. He was doing hid PhD as well — child development and applied statistics. The smoker was a middle-older man with a younger Asian wife and their small child.

· Amazing the simplicity of my journey and camping compared to some others. Bike, tent, no cooking equipment. Compared to solar panels, Christmas decorations, fairy lights.

· Some evening entertainment was produced by the 30-something-year-olds two camps away. The blokes had gone off fishing and while they were gone the women thought they would get a fire going. They had only tiny sticks and matches. I think they were using an aerosol deodorant or hair spray to try to help them. A lady from another camp came over to help, armed with newspaper, bigger sticks and more experience. The young lady from Brisbane gave them a fire starter brick. But it really stepped up a notch when a guy came over with a small leaf blower-type thing to assist. Its intended purpose I am not sure of. Was it for starting fires or blowing out a tent/caravan? Great (not so great) camp joke there — how many people does it take to start a fire?

· Dinner of ‘stuffed capsicum’, carrot, hummus, more nasty cheese, crackers. Also had some of the basil cashew dip I had salvaged from Davey’s fridge. Use by 24/10/2017. Consumed 31/12/2017 and 1/1/2018. Nothing wrong with it. A huge statement on how long packaged foods are actually okay for.

· Planned a new destination for tomorrow based on my larger than expected kilometres today.

9:10pm bed

· The noise levels were not too bad for New Years Eve, but I was aware that meant people would be louder for longer. There were fireworks at a couple of times.

· At 12:30am the 30-something-year-olds were still playing music. I may have slept restlessly before then. I was on the verge of getting up and asking them if they would be able to turn the music down but it started to rain so they went to bed.

· It stormed quite heavily with lightning during the night.

Day 2–1st January 2018–56km — Crowdy Bay National Park to Taree

Before 6:00am awake

· Tent was quite wet because of the heavy rain last night.

· I packed up and no ranger had come so I departed without paying.

Before 8:00am on the road

· It was lovely and peaceful along the road through the national park. Other people probably weren’t up and about so early after New Years. Quiet except for the cicadas, that is.

· I stopped in the middle of somewhere and nowhere to pee and take a photo. Not of my pee! The trees had nice colours after the rain.

· Very shortly after that I noticed that my forehead was quite itchy. I could kind of reach it through the gaps in my helmet but it was quite uncomfortable. I stopped and took off my helmet. Had a good feel and then feared the worst. A tick! Without anything to look in, I got my nails as deep as I could and yanked. A fairly decent-sized thing came out so I could only hope that I got it all. A couple of cars passed as I was cycling after that, but I didn’t stop them to ask if they could check my head.

· At the intersection of Diamond Head Rd and Crowdy Bay Rd, a campervan missed the turn so they reversed back. While they weren’t moving I asked if they could check my head. The lady had a look and said it seemed okay. I confirmed in the wing mirror and set off along Crowdy Bay Rd.

· There was lots of black cockatoos, which made for a nice show.

· Along this part, I started to notice that my back section felt very wobbly. I checked the load so many times and it wasn’t moving any more than it should have been capable of. Then I noticed a squeaking — my back wheel on the brake pad. That meant it wasn’t running straight, but why?

9:30am Crowdy Gap campground for breakfast and bike fixing

· The bike got so bad I was on the verge of walking it when I arrived at the intersection with the side-road that takes you to Crowdy Gap campground and picnic area. I did walk it down the small decline on that road. I pushed it over to the picnic table and arranged some breakfast — oats and powdered milk.

· I unloaded the panniers, flipped the bike and tried adjusting the wheel and axle to see if that resolved the problem. It did not. Called dad to see if he had any ideas, but that is difficult when he wasn’t there to see it in person. He suggested the same about the axle.

· I don’t know what caused me to, but I felt the spokes on both wheels. The rear was definitely different to the front. In order to confirm my suspicions, I walked over to one of the very few camps where I could see some bikes. There was a family there and I asked if I could feel the spokes on their bike. That left it beyond doubt — every single spoke on my rear wheel had lost tension. This is the moment I wished I knew more about bike mechanics because I had no idea how to resolve that. Fortunately, the husband was more knowledgeable than me. He spent probably about an hour tightening them all with his fingers and then with a pair of pliers. That was the better news. The still-not-great-news was that the wheel wasn’t running straight so I had no use of my back brakes and I knew it was something I was going to need expert eyes on before I could go much further.

· It so happened that I didn’t even get his name (though I know his wife said it at one point). Her name is Charmaine and they were from country Victoria. Three kids — two boys and one girl. We got on to the topic of my PhD and they could understand the difficulties because of being involved in a sports club that had limited options for food provision in the canteen. The council came out to look at their facilities, agreed that they were inadequate for food preparation but did nothing about it!

· The campsite there is lovely — only 6 campsites and two for campervans so it was very quiet. You’d have to book a long way in advance for that time of year. Really close to the beach, goannas strolling around, big open grassy space for cricket and the such.

· Charmaine and husband assured me there wasn’t much more dirt road until I hit the sealed road that would take me in to Harrington. He suggested picking a pair of pliers up from the servo in case the spokes lost it again before I reached Taree. They also assured me that it was relatively flat between there and Taree, which was great news given the lack of back brakes.

11:00am leave Crowdy Gap

· What a relief to not be wobbly and not be on dirt road anymore, lovely as the national park was to cycle through with trees and only the noise of cicadas.

· It wasn’t far to the northern part of Harrington. I stopped at a picnic table and filled up on water. A little further on and stopped for the toilet at the Coastal Patrol Rescue building. Around the corner and into the main part of Harrington, which is tiny. At least I got somewhat lucky on this day and happened upon tiny Harrington on a day it was holding a New Years market.

12:00–1:00pm Harrington markets

· Given how dreadful the start of the day had been, I decided that I deserved a break so took the time to stroll around the Harrington markets. As usual these days, there was a smattering of some nice stalls among predominantly junky stalls. Macadamias, mushroom chips (I kid you not), the biggest country hicks running a pony ride and jumping castle. My favourite was a stall selling wood and resin jewellery (Bottled Earth http://www.bottledearth.com.au/) — many of which contained fungi!!! They also had some mini terrarium necklaces. The young man and lady were lovely to talk to and I bought two necklaces ($100). Up until recently they had been living on the road in a van, doing markets as they went. But they had now settled in North Haven. He was wearing a groovy shirt, which was a print of a tree trunk with fungi on it.

· I bought a postcard with Aboriginal artwork on it to write a thank you to Charmaine and her husband — it was a goanna to provide some link to the goannas roaming their campsite. Popped across the road to the servo and got a pair of pliers ($10). They only had a relatively large pair but I needed to get something in case the spokes went again.

· I wasn’t ready for lunch yet so I continued on.

1:25–2:05pm lunch at Cattai Creek

· I pulled off at Cattai Creek where Stones Oysters is. There was some shade by the river but it wasn’t the most peaceful being under/next to the bridge. There was an older couple there eating some oysters or prawns, and much evidence on the ground that many others had done the same before them.

· The day had turned quite warm and sunny now so I shrouded myself more with the bandana to protect my neck from the sun. One of my biggest concerns about taking this trip during the Australian summer had been the risk of too much sun exposure, both for getting burnt and also for heat stroke and dehydration. As it turned out, I didn’t have to worry about that because the whole trip tended to be overcast more than it was sunny.

· Despite the warmth, there were also some threatening clouds that I could see so I was keen to reach Taree before they reached me.

3:00pm start on highway toward Taree

· My first bit of highway riding took me from where the road from Harrington meets the highway to the turnoff for Cundletown, which leads into Taree — about 12km. It didn’t feel like that far because there was a lot to see, silly as that sounds. When you are on the highway there is a lot of open scenery because there are no dense trees on the side of the road, there are lots of cars and trucks to watch going by, the clouds to outrun, and the rubbish strewn on the side of the road to entertain you. It likely also didn’t feel too bad because I found a nice tail wind. That was good because I felt like it put less pressure on the bike to deliver and I was able to sit in top-top gear for much of it. The wide shoulder also makes a huge difference. Even though the cars are going fast, you don’t have to concentrate so much on making a straight line near the side of the road because you have more space.

· The most nerve-racking point was the downhill ramp taking me onto Princes St once I had merged off the highway. Not having any back brakes and having to potentially negotiate cars entering Princes St from the south had me a little worried. Fortunately there were no cars so I passed that hurdle with ease.

3:20–3:40pm Taree information centre

· I passed through Cundletown and arrived at the Tourist Information Centre in Taree at 3:20pm.

· Dave at the Info Centre was very helpful. I mentioned my intentions to perhaps wild camp and need to get to a bike shop the following morning, to which he suggested not even thinking about free camping and instead paying $12 to stay at the showground. It has toilets and showers and was right around the corner from one of the two bike shops in Taree. I spoke with Dave until about 3:40pm. He went above and beyond, pointing out possible campsites for the coming days and marking the bike shops on the map.

· I was outside getting back on my bike when he came out as a bit of an afterthought and said “Call your mother and tell her where you are”. Awww, Dave.

4:00pm arrive at Taree showground to camp

· Passing through the northern part of Taree brought me to the showground at about 4:00pm. Those storm clouds never reached me. Happy days.

· I paid Stewart, the caretaker, and he suggested that I could camp under the big shed with open sides but a good roof in case it rained.

· I parked my bike under the shelter and went to the amenities block to fill my water. As I came out, a man called out, “You look fit”. I said, “Thanks”, not really being in the mood to engage with someone willing to make that comments after the morning I’d had. He had no shirt on, a beer gut and a beard that was very long but very flat across the top. He asked me where I was coming from and where I was going. I answered and then returned the question. His response was, “Oh no. I live here”. WHAT? Who would choose to live at Taree showground?! I mean, I understand that it is cheap, but there is nothing to do there! The man said that I probably wanted to freshen up and then we could “have a yarn”. No, we are not having a yarn.

· As it so happened, I then spent about the next 1.5–2 hours caught talking with Ray, another curious (and I suspect, lonely) neighbour. I believe that he provided better conversation than beard-no-shirt man would have done so I shouldn’t complain too much.

· I hung my tent and mat up to dry on a trailer and sorted some other things out while talking with Ray. He was a permanent nomad, staying at the showground until the school holidays were over and then he would head south somewhere to get cooler weather. I guess we talked about a lot of interesting topics, but I really was pretty exhausted and in the mood for some relaxation time. I made my excuses about showering and that finally got him to go back to his caravan.

· At around 6:00pm I was showered and had my now-dry tent set up. It did try to escape initially because I didn’t peg it down and being quite light, even the slightest breeze pushed it over. It was nice and cushioned on the sawdust floor.

· After my shower I went over to a nearby caravan in search of a female who could check my back for more ticks. I went to the closest one and said hello. There was a lady in there with hair that was dyed pink. Her husband was covered in tattoos. She looked my back over and said she couldn’t see any ticks. They had a dog in their caravan but she said something like “where is my puppy?”. There was another one, and on cue it came into sight from around the corner of the caravan. Lo and behold, it was a white poodle-y type dog and its top-knot was dyed — you guess it, pink! I actually said out loud “matchy matchy”. The people you meet staying at a showground.

· Stewart the caretaker ruined the peace for some time from about 6:30pm as he went around on the ride-on mower. I am not sure if this was exclusively mowing or if it was also his way of transporting himself around the site. He was a rather large man.

· Some other campers — a couple — came along and set up close to me. Not sure why you would do that when we had the whole showground and the massive open shed.

· Dinner of the same salad ingredients, canned mushrooms, terrible cheese, carrot and hummus. This time I made kind of like sushi but without the rice. The vegies wrapped in nori sheets — if you can call that sushi. I don’t think you can.

· There was a great moon — full perhaps.

9:20pm bed

· Slept quite well despite initially being hot. It was quiet.

Day 3–2nd January 2018–56km — Taree to The Ruins Campground, Booti Booti

Wake a few times before 6:00am and finally get up at 6:15am.

7:20am packed

· Ray cornered me again so I went out for a walk in the local streets to avoid him while I waited for the bike shop to open. Nothing fantastic to report on the walk.

8:45am leave showground and go to bike shop, arriving 9:00am

· The closest (and one of two in Taree) bike shop was the next block over — Bourkes Bicycles.

· Fortunately, they were able to service my bike straight away, on the first day they were open after New Years. My timing for having a break-down was good and I was lucky they weren’t booked out with services.

· The guys there were very helpful, both with the bike knowledge and also pointing me to a local grocery store up the road. I walked there and picked up some more fresh vegetables while Brenden fixed my bike. Beans, ¼ red cabbage, 2 tomatoes, zucchini, capsicum for $10.55.

· He tensioned the spokes, aligned the wheel, replaced the rear brake pads and made sure the gears were changing smoothly again — $63. I was on the road again at 10:00am.

· They recommended that I was carrying too much weight on a bike that wasn’t meant to carry that much. They said that my bike should probably only carry about 80kg on the back, and with me already weighing a significant proportion of that, my luggage was blowing the limit by a mile. You really need a touring bike and wheels that are set up to carry the amount of weight that you need. So this was another learning curve.

· Headed through town to Coles and got some parmesan (was very much looking forward to ‘real’ cheese!) and a tin of corn.

· I stopped at the Manning River for breakfast and the day was looking good.

10:50am left Taree

· There was no option but to be on the highway for a bit coming out of Taree. My lord, you probably don’t notice it much in a car, but that is one hellofa hill after the merge onto the highway. It had enough gradient and was sooooo looooooong! So, within the first part of the day I was already super sweaty.

· I turned off at Godfrey’s Hill Road because it wasn’t going to be as busy as the highway. What I didn’t think about was the significance of the word ‘Hill’ in the name of the road. Second hellofa hill for the day. However, it was much nicer than the fast cars on the highway. I welcomed the high point of the road because that meant it was a cruisy roll down the other side.

· That led me to The Lakes Way, which I followed toward Tuncurry. The shoulder was quite narrow at times, and being summer holidays, there was a lot of traffic on the road so this bit wasn’t very relaxing because I had to be very focussed on staying on the line or to the left of it. Generally, drivers (on the whole trip) were good and gave me enough room. There were two idiots along here, both P-platers. One was a passenger who yelled out the window. The second was an impatient person who was ‘stuck’ slowing down behind the car that was nicely waiting to pass me at an appropriate time when they could give me space. The impatient person honked their horn, which is always startling when you are on a bike.

11:50am was 20kms out of Tuncurry

· Other than those two incidents, The Lakes Way was uneventful, though with lots of physical ups and downs. I passed a sign that told me I was 20kms from Tuncurry at 11:50am. I sent Jade a message here and we agreed to meet at the main beach in Forster.

· I was wearing my backpack today to reduce the amount of weight that was on the rack and back wheel. I’m not sure about my logic there though because whether it was on the rack or my back, surely all that weight was loading down into the back wheel anyway. I’d be curious to know if there is any difference. I’d hate to know that there isn’t because it was so much more uncomfortable wearing the backpack, as I did for most of the time after the Taree service. It made my upper back sore, and then when I use my alternative positioning (on the rack but strapped around my belly button so it didn’t fall off) the pain moved to my lower back. It was also a bit more sweaty, though that didn’t matter too much because I already was sweaty.

12:55pm northern side of Tuncurry

· At the northern side of Tuncurry there was a sign showing a cycle route through Tuncurry and Forster. I followed that, stopping at a toilet block in Forster to change into my swimmers.

· I unintentionally ended up going out along the breakwall and then following a sandy/dirt track that linked from there to main beach.

1:30pm Forster main beach

· Jumped in for a quick dip then decided I didn’t want to eat lunch on the sand so moved to the southern end of the beach where there is a pool and grass.

· Jade and Simon met me there and we chatted while I ate my lunch. Variations on the same theme of bread and salad. And parmesan! So wonderful compared to the silly cheddar-but-not-cheddar stuff. I offloaded my laptop and the dried fruit mum gave me for Christmas to Jade so I didn’t have to carry that extra weight the rest of the way with me. I hadn’t used the laptop so far, so there seemed little point to keep carrying it.

· Some dolphins made appearances, so that was lovely. Having some familiar faces (and people who understand cycling, even if not tour cycling) was comforting.

· It looked like rain might set in, but once again, the sky gods graced me and the rain stayed away. I even had dad the weatherman telling me it might hit me. The rain not coming made it pretty ideal because it was overcast and not too hot.

3:40pm leave Forster

· I kept following The Lakes Way out of Forster.

· Loved the tailwind.

· I went past the turn-offs for a couple of the places that Dave from the Taree Tourist Information Centre suggested could be alternative camping options (Green Point and Camp Elim) to my intended destination of The Ruins Campground.

· Stopped at Santa Barbara Picnic Area for a toilet break. Chatted to some ladies who had also stopped there. I walked over the small dune to the beach and took stock of where I was. I didn’t realise that I was on Seven Mile beach.

4:40pm The Ruins Campground

· Not far from Santa Barbara I reached The Ruins Campground. It looked quite busy, but given the time of day, I wasn’t very keen to press on to find somewhere further south.

· I bumped along the unsealed entrance road and pulled up at the office. Propped my bike up against a post and had a big drink of water. In the time that I was standing there at the door, the lady inside walked out from behind the counter, flicked the lock and turned the ‘Open’ sign to ‘Closed’. What?! Some more people had just pulled up in cars and we conversed about the timing of the office locking up one minute ago. A camper who was inside came out and while the door was open I took the opportunity to call out to ask if they were closed-closed. Thankfully, the national parks lady came out and spoke to me. She said they were closed for the day but that it was still okay to camp and then pay in the morning once the office was open. I asked what time that was and she said 8:30am. I mentioned that I might be on the road by then and she said not to worry about paying in that case. She gave me some tips about the layout of the campground and where might be a good spot for me.

· I asked about the roads for my next day. This is an important story and an error on my part because I got the names of the roads wrong. While the lady answered my questions correctly, it was me saying the wrong road name that meant I didn’t have the correct information. More on that tomorrow.

· The northern part of the campground is quite open and flat, so there were more campervans, caravans and bigger tents. I tucked myself up under some trees on the southern side next to border with private property, not too far from the amenities block and beach access.

· Once again, as all this summer, the cicadas were incredibly loud.

5:30pm set up camp

· The perks of lots of trees at a campground is that I have something to prop my bike up against, what with my lack of a bike stand (that is something I would recommend getting for future trips because that would make life much easier).

· I chose my patch and had everything set up by 5:30pm. As I was doing my thing, the lady at the next camp over pulled out a rake and started going at the ground with it! Life’s luxuries — a rake. What happened to simply camping?

· I went to the beach and did some writing of this and taking in the view until going back to the tent to prepare dinner. The weather was lovely, the sun was getting lower and it was great to sit on the beach at the end of the day to relax. No Ray, no people.

· Compiled dinner — same same but different once again. Picked some juicy Pig’s Face buds on my way back to the tent to add to dinner — that was the ‘different’ element. I started eating at the tent and then realised how silly that was and took it to the beach and ate there. That was much nicer.

· Sadly, some guy was smoking down on the beach (not that it was blowing toward me) and when he finished it he put the butt on the ground! Noooo! He used the beach access path where I was standing and so as he passed I nicely chastised him for littering. A) it is bad to litter, but B) in a national park! In hindsight I should have been harsher and asked him to go back and pick it up.

9:15pm bed

· I didn’t have a shower here, though those facilities were available. The mirrors present were useful because it allowed me to notice that my head was quite swollen from the tick. I sent mum a message asking if that was something I should be worried about. I felt fine in terms of pain, mental clarity, body etc. But there was a fairly sufficient lumpiness to my forehead. Mum researched and said it would probably be okay, but maybe pick up some antiseptic if I could tomorrow. The closest pharmacy was south, at Boomerang Beach, but it didn’t open until 9:00am and if I was awake, packed and on the road in my usual time, then I would be waiting for the pharmacy to open and that was not something I wanted to do.

Day 4–3rd January 2018–97km — Booti Booti to Fenninghams Island (south-west of Nelson Bay)

6:20am up

7:45am packed and on the road

· This was well before the office opened, so I got another free camp.

· Today featured a lot of hills. And not minor, low gradient hills. Big, steep hills. The first part was nice — good trees and forest lining the road, with glimpses to the southern bulge of Wallis Lake. The hill at the turnoff to Boomerang Beach confirmed my decision to not bother finding a pharmacy.

· There were some more decent views one I reached the Tarbuck Bay area on Smiths Lake. But there were also many hills. Oh so many.

· Just after Sugar Creek Road, and before Seal Rocks Road I found the worst hill so far. This one pushed me down into my absolute lowest gear. I didn’t have to get off and walk, but it was pretty darn steep. (Looking at the profile on Google maps confirms this being a long, steep hill).

· The near-top of this hill made it clear to me one of the negative points about tour cycling. I huffed and puffed and swore at myself (it is my motivational tactic on hills) and near the top there was a cool fungi in a tree but because I was still going up, I didn’t want to stop, in the knowledge that would mean losing all my minimal momentum and having to do a hill start. So I passed that fungi by, which made me sad and regretful.

9:00am Bungwahl “Top of the Myall” rest area

· By 9:00am I had done a little over 17kms and the profile looked like this:

· That last hill on the terrain map was the lowest of low gear hill. At the top of that was the Bungwahl “Top of the Myall” rest area. I pulled in there to pee and then kept on.

· The next point of significance was the turnoff onto Seal Rocks Road at 9:05am. Last night, when I was looking at maps, I thought about going all the way out to Seal Rocks as a side trip. As it happened, I ended up there without even realising. This is where my error in road names when talking to the national parks lady yesterday comes in.

· When I was talking to her, I was asking if Seal Rocks Road was sealed. She said it was. This is correct. However, what I was seeing in my mind was the road that runs south OFF Seal Rocks Road to Mungo Brush. As it turns out, no, this is very much not a sealed road. So, as I was cycling east to Seal Rocks up and down many more hills, I was keeping an eye out on my right for this sealed road that would lead me to Mungo Brush. I never came across one, which is why I was surprised when I found myself in Seal Rocks, because I thought I wouldn’t get there until I saw a sealed road.

· While I was happy to have made it to Seal Rocks without even realising, I was horrified by the last plunge of road that takes you to the caravan park. That was a steep down. And of course that meant I knew I had to go up it on the way out. If you isolate the climb, it is about 70m up in 750m distance.

· I wasn’t really thinking about how steep it was because it was a beautiful day and I reached the water at the caravan park at 9:45am. A man told me the other beach was better. The one here had a lot of weed at the waterline.

10:10–10:40am breakfast at Seal Rocks beach

· I continued moving on to the other beach at Sugarloaf Bay. This involved going down another quite steep hill past the houses of Seal Rocks.

· I had breakfast there. A nice spot. I was thinking that I had already used quite a bit of water this morning so when I saw a man out on a balcony of one of the houses I walked up the driveway and asked if he would be able to fill my bottles up. He was obliging. He even got me the chilled stuff from the fridge — he said that the water straight from the tap was safe to drink but tasted odd so they boiled their water to drink. They didn’t live there — spending some time in a holiday house — good choice of location.

· I took the first climb from the beach to the caravan park quite well. Then came the biggest test so far. This hill made the one after Tarbuck Bay seem like a piece of cake. If I was going to have to walk my bike at any point on the trip, this was going to be it. I dropped into the lowest gear, put my head down and got into plod mode. I tried not to look at how much further there was for fear of being disappointed at how far I had to go. A great moment happened — as I was sweating and grunting along, the driver of a car going down the hill called out “Go you good thing!”. This gave me a little chuckle (before I needed to resuming panting) and more oomph to tackle the remainder of the hill. What a relief to get to the top.

· I had spent a bit of time at Seal Rocks checking and double checking maps on my phone to work out where I had gone wrong with the road leading south to Mungo Brush. Finally I decided that I had gotten it terribly wrong and that it was indeed an unsealed road.

11:00am Mining Rd (unsealed)

· I stopped at 11:00am at the intersection of Seal Rocks Rd and Mining Rd. I looked at the map again, looked along Mining Rd, looked along Seal Rocks Rd and deliberated over whether to go against the advice of the bike shop guys and go directly south along Mining Rd (20km), or to go all the way back inland to Buladelah and then follow the Bombah Point Rd (about 52km to the point at which the dirt trail met Mungo Brush Rd to the south). Bugger it — I took Mining Rd.

· There was a fence at the start of the road and it was a mighty effort to lift my bike with the panniers attached over but I made it.

· Initially, the road was really not in bad condition and would have been really nice to cycle without a load. It started out being very sheltered and shady beneath heavily treed forest, following undulating terrain. Two other cyclists with panniers were heading in the opposite direction so that gave me hope that the whole road would be pretty good.

· All the same, I was taking it quite slowly and doing my best to avoid the more bumpy patches of road. This meant I had to be really switched on all the time, concentrating on the path ahead of me.

11:55am trail junction of Mining Rd and Old Gibber Rd

· I made it to this junction and it was around here that the scenery changed drastically. No more shady gum trees keeping me cool. They all disappeared and gave way to lower shrubs and magnificent stands of grass trees with big spikes.

· After this, I didn’t look at my phone much but I was following Old Gibber Rd now.

· I think it would have been nice to take the side track to Shelly Beach, but I really didn’t want to be on unsealed road for longer than necessary. Another couple passed me, heading the opposite direction. They didn’t have tour cycle stuff though — in fact, I’m not sure they had more than one small backpack. Hope they had plenty of water!

· I was having the problem of there not being any great number of good trees for stopping right next to the track for me to prop my bike up against, so it was a while until I started having the option of stopping for a pee. As it happened, as I got near the end of the road (but I didn’t know that at the time) I came across another junction (Old Gibber Rd and Johnsons Beach Trail) that had one of the national parks signs that are very good for bike propping. There were lots of nice trees again by this point.

12:50pm Boomeri campsite — end of dirt track onto sealed Mungo Brush Rd

· Two hours after starting on the dirt trail I reached the end at Boomeri campsite. Slow going at 10km/h. What a relief to be back on sealed road. I had been wearing my backpack on my back for the dirt road and it was nice to take a break and put it on the rack for the sealed section. My upper back and shoulders were so sore from carrying it.

· The road through Mungo Brush was relatively flat and had little car traffic, so should have been a nice enough ride. The problem, well, one of the problems was that the route was made up of long straights then a little bend in the road. You got around that little bend and then there was another long straight. The bushes on either side of the road were very dense and taller than head height so there wasn’t much to see. Straight road and bushes. Not the most inspirational landscape. Perhaps that would have been an opportune place to find that meditative exercise state, but the other problems I was experiencing meant I didn’t reach a relaxed state of mind.

· Another major problem was that I was cycling directly into a southerly wind. Head winds are never fun, but particularly when you are carrying a heavy load. Even though the road was flat, the wind meant that I couldn’t coast for any periods of time otherwise I lost all momentum. Pedal, pedal, pedal it was.

· My final and biggest problem was that my goal for today was to get to Tea Gardens in time for the ferry across to Port Stephens. The problem being that one left at 1:30pm (no chance of getting that one), 2:30pm or…5:00pm! No way was I missing the 2:30pm departure and having to wait for 2.5 hours until 5:00pm! All in all, this really got to my head and today became the most challenging, mentally. And physically too because of all the hills I’d found earlier in the day (and the ones I didn’t yet know where to come) and the headwind.

· There were a number of camping spots that I passed along the way that looked quite nice. I bookmarked them to tell Jade about because no doubt it would be far more delightful there than at the crowded Forster tourist park.

· I wasn’t sure how far it was from the end of the dirt road to Tea Gardens, but it certainly ended up being much further than I thought. I kept glancing at my watch as the minutes ticked down, closer and closer to 2:30pm. Damn southerly! I was running out of water in the bottle on my bike but didn’t want to stop to change bottles or to pee because those were precious minutes. What’s a little dehydration if it meant making the ferry?

· The road kept going on and on. I was getting really worried as it neared 2:00pm, then 2:05pm. Where were the signs of civilisation that signalled Hawks Nest? I found them eventually. I was still using my paper directions over my phone, but when I got into town there was a sign indicating the direction to Tea Gardens that didn’t match the name of the street I had written on my paper. Decided to sacrifice the time to stop and check my phone so that I didn’t miss the turn. Glad I did because that was indeed the street I needed — it became the street I written down.

· Knowing I was geographically close, I dug so deep and pushed my legs as hard as I could. It had to be about 2:15pm by this time — the recommended time for arriving at the ferry to make sure you had a seat prior to departure. And so, because I hadn’t done enough hills already in the morning, Tea Gardens had another one to throw at me — the bridge linking Hawks Nest to Tea Gardens. Well that was steep. There were footpaths on each side and a sign asking cyclists to dismount and give way to pedestrians on the path. I ignored the pathway and continued huffing up the road, probably much to the annoyance of the line of cars that piled up behind me. Rolled down the other side of the bridge, took the turn into the street I needed and kept my eye out for the pub — I had read it was opposite the pub that the ferry left from.

2:20pm arrive at the ferry at Tea Gardens — scheduled to leave at 2:30pm

· 2:20pm! Made it!

· I pulled up at the ferry where the lady (Annie) was ticking passengers off her sheet and said that I really hoped she was able to fit me on. She said that was fine and told me to put my bike over to the side and take the bags off so they could lift the bike onto the roof of the ferry. I said to her “Thanks. I’m just going to stand still for a second and have a drink.” Man, my legs were shaky. So much adrenalin.

· I wasn’t sure if I had the energy to lift my bike up above my head to the ferry man on the roof, but managed it. He stowed it away for me. I must have looked quite a sight to the other passengers in my dirty top, with all my bags and the swollen forehead I couldn’t see for myself.

· I rehydrated lots and ate my lunch on the trip. Some people standing up the front saw dolphins, but they were gone by the time I poked my head out the open door near me.

· The trip was nice and the lady was very friendly. It is obviously what she does every day for the 5 or so return trips the ferry makes because she had a speech that she gave to passengers in one half of the boat, the other half and then those people standing outside. Exactly the same speech each time, delivered in exactly the same tone and exactly the same pace.

· When I had looked up the ferry online before leaving Kempsey, I read that it cost $26. Fairly pricey, but mum and dad said it would be worth paying that rather than cycling inland and following the road. When I was struggling mentally through Mungo Brush I was formulating plans for where I was going to stay that evening. I had thought about Samurai Beach (nudist beach), a free campground. But when I did some more reading on it, the road in sounded like a sandy 4WD track, there would be no drinking water and the community that camps there seemed pretty strict on people having a self-contained toilet. All in all, I was getting turned off the idea of camping there. I promised myself that if I made the 2:30pm ferry I could treat myself and pay to stay somewhere with drinking water. Then I told myself not to be wimpy and free camp wherever I could. Then I changed my mind again and thought that if by some miracle the ferry people let me on for free or cheaper like the Port Macquarie man did then I would definitely reward myself with a paid camping site. In the end, it was a middle-ground of the promises. The ferry only cost $14.50 — $13 for me and $1.50 for the bike. At first I thought Annie was simply being nice, but then I realised it was half the $26 and half the $3 that I had seen for bikes. One-way trip! The prices advertised online were all return because a lot of people seemed to take a day-trip over to the Tea Gardens side from Port Stephens. Cheaper ferry and making the 2:30pm one meant I allowed myself the idea of finding a paid campsite for the night.

3:30pm arrive Port Stephens/Nelson Bay

· The ferry crossing took about 1 hour and when I got out on the other side, the man had already passed my bike down. I loaded my bags back on and headed to the Tourist Information Centre.

· I told the lady in there that I needed somewhere to stay for the night. She made sounds and a face that suggested this was going to be very difficult — understandable given that it was peak holiday season in a popular coastal region. She said she had something for $200 and something something! I said “I have a tent”. That changed things. She marked the names of two places — the first one she said I would be lucky to get a spot and I would have to be there before 5:00pm. That was looking unlikely as it wasn’t just around the corner and I still wanted to get some groceries. She said the second option was a bit further out of town, but I wouldn’t have to be there before 5:00pm. I went outside and called the first place she recommended and another one she hadn’t mentioned. They both had no availability. I called the more-out-of-town place — Island Leisure Village on Fenninghams Island. The lady who answered sounded lovely. She said they had space for me. I paid over the phone ($30) and then headed up the road to Woolworths.

4:00–4:30pm Woolworths

· It was a good thing I didn’t have to be at the campground before 5:00pm, because with my issues about eating food that doesn’t have stuff in it that it doesn’t need, I spent so much time deliberating over hummus in Woolworths. I got a tub of hummus, a tub of sweet potato dip, 2 pears, 2 bananas, a bulb of fennel, a can of chickpeas and a huge Odd Bunch cucumber. My final item was a huge indulgence but I knew I deserved it (and even more so after the extra cycling I still had to do to get to the campground). A whole (but mini — 125g) wheel of double cream brie!

4:40pm leave town headed to Fenninghams Island

· After packing my groceries, I was on my way out of town at 4:40pm, still with another 15km ahead of me. I knew that meant about another hour of cycling at the pace I had been averaging on sealed roads so far. Luckily for me (not) there was another steep climb as the first thing after Woolworths. I don’t remember much of the road between there and the turnoff to Fenninghams Island. I think I was so over the day that I was focusing on keeping my legs moving. My back was sore, I knew I had started chafing earlier in the day so my butt was sore and the mental strain was still present.

· I turned off the main road and headed toward Fenningham Island. It is not an island in the sense that it is completely surrounded by water, although perhaps sometimes it is. The road in has mangrove swamp on either side, so perhaps with a very high tide and lots of rain it would become an island. The mangrove swamp was very dry at this time though — mud rather than water. Again, this should have been a nice, scenic, peaceful part of the trip. But, there is always a but. But, there were speed humps every — I don’t even know how far apart in metres; enough to frustratingly prevent me from maintaining any momentum and speed that I gained. I had to slow down a lot to reduce the bumping impact of the back load. Bump along I did and finally reached the ‘Island Leisure Village’.

5:35pm arrive Island Leisure Village

· On the phone, the lady said there would be an after-hours box where I could collect an envelope with a key and instructions. When I pulled up at the house at the entrance gate, she called out, “Coming”. She must have figured that I didn’t need a key for the gate because I wasn’t a car, so she came out to meet me. I didn’t get her name, but she was as lovely as she sounded on the phone. Her little daughter came out too. Of course, she wanted to know about my adventure so I had a chat. Another lady (visitor) came along and joined in the conversation. The village lady gave me a map of the place and I pedalled over to the other side where the camping section was.

· The name, ‘Island Leisure Village’, gives you a pretty good idea of what this place was like. Some permanent caravans/cabins, some temporary holiday caravans and campervans, some campers. It was laid out in rows and streets — the streets even had names. I think there were two amenities blocks with toilets, showers, camp kitchen and laundry. The grassed camping area ran along the far side, and was set apart from the other vans/cabins by one of the streets. Lots of big eucalypts in the camping section. The other campers had already lined themselves up along the boundary where the forest began so I was forced to be stuck out in the middle of the grass on my lonesome. I chose a spot closer to the water, further away from the barbecue area and hopefully surrounded by quieter campers.

6:30pm tent done

· I set up my tent and had a shower. It was worth paying to camp because my stress was reduced by the ease of being somewhere ‘civilised’ to camp. With the mirrors, I could see that my forehead was still quite fat. Other than that I had no symptoms from the tick so I assumed I was going to be okay. I inspected my butt chafing and rued not having taken advice to use Vaseline and wear nicks.

7:00pm dinner and lunch prep for tomorrow

· I took my food down to a picnic table that looked over Tilligerry Creek. It was a very nice spot to unwind and refuel. And yes, I ate the whole (mini) wheel of brie, the whole tub of sweet potato dip, a whole can of chickpeas and some more salad items!

· By this time I had well and truly decided that I was no longer enjoying myself. I knew I would be in Newcastle tomorrow and so planned to call an end to the pedalling and jump on a train to get me home.

· I was in the camp kitchen, charging my phone and checking out the train timetables for the following day. To put the icing on the cake after the day I had already experienced, I found out there was trackwork on part of the North Coast line! I called up the Sydney Trains helpline to check if I would be able to take my bike on the replacement buses. The guy who answered must have been new because he put me on hold for ages. When he came back (my memory is that) he simply said “No”. That was it, one word. I was outraged and said “What, so if someone has a bike they are stranded?”. To which he responded, “Yes”. Gah! What is with you and your one word answers?! I said bye to him and immediately called mum. Tears came. It was all a bit much at the end of the day. Not a good look being all damp and snotty in front of the other people who came into the kitchen to do their dishes.

· Mum said they would come and get me — my safety net this whole trip. I protested because I was so far away from them now and it seemed a waste for them to drive all that way. She did the next best thing and checked the country trains because she was convinced that they couldn’t stop those services. Right she was — they were leaving Broadmeadow. But that would have meant getting a bike box, removing the pedals, packing it all, checking it in, paying for a country fare etc. So not ideal.

· I checked the timetables again and noticed that the line was operational between Hornsby and Central during morning and afternoon peak times. So my plan became: riding to Newcastle, getting a train from Newcastle to Berowra, cycling about 15km from Berowra to Hornsby, train from Hornsby to Central during afternoon peak and then the South Coast line home. Doing the calculations, I worked out that I could arrive at Hornsby after cycling from Berowra half an hour before the first train during peak hour departed. That would be a nice window, give me time to toilet, fill water and have a bite to eat.

· With that plan easing my mind, I managed to get to sleep, but it was a late night (for me) after all the tears.

Day 5–4th January 2018–46km — Fenninghams Island to Newcastle

7:55am leave Island Leisure Village

· I woke around my usual time, packed up and was cycling just before 8:00am. I had now accepted that nicks were invented for a reason and so was wearing the pair that Jade had loaned me. It made it far more tolerable to be in the saddle in terms of minimising the pain from chafing.

9:25am service station at Williamtown

· Because I was in the state of mind of ‘the end is nigh’ I really don’t remember much about today, I didn’t take notes once I finished cycling for the day, and now typing this up about 1 month after the trip, my memory isn’t detailed. I followed Nelson Bay Rd initially, took the side road through Bobs Farm (Marsh Rd), rejoined Nelson Bay Rd and followed that, reaching the landmark of the service station at a large roundabout at Williamtown before 9:30am.

10:20am breakfast at Stockton Cemetery

· I had a break at scenic Stockton Cemetery (it’s not really scenic — just a usual cemetery). It was quiet, off the road and had water so that suited me. I had my usual road breakfast of oats, powdered milk and some seeds then got back on the road. It was good to fuel up when I did because the next move was climbing over the really large bridge that spans the North Channel Hunter River.

· I was aiming for Hamilton Station, and Google maps told me the more direct route there was following the road over that bridge and then west, rather than going down through Stockton and taking the ferry over to central Newcastle. Unfortunately, this meant going through the industrial part of Newcastle, which also featured road works. It was kind of fascinating though to see how small I was next to the huge machinery along that stretch of road.

· There was another bridge crossing the South Channel Hunter River, fortunately this time is was small and flat. There was a sign on the side with a picture of a pedestrian and a bicycle, and with the roadwork I thought there might be no shoulder on the road part of the bridge, so I veered off onto the path. That went well until I got off the bridge on the other side and the path deteriorated into a dust track overcrowded with weeds. Way to go Hunter council — invest in roadworks but don’t even bother to complete one small section of footpath for pedestrians. I dismounted and heaved my bike through the weeds until I reached the road again.

· Then it was straightforward following the roads through Mayfield and to Hamilton station.

11:25am Hamilton train station

· I arrived at Hamilton within 10 minutes of the next train leaving, so that was ideal.

· It is a long trip toward Sydney, on a four-carriage train where the only one toilet was out of order! I was standing in the vestibule where the toilet was and the number of people that came along only to be disappointed was an indication that Sydney Trains has room for improvement there. I felt sorry for the kids that came but were met with their parent’s question of “Do you think you can hold?”. I offered one dad with a young girl a large Ziploc bag as a worst-case solution.

· On arrival at Berowra station at 1:30pm, the broken toilet situation meant that the line for the toilet at the station was long. To top things off, there was a tradie doing work in the accessible toilet so there was only one toilet we could use instead of two. I was the last person in line and as it got to my turn, the tradie came out of the other toilet, asked me to use that one so he could do work in the first toilet. No way! I told him he could wait as I would only be a minute.

· I had decided to try my luck getting my bike on one of the buses because the train, cycle train, train option was far less appealing. I think having to wait for the toilet caused me to miss the first bus to depart but the kindly volunteers pointed me in the right direction. I said to each of them that they would be my favourite person today if they told me my bike could go on the bus. I got to the bus and said the same to the bus driver. To my delight, he said that was no problem. It was a coach with ample storage space underneath for luggage. I loaded the noble steed in and we were on our way to Central at about 2:00pm. I ate my lunch on the bus and we arrived at Central around 3:00pm. That was perfect timing for a toilet stop and water refill before boarding the 3:25pm train to Wollongong. Almost home!

3:25pm train from Central to Wollongong

· That could have been the end of the story, but the train trip home was itself very entertaining. I was torn between being in a reclusive mood and having spent so many days on the road by myself and being relieved to be near the end. The train was only four carriages and very busy so we were crammed in and more people got on at subsequent stations. Again, I was in the vestibule where the toilet was — this time it was functioning.

· A man next to me made a comment about how silly it was to have only a four carriage train and that led to us talking. He had been accompanying his sister up to Sydney while she did something formal like getting paperwork or doing a job application — I never did find out what it was. They were both relatively nicely dressed and he seemed an animated character. I found out later that he was animated because he was pretty drunk, though he didn’t seem drunk to me — just, as I said, animated. In the end, I think it was good to have them there because it made the trip seem to pass more quickly. I think his name was Kenny (or my month-old memory could be making this up) and I never did catch her name. He said that he could be found at the pub at Albion Park.

Home

What a relief to reach the views over the ocean at Stanwell Park. The sign you are almost home. Even better to be back at the apartment. Better better yet was to have…cooked food! I love salad, but living off the same thing with minor variations for lunch and dinner for 4.5 days was enough.

Total cycling — 348km

Some reflections

· Ration your food — lighten your load.

· Have a bike and a pannier set-up that is adequate to carry the amount of weight you take.

· Pack all the tools you might possibly need and know a little more about bike mechanics.

· Have good walking shoes in case you end up having to push your bike any great distance.

· Wear nicks from the outset and take the advice of more experienced cyclists when they tell you to do so and to buy a jar of Vaseline and use it liberally.

· Do less kilometres per day so you have time to enjoy the sights that the area might offer.

· The people you will meet along the way will make your experience unique. Sometimes you won’t want to talk to them, but at least you might get a decent story out of it if you do.

· Have adventurous parents that 100% support you to do it and would come collect you at a phone call and save you from misery.

· Do it. But be prepared for a bumpy ride.

I’ve written this as an awareness-raising thing about eating disorders. What happens when fitness and health go too far. It’s long-ish. Enjoy the read/procrastination and remember that Christmas can be a tough time for people with eating disorders…

My mind is disordered when it comes to exercise and eating.

I used to bake diabetes — cakes, cookies, fudge, slices, you name it. Loads of sugar, loads of butter. I made them. Too often. And not just for sharing. I would bake whole recipes and eat them all myself in one or two sittings. Oh, and chocolate-coated peanuts. They were my weakness. Oh, AND peanut butter and honey sandwiches. I felt incomplete going to bed without one of those. And most of the time I couldn’t stop at one. Two PBs and honey right before bed!

The irony is that I studied Public Health at university yet I baked diabetes. Perhaps this is part of the current problem. I am entirely surrounded by it. Health.

Somewhere in the last 3 years or so it was like someone flicked a switch in my head and I stopped eating those things entirely. I’m not sure what caused the flick.

For me, the change in my habits was never about physical appearance. Not initially at least. Perhaps somewhere down the track when people started complimenting me on my weight loss and saying things like “you are the fittest girl in Wollongong” the appearance part snuck in. But initially it was about the purity of the food I was eating.

I don’t buy into fad diets. “No, I’m not paleo” (there’s a reason we have a longer life expectancy now). I don’t “eat clean”, in fact I particularly hate that term. I eat food. Not food-like substances, I eat FOOD, I love FOOD. Mostly plant-based. Basically all home-prepared. I do as much from scratch as I can.

“Yes, I eat carbs. I love carbs!” But I eat wholegrain, complex carbs, not sugary, simple carbs. “Yes, I eat dairy”. I think I love dairy even more than carbs. Oh my, give me cheese all day, every day. Yuuuummmmm.

However, obviously the result of cutting all those sweets from my diet and predominantly eating foods with lower energy density meant I started to lose weight. I hit a plateau, then I lost more. This was all assisted by the fact that I exercise a lot. Usually 1.5–2 hours at the gym most days. Also, I don’t have a car so I am either cycling or walking everywhere I go. For me, a ‘rest day’ is going for a one hour walk and doing some abs.

My friends were amazed to know how much weight I lost. At the most, this was about 14–16 kilograms, from around 72/74kg to 58kg! They most commonly would say “But you were never that big”. This is true, which is why it wasn’t healthy to lose that much weight.

This left me far too lean. Something I only truly realised after seeing the results of body fat scans I had when I was participating in a friend’s PhD research. Visually seeing how little fat there was on my body in the colour map was absolutely shocking. The reality is that generally, you can’t be healthy and have six pack abs. Your body fat has to be too low.

Throughout this process, I was really open to the idea that it might have gone too far. I told all my friends and family to tell me if it went too far. Only two people ever said anything. One was a comment from a friend who hadn’t seen me in a while about my face looking gaunt. The other was an elderly man at the gym I go to. He had seen the transition — he knew me when I was the 70kg weight, down to the 58kg and now back up to the healthier weight. As I lost weight he would comment that I was looking good. Then during the ‘Skinny Amy’ phase he said I was too lean and needed to put on a little weight. Same thing once I did put on some weight — he said I was looking better. The latter of these statements is the one that meant the most. It was the reinforcement that I didn’t need a six pack to be fit and attractive.

I look back at photos of a year ago and am amazed to think how I never noticed it had gone too far at the time.

When I realised I was no longer healthy I questioned why I had the behaviours I did. In the beginning, it was always because I was doing it to be healthy for life. So it made no sense that I kept doing it when I had the evidence that I was too lean to be healthy anymore. I knew this, but I couldn’t stop it. I would correct people who complimented me on how fit I looked. I would say “thank you, but I’m actually unhealthily lean”. Their usual reaction would be shock, “you can be too healthy?!” Yes, yes you can. Despite this awareness, I couldn’t get my behaviours back to being healthy.

The real kick for me was the feeling I had before a week-long trip to Perth. It’s only the other side of Australia, a major city in a developed country. And yet I was anxious (this is the best word I can get for the feeling) about the food I would be able to access in my time away. Would it meet my ‘nutritional gold standards’? This trip was the first time I was out of my dietary routine in a long time. Obviously, once I got over there, it was fine. Funnily enough, Perth does actually have vegetables and other wholesome foods. But that pre-trip anxiety isn’t normal.

Knowing that I was planning on going to Europe for 7 weeks the following year, I didn’t want to relive that pre-trip anxiety. So I chose to seek the support of a psychologist. I got a Mental Health Treatment Plan from the doctor (this can give Medicare rebates for up to ten visits in a year). A friend in the field gave me some recommendations for psychologists. Fortunately the first one I went to I really liked. It helped that I was always really open to and aware of my preoccupation with food being excessive. The things we spoke about made total sense and seemed so completely obvious. I was amazed I hadn’t thought about them and needed someone else to point it out for me. I won’t go into detail about the strategies we used because yours will need to be unique to you. Like Perth, the Europe trip was fine. There was plenty of food that I was happy to eat, but I think it really did make it easier seeking the professional help before I went.

The moral of this part of the story is: see a professional. You won’t be the first person they have helped with an issue similar to yours. This was comforting for me…knowing that there were others who had been in my position. I believed I was unique in what I was doing with my eating habits, but I wasn’t. Chances are you aren’t the first one either so people with experience really can help.

A ridiculous low point in the year for me include freaking out when someone gave me a mini chocolate egg at Easter. As in one of those small ones. And I couldn’t cope with it. I was almost on the verge of tears in the office. I told myself one day I would be in the mood to eat it. I wasn’t. The egg stayed on my desk for a week until I could bring myself to eat it. And that only happened because the psychologist told me I wasn’t ever going to be in the mood to eat it and that I would have to just go in there on Monday and eat it without thinking.

I think the reason behind my behaviours is a fear that I might go back to binging on those sweet foods. The illogical thing is, this has never happened. Any time I have eaten a piece of chocolate, or bit of cake or whatever, I never go and eat the whole packet or cake. The funny thing is I don’t particularly enjoy them anymore. Sometimes this has been because they aren’t very good quality, but also because they are just too sweet for my palate now. I have no desire to eat ‘junk food’ anymore.

I was never at the point where I wouldn’t eat out with friends. However, I did get in the habit of being quite controlling of where we went, checking menus online to make sure they had something I deemed acceptable before choosing a restaurant. That was obsessive. I don’t do that anymore, the menu checking. I am back to eating generally the same types of foods and have the same routine as I did in the spiral to ‘Skinny Amy’ but I am at a weight and appearance I am happy enough with. I no longer completely freak out when someone offers me a slice of cake, but I also don’t enjoy eating it. I also think that in the future when I am forced to be out of my routine that I won’t have that anxiety, or will at least know how to cope with it. I still don’t have complete resolution though.