That’s where we rode today. From Bakers Beach out to Latrobe, which was a bustling little place with farmers, markets in full swing even though it's a Sunday, and then Railton, which was not in the slightest bit bustling. In fact, most places were either shut or closed down. But Railton did have one ace up it’s urban sleeve; topiary, or hedge growing and trimming into weird shapes.
There were topiary efforts everywhere and there are all sorts - a kangaroo, an elephant and baby, a steam engine, a bird, and even the town war memorial. Not sure what started it off but it seems that everybody got in on the act.
It’s nice that people who live in these places retain such a sense of community. All of the places we have been through have been neat and tidy, with no rubbish, very little graffiti and no chavs hanging about. OK, so its mostly in rural areas, but even the cities have been noticeably well kempt and well, pleasant. Maybe that sounds a bit old fartish, but I like that people look after their home environment, don’t trash it, and take responsibility for where they live. It is not somebody else’s responsibility to clear up or look after you; make a mess, but clear it up yourself, and look after your own gear. That’s what it used to be like where I grew up, and it certainly is still here.
About 11 kms up the road from Raillton is Sheffield. Not known for any type of topiary at all, but very well known for its murals. They are everywhere, in shops, on the sides of shops, on houses, garage doors, and the town - which is still a very small country town - has an outdoor art gallery that features them.
Big ( as in 10 metre by 5m) backdrops on which artists create murals that depict their interpretation of some aspect of Tasmanian life, culture and people.
Each year there is a competition based on a poem, and the murals get judged. Its now a world famous event, although I had never head of it before we chanced across this place, but then I’m not an artist. However, a bit of investigation revealed that the town took inspiration from a small town in Canada that was dying until somebody hit on the idea of murals depicting local scenes as a form of tourism. It worked, that town survived and so has Sheffield, which had also been in decline. There were quite a few visitors, independent and on organised tours, wandering up and down the one street, looking at the art work.
We also bumped into a biker bird whom we’d met while waiting for the ferry over from Melbourne. She’d been riding her 1100 Shadow and was visiting friends and family in Tasmania, where she’s from, although she now lives in Brisbane. I heard a whistle as we pottered by but didn’t pay much attention as I didn’t know anybody there. But lo and behold, tit was she, and she was amazed that we were still going, and surprised that we’d made her home town, although we had just ended up there by chance.
A few old cars came into town while we were eating in a cafe. They’d been on one of their regular Sunday morning rideouts, and were on their way to visit a friend who had a new rotary dairy, whatever that is. A milking shed for round cows perhaps.
The cars were immaculate though, and my favourite was the old Ford, with a satnav stuck on the dashboard.
The owner reckoned he used it as a speedo, although I doubt very much that even on a good day and falling off a cliff, that car could shift more than 50kph. Nope, it was a gadget, and there for gadget purposes only.
The ride up to Cradle Mountain National Park was something else. Forested most of the way, with lovely twisting empty roads that dipped right down before going onwards and upwards for kilometre after kilometre.
My bike struggles on steep inclines although it does keep going, but it loves the flat and down slopes. Its quite torquey, but I do suspect a bit of a fuel starvation problem may have something to do with the lack of pull. But whilst its going OK, I will leave it be, but probably strip the whole bike down at Christmas when I have time.
The landscape once we got up high changed markedly. Trees thinned out although there were still some, but it became more like open moorland with large dead trees scattered over open spaces.
They were big old trees, so I’m not sure what that was all about. the timber looked dead as opposed to felled and wasn’t stacked as it would have been had it been deliberately chopped.
Anyway, it got me up to Cradle Mountain OK, and to the place where we’re camping. Its possum and pademelon city again ( what I had thought were potoroos and had confirmed by my wildlife expert, Nadine, were in fact pademelons, which to be fair, are similar looking but smaller, and extinct on mainland Australia.) But I’ve got used to them now, and know to fasten up all bags and things that don’t want scattered all over the place.
One little pademelon was pademeloning nearby with a joey in her pouch. I started squeaking to her, imitating the sounds that they make, and the joey stuck its head out to see what was going on. Sweet, and a mini version of mum.
We sat and chatted to a couple of blokes last night who are in Tasmania to do a walk up Cradle Mountain, the Overland Track. Its one of those walks that is well documented , like a Munro, so last night they were having a last minute scoff of ice cream and good grub because for the next eight days, it will be stove cooking only as no fires are allowed up there, and there’s nothing to burn anyway. They seemed to be looking forward to it but dreading it all at the same time.
So tomorrow, we’re off Devil hunting. There is a project just down the road where they sort them out and try and fix the facial tumours that they have ( disease ridden from bites and fighting).
No comments:
Post a Comment