Fridges and Bridges (But No Bodies)

CWCT Day 2

We woke to the sound of train carriages jolting against each other, the sound roaring from one end of the train to the other, and the aftershock roaring back. We unzipped the tent in a tangle of excitement and sleeping bags, expecting to see train-related disasters on the bridge, maybe a piled-up carriage or two.

Nope. Just train drivers deciding to give Wellington sleepers a 6am wake up call.

Our second day on the CWCT started with us at opposite ends, planning to rendezvous half way to say hi before continuing our merry way. An equal-ish amount of up and down meant that neither direction was particularly desirable rendering no need for the drawing of straws.

I anticipated walking up the biggest hill on my ride only to find out, when I checked, that I had miscalculated my starting mileage and was already half way up. After that boost it was no trouble at all to scoot up to the top and eat a banana in celebration of nabbing KOM for the day.

Still climbing hills on a perfect cycling day.

Cattle ran away from me in droves, although I tried to reassure them I wasn't a threat. I came most suddenly upon a large black bull, who was as startled to see me as I was him and I pedaled harder to ensure that I was on my way before he could decide how to react. I frightened one small rabbit who ran in silly circles in the paddock of stubble beside the road, and met one small snake who went on its way very quickly. This had the effect of making me rather more wary about sticks in the road for a while.

At the bridge over the Cudgegong river I stopped for peanut butter sandwiches beside the water. Roger, traveling the other way, dropped in and we shared our peanut butter sandwiches together.

A large fridge lay in the sand under the bridge and Roger eyed it curiously. "Do you think there's a body in that?"

We debated this for a while before, with trepidation, he went and looked. There were no bodies, merely the mouldering contents of an average fridge, which still raised more questions that we had answers but was infinitely preferable to a body because having to report a body would have seriously delayed our bicycle riding schedule.

No, I'm not showing you the Fridge Containing Schrodinger's Body.

I described in great detail the riding pleasure ahead of him: the accompanying river; the rolling vistas of cattle country; the generally smooth and congenial gravel surface; the last 6km of bitumen which for him would be fortuitously downhill. He reciprocated by warning me about the gravel roads hammered by trucks into corrugations barely smaller than the Great Dividing Range, and the last track into town comprised of waist-high snake-concealing grass.

I didn't take photos of corrugations, deeming them not worthy of any more attention than they demanded.

Another bridge, a creek with minimal water.

He was not wrong about the corrugations. I tried to ignore them which was tricky as, combined with drifts of soft gravel, they demanded a lot of attention. As for the waist-high potentially-snakey grass: I departed from CWCT routing and made my own NavDecs, rewarded by a final spin down a quiet country lane which delivered me to the highway right next to the start of the 50kph zone and the provision of a generous shoulder to separate me from the trucks zooming past.

I liked this lane. It was a quiet and gentle way to enter Gulgong.

I found the IGA and bought the cold lemon squash which I had so cruelly been denied yesterday before driving out to the intersection where I understood I would meet Roger. Three km down the road, his phone having decided to go bonkers and render him incommunicado, Roger waited at the intersection where he understood he would meet me.

Eventually, courtesy of a text message via a borrowed phone, we found each other and took ourselves off to the Gulgong Tourist Park. Our site was adequate only, nestled as it was close to the lights and noise of the ablutions block. The camp kitchen, on the other hand, was positively palatial with all the comforts of home. There were even proper wine glasses in the cupboard, daring Roger to employ them for their intended use.

He did.

Heart

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