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Date: Mon, 23 Jun 1997 16:38:12 +1000To: studio@toysatellite.org From: Don Pattenden <dpattenden@pegasus.com.au> Subject: SYDNEY TO BRISBANE; FINALLY My stay in Sydney is at last coming to an end. My injured finger ("Mallet finger" -- I'd never heard of it before) is almost healed and I've had a final session with the physiotherapist; cleared to go. Even so it's not 100% yet, still a bit bruised, a bit tender and I still have to wear the splint while asleep for another six weeks. It must have copped a mighty whack when I hit the road because the accident was way back on April 22, 9 weeks ago next Tuesday. But at least the finger (little finger on my right hand) is pulling its weight now e.g. when I lift things. I discovered quite early in the piece that it was quite hopeless to attempt to cope with a heavily laden bike with only three fingers on that hand. Not so much when riding it, that was OK, but e.g. getting it up & down stairs or even just moving it close enough to wall to lean it against it. Not only that, but the idea of coping with all of the rigours of the camping life -- putting up my tent when it's getting dark (as always seems to happen) rushing against the clock, plus frantically rummaging through paniers in the semi-darkness -- all of that, with the encumbrance of a splint on my right hand -- no!! And anyway, the physiotherapist I've been going to here in Sydney has been very helpful. Called the "Sydney Hand Therapy", very skilled - they specialise entirely in hand injuries & problems. I figured it was best to make the most of their expertise and get the job done properly rather than risk getting problems later on if I was too impatient. I missed some great cycling weather though earlier on, in April & most of May. Day after day of warm sunshine & blue skies, even up to 30 degs (Celsius) once or twice. Classic autumn weather. Well past now though. Actually the sun is shining as I type this (on Saturday morning) but it's the first time for days! Days and days! Over a week in fact. Seems forever. We have short memories when it comes to the weather don't we? So, in short, I've missed the best weather and now I'll just have to take pot luck when I finally get going (hopefully by this time next week). Them's the breaks. I'm no spartan when it comes to "roughing it" I can tell you. It's not from choice I'll be riding in winter, just the way it's worked out. The original plan was to have been way north of here (in the tropics) by this time. I just can't wait to reach Brisbane & the warmer weather. On the other hand I won't be out to break any speed records. Riding through rain & cold wind is not funny, so wherever possible I'll be just sitting it out, staying in my tent until the sun comes out again. So it may take me three to four weeks to reach Brisbane. But I'll get there. I've made the most of being in Sydney though. Back in my old home town; I grew up here. And in fact this is my longest stay here since I moved down to Melbourne in 1969. Prior to this I've only had time for brief visits of a day or two at a time. A week at the most usually. So I've had time inter alia to catch up with many of my Sydney based friends. Some of these I haven't seen for years and years. And I reached Sydney (just) in time for my old high school's 90th birthday celebrations. It was the first time I'd been back there since I sat for the Leaving Certificate examination in 1953. So most of it was barely recognisable. The biggest change though was to Glenfield itself (where the school is situated). It was semi rural when I went to school, with a small railway station, a post office & a general store and nothing much else. In fact it was then outside of the electrified rail system so we had to travel by steam train for the last two stations. Now it's a thriving Sydney suburb, a major junction on two rail lines with trains running through every 15 minutes. Amazing, the change. It's still an agricultural high school though, and still has a dairy, piggery etc. And they still teach agriculture & ag. science, though it's not compulsory any more. Certainly not a "rural setting" any more though. And speaking of high school, I made a point of contacting my high school French teacher. French was my favourite subject; the only classes I used to really look forward to. And although I've never had the opportunity to become fluent in French (never been lucky enough to live there for long enough) I've always maintained an interest in the language; can still read it tolerably well & even understand it spoken if the diction is clear enough. On the few opportunities I've had to hold a (limited) conversation in French I've been complemented on my pronunciation. Alex was in his early twenties when he taught me; it was his first appointment fresh from college. Now like me he's retired. So it was odd, after all these years (and much water flowing under both bridges) to compare notes on the course of our lives and to converse as "equals". We spent a couple of hours sitting in the sunshine at Circular Quay, gazing across towards the Opera House, watching passing ferries and recollecting names from the past, teachers and pupils, and musing on what had become of them. Alex passed on to me some "inside stories" I hadn't known about, i.e. staff room gossip, how some of his fellow teachers had been regarded. I hadn't known for example of the great commotion that transpired when my mother appeared at the school to request that I be allowed to drop agriculture as a subject in my final year & to take Theory of Music (by correspondence) instead. Great consternation apparently, the talk of the staff room for days. The very idea!! "This is an agricultural high school!!" No wonder the proposal was politely but firmly refused. But I hadn't known about the extent of the reaction. Incidentally I elected to go to that school because of youthful and romantic yearnings to become a farmer and "live on the land". And that was largely a result of listening to that long running ABC serials "The Lawsons" and "Blue Hills". I was a city boy of course, and had hardly ever been to the country, let alone lived there. I came down to earth with a thud when I got to Hurlstone. I soon discovered that farming involved hard work, and most of it none too pretty. What's more the subject Agriculture I found pretty boring, e.g. having to memorise names of various pests, along with the appropriate controls, very dull. I was much more interested in learning the French irregular verbs. Agriculture was the only subject I failed in the Leaving Certificate. Interesting therefore to learn that interesting background to my mother's request from Alex, my French teacher. In spite of the boring aspect though, I made some good friends while at school and I have reasonably happy memories of my five years there. Recently I made contact with just one of those friends, Robin Gaskell (hello, Robin) who is currently working as a guard on the Sydney metropolitan trains. He is one of those I've had time to visit during my present stay. We found that there were many parallels in the course of our lives since school, and we share many interests. While visiting Robin, and thanks to his help, I had a big breakthrough -- something I've been wanting to organise ever since I embarked on this trip. I now have a floppy disk that I can use to check my email on a PC using Windows. I'm a dyed in the wool Mac user and always have been, ever since I bought my first Macintosh 512 in 1985. Heather has an LC575 which I've been using these past 8 weeks. So I'm totally organised when it comes to running Eudora on any Mac computer, with all my own nicknames & settings. Just a matter of copying my floppy disk onto the hard disk. This worked like a dream when I was down in Hobart visiting Steve (hello, Steve) a fellow cyclist and fellow Mac user. All we had to do was to establish his ppp connection (using a different ISP from mine) and then activate my copy of Eudora complete with my nicknames & setup details. Zip!! Straight through to my mail server just like that. Wasn't even necessary for me to log onto my own ISP through the front door (with password etc.) Amazing. I've since learnt that this is a common practice, and even has a name: it is called "popping" -- yet another Internet verb, to "pop", along with "to flame", "to spam" etc. This derives from "POP" (Post Office Protocol) as in "POP server". So what I did was to "POP through to Pegasus" (my ISP). Thanks to Andrew Garton for that edification. Another one to add to my Internet glossary. Well the point is that in my travels I can't always count on finding a Mac user: they are definitely in the minority. So I especially wanted to be able to "POP through to my mail server" using a Windows version of Eudora. Thanks to Robin's assistance I now have a floppy disk all set up to do just that. Neither Robin nor I are advanced hackers by any means but we found it a *relatively* straightforward procedure, though time consuming and fiddly. The crux of the operation, and the step that took up most of the fiddling was to doctor the Mac nickname file ("Eudora Nicknames") so that it would be acceptable to the Windows version of Eudora. The first step was to change the name (to "NNDBASE.TXT") but the story didn't end there. I won't bore you with all the details but we find it necessary to make quite a few adjustments to the Mac nickname file in a word processor to get it into the Windows Eudora nickname file. Mainly this involved removing some non ASCII characters and then ensuring that each nickname was on a single line beginning with "ALIAS and ending with a carriage return. There was another complication that turned out to not catastrophic. The Windows Eudora Directory contains two nickname files, "NNDBASE.TXT" and "NNDBASE.TOC". The latter is presumably an index file, in binary format, and to all intents and purposes inscrutable. But Eudora didn't seem too fussed about this file. As long as the "NNDBASE.TXT" file was in the correct format it would duly display and interpret all of the nicknames listed. On exit the "NNDBASE.TOC" had been duly updated in some way. Just as well or that might have been a sticking point. Not so with the mailbox files. We had no success whatever in similarly converting mailbox files. Pity. That seemed to be because of "TOC" file corresponding to each mailbox. Cracking that code is advanced stuff and way out of our league. The text file corresponding to each mailbox, Mac or PC, can be inspected (and printed, copies or whatever) in a word processor, in Mac or PC, but there doesn't seem to be any easy way of transferring Mac Eudora mailboxes into Windows Eudora or vice versa. If I'm missing something simple and obvious here (quite on the cards) please let me know. As for the setup file (Mac: "Eudora Setup"; Windows: "EUDORA.INI") there didn't seem to be much point in attempting any conversion: the formats were quite different, and it was simpler just to key in the appropriate details within Eudora itself. There's not much typing involved, it's just name, email address, smtp address etc. Robin uses Eudora Lite version 1.5.2 running under Windows 3.1, but I've been by a reliable source (thanks, Andrew) that there is full upwards compatibility with other versions of Windows Eudora, including the 32bit version (for Win95). So, I seem to be all set to "POP all my mail off Pegasus" (as the jargon goes) from any computer, PC or Mac, as long as it has a ppp connection to an ISP. At the earliest opportunity I'll have to download a copy of the Win95 version of Eudora lite & put it on a floppy. That's just in case I encounter Windows 95 users who use a different mail program. Well, I'm sorry about all this dry and boring detail & blow by blow description, but as you'll have gathered I'm feeling pretty pleased with the outcome so I wanted to set on record all the steps involved. One of my readers may well want to go through something similar.
So, I haven't been idle during my enforced stay here, my time in "dry dock"
while waiting for my finger to heal. Apart from calling on quite a few old
friends (rephrase that: "longstanding friends"
There have been many changes since I last lived here naturally, but on the
other hand much remains familiar. Buildings come & go, the city skyline
changes, but the harbour (that enormous stretch of water) remains the same.
I don't want to get into any inter city rivalry (each city has its
appealing features) but Sydney Harbour is the one thing that I missed most
while in Melbourne. Port Phillip Bay is, I'm sorry to say, just no match.
All of my life up to the age of 25 I lived within easy walking distance of
some section or other of Sydney Harbour. I don't even remember learning to
swim any more than learning to walk; must have been around the same age and
just as instinctual. I learnt to row too at a quite early age and since
boat hire places are fairly prolific around the harbourside suburbs, I
often used to hire one on my own (as early as 12 I fancy) and go exploring.
And so I've always had this fondness for the water, in it, on it or near
it.
Yes, speaking of rowboats, I remember that when Queen Elizabeth came to
Australia for the first time in 1955, I actually hired a rowboat near where
I was living (Cammeray) and rowed all the way around to the harbour
entrance (in sight of the bridge) just to watch the boat the royal party
was travelling on, the Gothic, depart through the heads. Things were more
leisurely in those days, none of this jet hopping! I agree with Ratty in
"Wind in the Willows" that there's nothing so glorious as just "messing
about in boats" (or words to that effect; can't quote it word for word).
The other thing I've missed most about Sydney while in Melbourne, apart
from the harbour, was the proximity of the surf beaches. Manly beach was
just a short bus journey from Northbridge, the suburb where I grew up. So I
have always been just as at home in the surf (however rough) as in flat
water. And here in Bondi the beach is just a 3 minute bike ride. I've been
tending to go down there just at least once every day, even if only for a
few minutes just to watch the waves breaking & to drink in those familiar
smells -- the sand and the salt.
Once I'm down there I always end up cycling along to the end of the beach
to watch the waves breaking on the rocks there. That's something I never
tire of; can do it for hours. It has a hypnotic, mind altering effect, a
therapy that can soothe away any worry, preoccupation or concern. Just to
hear that almighty thump as the wave hits, see the white spray rise high
into the air and the ever changing patterns & eddies of foaming turbulence
forcing its way through the network of channels in the rock formations. No
two waves are exactly the same; the pattern of ebbs and flows is ever
changing. I soon forget the passage of time completely and just sit there
gazing, entranced.
That's partly why I elected to pursue my round Australia journey as close
to the coast as practicable. And so it was that all the way from Melbourne
to Sydney, or I should say from Sorrento to Huskisson, I was seizing every
opportunity to indulge this fascination with waves breaking on rocks.
Reminds me, I have missed out on some absolutely glorious photo
opportunities. A tragedy. Murphy's law strikes again. My camera (not an
expensive one, but all I could afford) jammed while I was travelling around
the Mornington Peninsula. It was still under warranty so I gave it to my
daughter Gabrielle to follow up for me. She was able to get a replacement
for me (a brand new camera) but by then I was already some distance from
Melbourne. Now at last its caught up with me, and I'll have it with me on
the next leg of the journey and I'm sure there will be more photo
opportunities. I'm sorry though that I have no visual record of my trip
along the NSW South Coast; such magnificent scenery, especially Narooma, my
clear cut favourite.
As I keep on saying this is the longest stay I've had here in Sydney since
I moved down to Melbourne 28 odd years ago, but even during earlier,
shorter visits there has always come a moment when a voice deep down inside
says:-
"This is home. This is where I belong."
This can happen even when my immediate, visual surroundings are totally
unfamiliar. Something much more basic, more so even than the geographical
cues (the Harbour, the beaches, the topography) or than unchanging features
like the harbour bridge, triggers "flash-backs" to events long ago, complex
feelings, early childhood memories. Something unconscious, primeval even,
is going on here.
What is it? I've had time to think about these past weeks, and although its
too deep to put into words it has to do with subtler qualities somehow
unique to Sydney: colours for example, the sky, the water of the sea, of
the harbour, the sky; the smells, the saltiness in the air around the
coastal or harbourside suburbs, the fragrance of the gums are all different
in subtle ways from the Melbourne equivalent. Even the air itself has some
different quality, to do with its humidity perhaps.
I get that feeling particularly when I'm around some of my favourite
haunts, like Circular Quay. I've always had a soft spot for the Quay going
back to childhood ferry trips e.g. to the zoo (where Heather now works,
lucky girl!). Or maybe it has to with it being the site of the first
settlement on the banks of the Tank Stream (now underground, but still
flows I understand.) Ghosts perhaps. Many memories; at one time when I was
living at Cremorne (across the harbour) and working for Honeywell
Computers, I was lucky enough to travel to work by ferry (as Heather does
now, but in the opposite direction). A wonderful form of transport. The
Honeywell office at that time (mid sixties) was very close to Circular Quay
so I able to have my lunch there as well, watching the boats.
I mention it because it because it's one of those places where I'm most
struck by the "this is where I belong" feeling -- just something about the
colour of the water, of the sky and salty aroma permeating the air. It's
close to The Rocks there too, one of my favourite parts of Sydney -- still
has the feel of "old Sydney" about it. Times like that I wish I could
paint, so I could attempt to capture and express this feeling that is too
deep for words. But I can't, never could, not even as a small child. Can't
even sketch to save my life, not even stick figures.
And speaking of painting reminds of some news I received from my daughter
Dani, who lives in Herbaton near Cairns, a couple of weeks ago. Dani phoned
to tell me that she'd had a phone call from one Caroline Swain, a cyclist
from Scotland whom I'd met in Tasmania back in January. I had given Dani's
phone number to Caroline as a means of contact, in the event that she and I
coincided at Cairns. So much for that idea!! Here I am still in Sydney. I
was most impressed though, when I heard the news. "She's got to Cairns
already!". When I thought about it though I realised that a whole 5 months
have passed since I met Caroline, at the Youth Hostel in Triabunna on the
east coast of Tasmania (an excellent hostel by the way; I really enjoyed my
stay there, in a quiet rural setting).
Still it would have been a commendable achievement, to have cycled all that
way. But then I recalled that Caroline's interests were different from
mine. She was not all interested in circumnavigating Australia, or even
just touring for touring's sake. Her interest was in exploring particular
areas of Australia, namely part of Tasmania and the rain forests of far
north Queensland. The bicycle was just a means to this end -- her preferred
means of transport. So she had flown direct from Hobart to Cairns without
even bothering to visit Melbourne or Sydney.
A very interesting person; that was my impression at the time we met. So I
was very pleased to get some news of her, even though it turns out that our
paths are not to recross; Caroline has by now flown out of Australia to
pastures new (India I think). The phone call prompted me to re-read the
notes I had taken in my journal. Caroline Swain had been working as a
computer programmer in New Zealand for a number of years. She was
apparently doing quite well at it, and earning good money, but at a certain
point in time decided quite suddenly that it was not for her. Office work
was dull and boring and computer programming was just not creative enough.
This is where the painting came in: she decided to take up oil painting
seriously even though she'd had very little practice previously. She did
some reading on wilderness areas of Australia (particularly Tasmania &
North Queensland as I said) and decided that's what she wanted to paint.
So, equipped with bike, easel, oil paints, & special paper (treated for
oils) she arrived in Tasmania.
I had never met anyone carrying an easel on a bike before, and I was most
impressed. I was even more impressed by the size of her load; talk about
travelling light! She certainly put me to shame (with my 4 paniers, plus
tent plus sleeping bag, plus Thermarest mattress). The easel was carried on
the rear pack rack and all of the rest of her gear, including paints etc.
fitted into her two rear paniers. She didn't even carry a tent or cooking
gear. That's what I call "roughing it". She carried one change of clothes
which she washed by hand & if it wasn't dry when it was time to go, she put
it on wet.
I ran into Caroline again at Coles Bay, i.e. the Freycinet Peninsula which
you'll remember impressed me so much. The last time I saw her she was
planning to carry her easel & paints up a very steep walking track to a
lookout over Wineglass Bay -- to paint the view (one of the best views I've
ever seen). It took me 45 minutes of brisk climbing and I wasn't carrying
anything. I've often wondered whether she got there, and how the painting
turned out.
Shortly after the phone call, I received a short letter from her. Here is
an excerpt:-
"You may be wondering where the cycling artist got to from Triabunna.
(Someone subsequently told me that there was a Monty Python comedy sketch
featuring artists with easels on bicycles. I think that was me.)
"I made my way slowly up the East Coast of Tasmania, an average of 3 days
in each place at this stage. The painting was going OK, and at Winnaleah I
probably did my best efforts. I then went to Bridport and caught a ferry to
Flinders Island. That was possibly one of the high points of my trip, a
very interesting place and after 8 days I had got to know quite a few of
the locals. An impromptu arrival at a re-union barbecue was a very special
occasion as I was made to feel so welcome.
"It was on Flinders Island that I decided finally that I could no longer
juggle between being an artist and a cyclist. The weather conditions had
become too unfavourable for painting (mosquitoes, blowflies, wind etc) and
I was getting fitter so I wanted to go further on the bike.
"The people in the Flinders Island post office probably didn't know what
hit them when I turned up with three parcels to send to the UK containing
paints, easel and canvas. In Launceston I bought myself a cheap ($30) tent
& stove and started camping on and off after that. I cycled across the
plateau lakes region back to Hobart then explored the southern part and
Bruny Island. I did some walks down there (also in the rainforest) and
discovered these nasty things called leeches.
"I really liked Adventure Bay on Bruny Island, it looks just the same as
the watercolour paintings from the first ships that landed there."
I don't have time to transcribe any more but all in all she saw a lot more
of Tasmania than I did. I'm impressed. She's only tiny too. I mean she's
shorter than I am (5'6") and slight of build. Some time I must do an entire
Newsletter all about people I've met in my travels. I've certainly met some
characters. But Caroline Swain was definitely the most interesting person
so far. But I never did find out whether she did what she said and climbed
up to that lookout with her paints & easel. I'll probably never know now.
And by the way, speaking of loads, i.e. of the gear cyclists carry, when I
arrived in Sydney I decided to weigh the various items that made up the
load I'd been carrying all the way from Melbourne on Heather's bathroom
scales. This is how it went:-
Terrible isn't it? Fancy lugging that up all those hills. But I made it!
When I returned to Melbourne after Tasmania I was determined to cut it
down. But somehow it didn't happen. I discarded some things, but added
more. In the end it was about the same I think. This time though I'm really
going to work on it. I'll have to shake a leg though. Time is running out.
So I'd better drag myself away from this computer and get cracking. I
really admire those cyclists (like Caroline) who restrict themselves to two
rear paniers with no load on the front. According to one "Anything you
can't fit into the rear paniers you don't really need". Yes Jeannine (Hi
Neener) I hear what you say, but - - - I'll be satisfied I can restrict
myself to just the 4 paniers (but without any of that awful cramming and
ramming) plus tent, sleeping bag & mattress on the pack racks. But no
"overflow bag" and no extra back pack. I'd like to reserve the back pack
for the purpose its intended for, i.e. for shopping when I'm camping. Well,
that's my resolution -- will I carry it out? I'll let you know next time.
Lots more I'd like to tell you about but time is running out. In fact it
has run out. I started this letter on Saturday and it's now Monday.
Glorious day today too, and I'm missing it. I've been here at the keyboard
most of the day. Blue sky, light wind & warm sunshine. Maximum 18 degs C.
Not bad for winter (winter solstice yesterday). What's the betting it
starts to deteriorate again just as soon as I start pedalling.
With a bit of luck I'll be sending another message from Woy Woy when I get
there. Thanks Joan, see you shortly.
Bye for now.
Don.
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