Birtles vs Tasmania

glitch

Mapping the next ride...
Staff member
The frogmouth was rescued from a car grille. All the time I was there, it sat stock still on a bookshelf, only opening
its eyes at the sound of the camera shutter.



That's all they ever seem to do, mate...we've got a couple around the neighbourhood and you can only really see their silhouettes on the powerlines when there's a clear sky lit by the moon or stars.

The buggers never move, unless you stay close for long enough and they feel intimidated.
 

MGS12_8V

Getting the hang of it
Pure gold again from the great storyteller. :clap::clap::clap:

Having done Tas recently it's great to reflect on our trip through yours. One stark difference is the detail you manage to notice at the heady speeds of the CT compared to our own. I don't recall going through Nugent but if we did we wouldn't have notice it was a village, or the signs.

Love your perspective. And your photos. Need to get back there soon!!

Looking forward to your take on Jacobs ladder if you get the chance to tackle it.
 

platypus121

Tour Pro

.
Not quite in the middle of town, but just a short walk from the main streets, Launceston Gorge is tamed
by walkways, a chairlift, and refreshment stops.








The walkway is guarded ….






… but not well enough to prevent a shopping trolley from getting the old heave-ho over the edge.
Is anywhere safe from trolley dumpers?






Lots of character buildings in the city.








But wait, the sky is blue … let’s go ….

… to Ben Lomond National Park. As we start to climb, clouds block out the sun’s warmth, and before halfway
some extra clothing layers are added.








The park self-registration station pops out of the mist as a Landcruiser shoots through. From its back seats,
small faces ogle Birtles through the condensation on the windows. I wrestle with damp gloves until, one form later,
the Parks Service is $12 better off and we resume climbing towards what Grimpeur has been waiting for -
Jacob’s Ladder.








“Climb, climb !”








Climbing, climbing !








… past Jacob’s Teeth.












The gusty wind carries patches of mist. When they engulf us, the road fades out and the world contracts to a
small white sphere, gently illuminated on the inside by Birtles’ headlight. As the mist clears, white curtains open
and we can see how close we are to things that we should not be close to. The full width of the road is used,
and needed, as the stronger gusts push us around. After the top rung the road levels off and disappears into
the cloud.








The ski village is a mean and meaningless place without a soft blanket of snow on its slopes to disguise the
sharp black rocks. It is deserted, even the Landcruiser has managed to disappear. Wind whistles though
the pylons and around my visor. If this were a Western movie, it would sound like the theme from “The Good,
The Bad, and The Ugly”, a tumbleweed would roll by, the corral gate would creak open by itself.
Time to mosey on outta here, partner.








Things get a bit confused after that. There are lots of muddy roads (good, bad and ugly), there is some backtracking,
and I’m certain we’ve passed these signs at least twice.








Escape from the mountain is through Upper Esk to Mathinna, where even the humblest of verandahs may be
enhanced by a decent set of classical Corinthian columns.








So bewitched are we by Mathinna’s architecture that we miss the back road to Fingal and have to settle
for the sealed B43. (No, this is the railway).








Here is Matt.
Matt lives in Fingal.
Matt rides a pushbike.
Ride, Matt, Ride !








Chicken-or-egg buildings in Fingal.











Counting down the road numbers, we take the B42 and its Storys Creek diversion. Climbs steeper than
the Ladder have us puffing.








But it's worth it as at Storys Creek we meet a crazy old coot riding a CT.








The climbs have exhausted Birtles, so we go bush to recuperate.








Then, into Avoca on fast, smooth dirt.








On the banks of the Nile River, the wind is stripping the dry topsoil off ploughed fields.







Back to Lanceston through Evandale and Breadalbane. Not the best route for Birtles, but the 6km between
these two places is Highway B41 and after just doing B43 and B42, it makes sense to keep collecting
the set. Could this be a new route planning method? I search the maps in vain for Highway B40.


.
 
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glitch

Mapping the next ride...
Staff member
:lao

Out of the latest instalment, this one takes the cake (for me):

P1060016F_zps9fadf94c.jpg



Bernard....this is getting boring by now, but: Ripsnorter, mate...fan-bloody-tastic!!:woot:Think, I haven't read a story as often as this one....ever... it's a mesmerizing yarn!
:wave:
 

platypus121

Tour Pro

.
LAUNCESTON
Back in town, I play the tourist and try to convince the locals that I am sophisticated and cultured by visiting :



1) A significant old building …








2) The Museum … to study Victorian era crockery.
Care to guess what 9 and 10 were used for?







3) A statue with a fishy inscription …







4) An Art Gallery … Where I politely refrain from telling them that they have hung one picture upside down.






Check this out - a painting of an orange person chasing a green person - probably very metaphoric.
Or symbolic. Or something. What could be happening here?

Orange: “Didn't I tell you not to buy that brand of sunscreen!”

Or maybe …

Green: “Mum, Mum, Billy’s trying to give me his skin disease!”








All this highbrow stuff is good, but I need to do something more active, so I put on some sunscreen, sit outside,
and watch people using public exercise machines. They can be used by big and small alike as each apparatus
uses the weight of the exerciser to deliver an appropriate resistance. Clever!







I think these machines are better expressions of creativity than some of the pictures just seen in the Art Gallery
(except for that one with the orange person chasing the green person).




After an hour of healthy activity watching people use the exercise machines, we say goodbye to Launceston,
and to museum displays 9 and 10, which are asparagus holders. They are an insight into the thinking of the
19th century, a time when having your asparagus fanned out evenly and facing the same way on the plate
was so important that someone designed a holder for that purpose.



Those old-timers had real class. And tidy asparagus!

.
 

platypus121

Tour Pro

.


As Old Billy Gudgeon reached for his long-handled clippers, he wondered to himself … how many times
had he told Gladys not to plant ivy so close to the house?









“It’s roots will loosen the mortar,” Billy would tell her. But, had Gladys taken a blind bit of notice?
Hadn’t she seen what ivy had done to the neighbour’s house?








Howzat !? Cricket is big in Westbury. If this is the size of their wickets, just think how big their balls must be.








Getting to The Devil’s Gullet involves a 20km climb on a dirt road that promises to be fun on the way back.
From the lookout there’s a grand panorama .







A viewing platform overhangs the edge, though by how much remains a guess.
My head is spinning even before I set foot on it.








I decline the challenge and save myself for the slip-sliding descent to the road that will take us through
Moina and Daisy Dell, onto the A10 and right to the coast.

The day’s plan is to go from Launceston to Stanley. The inland route is ambitious, and when the weather closes
in after Cradle Mountain, things look grim. Crossing the Black Bluff Range, we stop to watch the approach of thick
low cloud. It turns out to be a wall of rain. On go the leggings, batten down the rest of the riding gear, and pull plastic
bags over gloves before it hits. Then it is a case of enduring as the kilometers count down to Wynyard.

Eighty kilometers of sun along the coast dry us out before we ride into Stanley for the second time.





Ye Olde Chocolate Shoppe is still there, exactly one monthe more olde since one monthe ago, and this time there is
no resisting the temptation - I go in and aske for some olde chocolate.

They are very nice about it, pretend that they haven’t heard that one 8,463 times before, and sell me some newe chocolate.
Which is very nicee.








Life was a lottery in olde Stanley. Some hit the big jackpot, others never even got to buy a ticket.








Even today, times can be hard. This young stick, for example, couldn’t bear the constant stress of Stanley’s
weak mobile coverage and ended it all with a rope and a wobbly chair.








He was going to end it by jumping from the Nut chairlift, but couldn’t afford a ticket, having spent all his
money on a Telstra Data Plan.








With ‘No Signal’ showing on my flash new mobile, I understand exactly how he must have felt.
I stop making breakfast and try to cheer myself up with a walk around the top of the Nut -
maybe the coverage up there will be better?


Looking west from the Nut, there's Highfield, home of one of those jackpot winners …








… the docks are close below …







… and down the coast, Rocky Cape and Table Cape, their lighthouses too small to see … yet.







-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
IMPORTANT NOTE for next trip: If I am cooking and decided to do something else,
remember to turn the stove off! Especially remember to remove from the stove any
pots in which eggs are being hard-boiled.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------




The pot is dry, the eggs have long since exploded and peppered walls and floor with sticky yellow and white particles.
I franticly clean and ventilate, and two hours later it’s as good as new … except for the stench of burnt eggshells
which is still there when I leave two days later.








From a distance, Stanley’s Nut could be mistaken for a certain other quite biggish rock
somewhere in the NT if the colours were different.








At Highfield I learn that here’s more to a home than a big set of gates.
There's chimneys and asparagus holders, for a start.








Someone else who ignored Old Billy Gudgeon’s warnings






“Leave only footprints”




.
 

robbieb

Tassie Daddy


Even today, times can be hard. This young stick, for example, couldn’t bear the constant stress of Stanley’s
weak mobile coverage and ended it all with a rope and a wobbly chair.








He was going to end it by jumping from the Nut chairlift, but couldn’t afford a ticket, having spent all his
money on a Telstra Data Plan.








With ‘No Signal’ showing on my flash new mobile, I understand exactly how he must have felt.

.

So sad.

Did you call the cops by smoke signal to come and take the poor sod away?

I can only imagine what counselling you must need to help deal with the aftermath of finding such a thing
 
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