Perth-Albany-Perth. Western Australia, October 2010 HEADING IN HERE. Julian Dyson

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1 HEADING IN HERE Perth-Albany-Perth Western Australia, October 2010 Julian Dyson All photos by Steve Keeling and Ted Collinson, Audax Australia A couple of months after completing the 1200km Great Southern Randonnee 2008 in Victoria, Australia an popped up in my in-box from Audax Australia notifying me of the 1200km Perth-Albany-Perth which was to be run in October I mulled it over for a few months whilst concentrating on L-E-L Nick Dale, the organiser, and a band of other Aussies (compete with their Convict Tour shirts) turned up for L-E-L and got a good soaking so I felt duty bound to return their support for our event by taking another trip Down Under to do another one of their sunshine guaranteed rides. My ride plan for 2010 started to take shape and I was soon looking at a fairly challenging summer after a structured build-up. An easy warm-weather 1200 would be a nice way to finish off after Mille Cymru (1000km) and Hamburg- Berlin-Köln-Hamburg (1500km). The week before flying out I was giving the trusty 12-year-old Merlin titanium workhorse a good clean and service when much to my horror I found a crack on the inside of the right hand chainstay where it had been flattened to give increased tyre clearance. Expletives deleted! What to do? Panic! A few deep breaths later and the old 531 frame that the Merlin replaced was recovered Organised by Nick Dale of Audax Australia, this 1200k event attracted three British riders plus Dave Minter, originally from Australia but now currently living in England. North America was well represented, along with AUK s globetrotting Spencer Klaassen. AUK s Julian Dyson, author of this article, rode the event on fixed wheel. from the darkest recesses of the shed, unfortunately not all the current kit would fit the old frame and I started rummaging through boxes for front derailleur and cantilever brakes. Once a functioning machine was assembled a test ride was conducted and I came to the conclusion that over the years my riding position has become much lower than the 531 frame would allow and I would not be comfortable on a 1200km ride. Now what? Looking round the stable my eye fell on my fixed wheel commuting iron, complete with tri-bars was this a good idea? Two 100-mile rides and a 200km brevet had been completed comfortably on it. Nick replied to my explaining my predicament stating that there were only three of four climbs of any note, none of the particularly long and I would have no problem on fixed. And so it was that I arrived in Perth with a tri-barred fixed wheel and more than the usual pre-ride trepidation. I soon met up with Pete Turnbull at the city centre Youth Hostel where we were both staying for a couple of nights before crossing the Swan River to South Perth and accommodation near the start. The Quest holiday apartment complex was where number of riders had decided to set up base. Aussie AUK Dave (he has a British passport) Minter had not only organised a comfortable billet, complete with kitchen and washing machine, for the AUK contingent Judith Swallow, Pete Turnbull and myself, but also arranged bike box and baggage storage for the duration of the event for everybody staying there thanks Dave. Pre-ride: This was the fourth edition of P-A-P, the first three have basically been out-andback routes but this time it was to be a circular route except for the first/last 70km. Since the vast majority if riders were from out-of-town (Perth claims to be one of the most remote cities in the world, so even most Aussies were out-of-towners) a Sunday night gettogether was organised at a South Perth Italian restaurant. The following day a barbeque was set up in the South Perth Foreshore Park for registration, picking up shirts and general socialising. This was also a good opportunity to recce the route from the start. With a 5am start looming an early night was called for but not before another good feed for Dave, Judith, Pete and myself, this time Vietnamese. There seems to be a lot of eating of various international cuisines going on and very little riding, never mind it will soon change. Day 1: All too soon the alarm sounded, a quick 16 Arrivée Spring 2011

2 breakfast (just to top up the tanks) and roll down to the Foreshore Park. A total of 84 riders assembled there, though not all were going for the full 1200km brevet (there was a 1000km option for those who just wanted to log a 1000km for P-B-P pre-registration). Just after 5am we were waved off into the pre-dawn twilight with the lights of the city twinkling across the river to our right. The first 70-odd kilometres almost all the way to Mandurah were on a bike path running down the coast, parallel to the freeway. Wide and traffic-free as the path was it was not completely hazard-free and an unfortunate wheel touch in the bunch brought down Kerri-Ann Smith (Audax Australia s president) resulting in a nasty hand injury and the end of her P-A-P ride. As the daylight grew so did the number of bike commuters heading north into the city, goodness knows what they thought us coming towards them, but good etiquette was maintained. As with most bike paths this one did occasionally come to an end, jink around a back street and start again. The first control at Mandurah (72km) was soon reached in good time, where handing out sandwiches and a drinks. With the morning sun now shining brightly it was time to slap on the sunscreen and change the lenses in my riding glasses for the darkest possible before scooting off down the water-side boardwalk. Now on proper roads, but very lightly trafficked, the field soon strung out and I found myself alone pedalling into a noticeable headwind coming in off the sea. This leg to the second control at Bunbury was the longest of the whole ride (109km) and with no real place to top up water bottles the organisers arranged a water stop in a lay-by on the long drag down a major highway. After turning off the highway the wind increased, the sky darkened and it started to rain but fortunately it was short-lived. The route sheet directed us over a footbridge that appeared to be closed, but to stop us being put off by the sign it was being marshalled by Henry (Henno) Klaasson, American fixie [and AUK member, ed] Spencer Klaasson s young son. As I arrived at Bunbury control (182km) Nick Dale was there doing a piece to camera for a local TV channel, I sneaked past and into the beachside café for soup, sandwiches, cake and coffee. With beautiful views out over white sands and sparkling bluegreen sea with breaking surf it was hard to leave such a serene place but the ride must go on. On and off a bike path down the coast, over dunes and by highly desirable properties we continued south towards Busselton. A bit more main highway riding was required before cutting back to the coastal road to the Busselton Former AUK Champion Pete Turnbull. With beautiful views out over white sands and sparkling blue-green sea with breaking surf it was hard to leave such a serene place control (239km). The control was a picnic affair just past the pier. The pier had been visible for some time on the approach since it is almost 2km long (originally built to allow railway trucks full of mineral ores to be taken out to waiting ships in the shallow bay). I was now entering unknown territory as far as distance on fixed was concerned but I was feeling great. Not long after leaving Busselton we parted company with the coast and rolled through lush farmland that gradually started to undulate more and more. The light started to fade on the approach to Margaret River and a pause to don reflectives and switch on lights was quite welcome. I missed the right turn onto a side road to the control but soon realised my (up- hill) mistake and backtracked. The Margaret River control (297km) was in the Community Centre where I came across my first packee with whom I commiserated before heading out into the dark. Only 33km to the next control at Alexander Bridge the lumps were starting to get bigger but it was nice to stand on the pedals and use a few different muscles after all day on the flat. The Alexander Bridge control (333km) in the village hall was a warm haven with a busy kitchen dispensing soup, pasta and apple pie and custard. I resisted the temptation to bash out a tune on the piano in the corner but since some people were getting some shut-eye here I doubt it would have been appreciated I can t actually play the piano to any degree but it did look tempting. A full stomach was needed for the final stage of the first day 92km to Pemberton. As the temperature dropped so more clothing went on. The earlier undulations had now developed into proper hills and the wind-chill on the down hills had me digging out full finger gloves and a waterproof. Small groups formed, broke and re-formed on these dark, quiet, seemingly endless roads. Fatigue was beginning to make itself felt and the final climb up to the forest camp Pemberton control (425km) had me muttering under my breath. Warmth and food quickly vanquished the fatigue but sleep was needed and I was allocated a bunk in one of the chalets where sleep came quickly. My three-hour alarm call roused me from the arm of Morpheus. Washed, in a change of kit (from a drop bag the organisers transported from sleep control to sleep control) and full of bacon and egg buns I was ready for the second day. Day 2: Having climbed up to the control in the small hours it was an easy start downhill Arrivée Spring

3 in the early morning light. I was soon cursing the wind-chill as the low sun was not able to penetrate the forested slopes but I gritted my teeth, not wanting to start faffing about putting on and taking off the waterproof, and kept repeating a mantra of it will get warm soon. Soon after the town of Pemberton itself it did start to warm up. Rolling roads past vineyards and pasture made beautiful vistas. The next series of ridges heralded the entry into the Shannon National Park, where the day s first control (490km) was the camper I was soon cursing the wind-chill as the low sun was not able to penetrate the forested slopes. Julian Dyson on a lonely road through the gum trees. Dave Minter and Judith Swallow. Pete Turnbull ready to leave Pemberton, Day 2. van and trailer (that had provided the previous day s water-stop) in a forest car park. Carbo-loading on noodles and rice pudding whilst relaxing in a camp-chair sounds great until you try to get out of the chair assistance is welcome, otherwise a sideways roll works quite well. The forest continued over a number of ridges before thinning out and levelling off as the south coast approached (we had just cut across the peninsula in the very south-west corner of Australia). The coast of the Southern Ocean is noticeably different from that of the Indian Ocean and soon the road started to rise and continued to rise, occasionally easing off before rising again this was getting to be hard work on fixed. Determined not to be beaten and resorting to the fabled 24-inch gear, I paused for a breather and realign my brain. Onwards and upwards, over a few false summits and eventually the top was reached what a reward! A fantastic view out over a large sheltered bay and on along the coast. The next control was at Walpole down by the bay, but first the descent had to be negotiated not quite as hard as going up but a stop for a breather half way down helped me remain sane. The card stamping at the Walpole control (555km) was beside a small shopping mall with a good bakery café where I replenished my fuel reserves with a huge burger bun and milkshake. A near empty two-litre tub of ice-cream was handed to me by a leaving rider I think I must have been the third or fourth recipient of it as it was nearly liquid but mixed well with the milkshake. A short snooze on the grass down by the controllers van aided digestion before getting back on the bike. Just as I was about to leave a message came through to the control that a rider ( possibly that English guy in green ) had fallen not far out of town I told them about it sounded like Pete Turnbull and a car sped off to check things out. When I met up with Pete the following evening he told me yes, it was him and no, he hadn t fallen off, just sat down at the side of the road when he started to feel a little odd, but all turned out fine. After Walpole the road, pretty much the only road, continued east. The occasional tourist sign for the Dinosaur Valley and tree-top walks looked interesting but will have to wait for another day. The terrain was a not too taxing on the fixed and the beautiful scenery of farms, vineyards and forests made time pass quickly. With the sun setting behind me a couple of small twisting climbs had to be negotiated before descending to the river and the control at Denmark (621km). The control staff at the river-side gazebo were dishing out cake and fruit, and when I asked for a coffee one popped 18 Arrivée Spring 2011

4 over to the back of a pick-up truck that was equipped with a commercial coffee machine our own mobile Starbucks, defiantly one up on El Supremo! Sandy Varig, one of the volunteers, was monitoring what was going on in the Twittersphere and showed me a message from John Spooner wishing all the AUKs good luck but she was somewhat puzzled by the Helium Knickers reference Now dark and dressed for night riding it was time to head back out on the road to Albany. Having descended to the river in Denmark there was the inevitable climb out of the other side of town. Not long after cresting the climb, the photographers car drew alongside with a hand-held floodlight to capture the night-riding atmosphere in a way that flash photography cannot. It s difficult to say what sort of countryside we passed through in the dark, but once off the main road the impression was it was somewhat East Anglian. As Albany got near I found myself in a small group and we navigated easily past the harbour and up through the town. However, the final kilometre to the Albany control (679km) zig-zagged and climbed through some back-streets, causing the occasional pause for head scratching and discussion. When we arrived at the Albany Residential College, Nick Dale was outside waiting to greet us and assist in carrying the bikes up the steps and inside. Inside the lights were bright and the welcome warm. The great advantage of rides of this sort of size is that by the half-way point there are not any huge groups all trying to get fed at the same time and Ronnie McInnes dishing out spaghetti bolognaise for me as I approached the servery. Once fed it was time for bed and I was surprised to find that we were all allocated individual rooms (no need for ear-plugs!). A quick shower and so to bed, with a request to be woken at very early hour. Day 3: Rested and dressed in clean clothes it was time to eat again. It being stupid o clock and with riders still arriving, Ronnie was not set up for breakfast. This did not bother me and I quite happily sat down to another plateful of spaghetti bolognaise. From the Albany control there was just 5km to a check-point at the top of Mt Clarence. Since I was the first to leave and most others would wait for daylight, Wayne Hickman set just ahead of me on his motorbike in order to stamp my card at the top of the hill. At each turn Wayne paused until I got near then sped off to the next turn. As the road turned and climbed steeper and steeper, I felt like calling out to Wayne that he could stop and stamp my card before the top and nobody would be any the wiser, but I persevered. The top Spencer Klaassen leaving Mandurah. Pete Turnbull on Mandurah boardwalk. was eventually reached but not before resorting to the 24in (two-foot) gear and Wayne stamped my card at 03:30ish beneath the ANZAC War Memorial. In the daylight there is a fantastic view from the top of Mt Clarence out over Albany and adjacent the bays and inlets but I was sticking to my schedule and had to sacrifice the vista. On the descent Wayne zoomed passed on his motorbike, his card stamping duty done. A bit of tricky navigation across a car-park to pick up a bike path was helped by arrows Wayne had just set out. A few km along the bike path there was a left turn and I was again grateful to find Wayne setting up an arrow pointing back onto proper roads that weaved their way up to the main road east out of Albany. Still dark, the main road was quiet but I did not have to worry about missing the left turn onto the Chester Pass Road, it was a major junction and well signed (I was to learn later that Simon Watt, the Yellow Baron, managed to miss this turn in the daylight and continued for some considerable time before realising his mistake the rider tracking website was inscribed with the cryptic comment gone exploring ). The Chester Pass Road heads north into the interior and as the darkness slowly lifted it became apparent that the land was getting more and more arid. By the time it was light enough to read my computer at a glance I realised why I was feeling so cold: it was 2ºC! We had been briefed that we would encounter road-trains on this road and soon after first light the first one roared past. This early in the morning the road-train traffic was all heading north and there was little else on the road, so they generally passed wide. I even started to enjoy them passing since the blast of hot air in their slipstream was brought welcome, if transitory warmth. Along the roadside were scattered the sun-bleached bones of kangaroos and my mind started wonder if this was the fate of the unprepared randonneur in this area. With the hills of the Stirling Ranges on the horizon and burnt out scrub on each side of the road I was glad to see some trees up ahead and a sign for the Moingup Springs campsite where Brian Hughes would be waiting with the mobile control (768km). A fresh road-kill roo marked the turn into the campsite where The Man With The Van was prominently parked with table and chairs set out ready. The kettle was brought back to the boil for coffee and noodles, followed by rice pudding. Leaning back in the chair I gazed upwards through the trees to an intensely blue, cloudless sky and digested my meal. Before leaving some time was spent faffing about with Arrivée Spring

5 clothing, sun-screen and water bottles it was only going to get hotter from here on. Now that Brian knew there would be a stream of riders out on the road, he got on the CB radio and broadcast to the truck drivers to watch out for us. There was a brief hello, goodbye with another arriving rider as I departed north up the Chester Pass Road. Soon after the trees of Moingup Springs had been left behind the route turned left off the Chester Pass Road onto the Gnowangerup Road the up at the end of the Aboriginal place names does not refer to a gradient but means spring or watering place. After an initial short climb the Gnowangerup road soon became long, hot and boring. Down on the tri-bars and not really having to look too far ahead I was happily pedalling along when something round and black (a foot or so in diameter) on the road caused me to veer quickly to the right. As the object passed under my handlebars I saw the head rise and draw back. Wow, that woke me up, a snake! Australia has something like 20 of the world s 25 most poisonous snakes and later research identified this critter as a Black Tiger snake which is about number seven on the poisonousness list best steer clear of them all. Shortly before Gnowangerup I was caught by the rider who had arrived at Moingup just as I was leaving, I mentioned the snake to him he had seen it but did not realise it was alive (perhaps he had given it more room), I told him it was very much alive when I went by. Hot and sticky we arrived at the Gnowangerup control (830km) in the Roadhouse café. A long, cold milkshake and a burger refreshed me somewhat until I opened the door to leave and was hit by the mid-day temperature again. Refuelled and back on the road again I kept on spinning through fairly featureless farmland. The monotony of the terrain and the heat, not to mention my early start, soon had me feeling a bit sleepy it was time for a siesta. The occasional roadside tree offered little in the way of shade and I must have gone four or five kilometres before I spotted a turn off in a clump of trees and bushes where I could lie down in the shade and not be mistaken for road-kill. Before lying down I carefully checked the immediate area for any nasty little critters, it seemed clear and I lay back and closed my eyes. I don t think I actually fell asleep but after a while I was roused by ants crawling over my legs, so I thought it best to move on. The fields of dusty Merino sheep eventually gave way to fields of yellow flowered canola (a type of oil-seed rape) that were being pollinated by swarms of little black flies. I was wearing a shirt that was predominantly yellow and must have looked quite appealing to the flies as great numbers of them settled on it. The less lucky found themselves stuck in the mixture of sweat and sun-screen on my arms, legs and face. The yellow shirt theory was reinforced when I rolled up at the Katanning control (891km) to find other riders, not wearing yellow, with hardly a fly on them. A couple of slices of pizza and some chips proved a bit too much and I had to abandon half the chips! With a plentiful supply of ice in my water bottles I set off again. The road to Wagin was more of the mind-numbing same but more sheep than canola so fewer flies. A prolonged, post-feed, bad patch had me reduced to a crawl but I was perked up and geed-up on a bit when Peter Turnbull came by and I sat on his wheel for a while. With a good half hour s riding until Wagin I found my water bottles almost empty but fortunately just then the photographers car drew alongside and, after enquiring how things were going, handed out a bottle of water thanks guys. Looking at the route on Google Earth in the months before the ride I had spotted patches of white in the arid land just south of Wagin snow capped peaks? Surely not! Zooming in I concluded they were salt pans which was not far from the truth as they turned out to be soda lakes no place to fill your water bottles. The sun was going down as I approached Wagin and was soon looking for the Giant Ram. Wagin control (947km) was under the Giant Ram according to the route sheet how big was this beast? Even in the failing light it Dave Minter leaving Mandurah. could be seen quite easily in the park just off to the side of the road. Sausages were sizzling on a barbeque and lots of people milling about forcing food and drink on new arrivals. Amongst those helping out was Kerri-Ann Smith displaying her battered, splinted and still swollen hand (the result of the crash in the first few kilometres of the ride), relating her story about now being able to say she had had reconstructive surgery in Hollywood (Hollywood being a hospital in Perth). After dressing for night riding and filling pockets with snacks from the table a small group of us set off for the final 50km of the day. The fixed wheel was now beginning to be a bit of a burden or perhaps it was just the distance and general fatigue. The group got strung out and eventually split as the road rose and fell, in and out of a number of river valleys. Peter Turnbull and I stuck together most of the way to Williams, chatting to keep each other awake, even on the climbs. We finally parted company on the final climb up and descent down a dual-carriageway into Williams. The Williams control (1008km) was at the local football club and felt similar to the rugby club control at Thorne on LEL. Ronnie McInnes was now marshalling things in the kitchen here, I can t remember what delights were served but I do remember having to force myself to eat in a somewhat fatigued state. Shower, clean clothes and a camp-bed followed in quick succession. Sleep came easily, despite having forgotten to get my ear plugs out of my drop-bag, in the hall full of snoring, farting bodies. The next thing I knew my shoulder was being shaken and it was time to face the final 200 odd kilometres. Back in the canteen area, the recently arrived Judith Swallow and Dave Minter were tucking into their supper as I headed for a breakfast of bacon and eggs that were frying on a hot-plate. Day 4: For the second day running I set off into the dark at stupid o clock, but this time with Peter Turnbull for company. Again, the thermometer was right down, but rested and full of bacon and eggs, brisk pedalling soon warmed things up. Slowly the sky lightened behind us and soon we were able to see that we were riding through lush green fields and low rolling hills, quite unlike the terrain we had been through the previous day. We nearly missed the right turn onto the Hotham Valley road as my mental arithmetic in correcting for the slight over-reading on my odometer was not quite up to Carol Vordeman standards. The Hotham Valley road climbed up out of the valley we were in before dropping down into the Hotham Valley itself. On the climb there was an odd, continuous rumbling noise coming from up ahead. 20 Arrivée Spring 2011

6 The hillside was wooded but it did not sound like forestry machinery and it was still early in the morning. Over the top of the ridge the noise got louder until, on the descent, we passed under a big viaduct structure carrying what must have been an enclosed conveyor belt from the adjacent bauxite mine. Peter disappeared ahead on the descent and after I stopped to strip off a layer in the valley bottom I did not expect to see him again until the finish, so it was quite a surprise to find him riding back towards me a few kilometres later. What s wrong? I enquired. I ve been to the end of the road and there is no sign of the control. Had we taken the wrong turn and pointlessly climbed over that ridge? The route sheet stated that Brian The Man With The Van should be by the side of the road just before the T-junction. Well, there was a sign at the T-junction pointing back up the road we had just come down identifying it as the Hotham Valley road but there was no van! This was a little worrying since it was another 50km until a town where bottles could be topped up and food found the next control a further 16km further. We were the first out on the road so decided to hang around to see if the van turned up. After a while a few other riders appeared and a brief conference was had. Eventually a phone call managed to get through to the Williams control only to be told Brian had left some time ago. A few time-stamped photos were taken by the signpost and we set off on the road towards Pinjarra. Soon the farmland gave way to forested ridges and I lost contact with Peter. The road through the forest was shaded from the sun as it climbed higher in the sky, which was a somewhat of a relief since I was now carefully rationing my last half bottle of water. The dips and rises in the road began to get progressively bigger, although not as severe as the infamous Hereford-Monmouth road towards the end of the Bryan Chapman 600. After almost 1100km on fixed I was feeling well whacked and finally alighted and pushed to the top of a particularly steep section. Back in the saddle I was relieved to find the forest thinning and the coastal plain opening out below, the downside being the shade decreased and the temperature went up. I was in and through the town at 50km before I realised and decided to press on to Pinjarra with only a couple of swigs left in my bottle. Coming off the forest ridge the winding road crossed some railway tracks but since the fixed wheel limits speed on the descents my approach to the tracks was not too fast to cause any problems. The Pinjarra control (1137km) at the Edenvale Herritage Tearooms was a very welcome sight after the mystery of the Hotham Valley! A good supply of sandwiches, cake and fluids revived me Dave and Judith at top of Mt Clarence. After almost 1100km on fixed I was feeling well whacked and finally alighted and pushed to the top of a particularly steep section. Julian arriving at the final control. along with the thought that the next stop would be the finish. From Pinjarra there was a stretch of busy dual-carriageway before turning onto quieter roads finally leading to the bike path back to Perth. On the ramp up onto the bike path I spotted a small twig with big thorns and gave it a wide berth try as you might, P******e Fairy, you are not going to catch me out that easily! 200m later I felt the front tyre going soft as the fickle Fairy had the last laugh. Stood still with no cooling airflow and under the mid-day sun, sweat started to pour out of me as I removed the thorn, changed the inner tube and pumped up the tyre. After being passed by two or three riders I realised I was slowing down, and when the unshaded monotony of the bike path brought on fluttering eyelids I knew it was time to stop for a siesta. At the next underpass I stopped in the cool shade for 10 minutes, some 20 minutes later I awoke. The north-bound kilometres on the bike path were noticeably longer than the south-bound ones we had pedalled earlier in the week, but eventually the Perth skyline appeared in the distance and spirits rose even although my target finish time had slipped past. Through the car park, under the flyover, left onto the road by the foreshore, right turn opposite the ferry landing, across the traffic lights and into the South Perth Bowls Club finish (1220km). Arrivée: The ever-present Nick Dale was at the desk to take my card in exchange for a fine medal. Only 45 minutes over the target time I had set myself, before I knew I would be riding fixed, it was still the fastest 1200 I ve ridden. When I asked about happened to the Hotham Valley control he explained that Brian had missed the turn (the one I nearly overshot?) and then got lost! One end of the clubhouse was occupied by riders who, by all the laws of physics and biology, should be totally exhausted and craving sleep, but were magically revived by chilled bottles of beer (iso-tonics optional) from bowls of ice. After clapping in a few more finishers, including Spencer Klaassen (third out of three finishers for the fixies) I was wondering what to do next when Peter Turnbull appeared in civvies, he had been back to the apartment to wash and change that seemed like a good idea, so off I pedalled for another 2km. After a good blast under the shower and dressed in non-lycra I headed back to the Bowls Club on foot giving my leg muscles a good stretch on the way. Riders continued to roll in through the afternoon and into the early evening, including Judith Swallow and Dave Minter (completing a 100 per cent AUK finish). With tiredness now catching up on me and only snack food available in the clubhouse I headed off back to the apartment, picking up a pizza on the way. Post-ride: More than three hours sleep but no long lie-in! Judith, Dave and Peter were flying back to London that afternoon and I was leaving in the evening for Manchester, so there were bikes to pack, clothes to wash but not before breakfast at the café in the local mini-market. The radio was playing Men at Work s Travelling in a Land Down-Under and the newspaper had a story about the suspension of filming on the new Mad Max film there is no other country quite like Australia. It is a long way to go for a ride but well worth it for the experience. The spring weather is ideal, they use the right side of the road (ie, the left), the traffic is generally light and they speak English, then there is the wildlife and plants that you will not find anywhere else in the world (OK so there are snakes and a few other critters you have to be aware of). If you fancy a long-haul trip have a look at for their calendar of events or chat to any Aussie you might meet on the roads between Paris and Brest later this year. N Arrivée Spring