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We have fallen in love with Newcastle Beach and the Ocean Baths. From our vantage point in front of the beach we took on missing sections of the Great North Walk. Rather than the often treacherous terrain we experienced during the earlier part of the walk, these treks were sedate. We replaced hiking boots with running shoes and discarded the hiking poles. We still walked 10-11 miles each day.

We only had one mishap, when Pat said the trail went left around Lake Macquarie and I said I think we ought to go right. There was no signage and since he’s more often right than I am, I acquiesed. While dining on our usual cheese sandwiches and chips on a park bench, Pat looked at the map. “We should have gone to the right,” he said. Point one for me.

We had dinner at all three restaurants in Newcastle Beach; and all get our five star ratings. Thai, local fish and a sports pub. We toured part of the renown Newcastle Museum, which is free to the public. While there we participated in the immersive story of how steel was once made in the local plant that shut down in 1999.

We took advantage of the city’s light rail system and the bus routes; key for getting where we wanted to go. We noticed that there is a bit of a resurgence occurring in the city at the moment; high rise buildings under construction and a movement of sorts to encourage people to come back downtown. Like other cities, it took a nosedive during the pandemic. On our one night to venture into the city after dark, we took in a performance of La Ronde, a mix of a circus and musical acts with scantily clad, well-toned performers from around the globe.

From where we stayed one can jog for miles or take a quick dip in the ocean and then grab a cappuccino and a bowl of  of granola with rhubarb and strawberries and sit on the concrete steps watching whomever is surfing or swimming. And that all takes place beginning at 6:30 a.m.

I began to see the regulars showing up every morning with towel in hand for a quick dip in the waves. Later in the afternoon, the beach became littered with young ladies in thong bikinis and young men in their swim trunks. Although I noticed the beach wasn’t guarded when we were there, one morning at 7 a.m. a lifeguard charged into the water with and caught up with an older gentleman who was swimming. I assumed and I was correct that the the man was in a riptide.  The lifeguard pointed out where it was. “See how calm that area is right now; that’s how you know where the riptides are. As a swimmer one should avoid the ocean where there are no waves; instead swim where the waves are breaking.

One early morning, as we walked on the ocean path, we spotted multiple dolphins in the ocean; they were having the time of their life or so we surmised; surfing through the waves. We explored the village of Hamilton on the outskirts of Newcastle, took a commuter ferry to Stockton and watched the large container ships go in and out of the harbor with the use of tugboats guiding them.  And we took advantage of a rail trail, built along the route of a former railroad used for transporting coal, to walk from Belmont to Adamstown. It was on that trail that we finally came upon a snake; 5 feet in length, who we saved from being run over by a bicyclist. Though someone told us, they are harmless, we have not yet been able to find them on any internet search.

On the last day at Newcastle Beach, we took in the Ocean Baths,  sized 200 feet by 200 feet; two large pools with sandy bottoms where the ocean water flows in and out. Though we thought it colder than in the ocean, plenty of people were lap swimming and the young people were having a good time pushing each other in.  As we were basking in the sun on the concrete

bleachers, we were asked to move because a performance was forthcoming.  We moved but not before we asked about the performance. “It’s the preview of the event that begins tomorrow – a Love Letter to the Ocean Baths that have been in existence for 100 years. You can purchase tickets,” we were told. “Unfortunately we won’t be here tomorrow,” we answered.  “Be patient,” the host said “and I will try to get you in right before it begins.” And she did and it was a stunning performance.  While the audience sat on the bleachers next to the baths, wearing headsets, the actors, told stories abbout the baths in different parts of the complex. It was a free for all flash mob play of sorts.  While the stories were presented, people swam laps, surfers carried their boards and all the young folk continuing carrying on.  It was a bit difficult to determine who was and who wasn’t a part of the play.  It was absolutely amazing; the kind of immersive theatre that rocks my boat.

On Saturday, we said adieu to Newcastle, and following a few hours on the train, our newfound friend, Joanne, picked us up in the Sydney suburbs and brought us home to spend the night with her and her dog, Millie, in her home, a charming California bungalow style home, that she has filled with art from her travels around the world. Joanne prepared chicken schnitzel for dinner and two of her sisters, Linda and Mary also popped in. Her brother-in-law, John, hit it off with Pat from the get-go, probably because they started talking about beer. The conversations were delightful as was everyone we met.

And though we prepared to leave for California the next morning, we delayed it a few days, because of a potential medical issue. After spending seven hours in the ER, we got the green light to travel. We spent several hours talking with Isa, Joanne’s tenant and good friend, who lives in what Aussies call the granny flat. Isa is Syrian and was able to come to Australia 11 years ago, after much consternation. We asked him many questions about what it was like to grow up in Syria and what has taken place over the past decade. Isa has tried now for several years to access visas for his parents to come to Australia but it is far from simple and inexpensive.

Today, we retraced some of our steps from three weeks ago, and took on another section of the Lane Cove River because we can no longer resist hiking in the bush. It’s back to California tomorrow when we get to have two Tuesdays and then it’s home to Vermont for fall foliage on Wednesday.

See you on the path ahead, mates,

Shevonne and Pat

Getting to the next sections of the Great North Walk has now become more challenging; there are few places we can stay indoors, and as the trail goes inland, it’s not possible to leapfrog from train station to train station with our backpacks.  Our solution seemed fairly simple, bite the bullet and carry the fully loaded packs five kilometers and then get a ride to the Noonaweena Resort from one of the resort’s employees.  After all, how difficult could a few miles be? While Pat moved quickly and confidently up and down the steep rocky slopes, including stepping through an overblown mess of trees, I moved gingerly and groaned loudly.  When we arrived at the end of the short trek I was ecstatic. We arrived a few hours ahead of our scheduled ride but no matter; I read, Pat did a few crosswords and we walked about. At 2:45 p.m., a red Suzuki pulled up and Adam got out and introduced himself.  Adam manages the Noonaweena Resort, where we had managed to reserve their one and only space available to us, a few days earlier; their glamping tent. As Adam steered the vehicle through the two lane roads, we shared plenty of stories.  He indicated that the resort often hosts wellness-oriented retreats and during the time we were on site, they were hosting individuals coping with significant tragedies in their personal or professional lives.  Adam then drove us down the hill to our lodging, a beautifully situated canvas tent.  Inside there were three double beds with flowering spreads, solar lights, rugs strewn on the floor, and plenty of accoutrements; bathrobes, towels, slippers, and a first aid kit.  As we set our backpacks inside the tent, several cows made their way toward us.

Just like home, we thought. “I have no idea whose cows these are,” Adam said.

Farther down the hill was an open air structure made of a sandstone base with wood frame construction and a metal roof.  This was to be our kitchen, our dining area, and our place for showering. It had electrical outlets , a gas grill, hot water, a toaster, a refrigerator, a microwave , all kinds of dishes and utensils and a tea kettle. Inside the refrigerator, we found steaks, fruit, potatoes, salad, ham and eggs.  All we can say is what an amazing experience; the best kind of camping ever.  We prepared dinners both evenings, shared a bottle of wine and had small campfires while reminiscing about former journeys.

Throughout both evenings, we listened to the chatter of multiple birds and wildlife while quite cozy in our fancy tent. While glamping, we did take on a hike and it turned out to be our longest hike on this trip.  We walked to the Mangrove Creek Dam and back, passing race horse training farms and sheep farms as we attempted to see any wildlife. Though I believe I saw koala poop, I spotted no koalas up in the trees. Miraculously, we did come upon five kangaroos in a pasture and when they got wind of us, they leaped over the five foot high electric fence and went off into the bush.

On Saturday morning,  we said our farewells to Adam and a friend of his, JoAnn, volunteered to drive us to the Wyong train station. From there we caught the train to Newcastle and the light rail to Newcastle beach.  We booked a room for six nights here at Noah’s Hotel and when we arrived, they gave us a complimentary upgrade to an oceanfront room.  From the window in the shower, we can see the sun set over the cliffs and the ocean’s waves.  It is now spring here and the beaches are getting busy; several young men in their wet suits, carrying their surf boards are everywhere. We think it is a marvelous city and most definitely plan to swim.

Today, we took the light rail to the end of the Great North Walk and then walked backwards on two of the tracks.  We walked through King Edward Park, then on the Memorial Walk overlooking the sea, which was constructed in honor of all the Australians who participated in The Great War. In this country that then had five million residents, 416,000 men enlisted in the service, 60,000 died and  another 152,000 were either gassed or wounded.

The walk then took us to Bar Beach , Dixon beach and Merewether beach, all teeming with people surfing or swimming or walking. And then, we came upon one of the few people we now know in Australia;  Phoebe, who we met on the postal boat ride some days ago and several miles away.  We found that quite unique. The  rest of the trek was beautiful; we moved through rocks and sandy beaches, spotted the remains of a former railroad on the beach and crossed a lagoon back into the bush, and made our way to Charlestown, where we happened on a sports club, focused on lawn bowling.  Several teams were competing against each other; we, however, have no clue as to the rules.  And now as I write this, night has fallen and it is quiet on the shore.

Tomorrow we are going back into the bush.’

Shevonne and Pat

Pat and I have now hiked through 69.1 challenging miles of the Great North Walk. Repeatedly it winds steeply downhill to creek beds and then back up steep ascents to bluebird skies. There are multiple rock stairs one could tumble down. And we constantly keep our eyes out for  venomous brown snakes.

We’ve yet to take our backpacks for another whirl; thank goodness much of this trail has access to the local train stations. Planning that for hikers was brilliant.  The Great North Walk was created as a means to celebrate Australia’s bicentennial in 1988.  Much like what we discovered four years ago when we cycled the Great American Rail Trail, however, this walk is pieced together from many prior existing tracks and forest management roads. What hasn’t been brilliant is the fact that there is little to no maintenance, no one to reach for assistance and much of the information we access is no longer current.

On day five, after good food and brews the previous evening, we called for an Uber to return to the bottom of the Galston Gorge. We now had to trek from the other side. The driver shook his head; he’s a hiker. “Why would you attempt this trail? You should have called me.  There are much better hiking trails, especially in Tasmania.” Though there were no extreme climbs, I was filled with anxiety because of the multiple creek crossings on slick rocks. The worst was attempting to cross the raging Calna Creek above the top of  a waterfall.  After completing the day’s trek, it was back to the Blue Gum Hotel.

On day six, with our backpacks, we caught the train to Brooklyn, on the Hawkesbury River, in the early a.m.  We dropped off our packs at a motel, and caught the train back to Cowan. This part of the trail began at the top of a ridge and we descended over several miles to Jerusalem Bay.  On the way back up from the bay, we ran into two hearty looking guys with full packs who reported camping overnight and then partying in Brooklyn. We wondered how they found their way back up the steep management roads in the twilight.

We popped into the bar at the Angler’s Rest and were over the moon because they had Toohey’s Old, a dark beer, on tap. It’s our new best brew. The band, with members, our age, or older, played classic rock songs, and a few people danced to the tunes. Our room, above the bar, was fairly noisy but that didn’t matter to me; I quickly fell out.

Day seven was a race of sorts.  The goal was to pack up our backpacks, move them to the motel across the street, grab a decent breakfast, and catch the train back to Cowan, which only runs once an hour. We successfully moved our packs, grabbed an omelet and coffee and caught the train We then hiked another 8.5 miles to Berowra.

The hike to Berowra Waters was arduous; full of steep descents over rocks.  Four hours later, five miles in, at the water’s edge, we discovered house boats, a sea plane and large cabin cruisers.  A cable-operated ferry also hauled a few vehicles across Berowra Creek. Unbelievably, we also found an Italian restaurant and splurged on fried prawns, buffalo mozzarella with pesto and tomatoes, and  Italian bread with black truffle butter.  This was a highlight, given that we usually wolf down a a few slices of cheese and salami at lunch on the trail.

As we had four more miles of hiking,  we chased down Italian Colas, which were cherry red.  And regardless of this oasis in the bush, as we attacked our last ascent of four more miles to the train station, we were quickly parched but our stride was much improved.

After learning that we could catch a ride on the postal boat around the Hawkesbury River, on the next day we went for it; taking a day’s break from hiking. Mail arrives at a variety of the small Hawkesbury River islands five days a week via this boat; the postman leaps off the boat with a bag or box of mail, hands it over to another person on land and then shouts all clear to the boat captain. The captain then returns to telling facts and stories about many of the settlements. We basked in the sunshine as the captain took the boat upstream.

On day eight, we were back on the train, heading north to Gosford. It was early morning and the train was packed with high school students.  They were either reading, doing their homework or putting on makeup.  We learned later that many of the students come from Sydney to go to a selective high school here; it’s public; doesn’t cost parents anything.

We dropped our bags at the Gosford Hotel and grabbed an Uber to the Mooney Mooney Creek track head. It was a fairly easy day’s hike.  When we arrived at the top of Mt. Scopas, we had 360 degree views of the surrounding hillsides. For the first time, we ran into a young man, attempting to do what we are doing.  He was the only individual we passed on the track yesterday and he, too, is having several challenges. At the trek’s end, we arrived at a train station platform and had to flag down the conductor.  The platform is so small, only one door of the train opens. Back at Gosford, we enjoyed an incredibly delicious dinner at the hotel and were then invited to play their weekly trivia.  I was astounded by how it operated and plan to share some ideas with my library colleagues back home.

On Day nine, after after a light breakfast and another Uber back to the same location, we hiked in the opposite direction to the Somersby Store.  The trek was easier but as we crossed one set of rocks in the stream, there was nothing to prevent us from falling. It was like being on ice. And quickly thereafter, the trail disappeared requiring some exploration to find it once again. We treked through two rainforests. The last few miles were on roads taking us through the horse farms of Somersby.  Tomorrow we do plan to hike with our packs for three or four miles.

Lastly a shout out to Kate Dellner for recommending we purchase Wright Socks.  Best socks we’ve ever used for hiking several miles.

Cheers

Shevonne and Pat

We thought we were ready; plenty of long walks this past summer in the Mad River Valley.  But we were mistaken.  Walking ten miles every Saturday on gravel roads in Warren and Waitsfield with no more than a few oranges and some water in our Camelbaks was power-puff training. Instead we should have been running up Stark Mountain with 30 pounds of bricks.

But first, a digression. Last Sunday, we were two of over 8,000 individuals who attended Dirty Dancing Live on the big stage in Sydney. What better way to get psyched for the hike than to watch Patrick Swayze’s muscles in action and hear the soundtrack live.  The movie brought tears to my eyes; the late 80’s were a much more carefree time, at least in my memory.

On Monday morning, we put on our backpacks, took the train into Sydney and then caught the commuter ferry to Woolwich. It was quite warm, temperatures hoovering in the eighties Before entering the bush, we walked through suburban gated neighborhoods and some parks. We had each eaten a small yogurt for breakfast with a coffee and split a tangerine.  Then lunch was a few slices of cheese.

Our goal was to complete eight miles, stay at a hotel and then walk the other three miles sans packs. Wishful thinking but we did not prevail.  The lack of food and enough water, the heat and the heavy packs caused me to briefly pass out. From that point on, Pat walked behind me to make sure I didn’t black out again.

When we arrived at the hotel in North Ryde, we ordered pasta dishes and a few Cokes. We also considered how we might make this walk more enjoyable. Our solution,;ditch the packs whenever possible, drink Gatorade and eat bigger breakfasts. After a visit from a few cockatoos the next morning, Pat, armed with both packs, caught an Uber north to our next location and then returned.  We managed 11 miles that day on a variety of trail. On the Great North Walk, we are surrounded by Sydney blue gums, black butt, dryheath, she oaks, peppermint, smooth barked apple mixed with coachwood, black waddle and pittosporum. We’ve also been entertained by a variety of birds; honey eaters, fan tails, blue wrens, parrots and a variety of water birds and Pat spooked on kangaroo.

When we woke up on Day Three, it was raining.  We fished our canary yellow rain coats and gloves out of our packs and trudged ahead. However, after walking for a few kilometers, we found ourselves stuck; there was no safe way to cross the swollen stream. Frustrated, we backtracked and found a spur trail through the bush and then returned to the hotel, retracing our earlier steps.  Unbeknowst to us, the local leeches had attached themselves to our clothes and boots in the wet weather. These Australian leeches curl up llike tiny worms but they reek havoc. We were a bloody mess, requiring several bandaids . Subsequently, we flushed over 40 leeches down the toilet. Of course, they thrive in water so some survivors kept reappearing.

This morning, Day Four, it was raining, windy and cold but we were determined to go forth From the hotel, we walked with our heavy backpacks to the Thornleigh rail station and took it two stops north to Hornsby. A 15 minute walk led us to the Blue Gum hotel above the local pub. We dropped our packs and took an Uber to the Galston Gorge Car Park, a feat, for any driver, because of hairpin and reverse turns. Upon our arrival, we found a raging river but no matter, our trail was to to fist get to the top of the gorge. The only way up one of the steepest sections was to balance on metal rungs spaced out and inserted into the rocks.  I shuddered, knowing that if I fell, it was over. Why , why, why didn’t I bring my ski helmet?

At the top of the gorge, we turned onto a management road; these roads are scattered throughout all the national parks here as the means to access bush fires.  We then passed by a primitive campsite; no water, no outhouse.   Halfway through the day’s walk, we came upon a steel truss bridge, which had been moved there so hikers could easily cross the river. Because of an active rifle range, we had to climb steeply upward to a community and then slowly descend back down to the river’s edge.  Ferns proliferated all around the bush and as we began our final ascent to Hornsby, we climbed 300 rock stairs.,constructed during the Great Depression.

Lessons we’ve learned thus far:

1)This is not what we would call a walk; it is very steep and quite challenging. 2) We should have sent more items back with Destyni.  Since the Trump tariffs were enacted, mailing anything back to US is impossible, meaning heavier packs. 3) To always watch out for brown snakes and little leeches. 4) To do what we can and forgo the every frigging inch expectation. 5) We’d so rather be on bicycles.

See you all mates on the trails ahead

Shevonne and Pat

The weather for the Sydney marathon was perfect. Throngs of spectators lined the roads, ringing cow bells and shouting cheers.  Pat and I kicked back for a bit and planted ourselves on a traffic island at mile 22 so we could hand Desty a bit of Coke when she ran by in both directions.  She had a much better finish than in the Chicago marathon and recovered quickly.

On Monday morning, we were all up and dressed at 4:30 a.m for the sunrise kayak trip through part of Sydney’s harbour. We were fitted with life jackets and lined up behind orange kayaks with blue luminescent lighting. After a quick demonstration about paddling and a reminder to let a cell phone that falls in the water go, we were off.  We maneuvered around many sleeping sailboats while the sky began to lighten.  Our guides, from countries all over the world, kept us safe from the commuter ferries on their morning rounds. shot plenty of photos of us at the halfway point and then shared information about the harbour’s history.  After they pulled each of our kayaks in, we ran for a change of clothes and ordered breakfast.  We were soaked and quite chilled.

It was time to drive south to Phillips Island, about 700 miles away. Pat did the driving and Destyni kept her eye out for kangaroos.  This highway (which does allow cyclists) was two lanes only in most places with no dividing barriers and the road wiggled up and down. By 7 p.m  Pat was fried so we found lodging at a pub packed with serious dart players all On Tuesday, we scrapped frost from the windshield and headed farther south, stopping once at Lakes Entrance, which has a barrier beach that goes for miles without any development.

Once we landed at Phillips Island, we drove to the Penguin Parade grounds  After a walk to penguin viewing area next to the ocean, we waited for the sun to set. And then the little penguins came out of the ocean in droves and waddled up to the grass looking for their mate and using a particular sound to find each other. We learned that they go out and fish for a few days and then it’s party time back on land.  They know the only time to come home is after dark when the predators can’t see them. After 20 minutes, everyone was asked to follow the penguins back through the walkways. No photos or videos were permitted.

Now in the south, the weather was much cooler. On Wednesday, we took in the koala preserve, where we were able to get up close to them on raised boardwalks. They spend most of their lives asleep because they feast on eucalyptus leaves which provide them with little energy.  The next morning Destyni was keen on taking a surfing lesson; to her it Australia was the perfect place to learn.  Regardless of the rainy, windy morning, she had a private lesson on the beach with

a coach and in less than an hour’s time, she was going from a prone position to standing up and surfing. From there we drove into Melbourne, to visit my second cousin and her family. We had planned to stay with them but because of health issues, our visit took place in the hospital.  Later that night, we landed at their home in Shepparton, where their son, John, volunteered to host us for two days. On Friday morning, we explored Shepparton, taking in the city’s art museum, the history museum, the local cows and a walk around Victoria Lake.

During dinner with John, we learned about brown snakes. John said the babies are the most dangerous. And then he told us about the red bellied spider whose venom almost killed him. Thank goodness we purchased gaiters before leaving Waitsfield.

As we drove back north to Sydney, we spotted kangaroos everywhere, in open fields.They, too, can be quite dangerous, when they leap into the road. It’s now time for Destyni to return to Montana and begin her new position as a dentist and time for Pat and me to find the enthusiasm necessary for our 150 mile hike on the Great North Walk.

Shevonne and Pat

I’m sitting next to one of our three picture windows overlooking the Sydney Harbour as I compose this post. There are cruise boats, sail boats and yellow and green passenger ferries traveling back and forth between stops. Having grown up using public transportation throughout Pittsburgh, I am smitten with the ferries here. No stress, short wait times and never stuffed in like sausages.  Of course, since the ferries pass right by our bedroom window multiple times a day, I’ve learned to dress appropriately.

We are staying in the Kirribilli region of North Sydney, about 100 steps or less from the prime minister’s second home. There are palm trees, flocks of birds I can’t identify, and the stem of a plant that has risen four feet in the air with a huge pink flower on which several birds like to congregate. An Italian cat lives next door and when she wishes to visit, we can’t resist suggesting she try some espresso.

We can easily walk to the center of town, on the edge of the Sydney Harbour Bridge.  Coffee bars and sour dough bread shops proliferate. Though it’s late winter, it’s warm enough for outside dining and most restaurants provide patrons with blankets. It’s incredibly clean  – no graffiti or untethered trash. Plenty of brush turkeys prowl the sidewalks looking for scraps.

Unlike San Francisco, which left a bad taste in my mouth given all the disarray , driverless vehicles and people screaming uncontrollably, Sydney is refreshing.  Several school-aged children pass us; girls in royal blue dresses and white brimmed hats and boys wearing grey three piece suits (with either shorts or slacks), white pressed shirts and ties.

After arriving at the Sydney airport and losing a day due to the time difference, our luggage was also missing. Apparently several suitcases were pulled from our flight because of weight restrictions.  Though United offered $2500 in ticket credits, not enough passengers (including us)took them up on the offer to change plans and take a later flight. Two days later, our bags arrived in Southern Australia and then had to be flown back to Sydney.

The main reason why we are exploring Australia at this time of year is because our daughter, Destyni, landed a spot in the Sydney Marathon.  We also plan to visit my second cousins who live closer to Melbourne, say adieu to our daughter and put on our backpacks for a few weeks walk about.

Our first stop after renting a car, Pat named the beast because of it’s size, was the Taronga Zoo.  For hours, we we observed kangaroos, koalas, and a Tasmanian Devil. The zoo offers a wildlife retreat for those interested in spending time with hundreds of species of birds.

After a restless evening, we were ready to take on Sydney. Our apartment is two blocks from one of the passenger ferries and in 10 minutes we were in the city. We walked into the visitor center which also hosts one of the city’s libraries, located in the Customs House. Unlike most libraries it was extremely noisy  which we learned was because of the restaurant on the sixth floor. Though we were far from dressed for the venue, eventually we secured a reservation and we were seated overlooking the harbour. Our waiter answered our many questions about the menu while taking each of the white cloth napkins next to our plates and placing them on our laps.  Since then, we’ve discovered doing so is customary.

After a shared breakfast the next morning at a Moroccan cafe, we caught a different passenger ferry to the convention center, for the marathon registration. Every single one of the 30,000 marathoners converged there at the same time, creating a frenzy. Later Destyni and I found our way to the Shangri-la hotel for high tea, on the 36th floor, overlooking the exquisite harbour, while Pat entertained himself walking through the Barangaroo Reserve and sipping brews in some local pubs.

Friday was the day I was the most anxious about – the Sydney Harbour Bridge Climb.  It was,I can now say,having survived it, everything it promised to be and more. The system is of preparation and climbing is like a well -oiled machine. First we were each breathalyzed. If one doesn’t pass, they cannot take the climb. After a round of introductions, we were handed grey jumpsuits to put on.  Security procedures were next and then we were escorted into a large room equipped with harnesses. We were taught how to step into them, tighten them and then under our leader, Mitch’s tutelage, we practiced climbing forward and backward on metal ladders with our harnesses.

Sunglasses , hats and hankies were strapped to our suits and then we each received a head set. Mitch introduced himself as an actor who likes climbing to the top of bridges. He led us under the span of the bridge on a cat walk as the harness hooks slid through multiple transition points. He never stopped chattering the whole time we were walking. Halfway across the cat walk, when I looked below me, I considered quitting but determined I better find my mojo. Finally, we arrived at the steep ladders, which we were required to climb, one person at a time. And then crawling up to the opening, I relaxed a bit. Mitch took photos  and shared stories about the bridge’s construction s we climbed farther up.

At the very top of the span, we posed for group photos and began our descent on the other side of the bridge.  Suddenly, the wind began whipping at a high speed and we all clung to the iron railings. When I arrived at the set of descending ladders, I mentioned to Mitch’s assistant that I was quite scared. She advised me to take my time stepping down backward, to slide to the left at the transition points and to spend no time thinking about it.  On our final walk once again across the catwalk, Mitch told the story of a harbour bridge construction worker who fell several feet into the water and saved his life by holding his nose beforehand.  Take that as my tip for the week. If you’re ever in a similar situation, seal your nasal passages.  The air pressure in the sinuses will increase, creating a barrier that water cannot easily overcome.

Tomorrow we will serve as Destyni’s support team for her marathon.

Shevonne and Pat

When we discovered Highway 61 was closed to Red Wing, Minnesota, it was all hands on deck. The detour through the hills on narrow roads with all the diverted traffic didn’t rock our boat. We called a bicycle shop owner who suggested we cross back into Wisconsin and ride on their highway. We spoke with Corey, (the inn manager), about putting a sign up that said – cyclists need a ride through the detour – will pay. Corey, (who told us his mother named him after Corey Hart, Corey Feldman and Corey Hiam), did us one better by posting our request on Wabasha’s online community forum. Within 30 minutes, Pat received a text from Brenda, asking about our bicycles and our panniers.  “I’ll take you up the road in the morning, provided your bicycles fit in the back of my Honda Pilot,” she said.

And just like that, Brenda arrived in the morning and we stashed our bicycles into her vehicle. It was all so easy. Along the way, we learned that Brenda is the co-owner of the Hopping Girl Brewery, runs a bed and breakfast and serves as a travel consultant. She’s definitely a go-getter with plenty of energy. When Brenda dropped us off in Hastings, Minnesota, it was around noontime with temperatures in the mid-80s.  Our destination that day was Minneapolis. The pavement was hot and there was little shade for miles. We rode through the 3M complex in Cottage Grove and eventually made our way to the outskirts of St. Paul, while dodging sidewalk and road construction projects. From there, we had a pleasant ride through many of St Paul’s trails and parks, all the while assuming Minneapolis was just a few miles further. Two hours and 15 miles later, we arrived on the University of Minnesota campus. We were thirsty and light-headed, having neglected to eat anything all afternoon.

“Let’s take a day off and explore Minneapolis before we cycle north,” Pat suggested. We did, walking several miles around the city through the sculpture garden, the flour mill ruins and the main thoroughfares. It was downtown Thursdays, something the city has initiated to bring workers back to the city and out of their home offices. As in other cities, much of downtown is empty of businesses and offices; the aftermath of the pandemic. We did have a bit of fun playing a creative game of miniature golf that had been set up on the street.

After a lovely meal and some brews at the Town Hall Brewery, we got back to planning the rest of our route. After studying the mileage and the calendar, we learned that the train station, where we planned to board the train back to Chicago, would not allow our bicycles on because it’s an unmanned station. This is something I suppose we might have checked months earlier. Our options were getting dicey; perhaps we should ride to St. Paul and take the train back to Chicago and do some more riding around Illinois. But, then we found a private car company that would take us to Brainerd, Minnesota, at the beginning of the Paul Bunyan Trail. With enough stamina, we could ride several 50-mile days, cycle the Paul Bunyan up to Bemidji and back to Brainerd, and then cycle back to St. Paul. It sounded quite challenging but we were up for it.

“Do you want the bigger or smaller van for your bicycles?” the owner of the car service asked. It’s $315 for the smaller or $350 for the larger vehicle. “We’ll take the smaller vehicle,” Pat said, fully confident because our bicycles had fit in Brenda’s SUV without issues.

Bill, our driver, arrived in the morning, in a jacket and tie with muffins for us. He opened the hatchback and Pat attempted to place his bicycle inside.  It didn’t fit. “Let’s take the front wheels off,” Pat said. My front wheel easily came off but Pat was having no luck with his bicycle.  When he finally was able to loosen it, the axle cracked.  We jumped in the car, regardless. All three of us assumed we could easily find a replacement part at a bicycle shop on the way north.

That was when our journey came to a screeching halt. Not one bicycle shop on our way north  had the axle he needed and we didn’t have the days needed to wait for an order to arrive. I texted my friend Kris, now frantic. “Rent a U-Haul and drive back to your daughter’s home in Chicago,” she suggested.  And we did, giving up our dream of seeing the blue ox. It was tough and we were distraught.  I figure that savings of $35 on the smaller van, cost us an extra $1500 that day. Another learning. Pat called a bicycle dealership in Lisle, Illinois – that is a Jamis dealer. They had the replacement axle in stock.

For a few more days, we will make our way around the multiple trails in the Chicago suburbs before heading home to Waitsfield.

Follow us as we spin our wheels,

Shevonne and Pat

Decorah was hosting their Pride Week when we arrived. On Thursday night, we carried lawn chairs to town, ordered drinks and sat outside on a local street to play Pride trivia. Corey and Kyra’s team, is named Sexy Neighbor and they often have a circle of 10 people in their group. Unlike our trivia in the Mad River Valley, it’s all done with an app.

As we walked into town Friday morning we spied our former orange cat, Lucky, in the school playground. Two little girls were petting him. Twelve years ago, we agreed to send Lucky with Corey and Kyra when they left Vermont. Lucky found himself a new community and every day he visits the children before the beginning of the school day.We were told that there is one playground rule about Lucky.  He’s not allowed to be taken down the slide. 

Pat’s bicycle needed a new wheel. The local bicycle shop, Decorah Bicycles, did an outstanding job – the part was ordered on Friday morning from Minnesota and his bicycle was good to go by Saturday afternoon.

Kyra, our daughter-in-law, led swing dance instruction on the main street Friday evening for the annual sock hop. Several young people practiced the swing dance steps.  Pat and I also had the chance to catch up with Laura and Randy Hashman, our Cedar Falls Warm Showers hosts from two years ago. When they learned we were going to be Iowa once again, they brought their camper up. We spent Friday and Saturday evenings feasting and sharing stories with them. It was wonderful to see them once again. 

While we were in Decorah, Corey and Kyra assisted us in making some additional bicycle and camping equipment repairs. We toured the Porter House one block up their street; the former owners never needed to work. Instead they traveled through several countries collecting artifacts,  butterflies and insects. Closer to home, they collected rocks and used them to create a unique rock wall around their property.

Corey offered to give us a ride into Harmony, Minnesota, the beginning of a lengthy bicycle trail, and we agreed because none of the roads out of Decorah looked very appealing. We had cycled the same trail two years ago. We stopped in Lanesboro  to get groceries at what was the local organic market; alas it is now cannabis only.  We stopped to talk with a woodworker in Peterson, who makes beautiful tables, bought groceries in Rushford, and continued cycling to Houston. Once again, we stayed at a primitive campsite there. When the sun disappeared, the temperatures turned chilly and it was tough to sleep in our lightweight bags (though this time we do have a liner).  It was 44 degrees when we woke up and the fog didn’t lift until 10 a.m.  We climbed  over ten miles out of Houston and toward the Mississippi River at La Crescent, MN.

From there, we determined it was better to cross into Wisconsin because it offered the Great River trail (a dirt path next to the Mississippi River.  Hence, we crossed the Mississippi into La Crosse, WI. That was our second time across the river. The Great River Trail was once a railroad. We had spectacular views of the river as we cycled north. In the town of Trempealeau, we called it quits for the day. Forty three miles had been plenty. The Little Bluff Inn had one room left and we grabbed it. The motel owner suggested we get a drink at Cat Daddy’s by the river because of the excellent view and also that we try Sullivan’s restaurant for dinner because it was Manic Monday; night of a free bottle of wine.  She said both were too far to cycle to but that we could borrow her golf cart to go to Cat Daddy’s and that Sullivan’s would shuttle us to dinner and back to the motel. And that’s exactly what we did.

After a yummy yogurt parfait and another espresso in Trempealeau, we put our wheels back on the Great River Trail north until we reached a wildlife refuge, and cycled around it until we landed on Highway 35 and then on a bicycle trail across the Mississippi once again to Minnesota.  After sharing a black and blue salad in Winona, we steered toward  Prairie Island, a national wildlife refuge, eventually finding ourselves on Highway 61, a four lane highway. There was no other choice -14 miles of fast vehicles next to the Mississippi with eight foot wide shoulders. We definitely were moving at a fast pace.

 We’ve been told that unlike Vermont, Minnesota and Iowa have had little rain all summer. The fields of soybeans and corn are baked to a crisp. Our last destination for the evening was Wabasha, and we now have a new problem to resolve.  The highway is closed 15 miles ahead because the state is paving. Who knows what route we will now take? 

Follow us as we spin our wheels.

Shevonne and Pat

It was pouring rain and chilly when we woke up in Davenport. Neither of us were very enthused about getting on the bicycles.  The solution – the 392 Caffe where we shared three delicious cappuccinos. Once injected with all that caffeine, nothing could stop us.  We cycled up the hill outside of Davenport, connected with a local bicycle trail and headed west on historic US 6. By the time we arrived in Walcott, the rain had run its course. The main street was lined with US flags. From there, we proceeded to Wilton, a diamond in the rough.  The Wilton Candy Kitchen caught our eyes. Inside we not only found penny candy but an old fashioned soda fountain with a plethora of milk shake, sundae and flavored soda offerings.  In the back section of the store, was a collection of Wilton memoraiblia that will one day be moved when a museum is constructed. Three sisters were diving into  hot fudge sundaes and milkshakes as we shared a tuna melt sandwich and a cherry coke. They are on a tour of their ancestors, one of whom settled the town of Wilton, naming it after his home town of Wilton, Maine. Lynn, the Candy Shop owner was intrigued by our goal to reach the Mississippi headwaters and we were smitten with his shop.  If only we could have feasted on a malt or ice cream soda; but that would have put us right to sleep.

We continued to make our way toward West Branch, Iowa, the birthplace of Herbert Hoover, our 31st president, spent the night at a Days Inn and in the morning, took in the Herbert Hoover National Historic Site. In the visitor center we learnedthat Herbert and his siblings, who were raised as Quakers, became orphans when their parents died in their early 30s.  Other family members took in the children but eventually Herbert was asked to help a relation on a farm in Oregon.  The 10 year old packed his suitcase and took a train to the other side of the country. Under the tutelage of an uncle, Hoover eventually made his way into Stanford University, (then a new college) and graduated as a mining engineer. From thence he had a variety of adventures across the world, became wealthy , served under earlier presidents as one of the cabinet members, created UNICEF and was elected president. Though Hoover’s reputation suffered greatly during the subsequent Great Depression, his post presidential efforts toward humanitarian causes elevated the public’s perception of him. His wife, Lou, and many West Branch community members invested in restoring his childhood home and other structures that were intact during hisWest Branch. Here’s a question to contemplate – if Hoover hadn’t become an orphan, would he had become president regardless?

As we exited the visitor center, we bumped into a couple who wanted to know more about our journey.  They were on their way to South Dakota to ride the Mickelson Trail. Close to two decades ago, they cycled across the country before the dominance of smart phones.  We found plenty of hills to climb, stopped in a small community for sandwiches on the steps of the former Morse General Store, turned onto IA highway 1, to Solon, where upon we found the Hoover Nature Trail on the back side of the high school. Solan had an extensive array of outdoor recreation fields, a playground and a historic lodge that can be rented for events.  The skies were once again turning dark; something we hadn’t expected because thunderstorms were not in the day’s forecast. Six miles in after we had passed a shelter, the skies opened up on us and other unprepared cyclists. We quickly put on all our rain gear and patiently waited out the lightning and torrential rain. Back once again on our bicycles, we cycled on to Cedar Rapids, on paved trails. Now in the city, we could hear a sound check for the band, Train, that was performing at an outdoor venue and noted the gigantic Quaker Oats plant that took in several city blocks.  It was our silver anniversary and we splurged on a fancier overnight stay at the Doubletree Hotel and dinner on the 16th floor.

It was a bit confusing the next morning as to which trail to take – the detour sign had been knocked down so we assumed we could ride in that direction, but a half mile out, we came to a standstill in the midst of a huge construction project.  Cedar Rapids has dewatered their lake. Once we got ourselves out of that mess, we cycled past suburban neighborhoods and crossed multiple streets before we found ourselves back in a rural setting.  In Center Point, we learned more about the former local railroad, that had been created to move supplies during World War I . We said adieu to this lovely trail and took county roads through Walker, Quasqueton and Winthrop, to the Jak Way campground outside of Aurora. It was another day with several uphill climbs and we were tired. Suddenly a vehicle pulled over and yelled “You are doing it.”  Turns out it was Kyra, our family member. She was nearby and decided to  find us. When we arrived at the campground, we discovered we were the only guests for the evening. This time we did eat our cold baked beans, and settled in quickly as darkness unfolded. listening to an owl.

Pat reported that his bicycle was wobbling; and from past experience we knew it needed a serious repair. Our plan was to get as close as possible to Decorah, our night’s destination and wait for Corey and Kyra to borrow a truck and take us back to their home and a bicycle shop. In Fayette, we stopped for lunch and then determined we could go no farther safely because of the lack of shoulders on the highway.  Or, perhaps we were just tired. We spent the afternoon under a picnic shelter, playing word games and reading.  It was there that I found an old book about Iowa’a history and learned  about Blackhawk, the famous Indian Chief, who attempted to save his lands to no avail.  He was arrested, jailed, taken to Washington DC to meet president Andrew Jackson, released back to Iowa and when he passed away, his gravesite was robbed. When his bones were recovered and placed in a museum, a few years later, the museum burned to the ground.The book references Blackhawk as the reason Iowa named itself the Hawkeye state but that’s not a hundred percent accurate. There are conflicting opinions; suffice to say we may never know its true origin.

Follow us as we spin our wheels.

Shevonne and Pat

Four miles north of La Salle, we found an open bicycle shop and purchased an additional inner tube.  A Holiday Inn Express was a mile further down the road and opted for another night of decent rest. Of course, as we left the hotel in the morning, I noted that once again my back tire was flat. Pat pumped up my tire and we dashed back to the bicycle shop.  It was Saturday and the shop didn’t open until 10 a.m.  When the owner arrived, he eventually diagnosed the problem. Using a magnifying glass, he found a tiny thorn. Because we had over 60 miles on another canal path, this time the Hennepin Canal and we understood that the first ten miles had chunky new gravel, I opted to purchase a more durable tire. (note to self – on the next bicycle trip, we should carry a magnifying glass).

After 15 miles of cycling on back roads, we arrived in the small town of Bureau Junction, shared a Dr. Pepper under a picnic shelter and  entered the Hennepin Canal Trail.  Our goal was Lock 22  which offered a primitive camping site. This canal was filled with water but the cycling was grueling. Unlike the Illinois and Michigan Canal trail, there was no posted information about this canal and no mileage markers.  The only signage we did find had been weathered to the point where it was no longer readable. The only people we saw on the path were fishing near some of the locks.  When we arrived at the visitor center, we discovered it had been shuttered for lack of staff. At around 5 p.m. we had five more miles

to our designated campsite.  I was beginning to wonder if that particular campsite was a good idea. That’s when we spotted a sign for the HickoryGrove Campground, the only commercial enterprise on the canal. It looked appealing but we weren’t sure they would take us in because most of the campground was filled with RVs. Joan, one of the two owners, found us a tent spot.  “Do not camp under any tree limbs,” she said; “One fell right next to a camper a while back.”  Then she changed her persona. “But why are you doing this?” she asked.  Wouldn’t you rather take a trip to Hawaii or take up sailing?”We shook our heads.  “And whose idea was this trip?” Pat pointed at me. That’s when she loaded him up with a huge bag of popcorn and two popsicles. 

We found our spot in the campground and began to set up the tent.  It had been two years and we wondered whether we would easily remember how to do so. And then, two men in a golf cart pulled up and invited us to have dinner with them and their wives.  “We barbecued chicken and there’s plenty,” they said 

It didn’t take more than a minute for us to agree to dine with them.  We had been planning a dinner of cold baked beans and yogurt. And that’s how the thorn in the morning turned into a rose. Jerry, Bob, Connie and Deb spend several months at the campground and then in the winter they move west to Arizona.  After dinner, we moved on to Bob’s bonfire and Joan and Dave, the campground owners and their adult children, Grace and Angie, joined us for stories late into the night. At one point we looked up in the sky and got excited when we saw Elon Musk’s 15 satellites all in a contiguous line.

On Sunday morning, we packed up and put our wheels back on the Hennepin Canal for 30 more miles. It was a never ending sight of water, trees, lily pads over and over again. When we arrived at the canal’s end we celebrated our good fortune – no more flat tires, with more Dr. Pepper. It was a treat to once again cycle in neighborhoods and on paved roads. In East Moline, we jumped on the Great River Trail next to the Mississippi River  We stopped to admire the mighty river, cycled a few more miles and crossed over it on an expansive bridge that carries vehicles and pedestrians. Our destination for the night was Davenport, Iowa. Dustin Collison, our Warm Shower’s host, greeted us and helped us get settled in our overnight accommodations and found us an open place for a meal. As usual, every day brings a new adventure.   

Shevonne and Pat