Cycle of Learning. Anne Fitzpatrick

more comfortable for me than asking for them.

      My planning had been rushed and haphazard. I’d fitted it in between completing my studies and working part time. Depressingly, I reflected that I could have worked this year as a graduate teacher and probably saved more from my wage than I was going to make in fundraising.

      The heavy feeling in my stomach travelled down to my legs and I ended up finishing my ride for the day earlier than planned. I pulled over at a supermarket in Nambucca Heads and bought a large bottle of turpentine. I spent the evening trying to remove the black marker that I’d graffitied over my vest last night. Did I mention that Colin was wearing a nice, neat polo shirt embroidered with his logo and catch phrase “Dream. Believe. Achieve.”?

      After an hour of soaking, scrubbing and rinsing, the writing on my own corporate uniform was faded but still visible. The vest was now scruffy enough to be even more unprofessional, yet legible enough to indicate which charity never to donate to. Plus, it now stank of turpentine.

Friday 1 April

      Coffs Harbour to Woolgoolga to Pacific Highway, New South Wales

      71 kilometres – 3 hours 55 minutes

      I soon learnt to leave my vest outside my tent, after spending Tuesday and Wednesday nights haunted by unsettled sleep and bizarre dreams brought on by the turpentine fumes. I tried to brighten myself up by going on a sightseeing trip to Muttonbird Island. It didn’t work, as I spent the excursion plodding miserably through the rain across a scrubby island that was a good match for its grey, greasy, old-sheep name.

      However, nothing cheers me up more than fruit, and after the morning’s stop at the Big Banana on the way out of Coffs Harbour, I finally started feeling a bit better. Even my rain-soaked bike seat stopped bothering me as I rode north, admiring the plantations of normal-sized edible bananas lining the highway.

      The town of Woolgoolga improved my spirits further and pushed all concerns of mediocre fundraising performances and stinky vests from my mind for the majority of the day. The school I visited was in a beautiful location: the sound of the sea drifted through the grounds, and there were stunning views of rolling grassy fields and woods right down to the sparkling Pacific Ocean. The idyllic setting permeated the entire school with teachers and students relaxed and friendly in a way that is only possible when you’ve got a view of the ocean from every part of the property.

      I was thrilled to discover that Woolgoolga is home to a large Indian community and a beautiful Sikh temple. This meant that among the students there was a lot of knowledge about Indian geography, languages and culture.

      After lunching on piles of fresh bananas and crunchy watermelon next to the ocean, I stopped by the home of the editor of Australian Cyclist magazine. After an interview and a cup of tea, she generously gave me a copy of a book that I probably should have invested in a year ago: Around Australia by Bicycle. Now, if I could just find an edition of How to Gain Media Attention and Be in Demand as a Guest Speaker and Raise Huge Amounts of Money and Fix Gears and Eat Honey (or Golden Syrup) Without Getting Sticky in a light paperback version with easy to follow diagrams …

Chapter 4: Thighs of Mass Destruction

      Lismore – Woodburn – Lennox Heads – Byron Bay – Coolangatta – Brisbane – Plainland – Toowoomba – Dalby – Macalister – Chinchilla – Jandowae

      Totals: 4,622 kilometres – 263 hours 22 minutes – $5,432

Saturday 9 April

      Coolangatta to Brisbane, Queensland

      122 kilometres – 5 hours 46 minutes

      I spent a large part of the day riding up the M1, the motorway between the Gold Coast and Brisbane. While there was a generous shoulder for a lot of the way, there were a few sections of roadwork where I had to take it upon myself to reposition the barriers. My main concerns, though, were the numerous exits and entrances that needed to be crossed without getting in the way of the high velocity traffic entering or exiting the freeway. The mirror on my right handlebar helped a lot in these situations, letting me keep an eye on what was happening behind me. I quite enjoyed utilising this mirror as every time I finished with it and turned it back and folded it down, I saw myself as Luke Skywalker turning off his targeting computer before blowing up the Death Star.

      Heading into Brisbane, I felt rested and ready for a new state, which already had filled my diary with more engagements than any other. I’d originally planned to only ride as far north as Rockhampton before heading west, but my “Don’t say no to a school” policy threw that plan out the window. Over the previous few months, as people from each new school – of increasingly northerly location – phoned to ask if I could visit, I had to sit back down with my maps and sums and plot new daily riding itineraries of greater and greater distances and correspondingly less rest. I was at the stage where it should be just physically possible to make the extra 1,000 kilometres to get up to Tully and still reach Darwin by the end of the second school term.

      With this tough riding schedule ahead of me, I was glad of the mini Gold Coast holiday I’d just indulged in. I tried to be a tourist by visiting Tropical Fruit World, a tropical fruit-based theme park, and dutifully took a photo of the ambiguous-looking giant fruit at the entrance. I stayed with Rod, a friend I know through wrestling, who took me to the beach in the mornings to try and teach me how to surf. Rod is a very tactful guy and kindly blamed the weather for my dismal performance. He also provided a computer for me to work at when I wasn’t being a tourist or almost-surfer. I sent off a few dozen emails and got the Cycle of Learning website up to date. This side of things mostly consisted of me emailing my volunteer IT-support officer, Bonnie, with requests. Bonnie is an amazing friend who stepped in after a mini-meltdown I had in December. Things were falling apart with my plans for web page design and I had spent a few days storming around home, throwing things and yelling at the world. Bonnie and I had been friends for five years and I already knew she was a proficient composer, pianist and percussionist, as well as being an officer in the navy and a final year medical student. I had no idea that she could also design web pages, write programs, and speak binary, but when she heard of my problems, she stepped up to the plate and sorted me out. She was updating things and adding more nifty functions to the website while I was on the road, and I harboured a secret dream that she would invent a virus that could ask for donations better than I could.

      That Saturday morning, before farewelling Rod, I sorted through my possessions. When I left Adelaide, Trailer was carrying 30 kilograms of gear. I’d already been shedding things I hadn’t been using (astronomy almanac, extra shoes etc); after a heart-wrenching hour, I whittled my equipment and supplies further down to 18.5 kilograms. I don’t think our overall weight was reduced though: I had made up the 11.5 kilograms by the impressive expansion of my thigh muscles; the grime embedded in my hair, skin and clothes; the biomass of accompanying microorganisms that made this grime their home; and the weight gain from my on-the-road appetite.

      I finished my cull by handing over two bags to Rod. One had stuff to be returned to my parents via the little-known National Wrestlers’ Delivery Network; the other bag was given as a “gift” for Rod. He went above and beyond his hostly duties and pretended that the soap holder, pegs, and pre-owned vitamin tablets were just what he needed to cheer himself up after having his surfing reputation destroyed by association with me.

      For all the emotional trauma of deciding what to keep and what to shed of my equipment, there wasn’t a noticeable change in the effort it took to tow Trailer. He did seem easier to navigate, though, around the twists and turns of shopping complexes and narrow streets I encountered once I left the motorway to find my way to my next hosts.

      After getting lost a few times and dropping my map in a public toilet, I finally found my way to the home of the next family putting me up for the night. Like all good Cycle of Learning hosts, they live at the top of a ridiculously steep hill, and have a spot in the sun to dry out wet maps.

Wednesday