Day 2 – In which I make it home in one piece.
The Inlet Views motel is a lovely lovely place, driveway from hell notwithstanding. Bill and Margaret, the owners, bought it nine years ago. It was run down and in need of lots of TLC, which it evidently got. The little one-bedroom flatettes are bright, airy and comfortable, with gorgeous views of Wagonga Inlet.
I had a lovely Saturday afternoon admiring the gardens and talking to Margaret about her handiwork, before locking myself in and firing up the laptop. I wish I lived on the NSW south coast... There's something about water views that really helps me to organise my thoughts.
By sunset I'd written a blog post and started writing a new novel.
Superb weather this morning, and I swallowed the fear of falling over in driveways, and headed off at around 8.30. The bent gear selector is a pain in the bum, especially going from first to second gear. Must go and see Bruce about it this week. I think perhaps I should take him a bottle of wine as well, to head off any smart-arsed comments – oops, I mean, to buy his silence *chortle*.
Back to the trip though. I had planned on doing a Twin Peaks run this weekend, so a Twin Peaks run was what I would do, no matter what.
My new front tyre loved the twists and turns on Brown Mountain, (wheeeeeeeee!) and before I knew it I was cruising through Nimmitabel and wondering where the warmth went. A thick swathe of low cloud nibbled its way through my winter jacket and chilled me to the bone. It wasn't quite fog, but I was really glad to stop at Cooma to refuel and, um, have a rest stop. The cold weather makes me wee.
On the road from Cooma to Canberra I encountered every kind of stupid driving behaviour that there is, and was relieved to pull into my driveway a bit before 1.30pm.
In 29 hours I have ridden 560kms, had a disaster, been rescued by tattooed knights, written a chapter of a new novel, read several chapters of The Spy Who Came in from the Cold, watched a movie, talked to a bunch of total strangers, done a couple of blog posts, and come to the conclusion that, for the most part, riding alone is the best way to go. It's not that I'm antisocial – well, only a little bit – but I always seem to have better adventures when I'm on my own. I'm forced outside my comfort zone, and that's a good place to be.