Bicheno to St Helens: where hell ends...

Sunday November 1, 2009, 78 km (48 miles) - Total so far: 318 km (197 miles)

Today it's St Helens or bust. I sat out the afternoon in Bicheno yesterday, waiting for a fair wind, now it has arrived and I must take full advantage, come what may...

A fine day is forecast, with southerly winds - exactly what I wanted for the run north along the coast...

'Flat' is a word that is not frequently associated with Tasmanian roads, and when it is, it's likely to be accompanied by another word - 'false'. Nonetheless once I left Bicheno this morning (in misting rain) the road was 'flattish' and I was able to make good time with the aid of a gentle tailwind.

The route started out through coastal heath, then opened onto grazing lands, dotted with sheep and lambs, extending in places right down to the rocky shores. The pastures here must be tough to withstand the constant salt spray.

At the foot of Mt Elephant, the landscape's vocabulary changed abruptly to 'rolling' as the road contoured around the mountain's flanks. I had pre-determined (on account of the weather, of course) to forgo the dubious delights of an Elephant Pass pancake and instead take the low road to St Helens. Once the mountain was behind me, the road did actually have some 'flats', but mostly of the 'false' variety.

Near Four Mile Creek the road rejoined the coast, the rain (and my spirits) lifted, and I enjoyed fine coastal views, with waves crashing on the orange lichen- stained rocks close enough to feel the spray.

Reaching Falmouth I realised that my goal was in sight - on a strengthening wind I cruised into Scamander, and at the only cafe that showed any signs of life, ordered a 'burger with the lot' (a burger with fried onion and egg, beetroot, and pineapple, and the usual greens) and hot chips. I got a long wait to go with them, as the place seemed to be the local teen hangout, but no matter, I was happy to relax and have an extended break with only 16 km more to go.

By now the wind was getting quite blustery, and the final kilometres were, dare I say it, a breeze. All except the last few; as I have long since discovered, most routes have a sting in their tail, and the road obstinately went up when I wanted it to go down.

So, it was mid-afternoon when I checked in to the local backpacker, a strangely bare place, no credit card facilities, no internet, no TV - how bizarre. But the shower was pleasantly hot after a damp and somewhat cool day, and the beer from the pub across the street pleasantly chilled.

I took a short stroll around the waterfront and township. St Helens is a fishing port, and offshore, game fish are prevalent, but otherwise the main attractions are a little out of town, at Binalong Bay, and the Bay of Fires.

In the end, not such a hellish day. Edit: Considering what was to come in the next few days!