August 7, 2013 at 6:32 am #769
Ace of BladesModerator
This week I decided to take a break from work to go relax, catch up on some much needed sleep and to explore the area outside the city. I decided to go to a place called Mornington.
The Mornington Peninsula is the South-Easternmost tip of Victoria and is known for many things including beaches, wineries, nice restaurants, spas and touristy things of the like. Much like the Niagara Escarpment back home.
I neither had the capital nor the wherewithal to organize a spa day for myself, so I decided to take my trusty aluminum steed to scope this place out. So I went to the train station to catch the very reliable train service to an outer suburb called Frankston; which had a notorious reputation of being a less than favourable place, so I dressed modestly.
When I had arrived at Frankston, the weather was overcast and somewhat chilly; typically ideal cycling weather as long as it doesn’t rain.
On the opposite platform, I saw what was only 1 train car with no engine and this was my ride to the peninsula itself. Apparently this singular train car had an engine, as we were moving at about 45 knots.
I had picked a destination to get off at to start my actual cycling, a small hamlet called Tyabb, and I began my trek down the highway.
The scenery was quite something, like going through flat-plained farmland on a recently paved highway; it was somewhat pleasurable.
Then I turned right.
On the map, I was beginning my trek through the girth of the peninsula, and the quaint country road turned into lush forests, sprawling farmland and the serenity of it all.
Although it was the most challenging part of the trek, it was the most enjoyable. What I didn’t realize was that I was slowly climbing a mountain, and about halfway through, all my hard legwork paid off.
at the top of this road, I felt like I was competing in the Tour de France; just two paved lanes with sharp turns overlooking enormous green valleys and the sandy brown rockface.
I cheered a little bit.
I spent a glorious two minutes not pedalling a single rotation as I zipped down this road, and moments later I had arrived at the other side overlooking Port Phillip.
The Bay was cloudy, yet calm. I stopped for a while in another hamlet called Dromana to take in some sea air.
Yet it wasn’t as calm as it seemed.
I had been outrunning a storm for the past hour and I had no more road to run, so there was no other option but to ride into the deluge.
The Esplanade was the road that swooped and curved with the sea, lovely yet dangerous to a cyclist. I had passed through an underwater tunnel that was painted like a whale’s belly, that was pretty awesome.
I was so close to reaching my goal, when the rain got too heavy and the gears on my bike began to stick. I had not brought a rain jacket with me so I had to find the nearest bus stop.
After waiting for an hour, the sky was beginning to darken and I was trying to come up with another option to get back home.
When a coach bus pulled into the depot.
The driver opened his door and asked if I was a student, I replied that I wasn’t. Yet he noticed how cold and miserable I looked and, despite his company’s policy, he let me on with my bike.
The driver explained that this bus is used to bring students from the Peninsula to the city for university, yet sometimes no students get on and he’s just driving back and forth all day.
He told me that in his youth he had hitch-hiked across Canada and knew exactly what I was going through.
Suddenly I was Christopher McCandless.
His last stop before the city was the Frankston train station. I told him that whenever he wanted to come to my restaurant for dinner, I would hook him up.
I was saved from the rain, and now I’m not dead.
Thank you, Greg.
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