MAN VERSUS ELEMENTS.

BLACK SHEEP BAUM TAKE ON TASSIE. PART TWO

By Black Sheep Cycling

July 18^th, 2019

Day 3 – 175km – 2900m. Hobart to Miena, via Hell.

Day Three was a mere 175km - nothing compared to the previous days, a virtual recovery ride. We approached it accordingly and spent a leisurely hour at breakfast. Our photographer, Andy Rogers, and resident vegan-but-ok-cos-he-was-chilled-about-it directed us to a bagel store which was so good it had us considering ditching the ride, buying houses in Hobart and staying forever. It was called 'Bury Me Standing'. In hindsight, the name was an omen.

Reluctantly we farewelled the bagel shop and started the almost entirely uphill ks that would take us to the middle of Tasmania and a small town on the top of the central plateau called Miena. Miena has a population of 87 and is famous for being the coldest permanently inhabited non-alpine location in Australia. It has an altitude-influenced subpolar oceanic climate” according to Wikipedia and snows 50 days of the year, including occasionally in summer. The main climb in Miena is called Murderers Hill. Miena has one pub. The pub is under renovation and the drink of choice is served steaming hot.

Don’t go to Miena.

But go to Miena we did – initially comfortably, but then increasingly slowly as the perpetual elevation of the day wore us down. We were well fed, at least – courtesy of Emma Van Steel (soigneur/chef/barista/spirit animal) – even going so far as to reheat bagels on the engine intake manifold at one point to improve morale (genius).

As the afternoon wore on shots were fired (literally – a farmer fired a shotgun in our direction)

As the afternoon wore on shots were fired (literally – a farmer fired a shotgun in our direction) and Andy declared that ‘asphalt’ shots were getting boring. Would we mind terribly (he’s very polite) taking yet another unnecessary gravel detour?

The 47km detour went up (ugh) then down (sketchy) into a valley which we were told featured Tasmania’s first hydro power station. And maybe it did – who knows? Frankly we didn’t care anymore and weren’t really looking. We were focused on the 19km gravel climb back out to civilisation, and swearing under our breath about bullshit detours and wondering when it was going to get dark (very soon) and whether we would be murdered by kangaroos if we got lost in the forest (highly likely). You could be buried standing out here and never be found. The sense of desperation was very real.

Eventually we made it back to Tarmac, fuelled by vapours. Faced with fading light, the black doctor was dispensed and we finished the day on a high, pace-lining into Miena in pitch blackness on the wheel of an ITT champ.

Day 4 - 170km – 1500m. Miena to Devonport, via Tasmania’s entire f*cking annual rainfall.

We awoke to discover a weather system had rolled in overnight and covered the entire island of Tasmania in belting rain and wind. Luckily our desire to stay warm and dry was heavily outweighed by our desire to get the hell out of Miena, so we layered up, sucked it in and pushed off. And the weather got bad – like, really bad. 60km/h winds, driving rain, minimal visibility. The rain was so loud you could hardly hear Dan screaming “carbon was a poor wheel choice!” as we descended off the central highland plateau as cautiously as we could without functioning brakes. Despite the terrifying experience we were still all in furious agreement that we’d rather die soaking wet in a fireball of steel and carbon than use disc brakes.

To be honest, the final day was miserable. It rained almost the entire day. The ELEMENTS gear held up remarkably well under pressure, and we were as dry and warm as possible when you’re essentially fully submerged for eight hours. Nick was reminiscing of better days in Belgium. Adam discovered that hot chocolate and bulk meat pies was a surprising form of reviver. Dan taught us all a neat trick – rubber gloves (not the yellow ones) under cycling gloves – which added a layer of waterproofing, although made us look like a gang of serial killers when we marched into a café mid-afternoon dripping wet and wearing latex gloves.

We rolled into Devonport by dusk. The sun came out for the final hour of riding, and a general feeling of peace descended on us as we wound through the frankly delightful roads on the outskirts of Devonport. Sure, we were physically close to broken, and Sam might never walk again, but we’d survived everything Tassie had thrown at us.