Adventure can be anything you like. It doesn’t have to be a massive feat of physical strength and death defying endurance where you freeze your butt off on mountainsides or get chased down by a gang of rabid koalas looking to make even all the wrongs of their past. I mean, if that’s what floats your boat then by all means go for it, but I’m guessing that for most people (me included) the koalas are out and so is the mountain…for the time being that is. Once I build my skills and my self belief and maybe even my own crew I’ll be able to get Zen with that mountain and perhaps convince the koalas that revenge isn’t the best tactic for a peaceful revolution nor for their image. I used to think they were so damn cute before I wrote this. Now I’m not so sure.
Adventure is for all of us. It’s inclusive and is something you can pursue in your everyday life. All it takes is the first tiny step outside of your comfort zone.
I’ve wanted to do the BVRT for ages and when one of my buddies invited me to a catch up in Toowoomba it was the perfect reason to tack on an epic adventure.
The thoughts of Sarah began early in the ride. I’ve written a lot of short stories and am part way through writing a novel. A while ago I noticed that my female protagonists in these stories and drafts are always named Sarah. I got to thinking about his while I rode out the k’s and in Linville I discovered that my name is not only Jen, but also Sarah.
Can’t Bike at Linville station. A man rode past me in an expensive lycra outfit on an expensive high-end bike as I was taking this photo. He covered one nostril with a finger pressed against it and blew snot straight out of the other nostril. What a fucking pig! His riding companion made a disparaging comment about Can’t, something to do with how big the tyres are and how hard it is to ride as a result. I did wonder why that was a problem for him considering I’m the one riding it. I’ve personally never had a problem riding it. In fact, I fucking love it! 30km/hr on sections of the trail under my own steam (it’s not an e-bike) and almost impossible to fall off due to the huge footprint offered by the fat tyres, which run at 10 psi.
In Linville I stayed at a place called The Rail Trail Refuge. It’s a pretty neat place, set up specifically for cyclists doing the rail trail. I met some awesome dudes here and they kept calling me Sarah. It wasn’t until dinner at the pub that night that I realised they had my name wrong and I said, “my name’s Jen, not Sarah.” But, I did start to wonder. Maybe I am Sarah? I am afterall the hero of my own story.
My mates at Linville: Ceya, Wayne, Brett and Nick. I went out for dinner with them all at Linville pub. I told them it was my 50th birthday in a few days and unbeknownst to me Ceya organised birthday cake with a candle and for the pub singer to sing me happy birthday as the cake arrived, and everyone at the pub joined in the song. It was really cool.
I saw these guys a couple of days later in Esk and as I was about to ride past them at the Brisbane Valley Roasters cafe they all called out, “Sarah-Jen-Sarah.” I stopped in to say hi and they showed me Nick’s handlebar, which had been scraped off on the road. His bike fell off the bike rack on the back of the car and dragged along the road until a passing motorist alerted them.
Nick’s handlebar after getting dragged along the road
I had a really great time on this trip. It was 160km and I took six days to do it because I didn’t want to feel like I was in a rush to GET THERE. I wanted to spend time checking out the cool little towns along the way and I’m glad I did because I met so many cool AF people and also some very, very nice dogs.
Keeper: A nice dog I met in Toogoolawah. He’s a rescued greyhound.
I talked to a man in Blackbutt about Yowies, I talked to a woman I met in a park when I stopped for lunch about naturism. A lady walking down the street helped me find accomodation in Toogoolawah. In Fernvale I met a man who had recently had open heart surgery and I found my Air bnb accomodation because I was able to get help from 3 random Fernvale pedestrians. In Esk I met a lovely man from NZ who camped nearby in the caravan park. Just as the boys in Linville thought I was Sarah, I thought this guy was Andy and I called him that until I discovered the next morning as we caught up for brekky that his name was actually Arny.
I got to tell a lot of people about the greatness of The Can’t Bike. People were really curious about it because mostly people haven’t seen this type of bike anywhere. I had to keep reiterating that it wasn’t an ebike. It looks like it should be because the frame is so large and for some reason it appears to others that my frame bag is a battery, which I don’t get, but whatever. Poeple were most curious about my Steerstopper (it’s a device that locks your handlebars in place, which is great for when you stop the bike and lean it or stand it, or when you have to push it) It was really the first time I’d been able to put it to good use. There were two big hills I couldn’t pedal up, so I locked it in and pushed the bike up the hill, much like you’d push a stalled car. It was so much easier than trying to fight with the steering while avoiding having your right leg chewed out by the pedal.
On the trail between Linville and MooreCool train art in an overpassAbandoned house on the trailTunnel on the trail. Rustic hut accomodation on the last night at Fernvale. Wulkaraka finish. Woohoo!
I asked my Uncle Cameron (UC) to take a photo of me on the trailhead of the Great Ocean Walk (GOW), and later I disovered this nugget as I scrolled through the photos I’d taken during the day. See, he’s not really my uncle. He actually belongs to the Cool Guy I’m Married to, but because I don’t have any uncles of my own, I’ve decided he’s now my uncle and his wife is now my aunty. She doesn’t look anything like this though, which is a good thing, because there’s only so much you can put up with. Without UC I wouldn’t have made it to the trail or back from the trail, so even though he’s a complete unit, I’m glad I’ve got him on my team.
I hadn’t done any hiking for a couple of years because I got into mountain biking, plus I was busy and probably a bit lazy, and maybe, just maybe I’d developed a bit of an ‘attitude’ which basically said, what’s the point of even bothering. But after my last work contract finished I decided I wasn’t going to get another job and there was no way I was going to sit around on my arse being sad and lonely, I was going to get right back into being properly awesome by taking on some adventures. I also accepted that there really is no point to pretty much everything, not in a nihilistic way, but just because that’s life isn’t it? The only point to stuff is the point (meaning) we give it, so time to get on with shit because all of us only have one life.
I decided to do the GOW because it would be a dffierent kind of challenge: my first interstate hike. I’ve hiked a lot in Queensland (QLD or Qld), but never anywhere else. In Qld I can get ‘rescued’, but in other states, the options for that are fairly limited. Plus, the GOW was only 100km and the distances for each day were very short, averaging 12.5km/day. Piece of piss, I thought. Yeah, good one dickhead! As if. The whole hike was pretty much the entire opposite of a piece of piss. It was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done because almost the whole thing is either vertically up or vertically down or trudging through deep sand on a beach while you dodge the ocean. I remember the Sunshine Coast Hinterland Great Walk being difficult because of the terrain, but I’m not sure it was as hard as the GOW.
GOW trail head Apollo Bay
The GOW starts in Apollo Bay and ends at the Twelve Apostles. It’s 100km and takes eight days to complete. I carried everything I needed for the seven nights and eight days, but each campsite had water tanks with rain water, so I replenished my water supply every night. Everyone else I met on the trail filtered their water, but I didn’t bother even though the signs said you had to. I drink unfiltered rain water at home because that’s all we’ve got and I’m not dead yet.
Camp 4th night: Aire RiverI loved this section. Not all of the trail is hardened, but some of it has constructions, like planks, stairs and bridges to reduce the impacts on ecologically sensitive areas.Cape Otway Lighthouse 3rd day. I stayed in the keeper’s cottage accomodation here.Imagine living here!Bridge across Aire River.
I saw two koalas, one at Elliot Ridge and one at Blanket Bay. At Elliot Ridge he/she was in the undergrowth right next to my tent and it climbed up a tree as I watched it. I didn’t get a photo of the Blanket Bay koala. I actually thought it was a dog because it was walking along the middle of a road and I wondered, Who brings a dog to a national park and lets it wander around off lead? I hadn’t seen a koala since I was on a field trip for uni back in 2009, so I was pretty excited about it.
Johanna Beach, 5th day. There were two really hard days and this was one of them. It was the best campsite on the whole hike though, so that kinda made up for it, but not really. I still lost my shit halfway along the beach, shouting at the sky, “What the actual fuck!?” Koala at Elliot RidgeMarc & Suzy from Taranaki in NZ, Mark & Karen from Gympie in QLD, Zoe from Germany. Missing from photo: Alexia from California in the USA, Clay & Shararay from Sydney and Newcastle in NSW, and me – I’m behind the camera, but you can see my Trangia on the RHS of the table. EVERYONE ELSE had a Jetboil)
The cool thing about this hike was the shelter shed at each campsite. The Great Walks in QLD don’t have these. At the end of the day the other hikers who all happened to be on the hike at the same time all congregated in the shelter shed to chat and cook their dinner. I’d never experienced anything like this before. In fact, I’d never had the chance to make friends with anyone else on any trail I’d ever hiked or ridden. It was great to talk to everyone else about different gear and we all swapped tips and tricks. Clay gave me lots of food and on the last night everyone shared their leftover extras. Of course I didn’t have anything to share because I am eterenally hungry, so I ate every single thing I could get my hands on including the wild blackberries growing along much of the track. I should probably pack more food. It’s just hard to find packable stuff that I can imagine my future self eating. I fucking hate meusli bars, like really hate them and I can never come up with any breakfast alternatives because I don’t drink dairy milk, so can’t put the powdered version in meusli. I’ve tried powdered coconut milk, but ugh, kill me now. This was the first hike I bought freeze dried meals for. I liked them (mostly), but they weren’t enough to fill me up and I can’t come at buying two meals for each night because they’re $25 each. Argh!
I asked the Trail Gods of the GOW to teach me something I needed to know, something profound and fundamental. Lessons will roll in over time, but the first came early: stop being a tightarse. I learnt this because I was hungry all day everyday: I was too tight to buy better snacks and more food for my evening meals. I learnt this because I was uncomfortable and freezing cold everynight: I’ve always been too tight to buy a proper sleeping mat. Everyone else I met had insulated sleeping mats they’d paid several hundred dollars for. Not me, mine cost $30 on Temu. That’s why I was cold. Also, my pillow wouldn’t inflate: I tried to avoid paying the retail price for a new Sea to Summit pillow, so bought a cheap one on Ebay and the valve was broken. Sure, I got a refund when I got back home, but that didn’t help me on the trail for seven nights without a pillow. I was also cold because I didn’t have a proper jacket. Everyone else I met had puffer jackets. I’ve always been too tight to buy one of these because they are so expensive. I also thought they were too bulky, but Marc from NZ said, “no, you just shove it in between all the other stuff in your pack and it’ll fit bcause you’ve always got space in between everything else.”
I think another lesson is about My Tribe. I’ve been looking for these people almost all my life and I could never find them. I think I finally found them: other hikers. Being with the eight other hikers I met on the GOW, even though we only gathered together at the end of each day, gave me sense of camerarderie I haven’t found elsewhwere. I very much felt that I belonged to these people, they to me and all of us to the trail. It was as though we shared a unspoken secret unavailable to everyday people. I said to them, “I feel like I’ve known all of you for my whole life.”
I made it!
Even though the hike was hard, it was also really good. I got to see some great stuff and I learnt some new shit about myself: I can get blown over by the wind. This happened on the last day and I never thought it was possible. I really can start a conversation with absolutley anyone: at the Twelve Apostles visitor centre some very large and beautifully attired black people lined up to have one of their group take a photo of them. “You guys look amazing! Where are you from?” I asked. “We are from Congo,” The biggest man said. “Oh, Congo! That’s so cool! I had a dog called Congo, you know, after the movie.” “Oh yes, I know it,” he replied smiling and giggling. It was great. I wanted to take my own photo of them, but I thought that might be a bit weird.
My CongoSome of our packs at the Twelve Apostles Visitors Centre. Mine is the 3rd from left.Zoe in foreground cooking two minute noodles on her Jetboil at the Twelve Apostles Visitors Centre. In background is Alexia, Karen & Mark: all of them my new best friends. These guys were waiting for a bus and I was waiting for Uncle Cameron to pick me up. Some of them were continuing onto another hike, some were going back to work and I was going with UC to the closest Chinese restaurant via McDonalds, even though I’d eaten a sandwich, a big meat pie and drank a long black coffee at the visitors centre.
It’s been 20 years since I was diagnosed with the terminal brain cancer, Glioblastoma multiforme (GBM).
[GBM]…is the most common and aggressive form of adult brain cancer. GBM kills approximately 1,900 people per year in Australia. Survival rates are very poor with a median survival of approximately 15 months. Meaningful advancements in patient treatment and survival have not changed for decades. (click here for source)
I still don’t know why I survived when everyone I met during treatment has long since passed away. Sometimes it’s hard to believe that this happened at all. People ask me what I did to cure myself, but I don’t have an answer for that because I didn’t do anything. It was just dumb bad luck that I got cancer in the first place and just dumb good luck that I managed to survive. That’s it. End of story. No magic, No special diet, No intervention from a deity. Just random chance. People wanting answers are never happy to hear this, but it’s all I’ve got.
Mike died. Mike got me a horse for free. I’ve still got that horse. I’ve had Shrek 20 years. I rode him in dressage competitions and on long trail rides. My young nephews rode him, the cool guy I’m married to rode him, and I let friends and visitors ride him too. He has always been quiet and tolerant of inexperienced riders. I’ve often thought he was more like a dog than a horse. He loves to lick and lean, but at 16hh he’s far too big and fat for leaning! I took Shrek to the beach, I rode him in the forestry. I bought a sulky and drove him in that. He continues to enrich my life in ways I could never have imagined, all because of Mike. Mike had a PhD and was passionate about the natural world. He was also a great advocate for those who didn’t have a voice loud enough to speak for themselves. He successfully campaigned to retain access for horseriders in state forests in Qld. He was a good man and he died in his 40’s.
Shrek in December 2025
Rohan died. I spent a fair bit of time with Rohan when I was having radiation and he was a great support to me. He’d kept a detailed diary of his cancer journey and let me read it. It even had really deatailed sketches of his brain and the location of his tumours (he had two). He was close to me in age and of all the poeple I met during treatment I felt the closest to him. He had fallen in love with a girl and never got to pursue a relationship with her because life got in the way and I always felt sad that he never really got to know what a relationship with a special person could feel like. He was a good man and he died in his 30’s.
Others died too and always I was left asking why I got to stay. I wondered if maybe I didn’t deserve it as much as someone like Mike, or someone like Rohan. I still find it hard to be truly free and am often concerned with making the absolute best use of my time. This is a paralysing way to live and it’s easy to end up doing nothing instead of being able to choose the absolute best thing at the time. What is “the absolute best” thing anyway? There is NO answer to that because it doesn’t exist.
My survival is a total miracle. That miracle and the loss of my friends put a lot of pressure on me to live the “right” kind of life so that I could justify my survival. The thing is, I still don’t really know what the fuck I’m meant to do. Is being an adventurer the right thing, is that enough? Should I try harder to become more focussed on career success? Am I meant to get a job and earn lots of money? Should I go back to uni to reinvent myself yet again? I really thought I’d have this figured out by now seeing that I’m almost 50 years old, but maybe none of us really know what the fuck we’re meant to do and maybe a lot of people are just doing whatever it is they’re doing because that’s what they have to do to get by.
A nasty little arsehole once said to me, “I don’t know what it is about you, but you follow trouble or trouble follows you.” I had probably overshared my cancer story with him mistaking him for someone of good character. Arseholes are often good at hiding their true selves. But, you know, he’s actually right because it’s a good and virtuous thing to have the kind of trouble I’ve had. This sort of trouble is the trouble that rains down on you when you’re engaging with the world in a meaningful way. It’s the trouble that follows you when shit outside of your control comes careening out of nowhere, like a cancer diagnosis. From living through this kind of trouble you get to learn about who you are and what you’re really made of. It means you get to live a life that matters. If I get lost, in more trouble, uncover monsters, stumble, fall, but get up and just keep going, then I’m doing better than all the little arseholes put together AND I get to honour the good people who didn’t get to stay.
Having GBM wasn’t easy and it still isn’t easy because it still impacts my life. I’ve done my very best to turn it into a springboard for awesomeness. Since I was diagnosed I’ve done these things and others:
I got smarter: I went back to uni and got a bunch of qualifications
I wrote a couple of books and lots of short stories.
I got commended in the National Literary Awards
I won some photography prizes
I started running and I still run, something I never believed I could do
I ran my own successful business
I rode a lot of miles on my horses and found amazing stuff in the bush
I did two brain related charity hikes on my own, clocking up 825 solo kilometres and spending over two months in remote locations just putting one foot after the other
I worked in many different types of jobs and landed back in the job where the whole thing kicked off: entomology
I started mountainbiking and to my surprise can actually ride like a total demon
I got married and am still married
I bought and sold houses, cars and other bits and pieces
I started sewing and opened up a shop on Etsy marketplace
I have travelled extensively on my own and with the cool guy I’m married to all over Australia and to other countries
I’ve read an uncountable number of books
I’ve seen an almost uncountable number of bands at concerts all over Australia
I lived through bushfires, droughts, a couple of floods, family tragedies and lot of shitty stuff
I paid off my HECS debts
I struggled and I recovered
I recognised my self worth
I became a better person
The line, “why am I the one who gets to stay?” is from a scene in Ripple. It inspired me to write this GBM anniversary post. The line, “…let your freak flag fly” in Dispatches from Elsewhere inspired me to do this:
My cancer scar has been hidden for 20 years. I’d never even seen it myself until I had my hair cut into a mohawk the other day. I always thought it was a line, not a square.
I’m grateful I got to stay and I’m forever sorry and sad that others weren’t so lucky
At the end of July I decided to go on a trip to the Glasshouse Mountains with my bike to see what adventures would unfold. I thought I’d hike a bit, ride a bit and spend four days driving around looking for cool places to explore. I planned to end this trip with a stay at Noosa with one of my good friends. I never made it to Noosa because the trip didn’t go quite the way I thought it would, but then, isn’t that just the underlying principle of adventure? You just never know what is going to happen next.
Mount Coonowrin on the right and I think it’s Mount Tibrogargan on the left
Straight away I headed to Mt Coonowrin. I wasn’t sure if you could hike around it or if there was a way to ride in the forest surrounding it, but the best way to find out seemed to be to drive there and check it out, so that’s what I did, and I got the bike out and started riding.
After about two minutes of riding I came across two people in the bush just standing there. I said hi because there was no way to avoid them and they started talking. I couldn’t just ride on past because the track was really narrow and the man was standing right in my way, so I was stuck. If I’m honest, I felt a bit trapped because the woman had migrated to stand sort of behind me and the whole time he was talking, the man kept migrating incrementally closer to me until he was pretty much straddling my front wheel. I really, really wanted to get the fuck away from them because they had some “interesting” ideas about the way the world works, like how if you just completely focus on something you can have whatever you want, and if you keep focussing on it, you’ll be happy forever. Plus, the man kept going on and on about how intuitive he was and started asking me all these weird questions about stuff that strangers probably shouldn’t really care about. The Jesus talk started not long after that. My brain came up with a plan on its own for my defence if he got any weirder. It involved me picking the bike up and chucking it at him or using it as a weapon in the same way you might wield a chair in a bar fight, but fortunatley it didn’t come to that! It’s good to know I’ve got options though, right? Plus, I’m fitter than just about everyone, so I knew I could outrun them straight up the side of the mountain if I had to.
I have made a big effort in the last year or so not to be judgemental, but when I hear people talking this kind of batshit crazy stuff I wonder if I’ve gotten anywhere at all with my efforts to not think negatively of people! Later on, when I was writing about my day in an adventure journal I keep, I called them Track Freaks. I’ve rarely encountered freaks like this in the middle of nowhere, aside from one time in my teens, I was on a hike near Teewah with a group of mates and a totally naked man appeared on the track ahead of us. He walked straight past us as though we weren’t even there and just kept on walking. What the fuck was he doing! We couldn’t stop laughing, but it did kind of freak us out and we all wondered what would happen on our return hike (it was one track in and out), but we didn’t see him again. Where exactly did he go? Then, another time on the Cooloola Wilderness Trail another lone hiker appeared out of nowhere and as I passed right by him I said, “Hi, how’s it going? How far have you come today?” only for him to just stare straight ahead as though I wasn’t even there at all. Perhaps a clothed iteration of the naked Teewah hiker? Now, that proper freaked me out! As I hiked on I kept looking over my shoulder to make sure he wasn’t following me.
After the Track Freaks I rode on up the hill, but it ended up going nowhere. I was excited about riding at speed all the way back down the massive hill, but most of the surface was too loose for that: loose piglet sized mini boulders, huge ruts, erosion and a general mess. I didn’t fancy washing out on that kind of jaggedy shit. I’m not really sure how anyone rides on this kind of surface. After I got back to the car I headed over to Mt Beerwah thinking I could climb it. Haha! Funny!
Mt Beerwah summit route. Yeah, right!
When I got there I decided I would do it. I’m not a huge fan of heights, but I am always worried about becoming a wuss, so after a minute or so, I decided that no, I should do it considering I’d come all this way, and besides, I thought it looked really similar to Mt Walsh and I’d climed that several times, once on my own. But then, the voice of reason rose up and said, yeah, but Mt Walsh isn’t as steep and it also has ropes and handholds. If you do this and fall off, how is that smart, especially given that the sign says that you’re not meant to do it on your own? I then decided that yes, it was probably a dumb idea to do this on my own at this point, so I went back down to the carpark not entirely happy that I’d “wussed out”, but 100% happy that I didn’t fall off a mountain and need rescuing. That’s my worst fear.
I’d met a lady earlier that day at a cafe in Glasshouse who had actually fallen off a mountain. She had a cast on her leg and I’d been sitting there for ages wrestling with myself about asking her if I could sign it. Eventually I went over her table, where she sat with a group of friends, laughing and chatting. I was worried they’d look at me like I’d wanted to look at the Track Freaks, but she didn’t yell at me or laugh at me, she was actually very excited about having me sign her leg. I asked her how she did it and then I wrote “she went wild” on her cast. She didn’t get resuced. She told me that she hobbled the 2km back to the carpark.
A massive python on the track. It was a thick as my forearm. It must’ve been more than 6ft long.
In the spirit of smooshing as much as possible into one day I continued onto Mt Tibrogargan and did the 4km hike around the base of it. I noticed on the trailhead map that there was a track for mountainbiking, which I got excited about. After I got back from the hike I was tempted to do the ride, but it was getting late in the afternoon and the voice of reason said, come back and do it tomorrow. You’ll have more time and it’ll be more fun that way.
I went instead to Ewen Maddock dam because I’d heard it was a cool place to ride, but I didn’t realise it was a loop and there was an actual trail head, so I only did a little bit of one section. The bike also got really muddy here, which I was less than impressed about seeing that I had to sleep next to it in the back of the van that night. I managed to wash most of the mud off with water from my water bottles, so it wasn’t really worth getting so ticked off about at all. It’s hard for me to know when to stop, so even though it was getting dark, I decided I’d go and check out some of the rest of the trail on foot, then get back in the car and continue onto a park that was meant to have a good swimming spot. When I couldn’t find the park, I was tempted to drop in and ask at the BMX track if I could have a go because there were heaps of people on mountain bikes riding there, but it was fully dark by this stage and I knew as much as I hated it, I should probably start thinking about winding things up for the day.
I had some very ordinary packet meals that I’d brought along for the trip, but the Landsborough pub was right there, so it seemed stupid in the extreme to sit alone in a cold, dark picnic area eating horrible packet pasta when I could go into a nice warm pub and get a yummy dinner. I had a great time at the pub, chatting to people and hoovering up a really nice Guiness beef pie. It was hard to leave, but I did eventually and spent the night in the van in the carpark of the Glasshouse tourist info centre, with a pedal right in my face. I never imagined I’d sleep with my bike! I love it, but really, is this too much? I don’t know.
The next day I was lucky to get the ride in at Mt Tibrogargan because my car decided it didn’t like the situation. I found a mechanic in Landsborough and he said the starter motor was effed, so I drove all the way back home without stopping (around 3.5 hours) because I was worried I wouldn’t be able to start it again if I stopped, although I had to drive it to the mechanic in Bundaberg the next day, and this is how the unexpected outcomes made their appearance.
On the Soldiers Settler Trail from Mt Tibrogargan to Beerburrum
After I dropped the car at the mechanic I had to ride all the way back home because I had no one to pick me up. This was definitely an unexpected outcome, but a good one because I do like a challenge: 67km, 5.5 hours. It meant that I didn’t make it to Noosa to hang out with my friend. I probably could’ve made it if I really pushed myself, but given how exhausted I was from all the riding, pedal-face-sleeping, hiking, driving and problem-solving I’d done in the last couple of days, it seemd wise to calm the fuck down and just stay at home because who knows when the next unexpected outcome would crop up.
On the way home from Bundaberg to WoodgateAlmost home. About 20km to go
In the spirit of the unexpected, I took off yesterday and discovered a cool place by total accident: Mt Doongul. I had no idea this place existed. I didn’t realise until I’d gotten to the top that I’d gone up the “wrong” road. I had to push the bike almost all the way up the near vertical hill because the road was washed out and impossible to ride on. At the top I saw another road heading in the opposite direction. It was obviously the “right” road becasue it was easy to ride on and it was awesome floating down it at great speed. I managed to get back in the car just as it started to piss down with rain and it hasn’t stopped raining since.
At the top of Mt Doongul with a view to the eastI was really surprised to find a visitors book in a GoPro case at the top. Obviously someone must care about this spot enough to have gone to this effort. There was a fire extinguisher here as well, which seemed to be unused and ready for action. Very forward thinking!
I know this unexpected stuff doesn’t just happen to me, but sometimes it feels like it does! I think it often feels so wild because I’m pretty much always doing adventure on my own, so it’s just me dealing with stuff, by myself, sometimes in the middle of nowhere, and nothing ever goes sideways in isolation. One thing ALWAYS leads to another and that’s how there are unexpected outcomes of basically everything. I like that about life though because that’s what makes it amazing and that’s how you get to discover how resourceful you are. I wrote this mantra a while ago. This isn’t just about me, but about anyone who chooses to embrace the unexpected outcomes of basically everything…
HOW WILL YOU EMBRACE THE UNEXPECTED OUTCOMES THAT BLOW IN ON THE NEXT BREEZE?
A while ago I decided to take a new direction in my life and not get another job after I finished up my last entomology contract. That approach sounds like fun, right? But, there are a couple of problems: I like money. I like doing something meaningful with my time. I like being around other people working towards an outcome and sharing in achievements. With this in mind I thought I could perhaps start a very small business. I live at the beach and love riding my fat bike on the beach and on the sand tracks. I’m sure other people would love this too, so the idea of starting up a fat bike hire business arose in my mind.
This is Chow. On an extremely hard ride through the sand to Bundaberg. The seven circles of pedalling hell.
I don’t have a massive amount of capital to invest, so I thought I’d probably start with two or three bikes. I reckon I can do this, I thought. I don’t know a great deal about how to do any of this, so like any other reasonable person I thought I’d start my market research to find out whatever I could. I put a post on the local community fakebook page. This is what I asked, “Do people think a fat bike (pushbike, not electric) hire would work here? They’re bikes for riding on the beach and on the sand tracks. The tyres are from 3.8″ to 5.5″ wide. You can still ride them like a normal bike on roads and gravel too. Thoughts?”
Holy shit balls! It went south pretty fast. The first six responses were level-headed responses with people giving honest and useful feedback about whether they thought it would work or not work, but it was all downhill after that. People started attacking each other’s characters, pasts and motivations. I didn’t get involved in any of the arguments because what’s the point? But I guess it was pretty entertaining if nothing else. It was also really amazing to see how total strangers could formulate opinions of me (and of each other) based on me asking about a bike hire business. Why do people even care about this stuff, I wondered outloud as I watched the comments roll in:
First it’s bikes then it’s scooters, then mini bikes dirt bikes [sic], quads and jeeps and full blown 4X4 The same contributor went on to write, Interpreting from your own words that you clearly don’t get enough of a high from just sitting and enjoying the beach you feel the need to add the “high” of riding a bike along it to make it a better experience for you and now you want to market that artificial high for others to also enjoy because you can make the experience “better” than what nature provides. This person seemed to think that somehow I was going to turn Woodgate into another Gold Coast. Man, I’d love to have that power (I probably would use it for something else other than making a second Gold Coast, maybe equality? Hmm?), but I just don’t, I really don’t have that power. I’m just one person who wants to live a meaningful life. Asking too much? Maybe in this town it is. I just don’t know.
See, the thing is, nature doesn’t belong to us, we belong to nature and we all like to experience our connection with the natural world in different ways. I don’t like to go fishing. Does that mean I’m a bad person or that I think people who fish are bad? No. It just means I don’t like to go fishing, so I don’t do it and then I get on with my life. Problem solved, if there even was a problem to begin with, which there wasn’t because I can’t see the point of catrastophising about unrealistic futures that will never eventuate, like theme parks in Woodgate. Although, I did wonder how the group might react if I put up a post asking their thoughts on a waterslide activity park. That was really tempting, but because I’m not an arsehole I didn’t do it.
There is an interesting peer reviewed article here about how tourism operators can create experiences that result in conservation outcomes. I have a Bachelor of Environmental Science majoring in Ecotourism and understand that if more people are given a way to interact with the natural world it improves outcomes for sustainability and conservation because the more people know about something, the more they can care about it.
I’m not a social researcher or anything, but it does seem to me that people who live here are in a constant state of fear. They all seem to hate anything new, any new business, any new building, any new people moving here. I think they don’t like this stuff because they’re worried that if stuff changes that means there will be less for them. It’s like the equality thing where people who are against equality freak out because they think it’s pie: more for other poeple means less for them, but the thing is, there is no pie. Having more equality and more non-destructive ways to experience nature will only ever mean we get to live better lives.
That is if we can get past this sort of shit:
Clearly nature is not enough for you. You have no foresight [sic] or business planning. Old pricks. Sad old people. Go to a nursing home. Get fixed wombat.
Adopting a more constructive way of seeing the world would help here. Getting out of the echo chambers would help because then everyone could embrace a larger life. Imagine a world where you aren’t held back by your beliefs or need to feel like you are the one who is right ALL the time. We live in reality, not inside fakebook and the internet. We only get one life and we should be living it, not worrying about stupid shit online.
I read a book recently called Stolen Focus by Johann Hari. He said in the book somewhere that people have used up over 200 000 human lifetimes by spending time on mindless internet bullshit. Arguing about stupid shit online on inconsequential fakebook community groups is a waste of your life. I just can’t understand why people do it. People really need to read Mark Manson’s book, The Subtle Art of Not Giving a Fuck.
As for me, I’m still not sure about the bike hire business and my role as the Bike Hire Antichrist. I’m tossing up a few other ideas as well. I certainly won’t bother putting any more posts on the local community fakebook group, that’s for sure. So, I’ll keep doing my thing (the artificial high stuff) and it’ll look like some of this:
Chow and cows on a rail trail loop near Toowoomba somewhere.
My original fat bike at Woodgate boatramp. This one was called Fatty.
Sign post from when I walked the 30km round trip to the lighthouse at Double Island Point
Me at Cooloola Great Walk trail head. Yeah, as you can see, I’m a real nature hater.
Last bikepacking trip I did. This bike is called The Can’t Bike because everyone told me, you can’t!. But I did, so sux to be them. The more people tell me I can’t do something, the more likely it is that I will do it.
From the last ento job I had: Soldier fly pupae. I’m not doing this job anymore, but I still like flies, which occur in the natural world and are an important part of all ecosystems. This particular species is native to Australia https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Inopus
Free State of Jen 