Why am I the one who gets to stay?

Posted on December 13, 2025 by freestateofjen

I wondered this and I still wonder this.

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.

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

The Unexpected Outcomes of Basically Everything

Posted on August 9, 2025 by freestateofjen

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!

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 Woodgate

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 east

I 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?**

Bike Hire Antichrist

Posted on July 12, 2025 by freestateofjen

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

Bikepacking in a Sort of Circle

Posted on June 19, 2025 by freestateofjen

Halfway along Heidke Road, Woodgate: 1st day, just setting out

This year I decided I was going to start back on adventure. I kind of lost my mojo for it a while back after being diagnosed with degenerative disc disease and the last hike I tried to do felt like my back had snapped in seventeen places. I told myself that if I started bikepacking then the bike was carrying the weight not me, so everything would be solved. Easy. Well…

Just about to head out onto Woodgate Road. There was dead cow just next to this sign with crime scene tape on it. WTF!

I mapped a bikepacking trip from my home in Woodgate, Qld to Ballina in NSW, which would take me 17 days to complete, but after struggling to ride the 58km between the start point and the first campsite I began to question my ability to plan such a long ride. I hadn’t taken into account the difficulty of riding up hills. I’m sure it’ll be fine, I tried to convince myself as I kept riding. Afterall, I’d spent a lot of time mapping everything and organising stops and accomodation all the way down the coast to Byron Bay.

Things started to go sideways early. For a start, I went the wrong way at the end of a road and had to ride all the way back, then when I got back to where I veered off I didn’t know which one of the other two roads I was meant to go down. Luckily I picked the right road, but wasn’t sure until I’d gotten almost all the way to end of it. All of this because of my ridiculous aversion to technology. A small example of this is how I haven’t written a blog post in a few years because I didn’t want to have to face turning this new computer on. I bought it and it’s sat there doing nothing for several years, which means I’ve also done nothing in the way of writing. Another example of my aversion is this:

Paper maps I made from Google Earth images as a form of navigation for an 800Km solo bikepacking trip. It would be great if I could let go of the idea I have of myself of being a neo-luddite.

On the way from Woodgate I stopped in at the Isis River BP and got a cup of tea. I thought I only had a little way to go to get to the road that ran along the railway corridor off Buxton Road, but I totally underestimated how far down the Buxton Road the level crossing was and it felt like I would never get there. I got across the crossing ok, but I was a bit worried about riding through the water because the concrete surface is underwater and all slimy, but it was ok.

Isis River crossing underneath rail bridge. I only found this by looking at tracks as I drive along and going back later to investigate. This track takes you from Buxton Road up into Barretts Road area.

It got bad after this. The road up and out of the crossing is almost vertical and it was so fucking hard to push the bike. It was very close to me not actually being able to push the bike forward, but I couldn’t go back either, so I just had to go one step at time, put the brakes on, take another step, repeat X 100. It was horrible. This wouldn’t be the last time I’d wish for a Steerstopper. The track after the concrete road was all kinds of fucked up, but I was going ok and didn’t think to put the seat down and when I lost balance down a big washout I fell off because I couldn’t reach the ground with my feet. It didn’t really hurt, but I got some skin off my right knee and something jabbed the absolute shit out of my other leg. The worst thing was trying to move the bike out of the fuck up. That was hard. Pushing it all the way up to the road was very hard too and I started to get the shits with the whole thing. What the fuck? I yelled at the scrub repeatedly.

One voice in my head said, just camp anywhere, it’ll be fine, but the other voice said, no, it’s shit, let’s keep going. I started to worry about water, but I found the billabong I knew was in the bush, so it was fine.

First campsite at secret billabong off Barretts Road, Isis

The next day was 47km from the camp at the billabong to Wongi Waterholes campground. I was pretty complacent about this stretch. That would be part of my downfall, but I didn’t know it at the time.

Oh my fucking god!! What a horrendous nightmare! I had a lot of trouble sleeping because it was so cold. My sleeping bag and liner that had always worked a treat in the past didn’t keep me warm at all and I had to get up after a few hours and put extra clothes on. It made no difference though and I was freezing all night long. This is a result of another aversion I had: washing and drying my good Mont down sleeping bag. My Grayl Geopress water filter also wouldn’t work properly to filter the billabong water and I was pissed off I didn’t bring the Sawyer filter as a backup, so I started out with only about 1 litre of water. It’ll be fine. I’ll be at Wongi in no time, I thought.

I rode out to the highway and along the inside of the treeline in the direction of where I thought I had to cross to get onto Broadhurst Homestead Road, but I got scared I’d go too far down the hill then not be able to push the bike up the side of the highway to get across it. I couldn’t see the highway from where I was, but I knew I was only around 80 metres away from it, so to avoid the disaster of getting stuck down the bottom of the hill and having to push the bike all the way back up I pushed it through the trees towards the highway, which was really bloody difficult because it was full of kneehigh grasstrees and fallen logs and jabby sticks. I made it in the end and wasn’t too far from where I had to cross over.

Now the easy stuff will start, I thought because I knew where I was going and the road ahead was nowhere near as difficult as the roads I’d already ridden on after leaving my house. I’m golden, I told myself, but I was pretty wrong, actually I was totally wrong.

It was pretty hard to get through the first gate onto the powerline easment, but I knew that gate was difficult and got through eventually. Things weren’t as easy on the powerline easment as I’d fantasised they would be and I had to get off the bike every 50 or 100 metres to push it up really short, steep hills, which was just as bad as the day before when I almost couldn’t push the bike up the road leading out of the river crossing, but probably worse because there were what seemed like hundreds of these hills and they kept coming and coming. I couldn’t remember it being this hard when I’d done it in the past, but told myself I must’ve glorified the last trips I’d done.

What actually happened was at some point I’d migrated onto the wrong easment. There are two that run parrallel to each other, but due to my neo-luddite tendancies, had no way to know if this is what I’d done. It’s fine because although they diverge, they converge again at where the powerlines meet the forestry, so no big deal, I reminded myself and started to relax a bit. Except they didn’t because I ended up at a gate that I hadn’t seen before, which opened onto a big paddock with a house and shed on it. I stood there staring at the house, which looked like a total murder house, and wondering what I should do. I had to go forward (I could see pine trees in the distance), but to do that I had to ride through the paddock and right past the house. Ok, I’m not in America, they’re not going to shoot me, so the worst thing that can really happen is that they’ll yell at me, I told myself, so I opened the gate and started riding only to see that access to the top of the property was cut off by a massive eroded gully that I had no way of traversing. I rode along all sides of it and couldn’t see a way across and small flutters of panic began in my chest. But somehow, in a little corner behind some trees I spotted a tiny gap, which I was able to slosh through and heave the bike up to get up onto the paddock. I rode towards the house thinking, please don’t let there be dogs, please no dogs, please, please, please. But there was nobody home and there were no dogs, but as I passed right by I could see that it was most definitely a murder house and I was so glad that nobody was home. I could imagine bodies hanging from the rafters and all kinds of maligned shit going down right here. Yep, I probably would have been shot.

After forcing my way through the longest, seediest grass of all time (I had to throw my socks out the next day) I made it out onto a forestry road. This is when I started to feel a little bit scared because I had absolutely no idea where I was in the 11 000 hectares of forestry that surrounded me. Plus, it was mid to late afternoon and I had only around 600ml of water left in my hydration belt and I was totally exhausted. I tried to use Google maps to navigate my way to Wongi campground, but after riding 750m in the direction it told me to go, it wanted me to turn left into a gate that lead back into the property I’d just come out of, so I called it a fucking idiot, put the phone back on flight mode to conserve battery and rode back to where the 750m had started. I’ll just ride straight and generally to the left, I told myself because it seemed to me that I was meant to go in that direction, but I kept saying very loudly to the trees, I don’t know what to do! which is not a common headspace for me because I am usually very decisive. After a while I saw I was approaching a t-intersection and I wished silently for someone to help me, but I knew that was unlikely, so I stopped thinking about it and almost started to cry, but I yelled outloud, “No! Stop that, you dickhead. It’s going to be fine!” Almost straight away, two white vans drove around a corner and I waved them down to help me. The two drivers got out and showed me where to go on their phones (this is when I realised it wasn’t google maps that was the fucking idiot, it was me for not knowing how to use it properly).

I tried not to think about how weird it was for the timing of the vans and me to be in same place at the same time in the middle of a massive forestry. I reckon if it wasn’t for them, I’d probably be out there still, lost like a dickhead in the middle of buttfuck nowhere. This is where believing in god would come in handy to explain how the vans and me crossed paths, but I don’t believe in that, so I just have to accept it as something that happened. It still feels wierd though.

Old wooden bridge in Wongi on the way to the campground.

I didn’t get to the campsite until almost 8pm and was totally dead by that stage. It was hard to put the tent up and get my dinner. I just wanted to go to sleep, which I couldn’t do again because I was even colder than the night before. It really felt like it was the worst day of my life!

Packed up and ready to leave Wongi Waterholes campground

The next day my destination was Maryborough, which was only 23km, but given how difficult the terrain had been so far I was worried about getting there in time to meet my mates at Canegrowers at lunchtime, but I made it by 10am, so I had plenty of time to faff around, buying another sleeping bag and trying to find chain lube, which I’d left at home. I went out for lunch with my buddies and then headed off to the motel I’d booked for the night. The bed was amazing, so was the hot shower. The bike loved it too.

Bike inside the motel room in Maryborough. I didn’t think they’d let me put it in the room, but it was the first thing the dude on reception said, “put your bike in your room.”

I was worried about the next day, which was a 73km stretch to Kia Ora, the increasing distances following that and the unmapped sections I had to get through from Brisbane to Byron. In the comfort of the motel room, while reflecting on what I believed was the worst day of my life, I got talking to the Cool Guy I’m Married to about it and I decided that even though I really wanted to keep going, the wisest thing would be for me to loop back towards home and he could pick me up in a couple of days. I really should have at least driven the section from Maryborough to Tewantin to get an understanding of the landscape and leave water drops for myself, and I definitely should have learnt how to use technology properly before I set off. I wonder how I imagined I’d get through the zig zaggy streets of the Gold Coast to the campsite in Pottsville after that? And what about Byron? How would I find my way there? I had this attitude that boldly claimed, don’t worry, it’ll be fine, but would it? I had started to doubt that approach very much after my experience of getting lost in Wongi and I DID NOT want to get lost on my way to Kia Ora because unlike Wongi, I’d never even been to Kia Ora before.

So, I made my way the next day to Susan River Homestead, which wasn’t very far, but I managed to ride 25km overall because after checking in and unloading my bike I found a secret track, which was really fun to ride on.

Secret track near Susan River Homestead.

On the last day I rode back up the highway towards Maryborough and down Churchill Mine Road. Google maps said it was 17km and a 54min ride from Susan River Homestead to Torbanlea, which is where the Cool Guy was meeting me that afternoon. Piss easy, I thought. Wrong again. I was still riding after 2.5 hours and the actual distance was just over 26km. What pushy can travel that far over that terrain in 54 minutes? Google maps was back to being the fuckhead again.

In total the ride was just over 200km, which isn’t bad, but not the 788km I’d originally imagined I would be riding. Still, who cares. At least I did something. It’s better than sitting around whinging about stuff and waiting for something to happen.

I got a lot of advice and information during this ride from people who have zero adventure experience. This is some of it:

Just put it in highest gear and keep pedalling (in relation to riding up steep hills). Oh gee, thanks, you dickhead, I never though of that.
Get an ebike. Yeah, that would’ve been real helpful when I was trying to push the bike up steep hills because they’re peddle-assited, not throttle-assisted.
It’s only a five minute drive up the road. Go away.
Just pull up and camp anywhere. Not safe or possible if you don’t have a caravan.
My friends just ate tomatoes and they rode 200km a day on their remote bikepacking trip. What a load of codswallop. How did they keep the tomatoes from being squished? Where did they buy them from in the middle of nowhere. Who likes tomoatoes that much?!

Generally, people have no understanding of what it’s like to do something like bikepacking or hiking and give out advice about how to do these things based on their experience of driving a car and/or car-based camping. Also, I don’t think many people do shit like this on their own, so they don’t really get that you have to do everything for yourself by yourself and there’s no one to help you out.

On this trip I had someone ask me why I would do this sort of thing. I couldn’t think of a good answer at the time, but now I know why. It’s because I want to see what I’m made of. Each time I do an adventurous thing I get to see more of what I’m made of, which gives me leverage to keep finding out more about myself. Yeah, shit went sideways a fair bit on this trip, but I handled it and now I get to do more adventures with more knowledge and an even greater understanding of how completely awesome I am.

**Go wild to see how awesome you really are**

One Bike to Rule Them All

Posted on December 1, 2023 by freestateofjen

I got a new bike: Pivot Les Fat. According to the the dudes who sold it to me, it’s the only one of its kind in Australia. It’s a nice bike, that’s for sure, but it’s heaps different to ride compared to Fatty, my Icon Fat Albert, so it’s going to take a bit of getting used to. For example, it almost got away on me down a massive hill last night! It didn’t help that it was dark and I could only see as far as the headlight beam spread: not far at all. Normally down that hill, I don’t have any problems with Fatty taking off on me because Fatty is slow, heavy, chunky and cheap! The Pivot is none of these things at all, especially the cheap part.

The cool guy I’m married to decided he needed to get himself a new bike X 2 so he could join in on bike adventures. While I waited for the Pivot to arrive from America, Fatty broke (I bent the derailleur and the brakes stopped working. I don’t think these cheap bikes are designed to cope with being ridden the way I’ve been riding poor Fatty), so I rode the Cool Guy’s new Norco Bigfoot 3, which he got upgraded with hydraulic brakes, Renthal bars, and Bluetooth seat dropper. I was able to swap out the shitty brakes on Fatty with the original Norco brakes. I feel a weird attachment to Fatty and feel kind of guilty that I’ve gotten a new bike and have been riding a Norco in the interim. Sorry Fatty, I still love you!

I took the BF on some adventures recently. I’d always wanted to ride along the side of the highway down to the Isis River, which was just a couple of puddles when I was there. This is just south of Childers.

BF at the Isis River, just under the bridge (Bruce Highway)

The same day I found a cool track in the bush and came across this hippy lady living out of her van. She was set up on a bush track in the middle of nowhere. There were plants growing out of the van and her tow vehicle. She was really happy and friendly and gave me permission to take a photo of her rig.

Hippy lady’s van in the middle of nowhere.

The BF and I went on a little trip to Toowoomba together a couple of weekends ago and we rode the trails at Gordonbrook just outside of Kingaroy and Russell Park at the Bunya Mountains.

BF on one of the trails at Russell Park.

I had a good buster at the Bunya Mountains. I didn’t get a corner right at the bottom of a hill and somehow fell off and got trapped in the bike frame because the handle bars had flipped around the wrong way. So, I sat there for about a minute trapped in the frame, trying to work my way out. I wasn’t particularly impressed, but got some awesome bruises that I was able to show off the following week at work. I was very glad that no one else was there to see how ridiculous I must’ve looked!

On the same trip I was able to go exploring and found this secret rail trail: