bikes

first published in  QWeekend,  the Courier-Mail colour magazine on 8th September, 2012 I am visiting my home town of Brisbane again, as I have done regularly since moving south on March 28th, 1983. I left after years of living with the parochial Bjelke-Petersen government where corruption was rife, support for the Arts was minimal while funding for horse-racing was staggeringly high and everything connected to young people - music, student activism, having fun - seemed to be frowned upon. I return and read a report that the Liberal-National government is allocating a whopping $110 million to upgrade horse-racing infrastructure in the Smart State, soon after axing the Queensland Premier�s Literary Awards which cost a chaff bag $230,000. Shudder. I didn't leave solely because of the government, of course. I followed scores of my friends to the heady inner-city of Sydney where we dressed in black, sang tunelessly in art bands and held up the bar at the Trade Union Club. That...

Four months ago, I cycled up a few Tour de France mountains. It was the best fun I've ever had on two wheels. Since I've been back, my daily ride to Wentworth Falls and back has satisfied me, but I miss the thrill and challenge of a sustained climb. So today, I decide to ride to Mount Wilson, from my home in Katoomba. I figure any place with a name beginning with the word 'Mount' would require some climbing. A quick google map check tells me, I'm in for eighty-five kilometres return. I have a large lunch and set out.  In my novel, 'the simple gift', the main character, Billy describes the Great Western Highway as 'not great, not much of a highway, but it does head west...' He's right. Trucks and delivery vans crowd me as I climb steadily to Mount Victoria, where I turn off and ride past the Mount Vic Flicks. The Darling Causeway is a truck speedway and I'm buffeted the undulating length of it before turning onto the Bells Line of Road and hea...