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Saturday, November 9, 2019

Queenstown, Tasmania

I rode into Queenstown from Tullah on Friday, November 8th. The weather has been cold and wet and with my hiking reservation for the Overland Track getting closer I decided to skip Rosebery, Zeehan, and Strahan. I'm a bit bummed because I haven't actually gotten to the west coast of Tasmania yet, but priorities were set long ago.

Alex is planning on meeting me at Lake Saint Clair to hike the 65-kilometer Overland Track. Nasty weather is consistent across the state so we're preparing for everything cold and wet.

I grew up in the Cold so I can manage that. The Wet is my Achilles heel. The ride from Tullah was undertaken with full knowledge that I'd likely encounter snow. I could see the snow line above me on the hill sides as I approched the alpine Lake Plimsoll. I wore all my waterproof layers and used the mantra of "Keep Moving to Keep Warm." I stopped for brief snack and water breaks,  but never for more than a few minutes. At the highest altitude of riding through the hills I was pelted by hail for two hours. Most traffic stopped and I passed them by as the road slowly disappeared under a layer of tiny ice balls. The hail fell so hard that my nose was chafed and my bike bell kept ringing from the constant pelting. My hands and feet were numb for most of the day. I could move them enough to pedal and change gears.

Two cars stopped to offer me a ride and two more coming from the opposite direction stopped to warn me of large semi trucks moving up the pass. In my experience the greatest danger of travel is solitude. Even when everything is going to hell, if people are around there's hope and help.

In Queenstown I stopped by the Information Center and was directed to a nearby hotel with backpacker accommodation. While waiting for a room I stood in front of the only heater in the hotel pub and drank a cider while the feeling in my feet slowly returned.

After stripping for a warm shower I realized that my rain coat had a few leaks. The zipper and all the seem let in moisture,  plus water wicked up my sleeve from my gloves. My sweater was drenched,  but my under layer, a marino wool shirt from a second hand store in Sydney, was warm and dry. A few more hours of riding and my inner layers may have gotten wet.

By chance I came across a store in Q-town that sold ponchos. I bought the most visible which was red. As I was buying it the clerk called me "Red Riding Hood." Appropriate.