I’ve lost count of the number of little ferries we’ve taken across rivers and estuaries. It’s one of the times that people always come over and ask about our trip. I’m still caught off guard sometimes by how open and friendly people are here. This one was a simple short river crossing, and a mechanic from the boatyard came over and gave us some pointers on things to see on the route up ahead. The ferry dropped us off  and it was off-road again, which had Richard grumbling, but we’re avoiding the highway and cutting out about 2,000 metres of climbing by doing this, so frankly he can zip it. The gravel roads are a mixed bag, but at their worst there are long sections of washboard surfaces where large vehicles have passed when the ground is wet and the tyre tracks have dried leaving bone-jarring bumps everywhere. This was one of those.

Towards the end of the day we saw a group of wild kangaroos who also stopped to watch us before moving on. I shouted out “they’re hopping!” which is ridiculous, because of course they’re bloody hopping, but I can’t believe I’m actually seeing them. It’s wild how Australia just went on its own mad evolutionary path and ended up with these fantastic animals. I wonder if people who move here ever truly get used to this, or sometimes still shake their heads in amazement at them.

We arrived at an overcrowded beach campsite, where our spot had very little grass for the tent and we struggled to get the pegs in. There sometimes aren’t real grass sites for small tents at campsites. We haven’t seen any other tent-only campers, only those with tent awnings, and they all presumably have proper tools to drive large pegs in. It hadn’t been an especially long day and I have trouble falling asleep at night let alone napping during the day, but the bumpy roads and long days took their toll and for the first time I just crashed out and fell asleep in the tent after we arrived.

Being so tired was an excuse for a bit of a bender, bike touring style. We treated ourselves at a bakehouse to a hot pie and a cream cake each, then later went for a couple of pints and dinner in a tavern. The bartender asked me what I thought of Australia, and despite a tough day I was pretty effusive about how much we’re loving it. Later a guy came over who had seen us arrive on the bikes, asked us about our trip and told us about his daughter and her family who are currently cycling the river paths on the Rhine & Danube in Germany. He’s a cyclist himself and gave us advice on the next couple of day’s riding, plus a potential route to avoid Brisbane when we get that way.

The next day we were heading for the Arakoon National Park, and to visit the historic Trial Bay Gaol. We planned the day to be a short one so we’d have time to set up camp and do some sightseeing. When we arrived at the park office, the woman at the desk didn’t quite believe we didn’t have a vehicle, until we told her we were on bikes. She looked excited at that and asked if we had been in Tea Gardens a few days back – we had – and said her husband had seen us then and told her all about it. We chatted for a bit and she changed our site so we had one right by the beach and where the kangaroos should be. She said she had missed having tourists here, and is pleased to see foreign visitors start coming back. We were asked what we think of it here, and for the second time in 24 hours I truthfully said I think it’s the best place in the world. People probably think we’re part of an ad campaign for Australian tourism, and if there are any paid positions going for that then I am all ears.

It was an amazing campsite, with lots of kangaroos hanging around and a quiet beach on our doorstep. We visited the gaol, and I let Richard out of a cell which I may regret at some point. The walk along the jagged coast reminded me a lot of Northern Ireland, but even more dramatic and with better weather. In hindsight I’d have been happy to stay a couple of nights and do more of the walks in this area, and maybe kidnap a kangaroo to take with me.

As someone with an extreme fear of spiders, eight legged encounters are on my mind, or at the back of it, almost constantly here. I approach shower blocks and shoes with particular trepidation. It was almost inevitable though that my first brush with terror would be on the toilet. I noticed a black leg appearing around the corner of the cubicle and felt my insides turn to jelly and then ice. At the second leg I could feel the blood rushing to my head and the worry rising that I might actually pass out for the first time out of fear. I wonder if anyone has ever been so relieved to see a massive cockroach emerge into a toilet cubicle. I spent the next ten minutes checking the shower cubicles before braving any of them. A few minutes after shutting the shower off, as I was packing up, a stray drop of water fell from the shower head onto the back of my neck, and I made a kind of terrified whimper noise I have never made before. Anyone who suggests exposure therapy can go to hell by the way.

It’s really unusual for National Park camps to have a kitchen, but this one did and would make a great setting for a horror film. It’s in the middle of a completely unlit field and surrounded on all sides by large windows looking out into the darkness. We decided we would ask Jason to wait while we boil the kettle and then throw hot water over him, and then in his confusion get him to stick his knife in the toaster, which every Brit knows will cause death.

We spent parts of the next couple of days riding on the M1 motorway. We’ve dawdled quite a bit on backroad tracks and in National Parks, and while we have plenty of time and have been enjoying it, it was good to make some ground more quickly. Besides, there are some sections where this is the only way, which is why cyclists are allowed on them. It sounds alarming, but outside of the big cities they are really just dual carriageways rather than motorways/expressways/autobahns. They have great surfaces and really wide shoulders so they feel safer in many ways than some of the national roads which are very narrow. The amount of car debris is astonishing though. The roadside is littered with bumpers, blown out tyres and the most extraordinary amount of broken glass.

It turned out to be a blessing that we stayed off the small tracks for a couple of days, because on one day we had the most unbelievable rain, probably the worst we’ve ever cycled in. It started just as we got up in the morning but we delayed packing the tent thinking it might stop. When puddles started to form on the campsite we just had to get on with it. A lady nearby offered for us to try and dry the tent off in her shed, but it would’ve just delayed the inevitable. Within the hour we were huddled under a motorway bridge soaked through, with our shoes squelching full of water. We did a short day and booked into a cheap motel. It had one small towel between us and itchy sheets, but it was warm and dry. It hammered it down well into the night, so it was the right call not to camp.

Apart from the blip of rain, the weather has been getting warmer. I’m no longer wearing a jacket in my sleeping bag and the days are getting hotter. Everyone we talk to has confirmed the decision we made about our route. When we say we considered flying to Melbourne faces are pulled, and when we say we’re heading north everyone agrees that it will get warmer as we go.

At our next rest stop a maintenance guy excitedly told us about a new rail track bike trail just opened that we should try. He said it started just north of where we were at a town which sounded like “Malimber.” Turns out that is spelled “Murwillumbah.” I am never again entertaining with sympathy complaints about British town pronunciations when Australia can produce something like this. The rail trail sounded great, but there was no information online so we just planned some road days.

We stayed at a remote campsite, which promised kangaroos but didn’t deliver. It did deliver a wingnut regaling us with his views on the world as we tried to leave and get an early start. Apparently the US and China are in collusion to take over the world, which is going to end very soon. Amazing that old chestnut has any power left after all this time and all the nutjobs promising it “soon.” Also amazing is the coincidence that the group these people believe are special and chosen is always aligned with the religion/race/nationality that they belong to. How incredibly convenient for all of them. This particular flavour of nonsense was that Australian Christians are favoured by god because of some light cavalry liberating Jerusalem something blah something bollocks.

Our own faith in the world was affirmed the next day after we cycled through the busy and popular Byron Bay. We’d managed to get to this bit of the coast on a long weekend. There was nowhere to camp, and paid sites were asking for a minimum of three night’s stay. On our way out of the town we pulled over to decide what to do, when a cyclist on an old bike pulled alongside and handed us some oranges. “I hope these are exactly what you need” he said, before pedalling off.

We decided to head towards Murwillumbah and find the rail trail, but when we got to a motorway crossing we needed to take a path that was blocked off and impassable. We’d have to ride all the way back to the junction at Byron Bay, so we sunk into dejection. We hadn’t seen a soul on the small road we’d taken, but out of nowhere a road cyclist pulled over and told us to follow him and he’d show us the way. We chatted about our journey for the next couple of miles and then we went through a concealed barrier and onto a motorway crossing which we never would have found otherwise. The road cyclist wished us well and then zoomed off. Richard, who’d been having a bout of despair ten minutes earlier and who never talks this way, still describes this guy as an angel, appearing completely out of nowhere when we needed help and then disappearing just as quickly. I think the guy with the oranges was more divine because he gave me food, but we’re splitting hairs at this point.

We found a rugby club that allowed camping on its grounds and was just down the road from a brewery, as if to answer another prayer. Not long after setting off the following day we stumbled on the small village where the bike trail started. About halfway along the trail there was a live music event at a farm, so we stopped there for lunch before heading off again. It was like a dream, saved about 1,000 feet of climbing and was one of the best day’s riding we’ve had.

We’re homing in now on the Gold Coast and then Brisbane. We’re not looking forward to it, partly because of the traffic and partly because each step further north means we’re closer to leaving Australia.

A playlist for the ride: