12/05/23 Part 2: The Bike Ride

 

After a morning spent exploring old ruins, it was time to make the most of the beautiful weather and get back on my bicycle.

I left Arakoon Campground on a handy little shared pathway that ran through the forest between the houses and the sea.

 

Leaving the suburbs of South West Rocks behind, the road rejoined the river.  Roger rode along here back in 2018, and waxed lyrical about the beauty of the ride. "It's a lovely little road, so quiet, right beside the river with lots of picnic spots."

Well some people misremember things.

I pedaled my little legs off while big trucks rumbled intimidatingly past and fences rudely prevented me from getting off the road to loll about in picnic opportunities beside the river. When it wasn't trucks it was grey nomads with big caravans and fishermen pulling oversized boats. I was glad I'd worn my hi-vis shirt, unfashionable as it was. 

Apart from the traffic, the road had some good points. It ran beside the Macleay River, which was wide and sparkling and well used by fishermen.

 The grass was green and sprinkled with yellow flowers. There were sheep and cattle to talk to. I had a long conversation with a friendly goat who came alarmingly close to climbing over her fence and following me home.

We had a little photo session, but once she got up onto the second strand of barbed wire I began to worry that she was going to come right over the fence and then I would be responsible for a silly goat out on the busy road.  So I pedaled away very quickly.

I ate my lunch beside a cow yard, looking out across the flood plain.  The cow yard smelled of cow poo.  The river sparkled on the other side of the cow yard.

I rode past the remains of the Kinchela Boys Home, a reminder of less benign and all too recent history.

A beautiful setting looking over the river, but not a happy place.

Gladstone's main street was bustling with business. Everyone had come to Gladstone to eat at the pub, play on the playground, and shop for secondhand bargains. I went for a walk along the street to check it out for myself.

"Eat me!" Screamed the home made soft serve macadamia and honey ice cream with a sprinkle of lemon myrtle. So I did.

 

I met Roger back in South West Rocks, taking in the view over the bay toward the Gaol and the Arakoon Campground. If I had strong enough binoculars I could have checked on our tent.

 On the way home we took a detour to the Smokey Cape lighthouse, which bore the honour of being the most elevated lighthouse in New South Wales. From the Cape we looked out on surf rolling in on endless stretches of beach punctuated by densely wooded headlands. Clouds lurked over the horizon and a teeny tiny cargo boat floated far out to sea.

Looking north across the Arakoon National Park.

Looking south along South Smokey beach with Hat Head in the distance.

The lighthouse wore a spotless coat of white paint, and if we had wanted to spend lots of money we could have stayed in the equally spotless little white cottages that once housed the light keepers.

 

Back in camp a new clutch of campers and caravans had moved in, with hot competition for the sites with water view. We tidied up our camp for the rain that was forecast to arrive overnight, slapped a few random mosquitoes, dodged a few dozen kangaroos that hadn't read the "Do not feed the animals" signs, and went to bed with our books.

Goodnight from the Arakoon camp ground kangaroo gang.