[This is the final post in the series Smiling Kodiak Rides Again]
I may call myself a progressive, but at the end of most days there is nowhere I’d rather be than where I started: home. This morning the sultry voice of the Radio National breakfast host informed me it would be no easy feat: “Today’s forecast is for severe and sometimes dangerous thunderstorms, with high winds and damaging hail.” I don’t usually start my day with a prayer, but on this occasion I asked the gods to let me discover the radio station was broadcasting from a distant region of country Victoria.
The weather radar confirmed the accuracy of the forecast. A long swath of red nightmarish storms crept slowly towards us, running parallel to the entirety of our sixty kilometer cycling route from Myrtleford back to Wangaratta. I muttered many solemn oaths. Damn gods. Continue reading 10. Damn
The V/Line train to Wangaratta runs alongside the right of way that serves the Melbourne to Sydney route, a busy and historically significant line. I was pleased to see our old comfy rattler included an extra baggage car, ensuring plenty of room for our bicycles when boarding at Southern Cross Station. The train departed on time at 7:05 am. We settled in for the three-hour voyage, Frank fast asleep by 7:08 am.
I tried to get some sleep, but after the police excitement on the bike ride to the station, I was wired. Instead, I drank more bad coffee (which was excellent bad coffee, by the way) and nervously checked the weather radar every thirty seconds. A low pressure trough had decided to camp out over Victoria, meandering back and forth. The forecast called for “unsettled conditions”, which is meteorologist-speak for “your guess is as good as mine”. Continue reading 08. A Wet Dream