Devonport to Carlton
26 October 2016
Click on the image for a detailed map
Tasmania holds a special place in my heart. It was where I grew up, went to school, learned to ride motorbikes and lived for 40 years. My children were born there and one still lives in Hobart. I left for various reasons, but not because I’d come to dislike it. Even though the weather is much less conducive to riding bikes than where I now live in Queensland, it is still possible to ride all year round if you’re prepared to deal with the cold.
It’s an island, rugged in parts. Stand on the beach near Strahan on the west coast looking west and there’s nothing between you and South America. Only South America, the South Island of New Zealand are nearer Antarctica.
There’s plenty more to say. Tasmania is home to the second oldest white settlement in Australia. It’s the home of the Tasmanian Devil, immortalised by Bugs Bunny. Poor thing is endangered now by a cancer that eats away at its face.
Tasmania is home to the Sarah Island and Port Arthur, both penal settlements remembered for their harshness. Port Arthur is also infamous for Australia’s worst mass shooting in April 1996 when an idiot ran amok killing 35 people and wounding another 25.
More cheerfully, it is now a producer of some of Australia’s best cold-climate wines. Great cheese and meat are produced and Cape Grim on Tasmania’s north-west tip is said to have the world’s cleanest recorded air. There’s fabulous walking and sailing to be had as well as some wonderful motorcycling.
Hobart, the capital, hosts the finish of one of the world’s great ocean yacht races, the Sydney-Hobart which is sailed from Boxing Day each year and attracts international competition. The record for the 630 nautical mile classic was smashed this year with Perpetual Loyal completing the race in 1 day 13 hours 31 minutes 20 seconds. The American ketch Kialoa III held the line honours record of 3 days 12 hours 46 minutes 21 seconds for 21 years from 1975. As I recall that’s the longest period the record stood.
However, like the UK’s Fastnet race, the weather can be very ugly, particularly across Bass Strait. In 1998, a storm sank 5 yachts and 6 people died. Only 44 of 115 starters finished the race.
The Spirit of Tasmania arrives in port early from its Bass Strait crossing. Luckily it had been a quiet night. The crew has you starting to disembark by 0630. When we were awoken by an announcement at 0545, my wife asked me where we were and was disappointed to discover that we were already alongside. She’d hoped to be able to watch our arrival and was disappointed to be driven out of bed and off the ship with such unseemly haste.
We both agreed a couple of days at sea would have been pleasant.
Loading the bike. The orange anchor points on the floor are for tying down bikes and cars. They have a simple system of straps which attach to the handle bars. You leave the bike in first gear on the side stand and they crank a bit of weight onto the straps and it isn’t going anywhere. Well, it hasn’t yet.
Early morning in rural Tasmania
It was cold and there was evidence of rain during the night, but the forecast was reasonable, so we eschewed wet weather gear and set off along the north coast of Tasmania before turning south. Of course, trusting to the power of my memory (cue laughter) I didn’t use the GPS and turned too early. We had a brief early morning taste of dirt riding, but the surface was OK and the road was very pretty.
We searched in every town for a café, but found nothing until we got to Longford. Tasmania’s small towns, always quiet, have been rendered even quieter by the construction of a new main highway. After a cup of coffee and something to eat, I set off to show Mrs Cormanus a farm where I used to stay and be put to work in the September school holidays.
The farmhouse is just along the road to the right. The mountains in the background are the Western Tiers. They’re to the west from where I’m looking, but at the eastern end of the island’s central plateau.
I mention this diversion as an excuse to tell a story. I don’t remember the date on which I bought my first motorcycle, but I was 16 and still at school. The bike was a Honda CB175. It must have been before the September school holidays as I decided to ride it to the farm from my home in the south of the island. Google Maps tells me it’s all of 180 kms and about 2 hours 15 minutes riding. I recall it took me at least half a day and maybe more. In my defence, the CB175 did not cruise with the ease of the CB1100, the main road was a great deal windier and narrower so the trip was probably longer, and it was very cold. It made me realise touring on a large capacity motorcycle is a heck of a lot easier than on a small one.
Just down the road from where we looked at the farmhouse we had to make a decision about whether to head up the Tiers or keep heading east. On the basis that it was cold, we decided to stay lower down.
The road just south of the farm. It was the same as this when I rode it on the CB175 45 years ago.
The Lake Leake Road, running from the middle of the island to the east coast is a good ride on the bike with some good, fast sweeping corners. For the first time in my life, I turned off it and went into have a look at Lake Leake. Other than another couple enjoying the sun, the place was deserted.
Reaching the east coast, we turned south on an always enjoyable road.
A pretty section of the east coast road. I’ve never seen this part of Tasmania as green as it was this trip. The east coast, particularly, gets very little rain and is usually mostly brown in colour
At Swansea we stopped for lunch and were infuriated to be told we could only have bottled water (which we had to pay for) in the café. We learned later there was a problem with the local water supply and cafés were not allowed to supply tap water. We wished they’d told us: we would have felt better about the lunch.
From Swansea, there’s a lovely view to the Freycinet Peninsula and the mountains known as the Hazards. Once, on a work team-building exercise, I climbed one of them at 0630 having not gone to bed until 0430. To this day, I’ve no idea how I made it.
A magnificent eucalypt in the main street of Swansea
Freycinet Peninsula and the Hazards
At Orford, a mere 55 kms down the road we had a comfort stop and admired Maria Island. The photo of Maria Island below was taken from what used to be the Raspins Beach camp ground where young motorcyclists would camp after a bit of a ride. Orford was a favourite spot for a weekend ride, partly because of the excellent ride to get there. It’s more fun on a bike that doesn’t know what a hill is.
I got to ride that road yet again and enjoyed as much or more.
An hour or so later we arrived at Carlton Beach where we were to stay with friends. We’d ridden much of the length of the island touching the main highway only once and for less than a kilometre. And lots of it on great roads for a couple on a motorbike.
