Tour de Rotto

 

Waaaaay back when we arrived in Perth (the first time) we took The Pesticles to Rottnest Island.

We went out on this…..

 

It leaked at the windows & the lady in front of us spewed, but whatever.

It was 25 mins and approximately $250 return for us & our bikes from Fremantle.
Not the cheapest boat I’ve ever been on, but again, whatever.

Once we arrived on the island check-in wasn’t til 2pm so we had a few hours to take our bikes, with kids on the back, and explore.

It was all up hill from there.

Rottnest Island is truly beautiful.




The water was clear, the beaches where white, & there were some fantastic lookout points.

However…

The brochures & websites make Rottnest look deceptively flat, with attractive, smiling people having a lovely time on their bikes, with the odd gentle incline or two & nary a bead of sweat to be seen on any unwrinkled forehead.

Bull. Shit.

And what of the 100 knot head winds, hey?!

It’s been a while since I’ve been on a bicycle, or done any real exercise for that matter. And I don’t fancy myself as the most coordinated of persons.
I had the added pressure of having 15 kilos of lard Emerson, strapped to the back of the bike which made me nervous, to say the least. I really didn’t want to be responsible for any de-gloving injuries of the 2 year old.

Anyway, we were smothered in sun cream & off on our “leisurely” cycle around the island.



After a couple of km’s & a few reasonable inclines my, relatively unused, thigh muscles began to burn like buggery. The wind kept knocking me sideways, my skinny men’s bike seat was definitely rubbing me up the wrong way, & my bike was permanently stuck in really fucking hard high gear. I could see my professional cycling career slipping away before it had even begun.



My hefty passenger, & enthusiastic 4th generation bird watcher, had managed to point out every species of birdlife on the island in our first half hour.
Six times over.
There were ducks, & seagulls ducks, & pigeons ducks, & pelicans ducks, & all sorts of other little water birds baby ducks! And can you imagine how much “WAAAATER!” there is to see when you visit AN ISLAND.
Also, for an island that’s meant to be mostly “vehicle free”, there was a freakin’ large amount of “TRUCK!(s)” & “BUS!(es)”.

I’m just sayin’.

After all that painful exercise fun it was off to the bakery for some carbs, saturated fats & a bit of a rest before we checked in here….

Our bungalow


Tres chic dining-come-lounge area.


Neat & tidy. And not a pube to be found. Few!

It was great! “Budget” accommodation at its best.

Fatso & I had a snooze while Laithe & Georgie grabbed some bolognaise ingredients from the General Store (which was totally reasonably priced, by the way) & got dinner sorted.

We ducked out before dinner to have a crack at some fishing down here…



It wasn’t for everyone.



… but with no fish to be caught, we were lucky dinner was already on.

After dinner we went out for an obligatory Quokka hunt.




On day two we were up early to get the most out of the morning before we got back on the arvo ferry to Perth.

I was just about in tears at the thought of having to get back on the bike.
My arse was bruised from the day before & it felt like I’d given birth to Emerson all over again.

At his current weight & head circumference.

We strapped a couple of towels to the seat & I huffed, puffed & winced my way around the island on that contraption of torture bike.

Rottnest has an army of silver-haired Seniors who voluntarily man the museum & run tours & such. They get about in golf buggies & give you a royal wave as they wiz past you with the smuggest of looks on their faces.

Bastards.

Two hours in & I was ready to fracture a few hips & role one of those grannys for their buggy. If only they’d slowed down enough for me to catch them.

Emerson, who was in serious need of a nap, sat on the back of the bike with his head flopping from side to side. With each push of the pedal & lean of the bike his helmet smacked, back & forth, into the side of the child seat. TAP-tap. TAP-tap. TAP-tap…

He was crying. I was crying.

It wasn’t pretty.

After a few hours we headed back to the main square to wait for the ferry.

We’d had to check out of our room earlier that morning, so Emerson had a sleep on the grass in the shade of a tree, amongst the quokka shit. I sat, on an angle, & watched Georgie play at the park, & Laithe went for a swim.

And then just like that, without a single doggie bag full of vomit, we were back on the mainland & heading back to the caravan.

I haven’t been on that bike since.

What have I learned?

• Next time I’m taking the bus!

Rabbit season or duck season?

We’re back in Perth. Again.

AGAIN!

It’s about the 4th time we’ve checked into this caravan park, but Laithe’s sister & her other (much taller) half arrived last night & it was just easier to come back here to stay than drive back 100 odd km’s to pick them up from the airport. At midnight.
I’m not sure they would have enjoyed the last place we camped too much anyhow.

It was a rest stop on the side of the highway about 100km north of Perth.

This was our set up for the duration of our stay.

The kids bathed in the bucket on the picnic table… & so did I.
Luckily for you there was no photographic evidence of it this time.

You know how most things are scarier in the dark? Movies… empty parking lots… long hallways…
I find it’s the exact opposite with rest stop toilets.

I’ll spare you the details, & the photos, but I walked into the one at this stop & thought ‘How did you DO that? Is your a-hole located somewhere between your scapulae?’
I don’t think I will ever understand how someone (who I’m assuming isn’t 12 feet tall) can manage to shit 1.8 meters up a wall. But then again, I’ve never suffered from IBS.

Anyhow, if you squinted a lot, & chose not to acknowledge the little piles of toilet paper & poo scattered on the ground outside the toilet cubicle, it wasn’t so bad.
It was quiet enough, the other campers were friendly, & there was a nice little creek down the hill that had the kids entertained for hours.
There was also this cute little guy hanging around, skipping in & out of  the camp sites day & night. Not wild, just a free agent. And pretty tame.


Of course Georgie’s initial reaction was “DAD! Can we eat it?” But, no, he was spared.
For now.

We stayed at this fabulous location not because I’m working on the kids immunity levels, but because it cost us nothing.

I’ve been technically, & literally, unemployed for 7 months now.
Funds have slowly, but surely, dried up.
Getting a job has proved a little more difficult than anticipated (clearly Western Australia is unaware of how fabulous I am).
And after crunching a few numbers last week we’re down to rationing food, toothpaste & toilet paper like it’s 1931.

The cruskits & canned soup just aren’t cutting it. I’m so hungry I could eat the arse out of a low flying duck.
So it’s kinda handy that we’re camped back here in the lap of luxury, bleeding money at Karrinyup Waters Resort, where the pond is fully stocked with ducks, geese, & water fowl.
And conveniently located right next to the BBQ area.
Somebody pass me to tongs & the soy sauce!

We’ll be passing our other little furry friend again, once we FINALLY leave Perth once & for all.
So as I sit, empty stomached, at my computer, trawling the net for jobs, all I really want to know is- ‘Is it rabbit season or duck season?’

Somebody get me a can opener!

All right, all right.

So it’s been a while between posts.

 

In my defence, it’s been like, 80 degrees around here.

Celsius.

In my tin can house.

With no air conditioner.

Parked on a concrete slab.

Not a shade tree in sight.

 

All I’ve been able to is bark at the kids to spray me with the spray bottle we bought specifically for such occasions, & periodically take myself off for a cold shower.

 

I’m still not sure who’s fabulous idea it was, but we left lovely, cool, beachy, heavenly Esperance the other week & drove inland to Wave Rock, the hottest & most highly anticipated part of Georgie’s trip so far.

The outside temperature crept up with every kilometre we covered.

The oil pressure dropped, the engine got a bit bothered requiring the air conditioning to be TURNED OFF, & there wasn’t

a crack nor crevice that didn’t drip with sweat.

Even the old eyelids got a bit runny if left opened for too long.

 

As we drove along, listening to the soothing sounds of the kid in the back squealing “DAAAAAD! TOO WINNY (windy)! PUT YOUR WINOW (window) UP PWEEZE, NOW!”, I imagined the cool oasis waiting for us in Hyden. An oxymoron, surely?

 

The temperature on arrival was 41.8 degrees.

Again, CELSIUS!

 

We realised at that point there is a caravan park conveniently located next to ‘The Rock’, & that in the interest of health & safety (everyone else’s) it wouldn’t be a very good idea to make me the car travel any further that day.

 

The pool at said caravan park is the bluest I’ve ever seen.

 

After a few hours, & a couple of refreshing dips in the pool, it was finally cool enough to attempt to climb the Wave.

At midnight.

 

No, not really.

It was late, late afternoon.

And it lived up to all Georgie’s expectations.

A big rock, in the middle of B.F. Nowhere, that looks like a wave.

 

Done & done.

 

 

As an extra little jab to the ribs from Mother Nature, & just to confirm that it was in fact hot & dry, we even managed to get stuck up there in a dust storm.

 

 

It did make for a lovely sunset though.

 

 

Thankfully, the next day was slightly cooler as we crawled back to Perth.

We drove via the ‘Tin Horse Highway’, where I was made to take 8 million photographs of all the clever little horse type statues the locals had put together to keep their towns on the map.

 

 

And for a town with a population of about 5, check out the slides at the local pool…

Now that’s my kind of local council.

 

Wave Rock Caravan Park scores a 2 Pubes rating from me.

 

The bathrooms were clean, the camp kitchen & dinning area was well setup & the lady in reception, who talked Laithe out of driving any further that day, is on my Christmas card list FOR LIFE.  

 

Kulin, the small town at the other end of the ‘Tin Horse Highway’ was also pretty impressive. Even without the generously sized aquatics centre. Nice kids playground, well maintained gardens, a free history lesson & awesome looking old pub, though I thought it in everybody’s best interest if I avoided going in there for a drink look.

 

What have I learned so far?

• I’m not good with heat. In fact, I HATE the heat. Strong words, but non truer have ever been spoke.

 

• Sweating from the knees, & the eyelids, is as unattractive as it ever was.

 

• I don’t for a second, think it unreasonable to request Laithe install a couple of Whirly Birds in this great, big, hot Son of a Bitch that I now call ‘home’. Or, at least, don’t try to stop me from trying to peel the roof of at midnight with a can opener, eye twitching, because I’ve gone a little bit mad(der) due to my core temperature hovering around 42 for the last 3 days.