The Promised Land.
It rained on Wednesday last week, and it got down to a cold and wet 6 degrees centigrade on our way up to Dove Lake last Thursday, but, I totally understand why so many riders make their way down to Tasmania.
Even though you need to treat the minor roads with a great deal of respect, there’s nothing that compares to cresting a hill and seeing the countryside unfold in front of you in all of natures glory.
From the smooth long straightaways and gradual curves of the Bass Highway out to the seaside village of Stanley in the Northwest corner of the state, to roads like The Murchison Highway through the Hellyer Gorge and on to Cradle Mountain, it’s hard not to stand slack-jawed when taking in your surroundings.
Even the townsfolk who stop for a chat and enquire on your wellbeing when you’re pulled up on the side of the road make this place special.
That said, Tasmanians seem to have a wicked sense of humour as well. I mean “The Village of Lower Crackpot”, really? ...and yes there’s even a road to “Nowhere Else”… a town only 5 miles from Sheffield.
Just don’t blink or you’ll miss it.
I can already see that 3 weeks in Tasmania is going to be nowhere near enough time.
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