Pedal Power
Upon waking, we took Lionel Ritchie’s advice and took it “easy like a Sunday morning”. Tobes put his cheffing skills to work and whipped us up some scrumptious bacon and eggs, while Maisy partook in her favourite nutritionally dubious holiday brekky: just like a chocolate milkshake…only crunchy. Rossco took advantage of a short break in the weather to indulge an early morning solo spa. Unfortunately, it was short-lived as the rain began to bucket down.
Just as we were Googling “what to do on a rainy day in Jervis Bay”, which incidentally brought to light a whole array of fun indoor activities available for us to enjoy, the clouds seemed to be parting. Now the possibilities seemed endless. It was decided we would go for a bike ride.
When packing the trailer back home, Ross and Sam had made the executive decision to economise on space and only bring three bikes away with us. Three bikes for six people. Hmmm. Just as we were contemplating who would double who, Stu came to the rescue and offered us the use of his bikes that were stored at the house. With a plethora of shining cycles to choose from, we would surely be able to go for a family ride. When deciding which of the three aforementioned bikes to pack, sadly mine wasn’t one of them and the fact that I am five foot tall on tiptoes meant that the only bike I could sit on with my feet on the ground, was a teeny little BMX that would have been perfect had I been 8 years old.
Rossco dazzled us again with his mechanical know-how and came back from the car sporting a spanner. He lowered the seat on one of the bikes so I could just get the tips of my toes on the terra firma. What a man!
Problem solved, we set off on our ride. Molly, herself resplendent in double denim, remarked on our various riding attire. Ross was looking casual in shorts and a t-shirt, Sam was wearing his high vis jacket - not for it’s high vis qualities but just because he likes it - Toby was looking catwalk-ready with his jumper draped model-like, around his shoulders, Maisy had donned her overalls and I had regrettably chosen to wear a dress that kept getting sucked into my bike wheel.
Aside from a short, little-bit-scary stint along the busy highway, most of our ride was along a fantastic, wide, bike and pedestrian path that led us past the caravan park, along the beach and right into the main street of Huskisson. It was a pretty flat and easy ride for the most part and the weather held out for us which was a bonus. Arriving at our destination, we got set to chain our bikes up against a pole but soon realised that Molly’s humble little bike chain wasn’t quite up to the task of securing 6 bikes together, let alone attaching them to the pole. As a cattle dog might round up the sheep in his care. skilfully corralling them together in the pen, Sam and Ross artfully wrangled the bicycles into a tight group, some facing forwards, some back, helmets and a basket thrown in for good measure. A collective cheer could be heard all the way back to Nowra, as Molly successfully manoeuvred the bike chain through the tightly knit group and we heard it click triumphantly into place.
Being a vegetarian, Molly was excited for us to dine at a cafe she’d heard had “lots of vegetarian options” on its menu. It turns out they were the only options on the menu as it was a vegetarian/vegan cafe. We all managed to find something we liked and the vegan icecream and non-dairy cheese were tastier than we’d anticipated. We did notice that all the staff members were teenagers, which was a bit odd.
After a quick look around the main street, it was time to get back in the saddle, so to speak. While my seat was now (almost) low enough, it was extremely small (or maybe it just seemed small in relation to the derriere that was perched upon it) and it had been quite an uncomfortable ride, to say the least. In the interests of avoiding further bruising, I dismounted half way home and sent the rest of the family homeward without me. Sam kindly returned in the car, soon after, to retrieve his mother and her tiny-seated transport.
Although geographically inside of New South Wales, Jervis Bay became a territory of the Commonwealth Government in 1915, when the people of landlocked Canberra and the ACT decided they needed access to the sea. The border of NSW and this little part of the ACT is not far up the road from where we are staying so Sam and I decided to take a quick drive to the border. When we got there, we were met with rangers and toll booths, charging a fee to enter the Jervis Bay National Park. Not really keen to go any further and satisfied we’d gone to the edge, we turned around and came home.
As is our usual custom when we are away somewhere on a Sunday, we like to visit a local church. With all the excitement of our big cycling adventure, we had forgotten to check out the service times for today. By the time we realised the only church service left to visit was a 30 minute drive away and started at 5pm, it was 4:45pm. Maisy, Ross, Sam and Toby were in the thick of a game of Uno (the jury is still out on the pronunciation) so only Molly and I ventured out. It was a tiny church, with about 20 (mostly octogenarian) people in attendance, but they were so welcoming and lovely. We sang a few Christmas carols, heard a great sermon and were all greatly amused when a pee wee bird flew inside and started low-flying over our heads before perching on the microphone stand, losing grip and doing a rail slide down it that Tony Hawke would have been proud of. We chatted to the minister and his daughters (who dramatically brought the average age of the congregation down), with the realisation that Molly actually knew their daughter! What a small world eh?
Toby sent us a message, requesting we please grab some pizzas on our way home. He and Sam had found a pizzeria that was really close to where we were. When we drove 10 minutes and arrived at the address though, there was a lone takeaway shop - the Hungry Seagull - flanked by an abandoned shop on either side of it. I snapped a quick photo to send to Toby and break the bad news. It seems I had aroused the curiosity of the lady in the Hungry Seagull. She rushed out onto the road and beckoned me to open the window, asking: “Would you like a menu?'“ and thrusting one into my hand. She said she had seen me taking a photo and thought we’d like to see what was available on the menu. Such initiative! She told us that unfortunately they only accepted cash and that we’d have to drive to the local RSL to access the closest ATM. That all seemed a bit hard, so for some reason I was honest and said, as tactfully as I could, that we were actually looking for the pizza shop. Awkward. Though visibly disappointed we wouldn’t be sampling from the Seagull, she directed us to the relocated pizza place, which, as it turns out, was literally only metres away from the church where we’d started!
Once ordered and paid for, we were informed by the very young staff member that we were out of their delivery zone and would have to wait 35 minutes for our pizzas to be ready. None of the 6 staff working in the shop, cooking pizzas, would have been a shade over 18 (and strangely enough, the pizza delivery ‘boy’ was about 60 years old!).
Molly and I used the time to explore nearby Callalla and Currarong, two cute little animal-loving towns with handpainted signs everywhere urging motorists to watch out for plovers, baby plovers, ducks, ducklings, kangaroos, wombats… Our eyes were peeled for creatures great and small but not an animal was to be seen. We were, however, treated to a beautiful sunset over the beach; a tree-full of squawking cockies our evening soundtrack.
The pizzas were delicious and the kids rounded off the day watching their favourite: Pirates Of The Caribbean.
