Bike Rides: Day 2 Sorrento to Point Nepean

Tuesday 20th March

Sorrento Pier.

Dear God. The mad lady kept on swearing, roughly on the hour, EVERY hour with only a brief respite coming around four in the morning when I finally got some uninterrupted sleep. Prior to that, I had even resorted to swearing right back at her through the door of our connecting bathroom. Yes I know, it wasn't clever or mature, but it was becoming a bit of a vicious circle.

All was forgotten soon enough though, as today had two wonderful things going for it, namely more glorious sunshine and also as a bonus, just an easy thirty kilometres to cover on the bike. After a quick stop off by Sorrento Pier, the destination was Point Nepean National Park, the most southern point of The Rip, the notoriously dangerous entry channel to Port Phillip Bay, and a Park that has been used as a Quarantine station, a Military Fort and a even a refugee camp as recently as 1999. If that wasn't fascinating enough, it also covers a gorgeous stretch of the coast right on the tip of the peninsula, with stunning views all around. So with bike to hand, some historical points of interest and surrounded by the sea on all sides, day two should be a cracker. 





Just to be clear, I would only be enjoying the ocean today from a safe distance, and from terra firma. This would have been the case even if the surf had been flat, the sea temperature above twenty degrees, and the area certified one hundred per cent shark free (none of which were true.) That's because I have no doubt Harold Holt, the then serving Prime Minister, wished he had done the same back in 1967. The premier went for a brief swim off the shore of Cheviot Bay in early summer, never to be seen again. And he was a local and by all accounts a famously strong swimmer. His last words were 'I know this beach like the back of my hand.' Gulp.

The disinfector for passenger luggage.

So with the sea out of the equation and cars banned from the park, there are three means of transport: on foot, by bike or by taking a tractor-pulled-passenger-train- thingy. Obviously it was the bike for me, with the first stop just five minutes along the main road, where the entry gates stood for the former Quarantine Station. I would never have believed this could have been so interesting. This was the site of the state's first quarantine station built back in the mid nineteenth century at a time when arriving by sea was fraught with more dangers than mere shipwrecks - disease was much more deadly aboard the cruise liners, which were arriving in their thousands in search of their piece of the Gold Rush. Many would end up here, suffering in poor conditions, bleak isolation and surrounded by shark infested waters. Only the scale of the station, its location and the newly installed storyboards give away its torrid past, as it now sits peacefully abandoned by the bay.

Ringtailed Possum.

It's not all doom and gloom I hasted to add. The Coles Track leads from here along delightful beaches to the fort at the end, a distance of arond six kilometres. It's a perfectly engineered bike path, weaving in and out of the woods, up and down gentle slopes, and revealing different ocean vistas with every turn. I'm very fortunate to find a Ring tailed Possum who's happy to pose for my camera. Eventually the bike path rejoins the main road, and ends at the entrance to Fort Pearce. It's strictly on foot from here on in, or that strange-tractor-transporter-thing. I chose the walking route, and what a footpath it is, cutting through the middle of the narrow peninsula with the sea on both sides and views of the Bellarine Peninsula straight ahead.

The tip of Point Nepean National Park.

Rambling around the Fort is great fun, with its hidden tunnels, engine rooms, look outs and gun turrets. It was a Fort more built on paranoia than anything and never really fired a shot in anger. The Brits had made the entrance to Melbourne the second most heavily protected port in the world, only just behind that of Gibraltar, and all for an enemy that never came. That's what having the then world's biggest gold reserves will do to you.

I cycle the ten kilometers back to Portsea, and stumble across the Portsea Hotel. It's four in the afternoon and by my reckoning, that's as good as time as any for a pint. This is one of the finest pubs outside of the Melbourne, and has a beer garden to die for. Unfortunately, the owners have long since cottoned on to that fact, and when you combine that with the lack of any competition in the area, they see fit to charge $10 for a pint, which is a whopping £6.60. I couldn't quite believe it, so I bought another one just to check. Yep, $10. Incredible.

I made my way carefully back on the thirty minute ride to Sorrento, still enjoying the unseasonally warm evening. I arrived back at the YHA to the best news of the day: the mad woman had left the hostel. Thank God.