TRAVERSE 55
TRAVEL- AUSTRALIA
LEIGH WILKINS
THE QUIET TRUTH OF RIDING TASMANIA
There’ s a particular kind of anticipation that builds on the crossing from mainland Australia to Tasmania— not the loud, restless excitement of a new destination, but something quieter, more curious. The ferry pushes south across the Bass Strait through the night, and somewhere in that dark expanse you begin to sense that what waits on the other side is not just another ride, but a different way of riding altogether. By the time the first grey light lifts and the outline of land appears, it already feels like you are arriving somewhere that will resist easy understanding.
Rolling off at Devonport, the air carries that faint mix of salt and cold that seems sharper than it should be. Even before the helmet goes on, there’ s a difference you can feel. Tasmania doesn’ t ease you in. It lets you think it will, just for a moment. The first stretch of road out of town is almost disarmingly straightforward— broad, wellsurfaced, farmland opening out on either side in soft greens and golds. It’ s the kind of riding that encourages you to settle, to relax your grip on the bars, to assume that the island might be more forgiving than its reputation suggests. That assumption rarely lasts. The corners begin to tighten almost imperceptibly at first, then with intention. The surface, still good, starts to carry subtle imperfections— patches, joins, slight undulations that remind you this is a place shaped as much by weather as by engineering. And then there is the light. It shifts constantly here, clouds moving with a speed that feels out of proportion to the landscape below them. You find yourself riding through alternating bands of brightness and shadow, the road changing character with each one.
What becomes apparent, slowly, is that Tasmania is not a single ride
TRAVERSE 55