Photography by Clayton Cardarelli: Down Under.

January marks an exciting season in my life and the life of the Cardarelli family. On January 15th, Charles Cardarelli; intrepid explorer, without a hint of fear in his voice, only a few distinct stoic utterances of wisdom, and many sentences of experienced warning starting with "Now Clay..." brought alongside of himself his companion of 37 years and myself to the brink of adventure. Such adventure brought forth from the humble beginnings of the promising linoleum of GEG Spokane International; to fly half way across the world for a trip Down Under to Australia and New Zealand for 2 months. Prior to the trip, the idea of it was loosely formulated in my mind with memories of New Zealand coupled with vague conceptualizations of what Australia might be like, and it was both exciting and nerve-wracking in my mind... Mostly because right now Australia is underwater with rampant flooding across much of the populated areas of the continent. And it's really not a very safe place to begin with. New Zealand is safe. Pretty much, there are only sheep, and one poisonous spider that is extremely . Not so much Australia, though. Australia is home to virtually every type of living, poisonous thing construable by the human imagination. Spiders, snakes, jelly-fish (affectionately called by locals as 'stingers'), plants, bugs... There is even a species of poisonous octopus that lives on the Great Barrier reef. But besides all the toxin, the rest of the wildlife is very pleasant. Mostly just Kookaburras and crocodiles. Both are super cuddly. So the idea of biking and diving across Australia is maybe just a tad unnerving. But only a tad.

But for the moment, and over the next week, we are dry and safe from the flooding that is saturating Australian soil, because we are not even on the mainland. Right now, we are in Tasmania; the smaller island to the south of the continent; cycling (with camper support) up the winding east coast. At times on the island, we are actually closer to Antarctica than to the Australian mainland, with such subtle reminders like the fact that the Australiana Borealis, or the "Southern Lights" can be seen from the island, and at nights, the warm sand of the beaches plummets to a miserable cold, brushed by the wind. Naturally and culturally, Tasmania is distinct from Australia, having in its own culture and distinct people, though however distinct it may be, it is still undeniably 'Australia'. Having been to New Zealand before, the last time a little under a year ago, I find myself constantly comparing all of my "Down Under" experiences in a New Zealand centered scope. Cycling through the Tasmanian "Bush", I am constantly reminding myself how unlike New Zealand Tasmania really is, and how it reflects and magnifies the stark contrast between the NZ and Australia. My dad still sports a phanny-pack and fleece sweat pants despite the incredible heat, magnified by a conveniently placed hole in the O-Zone layer over the island. "I'm nice and warm, I don't care what you say. And what's wrong with my sweats? They're microfiber after all... Say, where's my phanny-pack at..." Such is a typical line of thought as it is carelessly casted audibly by my father from amidst the business of camper life. Today is actually the 6th day of the trip, the first day was spent in Hobart, the largest city in Tasmania (about as big as Spokane), getting the rental camper, bikes, and groceries. The second day was a day of driving, winding up the Eastern coast from the southern city. The rest of the days have been spent exploring beaches, hiking, and riding north the narrow highways. And the east coast life is brutal cycling. Maybe I should have worked harder at maintaining rider-shape through the off season of the last few months, but nonetheless, riding here is hard. Today was the biggest day of riding, we rode from a city called Bicheno north on the A3 highway to the city of St. Helens. Tasmania is a land where 14% grades rise out of nowhere and seem to wind endlessly on and on. It's times like those that make me somewhat thankful that I'm riding a rental mountain bike, when I can sluggishly drone up the grades at slow speeds, but saving my legs with the gear ratio. But riding here is incredible. No where else have I ridden where beautiful ocean sands are never far beyond the sloping asphalt, and all you have to do is shoulder your bike and walk down a few feet to rest on any number of beaches that line the Tasman coast. In that way, it's a lot like riding the South Island of New Zealand, but it is still completely unique. And the climbing, despite the difficulty, is wonderful and beautiful. Today, I rode as Kookaburras flew overhead and the ocean roared. It is extremely hot, but so is riding in Montana in August, just a different kind of heat. It is still incredible. It always blows my mind to see the beauty in the world that God created, so vast and different and distinct, yet all belonging to the same Artist. And I like cycling around in it. Although the smell of dead wallabies and opossums that scatter the roadside as normal roadkill was not unfamiliar to me this particular day of riding. Dead opossums smell terrible. And over the 76 km expanse that I cycled today, I must have seen at least 20. The wallabies made me sad. I like those guys. Mikaela Martin and I hung out with a few of them outside of Arlington once. Now I'm in Tasmania and hanging out with more of them. But I have no pity for the opossums. Tonight, as the daylight recedes, rain is falling softly on the camper's roof in a cadence of pitter-patter. Kookaburras call from the bush. My father, the explorer, is absorbed in reading his maps and predicting the weather. I am only awake because of the coffee, but the coffee is dang good. And I am sure tomorrow will bring more adventures to write more about soon. So here are some photos in the meantime.