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The airport was full of people when we arrived at Launceston, all waiting to halloo arrivals. They were out in the open air -- it looked most strange, used as I am to bigger terminals, all closed in. The luggage came out on a bunch of carriages behind a little vehicle. No continuous belt! How quaint, how strange! There were our luggage, two big boxes on the last carriage. We waited until everyone had finished the mad rush for their bag before dragging them off and outside.

Propping the boxes against the wall, I dug into mine and pulled out my trusty swiss Army knife, tore into the box, and so began assembly of our bicycles. It wasn't long until dark, and our night's destination still was some distance away.

I toddled off to fill our water bottles and came back to find Ben talking to a cabbie.

"Nothing at Evandale," said the cabbie. "You can camp there -- at the primary school. Take the first left when you hit the post office and keep going. You'll see it."

Bikes set, we headed on to historic town Evandale of the penny farthing races -- our first night's camp.

( After a long silence, the two weeks in Tasmania. Over 8,000 words worth. )