Our penultimate cycling day (with a short hop tomorrow) on Tasmania and it has kept some of its best until last.
A day cyling around Mount Cradle, through dense forests which open to large vistas across prairie. Almost pristine, though obvious signs of logging. You get a feeling of why it’s called the Wild West.
The last 20 km was back into rural pasteurs with cute calves wondering what we’re doing. The area we’re entering, Sheffield is renouned for it’s high quality butter fat production. Hence the cows I suppose.
We end up in Sheffield proper, which markets itself and its 1602 residents as a mural town. Stand still and you are at risk of being street painted by numbers. This is part of a rebranding as a tourist town. It declined from its peak as a hub during the dam buildling project of the 60s and the completion of seven dams and seven power stations.
Wild west town too: the hotel / pub we eat in is in full local party mood: a good activity for a Sunday night. It’s OK we were coralled into a quiet corner.
Tomorrow we finish back in Devonport.
Travelling reflections 