Goodbye Bay of Fires, hello 100km of accidental dirt roads. The road to Anson Bay and Mt William National Park was less than sealed. At one point we had to skip (as well as a Prado and a Swan can skip) over a one-foot high mound in the middle of the road to prevent being flattened by a grader (the traffic control also has something to be desired).

Our alternative inland route led us to the small forgotten tin mining town of Derby. It had a rather lack luster history almost going broke when the Victorian gold rush hit, recovering for a bit, but then the town dramatically flooded when the mine dam broke in the 1930's. It has been all but forgotten since except for the timber trucks thundering through town, until a few years ago when a few guys with shovels and some imagination cut some mountain biking trails into the surrounding hillside forests, and a new history for Derby was created.

Switch back after switch back, my legs burned, un-seasoned and running purely on adrenaline, the reward was only moments away. The uphill battle subtlety changed to a gentle down hill grade easing the lactic acid burn, as I wound left and right passing trees inches from my shoulder. Big Chook was the reward as it dropped away under my wheels, and the bike just wanted to go faster and faster, sharp left around a berm, keep it straight, watch the rocks, right berm, with that's a drop, on the brakes, and down and off we go, faster again, trees left and right, jump and air-born, land and keep the wheel straight, another tight left and right and left, down and out of the forest......woh.....that.....was.....awesome!

Blue Derby and the Altas Trail kept Steve interested all day while Bern explored the local town and surrounds with the kids. Derby had provided the 'free camp of the trip' for us, right on the river, grassy site, and to top it off, only metres from a playground. The playground didn't rate that high anyway, as Theo wanted to drop in on his balance bike and do some off piste trails on the grassy banks, just like Dad.

Bern squeezed in a 10k run on the morning of departure, running back and forth through town, in 2 degree frosty conditions. Steve boiled water and coffee profusely to gain a few precious degrees in the van, while Bern finished the run with frost on her legs and a shiver that didn't go away until 3pm.

Our last few days in Tasmania included picking up our long lost keys to the Prado in Longford, another ParkRun in Devonport, and a relatively unsuccessful trip to Cradle Mountain in 3 degrees and torrential rain. We saw the spectacular fog and horizontal rain in front of what is supposedly a spectacular view of Dove Lake and Cradle Mountain.

A late boarding time into the Spirit of Tasmania meant we were able to do a 12 km morning run, followed by a relaxing long late breakfast at Cafe del Mar in Turners Beach, more playground time, introduced Theo to the skate park scene, and an early dinner before arriving well on time for our boarding. The problem was.....

Two children, three and under apparently do not take kindly to sitting in a stationary car for two and a half hours. We used all of the tricks in the book with food and iPad, singing, music, games etc... but they both exploded and then promptly fell asleep in our arms in the front of the car. The other recommendation for young players is that running an air conditioner to keep the temperature up for two and a half hours is also not advised, as batteries may not cope.... as ours did not. So there we are, dead battery, two sleeping kids, caravans and camper vans streaming past us, until at 9pm we were sitting in the middle of the massive car park, all alone, hoping for assistance. The friendly wharfy staff helped in the knick of time, with a jump start, and we squeezed our way on to the Spirit (last vehicle on!) just in time to see them winding up the ropes and heading to sea.

Tasmania..... it's been emotional.