Even if a person was not in a hurry or not going anywhere in particular, it was usual to scurry along. If anyone stopped or dawdled, others would wonder why. There was always something to be done. There were two worlds. The site and the village. To be idle was to be a slacker. Kids spent a lot of time kicking stones or throwing sticks to avoid chopping wood and helping around the house. Except for Sundays, the men spent almost all their days being occupied in work-related jobs. It was as if the Hydro owned them completely. Any concerns about a forgotten world outside the village or the site, would have to wait. They found themselves fully occupied with rocks and gravel. The gravel roads marked where the village was and there there were two more leading along the river-bank to the base of the site or up and over the hill to the top of the site. Sump oil was sprayed on all the roads to settle the dust, which was handy on a very dark night. I could sniff my way home. It didn't however stop the rains from gouging out grooves and ruts which were a constant challenge to my Malvern Star.

I was one of the lucky ones who had a near-new bike with the indented star on the front. Other kids only had a common Austral with a map of Australia. Whenever they let me, I gouged out a little map of Tassie with a hammer and cold chisel. My Malvern Star was the much-prized full size with twenty eight inch wheels. Its handle bars curved up and over like two bull's horns and usually pointed in the direction that I wanted to go. I came so many croppers that Dad forced two pieces of rubber water pipe on the front of the handles.

When I first got my pride and joy, I couldn't quite reach the pedals even if I sat spiflicated on the bar and the seat right down. I rode it with one leg through and under the cross-bar. The bike was at an angle one way and me hanging out the other. Because the bike was at an angle, the chain kept coming off. When nobody was looking, it was easier to walk or skip along on one pedal. It was important when other kids were watching, to ride it properly. Or try to. To do this, it had to be downhill which caused me no end of problems because my bike had a footbrake and I couldn't reach the pedal. A couple of times I managed to buckle the front wheel. Until I could get Dad to fix it, she wobbled like a beauty. So much that I hardly noticed the ruts in the road. When my machine was out of order it was a chance to get a dink on the handle-bars of my mate's Austral with much yahooing and yelling of instructions. He got the pleasure of humping me around and I got a sore bum.
Most of the kids had an old bike. All of them in various states of disrepair.

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