A low morning sun strips the city from sight as the coach rolls west, and by mid-morning the salt air and wind off the Southern Ocean are pushing at the windows. At the Twelve Apostles, basalt stacks rise from surf that seems to dare you to come closer; the boardwalk drops you to vantage points where waves measure time against the cliffs. Later the road turns into fern-lined gullies of the Otway Ranges, where the forest presses up into the canopy and the ziplines let you move through the treetops as if the forest itself were urging you onward.