Australia is a pretty big country. The following photo should illustrate this to some degree.
With my bike fully serviced and all niggling things fixed, which included having to purchase a flywheel puller and remove half the engine to replace the worn starter clutch, I was finally ready to leave Darwin.
Fed up with constantly replacing your leaking fork seals? Why not create a couple of seal savers out of stubby holders and socks? Fosters... Those who drink Australian, think Australian.
Tim and Dale rode with me to Litchfield National Park to show me some of the best sights. Tim was especially keen to show me what the dirt roads had in offer for me and took me down a corrugated road to get a taster. I had always visualised corrugations as... well, I hadn't really, but they are exactly what they sound like. It's like the entire dirt road has been modelled on a piece of currugated Iron. The trick to treating them is to ride fast, the idea being that the faster you go, the wheels should just skip over them rather than giving you an EXTREMELY bumpy ride. The problem with this is that the road is also usually very sandy, thus it can be quite un-nerving riding at 90kph whilst sliding around and being shaken to death... the only solution? Go faster, quite the opposite of what your already half scared brain wants you to do.
Corrugations.
In Litchfield we had a splash in a couple of watering holes whilst I kept a keen look out for anything with a long tail, teech and scales. Most popular places have croc traps and are regularly patrolled to keep reptile free. John and Donna, a couple of Dale's relations met up with us in the park and offered to let me camp behind their caravan and generously fed be a fantastic pork chop meal. The older caravaning folk who seem to be everywhere during the 'dry' season up north are known fondly as 'Grey Nomads' and their sympathy and compassion for a young lone motorcyclist was overwhelming, several times I have been offered meals when turning up next to their well stocked vans.
The next day I headed South towards Katherine. I took the old highway which was more twisty than the new one and here encountered my first Wallaby. He bounced across the road in front of me as I was riding at around 80. I had been warned about their suicidal tendancies but there is often very little room to avoid them, as the second one I saw had discovered to his detriment.
I used the highway to get a rough idea as to my fuel consumption and potential range for when I would be crossing more extreme distances. After 400km my fuel warning light came on, so I switched to reserve. The next fuel station was about 50km ahead, easily done. After 45km my engine died and I drifted to a halt at the roadside. The sign for the next fuel station was 100m infront of me. 5km to go. Bugger. I hopped off the bike thinking what an idiot I was having run out of fuel on only the second day on a comparatively busy road compared to other places in Australia. Whilst contemplating whether I could face the shame of flagging down a passing car I decided to check whether all my fuel taps were open. Typically they weren't, I had forgotten to open the balancer pipe between the two fuel tank halves, and thus still had a good deal of petrol left. Still 450km on not quite a full tank of fuel was rather pleasing, meaning that I should easily have a range of 500km+.
I stopped at Katherine Gorge for a quick swim in the river. After diving in I thought the water looked rather murky so promptly removed myself and instead basked whilst other travellers cooled themselves in the water. I eyed a croc trap on the other side of the river suspiciously.
At the campsite I met a guy from the South who is on his second ride around Australia on his KTM 640. The next morning he informed me that the river was now closed to swimmers and kayakers. They had found a 4m reptile in one of the traps late last night.
Back on the highway the next day I settled at a steady speed of 80kph for maximum fuel economy and listened to 80's power balads on my iPod. Road trains overtook me at 100kph+ leaving me screaming into my helmet and gripping on for dear life whilst being buffeted by the turbulence. At lunchtime I pulled up at a rest site to eat a tin of baked beans and was immediately offered steak and sausages by another good natured couple of 'Grey Nomads'. It's fantastic to be able to have conversations with people about absolutely everything, since the conversation can take in fully fluent English, rather than Pigeon talk and hand waving. I've learnt so much more about Australian history and politics than compared to other countries just by talking to people rather than reading the 'Lying Planet'.
At a roadhouse I noticed a map indicating a limestone gorge campground in the nearby Gregory National Park. With another hour and a half of sunlight left I decided to push on and camp somewhere interesting. I blasted down a 50km dirt road as the sun was setting, then found my intended campsite closed due to perpetual flooding in the rainy season - during the wet season it's not uncommon for 1m of rain to fall in 8 hours. Many roads become impassable and there are lots of signs for floodways on the highways, often accompanied by depth metres, the highest I saw was 6m!
I rode another 20km down the track to another campsite, deep in the park - practically the middle of nowhere. Myself and another couple in a 4x4 were the only ones there. A donation of $3 was asked for for using campsites amenties which included a toilet and supply of water from a butt. There are also often free campsites on the highway where weary travellers caught short between towns at sunset can kip for the night - driving during darkness is plain suicide. At night animals are drawn to the road because of the heat it has conserved during the day. I've heard tales of lucky escapes when 4x4's have hit animals at speed, practically writing off their vehicles. Occasionally you see a burnt out wreck at the side of the road.
In the outback flies are a constant nuisance. As soon as you stop they find you and crawl into your mouth, eyes and ears. It's impossible to keep them away, although all they seem to do is just want to sit on your back and shoulders. One guy I met was practically wearing a fly jacket after a walk in the bush!
The next morning I visited a, now closed, homestead (cattle ranch) for a quick gander which told the tale of life on the ranch as well as a horifying tale from when the river rose extremely high during the wet season leaving a woman clinging toa tree all night waiting for the waters to subside.
I rode onwards towards Lake Argyle, the largest fresh water body in Oz - about 160km across and featuring a massive man made dam made entirely of earth. It irrigates a stupid amount of area in the North of Australia. When they designed and built the dam in the 60's, they expected the reservoir to fill within 4 years, it took 4 months. Nature does not dawdle around here and works in extremes.
I camped that night at a campsite in Kunnunara and met a biker who had just ridden the Gibb River Road through the Kimberlies. The, mainly sand and gravel, road runs for 800km through the Kimberly region of North Western Australia. It was the first place an Australian I met elsewhere on ym travels suggested I should go. You could spend an eternity going round in circles in Oz visiting everything that people suggest you visit. Sadly I don't have the time or money for that so there are undoubtely lots of interesting things I'm missing. The Gibb road was to be a test of my riding skills and the bike with a potential distance between fuel stations of 400km.
I bought supplies the next morning - tinned food, pasta and rice is pretty much all I can carry and set off. The corrugations began as I expected so I skipped over them at around 80-100kph. My first stop was a 5 start wilderness reserve called El Questro where I took onboard fuel after negotiating a rather deep, rocky and subsequently wet river crossing. The water sprayed up over my bike and I emerged on the other side absolutely soaked.
Further down the road I came across the Pentecost river crossing. I jumped off the bike to take stock and await a 4x4 to test the water for me. A couple of guys from Perth in their 4x4 turned up, inspected the water, concluded that there were probably crocs in there, then went for a swim anyway. a 4x4 coming from the opposite direction told me how deep it was, maybe 20-30cm so I rode in leaving the lunatics to their swim.
Wondering where the crocs are...
Once across I popped into the Home Valley homestead and campsite and immediately met up with another few friends of Tim and Dale who I also knew were doing the Gibb River Rd in their 4x4's. That night they demonstrated how to cook a pork joint roast dinner on a campfire, a true outback feast. I hung my hammock between a couple of trees and pondered how great it was to ride all these hardcore offroad tracks through desolate terrain before turning up at a campsite for the night, getting a beer at the bar and jumping in the pool to relax.
How to cook a roast on a camp fire.
The next day as I was blasting down the corrugated track at 100kph, even managing 130kph at one stage, I spotted several cars pulled over up ahead and was waved over. A 4x4 had collided with a couple of French cyclists after loosing control on a patch of sandy road. Everyone stopped to help and before long there were 2 doctors, a nurse and a pharmacist present to tend to the woman who had a suspected fractured or dislocated shoulder and concussion. The Australian Flying Doctor service was contacted via satellite phone and the decision was taken to move the patient via road to the nearest ranch and fly them out from there.
Accident in the middle of nowhere.
That evening I moved off the main road onto some smaller tracks to make camp for the night. I built a fire and tried to dry off my socks which were soaked from a previous crossing. A large brown spider with gargantuan black fangs then decided to explore my socks. I decided to take a photo of what I presumed was a poisonous arachnid. Whilst doing so my socks then caught fire. As I was extinguishing my clothes the spider then decided to turn his attention to me, so I ushered him into the fire.
The moment my sock ignited.
A hardcore schoolbus.
After a nervous nights sleep, keeping an eye out for other poisonous critters, I completed the last few hundred kilometres of dirt making a total distance of 600km offroad with 360km between fuel stops. The last 100km to Derby were some of the straightest and most boring roads I've ever ridden on. The boredom was only broken by a massive flat grassland stretching to the horizon where I watched a helicopter mustering cattle in the distance.
I visited a prison tree, where Aboriginal slaves were kept whilst being marched to the coast to assist with pearl farming. At a roadhouse where I camped that night, a guy I started chatting to mentioned the possibility of working on the ranches assisting mustering using offroad bikes - I decided to perform some enquiries once I reached Broome, which I reached the next day after just missing a Wallaby which jumped out infront of my bike whilst I was doing 90kph. I tapped my front brake just in time and missed him by inches.
I rang a couple of ranches but most had completed their mustering already, I then decided to hang around in Broome for a couple of days. I met one of the cyclists who had been involved in the accident a few days previously who told me that his wife had a few broken ribs but was otherwise fine.
I met a couple of other bikers in Broome, who had ridden across several deserts from the South Eastern corner of Oz to the North West. They also had a 4x4 support vehicle carrying a couple of hundred of litres of fuel and water as well as all the luggage, camping supplies and spares. That's the way to ride across deserts. It made me double think my plan to ride across the centre. I came to the conclusion that rather than riding down to Perth, another 2000+km then across the Nularboor - a good couple of thousand km of nothingness which would be along the South coast with a potential headwind and bad winter weather directly off the Antarctic and Southern Ocean. Instead I had been toying with the idea of double backing to the Stuart Highway and heading straight down the middle of the country on a beeline for Sydney, since I was fast using up my savings with the high cost of living in Australia. I could also have a look at trying to cut a shortcut through the desert to Alice Springs, down the Tanami or Duncan Highways.
Thats the way to do it!
And these go on the back!
Australia is a country where you can drive silly distances to see amusing shaped rocks... here are some...
There are many creeks criss-crossing Australia. During the dry season they are mostly empty, however the roads still have permanent bridges over them. On the highway I tried to imagine how creeks with names such as Dead Horse Creek, Sandy Creek, Deep Creek Cheese Tin Creek and Pint Pot Creek got their names from rather unimaginative early explorers.
One of the towns I stopped in for fuel had a surreal setting. A storm was brewing on the plains whilst several drunk Aboriginal people staggared around like zombies shouting at each other. To complete the setting, wild west music was playing from the speakers on the forecourt.
My air filter was a little bit dirty.
Signs at the entrances to both the Tanami and Duncan Roads declared that both roads were closed due to rain in the centre of the country a week earlier, thus I was forced to double back almost all the way to Katherine before re-joining the Stuart Highway and heading South, through the 'Red Centre', which following the recent unseasonal rain, was actually rather green.
I nipped down the Buntine and Buchanan and managed to survive riding through a surprising swarm of locusts. Since it was a single track, I had to vacate the road pretty smartish once I saw a road train barrelling towards me at 100kph. This was for both his and my safety. Road trains are so large it takes them a long time to stop, if they can be bothered. Kangaroos often discover this to their detriment.
I arrived in Barrow creek a few days later where I camped behind the roadhouse. The temperature at night was beginning to drop below freezing so I took the oportunity to spend a good half hour in a hot shower. There was also a strong headwind from the South East during the day, meaning that I was riding into a freezing headwind for most of the day.
Barrow creek was an interesting place to spend the night. The pub/petrol station/convenience store was staffed by two guys and after one of the other locals, who worked on a cattle ranch, had left, I was the only person in the bar. I spent the time constantly pestering as to understand the rules of Australian Rules Football, AFL. I think I've got it sussed now.
Night in the outback is an incredible place to look up.
The Stuart Highway. To simulate my experience on this road, go and sit in your fridge whilst staring at this photo for a couple of house and having a fan blow in your face. About lunchtime you can get out of the fridge.
My bike in front of yet another landmark, a marker for the Tropic of Capricorn.
The next day I passed through Alice Springs, the largest town for over a thousand kilometres, which appeared to mainly be filled with shops to cater for all outback community requirements. I considered stopping to get a new rear tyre which was looking rather tired but instead decided to push on to Erdlunda which marked the turn off to Uluru, Ayers Rock, where I would make a 500km detour to have a gander at another oddly shaped rock.
Another Big Rock.
In the Northern Territory there were no speed limits until a couple of years previously. With no speed limits the death toll on the roads was around 15 per year, with the advent of limits this soared to 87 per year! This is due to the time required to get between towns now, where it would previously have taken only a couple of hours to travel from one town to another at 200kph+, it now takes twice as long at 130kph and drivers are simply falling asleep. To combat this, free coffee is now offered for all drivers at petrol stations.
Heading South again from Ayers Rock, I soon reached Coober Pedy after narrowly avoiding hitting a Dingo in the road and presumably permanently crippling a small bird I hit. A brown ball of feathers drifted past my visor seemingly in slow motion.
Heading South again from Ayers Rock, I soon reached Coober Pedy after narrowly avoiding hitting a Dingo in the road and presumably permanently crippling a small bird I hit. A brown ball of feathers drifted past my visor seemingly in slow motion.
Coober Pedy is a mining town which provides up to 80% of the worlds opals and in summer sees soaring temperatures of over 40 degrees C with subzero temperatures at night in winter. In order to combat this wild variation in temperature, most buildings are underground. I checked into an underground backpackers where the temperature is naturally maintained at around 20 degrees C, regardless of what the weather does ‘upstairs’.
The dorm, 'Flintstone style'.
A spaceship.
Nothing Here.
How to find Opals.
Heading South again and the landscape changed rather dramatically as I crossed the Woomera Range, where the British conducted their nuclear tests in the 60’s. On a similar not and to give you an idea of how big Australia is, I read somewhere that there is evidence of a nuclear device being detonated somewhere in Australia without anyone noticing.
Upon reaching Port Augusta I took a left turn towards Sydney, crossed the Flinders range and immediately entered sheep country. A stupidly long fence, known as the ‘Dog Fence’ runs across Australia to prevent the wild Dingos from the North from getting their teeth on the sheep in the South.
When I arrived in Broken Hill, my tyre looked as though it was on its last legs. I met quite a few other bikers who were heading to a nearby bike rally which I considered going to. I would have required a new tyre to get across the dirt and mud roads to the event and after contemplating whether I would rather spend my weekend in Sydney or in a field with a load of drunk old men on bikes, decided to head to Sydney.
It was now a race against mechanical breakdown. The Final Countdown was playing on my iPod. My engine was streaming oil, my rear tyre was practically bald and my chain and sprockets had definitely seen better days. I stayed in Dubbo for my final night before getting to Sydney in a reasonably expensive motel. Conveniently a KTM dealer was located next door. Upon a routine inspection of my bike, I discovered that my rear tyre really would not make the final run of 400km. The thread was actually starting to show because of all the high speed highway riding I’d done. The next morning I set a new record of 50 minutes for manually changing the tyre since no mechanics were in on Saturday morning.
Not quite roadworthy anymore.
The final ride to Sydney passed through the Blue Mountains. It was pretty cold to put it mildly. The traffic became heavier and there was the constant threat of speed cameras, the first I had seen for quite a long time.
Finally my destination for the past year loomed into view. My plan was to find my way through the urban jungle to the Opera House where I could celebrate my achievement by taking yet another photo of my bike in front of another tourist attraction.
I had imagined this moment for over the past year. I expected there to be tears and emotion. I could imagine people congratulating me on an epic achievement. Instead I had to beg the security guard to let me park my bike for 5 minutes whilst I took a quick photo then vacated the area. No-body noticed me and I shed no tears. It was just another days ride.
Mission accomplished.
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